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aureatelys · 3 days ago

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summer lovin'

pairing: dbf!aaron hotchner/fem!reader genre: smut w.c.: 6.7k a/n: shoutout to summer aka prime dbf season. this could technically be seen in the same universe as either of my other dbf!hotch fics but could also be a standalone, whatever you want <3 as always feedback fuels me ily

summary: After your dad thwarts your plan to have a not-date with Aaron at the drive-in movie theatre, you improvise.

c.w.: 18+ MDNI, porn no plot, dbf!hotch, semi-public sex, exhibitionism, fingering, finger sucking, interrupted blowjob so hotch gets blue balls <3, one (1) hint of sir kink at the very end, praise kink, dirty talk, kinda fwb kinda dating hotch just needs to DTR already, no y/n

read below or on ao3 here <3

You’re at least 99% sure that summer was your favorite time of the year.

You loved that you were only a short ten-minute drive to the beach and could spend the whole day in your new bikini out by the water. You loved the cookouts that your dad always threw in your backyard, the smoke of the burgers on the grill and fresh chlorine from the pool swirling in the air. You loved staying out too late with your friends, drunk and attempting to quietly stumble through your front door as if you were a high schooler again.

But your favorite part about summer? Coming home and spending time with your dad’s best friend.

You and Hotch have been having a summer fling every time you visited for the past two years. Though, you wonder if it could still be considered a fling anymore if it lasted for more than one summer and the two of you would meet if he had a case in your state, no matter the season.

This summer was no exception. Your dad had been promoted last month, which meant that he was called into the office at least every day, thus leaving the house empty for your lonesome self.

“It’s fine,” you had said, waving him off. He had been worried that you felt like he wasn’t spending enough time together as you were only really able to see each other once a year due to your busy schedule. “If I’m bored, I’ll just drive over to Aaron’s place to bother him.”

He didn’t know that you already had your keys tucked into your purse and nothing underneath your dress, so he rolled his eyes and laughed, telling you to not to bother him too much.

Aaron’s schedule often didn’t allow time for you to spend as much time with him as you wanted, so it wasn’t entirely your fault that you had to jump at any opportunity that presented itself. It’s not like you were able to drop down to your knees and scoot in between his thighs underneath your kitchen table when he was over for dinner like you often did at his apartment, his expensive belt unbuckled and his large hand pushing down at the crown of your head.

You would almost feel bad at occupying all of Aaron’s free time if he didn’t clearly express that he didn’t mind, often accompanied with a half-smile he would try to hide and tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

Now, it was the first week of August and you were starting to panic.

Your entire summer flew by you, now nothing but a blur of warm days by the pool and Aaron’s head in between your legs. You seriously don’t think you’ve had this many orgasms since you were a teenager and you went to a Spencer’s to buy a vibrator for the first time.

You’ve been trying to ignore that nagging anxiety that’s been slowly forming since the middle of the summer, but now it was a full-fledged nuisance. Now, you were just that desperate enough to spend as much time with Aaron as possible before you had to go back home to your lonely little apartment to work your lonely little job.

You try to ignore the fact that you were even willing to forgo the mind-blowing orgasms that often followed being in his company. Or the fact that you had started to think about him in non-sexual ways, such as wondering whether he had eaten that day or whether he was able to ask Jack about his science fair project that he wasn’t able to help with.

You’re laying out by the pool and scrolling on your phone, skin warm from the afternoon sun and clad in your cutest bikini, when you get the idea. Or, rather, Instagram gives you the idea in the form of multiple typos and an oversaturated picture.

It’s an ad for a local drive-in movie theatre that you didn’t know even existed announcing what they were featuring for the end of summer. Their last movie was allegedly tonight, a late showing of Grease, and claimed they still had several tickets available.

As if on cue, you hear the telltale crunching of gravel of Aaron pulling up into the driveway. A wicked smile splits your face. It was like a sign from God, or gods, or whatever the hell was out there as they served the perfect date night idea to you in the form of a badly photoshopped ad on your phone.

Your dad was still home, working at the kitchen island, but you knew that Aaron had timed it perfectly where only ten minutes after he showed up, your dad was going to get a call asking for him to come into the office. You’re going to wave him off, saying that you were fine with learning how to occupy yourself, and Aaron would claim to head out a couple minutes after him after dropping something off in his office down the hall. Most times, your dad’s car would have just barely disappeared down the street before Aaron’s spinning you around by the hips to bend over that same kitchen island and shucking your denim cutoffs down your legs.

It was the same routine that you’ve had all summer. It was nearly foolproof.

When you step through the doorway and into the kitchen, you act surprised when you spot Aaron already leaning with his hip against the stove, deliciously toned arms crossed over his sturdy chest as he was already deep in conversation with your dad about something or another.

Your dad looks away to type something painstaking slow on his laptop and Aaron takes the opportunity to raise his eyebrow at you, lazy gaze taking in your and your bright pink bikini. You bite back a smirk when his eyes get stuck on your chest, your nipples undoubtedly stiff and poking through the damp fabric at the superior air conditioning of the house.

“Hey you,” you say, feigning nonchalance. You come to stand by your dad and lean forwards on the kitchen island, inadvertently pushing your breasts up. You smile when you notice Aaron’s jaw clenching as he tries not to let his eyes stray lower than your face. “What are you doing here?”

He clears his throat and your smile grows wider when you spot the vein in his neck pulsing. “Just came to drop some files off for your dad.”

Aaron’s always coming over with papers and files that you know nothing about the contents of. You wonder if they must actually be important since he’s been using that same excuse nearly every single day for the past two months.

“Yeah, yeah,” your dad mutters, still focused on the fluorescent blue screen with his reading glasses precariously hanging on the tip of his nose.

You were nearly bouncing on the balls of your feet with excitement; any second now, your dad’s phone was going to ring and he’s going to be swept away to the office. Now was your perfect chance to bring up the movie with him where only a couple of minutes later, he’ll give you an apologetic look and ruffle your hair, telling you next time with a regretful tinge to his voice. He would have no idea that you had plans to drag his best friend with you instead.

“Dad, what are your thoughts on going to this drive-in movie a couple blocks away here in a little bit?” you ask, biting at your bottom lip to prevent breaking out in giggles. “I’ve never been to one.”

Aaron’s shuffling through the files, seemingly lost in thought, but you knew he was watching you out of the corner of his eye, interest piqued. He’s grown familiar with your antics and the way you seemingly always had a plan to appear busy when you knew your dad was going to be out. To not raise suspicion, you had said.

“Never been?” your dad finally raises his head up from that, eyes wide as he glances at you, and then Aaron. “Can you believe that?”

He chuckles, a low sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Somehow, I can.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, if the movie’s soon, we should probably get ready and head out,” your dad says, completely ignoring you. You elbow him in the side and he elbows you right back.

He slams his laptop closed and groans when he gets off the bar stool, knees popping in the process. When he’s making his way to his bedroom to get ready, you frown and glance repeatedly at the clock. They should’ve called him about ten minutes ago.

“Hey dad,” you call out. “Are you working today?”

He’s in the middle of unbuttoning his shirt when he turns around, confusion written all over his face. “No, sweetie, I thought I told you that I decided to call out today,” he says, chuckling to himself. “Good thing you brought up that drive-in thing because I had nothing planned. Let me change and we can go.”

You may be a bit dramatic but you swear you thought the walls were caving in, anxiety causing your heartbeat to spike in rhythm as you tried to subtly pick your jaw off the floor and be casual. “Oh? You didn’t have to do that, dad.”

He doesn’t even bother looking back at you. “Of course I had to, we’ve barely seen each other all summer! Now come on, let’s get going.”

And then he’s disappearing into his bedroom with the click of a door and you’re stuck with the realization that not only are you going to be spending the next two and a half hours in the back of a car with Aaron, but also with your father sitting right next to you.

You’re still staring at the polished wood of your dad’s bedroom door, the heavy weight of Aaron’s eyes on the back of your head. You could already see the amused twist of his mouth, the slight worried furrow in his forehead that would ultimately give him away.

This wasn’t the first time your plans were thwarted by your dad and your inability to plan accordingly, such as when you had to spend the afternoon by the pool in your bikini and not nude like you had initially wanted, but you still felt a bit lousy.

When you finally face him, you were surprised to find him wearing a fond, yet exasperated expression. It melts his usual hardened appearance, making him appear younger and like the man you’ve been messing around with all summer.

He pushes himself off the kitchen counter and approaches you. Your heart thumps erratically in your sternum, something that’s been occurring a lot recently, but you chalk it up to the way Aaron’s sleeves stretch over his biceps or the way the dark red shade of his shirt makes his stomach appear softer.

He quickly leans into you and your heart skips, impossibly thinking he was actually going to kiss you with your father in the same room.

