summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.
tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism (additional tags on individual chapters)
CHAPTER ONE : like machines do : spencer and our leading lady find themselves in a tricky situation
CHAPTER TWO : you know you're better than this : things start to heat up between our stars.
CHAPTER THREE : too late to stop : our pairs on screen chemistry is tested.
CHAPTER FOUR : and you look half dead half the time : our couple prepares for their final act.
summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.
wc : 12k
tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, fingering, oral sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms
authors note : lowkey locked in and started writing again after like two years and made a new account because im into a completely different fandom now lol
★
“Do you think it’s the serial killer in Seattle?” You whispered to Emily, she had rolled her chair over to your desk when Hotch announced an emergency meeting in five.
”I don’t know what else it could be, it’s all the news is talking about. I’m just surprised we weren’t called in sooner, the escalation from this guy is practically unheard of.” She whispered back.
”I heard he’s up to four victims a day, I don’t know when this guy even sleeps.” You clicked through the files on your computer, trying to tie up any loose ends in your paperwork before the meeting. Anytime an emergency meeting was called it was almost always accompanied by a “Wheels up in ten.”
“They’re up to five,” Spencer leaned towards the partition between your desks, he didn't look up, his eyes still focused on the book in his hands. “We don’t know that the unsub is male, the victims are male and female.”
“It was originally just women, I’m like ninety percent sure it’s a man.” You cocked an eyebrow at Emily as you logged out of your computer, standing up and leaning over the partition to see what he’s reading.
The Divine Comedy
“Again?” You scrunch up your nose, you don’t know how he reads the same books over and over again.
“Yes, again.” He flips the page, his finger arched as it slides down the page, his eyes following the trail. When you first started you hadn’t believed them when they said no one reads as fast as Reid, you brought in book after book, trying to catch him in a lie until you couldn’t deny it anymore. “There’s actually a really interesting ongoing case in Toronto, a killer leaving pages with lines from Dante’s Infernos that seem to hint towards his next victim. I was hoping we might be called in to give some insight on the situation but it seems extremely likely that we’ll be on a plane to Seattle soon.” He closed the book, giving you that devastating little side smile of his.
Not his usual overworked, tight lipped smile he used most of the time at work. His genuine little smirk that he only used when he really meant it.
Don’t profile him.
It’s common courtesy. Don’t profile your fellow profiler.
“What do you think about this guy in Seattle?” You say as you watch him put the book into his go bag, he’ll finish it in the first five minutes on the plane.
”I think…” His voice trails off, running his fingers through his mess of hair. “Something about everything they’re releasing seems off, we’re missing a big chunk of information, that might be deliberate from the news stations or it might be a choice from the unsub. Either way I’m curious to see what the files say if this is in fact our case.” When he stood and started heading towards the conference room you followed, whispering to Emily about how you’d never been to Seattle.
Hotch was on the phone so you did your best to enter the room as quietly as possible, joining the group. You sit next to Spencer, watching as he rhythmically taps each of his fingers to his thumb, sorting out some kind of pattern you don’t understand. When he stops you realize he’s watching you stare, quickly, you turn away, cheeks burning hot.
Your relationship with Spencer was complicated.
Well, your lack of relationship with Spencer was complicated.
You joined the BAU a little under a year ago, taking the desk next to his. You’d heard all about him, the youngest member of the BAU, (until you arrived.) with an eidetic memory and an IQ to rival the brightest minds of the FBI. Meeting him made you realize he was the brightest mind of the FBI.
The boy genius.
Unfortunately for you, boy genius was also known by another nickname.
Pretty boy.
Something so stupid, that should have been inconsequential, opened your eyes to something you’d give anything to unsee.
The second the name left Morgan's mouth you had giggled into your hand, laughing at the idea of anyone thinking your dorky, walking encyclopedia of a desk mate was pretty. Instead you smiled at him, planning to give him a playful punch to the shoulder or a wink, instead you were staring into those ever changing hazel eyes. Wide eyed like a deer he watched as you had giggled, his gaze hit you like a punch to the stomach as you considered for the first time since you met him that Spencer Reid might be pretty.
Then you couldn’t stop considering it.
The way his hair curls around the ends. The way his eyes change colors in certain lighting. The way his slender, precise, fingers are constantly in motion, fighting to keep up with the speed his brain is working at. His pretty chin, his pretty lashes, his pretty brows, his pretty arms, his pretty hips, his pretty jaw. God that fucking jaw. Somedays you would just stare at his jaw, leering at him from your side of the desk as he works, all while you fight the urge to reach out and grab him by his pretty chin and kiss all along the edge of that pretty jaw.
You wanted to kill Morgan.
How were you supposed to get anything done once he opened your eyes to this? He had opened a door you couldn’t seem to close, no matter how hard you tried. And god did you try, but no matter what you did, he always did something in a certain way that drew you right back in.
The way he scrunched his eyebrows and got real quiet when he was focusing.
The way he always perked up when someone mentioned a book they were reading, no matter what it was.
The way he second guessed himself, even though no one else was doubting his knowledge.
The way he would decline a handshake. Claiming that it was more hygienic to kiss.
He had shaken your hand on your first day.
A fact that now haunted you, keeping you up at night as you tossed and turned and asked yourself, why?
It was easier not to think about it. It was the one case you just couldn’t seem to crack, and with real killers out there you had to focus on the cases that you could solve.
You resigned yourself to being his friend, and pushing down any unprofessional thoughts that lurked in the back of your mind.
“Let’s get started, we’ve got about twenty minutes before I want us on the jet.” Hotch passed out rather sizable files. You immediately opened yours, not at all surprised to see that you’re heading for Seattle. “I’m sure everyone here has heard plenty about the case but the public has not been made aware of the sheer extent of what’s happening.” He turned towards the screen, clicking the remote until it settled on a list of website links.
As you flip through the file your stomach churns, you can feel the tension in the rooms as everyone sees the same things you’re seeing.
The first body was found two years ago.
Four months after that a surviving victim came forward.
More bodies were found but none of them were connected to the crime until recently. They’d been so spread out in time and location no one had put the pieces together until now. They’re taking up to five people a day, with an expectation of continued escalation. It wasn’t just that they were killing people that made everyone in the room uneasy, it was what happened prior to the killings.
Local news broadcasts implied that the killer was taking victims captive, holding them for twenty four hours, and choosing at random afterwards to either kill them afterwards or release them. Like a Russian roulette of release or slaughter.
It’s clear that that’s not at all what’s happening.
Victims seem random, some are taken alone, some are taken in groups of two or three. Surviving victims report finding themselves in an empty room, with concrete floors, bare walls, a red door without a handle, and bright lights. The only thing in the room with them is miscellaneous bedding and anyone who might be with them. They don’t remember how they got there, or how they left.
Once they wake they are always stripped down to their underwear, the unsub speaks to them remotely, explaining to them a set or rules. From there they either play along or their body is found a few days later, always in dumpsters around the city. You can’t help but wonder how many bodies weren’t found.
“We can’t confirm every victim was related but we have good reason to believe there were dozens happening outside of Seattle.”
”I don’t understand, what exactly is he doing with them once he has them?”
”He’s making videos, and uploading them online.” Hotch motions towards the website list. “These are just the sites that have had the videos taken down, more pop up every hour.”
There’s so many.
“How the hell is that legal?” Morgan closes his case file, you watch as his fist clenches and unclenches.
“It’s not.” Spencer speaks without looking up from the file, you’re sure he’s read it over twice by now. “We’re dealing with a voyeur, he never makes appearances in the videos he’s making, but he micromanages every action taken by the victims.”
”Why isn’t it public knowledge that his motives are sexual?” Emily speaks up now, glaring at Hotch with a look that you know holds the rage that’s meant for the unsub.
“Many of the surviving victims didn’t initially reveal what was really going on, due to either shame or fear of not being believed. Stories didn’t match, people weren’t making the connection between cases.” He sounds tired, then again Hotch always sounds tired.
”Shame. This bastard’s likely preying on their humiliation, it’s how he gets off.” Morgan stands as he speaks, dialing his phone as he heads towards the door. “I’m gonna see if Garcia can link any solved missing persons cases to people in the videos, maybe see if we can identify victims who might’ve stayed quiet.” When he’s gone you turn back to Hotch.
“So he’s impotent?” You speak softer than the rest of the group, cringing as you flip to a page in the file that lists every video he’s made, the titles and victims listed beside each one. “He can’t perform so he lives out his fantasies vicariously through his victims, when they won’t play nice it reminds him of his own inabilities and he lashes out.”
“Not necessarily,” You can feel the heat off of Spencer's body as he speaks, putting his arm around your chair and leaning in close while his other hand points through the list you’re eying. “The titles of his videos are positive and speak almost highly of his victims, if he were impotent he would most likely resent his victims for being able to perform when he can’t. His videos would use much more degrading language.” His finger follows specific examples for you.
Beautiful girl gets a special treat from handsome stranger
Good girl solo session
Two men sharing a pretty lady
Gorgeous angel plays with herself
You try to ignore just how close he is to you as you read through the list.
“Then what’s his motive?” Your attention turns back to Hotch as he speaks, Spencer pulls himself back from you in one swift motion.
”If he’s not impotent then he’s a sexual psychopath.” This time when you speak you can see Spencer nodding in your peripheral vision. “He won’t stop until he’s caught, he feels no remorse for what he’s done and we can expect continuous escalation from here. He’ll go bigger and bolder until he gets sloppy and we catch him.”
“So we need to catch him fast.” You could see Emily thinking as she spoke. “The victimology is odd.”
“I noticed the same thing. It was all women and one at a time up until about nine and a half months ago. His solo victims are still exclusively women but now he often brings in men with them.”
“We need to find out what happened that made him switch.” Hotch turns the screen off, giving you all a curt nod. “Wheels up in ten.”
The team around you disperses, hushed whispers filling the space until they dissipate and it’s just you and Spencer, staring down into the case files.
“There’s something else in the victimology, why didn’t anyone point this out?” You hold the file out towards him. “All the female victims look the same.” You can tell by how he grimaces that he already realized that.
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“Then why didn’t anyone say anything! Clearly these women are a surrogate for someone else so…” Your voice trails off when you see the look on his face.
Oh.
The hair color, eye color, and body type.
They’re all the same as yours.
“I’m gonna grab a coffee before we board, do you want one?” He speaks softly as he stands, you nod, collecting yourself before following after him. Heading towards your desk to grab your go-bag.
★
“I know this isn’t pleasant for anyone but I need you all to understand exactly what we’re dealing with.” Hotch had his laptop set up where everyone could see it. The thumbnail of the video already made you feel sick.
A woman in her underwear, curled up in the corner of the room. A wiry young man in a shirt and his boxers sits in the middle of the room, hugging his knees to his chest.
“This kind of thing is my least favorite part of the job.” Emily grumbled beside you and you couldn’t help but nod in agreement. You have to remind yourself that you can handle this. You were selected to be a part of this team, you have to handle it.
You were the youngest on the team, like Spencer you were brought on in your early twenties, shockingly young for the BAU. You didn’t have the field experience most agents have before joining, just a specific set of skills that made you invaluable. Advanced pattern recognition skills, an encyclopedic knowledge of forensics, and of course the fact that you pieced together a dozen cold cases in college. You could catch a killer in your sleep.
Sex crimes were different, you didn’t have the experience in them and they made you a bit emotional. You knew it was something you’d eventually get used to, but that thought made you sad most days. You can’t imagine ever being desensitized to any of this.
“We’re just going to watch the first few minutes, I want to give everyone a chance to hear how our unsub speaks and how he reacts to things. I believe it will give us a much clearer understanding of what we’re walking into.” The entire plane was silent as he pressed play, standing silently like a statue, turned away from the screen. He had clearly already seen it and has no interest in watching it again.
It’s as bad as you expected, probably worse.
Hotch only made you all watch about five minutes, unfortunately that was too much for you. But he was right, it did give you plenty of insight into your unsub. They communicated with their victims through an intercom system, a disembodied voice that can be heard making demands. The thing that stands out to you most is the formality. He gives them detailed and clinical instructions, how to act, when to moan, what position to be in, all the way down to how fast he wants them to go. He signals them to begin with one clear command.
“Action!”
The two terrified victims moved shakily, the woman looking like she was on the verge of a breakdown, and the man had tears spilling down his cheeks. You could see the silver of his wedding band glimmering on the screen.
You knew from the file that the victims were almost always strangers, despite the fact that the female victims had visual similarities; they were still seemingly selected at random. Unlucky women who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, trapped because they looked a certain way. They looked like you.
It made you want to cry. Watching the way they trembled as they hesitantly touched each other, you could hear the man in the video repeating himself softly.
“Is- is this okay? Are you okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
If you cried right now no one would think less of you, you almost let yourself. The woman is despondent, her eyes squeezed shut, when she starts to cry you have to look away. You can feel your companions glance in your direction and you know that they’re all thinking because it’s what you’re thinking.
She looks too much like you.
If you squint she’s your spitting image.
“Excuse me.” You mumble as you push past Hotch towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you.
You are good at your job, great at your job, you’ve never let a case get to you before but this? It’s too much, you’ve never been asked to watch a video of two people being raped. It’s too much.
You run the water, letting the sound drown out the crying you can still hear out in the cabin.
“God damn it! At least pretend like you like it you stupid fucking slut!” So much for Spencer's theory that he thought highly of his victims. When you finally hear the laptop close and the audio turn off you step out of the bathroom, but not before looking yourself over in the mirror.
All you see is the girl from the video.
You stumble back out into the cabin, Derek has taken your seat next to Emily, they speak in hushed whispers as they work through her notes. When you step out she gives you a reassuring smile.
You take Derek's seat on the bench next to Spencer, he gives you a tight lipped sympathetic look. The last thing you want is for him to pity you.
“From the sounds of it he doesn’t hold much respect for his victims, the derogatory language would imply that he does resent them but the video titles say differently. I can’t wrap my head around it.” You speak in a hushed voice so only he can hear you as you open one of the files, flipping back to the page of titles. Not once does he use degrading language toward the women, he regrets them as beautiful, gentle, angels.
“Something seems to be happening between the videos being made and the upload time that makes him feel…” He chews on his lip, his brows furrowing as he searches for the solution.
“Regret?”
“No, regret would imply that he feels badly about this, as a sexual psychopath he feels no remorse for what he’s done. It’s almost like he’s lying to himself with the titles, like that’s what he wants them to be. They can’t live up to whoever he wants them to be.” He sounds unsure but it makes sense. Whoever he’s using these women as a surrogate for is who he actually wants, these women can’t live up to her no matter how hard they try. But when he titles and uploads the videos he’s thinking of her, so the language switches back to favorable. He turns to look at you, both of you eye to eye, a strangely serious moment as he runs his fingers along the spine of the file. “Are you okay?”
It’s so earnest it nearly knocks the wind out of you, his big hazel eyes searching for an answer.
“I’m… fine. It’s just hard sometimes, but I think I’m alright, I’ll feel even better when we catch this guy.” You give him an encouraging smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes. “But I appreciate you checking in.” The look of relief he gives you nearly melts your heart.
“Then let’s catch this guy.” His smile falters a bit as he thinks. “Something just isn’t clicking for me, it’s incredibly frustrating.”
“We’re missing something.” You mumble as he nods.
“Something vital. It’s like we’re missing one big puzzle piece right in the middle of a nearly finished picture.”
“Exactly. I understand that there must be a woman out there that he’s focused on but I just feel like there are too many possible alternative motives.” You flip through the victims photographs, living and deceased. “Is he a porn addict? Maybe the stuff online just wasn’t doing it for him anymore so he resorts to making his own?”
“I was thinking the same thing but from what I can tell the videos he’s making are relatively tame. I had Garcia send me a list of all the general themes in the videos and it’s all pretty standard vanilla intercourse, he isn’t having them engage in anything objectively taboo.” He holds the sheet out to you, you take it from him, immediately searching the page for answers.
Missionary
Missionary
Missionary
Missionary with handcuffs
Missionary
Medical Play
Missionary
Doggy Style
Missionary
Gun Play
Missionary
”Medical play?” You scrunch up your face as you try to imagine that, all you can think about is needles.
“Not at all uncommon, typically a doctor patient roleplay involving very impersonal, and detached intercourse.” You want to poke at him for knowing that off the cuff but you’re too distracted by his choice of words.
“I hate that you call it intercourse.” You feign a grimace at him.
”That’s the professional terminology.” He grins back at you, a real bonafide Spencer Reid smile.
“I know, you just make it sound so… clinical.”
”In this setting it should be clinical!” His voice hitches up, his smile never faltering.
“I’m sure it is, Dr. Reid.” You tease as you bump your shoulder against his. Laughing as his ears burn red, he clears his throat loudly.
“I would assume he’s trying to fulfil some specific fantasy but nothing he’s doing seems to have any correlation.” His tone stays light but you can tell this case is bugging him, he doesn’t like being confused, no one does but especially him.
“So is he a sexual psychopath or a sadist?” You throw him a bone, a question he can make sense of that you want an answer to.
“He doesn’t seem like a sadist, a sadist enjoys the cruelty of the act, although I wouldn’t fully rule out sadism. It’s actually rather fascinating reading the transcripts of our unsubs videos. He doesn’t seem to enjoy what he’s doing but he has to for some reason, it’s like it’s a chore. Not necessarily that it’s a compulsion that he can’t help but like it’s a job he’s clocking in for. I’m hoping when we speak to some of the victims we’ll get a clearer picture of what happened.” He speaks vividly with his hands, as he gets caught up in his ramblings a chime signals that you’re soon to land.
You felt yourself leaning into him as the plane began its descent.
You hope to get this entire case sorted and taken care of quickly. Everything about it made you queasy, the faster you got out of Seattle the better.
When you land you all end up in separate cabs heading in different directions. With too many victims and too many bodies it only makes sense to split up.
★
Your head hurts like hell.
Jesus, what the fuck happened last night? You definitely didn’t go out drinking, you didn’t catch the guy. Yet you feel like you have an absolutely wicked hangover. You can hardly open your eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights burning your retinas as you try to orient yourself.
Definitely not a hotel room.
You have no idea where you are.
Okay, that’s fine, just stay calm, it’s imperative in situations like these to remain calm.
“Find a focus point. The last thing that happened to you before you lost consciousness. Where were you? What were you wearing? Who was with you? What time was it?”
Hotch’s emergency hostage training rings around in the dizzy mess that is your train of thought.
You would have landed in Seattle around 8:00 P.M.
You were in a cab heading to the most recent surviving victims home.
You were wearing black trousers, and an olive green short sleeved turtle neck, you had tucked your blazer into your bag.
You were in the cab, there had been an unfamiliar sound, like air being let out of a balloon.
Or gas being released into a car.
Deep breaths.
In,
and out.
You force your eyes open, locking eyes on the first thing you can focus on.
Directly in front of you is a large red metal door, with no handle.
Fuck.
Turning quickly, your eyes find a folded pile of blankets, pillows strewn about, and a small room with four walls and no windows.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.
“Don’t freak out, at least not physically. The moment you break down you’re giving your captor power over you.”
You chewed the inside of your cheek, digging your nails into your palms as you steady your breathing.
In,
and out.
In,
and out.
In,
and out.
“Hello, Agent. You cannot fathom how delightful it is to finally meet you.” You immediately recognize the voice that crackles over the unseen intercom.
This can’t be happening.
You swallow, fighting the urge to scream.
”I would like to make a movie with you.” It’s like he’s in the room with you, you can practically hear the smile on his face. You cringe when you hear the wet sound of him licking his lips.
”I bet you would.” You fight the urge to mumble, speaking clearly as Hotch would instruct you to do. ”Is this the part where I choose between being murdered or being raped?” You turn your head, trying to find where the camera you know is watching you might be.
“Oh, no, you sweet thing, you wound me.” His voice is a sickening coo, as if he’s soothing a frightened animal. “You, and your whole team, you misunderstand me.”
”Our entire job is to understand you.” You scoff, desperate to appear nonchalant while your head spins and your heart races.
”And you are doing a terrible job.”
”Then why don’t you help me, fill in the gaps, let’s start with a name.” You try to act as confident as you’ve seen the rest of the team be when faced with an unsub.
”I think you know I cannot answer that, it would ruin the fun before we have even started. I simply cannot have you screaming out clues during my movie.”
”Your movies? Is that what you call the snuff you’ve been peddling?”
“Oh come now, you think of me as some demented, perverse deviant. That is how I know your profile is all wrong.” By the time they find you you’ll be another girl on one of those websites. ”I am an artist.”
“I wouldn’t call anything you do art.”
”Art is subjective, perhaps you are not my intended audience.” He sounds so smug, you know he’s pleased with himself.
”And who is?”
”Hmm… What a question.” You know by the way his tongue clicks that whatever he says next will be a lie. ”People who want to feel something. Everyone likes sex, some people are just willing to admit it.”
”Bullshit. You’re making them for someone specific, a specific group of people just as sick as you are.”
“I suppose you are right, in a way. Some of my recent work has been… self indulgent.”
“So who’s the woman?” There’s only silence in response when you ask the question that's been on your mind since you read the file. “Who’s the unlucky lady that we all look like?”
The silence is deafening until you finally hear that crackling voice again.
“I cannot wait to start, angel.”
”Then why haven’t we started? You’ve got me here, I’ve seen your videos, I know how this goes.” You’ve seen Hotch push and push an unsub until they crack but you don’t have the experience he does and your voice shakes.
”Clearly you do not, or you would not have so many questions.” There’s a pause again, as he thinks something over before you hear him again, for the first time he sounds almost unsure. ”We simply cannot start without your co-star.”
Your entire body froze, your breath catching in your throat.
In all of his videos with multiple people they all wake up together, why would he stray from his usual routine just for you? You have no idea and you aren’t excited to find out.
“Until then I suggest you get comfortable, I am not sure how long it will take before he makes an appearance but I have a sneaking suspicion you will not be in suspense for very long.”
”What do you mean?”
The laugh that flows from the intercom settles in your stomach, heavy and vile.
“I know he will not keep you waiting, I am certain it will only be a few hours before we are ready.”
You open your mouth to question further but the speaker clicks and you know the conversation is over. Looking around the room you know there’s nothing you can do but wait. Clawing at the door will get you nowhere. Screaming will get you nowhere. And crying will get you nowhere.
Pacing the room tells you next to nothing, the walls are concrete, as well as the floor, there’s no windows.
Likely underground.
You trace your fingers along the edge of the red door, there’s no gaps, when you push yourself up against it there’s no give. The ceiling is a mess of pipes and wires, you know somewhere up there are cameras, capturing your every move.
Not the best situation to find yourself in.
“It will only be a few hours before we are ready.”
You feel like an inmate on death row. You know without a shadow of a doubt that the team doesn’t have a sufficient profile to find you in the next few hours, unless they pull off some kind of miracle.
What twisted fate does he have in store for you. The possibilities for your ‘co-star’ are endless. You’re almost thankful for the hiss of gas as you feel your vision get blurry, at least he isn’t going to make you sit here and stew.
★
This time when you wake you’re being shaken by someone, your immediate instinct is to fight, if this is your captor this will likely be your only chance to escape. You grab at the hands on your shoulders, forcing them away from you as you kick wildly, throwing yourself at him and pinning him down, until you’re straddling him under your hips. You’re about to start punching, as hard as you can so you take a moment to force your eyes open once again. It will do you no good to slam your fist into concrete.
When you open your eyes you aren’t met with a stranger though, instead you’re staring at familiar wide hazel eyes.
“Hey, you’re all good, it’s just me.” His voice is so soft, like he’s not about to take a beating, hands up defensively and all. “Just me.”
“Oh my god.” Too many thoughts are firing through your brain, instead of focusing on the horrifying implications of his arrival you fold over against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you embrace him.
Hesitantly, his arms wrap around you as well, anchoring you in this sea of madness.
“I’m gonna guess based on your reaction that you know exactly where we are.” His words are still gentle as he holds you tight, releasing you when you finally pull back, crawling off of him. You both orient yourselves, standing and doing a turn about the room.
“I woke up alone, he changed his MO.” You listen, waiting for your captor to finally make himself known. You know he’s there, he wouldn’t miss this. Watching with bated breath for both of your reactions.
He winces as he reaches for the back of his head.
“I wasn’t gassed or slipped something like his usual victims either,” He turns to you, concern becoming more and more apparent on his face. “did he talk to you?”
“Briefly, he definitely fits the sexual psychopath profile, he doesn’t think anything he’s doing is wrong. What do you remember? How did he get you here? I was knocked out in the cab, then I woke up here…” You trail off as you motion for him to turn so you can look at the back of his head. You tentatively run your fingers through his hair, you find a bit of blood drying, it looks like he’s been bludgeoned with something. “He’s never physically hurt a victim like this, he doesn’t get hands on unless they don’t cooperate and even then it’s almost always done with a gun. All the victims were shot to death, not beaten.”
“We‘re still dressed.” Spencer motions to himself, he’s still in his button up, cardigan, and dress pants and you’re still in the same clothes as well.
“Just another thing we can add to the list of things that make no sense.” You’re so close, you can taste it. “Maybe because we’re federal agents? He isn’t sure what the best course of action is because he’s never dealt with something on this scale.”
“I just don’t get it.” He’s still hung up on the clothes, you can tell as he pulls on his tie, straightening it. You both know from the tapes and files that the first thing he does is undress his victims, leaving them in their undershirts, bras, and underwear. “It’s a part of the ritual, he shows them how much control he has over them by stripping them of basic comforts.”
“We’re different.” Your voice falls to a whisper. Everything is different for you two, like you’re his guests of honor.
“All the other victims recall being taken together, from the same location, we weren’t selected at random like them. We hadn’t even spoken to the local police department when you were taken, did he anticipate our arrival? Is he concerned about the FBI getting involved?” The gears in your head twist and turn as he rambles on. Painting a horrifying picture as you realize the only possible explanation. “And then he took me, which makes no sense. He already has you, if he plans to ransom us back then he doesn't need two of us.”
He isn’t going to ransom you.
“If his goal was just to make another video he would have done it with just you.”
That wasn’t his goal.
“Reid.” Your voice cracks but he’s hyper focused now on his own mental processings, his hands waving around as he paces back and forth.
“Is it respect? Because of our positions in the bureau? It would make sense why we’re still dressed, but he’s previously taken doctors, lawyers, plenty of people in positions of authority. It makes no sense for him to stray just for us.”
We’re different. Different from every single person he’s taken previously.
“Reid.” Your voice is so quiet now you can’t blame him for not hearing you.
“No- no, that makes no sense, he shouldn’t have taken you at all, he’s been so cautious up until now. He moves with the intention of never getting caught, our unsub isn’t stupid enough to choose federal agents as his targets. Is it possible we’re dealing with-”
You step in front of him, effectively silencing him and stopping him in his tracks.
“He’s been after us all along.” For a moment his expression is blank, you watch as his eyes get wider, and wider. And just like it did for you, everything clicks into place, he’s given no time to react as the crackle of the intercom makes both of you look up.
“I have been after you all along.” That polite voice rings out once more.
Your entire body tenses up.
Shoulders and jaw locking into place as your feet step into a defensive stance.
You know he isn’t talking to Spencer.
“My girl.” He speaks in a gooey, loving tone that makes you want to crawl out of your skin. “I have been after you since you first graced my screen all those years ago. How lucky I was to stumble upon you as I wasted away, searching for my muse. And finally, completely by accident, there you were. An FBI training video, used to educate the public on a few basic things, you smiled and talked about your program. I must have watched that video a thousand times. You had but a few moments on screen but god were they glorious.”
You can feel Spencer's presence change, he was on edge before but now his body language shifts from nervous to something else. His mouth is settled into a deep frown as he steps between you and the door, like he can protect you from this nightmare.
Oh my god.
Spencer.
You’d been so relieved to have someone here with you that you hadn’t even begun to process the implications of his presence. And now he’s here, standing between you and a man obsessed with you.
You need to get him out of here immediately.
”You were glowing, the camera loved you.” He speaks about you like you’re a past lover, someone he once knew dearly and is now reminiscing about. “I could not get you out of my head after that. In everything I watched, I compared every actress to you. I looked online, desperately trying to find someone, anyone, who could hold a candle to you. Every woman I brought here, every cheap trinket, was a pale comparison to your light.”
“Then why bring Reid into this at all? I’d think you’d want me all to yourself?” You manage to keep your tone even despite the fact that you feel deep in your bones like he’s already violated you. “Maybe our profile was right, you’re impotent, so you had to bring someone in to do the job you know you can’t.”
In a way he has already violated you, through every woman he brought here as a surrogate for you.
All of these people suffered because of you.
“Don’t taunt him.” Spencer whispers, soft enough that your captor likely can’t hear him. “It will only result in a negative reaction. I’m starting to think he really is a sadist.”
“Maybe I am.” For the first time you hear his prim and proper tone drop to something darker, more authentic. ”A sadist, that is, as far as the impotence goes, I do not think that is a theory you want to test.” Spencer's reaction is more severe than your own as he practically growls. The subtle changes that you’ve been trained to notice, the clicking of his jaw, the clenching and unclenching of his fist, the tilt of his gaze as his stare turns to a glare. “I felt more like a masochist than a sadist when I was finally able to see you again on my screen, after searching for so long for a morsel of information on you. You were not an easy girl to find. I remember my joy, my pure bliss, when I saw you again. A euphoria that was immediately destroyed by the presence of Dr. Reid.” You’re pretty sure you know what he’s talking about, when you joined the BAU you were sent out with Spencer to a few schools around Virginia to talk to the students about becoming a profiler. They did a news segment on it, Penelope, Morgan, and Emily teased you about it for weeks because you were staring at Spencer like a schoolgirl in love the whole time. “My heart was broken into a thousand tiny pieces. My shining star, ogling some man in a constant state of disarray. Mismatched socks, tangled hair, wrinkled pants, it was nearly enough to drive me mad. How could my angel settle for such a mess?”
”Reid and I aren’t together.”
”We aren’t together.”
The two of you respond in unison, the room fills with crackling laughter.
”I told myself that… that it did not matter, that I could just have you and be happy. And for a while that was the plan. Until I went to Quantico to see you.”
You want to vomit.
You’ve probably seen him before, he was there, watching, and you missed it.
”You and your precious team, out at some dive bar, it took all my strength to not take you then and there. But I told myself to wait. I told myself everything had to be perfect. I told myself that your colleagues would spoil everything if I tried to take you then. I told myself it would not hurt to buy you a drink, to say hello, but as I made my way over to you, you were intercepted by Dr. Reid.” It doesn’t take a background in profiling to tell that he isn’t as fond of Spencer as he is you. ”And you just lit up.”
Even in this moment, in this situation, you find yourself burning red with embarrassment. Your little crush on Spencer was coming back to bite you in the ass in full force.
“Like he was the sun, and not just some insignificant dying star in your orbit.”
In the most twisted way humanely possible.
”I knew then and there that I could never make you shine like that. I want your films to be perfect. You would not be perfect all alone, you would be dull, but with Dr. Reid you will sparkle like a diamond.”
“I‘ll do whatever you want, please, just let him go.” You hope your voice doesn’t shake too bad as you call out to the faceless man. You can’t help but ask for his safety now that you know it’s too late.
”You will do whatever I want regardless, even if it pains me, he is an integral part of this production.”
You turn, walking to the nearest wall and slumping down against it, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from screaming. All you’ve wanted to do since you woke up here is scream.
“I have seen the way he looks at you too. From an objective and artistic standpoint he is the perfect scene partner, looks of yearning that I could not beat out of an actor.”
Spencer is silent as you look up at him, a few tears finally slip past your steely resolve and down your cheeks, blurring your vision so you don’t see his reaction as he turns away from you.
“Make yourself comfortable, agents. We start shooting tomorrow.” You’re left with the click of the intercom and your own uneven breathing.
The energy in the room has shifted from awful to downright unbearable.
Spencer eventually sits against the wall opposite to you, you watch him through your hair as he twitches, fingers tapping against each other until they grow restless and sift through his hair instead.
“I suppose the first conclusion we should have come to is that we’re set to meet the same fate as the previous victims” He breaks the silence first, sounding haggard.
The same fate.
The man behind the voice is going to make demands of you very soon and if you don’t meet them he’s going to be sending you back to Quantico in bodybags.
“His speech is overly formal, no contractions, he’s a control freak. Likely in a position of power with a career that lets him afford a set up like this and lets him take time off to spend with his victims.” Your tone is monotonous as you continue to stare at your shoes rather than him.
“We don’t need to profile him right now.” God does he sound sincere when he says it. He’s typically all work and no play but now, here, even he can’t keep that up.
“Then what are we supposed to do?”
“Evaluate our options.” He stands, cautiously walking to your side of the room and sitting down beside you, giving you a wide berth of space. “We have a general idea of what to expect tomorrow, we should… make decisions.”
“On if we’re gonna rape each other?” You don’t mean to sound so harsh but you can’t help it, you immediately regret it when he flinches like he’s been slapped.
“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, I swear.” He scootches a little further away as if to prove his point and you hide your face in your hands, stifling another scream that eventually escapes as a groan.
How many times have you imagined being with him? How often do you spend your lonely nights after closing a case lying in bed, wide awake, imagining what it would be like if he were beside you? And here he is, practically being served to you on a silver platter.
“Reid…”
“I mean it. I don’t care about the alternative, you’re in charge here, whatever you say goes.”
“You get a say in this too you know.”
“It’s different.” He sounds so sure.
“It’s not.” You’re offended on his behalf that he would assume he doesn’t have a choice here. “You have as much of a choice as I do.”
“I need you to trust me, it’s different.” It clearly pains him to say it, it makes you want to reach out to comfort him but you can’t move. Your body is still locked up defensively.
“Explain.”
“This situation is bad enough as is, I’m begging you not to make me do this.” He sounds so beaten down you know it would be cruel to push.
“Fine.”
“Thank you.”
“I think we should do it. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the only way we make it out of here alive.” You say it like you’re making a decision on something as mundane as what to have for lunch.
“I agree.”
“We won’t be like the others, it won’t just be one time. He’s been saying films, plural.” He’s been waiting for you, he isn’t going to make one little movie, he’s going to make a whole franchise with the two of you.
“He plans on keeping us.”
“Until the team finds us.”
After they watch every movie you make.
“Are you up for that?”
Up for sex with the coworker you’ve spent the last year fantasizing about?
“I don’t know.”
This is punishment for every sick, perverted thought you’ve ever had about him.
“You don’t have to decide now, you can change your mind whenever you want.” He says it as if changing your mind wouldn’t result in fatal consequences.
“No amount of talking it over first is going to make this okay, you know that, right Reid?” You snap, tired of the voice in your head demanding your attention.
What if you like it?
“Hey, we’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna go step by step, and I don’t care what the consequences are, if you want to stop we’ll stop. And we can take breaks, and we can be professional about it, I can make it very detached-”
What if he realizes you like it?
“Can we lay down?” Your voice is small, and tired. You really are tired, even if you’re mostly just desperate for him to stop talking.
“I’ll set up the blankets.” He gives you the closest thing to a smile that he can as he lays out a few of the blankets on the cold concrete, making something akin to a bed as you lay down beside him. As if on cue the fluorescent lights above you flicker out until only a small red bulb is left, bathing you in the dim light.
“He’s probably still watching us.” You whisper as you roll over, the two of you face to face, even in the dark you can make out his concerned features.
“I’m sure he is. There’s no privacy here, even in our whispers.” He speaks softly too, and you know he’s right.
You’ll be under nonstop observation in this little room.
“Goodnight, Reid.” You whisper as you roll away from him, facing the wall in the darkness.
He doesn’t respond, all you hear is fingers tapping on the cement beside you.
★
You know the man on the intercom is speaking to you but all you can hear is the ear splitting ringing in your ears.
“Five times?” You squeak out as Reid takes your hand in his, giving you a reassuring squeeze.
“I would like to see what my new toys can do. So yes, I want to see five orgasms from my shining star, I do not care how you do it, I just want it to happen. As a bonus, I will not even micromanage you, I will let you work through it together, I want the scene to feel organic and natural. ”
You couldn’t bring yourself to talk to Spencer when the two of you woke up and now you’re regretting it, you should have come up with a game plan.
But you didn’t, and now you’re being given instructions that you don’t know if you can follow.
Five? With the pressure you’re under right now? Not to mention that the most you’ve ever done in a row is two and you did it yourself. None of your previous partners had ever given you more than two orgasms, most of them struggled to give you one.
“I can’t do this.” You can feel your heart starting to race once, your breath shaky and quick. If you don’t pull it together you’re gonna start hyperventilating.
“Why should we listen to you at all? Clearly you adore her, you wouldn’t hurt her like your other victims, what would stop us from sitting here and waiting for the rest of our team to finally arrest you.” You want to tell him to stop, you know it won’t make a difference.
“Dr. Reid, you are not in a position to be arguing with me. She may not be expendable but you certainly are.”
There is a moment of quiet between the two of them, you watch as Spencer goads him, cocking an eyebrow as he looks up towards the ceiling.
“If you refuse to cooperate I suppose she and I will have to sort out the next course of action. Let us play a round of Would you Rather, my angel.” Everytime he calls you by a pet name you want to claw your own ears off. “Would you rather, I come into that cell of yours and shoot your companion dead and have you all to myself? I do not know if I can promise to keep my hands to myself while in such close proximity to you all alone, I might just have to indulge in a taste. Or would you rather I keep him alive, chain him to the wall in your room, draw out his life for god knows how long as I make you watch him decay? Of course I’ll still want to make my movies so you will have to touch yourself as you watch me stick a funnel down his throat. I wonder how much gasoline he will have to drink before he loses the attitude? Which of those options is preferable to you, my love?”
You just burst into tears.
Your entire body trembles as you do your best to remain standing. He catches you, pulling you into a hug as you let out a sob, praying you might wake up and realize this was all just a terrible dream. You can feel him rubbing circles into your back for a few quiet moments, you know that the absence of commentary from the unsub is his way of letting you know he’s waiting for your decision.
“I can’t- you can’t. I can’t be alone with him, please Reid- don’t leave me alone with him.” You mumble into his shirt as his hands go to your shoulders, he pulls you back and bends down to be eye level with you. Your noses just a few inches apart, he’s shockingly calm as he nods.
“Hey, it’s okay, we’re gonna be okay.” He says it so confidently you almost believe him.
Almost.
”I won’t leave you alone with him, I promise.” His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away stray tears. “We can do this, you can do this.” You try to nod but his hands hold your head in place, his eyes are dark as he stares at you with an intensity that makes you want to avoid his gaze.
“Spence-” You don’t know what you’re going to say, but whatever it was is cut off when he leans forward and crashes his lips into yours.
Your brain has no time to process what’s happening as you relinquish any resistance and let him.
He kisses you like he’s hungry. Like he’s starving for it. Not like he has to do it because some pervert is watching from behind a screen and expects it of him. Your mouth matches his movements as best it can, trying to keep up with the sheer ferocity. His mouth opens, demanding more and more as you feel his teeth graze your bottom lip you gasp and he pulls back.
“I won't leave you alone.” He sounds so sure of himself all you can do is nod. “Just pretend he’s not here, it’s just you and me.” He pulls you close again, fingers tapping against the back of your neck as he presses his forehead to yours. “Just you and me, can you do that?”
“Y-yeah, I can do that.” Your heart is racing so loudly he can definitely hear it.
It’s just the two of you.
“We can do five, all you have to do is lay here, okay? I’m gonna take care of it. I’m gonna take care of you.” You don’t understand how he can be so collected right now but you’re glad he is because you’re struggling to put together sentences. “I know it’s a lot, you’ll be okay, I’m gonna handle it. We’re gonna get through to the end. If we can do that we’ll be all done for a little while.”
“But that’s just one day done, we don’t know how long-” You’re starting to spiral as he gently places his hand over his mouth, quietly shushing you.
“One day at a time. We’re gonna take this one day at a time.” He slowly lowers his hand, nodding at you as he does. “I want to hear you say it’s okay.”
“It’s okay.” You don’t sound at all sure of yourself as he guides you to the blankets and eases you down so that you’re laying down propped up on a pillow.
“I want to hear you say what we’re gonna do so that I know you understand. I’m not going to stop until you’ve come five times.” His fingers hover above the button of your pants. Those fingers that you’ve stared at from your own desk. Fingers that you constantly find yourself fixated on. Long, defined, adept. You’ve seen him solve rubix cubes, spin pens, and flip through books. You’ve dreamed about those fingers and now they’re here, taunting you.
