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ssa-dado · 1 month ago

Note

i’m actually convinced that hotch is secretly a huge gossip. what if that’s the thing that gets him and fleabag reader to start talking? maybe it’s about one of the other pool dads ? hotch actually knows him cause his kid goes to school with jack and it’s something real scandalous. idk i just need to have hotch being nosey and spilling tea.

Pinot Grigio

triathlon!Aaron Hotchner x fleabag!reader Genre: 21st-century-feminist-meltdown-over-an-old-man mutual pining Summary: It’s a party. You’re the help. He’s the Hotchner. He shows up to the gala in jeans, insults a politician for you, then stands around long enough to overshare a bunch of gossip you didn’t ask for (meaning: casually reveals he’s been tracking your poolside admirers like a repressed Victorian husband.) Warnings: Explicit sexual language! (not graphic, it's all in reader's head and meant as a joke... for herself, apparently), alcohol use, age gap, cuss words, hint of the vile act of female masturbation *pearl clutch*, classism, mysogeny, unhealthy coping mechanisms (wine, gossip, Hotchner) Word Count: 4.2k Dado's Corner: This prompt was so juicy and triggered my brain just right, I had to fumble a lot to find the perfect setting to reveal Hotch’s true chatty grandma self hihihihi this was so funnn! (I think I wrote three different versions of it because my brain cells just refused to collaborate… but hopefully this one works.) [I didn’t end up scripting in the part where Hotch knows the dad because of Jack, butttt! trust me, it’s probably for the better.] Thank you so much for the request, marry meeee <3

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Pinot Grigio.

Just a normal white wine.

Pear on the nose. Citrusy. Crisp. Innocent.

Until yesterday. 7:24 PM.

When Penelope Garcia - who you don’t know, didn’t follow, would absolutely remember if you did (because of the most adorable Lego duck earrings and blonde curls) - posted a single photo from some FBI event on Facebook.

A glass of wine in one hand. Aaron Hotchner’s shoulder in the other.

A bottle of Pinot Grigio right there on the table.

Since then, it’s been panic.

Pool moms liked. Pool moms shared. Some pool moms commented, even.

Penelope is now famous.

She’s gained at least forty new friend requests from women named Debbie (the cool-girl rebrand of Deborah), Beth (Bethany, but pretending), and Lisa (just... Lisa) - all of them hoping for fresh content.

A new Hotchner sighting. A blurry arm. The back of a head. The profile of his nose.

And now you are paying the price.

Because you’re six bottles deep into Pinot Grigio and currently opening your seventh for the Pool Extension Project Announcement Party.

(A name so thrilling it could only have been brainstormed by three men named Greg in a windowless office with beige carpets and no dreams... broken dreams, maybe.)

(Apparently they’re adding a spa? Maybe? You weren’t listening. You were too busy arranging the buffet to look “effortlessly elegant” while silently sobbing into a tray of beet hummus.)

You’re catering it. Sort of.

You were a last-minute call.

You were a desperate substitution. Someone dropped out, and they called you.

Because you are reliable.

Talented. Charming. Funny. Qualified. And – crucially - cheaper.

(Not cheap. Cheaper. Enough of a bargain to be flattering but still slightly degrading.)

And of course, you said yes. Said “I’d love to,” said “What’s the dress code?” while internally shrieking because - what if Aaron is there too? (He might be. He probably is.)

You also told yourself you weren’t dressing for him.

That you just wanted to look professional in your very black, very tailored to your body catering uniform (with a slutty apron) - but your ass looks absolutely divine in these trousers, and if it’s not captured in one of the official photos and framed in the break room, you’re suing.

Mayday. Mayday.

He’s here.

Confirmed visual.

Aaron Hotchner.

In the flesh. In the room.

Looking slightly out of place, which of course only makes him stand out more.

Navy button-up. Jeans.

(Jeans? Him? He owns a pair of jeans??? Who sold them to him? Who authorized this? Who gave this man thighs and then denim?)

(Well… apparently so. And they fit. Criminally well.)

Meanwhile, everyone else is trussed up in three-piece suits, using big grown adult vocabulary like municipal redevelopment-

(Meaning: someone’s cousin is getting paid a suspicious amount of money to plant four trees and call it urban renewal)-

and strategic infrastructure planning-

(Meaning: they’re finally going to pour some lukewarm asphalt over the holes in 45th St NW, right before election season.)

They all shake hands with fake smiles, congratulate each other on breathing, and pretend the room doesn’t still vaguely smell like feet and chlorine, despite the mountain of imported cheeses you spent hours shaping into perfect little geometric offerings to the gods of local politics.

And Aaron-

Aaron just stands there.

Not speaking. Not smiling. Not performing. Just existing.

And yet, somehow, he still looks more elegant than all of them combined.

God, what a man.

…A man you’ve had full conversations with–

in your head.

While brushing your teeth.

While shaving your legs.

While marinating chicken.

You’ve practiced your banter with him more than you’ve prepared for actual job interviews.

The fact that you’ve barely spoken to him in real life is not because you’re shy. Not because you’re afraid of rejection. Not because there’s the occasional whisper that he’s technically old enough to have fathered you if he’d started very, very young.

(Which, most of the time, only makes it more erotically confusing.)

No. (Yes.)

It’s because you lowkey hate him.

You hate him because he walked in holding his pool bag.

…He just showed up here to do his laps.

And you just know - deep in your soul, in your bloodstream, in your ovaries - that inside that bag is a navy speedo. Matching. To. His. Shirt.

A Speedo that will now never fulfill its destiny, heartlessly imprisoned, crushed by a rolled towel and - if you had to guess - a blister pack of ibuprofen (he’s old enough to break his back sneezing and still blame it on “tight hamstrings.”)

Because, clearly, judging by the way he’s confidently flipping the strap back up onto his shoulder…

He has no idea the pool is closed today.

Didn’t know there was a party. He wasn’t briefed. He didn’t glance at the laminated flyer at reception with a dolphin in a bowtie that said “Join us for the Pool Extension Gala!”

Beautiful, beautiful man. But apparently can’t read for shit.

Because he was too busy doing… FBI things.

Whatever that means.

You don’t really know what he does.

In your head it’s just a sweaty, shirt-clinging montage of him saving lives, wrestling evil, or rescuing kittens from burning houses and carrying them out in one arm while the other cradles a bleeding witness.

You just know it’s hotter than whatever the hell you do, because before he can take more than two steps into the room, he’s already being mobbed by politicians.

Actual, elected men - men with power, men with authority, men with at least three types of stress-induced hair loss and thinning temples they pretend aren’t happening.

And they know him. They recognize him.

They even lower their voices when they speak to him, they shake his hand with such reverence, you can smell their intimidation from all the way across the room.

The fear. The respect. The power. The arm veins. The way Aaron has no idea he’s the main event at a party he didn’t even know existed.

Quite ironically, on the other hand - on the small, overworked, kind of underpaid, sexually malnourished hand that is you - you haven’t slept properly in a week because of it.

Because of the stress of the endless prep and logistics and… fine, because of him too.

Sometimes at 4 a.m., you’d find yourself just… staring at the ceiling. Lying in the dark, vibrating with anxiety and something much less noble and your only two options for survival were:

Cooking. Loudly. Desperately. Whipping up reductions and spreads in your tiny kitchen, determined to perfect the fig-and-goat cheese tartlet while trying not to scream when the oven beeped and you realized the sun was already rising.

Or… Well. Let’s just say your neighbors must think you’re really, really into dental hygiene. What kind of electric toothbrush has that many vibration modes? What kind of dental tool sings at such frequency?

Answer: not a toothbrush.

It’s pink. Plastic. Takes two AA batteries and a prayer.

You may or may not bought it during a very dark week with your café tip money at 2 a.m. from the back shelf of a pharmacy, and since then it’s been the most stable relationship of your adult life.

You’ve had to steal batteries from your TV remote more than once just to get through the week.

She’s not fancy, but she gets the job done.

You’d recommend her.

You’d even recommend her to the woman now standing in front of you - if she’d stop looking at Hotchner and trying to hormonally inform him that she is, at this very moment, in the mating phase of her cycle.

It’s not even subtle - the little cleavage tug, the fluttery eyelashes, the way she’s nodding absently while you talk about acidity and finish, eyes locked on the back of his neck rolls.

You get it. You’ve been there. Last week, actually.

And even now - when you are categorically not ovulating, when you are actively trying to be a functioning member of a patriarchal society - he does, objectively, have a beautiful neck.

A neck that has almost certainly never been stressed about fig preserves or the structural integrity of a puff pastry shell.

“I’ll have that one,” she says, stopping you midway through your ramble and pointing at a bottle.

The fucking Pinot.

Of course you will.

You smile.

Because you are a professional.

Because rage doesn’t pair well with brie.

“Sure,” you say, and pour.

You handpicked twelve white wines for this event. Twelve.

Each chosen with a level of passion that should’ve been reserved for, say, human relationships or personal growth.

Some of them had to be pulled from tiny Italian cellars with shipping so disorganized you’re now on a first-name basis with a man named Lorenzo who thinks you’re unstable and possibly in love with him.

(You might be. You’ve sliced figs and cried about tannins. Your grip on reality is… soft.)

You woke up in cold sweats for a whole week wondering if the Soave made it through Zurich because Italians do not believe in emails. Or customs. Only God.

But none of it mattered, because in the end, it’s always the Pinot, for her – and all the other people that came to your stand earlier.

You call it the Aaron Hotchner Effect.

The logic goes like this:

“If in the picture, he was drinking Pinot, and I drink Pinot, then we have something in common. We can laugh. We can clink glasses.

He’d say something dry and low - “You’ve got good taste” - and brush my fingers as he takes the glass. Maybe the hand. Maybe the elbow. Maybe the fucking thigh.

We’d flirt.

And then he’d fuck me.

Some really good rough, sex up against his hardwood bed. He’d keep his tie on. Hold my wrists. Press his mouth to my shoulder to keep from making a sound, because letting go like that, making noise, would be too revealing. Too honest.

He’d fuck me until my knees gave in and my breath stuttered and my voice cracked from begging. He wouldn’t come until I had. At least three times.

And then, of course, He’d marry me.

All because I drank his wine.”

That’s the pipeline. That’s what’s happening behind their eyes.

And you can't even judge them.

You’d be doing the same, if you weren’t currently being reminded by the smell of onion jam soaked into the pocket of your apron that you’re on the job.

You’re the help, the wine girl no one listens to until the glass is already full and the flirting has failed.

But you’d do it. You would.

Just… correctly.

Because while everyone else in that cursed Facebook photo saw the bottle, you saw the glass.

His glass, the one shoved off to the side, barely in frame - because God forbid someone like Aaron Hotchner be photographed holding the fun juice. That would imply he experiences pleasure. Or whimsy. Or serotonin.

Still, you zoomed in. You don't like to admit that. You really don't. But you did.

And thanks to the course that still haunts your bank account - the one led by three men, all named Marco - you can confidently say, with devastating clarity:

That was not Pinot.

It was Verdicchio.

Lean. Salty. A little green around the edges.

The kind of wine that doesn’t care if you like it.

Citrus and sea air and something just a little bit wrong at the end, like it’s judging you.

And maybe it is.

It’s bitter. Quiet. Difficult.

Difficult also because no one knows how to properly pronounce its name - you didn’t. You butchered it every time and got scolded by each of the Marcos at least once.

(Marco One - smoking indoors in his wool turtleneck in July, would hiss, "No, no, Ver-deek-kio, not Ver-dish-ee-oh, do you want to die in shame?")

(Marco Two made you repeat it five times in a row in front of the whole class.)

(Marco Three just muttered “Madonna Santa” and poured himself another glass.)

Verdicchio doesn’t seduce.

It holds its distance, stands in the corner of the room with crossed arms, and waits for you to prove you're worth the conversation.

Half the people who taste it hate it. The other half get addicted.

It lingers. It cuts. It stays in your mouth longer than it should.

A wine with boundaries.

A wine that says: you don’t know me.

You think you do, but you don’t.

Just like Aaron.

And you tried, betraying everything the three Marcos ever taught you about integrity, balance, and correct regional pairings, to guide each of your (unwanted) patient tragically afflicted with Hotchism toward the Verdicchio.

Even when it didn’t pair with what they were eating. Even when it clashed. Even when it made your soul itch with the wrongness of a soft-rind Brie beside all that salinity.

You’re not a bitch. You don’t gatekeep. You offer your knowledge freely. Warmly. Kindly.

But you’d be lying if you said that knowing the truth didn’t make you feel good.

Smug.

A little superior.

And yes, fine, maybe that made you feel close to him.

Closer.

Maybe you are a bitch.

Because you could have said it, could have casually dropped the line - “Oh, by the way, he was drinking Verdicchio. It wasn’t the Pinot.”

You could have been generous. Transparent. Correct.

But it wouldn’t have changed anything.

You’d be out of Verdicchio instead of Pinot.

They’d still fawn.

Still flutter.

Still call him Agent Hotchner with that glazed, pseudo-coy voice like they’re already imagining what his mattress feels like.

(It’s probably very firm. Orthopedic. Recommended by his chiropractor. No softness. No give. Posture is sacred. Comfort is weakness.)

(He probably tucks the sheets so tight you’d have no choice but to scooch closer to him just to have some room to breathe. Which, obviously, is the point.)

Same thirst, different label.

Maybe you’d tell the first one who actually listens to you.

The first one who doesn’t treat you like furniture in an apron. The first one who doesn’t cut you off mid-sentence the moment they clock that the politicians are loosening their grip on him.

Maybe the reason why you have such a crush on him is because he’s everything.

And you’re- well. You’re here.

In shoes that are starting to pinch. With wine on your hands and fig paste in your hair. With bills and back pain and the slow, creeping dread that no one really sees you unless you’re holding something they want.

And even then, just barely.

He’s elegant, unreadable, capital letter Important.

You’re… nice. Warm. Cheap... cheaper.

Maybe that’s it. Maybe that’s the whole appeal.

Maybe that’s why you keep staring at him as he’s basically dragged to your tasting stand by a small parade of men who spend their days warming seats in the Senate and collecting checks for pretending they invented civic duty.

One of the men makes the effort to squint at your name tag.

You can see the gears turning in his head as he uses it - not to address you - but to soften the blow of a condescending joke he thinks is charming, such as “how rare it is to find a young woman with taste… especially one who serves.”

You smile.

Because that’s the job.

You’re the help. The scener-

“What do you mean?” Aaron asks, turned slightly toward the man, voice flat.

He looks disgusted.

(Though, in fairness, everything he says sounds vaguely judgmental. That’s just his face.)

“Oh, no… Hotchner, don’t get me wrong. I mean it as a compliment. I admire it. Not everyone’s meant to chase titles or build a résumé, you know? And that’s not a bad thing - society only works because some people are content doing the everyday stuff. The real work.”

You’re two seconds away from breaking the last Pinot bottle over his head.

Kill two birds with one stone: one bottle, one condescending prick, and finally, blissful silence.

“…We need the people who keep the wheels turning. Mechanics. Hairdressers. Cooks…”

He gestures vaguely to you, apparently your existence is now an example. A concept. An idea. Something nice to look at when dressed in black and pouring wine.

“Really,” he adds - just in case you didn’t catch the insult the first three times - “I admire it.”

“Do you always talk to people like this?” Aaron doesn’t raise his voice - just tilts his head slightly, gaze locked on the man with a kind of stillness that, for reasons you’ve yet to comprehend, is louder than yelling.

It’s unsettling.

“What? I’m paying her a compliment.” Senator Asshole tries to laugh it off.

“You’re condescending to her. It’s not the same thing.”

“Come on,” Senator Asshole chuckles, flicking a desperate glance around, “I’m just saying she’s good at what she does.”

“And I’m saying maybe you should stop talking,” Aaron hisses.

The silence is immediate.

Aaron just stares at him – for one, two, three, four??? Seconds.

Senator Asshole, sadly, does not burst into flames. He’s stolen away by Councillor Buttchin, who probably heard everything and tries to mop it up with the limp excuse of needing to discuss “urban renewal”

(Meaning: gentrification. The rich man’s robbery.)

And so Aaron watches him leave, before he turns back to you.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “The asshole didn’t even apologise.”

(He’s very hot when he swears.)

You wave it off. “It’s alright.”

“No. It’s not. It’s disgust-”

“It’s not the first time,” you cut him off. Because you don’t want to hear it. The apology. The concern. The male guilt wrapped in decency like it's somehow revolutionary.

Yes, thank you for noticing misogyny exists. Gold star.

You’ve done the bare minimum and you’re very tall so it feels like more. Congratulations on not being a monster.

At least, that’s what the rational part of you is saying. The one with a spine. The one that reads theory and donates when she can.

The other part – the one currently regulating the lubrication levels of a certain region of your body that apparently believes being mildly defended by a man with forearms like that is enough to justify reproduction - has… other thoughts.

Darwin would call it natural selection.

You’d call it bringing feminism back fifty years in one pelvic pulse.

But maybe your body’s oh-so-romantically prepping for insemination because he doesn’t make a speech.

He doesn’t continue to perform, doesn’t launch into a well-rehearsed monologue about respect, social or say something like “I have a lot of female friends, my mom is a woman, for instance.”