You’re not sure whether you were disappointed or relieved when he’s kissing the crown of your head, brief enough for you to get a taste of his cologne before it’s immediately ripped away from you.

“Go get ready,” he mutters, voice low and soft so there wasn’t any chance for your father to hear him. “We’ll make it work.”

Fifteen minutes later, you’re strapped into the backseat of Aaron’s Range Rover, since he has more trunk room than either of your cars, a pile of blankets and snacks on the seat next to you, and watching out the window at the bright lights of the streetlamps as you pull into the parking lot of the theatre.

With the sun setting over the horizon, painting the sky in a picturesque orange and purple hue, came the cooler summer breeze blowing through your rolled down window. The tempting aroma of buttery popcorn and fried dough filled the car as Aaron drove between the numerous rows of cars to find the perfect spot.

You felt on edge. You’ve been nearly silent for the entire duration of the ten-minute drive as they continued to talk about work, as if the entire point of this outing was to definitively not talk about work, yet you didn’t mind.

You found Aaron entirely too distracting today. Every time your father was preoccupied, he was meeting your eyes through the rearview mirror, silently raising an eyebrow whenever you would smile innocently at him.

He knew you were up to something—he was able to read you as soon as you bounded downstairs in that strappy plain white sundress, the lace hem barely brushing your thighs, and smelling like his favorite perfume. You had smiled him just as innocently then too, ignoring the rush of heat that flooded your veins when his eyes darkened and his jaw tightened.

The spot he had pulled the car into was towards the back, close enough where you got a good view of the screen, but secluded enough where you wouldn’t be bothered by the loud concession stand or the group of teenagers laughing several cars over.

You immediately bounced out of the car as soon as it was set in park, arms filled with the numerous blankets you found laying around the house to set up in the backseat. You let Aaron push the backseats down and watch with a grin as he steps away. As smart as they were, neither your dad or Aaron would have the forethought to set the ugly blankets on the bottom and the fluffy and more comfortable blankets on top.

You clamber up into the trunk, sitting right in the middle with your legs splayed out and your sandaled feet hanging over the edge. Although you were secretly glad that Aaron convinced the two of you to take his car for the extra wiggle room, you weren’t going to give him that satisfaction.

Aaron climbs in next to you, groaning at the way his knees pop and the way his back isn’t fully supported as much as he would like. Even with how roomy the car’s trunk was, his jean-clad thigh still brushes against your bare one where the hem of your dress has ridden up.

You expect your dad to follow, with similar old man groaning and bones popping, probably even knocking against your shoulder with his hip, yet an exhilarated thrill runs through you when he says, “I’m going to get some popcorn, did you guys want anything?”

You clear your throat and make yourself appear busy by grabbing a spare throw blanket to throw over your bare legs, ducking your head to hide the devilish smile that threatens to form. “Nope, I brought all the salty and sugary snacks I could ever need.”

“I’m alright, thanks,” Aaron says, polite as ever, as if he couldn’t sense your desire to jump his bones at that very second.

Your father shrugs before leaving you two, just as the lights in the parking lot cut off and the only way you were even able to see your hand in front of you was from the giant screen and the glow of the bustling concession stands behind you.

You’re tempted to scold him, remind him what his doctor had said about cutting back on butter, but you honestly couldn’t pass up this opportunity to spend a couple minutes alone with Aaron. It didn’t help your case when you saw how long the concession line was, nearly wrapping around the entire carnival-esque building, so you knew you had more than enough time.

You really were initially planning on actually watching the movie, maybe grabbing his hand to hold underneath a blanket, but he just looked so good in a casual setting and not wearing those unfairly tight suits he often wore whenever he would pick you up outside the house, smelling like dried ink and lukewarm coffee.

You watch out of the corner of your eye as Hotch scoots down a bit in his seat, actually relaxing for once, as the movie starts. You wince at the way the music blares, a bit louder than you were comfortable with, and shuffle a bit closer to the furnace that is Aaron, pressing the length of your body against his.

He stiffens. His breath catches when you throw your blanket over his legs, now concealing both of your laps, and your chest brushes against his arm. He can probably tell by now that you decided to forgo a bra.

“Just making sure I don’t hog the blanket,” you say with a smile when he glances at you.

He seems to believe you, not expecting you to pull any funny business when you were surrounded by so many people, as well as your father in the near vicinity.

Which is absolutely silly on his part, considering how often the two of you had hooked up in his car on the side of the road.

You take a deep breath, the smell of butter and the faintest whiff of Aaron’s cologne filling your lungs, before you pull the corner of the throw blanket over your shoulders and place your right hand onto the meat of Aaron’s thigh.

You have to stifle a giggle when he nearly jumps out of the car, head nearly bumping against the roof. You can sense the stern words threatening to come out when he turns to you, something about how you’re in public and how now wasn’t the time on the very tip of his tongue.

Yet you keep your eyes trained on the screen, pretending to be completely enraptured as the opening credits end and transitions to the front of the high school and definitely not being distracted at how perfectly firm his thigh was even through the thick fabric of his jeans.

He doesn’t say anything, maybe assuming that you were just feeling a bit extra touchy-feely like you do when you haven’t seen each other in a couple of days. He would call you needy, but you considered yourself grateful with what you got.

He decidedly does not say anything and turns back to face the screen.

Your heart is racing, blood in your ears nearly drowning out the noises of the people in the parking lot annoyingly reciting each line of the movie one after the other. You shift in your seat, thighs brushing against each other underneath your dress, and you try not to think about why this whole scenario was actually getting you riled up.

You wait a couple more minutes, enough to where you felt Aaron’s thigh slowly relax underneath your palm, before you begin to slowly trail it upwards.

The rough fabric of his jeans against your hand was strangely soothing, warm from the heat of his skin seeping through. The pads of your fingers slide along the inner seam and you allow a manicured nail to scratch against it before gently squeezing your hand around his entire thigh.

You keep your eyes fixed straight ahead; however you’re no longer taking in the movie as you’re too aware of the way Aaron’s breath deepens or the way he imperceptible spreads his thighs apart underneath the blanket.

When your hand reaches his crotch and you feel the very sizable bulge of his half-hard cock straining against his jeans, heat crackles down your spine, adamantly pooling in between your legs. You felt a strange surge of power and experimentally squeeze your hand around the length of him, coaxing a groan that Aaron tries to bite back. Your mouth waters.

He leans down until his lips were barely brushing against the shell of your ear, the low timbre of his velvet voice causing another flare of desire to burst in your chest. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” you say, giving him one final squeeze, your thumb briefly brushing against the very tip of his cock. You lay your palm flat against the bulge and wonder if precum has stared leaking through his boxers yet.

“Nothing?” And then it’s his turn to snake his arm underneath the protective guise of the blanket, over your chest, and away from prying eyes to place his own hand on your bare thigh.

Your heart rate kicks up, face suddenly feeling heated in a way you couldn’t blame the summer heat for. Aaron’s hands have always been ridiculously large, with thick fingers and rough skin mottled with endearing age spots. They were one of your favorite things about him, especially when he put them to good use.

Like he is now.

He’s squeezing the flesh of your thigh, causing you to grip the fabric of his jeans at the inseam, breath growing heavier. He doesn’t bother teasing, completely aware of the time restraint and the fact that you were surrounded by a third of the town, and when his fingertips brush against your pussy, he expects to find your favorite pair of light blue lace panties.

When he brushes against your skin instead, he pauses. You inadvertently hold your breath, not so subtly spreading your thighs apart underneath the blanket. Your left knee pokes out from the edge.

“It doesn’t look like nothing since you’re not wearing anything underneath that dress of yours.” And then he’s yanking your thighs further apart and dragging his fingertips along the seam of your pussy. He avoids your throbbing clit and takes his time to barely dip into your dripping entrance before he’s spreading your wetness in between your folds.

You have to bite back a gasp, your grip tightening where you still have a handful of denim. You resist the urge to arch your back into his touch, instead scooting down in your seat so Aaron would be able to effortlessly thrust one of those deliciously thick fingers inside of you. Your sandal dangles precariously off your foot as it hangs over the edge of the trunk.

“It’s hot out…” Your voice sounds weak even to you, your breaths coming out ragged as you attempt to cant your hips up in an effort to get Aaron to touch you where you’re nearly throbbing for him.

He hums before he’s sliding his middle finger inside of you, causing your entire body to jolt and your jaw to fall open. You bring your legs up, planting your feet onto the truck and allowing the blanket still on your lap to shield your… activities from anyone if they decided to stroll by. You squeeze your eyes shut and let your head loll onto Aaron’s sturdy shoulder.