“You’re going to take care of it.” You stare at him, his pupils are so blown his eyes look almost black, his hair is a mess, it always is. He’s waiting, he wants a proper response. “I want you to take care of it.”
That’s clearly what he wanted to hear.
With expert dexterity his fingers loop around the button of your slacks and pull it up and open while his other hand slides your zipper down.
“I’m going to partially undress before I touch you, to make you feel more comfortable and less exposed in comparison.” He’s already tugging his black cardigan off, tossing it aside as yanks his tie loose, throwing it in the same direction. Without missing a beat he unbuttons his shirt, leaving it on but fully unbuttoned as you stare at the skin there. Even now you can’t help but gawk at the pale skin. He isn’t muscular by any means, but you can see that he’s surprisingly toned. You do your best not to stare wide eyed, everything about this situation is awful, you don’t need to make it worse by getting caught staring.
Although it probably doesn’t matter considering what he’s about to do.
He’s so gentle with you. One hand sliding under you to lift you a tiny bit as he pulls your slacks down until they’re completely off, folding them in half before he sets them aside. Only Spencer fucking Reid would nicely fold your pants before fingering you.
Jesus Christ, this is happening.
You lay back, unable to look at him as you arch your hips to help him as he slides a finger under both sides of your panties. You take a deep breath as he removes them as effortlessly as your pants, setting them aside as well.
You squeeze your legs together, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. You can feel his hands on your hips, grounding you for a moment as you try and slow your breathing.
One of his hands moves from your side to the center, you burn hot, covering your face with your hands as he tenderly spreads your legs and there’s no going back as you find yourself completely exposed to him. He’s silent, you can feel him still holding your thighs apart now as you sit up, daring a look at him. He lays in front of you on his stomach, staring at your core with an intensity you’ve seen him use when he can’t solve a case and he’s spent an hour just staring at the white board.
“Jesus, Reid, you do know what you’re doing, right?” You can’t help it as you grumble, exasperated.
“I know what I’m doing, I’m just trying to decide the best course of action to do this as efficiently as possible.” His tongue pokes out of his mouth, wetting his lips as you lean back again, groaning this time.
He’s torturing you.
“Please- please just do it.” You try not to sound like you’re whining but at this point why bother holding on to any dignity you have left? All of your self respect went out the window the second he pulled your panties down. If he keeps laying there just staring at it you’re going to take matters into your own hands.
Thankfully, that seems to be all he needed to hear, you feel his fingers brush up against you as you suck in a sharp inhale. One hand resting on your hips, holding you in place as the other finally brushes up against you. You can feel him moving tentatively as he parts your folds, swiping a digit through the wetness there.
He knows exactly how much you like this you sick fuck, look at you, dripping.
When the pad of his thumb swipes over your clit you squeak, arching your back until he gently pushes you back down, he moves in slow, precise, circles that make your head spin. A finger prods at your entrance for only a moment before he pushes it fully in.
Your curiosity gets the better of you and you prop yourself up on your elbows, a whimper slipping past your lips as he curls his finger, pressing into that sensitive spot that almost makes you fall back over.
His pretty brown locks are tucked neatly behind his ears now. His eyes, still dark and wide, his brow furrowed. You watch him lick his lips for a moment before he curls his finger again, simultaneously pressing down hard on your clit. Testing, seeing what makes you tick. You can’t suppress the moan that bubbles out of you. He’s so meticulous, timing the pumping of his finger with the slow circles of his thumb, he finally looks away from your cunt to stare at your face, watching your reaction as he abruptly adds another finger without warning. Your eyes squeeze shut as you gasp. They feel better than you ever could have imagined, long and nimble, he works you like he’s an expert after just a few minutes of experimenting with pace and patterns. Curving them at the perfect time, in sync with the increasing pace of his thumb.
“Reid-” You start to groan his name as you can feel the knot forming in your stomach.
You’re going to come immediately and he’s going to know just how much of a slut you are. Writhing for him on the cold hard floor.
“Shh… I’ve got you.” He plays you like he knows your body better than you do, and at this point, he might. Before you can react he’s pistoning his fingers in and out of you as you let out an obscene sound. The hand that held your hips down is spreading your legs apart now, he watches, enraptured as you clamp down on his fingers, your legs trembling as he practically rips your first orgasm out of you. Your fingers claw at the pillows behind you as you arch your back up, pushing yourself against his fingers as you ride it out.
“Fucking- oh my god, Reid, Fuck-” You start to sit up but he coaxes you back down, sushing you softly, his fingers still slick as he slides them up and down your folds. You squirm under him, your sensitive bundle of nerves screaming for a moment's respite as he brushes up against them. “I need a second Reid.” You grumble but he doesn’t let up, deliberate little bumps against you as you whimper.
His pointer and middle finger find your clit now, applying just the right amount of pressure as you fight the urge to push him off of you.
“There was an interesting study done where a researcher suggested that the woman he was studying had a hundred and thirty four orgasms over the course of a single hour. Of course it’s difficult to track that sort of thing, they went based on her heart rate to get the number as close to exact as possible.” He’s unrelenting against you, his left hand grips your thigh, pushing your legs further apart as he continues.
“Reid, please.” you can’t handle his ramblings right now.
“Obviously what she was experiencing wouldn’t technically be classified as multiple orgasms, it would be considered stacked orgasms because she wasn’t given time to come down from her initial orgasm.” The knot in your stomach is already forming again, he picks up the pace, scooping up the wetness from your initial orgasm and using it as a lubricant for his brutal little movements, increasing the pressure until you’re a whimpering mess. “Typically with stacked orgasms the goal is to prevent a person from fully climaxing, and to keep them in an orgasmic state. I think that’s our best course of action if we want to get this done as quickly as possible.”
“I can’t- I- It’s already too much, Spence- Reid, I can’t do five like this.” Why is it so fucking hot when he does that? You hadn’t realized until just now how much you love the sound of his voice, even if you want to shove him off of you before he can force another orgasm out of you before you’re ready.
“If you’d like me to give you a break that’s completely fine but I think you’ll be better in the long run if we stack them. Not only will we be done sooner but if we take breaks our unsub will likely get bored and resort to more extreme forms of entertainment quicker. If we keep him entertained then he’s more likely to give us space to put on a show for him.”
“Put on a show for him? Is it a good idea to encourage him?” Your voice pitches up an octave as he lightly pinches your clit, his brow furrowing as he studies your reaction.
“He’s encouraged either way but if we play nice he’s far less likely to lash out or escalate.” You can feel your second orgasm approaching rapidly and you know he wants you to make a choice. He rubs your clit between his finger and his thumb and you just melt.
“Fuck, Reid.” You cover your face with your hands, letting loose a string of expletives.
“Don’t call me Reid, I think we’re beyond that.” He sounds so stern, a desperate edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Please.” He sits up as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, you can see the focus on his face, and when you look down you can see the reaction in his pants.
Completely normal, he’s a straight guy, you’re like a personal pornstar in front of him right now, try not to be too flattered.
“Spence- Spencer, fuck.” You can hardly think straight with all of this, all you know is that you trust him. “Fine, you’re right, do it. Whatever you need to do to do the stacked thing.” Your words fade into groans as your second orgasm hits you, another wave cresting over you. You hardly get a moment to breathe before you can feel him shifting positions, you shoot up when you feel the wet, hot heat of his mouth clamp on to you. “Spencer!” His name is punched out of you as his tongue encircles your engorged clit. He runs his tongue up and down your dripping seam before he pulls away, lips wet and pink as he stares up at you with those stupid puppy dog eyes. “What the fuck!”
“We agreed he needed a show to be kept happy.” He sounds confused as to why you’re stopping him, the look on his face is so close to disappointment that you just lay back.
“Then put on a show.” You mumble as he returns to his work, you bury your face in your hands, trying to swallow the moans fighting their way out of you as he wraps his lips around your clit. His tongue moves in rapid patterns, alternating between sucking and licking at you, eating you just like he kissed you, like he’s starving. Your fingers eventually find themselves tangled in his hair, tugging at him gently as he devours you.
You lose it when he moans against you.
A low whine as he rocks against a pillow he placed under his hips when you weren’t looking.
You’re so fucked.
The sight of him sends you over the edge that you’re becoming all too familiar with.
Already? Jesus, he definitely knows that you like this.
A painful overstimulation, coupled with the force of your third shaking orgasm. Your thighs squeeze his head and, god, he doesn’t let up even for a second. Your entire body feels hot, tears prickling at your eyes. It’s too much, you’re glad you told him not to stop because honestly you don’t know how you’d start again. Your thighs shake, and you’re fighting the urge to kick him away as he tilts his head down the tiniest bit, his tongue lapping at your weeping hole as his nose bumps your clit.
“Reid- Spencer, Spence.” You’re limited to a stuttering of his name as his arms loop under your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulders, effectively locking you in place as he pulls you closer. His tongue delves into you as he buries his face between your legs, pushing himself deeper and deeper until your back is arching up and off the ground.
You’re trapped between two urges. The need to kick him off of you to ease the pain, to stop the delicious burning being delivered to your overworked clit with every focused lap of his tongue. After three orgasms every touch is like a flaming hot poker that you just can’t get enough of. The other urge is to grab him by the back of his head and hold him there forever.
That urge is the one that won out in the end. Your hands tangling themselves into his curls, tugging shamelessly at him, needing more and more of the delicious pain he’s drilling into you. Your body is spent, writhing as he tries his damndest to pull another orgasm from you.
”I don’t think I can-“ You mumble out through breathy moans, pulling admittedly a little too hard on his hair, but all that earned you was a lengthy groan, the vibrations rocking through your center.
“You can.” He’s muffled, you can hardly hear him as he stays buried in your cunt, refusing to pull back for even a moment.
You’re glad he seems so sure because you certainly aren’t. He pulls one of his arms back, slotting his fingers between your folds once more. Easily sliding two fingers back into you as let out a pitiful squeak.
Yeah, you can.
You definitely can, he presses his fingers deep, focusing on that sweet spot nestled away inside of you.
When they say Spencer Reid knows everything they really mean it, he knows how to twist his tongue against you in a way that makes you scream like a fucking pornstar. He knows how to work his fingers into you and find every single nerve that lights you up. He knows how to work you better than you work yourself. When he adds a third finger you feel yourself tensing again. He works tirelessly, never faltering. Tears are flowing freely now from your eyes, you’re so fucking tired, everything hurts, everything feels so good. When he flattens his tongue against your clit you gush around his finger, soaking the bottom half of his face.
You can’t remember ever coming so hard, let alone squirting like this. It’s enough to snap him out of his animalistic state, when he looks up at you try not to look too shocked.
You’re probably just as much of a sight at this point.
His lips are wet and swollen, he wipes the bottom half of his face on his shirt and you recall every time he’s made a big deal of germs around the office. Clearly that’s all been abandoned. You’ve put his hair in a state of disarray. When you finally look him in the eyes you can’t look anywhere else.
Dark and desperate.
“Was that five?” Your voice is raw and quiet, when you break the silence he shakes his head, crawling up your body until he’s on all fours above you. His knee locked firmly between your thighs, likely soaking his pants with your juices.
“Almost.” He whispers back, his tongue poking out before he chews his lip. You shake your head in return, your entire body trembles as a fresh flood or tears rushing out of you.
“No, no I can’t do another one, I’m all done.” You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, begging him as if this is his choice and not some cruel gods, still watching you somewhere on a little screen as if this is all just a silly little movie and not your sadistic reality.
“You can, I know you can, you’re so strong. You’re so good.” He whispers so sweetly, it almost makes you forget the circumstances of all of this. “Just one more, I know you can last just a little longer.”
“Spencer, please, it hurts too much.” You cry unabashedly. Moving your hands down his neck to his chest, clinging to his shirt collar. His touch is light as he brushes your hair back and out of your face.
“Deep breath, stay with me sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead and it really does make a difference in grounding you. It’s so strangely personal and intimate, even knowing that he’s gonna have to put you through another crushing orgasm he treats you with such tenderness.
“Please.” Your voice sounds so small, and you’re thankful for the recognition in his eyes when he nods. He knows you aren’t asking him to stop, you’re asking him to finish this.
When he kisses you this time he isn’t as forceful as he was the first time. There’s a gentleness, it crosses your mind that he isn’t putting on a show for the camera with this kiss, this kiss is just for you. For just the two of you.
You whimper when his hand wanders down your body and between your legs for what you hope is the final time today. You feel raw down there, you know he can feel it too because his hand flies back up to his mouth, you watch with morbid fascination as his lips part and he sucks his fingers, wetting them and returning them to your cunt.
“You’re doing so good, so good, so good for me, all for me.” He’s moving in focused, deadly accurate circles. Kissing you between his praises, his free hand continues to sweep your hair away from your face. He’s hovering over you in an awkward position as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth while you whine. The muscles in your stomach ache and scream as you feel the burning knot forming once more.
You groan, the buzz of pleasure is almost entirely gone, replaced solely by the dull, blunt pain of overstimulation.
“Just me, just for me now, okay? This one isn’t for him, or anyone else, just me.” He’s rambling, picking up the pace, the strokes becoming more chaotic as he mumbles, seemingly to himself more than you. The shocks to your clit are erratic and relentless, as you feel yourself approaching a release you know is inevitable. His knee shifts, when his body presses down against you you can feel the outline of his cock against your hip, he positions himself in a way that can’t be comfortable, it makes it hard to focus on achieving any kind of release until you realize what he’s doing.
Just for him.
He’s covering you up, since you can’t see the cameras you have to assume they’re on the ceiling, tucked away near the fluorescents where you can’t find them. Regardless of where they are, if they’re from an elevated angle they won’t see your face, or most of your body as far as you're concerned.
Just. For. Him.
You cry out his name when you come, repeating it like a prayer as you sob against him, he kisses your face. Your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids, your chin, and your lips as he murmurs against your skin.
“I knew you could do it, look at you. So good, so pretty.” Whispers branded onto your skin with his lips.
He wipes between your legs with the blanket, making you whine.
“You did so good.”
You’ve never felt so spent in your entire life. There’s no energy left in your body so you just let him work, he pulls your panties back up your legs. He tries to get your pants back on but the tight fabric makes you cringe so he doesn’t bother. Instead he wraps his cardigan around your shoulders before laying back, pulling you against his still bare chest with a sigh.
You sit in silence for what feels like hours, catching your breath and fighting sleep, your eyelids heavy.
The crackling of the speaker startles you, you’d been so focused on Spencer you’d almost forgotten the dark reality of your situation. For a moment your captor doesn’t speak, he just claps, loud, cruel, beats.
“I have no notes. I knew you would be incredible, I just- I did not realize how good it would be.” He sounds so worked up you swear he’s crying. “You really are my muse, you have inspired me, I have to go, I need to put together tomorrow's script, rest well my shining star.”
In a swift motion as if a switch has been flipped the lights go dark, and you’re left alone in the void with only Spencer to cling to. For a moment, you aren’t sure what to say. What do you talk about after what just happened? Eventually you figure it out, right as you’re about to pass out from exhaustion.
“You called me sweetheart.” You practically sigh the words out, your fingers find a button on his shirt, twisting it between your thumb and forefinger.
“I did, should I not have? I wasn’t sure if I could pull that off, I don’t think I’ve ever used a pet name on anyone, maybe ever. It’s kind of Morgan's thing.” He sounds apologetic as he combs his fingers through your hair before sliding them down your back.
“No, I liked it. Sweetheart works, it’s… timeless, and simple.” He rubs your back as you shut your eyes, mumbling against his chest as you trace a line up and down his sternum.
“Get some sleep.” You don’t bother resisting, you feel like you’re already halfway there.
“Goodnight, Spencer.”
“Goodnight, Sweetheart.”
a/n : hope yall enjoy, you can find me on ao3 under the same username, all updates go on there a few days earlier than they will on here
summary: Spencer doesn't like you. He had a reputation for not liking new agents on the team. Months in, he still hadn't warmed up. When Hotch wants you to go undercover as teacher and student, things finally reach a boiling point.
wc: 10k
warnings: MDNI, F!reader, PWbadPlot, PIV, WRAP IT!!, light dom!spencer, teasing, fingering, they fuck it out, open ending (part two?), no Y/N! not edited, writer is lazy!!
Being the new agent on the team was difficult. The BAU were a fully formed unit, they knew each other like the back of their hands. They moved through the field like a well oiled machine.
But you were finally settling in, the team had started to trust you to do things on your own. JJ finally let you talk to the family of a victim alone, Morgan let you tackle an unsub, Emily stopped checking over your paperwork and Hotch allowed you to lead an interrogation.
But you were still surprised when Hotch called you into his office the second you stepped foot in the bullpen.
"You asked for me?" You close the door softly behind you, mind racing of any possible mistake you could have made. Did you make a mistake on the last case? Did you file your paperwork wrong?
"Yes, please sit." He gestured to the chair opposite his desk and you slowly lowered yourself into it. "We have another case." His eyes dart down to his watch.
The nerves got the better of you and you blurted out. "Are you firing me?"
"What? No." He paused, "We need you to go undercover for the case, I was checking in with you. We can find another way to go about it."
You held your chin up. "What's the case?"
"Georgia college." He sighed and passed a file across the table, "Four students from the same philosophy class have been murdered. All of them found dead in their dorm, poisoned."
"Jesus, that's brutal." You sigh, "Can the local police not interview everyone in the class?"
"They have, no one has flagged any concern. So they believe the unsub can either blend in or is another student on campus." He explained, "So they asked us if we had an agent we could send in. Morgan calls you baby bird for a reason." He smiled, a rare Hotch smile.
"So, we're sending you in as a college student. And Reid as a professor."
You choked back a cough. "Reid?"
It wasn't like you didn't like Reid, but he did not like you. He had a reputation, smart, genius that doesn't like newcomers in his unit. He never let you get away with a slip of the tongue, constantly correcting your every word. It was infuriating.
"He's an experienced profiler and he has lecturing experience." Hotch said, "Plus he will have a view of the whole room."
"I don't need hand holding Hotch." You pursed your lips, flipping the file closed and pressing it onto your legs.
"I know you don't. It's for everyone's safety." He sighed and huffed with a tone that told you there was no point in arguing back.
Sinking into the chair, you cross one leg over the other. "Do I need to do the assignments?" You asked.
"We aren’t sure yet. Come on, Garcia is about to debrief the team." He held the door open for you and you ducked under his arm.
The round table chatter stopped as soon as you stepped into the room. All of them trying to look busy as they did whenever they were gossiping.
"Do I really look like I could still be in college?" You sigh and throw yourself into your chair in between Morgan and JJ.
"Yes." "Yes." "A little." "We call you baby bird for a reason."
"I hate you guys." You grump, and shove your elbow into Morgan's ribs. "I do not look twenty two. I'm almost thirty."
"Actually," You roll your eyes as you hear Reid's voice cut across the chuckling. "You're actually three years, seven months and eleven days away from thirty. So not almost. Also due to your slightly larger eyes and your affinity to wear pink makes people believe you are younger than you actually are." He rattled off, fiddling with his fingers.
You opened your mouth to spit something back when Penelope came into the room in a flurry. She had bags of shopping bundled into her grip, dumping them down the floor and swooping in with the remote in hand.
"Morning, my superhuman crime fighters. I'll get right into it! At Georgia college four students have recently been killed in their dorm rooms." She clicked on the button and four pictures popped up. "James Gripe, Lucy Brown, Issac Nike and Cara Smith. At first, they thought James Gripe had died from caffeine overconsumption and stress from finals. But then, Lucy, Issac and Cara were found in the concurrent weeks." She sighed sadly, looking at their faces in sympathy.
"Crossing both race and gender lines is rare." Rossi stated, scribbling down the names in his journal.
"The police already looked into the other students in the class right?" Emily asked and Hotch nodded.
"No one caused them any concern." He confirmed, "And as far as the students know they all have died of an overdose and stress related causes. The local ME is currently checking the bodies for signs of poison."
"The media is going to have a field day if this gets out." JJ sighed, running a hand through her hair.
"Alright. Wheels up in 30, the sooner we get started the better. We'll discuss the undercover operation on the jet." Hotch said, striding out of the round table and back into his office.
Everyone else filed out, Derek pulling Reid to the side and mumbling something about "Getting better at talking to women." and Pen yanked you to the side before you could step out.
"I got you some things!" She rummaged around in the bag and shoved some clothes into your arms.
You held up a dress against your body. "Why the hell did you buy me a club dress?"
"You're going to college! And you're like my little sister and I couldn't send you off without a hot dress" She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Oh, and a shirt and a mini skirt." She held them up.
"Thanks Pen." You smile and pull her into a tight hug. "I'll send you a picture if i end up wearing it." She gripped back onto you tighter.
"Come back to me safe, Baby Bird." She whispered into your hair.
"I will." You nod and peck her on the cheek, shoving the clothes into your go bag and getting ready to hit the tarmac.
"Wait!" Pen shouts across the bullpen and runs toward you as fast as she could with her too high heels. "I forgot to give you these."
----
Hauling your go bag into the overhead cabin, you sit down opposite Hotch. He slides your new ID across the table and you put it straight into your wallet.
"Everyone in that class is a potential victim." Derek sighed, flipping over the papers in his file.
"What that's like forty more potential victims?" You scoff, shaking your head.
"Forty six. Well, forty seven including you." Reid cut in, not even looking up from the book his face was buried in.
"Close enough." You grit out, teeth clenched.
"Not exact." He spat back.
Rolling your eyes and turning away from him, shoving a middle finger his way and huffing towards Derek. He smiled towards you cheekily, "Did you get Penelope's gifts?"
"Yeah. A tiny shirt, a mini skirt and a barely there dress." Derek let out a low whistle. "Oh, and about five million condoms." You pull the box from your pocket where you'd shoved them in with your cheeks turning red, hoping that no one in the bullpen saw.
"You could go through half of Georgia with those."
Ripping off a strip and threw it, hitting him square in the chest. "And you can go through half the police department with those." You joke and nudge him with the tip of your shoe.
"That was one time man!" He exclaimed.
"Actually, there were the two in Colorado." Emily piped in.
"One in California, and another in Florida." JJ continued.
"Don't forget police chief Jones in Texas." You teased, counting on your fingers.
"And the nurse in Oregon." Rossi finished.
"And that was all in the last six months." Hotch put the nail in the coffin, never usually joining in on the team banter. But he was smirking over his file at Derek's mock glare.
"C'mon we've all gone home with someone once. Well apart from babybird and pretty boy over there." He defended, throwing his hands up.
You scoff, "Hey, I don't want to become a case. Look at half of our cases, they all go home with their killers." You shake your head and climb out of the seat and into the plane aisle.
"At least I'm not thirty year old virgin over there." You snort, pulling open the small blue curtain to the kitchenette with a loud screech.
"Thirty two." He corrects, having now moved on to another book. Flipping a page in between words, the whole page completed.
"I like how that's the part you correct." You purse your lips, snorting and closing the curtain behind you, the kettle beginning to bubble. You knew he was thirty two, you were there at the party Pen made him have at Rossi's. But sometimes, you liked to push. To see how far you could take it before he couldn't resist and correct you. Usually, it just took you rounding up or down to make his patience to tip over.
You sigh quietly as you sit down with a scalding cup of coffee, the bitter taste burning your tongue as you sip it down.
"Looking forward to doing assignments again?" Emily asks, clasping her hands together on the wooden table.
"Definitely not, I'm not that well versed in philosophy so I better get reading." You smile, trying to lighten her worry.
"I suspect Professor Reid will mark you highly." She laughed, her eyes darting over your shoulder to him.
You follow her gaze and quickly glance over, hoping he wouldn't notice. But he was already looking at you. Probably from hearing Emily mention his name. It takes you a second to pull away from his intense stare. Emily cleared her throat, yanking you back to reality.
"I think I'll be his least favourite student." You roll your eyes, still feeling his eyes glaring at the back of your head.
----
You never thought you’d be back at college. But now, you were walking through the hallways of Georgia college with a backpack filled to the brim on your back. Thick textbooks and laptop weighing you down, or was it the nerves of trying to blend in?
It was far too early in the morning for most of the students around you, all dragging their feet and murmured complaints due to the previous late night.
Slowing, in front of the lecture hall. Coming to a stop in front of a group of girls standing and chatting amongst themselves.
“Excuse me,” You start. “Is this Professor Wright’s philosophy?”
They quiet, and turn to you. “Yeah! but he’s on leave so another professor is standing in. Are you new?” The dark haired girl asked, a soft smile on her face.
“Yeah, I just transferred from Arizona. Something to do with the credit amounts for graduation.” You shrugged. “I’m - Ivy." The name stumbles out unnaturally, like it doesn't belong to you. Because it doesn't. The introduction feels foreign in your mouth and heat pooled in your cheeks.
“Marie. And this is Chloe and Sarah.” She points to the girls staring behind her, they both give a wave.
The door to the lecture hall swings open. And everyone starts to file in. The plan was to sit at the back, keeping your head down and being able to view the whole room.
“Come sit with us!” Marie smiled, waving you over to the front row.
Descending down the stairs of the lecture hall, long hair bouncing, you slide into the seat on the end of the aisle. Pulling out your laptop and loading it up.
“I wonder what the new professor will be like,” She whispered into your ear. “Professor Wright was great, but he was basically a dinosaur.” She giggled.
“Hopefully good. I really need this credit.” You sigh, opening your mouth to speak again when the door swings open.
“Sorry, I’m late. I couldn’t find the hall.” Reid came spluttering into the hall and throwing his shoulder bag on the desk and uncapping the whiteboard marker and scribbling his name now. “I’m Professor Gardener, and I’ll be here while Professor Wright is on sick leave. I assure you he is feeling OK and has started his recovery.”
But you knew Professor Wright wasn’t sick, he was sat in his cushy lakeside home. Getting paid time off to lounge around and read through his library.
It had allowed Professor Gardener or as you knew, Doctor Reid pacing around in his element. He had slid into the professor role like a second skin. Hotch had mentioned he had guest lectured before, but the confidence was surprising.
“I’ve been told you were about to start Kantian ethics. So into Kantian ethics 101!” His hands clap and his voice fades into the background as another voice whispered in your ear, pulling you away from the lecture.
“He’s so hot.” Marie said, your head darting toward her.
“What?” You whisper back, slightly alarmed, “Don’t you think he’s like a bit, I don’t know, nerdy?”
“But like a hot nerd.”
Reid’s rambling pulled your attention back to the front of the room. He wasn’t hot, he was all knitted cardigans and wool ties. Stupid facts about Doctor who and how the physics was dodgy. He talked with his hands, waving them around with every unnecessary word. Long fingers that could solve a rubix cube in seconds. His facial hair had started growing in, a shadow coating the bottom half of his face. And standing up there as he lectured, the way the words slipped from him with ease. Maybe, he was hot.
But he was Reid. And Reid was your annoying co worker. The only person on the team who still didn't believe in you as an agent. And there he was standing, as Professor Gardener. And he looked hot.
----
And apparently, half of campus also thought so. Walking into the lecture hall that had been half empty was almost full. The sight makes you trip over your feet and almost tumble down the stairs.
A hand grabbed your bicep and pulled you back and into a chest. You don't need to turn around to know who it was. You knew his cologne, the scent of books and coffee also a hint of mint. You steady yourself and spin around to look at him, he was closer than you thought he would be.
"Professor Gardener. Uh, thank you." You nod and start to head down the stairs where Marie had saved you a seat with her handbag.
"You're also new, Ivy right?" He said, falling in step next to you.
His casual small talk takes you back, you can never recall a time Reid had spoken to you casually. "Yeah, I had to transfer. Graduation credits, you know how it is." You shrugged, stopping at the row. "And thank you again."
Sitting down next to Marie, she immediately grips onto you. "What was that?" She almost gasped.
"I tripped, he caught me." You responded.
"It was straight out of a romcom! I think half of the people in here want to kill you." She giggled.
"He was just being polite." You glaze over the interaction and start to pull out your laptop and textbook.
"People are already calling him Gorgeous Gardener." She continued, and your breath stuttered. This case was going to be a lot more difficult than you thought.
You knew you were staring, ogling even. You were supposed to be looking at him, it was normal to keep your eyes on the professor. But the nickname was true. He was gorgeous. It had wormed it's way into your head, you couldn't escape the thought. Like a bad smell, the thought of Reid being attractive had spent it's time racing around your brain.
He looked like Reid, the same slightly grown out hair do. He moved like Reid, waving his hands around and fiddling with his fingers as he spoke. He dressed like Reid, a dark blue sweater vest and brown blazer. And he even smelled like Reid, the memory of his scent as he pulled you into him. Nevertheless, he wasn't making you feel like Reid.
But a sharp elbow jutted into your ribs.
"Ivy." He was standing at the front of the lecture hall with an expectant raised eyebrow.
"Sorry, what was the question?"
"Could you give us a quick summary of Kantian ethics?" His face hadn't changed.
"Uh, yeah." You tried not to stumble over your words and sent him a glare. "Developed by Immanuel Kant, deciding whether actions are right or wrong depending on duty and moral rules, not the consequences."
"Thank you. Pay attention next time." He span around on his conversed feet and back to the whiteboard. The same condescending tone he used on every case when he felt the need to correct your every word.
At the end of the day. He was still Reid.
The rose coloured glasses that Professor Gardener had grown over your eyes wilted away in an instant. Rose had deepened to red and you were glaring at him the way you had a million times before.
"Kantian ethics teaches that we should always act according to moral duties and universal rules. This creates a fair and consistent moral system." He explained, pacing between his desk and the whiteboard. "Does anyone have an argument against?"
His eyes darted around the room, nodding towards a girl in the middle of the room.
"Uh, I'm just auditing this class." She said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She flashed a smile at him.
"Oh. Is anyone else auditing this class?" He asked, and a sea of hands raised and your lip curled up in slight disgust. "Hmm, ok."
Your hand shot up into the air. He nodded towards you a sign for you to speak, not before looking desperately for someone else to answer. "But life is more complicated than simple rules. What if it causes harm to follow a rule?"
He looked surprised at your rebuttal. "Kant would argue that the moral rules should be followed regardless of consequences. Otherwise, people would make exceptions when it suited them."
"But take the famous example. Lying to a killer to save someone’s life. Telling the truth would lead to the death of an innocent person."
"Morality becomes subjective if we start making exemptions." He clicked his tongue.
"We can still have moral principles while recognising that consequences matter. A rule that leads to preventable harm does not seem truly moral." He tried to shoot an argument back.
"Morality should also help people and reduce suffering. If a moral theory ignores the real effects of actions, it can produce unfair outcomes." You hide the look of satisfaction on your face.
"That is the most common critique of Kantian ethics." He nodded, turning to the whiteboard and uncapped the pen with a pop. "As it's a Friday, I give you an essay."
Everyone in the room groaned, arms hanging heavy by your sides as your eyes follow his letters. "Is Kantian Ethics correct? You can argue for or against. I expect them to be on my desk by next Friday. Have a good weekend." Just as everyone was about to run out of there at the speed of light. "My office hours are the same as Professor Wright's, so see the paper on the door."
----
The weekend for you didn't mean going out partying and scrambling to plan your essay. Instead, you were sat in the back of a local police precinct. The taste of cardboard and burnt coffee peeked through the burning in your mouth.
You were sat with your head held up by your chin. The door opened and the rest of the team filed in.
"How was class?" JJ asked a joking lilt in her voice, sliding an actual, smooth cup of coffee across the desk.
"Professor Gardener treating you well?" Emily snorted.
Glaring at her but thanking her for the coffee. "I have an essay due next Friday." You fix your glare on Reid, "Oh, and there's about twenty more people auditing the class."
"Nineteen." He corrected.
"And that's nineteen more potential victims." Morgan sighed, "Has anyone in the class come up? Nothing has come up on our end."
"For me, no not yet. Everyone seems like a regular student so far. But I've been keeping my eye out." You explain, notepad and textbook open with the arguments you had chosen highlighted.
"Well if you had spent your time actually looking, rather than gossiping with the girls at the front. You would have seen something." Reid snarked, turning his body away from you and started to address the rest of the team. "There's a guy at the back of the class.-"
You take a deep breath before speaking, "I know that you spent all of your school years sat in the class with no friends. But I didn't, and I'm not going to sulk in the back of the class." You were shoving things back into your bag. "Fuck off, Reid." Your backpack smacked into him as you stormed out of the precinct, the door slammed loudly behind you.
Raging as your feet slammed along the pavement, hands balled into fists, held tightly at your sides. "Ivy, Ivy!" It takes a few seconds for the name to register before you turn around with a smile on your face. "Are you ok? Why were you at the station?" Marie asked, worry painted on her face.
"I just had to change my address to get my mail." Rolling your eyes, you lean all of your weight onto your back foot. "The college said they had handled it, what a way to spend your weekend huh?"
"Oh my God! You should come out with me, Chloe and Sarah!" She grabbed the tops of your arms, shaking you back and forth.
"Um." You pretend to pause in thought. "Not this weekend, we have that essay due in. But next weekend, count me in!"
Marie's face lit up with a large smile. "I'm so excited!" She linked arms with you, leading you away from the station. "There's this bar, they have themed cocktails every single week. They’re a tad expensive but soo strong so it's worth the money!"
She reminded you of Pen in a way, the happy go lucky attitude. The way she took you in like a stray, forcing you to go out for drinks. She brought a slither of normal in your facade, and well there was no stopping Reid from being, well Reid.
----
You had gotten the call that morning. They had found another body. It was a guy, Harry Jones. He sat in the middle of the class, he never spoke. He just sat with his friends and took notes whenever was necessary.
Penelope had managed to work out every victims average grades. They had all been in the top half of the class.
You were slumped in your chair, not listening to a thing Reid was saying. Your ears were tuned into the rows behind you, listening in for any mention of Harry's name. You could tell he was profiling too, eyes constantly scanning the rows, talking on autopilot.
No one was talking about anything of note. Marie, Chloe and Sarah were talking about what they were going to wear to the bar later. The people a few rows behind were talking about what grade they thought they were going to get. Not a mention of Harry. No one realised he was gone.
You could tell Reid was profiling too, eyes constantly scanning the rows, talking on autopilot. Professor Gardener was long gone, you were looking at Reid. But it seemed he was coming up empty too.
"Right." He clapped, casually strolling over to the desk. Resting his hand atop the essays he had collected at the start of class and patted them gently. "Have a good weekend, no homework this week. See you on Wednesday!"
Marie linked arms with you once again, asking you what you were going to wear that night.
"Ivy!" His voice called as you got to the door.
"Hmm? Yes, Professor Gardener." You responded, leaning on the doorway.
"Could you come by my office later? I scanned your essay and there’s a couple points I think we could discuss in depth." He held up the paper, and Marie excuses herself. Lingering right outside.
"Sure, I'll swing by later." You run your finger across the paper on the door. "7pm?"
He nodded. "Sounds good."
Marie pretty much dragged you from the lecture hall. "You should so wear that dress you sent me a picture of." She giggled.
"I cannot wear that to my meeting with Professor Gardener." You deadpanned, hitting her lightly on the arm.
"I meant the bar. Your mind went there." She smiled, "But you should do that too, ugh I want him to go in depth with me." Groaning, she leant her head on your shoulder.
"Marie!" You exclaimed, jaw hanging open in shock. "You need to get laid girl, you should totally look for someone tonight."
"I was already planning on it." She smirked. "You better wear that dress."
----
You did wear the dress. The sparkly red fabric glittering as you snapped a picture for Penelope. It stopped at the top of your thighs, constantly pulling it down as your heels clicked on the pavement. It was too short, and had too much cleavage in your opinion, but it wasn't your opinion. It was Ivy's.
The halls were desolate and slightly chilly as you made your way to Reid's office. Well, Professor Wright's office. The golden plaque shined in the dim lighting. Checking over your shoulder, before you knocked on the door. You could hear shuffling behind the door before it swung open.
"Come in." He said, head sticking out of the door and looking down the hall.
"I wasn't followed." You rolled your eyes, your hand hitting his chest and kicking the door closed. Reaching behind you, clicking the lock shut you look around the office and step further in. "What do you want Reid?"
Standing across from him, hands resting on the back of the armchair opposite his desk. He looked up from the papers on his desk.
"What are you wearing?" It tumbled out of his mouth and his eyebrows scrunched together.
You matched his look of confusion. "A dress?" It wasn't like he hadn't seen you in a mini dress before. You always wore one when you went out with the team. Maybe not one this short or low cut, but a minidress nonetheless.
"Does Hotch know you're going out?" He asked, brows still furrowed.
"Yes, Professor Gardener." You snarked, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms across your chest.
He sucked in a breath, "I wanted to talk to you about your essay."
"Are you serious?" You scoffed, stalking around to the other side of the desk.
You leant across the desk, plucking out a red pen from the pot. Uncapping it and writing on your own paper. A. "There we go, now we don't have to talk about it."
"That's not-"
"Precise, correct, fair?" You laughed, straightening your back and you went to grab your handbag off of the table where you had dumped it.
But he snatched it out of your grasp, unzipping it and digging through it.
"What the fuck Reid?"
He held up the condoms that you had shoved into your bag. "Are you going to sleep with a college student?" His voice was coated with disdain.
"I don't think that's your business is it, Professor?" You lean forward, trying to snatch them out of his grip.
"As your Professor, no. But as your superior agent, it is." He moved backwards, stopping your waving grip. The smirk you had become acquainted with.
"I'm not going to fuck a college student. But I might just, if it pisses you off so much." You pouted in his face, heavy breaths making your chest rise and fall in his face. "I know you're a virgin Reid but Jesus."
That caught him off guard, giving you the opportunity to snatch them back and slide them back into your handbag. "Maybe we won't even use these."
"I'm not a virgin." He gritted through his teeth, glaring at your bare back.
You can't help but laugh out loud at that, "I'll believe it when I see it." Your hair shakes with your head, striding towards the door.
The smell of him hits you before you feel him. Your hand stilled as it reached for the doorknob, the same scent that hit you when he stopped you from falling down the stairs. His grip on your bicep was familiar, the tips of his fingers digging in as his other hand brushed your hair to one side.
"You are insufferable." He whispered, warm breath hitting the shell of your ear.
It was like you had forgotten how to breathe. He was inching closer to you, the warmth of his chest radiating against your back. "Reid." You sighed.
"Professor." He corrected, spinning you around and pushing you against the door roughly. "If anyone gets to cum inside of you tonight, It's going to be me."
Your head thumped backwards, eyebrows pulling together as his eyes met yours. It was like you had lost all sense, you hated Reid. But the mention of him cumming inside you had any rational abandoned.
"Does that sound good?" He hummed.
"Yes, Professor Reid." You sighed.
"Fuck." He growled before pressing his lips into yours. Your hands came forward to grip onto the lapels on his blazer, pulling him closer. His lips were softer than you expected, contrasted with his teeth coming out to yank on your bottom lip.
Your bag dropped to the floor with a thud. As his hands, the hands you had spent countless lectures staring at, started to wander. Long fingers travelled down your back, pulling up goosebumps in their wake. Then, his hands scooped you up, legs wrapping around his hips as he pressed you into the door.
His hardness pushed into you, making you gasp out and slide your hands into his hair and giving it a light tug. He takes the opportunity to slide his tongue into your mouth, walking you across the room and sliding the papers and pens off the desk. They hit the floor with a clatter as he lowered you down.
Both of you panted as he separated, a line of spit connecting you between your lips. Neither of you said anything for a beat, just staring at each other with blown pupils.
A second later, he cupped your jaw and pulled your back straight, kissing you again.
Now it was your turn for your hands to wander, slotting your hands under his blazer and pushing it off and it hit the floor gently. Then, your hands came to fiddle with the buckle on his belt. It clinked loudly as you whipped it out of the belt loops. The button popped open not long after.
He made work of your dress, pulling it up and letting it pool around your hips. Not even taking your panties off, just sliding them to the side as the pads of his fingers come into contact with your clit.
"Jesus!" You gasped out, pulling him closer with your ankle. Painted nails sliding down the front of his brown corduroy slacks and cupping his dick.
His eyes rake down you, dress pulled up, panties to the side. Eyes hooded, chest heaving desperately as you throw your head back.
"You look, divine." He whispered into your ear, the intimacy of it took you by surprise. His finger still worked against your clit, leaving you writhing and gasping under his gaze.