He doesn’t explain how decent he is.

He just… nods. Gives you a flicker of a concerned half-smile (because he’s a dad, and concern is hardwired into his frontal cortex, right between disapproval and knows best.)

But it’s quiet. Undramatic.

Like he saw it. Heard it. Filed it.

And now he’s moving on. Not because it didn’t matter. But because it did.

And not just emotionally, physically. Actually moving-moving.

Shifts halfway down the shorter end of your stand - not technically in your area, but just close enough that if he got any nearer, people might start asking him what cheese pairs with a Chablis.

(Which would be a disaster, because he looks like he’d say “cheddar” and then stare you down until you corrected him.)

Close enough to feel like a choice.

He doesn’t look at you. Scans the room instead, until his gaze lands on something. Someone.

“See that guy?” he says, nodding subtly toward ‘that guy’ across the room.

You follow the gesture.

Ah. That guy.

Mid-thirties.

You don’t know his name.

You just know he’s always suspiciously nearby. Hovering. Lurking. Casually orbiting the table where you sit every week in the pool cafeteria while waiting for your friend to finish her laps.

Objectively hot - if your type is broad shoulders, hollow eyes, and a divorce lawyer in waiting (and it pretty much is, unfortunately.)

He has a kid, you’re pretty sure. And a wedding ring he forgets to forget.

The kind of man who blames his wife’s headaches instead of confronting the fact he thinks the clitoris was a Greek philosopher.

(“Clitoris? He makes an appearance in Plato’s Symposium, doesn’t he?”)

“He’s been battling with himself over asking for your number for about a month,” Aaron says. “Still hasn’t managed it.”

Oooooooooooooookay.

Weird. Unexpected. Also deeply awkward.

(How strange that it’s not you making things weird for once.)

“And…” you trail off, because you’re too distracted by how he looks like he’s regretting it all - what a loser. “You’re saying this because you want me to hand it to him directly?”

“Oh, not at all.” Boy. That was fast. Too fast. “…he’s married.” You knew that already. “…You shouldn’t-”

“I shouldn’t?” You blink.

“Um, you…” He shakes his head, “You should… just… know this.”

…Right.

Aaron’s wife definitely cheated on him. Or maybe he’s just a prude. Or a control freak.

All possible. All extremely inconvenient. Poor him. Or maybe he deserved it, who knows.

“…Thanks,” you say flatly. “You… want something to drink?”

You ask because it’s polite… and also because he’s technically clogging the line forming behind him (all faint whiffs of Pinot settling directly into your nostrils from people pretending they need a refill, when really, they just want to stand near him.)

(Mr. Aaron.)

(Awkward-mr.-Aaron.)

(Socially-repressed-emotionally-terrifying-mr.-Aaron.)

(Mr. very-much-returning-to-the-place-he’s-meant-to-be, mr. Aaron.)

(Mr. leaning-in-to-read-the-wine-list, mr. Aaron.)

(Mr-)

“How did you know about the guy?” slips out of you, as you’re already pouring something into an empty glass just to keep moving… you don’t even look at the bottle.

No pear. So, not Pinot. (Small victories.)

“He always sits on the side of the table facing you, instead of watching his son’s swimming lesson like the rest of the parents.”

Yeah, okay, that guy is a bit way too obvious, but the problem only continues to be him.

Aaron.

“He straightens his posture every time you laugh.”

Aaron, who shouldn’t have time to notice these things. Who stops by every other week, maybe. Maybe less. Always suited. Always in a rush. Always delivering the same three lines.

“Americano, no sugar.”

“Card.”

“Have a nice day.”

He never lingers. He doesn’t sit. Doesn’t even stir the coffee. Just takes it and goes. Gone before the register beeps. FBI stuff awaiting for him.

“He ordered the same drink as you twice. Didn’t drink it. He doesn’t like cappuccino, he only did that because he thought you’d notice him”

So, how the hell does Aaron know? How does he notice you? Because he must have.

Somewhere in those two-minute drop-ins. In the blur between Card and Have a nice day. In the handful of seconds he’s ever been within ten feet of you.

Unless…

“Puts his phone down when you walk in. Doesn’t check it again until you’re gone.”

Unless he did look. Unless he looked specifically at you. Out of all the people. All the tables. All the parents and staff and regulars.

“His son finishes swimming before your friend. He doesn’t leave. Doesn’t talk to anyone else. Always finds something to do. Phone. Book. Pretending to read the sign about pool shoes.”

He saw you. And he remembered.

Which means…

“Always leaves five minutes after you. Never before. Never with anyone else.”

He’s either been paying attention. Or this big, terrifying federal agent is actually just… a massive gossip.

You freeze, because he picks up the glass you poured.

It wasn’t meant for him. You didn’t even know what it was.

Aaron swirls it once.

Leans in. Smells it.

Then brings it to his lips-

And hums.

A low, pleased little sound that settles right between your legs lungs, ergo straight to your heart. Because you’re a professional. And you take the sommelier thing very seriously.

You’re just passionate about your craft.

Especially about praise.

You love being praised.

On the job.

For the wine.

“People give a lot of themselves away when they want someone,” he says softly, almost kind.

Then he licks his lips. Just to clean the red off.

But it’s slow. Thoughtless. (Only makes it worse for you, honestly.)

You’re magnetically locked onto that smart mouth, so it’s easy to catch the small smile he gives you before turning and walking away.

Still with that soggy pool bag slung over his shoulder.

Fuck.

The things you wouldn’t do to that man.

“Can I have what he just had?” the next woman in line asks, already stepping up.

Of course you can.

That’s the point of lines, isn’t it? You wait your turn, you get what you want, and you leave. No lingering. No swooning. No involuntary pelvic lurches.

Survival.

Even if the sommelier - oh, that’s you! What a coincidence - would swear to drink Pinot for an entire godforsaken month just for five more seconds with that huge, handsome, back in that goddamn navy shirt… and that mouth too.

You glance at the bottle in your hand.

What did you even pour?

Oh. Of course.

It’s that wine.

The one you only open on nights when you’re either crying or coming.

The one that tasted like a mistake the first time and like a need every time after.

Aglianico.

Black fruit. Smoke. Leather.

Earthy. Dense. A little savage around the edges.

Unapologetic.

Masculine.

Slow to open.

Demands patience.

Tastes better if you wait for it.

Like all the worst things.

And all the best ones.

What a coincidence, really.

Phi's Corner: requests for fleabag!reader x Hotch are (wide) open(ed)!

taglist: @beata1108 ; @c-losur3 ; @fangirlunknown ; @hayleym1234 ; @justyourusualash ; @khxna ; @kyrathekiller ; @littlemisskavities ; @lostinwonderland314 ; @mmmunson ; @mxblobby ; @oxforce ; @percysley ; @person-005 ; @prettybaby-reid ; @reidfile ; @royalestrellas ; @ssa-callahan ; @softestqueeen ; @theseerbetweenus ; @todorokishoe24

#fleabag!reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner imagine

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iamespecter · 8 months ago

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Screaming sobbing and crying the little circus AU is now my new favoritest thing in the world I need ALL INFORMATION about this. EVERY LITTLE DETAIL cus my brain is absolutely reeling with excitement over this

It's not a full-on AU yet, it's still stuck on the concept stage because there is not even a solidified story for it yet (although there's already some contenders that I'm brainstorming). Updates will come slow because I'm taking my time with this, and this is not even a very serious AU lmfao

Anyways here's how Pomni and Caine looks like for this crossover, trying to make them make sense in this kind of setting without getting rid of what made them who they are is... harder than initially thought

I also have a Gangle "design", but I'm VERY unhappy with how it is because it's leaning way too much into Little Nightmares monster designs and effectively erased Gangle's visual identity, which is not the point of this AU (the point is to successfully incorporate the TADC cast into the LN world with as little changes as possible, as well as amplify/twist their personalities to become their grotesque designs) so I'll have to remake her completely

I hope Zooble will be much easier to do than Gangle... ueueueueueueu..... It's always those two that are so hard to do designs of

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #little nightmares #tadc au #crossover fanart #crossover art #pomni #caine #gangle

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smallestapplin · 1 month ago

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Absolutely loved your megatron x reader story! Could I request a continuation? The reader is so sensitive from all of megatron's touch that when brainstorm and percy are helping to keep up, the reader can help but let out little whines and whimpers. Their poor array snapping open and their valve clenching pitifully!!

Aaa thank you! And thank you again for giving me a good idea to work with, I went a little feral.

Warnings : GN!Cybertronian reader, mild dubcon?(consent is not explicitly asked but everyone is into it and on board) overstim.

Mdni you will be blocked! Adults only!

Words : 1,313

Here is the link to the first post in question!

The two scientist can’t help but panic and for good reason! Their poor assistant sat near limp in one of the chairs closest to the door, completely out of it and transfluid leaking from their closed modesty paneling. It’s clear to anyone you were fragged stupid, but who they don’t know, but if your shaking frame and weak legs were anything to go by it was someone who didn’t mind roughing you up.

To Perceptor the mere idea nearly sends him into a rage, you are far too sweet to deserve such rough treatment! You should’ve been treated with gentle touches and adoring praise, not fragged like you were some Shareware! It gets him mad as he rushes first to tend to you, trying to ask you questions but you can only mutter that you were a good bot and obeyed an order.

It drives him up the wall.

Brainstorm is frozen in his place, his mind racing as you look so intoxicating, looking like a stunning mess in the chair you usually sat in when making your blueprints. Such a ‘professional’ setting tainted by your lewd display, he barely comes to when Perceptor is yelling at him to help tend to you.

Clean soft cloth touches your inner thigh, making the two tense as it makes you let out such a pitiful whimper. Your helm heavy, brain module cloudy as you try to fight your need and the near submissive mindset you were fragged into.

“Oh my.” Preceptor’s optics widen before swiftly turning his helm away from you, and quickly moving his servo away from your inner thigh he was cleaning as your modesty panel opens, allowing both he and Brainstorm to see your puffy valve and pressurized spike.

Brainstorm wasn’t as respectful, his optics wide but staring so hard, his own spike pressurizing behind his paneling at the mere sight of your clenching valve, biting his dermas to bite back the swears that want to leave him. You are a stunning sight, your optics unfocused but clear you’re trying so hard to come back down from whatever high you were previously given.

Your valve was already nice and used but your spike twitches and leaks with your pre-fluid, tempting him in with a siren’s call. How could he resist? Perceptor jumps, helm whipping back around to you as you cry out, your back strut arching perfectly and shaking while Brainstorm wraps his dermas around your spike, taking you down to the base, sucking messily as he moves back up to your tip, licking your throbbing spike clean.

Perceptor chokes on nothing, processors frying before he could even get words out.

“What are you doing, they are already too delicate for such treatment!” You need rest, you need to be cleaned up and placed in your habsuite for a recharge, not pleasured more!

Brainstorm pulls away from your tip, glossa licking more pre-fluid before he moves a servo to your spike, stroking it, optics on you watch you nearly flail with a loud cry.

“They’ll be fine, look at them!” The teal mech can already feel himself drooling as you weakly buck your hips, trying to match his speed and fuck his fist.

“Nothing to worry about, I’ll take good care of them. Look at how well they take what I give them!” He sounds far more excited than he should be in Perceptor’s opinion.

Your servos grip the seat under you with another sob falling from your dermas, making Brainstorm’s engine purr. Oh he can easily see why someone would be too rough fragging you, your noises and reactions are just too addicting! Though the teal bot groans once Perceptor speaks up again, he swears the red bot has a thing against fun.

“Would you knock it off, this is clearly a violation of so many rules and regulations!” He moves closer, gently cupping your face and cooing softly as you lean heavily into his kind touch.

Cloth in servo he cleans up around your face plate and helm, wiping away any coolant leaking from your heated form. Brainstorm rolls his optics, his servo on your spike slowing its pace. Both bots blink in shock as you whine, rolling your hips forward so pitifully.

“P..pleeease, need…need more…Ah!!” You squeal, body going stiff from Brainstorm slamming your spike back down his throat, choked moans vibrating around your twitching shaft.

Your servos shoot up clinging to Perceptor’s wrists desperate for something to hold onto, while Brainstorm holds nothing back sucking messily around your spike, moving his thumb to your node, rubbing it in slow circles, complete opposite of his needy and fast sucking on your shaft.

Your legs snap around his helm tightly, only making his yellow optics brighten with a filthy muffled moan crackling from his voice box. Perceptor feels lost, unsure what to do standing there holding your helm, but he does know you’re being far too loud, even this late into a lunar cycle someone is still up and could possibly hear you!

Your optics brighten as you grow closer to what is likely your fifth climax of the night, but your pretty sounds end up muffled as Perceptor finally touches you, slamming his dermas against yours and pushing his glossa into your open intake. Squirming, rutting your hips up in a weak attempt to fuck Brainstorm’s throat while clinging desperately to Perceptor, scratching the paint along his wrists.

Failing to hear both of their panelings retract or their own spikes pressurizing. Brainstorm couldn’t take it his spike was longing to have your valve milk him dry, yet his own valve felt so empty needing you inside it! He couldn’t wait as he moved a servo to his valve teasing his pulsing node before moving up to stroke the base of his spike. Slobber leaks down the teal bot’s chin, dripping onto the floor mixing with your pre-fluid, he swears he could offline now as the happiest mech.

Perceptor’s processors are fried, he feels so dirty so perverted but he can’t seem to stop himself, temptation too much for him to resist, you sounds so good, look so alluring, and your intake tastes even better than all those restless night where he dreamed of kissing you senseless. He grows envious Brainstorm got to your leaking spike first, oh how he longs to taste your transfluid.

It’s too much, your helm is spinning as the pleasure overwhelms you, your body shaking as you try to pull away from Perceptor to warn them, but he chases your dermas with a vicious need. His spike throbbing in his freed servo as you try to push him by the shoulders.

“Puh-Mm…mm—!!” Was the only warning you could give before your spike throbs spurting thick amounts of your transfluid down Brainstorm’s intake, which he greedily swallow not leaving a drop go to waste, aside from what’s gushing from your valve.

You fall limp, your fans working over time to cool you off. Twitching with the aftershocks the two finally pull away from your exhausted frame. A red mech filled with guilt but such need and a teal mech with no mercy.

A yelp escapes your sore throat as you are grabbed and hurriedly placed on one of the tables, the items on it being shoved to the side as your helm and legs hang off the edges. Brainstorm still between your legs, throbbing spike pressing against your used valve, while Perceptor stands before you, his own beautiful red spike with blue biolights in front of your drooling intake.

You aren’t leaving this place walking, or standing for that matter.

The only thing on their minds is making you theirs and staking a claim.

You’ll be their little conjunx, right? their shareware. Though, Brainstorm wouldn’t mind fighting for such a title if he gets your cute face and addicting valve for the rest of his life.

#smut #spicy #valveplug #transformers smut #transformers x reader smut #transformers x reader #transformers brainstorm x reader #transformers brainstorm x reader smut #transformers Perceptor x reader #transformers Perceptor x reader smut #transformers x cybertronian reader #mdni #mdni blog

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yoiisa · 21 days ago

Text

IT'S NOT WHAT I MEANT ⋆˙⟡ MICHAEL KAISER

"Tell me that you're still mine, Tell me that we'll be just fine, Even when I lose my mind, I need to say, Tell me that it's not my fault, Tell me that I'm all you want, Even when I break your heart." - "Afterglow" by Taylor Swift all characters aged up (20+)! Tags: arguments between you two, hurt and comfort Kaiser gets mean and crowds your space. He doesn't touch you, but still proceed with caution! Makeup sex!! CW for vaginal sex (reader is afab), unprotected intercourse (please wrap it before you tap it!), body worship, slight praise kink please proceed with caution ^3^! not proofread.

a/n: This is part of a little series I doing where I'm writing BLLK fics for each of my fav songs on all the T Swift albums. I already did Bachira's, which is linked. His song was off of Fearless. This song was off of Lover, so if you want a specific album next, let me know in the asks or comments.

I consider Lover and Reputation to be complimentary albums, so when I was brainstorming for this series, I knew that Kaiser and Isagi had to be paired for these two albums. Little spoiler ig for which album Isagi will be! Again, this is also a smutty fic, so proceed with caution! Now lessgo!

The sky is blue, grass is green, and Michael Kaiser can easily become the meanest person in the world. It's like a fact of life. Normally, he could keep it to cheeky remarks with you. Aside from teasing comments, he would only ever treat you as a princess- buying you whatever you wanted, littering your neck with kisses while you cook, and immediately scooping you into his arms whenever you complained that your feet were in pain. However, that doesn't mean anything when he's mad. When Kaiser got mad, all pretenses were gone.

"Oh come on!" he scoffs, plopping down on the couch. "You really think I'd go for something as low as some random chick at the bar?!"

"Michael, it's not about that!!" you shout. "It's about the fact that you didn't turn her down until I pointed something out!"

"What was I supposed to do?! Shove her off?"

"Tell her to leave you alone!"

He leans forward and narrows his eyes. "I told her to fuck off, if she-"

"You should've said it again!" you shout, tears beginning to burn into your eyes. You frantically blink them away, but a few manage to run down your face regardless. "You should've said it over and over and over-"

"Don't tell me you're actually crying over this! Are you that insecure?! Are you that big of a fucking baby?!" he laughs humorlessly and leans forward on his knees.