If anyone decided to look over at the two of you, they would assume that you were a couple, albeit an odd one, casually cozying up during a date night at the drive-in movies. There were plenty of couples in the parking lot, the singing and lines being repeated back quieting down as the crowd became enthralled with a movie they’ve seen a hundred of times.

The next song in the movie plays, effectively drowning out the filthy sounds of your pussy as Aaron effortlessly slides another finger inside of you, still narrowly avoiding your clit. You let out a low moan under your breath and Aaron has to shush you.

“You have to be quiet, sweetheart,” he mutters, as if it was the easiest thing in the world and not like you were living out your horniest fantasies with a man old enough to be your father.

That thought, dirty and sinful, causes you to clench around his fingers and for you to bury your face in Aaron’s neck to quiet the wet gasps that threaten to come out of you.

You think Aaron chuckles at your reaction but you can’t even bother to be mad because his pace increases, and the indecent sound of you somehow getting wetter, his palm slapping against your clit and just barely giving you enough stimulation has your thighs trembling.

You thank every God that ever existed that Aaron was left-handed as he steadily thrusts his fingers in and out of you, curling his fingers just so to hit that spot that makes you nearly cry out, but it’s not enough.

You have to muffle your noises against the skin of Aaron’s throat, the strong clean smell of his cologne mixing in with sweat had your mind spinning, stoking at the arousal that was building faster and stronger with each second that passed.

“Aaron…” you whimper, abandoning where you were pathetically attempting to rub his cock through his jeans to take a hold of forearm.

He doesn’t stop. In fact, your grip on him seems to make him go faster, deeper. He tilts his head to press his lips to your forehead and then quietly asks “Are you going to come for me, honey? In front of all these people?”

You whine, shaking your head and burying your face further into him, words catching in your throat and desperately hoping he would know exactly what you needed.

He makes a faux sympathetic noise. “Your pussy needs a little bit more, doesn’t she?”

To your absolute horror, he slowly takes his fingers out of your pussy and you make a pitiful noise, tears brimming at the corners of your eyes at the utter confusion and annoyance swirling in your chest as you lift your head up from his shoulder.

“Wha—”

He brings his free hand up to your face, glowing with an array of flashing colors from the screen. You’re barely able to discern the dark glint in his eyes, pupils wide and his lips parted as he breathes heavily. “Suck.”

Before you could even think, realize that you’re only a couple feet away from strangers and that any of the people walking back from the concession stand could pass by you, one of them possibly even being your own fucking father, you’re meeting his gaze and obediently parting your lips to let him slide two fingers into your mouth.

You can feel the corners of your lips stretch, accommodating the girth of his fingers, his skin tasting clean with a faint hint of your lavender soap he used before you left and his rough callouses brushing against your tongue. You make sure to swirl your tongue over his fingers sloppily despite knowing you wouldn’t need it, have never needed it, because Aaron was able to have you dripping down your thighs with just one word.

You hollow your cheeks, peering up at him from underneath your eyelashes, and your clit throbs painfully when he wordlessly slides his fingers deeper into your mouth.

When he pulls his hand away, a trail of your saliva follows, connecting your spit-slick mouth to him. The vulgar sight causes your face to heat up.

“Good girl.”

The praise nearly lights you from the inside out, your thighs instinctively parting wider as his wet hand dips underneath the blanket to caress your folds again.

You’re completely drenched, your inner thighs sticky with your arousal, and you wouldn’t be surprised if you were leaving a wet spot on the blankets underneath you.

You pay that no mind, completely unable to, as Aaron easily slides the two fingers that was just in your mouth into your aching pussy with a wet noise. He immediately starts fucking into you, his thumb circling your throbbing clit at a maddeningly steady pace, now focused on pushing you over the edge as soon as possible.

A strangled moan erupts from you, caught off guard at the onslaught of pleasure running hot through your body, and Aaron is immediately tilting down to capture your lips in a kiss.

You’re distantly aware that he hasn’t kissed you at all today, not even while he’s been fingering you in public underneath a blanket, and the revelation nearly causes a rise in unseated annoyance to spark in your chest if it weren’t for the fact that you felt your muscles tensing and your lower belly coiling with your impending orgasm.

His mouth is hungry against yours, tongue sliding into yours as he easily swallows the steady stream of your moans as he fingers you faster, rubs your clit a bit rougher.

When you pull away, chest feeling tight at the lack of oxygen, you manage to let out a high-pitched whine against his lips that you hope understands as your hips roll up to meet his thrusts, not even caring if the lewd wet noises of your pussy was audible over the movie.

“You better come before your dad gets back.”

The low tone of his voice simmers through you as he’s curling his fingers, nearly grinding them into you, and you’re biting your bottom lip to muffle your moan. Your pussy clenches around him, hips stuttering into his thrusts as you come so hard you swear your vision blurs around the edges.

He continues to fuck into you, letting you ride it out, and you have to push his wrist away while your ears were still ringing as your oversensitive clit begins to throb. You felt sluggish and like you’re one second away from melting through the floor of the car, your entire body limp and sated.

You barely wince when he slides his fingers out of you and discreetly wipes your leftover slick onto the blanket you both were sitting on. You lean your head back onto the headrest, tilting slightly away from the warmth of Aaron’s body as you desperately hoped a cool breeze would pick up and magically blow into the trunk of the car and onto your heated face.

Aaron reaches over your body for the forgotten bag of food, rummaging for the bag of salted pretzels he knows you packed because he knows you’re seconds away from begging for a snack. However, him straightening up and twisting his body into yours reminds you of the very sizeable shape of his hard cock visible through the crotch of his jeans.

Embarrassment floods through you as you remember that, despite your initial plan to pay attention to Aaron and tease him, it had totally backfired and you were the one who still got off. Despite him always assuring you not to worry about him, it just didn’t feel right, and plus, you wanted to.

Just like you expected, when you grab the bag of pretzels to toss aside to place your palm on his crotch where he’s still hard, he puts his hand over yours to stop you. “It’s okay, you don’t have to.”

You roll your eyes and knock his hand aside. “I want to.”

And then you tuck your legs primly underneath yourself and duck underneath the blanket, situating yourself until you were essentially kneeling over him and your face was merely inches away from the bulge in his jeans.

Aaron makes a strangled noise that you can barely hear over the sound of the movie still playing, but he doesn’t stop you as you’re expertly popping the button of his jeans open and dragging the zipper down. With some shuffling and maneuvering, his jeans and boxers are bunched around his thick thighs and his cock is out, curving against his stomach and flushed an angry red.

The heat of him is palpable, his heady musk stronger now thanks to the blanket over his lap, and you lick your lips, your cunt pulsing from arousal again. When you wrap your hand around him, his cock twitches and you can see Aaron’s hand fisting the edge of the blanket.

You could tell he was on edge, probably surprisingly closer than to he expected from just fingering you until you bit your lip raw and surrounded by a crowd of people. You smile wickedly at the thought that he was getting off to this just as much as you before you’re tilting your chin up and parting your lips over the head of his leaking cock.

You hear a muffled noise, most likely Aaron refraining from groaning out loud, as you open your mouth further to accommodate the girth of him as he slides deeper into you. You squeeze your hand around the base of him as you lower and lower until the head of his cock brushes against the back of your throat, your lips meeting your fist.

Aaron curses quietly, his breathing turning ragged as he tries to keep his hips still so he doesn’t make you gag, letting you take your time despite his own judgements.

You know he was expecting your usual teasing—kitten licks at the head to savor his precum or the flat of your tongue tracing the vein along the underside of his cock. But it must have been over 15 minutes already and, as much as you want to leisurely lick and suck him until you were dripping wet again and your jaw got sore, you’re running out of time.

You unfurl your fist around the base of his cock to place on the bare skin of his thigh and begin to bob your head, rivulets of your drool leaking out of the corners of your mouth and coating him.

He seems to understand because he’s sneaking a hand underneath the blanket to cradle the back of your head, keeping you steady, before he’s lifting his hips up to start fucking into your mouth.

Something simmers at the base of your skull, your eyes fluttering shut, as you let him take control in that seamless way he always does. Submitting to him was always exhilarating, making you feel drunk and like you were a second away from floating out of your body with just one look, one large hand wrapped around your throat.

It happens now as you concentrate on making sure you didn’t gag, trying to open your jaw further so he could continue using your mouth whichever way he wants. The sounds of the movie and the audience singing along filters through your brain and out your ears, the only thing you’re aware of being your harsh breaths and the filthy crude noises of his thick cock hitting the back of your throat.

Aaron grunts, barely audible over the movie, and his hips begin to stutter, his fist clenching and unclenching where he still has a grip on the back of your neck. You swallow around him as best as you could, mentally preparing yourself for the first spurt of his come hitting the back of your throat and wondering if you could get away from sitting on his lap and angling his cock inside of your aching pussy for a little bit.