You shoved his slacks down, his white boxer shorts followed not long after. His compliment sent a fire through your veins and a desperation to have him inside you take over.
His fingers pulled off of you, your whining halted. "Hurry up and fuck me!" You groaned, wrapping your legs around his hips. Your heel dug into his backside and it fell to the floor.
He took his dick in his hand, looking down at you. The tip hit against your clit and he slid it up and down through your wetness. "Ah, ah, ah." He teased, refusing to push in, just leaving you with the delicious pressure of almost. "Say please."
"Oh, fuck off." You sigh, trying anything to get closer. Just anything to get him inside you.
He pulled his dick away, and it was like your brain had melted any rationality away. "Please, Reid." You pleaded, knuckles turning white at how hard you were gripping the edge of his desk. "Professor, please." You looked up at him through your lashes.
Then, he finally gave you what you wanted. He pressed his forehead to yours just as he sank into you. He was bigger than you thought he'd be. Not that you'd thought about it. The head brushed past your g spot as he bottomed out.
You couldn't help the almost scream that came from you. "Spencer!"
You had never called him Spencer, most of the time you didn't even address him. But any worry left your mind after hearing his groan as he pulled most of the way out, before slamming into you again.
His lips attached to your neck and your toes curled inside your heels. "No marks." You panted out.
Nodding into the crook of your neck, he slid his hands under you. He lifted you slightly, the new angle letting him pound deeper inside you. This lead to a string of moans to explode from your chest and his hand clamped over your mouth to keep you quiet.
He wasn't doing a good job of keeping quiet himself. Panting and groaning into your neck, teeth scratching your earlobe. Your hands screwed into the front of his shirt, whining helplessly at the brutal pace he was fucking you with.
"S-spencer." You both fall backwards, your back flat on the cool wooden desk and him hunched over you never faltering.
"You're much more bearable like this." He smirked down at you, reviling in the state he had you in. A fucked out pink flush painted across your cheeks, tits bouncing with every thrust that coaxed a wet noise from your pussy every time he slapped against it.
You tried to form a rebuttal, but what came out was babbling that vaugly sounded like hsi name. Desperately, pulling him closer with your nails scratching down his back.
"Awh, poor baby." He teased, "Can't you speak?"
The mocking had your head reeling and your walls clenching around him. The teasing, his body pressing you into the desk, the unrelenting pace and the smell of him was all just too much. It had the coil inside you ready to snap.
Your eyes meet his again and you slam your mouth to his. Tongue peeking into your mouth as your thighs started to tremble. You had your toes curled so hard that your heels slid off your feet and falling to the floor. Spencer's hand snaked down and hit your clit again, moving the wetness around with his fingers.
It had lightening bolts shooting through your spine and the coil in your belly to snap. Nails digging into his shoulder blades and a too loud cry of his name. "Spencer!" It almost echoed around the room as he fucked you through your orgasm, leaving you tightening and fluttering around his cock.
Then, he was cumming himself, with a similar groan of your name and a few more deep thrusts that sent your eyes rolling. His release was warm inside of you, he paused for a second. Letting it pool inside of you and leaving you both breathing into each others mouth's. His dick slid out of you, pussy clenching around emptiness. Gently, he moved your underwear back with a tenderness you wouldn't have expected.
Suddenly, the feeling of his cum pooling in your panties, had you hurtling back to reality. It was like a cool bucket of water had been thrown over you.
It was Reid. You and Reid had sex. Not even sex, fucked. He was technically your professor. And you had his cum dripping out of you.
You yanked your dress down, refusing to look him in the eye.
"That can't happen again." He called over his shoulder as you grabbed your bag. Piling the lip gloss that had spilled all over the floor when it had fallen from your fingers.
"I know." You commented, clicking the lock open and the door.
"Be careful, and you can call me if you need me to come and get you." He gave you that tight lipped smile he did when he felt awkward.
"Will do." You mirrored his face, your hair falling in front of your face and closing the door with a soft click.
Your dress was missing sparkles from all over and you had six missed calls from Marie, and you took off into the city.
----
The bar was exactly as Marie had described. It was slightly tacky with bright coloured lights with ocean themed drinks. Everyone was walking around with blue drinks with fish shaped ice cubes, sharks sticking from the top.
"Ivy!" Marie called, waving you over from the booth they had grabbed in the corner.
"Hey." You smiled and sidled into the booth next to Sarah.
"What did Professor Gardener want?" Sarah asked, close to your ear, cutting through the thumping pop music.
"Apparently, I did really well on my essay. There was just a couple mistakes he wanted me to clear up for next time." You smiled, casting a look towards the bar. "I'm going to go and get a drink! I'll be back."
The drink was overly sweet, Penelope would have loved it. The grenadine turned the blue drink a light purple.
"So tell us what mark you got, you can't leave us hanging girl." Marie grasped onto your arm. "Also what happened with Professor Gardenerrr?" She teased lightly and Chloe smacked her on the arm.
"I got a 97." You feigned a blush, hiding you face behind your hair.
Marie and Chloe gasped, excitedly shaking you back and forth. Some of your drink sloshing over the rim and making the bar table more sticky than it already was.
"You're going to get the credits that you need toats, oh my god we need to throw you a graduation party." She praised, her face lit up in the same way you had seen it so many times.
Just as you went to agree, head already nodding.
"Ivy, that guy over there is so looking at you." Sarah cut across, pointing a finger across the bar.
Your eyes followed her finger to find a very smiley Derek Morgan. You smile back at him with a small wave.
"Well go talk to him! He's so hot!" Chloe exclaimed, "Plus you deserve it after such a good essay."
Your eyes darted between them and him, pretending to give a moment of deliberation. Before standing up and glancing over your shoulder. "If he's weird, I'm coming back."
Winding your way through the crowded bar, smoothly directing yourself between sweaty bodies until you got to the booth. You slid up next to Morgan, your side pressing up against his.
"This dress is a gift from Penelope I assume." He whispered into your ear and he wrapped his arm around your shoulders.
"How could you tell?" You said back, looking back to the table of girls looking towards you expectantly. Sticking your thumb up towards them, you turn towards Derek fully.
"Have you been dancing with someone else babybird?" He asked, still leaned in close.
"No, why?" You scrunched your eyebrows.
"You smell like another man."
It felt like your stomach dropped to your feet, and you hoped and prayed that he wouldn't recognise the scent. Suddenly, it was like you could feel the cum that was wetting your panties through. The shame burned bright on your cheeks.
"Yikes, I need to get rid of my perfume." Joking, you elbowed him, "Go for a smoke?" You pulled the packet out of your purse and waved it in his face.
As the two of you stepped out of the bar you sent Marie a message. 'Going home with hot stuff, see you wednesday. ;)'
The cool air hit and was very, very welcome. Bricks pressed into your back and you let out a long, deep sigh. Lighting up the cigarette and holding it towards Derek.
"I don't smoke." He smiled, watching you puff out smoke.
"One of the girls I was with, Sarah. Get Pen to look into her, she was acting weird about my meeting with Reid." You throw a look over your shoulder and see Marie and the girls looking at you expectantly. "I think we're being watched." You murmured, leaning close to Derek's ear.
His muscles flexed under your trailing grip. "Want to get out of here?"
"Yeah." You nod, throwing a sheepish glance over your shoulder and a small wave to the girls who definitely weren't looking through the window.
Turning the corner there was a familiar squad car waiting for you.
----
Again, you spent your weekend hunched over a conference table. Files piled up around your head. The team had gone all in on Sarah, and the deeper you dug, the more she looked like your unsub.
"Her grades have been steadily dropping for the last few semesters." Emily commented, putting another file in the completed bin.
"Ah-Ha!" Penelope exclaimed, her face popping up on the monitor. "Recently, Sarah's adoptive Mom died. It didn't come up in the original searches because she wasn't offically adopted. The papers never went through."
"So we've got our stressor." Hotch nodded, his arms crossed tensely in the corner of the room. "Reid, have you noticed anything during class?"
As he started talking, you realised you hadn't looked over once. It was like he wasn't even there. "She seemed pretty normal until I read through the essay she handed in. Her critique of the ethics I set was neither for or against. But was more arguing that murder isn't entirely immoral." He explained, taking a sip from his coffee before continuing.
"Her argument was that neither lying or committing the murder is immoral. As both have their own moral explanations." He continued.
"Like lying to the murderer, or killing in self defence." You said without thought, his brown eyes meeting yours. Gaze dropped to your swirling cup of coffee, there was no escape from reminders of him.
"Wow babybird, they'll make a philosopher of you yet." Emily smiled, JJ giggled. "But what's the plan to get her to act again."
Rossi started to plan, "Release the grades publicly, put a select few people at the top of the list. We put an agent on everyone on the top of the list."
"She already thinks babybird has done well. So we stick her in a college dorm and wait. Also." He paused, looking between you and Reid. "If we were to drum up some rumours." He clicked his tongue, holding back a smirk.
Penelope squealed through the screen, "Are you telling me the garden is going to grow some ivy?" Her bottom lip pulled in between her teeth.
"What?" Reid asked, confused.
"Only if the two of you are comfortable." Hotch said at the same time and you sank deeper into the chair. Face burning as bright as a christmas light.
"Oh God." You groaned, head in your hands. Peeking through your fingers at Reid's face paling after JJ had kindly explained it into his ear. Finally, you made real eye contact for the first time all morning.
"We'll do it." He confirmed with a nod, and you a slightly less sure one.
"Oh my God!" Penelope cried, "It's like a cringe romcom. You should wear that mini skirt!"
"Garcia." Hotch warned, "Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Yes."
Your eyes still locked together, you had to remind you it was for a case. All of it was for a case. No matter how fast your heart was beating. None of it was real.
----
The mini skirt was worn. Pleats brushing the tops of your thighs, falling right at the curve of your ass. The shirt you were wearing had one too many buttons undone.
Class hadn't started, it was just you and Reid in your meticulously planned play. Standing at his desk with your open, empty notebook. The bend of your back too salacious for just a teacher and student. His warmth radiated on your back as his arm reached around you, finger running down the blank page. You swore you could feel him starting to grow against your ass. Goosebumps pulled up on your skin, it wasn't real. It was a waiting game and you were begging for someone to catch you.
And someone did. Marie, Chloe and Sarah came bustling in. They paused in the doorway as the two of you jumped apart in fake shock.
"Um, thank you." You stuttered shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Eyes planted firmly at your shoes, toes tapping on the floor and making your way to your front row seat.
Marie scrambled to your side, dragging you down into the seat as everyone else made their way in. "What the hell was that?"
"I don't know what you mean." Your voice ticked up, eyes raking him up and down.
"Mhm." She hummed, eyebrow raised.
You weren't listening to anything he was saying. Shamelessly, eye fucking him as he explained things to the class. Lip bitten in between your teeth and tongue wetting your lips. Out of the corner of your eye, the three of them couldn't help but glance over.
He was just as intense back, every wave of his hands sending you back to having your brain fucked out on his desk. The lines were blurring between Ivy and Gardener and you and Reid. And you weren't sure if you minded.
Then, your pen rolled off the wooden desk, clattering to the ground and silencing his rambling. Halting teaching, striding towards your desk. When he crouched, your legs uncrossed. Revealing the damp spot that was ever present on your panties.
It sent him stuttering, "Y-your pen... Ivy."
"Thank you, Professor." The pen made home in between your lips, looking up at him through your lashes. Ivy had disappeared, it felt like it was just you and Reid in the room. Everyone else melted away.
He spent the rest of the lecture, glancing over to you every few seconds. Wiping sweaty palms down the front of his pants. "Alright!" He concluded, "I think that's enough for today. Oh! But before you go. Your essays, I'll hand them out."
He travelled back to front. Telling polite good jobs, or this needs improvements. Until, he got to the front row. Chloe and Marie got a good job, a kind nod, that left them smiling at their marks.
But then came Sarah, he slid the paper across the desk upside down with a tight smile on his face. And then you, a huge smile on his face, hand reaching out to your shoulder. It wasn't real.
"See me after class." His thumb brushed a strand of hair from your shoulder, before turning to the rest of the class. "Alright! See you next week!"
Hanging around, you waved goodbye to Marie and Chloe. Sarah had disappeared quickly, throwing a look you couldn't quite read over her shoulder before turning the corner.
The door slammed close, but the tight air didn't diffuse. You drifted to the other side, leaning on your desk. You could hear him breathing, hands gripping the desk, back hunched over. The lines had blurred, it wasn't Ivy's underwear that were soaked through. It was yours.
"Reid-" You started, his name coming out more like an awkward squeak.
"Spencer." He cut you off, voice gruff and he finally straightened up. His brown leather shoes, clicked on the tiled floor. A slow, echoing rhythm that made you look up from your swinging feet.
"Look, I'm sorry." You sighed, looking everywhere but his face. "I took it too far." Mouth claggy, hands sweaty.
"Hmm," He hummed, hand darting out and gripped your jaw, forcing you to look up at him. "Are you sorry? The state of your panties says otherwise."
His fingers lingered at the crook of your knee. Softly, dragging up your thigh but stopping right before they could hit exactly where you wanted.
You whined, a high pitched, pathetic noise. "Spencer."
The look in his eyes lit you on fire. Tilting your head up, short breaths puffing from your lips. "Please."
His lips pressed against yours, tilting your neck up to meet his mouth. You groaned into his mouth, the noise silenced by his tongue dipping into your mouth. One hand brushed over your underwear, pressing into your clit lightly, the other gripped into your waist. Bringing you to the edge of the desk, keeping you exactly where he wanted you. At his mercy.
It was torture, the feather light touches giving you only a second of relief. He was smirking, the slight stubble that had grown in scratching at your chin.
At your wits end, you bite into his bottom lip. Teeth sinking into the skin and pulling back lightly. The two of you breathing in the others mouth, minty remnants coat your tongue.
"I swear to God Reid." You panted, hips bucking upwards into his fingers, "You are driving me crazy."
"I'm driving you crazy?" He scoffed, "You came in, wearing that tiny skirt. Basically bent over in front of me, then flashed me your wet panties, all while I was teaching." His tongue darted out, licking a long stripe up the column of your throat.
"Hotch's orders." You gasp, hand digging into his ragged curls and tugged him backwards.
He laughed, a mocking ring. "Oh I'm sure, I bet he told you to spread your legs for me. I wonder what he would say if I reported back? Huh babybird?"
The nickname out of his mouth had your head reeling, a complete opposite to the usual softness that came from Derek or Emily.
"I wonder what he would say, if I told him one of his best agents crumbled at the sight of me in a mini dress?" You shot back, hand cupping his now fully hard dick.
Finally, he pulled your panties down your legs. And slid them into his back pocket, his fingers slipping inside of you.
"Fuck Spencer!" You cried out, now fumbling at his belt. Clammy hands struggling with the buckle, arms falling weak as Spencer's fingers started to thrust in and out of you. A punishing pace, eyes rolling into the back of your head.
Every press of his fingers had a loud squelch bouncing around the lecture hall. Twitching his fingers upwards, brushing your g spot and laughing at your body falling limp. You used him as a support beam, slumped over in pleasure. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your hair.
"Feel good baby?" He asked, voice turning soft.
"Mhm." You hummed, his fingers turning your brain to mush. "Close." You sighed into his chest.
"Good girl." He smiled, soft kisses peppered along the crook of your neck and collarbone.
The kind praise coming from Spencer of all people, had you hurling over the edge. Toes curling and hands desperately digging into his shoulder blades. Your thighs shook, clamping around his wrist tightly.
"Fucking hell." You sighed, breath warm on his ear as you pulled him into a soft kiss. It left your heart racing, almost exploding out of your chest.
You were holding on to him like a lifeline, he was holding onto you in a similar vein. His belt buckle clinked, pants pooling at his knees, before sliding into your warmth.
Still sensitive from a moment ago, your lips dug into your lip as he began to gently thrust. It was tender, a gentle rocking in and out. Soft strokes pulling through your hair. Smooth hands trailing up your spine.
It was almost too much. Too different. He wasn't being condescending, there was no mocking. Just sweet cooing in your ear that made you clench around him. Incoherent babbling of his name fell from your lips.
Then, he whispered your name. A gentle, soft noise that had you cumming around him. Stars bloomed behind your eye as you came, a whimpering moan falling from your lips.
He followed not long after you, pressing his forehead to yours. Chanting your name over and over, he released inside of you. A curl fell, sticking to him. He looked charming, you thought. Leaning down, he kissed you again, slow and languid.
It all felt too real.
"Um." You started, looking up at him. Pink cheeks and a shy smile, "Thank you."
"And thank you." He said, as he moved a fallen strand of hair away from your eyes.
"Can I have my panties back?" You bit your lip.
For a second, you just stared at him. Playing with your fingers, you started to giggle, and so did he. The laughter was infectious, everything was light. It was foreign, you weren't going at each others throats. There was no snarky comments, no corrections.
"Sure." He was smiling, not the smile he did when he was being polite. But the one when Penelope let him ramble about doctor who, or when JJ surprised him with a chocolate covered sprinkled doughnut.
He handed them to you, cool to the touch where they were still damp. There was a pool where his cum had dripped out of you. The desk under you, covered in him.
Shimmying them up your legs, more of him dripped out of you. You grimaced and he smirked.
"Shut up." You grumped, pouting slightly.
Suddenly, there was a rush of people outside of the hall. Another class period had ended. Had you really been in there that long?
"Right."
"Right." He echoed.
"I better head off, time to lure a murderer to my fake apartment." You joked, he didn't laugh. "Kidding."
Turning, you packed your bag and jogged up the stairs, hoping that he couldn't see the huge wet spot on your underwear. You'd never hear the end of it.
"Be careful." He called when you reached the last step with his hands in his pockets rocking back on his heels.
"I will."
----
Sometimes, you wished unsubs were less predictable. You had spotted Sarah two blocks away, she lurked around corners, hid behind signs and she thought the hat she had on was hiding her face.
As soon as you'd seen her, you messaged Hotch. By the time you reached the apartment block you'd seen three squad cars. The front entrance was propped open so she could follow you right on in.
And she did. Apartment 6B was on the third floor. When you got to the second the front entrance slammed closed. She was not far behind you now.
Anyone with eyes could tell no one lived in apartment 6B, it was bland as anything. The walls were stark white, all the furniture was drab grey. There was nothing personal at all. No photos on the walls, no trinkets sprawled on every surface.
You had left the door unlocked behind you, and dumped your bag on the boring, rough couch. Walking to the kitchen, you slid open the door by the sink. Your gun sat inside, exactly where Derek had left it. Him and JJ were in your 'bedroom', waiting for the signal.
A few seconds later, there was a knock on the door.
"Coming!" You called, sliding your gun into the waistband of your skirt and made your way to the door. "Sarah!" You gasped, then tilted your head, taking a pause. "How... do you know where I live?" You asked, furrowing your brows.
"You bitch!" She growled, immediately jumping at you. A knife that she had hidden behind her back at the ready. Now, that was an escalation.
Your hand gripped her forearm, trying to wrangle the knife from her grasp. The two of you crashed into the wall, the tip of the knife scratched against your shoulder. Dark blood stained your shirt.
"Sarah put the knife down." You pleaded, the air puffing out of your lungs as you fell to the floor. The coffee table's legs crashing under your back.
"You're a no good slut." Sarah lifted the knife, ready to strike down upon you. Derek and JJ came running out of the bedroom, guns drawn and shouting.
"FBI! Put the knife down!" Derek barked, moving in on her.
The crazed look in her eyes told you she wasn't going to relent. Scrambling back, you swept her legs out from under her. Her ribs crashed into your legs and the knife fell from her grip. It sliced your calf, the blood running down and turning your white sock red.
They moved in, yanking her off of your legs and pulling her arms behind her. Cuffs clinked as he read her, her rights. JJ rushed to your side, kneeling beside you.
"Are you ok?" She flustered, hand grasping onto your uninjured shoulder.
"I'm fine." You nodded, smoothing down your skirt. You hissed when her finger prodded at your leg. "Ow!"
She laughed lightly, "Cmon, there's an ambulance outside." She helped you up, supporting you as you hobbled down the staircase and out onto the street.
You get forced into the back of an ambulance, Hotch stood guard at the door. The paramedics started to pepper you with questions.
"Did you hit your head?" She shined a torch in your eyes, checking for signs of a concussion.
"No," You shake your head. "Just the slashes." You confirmed and slid your shirt off of your shoulder.
"Alright, you'll need a couple stitches in each one. We can do it here." She explained, starting to stitch you up. "You'll need to take it easy for a couple of weeks." She said, with a pointed glance towards Hotch.
You sat in the back of the ambulance, legs swinging as they processed Sarah.
"Hey." Spencer said, sitting down next to you. "I heard you got quite roughed up."
"I'm ok." You smiled, head resting on the side of the ambulance.
"Uh, I got you something." He coughed, rummaging around in his pocket and pulled out a red lollipop. "The sugar will be good for keeping your energy up after losing blood. It tricks your brain into thinking you're fine. Endorphins and stuff."
"It tricks your brain into thinking you're fine. Endorphins and stuff." You said at the same time, holding back a laugh at his face. "You said the same to Em when she got grazed two months ago."
"Do you memorise everything I say?" He smirked.
"Well if I didn't how could I be precise? Professor Reid." You batted your eyelashes at him.
"Don't." He warned with a finger waved in your face, clambering up from the back of the ambulance when he saw Emily walking your way. He gave a wave before heading over to the rest of the team.
Unwrapping the treat with a loud crinkle, you called out. "Spencer!"
He turned and raised his brows.
"Thank you!" Popping it into your mouth, as Emily sat down next to you.
"Since when do you call him Spencer?" She asked, eyes darting between you.
"Recent development." You shrugged, trying not to stare.
"We told you, you just needed to fuck it out." She smiled, bumping your good shoulder with hers. "Was it the dress? Cuz I'd so do you in that."
"Shut up." You grumbled, cheeks heating up. Going even more red as you locked eyes with Spencer.
"Babybird and pretty boy sittin in a tree." She whispered in your ear, then doubled over laughing after you jabbed your elbow into her ribs.
----
a/n: this is so ass, there is genuinely no literayness to this. lowk was just horny and rabidly typed this out. whoops! ! join my taglist here!!!!
summary: you're forced to share a hotel room with your boss, gasp! based on this request!
warnings: smut!!! unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), lots of sex jokes, at least 4k words of build up and sexual tension because i was #ovulating, strip poker, hotch almost jizzes in his pants at the sight of your boobs, this fic is baso me spreading the pathetic!hotch agenda, like he’s so desperate and touch starved in this it’s not even funnyyy, overstimulation, creampie, alcohol consumption, r has hair long enough to tug
wc: 8.7k
✰ masterlist
You taste metal before you realise you’ve bitten too far. A stinging telegram from skin you’ve been gnawing at since you got into the car. It’s a habit you never quite managed to break, surrendering crescents of yourself to restless teeth.
“Quit that,” Hotch says, cutting you a quick sideways glance. It’s meant to be a reprimand, but there’s no real bite in it, only the bite of your own teeth on your nails.
You drop your hands into your lap like a guilty child.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, making a turn onto the main road.
“You think I’m biting my nails because I’m hungry?”
“No. I know you only bite your nails when you’re overthinking. And I know you’re more inclined to talk when you’re not running on an empty stomach.”
You glance out the passenger window, taking notice of the rain that has thickened since you bolted to the car. The prison is already a smear in the rear-view mirror, tucked so far into nowhere it feels less like an institution and more like a secret earth is ashamed of. You imagine its architects deciding it should be placed where even guilt would have trouble finding it.
“There’s a diner about half an hour up the road,” he tries again. “Good coffee. Bad pie.”
You consider it, and on any other night you’d say yes without thinking, like you’ve done countless times before. But you remember that tonight, you’re not heading home. You’re heading back to the hotel room you’re sharing with your boss. The same four beige walls that felt far too small last night.
You hadn’t realised that sharing a bed would also mean sharing melatonin. Though clearly Hotch got the better end of the deal, sleeping like a man immune to proximity-induced panic while you lay still, every muscle tense, your heart hammering as if trying to pound thoughts into words you had no business thinking.
“Can’t we make the drive back home tonight?” you ask, shifting to look at him. “I can drive most of the way if you want to doze off.”
“I think given the weather and your driving skills, that wouldn’t be a wise choice.”
“What’s wrong with my driving skills?”
“You once reversed into a mailbox.”
You scoff. “You weren’t even in the car when that happened.”
“No,” he says, unbothered, “but I did have to file the vehicle incident report explaining why the Bureau SUV suddenly had a dent in the rear bumper.”
You glance out again and he’s right. Sheets of rain blur the road, the wipers swiping furiously just to keep a sliver of the world in view. You’d sooner chew down a mouthful of nails than attempt to drive in this, and considering Hotch handled the entire drive here and carried most of the interview, it hardly seems fair to pester him to slog through another four hours just so you can sleep in your own bed.
“You did well,” he offers obligingly, and you know he’s trying to patch up your bruised ego.
You hadn’t imagined your last few days with the BAU would involve revisiting what was meant to be a closed case. But new evidence had surfaced, linking back to one of your consults which, after this week, wouldn’t even be yours anymore. It would probably be passed on to JJ or Morgan, but you’d insisted on coming, unwilling to leave loose ends behind.
That insistence had landed you on a two-day trip with Hotch accompanied by a night in a cheap, overbooked hotel, one bed, a sleepless night yesterday, and the creeping dread of repeating it again tonight.
“You’re lying. I barely got him to talk.”
“You did more than you realise. We managed to get a name.”
We. You turn your head and catch the faintest hint of amusement tugging at his mouth. “You managed to get a name,” you correct.
His shoulders lift in a slight shrug, eyes still on the road. “It was a team effort.”
“Well, I suppose it's not really going to be my problem anymore after this week.” You exhale, resting your temple against the cold glass.
“Do you need me to stop anywhere before the hotel?”
“Yes, actually.” You turn towards him with a half-smile, because if you’re going to be forced to share the covers with Hotch again, you’re not doing it sober. “Pretty sure there’s a gas station off the next exit, if you wouldn’t mind?”
He nods, and you go back to overthinking the bane of your existence until Hotch finally pulls into the saddest-looking gas station you’ve ever seen.
“Do you need anything?” you ask, unclipping your seatbelt and letting it snap back harder than necessary, purely because you know it irritates him.
His jaw tics. “You can take it off without assaulting the mechanism, you know.”
“So nothing, then?”
“Coffee. If they have it.”
“Sure.” You pause, then grin at him. “I’ll get you a drink.”
You’re out of the car before he can clarify that he meant just coffee. The cold air immediately slides under your coat, no matter how tightly you pull it around yourself. The rain’s turned into that annoying misty kind—so light it shouldn’t count, but somehow it still sticks to your hair and makes you feel damp and miserable. You jog the last few steps to the door.
Inside, it smells vaguely of lemon cleaning wipes, which is funny, because absolutely nothing in here looks like it’s been cleaned. You don’t bother searching for the coffee machine since technically, you’re not taking orders from your Unit Chief anymore.
You make a beeline for the back fridges instead.
Rows of cheap wine stare back at you—the kind that would give Rossi a heart attack. You pick the worst looking bottle out of pure spite, already planning on texting him a picture just to ruin his evening. Then, for insurance, you grab a few miniature bottles of whiskey. On your way to the till, you snatch a bag of popcorn. The sweet kind.
Once you’ve paid, you head back to the car. Hotch reaches across to push the door open for you, and you slide in. The bag clinks in your hands, immediately giving away your intentions—something he’s clearly clocked, judging by the look he gives you.
“Sorry. The coffee machine was broken, so I got wine instead. Or whisky. Whatever floats your boat on this fine night.”
“Please tell me there's at least water in there.”
You reach into the bag and pull out a bottle, dropping it into the cup holder between you. “Have a little faith.”
He shakes his head in that disappointed-dad way he’s perfected over the years and shifts the car back into drive. The wipers groan across the windshield, and you take the moment to pull the questionable wine out of the bag to send a picture to Rossi.
You get a reply just as Hotch is turning into the hotel’s car park.
Rossi: Is this a cry for help? Tell me that’s not going in your body. 💀🍷
You leave him on read, taking your clinking bottles with you as you follow Hotch out of the car and into the building. The two of you are quiet as you watch him fumble with the key to your room. Yes—key, not card, because it’s that ancient. Yet, for a man who can dismantle a Glock blindfolded, he still manages to miss the hole twice.
“Any time today would be nice.”
He exhales through his nose, slotting the key in on the third try. “You could always help.”
“Sure. Usually you just line it up and get it in the hole. Works for me most of the time.”
He goes still for half a second. Then, without looking at you, “You know there are moments I genuinely regret encouraging you to speak.”
The lock finally clicks and he pushes the door open for you.
“Would you look at that,” you say as you brush past him, “you can find the spot.”
The room is exactly as small as you remember, and somehow the freshly made bed almost makes it look worse. Hotch had made it this morning while you were brushing your teeth, tighter and straighter than housekeeping ever could. Pillows fluffed and aligned, corners tucked. True military craftsmanship from a meticulous dork.
A meticulous dork who is now taking off his jacket and folding it neatly over his go-bag and suddenly—though not surprisingly—your eyes are glued to the way his white shirt pulls across his shoulders.
You rip your gaze away and begin unpacking your haul.
“You want the shower first?” he asks, and you glance at him, pretending it’s the first time you’ve looked at him since walking in.
“Nope. I want alcohol.”
He shakes his head, grabs his toiletry bag, and disappears into the tiny bathroom.
You’re about to enjoy the way this glorified paint thinner will probably strip your taste buds, when you realise there’s a slight problem. It’s a corked bottle and not a twist-off. You try using your nails to get it open, and then your sheer willpower.
Unfortunately it does not respond to either.
You give it one more useless tug before raising your voice.
“Hotch?”
Water is running. He does not answer.
You try again, louder. “Hotch!”
“What?” he calls through the door, voice muffled.
“Are you decent?”
There’s the faintest pause—long enough for you to smile to yourself because you can’t help but imagine him…not decent.
“Yes,” he says cautiously. “Why?”
“I need help.”
“With what?”
“Alcohol-related emergency.”
You hear him sigh, followed by the water shutting off. A few seconds later, the bathroom door opens and he steps out, with only his belt missing. Interesting. He’s a belt off first kind of guy.
He looks at the bottle, then at you. “You bought wine without a corkscrew.”
You hold it out to him. “Let me take this as a moment to remind you that I never handed paperwork in late, never took a sick day, never complained about overtime. I was, arguably, the model team member. This is the least you can do to show appreciation.”
He doesn’t argue. Just takes the bottle from your hands and sits on the edge of the bed with it.
Legs spread. Grey slacks pulling just slightly at the seams. Broad thighs taking up most of the mattress. He settles the bottle between them, and you do your absolute best to focus on the glass instead of the fabric creasing over muscle and the very distracting proximity of…everything else.
He braces the bottle with one hand around the base and you forget how to form actual sentences. With his other hand, he uses his thumb to push the cork down into the bottle, veins flexing with each movement.
The cork gives a soft, breathy sound as it starts to sink into the neck of the bottle, and you’re just standing there—useless, wine thirsty, and uncomfortably aware of the fact that this should not be as attractive as it is.
He pulls his hand back as soon as the cork pops and sinks into the bottle, wiping his thumb absently against his thigh and you’re pretty much drooling at the sight, while he looks up at you, unfazed.
“Happy now?”
“Mhm. Ecstatic. Guess you’ve got just as much trouble pulling out as you do finding the hole.”
“You know I can request to have you transferred earlier than Friday.”
“Go ahead,” you say, scanning the room for glasses. “Knock yourself out.” There are none. No glasses. No mugs. Not even a questionable plastic cup.
“You want to take your wine so I can go shower?” he asks flatly.
“You’re not joining me?”
His eyes shift between you and the bottle. “How much was this?”
“Four ninety-nine.” You scrunch your nose as he brings it to his face and smells it. “Come on, you have to toast me. Rossi denied me a leaving party because apparently switching departments doesn't count as officially leaving.”
He lets out a slow breath. “You want a toast?”
“Yes.” You nod. “Or you could list your top five things about working with me. Or both. I have time.”
“Fine,” he resigns, moving along the edge of the bed to make space for you. “One toast.”
You grin as you drop down beside him, your knees touching. You watch as he brings the bottle closer to his lips and mulls over what to say.
“To the fact you never did anything halfway,” he says earnestly and it catches you off guard. You were fully expecting something sarcastic like to the number of sex jokes you made on federal payroll. “Cases, paperwork, people,” he continues. “You were all in. Always.”
And then he tilts the bottle back. You shouldn’t stare, but you do. The way his mouth wraps around the glass, the slow swallow, the faint scrunch of his brows as the taste hits. He pulls it away with a barely-supressed grimace.
“That’s awful,” he scoffs, handing it to you.
Your fingers brush when you take it, and you can’t help but wonder if his thumb still tastes like wine. You lift the bottle, deliberately pressing your mouth to the exact spot his lips just were, and you catch the way his eyes flick down to follow the movement before meeting yours again.
You take a swig, more than you should because it burns. “God—that’s fucking vile.”
He huffs a quiet laugh through his nose. “Told you.”
“Now you have to help me finish it. Otherwise I’ll die, and you’ll have to do the paperwork.”
“That’s manipulative.”
You shrug. “Is it? Thought extra paperwork would be your kind of foreplay.”
His lips twitch, and you almost catch the smile he’s trying so hard to suppress it’s making him look constipated. “You have a foul mouth,” he mutters, taking the bottle back and bringing it to his lips.
“Is that the first of the five things you like about me?”
He pauses mid-sip, lowers the bottle just enough to give you that painfully patient stare. “We are not making a list.”
“So that’s a yes?”
He takes another swig, getting him out of answering. When he hands the bottle back, you notice his fingers linger a second longer than necessary, despite you having a firm hold on it.
“Fine. No list. I’ll just assume it’s implied.”
“It isn’t.”
“It is.”
“It really isn’t.”
You roll your eyes, taking two big gulps that almost make your eyes water.
The back and forth continues until the bottle is completely empty, along with the mini bottles of whiskey you picked up. The popcorn is gone too, aside from the sad trail of it now crushed into the hotel carpet from your failed attempt to open the bag like a normal person.
At some point, sitting upright stopped being doable. Your backs protested, your vision began to blur at the edges, and now the two of you were lying on top of the covers, side by side, legs still hanging off the edge of the bed.
“Are you still beating yourself up about earlier?” he asks, voice softer than it was before the cheap alcohol.
“A little,” you admit with a sigh. “I wanted to do one last thing before leaving. Not hand it back to you unfinished.”
“You softened him up. Made him think he was in control. It might not seem like much, but it helped.”
You huff and push yourself up onto your elbow, turning to face him. His eyes are a little glassy, and for once he looks relaxed. “Bet you’re going to miss using me as bait.”
He shifts his head to glance at you. “You’re only moving two floors down.”
“And what if my new boss doesn’t like to share?”
“You were always mine first,” he says it so casually, you’re not entirely sure he’s processed his own wording.
“Yours?” you let out a laugh, eyebrows lifting.
“Ours,” he corrects, a vague flick of his hand. “The BAUs”
You’re fairly certain you like the sound of mine more. You look at him again, the alcohol throwing all discreetness out your system. He smiles back up at you in a way you don’t see often. His hair is all mussed, a thin layer of sweat making his skin glow.
“What are you thinking?” he asks, pushing up onto his elbow to mirror you.
You grin at him and he immediately regrets asking because he knows that look. He sighs and drops back onto the bed. “Never mind.”
“I think you need a shower.” You spare him your real thoughts.
“Thanks,” he mutters. “I don’t think I could even get my tie off right now.”
“Do you need a hand?”
He laughs quietly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I might.”
Sitting up takes more effort than it should. The room tilts a little when you move, but you manage to get onto your knees, wobbling and swaying, before Hotch reaches out and catches your wrist, stopping you from diving face first into his chest.
“What’re you doing?” he asks, just as you swing a knee over his hips and ungracefully settle in his lap.
“Helping you get your tie off because you need to shower.”
He goes rigid beneath you, hands hovering near your waist like he’s unsure if he has permission to rest them on you. “You’re on top of me.”
“We can do this standing if you prefer?”
His eyes close for half a second, like he’s silently begging for patience. “No. Just—”
You catch the speed of that no and can’t help but smile, settling yourself against him. “Okay,” you breathe, leaning in. “Hold still.”
You’ve never actually taken a tie off someone before. Definitely not while tipsy. Which is probably why it’s going so badly. You yank at the knot once… twice… and somehow make it worse. “Why is this thing so tight? Are you into autoerotic asphyxiation or something?”
His hands finally come to rest on your waist. “Please don’t ever say that sentence again.”
“Have we just unlocked a secret turn-on category? It’s fine, I’m very accepting.”
He lets out a breath, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “It’s called a Windsor knot.”
“Well no wonder you’re so grumpy all the time—this Windsor knot is cutting off circulation to your brain.”
“You’re making it tighter,” he points out, voice sounding strained. He shifts, probably a poor attempt at comfort because all his movement does is press you directly against his groin.
Your fingers fumble with the fabric, because you’re too busy fighting the urge to move. To roll your hips. To test just how good the friction would feel. “Because you’re moving.”
“You’re on top of me.”
You tug at the fabric again. “I gave you the option to do this standing, didn’t I?”
His eyes shift to your lips, then slowly, he removes one hand from your waist. “Slide the narrow end through the loop,” he says, showing you.
Fuck. He’s talking you through it. And you’re pretty sure you could get off on his voice alone, but you will yourself to focus.
“No—other side.”
You follow his direction, fingers brushing his throat.
“Now loosen it,” he murmurs. His thumb presses lightly at the knot, guiding your hand. “Pull there.”
You do as you’re told, giving a gentle tug and the knot slides loosely apart. “Would you look at that! You’re tie-free.”
You give it another tug, slipping it from his collar so you can inspect it. What you thought was just a diamond print now, up close, looks suspiciously like two Gs. You gasp. “Oh my god. You really spent two hundred dollars on a Gucci tie just to choke yourself?”
His hands are back on your waist again. “It was on sale.”
“You could’ve asked me,” you say, looping it clumsily around your neck. “I would’ve done it for free.”
“You’re wearing it backwards.”
“Well,” you breathe, setting your hands on his chest, the warmth of him not doing you any favours, “you’re the expert in expensive silk strangulation. Fix it for me.”
He looks at you intently. His pupils are blown wide, dark as ink, and you can feel exactly how hard he is beneath you. You wonder if he can feel how wet you are. Probably not—not through those overpriced, perfectly tailored slacks clearly designed to prevent situations like this from becoming obvious.
He reaches for the tie, fingers brushing your ribs as he takes each end. The back of his knuckles grazes the thin fabric of your blouse as he lifts the silk to straighten it.
“You want it to lie like this,” he says softly. “Otherwise it twists.”
You don’t breathe. “Mhm.”
“Now it goes over and under…” His hands do exactly that, looping the fabric while all you can feel is the insistent throb between your thighs. The silk slides against you, his hands settling the knot at the top of your sternum, right between your breasts.
“You can pull the longer end through here,” he murmurs and takes a hold of your hands, guiding them with his. His thumb presses to the knot to adjust it, dragging it higher. “See? Not that hard.”
You tilt your hips forward. “I don’t think that’s entirely true,” you whisper, fingers moving to the top button of his shirt, undoing it. You watch his Adam's apple bob around a swallow. “Do you want to know what I was really thinking about earlier?” you ask, working the second button loose, his white undershirt peeking through.
You glance up at him, and his eyes are fixed on the point where you’re straddling the hard line of his cock. “You’re going to tell me either way, aren’t you?”
“Mm,” you hum, dragging your thumb down the column of his throat, just to feel the way he swallows again. “I don’t have to.”
“But you want to.” His hands are back on your hips, fingertips pressing into your skin through your blouse.
You shrug, wetting your bottom lip. “I was thinking…whether you’ve ever actually thought about sleeping with me.”
He stills briefly, like he remembers all the reasons why he shouldn’t be doing any of this, but also realises the two of you crossed that line half a bottle of wine ago. “I think you already know the answer to that.”
“Tonight doesn’t count. I mean before this. Have you thought about it?” There’s no shame in your voice, just curiosity.
His thumb slips beneath your blouse, making you roll your hips into him again. “Yes,” he grunts out.
“That’s it?”
“You asked a yes or no question.”
Your hand drifts lower, undoing another button on his shirt. “You could elaborate.”