Your heart squeezes and you shake your head as more tears run down your cheeks. "Stop. Stop it right now."

Kaiser stands and paces near the couch for a little bit, laughing incredulously at your behavior. "Of course. Of course. What should I expect but you fucking crying over this bullshit? Of course you're standing there, whimpering like a fucking bitch who has no sense of self whatsoever! Of course you always assume the worst of my behavior! I told you in the car that I told her to leave me alone! I just repeated it five seconds ago and you still-! Ahhh!" he throws his hands up in frustration and lets a coarse shout carve its way from his throat. "Du kannst mich mal!

"Michael-"

"Did you not stop for a moment and think that I was also uncomfortable?! Did you not consider-" he's so angry.

The girl had been ugly as all hell, but also very clearly drunk out of her mind. Perhaps being around you had softened him some though, because no matter what, he couldn't find it in himself to get overtly aggressive with her. He made comments ranging from passive aggressive to downright direct, all sharing the same consensus of "Get lost, you fucking weirdo," but she was drunk. She couldn't take a hint! It wasn't his fault! And here you were, acting like it was!

He couldn't breathe. He was seeing red.

"MICHAEL!" your voice is high and shrill. It wavers as fear overloads your body and you start to sob.

That's when he realizes it. He's left the couch completely and has you crowded back against the kitchen counters. The edge of the island digs into your lower back, and your eyes are wide with fear and now freely letting tears fall. He's in your face, his breath ghosting against your cheeks, and his hands are caging you so you have nowhere to run.

Instead, your legs fully give out. Your knees buckle and you drop to the ground, trembling. You kneel on the floor in front of him with your head bowed low and tears falling onto the marble tiles of the kitchen. Kaiser stares down at you, his chest growing tight as he takes desperate breaths, trying to calm himself down.

I didn't touch them, he thinks frantically. I just yelled at them, but I didn't touch them. I would never touch them like that, I would-

. . . I made them scared of me.

On the field, he was Kaiser. he had to be formidable. He had to be scary and intimidating and powerful, but here? With you? The idea of you being scared of him was too much to bear. He wanted to drop to his knees as well and beg for your mercy. Sob and plead for your forgiveness. If you asked, he'd march right back to the bar and kill that woman. It'd make you happy right?

But no. He's staring at your trembling stature right now, and there was no way for him to fix this. Michael would be lucky if you even stayed in the apartment tonight, or stayed with him in this relationship, period.

"Liebe . . ." It's an unconscious thing, his whispered word. It's so involuntary in fact, that he staggers back from you once he realizes that he spoke at all. He chokes out a wretched sound before cupping his hand over his mouth.

I didn't touch them, I didn't hurt them-

No. I did.

"I need air," his voice is hoarse and deep. "I need . . . I'll be back. I . . ." he can't manage an end to that sentence. He hurries off, quickly grabbing his coat and keys before leaving the apartment entirely, leaving you curled in on yourself on the floor.

--------------------------------------

It's really late once you've finally finished getting ready for bed. Kaiser still hasn't come home. You're wiping down your bathroom sink as you reflect on the events of the day. You look up into the mirror as you put the sponge back behind the spout and take in your wrecked appearance. Your hair is a little frizzy and dull, your cheeks glow red from crying, and you’re dressed in sleeping shorts and one of Kaiser’s old shirts.

Had you really been too pushy? Perhaps, but . . . but Michael was your boyfriend! He had a responsibility on his end of the relationship to uphold. He had to be faithful!

Had you just been too jealous to realize he'd been trying to get rid of the girl? Now that you're thinking back to the evening, he did seem really annoyed by her presence.

I wish I could say sorry, you think, before fresh tears roll down your face and into the basin of the sink. Your shoulders shake and you let out a few tiny hiccups as the sobs wrack your frame one and a time. Where is he? I'll call him and ask when he's coming home.

You wipe your face on the back of your hand and spin to leave the bathroom. As you open the door to the bathroom, you run right into a chest. You yelp in surprise as a pair of familiar hands take your arms by your elbow.

You look up and come face to face with a red-eyed Kaiser. His face is dry, but his nose is red too.

"Micha?" you whisper, and you see a light spark in his eyes. "W-were you drinking?"

He chuckles deeply and shakes his head vehemently. "No. No . . ."

"Your eyes . . ."

He leans down and you lean up a little bit. Your foreheads press together, as his left hand drifts up your bicep and the other drops to the dip in your waist.

"Micha," you mutter as your hands come up to his face. You cup his cheeks and brush your thumbs along his skin.

"Yes liebe?"

A tear runs down your face again as you kiss him deeply. His left hand cups the back of your head while the right hand draws you flush against him.

With your eyes closed, you can't see what he's doing, but Kaiser starts moving the two of you around. You pull apart when he lays you down on the plush covers of your bed. You scoot up into the middle of the mattress as Kaiser drops his jacket onto the floor and practically rips his shirt up and over his head. He lowers himself over you and nibbles at your neck

"I'm sorry," he breathes against the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You shiver and he presses a kiss against your skin. "I . . . I didn't mean to scare you like that. You know I'd never hurt you right?"

You nod, only half listening to whatever he's saying. You just want him to keep touching you, which thankfully he is. His large hands are pushing the hem of your shirt up your body, revealing your stomach and underboob. You sit up and he slowly takes the rest of the shirt off your body, leaving the two of you topless.

You take initiative now, wrapping your arms around his neck and bringing him down for a kiss.

"Mmmph- Y/N," he gasps.

"Shhh," you coo before diving in for another kiss.

Kaiser pulls back from your mouth and shakes his head. "Mein herz, we need to talk-"

"We will," you say firmly cutting him off, "but right now . . . right now I just. I need to know you're mine."

"I am," he says firmly. "I am always yours. Meine leibe, mein schatz, und meines lebens."

Your mouths connect again, moving in perfect unison. He sucks your tongue and you moan softly. You spend the next few minutes making out with one another, your hands caressing his back and his kneading your breasts.

You keen into his mouth, the sound chasing his lips as he finally pulls back. Both of you are magnificently flushed now and you can't help but giggle softly.

"What?" he asks, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger as he narrows his brows in confusion.

Your eyes flick from the rosy pink coating his pale skin, the bleached white-blond of his hair, and the blue ends. "You look like cotton candy right now."

He's silent for a moment, before the corner of his mouth twitches up. "Really?" he asks.

"Mmmm," you hum and peck his lips. "And you taste like it too. You're so sweet."

He kisses you back and murmurs into your mouth, "You're sweeter."

In a flurry of kisses and roaming hands, you're left in nothing but your panties and he is completely naked. His belt, jeans, and boxers lie scattered around the room, and your sleeping shorts are at the foot of the bed.

You’re straddling his lap, and Kaiser reaches around and gropes your ass, palming the flesh. You trace a line of kisses up his neck, tracing the rose tattoo with your tongue, before continuing your path along his jaw. When he pulls your hips forward to grind his aching cock against your clothed slit, you bite nibble his earlobe and whimper.

"I feel you," he groans, "through these pretty panties. You're already so wet."

He reaches a finger past the waistband, but before he can touch, you take his wrist and pull back. Staring into his sea blue eyes, you say, "I don't want foreplay, just . . ."

"Just what?"

God, he has to tease, even now? "Just put . . . your cock in. I just wanna feel it."

Kaiser wastes no time. He practically drops you onto the bed and hooks his fingers in your waistband of your underwear.

"Lift your hips for me, love," he whispers, and when you comply he drags them down your legs and tosses them behind his back.

He crawls up your body once more, before finally positioning the head of his cock at your entrance. When the tip initially stretched the ring of your opening, you bite your lip and whimper.

"Shhh, meine leibe," he whispers in your ear, before moving his hips forward more and finally sinking into your sweet pussy. "You've taken it before, just relax."

"I know," you sigh. You take a few deep breathes, trying to relax and open up more for him. " 'ts deep. . ."

"I know schatz, I know," he kisses your temple, then your cheek, then finally suckling your nipple.

You gasp and arch your back, the sudden wetness on your chest taking you by surprise. You arch your back and you finally become loose enough to fully take his cock deep within your body. When he bottoms out, he unlatches from your chest and groans into your ear.

"Wet- ugh. So wet and tight for me," he kisses your nose and you giggle.

"Give me a moment, I'll tell you when to move."

He nods and after a minute or so, you give him the go ahead.

You and Kaiser are no stranger to having sex, and have had a variety to boot. It's more common for him to rail you following a rough game or practice as a form of stress relief. He'll press you into the pillows and you drool as he pounds you from behind. That being said, he's just as good at this slow rhythym.

He takes slow, long strokes, pulling out almost entirely before thrusting deep into your cunt again. The tip of his cock kisses your sweet spot, and you can't stop the string of moans that spill from your mouth.

"Micha!" you gasp.

"Take it, my darling. You always take me so well, c'mon . . . c'mon," he growls in your ear. "I- ugh."

"I love you, ah~" you whimper, your back arching slightly. "Micha . . ."

He chuckles, and it morphs into another guttural sound as he quickens his pace ever so slightly. "It's so good meine leibe, mein schatz . . ."

"I love it, I love having you like this," you bury your face into the crook of his neck. "I don't wanna lose it."

"You wont," his voice is low and firm, his thrusts becoming more shallow and quicker yet. "I'll never let you go, you hear me Y/N? There's- ahh, ahh, there's no one else I want beneath me like this, taking my cock like such a good girl, my good girl."

"Micha, I think," you take his hand and guide it to the bulge in your lower tummy. He presses gently on it, and you keen. "I feel it, I'm going to cum soon."

"Yes," he groans, maintaining his newfound desperate pace. "Yes, Y/N, yes-"

"I'm cumming!" you cry out.

Kaiser groans and relishes in the sensation of your fluids soaking his shaft. With a few more quick pumps, he finally settles himself into your pussy with his own release. He silences his gasps of pleasure by biting down on your shoulder. His body shudders as his hips involuntarily continue to thrust into your heat, draining himself for all he's worth inside of you.

The rest of the night is a quiet affair, with another two rounds, and then aftercare. Kaiser massages the insides of your thighs after having wipes the skin clean. He brings you water and a small cookie, before you finally pass out on the sheets he's frankly too lazy to change right now. Still, he grabs a clean blanket from the living room and drapes that over you instead of the cum-stained ones beneath the two of you.

He quickly takes a shower before returning and nuzzling into beneath your chin, placing a quick kiss to the hollow of your throat before finally falling asleep.

--------------------------------------

The sun is floating through the curtains when he finally rouses from his sleep. Kaiser internally grumbles. Should've closed those before I went to bed.

He's no longer tucked into your body, but instead, your sitting up already, with your back against the headboard, another pajama shirt covering your torso and damp hair.

Kaiser pushes himself up and scoots closer to you, nuzzling into the bite mark he left the night before.

"I'm sorry for yelling at you," he murmurs against your skin. "I . . . I took things too far." When you remain silent, he asks, "You didn't think I was going to hurt you, did you?"

You smile and shake your head. You turn to face him, and he cups your cheeks in his hand, shifting into a more comfortable position.

"No, I known you wouldn't," you sigh, leaning into his touch, "but I was still scared when you got really close like that. I don't think I've ever seen you angry like that up close."

He sighs and shakes his head. "I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"You have nothing to apologize for," he says firmly.

"I still feel guilty, a little bit," you say. "I . . . I feel like I made it into a big deal, bigger than it needed to be anyways."

You roll your shoulders a bit and then shrug. "Then again, if it'd been me in your position, you might've actually killed the guy, so I don't know."

Kaiser blinks, trying to decipher if there was any humor in your words. When he finds a little, his smirk tugs at his mouth. "Maybe, but that's besides the point. I just want you to know . . . I'm sorry."

You stare into his eyes, the earnestness etched into his irises like that's where it's always been. Maybe it has with you though. He doesn't mess around when it comes to you after all.

"I forgive you, mein leiber," you whisper, nuzzling your nose with his.

a/n: WOOO WEEE SHE WAS A LONG ONE! Congrats on making it to the end and thank you for reading his beast of a fic.

Additionally, if y'all caught the reference to one of my fav book series in here, love ya for that!

Anyways, that's it for me! See ya ˙𐃷˙ !

#bllk x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk #blue lock #michael kaiser #kaiser x reader #kaiser x you #kaiser smut #bllk smut #blue lock smut #michael kaiser smut #michael kaiser x reader

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futuremrscameron · 6 months ago

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Parents Rafe and Bahamas reader, please! 😭

a/n: i ended chronicling their journey through/post pregnancy i hope you mind

bahamian!reader and rafe as parents🧑‍🧑‍🧒🧑‍🧑‍🧒‍🧒

first trimester (1-3 months)

bahamian!reader and rafe do not use condoms, just lube, prep, and vibes so it wasn’t a huge surprise when they saw those two pink lines

it’s hard to say who was more excited, he’s always wanted a family of his own and she loves kids and rafe so that’s literally her dream come true

rafe is worried he’ll be just like his dad or he’ll screw up and no matter how many times bahamian!reader reassures him he can’t shake the feeling that it’s inevitable

bahamian!reader and rafe having arguments over baby names. he thinks he should choose the name if it’s a boy and she should choose if it’s a girl. she tells him to shove it which leads to more arguing. they eventually decide to brainstorm together and pick a name they both agree on

bahamian!reader's morning sickness comes in waves, she'll be fine for three to five says and suddenly she's vomiting for days on end. during these times rafe stays home and watches over her, cooking, rubbing her back as she spews acid, tying her hair back/up, and running a washcloth under the water before placing it on her head

the first person that finds out is wheezie. they didn’t tell her, she was eavesdropping overheard them talking about the baby. she was every excited to be an aunt and asked if the baby has kicked yet. rafe calls her an idiot and bahamian!reader slaps his shaved head

bahamian!reader’s siblings are the next to find out. she calls her siblings over zoom to give them the big news and their reactions range from shocked, confused, and excited. the call turns into two hours of parenting advice that she did eyes because she basically raise them all, making plans for a baby shower, and trying to book tickets to obx

bahamian!reader and rafe buy all the parenting beginner books they can get their hands on. they wanna be ready for anything even though they know that’s impossible they’re excited but scared they don’t wanna fuck the kid up

rafe wants to know the gender but she doesn’t care which causes another argument that ends in them sitting down and having a mini therapy session

rafe tells bahamian!reader he wants a son to undo what his father did to him and to be a better father than he was. she assures him that won’t happen and that he’s a different man

rafe takes so many notes during doctor visits and side eyes the doctors every time they touch her stomach or she winced at the cold jelly

bahamian!reader and rafe cried when they saw their baby on the sonogram. rafe took a picture and sent it to the gc named ‘operation boss baby/storks’ by bahamian!reader

topper and kelce are the next people to find out because rafe is very proud of himself and his hard work like they weren’t fucking raw. they’re shocked but excited to be uncles and congratulate him and bahamian!reader. they argue over who’s going to be the godfather. rafe likes watching them fight so he doesn’t immediately tell them it’ll be probably be both of them and bahamian!reader’s brothers

sarah finds out after bumping into bahamian!reader at a flea market and sees her bargaining with the vendor for a box of fruits and veggies. she talks about needing to eat healthy while subconsciously rubbing her belly and sarah puts two and two together. she asks sooooo many questions, how long have the known, who was the first person they told, how could wheezie keep this from her, have they been to a doctor, how far along is she, do they know the gender?

bahamian!reader shows sarah the sonogram and she sobs because it’s so tiny and she can’t believe that’s her niece? nephew? she doesn’t care she loves it already

bahamian!reader tells rafe that sarah knows but before he can spiral she tells him they need to figure their shit out before the baby comes cause she wants all its aunts to be part of their life. when he calms down she tells him that sarah’s been added to the group chat

bahamian!reader's stops at barry's to make sure he hasn't been selling to rafe and vomits in his toilet while trying to intimidate him. he immediately knows she's pregnant and makes her some tea that helped his sister when she was pregnant. rafe sees her location and freaks out expecting the worst but when he kicks in the door he sees the two eating ice cream and watching old telenovelas

bahamian!reader makes him apologize and promise to replace barry's door

bahamian!reader and rafe agree that staying at tanneyhill is not optimal

rose is the last of the camerons to find out. she overheard wheezie talking to someone on the phone and thought it was sarah but it was actually bahamian!reader who was telling her about their recent doctor visit

bahamian!reader and rafe house hunting every night, determined to find a place for their growing family. the night they finally find the one that fits all their wants and needs is one for the history books

bahamian!reader who’s excited to be a mother but knows there’s a chance she might not survive the birth and writes a letter to rafe expressing her love form him and asking him to stay strong for their child and to keep a strong community around him and their child

second trimester (4-6 months)

bahamian!reader and rafe who move into their new house in the winter right when the second trimester starts

bahamian!reader's food cravings are bahamian delicacies which aren't common in obx so rafe calls her siblings so they can walk him through it. she cries when he makes her conch fritters because they taste exactly the ones from the street vendor by her school

bahamian!reader and rafe start to discuss birthing options which surprises rafe because he thought they were just going to the mainland, he'd been researching all the best hospitals, researching their doctors, and scrolling through reviews.