You don’t hear the sound of the car door opening until Aaron’s grip on the back of your neck tightens, essentially stilling you with your lips still wrapped around his cock.

“Shit, can you believe I got to the front of the line and I forgot my wallet?”

Aaron hums in response, though it sounds strained to you. His muscled thighs are tense, as if anticipating this was the moment that your father would discover his daughter was sleeping around with his best friend by his cock in your mouth.

Your ears burn as you slowly lift yourself off of him, making sure you swallow to refrain from any lewd noises from your mouth. You and Aaron seem to have the same idea as you stay hunched over his lap, hiding out of your dad’s eyeline, the thick blanket covering you.

There are sounds of him rummaging around the seats, even checking the middle console, and then he’s making a triumphant noise and closing the console shut. You’re not exactly sure why his wallet was in the console of Aaron’s car, but there were evidently more important matters as you watched his cock, right in front of your face, soften with each passing second.

“Where’d that girl get to now?”

Aaron clears his throat and you have to bite your lip to hide your smile when his cock twitches. “She had to go to the restroom.”

A sigh. “Well, I better go back and get in line. You sure you don’t want anything, Hotch?”

There’s a tinge of frustration when he speaks again “I’m good, thanks.”

You could almost imagine the noncommittal shrug your dad gives before you hear the slam of the car door being shut and his whistling along to the song on the screen that gradually fades away.

Aaron’s hand finally leaves your neck, silently telling you that the coast was clear. You’re not sure if you’re wanting it back or not, but one glance at his cock, nearly completely soft, has you holding back a sigh.

When you finally sit up, you’re sure you look like a mess. The neckline of your dress was probably pulled down a little too low still, your hair frizzy and tangled from his hands, and your lips swollen and puffy.

However, when Aaron glances at you with a soft expression, the start of a smile tugging at his lips and his thumb coming to swipe at the corner of your mouth, you felt like the prettiest woman in the city.

“I guess we’re done for tonight, huh?” you ask, attempting to pass it off as a joke but your voice sounds weak even to you.

“I’m okay with that,” he says, voice gentle and not like he was trying to hold back his moans merely two minutes ago. He tucks himself back into his jeans and you have to lift the edge of the blanket up to make sure that he had gone fully soft. When he’s done, he studies you, an unreadable glint in his eyes that causes your heart to flip in your chest.

Before you could say something idiotic, something that would disrupt the easygoing nature of your undefined relationship, he raises his arm to rest on the back of the seat. Your eyes are immediately drawn to the slight flex of his bicep and the shine of his fancy watch against his wrist, shamelessly admiring the way it glints underneath the light.

When you tear your gaze away from the sudden filthy thoughts revolving that specific watch, he’s raising an eyebrow at you, and then, “Come here.”

A giddy smile erupts on your face before you could help it. You try to suppress a squeal as you shuffle closer into Aaron’s embrace, letting the warmth of him bleed through his shirt as you press your cheek into his shoulder, wrapping an arm around his middle to intertwine your fingers with your arm that you have curled around his back.

He’s so soft, with his belly rising and falling with each breath and the way he brings his arm down from the back of the seat to rest around your shoulders, pulling you further into him. You’re not sure if the sense of calmness that overcomes you was from the comforting scent of his cologne or the orgasm his fingers just brought you to.

A girly type of excitement fills your chest at the fact that you were cuddling him so publicly, such a rare event that has only happened when he’s come to visit you when out on a case. You know he can see your smile out of the corner of his eye, the way you try to wiggle further into him as if you’re trying to crawl into his skin, but he stays silent.

The two of you sit in silence and, surprisingly, watch the movie, with you singing along and Aaron shaking his head at you. You know he’s mouthing along to the lyrics, you just can’t quite prove it.

You hear the distinct off-tune whistling from your dad and scramble to put a respectable distance between you and Aaron.

His hand shoots out to grab at your wrist and you ignore the way arousal licks up your spine at the way his fingers easily dwarf yours and how unbearably attractive he is when he leans in to whisper into your ear.

“Maybe you can come over tonight after the movie to finish what you started.”

You bite back a smile, noticing how it wasn’t exactly a question, but rather a concise demand. You also knew that Aaron can be impatient, especially after he didn’t get a chance to finish in your mouth like he wanted to, and that you were most definitely going to pay for it later.

“Yes, sir.”

taglist <3: @kiwriteswords @solardrop @knitmeatardis @mggslover @maeintree @pastelpinkflowerlife @storiesofsvu @actualdeemon @khxna @ssa-writerminds

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner x reader smut #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotchner x female reader #criminal minds fic #aaron hotchner fic #mine #dbf!aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader

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rhyrhy · 4 months ago

Note

it's my time to shine, ayy 🫶🏼 'm on a whole mission, (you can see it on my blog), reader is cocky, smug, little-shit femme, her and Abby are friends with "benefits" (as: Abby and reader take care of each other, share a bed, kisses "as friends" using it as a stress relief, etc) yet every single time reader try to, like, DTR (define the relationship, duh!), Abby straight up ghosts reader on that convo, (she has major comphet vibes, but that's just a lil' headcanon, don't come for me) now, reader? she ain't no doormat, she's PETTY. Capital P-E-T-T-Y. so when they're both forced (forced proximity? oops...) for a mission, reader looks at Abby dead in the eyes when they're aline and hit her with: "girl, i've been wantin' to kick your ass all week"

OOOOOO THIS IS GOOD! I did my best, mini Drabble

Dodge, duck, ghost - A.A

Abby Run-Like-a-Bitch Anderson,

Manny cried laughing the first time he heard you call her that. But you weren’t joking.

Not when the last time you saw Abby, she was bolting out of your room like the WLF had just declared war. And before that? Her tongue was down your throat, hands gripping your waist like she never planned on letting go. That’s how it felt every-time.

That was how she always was touchy, needy, all over you behind closed doors. But you weren’t some secret, something to be ashamed of. Not when there were plenty of other people who’d proudly parade you around. But unfortunately for you, the heart wants what it wants. And unlike Abby, you actually listen to yours. So when the moans and cries had stopped bouncing off your walls, she said something that caught you off guard.

Abby’s breathing was still uneven, her fingers lazily tracing circles against your hip like she wasn’t ready to let go just yet. The room was quiet, save for the sound of your heart still thudding in your chest. And then, she said it. soft, almost like she didn’t mean to say it out loud.

“It’s— this, is different with you…you feel like home”

You blinked, turning your head to look at her. Her gaze was on the ceiling, brows slightly furrowed, like she was already regretting the words.

“Home..?” A slow smile crept onto your lips. “…Sounds long term,” you teased, nudging her side.

That made her freeze. The lazy circles against your hip stopped. Then, before you could react, she was pulling away, sitting up and reaching for her clothes like she’d just been caught doing something wrong. Afterglow or not, she meant it. And you had to push. You’d let her dance around the obvious for too long. For God’s sake, you were there when she broke up with Owen. Listened to her go on and on about how much of a bitch Mel was, how wrong it all felt. So the least she could do was be honest. not just with you, but with herself.

And like clockwork, she stiffened. Sat up. Started getting dressed like she hadn’t just spent the last hour tangled up with you, her face buried against your neck.

“Uht-uht. Hey. Where are you going?” you asked, watching her yank on her shirt.

Abby didn’t look at you. Just laced up her boots and muttered, “I gotta be up early.”

You sat up too, arms resting on your knees. The only thing keeping your sheets warm now was the disappointment. This couldnt keep going on. “Abby, can you stop for two—”

Thud

But the door was already closed behind her.

”—seconds,” you finished, to the empty room.

That was weeks ago.

And wasn’t the first time she’s done that. You never pushed her to label herself, bi, lesbian, it didn’t matter to you. But with her, it went in one ear and out the other. At first, you tried to play it cool. If she needed time to sort through whatever that was, fine. But then she started dodging you. Switched up her gym schedule. Took shifts at different hours. Disappeared from the mess hall when you walked in. She was practically a ghost.

“Yeah, she definitely avoiding you chica” manny said turning back to his plate

“Wow Thanks manny” you huffed. Yeah, That much was obvious.

The Abby you knew wouldn’t just run off. Or at least, the Abby you thought you knew. So when Isaac briefed you on your next mission and didn’t mention her name, you almost bought it. Almost. Until you showed up at the post and caught Abby mid-change, swapping out a sweat-stained shirt for a clean one.

She paused when she saw you, shoulders stiff like she’d already knew where this was going. You cocked your head, waiting for her to say something.

She didn’t. Of course she didn’t.

“You know what—” you sighed, setting your pack down. Then, dead serious, you looked her right in the eyes and said—

“Girl, I’ve been wantin’ to kick your ass all week.”