“You really want me to do that right now?”
“Absolutely.” Your fingers pause, leaving his shirt half-open, and slide to the buttons of your own shirt. You toy with one absentmindedly. “Would it help if I took this off?”
His jaw flexes. He looks at your blouse. Then your mouth. Then your blouse again. “That’s not—” He cuts himself off, exhaling through his nose.
“How about this,” you offer with a smile, “every time you tell me when you’ve thought about it, I take off a piece of clothing. Seems fair, don’t you think?”
“And if I don’t want to partake in this game?”
“Then I get off your lap, put on my most conservative pyjamas, go to sleep, you shower, and we never speak of this again.” You really, really hope that’s not the option he picks. “The choice is yours. You tell me what you want to do.”
He goes quiet, thinking—though with how hard his cock is pressing against you, practically straining in those slacks, you’re not convinced he’s capable of coherent thought. You’re hardly better. You’re fucking soaked, and technically the two of you haven’t even done anything remotely obscene. But apparently sitting on your boss’s lap counts as the world’s most effective form of foreplay.
“Rossi’s birthday last year,” he reveals.
“I remember,” you nod and begin working your buttons down. “We stayed behind to help him clean up.”
“And you insisted on putting away the wine glasses—” He stops when your bra comes into view and swallows thickly before dragging his eyes to your face. “You climbed up onto the counter, almost fell and nearly shattered every glass in your hands.”
You laugh, shrugging your blouse off and tossing it on the floor so it can make friends with the popcorn crumbs. “I recall you having a pretty good view of my ass in the process.”
His eyes drop to the breasts spilling out your bra. “Not as good as the view I have now.”
“That’s one.” You toy with the strap of your bra. “Next.”
“The jet.”
You light up instantly. “This’ll be good.”
“We were coming back from Georgia and shared the sofa. You were lying on one end, I was sitting on the other.”
“Do continue.”
“You move a lot in your sleep,” he goes on, eyes fixed on your face, though you can feel the tension in his hands at your hips. “Kept shifting… sighing… dragging the blanket up and then kicking it off again. And with every move, your skirt rode a little higher. I stopped looking when I realised I wasn’t just making sure you were covered. I was… staring.”
“Oh, you poor thing,” you coo sweetly, before attempting to climb off his lap without falling off the bed. His brows pull together as he watches you stand at the edge of the mattress, propped up on his elbows.
There’s a dark patch on his groin, and you don’t know if it’s from you, or him, or both, but it makes your stomach twist, makes you want to end this game so you could finally feel him inside you.
But apparently you enjoy suffering—or making him suffer—especially when he’s looking up at you with his legs completely spread, those wide, helpless eyes and a face tinged pink. So you only smile, fingers sliding to the zipper of your trousers as you prompt innocently, “Did you like the tights I wore?”
“With the seam at the back,” he confirms just as you push the slacks down your thighs.
You hadn’t planned on playing strip—or confessional—poker with your Unit Chief, which is exactly why your underwear is nothing special. Plain grey cotton and embarrassingly damp. You freeze for only a second, then lift your chin like you meant for it to be this way.
“I don’t think I can keep going,” he says, his voice hoarse.
“You can’t last two more rounds?” you tease, kicking out of the fabric pooling at your ankles. “I won’t count the tie as clothing.”
His eyes drag over you like he’s in pain. “I mean if you keep this up for any longer, I’m going to finish in my pants like a teenager.”
You try very hard not to preen. “I’ll do you a deal,” you say, taking a slow step forward until you’re standing between his legs. “Make this one really good…” You lean in slightly, just enough for the tips of your fingers to brush his knee. “…and I’ll take everything off.”
He swallows.
“The last Christmas party.” His words come easily, like this specific memory had been on the edge of his mind for a while.
You nod. “You were my ride.”
“You had on that black dress with the slit up your thigh. You went upstairs to fix your lipstick and asked me to show you the bathroom.” He sits up, his hands coming to rest on the backs of your thighs. “And then your zipper conveniently decided to undo itself halfway down your spine.”
“That zip was very flimsy.”
“I put my hand on your back and you arched into it. Maybe you didn’t even realise you did it. But I did.” His thumb strokes idly against your skin, eyes half-lidded. “All I could think about was how easy it would’ve been to push that dress the rest of the way down… bend you over the sink and make you watch in the mirror.”
Heat pools low in your stomach. “And you didn’t.”
“You were tipsy and said you’d had too much champagne. So I zipped it back up and walked you downstairs.”
“Such a gentleman.” Your hands are already moving. You reach behind you, fingers brushing the clasp of your bra. “Well…a deal's a deal.” You take your time—partly on purpose, partly because your fingers are shaking the tiniest bit. The clasp gives, and you roll the straps lazily off your shoulders before letting fabric fall.
Hotch has gone completely still, the hands on your thighs frozen like he’s afraid to blink and miss something. The only thing moving are his eyes, dragging over your body so slowly it makes your skin burn. “You okay?”
His tongue sweeps across his bottom lip before he answers. “You know I’m not.”
“Will it make you feel better to do the honours?” Your hands cover his, guiding them up from your thighs to the waistband of your panties.
He looks up at you, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen him like this. Wrecked and glassy-eyed. He looks like someone who’d do anything you told him to. If they handed out awards for driving tightly wound, hyper-controlled men right to the edge of composure, you’re certain you’d win.
“Go on,” you whisper softly. “You’ve earned it.”
His fingers slip beneath the waistband and his touch is gentle as he starts easing the fabric down your hips. You glance down as he drags them lower, the inside of your underwear looking far worse than the outside. When you look back up, Hotch is already watching you, mouth curved into a crooked, boyish grin, validated that he’s not the only one soaking his undergarments.
You step out of them the moment they hit the floor.
Hotch’s hands are on you right away, sliding up the backs of your thighs until they settle at the curve of your ass, pulling you closer. He presses a wet kiss followed by a bite to your hip, your hands finding his shoulders to steady yourself.
“I want you on my tongue.”
“Yeah?”
He nods, laying back down and the room is tilting again. Whether from the cheap wine or the intoxication of him, you’re not sure. All you can do is follow, crawling up his body until your knees bracket his head. You don’t lower yourself down just yet.
He doesn’t touch you right away. Just…looks.
“You need instructions?” you tease, threading your fingers through his hair, pushing it back from his face.
The bastard only laughs, the warm puff of air against your inner thigh making your breath catch. Then he’s lifting his head, and all you can do is watch—lips parted, hand still tangled in his hair—as his tongue finally makes contact with your pussy, dragging a slow stripe up your centre that makes your hips twitch.
He pulls back with obscene patience, and you know exactly why, because a thin, pearly string of your wetness stretches from his mouth to you, and he has the audacity to look proud of it.
He watches the strand break and you barely have time to process what’s happening before he’s hauling you down until you’re sitting on his face. His mouth opens wider to taste more of you, his tongue flattening and dragging through you, like he’s been dying for this. He absolutely has.
“Fuck!” you choke out, yanking at his hair, only for him to groan in response. Your hips stumble forward and for a second, you fear for the man’s airway with the way you’re practically smothering him between your thighs, but you realise he’s the one that’s pulling you down against him.
“So sweet for me,” he thrums, voice buried. You feel more than hear it, a vibration of sound right where you’re most sensitive. Your thighs tremble around his ears as he licks a messy path up you, then dips lower, tongue slipping inside, the bridge of his nose nudging your clit perfectly.
A whimper spills out before you can bite it back. You rock into him without meaning to, pulse skittering like it’s trying to outrun your body, that familiar feeling already building too fast.
And that’s when he slows. Doesn’t completely stop, just changes the pace in a way that has you letting out a strangled noise.
“Really?” you pant, trying to catch your breath. “Is this your first time?” You lift yourself enough to look down at him.
“Ask me nicely.”
“What?”
His chin glistens and he looks infuriatingly pleased with himself. “You’re used to demanding things.” His hands squeeze the sides of your thighs. “I think it’s time you learnt to be polite.”
Asshole.
You let out a sharp breath, giving his hair a tug. “Please,” you bite out.
He smiles smugly, and then he’s lifting his head to suck your clit into his mouth. A whole parade of curses spill out of you—creative ones too, the kind you don’t even usually say out loud—tripping over each other so fast you barely recognise your own voice.
And then he pulls back. Again.
“Please what?”
Correction: he’s a vindictive asshole.
You see exactly what he’s doing. You recognise his pettiness exactly for what it is. You tormented him first, made him spell it out for you, and now he’s returning the favour. He’s a desperate, competitive perfectionist who insists on winning everything, even the art of sexual torture.
“Sadist,” you hiss.
“Mm.” He turns his head and sinks his teeth gently into the soft flesh of your inner thigh. “Now be specific.”
You give him a dry humourless smile. “Please make me come. First with your mouth and then with your cock.” You drag a thumb along his jaw tauntingly. “Is that specific enough for you?”
His mouth is back on you again in seconds. No easing in this time.
“Jesus—” you gasp, hands bracing on the mattress above his head for balance. The sheets bunch beneath your fingers, the material scratching against your palms.
You feel his tongue circle and suck, like he’s trying to gauge every possible sound out of you, catalogue every single nerve you possess. Your thighs tighten around his temples, the drag of his stubble scraping lightly against your skin.
He pulls you even lower, thumbs digging into your hips, like he wants to disappear into you entirely. The movement forces you down onto his tongue, and the wet, needy sounds he’s making against your cunt are so lewd, you swear you feel them echo behind your ribs.
“Hotch—fuck!”
He hums at the sound, and then his hands shift, big palms sliding up your back, adjusting your angle to give him better access.
“Okay—okay—slow down—” you whimper, even though your hips are doing the exact opposite.
“You asked nicely,” he mumbles into you.
Your laugh comes out breathless and shaky, your whole body tensing under the intensity of his tongue. “I didn’t think—ah—nicely would get me this.”
He answers without words, drawing a slow circle around your clit, and another moan tumbles out of you. You’re close. You can feel it in every part of you, in your thighs trembling around his ears, in the tight pull at the base of your spine.
You gasp, head tipping back. “I—I’m—”
“You can come,” he says headily, tugging you closer. “Go on.”
You tense and wither against him. “Say it,” you pant. “Say you want me to.”
“I want you to.”
Your body caves forward, thighs clamping his head as your orgasm pulls you under so fast you forget to breathe, forget to think, forget everything except the feeling of coming apart on his mouth, wishing you could bottle it forever.
It takes you a few minutes to come back to Earth. Earth being a cheap hotel room in the middle of nowhere.
The first thing you register is the way Hotch’s thumb strokes your hip, then the press of his mouth to the inside of your thigh, another kiss, then another. You manage to lift yourself, and he immediately helps you, guiding your waist tenderly, letting you settle over him in your dazed state.
“Hi,” you croak.
He raises a brow, amused. “Hi.”
“Your face is shiny.”
A slow smile stretches across his mouth. “That would be your fault.”
“I can help with that,” you murmur, leaning down and running your tongue along the line of his jaw, tasting yourself on his skin. Your mouth then grazes the corner of his lips, and that’s when you realise—this man has had his tongue inside you, yet…you don’t know what he tastes like. The two of you haven't actually kissed.
He must sense something is wrong, because his brows lift slightly, like he’s puzzled by the sudden stillness in your body. “What is it?”
You huff a tiny laugh, breath ghosting his cheek. “We haven’t even kissed.” You pull back, cupping his face in both hands, thumbs sweeping across his chin to clean the shine you left there.
“You want to?” he asks like it’s a reasonable question, like he didn’t just have his mouth on the most intimate part of your body minutes ago.
“Aaron, you just had me sitting on your face. What do you think?”
“Aaron,” he repeats.
“That’s your name isn’t it?”
“Mm.” His hands tighten at your waist. “Say it again.”
“Are you going to kiss me, Aaron?”
For a second, he just stares up at you, like you’ve asked him something sacrilegious, something he's wanted for so long he’s almost afraid it's not real. His hands slide up your bare waist, settling at your ribs, giving them a gentle squeeze.
“Come here.”
You meet him halfway.
His lips brush yours delicately, soft enough to make your stomach lurch in anticipation.
You pull back a fraction, just to see his face, and then you’re kissing him again, deeper, tasting something you’ve both been orbiting for years. His tongue slides against yours, the kiss swallowing the moan that slips out of you.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” you breathe against his mouth, the words almost a whine.
“Which ones are bothering you?”
“All of them,” you answer, fingers blindly racing to undo the rest of his shirt. “Sit up.”
He obeys with little afterthought, pushing up on his elbows so you can shove the fabric off his shoulders. You don’t bother folding it neatly, tossing it onto the growing pile of clothes on the floor, and you catch the tiny wince he tries (and fails) to hide.
“Arms up.” You grab the hem of his undershirt, tugging, and he sits up properly this time—bringing your bare, aching centre directly against the hard line of his cock.
The sound he lets out is a half-breath, half-groan at the contact. You don’t get the chance to tease him for it. You’re too busy hauling the undershirt over his head, and he has no choice but to help you strip it off. When it joins the rest of the discarded clothes, you press your hands to his shoulders, giving him a gentle push. He falls back without resistance, molten under your touch.
You lean down, placing a kiss under his jaw, then another just below it, relishing in the way his breath stutters each time your mouth lands on new skin. His chest is warm under your lips, rising and falling in a rhythm that’s embarrassingly close to a pant.
“Christ,” he mutters, and you grin against him, continuing to kiss your way down.
You press another kiss just above the waistband of his trousers, moving down to nudge the bulge beneath the fabric with the bridge of your nose. His reaction is instant. His hips twitch, hands shooting to your hair.
“Want me to stop?” you ask sweetly, glancing up at him through your lashes.
He shakes his head far too quickly. “Keep going.”
So you do. You kiss along the outline of him through the slacks, the damp patch dragging faintly across your lips with each pass. His thighs flex beneath your hands, his breathing falling out in tight, rigid bursts, the fabric getting warmer and wetter under your mouth. You drag your lips along the length of him once more, slow enough to be cruel, and his whole body jolts.
That’s when you take pity.
Your fingers finally move to his zipper, and you feel Hotch’s eyes on you as you ease it down. He lifts his hips immediately, allowing you to roll the slacks off him. The second they hit the floor, you’re already hooking your thumbs into the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips again—quicker and needier—as you drag the last piece of clothing down his thighs.
And then he’s bare beneath you.
You sit back for a second, just to drink him in, mouth salivating at the flushed skin of his stomach, the tense lines of his abdomen, the way his cock rests hard and heavy on his stomach, precum sliding down the curve of him. You reach out without thinking, placing both hands on his thighs for balance as you crawl back up his body. Hovering over him, you lower your hips, feeling the head of his length nudge your inner thigh.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, almost like the words slip from him before he can decide whether he’s allowed to say them. His hands trace up your sides, thumbs brushing under your breasts.
That sentence almost makes you coy. Almost. But your body apparently didn’t get the memo, because your hand wraps around his cock, stroking slowly, and Hotch hisses through his teeth. He’s painfully hard in your palm, every throb pulsing against your grip.
You press him back against his stomach and grind down on him.
“Sweetheart,” he breathes, voice shaking when the slick tip knocks directly against your clit. His hands grab your hips, fingers digging in. “I’m close, and I want to feel you. All of you. I don’t think I’ll be able to last if you keep doing that.”
You roll your hips again, a trembling little slide that makes your breath catch. “You will,” you whimper, leaning forward until your lips brush his. “For me.”
His jaw goes disastrously tight, eyes squeezing shut for half a second before they find yours again, throat constricting around a swallow—and you can’t help the grin that curls up in response. You almost regret leaving the unit, because Monday’s briefing would’ve been something, watching him give orders with a straight face while knowing he couldn’t even wait until he was inside you to come.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” he rasps. His hand leaves your hip, slides up your spine, and gathers a fistful of your hair. He tugs it, just enough to pull a gasp from your mouth, and then lifts his head to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss against your jaw.
You laugh, his exhale scorching against your skin. Your hand slips between your bodies, wrapping around his length again, and you pull away from his mouth as you shift upright. You rise onto your knees, finally guiding his head of his cock to your entrance, his precum coating your pussy, your thighs, his own stomach.
“I think you’re enjoying this far more than I am,” you murmur—right before you sink down on him, only a fraction, enough to make you both tense at the contact.
“Slow—” he manages, voice breaking around it. “Go slow.”
You pause there, barely taking the head of him, but it's enough for heat and pressure to spark low in your belly. “Slow?” you echo, tilting your head, pretending to consider it. “I don’t know… you weren’t exactly slow with me.”
His hands clamp down on your hips. “That was different.”
You give a faint roll of your hips, just enough for him to feel how wet you still are, how easy it would be to slide all the way down. His breath stumbles out of him, all of his authority stripped.
“Different how?” you tease, tracing a finger down his chest, stopping right where his stomach flexes under your touch.
His eyes flutter shut and when they open again, his pupils are blown, jaw clenching like he’s fighting the urge to thrust into you. “Different,” he repeats, “because I’ve been wanting this a long time.”
“How long?” you probe, sinking down onto him further, the stretch of him intoxicating. His head thunks back against the mattress, a groan lurching out of him.
“Two—years,” he gets out, voice splintering as you take more of him.
You still for a second. “Two years?”
“You’re surprised?”
“I mean… yeah? You don’t exactly flirt. You scowl. And file paperwork. And tell me I have a foul mouth.” You lower yourself another inch, slow enough to make him choke on a sound he’d absolutely murder himself for making in any other circumstance. You feel the stretch deep in your belly.
“Aaron,” you whisper, dragging your nails lightly down his chest. “Look at me.”
He does instantly.
“You’ve been wanting this for two years?”
He nods, and you sink down onto him, all the way, until the dark curls at the base of him brush your clit. He’s deep—too deep—in a way you’ve never felt before, his cock throbbing inside you as you bite down on a moan.
“Don’t move yet. Just…give me a second,” he whispers, hands kneading the flesh of your ass.
Your fingers splay across his torso as you adjust to him. “Why didn’t you tell me? Or do anything about it?”
“Because I was your superior. Still am. For another thirty-six hours.”
“You’re telling me you waited two years because of HR?”
“Because it was the right thing to do.”
You shake your head, lift your hips, and take him again. He fills you up completely, the tip nudging deep enough to pull a choked sound from your throat. You’d imagined him like this—God, probably longer than two years—but it still doesn’t compare.
“You feel so fucking perfect,” he pants, his right hand guiding your roll against him. “So, so perfect,” he mutters, voice fraying as you rise off him and then sink back down.
His spare hand comes up to palm your breast, this thumb brushing the underside before his fingers catch your nipple and pinch. Your head tips back immediately, a moan spilling from you as the pleasure arcs up your spine.
“That’s it,” he grits. “Just like that.”
Every time you sink back down, he stretches you just a little more, hits that spot just a little harder. Your thighs start to tremble with the effort. His right hand only tightens at your hip, guiding your pace, manipulating your angle because of course he knows what feels better. But it’s his other hand, the one that’s still on your chest, that begins to slide lower, drifting over your ribs, over your stomach, the curve of your pelvis.
You don’t even realise what he’s reaching for until his thumb finds your clit.
A helpless cry breaks out of you.
“There she is…” he coaxes, thumb moving in a circle motion. “So pretty and vocal for me.”
You pick up the pace at the praise naturally. His breath falters, hips stuttering every time you grind down and meet his thumb at the same time.
“Aaron—”
His head tips back, a vein standing out at his neck, jaw clenched so tightly the muscle jumps beneath his skin. His thumb slips against your clit with every shake of his body, but he doesn’t stop. If anything, he presses harder, circles tighter, chasing you towards the edge even as he’s sliding towards his own.
“Sweetheart, slow—slow down—”
You don’t. You do the opposite, rocking into him, burying him inside of you. You feel yourself clench around him.
“Fuck!” he groans, your name following. His hands fly back to your hips, trying to hold you still, but your body squeezes around him and his own hips jerk helplessly. The sound he makes next is loud enough you’re almost certain the entire floor hears it. Every muscle in his stomach goes taut as he throbs inside you, warmth spilling in hot waves as he comes harder than you’ve ever heard him breathe.
One of his hands drags back down to your clit, despite the fact that his whole body seems to shake and twitch. He tries to keep his eyes open—tries to keep watching you on top of him—but his lashes flutter shut as you ride out the aftershocks pulsing through him.
You feel the warmth of his release seep out of you, ropes catching your inner thigh, clinging around the base of his still-sensitive cock. He finally forces his eyes open, his thumb still on your clit.
“Are you close?” he rasps.
You nod, legs shaking around him, barely able to hold yourself upright.
“Okay, baby… okay.” His breath stumbles, his whole body jolting each time you move, but his thumb keeps working you.
“Aaron—” Your voice cracks, head falling forward as a wave of heat curls deep in your stomach.
“I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ve got you. Come on.”
You grind down again, chasing the high, and he groans at the contact, but pulls you flush against his hips so you can keep moving. Your hands slide across his chest, clutching his shoulders, needing something to hold as the pressure tightens like a fist around your spine.
Your thighs clamp around his hips, your body clenching so fiercely around him that his head falls back with a quiet whimper. He tries to thrust instinctively, but he’s too sensitive. He trembles through the shock of it anyway, jaw flexing, teeth gritted as he tries to stay still for you.
“Sweetheart—” he gasps, “I need—you have to—please—”
And that does it. The please. Hearing him say it.
Your release slams into you like a freight train.
Your whole body seizes around him, your nails dragging down his chest as your vision whites out, a sharp sob catching in your throat. The orgasm tears through you in violent waves, blinding and completely overwhelming.
Your body finally goes limp, folding over him, your hands bracing on either side of his head as you lean forward. A thin string of drool slips past your lips as you gasp for air, your pussy still pulsing around his cock in tight, involuntary aftershocks.
Hotch’s arms come up your back immediately, palms splayed, rubbing slow strokes along your spine.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “Easy…I’ve got you. Just breathe.”
You manage a shuddering inhale against his throat, your forehead pressed to the warm curve of his shoulder. You can hear and feel his heartbeat beneath you, syncing with your own like your bodies haven’t quite figured out how to separate yet.
His hand moves up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair. “There you go,” he whispers. “That’s it.”
Your lips brush the base of his throat when you exhale. “Don’t pull out just yet,” you mumble against him, wanting to keep him inside as long as you possibly can, unsure when—if—you’ll ever get this close to him again.
“I’m not going anywhere. You can have as long as you want.”
You both go quiet for a moment, appreciating the soft ache of being filled and held at the same time. His chest rises beneath you with each slow breath, your body melting deeper into the lines of his.
You lift your head up after a while, meeting his eyes. “Two years, huh?”
He lets out a soft laugh. “Two years.”
“What’s the right thing to do now?” you ask, brushing the back of your knuckles along his jaw.
“You need to go pee so I can get you cleaned up.”
You groan into his neck. “Gee, way to ruin a moment.”
“And then,” he adds, kissing your temple, “when your transfer is official… I can take you out to dinner…If you’d like that?”
“A date?” you ask quietly.
“If you want it to be.”
You pull back to look at him properly. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” he says with a smile, voice warm. “That’s what I was hoping.”
synopsis: time after time again, spencer unknowingly meets your desired dating standards, evolving from quiet acts to something more intimate.
pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader
warnings: 2.8k words, 18+ MDNI, porn WITH plot, eventual sex, protected p in v, soft smut, nerdy sweet gentle spencer, office setting to plane setting to bar setting, reader wants that cookie bad, based on olivia rodrigo's "expectations"
masterlist!
Location: The BAU headquarters. Time: 9:46am.
You had first day jitters. How could you not? You had just graduated with a major in psychology, you had done well in interviews, everything was fine. But you had close to zero field experience, while everybody else in the building had. How could you compete with that?
You held your keycard in shaky hands, swiping it once to get through the front door. When it didn't work, you swiped again, and again, until finally it worked. Must've just been a glitch, right? Or was it something else, and you weren't supposed to be there, or maybe this was all a dream and it was still exam season—
You blinked the thoughts away, stepping through the door and glancing around. Desks cluttered everywhere, you saw employees typing away or talking into microphones. Nervous to disturb any ongoing mission or case, you tiptoed around carefully, trying not to interrupt anything. This meant you weren't looking up and collided with a firm chest, stumbling back and managing to catch yourself on a nearby potted plant.
"Sorry. Sorry, I should've looked." You mumbled out, then cleared your throat, forcing yourself to speak again and not sound like a weak mouse. "My apologies."
"No worries. You're, uh, new here, right? First day?"
You looked up. The man in front of you was tall, almost lanky, with his tie and dress shirt peeking out his sweater collar. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, veiny arms on display, and he was looking at you with a tiny smile.
"It's normal." He continued without waiting for you to reply. "Reported that at least 50% of new hires in any workplace get mishaps on the first day. That can be fixed with a tour guide. I can help you around."
You blinked. You weren't used to a man offering to help you before you even said anything; especially not with your dating history of douchebags and idiots.
"That…would be great. Thanks." You attempted a smile, holding out a hand for a shake. The man just ignored it with a little wave instead, saying; "I'm Spencer."
Disregarding the lack of contact, you followed behind him as he showed you around the office. He showed you meeting rooms, facilities like printers or bathrooms, and finally, your own desk. It was conviently just a few rows down from his own. The space was empty, and he gestured to it with one hand.
"I'm sure you'll decorate it as pretty as you look."
You hardly had time to process the compliment before he smiled awkwardly and backed away, turning around to head down a hallway.
Well. This would be more interesting than you thought.
Location: The BAU printing room. Time: 2:12pm.
While you waited for papers to print, you got time to think.
It was simple, really. All the things others called bare minimum were legendary in your world; you were lucky for a boyfriend to even touch you at night, let alone get flowers or plan dates or notice little details without words. You had settled for guys doing drugs at parties, guys with fake jobs, guys that weren't smart or funny. None had ended well, and while you (and your closest friends) could have deducted that at your first meeting, you had stuck to him with a I-can-fix-him attitude.
Yeah. You could admit you were a bit too hopeful sometimes.
You needed standards. Expectations that your boyfriend will do the same things your friend's boyfriends did. Expectations that he won't be an asshole that'll just leave you in the dirt as soon as a prettier girl slided up next to him at a bar.
What you had started doing, though, after five months as part of the BAU team, was to keep a list. Not of cases or to-dos, but of every time Spencer did something like that. No, you weren't dating, nor would you let yourself think you had a crush on him. But he was doing more sweet things as a coworker-friend than some six month long relationships had.
As of now, you counted four things. The time you didn't want to interrupt at a group meeting, so he let you whisper your idea in his ear and he spoke it out, crediting you afterwards. The time he left a bouquet of flowers on your desk with a note that read as a new decoration. The time he read his science book to you when you couldn't sleep on a plane ride home, enunciating softly so you could hear each word in that nerdy voice of his. The time he brought coffee for you, exactly the way you liked it despite you having never told him explicitly what you liked.
In between the more memorable services, he found ways to slip more kindness in every day interactions. He never spoke much after he did these acts for you, just giving you the same smile you'd grown so fond of or a little finger brush that made you shiver each time.
The printer dinged. It had finished. As you collected your papers, you heard a voice behind you that you instantly recognized;
"What'cha working on?" Spencer asked, going past you to get to the coffee machine in the corner. He placed his mug down, going for a refill as he kept his gaze on you. You loved that about him; when he talked to you, he talked to you directly, like he wanted to hear your response.
"Some papers for Hotch." You replied easily. You found it easy to talk to him — and the rest of the team — now that you had been at the BAU for a few months now. Other than long cases, you were used to the hustle every day; and you woke up every morning excited to see Spencer again. He really had an effect on you.
Spencer nodded, taking a sip of his now finished coffee. "What are they about?"
Through his questions and curious gaze, you ended up talking to him for at least fifteen minutes, the two of you slowly inching closer and closer like magnets until you were standing side by side in the printing room. Spencer had read over your papers with his usual quick speed, and while you started talking about work, you ended up talking more about your own lives.
He had told you about a few of his published research papers, and you were excited to get home and read them. You had told him about all your extracurriculars in college, and he seemed interested about what you were interested in. You talked about what you thought your lives would look like in ten years, and you had to bite back the urge to say something about how you hoped Spencer was still in yours.
There was a loud knock on the door, and you could tell it was Hotch wanting the papers. You laughed quietly, just for Spencer, collecting all the sheets and heading out the door.
With your back turned, you didn't see how he kept looking at you while you left.
Location: The BAU business jet. Time: 11:54pm.
Everybody on the plane was asleep except for two people; you, and Spencer.
You were sitting side by side, as you now usually did. Penelope had noticed it first, how close you two had gotten over the year you had been at the BAU, and then everybody else caught on. You weren't a hundred percent sure if that was because of how you acted or because of Penelope's love for gossip, but now it wasn't a secret how close Spencer and you were.
Spencer was reading a book, flipping pages so quickly you could barely read a full paragraph before it was onto the next.
"Slow down." You murmured softly, your elbow propped up on the armrest between your seats, leaning over to look down at the book. You laughed quietly to not wake up the rest of the team asleep in their spots. "It's almost scary how fast you read."
"You think I'm scary?" Spencer whispered back, and you turned your head to look at him. Underestimating the closeness, your lips nearly brushed his as you met his eyes. Neither of you moved.
"I think you're lovely." You replied whole-heartedly, which got you a small smile.
You turned your head back to his book when you knew he wouldn't actually reply. He never really did after you tried to compliment him, and it wasn't annoying; no, it was just another trait you loved about him.
Liked. You liked about him. Where did that come from?
The problem was that it was late, almost midnight, and you still had a few hours until you landed back in Quantico. After a long day and a bumpy start to the ride, you were feeling tired. You dropped your head on Spencer's shoulder, barely noticing his freezing as your eyes drifted close.
You felt one of his hands come up to the side of your head, gentle fingers brushing through your hair, and you let out a sleepy hum of contentment.
You weren't sure if it was Spencer's lips or a slight breeze that grazed your forehead, but you knew what you were wishing it was.
Location: Brenna's Bar, downtown Virginia. Time: 10:32pm.
You hadn't meant to get drunk. You really hadn't. And if you thought about it hard enough, you weren't that wasted; enough to stumble a little as you moved on the dancefloor, but not enough to not register what Penelope or Derek were saying.
Despite it being a work celebration after a long case, you had dressed up cute, pinning your hair up and slipping into a short dress and heels, and you felt pretty. While applying your makeup before leaving, maybe you had thought once or twice about Spencer's reaction to seeing you.
To your disappointment, he just gave you the same smile and sat down a few seats away. No jaw drop, no heart eyes, and you knew it was childish to feel that way, but you couldn't stop it. Not after spending so long with kind and gentle touches and acts and feelings, not after everything Spencer had done for you under a friendship label. Friends didn't do what you two did.
At least, that's what you said to get yourself to sleep at night.
You were dancing now, the pink and purple lights reflecting off the disco ball and your shimmery dress. You were up with JJ and Penelope while the guys sipped their drinks on their stools or talked about whatever guy things they talked about. You were too tipsy to care, too tipsy to notice Spencer's subtle glances to you, too tipsy to see Morgan punch his shoulder with a teasing grin.
You wanted to show off. It was a Friday night, and you hadn't been with anybody in ages, not since before you joined the BAU. You were desperate to get Spencer off your mind, which was why you were moving so energetically next to JJ and Penelope's bodies, not really paying attention to anything other than the pounding of your heart.
You felt a pair of hands slip over your hips and waist, and craning your head over your shoulder, you saw the guy that stood behind you, swaying along. His body was tall and chiseled, his lips curved into a smirk with light stubble growing on his chin. He was hot enough, and his hands were warm and confident, nothing like Spencer's soft and tentative touches. He whispered something in your ear. You didn't hear it.
If you squinted enough, you saw Spencer in his features.
And then you actually did see Spencer, as he had gotten up from his stool and stormed over, pulling the man's hands off your waist. You hardly had time to gasp before he reached for your wrist, pulling you away to the back exit.
When you felt the cold night air hit your face, you exploded.
"What the fuck, Spencer?! I spent months trying to be confident and flirty and get you to want me, but you never do. I never stop thinking about you, as much as I fucking hate it. As soon as I think I can get some sort of distraction and be with somebody who wants me, even for just a night, you storm in and act like I'm a cheating whore!"
"I never said that." Spencer cut in, running a hand through his hair.
"I never said you did!" You pushed his chest, too drunk to filter the words coming out of your mouth. "But you sure are making me feel like one! Did any little thing you ever did mean shit to you, or am I just losing my fucking mind?"
"What do you want me to say? That I'm in love with you? Because I am, and that doesn't change anything!"
It took a minute to process his last words. Because I am. He was in love with you. You weren't crazy, you weren't making things up to satisfy your own desires.
You deflated. "You…you are?"
Spencer let out a long sigh, turning his head away, down the allyway to the street. "…yes. And seeing you with some random person just…I don't know."
Wow. Spencer never didn't know things. He was the smart one, the nerdy one, the one who never shut up about science or math or miscellaneous facts. You had never heard the words "I don't know" come out of his mouth, ever.
"Can you do something about it?" You asked quietly over the cool wind breezing through the alley.
"I think I should now, huh?"
Location: Spencer's apartment. Time: 11:06pm.
It didn't take too much time to get to his place.
You had gotten a taxi, and the two of you barely sat restrained in the back, the only connection being your hands laced together. You kept glancing over at Spencer, your head starting to clear ever so slightly from the lack of new drinks, though you knew you were still a bit tipsy.
The second the door closed behind you, he was kissing you.
It was all consuming now; the way he pressed you to the door, the way you could feel his body heat through layers of clothes, the way his lips moved so desperately against yours like he had wanted to act on his feelings for months, just like you had. Your hands came up to thread through his hair while his own hands laid hesitantly on your waist, careful not to touch skin.
You broke your lips apart just enough to murmur out a; "Touch me, Spencer."
You could feel him swallow harshly, gently prying you off the door and taking you further into the living room. He laid you down on the couch softly, as if all the desperate pent-up desire he had back in the allyway fizzled out now that he actually had you under him. You could still see the want in his eyes, the hunger, but you could also see the sweet man you had fallen in love with so many months ago.
Love. That was a big word, yet no word felt so right.
"We can't. We shouldn't." Spencer whispered. You were laying down on the couch, and he hovered over you, legs bracketing your hips and propping himself on his elbows beside your head so he didn't crush you under him.
"Why not?" You asked, tilting your head up, chasing his lips.
He sat up fully, delicately pushing your shoulders down to the soft cushions. "You're drunk. Or tipsy. I don't know how many drinks you had, and that's what makes me nervous. You aren't in your right mind as of now."
You huffed. You really thought this was going somewhere. "What does that mean? Are you kicking me out?"
"No, god no." Spencer reached one hand down to brush over your hair. "Just…wait until the morning. See if you still feel the same way, then we can do everything you want to."
Location: Spencer's apartment. Time: 8:48am.
Sunlight poured in from the windows.
The breeze of the air conditioning wafted through the house.
You were being pushed into the mattress.
Spencer never stopped being gentle with you; when you woke up, he had tucked your hair behind your ear. When you said you wanted to do the same thing you wanted last night, he had just nodded and kissed you deeply.
Now, the same hands that barely grazed yours months ago was holding your waist down to the mattress as he thrusted in and out of you with gentle purpose, eyes locked on your face to watch your expression for any twitch of discomfort or — god forbid — pain. He wanted to make you feel good, as good as you could feel with a hangover, and while you pulled at the nape of his neck and moaned out his name, all he did was smile and kiss you again.
"Love you." He whispered against your lips. You knew he did, you knew he fit all your expectations, from the day you met and he showed you around the headquarters to just last night at the bar.
It wasn't possible to say anything else. "I love you too."
a/n: got a bit carried away haha!!!! sorta lost the plot near the end but i really really love how it turned out though and i'm proud to call this my first spencer reid fic! hope you guys enjoyed ❤️❤️
summary: your boss keeps calling at the most inconvenient time, right when you’re on the edge of the highest pleasure. finally, you get your retribution.
Delicate fingers trail up from your ankle, dragging from calf to knee. Leaving a wake of goosebumps behind. Your hips jump forward and a light sigh crawls from your lips. Impatiently, you pull his hand up and rip down your own underwear, and finally, fingers push into you.
Your eyes squeeze close and you’re not quiet this time, a loud squeak comes from the back of your throat. A desperate hand grabs onto his forearm, gripping hard as your back arches off the mattress, the cool air rushing in and sticking to the warmth on your skin.
“Oh my god!” You sigh.
His thumb jumps up, rubbing deep, round circles around your clit, just skirting the edge, enough to make your eyes roll back. Your abs jerk you forward as you creep closer to the edge, pulling his torso down to meet yours, teeth sinking into his shoulder, leaving a line of red indents. This muffles the loud cry that leaves you. It was like you were running towards the edge of a cliff, ready to jump off and dive into a sea of endless pleasure.
Suddenly, the enjoyable fantasy you were bathing in was cut short. The loud blaring ringtone seemed to bounce off the walls of your dates bedroom, and you woke up from your dream. It was an awful sound, pulling you into harsh reality, like being doused with ice cold water and you jolt up, pushing the poor guy down.
His fingers slide out of you as you scramble down to the floor, where your phone was still screaming at you from your jean pocket. Pulling it out, you look at the screen in grave displeasure. The one name you didn’t want to read at two am on a Friday night, after a successful date.
“Hotch.” Your eyes shut as you wait for the dreaded words to come through the phone.
“We have a case, be here asap.” His gravely voice scratches down your back like nails on a chalkboard.
Throwing your head back, you groan silently. “Alright, I’m on my way.” You take a deep breath in and pull yourself off the floor like you weighed a ton. “I’m sorry, I’ve been called into work, gotta go.” You say, giving the poor guy a sad smile while pulling up your jeans and your very not work appropriate top. It was a dark red, covered in rhinestones, a deep v neck that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. A pathetic wave comes from your wrist, and the cold air hits you quicker than expected, climbing into your car.
The elevator ride up to the BAU floor took an eternity, each floor button lighting up as you pass it. It slows on floor four, and you shuffle over as the doors slide open. Your eyes don’t leave your shoes as one of the guys from cyber crimes steps into the space. Finally, getting to floor seven, you give him a tight lipped smile before stalking into the bullpen.
You hear him before you see him, Derek laughing at something dorky Spencer had said. Then, a loud whistle comes from him as you walk into view. “Wow, I guess someone had a good night.”
“Not even close.” You laugh, rummaging through your desk and yanking out the go bag, throwing it over your shoulder.
“Bad date?” He pipes, his eyebrows pulling together, concerned.
“Great date.” You sigh, giving a pointed look to Emily, Pen and JJ. All of them leant on Emily’s desk and she shakes her head.
“Again?” She asks, a disbelief in her tone.
“Again!” You exclaim, throwing your hands up before walking to the bathroom to get changed into your work clothes.
“Is this one of those girl’s night things I don’t understand?” Derek asks, a sassy hand on his hip.
“You don’t even know the half of it sugar.” Penelope shakes her head, the feathers she had stuck in her buns swaying back and forth.
“Round table!” Hotch barks to the group from the catwalk, his head nodding towards the conference room.
Everyone filters into the room, all taking their usual seats around the table. The projector screen pulls down slowly, and Penelope stood awaiting her go.
“Where’s-.” Hotch started, but was quickly silenced by your light jogging into the room, pretty much throwing yourself down in the chair.
“Good night?” Dave asks with a smirk. You glare at him darkly, like ice shooting from your eyes, a scowl forming on your face. “Ok!” He turns away from you to the screen.
Penelope clicks on the remote, and the projector whirs. Three photos of brunette woman pop up on the screen, and then gruesome ones follow up. “Here’s our victims, Lila Grey, Jess Jones and Kira Walker. All found slaughtered in alleyways, necks cut.” Pen squeaked, looking away from the screen.
“The Glendale police department want our help in locating the killer, they can’t figure out where in the city he is or who he is.” Hotch says, “Wheels up in 20, debrief on the jet, he’s escalating.”
-
The jet was warm, a stark comparison from the runway, that was biting cold and climbed through the fabric of your shirt. It was still a marvel to you that you had a private jet, it was smoother than an economy plane.
Magnolia files were plopped down in front of you, the back of Hotch’s suit comes into vision and he sits down in his regular seat, back to the small kitchenette. His eyes didn’t even cast you glance but that gets pushed to the back of your mind when your eyes are filled with puddles of blood.