bahamian!reader wants a home birth and like rafe, already has a plan and has done her research

bahamian!reader who talks to rafe about the possibility of her dying during childbirth and has to explain to him that the mortality rate for black women is high so they have to prepare for the worst possible scenario. he understands but he doesn't wanna think about it and doubles down on their need to give birth in a hospital

bahamian!reader who is excited to be a mother but knows there’s a chance she might not survive the birth and writes a letter to rafe expressing her love for him and asking him to stay strong for their child and to keep a strong community around him and their child. she also writes twenty three letters for her unborn child for every birthday so she can give her advice for most of her life

rafe finally agrees to a homebirth after finding the letters after bahamian!reader fell asleep at his desk while writing letter twenty four. bahamian!reader already has a doula in mind, the woman that helped birth most of her siblings, rafe thinks she's too old to still be in her prime and bahamian!reader says he'll eat his words when he sees her work

bahamian!reader and rafe hire a team of midwives from the mainland to help with the birth and buy a ticket to obx for the doula in the bahamas

rafe hasn't touched coke in almost a year and plans on staying clean for his family. he takes up social drinking which bahamian!reader can already see becoming a problem

bahamian!reader and rafe miss partying sometimes but nothing beats staying home and getting a belly massage while watching reality tv. rafe massages her belly with oils recommended by doctors (and kiara) to help with stomach cramps

they feel the baby kick during one of these late night routines and they both freeze. they look at each other, communicating everything with their eyes, waiting for it to happen again and praying it wasn't a fluke. when it happens again they laugh, cry, and kiss

the pogues of course end up finding out one by one. john b’s first cause he saw sarah buying diapers and thought she was pregnant and sarah had to tell him she wasn’t and that bahamian!reader was the pregnant one. kiara sells bahamian!reader some oils that are often used by pregnant women, jj sees her baby bump while she's at the country club, and pope automatically knows shes pregnant when he sees her house a double burger supreme at the wreck.

rafe is at the country club with kelce and offhandedly mentions a baby shower which kelce takes rafe wanting one. he enlists the help of sarah to throw this baby shower and they go all out

bahamian!reader and rafe find elaborate gender reveals lame so they just go back to the doctor's to figure out the sex

it's a girl! rafe is nervous but happy and bahamian reader is excited. they also find out the due date, bahmian!reader is so glad that their baby's gonna be a summer baby

rafe knows kelce and sarah are planning the baby shower but they refuse to let him in on any of their plans outside of asking him vague questions about due dates and

bahamian!reader who spends time with wheezie when rafe is out with barry doing "business". they get along great, wheezie reminds bahamian!reader of her little sister and bahamian!reader reminds wheezie of sarah

rafe really wants to legitimize his business and break away from his father's shadow but it's easier said than done

bahamian!reader occasionally hangs out with barry when he comes over to discuss business and they just chop it up. rafe is only slightly jealous but he's happy they get along

bahamian!reader and rafe who can't wait to meet their baby girl

third trimester (7-9 months)

rafe gets super protective around this time and bahamian!reader's weakening state does nothing to ease his worries

the doula and midwives land in obx and immediately get to work, putting bahamian!reader on bedrest, setting up shop around their house, and prepping the birthing room

bahamian!reader's boobs are sore more often than not these days. rafe feels so bad because on one hand his baby is in pain but on the other hand mommy milkers

rafe definitely has questionable thoughts about her being a mother like it's doing crazy things to his brain he really hasn't thought of it til now and he can't stop

bahamian!reader and rafe come down to two names but refuse to tell when anyone asks because they don’t want to “ruin the surprise”

kelce and sarah are running the baby shower organizing party like the goddamn navy. they sit the parents to be down and show them the baby shower invitations and try to choose a theme but bahamian!reader is too busy watching rafe make johnny cake and how good he looks shirtless

bahamian!reader gets very homesick the closer her due date gets. she's worried that their daughter will never get to see her home and her family

rafe notices she's feeling down and puts two and two together when she cries into her plate of fried plantains

bahamian!reader and rafe come back home from a spa day booked by kelce and sarah to their house covered in decorations and their closest friends screaming 'surprise'. they knew.

rafe tells bahamian!reader he's got a surprise for her and tells her to answer the door when someone knocks. she opens the door and sees her siblings which causes a ten-minute reunion hug and cry

bahamian!reader kisses rafe all over his face until all of her lipgloss is on him and gets really emotional about him doing this for her and is overcome with love and affection she feels like she's gonna burst

wheezie is a welcomed surprise and rafe wants to ask how she got past rose before seeing her not to far from them. wheezie tells him not to let that stop them from having a great time and to remember this day is about them

kelce and sarah are very proud of their hard work and can be found talking to their guests about how hard it was to put all this together but how they wouldn't trade it for the world

bahamian!reader is the guest of honor so of course she gets a crown, a throne, a scepter and a beaded necklace, she feels like the queen of carnival

bahamian!reader catches up with her siblings, asks them about school, work, romances, old friends, how home is and they ask her what it's like living in a mansion

rafe does not like being away from bahamian!reader for long periods of time so he tries to stay close by as he's bombarded with questions about fatherhood and his relationship from kooks and pogues alike

bahamian!reader squeals when she sees barry and runs to hug him. she's glad that he can still spin her around despite her recent weight gain. he apologizes but she brushes him off, tells him everyone else is just early

rafe tells his drug dealer turned ally and business partner that he's late but barry tells him he's operating on "the white man's" time

the party ends with the "reveal", bahamian!reader hits a piñata and pink candy falls out. her siblings and friends wish them congratulations but bahamian!reader is too tired to continue the festivities so rafe being the good man he is kicks everyone out

bahmian!reader convinces her siblings to stay in obx until she gives birth but can't convince them to stay in the house even after going back and forth about how they wouldn't be burdening them at all

rafe and bahamian!reader spend the rest of the next day opening up the rest of the presents

birth/early year

bahamian!reader wants to go to the beach but not just any beach, one in the bahamas. flying is not an option at this point so rafe promises to take her and the baby to the bahamas when they’re ready

rafe is planning the hell out of the labor from what time contractions are gonna start to charging every device that has a camera so they can remember it

bahamian!reader goes into labor a week early and rafe freaks the fuck out while she's calm as a cucumber. he's worried what this could mean no matter how much the midwives assure him that she's fine and that it's perfectly normal especially considering her family history

bahamian!reader is walking around to help with the pain with rafe following closely behind her. she jokes about going up the stairs and his face going pale is equally hilarious and adorable

bahamian!reader falls to her knees after an excruciatingly painful contraction. rafe is panicking and decides that's enough walking around, lifts her up bridal style, and takes her back to the birthing room

the pool is ready and the midwives tell rafe to put her inside but she grabs his arm with a crushing grip, meets his eyes, and tells him to get her siblings. he reassures her he'll call them but she tells him to go pick them up and while he doesn't wanna argue with her especially at a time like this he doesn't wanna leave her alone and he's certain they'll answer and be on their way before they even hang up but she doesn't wanna risk it and now she's crying so he'll do it

he's pretty sure he's breaking every speeding law and passed many red lights but he can afford it. he doesn't even get to finish telling them she's in labor they're already in the car. he breaks some more laws on his way back but it's worth it because he gets to hold his girl's hand and tell her she's doing great as she pushes

bahamian!reader is happy to be surrounded by family at a time like this although she does threaten rafe with the camera while also telling him to get her good side

she's in labor for fifteen hours and rafe never leaves her side once. he needs coffee? the adults send one of the children to get them some (rafe's not sure about it at first but bahamian!reader's younger brother assures him that they've all been drinking and making coffee since they were five)

at the fifteenth hour, bahamian!reader brings her sisters in close and tells them to always wear condoms as she pushes one last time and the baby's head appears. she cries happy tears and feels rafe kiss her sweaty forehead, the doula and midwives tell her to push five more times

bahamian!reader and rafe cry tears of joy and disbelief at the sight of their little girl. she's taken out of the water by a midlife and cleaned up before being passed to her mother and father

rafe cries when he holds her. he can't believe something so tiny and soft and pure is half of him. he's overwhelmed with so much love and affection already he knows he'll do anything for her, for both of them. he promises her he'll be better than his father

bahamian!reader rests for two hours after delivery giving rafe and her siblings ample time to get to know the baby. her youngest siblings were made to wait outside during the delivery finally get to see their niece and the youngest, lil john, is happy he's no longer the baby (he's still a baby just not thee baby)

everyone wants to know her name but rafe refuses to tell them until bahamian!reader is up

bahamian!reader wakes up to rafe at her side with their baby and feels her heart squeeze at the sight of them. he tells her how proud he is of her and thanks her for giving him this bundle of joy which of course makes her cry

their intimate moment is interrupted by wheezie bursting in and asking where the baby is. rose apologizes for her and is followed by all of bahamian!reader's siblings screaming about "a white lady and her baby"

everyone's happy to see that bahamian!reader's up and alive but they all know the real star is the baby

rafe is very warry of anyone else holding her but when he side eyes bahamian!reader's siblings and wheezie she tells him to knock it off

wheezie wants to hold her but is scared of hurting her. bahamian!reader reassures her that it's not hard and she'll be fine. the baby is the spitting image of rafe but like if rafe was biracial

"what's her name?"

rafe and bahamian!reader smile at each other

“wheezie, meet louise.” she sobs.

she's very honored that they named her after her but worries that she'll be bullied in school for having an "old lady name". bahamian!reader cracks up rafe does not find this funny and takes his baby back

after everyone's gotten a chance to hold and look at the baby rafe kicks them all out because "his girl needs rest"

bahamian!reader says she's not tired but rafe doesn't believe it, he lets her have that lie though and tells her it's just so they can spend time with the baby themselves

bahamian!reader and her siblings say goodbye for what feels like two hours but is shockingly only one. rafe has to remind them that they'll see each other again tomorrow because their hotel is max thirty minutes away

sarah comes to visit and comes with a truckload of gifts and is automatically cooing over the newborn. she's talking about wanting to pinch her little cheeks and eat her up when rafe decides to take his baby back. she pouts and says she was just joking but he's not taking any chances

bahamian!reader was worried that louise wouldn't latch but she was proven wrong when she fed her the first time and she latched on immediately. it was more of a struggle to get her to let go

bahamian!reader is worried about the baby weight and what rafe will think and turns to her sisters for advice which was the wrong idea because they tell her to leave him if he says anything and that they'll take care of him

unsurprisingly, rafe has no problem with the change in her figure and says "onlys cucks and virgins have an issue with that". he's very into it actually, constantly grabbing her stomach and thighs and kissing up and down her neck. constantly being told "don't start something you can't finish bey"

bahamian!reader has a tearful goodbye with her siblings after the first month, she's scared that they won't be able to do it without their help but knows they have lives to return to. they promise her that she'll do great and that they'll see her when she visits

the first couple of doctor visits are easier than either thought until the vaccinations. rafe wants to wring the neck of the doctor giving louise her shots and making her cry. bahamian!reader has to remind him that it's temporary and her health

louise is a daddy's girl to her core thanks to rafe spoiling her rotten. when she's not with her mama she's definitely with her daddy, in his arms, behind his back, on his hip, in a stroller, a carrier, or in a pouch

her first social outing post birth is at the country club with rafe. kelce and topper see her and automatically start gushing about how cute she is. kelce talks in a baby voice and topper plays peek-a-boo with her, rafe would mock them if it was anyone else's brat but he knows his daughter is the cutest girl in the world so he understands

topper says she looks exactly like him down to his cold stare and kelce jokes that she's thankfully got her mother's melanin

first time barry sees baby louise is when he makes a surprise visit. he finds rafe on his balcony and is shocked when he turns around and has a baby strapped to his chest

louise loves barry. she's immediately intrigued by him, reaching for him from her pouch surprising rafe and bahamian!reader when she walks in on louise giggling as she pushes her tiny fingers into the dealer's mouth and pulls at his nose

barry says she's lucky she's cute and jokes that she got all her looks from bahamian!reader. rafe says he's lucky he's holding his baby or he'd knock his lights out

rafe and bahamian!reader go all out for her first christmas even though they know she probably won't remember any of it. winter photoshoots, pictures with mall santas, big family dinners, and loads of gifts. rafe promises her that when she's old enough to remember christmas he'll take her somewhere with snow for christmas

rafe gets bahamian!reader a snow globe of her bar in the bahamas and she gets him a new bike, both are left speechless by the accuracy of the gifts and the care that went into getting them they definitely fuck nasty after louise is asleep

bahamian!reader and rafe have no trouble with getting up in the middle of the night to look after a screaming baby because both their sleep schedules were kind of fucked beforehand

bahamian!reader wants louise baptized and while rafe is not against it he's surprised to hear that bahamian!reader is religious

"so what'd you think the cross necklace was for?"

"aesthetic reasons? i don't know."

"that brain of yours for 'aesthetic reasons'?"

they both agree that sarah should be the godmother only because they agree she's the most mature albeit not the oldest. rafe doesn't want wheezy to have all that pressure and power and bhamian!reader doesn't want the twins, two of her younger sister diana and donna, to fight over who gets to be godmother

bahmaian!reader's siblings watch the baptism through zoom but are still somehow the loudest there. sarah sobs at being named the godmother and while rafe looks disgusted at her snot and blubbering they both know he's happy she's there

louise says her first words a few weeks after the baptism. it's 'mama' which rafe says isn't fair because bahamian!reader has been "conditioning her to say it" they both know he's just jealous she said mama before daddy

he gets his lick back when she takes her first steps and wobble runs into his arms. bahamian!reader calls him a smug asshole and takes her baby from his arms

louise's first birthday is a grand occasion and this time they're all hands on deck. bahamian!reader flew out her siblings once again and they help with the party supplies, gifts, invites, and catering

rafe gets a little choked up during the planning cause he's never had a family like this, not since his mother. bahamian!reader and her siblings pinch his cheeks and cheer him up letting him know that he's family now

louise is dressed up in a big pink dress with a tiara to match because she is a princess. the three-layered cake is a castle and there's a bouncy house, she's having a ball

the girls of the family can't get enough of her from the twins, to fourteen year old mia and wheezie, and of course sarah. bahamian!reader find them moment too cute not to take a picture

bahamian!reader taking pictures of the birthday girl, the party, and all of the attendees, her favorite is the one where louise is messily feeding rafe cake

the baby is tired so rafe puts her down for a nap and stays by her side so bahamian!reader and keep talking to friends and family

bahamian!reader does not believe in the 'terrible twos' and even if she did that's something that happens to other peoples' kids not hers. rafe tells her he was a terror at two and she's like "oh i'm sure". if louise is ever extra bratty she blames it on rafe spoiling her and being her father which he knows is fair but does bring up that she is her mother. he sleeps on the couch that night.

bahamian!reader is so excited cause they can finally take their daughter to the motherland. they take the jet of course because it's the fastest and rafe has to hear 'are we there yet?' from a two year old and a twenty four year old

when they touch down in the bahamas they immediately book it to her childhood home where all her siblings still live and it's like she's been given a second wind. she's zooming everywhere from the beach to street vendors to her bar because she wants to show louise everything. rafe has to remind her that they're spending the summer so there's no need to squeeze everything into one day

bahamian!reader is very excited to take louise to the beach because there's nothing like it. she has to explain to rafe that obx's water is nothing like the bahamas

"bey you should know this, you seen it. ya stood in it!"

"wasn't really thinking about how beautiful the sea was at the time babe."

they of course brought a floatie for louise to sit in and get the full experience despite her pouting and telling them she could swim just fine

bahamian!reader pushes a strand of hair behind louise's ear as she speaks in a soft tone. "we know baby we just want you to be safe because the ocean can get really big. bigger than daddy sometimes."

louise's mouth is agape at the thought of something taller than her daddy. "woah. okay mama."

bahamian!reader's new bikini she bought just for the trip get a lot of attention from non-rafes. rafe comes over and kisses bahamian!reader silly in front of them like they're not there and passes louise to her before strutting off to get a beer. the message is loud and clear

louis is very sad when it's time to leave but they promise the beach is still gonna be there tomorrow. she immediately falls asleep in the ride back to the house

bahamian!reader's siblings offer to teach rafe how to play dominoes. she tries to save him but he tells her he can handle it, and in the beginning he does, he wins a round. the next few rounds are a massacre, he doesn't realize he's being swindled until the last round's over and he's lost five thousand dollars

bahamian!reader scolds her siblings for swindling him and rafe for not listening to her

bahamian!reader and rafe having date nights in the bahamas. she takes him out dancing one night which leads to a hot and heavy make out sesh in the alley. the next week they go skinny dipping and their last week in the bahamas they eat from several street vendors

you already know she's got him trained in taking photos like he has a master in cuntology and minored in photography

exhibit a

exhibit b

exhibit c

as the night comes to an end, they stop at a convenience store before heading home.

"you've never tried jarritos!?"

“is it really that hard to believe?"

"a little yeah. nah we're fixing that."

that's how he found himself being dragged through the aisles of a 24/7 convenience store. they stop in front of the horizontal fridges, she grins at the endless options. "well, here it is."