Abby exhaled through her nose, shaking her head like she knew this was coming. “Jesus.”

“Jesus? Oh no, don’t bring him into this now,” you scoffed, stepping closer. “He ain’t the one who ghosted me after weeks of—what did you call it? ‘Taking care of each other?’” You even threw up air quotes, just to be a little shit about it.

Abby’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t ghost you.”

You blinked. Then laughed at her, like she was doing stand up on stage. “Oh, right. So what do you call changing your gym schedule, eating at different times, avoiding me like I got the damn plague?”

Abby dragged a hand down her face, resting it on her hip. “I just—”

You held a hand up before she could choke something out. “Say some bullshit, I dare you,” you cut in, tilting your head.

She clenched her jaw. Looked away. “I just needed space.”

You stared at her. “Space? Call NASA for that shit. You were in my bed two weeks ago. Two.”

Abby shifted, muttering, “That was different.”

“Oh yeah?” You crossed your arms. “How?”

Silence.

You let it hang there, watching her fingers flex at her sides like she wanted to ball them into fists but knew that wouldn’t fix this. Like she knew you were right but refused to say it. You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “See, this is exactly why I said what I said. You know what you want, Abby. You’re just too chickenshit to admit it.”

Abby’s head snapped up. “That’s not true.”

“Then prove it.” You stepped closer, tilting your chin up. “Tell me you don’t want me. Right here, right now.”

Abby just stared at you, jaw tight, breath a little unsteady.

The tension was thick. You could see it in the way her fists clenched, in the way her eyes flickered over your face like she was searching for something. some way out, some way forward. Anything.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

But then, someone called both of your names, signaling it was time to move out. Abby exhaled sharply, grabbed her pack, and brushed past you without another word.

You just sighed , slinging your bag over your shoulder. Three days.

She’d have to deal with you for three whole days.

The mission was simple: track and clear a small group of Scars camping out near the old radio tower. It should’ve been easy. Would’ve been, if not for the unspoken thing crackling in the air between you and Abby. She was doing her best to ignore it, kept her distance, kept her eyes forward, barely said a word unless it was mission-related.

You? You were having the time of your life.

Every chance you got, you brushed past her, just close enough to graze her arm. Threw her smug little looks when she glared at you. Smiled real pretty when she clenched her jaw and looked away. Petty? Yeah. But so was avoiding someone just because they called you out on your own bullshit. Your own feelings that were right in front of her.

By the time the mission was over and you’d made it back to the safe house for the night, you could feel the tension rolling off her. Everyone else had turned in for the night, sprawled out across old mattresses and sleeping bags. But you weren’t done with her yet.

She was sitting near the window, legs stretched out, back against the wall. She had her arms crossed, fingers tapping against her bicep like she was still wound up, still caught up in whatever thought, feelings words even, she refused to let out.

So you moved over to her. You crouched in front of her, hands on your knees, and grinned. “Y’know,” you said, voice just low enough that no one else could hear, “if you keep runnin’ from your feelings like this, you’re gonna pull something.”

Abby’s fingers stopped tapping. Her eyes flicked to you, sharp and tired. “Not now.”

“Oh, so later then?” Your smile grew. “I’ll pen you in.” “How’s Friday? That work for you?”

Abby exhaled through her nose. “Jesus, do you ever shut up?

You leaned in slightly, dropping your voice even lower. “Mm, You used to like when I ran my mouth. What happened to that?”

Abby’s jaw tightened.

You tilted your head. “What, nothing to say? No pissy comeback? No ‘shut the fuck up’ ,” You reached out, lightly tapping her knee. “C’mon, Abs. Say something.”

And that’s when it happened.

Abby moved fast. One second, she was sitting against the wall, and the next, she was grabbing you by the front of your shirt and yanking you up until your back hit the opposite wall. The breath caught in your throat, but before you could recover, she was right there, her face inches from yours, eyes dark, chest rising and falling like she’d finally had enough. You’d finally pissed her off enough.

You could feel the frustration flowing off of her. And man, did you love it.

“You think this” she gestured between you two “is a game?” Abby hissed, voice low, rough.

Your pulse spiked, but you kept your cool, rolling your eyes at her. “I think you’re mad ‘cause you know I’m right.”

Abby’s grip on your shirt tightened. “You make everything so fucking difficult ” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Oh yeah?” Your voice was barely a whisper now.

Abby’s eyes flickered to your mouth. Then, finally. finally. she broke. “Yeah.”

Her mouth crashed into yours, rough and frustrated, her hands sliding down to grab your waist, pressing you firmly against the wall. You gasped into it, hands flying to her arms, gripping her tight as she kissed you like she was trying to shut you up for good.

Like she was trying to prove something, to you, to herself maybe.

But she’d already lost. Because when she pulled back, breathing hard, you just smiled before speaking again. “Atta girl. Knew you’d crack.”

Abby groaned, dropping her head against your shoulder. “I hate you.”

“Mmn, no you don’t.” You grinned, running a hand through her hair. “But keep tellin’ yourself that, baby.” Her hands tightened on your waist.

Yeah, you’d won this round. But she still had a long way to go.

@/enchanthings for boarders

#abby anderson #x reader #abby tlou #abby x fem!reader #fem reader #abby x reader #abby the last of us #abby anderson tlou2 #abby anderson the last of us 2 #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson x reader

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derww · 6 months ago

Text

TL;DR: 4C&Joker!Zam at Jingle JAM. Almost 6.5k words.

Disclaimer: PrinceZam brutally murders your fav people from the event (and more).

CW: Violence, deaths, non-graphic gore, suicidality

***

4C sees a figure coming up a hill – a yellow spot catches his eye instantly, and there is simply no one else here like it, and he raises his hand to finally, after too long an hour of an event, greet Zam in person.

He only needs a moment more to see the purple cloak and too much blood to be just his own. For a split second, 4C stops, and a freezing chill hits him to the bone. He immediately understands everything.

The cold is replaced by calmness and confidence. He knows the situation. There's nothing to worry about.

He waves at him.

– Hey, Zam!

Zam smiles brightly and waves back.

– Hey, 4C!

PrinceZam whispers to you: you know what to do.

There is complete chaos here: suspicious people appeared, no one understands anything, everyone is pulling each other in different directions, looking for solutions to the threats, and all this is mixed into an ear-crushing hubbub. And Zam... he just stands there, listening to people, watching as one of the team members climbs as high as possible, deciding to hide from hunters in the air.

Zam whispers to you: should I just kill them all here

He's not answering. He pulls people into conversation until they disperse into smaller groups.

DTR, having broken away from the others, winds circles around them, and 4C mentally says goodbye to them. In the rush of the moment, he doesn't even feel sympathy. All of them are already doomed anyway.

– Imagine, I was able to make 11 people play a scene from Titanic, – he shares while they slowly walk in the opposite direction from the rest, and Zam tells his own adventures in tune with him, and how he was teleported many thousands of blocks from his house, and DTR adds here and there, rushing back and forth. They tell how suspicious one of the guys in their group was, that he even threatened them, but no, he didn't seem to be a hunter; he didn't have any diamond armor or netherite weapons, but anyways, all sorts of people exist, after all, PVP is turned on for everyone-

4C liked DTR. They were a ray of sunshine, eternally energetic and motivating and unable to stay in place, and ready to tell the whole story of their lives. He puts his hand on their shoulder, and DTR stops, staring at him curiously with their bottomless fishy eyes.

– You don't have to worry anymore, – he warmly assures, – I'm good at fighting, and Zam is even better!

– Are you doing nothing but fighting there? – DTR seems perplexed, – of course, we also have fights sometimes, but usually we just have fun together.

– Well, not only that, – 4C agrees, – relationships between people, teams, stories, interests, all this is also very important, but in the end you often still need to fight, – and he smiles.

Diamond sword pierces DTR right into the heart, and then Zam leads it down, ripping the chest open. Blood gets on 4C's clothes, and he lets DTR go, allowing them to fall from the horse onto the ground, muttering something muffled.

– And if you fight over and over again, one day it becomes your life, – Zam purrs, and then bursts into laughter until DTR stops moving – and their pupils roll up – and they die, crumbling into nothing.

4C dusts off his jacket, but blood has already soaked into it.

– You've stained me, – he remarks reproachfully, powerlessly trying to clean it at least a little, – how can I pretend to be innocent if I'm covered in someone else's blood?

– I'm sorry, – Zam pulls, hiding a sword, – but it's not so noticeable from the distance, maybe they wouldn't notice?

– Zam that doesn't mean I want to wear dirty clothes, – he retorts, shaking his head disapprovingly. Zam raises his hands in defeat.