“Seems pretty cut and dry right?” JJ calls, “Middle-aged, probably single, woman hating.”
You were all in agreement, “What did the women do for work?” You ask, staring at their photos.
“They all worked in finance, behind the scenes.” Derek says, “So maybe financial incentives?”
“They have a list of suspects for us to look at once we get there, two of them can’t be located so that’s our priority.” Hotch commands, “But rest till we get there, I know I interrupted your sleep.”
“Well most of us.” Emily jokes, nudging you with her shoulder and a catty smile spreads across her lips.
“Shut up.” You say with gritted teeth, and a light slap to her shoulder and you couldn’t help the bright red heat that spread across your face. Catching dark eyes across the jet, you somehow think you turn more red and focus on the file in front of you.
It’s early when you land, the sunrise just peeking through the clouds and shrouds everything in a bright orange hue. You stare out of the window of the police precinct, a cup of strong black coffee. Spencer was drawing on the whiteboard figuring out a geographical profile for the two missing suspects while the rest of the team checked on the others already interviewed, just to double check.
You stare at the map, the huge circles not making any sense. “What have you marked?”
“Where they were killed and their addresses.” He stated, stroking his straight tie.
“Add in their workplaces.” You say, Spencer adds the dots to the whiteboard. Connecting each women’s three points into a triangle and he circles it in a bright red. “Call Pen!” You instruct Spencer and he pulls his flip phone out, refusing to succumb to modern technology.
“You’re on speaker.” He tells her as soon as she picks up.
“Pen! Look for previous offenders in a three mile radius of Davis street.” A stressed hand pulls through your hair. “Look for previous assault offenders, battery, bar fights, domestic.” You list off, a nod from approval from Spencer.
“Sorry pumpkin! But there’s no one with a previous history in this area.” She says, deflated, before apologising and leaving the call.
“Stupid geographical profile.” You scoff, shoving yourself into the chair.
“Maybe we could add.” Spencer starts but you cut him off, tone harsh and sharp.
“We’re not gunna find him!” As it came out you felt the unneeded venom. “Sorry. Just frustrated.” You give him a weak smile and the rest of the team appear in that moment.
“Everything ok?” JJ asks, looking between you and Spencer.
“No result from the geographical.” You shrug with a sigh. “I’ve also looked over lots of people work priors. They either don’t normally branch to women or are back in prison.”
Morning turned to evening and you hadn’t left the same position from earlier, the whole team looking over files upon files. Hope was slowly dwindling as a large pile of takeaway coffee cups piled into a mountain.
“Alright, let’s call it a night.” Hotch says, leaning back and standing up. “Unfortunately for the hotel two people have to share. They were fully booked for the night, no cancellations.”
A collective groan comes from the team, that’s the last thing you all wanted to hear after a long day. The short ride to the hotel was a quiet one, silent prayers hoping, wishing to have a room to yourself.
-
“Ok, let’s draw draws.” Derek says, pulling out the straws he kept in his go bag. You all had decided when Strauss wanted to stiff you with sharing rooms, you’d draw straws, keep it fair and by chance. This led to Spencer rambling on about probability and how it wasn’t really fair due to preconceived notions on picking. “It’s bossmans turn to share so whoever draws the short straw, get cozy!”
Derek pulls his first, long. He sighs and holds them to Dave, long. His smile was brass and unwavering and he heads off to bed before anyone else had pulled theirs. Spencer pulls his, long. Derek finally gets to you, putting them in front of you.
You cast your mind back to Spencer’s rant about preconceived notions. You knew you were privy to picking straws on the right, due to being right handed. A leap of faith, you pull one on the left. It stops a second after you grab it and you shut your eyes in disappointment.
Everyone else releases the deep breaths they were holding. You tried to not show Hotch your face, trying to not deeply offend him.
Begrudgingly, you drag your feet behind Hotch, not missing the sympathetic looks from the rest of the team, waving them off weakly.
“Well there goes her nightly plans.” Emily snorts to JJ, tapping shoulders as they walk away with a snicker.
Hotch’s ears prick up at that, her hushed tone knowing that whatever that was wasn’t meant for his ears, especially because you shoved an aggressive middle finger in their direction. That only made Emily and JJ laugh more.
He leads the way to the room, carefully checking behind to make sure you’re still trailing behind him. You were, you looked exhausted. Feet dragging, bag dragging and rubbing your eyes. Holding the key card up to the censor, it beeps loudly and he pushes open the door.
One bed, he strode in the hotel room, putting his go bag on the small couch. “Sorry you have to share with me. I’ll take the couch.”
You rolled your eyes, you knew he was trying to be chivalrous. “It’s fine, and no. You won’t fit on that couch.” You shake your head. “You’re not the first man I’ve shared a bed with.” You joke, he doesn’t find it funny.
“I’ll take the side near the door.” He states seriously. You nod.
“Fine, you can have the first shower, I prefer to shower in the morning.” Your tone is harsh. He nods and you stare at his back, glaring daggers into his back hoping he’d bleed out and die so he couldn’t interrupt another one of your orgasms.
The shower turns on and rushes loudly. You pull on your pyjamas and slip into the sheets, staring longingly at your go bag, desperate for the release that was hidden away in a deep pocket.
He came out of the shower in just a towel. He was sparkling in the shitty LED light of the hotel room, he doesn’t look at you as he quickly rummages through his go bag, pulling out his pyjamas and muttering a “Sorry” then disappearing back into the bathroom.
Then he climbed into bed next to you, it was awkward and the two of you were ridged. Him because of the unwavering professionalism that suffocated his every move, and you still ever so frustrated of your lack of getting off. Realising the two of you had never shared a room before, you wondered what kind of sleeper he was. Emily was a wriggler, JJ a kicker, Spencer a mumbler and Derek a snorer. Rossi somehow had never shared a room with anyone on the team, you were convinced he rigged it.
He sat with a case file open and you sighed. “It’s getting late, can I turn the light off?” You ask, frustrated after thirty minutes of tossing and turning, the white bright hotel light hindering you.
“Yep.” His brows scrunch at your harsh tone. You look into his eyes, he’s profiling you, a deep breath sucked in and you flipped over.
“Night.” Your tone is clipped as the room is covered in a thick layer of darkness, you fall asleep quickly and set a quiet alarm for far to early in the morning.
You awoke to the first shrill ring of your alarm. Eyes pulling open into pure blackness. Sitting up, you take a couple moments to breathe, staring at your phone and reading a text from Pen.
‘How’s the boss?’
‘Ridged like a corpse.’
Your eyes gloss over him even though you couldn’t see him, you hadn’t woke once in the night to any movement or snoring, it was so… Hotch.
Wandering to the shower with your go bag, it spurts on, sputtering until it comes to a steady stream. You step in and the shower, it’s warmer than the hotel showers you were used to. An involuntary sigh pulls from you, hands running through your hair, washing out the shampoo. Your cheap body wash also being ran down the drain.
Before you knew it, your hands and slipped down south. Lightly touching, ghosting over yourself and you bite your lip. One of your fingers grazes your clit and a louder sigh crawls from you, you bring a hand to your mouth as you start moving in frantic circles.
Images of Hotch from the night before cloud your mind, his back muscles glistening in the hotel light and the faint glimpse of chest hair you’d seen when he hid away back in this very room. Before you could debate the morality of wanking to your boss who was one thin hotel wall over, two of your fingers slip inside of yourself and you bite a lip so hard you draw blood.
Your chest heaves and you lean against the shower wall. The white tiles were cold against the heat radiating from you, the contrast making everything more intense. Your mind filled with Hotch, arms, back, chest. That ten second glimpse was enough to send you spiralling. The warmth of him next to you in the bed had your legs trembling. Wandering, your mind jumped to what he would be like as a lover, would the strokes be deep or rough, you hoped rough. Teetering, closer and closer to the edge you were panting, deep in your fantasy you could almost hear his voice.
Except you could hear his voice, and he was pounding on the door.
“Hey! We need to get going and I need to brush my teeth.”
The shower turned cold, and you gasped loudly, jumping out.
A film reel plays in your head, there’s no way this is happening again. Every date, you finally get to the edge, the phone rings. No matter what time, nine am, two am, his voice always pulled you out of the deepest pleasure.
“Are you ok?” He shouted through the door, wrapping a towel around yourself you open the door to him standing right there.
“Yeah, there’s no more hot water.” You pull your lips together into a line, pushing past him so he can’t profile your flushed face. The bathroom door locks behind him.
You imagined taking an axe to the door psycho style, but then came to your senses, scrambling into your work clothes and running out of the room before he could finish up in the bathroom.
-
When you get to the precinct, Emily is already there. She’s pouring over case files and you sit down next to her, coffee already in hand.
“What have you got?” You ask.
“There’s this guy, lives just outside the geo profile and has a prior of car damage. Before you say unrelated, it was his ex’s car and she was in it.” You nod along and point to the very small yes pile.
“Somebody didn’t get a good night sleep.” She laughs looking at the tiredness on your face.
“He has a sixth sense.” You hiss quietly, looking around to make sure no one else was in earshot. “I was mid shower.”
“Yikes.” She grits her teeth and looks at you sympathetically. Then her sympathy turns to that sly grin she would get, when she was about to suggest something incredibly stupid. “You know.” Her voice is low, “There is one way to fix his sixth sense..”
“You’re crazy.”
“We all know you have a thing for him.” She tilts her head knowingly, you shake your head and look to the door.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Swallowing thickly, you refuse to meet her eyes.
“The rest of the team might not be able to profile you well, but I can.” She teases and nudges your shoulder.
You roll your eyes and scoff. Eyes staring at the file in front of you, swiftly moving on from Emily’s brash accusation. Fingers tapping on the wooden table, a smooth rhythm.
The rest of the day goes slow, dragging by, each second like pulling teeth. Spent pulling files and cross checking.
You hum and grunt all day, dozens of trips to the coffee machine, gulping them down. Derek catches Emily’s eye across the table, he nods towards you with a raised eyebrow. She waves a hand dismissively as you come back in, mug full to the brim. It’s five when you finally get a hit.
“Don Forbes.” Penelope states. “Has a matching record with Emily’s car guy, and his face suspiciously matches the one from the mugshot. He changed his name, that’s why we couldn’t find him.”
Hotch stands straight at that, pulling on his blazer he’d haphazardly shoved off during the day. You all follow suit, pulling on your vests and triple checking the gun was settled in your holster.
“Prentiss.” He states as she appears next to him, pulling her to a small corridor away from the team. “Is she ok to be in the field?” He nods towards you.
“Yeah, I’m sure.” She nods, “She’s just..” She takes a pregnant pause. “Frustrated.”
Hotch furrows his eyebrows, “At the case?”
“She’s going to kill me.” Emily mutters and checks over her shoulder, seeing you strap Spencer into his vest. “You keep interrupting her, private moments.” She widens her eyes intentionally.
“Ah.” He responds flatly. Nodding that stiff nod he always did. “Let’s go then.”
-
“Don Forbes, FBI!” Derek calls through the door, banging on it loudly.
No answer, JJ peers through the window. “He’s running!” She shouts, and you and Hotch immediately run to the back of the house, Derek kicks down the door and the rest of the team file in.
As you round the corner, he barrels through his own back door and tries to barge through the back gate and into the woods that lined his home. But, Hotch grabs the back of his collar, yanking him back and throwing him down into his shed wall. Pulling his arms behind him and clinking the cuffs on.
Everything turns into a blur, the heat crawls up from your legs, up your torso and to your neck. It’s like the world goes silent, only focused on Hotch and how his biceps made the fabric on his shirt pull tight.
-
Finally, Don had been questioned, confessed and checked, to be kept in holding to his trial. Breathing a breath of fresh air, the team stands outside of the precinct.
“Let’s stay the night, It’s too cloudy for the jet now.” Hotch nods, glancing up to the sky.
“Alright! Who wants to hit a bar?” Rossi rocks back on his heels, throwing his blazer over his shoulder. An echoing chorus of yes’s and please’s come from everyone.
“I think I’ll give this one a miss, I’m exhausted.” You smile and wave, quickly walking over to the car, ready to drive off.
A knock comes on the window just as you put the key in the ignition. Hotch is stood there, and you nod. He pulls open the door and climbs in.
“Not feeling it?” You ask and drive out.
“No. I’m also feeling tired.”
You glance out the corner of your eye, “I must be great in bed huh?” You joke and your eyes widen. “That’s not what I meant.” Bright red flush covers your face and you are thankful to be pulling into the hotel car park.
“I don’t doubt it.” He says smirking, climbing out of the car.
Following him to the room, he clicks open the door and you flop down on you flop down on the bed face first, you sigh, the cheap hotel mattress feeling like a cloud after a whole day of ridged plastic chairs. “Could you grab my pyjamas?” You mutter to Hotch.
“Sure.” He laughs and shakes his head at you, your head pressed into the pillow.
Pulling through your bag, he grabs your pyjamas, they were long sleeved and had a pattern of small forest animals dotted all over. Underneath, there was a pink vibrator, staring at it.
“You always bring this with you?” You hear Hotch ask and you lazily turn your head.
He’s stood there, holding your vibrator in his hand taking steps towards you. You scurry up, and sit on the edge of the bed. And he was walking towards you slowly, clicking it on. You wanted the ground to open and swallow you up. The embarrassment consumes you, your mouth opening and closing like a fish gasping for air.
“I know about your little predicament.” He smiles, it’s teasing and tantalising. He’s now towering in front of you, taking your jaw in his hand and’s forcing you to look up at him.
“Oh god.” You didn’t think you could get redder, but the heat on your cheeks becomes burning.
He clicks off the vibe and throws it to the side. Pulling you up, and putting a stabilising hand around your back. “This ok?” He checks in, you nod furiously.
Then, he kisses you. His lips are warm, and you already squeak, his arms hold you close, his chest was hard, solid, his muscles flexing as one of his hand snakes to the back of your head. You grab his bicep, fingers digging in. He groans into the kiss now, catching your bottom lip with his teeth.
Your hands wander, the cotton shirt smooth under your fingers. The top button pops open easily, the next one too. You hadn’t stopped kissing, his tongue dips into your mouth and your fingers fumble with the buttons. He was warm, everywhere.
Finally, the bottom button pops open, the shirt flows open. Pulling away from Aaron’s kiss, your eyes drag down his naked chest. Unable to control yourself, your lips attach to the base of Aaron’s jaw, and your hands feel him up. He’s breathy, you suck on his neck, not caring about the consequences tomorrow.
Pulling you off, he looks down at you, those pools of dark brown hypnotising you. He bends down, now focusing on your neck, in between teasing kisses he whispers, “I’m sorry for interrupting your fun.” His nose drags up the side of your neck.
“How about I make it up to you?”
You’re sure you melt at that, your legs turning to jelly. His strong, sturdy arms hold you up, sweeping your legs up, he throws you down onto the bed. The old springs of the hotel bed creak as you bounce. Sliding up to the pillows, he moves.
It’s predatory, the way he crawled up to you. Him the lion, you the helpless deer. His fingers popped open your slacks, yanking down your legs, coming face to face with your red underwear.
“For me?” He smirks, pinging the elastic back into your hip, it makes you jolt. It’s a light stinging pain, you don’t mind.
“You wish.” You cut back, a flashy smile on your face. He doesn’t like that, the deep, serious unit chief spreads across his face.
“You’re going regret that.” He growls, pulling the panties down your legs, leaving you bare to him. Before you even suck in a breath, his mouth is on you.
Licking a deep stripe up you, entrance to clit, a deep shudder pulls from your body. Landing on your clit, his tongue flicks softly. Sparks of pleasure shoot through your pelvis, and your hands grip onto the pillow surrounding your head.
“Oh fuck!” You cry out, your head shoving back.
He smirks against you, big, thick hands pulling your thighs apart, leaving you wide open, to his mercy. His licks turn into sucking, taking your clit into your mouth and your thigh muscle tenses. His teeth graze it, and you’re sure you saw stars.
Legs trembling through his tight grip, your eyes squeeze shut as you cum. He’s relentless, licking you through your orgasm, making your hips jump.
He looks up at you, his eyebrows peaked, chin shiny with your juices. “God.” You sigh at the sight.
“Not God baby, just me.” He smirks and dives back in. Going back to the rough licks and pokes he was using before. He licks another full stripe up you, pulling back and blowing cool air over your clit.
Your hands jump into his hair, it’s softer than you thought it would be. You claw at his scalp and you feel your abs tense. One of his hands snakes down, sliding up from the bottom, catching your wetness as he goes. His finger slips inside of you and you moan out. “Sir!”
You don’t even think about the title, but you feel him groan against you, the vibrations travel up you.
“You can give me another?” He asks, and another finger pushes in. He pushes up and brushes your g spot. You swear you feel your brain turn to mush, the constant stimulation, his tongue flicking your clit and fingers pumping in and out you. The tension builds in your abdomen and you nod furiously, the front bits of your hair fall in front of your face.
Through your hair you meet his eyes, “Use your words.” He instructs, non relenting.
“Yes, Yes! Yes!” You scream out, sure the dirty looks you were going to get from the receptionist tomorrow morning would be scorning. You cum on his face again, your body going limp and you spread out, chest heaving up and down, sweat clung to the shirt you hadn’t removed yet.
That came off in quick succession, Aaron crawling up your body, hands grabbing one side each, he yanks. The buttons fly everywhere and he pulls it off you, snaking his hands around your back and unhooked your bra, also pulling that from your body.
“My shirt!” You whine, “That’s my favourite one.”
He kisses you softly this time, a look of fake sympathy in his eyes. “Aww, I’ll buy you three more, in different colours.”
He’s back on your neck, sucking the skin in, giving you a deeper hickey next to the lighter one he’d left earlier. Your hips jump up and brush against his cock, and you gasp. His teeth scrape along your neck as you push up against him.
He undoes his slacks, pulling them down and his boxers with them and your eyes wander down.
“Woah.” You say before you can think about it, your eyes become as wide as saucers.
He drags his cock up and down you, covering the tip of his cock in your wetness. Your teeth clamp down on your lip, as it catches on your entrance and he pushes in ever so slightly.
“I’m gunna rip you open.” He says breathlessly, his voice deeper than you’d ever heard it.
Before you can even formulate a quip, he pushes into you, the stretch making your eyebrows pull together and a begging look in your eyes.
“Oh!” You moan, and he pulls out and slams back in, the sudden fullness sending you into a deep pleasure spiral.
He lowers himself down to his forearms, his head right next to yours, his thick forearms flexed and the veins popping out. His thrusts are uniform and rough.
“You going to cum again for me?” He asks, knowing he won’t last long in tight warmth you had surrounded him in. It felt like every time he pulled out, you sucked him back in.
“Yea.” You whisper breathlessly, and you sink your teeth into the flesh on his forearms. Mumbling the constant string of moans pulling from your throat.
Feeling like you’re floating, you’d never felt this amount of pleasure as his cock dragged deliciously against your g spot. “So-so full.” You squeak out, eyes rolling back.
“Where’s all that annoyance now huh?” You could hear the smirk and his thrusts get faster, transporting you into another world.
“Ah- ah! Aaron!” You suck in a deep breath. You’re sure your brain goes black, not capable of a competent thought. Your whole body trembles this time, the coil in your pelvis just begging to snap.
“Cum for me baby.”
That’s all it takes, you tighten around him, nails digging into his back and a silent cry comes from your throat. He slows slightly, however, still thrusting and bringing himself over the edge.
Pushing to the hilt, he releases inside of you. He places his forehead against yours and he slips out of you.
“You ok?” He checks in, stroking your hair.
“Yeah.” There’s a satisfied smile on your face as he quickly darts off to the bathroom, coming back with a wet rag and cleaning his cum off of your pussy and inner thighs, you shiver, still sensitive.
Once you’re clean, he clambers into bed next to you, pulling the covers over you, neither rod you bothering to get dressed.
“You know, I might have to make a complaint to HR,” You joke. “I’m sure that my boss cumming in me might come under sexual harassment.”
“Hmm.” He hums. “Well I think my subordinate rubbing herself in the shower while imagining me naked also comes under sexual harassment.” He jokes back.
Horror pulls over your face. “I’m gunna kill Em-”
He cuts you off, “Emily didn’t tell me about the shower, but she did tell me about you not coming for a while, well she implied it.”
“Then how?” Your jaw is slack and that familiar redness lights you up like a christmas string.
“I am a profiler.” He smiles. “Your face was very, very red.”
“Oh shut up. You’re the one who came out here in a towel and decided to just show me those back muscles.” You roll your eyes.
“My back muscles?” He smirks, smugness all over his face.
“Fuck off.” You huff, “Sir.” You add slyly.
It’s now his turn to turn bright red.
-
“Is anyone going to address the elephant in the room?” Derek asks after everyone is a couple drinks in, looser from the alcohol.
“Or do you mean the elephants that aren’t in the room?” JJ snorts, taking another sip out of her drink. Her and Emily make eyecontact across the circular table and start giggling manically.
“What? What did I miss?” Spencer tilts his head in confusion. “There’s no elephants in the room.”
“Hotch and y/n sitting in a tree.” JJ starts.
“What you think they’re kissing?” Spencer exclaims, pushing up his glasses in shock.
“Oh they’re doing a lot more than kissing. I can’t wait to tell Penelope.” She finishes, typing furiously on her phone.
-
an: heyy party people, thanks for reading this!! this idea was a long time coming so please please like and reblog it! i need that fbi agent so baddddd. comment if you want to be added to a tag list!!
about: Aaron likes to show up in your hotel room when neither of you can sleep
warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), fingering, aaron is a sweetheart, nicknames (call reader honey), aftercare, not really proofread
word count: 1462
a/n: this is a repost from my former account :)
You couldn’t exactly pinpoint the moment things had changed between you and Hotch.
Perhaps it was the weekend you’d spent cramped in a tiny motel room while doing an interview with a serial killer. There had been one queen bed and a lumpy couch. He was ever the gentleman and offered to take the couch. By night two you’d forced him to join you in the bed, even building a pillow wall to maintain a modicum of decency.
Maybe it had been the night he’d knocked on your hotel door because he’d had a feeling you’d still be awake. And there you were, hunched over some case files even though you’d be flying home in the morning. He’d ended up staying the whole night as you two raided the hotel minibar and talked.
It became a routine of sorts.
When people had to share rooms, you bunked with him. If one of you couldn’t sleep you’d text the other – sometimes he’d even show up at your door unannounced – and keep each other company until one of you at least found some sleep.
But eventually talking wasn’t part of the routine. Instead he’d press his lips against yours, peel off your clothes with expert precision, before he was pressing you into the mattress. The feel of his body against your own chased your thoughts away. He’d strip you down to your barest form where nothing else mattered – not your job, not the rest of the world, nothing but each other. It put you both to sleep.
Today was another one of those nights. You’d gotten home from a particularly rough case the night before and you hadn’t slept a minute. Tonight was much of the same. You’d been trying to relax all day, considering you had only a few days off, but you’d been restless.
You were a glass of wine and half an episode of a trashy reality tv show into your evening, before you finally texted Aaron.
During cases you didn’t mind dragging him into your room. But when you were home, you felt like there was an invisible line drawn between you two. He had a son and a life outside of work. You didn’t want to interrupt that. But you hadn’t slept in nearly 48 hours.
You: Hi
You chewed on your bottom lip – a nervous habit – as you waited for a response.
A text never came but there was a knock on your apartment door. Eyebrows shot up as you clambered off the couch. You weren’t sure who was here considering you didn’t have many friends outside of the BAU.
You weren’t expecting to see Aaron Hotchner standing in your doorway, holding his phone up. You could see your text message lit up on the screen. “Hey.”
“Were you seriously already on your way over?” you asked, humor lacing your words. “Before I even texted?"
Aaron shrugged. “Jack’s asleep and Jessica was staying the night anyway. Figured you’d still be awake.”
You opened your door wider, letting him step inside your apartment. He’d only been here a few times but it felt like he belonged in the space whenever he was inside. He’d slotted himself into your life like the perfect puzzle piece.
He glanced around, taking in the sight of your wine glass and the faint hum of the tv. “Trying to bore yourself to sleep?” he asked, gesturing to the screen.
You shrugged. “Needed something to stop myself from thinking too much.”
“I think I can take care of that for you.” He moved towards you, gently pressing his lips against yours.
“That sounds better,” you murmured against his mouth.
He backed you up, guiding you to your own bedroom. Pieces of clothing were discarded as you stumbled through your house. By the time you made it to the bed, the only thing keeping you separated from him was underwear.
He nudged your thighs apart as he hovered over you. He dipped his fingers between your legs, dragging them through your slick folds.
“You were waiting for me to come over, weren’t you honey?”
You nodded. “Yeah,” you replied breathlessly. You were always waiting for him.
He sunk two of his fingers into your wet heat, curling them. He knew your body well by now. He knew just how to make you cry out for him, back arching off the mattress. As he slowly pumped his fingers, he pressed his thumb to your clit.
“Aaron,” you keened.
“Shh,” he hushed you gently. “It’s late. Don’t want to wake your neighbors, hm?”
“N-no…”
He pressed his lips against your, muffling any noise that came out of your mouth as he thoroughly fucked you with his fingers. Each pass of his thumb over your clit had you careening towards the edge. The knot in your tummy was close to snapping. And Aaron didn’t stop until your thighs were shaking.
He slowly worked you through your first orgasm of the night. He never only left you with one. His goal was to tire you out and to make you feel good.
You watched as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of his boxers, peeling them down his legs. His cock was already hard and leaking precum. It was a sight you’d never tire of seeing.
He ran the tip through your folds. “You want my cock?”
“Yes,” you nodded, voice breaking off into a moan as he pressed his cock into your aching cunt.
“Fuck,” he groaned as he bottomed out. “You always feel so good, honey.”
Nails dug into his back as he rocked his hips against yours. Each roll of his hips had him hitting depths you didn’t know anyone could, brushing up against your g-spot with each movement. Moans tumbled out of your mouth.
He hushed you again, hand coming up to cover your mouth. “What did I tell you about being loud, hm?”
It was late. This was always what happened – he’d have to quiet you one way or another while he pounded you into the mattress. And you didn’t exactly want your neighbors to complain about the noise. So you let him clamp his hand over your mouth to muffle your sounds.
His free hand moved across your body – raking across your tits, pinching at your nipples until they were hard, before moving down to find your clit. He rubbed tight, quick circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves.
“You’re close, aren’t you?” he asked as he felt your cunt tighten around his length. You were gripping him like a vice, making him groan softly. His head dropped down and he pulled his hand away from your mouth, to claim your lips in a heated kiss.
You nodded as best you could as you returned the kiss.
Aaron was spurred on. He needed to feel you come undone around him. The feel of your perfect, warm cunt, squeezing him was the closest he’d ever get to heaven in this life.
“Come for me, honey,” he mumbled against your mouth.
That was all the encouragement you needed before the knot in your stomach was unraveling. Warmth spread through your body – like every nerve was on fire – and your toes curled. He worked you through your second orgasm of the night until he himself was coming undone.
He buried himself to the hilt, as his body shook. “God, you feel so good,” he groaned.
He tried not to totally collapse on top of you, but you seemed to have different plans. You tugged him all the way down so his body was completely blanketing your own.
“You gotta let me clean you up,” he said, trying to untangle his limbs from your own.
Reluctantly you let him leave your bed. He pulled his boxers up his hips as he headed for the bathroom. He’d been in here enough that he knew where you kept all your things. He grabbed a washcloth from the cabinet, wetting it, before returning to your bed.
His hands were gentle as he cleaned up the mess he’d made between your thighs.
“Thanks,” you murmured.
He smiled softly. “Of course.”
Once your body was cleaned up he pulled an oversized t-shirt from your drawer for you to wear. He settled back in bed next to you, letting you snuggle up against his side.
While the multiple orgasms always helped you fall asleep, being tucked against him helped you sleep even more. With your head on his chest, you were already getting sleepy, eyes drooping shut. He played with your hair as you drifted off.
“Thanks for coming over,” you whispered.
“You know you don’t have to thank me for that, honey.”
“I know. But still… thank you.”
He kissed the top of your head. “Just go to sleep, honey. Goodnight.”
𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You’re pretty sure Hotch hates you. Either that, or he thinks you’re a shitty profiler. Or it’s both. But when you volunteer to be bait for New York’s latest serial killer, the dynamic between you shifts, and you find yourself realizing that Aaron Hotchner might just care about you after all.
𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Aaron Hotchner x F! Reader
𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+, explicit content, violence, smut, oral sex, public sex, drinking, firearms, bladed weapons, bondage (non-sexual), sexism, toxic masculinity, death & injury detail, dead dove: do not eat.
no mention of Y/N · present tense · second person POV
𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.5k
𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Protective Hotch, you have awakened something inside of me.
This is my first ever fic request !! Thank you SO much to the anon who asked for this. I loved writing it and really hope I get more requests soon ❤
masterlist | requests
The briefing room is for very serious conversations about very serious shit. You know that, but it doesn’t stop you and JJ from relentlessly teasing Spencer before Hotch arrives.
“Look, all I’m saying Spence is if you’re looking for a little more experience, I’d be happy to help. I’m curious what’s under the hood.”
Morgan chokes on his coffee at that last part.
“You sound like a pervert.” Spencer frowns.
A dirty giggle escapes your lips, the expression on his face reminiscent of shell-shock.
“This conversation is so inappropriate.”
JJ falls for the wounded innocence on Spencer’s face and apologizes. You’re not that easily fooled. He smirks at you.
“Besides, statistically speaking, it’s unlikely you could handle what’s under the hood.”
That makes you cackle in the least feminine way imaginable, which is unfortunate because Hotch happens to enter the room right as the sound comes out of you.
Fearing a scolding from the World’s Most Serious Boss™, you clear your throat and sit up straight. Garcia shuffles some paperwork on the desk, handing out files to each of you. Rossi hits several buttons on a remote with great force until the screen finally turns on.
Unable to look away, you find yourself fixated on the images of the three young women. Their throats have been cut deeper than you’ve ever seen before. It’s grotesque and unimaginable, but that’s not what unsettles you the most. Each of the women is wearing a 1950s swing dress, their hair has been styled, and they look alarmingly like you.
Reading your mind, Prentiss mutters under her breath.
“Freaky.”
Everyone settles down as Hotch addresses the room.
“We’ve been invited to New York to help with an unsub targeting high-class, career women. Garcia.”
Garcia nods, oversized pink kitten earrings jiggling a little as she does.
“Yep. Um, all three of these women were badass business babes, and it looks like this slimy bastard didn’t like that so he took them, uh- did- that to them, and dressed them up like Stepford Wives after.”
JJ taps a pen against her lips, deep in thought.
Prentiss takes the floor first.
“Well obviously this can’t be someone who was in their prime in the 50s. He’d be dead or at the very least ancient and completely immobile by now. There has to be some connection to, or nostalgia for, that era.”
Morgan nods, leaning back in his chair.
“Pretty safe bet our unsub’s a white male.”
It’s your turn to float a theory now. You avoid Hotch’s intimidating glare as you speak.
“What if we’ve got someone lashing out at the shift in women’s place in the world?”
Rossi’s lip quirks up in a subtle proud smile.
“Go on.”
“They’re all modern, high power businesswomen. Probably quite outspoken, and they sure as shit wouldn’t dress like that voluntarily. Plus there’s the obvious overkill with the wound.”
Hotch’s eyes bore into you.
“Elaborate.”
“If you’re a weak man that can’t live up to today’s societal ideals of masculinity, you’d want to bring back what you perceive as better times. When women were well-behaved, controllable, stayed at home, dressed like this — kept quiet.”
He nods, expression unreadable. You don’t let it throw you off.
“The depth of each laceration is vicious, and unnecessary for the kill alone. That amount of force is pure rage. He’s silencing these women in the most aggressive way possible.”
Hotch places his file back on the desk and heads toward the door.
“Good. Garcia, start with powerful women in New York who have recently divorced their inferior husbands. That’s likely our trigger. Wheels up in 30.”
---
Curled up in your seat on the jet, you scrutinize the case files for the seventh time today.
Prentiss and Rossi are busy trying to figure out Spencer’s latest card trick, JJ is having some alone time with her beloved cheetos, and Hotch is staring at his computer screen with such intensity you wonder if he’s hoping it will explode.
Morgan, on the other hand, is in the seat opposite you, blatantly profiling you.
“Could you stop that? Is there not some sort of unwritten rule that we don’t do that to each other?”
He feigns innocence.
“No idea what you’re talking about, baby girl.”
The sound of a throat clearing though the speaker of Morgan’s macbook puts a wide grin on his face.
“Come on Garcia, you’ll always be baby girl number 1, but you know I’m a sucker for a woman in uniform too.”
Garcia’s grumbled protest fades into the background as the realization slowly hits you.
“Holy shit.”
Morgan leans forward, laser focused now.
“What is it?”
“A woman in uniform. Garcia, the women all attended fundraisers on the week of their deaths right?”
Frantic keyboard clicking down the line draws the attention of the rest of the team.
“Correct. Gimme two ticks.”
A beat. More keyboard clicking.
“Looks like two were veteran benefit dinners and one was an NYPD gala. Does that mean something?”
“I think our victimology is more complex than just successful business women. We thought they went to these events in a business capacity, but what if that’s not the case? Did any of them serve?”
Garcia continues working her magic down the line. Hotch is clearly listening to what’s happening, eyes still fixed on his screen.
“Lemme see, uh, yeah vics number one and two were marines and our third girl was a sheriff’s deputy in Atlanta.”
You grin, thrilled the noose around this bastard is tightening a little.
“Great, that narrows it down.”
Hotch chimes in next, always waiting in the wings to piss in your cheerios.
“Hardly.”
You focus all your efforts on not groaning at his response. Luckily though, it’s Spencer to the rescue — your favourite nerd puts in his two cents.
“Actually, that does help. We know he’s escalating, so he’s likely to kill again in a matter of days. If we can pinpoint the next event that fits his victimology, we could have a shot at catching him there.”
Hotch shakes his head, eyes scanning the case files on the table.
“His hunting ground’s too vast. There’s thousands of guests there, hundreds of whom could fit his victimology. It’s an impossible operation to control, let alone find the right victim in all the chaos.”
You catch Prentiss’s eye, she tilts her head in silent suggestion. You nod in agreement.
Hotch is more likely to listen to her, so she speaks up.
“Unless we plant one.”
She waits until he looks at her, then gestures her coffee cup in your direction. You sit completely still, anxiously awaiting his decision.
“No.”
You huff out a frustrated laugh.
“With all due respect sir, I could be sisters with each of these women. We have the same hair color, eye color, and body type, I was a detective before the FBI recruited me, and I’m also classy as fuck.”
Prentiss scoffs at that comment. You stick your tongue out in retaliation.
Hotch’s eyes search for Rossi’s, silently pleading with him to be the voice of reason. Unfortunately for him, Rossi knows you’re right.
“Kid’s got a point, Hotch.”
“There’s no guarantee he’ll choose you.”
You recoil dramatically at that, slamming a closed fist to your chest mimicking a knife to the heart.
“First off, ouch — way to bruise a girl’s ego. Second, I’ll make sure he chooses me.”
JJ pokes her head round, eager to hear what’s coming next.
“How’re you gonna do that?”
You shrug.
“He wants a tough, loud, woman that needs taming. So I’ll talk loudly about my time as a detective, how much I love to make money, and how I’m the man of the house. He’ll hate me so much he’ll be compelled to kill me.”
“No. We’re not doing this.” Hotch barks out.
Rossi’s eyes narrow from across the jet, intrigued by the outburst.
“It’s our best shot and you know it.”
---
Several hours of being dragged around high-end stores later, JJ, Prentiss, and Garcia via video call have successfully helped you find the perfect dress for the gala this evening.
You step out onto the streets of New York in a slinky black number that makes you feel like the hottest woman on earth.
Spotting the team huddled behind the SUVs for a final briefing, you scan the lot to check it’s safe to join them.
The plunging neckline of your dress flusters Spencer, who doesn’t know where to look. Morgan, ever the professional, knows exactly where he shouldn’t look, but drinks you in anyway.
“Damn, woman.”
You flash him your cutest smile and twirl, giving the dress its moment.
Hotch glares at you. The heat of his gaze would normally make you feel exposed, but you’re feeling brave tonight so you look him up and down. It feels more suggestive than it should. Now there’s a line you’d love to cross.
He shifts uncomfortably for a second.
“It’s a bit much, no?”
You wonder how on earth Hotch ever came to have a son with his clear aversion to women and sex. Or maybe it’s just you? a voice in your head teases.
Prentiss laughs, brushing him off.
“Absolutely not. Our unsub wants to tame a wild animal, and he’s a sexually motivated killer. This is the perfect dress.”
That shuts him up.
---
One hour of mingling is all it takes to remind you why you never come to these things.
They’re boring, half the people attending have no right to be there, and heels really hurt your feet.
Hotch has been hovering at the end of the bar like an angry wasp, watching your every move. You’re not sure what you did to make him hate you, but you’ll unpack that another day.
As you throw back the last drop of your champagne in a minor act of defiance, a man who can only be described as short and pathetic looking sidles up to the bar behind you.
Right where you want him, you ignore his presence and continue your insufferable conversation with the CEO of nobodygivesafuck-incorporated.
“I mean, that’s exactly why I left my ex-husband. Forgive me for being so crass, but the man was a total pussy.”
Tossing your head back so you invade the unsub’s space slightly, you let out a bitter laugh, going in for the kill.
You can tell instantly that your plan has worked. It’s almost as though the temperature in the room has dropped five degrees. The unsub’s icy stare burns a hole in your back.
Ready to finally catch the fucker, you mumble some excuse to your conversation partner and push off the bar, ready to disappear off somewhere alone looking deliciously abductable.
Unfortunately, Hotch has other ideas. A hand grabs your wrist and tugs you away from the bar, dragging you across the ballroom until you’re out of site behind a pillar.
“What the fuck, Hotch? I had him!” you hiss.
Still holding your wrist, Hotch clocks a waiter approaching from behind. Needing a diversion, he leans in close and drops his gaze to your lips. His free hand lightly traces your curves.
Frozen in place, you watch as the waiter disappears, oblivious to the pair of you.
“He’s gone.”
As though he’s repelled by you, Hotch jolts backwards, creating some distance and leaving you feeling somewhat needy — though you’d never admit that, of course.
“What the hell are you doing? You’re gonna scare him off.”
“Good.” he grits out.
“Good? We have him.”
Hotch’s gaze drops back to your lips for a split second. It happens so fast, you wonder if you’re imagining it.
“I’m calling this off. It’s too dangerous.”
Now you really lose your cool.
“Oh. My. God. What is your problem? I’m just as capable as everyone else on the team. Do you seriously not trust me to get this done?”
Hotch almost looks hurt by the implication. He exhales, eyes flicking up at the ceiling.
“It’s not that.”
“What is it then?”
“What if he makes his move tonight? He’s escalating. I can’t guarantee your safety and you’re unarmed.”
You narrow your eyes, challenging Hotch more than you normally would. Maybe it’s the champagne.
“I am not.”
Hotch drags his eyes over your form slowly, studying every inch of you. You silently question whether someone has suddenly turned the thermostat up.
“Where are you keeping your gun? You’re practically naked.” he spits out.
Raising a brow at that word, you hold his eye. Hotch averts his gaze.
“I don’t want you to get hurt. I’m calling it off.”
You search his face, forcing him to look at you. This time he doesn’t look away.
Unsure if it’s bravery or stupidity that takes over, you allow yourself to step out of line for a second.
“Is that an order as my boss, or something else?”
Eyes fixed firmly on your own, Hotch’s hands hover over your hips, fingertips lightly grazing your skin through the silky fabric.
With a little bit of trouble behind your eyes, you raise your chin closer to his. He leans into you, cautiously placing his hands on your waist.
Neither of you say a word. You don’t need to — the air is electric.
Before you even realize what’s happening, your hands are unbuttoning his pants. Then your hands are on him. He presses a desperate kiss to your lips as you stroke his hard length.
Throwing his head back, one thing is crystal clear to you in this moment: Hotch has completely lost control.
Skin on fire, pulse hammering, you give in to your desires completely.
Looking up at him doe-eyed and full of want, you study his face. He looks wildly turned on and furious simultaneously.
You’ve always felt something between you, but it’s only at this exact moment as you drop to your knees behind the pillar that you realize: it’s not hatred, it’s lust.