"here it is." he parrots back. she looks back at him and rolls her eyes but the smile tells him everything he needs to know. "what flavor you want?"

"you're the expert, what do you recommend?"

"mango."

"mango it is." he watches her open the fridge and grab two mango bottles. there's something about the flickering dying white light above them, the blue dim light in the freezer, the condensation on the mirror and the hum of the fridge. he's already pulling out his camera when she turns and smiles. click!

she grins, ""okay big man! mr. professional! i see you!" she closes the fridge and faces him, one hand on her hip "was it good?"

"with you? always."

she halfheartedly shoves him and walks past him. "thank you." she stops and looks back at him, "i just wanted good photos."

he shrugs and reaches her in three strides. he wraps one arm around her waist, "yeah but i wouldn't have done it without you."

she smiles, "maybe. maybe not. let's go, my baby's waiting for me." he chuckles as they walk up to the cashier, manned by an old skinny dark skinned man with an unbuttoned shirt and a hat. he's looking down at his phone watching what sounds like a soccer game when she clears her throat.

the old man looks up and does a double take. rafe knows that look well.

he turns off his phone and attempts to straighten himself up, "good evening ma'am. little late to be out by yourself no?"

she glares, "don't try it old man."

the man frowns but squints, "hol'on oh my lord gal i didn't recognize you? how you been?"

"i straight, where's your glasses wilson thomas?"

he shrugs, "ah you know those doctors just tryin' to make money." he swipes the drinks and puts them in bags. "last i heard ya moved to north carolina and had a baby? i said "no way" thought it was just sip sip."

she grins, "yeah, i'm a taken woman now." the man finally acknowledges rafe who gives him a cold menacing smile.

wilson maintains his chivalrous act but the couple sees right through him "oh that's good!"

she chuckles as she swipes her card, "uh huh. goodnight thomas." she grabs rafe's hand and leaves the store as wilson calls after them. "hey stop by any time ya hear! i always got a discount for ya!"

they stop a good distance away from the store, she pulls out both bottles, "sorry 'bout him."

"what's his deal?" rafe asks as he accepts the drink from her hand.

she takes a sip and shakes her head, "old perv."

"oh?"

she shrugs, "always got everything in that shack of his though." she says it like it's no big deal but he notices the way her hand balls into a fist.

he looks down at the drink in his hand and taps the cap before biting the bullet. "do you miss living here?"

she stops drinking and looks at him. she swallows, "what's this?"

he wants to find the right words so it takes him a little longer to reply. "you're- you seem... happier here? do- would you wanna stay here?" she looks out to the direction of the ocean and closes her eyes, taking in the smell and the sound.

"i miss it."

he feels like he's been sucker punched in the gut.

"but i love living with you. and yeah i miss my family but you're my family, you and louise. doesn't matter where we are."

how did he get so lucky? "i love you."

she smiles, "i love you."

bahamian!reader and louise are disappointed when they have to head back to outer banks but bahamian!reader promises to visit when they can and tells her siblings their home is always open to them. they apologize to rafe for swindling him but he tells them it's fine cause he did worse at their ages

louise cries until they're at the airport and she falls asleep and doesn't wake up until they're in the sky

louise may be a daddy's girl but she loves her mama. it only becomes a problem on the first day of pre-k

louise stomps her foot and cries, "i don't wanna go mama!"

bahamian!reader squats down to her level and wipes her tears, "oh i know baby but you wanna get smarter and bigger right."

she shrugs, pouting and refusing to look her in the eye. bahamian!reader feel her heart break, seeing her baby sad is one thing but knowing she's the cause of that pain is another.

"okay. no lies, it's hard. it's gonna be hard for me and your daddy to watch you go through the doors and it's gonna be hard for you to be without us for a while. but i promise you, we wouldn't be doing this if we didn't know it would help you. i can't promise you'll have fun but i promise you'll learn something and the hours will go by faster than you think?"

louise rubs at her eyes and her come to a stop, “really?"

"really. and before you know it me and daddy will be here to pick you up and give you a million kisses and biiiiig hugs." she lightly squeezes her to give her an example of the hugs.

louise giggles. "you're silly mama."

she smiles, "i know." she wipes her daughters tears and gives her one last hug. "i love you baby."

"i love you more mama."

"impossible." she smiles and kisses her forehead signaling for the homeroom teacher to take over.

she grabs louise's hand and tells her to wave bye to bahamian!reader, she does and bahamian!reader waves back as she watches the two disappear into the classroom.

louise is already the next kook princess, only three years old and she has everyone wrapped around her cute little finger

second pregnancy

about 3 years after louise bahamian!reader gets pregnant again. they ecstatic but are worried that louise won't be since she's used to getting all their attention. they both know what it's like to have all the love and spotlight on you and suddenly having to share it with another kid

louise is very happy to hear that she's gonna be a big sister and puts her ear against bahamian!reader's stomach trying to hear them. they tell her she won't be able to hear or feel them for a while

they both agree that the second pregnancy was easier because they know all the tricks and hacks and have made a plan A-Z for the birth. what they weren't prepared for were twins

rafe’s shocked when they find out there having twins but bahamian!reader isn’t. she forgot to tell him that twins run in her family

rafe is officially freaking the fuck out, he doesn't know how he can replicate what he did with louise with twins!

bahamian!reader is surprisingly calm for most of her pregnancy, seeing twins as a challenge that she can take on

louise helps keep her stress as low as she can; she cleans up her toys, helps set the table, and keeps bahamian!reader company when she goes on bedrest later in her pregnancy

rafe and bahamian!reader stick to online shopping for baby materials this time

bahamian!reader's cravings have involved from bahamian food to triple cheese totinos pizza and cans of cool whip

jj jokingly calls her huge one time and makes her cry and rafe would’ve beaten the shit out of him if he wasn’t held back by barry and bahamian!reader forgives him

bahamian!reader and rafe agree to make charles, her younger brother, and barry the twins' godfathers because they are the most qualified despite some of their shadier pasts

bahamian!reader wants to have the twins at a high class fancy mainland hospital because she doesn't risk either of the twins. they find a place that's the combination of a high end hotel and a medical facility/hospital and book their stay

it's not a surprise when they put bahamian!reader on bedrest and while she understands she is still pouty

"i'm not pouting." she pouts from what she's started calling "a fluffy prison".

rafe looks up from massaging her feet and chuckles. "looks like pouting. what do you think lou?"

louise nods and points accusingly, "stop pouting mama?"

"louise!?"

the labor is eighteen excruciating hours but it's all worth it when she sees her babies joel and alice, named after billy joel and rafe's mom. he cries when he hears her name and can't stop kissing her and baby alice as he thanks her for everything

the twins give them a run for their money, not literally of course they could afford the diapers but sleep-wise. when one is down the other is awake which sometimes leads to the other twin being woken up, this goes on for a while until they find a good strategy

louise is a great big sister, always playing with the twins and holding thier hands when they cross the street, cheering them up when they're sad, and sharing her toys

both parents can't believe their lives but they wouldn't trade it for the world

#asks <3 #°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･bahamian!reader°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･#rafe cameron x black reader #obx fic #bahamian!reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #outer banks fic #°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･bahamian reader°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･#rafe cameron x black oc #bahamian reader #rafe cameron x reader #outer banks #obx

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yet-another-heathen · 7 months ago

Note

I saw ur really informative post on conditioning and said with whumpers uts about using pain again and again

Any advice about caretakers deconditioning?

[ Referring to this post. ]

The first and most important thing is that the caretaker cannot decondition the whumpee. It's not possible. That progress is entirely internal, and requires a massive amount of introspection, self-motivation, and practice from the whumpee themself. No one else can do it for them.

But what the caretaker can do is be there for them while the whumpee fights toward their own recovery. They can be the stability that whumpee needs in order to work through these massive problems on their own.

Deconditioning is awful. It involves repeated failure, over and over and over, working toward lessening the response. And it is incredibly frustrating, painful, heartbreaking, and at times it feels completely hopeless.

Progress is so non-linear that they can spend months improving and then backslide nearly back to the beginning if they get caught off guard. At times it'll feel like they're stuck at the same point and can't get any further. Like a future where they will be free of it may simply not exist.

At many points, your whumpee is going to feel heartbroken. They're going to spiral into, "Why can't I do this? Why can't I make it stop?" and, "I thought I was past this." and, "Will I ever be able to undo what whumper made me?"

A good caretaker can be there to comfort them when things go wrong. They can hold them while they cry. They can listen to them when they go into a sobbing, breathless rant about how much this hurts. They can make sure that whumpee knows they have someone who doesn't think of them as broken or lesser because of what they've gone through.

Depending on if whumpee feels it would help, they might help them brainstorm a reward system. If there's a situation where they're around other people and the caretaker spots the trigger coming, they can try to redirect conversation away from it before it hits. Preferably without anyone realizing they're doing it for whumpee's sake. When whumpee has just been triggered and wants nothing more than to be alone, the caretaker can make sure their boundaries are respected. To make sure they have somewhere safe to go.

Even more importantly, they can also help by highlighting the moments of whumpee's progress. Pointing out their successes, no matter how small. Pointing out how far they've come. Reminding them that the ups and downs are supposed to happen. That trauma recovery is a rollercoaster, not a straight line.

As a whumpee in that state, it's very easy to feel like they're making no progress. That even when they succeed, the tiny bits of success are hollow, because 'they shouldn't be like this in the first place'. Have your caretaker help them see their own victories. Help them actually see the healing as it grows.

A realistically conditioned whumpee does not need someone to fix them. They need someone to be there for them while they save themselves.

---

This was such a good ask, thank you for sending it my way!

#ask Wick #conditioned whumpee #bbu whump #box boy universe #box boy whump #whump recovery #caretaker #pet whump #whump writing #writing advice #whump reference #writing reference #captive whumpee #rescued whumpee

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elysianstarfall · 12 days ago

Text

under the weather (phantom busters)

summary: you're not feeling too good... what does your boyfriend do about it?

characters: shishikuno mogari, korekishi eugene, kanzaki kaoru, tamon kotaro

a/n: unfortunately self-indulgent bc i am going through it rn bro 💔 for these hcs in my mind you guys are at his house or something idk

s. mogari

immediately worries that it's his fault

"you swear you're not mad at me? say on god."

once you rule that out he's wondering whose fault it is

cause like

why the fuck does his beautiful gf look so sad

who could have possibly done this??

if it's because of a person, he's planning the most elaborate scheme to ruin their life

if it's not, he calms down and tries to see if he can help

gives you one of those super tight hugs and doesn't let go until you're literally gasping for air

even after he does let go he still keeps his hands somewhere on you

physical touch final boss i tell you

holds your face in his hands or just holds your hands or just has his arm around your shoulder he dgaf as long as he's touching you somewhere

anyways it looks like he's not listening to you when you talk

like, at all

i swear he is

you can ask him something like "what did i just say" and he'll repeat it word for word

somehow

he's not one to think of solutions though, he'll just hear you out

basically just holds you and listens to everything you say

he's never been so quiet in his life

k. eugene

the bf ever

lets you get it all out, lets you cry on his shoulder or into his chest or do whatever you need to do

and then brainstorms things to do to make it better

he's so nice about it

asks if it's something you think would work or if you want a different solution

really wants to help you, but if you tell him to stop he will

like he'll drop it right away

gets you your favorite snacks and whatnot

delays doing his homework and stuff to comfort you because

his girl is sad what could be more important than that

if you're spiraling or you're seriously getting depressed he just distracts you

he's so smooth with it too!!

like a casual topic switch to what you had for breakfast or your favorite food or your favorite color or why your favorite color is your favorite color or...

what were you sad about again?

as i said he lets you do whatever you need

he has tissues ready obviously but if you feel like sobbing into his shirt, go for it

he's not gonna stop you

he'll just stroke your hair or trace things on your back until you feel better

and you do

k. kaoru

stares at you

huh????

yeah

you're like two seconds away from sobbing your eyes out and he's just staring

he's actually so sorry

he's had to comfort his sister a couple times but that doesn't mean he's good at it

his brain starts working again though dw

not a physical touch guy but he'll reach for your hand

and if you want a hug his arms are open

the type to listen quietly and only respond when you ask him stuff

ok that sounds kinda bad but he just wants to let you get everything off your chest

and he's very much paying attention

but if you ask him for help he has zero solutions to your problem

again he's so sorry

really wishes he could help you more but his coping mechanism was literally reading manga while crying in his room

puts on an anime or a movie to distract you

but if he can tell it's not working he'll turn it off and just cuddle with you

yeah he's "not a physical touch guy" but if it makes you feel better he'd do anything

you end up just falling asleep and when you wake up he's staring again

but this time he's smiling a bit

t. kotaro

while he's trying to cheer you up, he just gets sad for you

like how is he supposed to be happy when the love of his life is going through something???

how dare he???

^ probably his thought process

so now you're both sad

great...

listens to you really closely

makes small noises so you know he's locked in

like "mhm" or "really?"

knows exactly what to say to make you feel better

are we kidding he literally helps ghosts pass on by talking to them

it's lowkey a free therapy session

promises you it'll all be ok

doesn't matter how dire the situation is, he hates seeing you worry about it so much

if you don't feel like sharing he just puts his headphones over your ears and puts on your shared playlist for you to listen to

or!!

if you ask him to really nicely he'll sing for you

he'll only do it super quietly though, he's too shy

won't initiate too much physical contact, might hold your hand or wipe your tears

just tries his best to be there for you

#korekishi has to be nerfed why is he so perfect #phantom busters #phantom busters x reader #shishikuno mogari #mogari shishikuno #korekishi eugene #kanzaki kaoru #tamon kotaro

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yayasvalveplay · 2 months ago

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Oh my god

Brainstorm is a Jet. He has wings.

OH MY GOD WE CAN WORK WITH THAT.

Perceptor is going to do some experiments with him and all he needs is some rope and closed lab door.

Brainstorm ain't going anywhere until he is satisfied with the result. Expected result: jet lying on the floor, sobbing with pleasure, unable to get back on feet on his own due to shaking legs after overstimulation.

Oh my god i neeed more of the Dom! Perceptor.

Percy should be able to bite Brainstorms wings. Get him overloading he can't even stand up anymore.

Percy's got him pinned, right where he wants him.

#valveplug #simpatico

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ironunderstands · 10 months ago

Text

I’m gonna brainstorm some Ratio angst ideas for my next fic (feel free to steal them originality isn’t real anyways)

also like all of these are Aventio related

One of his students calls a hit on him for failing them and he’s bleeding out in an alleyway, I actually thought of this one w the help of one of my mutuals (I don’t remember ur tumblr @ aeon of ladies forgive me) I was thinking he passes out thinking he dies, unbeknownst to him Aven saves him, and he wakes up in a hospital unable to do anything for like a few weeks because I think one of Ratio’s biggest fears is being vulnerable, or even just being forced to take a break

@jailgarden suggested this in my inbox actually (I promise I’ll respond to it later properly pookie), but Ratio getting overstimulated and being unable to use his mask/hide like normal. Oh I love this one but I’ll get into it more later

He gets yelled at by a group of his students and just kinda breaks down and gets embarrassed and it like goes viral AUGHH THAT WOULD HURT

Ampherous related angst- like he got kicked out/sent away, he can’t ever talk about being from there, who knows, but I’m just praying we get lore of him there and it’s SAD

ooh what if he gets turned into one of his statues for a while

beat the shit out of him in general like I need Ratio on the floor crying sobbing bones broken losing it begging for help tweaking out please GODD HES SUCH A GOOD TARGET FOR THAT BC HE HIDES HIS FEELINGS SO MUCH UGHH

Aventurine goes to someone else in the Intellgencia guild for help and Ratio questions his worth for the next 3,000 words ooh

he fails at an important task or procedure or something when on a mission with Aventurine and even if it’s not that consequential in terms of their goals, the look of disappointment on the others face kills him

tfw you make a character who’s self worth heavily depends on being useful feel useless

Nous straight up says fuck off I don’t need you or like one of the GS members mocks him (probably Herta or an oc) or basically he gets his intellect demeaned and he can’t actually argue against it so he just kinda flounders (bring up Aiden maybe?)

just incapacitate him in general, Ratio cannot handle that

MIND CONTROLLL OOOHH BUT HES AWARE OF WHAT HES DOIJG GODDDD YESSSS AND WHAT IF OFHERS AROUND HIM ARENT AND THEY THINK ITS REAL OH I NEED FO WRITE THIS HOLD UPPPPP

Alright this is all my sleep deprived brain can cook up for now so enjoy! I’m probably gonna end up writing the first and last ones because yes.

#honkai star rail #hsr #dr ratio #Aventurine #aventio #writing prompt #dr ratio hsr #I loveee ratio angst yall don’t get it #I need this man MISERABLE #Then he can get kissed better but oh is it fun to watch him suffer

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nayomi247 · 1 year ago

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I cant believe like... no one in the fandom has done a post like this yet that I can find?? It seems like a staple, and Im sending it here cause your wonderful and need more requests mwuah (´ з `)

What do you think would be some of the Hazbin Crew's ideal s/o? Like, what would attract them/get their attention initially, what they would need in a longtime partner, that type of thing! I would LOVE if you did Lucifer, Alastor, and Vox (my BOYS *sobs*) but feel free to do anyone and everyone you want to!