– I'm sorry! – he admits, - I'll try to be more careful, 4C, I promise.

– I'll keep an eye on you, – he threatens frivolously and, unable to restrain himself, giggles. They let the horse go and continue walking in the same direction.

When they reach a river, Zam honestly tries to help him wash the blood, but it is tightly stuck – there is no way to fix it on the spot. But he manages to clean himself – remove blood from his head, clean his mouth after the past internal bleeding, wipe almost everything off his hands, leaving only red outlines under the nails. Only his coat remains the same – darkened, half-lost its own color, dragging corpses and grave earth. At least it's still better than it was, says 4C optimistically.

– I thought you had renounced your past self, – he remarks, – does it really not matter as long as you're not on the server?

Zam smiles back at him gently; there is no threat in it, but it is still subtly different from how he smiled before.

– Oh, no, no, 4C, of course not, – he shakes his head, – you can say, that guy took a break. He will return to you in complete safety upon our comeback.

He sighs. Well, this is within the norm of strangeness for a Lifesteal player. He hardly felt even a little surprised.

– Okay, okay, – 4C shrugs, – do you want to find someone specific, or do we take care of those we find first?

– Of course, I am interested in all our dear friends and comrades, – Zam draws out, – and, of course, Fruitberries! I'll be so happy if I get a chance to kill him! – he chuckles enthusiastically, – but we still need to kill everyone else, too. I would prefer to hide my role for now, so we should focus on singles to leave no witnesses. With you around, everyone will believe that we are completely innocent!

– Sure, Zam, – he ironically agrees, – I am, without a doubt, the friendliest player of the event.

– That's what I am talking about!

***

It's even too easy: they follow a compass, determine a situation, and come into contact with singles and duos. Zam looks almost normal and draws them into a conversation, and almost everyone here knows 4C, and they take his benevolence and desire to help for granted. Not used to always being suspicious of everyone, they easily succumb to kind words, gifts and help, open to befriending them, even after discovering the secret of the event, hoping just to spend time well. Not warriors, peaceful people, why should they even be involved in a meat grinder between hunters and the strongest of the strongest?

– Oh, we don't just fight on the Lifesteal, – Zam mysteriously declares, and his listeners are staring at him, catching his every word, listening like a fairytale; – we also, just like you, tell our stories, it's just that there are a lot more deaths in ours. For example, one day I set out to corrupt the whole world, and in the process, wanting to prove my case, I killed a lot of people! – he waves his arms and shrugs his shoulders as if it were an everyday occurrence, – and he, – points to 4C, – was my first victim, with whom it all began! The president whose unwise decision led me to shift my vision!

– Did he murder you? – gasps the first, – and you're still friends?

– Yeah, it happened, – 4C laughs, shaking his head, – I was expecting something like this when we decided to remove the heart recipe. Everyone needs to survive somehow, and I was an obvious target. I don't hold a grudge. Besides, Zam has changed.

– Oh, yes, – Zam murmurs, – I've changed since then! I realized that I was wrong, and I can't let this happen again! I took an oath that I would never kill anyone!

He burns them alive – 4C hands him a camping bottle of ethanol, and Zam laughs hysterically, setting them on fire and then watching agonizing death, admiring and warming hands. Some of his fingertips are licked by flames, getting burns, but he doesn't pay any attention.

4C, waiting for him to finish, is sorting through his backpack – it's been too long without long-distance trips, he completely forgot what he even had with him. A couple of times he winces at the smell of burnt meat. The screams subside over time.

– Are we going to hide the corpses? – he asks, going through all the available elements of his swiss knife.

— No. It's useless, there's not enough time, – Zam replies, putting his hands in his pockets. He's not smiling anymore, but he sounds drunk, still not completely sober from murder, – soon the border will start to close. They won't make it. But we also need to move.

– I really need to figure out my armor, – 4C remarks, looking down at himself, and puts all the things back in his backpack. Only iron boots and helmet, absolutely unsuitable for battles, – when we pick up someone, leave their corpses next time, okay?

Zam drowns the next traveler by holding them by the neck under water until they stop resisting. 4C takes their half-broken protection 1 iron leggings, which still smell of mud. After three more murders, he takes a diamond boots from someone's riddled body.

– I missed killing people, – Zam shares, hiding the third axe under his coat, – it's so much fun, they are too weak, though. Are they so unaccustomed to war? I've killed the weak on the Lifesteal too, but you were different from them. You were so vulnerable just because you chose it.

4C shrugs his shoulders.

– I'm like them, Zam. I am not a warrior. I don't like fighting. There are so many things in the world more interesting than direct war. I don't want to waste my time on it.

Zam chuckles. He turns his trident from side to side, already lying in his hand in his native way.

– Don't worry. You don't have to fight. I will gladly take it for myself.

– It's always important to let people do what they like, – 4C smiles, handing him a helmet from the second corpse lying with a crossbow bolt between their eyes. It still smells of blood and is obviously too big, but Zam doesn't seem concerned about it.

They wade through the river, but it doesn't knock down any smell or stains, just leaves them both wet. 4C glimpses how deeply the blood has seeped into Zam's coat. This is the same coat – the one that wrapped Zam's corpse on the burial and the one that Zam himself stole from his own grave when he possessed Pangi's body. Even now, many months later, there are still traces of 4C's own blood on it – barely discernible, uneven blue streaks on the dark, worn purple. With the still readable trajectory, it is obvious that the hands holding the sword were shaking. He doesn't know how he feels about it.

– It's too easy, – Zam complains in a childish tone, rolling enchantment for the trident for the third time in an hour, – they barely even resist. Don't they value their lives?

– This is an event, – 4C remarks, shrugging; he wrings out his soaked jacket, – no one's going to actually die. Besides, in their worlds, no one will come up and just start killing you, you know? Some might never have fought against anyone other than mobs.

– But I want a real fight, – he objects, – what should I do so that they take swords in their hands and really try to kill me? – he stands up, breaking an enchanter, and his fingers, clutching the handle of the trident, tremble with tension, – is it really necessary to find a bigger group for this? – Zam asks sadly, – this will increase the chance of revealing me... Do you think I can just run into Coldie like that? Or, like, Raddles? – he asks, almost tenderly. – or Fein? Or, – his breath comes in short gasps, and 4C is pretty sure he meant to say "Fruitberries".

– I'm sure if we hurry up, you'll be able to find someone strong, – 4C remarks casually, – they're outstanding players, they can beat other hunters. And what about those who are weaker... – he pauses, thinking, – yes, it makes sense to look for bigger groups. It's going to make it harder to keep your role a secret, but that just means we need to shoot everyone before they run too far, right?

– That's right! – and Zam smiles at him and laughs, clearly imagining how many people he can still kill before the end of the event, – you're right, it's so easy! – he sincerely declares, – we just have to kill them sooner!

It's easy to notice when you know Zam long enough: he gets worse. In the sense that it was worse for him then – he is rapidly losing his self-control and humanity in the desire to kill someone, constantly touching one or the other weapon, tearing his hands, and laughing under his nose. And how did someone like that eventually take the oath of pacifism, 4C thinks distantly, putting his hand to his forehead and looking at the horizon.

He notices it first – a human figure, a girl entwined with pink flowers. A girl is different in some way – she throws a knowing glance at Zam, as if capable of sensing something amiss, intercepts her delicate rapier, and then rushes away. Zam swears under his breath and shouts something, clearly still trying to play a card of just-a-player-definitely-not-a-mass-murderer-

4C may not be a warrior, but he still knows how to fight. His arrow hits the girl in the leg, piercing her knee, and she stumbles and falls. It doesn't take long for Zam to get close, but for a while he just stares at her writhing in pain.

– Why in the leg, – she moans, – better have killed me right away, but now I'll remember that too! If you had shot in the head, at least it doesn't hurt so much!

Zam continues to glare at her.

– It's an offering, – 4C smiles, – do you know, like to an ancient god? For the good luck to both of us at the games.

Zam's fingers, clenched into a fist, turn white. He doesn't say a word, as if intoxicated.

– I'm here, actually, – the girl remarks, – conscious and all that. I won't run away, of course, but I still have one life left. I'll tell everyone about you. Two hunters at once, wow!

– You'll tell them everything? What's about my name? – Zam asks softly, pupils dilated. – you should remember the name, right?

He kills her before she finds the answer. When he looks up, 4C notes that some of the blood seems to have entered his eye. Zam doesn't even try to wipe it off his face and instead smiles toothily.

– Let's find a bigger team, 4C, – he says too calmly, and he nods. He barely remembers to take arrows from the corpse with him. In addition to them and bolts for the crossbow, Zam silently throws him half a stack of rockets.

– She probably learned enough to tell the others, – 4C remarks after a long pause, – maybe not your name, but-

– Just imagine, – Zam interrupts him, – she thought you were a hunter. It's funny, isn't it?