Already past the point of no return, Hotch tangles his fingers in your hair and pulls your mouth onto him. He groans when you flick your tongue over his tip.
As he fucks your mouth, you slide your hands under his shirt, pleasantly surprised by the definition of his muscles.
The next few minutes are a complete blur. You’re a mess. Eyes watering, mascara running, hair unsalvageable. And yet, somehow, Hotch looks even worse. He swipes a thumb across your lip, tucking himself back in his pants.
Reaching a hand out to help you stand, he doesn’t say a word. He pulls you close and hovers over your mouth, tasting himself as he presses a final, searing kiss to your lips.
Nodding down the corridor behind you, he avoids eye contact.
“Bathroom.”
Understanding the instruction, you glide down the hall and disappear behind the oak door to clean up.
Hotch leaves in the opposite direction.
JJ startles you as you slip out of the bathroom, good as new. Looking around, she makes sure nobody’s watching before speaking in a hushed tone.
“Hey. Do you know where Hotch went?”
You top up your lipstick in the mirror behind her, deliberately avoiding direct eye contact.
“Nope, he chewed me out for drinking on the job, then he just disappeared.”
Her eyes scan the room, suspicious.
“Huh. That’s... out of character.”
---
Never before have you been so delighted to have a creep watching you. You breathe the biggest sigh of relief as you spot the unsub out the corner of your eye at the hotel breakfast buffet.
You may have ruined your professional relationship with your boss, and consequently quite possibly your whole career, but you haven’t ruined the case.
There is, however, one minor hiccup. You left your gun back in the room. Normally this wouldn’t be an issue and you’d simply sneak back up and grab it, but the predatory look in this man’s eyes tells you there won’t be a chance for that.
Gearing up for what’s to come, you inhale deeply and saunter toward the exit, making a beeline for the smoking area.
You’ve barely got one foot out the door before you hear a sickening crack, accompanied by a sharp pain in the back of your skull.
Your vision fades to black as a warmth spreads across your head. Your final thought before falling unconscious is that you wouldn’t have bothered washing your hair this morning if you’d known it was going to be covered in blood.
---
Stirring awake in a cloudy haze, you wince at the unwelcome combination of the mother of all headaches and a supremely unpleasant ringing sound in your ears.
Any plans you had to check your wound are swiftly ruined by the sudden realization that your hands are tied.
Fully conscious now, you take in the scene before you. You’re in an abandoned 50s-themed diner, tied to a chair. Your knees are all fucked up and scraped too.
You feel a presence looming behind you.
“Did you seriously have to drag me across the ground? Are you too weak to lift a 130lb woman?”
With all the restraint of a petulant child, he kicks the chair leg closest to him. It does nothing other than move you a few inches across the floor.
“Shut the fuck up, bitch.”
You bark out a laugh.
“Ooh, I’m quaking in my boots. Truly.”
Logically speaking, you know you should be buying time, not aggravating him further, but he’s so pathetic you genuinely can’t help yourself.
It’s a decision you come to regret pretty much instantly as he holds a chef’s knife to your throat.
“Women like you need to learn your place.”
Taking slow, shallow breaths and wriggling to avoid the blade biting into your skin, you run the numbers.
One exit, one murderous asshole standing in the way of said exit. One big ass knife. Four chair legs. You could kick backwards, but your hands are tied behind your back, so you’ll probably land on them and get stuck. You could pretend someone’s at the door, but that buys you five seconds tops. Or you could try to talk your way out of it.
You open your mouth to give option three a shot, but there’s no need. A gunshot followed by the sound of the lock shattering forces the unsub to pull away from you. The knife draws blood as he retreats like a complete coward, but it’s just a superficial cut.
Hotch bursts into the door, and no matter how minor your injuries are, the second he lays eyes on you he sees red.
Watching in shock, you sit helpless and hazy as Hotch lays into the unsub. You hear the unforgettable crack of the man’s nose breaking before Hotch slams him into the ground.
Standing over him, boot crushing the unsub’s throat, there’s venom in his words when he speaks.
“If you ever put your hands on her again, I will kill you. Do you understand me?”
The unsub chokes out a garbled sentence. You’re pretty sure you hear “whore” in there somewhere, but the rest is fuzzy.
Your vision starts to black out again, accompanied by the soundtrack of knuckles repeatedly making contact with bone. Agonised grunts come from both men as they engage in a violent scuffle you don't have the privilege of witnessing.
Hotch yells out in pain and the helplessness of being tied up stirs you once more. You're paralysed with the nauseating fear that he could be being killed just a few feet away from you right now.
Chaos descends upon the diner as the rest of the team bursts in, guns trained on the unsub.
You’re not sure at what point it happened, but when you look back over at the unsub, he lies motionless on the floor with Hotch’s hands wrapped around his throat.
Rossi grips your face, checking for signs of life. You wince at the sudden reminder of the throbbing pain at the back of your head.
“You doing okay, kid?”
You manage to nod, still unsure what the hell happened across the room.
“How did you find me?”
Crouching down behind you, Morgan gets to work untying your hands.
“Garcia identified the unsub as the caterer. You’re sitting in the straw that broke the camel’s back. One post-divorce, failed business.”
Prentiss and Reid have successfully peeled Hotch away from the unsub. He stands opposite you, shirt spattered with blood, eyes dark and fixated on your own.
Taking it all in, you search Hotch’s face for a reassurance you know he can’t offer you right now.
The team are all here and all eyes are on you, so instead he approaches you cautiously, inspecting the matted blood on the back of your head.
“Rossi’s going to take you to the hospital.”
His eyes land on the body on the ground. A flicker of disgust crosses his face.
“I’ve got some paperwork to fill out.”
You sit unmoving, not sure what the right thing to say is. Bodies move around the room in a blur and you’re having trouble focusing on anything right now.
Hotch checks nobody is watching, then leans in close, lips grazing your ear.
“I’ll swing by the hospital later. Alone.”
You hate yourself for it, but you have to ask the question, so you do.
“Is he dead?”
Hotch lets out a small sigh.
“Yes.”
You lower your voice.
“Did you do that for me?”
A beat.
“Yes.”
You don’t know what this means. Whether Hotch will get in trouble, whether you still even have a job, whether the team will look at you differently — whether Hotch will look at you differently.
Sensing your impending downward spiral, Hotch lifts your hand feigning a wound-check, squeezing it lightly.
“Everything’s fine. I promise.”
And even though your head hurts like hell and a man is dead, you trust Hotch implicitly when he says those words.
Notes: this may be a little boring but it was needed to establish Rick getting to the group without a huge time skip. I finished part 1 and 2 at the same time so 3 and 4 will take me a minute :/
Warnings: implied SA, violence, gore, mentions of drug use and firearms, age gap relationships, sex. cursing and child abuse (flashbacks)
Navigation page
Word count: 7k
Eventual Daryl Dixon x reader
A few days after my talk with Daryl, Shane rounded everyone together mid morning for a meeting while he stood in the middle of camp with Glenn beside him.
“We need to talk about supplies,” he said. “Food’s getting low. Medical kit is almost out of the basics. We need guns if we’re going to keep a proper watch on this camp.” He looked around the circle of faces. “I need people willing to make a run into the city.”
There was silence for a second until T-Dog’s hand went up before Shane could plead with the crowd. “I’m in.”
Jackie was beside him with her arms crossed. “Where he goes I go.”
Shane nodded. Looked around.
Morales was standing with his arm around his wife’s waist, her leaning into his side. He looked down at her for a second, a look of understanding between them that prompted her to give the smallest nod.
“Me too,” he said.
“I’ll go,” Andrea said, from the other side of the circle. Very matter of fact, no hesitation. She wasn’t the best shot but she would do.
Shane wrote something on the notepad before handing it back to Glenn. He was looking at the ground doing math in his head, already thinking about streets and routes and how to move through the city efficiently.
I was standing at the back of the group with my arms crossed and I did not say anything. I wasn’t sure if I could handle myself. I’d only been against one walker and it was my mom.
Shane looked around again. “Anyone else?”
The circle was quiet. Carol had Sophia pulled close to her side. Dale was watching Shane with his steady patient eyes. Lori had her hand on Carl’s shoulder.
Shane nodded once. “Alright. Glenn’s going to lead on the ground, he knows those streets better than anybody. We’re looking for canned food, anything with shelf life, medical supplies, and firearms if we can find them. Don’t take risks you don’t need to take.”
“When?” T-Dog asked.
“Wheels up in two hours.”
Merle was leaning against a tree at the edge of the group picking at his thumbnail. “While y’all are playing errand boy,” he said, “Daryl’ll head out. See what he can bring back. I’ll come to Atlanta.”
Daryl said nothing, just shifted the crossbow on his shoulder and looked at the tree line.
“Good,” Shane said. “We need it.”
The group started breaking up, people moving off to get ready or get back to what they’d been doing. I stayed where I was.
Glenn drifted over with his map already unfolded.
“You should come,” he said, not looking up from it.
“I’m good here.”
“We need people who can handle themselves.” He glanced up. “You can handle yourself.”
I looked at the map. At the streets marked in Glenn’s careful handwriting, routes traced in pencil. I thought about sitting in this camp for another day watching the tree line and waiting for Daryl Dixon to come back with something to eat.
“Two hours?” I said.
Glenn nodded.
“Fine.”
He smiled at the map like he was trying not to and went off to find T-Dog. I stood there for a second in the middle of the emptying camp and looked at the quarry sitting flat and silver through the trees and thought about Atlanta and what was sitting inside it and told myself it was fine.
It was fine.
….
Two hours went fast.
I had my bag packed and sitting outside my tent as I was lacing my boots when the group started pulling itself together around the van. People drifted over to say goodbyes and making request, not wanting to be involved but not wanting to miss it either.
Andrea and Amy came up from the quarry path together, fingers laced, seeming closer than they had earlier weeks at camp. They’d been down there a while. Amy’s eyes were pink at the edges and she was doing best to keep smiling to so she didn’t cry.
Andrea was holding herself very still on purpose. They walked through the camp like that, hands swinging slightly between them, and Andrea stopped at the van and turned, pulling Amy in hard, both arms around her, her chin over Amy’s shoulder.
Amy’s hands fisted in the back of Andrea’s shirt.
“It’s a supply run,” Andrea said into her hair. “We’ll be back tonight.”
“I know,” Amy said. Her voice was mostly steady. “I know that.”
They stayed like that for another second. Then Andrea pulled back and held Amy by the face for a moment and admired her.
“Almost your birthday,” she said.
Amy laughed, wet around the edges. “You keep saying that.”
“Because it keeps being true.” Andrea kissed her forehead and picked up her bag and got in the van and looked straight ahead.
Amy stood there with her arms crossed watching the van door and breathed through her nose until her eyes cleared.
Merle and Daryl were off to the side of all of it, close together, voices low. From where I was standing they looked almost angry at each other, the way Merle had one hand on the back of his neck like a dog you weren’t fond of.
I saw Daryl was staring at the ground, barely reacting to anything Merle said until Merle made some sharp comment that finally got him to look up and answer.
Merle clapped him once on the shoulder, hard, and walked away.
Lori caught me before I got to the van, coming over with a folded piece of paper and a look that was almost apologetic.
“I know you’re going to be busy,” she said, holding it out. “But if you happen to come across any of this.”
I took the paper and unfolded it. A small list in her handwriting, neat and slanted. Children’s Tylenol. Toothpaste. Socks, size small. At the bottom, underlined once, chocolate if there is any.
I looked up at her.
“Carl’s been asking,” she said, and something in her face was softer than usual this morning, lighter. She looked happier than I’d seen her in a while, and it wasn’t forced. “And I just thought if it was there.”
“I’ll look,” I said, and folded the list into my jacket pocket.
“Thank you.” She squeezed my arm once and picked up her bucket from the ground beside her. “I’m going to get water before it gets hot.” She nodded toward the woods path that ran down to the quarry and headed off through the trees humming something, bucket swinging at her side.
Shane appeared at my shoulder. “She seem alright to you?” he said, watching the trees where she’d gone.
“She seemed good actually, happy.”
He nodded, something settling in him slightly. He looked at the van and then back at the woods. “Look after yourself while I’m—” He stopped. “I mean while you’re gone.”
“I’ll grab you something while I’m in there.”
He looked at me sideways.
“See! That right there. Don’t make it weird,” I complained, rolling my eyes and punched his shoulder. “Just say thank you and move on.”
The corner of his mouth moved. “Yeah alright.” He looked at the tree line one more time and then headed off toward the woods in the same direction Lori had gone, hands in his pockets, unhurried.
I picked up my bag and walked to the van.
Glenn slid the door open from inside and held out a hand to help me up and I took it and climbed in and pulled the door shut behind me. The van smelled like old leather and fish breakfast with a side of body odor. There were too many people in a small space on this warm morning.
T-Dog looked back at me from the middle seat. “Ready?”
I put my bag between my feet and looked out the window at the camp sitting quiet in the morning light.
“Yeah,” I said. “Let’s go.”
….
An hour into the city and my neck hurt from looking up.
I couldn’t help it. The buildings came up on both sides of us so tall and so close together that the sky was just a strip of pale blue running between them, and standing at the bottom of all that glass and concrete made something in my chest go tight.
I’d never been actually been to Atlanta before. Not really. I’d driven past it on the highway a hundred times but that wasn’t the same as being inside it, feeling small inside it, the shadows falling heavy and cold across the pavement even with the sun still up.
It was so quiet here.
That was the part that kept getting me. A city this size should have been loud just breathing. Traffic and horns and somebody’s music leaking out of a window three floors up. Instead there was just our footsteps on the asphalt and the wind moving through the gap between buildings with a low hollow sound, and every now and then something far off that none of us commented on.
Glenn had us tight together, moving fast, hand signals instead of words where he could manage it. He knew these streets like the back of his hand, Glenn could cut through alleys I wouldn’t have noticed were even there.
Nobody questioned him.
Even Merle kept his mouth shut and followed, which told me more about how nervous he actually was than anything else would have.
The warehouse sat at the end of a service road. A loading dock with doors shut and padlocked. Glenn pointed at Merle without looking at him. Merle already had something out of his pocket.
Forty seconds and the lock was open.
The employee entrance was narrow and dark, the smell hitting me before my eyes adjusted. Dust and old cardboard and underneath it something sweeter, like a spill that had dried a long time ago and never quite left. The shelves went up to the ceiling in long rows, the light coming in gray through the high windows, everything perfectly still.
Glenn split us into pairs with a look and a point and everyone moved off into the shelves.
I went left.
The soap aisle was three rows back and I smelled it before I found it, that sharp clean smell cutting through the dust, and I stood in front of the shelf and looked at the options the way I used to stand in a drugstore with twenty dollars deciding what Ice cream to keep and what to put back. I grabbed two bars of the good stuff and dropped them in my bag.
I moved down the row slowly, dragging two fingers along the shelf edge, reading each label. The other shelves had the rest of what we needed, unopened box of tampons, body oil, Tylenol. I was hitting the jackpot.
No chocolate though.
Merle’s voice floated over from somewhere to my right, probably talking at T-Dog whether T-Dog wanted conversation or not.
I found a rack of pocket knives near the back wall, wrapped inside a little cardboard sleeve. I picked one up and felt the weight of it. Light but it would do in a tight spot for Amy. Then I picked up a second one.
That one I turned over in my hand for a second, thinking about Shane.
I dropped it in my bag.
Down the next row I found a shelf of those little travel sized things, deodorant, toothpaste and lotion in a wire basket. I grabbed a handful and stuffed them in without looking at the labels because something that smelled like anything was better than body odor. There was a candle on the shelf below, thick and white, blueberry pie. I took that too.
I could hear Glenn moving two rows over, I stood still for a second and listened to the warehouse breathe around me, the gray light coming down through the high windows and falling across the concrete floor in long pale rectangles. six hours ago I was sitting at the quarry with cold hands and now I was here, inside a dead city, stealing soap.
I almost laughed.
I didn’t, but almost.
…
The door to the roof was heavy and rusted at the hinge and it took Merle’s shoulder to get it open all the way. The heat hit us like a brick wall the second we stepped out, that thick flat Atlanta summer heat with nowhere to go and nothing to cut it, bouncing up off the tar paper and pressing down from the sky at the same time.
The hair at the nape of my neck dripped the second we cleared the doorway.
From what I could see, the roof was wide and low walled, the city spreading out in every direction below us, and for a second everyone just stood there and looked at it.
All those empty streets below us. All those still cars sitting in the intersections at every angle like somebody had just walked away from them mid-turn and never come back.
The buildings rose up around us on all sides and from up I’m here you could see just how far it went, block after block of nothing moving, the summer haze sitting over all of it in a pale shimmer.
Morales had the binoculars out already, scanning the streets.
I stood at the edge and put my hands on the concrete and looked down at the street below. The tar paper under my boots was soft from the heat, sticking faintly with each step.
Andrea came to stand beside me and I could see the line on her forearm where her sleeve had been, that sharp stripe of pale skin against tan, and I had the same thing on both arms, farmers fans were not my favorite.
Everyday I wished we could’ve been stuck at the beach instead of a small quarry off the highway.
Merle moved along the wall toward Andrea with an energy that told screamed “the apocalypse was a better time than ever.” He leaned on the wall beside her and squinted out at the street below and said, “So you and the old man, huh.”
Andrea glared at him.
“Dale.” Merle said the name like it was funny. “That your situation?”
“That’s none of your situation,” Andrea snapped back.
Merle grinned at the street. “All I’m saying is the man’s too old to get it up. You could do better.” He glanced sideways at her. “Significantly better.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Just putting it out there.”
“Consider it received and discarded.”
Merle laughed and moved off down the wall. T-Dog caught my eye from across the roof and shook his head once. These old men were so bold.
The sun was full on the roof now with nothing between us and it, and my tank top was sticking to my back way past uncomfortable and more of a sweaty mess. Morales wiped his face with the back of his arm and kept the binoculars moving.
Glenn was crouched near the far edge with a city map folded open on the concrete, finger tracing routes, lips moving slightly.
Then the gunshots went off.
they ricocheted off the buildings and came at us from two directions at once so you couldn’t place it right away. Everyone on that roof went still at the same time.
Morales had the binoculars up and pointing before the echo died. He tracked for a second, swung left, stopped.
“There.” He handed them to Glenn.
Glenn stood up and put them to his eyes and was quiet for a long moment. He pulled them down and looked at the street and then back through the binoculars like he was checking that he’d seen it right.
“There’s an officer down there,” he said. “On horseback. He’s coming up through the intersection on Fifth.” He paused. “There are a lot of them in the street. A lot.” He shifted slightly. “His horse just went down.”
Nobody said anything.
“He’s on foot now.” Glenn’s voice had gone careful and flat, just reporting. “He’s running. He’s going for—” He stopped. “There’s a tank. He’s going for the tank, there’s an abandoned tank sitting in the middle of Fifth and he’s heading straight for it.”
Merle was at his shoulder now, not grabbing the binoculars, just listening.
“He made it in,” Glenn said. “He’s inside.” He lowered the binoculars and looked at the hatch on top of the tank for a second, visible even from here. He brought them back up.
Then he reached over and picked up the radio from where Morales had set it on the wall.
He clicked it once. “Hey.” His voice came out easy, almost casual, like he was knocking on somebody’s door. “Hey you. Dumbass. in the tank.” A pause. “You comfy in there?”
The radio crackled.
We all looked at Glenn.
Glenn looked at the tank.
….
We heard them coming through the employee entrance before we saw them.
Footsteps, two sets, moving fast across the pavement behind the door before it banged open and Glenn rushed through first, breathing hard. The officer was behind him. Still in the uniform, which was the first thing I noticed, his tan shirt dark with sweat at the collar, a scrape along his jaw that was going to bruise.
Andrea came down the stairs from the mezzanine so fast I heard her boots on every step.
She had her gun out.
Not raised, but out, at her side, and the look on her face was the kind that made people take a step back without meaning to. Her jaw was set and her eyes were bright and sharp as she walked straight up to Rick and stopped close enough that he had to hold still.
“You,” she said, “almost got every single one of us killed.”
Rick opened his mouth.
“Don’t.” Her voice was flat and low, which was worse than if she’d been yelling. “One shot, that’s it, that’s all it took for you to ring the dinner bell, and now you trapped us in here. You sat in that tank and you fired in the middle of a dead city and now they know exactly where we are.”
The store had gone quiet around her. T-Dog on the stairs. Morales behind me. Jackie with her hand on my shoulder. I could hear the walkers from outside, faint through the glass, and if I was still enough, the low shuffling sound from the front doors.
Rick looked at her steadily. He didn’t flinch, which I noted.
“Andrea,” I said.
She didn’t look at me.
“Andrea.” I stepped up beside her, not between them, just beside her. “Shooting him isn’t going to make ‘em go away.”
“I’m not going to shoot him.”
“You’ve got your gun out.”
She looked down at it like she’d forgotten. She hadn’t forgotten. She put it back in her holster and crossed her arms and kept her eyes on Rick like she was deciding whether to be done with it or not.
“He didn’t know we were here,” I said. “He was in a tank. He couldn’t have known.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It kind of is though.”
She made a sound that wasn’t agreement but wasn’t argument either and took a step back and that was the end of it, or the end of that part of it.
She’d circle back to it later in her own head, I knew that, but she was done for now.
Glenn put a hand briefly on Rick’s arm and steered him further into the store and the rest of us followed.
Rick stopped when he saw the front doors.
There were a lot of them pressed up against the glass. That low shuffling sound I’d been hearing made sense now, all of them moving against each other in a slow directionless way, hands dragging across the door panels, faces turning toward the light.
The glass was holding. It wouldn’t hold forever and everyone in the building knew it, but it was holding right now and that was what we had.
Rick stood there and looked at them and didn’t say anything for a long moment.
“I haven’t seen that many,” he said finally. “Not all together like that.” His voice was quiet, not scared more like doing math in his head that wasn’t coming out to a number he recognized.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
He looked over at me. “Hospital,” he said. “King County. I was shot, came out of a coma and the place was empty.” He paused. “I found a man and his son squatting in my neighbors house. They took me in, showed me how to handle myself against them.” He looked back at the doors. “I thought I had a sense of how bad it was.”
“Well you didn’t,” Andrea said from behind us. No heat left in it now. Just fact.
“No,” Rick said. “I didn’t.”
The walkers pressed against the glass and the glass held and we all stood there in the department store light looking at them looking back at us.
….
We were halfway up the stairs when the first shot cracked through the building.
Everyone stopped. Rick’s hand went to his holster before he’d even finished turning around. Glenn looked at me and I looked at the ceiling like I could see through it to the roof and then another shot went off and we were all moving back up.
Merle was on the roof with the rifle.
He had it up at his shoulder, one eye closed, taking his time about it, and the sound of each shot was enormous up here in the open air, bouncing off the surrounding buildings and rolling out over the street below.
Down there the crowd at the doors was already thickening, heads turning, that horrible slow drift of bodies toward noise.
“Merle.” Morales voice was sharp. “Put it down.”
Merle fired again. Laughed at something only he found funny.
“Hey.” T-Dog moved toward him. “Hey, man, you need to stop. Right now. You’re pulling every one of them in the city down on us.”
Merle brought the rifle down and looked at T-Dog with disgust. “Boy,” he said, “I don’t remember asking you.”
The word landed like a stone in still water and everybody felt the ripple. T-Dog’s jaw tightened.
“Don’t,” T-Dog said. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Merle tilted his head. Grinning now. “I’m just talking. Man can’t talk?”
“You know what you’re doing.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Merle agreed, and the way he said it shifted everything. He set the butt of the rifle on the ground and leaned on it like a walking stick and looked around at all of us.
“Matter of fact I been knowing what I’m doing. Y’all been out here playing house, waiting on somebody to come tell you what’s next.” He looked back at T-Dog. “Wasn’t gonna be you.”
T-Dog stepped toward him and Merle moved fast for an old man. He got T-Dog by the front of the shirt and had him turned and down on one knee before anyone had fully registered it was happening, one forearm across the back of his neck, and T-Dog was big but Merle had the leverage and the angle and the particular viciousness of a man who had been in this kind of situation before and knew exactly how to end it.
“Get off him.” My voice came out hard. I didn’t move toward him. There was no point moving toward him. “He hasn’t done a single thing to you.”
Merle looked up at me from where he had T-Dog pinned and smiled like I’d said something charming.
“See that’s where you’re wrong, sweetheart.” He straightened up, keeping T-Dog down with one hand, and looked around the roof. “I been watching this little camp of yours. Waiting to see who was running things. Couldn’t figure it out.” He paused. “Then I figured out nobody was.” He picked the rifle back up with his free hand. Easy. Comfortable. “Was gonna let it go another week or two before I made my move. Didn’t expect to do it today but here we are.”
He let T-Dog go and brought the rifle up.
Not at anyone in particular. At all of us. Moving it slowly around the group the way you sweep a flashlight, unhurried, making sure everyone understood what it meant.
“So,” he said. “Anybody got a problem with how things are gonna work from here on out?”
Nobody said anything. Jackie had her hands pressed together in front of her mouth. Glenn had gone very still beside me. Andrea’s eyes were moving, calculating, and I could see her deciding whether the angle was right, whether she could get there in time, and deciding she couldn’t.
She really couldn’t, her safety was still on.
I looked at Rick.
He was already looking at Merle with focused attention, just waiting for the right second. I took one small step to the side. Out of his way.
Rick made his move.
He was fast and deliberate about it, he got inside Merle’s reach before the rifle could track him, one hand on the barrel pushing it wide, the other going to Merle’s wrist, and then Merle was turned and down and Rick had a knee in his back and the handcuffs out before Merle had finished cursing.
The cuffs clicked shut around the pipe running along the roof ledge.
Merle yanked against them once, hard, and the pipe held and he yanked again and it held again and then he just breathed, chest heaving, cheek against the rooftop.
Rick stood up. His jaw was tight but his hands were steady. He looked down at Merle for a moment, a look in his eyes that wasn’t satisfaction, and then he reached into his pocket and took out the handcuff key.
He looked over at T-Dog, who was back on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck.
Rick tossed him the key.
T-Dog caught it. Looked at it in his palm. Looked at Rick.
“For when we figure out what to do with him,” Rick said.
Merle said something ugly at the ground that nobody responded to. Down below us the street noise had gotten louder, that low collective sound that set my teeth on edge, more of them gathering at the building front, drawn by the shots.
I looked out over the edge of the roof at the street and then back at the group and thought, we need a plan and we need it fast, i looked at Rick because he seemed like the person most likely to have one.
….
The smell hit me before we even opened the door, I had braced for the smell but I wasn’t ready.
Rick had found a cart in the back storage room, one of the big flat ones they used for moving stock, and he’d pulled two walkers in from the alley, put them down himself.
Smart.
I wasn’t there yet but I understood the logic.
We stripped the aprons off the rack by the employee entrance and put them on over our clothes and Rick looked at us both and said, “Ready,” but it wasn’t really a question.
Glenn looked at me with an expression that was mostly brave and partially the face of someone trying very hard not to breathe through their nose.
The smell coming off them was something I didn’t have adequate words for. Hot garbage with sweet undertones. Skunk spray baked into something wet. I breathed through my mouth and it didn’t help because you could taste it, thick and coating, sitting on the back of your throat.
Rick handed me a length of intestine like he was passing me a tool.
I took it. I did tried my best not to think about it. I rubbed it across my forearms and the front of the apron and across the back of my neck and tried to be somewhere else in my mind entirely.
Glenn made a noise beside me.
“Don’t,” I said.
“I’m not,” he said, and then made the sound again.
We covered ourselves. It took about two minutes and felt like two hours. By the end of it we were dark with it across our shoulders and down our fronts, the smell so close that my eyes were watering.
Rick had it across his face and he wiped his hands on his thighs.
I turned around.
T-Dog was by the door. I pointed at him. “The key,” I said. “Don’t put it down. Don’t set it anywhere. It stays on your person.”
He held it up between two fingers so I could see it. “I got it.”
“With your life.”
“With my life,” he said, and I believed him.
I turned back to the door.
Rick pushed it open and the outside air came in, heavy and hot and humid and we walked out together, letting the door close behind us.
No turning back now.
Up close the noise was layered, not just the shuffling but the breathing, that wet ragged sound they all made, and the low occasional knock of them moving against each other. There were dozens of them between us and the fence. Dozens pressed together in the street and spilling out into the space beyond, all of them slow and directionless, drifting.
We walked right between them.
Slow. Eyes down. I kept my gaze on the pavement in front of my feet, the cracked asphalt, a flattened paper cup, a smear of something dark. I did not look up. I moved the way they moved, unhurried, no destination, just forward.
Rick was ahead of me and Glenn was just behind my left shoulder and I could hear him breathing and I wanted to tell him to slow down but I couldn’t say anything, I couldn’t make a sound that wasn’t theirs.
One of them drifted close on my right and I felt the air shift when it moved past me. I kept my eyes down. My heart was going so hard I could feel it in my jaw.
It kept moving. Didn’t stop.
I let out a breath so slow it was barely a breath at all.
We kept walking. The fence was maybe forty feet away. Thirty. I could see the chain link through the gaps between them, the parked cars sitting silent in the rain-gray afternoon light. Twenty-five feet.
The first drop hit the back of my hand.
I felt it and didn’t react. One drop. Could be anything. I kept walking.
The second drop hit my cheek. Then my shoulder. Then the pavement in front of me went dark with it in a spreading pattern and the smell around us shifted, that rot and copper smell thinning as the rain started coming down, and I felt Rick slow almost imperceptibly ahead of me.
Don’t, I thought at him. Don’t you dare stop. Keep walking.
He kept walking.
The rain got heavier. I could feel the guts on my forearms going slick, the apron front going wet and dark, everything we’d covered ourselves in loosening and starting to run. A walker two feet to my left turned its head.
Twenty feet.
The rain came down harder. Properly now, that Georgia rain that just arrives all at once, and I felt something slide off my shoulder and hit the pavement. Fuck. The walker to my left turned its head again and this time it was toward me and it was not nothing.
Fifteen feet.
I looked up.
The fence was right there. Rick was almost at it. Glenn was a half step behind me. The walker to my left gurgled low in its chest and took one step toward me and I looked at the fence and said, clear and flat, “Run.”
We ran.
The noise that went up behind us was immediate and enormous, that shrieking clatter of all of them turning at once. The fence was coming up fast and Rick hit it first and went up and over like he’d been doing it his whole life and I was right behind him, hands on the chain link, feet finding the gaps, climbing fast, don’t stop, don’t slow down.
Something grabbed my ankle.
Cold fingers, a grip like a hydraulic clamp, and my whole body jerked downward so hard my chin cracked against the fence. I kicked. Hard. Felt it connect and their grip loosened just enough that I could haul myself up and over. The pavement coming up to meet me fast and I came down on the other side, landing wrong, my left shoulder taking the brunt of the fall, white light going off behind my eyes.
I lay there for one second. Just one.
Then I looked for Glenn.
He wasn’t at the fence.
I scrambled up onto my knees, shoulder screaming, eyes tearing through the rain and the crowd pressed up against the chain link on the other side, dozens of hands and faces all reaching, all reaching, and no sign of him anywhere in it.
Rick’s hand was already out to pull me the rest of the way up and I grabbed it but I was still looking back through the fence, throat closing up around his name before I could even get it out.
“Glenn.”
Nothing.
“Glenn!”
And then I saw him, ten feet down the fence line where he must have come over further along, flat on his back in the wet grass on our side, chest heaving, rain running down his face in sheets, alive, completely alive
He pushed himself up onto his elbows, hair plastered flat to his forehead
“For the record,” he said, voice shaking just slightly under the joke, “you smell terrible.”
“Glenn.” My own voice came out cracked. I didn’t care.
“I’m just saying. Objectively.”
“Get the car,” Rick ordered, hiding his smile,
“On it.” Glenn scrambled upright, pointed at me with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. “You’re still very pretty though. In spite of everything.”
And then he was off, full sprint across the lot toward the vehicles, and I stood there in the rain and watched him go, my heart still going too hard, still not fully convinced he was real until I heard the Challenger’s engine catch.
Rick had the van keys in the driver’s side door and I went around to the passenger side and got in and pulled the door shut. Inside smelled like old upholstery and fast food wrappers and in comparison to what we’d just been wearing it smelled like a candle shop.
Rick started the engine.
The sound of the alarm rolled out over the street and I watched through the windshield as the crowd infront of the building began to turn, following the noise, following the loudest thing, exactly the way we needed them to.
Rick and I looked at each other.
We stripped off the aprons fast, rolling down the windows to toss them out into the rain, and I peeled off my outer layer and turned it inside out and shoved it behind the seat and sat back and wiped my face with the back of my wrist and felt slightly more like a human being.
The streets ahead of us were clearing.
My shoulder was going to hurt tomorrow but we made it.
….
The truck rattled to a stop at the edge of camp, tires crunching over gravel, and I was reaching for the passenger door before it had even fully settled.
My hands found the latch fast, muscle memory more than thought, and I hauled the back door open.
“Here, I got you.” I reached up for Jackie’s arm, her fingers cold and shaking in mine as she climbed down, legs wobbling like she’d forgotten how to use them. “Easy. I got you.”
She landed on the ground and just stood there for a second, chest heaving, eyes wet and unfocused like she couldn’t quite believe the ground was solid under her again.
T-Dog appeared at the edge of the truck bed above me, and even before he said anything I could see it on his face, something gone gray and hollowed out that hadn’t been there this morning.
“I dropped the key.” His voice came out low, cracked at the edges. “Wasn’t on purpose. I swear to God it wasn’t on purpose.”
“What key?” But I already knew before he answered, that cold drop in my stomach arriving a half second ahead of the words.
“Merle’s cuffs. I dropped it down the drain trying to get him loose and I couldn’t.” He wouldn’t look at me. “Had to leave him.”
I felt my mouth go dry. Not on purpose. I believed him, the way his hands were still shaking told me everything I needed to know about how it happened.
But Daryl wasn’t going to hear it that way.
Who knows if Daryl was going to take offense that a black man left his brother chained to a roof. If he was anything like Merle he’d draw his own conclusions long before he let anybody explain the difference between an accident and a choice.
“Okay.” It was all I could manage. “Okay, just, don’t say that to anyone yet. Let me be there when you tell him.”
He nodded, jaw tight, and climbed down after me.
The rest of camp was already moving toward us, Shane leading the charge with that loose walk of his, relief was written all over his face even as he tried to keep it casual.
“Look who made it back in one piece.” He clapped me on the shoulder hard enough to rock my body forward. “How the hell’d you get out of the city?”
Glenn was already laughing, that high, disbelieving laugh he got when the adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet. “You are not gonna believe it.” He looked back toward the truck, grinning. “New guy got us out.”
Morales was laughing too, shaking his head. “Some crazy vato who just got into town.” He waved toward the truck. “Hey helicopter boy! Come say hello.”
Rick climbed down out of the cab slow, boots hitting the dirt with a heaviness that didn’t match the frown still hanging around his mouth. His eyes swept the camp once, taking it all in, the people staring back at him like he was something they weren’t sure they believed yet.
Then his eyes found Shane.
Everything went quiet around them. Shane’s jaw shifted, just barely, a flicker behind his eyes. Rick just looked at him, steady, unreadable, the two of them frozen there for a beat that stretched longer than it should have.
“Dad!”
Carl came flying out from behind Lori, small legs pumping hard through the dirt, and whatever had been sitting heavy in the air between Rick and Shane broke apart all at once.
Rick dropped to his knees before Carl even reached him, arms already open, and the boy slammed into him so hard it nearly knocked them both backward. Rick’s face crumpled, all that steadiness we’d seen at the warehouse gone. Rick pressed his mouth to the top of Carl’s head and just held on, eyes shut tight, like if he let go even an inch the whole thing might not be real.
“I’ve got you,” I heard him say, muffled into Carl’s hair. “I’ve got you, I’ve got you.”
Lori stood frozen for a second, hand pressed to her mouth, before she finally moved, crossing the space between them in a rush and dropping down into the both of them, arms wrapping around her husband and her son at the same time like she could fold the whole family back into one shape just by holding on tight enough.
I looked away, uncomfortable with how intimate the moment felt from where I stood.
My eyes found Shane instead. He was still standing where he’d stopped, watching the three of them. For a moment, before he could smooth his expression away, I caught something in it.
Summary𓏲ּ𝄢 Hunting with Dean goes south, and only then does he prove that you mean more to him than he lets on.
Pairing𓏲ּ𝄢 Dean Winchester X Fem!Reader (No use of Y/N)
Wordcount𓏲ּ𝄢 1483 Genre𓏲ּ𝄢 Angst? Fluff? Smut?
Warnings𓏲ּ𝄢 Suggestive Language, Kissing, Unresolved Feelings, Confusion, Lack of Communication, Sexual Tension.
Notes𓏲ּ𝄢 I am in no way shape or form good at writing, I only write for fun and because I am passionate about it. This piece along with many others are done fast, sloppy, and usually aren't proofread.
It was a big pull. A huge shift. It was more than you two would ever say aloud. And it didn't come slow and steady like it should. It was just like two fires merging into something dangerous. You and Dean simply worked together. Or at least that's how it started out. Two Hunters with the same end goal, hunt monsters, save people, and try not to die.
You met at Harvelle's Roadhouse one late afternoon, when the place wasn't ashes. Both of you sought out the same manila-folder holding onto an unclaimed case. "Back off, Jackass. This case is mine." You grumbled out when Dean reached for the folder too. "You first, Babydoll. Last I checked, I looked at it before you did." He smiled slow, flirty, willing to get burned by you.
"Babydoll? I'm not your fuckin' babydoll." Dean raised his hands placatingly as he chuckled lowly. Business with each other started tense, and mean, and both of you kind of liked it. You snatched the folder and he tried snatching it back. "You seriously want to fight over something that might kill you?" He scoffed without letting up that folder.
Neither of your worn hands wanted to let up that job. You were determined to make this case your own, and so was he. Dean wasn't giving in. Something Ellen said eased his mind about you though, made him feel you were decent enough to work with. Just this once. Just while Sam is figuring himself out.. while his little brother was coping with his strange ass visions and Dad's death.
"Y'know that girl can do a lot with a rifle, Dean." Ellen quipped smoothly, without having to look up from where she was shining a crystal glass. His brows furrowed less, and his lips grew a little less cocky and a little flirtier. "That so? Now I'm tempted to find out if that's true or not." Dean's words hit sly and thick. He wasn't even looking at Ellen, just staring right at you.
Like maybe you being able to use a rifle better than most men, was something worth keeping you around for. And somehow Ellen's praise might be the only reason you two were stuck together. Working side by side and exchanging looks that were a lot less hostile than before. Something in both of your gazes was similar, but neither party dared to admit what exactly it was to the other person.
He'd never say, "I think I love you, Babydoll." In that silky tone that had been matured by the years of hunting. He wasn't gonna say it even when he'd been working with you too long to actually name. Nor with the pet-name that used to really fucking piss you off, because you're no mans 'Babydoll'.
And you'd never say, "I think I love you too, Jackass." With a smooth drawl that carried your affectionate insult. Somehow being 'Jackass' to you, made his chest feel a bit tighter, it made him feel like he was yours in a way. Or maybe the flannel he was wearing was just getting tight, your words might not even have an affect on him.
You two always thought nothing would come of this heated and almost bullying banter. Years passed, insults dug roots, Sam spent too much time breaking up brawls. But barely making it out of a dangerous hunt drew you two closer together than before, hell it fixed a lot. Even Sam could tell something had happened on the hunt you two swore you could do without his help. Neither of you wanted each other's heads. It had to be something bad. Something eye opening.
Because Dean now looked at you like you might vanish and it'd kill him. And you brushed against him like you'd hoped he wouldn't fade into a memory or mist. It took a hunt to change everything. Your backs were pressed tightly together as vamps began to circle you both. You should have listened to Bobby maybe even Sam when they said to not charge into that warehouse like a "Couple of Idjits", without knowing how many vamps could be in there.
Dean held onto his machete firmly like it was an extension of himself. Violent, powerful, painted in blood. His other arm was stretched out and reaching back to shield you protectively from the vamps jagged and barred teeth.
His brows furrowed with not only adrenaline induced anger but worry too. Worry for you, not so much himself. He'd make it out or die. Both sounded fine to him. And you, well you held your katana with both hands and were ready to fight to the death alongside him. You worried for him, sure, but you knew Dean was a man that could handle his own, you trusted him.