Their Ideal S/O

A/N: Thank you for this lovely request mwah😙 Also I sprinkled in other hcs to that I thought of while writing this

Pairing: Lucifer/Reader, Alastor/Reader, & Vox/Reader

Work under the cut🤞🏻

I feel like this man would love a clingy lover. Please always hold his hand. Sit on his lap while he does his work. Cuddle him to sleep at night. He LOVES physical touch.

Lucifer:

He'd also want a person he can spoil. He wants you to know he cares. He shows this by gift giving; (another one of his love languages) anything in his power is yours for the asking, you just name it!

As for looks, he wouldn't really care about those. He loves you for who you are.... THOUGH, if you were tall, he'd like to be topped by you. Or if you were short, he would tease you for that and act all proud bc he's taller than someone.

The thing that initially attracted him though was your smile. He always adored it. Just seeing you laugh and be happy always made his heart flutter.

He wants someone who can take care of him. He's a very needy man and is almost like a toddler to some degree. Of course he could do this stuff himself, but it makes him feel better knowing that you're willing to do it for him.

If you're gonna be with him, you have to be nice to Charlie. That's non negotiable. He doesn't want to put you in a spot where you feel like you have to parent her, of course not. All he wants is for his 2 favorite people to get along.

He needs someone who's willing to commit to the relationship as much as he is. He's still a bit hurt from Lilith, and he's trusting you to not break his heart like she did. He would be crushed.

Alastor:

He isn't one to like physical touch very much. Maybe a peck on the cheek here, holding hands a bit there, but other than that he doesn't want to be touched. Don't get me wrong, he loves you a lot! But he's not really the.. touchy type.

I see him more as lover that would like words of affirmation or quality time. Just your presence alone is enough for him. Though if he's with a clingy partner, he'll probably get them a plushy or something of the sort to hug and cuddle when he's in his 'no touch mood'.

He'd like if if you could cook. You could help him prepare jambalaya and other dishes his mom showed him to make. It'd be a great bonding experience.

Like Lucifer, he doesn't care much for looks. As long as you're willing to commit to him as he does for you, then it doesn't matter to him what you look like.

To be completely honest, he doesn't know exactly why he loves you or even fell for you in the first place. But he does, and did. Who is he to question that?

Vox:

This man is also a big physical touch lover. He always has his hand on your thigh, holding your hand, or just touching any place he can.

Please let him spoil you. You'd always have the latest phone and other tech like that. If you want something, he'd be glad to give it to you.

He wants someone that's loyal to him and only him. If he sees anyone else trying to flirt with you (*cough cough* val) he'd go absolutely insane. You are his.

If you could cook, he'd always love to eat your meals, breakfast lunch and dinner. Would 100% brag to the other Vees when he has lunch.

He'd prefer it if you're good with tech. He wants to be able to brainstorm ideas with you and show off his latest inventions. Also it would make it 10x easier to clean his system if you were the one to do it.

He cares more about looks than the other 2, but it's not a deal breaker for him. He'd like it if you were good looking (You're beautiful no matter what though ofc) but it's not a need. Regardless, he'd still call you beautiful and his pretty thing

He fell for you because of your of your personality. The way you walk about and present yourself. You take bullshit from anyone, you know your worth. Much as he does. You're like him, you both understand each other. That's why he sought out your love.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm sorry if this exactly what you hoped it would be, I know I added a few random things but I hope you like it regardless :]

Once again thank you for the ask<3

{Taglist}

@wonderlandangelsposts

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ssa-dado · 7 months ago

Text

16 - Sapphire

Aaron Hotchner x fem!teacher!reader Genre: fluff, but mostly whump and angst Summary: Hotch loses a significant bet to you, which triggers a visit to your apartment, where he is joined by his family. While there, Hotch picks up on your relaxed demeanor and her strong connection with his son, Jack. However, he also notices the absence of her engagement ring, leading to a deep conversation about your true desires and the life you're building with your fiancé, Peter. Warnings: heartbreak, mentions of CM cases (2X12, 2X15, 2X23)... why it’s always whumptober in this blog and never kinktober? Kind of unfair Word Count: 10.5k Dado's Corner: I'm so sorry. Feel free to send hate in my inbox or in the comments, I truly deserve it this time. @c-losur3 sorry for turning one of our brainstorming sessions in such a nightmare.

masterlist

That was the very first time Hotch had ever lost a bet against you… and it wasn’t even close.

You had finished the paperwork with time to spare, working steadily even in your own home office, while he was left scrambling to catch up. Over the years, the two of you had built a history of small wagers and playful bets, and though they never held any real stakes, this one was different. This one mattered more than any before.

It wasn’t about solving a case, or testing each other with some trivial challenge to see who could push themselves further. This time, it was about something deeper. For Hotch, it was about holding on, about keeping you close in a way that felt necessary, almost vital. The fear of losing you again, of watching you slip out of his life like you had once before, still lingered.

And it was about the electricity between you - the undeniable chemistry, the way you seemed to spark off one another when you worked together. He missed that energy, that connection that felt so natural, like you were in perfect sync.

He needed to win.

But he hadn’t.

Now, as Jack’s cries filled the car on the way to your apartment, the weight of that loss settled on Aaron, heavier than he expected. His hands gripped the steering wheel a little tighter, his jaw clenched in frustration. Haley, sitting next to him in the passenger seat, glanced back at Jack, her brow furrowed in concern. Jack’s wails were louder now, and every minute that passed seemed to make them sharper, more strained.

“Aaron,” Haley began, her voice calm but firm, “maybe we should cancel. Jack’s been upset all evening, and I don’t want to overwhelm him, or her.”

Aaron shook his head, his gaze fixed on the road ahead. "No," he muttered, quieter than usual, almost as if he were trying to convince himself. "She insisted. She already has everything prepared, and I need to pick up those reports anyway."

Haley’s lips pressed into a thin line, unconvinced, but she let it go. She knew better than to push when Aaron was like this - focused, determined. "If you’re sure…" she murmured, though her eyes lingered on Jack, who was still squirming uncomfortably in his car seat, as the rest of the drive passed in tense silence, broken only by Jack’s occasional hiccuping sobs.

By the time they reached your apartment building, Jack’s cries had escalated to full-blown sobs. Haley cast him one last pleading look, her expression full of concern. “Aaron, really. We don’t have to do this tonight.”

But Aaron wasn’t ready to turn back. "No," he said firmly, his voice leaving no room for argument. "It’s going to be okay. She’ll understand."

Haley sighed softly, holding back her reply as Aaron lifted Jack from the car seat, gently cradling him against his chest. Jack’s small fists clutched at the fabric of Aaron’s shirt, his tear-streaked face flushed from crying. He bounced him lightly, whispering soothing words, but the child remained restless.

As they approached the door, Aaron could hear your voice drifting through the hallway, warm and light as you called out to Peter. “Hun, could you grab the door, please? They should be here any minute!”

When Peter swung the door open, his usual flamboyant confidence softened in deference to Jack’s distress. He greeted Aaron with an easy smile and a firm pat on the shoulder. "Aaron, my man. And Haley, it’s so good to finally see you again," he said, his grin widening as he took her in. "You’re even more beautiful than I remember. Motherhood clearly made you glow even more."

Haley smiled warmly at him, her eyes crinkling at the compliment. "Thank you, Peter. Always the charmer. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?"

Peter’s gaze shifted to Jack, who was still fussing in his father’s arms. His expression softened with sympathy. "And this little guy must be Jack. Poor thing. Rough night, huh?"

"Yeah," Aaron replied, his voice heavy with worry as he bounced Jack gently. "He’s been restless all evening."

Peter stepped aside, waving them into the apartment. "Come on in, make yourselves comfortable. She’s just in the kitchen, pulling the focaccia out of the oven."

The moment they crossed the threshold, the rich, savory scent of freshly baked focaccia enveloped them – rosemary and olive oil mingling in the warm air. The apartment had an undeniable coziness, from the soft hum of classic rock music playing in the background. It was definetely a stark contrast to the high-pressure atmosphere of the BAU. Everything here felt softer, more lived-in, more… home.

Before Aaron could fully absorb the warmth of your cozy apartment, you appeared in the doorway like a quiet breath of ease, your presence soft and effortless. An apron hugged your waist, and oven mitts dangled from your hands, tangible proof of the care you’d woven into the evening.

Your hair, usually held in careful precision, was loosely gathered in a low ponytail, yet a few rebellious curls had slipped free, framing your flushed cheeks like gentle whispers of imperfection, stirred by the heat of the oven. Those small, defiant tendrils danced against your need for control, quiet reminders that not everything needed to be perfectly in place to feel right.

A faint dusting of flour trailed up your arm, adding to the charm of the scene, as if this place - this life - was made for comfort, for easing the burdens of the world outside.

The moment your eyes found them, your entire face lit up with a warm, welcoming smile, one filled with genuine happiness at seeing them.

It was the kind of smile that could make anyone feel at home, and after the long, tense evening, you were exactly the kind of comfort they all needed.

"Aaron, Haley! You made it!" you said brightly, hurrying over to greet them, still wearing the apron tied at your waist. "I’m so glad you’re here. Sorry, I’m a bit of a mess, been running around getting everything ready."

Aaron found himself momentarily caught off guard, taking in this unexpected side of you. You looked different - more relaxed, more at ease, and there was a warmth about you that felt… disarming. It was a side of you he wasn’t used to seeing, and for a moment, he didn’t know how to respond.

Before Aaron could say anything, Jack let out a soft whimper, and your attention immediately shifted to him. You stepped closer, your expression softening as you knelt down to his eye level, your voice warm and soothing. "Hey there, Jack," you murmured gently, the soft lighting around you adding to the calmness in your tone. "What’s going on, little guy? What’s got you so upset?"

Jack’s sniffling continued, his tiny fists clutching his stuffed pine marten tightly, his wide, teary eyes staring up at you. For a moment, it seemed like he might burst into fresh sobs, but then something shifted.

The moment he heard your voice, his breathing slowed, his cries softened. His wide gaze remained fixed on you, and Aaron could feel the change, too - he could feel the tension slowly melting away from Jack’s little body as he began to calm down.

You smiled softly at Jack, your touch featherlight as you gently brushed your fingers over the plush toy in his hands. "Oh, the kuna," you said with a soft chuckle, glancing up at Aaron with a teasing glint in your eyes. "You weren’t kidding when you told me this was his best friend, huh?"

Aaron let out a deep breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, the weight of the evening’s stress finally beginning to lift. Jack’s tears had stopped, his body visibly more relaxed in his arms. He offered you a small, grateful smile. “Yeah,” he said, his voice filled with a mix of relief and exhaustion. "He doesn’t go anywhere without it."

Haley, standing off to the side, watched the scene unfold with wide eyes, her surprise evident as she took in how quickly Jack had settled in your presence. "Wow," she breathed, her voice low, almost in disbelief. "I’ve never seen him calm down that fast… not with anyone but Aaron."

Jack, now much calmer, gazed up at you with wide, curious eyes, his small body melting fully against Aaron’s chest. His tight grip on his father’s shirt loosened, his fingers relaxing around the kuna. You reached out gently, wiping away the last of his stray tears with a tender touch, your smile comforting and soft. “There we go, little guy,” you whispered. “All better now, huh?”

Peter, who had been leaning casually against the doorway, watching the interaction unfold with a knowing smile, let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. "You’ve got the magic touch, babe," he said, a teasing note in his voice, though the admiration in his eyes was real.

Peter crossed his arms, shooting Aaron a meaningful glance, his eyebrows raised. "Didn’t I tell you? She has a gift with kids."

Aaron, still processing how quickly Jack had settled down, offered a brief, tight smile, nodding slightly as his gaze flickered between you and Peter. Before he could respond, Peter’s expression softened, and he turned back to you with a more sincere smile. "You’d be such a good mom," he added, his voice full of affection.

For a moment, the comment hung in the air. You hesitated, the briefest flicker of emotion crossing your face before you waved it off with a casual smile. "Thanks, Peter," you said lightly, though there was a slight tremor in your smile that Aaron didn’t miss. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?”

Peter chuckled softly, though the warmth behind his teasing was unmistakable. “Yeah, yeah,” he said, raising his hands in mock surrender. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking.”

With that, the evening eased into a rhythm that felt unexpectedly comfortable. Dinner was light and full of conversation, the kind that once flowed effortlessly between you and Hotch when you worked side by side. Aaron found himself watching you throughout the meal- studying your movements, catching glimpses of the person he knew so well but with subtle changes that felt unfamiliar.

That’s when he noticed.

Your engagement ring - it wasn’t there.

At first, Aaron told himself it was nothing. You might have taken it off to cook, or maybe it was being cleaned. But the more he observed, the more that small detail began to gnaw at him. Each time you reached for a dish or gestured as you spoke, your hand moved effortlessly, with no absentminded fidgeting or reaching for the ring that wasn’t on your finger.

If you had just taken it off for cooking, you would feel the absence. He knew that. But you didn’t, and that unsettled him even more.

The absence of that ring started to weigh on him, a small but heavy knot in his chest.

Peter, still unaware, smiled at you from across the table as he finished his drink. “We’ve been talking about it,” he said, his tone casual but with an underlying seriousness. “Maybe it’s time we think about having one of our own, you know?”

The words hit Aaron like a punch to the chest.

Every time he’d seen Peter since that night at the bar, his conviction grew stronger: Peter wasn’t right for you. But Hotch’s face remained composed; years of masking his emotions had made him an expert at keeping his true feelings hidden. His jaw tightened slightly, but outwardly, he stayed calm, choosing instead to focus on your reaction, watching closely for any sign of how you really felt.

You deflected with ease, a soft laugh escaping your lips as you glanced at Jack, who was happily babbling, completely at ease. “Jack’s an angel,” you said, smiling warmly. “But I don’t think he looks a thing like his father.”

The table shared a brief laugh, including Haley, who leaned over to rub Jack’s tiny back affectionately. "He definitely has his own little personality," she said with a smile. "But sometimes, he has that same intense stare as Aaron."

But Aaron didn’t join in the laughter. He was too focused on you - on the way you had brushed off Peter’s comment, your laugh just a little too quick, your deflection a little too smooth. He’d seen it a few times tonight, how you dodged certain topics, especially whenever Peter mentioned anything about the future. Something was off, and Hotch couldn’t ignore the way it gnawed at him.

After a while, the conversation drifted, as it often did when you were involved, to philosophy. Your eyes brightened as you began to speak about Plato, a passion filling your voice that seemed to draw everyone in.

"Fun fact," you began, your voice soft but deliberate, a small smile playing at your lips, "Plato believed that the world we live in is only a shadow, a reflection of something far more perfect. Everything we see, everything we touch, it’s just an echo of its true essence."

You glanced around the table, your eyes lighting up as you continued. "Imagine love," you said, your voice growing more poetic, "the love we feel here in this world is beautiful, yes, but it’s fleeting, imperfect. It can break, it can fade. Plato thought there was an eternal, perfect form of love - pure, unchanging. A love that exists beyond us, untouched by time or pain, an ideal we can only glimpse in brief moments."

As you spoke, your words seemed to hang in the air, captivating the room. Aaron couldn’t help but watch you intently, remembering how your passion for philosophy had always been so infectious. Even though part of him had once joked about its "abstract nonsense," he couldn’t deny how your enthusiasm pulled him in.

He felt the weight of your words, particularly the way you described love - an ideal so perfect that it almost seemed unreachable, a reflection of something distant and far from the everyday struggles of life.

You paused, letting the thought settle before continuing. "What we see here - whether it’s a chair, a focaccia, or love itself - are just shadows of something greater, something more real. In Plato’s realm of forms, that perfect love is waiting, eternal and untouched. It's something we can strive for, something we can long for, but never fully possess."

Peter, leaning back in his chair with a grin, shook his head lightly. "Only you could make Plato sound like a romantic," he teased, though his voice held a certain warmth, clearly caught in the flow of your words.

You returned the smile but didn’t stop, a deeper reverence creeping into your tone. "In a way, he was a romantic. Plato believed our souls long for that perfection, for the beauty and truth that we can only find in glimpses here. Every love we feel, every connection we make, it’s just a reflection of something pure that exists beyond our reach. But it’s that longing, that striving for the ideal, that gives love its meaning. Without that yearning, what would love be?"

Your words trailed off as Aaron, now smirking to himself, leaned closer to Jack. With a playful, conspiratorial tone, he whispered softly, “Jack, she said Plato,” his grin widening. He watched Jack closely, half-expecting his son to remember their little “deal” - to cry on cue at the mention of those philosophical names.

But Jack didn’t cry.

Instead, he stared up at you with wide, mesmerized eyes, his tiny face full of wonder and curiosity. It was as though, in that moment, Jack understood every word you were saying. His focus was absolute, his gaze unwavering, as if your voice held the answers to questions far beyond his grasp. For a one-year-old, it was almost eerie how captivated he seemed, his little brow furrowed in concentration, as if he were pondering Plato’s theory of forms alongside you.

Hotch stifled a chuckle under his breath, shaking his head.

So much for their plan. Jack was clearly enchanted.