– Undoubtedly! – he agrees, – in her gaze, I must really look like one of you.

– The difference is small, – Zam shrugs, – they didn't turn off the friendly fire.

Zam doesn't show it, but his trembling finally stops. He seems like a cat full of sour cream, but 4C knew better than anyone that it won't last long.

***

The next time they come across a company of five people. Zam burns the first alive and pierces the second by throwing a trident. The third and fourth, realizing that there is no way back, grab their swords, and they fight – honestly and with dignity and to the death, but Zam's face expresses boredom and disrespect while he dissects them like frogs. The fifth tries to run, and 4C finishes them off in the back and carefully wipes his sword.

– You're a grouch, – Zam jokes, – how did you even survive here?

– I'm not a grouch,– 4C corrects pedantically, hiding the sword, – I just don't want it to stay dirty.

– He won't have time to rust, – Zam sounds surprised, and 4C shakes his head. He's not answering.

The closing of the border becomes noticeable when it appears on the horizon, and they change direction, moving directly to 0, 0, where the paths of all the survivors and hunters were converging.

– Imagine if all our friends had already been killed while we were messing with the little things, – Zam groans, – I wanted to kill them all so much! It's such a pity that there's no point in killing hunters... I'd love to finish Kyle off. – he sighs in frustration, – well, I can still do it at least once, but he might get mad and stop me from killing the ones I want. – things are always more complicated when a person is immortal.

He hardly pays much attention to random passers, many of them are just running, but even those who are trying to fight are not interesting enough. Zam still wears his shitty starter armor, and- and even the fact that he is obviously not afraid of death, playing into its hands, he goes ahead, leaving himself vulnerable, and it scares. He fights every time but still always solves everything in a few punches. He fights quite differently now, much more sweeping and aggressiveness, but he leaves himself too open to enemy attacks.

– You still have an almost human body, – 4C reminds him, tying a bandage on his arm, – you're vulnerable.

– I'm immortal, – Zam chuckles, but doesn't move, letting him do his thing, – what's the difference?

– It would be even more inconvenient to look for you all over the map right now, – 4C reminds, fixing the edge of the bandage, – we don't have time for this if you want to find all your favorites. And we don't have any potions to heal your wounds. You're counterproductive, Zam. At least put on your armor or what?

Pause.

– A little later, – Zam answers more seriously, – I need... a first murder that will mean something. – and, instantly switching over, already smiling again, – where do you think Derapchu is now? He shouldn't have died yet... I really want to hit his skull with an axe!

– Who knows, – 4C spreads his hands, – depends on your luck. And you, as far as I know, are extremely lucky.

Instead of answering, Zam bursts out laughing. 4C doesn't interrupt him.

The next person is unknown to him. But they are familiar to Zam. And Zam is clearly familiar to them – they squint, focusing their gaze, and, realizing who is standing in front of them, swear profusely in an unfamiliar dialect and rush away. Zam, smiling too broadly, takes off after them, and 4C follows.

The person is a raccoon: small and nimble, but with a bearing and ironed clothes. He seems out of place.

– Fuck, fuck, fuck, – he chants, – no! Not you! Not like this! I refuse!

They seem to know each other.

– Ka-antje, – Zam pulls lovingly, – this time you can't just watch!

– I can do whatever i want! – raccoon lies down, putting a web behind him and fighting back, and this only excites Zam.

4C keeps a short distance, looking at how Zam, eventually catches up with Kantje and clings to him by the scruff of the neck and then lets go, laughing with a bloody mouth, and hits, and hits, and hits.

– Tell all our friends the news! – he laughs, splitting his skull with an axe, – tell them that I'm here! And that I would come for them!

Kantje hisses him to fuck off before dying. Zam needs almost a minute to calm his laughter.

***

Kantje fulfills Zam's request: all the people they recognize immediately know they are dangerous. Many of them are running, but the others turn around and fight. Fortunately, Zam finally puts on his hunting armor and swaps the axe for a netherite one.

4C knows how to fight, but he's not a fighter. Lifesteal taught him to keep a battlekit with him and hit into weak spots, but it still didn't give him the thirst for a battle. It didn't please him, never. And Zam did not expect that he would fight back to back with him – on the contrary, he took the fights to himself alone, as if every opportunity to put a sword between someone's ribs was the best reward.

4C does something else – throws him new and new ways of killing, patches his wounds, scouts the situation, and, when teams stand against them, shoots those who prevent Zam from taking the desired fight or try to run.

While Zam is clashing in battle with Plushy, 4C shoots Meta, and the fight ends too fast. Zam cradles his friend like a child, almost crying, saying how sorry he is that he did not kill him by himself, that he would have given him the best death possible, that he loves him and will always love him. And even if the corpses don't talk, 4C can't say that he can't understand him.

When the body crumbles to dust, Zam abruptly stands up and wipes his face. 4C shakes his head.

– Okay, – Zam states, – we still have so many people to kill.

4C is about to say something else, but Zam activates his tracking compass, and they both stare at it in deathly silence for a while.

The needle of the compass trembles restlessly, as if with impatience. "JustKaboodle" is engraved on a metal rim.

They look at each other. Zam nods slowly, stiff with bloodlust. They take off in record time.

Kaboodle, even if the closest to them, is still at a decent distance, and Zam, without slowing down, follows her for the entire half an hour without a break. They don't talk, but it's not so bad – 4C feels that he is already approaching his limits. They don't have to get close to see that she's surrounded by people.

They know many of them. They don't know some of them, but the way they stick around Kab tells them everything they need to know. "Zam," shouts Kab, and Sushi first grabs the sword, Kantje is already here too, and in a split second a random deserted village turns into a massacre.

There is no option left to just stand, and 4C hides behind his shield, clutching an axe with his right hand. Arrows rain down on his armor, and he, ducking from the blades, rushes forward, aiming to kill.

You see: 4C did not like fighting, but on Lifesteal it was rarely synonymous with inability to fight, as his weakness in comparison with the best fighters of Lifesteal did not indicate his incompetence. And oh, he loved to think that he appreciated someone else's life, but as long as it wasn't about his teammates, it was really not that important.

He is almost half as slow as Zam, but even that is enough. While Zam is laughing madly, taking on two-three-four people at the same time, 4C swings and blows off the head of the person closest to him.

He never stopped wishing that the first blow of the orbital cannon had killed everyone present. Here's what was true about him: he preferred to give people a quick death.

– You're all going to die here anyway, – he says even cheerfully, – let's get this over with faster and return each to our world, – and his axe shaft almost crumbles in his hands from the blow of the sword taken at him, – hey, hey, take it easy!

He has to let go of the axe, because the next blow crumbles the handle, and he changes it to his sword. Adrenaline makes his hands tremble.

4C deals with another opponent when he catches a glimpse of the moment where Zam pierces Kab through and leads the sword lower and lower, and she painfully slowly settles down, muttering curses and repeating over and over again that he has not changed a bit, that he is the same as then, that he is a monster born to destroy – and Zam, smiling tenderly at her, says how glad he is to be the one to ban her and that he will gladly do it again but already on the Lifesteal-

It's not that 4C is distracted – on the contrary, he is still attentive enough to react and block the blow. The point is different: while Zam is distracted by the taste of his victory, those who remain in battle almost synchronously turn to look at 4C. And he is far from being good enough to do anything in a tough 1v3 clash: he misses one, two hits, and it's all over.

Hmm, he thinks dreamily, not really resisting the death pulling him down. It wasn't a bad adventure. It was... funny. Making things fun is the most important thing. And then an axe flies between his eyes.

To his own surprise, he does not wake up behind the border or at the spawn – it seems that he set his bed somewhere else at the beginning of his journey and forgot. This is another village with no sign of life. For a while, he just lies there silently, staring at the ceiling, feeling the phantom wounds give off pain in his body. After that, he gets up.

There's still time before an end of the event, and maybe he has something to do, but every part of his body feels like it's filled with iron. Instead of moving... somewhere, he climbs onto the porch railing and watches a sunset, swinging his legs from side to side. Birds are chirping in the surrounding forest.

It's a long minute, two, three. The sun is completely sinking below the horizon, but it is still here, and twilight is descending on the world.

His communicator is vibrating.

PrinceZam whispers to you: coordinates

His hands tremble but instantly regain their firmness. He smiles, and then, after checking, writes his coordinates. He remarks distantly that this is almost the other half of the map.

He likes to just pause and look around sometimes. The world around is beautiful, and it's a pity not to be able to appreciate it. The full moon sticks to the sky like a porcelain saucer, and its light silveres the crowns of trees, the tops of houses, and wide fields. In a sense, it's the same as on any other vanilla server. In a sense, even the air here feels different – cleaner, fresher, but also frostier. No matter how hard he tries, he can't get rid of the taste of fir needles.