"We can do this.." You breathed out to reassure Dean while briefly glancing over your shoulder at him. "Not so sure I trust your optimism right now, Babydoll. We're both lookin' like dinner and desert.." Dean retorted gruffly. His tone was gravelly and sharp. Like he was fairly certain you two would die standing back-to-back here together. It was the hunting raised monster in himself showing.
Vamps snapped their teeth and laughed at you two. Hell, you looked a lot like easy prey with how many there were. There was about ten maybe twelve, all ganging up on you after your dumbass and somewhat showy entry. "Shut up. Think about Sam." You snapped, not meaning to be so harsh with him. You just didn't want him to doubt. It'd make you doubt.
"'M not really thinkin' about him, I'm thinkin' about you, Sweetheart."
You didn't have time to fully register his words or give them much of a thought, your predicament didn't give much leeway to ponder. You swallowed, "Fine.. that works too, Jackass." Both expressions hardened as they closed in, you had to go down swinging or at least die trying.
Everything was a red blur. Metal clashed against vamp throats, heads rolled to the dust painted floor, your bodies were shoved about and clawed at, but somehow "hunters luck" let you two came out standing. A little battered, more than tired, but standing. Able to face each other. Bloodied, panting, a little shaky as adrenaline pumped through your veins.
"I thought I was gonna lose you." You panted out, firm and blunt. Looking up into his eyes you could tell he thought the same. He watched you looking over his injuries, he eased up under the hand touching his upper arm. Dean inhaled sharply. His expression furrowed in thought, then un-furrowed as he came to a decision. He wasn't letting you get away.
Dean's machete fell from his hand and clattered to the concrete floor of the dilapidated warehouse. Both of his vamp-blood stained hands grabbed your gore sprinkled face. It was grounding, it was consuming, and then it was all over. The friendly war between you both was killed when his lips pressed to yours searingly. You didn't know whether to drown in him or float. So, you settled for swimming in this feeling.
Your sword clattered like his weapon had, and your dirtied hands were on him too. Clutching at the collar of his jacket like he'd surely vanish like the life of those vampires you took out did. His mouth moved with yours, claiming, almost messy. Tongues pressing together, teeth clashing, sloppy desperate groans being dragged out of one another.
It was real, it was raw, it exposed what neither of you would say with words, and it brought both of you back to earth. When your lips finally parted and you were both left panting and staring into each other's eyes, just to make sure that what happened wasn't imaginary. He responded back to you.
"I was scared that I'd lose you too damnit." He admitted hoarsely while absentmindedly running his thumb over your blood smeared cheek. With hunter green eyes boring into yours, with that same worry, with that same fire that burned in you. From that moment forward, you both knew you were lying to yourselves when you said, 'you could never give in'.
He lied to himself when he said, "Love ain't for men like me, Babydoll. It gets people killed, or they can't handle my baggage." And you lied to yourself when you said, "Ditto, Jackass.", he snorted, "Ditto? Who the hell says ditto anymore?" He chuckled behind the beer he was bringing to his mouth. "Apparently both of us." You teased and smiled back.
Both liars in your own minds, but so honest through your actions. That you two cared more than you should, more than you'd admit. You love each other in a fiery, determined, and passionate manner. All it took was a nest of blood-sucking assholes to make it painfully aware. Maybe you would never be ready to say the words, 'I love you' to Dean. He wasn't either. But neither of you could doubt that love was in this situation or at least rooted in your very serious connection.
Pairing𓏲ּ𝄢 Sam Winchester X Fem!Reader (No use of Y/N)
Wordcount𓏲ּ𝄢 1251 Genre𓏲ּ𝄢 Smut.
Warnings𓏲ּ𝄢 Suggestive Language, Oral, Explicit Sexual Content.
Notes𓏲ּ𝄢 I am in no way shape or form good at writing, I only write for fun and because I am passionate about it. This piece along with many others are done fast,sloppy, and aren't proofread.
Sam's sitting there typing on his laptop with that signature, determined to 'solve a mystery' frown on his pretty face, he's occasionally sighing in frustration or muttering things to himself like it'll help him figure out the monster pattern, or what the monster might be.
All while your bright eyes are just eating him up. Every muscle, every tense flex, every stretch. Curious eyes roaming over his big arms that're certainly making his t-shit want to cry or split at the threads. Swallowing at how his denim jeans are pulled taut against his groin and thighs, or even the way his tongue would dart out to lick his lips.
He's supposed to just be Sam, your hunting partner, your friend, Dean's little brother. But he's anything but that to you right now.
"Maybe it's some kind of shifter we haven't seen before.." He's muttered that same thing to you absentmindedly for the hundredth time; he was tense and annoyed. Not just at the case, but also at the fact that Dean was likely running behind because he was flirting with the victim's sister, whom of which he proclaimed was hot earlier that day.
He sighed deep and heavy while pinching the bridge of his nose as he thought. Thinking. It was all Samuel did. Get caught up in his head and stress out while trying to sort his internalized messes. "It could explain why it keeps getting away unseen. Maybe we haven't encountered something like it before." Sam was looking at you now.
Hazel eyes up and off of his laptop only to see you spaced out and starry eyed, but not at some random object or the peeling wall of the questionable motel room. But at him. You were lost in thought, nodding slowly even if you didn't hear a damn thing he just said, and looking at him like he hung the moon and stars, with his big muscles and Winchester determination.
His brows furrowed. He shifted his weight in the creaky motel chair that look comical beneath his towering frame, "Uh-.. you alright?" He asked, dropping his hand to his lap while the other rested on the laptop.
It snaped you out of your thoughts and out of taking in the vison that was your friend. "Oh! Uh-.. yeah.." Your words were rushed and borderline awkward. Embarrassed even. Just in the tone of your voice alone, Sam, could very likely tell something was on your mind. But he didn't push. He was smart enough to know when a topic wasn't meant to be touched.
Sam just frowned, he did consider confronting you, but he soon un-frowned, then nodded. Before he'd be asking once more if you were alright in case you changed your mind. "You sure?" He lifted a brow and smiled, just a little bit. Your awkward smile made his lover-boy heart flutter.
"I'm sure." You nodded and looked away to try and focus on the blurring screen of your laptop as you zoned out in thought again.
With your confirmation his fingers were back to hovering over his laptop keys, itching to type away furiously again. He was ready to get back to work if you weren't open to discussing what was going on inside of your head.
Lewd, thoughtful, head. Literally.
He was in that chair; legs parted a little bit wider to let you in-between them. His jeans were half-way down his muscular thighs. Heavy leaking cock free and begging to be touched by you. Your hand wrapped around the base. Eyes boring up into his from the frayed carpet beneath your knees. Lips parted, licking a stripe up his cock, swirling the pink muscle around the bulbous head, ready to relieve his tension, to ease his mind and body.
His member twitched in your grasp. "Please.. don't goddamn tease me." Sam's chest was rising and falling deep and fast. A big hand coming to tangle in your hair at the back of your head to bring you forward. It wasn't rough, it was guiding. Sam was guiding your parted lips and rosy tongue to meet the head of his cock. "C'mon, you started this."
He grunts and lets his head fall back slightly when the wet heat of your mouth finally envelops his strained member. Hips jolting up a bit involuntarily with his sigh of relief, but there was still an allowance for you to keep control. He didn't mind letting you ease the tension right out of him.
Sam brought his puppy brown gaze back to yours once he brought his back up from falling back. His stomach twisted when he saw the way you looked up at him all while taking his length as far as you could down your throat and into your mouth. "Shit." He hissed, "You're.. doing such a good job.." The words were shuddered out, but they were sincere. He egged you on to keep going without knowing that's what he was doing.
Praise motivated you. Hollowing your cheeks to suck him in tightly, swiping your soft through the slit of his dick when you bobbed back up was what he got in return. "Fuck! Yes, just like that.. keep.. going." Sam Winchester, the Green Giant was shuddering for you. You continued bobbing your hand guided head up and down, to drag his satisfaction closer.
"Just like that, Sweetheart. M'gonna cum for you.. like this." He sighed for you, breathy, open, shuddered. Head falling back once more all while his eyes fluttered shut. Calloused fingers gripped a touch tight as he neared his impending release. Tangling hard to keep you steady while he rocked his hips up to meet with your strained throat.
Tears pricked at the corners of your needy eyes. The air didn't seem to be meeting your lungs anymore. Not when the entirety of him was stuffed down your throat. You hummed soft against him. Gagged when he hit the back of your throat with his steady rhythm. Drooled down your chin when he pushed too far.
"Fuck! Fuck.. I'm close.." He grunted hard and struggled to keep restraint with himself, he wanted to fuck your throat while praising you and whining 'thank you'. Sam looked back at you with a pleasured expression. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed to get out a perfect groan, "God.. such a pretty mouth." It was the last thing he said before he was blowing thick strings of warm cum into your mouth and down your throat for you to swallow.
Sam was panting softly when he let you off his dick. He had tenderly wiped away the string of your saliva that dribbled down your chin with his thumb and smeared it off on his jeans. "You did so good for me, Honey.. thank you pretty girl.." It was murmured through a breathless sigh, through a smile, and while he pet your hair tenderly like you were his.
Too bad it was all a fucking daydream, and the real Sam Winchester wouldn't give into you. Not even if you told him what you thought about him, not even if he saw how you'd soaked through your panties when you were supposed to be helping him with research, maybe not even if you poured your heart out to him.
And definitely not when Dean had marched back into the motel room to interrupt your lewd thoughts and Sam's dutiful research. Here comes the brotherly bickering. "Where the hell were you, Dean? We've been waiting for hours." You rolled your eyes and saddled up for what would make the rest of your day.
Prisoner Daryl Dixon x Negan's Wife Reader x Negan Smith
Summary: Negan’s wife was never meant to be tamed. She was the fire that matched his, the chaos he couldn’t control. But when she’s given charge of a certain prisoner — a man who won’t kneel, won’t speak — something inside her shifts. What begins as punishment turns into desire, and soon, even Negan can’t help but watch.
Tags: Smut with plot, Dark romance, Slowburn, Dubcon themes, Stockholm syndrome?, Morally grey behaviour, Threesome MFM, PIV, Oral sex, Breeding, Flashing, Psychological manipulation, Coaxing, Degrading, Power play, Slight mentions of blood (not sexually), Very slight gay theme in the threesome if you really squint, Slight overstimulation, Cockwarming, No use of Y/N or any OC.
Word count: ~10k
A/N: This is my first time writing, i accept all feedback. please tell me if there's any typos or if i missed a tag. also sorry it took me so long lol. requests are open. 🍒
The Sanctuary was quieter than usual that night. The hum of the generators outside the window was steady, low, almost comforting — the kind of sound you stop hearing after a while. Inside Negan's room, the lights glowed warm against the cold concrete walls. The air smelled faintly of gun oil, whiskey, and her perfume — Negan's wife. One of many—yes, though everyone knew she was something different.
Negan’s favorite. His shadow. His echo.
The Sanctuary had seen dozens of women pass through his orbit — some trembling, some desperate, some pretending to love him to survive, some brave enough to show their annoyance. But she wasn’t any of those things. She never flinched when Lucille cracked skulls. Never looked away from the blood.
Where the others sought safety, she sought control.
She had arrived at the Sanctuary like a whisper — from where, no one knew. She carried herself like she had never needed saving, like the world had ended for everyone else but not for her. She was beautiful, yes, but not the kind of beauty that softened men — the kind that made them cautious, even afraid.
Negan noticed her the way a wolf notices another predator.
It wasn’t her face that kept him interested; it was her mind. She didn’t tremble nor cling like the others. She watched, like a hawk. She was attentive, like a predator. She understood things before he said them. When he punished someone, she didn’t turn away — she asked why he’d chosen that punishment, what it achieved.
Negan loved that about her, that she never recoiled from the blood, that her eyes always gleamed when others looked away.
From that moment on, she stopped being one of his wives and became his partner in cruelty. The one he trusted to be in the room when blood was spilled. The one who kept order among the others. The one he relied on if he wasn't there. The one who made the Sanctuary’s luxury look civilized when everything underneath was rot and terror. The only one —after him— to swing Lucille.
Negan adored her because she was the only person who didn’t need him to feel powerful.
She wasn’t calm where he was chaos. She was the spark that made it worse.
When Negan grew tired of speeches, when the world stopped feeling like a game worth playing, she reminded him what kind of king he was. She whispered things that made his blood boil — You saved them. You own them.
And he’d grin again.
She wasn’t his balance. She was his reflection, or perhaps his gasoline — the same hunger, the same darkness, just hidden behind perfume and soft skin. — and that balance made them lethal.
Where Negan took power by force, she did it by silence. By the tilt of her chin. By the way she could walk into a room and make the wives stop talking mid-sentence. The men didn’t know what scared them more — Negan’s grin or her eyes. Together, they ruled through pleasure and punishment, laughter and fear.
To her, the Sanctuary wasn’t a home. It was a stage.
And she was the only one who could play it better than him.
Although she never said it out loud, she liked it that way.
Power had a taste — rich, metallic, intoxicating.
And she’d been drinking it ever since the world ended.
She was sitting by the window, one leg tucked under her body, running her fingers idly through her hair and reading a book when the door swung open.
Negan’s voice filled the room before his body did.
“Jesus Christ, sweetheart… you would not believe the day I’ve had.”
He looked different — still swaggering, still carrying that manic grin — but his shirt was spattered with dried mud and blood. Lots of blood. He dropped Lucille against the wall with a heavy thunk, the wood stained red and parts of skin — or flesh — too stuck in the barbed wire to clean. He took his leather jacket off and yanked it somewhere across the room, wiping a hand across his jaw, and laughing under his breath.
She didn’t flinch. She never did.
“Let me guess,” she said, her voice smooth, almost amused. “Another fool thought he could play hero?”
Negan’s grin widened. “Oh, darlin’, not just a one. A whole goddamn lineup of ‘em. Tried to play soldier, made a big show of it. So I had to remind everyone how things work.”
He moved closer, his boots thudding against the floor. His tone was light, but she could hear it underneath — that current of adrenaline, that rush he always came home with after a kill.
“Caught a few strays too. One of ‘em’s still alive.” He laughed softly, shaking his head. “A redneck. Dirty. Stupid. But hell, the bastard tried to punch me.”
She smiled faintly. “A survivor.”
Negan’s eyes gleamed. “For now.”
He crossed the space between them in two strides, grabbed her by the hips, and pulled her to her feet. She tilted her chin up, eyes locked on his, studying that mix of pride and exhaustion.
Her smile deepened — slow, deliberate. “Good job, baby.”
He grinned at that. The words always hit him just right. “Damn right it was.”
He smashed his lips against hers. She didn’t pull away — she welcomed it, the way she always did after one of his victories. It was ritual, almost sacred in its corruption, him, drunk on control. Her, drunk on the man who embodied it.
Negan's hands roamed up her sides, rough palms sliding under her shirt to grip her bare skin. He backed her against the wall beside the window, the cool glass pressing into her shoulders as his mouth claimed hers again, deeper this time, his tongue thrusting against hers. She arched into him, her fingers digging into his blood-streaked shirt, pulling it up and over his head in one swift motion.
She nipped at his jaw, tasting his skin, her body already heating under his touch.
He growled low in his throat, yanking her shirt open, buttons scattering across the floor. Her breasts spilled free, nipples hardening in the air, and he wasted no time—his mouth latched onto one, sucking hard, teeth grazing the peak until she gasped. His hand cupped the other, pinching and rolling the bud between his fingers, rough enough to sting. She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him there, her hips grinding against the thick bulge straining his pants.
His free hand reached up her thighs. He hooked his fingers into her panties, ripping them aside with a sharp tug that made her pussy clench in anticipation. Two fingers plunged into her wetness without warning, curling deep, pumping fast as he felt her slick heat coat him. “Soaked already?”
She moaned, her walls fluttering around his fingers, her clit throbbing as he ground his palm against it. Her hand fumbled with his belt, freeing his cock—thick, veined, and leaking pre-cum at the tip. She wrapped her fingers around it, stroking firmly from base to head, thumb smearing the slickness over the sensitive tip.
He pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth. “You taste like danger, darlin'.” Then he spun her around, pressing her chest to the wall, her cheek against the cold concrete wall as he kicked her legs apart. His cock nudged her entrance, teasing for a split second before he slammed in, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust.
She cried out, the stretch burning deliciously, her pussy gripping him like a vice. He didn't give her time to adjust—his hips snapped forward, pounding into her with relentless force, each drive shaking her body against the wall.
They didn't give a fuck who heard.
She was Negan's favourite wife and everybody knew it.
The smack of his skin against her ass filled the air, mingling with her gasps and his grunts.
Her breasts dragged against the rough wall with every thrust, nipples scraping, sending jolts straight to her core. She pushed back, meeting his pace, her juices dripping down her thighs. “Harder,” she demanded, voice breaking.
Negan obliged, his pace turning rougher than before, cock dragging against her inner walls, hitting that spot that made stars burst behind her eyes. He reached around, fingers finding her clit, rubbing circles fast and rough. The pressure built, coiling tight in her belly, until she shattered—her orgasm crashing over her, pussy spasming around him, milking his length as she screamed his name. “That's my girl,” he rasped.
He followed seconds later, thrusting deep one last time, flooding her with hot cum, ropes of it painting her insides as he groaned, body shuddering against hers. They stayed locked like that, breaths ragged, his cock twitching inside her as aftershocks rippled through them.
Finally, he pulled out, a trickle of their mixed release sliding down her leg. He turned her to face him, kissing her slow and deep, tasting the sweat and satisfaction on her lips. “Now that's how you celebrate,” he murmured, grinning that manic smile, and she returned it.
⟢──────────
The first light of morning filtered through the blinds, thin and dusty. The room was a wreck — clothes scattered, Lucille leaned against the nightstand, and Negan sprawled beside her with that same lazy smirk.
She lay on her side, tracing a finger idly along his chest. He stirred, grunted something that might’ve been a curse or a laugh.
“Stay,” she murmured, her voice soft but certain. “The world can wait.”
He cracked one eye open, and spoke with that deep sleepy voice that made her —secretly— throb. “Mmm, wish it could, sweetheart. But it’s already out there waitin’ for me to keep it in line.”
Her lips curved. “Let it fall apart for a few hours. You’ve earned a morning.”
Negan chuckled, that low, rasping sound that always made her smirk. “Tempting. But I got a prisoner needs feedin’. Simon’s supposed to handle it, but that jackass can’t do two things at once.”
She raised a brow, feigning mild curiosity. “The redneck?”
Negan grinned, rubbing a hand over his salt and pepper beard —possibly her favourite part of his body—. “You remember, huh? Yeah. Got him locked up downstairs. Stripped him, starved him, stuck him with that catchy little tune we play on repeat. Should break in a day or two.”
Her expression didn’t change. Just a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “You and your toys.”
He laughed. “Gotta keep things interesting, sweetheart. Keeps the people in line.”
She stretched, the sheet slipping down from her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll come with you.”
Negan glanced over at her, smirking. “You? What for?”
“I’ve never toyed with one of your prisoners,” she said, her tone casual but eyes sharp. “Might be fun.”
He gave her that look — a long, amused one, like he was trying to figure out if she was teasing him or dead serious. “You are one twisted little thing, you know that?”
“Your fault,” she replied easily, leaning over to kiss him once before she stood, bare feet silent against the cold floor.
Negan laughed again, low and genuine this time. “Fine, darlin’. Come watch the show. Just don’t fall in love with the merchandise.”
She smiled over her shoulder as she reached for her clothes. “Don’t worry, baby. You’re still my favorite monster.”
⟢──────────
Morning light cut through the Sanctuary’s windows, thin and dusty. The place was alive — voices echoing down steel corridors, footsteps, the hum of labor.
And in the middle of it all, they walked.
Negan and his wife.
The king and his queen.
People froze when they saw them. Tools dropped. Eyes lowered. Men went to their knees.
She loved that part.
The weight of it — the hush that followed wherever they went.
Not out of respect. Out of fear.
She could almost feel it roll off them, thick and sweet.
Negan thrived on it, feeding off their trembling loyalty. He smiled wide, swinging Lucille against his shoulder, his steps long and careless.
They moved together like a storm front.
Simon caught up with them near the railing overlooking the main floor.
Negan's gaze flicked to the men packing crates below. “Everything squared?”
“Mostly.” Simon hesitated. “Except for your little pet project.”
Negan turned his head slightly. “Daryl.” The name came out like a bitter taste.
Simon gave a small shrug. “He’s still not talkin’. Barely eats. I can’t deal with him today — not with the supply run.”
Negan’s tongue clicked against his teeth. “Well, that’s a damn shame.”
She stood quiet beside them, listening — the faintest smirk curling at her lips.
Her eyes glittered when she said, almost too casually, “I’ll handle him.”
Both men turned to her.
Negan’s brow rose; Simon blinked.
She didn’t flinch. “You said he needs a push, right?”
Her tone was smooth, dangerous, sweet with challenge. “Consider it done.”
Negan studied her for a long beat — the corner of his mouth twitching, that slow, wolfish smirk spreading.
“My girl wants to feed the dog?” he said finally, a low laugh rumbling out of him.
He leaned in close, eyes dark with mischief. “Well be my fucking guest.”
Her grin matched his — wicked and knowing.
She turned on her heel and started down the corridor toward the hallway where the cell is, the echo of her boots snapping in the air like a promise.
Negan watched her go, shaking his head with a grin that was half amusement, half warning.
Simon muttered something about ‘bad ideas,’ but Negan just laughed.
“That woman,” he said, voice dripping with pride. “She’s my kinda crazy.”
⟢──────────
The corridor leading to his cell was colder than the rest of the Sanctuary. The air carried that damp metallic scent — rust, concrete, and old fear.
She liked it.
The guards at the end of the hall moved aside when they saw her coming. No questions. No greetings. Just nervous glances, and the click of a switch as the song playing through the speaker — that maddening, cheery tune — looped again.
We’re on easy street…
With one flick of her wrist, she cut the music.
Silence hit like a slap.
A deep, ringing quiet that seemed to hum against the concrete walls.
She reached for the keys that Simon handed her earlier, turning them inside the doorknob to reveal the prisoner.
Inside, he sat slumped on the floor, knees to his chest — filthy, bruised, naked, the air clinging to him like a punishment.
Daryl Dixon.
He didn’t look up right away. His hair hung over his face, his body a map of dirt and defiance.
A stale slice of bread hit the floor with a soft thud.
“Eat,” she said. Just one word. Calm.
He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.
Her head tilted slightly. “Don’t make me repeat myself.”
Something flickered in his eyes — not obedience, not yet, but a flash of calculation. His stomach growled, betraying him.
Finally, he reached out, slow and hesitant, taking the food.
She watched him eat.
Every motion.
The trembling of his fingers. The way he chewed, jaw tight, shoulders rigid — a man refusing to break even when every muscle in him screamed submission.
It fascinated her. The pride of it. The stupidity. The beauty.
“You’re smarter than they say,” she murmured after a while.
He didn’t respond. Didn’t even look up.
She crouched slightly, resting her elbows on her knees, voice dipping lower.
“Kneeling’s not so hard, is it?”
His silence roared.
For a second, she thought he’d look up — maybe snarl, maybe beg, she didn’t care which. But he stayed still, jaw set, breath rough. She smiled.
Then stood, slow and deliberate, dusting invisible dirt off her jeans.
She didn’t move to leave just yet.
Something about watching him eat — watching the raw, reluctant way he gave in to the simplest need — pulled at her in a place she didn’t know existed.
Her eyes flicked to the hallway. “Hey,” she called.
One of the guards, a thin man with a rifle slung across his chest, appeared almost instantly. He looked nervous — they always did when she spoke directly to them.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Get him his little outfit.” she said. Her tone wasn’t kind, but it wasn’t cruel either. It was something worse — casual. Like she was giving an order about the weather.
The guard blinked, uncertain. “Now?”
She turned her head slowly, one brow lifting.
He swallowed hard. “Got it.”
She looked back at Daryl. He still hadn’t spoken.
There was a cut along his shoulder, near his chest — old bandage browned with grime. She made a mental note to check that out later.
A few minutes later, the guard returned. She took the folded bundle herself without a word.
He had finished eating, his head hung forward, strands of hair hiding his eyes.
She stood over him — immaculate, pressed fabric against filth.
She tossed the clothes at him. The dirty fabric slapped against his face, sliding down into his lap.
He flinched — just barely. But it was enough to make her lips twitch.
For a breath, she waited, almost expecting him to throw it back. But he didn’t move. Just sat there, the orange A burning bright against the dull concrete.
“Better wear it before he decides you don’t deserve it,” she said, and turned toward the door.
The hinges screamed as she slammed it shut behind her — hard enough that dust fell from the frame.
The guards straightened when she walked past, but she didn’t look at them.
Inside the cell, silence fell again.
And for the first time since he’d been thrown in there, Daryl Dixon felt something new creeping under his skin — a kind of fear that wasn’t about Negan.
⟢──────────
Later that night, she sat on the edge of Negan’s bed while he paced the room, talking about the workers, about production, about keeping control. His voice was fire — loud, alive.
But she wasn’t listening.
Not really.
Her mind was still in that cell — in the darkness where Daryl Dixon’s eyes had followed her every move.
Negan stopped mid-sentence.
“You even listening, sweetheart?”
She blinked, meeting his gaze. That sharp, dangerous grin spread across his face — the one that always meant he’d noticed more than she wanted him to.
“What’s got you so quiet?” he drawled, moving closer. “You been thinkin’ about my pet downstairs?”
She didn’t answer. Just smiled, slow and devilish, like she always did when she was caught.
Negan laughed — a deep, raspy sound — and ran a hand through his hair. “Little bastard’s still got fight in him. I like that. Keeps the boys on their toes.”
Her eyes flicked up to meet his — cold, bright, electric.
“Let me do it.”
Negan blinked, caught off guard for half a second. “Do what?”
“Handle him. The punishment. The breaking.” She smiled faintly, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve got bigger things to run. Let me take this one off your hands.”
Negan studied her — half amused, half intrigued. “You wanna play jailer now?”
“I want to make myself useful.” Her tone was soft, almost purring. “You always said I had a way with people.”
“Yeah,” he drawled, leaning down until his face was inches from hers, “a dangerous way.”
She smirked. “Exactly.”
Negan’s grin spread slow, lazy, knowing.
“So you wanna feed the dog?”
“Maybe teach him a trick or two.”
For a long beat, he stared at her — assessing, curious, entertained. Then he laughed, a deep rumble that filled the room.
“Goddamn, woman,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re worse than me.”
She tilted her chin up. “You love that about me.”
He grinned wider, stepping closer until she could smell the faint mix of leather, smoke, and whiskey on him.
“Oh, I fuckin’ live for it.”
He kissed her — hard, rough — but her mind was still flickering between the fire and the dark. Between Negan’s heat and Daryl’s silence.
Between the man who owned the world and the one who refused to kneel for it.
And maybe that’s what she wanted.
To see what would happen when those two worlds finally collided.
⟢──────────
Morning in the Sanctuary always began the same — the chatter of workers, the low hum of generators, and the faint, mocking echo of Easy Street bleeding faintly from somewhere down below.
But this morning, she didn’t wait for permission.
She walked straight to the cell block, the guards straightening as she passed. No one dared speak her name — only the sound of her boots striking concrete. When she stopped in front of his cell, the music was still blaring.
She gestured to the man at the switch.
“Turn it off.”
The silence that followed was immediate and suffocating.
She nodded to the him again. “Unlock it.”
He looked uncertain — glancing between her and the cell door. She smiled sweetly, all venom and charm.
He had no choice but to obey.
The door creaked open.
Daryl lifted his head slowly, eyes burning through the grime.
She didn’t look away.
“On your feet.”
He hesitated, that same quiet defiance she’d seen before flickering in his eyes. It made her lips twitch — not in annoyance, but in delight.
“Don’t make me repeat myself,” she said, voice soft but lethal.
He stood.
She stepped back, letting him stumble forward into the light.
She turned and started walking, the sound of her boots echoing in the hall. After a few steps, he'd stopped following her. She looked back over her shoulder.
“You work for me now.”
He didn’t move.
“I said walk.”
He followed. Head low.
They crossed through the Sanctuary’s heart — workers pausing, wives whispering, eyes tracking every step.
Negan’s woman leading the prisoner.
Barefoot power leading broken defiance.
By the time they reached her quarters, she pushed the door open and motioned him inside.
“This,” she said, gesturing around the room — the neatly made bed, the bourbon bottle on the dresser, the low light — “is where you’ll be working. You’ll clean. You’ll serve. You’ll learn what it means to be useful.”
He just stared at her, breathing hard, jaw locked.
She tilted her head, amused.
“Don’t look so shocked. You should be grateful. Most men in your position are out there dealing with walkers or worse.”
Still nothing.
She smiled — that slow, dangerous curve that always preceded cruelty.
“You’ll start with the floors.”
When he didn’t move, she stepped forward, close enough that he could smell her — perfume, bourbon, smoke.
“You’ll move when I tell you to,” she whispered.
He clenched his fists, but the sound of her voice — calm, precise, unshakable — broke him more than shouting ever could.
Hours later, she sat on the edge of the bed, watching him scrub. The orange A on his back burned like a mark of her own making.
“Good boy,” she murmured, half to herself.
He froze.
“Something wrong?” she asked lightly.
He muttered something under his breath — too quiet to catch, but sharp enough to make her smile widen.
“Oh, I like that,” she said. “Still got teeth.”
When he finished, she said, “Shower.”
He hesitated in the doorway of the shower.
“Water’s there,” she said simply, leaning against the frame.
He didn’t move.
“Oh, I’m not going anywhere,” she clarified. “Can’t have you doing anything stupid. Safety measure.”
The corner of her mouth lifted. She was enjoying this — the way his jaw tensed, the way the word safety sounded like a lie from her lips.
Daryl's fingers gripped the hem of his worn shirt, his back to her as he stood there, the air thick with the scent of rust and damp concrete. He pulled the fabric up slowly, revealing the map of scars etched across his skin—jagged lines from old fights, an X-shaped scar on the center of his back, a testament to years of survival that twisted like lightning over his shoulders and down his spine.
She watched, eyes tracing every ridge and valley, the way the muscles in his back knotted under her gaze. The way his back tattoos looked slightly faded.
He didn't glance back, just let the shirt drop to the grimy floor with a soft thud. His hands moved to his pants next, shoved down his hips, pooling at his ankles. He kicked them aside, fully exposed from the rear, legs braced apart just enough to steady himself.
The humiliation burned in his chest, but he kept his face turned away, stepping toward the faucet without a word.
She didn't hide her stare, drinking in the vulnerability of his bare form, the way his body tensed like a coiled spring under the weight of her attention.
It wasn’t lust — not yet. It was power, fascination. Watching a man stripped down to nothing and still refusing to break.
The water was cold, spraying from the rusted showerhead in uneven bursts that did little to wash away the grime of his suffering.
Daryl kept his back to her, arms crossed over his chest as if that could shield him from the exposure. His skin prickled under the stream, soap bar clutched tightly in one hand while the other scrubbed hastily at his arms, his neck, avoiding anything that might invite more of her scrutiny.
Heat flooded his face, a deep flush that had nothing to do with the temperature—he could feel her eyes on him, boring into the scars, the curve of his hips, the subtle shift of his thighs as he moved. Every rinse felt like a surrender, his cock hanging soft and heavy between his legs, untouched and ignored, but the awareness of it made his stomach twist with shame and humiliation. He washed his hair roughly, suds running down his back in white trails that highlighted the old wounds, his breaths coming short and ragged. The vulnerability clawed at him, turning his defiance into something raw and exposed, like he was on display for her amusement, every drop of water a reminder of how little control he had left.
When he finally turned the water off, Daryl pivoted toward her slowly, his eyes wide with a mix of defiance and mortification, frozen like prey caught in the open. Both hands clamped down instinctively over his groin, cupping his cock and balls in a desperate bid for modesty, fingers splayed to hide as much as possible. The motion drew her gaze downward immediately, and a low, mocking laugh escaped her lips, sharp and cutting through the sudden silence —and let's be honest, that move turned her on more than she'd like to admit—.
“Aw, look at you, all shy and covered up like that,” she teased, her voice dripping with amusement as she snatched the bundle of fresh clothes from the nearby chair. With a casual flick of her wrist, she tossed them at him—shirt and pants tumbling through the air to land in a heap at his feet. Water still dripped from his skin, pooling around him as he stood there, cheeks burning hotter than the scars on his back.
Daryl snatched up the clothes with one hand still shielding himself, the fabric rough against his damp skin as he turned away again and yanked on the pants first, tucking his softening cock away with hurried motions, followed by the shirt that clung slightly to his wet torso. He avoided her glare burning into his back the whole time, the orange A glaring back at him from the material like a fresh brand, sealing his place in this hell.
“Better,” she said softly. “Now maybe you’ll remember who’s keeping you alive.”
⟢──────────
He’d just finished scrubbing the floor when the door swung open. The faint smell of bleach still hung in the air. Daryl was on his knees, shoulders tense, palms raw from bleach.
She stepped inside — immaculate as always, boots clicking against the wet tile. Except this time, those boots were caked in dried mud and specks of blood.
“Oh Daryl you would not believe the day I ha-”
He glanced up at them —obviously irritated— then at her. “Jus' cleaned tha'” he muttered.
It was the first time she'd heard his voice since he got here.
She stopped mid-sentence, her head tilting slightly like she hadn’t quite heard him right. “What was that?”
He didn’t look up again. “Said I jus' cleaned it.”
Her silence stretched thin — almost delicate. Then, a slow smile curved her lips, cold and amused. “Did you, now?”
She took another deliberate step forward, letting the mud grind into the damp floor. The sound was soft but sharp enough to make him flinch.
“You gonna complain about dirt now?” she asked, voice smooth as honey but burning at the edges. “In my room?”
He didn’t answer. His hands tightened around the rag, jaw flexing.
She crouched down a little, enough to make him meet her eyes. “You forget who you’re on your knees for, sweetheart?”
That word — sweetheart — hit like an insult. His glare flicked up, full of exhaustion and anger. “Ain’t cleanin’ up after you forever.”
There it was. The spark.
Her expression didn’t change, but something behind her eyes shifted — a flare of wild satisfaction.
She straightened slowly. “Oh, you’re not?”
Before he could move, she grabbed his arm, yanking him to his feet with surprising strength. The bucket tipped, water spilling over the clean floor.
“Guess we need a reminder,” she said.
Her fingers locked around his arm, nails digging through the thin fabric of his sleeve, and she yanked him hard enough to make him stumble. She shoved the door open, dragging him out into the hallway.
The guard outside looked up, startled. She'd moved too fast for him to even get a chance to speak to her.
Her pace was sharp, boots clicking against the concrete, and he had to keep up — half-dragged, half-shoved — until they reached the long corridor that led to the outside overlook.
The air out there was thick with heat and smoke. Below, the yard seethed with noise — the clang of metal, the growl of walkers, the hiss of molten steel. Prisoners in the same orange-marked rags as his were working the fences, shoving walkers against the wire, pouring melted metal over their thrashing bodies. The stench of burning flesh and rot clung to everything.
She stopped at the railing and pushed him forward until he was right against it. “Look,” she said flatly.
He kept his eyes down, jaw tight. The sight was too much — the agony, the screams, the way the others’ hands shook as they worked.
Her hand shot out, fisting a handful of his dirty brown locs, yanking his head back so hard his teeth clicked. “You see that? That’s what happens to the ones who don’t listen.” She hissed against his ear.
He said nothing, muscles straining under her grip, but his eyes stayed forward.
“You could’ve been one of them,” she went on, voice low, steady, cruel. “But look how lucky you are. You’re breathing. You get food. You get a shower. You get me.”
Her fingers tightened once more before she let go, and he exhaled through gritted teeth.
“Should be fucking thankful you ended up in my hands,” she said, leaning closer. “You see how lucky you are now?”
“You wanna complain about a goddamn floor now?!”
Down below, Negan’s laugh carried over the noise — loud, sharp, unmistakable. He turned toward the sound of her voice, that grin spreading across his face the moment he spotted them on the overlook.
“Well, would ya look at that!” he called, throwing his arms wide. “There’s my girl! Brought the dog with you too, huh?”
A few workers turned their heads, then immediately looked back down, terrified.
Negan started up the stairs, Lucille swinging lazily in his hand. He looked almost proud when he reached them — sweat on his neck, a streak of soot across his jaw, eyes glinting like a man too alive for the world he’d built.
“Well, ain’t this a damn sight,” he said, glancing at Daryl — filthy, tense, barely breathing. “You givin’ my pet a field trip, sweetheart?”
She tilted her head, “Thought he could use a reminder,” she said. “Some perspective.”
Negan chuckled, that deep rasp rolling up from his chest. “Oh, I like that. Perspective.”
Negan looked at Daryl before he turned back to her, eyes burning with approval. “You keep that mean streak, baby. Makes me hard as a goddamn bat.”
She smiled, slow, dangerous. “Maybe that’s why you keep me around.”
Negan laughed loud enough for the whole yard to hear. “Hell, that is why I keep you around. That and the way you look when you’re pissed. Christ, woman, I could watch you break things all damn day.”
He reached out, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear, smearing a little ash across her cheek without caring. “Don’t tell me you dragged him up here ‘cause he mouthed off.”
She didn’t deny it — just smiled with that same quiet, vicious calm.
Negan’s grin widened. “Ah, that’s my girl. You do whatever you want with him, sweetheart. Long as he’s still breathin’ when I need him.”
“I’ll handle it,” she said, eyes locked on Daryl.
Negan turned her head towards him and leaned in, pressing a kiss against her mouth — rough, possessive, like the world didn’t exist beyond it.
She reached her hand to tangle in his hair, his adrenaline rush and her anger making the kiss hungrier and dirtier.
Daryl froze. The sound of the yard blurred in his ears — the metal, the screams, all of it muffled under the sudden, burning clarity of realization.
She wasn’t just some sadistic overseer.
She was his. Negan’s wife.
And standing there, watching them kiss while the world burned below, he finally understood what real hell looked like.
⟢──────────
The afternoon light poured through the slats in the blinds, a thin gold that caught on the dust in the air. She sat in the corner of the room, one leg crossed over the other, her short denim skirt riding up just enough to tease the edges of propriety. No panties, nothing beneath the frayed hem—bare skin waiting to be noticed. A glass of amber liquor balanced loosely in her hand, something that always seemed to quiet her mind after a long day.
The chair creaked when she shifted, tilting her head as her eyes followed him moving across the floor.
“Daryl,” she said finally.
His name cut through the silence like a command. He stopped what he was doing, turned just enough to see her without meeting her eyes.
She leaned back in the chair, stretching her legs out until the toes of her boots caught the light. The black leather was scuffed from patrols, dust caked into the creases. “They’re filthy,” she said. “Fix it.”
Daryl's jaw clenched, but he didn't argue. Survival meant playing along, at least on the surface.
He dipped the rag into a bucket of soapy water nearby, wringing it out with a twist that made his knuckles whiten. Starting at the toe of her boot, he rubbed in firm circles, the leather warming under his touch as suds bubbled up.
His knees ached against the hard floor, but he focused on the task, wiping away grime with methodical strokes, buffing the surface until a faint gleam emerged.
She watched him as he worked — the slow, rough movement of his hands, the set of his jaw. Every motion carried that same reluctant obedience. He kept his eyes on the floor, polishing until the dull leather of one boot began to catch a faint shine.
She uncrossed her legs then, shifting in the chair with deliberate slowness, the skirt hiking higher as she planted both feet in front of him. The motion parted her thighs just enough, exposing the soft folds of her pussy—lips slightly parted in the humid air. Daryl's eyes flicked up involuntarily, catching the sight before his brain could catch up. Heat exploded across his face, cheeks burning crimson as his stomach twisted in a knot of shock and unwanted awareness. His hands froze mid-wipe, rag dripping onto the floor, and he jerked his gaze away so fast it made his neck ache, staring hard at the boot instead, heart pounding like a war drum in his chest.
She reached down and ran her hand through his hair, slightly damp from sweat but surprisingly soft. The sight of him on his knees infront of her knowing that he saw her pussy turned her on more than anything.
He froze for half a second before continuing, faster this time. She smiled, that small, dangerous curve of amusement that always meant she was winding him tighter.
“You’re rushing,” she said softly. She saw how flustered he'd gotten. It thrilled her. The gasoline to her fire.