Noticing Jack’s fascination, you paused, your expression softening as you leaned slightly toward him, your voice gentle and warm. “Oh, are you interested in Plato, buddy?” you teased, your smile widening as you addressed him like he was the only person in the room. “Looks like we’ve got a future philosopher on our hands. Aaron, are you sure he’s your son?”

Haley burst out laughing, covering her mouth as she tried to contain her amusement, and Peter joined in, shaking his head with a playful grin. "You might need to get him a children’s book on philosophy at this rate," Peter added, glancing at Jack. "He’s already hooked.”

Without missing a beat, you and Aaron spoke at the exact same time, your voices overlapping in perfect unison. “Hegel for babies.”

The way you and him had responded in sync, without hesitation, brought a rush of nostalgia for him. It was like stepping back in time, reminding him of all the moments you’ve always shared especially at work, finishing each other’s thoughts, operating with an effortless rhythm that required no words. That connection, that familiar flow between you, was still there, ready to rise to the surface as if nothing had changed.

But something had changed.

Even as Aaron enjoyed the easy moment, his mind couldn’t let go of the puzzle forming around you and Peter. Throughout the night, he kept discreetly watching, searching for subtle signals - anything to explain the absence of your engagement ring.

Aaron’s eyes darted between you and Peter, watching your interactions closely. Was it strained? Were you keeping something hidden behind those well-rehearsed smiles? The more he observed, the deeper his suspicion grew. The playful banter with him felt easy, real, but with Peter, there was a distance, subtle but present.

---

After dinner, as Peter and Haley’s laughter echoed faintly from the living room, you led Aaron into your office to collect the files. The space between you was tense, charged with everything unspoken that had been simmering throughout the evening. As Aaron followed in silence, his mind churned, trying to reconcile the image of you with the life you said you wanted.

Then he saw it.

Your engagement ring.

Sitting on the desk, carelessly placed beside a stack of papers, as though it were something you had tossed aside without a second thought.

For a moment, Aaron said nothing, his eyes fixed on the small band. His heart sank as everything he’d been suspecting solidified. He had convinced himself earlier that maybe you had taken it off for some practical reason, but now, seeing it here, forgotten or abandoned - it wasn’t just off.

It was discarded.

His pulse quickened. He could no longer avoid the truth staring back at him.

“You know,” Aaron began softly, the weight of his words heavier than he anticipated, “even though I didn’t win the bet, the offer is still on the table.”

You glanced up sharply, startled by the quiet intensity in his voice. A flicker of something -uncertainty, fear - crossed your face before you could mask it.

Your hands gripped the edge of the papers on your desk, as if trying to ground yourself in the familiar. “Aaron, we’ve been through this,” you replied, your voice steady but not as confident as you intended. “Teaching at the academy... it’s the only way I can settle down. With Peter, I can finally have a normal life. It’s what I need.”

The words fell from your lips, practiced, deliberate - but hollow. Even as you said them, they felt rehearsed. There was a tremor beneath them, a quiver that Hotch could sense immediately.

He didn’t need to be a profiler to see the cracks forming.

He stepped closer, his eyes unwavering as he searched yours. “Is that what you really want?” His voice was gentle, but there was no mistaking the depth behind his question. He wasn’t asking for surface-level answers anymore. He was asking for the truth, the one you’d been avoiding, even from yourself.

You bristled at the question, standing taller as if the extra inches could shield you from the vulnerability creeping up on you. “Aaron, I’ve made my decision,” you said, more forcefully this time, crossing your arms over your chest, protecting yourself. “Teaching is a stable job. Peter and I... we can have a life together. A normal life. Isn’t that what everyone wants?”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating, as if the air itself had become too dense to breathe. Aaron’s gaze never left yours, piercing through the fragile facade you were clinging to. His eyes flicked down to the ring on the desk, lying there unwanted, untouched, as if even the symbol of this so-called “normal life” didn’t quite fit into the image you were trying to present.

And in that silence, he realized it fully: you were living a life constructed from rehearsed lines and half-truths. Your answer to him was almost identical to the one you had given earlier, only reworded, as if the questions he asked were catching you off guard, pushing you off the script you’d so carefully crafted.

Aaron would have let it slide if you’d been able to offer him some real, grounded reason for choosing teaching over the BAU. He might have accepted your words if you had taken a moment to explain why you needed distance from the relentless horrors of the cases, how the endless cycle of darkness had begun to wear on you, or even how teaching offered you a different kind of purpose, a safer way to make a difference.

But you hadn’t said any of that.

You hadn’t shared anything deeper.

It was as if you couldn’t bring yourself to commit to this life you claimed to want.

And then, of course, there was Peter.

If you’d taken a moment to talk about the life you were building together, if you had described it with real conviction - if you’d said that you wanted to marry him, that you wanted to have a family with him, that the ring lying unworn on the desk was a symbol of a future you were ready to embrace - maybe then Aaron would have believed you.

But you hadn’t.

Not now, and not at any point during the evening. Every time Peter was mentioned, every time the conversation grazed the topic of your future, you deflected. You laughed it off, offering vague, safe answers as if uttering anything more concrete might break the fragile illusion you had constructed for yourself. It was as though speaking those words aloud would make you confront a truth you weren’t ready to face.

You had spent the entire night avoiding anything real, anything that would force you to look at the choices you’d made, at the life you were building with Peter, and the pieces of yourself you were leaving behind.

If this life with Peter was truly what you wanted, then where was the passion, the excitement? Where were the words that could solidify the direction you were headed?

Every evasion, every empty laugh, only confirmed what Aaron already knew. This wasn’t the future you were running toward with open arms.

It was a future you were trying to convince yourself to accept.

The ring on the desk was more than just an oversight, it was a symbol of the disconnect between what you were choosing and what you truly wanted.

And he couldn’t hold back any longer.

“You hate your ring,” Aaron said quietly, his voice cutting through the thick silence that had settled between you. The words landed softly but cut through your defenses, each syllable chipping away at the fragile wall you’d so carefully built.

You stiffened, feeling the accusation burrow into you, your immediate response flaring with anger as you struggled to keep him from breaking through. “Excuse me?” you snapped, the words sharp, but your tone betrayed you, there was a quiver of uncertainty. You felt a wave of panic ripple through you as the walls closed in, as if the room itself were shrinking around you.

Aaron took a step closer, his gaze steady, his voice calm but laced with a gentleness that almost made his words sound like an offering. “You hate it,” he repeated, as if handing you a lifeline, as if he were daring you to take it. “And it’s not just because you took it off to cook or forgot to put it back on. You’ve been taking it off more and more, haven’t you? Because every time you look at it, every time you wear it, it feels… wrong.”

You forced a laugh, trying to brush it off, to slip back into that casual, deflective tone that had worked so well all evening. “Aaron, it’s just a ring-”

“No, it’s not,” he interrupted, his voice firmer, yet still soft, his gaze holding yours, unwavering. He took another step closer, so close now that you could see the resolve etched into his face, the sadness lingering in his eyes. “I don’t believe that. I don’t believe a single word of what you just said.”

Your breath caught, the air suddenly thick, pressing down on you as his words struck deep. His expression softened, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, yet it carried a quiet strength that made you feel exposed, vulnerable.

“It’s not just a ring to you,” he said, his tone so gentle it nearly unraveled you. “Nothing is ever ‘just something’ with you. You find meaning in everything. That’s one of the things I’ve always admired about you. It’s the way you look at the world, every little thing matters. You give meaning to things others would overlook, sometimes things they’d never notice. You find depth where others would only see the surface.”

You felt his words dig into you, reaching parts you had tried to bury beneath practicality, beneath a life you had convinced yourself you wanted. He wasn’t letting you hide, wasn’t letting you deflect with empty words or rehearsed responses.

“Even tonight,” he continued, his voice taking on a quiet, reflective tone. “When you spoke about Plato, about the meaning of love through his forms, you weren’t just talking about philosophy. You were talking about yourself. You said the love we feel in this world is a shadow, a reflection of something perfect we can never fully reach. You spoke of it as if you were making excuses for why your love with Peter could be flawed, imperfect, why it could never be what you long for deep down. It was like you were giving yourself permission to settle for less than what you truly want.”

His gaze held you, steady and unyielding, and you felt your defenses slipping, cracking under the weight of his words. He took a breath, and you could see the intensity in his eyes, the way he was letting his own walls down, the way he was stepping into a vulnerability he hadn’t allowed himself in years.

“I’m not a philosopher, I will never be a philosopher,” he said softly, his voice carrying a depth of sincerity that felt like a confession, “but I remembered every word. And I couldn’t agree more when you said that it’s the longing, the striving for the ideal, that gives love its meaning. You said it yourself, ‘Without that yearning, what would love be?’ So tell me-”

He continued, his voice steady, yet filled with a quiet urgency, “are you really reaching for something true, something that reflects that ideal, or are you just convincing yourself to accept a love that’s flawed because you think that’s all you’re going to get? Are you settling for something safe because it’s easier than admitting you might want something more?”

He paused, his words hanging heavily in the air, his eyes searching yours, cutting through every excuse, every half-truth you’d told yourself. “I know you, and I know that nothing is ever ‘just something’ to you. Not love, not life, not death and certainly not this ring.”

Your hands trembled slightly, and you quickly folded them over your chest, your gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t want to talk about this,” you whispered, the words barely audible, but the trembling in your voice betrayed the flood of emotions swelling up, threatening to break through.

But Aaron didn’t stop.

He saw the tiny cracks forming, the way you were beginning to buckle under the weight of the truth. He recognized it - the way someone’s guard began to fall when they were too close to a truth they weren’t ready to confront. He had seen it so many times before, sitting across from suspects, unsubs. But this time, it was you, and that difference made this moment more personal, more agonizing than any interrogation he’d ever conducted.

He softened his tone, but his words were as precise and cutting as ever, his profiler instincts turned on you, searching, pushing. “You took it off because it’s become something foreign to you. ” he continued, the words gentle but relentless. “It’s been weighing you down ever since that night at the bar, when Peter overstepped your boundaries.”

The room felt impossibly small as his words hung between you. The memory of that night surged forward - Peter’s laughter, his casual dismissal of your privacy, turning it into something public, something you hadn’t even shared with the people closest to you. He had humiliated you, and you had buried the hurt because that’s what you always did.

“Aaron, stop-” you pleaded, your voice shaking.

But he pressed on, the profiler in him pushing past the walls you had built. “He outed you in front of the team. In front of people who, at that point, were practically strangers to you. For a story. And you didn’t confront him about it, did you? You let it go, just like you’ve been letting so many things go.”

You felt the weight of his words press down on you, your breath coming in shallow bursts as you turned away from him, gripping the back of your chair, desperate for something solid, something to hold onto. “We talked about it,” you said, but even to your own ears, the words sounded hollow, a poor attempt at keeping the cracks from widening.

“No, you didn’t,” Aaron countered, his voice low but unyielding, filled with quiet conviction. “You accepted his apology because it was easier than having the fight you needed to have. And honestly, Peter didn’t even know why what he did was wrong, did he? I had to point it out to him when we were alone at the bar, otherwise, he wouldn’t have noticed. He wouldn’t have realized how deeply he crossed your boundaries, how it made you feel. And now you’re standing here trying to convince yourself that this” he gestured toward the ring on the desk, discarded like something forgotten "is fine. That it’s just a piece of jewelry. But it’s not, and you know that.”

You felt the burn of frustration bubbling up inside you, your composure slipping, but it wasn’t just anger anymore. Beneath the frustration, there was a raw, unspoken hurt that you had kept buried for too long. It was beginning to surface, clawing its way to the forefront, and you couldn’t stop it. “Aaron, you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” you bit out, your voice sharp with desperation, your hands tightening into fists.

But Hotch didn’t back down. He stepped closer, his voice steady, yet full of conviction, a quiet determination that refused to let you retreat. “I know you better than you think,” he said, his eyes softened, but there was still that relentless force behind his words, the same precision he used when interrogating someone, when he was peeling back layers to get to the truth. “I’ve known you for years. I’ve watched you. I know how you move through the world, how you give meaning to things, how you choose things carefully, with intention. I know that Peter gives gifts that are meant to impress people, not you.”

You blinked, feeling your throat tighten further as you fought to hold back tears, but Hotch kept going, his words unraveling every defense you had put up.

He gestured toward the ring, his gaze unwavering, holding yours with a quiet intensity. “That ring? A thin band to make the stone look bigger than it is. -

It’s flashy.

It draws attention, but it’s not elegant.

It’s not thoughtful. -

It’s not you. You would have never chosen that ring for yourself. It doesn’t fit your style - yours is subtle, refined, timeless. You wear things that hold meaning, things that blend seamlessly into who you are. You need something sturdy, something with a thicker band, something that won’t get in the way because you use your hands every day.”

He took a step closer, his words steady, unraveling each piece of the life you’d convinced yourself you wanted. “You’re always writing, always creating, whether it’s notes for your students or lesson plans, or even cooking for yourself at home. You never thought you’d have time for hobbies, but now you’ve found them. You’ve grown, and you need something that can grow with you. He didn’t think about that, about how your hands are more than just hands. They’re an extension of you, of how you express yourself, how you care for others. You pour yourself into everything you do, with a quiet grace that’s always been there and that I’ve always loved about you.”

Hotch’s voice softened, though the conviction in it remained. “We’ve exchanged letters for years - six, to be exact. I’ve watched how, in those letters, your handwriting changes. I know when you let the ink smudge, it’s because the topic is close to you, and you can barely keep up with the pace of your thoughts. You don’t just write; it’s a way for you to let your true feelings flow, to put something of yourself onto the page. You need a ring that reflects that, one that fits the life you’ve built - not something that just looks good, not something that’s just there to be seen.”

His voice softened as he stepped closer still, his gaze locked on yours, searching your face. “That ring, it’s not practical for you. And Peter didn’t even think about that, did he? He didn’t think about how you would wear it every day, how you would feel with it on your finger. He chose something that would look impressive to other people, not something that would make you feel at home in it. And it’s not even your favorite stone, is it?”

You froze, your breath catching in your chest as his words hit you harder than you were prepared for. Your heart pounded in your ears, the weight of the truth pressing down on you, suffocating.

“You don’t even know what my favorite stone is,” you whispered, your voice so quiet, so fragile it barely broke the silence. The words were almost a plea, a final attempt to keep some distance between you and the truth he was forcing you to face.

“Yes, I do.” Aaron’s voice was soft, but the conviction in it was unshakeable.

“It’s sapphire.

Dark blue.

The exact shade of the ink you’ve used for years, the ink you wrote every single letter to me with.”

Your heart stuttered, the breath catching in your throat as his words hit something deep inside you, a place you hadn’t let anyone reach in a long time. You felt your hands tremble, and for the first time that night, you truly looked at him - saw him in a way you had been avoiding all evening.

His gaze was locked on yours, steady, relentless, and beneath the surface of his calm, you saw something raw. Something vulnerable. It was a part of him you hadn’t allowed yourself to see for years.

He wasn’t finished. His voice softened, like he was admitting something that had been buried inside for too long. “That color… it’s the only color you allowed yourself to have, especially at work. I’ve never seen you wear anything but black, except for the day you gave that guest lecture in Quantico. You showed up at the BAU afterward, after all those years of just exchanging letters, and you were wearing a light blue shirt.” His eyes flickered, a ghost of a memory crossing his face. “That’s when I realized. You used that color, blue, for everything that mattered. Everything personal. You made sure to keep it close to you, like it was a part of who you are.”

Your throat tightened, emotion pressing down on your chest like a heavy weight, and you couldn’t stop the memories from flooding back.

“Even when I gave you the anniversary pen,” Hotch continued, stepping closer, his gaze never wavering from yours, “the one I bought for you to commemorate the 200th day you failed to beat me to the office - you didn’t use it once for your everyday reports, did you? After a while, I noticed the ink in the pen was lighter than what you usually used. It wasn’t your blue.”

You swallowed hard, your voice failing you as he kept going, each word peeling back a layer of your defenses.

“But you still wrote with it,” Hotch said, taking another step toward you. “Maybe not for everything, but for the things that really mattered. Like my wedding speech… you wrote that with the pen I gave you. And it ran out of ink right at the last sentence. But you didn’t throw it away, even when it ran dry, did you?”

He glanced at the pen sitting on your desk, displayed carefully like an artifact from another time. His voice dropped, almost reverent. “It’s still here. You kept it, not because of its value, not because of how it looks, but because of what it represents. That pen means something to you, something personal.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle, and then his eyes flickered to the engagement ring sitting on the desk, gleaming in the dim light. “But that ring? It doesn’t mean the same thing to you, does it? You don’t keep it with the same care, the same tenderness. It doesn’t feel personal. It doesn’t feel like yours.”

Your breath hitched, and for a moment, you were frozen, unable to move as his words sunk in. How had he noticed? How had he known? You had never consciously thought about it, but it was true. The color blue, it was the only piece of yourself you allowed into the world. It was a quiet reflection of who you were.

Dark blue ink.

A light blue shirt.

And now, with that ring, none of it felt right.

“What do you think you’re doing, Aaron?” Your voice wavered, your tone fragile and desperate as you tried to find solid ground beneath you. The weight of the conversation pressed down on you like a vice, tightening with every word he spoke. “Why are you saying all of this?”