When Zam arrives, it is already dawn. 4C is almost surprised that he's here. He's also almost surprised that Zam doesn't kill him. Instead, the first thing he does is give him his own full set, food – clearly forgetting that it is endless here – and several more golden apples, an obviously random sword, axe, shield and pickaxe, and also one of his tridents.

– Hi,– 4C says calmly, and then looks at the helmet. Prot 3 – only hunters have these on the server, – Zam, are you sure?

Zam snorts.

– I can die as long as I want, – he reminds, – but you can't do it anymore. Come on, we don't have much time.

4C nods and gets ready. A shield falls back into his left hand, but in his right is a trident shining in the dawn rays of the sun. Zam activates the compass, and they move on again.

***

Endgame is close, the border is extremely small, and most of the survivors are more than competent. Almost everyone is fighting to the death. Escapees have to be driven into hundreds of blocks. They try to lead them into traps several times. Twice they are ambushed.

Once, Zam chases the only survivor of her squad, the purple catgirl, and begs her to fight him one-on-one, promising fair and equal conditions, and at one point she turns around. Zam throws her golden apples, and Raddles slowly chews one of them, looking at them darkly and menacingly from under her eyelashes. Zam blocks 4C with his hand.

– Don't interfere, – he begs, – I need–I need a real battle. If I die, do whatever you want. I don't think she's going to kill you, – Raddles shakes her head slowly, clearly having heard the conversation, and then spits an apple stub into the ground and draws her blade. She is all like a cat – bouncing movements, low stance, lowered head, lightweight armor. There is no doubt about her lethality, and she takes off at the same moment when Zam moves.

And... 4C just watches. He can do a hundred other things, including just turn around and walk away, but he watches. Raddles fights bloodily and swiftly, and Zam is forced to gain speed to match her. These are infinitely fast exchanges of blows, short cuts, attempts to hit weak spots – at some point it looks more like hand-to-hand sparring than sword fighting, and they are not inferior to each other. At some point, Zam breaks into some unfamiliar forced style, and in another skirmish, he punches her in the stomach at the cost of a knife blow that barely misses the artery. Raddles quickly regains consciousness, but Zam is faster – not paying attention to the fact that he is bleeding, he leads a sword from the bottom up, opening her stomach.

– Thank you,– Zam mutters, without taking his eyes off her, – thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.

– Fuck you,– Raddles mutters, and her eyes roll back.

4C puts a pressure bandage on Zam's neck and forbids him to move for a few more minutes until regeneration from the golden apples stitches at least the deepest damage. He really never saw himself as a medic; he wore bandages for self-help, but in war you either heal or cripple, so it was hard for him to be surprised. Zam is indignant and constantly whines but obeys and then jumps up, as if overflowing with energy again, clenching and unclenching his fists, and says that they need to run. 4C sighs and before that washes his hands. When he returns, there is an unnamed cross on the field. They can only move on.

Something about how insanely familiar it all was made him permanently uncomfortable. He didn't mind remembering his own death, but he couldn't stop thinking about how Zam was rapidly losing control of himself. They did not see each other often, separated by the entire server, but he remembered individual moments – the madness of the meat grinder in order to ban CaptainSparklz, insane laughter, threats to buildings, taking hostages, explosion after explosion after explosion, a sleepless night of the marathon, a bloody stroke of bans, and – death surrounded by flower petals, 1v4, happy and ready to accept who won for himself in spite of everything.

Zam rushes into battle, ignoring wounds and exhaustion and a half-empty inventory, rushing because he only knows how to fight and how to kill, and 4C regretfully lets him go to a certain death, telling himself that at least hunters cannot be banned. That Zam might die, but he would always come back. He watches with regret as Coldie disembowels him like a fish. Coldie does not touch 4C, but takes the trident from Zam's corpse and, nodding, disappears into the fog. 4C gently strokes Zam's hair, looking at the face of the doomed to die, and immediately after the body disappears, he DMs, asking for coordinates.

– And how did your teammates get you out? – he asks, chuckling, returning Zam's belongings.

– They did the best they could, – Zam grins, – and that was enough. I wanted it myself; what can they do? They wouldn't have forced me against my will.

4C smiles, suppressing another giggle, and shoves a spare shield in his face.

– We are almost at the end, – he reminds, – how many survivors are there, about twenty people? Every kill counts. Be careful.

At this point, both Mid and Squiddo have been killed. He has nowhere to turn around.

– Do not doubt, – Zam grins, – that I will use the rest of the time to the fullest.

This is the first time they see spawn. it is beautifully decorated, like a Christmas tree on the eve of a holiday, and that's why the traces of murders scattered here and there look especially grotesque. Here they see other hunters, many of them for the first time. 4C politely shakes hands with the other two survivors who have switched sides, pretending not to notice that the Zam's hands are shaking. When it comes time for Kyle, he is clearly forced to make every possible effort not to try to cut off his head.

Few survivors sitting on the spawn are hiding. The rest stick to that small part of the outer territory that has not yet been absorbed by the border. They catch rare survivors by falling on their heads or catching up or shooting them right in the head. Black and red fireworks explode them with bloody confetti. There is a lull before the final, while everyone is preparing for the final dash, and even Zam is forced to stop.

4C patches him up and makes him eat and drink. Zam's entire clothes and body are covered in blood to the point that it does not wash off, and even now he is staring into space, unable to hold his own hands, trembling so much that it rather resembles convulsions.

– Kill, kill, kill, kill, – he chants, – I have to kill them. Who's left? Fruit? Fein? Misty? – he breaks into a smile, – Derapchu, – squeezes one hand with the other so hard that the bones crackle, – such a feast, I can't believe it... And that's it for me... I just have to make sure that the others are not taken away... Abyss, I would give anything for the opportunity to kill them too...

He makes a fire and warms his icy fingers, counting the minutes until the moment when the border will reach here too.

– Be careful, – he reminds, – the rest are competent fighters. They can kill you. They'll kill you.

– It doesn't matter, – Zam chuckles, – I'm immortal! I will always come back!

– You're going to waste time, – he retorts, – and that's what we're all limited to right now. Time until the end of the event. Time until your targets are killed by someone else.

Zam looks at him. His pupils are huge.

– You're right, – he agrees breathlessly, – time. It doesn't matter if it hurts me. It matters if I have time to kill them. And I have to kill them. How can I miss an opportunity?

He finds the answer to his unspoken question very soon: only five minutes, and the border almost touches them. He puts out the fire with his boot and loads crossbows with bolts and fireworks. Zam takes off from his place, and he does not try to call out to him, only clutches one of the crossbows in his hands, and slides down through the wet snow into the hollow of spawn.

The border closes in, locking everyone within the ornately decorated square, and this quickly announces losses – before his eyes, Zam, laughing, blows off the head of a frightened player in iron armor, not ready for the meat grinder of the final. Fireworks fill the sky all around, and their light casts deep shadows from the bird squad of survivors holding onto the roofs, each of whom had elites on their backs. 4C aims at the figure closest to him, but they dodge without any effort.

It's like a dance – everything starts slowly, hunters and survivors die one by one, with rare pops, but gradually the production, emboldened, picks up the pace, and very soon you can't keep track of what is happening – the survivors try to keep their distance and hide in the heights and lowlands, but the hunters desperately attack them, dying one by one, exploding clouds of thick smoke are in the air, but materializing again only moments later and immediately rushing into battle again.

4C quickly finds himself in the company of two other survivors who have allied with the hunters – it seems impossible to keep up with Zam, he can only cover him from a distance, and this has never been hindered by good company. The guys are funny: they talk, joke, and accept him instantly, connected by common experience.

– Why did you decide to do this? – he innocently asks when Zam dies again from Fruit's axe, – to help hunters, – he clarifies pedantically.

One, a man in a blue hiking suit with stubble, shrugs his shoulders.

– It's more interesting this way, – he sums up, – I didn't want to just run away the whole event. And when will I be free to kill so many people, right? I had a lot of fun.

– It so happened that my friend became a hunter, – says the second, younger, heavily built, and obviously used to fighting, – I did not dare to go against him. What's the rest to me if we've come all this way together? He snorts, – What about you?

4C looks at Zam again – just respawned, he, along with several others, is storming a survivors' squadron – and then shakes his head expressively slowly. Instead of giving a clear answer, he just smiles at them.

#princezam #4cvit #d.fics #fanfiction #i suffered through it i had to write it but its a little too much for one chapt thing for me #im very sorry if ive killed you !#cw gore #cw suicidality #cw death #cw violence #happily going hrrr mimimi after finally finishing with it

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