Hotch stepped even closer, his voice filled with something heavy, something undeniable. “Because I care about you. Because I want you to be happy, just like you told me once, years ago. You told me I deserved happiness, and now it’s my turn to say it to you. You won’t be happy with Peter. Not really.”

His words hit you like a blow, knocking the air from your lungs. You swallowed hard, trying to push the emotions back down, trying to keep your voice steady. “You can’t talk to me about my happiness, Aaron. You’ve found yours. You have Haley, you have Jack. You don’t get to tell me what will or won’t make me happy.”

Aaron’s expression darkened, an intensity flickering in his eyes that took you off guard. His voice dropped, and it was filled with an emotion you hadn’t seen in him in years, something raw and unguarded. “Is that what you really think? That I have it all figured out? Do you want to know why I care so much about you being truly happy? Why I can’t bear to watch you waste your life with someone who doesn’t see you? You really want to go there now?”

You straightened, your defenses rising, your voice sharp as you threw the challenge back at him. “Yes, I do.”

The room fell into a tense, charged silence, a storm of unspoken words swirling between you, years of carefully avoided feelings suddenly laid bare. The air felt thick, heavy with everything you’d both been too afraid to say. And then, quietly, Hotch spoke the words that would change everything, words that broke through every wall you had built, that shattered the careful balance you had clung to for so long.

“I loved you.”

The words lingered, quiet yet devastating, tearing through you with a force that left you breathless. You could feel your heart splinter, every emotion you’d tried to bury rising to the surface, raw and exposed. You had spent so long convincing yourself that he had moved on, that you had made the right choice all those years ago. But here he was, laying everything bare, pulling back the curtain on a truth you hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine.

But he wasn’t finished.

“I loved you,” Aaron repeated, his voice soft, almost broken, like a man confessing to something he’d kept buried for too long. "I’ve loved you for years.”

The silence between you was deafening, the only sound your ragged breath as the weight of his words settled in your chest like a heavy stone. The pain that had been festering for years, the doubts, the regrets, they all surged to the surface at once. And before you could stop yourself, the words came spilling out, raw and trembling.

“You loved me?” you breathed, disbelief trembling on your lips before it hardened into something sharper. Years of hurt and anger bubbled up, mixing with the grief you’d buried for so long. “You loved me?”

Aaron’s eyes searched yours, and you saw the flicker of pain, the vulnerability in his gaze. But it wasn’t enough. Not after everything.

“You want to talk about love, Aaron?” Your voice cracked, the weight of eight years of silence breaking apart, spilling out as though you couldn’t contain it any longer. “The reason I took that job abroad was because I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I needed to run from you, from us. I left everyone I knew, everything I loved, and threw myself into a life where I had to start over, day after day. I thought that maybe if I was far enough away, if I was alone enough, I could forget what we could have been. That maybe, somehow, I could leave all the ‘what-ifs’ behind. But it didn’t work. It never worked. It just made it hurt worse.”

Aaron flinched, his face tight with pain, absorbing each word like a fresh wound, but you pressed on, the anger burning in your chest, spilling over.

“And do you know what the worst part was?” Your voice cracked, thick with emotion. “It was your letters, Aaron. -

I lived only to read your letters.

They were my lifeline. Every time I saw your handwriting, it was like being reminded all over again of what we could have had. I read them over and over, hoping that maybe they’d help me remember why I’d made this sacrifice in the first place. But they only made it worse. Every letter, every single one, was a reminder of what I’d lost. And all I could think was, what did we really gain? What did all of this sacrifice really bring us?”

He opened his mouth to speak, but you cut him off, the words pouring out, your voice rough with unshed pain. “I loved working at the BAU. I built my entire life around it, Aaron. That job was my purpose, and I left it because of you. I spent years in Europe, moving from one city to the next, trying to outrun everything that reminded me of us. But as soon as I felt at home somewhere, it would all come flooding back - the memories, the regrets. I’d lie awake at night, wondering what we’d lost, what we’d thrown away. And then, eventually, I stopped. I had to stop. I couldn’t keep living on the hope of what might have been. That’s when I let Peter in, when I started to believe that maybe I could make a new kind of happiness. Not the one I’d dreamed of, but a real one, grounded and steady.”

Hotch’s expression shattered, but you didn’t stop.

You couldn’t.

“You think you know what love is?” you spat, your voice trembling. “I loved you more than I loved myself. I tore myself apart for you because I thought you’d be better off. I walked away because I wanted you to be happy, and I’ve never regretted it, I would choose your happiness over mine, every time. So don’t you dare stand here, six years later, and tell me you loved me. I’m over you, Aaron. I’ve been over you, for a long time now.”

Hotch looked as though he had been struck, his face etched with anguish, and for a moment, it seemed like he might crumble. His voice, when he finally spoke, was rough, barely above a whisper. “You loved me that much… and you just walked away?”

“Yes,” you continued, your voice hoarse with emotion. “I loved you enough to let you go. Now, Aaron, it’s your turn. Let me go.”

Hotch’s face crumpled, the pain in his expression morphing into something raw, almost desperate. His voice rose, his frustration breaking through, spilling out in waves. “But you’re still living a lie! You sacrificed yourself for me, and now you’re doing the same with Peter. You’re going to settle for a life that doesn’t make you happy because you think it’s what you need? You deserve more than this!”

The anger surged up, hot and fierce, and you stepped closer, your eyes flashing. “You don’t get to tell me what I deserve. You think Peter is less? You think I don’t know what I’m doing? I made my choice, Aaron. I’ve built a life with him, and you don’t get to judge that.”

He shook his head, his voice rough and bitter, the frustration rolling off him in waves. “He doesn’t know you like I do. He doesn’t see you the way I do. He doesn’t know how your mind works, how you pour yourself into everything you do, how you can’t sit still in a world that asks for mediocrity. You were never meant to live a quiet life in some corner of the world, pretending to be content with something less. You’ve always needed more. You deserve more.”

His voice thickened with emotion, his gaze hardening as if the truth of his words hurt him as much as it hurt you. “You deserve someone who understands that. Someone who knows you’re not the type to settle. You need someone who’s willing to love you fully, the way you deserve - someone who can see the fire in you and fan it, not extinguish it. Peter doesn’t see that in you. He can’t give you that.”

Aaron’s voice cracked, his frustration spilling into something closer to anguish. “You deserve someone who’s willing to love you as fiercely as I did back then, someone who truly understands how much you’re worth and knows the lengths you’ll go to just to be understood. You deserve someone who sees the way you challenge the world, who knows how hard you fight, and respects every bit of that fire in you.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his voice breaking with the weight of what he was saying. “You were strong enough to walk away all those years ago, to tear yourself apart so that I could have the life you thought I deserved. And if you were brave enough to do that, then you should be strong enough now to stop lying to yourself. You’re pretending, trying to convince yourself that settling with Peter is what you want. But it’s not who you are, and it never will be. You’re not the type to choose a life that asks you to be less than everything you’re capable of being.”

He took a breath, his eyes dark, intense, his voice a mix of longing and frustration. "I know you. Better than you know yourself right now."

Your heart pounded in your chest, but you forced yourself to stay steady, your voice low, laced with fury. “You think you’re better than Peter because you didn’t overstep my physical boundaries? You’re wrong, Aaron. Right now, you’re worse, you’re overstepping my emotional boundaries - I asked you to stop but you didn’t listen, not even once. You lost the right to tell me how to live my life the moment we walked away from each other. If you can’t respect that, if you can’t let me go, then I’ll make sure to erase myself from your life.”

His face crumpled, his hands trembling at his sides, his entire body taut with the force of everything he was holding back. He looked like he was going to break, like he was fighting a battle that he knew he was losing. He took a step back, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just wanted you to be happy,” he choked out, his eyes meeting yours, raw, vulnerable. “That’s all I ever wanted.”

His words tore through you, unraveling something deep inside. You saw the sincerity in his gaze, the desperation, the sadness. He looked at you one last time, his eyes lingering as if trying to memorize everything, his face filled with a pain that was almost unbearable to witness.

Finally, he turned to the door, his movements stiff, almost mechanical. He paused with his hand on the doorknob, his back to you, and for a moment, you thought he might turn around, that he might say something else, that he might reach out, one last time, to change everything. But he didn’t.

“If that’s what you want,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “If you want me to let go, them -

I’ll let you go.”

---

Hotch hadn’t heard from you since that night.

The night that left him feeling hollow, stripped bare like a man exposed to a storm he’d never anticipated.

He replayed the words you’d spoken, over and over, each one twisting deeper like a knife, carving wounds he had no way of healing. You’d been his last constant, the one person who had seen him fully, who had known the side of him he kept hidden from everyone else.

Now, you were truly gone, more distant than you had ever been, even when the Atlantic had separated you. There would be no more letters, no careful, handwritten notes, no familiar roughness of paper bearing your looping, blue-inked script, only the echoes of what you’d shared, remnants of a partnership and friendship torn away from him.

And the pain of losing you was so much deeper because you were the one person he never thought would leave.

He was already disappointing Haley on the daily basis, failing to be the husband she deserves as he chose the demands of his work over the family they’ve always dreamed of. The guilt over Jack haunted him daily - the missed milestones, the countless nights he’d spent in hotel rooms instead of by his son’s side.

He had come to accept that his choices had cost him more than he’d ever anticipated, that his absences had created a rift in his family he could never fully mend. But you… you were the one person he’d believed would always stay, the one person who had somehow seen past the darkness and chosen to stand beside him.

And now, you had stepped away too.

The realization struck him with a weight so heavy it almost brought him to his knees. You, who had known him better than anyone, who had been his friend, his confidant, his solace through all of it, were now just a memory.

In some ways, it felt like the final blow, the one that shattered whatever hope he’d clung to that he might still have someone by his side who truly understood.

You had been his last anchor, and without you, he felt adrift, more alone than he ever had before. The pain of it made everything else - the failures, the regrets - seem even sharper, a brutal reminder that he had pushed away the very people who had mattered most.

And now, there was no going back.

With you gone, the work was all he had left to cling to.

But every moment he spent trying to bury himself in case files and late-night profiles only reminded him of what he’d lost. More and more, he found himself imagining how different things might have been if you had stayed - if that night, instead of saying goodbye, you’d agreed to return to the BAU, to stand by his side once more.

How the team would have flourished with your presence, how your calm confidence and unyielding strength would have held them together, even as they all faced their own private battles. And how he, too, would have found a sense of solace, knowing that his partner, his confidant, his best friend, his lost love was there to share the burdens he carried.

In the months since you left, Hotch had watched his team begin to fracture.

Derek, always the strongest among them, had been forced to confront the ghosts of his past. Hotch saw the hurt in Derek’s eyes, the way he hid behind a mask, shielding himself from those who reached out to help. Hotch had tried to be there, to offer words of comfort, but each time he spoke, he felt the words fall flat, hollow, unable to bridge the distance between them.

He knew you would have known what to say, that you would have sat beside Derek and quietly drawn him out, helping him face his pain. Nights after, Hotch would lie awake, wishing he could call you, just to hear your voice, to ask you what he should do.

But he couldn’t.

You weren’t there to reassure him, to guide him, to help him carry the weight he so often bore alone.

And now, you would never be there again for him.

Then there was Reid.

He would never forget the hollow look in Reid’s eyes after his abduction, the way he seemed almost lost, his usual sharp mind clouded with a fear and vulnerability that shattered Hotch’s heart. Reid had always been their anchor, his intellect a shield against the horrors they faced. But that shield had cracked, and Hotch found himself struggling to help Reid rebuild, to provide the guidance Reid so desperately needed.

He knew you would have understood Reid’s pain in a way Hotch simply couldn’t. He could picture how you’d take Reid aside, your quiet, wise words full of empathy, your presence soothing the rawness of his wounds. You would have known exactly what to say, using your own intellect to help rebuild his, weaving in those philosophical insights Reid cherished so much. You had a way of reaching him, grounding him with calm understanding, and speaking to him on a deeper, metaphysical level that only you could.

Without you, Hotch felt helpless, as though he were failing the very people he’d promised to protect.

And then there was Gideon.

Watching Gideon unravel had been like staring into a mirror, reflecting a grief Hotch knew all too well.

Gideon, the man who had faced countless horrors, who had weathered storms that would have broken anyone else, had finally crumbled under the weight of his own loss. Frank’s cruelty had robbed him of Sarah, just as Hotch had been robbed of you. He could see himself in Gideon’s brokenness, could feel the pain that Gideon bore in silence, the same pain that now echoed in his own heart.

You and Gideon had both been his beacons, the ones who had filled the shadows with a light he clung to, and now, with both of you gone, he was left to navigate the darkness alone.

He was left to stumble through the darkness, to fight battles he was no longer sure he could win, knowing that the one person who had truly known him, who had quietly loved him even when he couldn’t love himself, was gone.

Each case, each crime scene was a reminder of all the moments you’d shared, of the life you’d built together, only to watch it crumble. He clung to the hope that somehow, some way, he could find you again, that the life you’d left behind would come back to him. But deep down, he knew that hope was just another ghost, haunting him, whispering of things that might have been.

And now, standing in Strauss’s office, the weight of it all pressed down on him, so heavy he thought it might break him. He met her gaze, the sharpness in her eyes a harsh reminder of everything that had fallen apart.

She watched him, waiting for him to justify himself, to justify the team that had become the only thing he had left.

He could see the doubt in her eyes, the calculation. She saw him as a man on the verge of failure, and she wasn’t wrong. But she didn’t know the cost, didn’t know what it had taken for him to keep standing.

"As your superior, I am questioning your ability to lead your team.”

He took a breath, summoning every ounce of strength he had left. His voice was steady, but beneath it lay a trembling, a fragility that betrayed just how close he was to breaking. “My team?” he said, a hint of defiance hardening his tone. “Let me tell you about my team.”

He thought of Derek, his mind flashing to that moment in Chicago, the pain etched into his friend’s face, the way he’d borne the burden alone because he didn’t trust anyone enough to share it. “Agent Morgan fought to protect his identity from the very people who could save him - why? Because trust has to be earned, and there are very few people he truly trusts.”

He paused, a bitter taste in his mouth as he remembered how he’d failed, how he hadn’t been able to reach Derek in the way he needed. You would have. You would have known how to ease his pain.

“Reid’s intellect is a shield which protects him from his emotions,” he continued, his voice softening, a raw edge creeping into it as he pictured Reid’s broken expression, the hollow look that haunted his eyes. “And at the moment, his shield is under repair.”

Hotch’s chest tightened. Reid’s pain had become his own, a constant reminder of the fragility he’d seen in you, the way you’d fought to rebuild yourself when you’d come back from the edge. You would have been there for Reid. You would have known what to say. But now, without you, Hotch felt helpless, standing by as the people he cared about struggled to hold themselves together.

“Prentiss overcompensates because she doesn’t yet feel she’s a part of the team.” A flicker of pride crossed his face as he spoke of her, her fierce determination, her unyielding loyalty. “She needn’t worry.” He thought of how hard she worked, how much she wanted to belong. He knew you would have recognized it in her, would have encouraged her the way only you could.

He forced himself to continue, his voice growing firmer, even as the sadness in his chest grew heavier. “Every day, Agent Jareau fields dozens of requests for our team. And every night, she goes home hoping she’s made the right choices.” He thought of JJ’s quiet strength, the way she carried the weight of her decisions, never letting it show how much it cost her. He knew you would have admired her resolve, would have understood the strength it took to keep going.

“Garcia fills her office with figurines and color to remind herself to smile as the horror fills her screens.” He thought of Garcia’s laugh, the way she fought to keep the darkness at bay with her light. You would have seen the courage in her, would have understood that her joy was her shield, the way she protected herself from the horrors she witnessed every day.

But it was Gideon’s pain that hit him hardest, and he struggled to keep his voice steady as he spoke of the man who had once been his mentor.

“And Agent Gideon… In many ways, he is damned by his profound knowledge of others. Which is why he shares so little of himself, yet he pours his heart into every case we handle.” Hotch remembered the look in Gideon’s eyes, the emptiness that had consumed him since Sarah’s death. He had seen the same hollowness in himself, the same agony of losing someone you had let into your heart. Gideon had been undone by it, just as Hotch had been undone by you.

He straightened, meeting Strauss’s gaze with a fierce determination. “I stand by my actions, and I stand by my team. And if you think that you can find a better person for the job, good luck.”

Strauss’s expression remained cold, her eyes narrowing. She leaned forward, her voice a sharp blade, cutting through his defenses. “Agent Hotchner,” she said, her tone clipped.

Hotch’s response was immediate, his voice a quiet, simmering intensity. “How do I know you favor your son? I’m good at my job.”

He knew he was good at his job.

He had to be.

It was the only thing he had left, the one thing he could control in a world that felt like it was slipping away.

He’d lost you, just as he had lost so much.

But he wouldn’t lose this.

He couldn’t.

---

Dado's Corner pt.2: I always read this whenever my heart gets broken... To build something meaningful, sometimes we have to tear down the entire house and rebuild from the foundation up.

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#criminal minds #aaron hotchner #hotch #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch x reader #criminal minds x reader

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