Embarrassment flooded him, hot and humiliating, his cock twitching achingly in his pants despite the flush of shame. It had been years since Daryl had ever seen a pussy, and the closest he'd ever gotten was a magazine that Merle had given him back before the apocalypse. To say his heart was racing would be an understatement. He wished that somehow the ground would open up and swallow him whole than to be in the same room as her ever again.
He pushed to his feet abruptly, rag clutched in his fist, turning half-away as if distance could erase what he'd seen.
She laughed, a low, throaty sound that echoed off the walls, her eyes sparkling with wicked delight. Leaning forward, she inspected her boot with exaggerated scrutiny, running a finger along the still-damp leather. “Oh, honey, these aren't shining yet. Not even close.” She said with something between sarcasm and pity.
“Get back on your knees. Now. And finish the job properly this time.”
He looked up, the faintest flash of frustration breaking through the quiet. She raised an eyebrow — a silent challenge — and after a long breath, he knelt again.
The sound of the rag on leather filled the room, steady and rhythmic. She sipped her drink, letting the silence stretch until it was unbearable.
She spread her legs a fraction wider, watching him scrub the other boot now, her pussy still on blatant display, lips glistening faintly in the low light. He didn't dare to look up again. No matter how hard his eyes were tempting him to—wait. Why was he tempted to?
“Better,” she said at last, her tone low and smooth. “You learn fast.”
He didn’t answer. But his shoulders were rigid, his movements sharp — as if he wanted nothing more than to be done with it, to get away from her gaze, and away from this feeling bubbling up inside him that he couldn't quite figure out.
She smiled to herself, leaning forward just enough that her voice brushed the air between them. “Don’t forget,” she murmured. “You work for me now.”
He didn’t respond, didn’t look up — but she could see the pulse in his throat, quick and uneven. And that, more than anything, made her smile wider.
⟢──────────
It had been weeks since Daryl first arrived to the sanctuary, and he'd been slaving away every day since. She never stopped taunting him, teasing him and breaking him day by day. And it was working. The tension that sparked when she walked in the room was impossible to ignore. For her, and for him.
The night was quiet — almost too quiet. Only the faint crackle of the oil lamp filled the room, its glow licking at the walls, pooling over the mess of tools, wood, and scattered papers. The air smelled like iron and smoke.
She sat in the corner chair, legs crossed, a blood-streaked rag in one hand and her knife in the other. The blade caught the light each time she turned her wrist, gleaming dull red.
Across the room, Daryl was hunched over a half-built shelf, the soft rhythm of his hammer the only thing keeping time. She’d told him to build it — not because she needed one, but because she wanted to keep him busy. Keep him where she could see him.
He didn’t speak. He rarely did. Just worked, jaw tight, sleeves rolled to his elbows, hair falling into his eyes. Every now and then, he’d pause to wipe his hands or study the alignment of a board, and she’d watch him — quietly, steadily, like studying something wild in a cage.
Her mind wandered, though — to the sound of his breathing, the sweat clinging to the back of his neck, the veins in his forearms, the slight grey stubble that caught the light every so often, the defiance that still lived somewhere under all that silence. She was still watching when the knife slipped.
The cut was quick. Clean.
“Fuck–” She muttered, barely audible.
Blood welled up, slow and dark, tracing down her palm to her wrist. She hissed softly through her teeth, staring at the red spreading across her skin.
Before she could move, he was there — crossing the room in a few strides. He knelt in front of her without a word, snatched a clean rag from the table, and pressed it against her hand.
The contact startled her. His touch was firm but careful, like he didn’t know whether to help or to hesitate. His head was bowed, hair dripping shadows across his face, breath uneven as he focused on her hand.
She stared down at him, at this man who was supposed to hate her — supposed to want her dead — tending to her instead.
“Did I say you could touch me?” she asked, voice low, sharp.
He looked up just enough for her to see the flicker in his eyes. “Ye were bleedin’.”
Her lips curved, something between mockery and amusement. “You care now?”
He didn’t answer. He just let go, stood, and went back to his shelf without another word.
She watched him for a moment longer, then rose from the chair. “Clean that up,” she said, tossing the bloodied rag onto the floor beside him. The knife had been left behind beside the chair, still slick with her blood.
Then she walked off toward the bathroom.
The sound of water started — steady, constant. He could hear it, feel the weight of it in the silence she left behind. His gaze drifted to the knife.
It was right there. Inches away. The handle glinted under the lamplight, the edge of it catching a faint shimmer.
He could take it. He could end this. Her. All of it.
But something stopped him.
He didn’t know if it was fear or exhaustion or something worse. Maybe it was the knowledge that he’d never make it out alive — or maybe, deep down, it was that pull again, the one that had been growing heavier every day.
He dragged his hand down his face, exhaling rough and low, and went back to work.
The water came down hot, fogging up the cracked mirror and running red for a moment as it rinsed away the dried blood from her hands. She stood still under it, eyes half-closed, head tilted back. The sound of the pipes was the only thing keeping her grounded.
She should have been thinking about work — the next shipment from any of the communities, the next order, the next way to keep the place from falling apart. But her thoughts kept circling back to him.
Daryl.
She didn’t understand him. He’d taken every order, every threat, every cruel joke, and turned it into silence. Like his silence was a wall and she could barely dent it.
Today had been different, though. He’d moved when she bled. Not because she’d told him to, not out of fear. Instinct. Reflex. And that… bothered her.
She pressed her palms to the tile, watching water drip down between her fingers.
Negan would’ve called it progress. Said she was getting results. But this didn’t feel like victory. It felt like balance tipping somewhere unseen.
She ran a hand through her hair, exhaling hard, letting the steam blur everything until the world dissolved into nothing but noise and heat.
When she finally turned off the water, the silence returned — heavy and waiting.
And she realized she wasn’t sure anymore who was breaking who.
When she came out, the steam followed her. Her hair was damp, clinging to her skin, her shirt half-tucked, her movements slow and sure. She stopped by the table, eyes scanning the shelf he’d finished.
He looked up — and for the first time, his eyes didn’t hold anger. Just something quiet. Watching her. Then, briefly, his gaze dropped to her injured hand, now wrapped in white cloth. There was a flash of something like concern there before he turned away, pretending he hadn’t looked at all.
She caught it, though. Noticed every beat of it.
Then she noticed the knife — still there. Untouched.
A slow smile spread across her face. Not cruel this time. Not mocking. Just… knowing. Finally knowing.
“Good work,” she said softly.
He looked up, briefly. Nodded once.
⟢──────────
The dim light of the Sanctuary filtered through the heavy curtains of Negan's wife's private room, casting long shadows across the rumpled bed. She'd been stealing glances at Daryl all day—his rough edges, the way his jaw tensed under that poker face, the quiet intensity in his eyes that mirrored her own restless hunger.
Negan, ever the observant bastard, had noticed it. The way Daryl was barely spending anytime in his cell anymore. The way she always needed him for building a shelf or fixing a cabinet when there was always Simon or any of the other saviours.
Later, alone in their shared quarters, Negan cornered her against the wall, his leather jacket creaking as he leaned in close. “Darlin', I see the way you look at redneck,” he drawled, his voice low and teasing, fingers tracing the curve of her jaw. She smirked, but somehow there was still heat flooding her cheeks. “Is that so?”
Negan smirked, swirling his whiskey. “You two think I don't see that spark? Darlin',” he drawled, locking eyes with her, “You want the dog? Go ahead and fuck him if that's what you're cravin'. I'll watch. Should be a hell of a show.”
Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What? Negan, you're... you're not jealous? Not possessive?”
He chuckled low, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Jealous? Darlin', I got multiple wives. Hell, I might even join in if the mood strikes.” He slapped her ass lightly, propelling her toward the door. “Go get yours.”
⟢──────────
It had been a few days since Negan’s offhand permission, and she hadn’t stopped finding reasons to touch Daryl.
A hand through his hair when she said it was getting in his eyes.
A thumb swiping the grime from his cheek when he came in from the yard.
A careless bump of her shoulder when they passed in the corridor.
Each time she tossed a quick comment—half excuse, half dare—and kept walking as if nothing had happened.
After a week of this torment, she had him cornered in her room again, casual as a cat circling a mouse. Her hands rested on his arms, her smile cocky and bold. “You know,” she said, voice low, “you could just admit you like it.”
Daryl blinked, jaw tight. “I… I don’t—”
“Oh, don’t lie to me, Dar” she interrupted, tilting her head. “I see it. Every time. Every damn time I touch you, your muscles go stiff, your chest… oh, you know what I mean.”
He told himself he didn’t like it. Repeated it the way you recite a prayer: She’s Negan’s wife. You don’t belong here. You need to find your way back to Rick.
But the words never stuck. They scattered every time she drifted close enough for him to catch the scent of smoke on her jacket.
The worst part was how normal it started to feel.
She’d give an order, he’d follow. She’d find a speck of dust on his shirt, brush it off, and the world would shrink to that one point of contact.
Then the moment would snap, and he’d remember where he was—what she was—and the guilt would burn hotter than the touch itself.
By the end of the week, the entire Sanctuary seemed to notice.
She didn’t whisper or hide it. When she called for him across the work floor, her tone carried like a whip. When she stepped too close, people pretended to be busy.
It was only a matter of time before someone told Negan. The thought frightened him. He didn't know yet.
That thought sat heavy in his stomach as he tried to keep his head down, but she didn’t stop.
And he couldn’t stop reacting.
⟢──────────
It was a day like any other in the sanctuary. Negan and his wife walked the sanctuary, asserting dominance upon the saviours. It thrilled her, her position of power. She liked how good it felt to be in charge. But it could never beat the feeling of having her own little pet waiting in her room at the end of the day.
She walked the corridor and slipped into her room, the door clicking shut behind her. Daryl was there, sitting on the floor knees to his chest. He'd do that often when he was done with whatever useless job she'd assigned him.
He looked up from the spot on the floor where he’d been sitting, surprise flickering in his blue eyes. The tension in the air thickened as she approached him, a playful smile curling at the corners of her lips.
“Hey there, Daryl,” she purred, her voice low and inviting, an alluring contrast to the harshness of his reality. She knelt beside him, her presence both intoxicating and dangerous “What are you doin’ sitting like that?”
Daryl shifted uncomfortably, his brow furrowing as he took in her closeness. “Jus’ thinkin’,” he muttered, his voice gruff, but the way she leaned in made it hard to concentrate on anything else.
“Thinking? About what?” she echoed, a teasing lilt in her tone. Her fingers brushed against his forearm, feeling the tension coiled beneath his skin.
He swallowed hard and pulled away, the heat of her touch igniting something restless inside him. “This... this ain’t righ’,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, though the way he leaned toward her suggested he was fighting his own instincts. Daryl knew he shouldn’t be drawn to her, not when she was Negan's wife, not when she was part of the very system that had imprisoned him.
“Why not?” she replied, her smile widening as she captured his gaze.
Daryl swallowed, his voice low and wary. “’Cause… Negan’s gonna come down on me if he finds out what you’re doing. I ain’t… I ain’t tryin’ to get myself killed.”
“Negan doesn’t mind. He thinks it’s cute, you know? You working so hard for me.” She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his skin, and the air crackled with unspoken tension. “He knows I need a little entertainment.”
Daryl got up and stepped back slightly, running a hand over his neck. “You’re settin’ me up, ain’t you? Some kinda trap.” He spoke almost in a yell.
For a long moment neither spoke. Then she sighed, half-annoyed, half-satisfied.
“You don’t believe me,” she said finally. “Fine. You want proof? I’ll get it.”
Daryl’s chest tightened. He didn’t like waiting. Didn’t like the way his pulse sped just watching her walk out of the room. But he stayed, frozen, standing like a mannequin beside her bed.
The minutes stretched long. He could hear muffled voices through the thin walls—Negan’s low, rumbling chuckle, her sharp, confident drawl. The sound made his stomach twist in ways he didn’t want to admit.
He rubbed at his cheek where her fingers had lingered earlier, the warmth of her touch still ghosting over him. Over and over he told himself: She’s Negan’s. She’s not yours. You don’t belong here.
But the words rang hollow, drowned out by the pull of her presence.
She returned a few minutes later, a sly grin tugging at her lips. Behind her, leaning in the doorway, was Negan, his arms crossed, Lucille resting casually against his shoulder.
Daryl’s chest tightened, and he stepped back instinctively. His mind screamed at him: she’s his. This isn’t real. He shouldn’t…
Daryl's eyes flicked to Lucille, a reminder of how he'd gotten here in the firstplace. It gave him unwanted flashbacks. His head screamed.
Run. Run. RUN.
But he stood frozen in place.
Negan’s grin was wicked, and his eyes sparkled with amusement as he stepped in and shut the door behind him. “Figured I’d join the fun. Don’t want my girl doing all the work herself.”
Daryl froze, caught between desire and terror. Every warning he’d drilled into his brain—she’s Negan’s wife, you’re nothing here—clashed violently with the heat pooling in his chest.
Negan's wife started walking towards Daryl, reaching her hands out to cup his burning face.
Negan followed her, silent as a shadow, settling into the chair in the corner with a nod of encouragement.
She was already on Daryl, pushing him back onto the bed. “Relax,” she cooed, straddling his lap, but his muscles were stiff as a board, eyes flickering between her and Negan.
Negan watched from the shadows, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Go on, Daryl. Obey the lady. Give her what she wants.”
Daryl's resistance crumbled under her touch—he obeyed, her fingers tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him into a fierce kiss. Her lips crushed against his, tongue invading his mouth with demanding hunger. He groaned into her, his body arching instinctively. She broke the kiss to tug at his pants, freeing his hardening cock. It sprang up thick and veined, already leaking at the tip. She wrapped her hand around it, stroking slow and firm, feeling him throb in her grip.
He was sensitive, extremely sensitive. He couldn't remember the last time he'd touched his cock. It might've been way back at the prison. He didn't know. He didn't care.
She started slow, her grip firm and unyielding. Up and down she stroked, feeling every ridge and throb as he hardened fully in her palm. Daryl's hips jerked upward, seeking more friction, but she pinned him harder with her thighs. She twisted her wrist at the top, thumb smearing the slick bead over his sensitive tip, making him hiss through clenched teeth. “You cum when I say.”
He bucked again, a low “Fuck” escaping his lips as she edged him mercilessly. Faster now, her hand flying along his length, bringing him right to the brink—his balls tightening, muscles coiling—then slowing to a torturous crawl, denying him release.
Sweat beaded on his forehead, his chest heaving as he fought for control. She watched his face contort with need, reveling in the power, her own arousal building between her legs. Negan shifted in his chair, his eyes dark with lust and amusement.
After what felt like an eternity of teasing, she released his cock with a final, lingering squeeze, leaving it twitching in the air. Daryl panted, eyes wild and heart racing. There was nothing playing in his head other than how wrong this is, how he shouldn't feel this way, or even be here. But he his, and it made his heart skip a couple beats. Half out of fear. Half out of the intensity of this situation.
“Well come on,” Negan chuckled cruelly. “Be a gentleman and return the favor.”
Daryl's eyes darkened with need, but he nodded, sliding down the bed. She stripped off her jeans and panties, baring her curves, then positioned herself above his face, lowering her dripping pussy onto his mouth. His tongue dove in eagerly, lapping at her folds, sucking her clit with rough, hungry pulls. She moaned, grinding against him. He devoured her like a starved man. Sloppy, messy, hungry, primal.
Negan rose then, unable to stay sidelined any longer. He approached the bed, his boots thudding softly on the carpeted floor. Kneeling beside her, he captured her mouth in a deep, possessive kiss, his tongue battling hers while his free hand roamed her body. Fingers pinched her nipples hard, twisting the hardened peaks until she moaned into his mouth, the sharp pain mingling with the pleasure from Daryl's relentless oral assault below. Negan's other hand slid down her back, gripping her ass cheek and spreading her wider for Daryl's access. “Taste how wet she is for us,” Negan murmured against her lips, his voice gravelly.
Daryl obliged, his tongue plunging deeper into her core, then retreating to circle her entrance before returning to her swollen clit. He sucked harder, the wet sounds filling the room as she rocked against his face, coating his chin with her wetness.
“God, yes... don't stop.” Her hands fisted in Daryl's hair, holding him in place as waves of building ecstasy coiled in her belly. The dual assault overwhelmed her—Daryl's hungry mouth devouring her pussy, Negan's teasing fingers on her sensitive nipples, his kisses swallowing her cries.
Pleasure coiled tight in her belly, snapping suddenly as she came hard, thighs clamping around Daryl's head as she grinded on his tongue harder. Juices flooded Daryl's tongue, he growled and lapped them up greedily.
She broke Negan's kiss and looked down at Daryl. His face was soaked, greying stubble soaked with her cum, lips shining, even his nose shining with wetness. And his eyes, oh his once blue eyes were half lidded and darkened with forbidden desire. In that moment, with her towering over him, and her taste still lingering on his tongue. He knew it, he was addicted.
She got off Daryl's face, and Negan got up stripping off his clothes with a grin. His own cock stood rigid, thick and ready. “My turn to play,” he said, lying back and guiding her over him. She straddled him reverse, her back to his chest, ass pressing against his hips as she sank down onto his length. He filled her completely, stretching her pussy around his girth as she rocked slowly, grinding deep.
Daryl knelt in front of her, cock still aching from the edge. She leaned forward, taking him into her mouth, sucking the head with wet, slurping pulls. Her tongue swirled around the shaft as she bobbed, hollowing her cheeks while Negan thrust up into her from below, his hands gripping her hips to control the pace. The room filled with wet slaps and muffled groans.
Daryl's hands fisted in her hair, grounding himself. The whimpers that poured out of his mouth were music to her ears. “Shit... gonna cum,” he grunted, pulling out just in time. Hot ropes of cum splashed across her tits, coating her skin in sticky white streaks as she milked the last drops with her hand.
Negan's voice cut through the haze, commanding. “Eat her again, Daryl. Make her scream.”
Daryl dropped to his knees, face burying between her legs even as Negan kept pounding into her from behind. He leaned in, tongue tracing her clit as she rode Negan, the angle perfect for him to lap at her while Negan's shaft pistoned in and out. Occasionally, Daryl's mouth brushed Negan's balls, inadvertently licking them gently every now and then, adding an extra layer of sensation that made Negan growl in approval. His thrusts grew harder, deeper, hitting that spot inside her that made stars burst behind her eyelids. She collapsed onto Negan, her back against his chest. Daryl's hands joined his mouth, fingers spreading her lips wider so his tongue could delve deeper, flicking and sucking with fervor. “Jus–just like that..oh fuck.. I'm gonna–” She screamed out as she came again, her pussy clenching around Negan as waves of orgasm ripped through her, her moans along with Negan's filled the room, walls fluttering and milking him. Her legs shook violently as her eyes rolled back.
Daryl's movements were relentless, still sucking her clit hard, overstimulating her to the point where she couldn't stop shaking.
“Fuck. yes.” Negan snarled, thrusting harder until he followed, burying himself to the hilt and flooding her with his cum, hot spurts filling her up.
She reached down and pullled Daryl's head up by his hair. His face was flushed and they both were gasping for air.
Daryl sank onto the bed beside her, every muscle in his body finally letting go. He felt like he could barely breathe, chest still pounding from the intensity of it all. He wasn’t supposed to feel this… alive, this warm, this… wanted. And yet, here he was, pressed against her, heart hammering in a rhythm that seemed impossibly right. She’s not just Negan’s wife… she owns him now, too. More than just being a prisoner or a work slave, and his brain had a hard time processing it.
She lay in the middle, caught between them, and the absurd perfection of it made her head spin. Two men. Both hers. Both here. How did she even get here?
She felt Negan’s arm over her waist, firm and possessive, and Daryl pressing closer, lips brushing her skin, and she let herself sink into the dizzying warmth, letting the boundaries blur. She could stay like this forever. Maybe she should.
Negan, still inside her, ran his fingers along her sides, possessiveness mingling with something he hadn’t expected—pride, perhaps, or satisfaction that someone else wanted her just as badly. Damn it, she’s his wife… but hell, it turns him on seeing Daryl feel it too. He could get used to this—both of them, like this.
He felt her shift between them, and in that simple motion, he understood: this wasn’t about control. Not entirely. This was something more dangerous, more intoxicating. Something that belonged to all three of them, tangled up in ways that didn’t make sense but felt undeniably right.
In the quiet aftermath, the three of them drifted toward sleep. Exhausted, tangled, and unsteady, every thought and heartbeat lingering on the others, a slow, heavy hum of satisfaction wrapping around them. It wasn’t just sex. It was possession, desire, trust, and something purely forbidden.
A/N: If you've reached this far, please tell me your opinion :) (i hope this doesn't flop)
also I'd appreciate it if u check out my fanfiction for JDM, it's linked in my bio :)
we're also gonna ignore the fact that the Tumblr 10 image limit made me change my dividers, and the fact that i suck at writing smut.
thinking about being mad at Sam and giving him the silent treatment so he makes you talk by burying his face in between your thighs and only letting you cum if you talk to him.
it’d had been about 5 minutes before you finally caved.
“Y’gonna talk to me, baby?” he asked, before sucking on your clit and making you gasp.
“Gotta talk to me if you wanna cum, sweetheart.“ He groaned against your weeping cunt, wrapping his arms around your thighs to keep you in place as he devoured you.
“Mmm- Fuck! Fine, okay! Okay I’ll talk just please let me cum-” You begged, whimpering and whining as he smirked against your cunt. His right arm released its grip from your thigh and dragged it’s way down, two of his fingers slipping into your heat and pumping in and out as you moaned his name like a prayer as you finally cum against his tongue.
“Good girl, did so well f’me.” he mumbled out as he pressed sweet kisses against your thighs.
warning! smut smut, subby(?) dean, praise kink, dean x reader. hard thoughts.
moon's note: i just need dean under me, OVER me, INSIDE M-
like dean winchester LOVES getting praised and it is borderline problematic. because he can't live without hearing a "good boy" or "you did a good job dean baby!"
like he is WHIPPED for the fact that you acknowledge him. he is so trashed in love that even during sex he NEEDs to be told he is doing a good job. asking pathetically, practically tearing up-
"am i doing well sweetheart?"
"is this where you want me?"
"this your spot?"
"may i kiss you here?"
"do i fuck you well, right where you need it?"
and he gets so whiny and needy, and hot and bothered when you are holding your moans back because HE NEEDS THAT REWARD.
"sweetheart please, tell me something,
....moan for me."
"fuck me like you mean it."
"use me... please-"
and how could you deny your sweet little soldier. he does so well. he protects you and fucks you so well that you dont need a telescope to see the stars. his cock reaching all the good places that you whine out a loud-
right there dean, you are doing so well for me!
do you love it dean, when you are so nice to me?
look at you,
getting me so close dean baby, i am going to cum.
and you aren't spared. he fills your ear with the grunts, and his shuddering breath. he stuffs his face closer to your neck because he is afraid you might giggle if you hear his whiny voice when he finally cums. but poor baby, he is so sensitive that his mouth lulls open.
and you pamper him with open mouth kisses. slowly sucking at his bottom lip because dean is GONE. his eyes hazy and all he can see is you. your perfect self, reaching out to pat his head.
i am so proud of you deano 🖤
I know you write a lot of dean fics but can I PLEASE get one of like drunk sam confessing his feelings or being overly fluffy🙏🙏 hes like super clingy,completely different from his normal self etc. (you got the rest😉)
|| dial drunk (2.2k words)
sam x reader, drunk confessions, fluff, eventual smut
The door of the motel room swung open too hard, the door slapping loudly against the wall. You didn’t need to turn around to see who it was; his mumbled “shit, sorry, sorry” made it obvious it was Sam.
You stood, rounding the corner of the bed to face him. He was clearly drunk, his eyes soft and fragile while he swayed on his feet, just staring at you. Not to mention the bottle of beer dangling from his hand.
You knew Sam well enough to know that he only drank when something was upsetting him. So, tentatively, like approaching a startled deer, you spoke: “Sam, where were you?”
He narrowed his eyes at you as if trying to look angry, but he only looked pouty. “Uh, a bar. Duh.”
You couldn’t help chuckling at his childish indignation, raising your hands in surrender. “Right. Dumb question. I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, his face immediately falling back to that defenseless, heartbroken look. “No, no, don’t apologize.” Sam leaned sideways to set the beer bottle down on a small, round table near the door. He leaned heavily against it for support in his drunken stupor, pressing his other forearm to his face. “M’ sorry. For showin’ up like this. I just… couldn’t think about this sober.”
“Think about what sober, Sammy?” you asked carefully, taking a small step towards him.
Sam dropped his arm back to his side, the limb swinging limply at his side as he stared at you with all the vulnerability and trust in the world. “I just…”
“I love you.”
You had to stop yourself from gawking at him. The room seemed to quiet for a long moment, time stalling as if to let you process what had just left the lips you had admired since the first time you saw them, the person you had cared for for months but were too afraid to fully open up to. Of all the times you’d dealt with Sam drunk (which was very few, since he hardly drank), this took the cake as the most outrageous thing he’d ever said. Yet despite yourself, your stomach did that stupid little flip. You tried to shake it off, remind yourself that he was drunk, that he didn’t know what he was saying, but his confession didn’t stop there.
He stepped towards you, swaying on his feet. “I-I mean, when I first met you I– I mean, you were so beautiful– are so beautiful, a-and I… you’re so smart, and strong too, a-and reliable and so, so amazing I couldn’t stop myself, I was screwed from the start,” he rambled, those puppy-dog eyes wide and staring into yours. “I mean, I-I thought I couldn’t for Jessica, a-and I still love her more than anything, but, you… with you, I feel like I could tell you anything, trust you with anything and… and you wouldn’t leave, y’know?” He let out an awkward chuckle, lifting his hands towards you, reaching out but too afraid to touch.
His rushed rant left you stunned. It took a minute for you to collect yourself enough to reply. “Sam, you don’t know what you’re saying,” you began, but he quickly waved his hands, shaking his head.
“No, no… please, I just–” he let out a frustrated sigh, pressing his curled fists to his temples. “I need you. Okay? I can’t go on anymore without… without knowing if you feel the same. Or if you feel anything at all.” He came closer, directly before you now, all six feet and four inches of him looming over you.
Your eyes softened, gazing into those deep, needy hazel pools. “Oh, Sammy,” you whispered, reaching out to gently cup his cheek. He let out a near-whine, leaning his cheek into your palm practically desperately. You felt yourself swallow, a lump of so many different emotions that you’d fought to keep down for months trying to crawl out.
You reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Sam, lie down, alright?” you murmured, coaxing him towards the bed. He sat down with a solid thump, the springs squealing in protest.
“Don’t leave,” he pleaded, his voice quiet and meek as he brought your still-clasped hand to his forehead.
“I won’t,” you promised. “Lay down.”
Sam obeyed, reluctantly releasing your hand to lie on his side, facing you. You sat down on the edge of the bed next to him, bringing your hand to his arm to rub it comfortingly up and down. You watched his eyes, trained on you, slowly relax, then flutter in exhaustion, before closing completely.
Your gaze roamed his peaceful face, his lashes, soft lips, hair falling over his forehead. You gently brushed it back, a pained sigh leaving you as you stood up and walked to the other bed, lying down to sleep. You didn’t trust yourself to stay beside him.
By the time you woke up in the morning, Sam was already hurling in the bathroom. You could hear him gagging and groaning in discomfort just out of view. With a weak moan, you sat up and stretched your arms over your head, your back arching slightly. You swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, carefully walking over to the bathroom door. You peeked inside, spotting Sam’s hunched body kneeling over the toilet.
“Too much to drink, huh?” you mused lightheartedly. He only moaned in reply.
You got him a bottle of water and a Tylenol for his headache. He took them, swallowing them down greedily. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his voice slightly raspy from the sting of vomit.
“Do you remember last night?” you asked him once he was able to pry himself from the toilet.
Sam shot you a wary look, his hands folding over his lap. “... yeah, I do.”
You sat down beside him, touching his arm. He flinched at the contact, those hazel eyes plagued with anxiety and doubt. “I’m real sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said those things. Please, just forget about it–”
“Was it true?”
The question slipped out on its own. Sam blinked at your voice, eyes widening in surprise. He swallowed, the ball of his throat bobbing up and down. “What would you do if it was?”
“I’d want to hear it from you sober,” you replied calmly.
Sam was dead silent for a while, just staring at you. His eyes flickered between each of yours, unusually timid.
Finally, he spoke. “I, uh… I love you,” he started. His hands folded together, forefinger and thumb pinching the thin skin between his fingers absently. “I have for… well, months now. I just… was scared of losing you, I guess. If you didn’t feel the same.”
You exhaled, an affectionate smile gracing your lips. His adorable vulnerability made your heart ache and your yearning strengthened nearly painfully. You reached out and took his hands in yours, your thumb brushing comfortingly over his knuckles. Kneeling face-to-face, your noses hardly an inch apart, you’d never felt so exposed in your life, yet an indescribable warmth flooded you when your eyes met his.“Oh, Sammy. I wish you had told me sooner,” you breathed. “Because I love you too.”
His eyes widened a fraction, his larger palms squeezing yours. Testing. Acknowledging that this was real, not a fantasy or a hallucination. “You mean that?” he asked, his voice wavering with months of emotions finally coming to light.
“Yes, Sam,” you reassured. One of your hands lifted to his face, cupping it just as you had the night before. And once again, he buried against it, tilting his head to brush his lips into your palm. A blush bloomed across your cheeks.
He breathed out your name, all tension and fear his body had held leaving with that breath. Like a long-held burden was finally gone from his shoulders. An almost disbelieving laugh left his lips, a smile slowly dawning on his face. Sam’s hand slowly lifted to your cheek, his thumb swiping over it in a tender arc. “Can I kiss you?” he asked, his voice a barely audible whisper.
You laughed, a breathy chuckle that had you tipping your head forward. “Please wash your mouth first, you were just puking.”
“Oh-! Right, sorry,” Sam’s face reddened with an embarrassed flush. He quickly stood up and hurried to the sink, grabbing the toothbrush he had left there and brushing his teeth as fast as he could. You couldn’t help an amused smile from forming on your lips at his eagerness to kiss you. It was touching, too, to feel so desired. Especially by him.
He straightened up once he was done, hurrying back over to you. “Now?” he asked, and you nodded.
Both of his hands cupped your face this time, and he slowly leaned in, your lips coming together. The kiss was slow, warm, and everything you had ever hoped it would be. He kissed you with all the passion and devotion of a man who had been estranged from the one vice of his life. Sam’s hand left your jaw, sliding around your waist to haul you close to him, your bodies pressed together as the kiss deepened. He tilted his head just so, parting his lips in an invitation you happily welcomed, your tongues dragging together in a languid dance you never wanted to stop.
His other hand left your cheek, both palms dragging down your sides and settling at the backs of your thighs. With a small crouch, he hooked his palms under your knees and hauled your legs around his waist. A faint gasp of surprise left your lips. Sam immediately separated from your lips, looking over your face for any hesitation. “Is this okay?” he asked.
You nodded, sliding your arms around his neck as he carried you from the bathroom to the bed. “More than okay,” you breathed against his neck, nipping down on the skin of his throat and sucking a hickey into the pale flesh, earning a sigh from him. He gently laid you back onto the sheets, his fingers just barely ghosting beneath your shirt to touch your waist. You shivered at the contact, a warmth spreading in your lower stomach that you knew only he could satiate.
You reached for Sam’s wrist. He willingly let you guide his hand to your shorts, his fingers curling into the waistband. His eyes searched yours once more, one last check that this was okay, that the desire he felt so strongly for you was mutual. “C’mon, Sammy. Don’t leave a girl waiting,” you hummed. He needed no further convincing, dragging your shorts down your legs and tossing them away.
Sam’s eyes raked over your form, the loose sleep shirt that hung to your hips, half covering the lace panties you had on beneath, and your bare legs spread on either side of him. A strangled groan left his throat, and you could practically see him twitching in his pants, his cock straining against his jeans.
Sam leaned back over you, kissing your cheek as he slotted his hips to yours, a whine breathed against your skin as he ground your bodies together. “Shit… so beautiful…” he whispered against you. Your hands gripped the back of his shirt, feeling the flex of his muscles every time his hips rocked forward. The friction against your clit was heavenly, just this having you already seeing stars. God, how long had it been since you’d been with someone? Months, at least. Not since you started having feelings for Sam. Then, no man seemed worth the time to chat up, take back to a motel, leave before morning. No one matched up to him.
“Sam,” you crooned, your voice breaking on his name. You were already close. All just because of him.
He pressed his face into your shoulder, a broken moan escaping his mouth. “Oh, god… I’m not gonna last,” he admitted, beginning to rut against you quicker, hastey in his need. He groaned out your name, shuddering against you.
“Don’t stop,” you breathed, your hand sliding from his back to fist his pretty hair, tugging weakly on the brunette locks. “Oh my god, Sam,” you choked out, locking your legs around his waist to bring him impossibly closer.
With a few more rough bucks against you, the tight spring in your stomach snapped, a wanton moan leaving your lips as you came. Sam wasn’t far behind, lightly biting your shoulder to muffle a pleasured cry as he finished.
You breathed together in the quiet of the motel, the only audible noise being your labored pants against each other. It was a few minutes before Sam slowly peeled his body off of yours, a red stained across his entire face, completely mortified at himself for coming just from dry humping against you. You felt a similar embarrassment, nibbling the tip of your finger and absently looking away. “I can’t believe I just–” he breathed, shaking his head and hiding his face in his hand.
“It’s okay, Sam. I mean, I did too,” you awkwardly chuckled. Your finger hooked under his chin, guiding his face towards yours. “But next time, let's try and make it all the way, okay?”
His eyes widened at the implication of your words. “Next time–? I-I mean, yeah, yes, of course. I’d love to,” he stammered, tripping over his words.
You could only grin, shaking your head. So stupidly in love with this man, and happy to know he felt just the same.
|| note: why is writing smut so hard 😢 anyway, thank you for the request, I hope the story is what you were hoping for! 🫶
need a part 2 of sweet scent with pervy daryl trying to explain it to you but you couldn't get it cuz you'd never done anything like it so he says he's gonna show you how good it feels and has to muffle your screams so no one in the house hears you as his cock practically splits your tiny cunt in half and he uses his thumb to rub ur clit to try and make u relax.........
I'm crazy but I'm free
masterlist and other infos || MDNI
sweet scent pt2.
perv!daryl x innocent!fem!reader
summary: after getting caught sniffing your panties by you, daryl persuades you into giving your precious virginity away to him while your dad's just in the next room.
warnings: EXTREME AGE GAP (daryl's is in late 30s/early 40s and reader is 18 [or older, it's up to you]), 18+ smut, praising, dubcon? (reader lacks enthusiastic consent at first and daryl has to do some convincing), panty gagging, p-in-v, blowjobs, cunnilingus, masturbation, manipulation, petnames, daddy kink, orgasm denial, mentions of dumbification, mentions of degradation.
word count: 6.2k
a/n: the following content contains some extreme fetishes and kinks that some readers might find disturbing, so if you're not comfortable with any of those, please do not proceed. click here to read part 1.
<previous chapter>
[...] His movements got slower until they stopped and he let go of his now sensitive cock. He sighed after catching his breath. he was left with that afterglow and the feeling that he made a huge mistake. suddenly, he felt dirty like before. He opened his eyes slowly, removing your panties from his face and putting them in his pockets. yeah, he knew it was wrong, but he was still planning to keep them for later.
Then, when he averted his gaze to the mirror on his side, he saw...
You. Standing on the doorframe with a shocked look on your face.
"U-uncle Daryl?"
---
Shit.
You definitely weren't what Daryl expected to see when he opened his eyes, the remains of his freshly busted nut all over his hand and his cock out, fully on display. For a good 5 seconds, he just freezed, completely unsure of what to do. But then, it hit him. He freaked out.
His eyes got as big as they possibly could and he immediately pulled his cock in his pants back again, clumsily trying to regain his composure, taking a little longer than usual due to his nervousness. Meanwhile, you just stood there with an unreadable expression. You didn't look exactly shocked, or angry, or anything like it. You looked strangely curious, with your head slightly tilted to the side.
Daryl shook his hand to get rid of some of his essence that was still sticking to it and then rubbed it on the side of his pants, on the hip area. Still not capable of looking you in the eyes, he quickly glanced at your frame and finally broke the awkward silence.
“Y/N? W-What'r'ya doin' here?” Stuttering was very unusual for Daryl, considering that although he was a man of very few words, he was always very direct and precise with them. Maybe playing it cool as if you hadn't just caught him in the act was the way out of that unpleasant situation.
“Well...” You let out a small chuckle and took a step closer to him. “This is my room.” His awkward smile immediately faded away.
“Oh, uh... I was jus’...” He looked around the room, searching for anything to use as an excuse for being there. But before he could start, you interrupted him.
“I didn't leave with the others, daddy told me to stay here to take care of you. He's in his room.” Your sweet girly voice had a way of calming Daryl, making him a bit more relaxed despite the current scenario and the shame he was feeling. But at the same time, just hearing you enunciate that one little word 'daddy' had him taking a deep breath to control his urges and not have another erection right there and then. You said that so innocently, because, well, it was in fact innocent since you referred to your actual father Hershel, but still, Daryl's twisted mind made it sound suggestive in his head.
“Take care'a me?” He pondered. Daryl wondered why your reaction was so calm considering what you had just witnessed. Maybe you didn't see much.
“You know, somebody's gotta change your bandage.” You smiled and pointed to his head that still had the bandage around it. “Actually, can you step to the side a bit? So I can...” You gestured to the dressing table behind him. He didn't say anything and just did as you said, moving to the side a little so you could approach the piece of furniture. In that moment, Daryl was the definition of what they call a standoffish.
“I was expecting to find you in your bed, resting. As you should, uncle Daryl.” Your voice carried a hint of playfulness along with a sincere worry. But the way you called him uncle for the second time that day gave him mixed sensations. He wasn't sure if he was aroused or weirded out by it. Or both.
You extended your hand, meaning to pull the drawer open to collect the items needed to change his bandage, which included the gauze, antiseptic wipes, medical tapes, sterile dressing and other kinds of medical stuff your dad had taught you how to handle, but you had to stop your hand midway when you noticed a white slimy thing dripping down the furnishing.
He followed your eyes, noticing how stared at the liquid. The farmer's sweet young daughter had just noticed the results of Daryl's arousal while it coated the dressing table. His mind started rushing with apprehension, you could tell your dad and everyone else how much of a perverted old man Daryl actually was, and he could be kicked out of the group, being left alone in the woods to fend for himself. It's not that he wasn't capable to make it on his own, but his family was important to him, he didn't wanna lose them over that type of thing that could change the way they looked at him forever.
“What's this?” You bended your knees a little, leaning forward and squinting your eyes to take a better look at the unknown substance. Now, you had completely forgotten the reason why you came into that room that was changing his bandage. Daryl lifted one of his eyebrows out of confusion. Did you really not know what that was? If that was the case, it kind of made sense.
Of course. Living on a farm far from the city, you had a close-knit relationship with your family in a way that they were pretty much all the people you would interact with. You had never had boyfriends, or kissed, or anything remotely romantic like that due to your dad's overprotectiveness, after all, you were his youngest daughter. All you knew about the existence of sexual stuff had been taught by him, when he mainly warned you about the terrible consequences of that type of action and that you had to stay innocent.
You didn't really know what he meant by all that, since he was very vague in his descriptions about sex. Hershel just used to say that there were certain areas on your body that you should never let a boy get near and you knew better than to disobey your father's orders, being aware that he always knew what was best for you. Not even your own hands had ever darted down your body to meet those spots more than once or twice before quickly pulling away. You wanted to remain innocent, whatever that meant.
But Daryl was the observant type, and he quickly caught up that you knew nothing about that type of thing. He knew you had always lived in that farm, away from the perverted hands of boys your age (or older like him) so connecting the dots wasn't tricky at all.
Oh, the things he could show you. That thought alone brought a somewhat creepy smirk to Daryl's face as he stared into the wall, contemplating the opportunity he had in hands to finally have his way with you. He knew he still had to be careful though.
“Daryl?” Your voice snapped him out of his trance. You turned your head to look at him before turning your entire body to face him. Your gaze was curious.
“This?” He motioned with his chin towards the dripping substance on the piece of furniture, looking out of place. “Ya don'... know wha' it is?” He double checked, wanting to make sure you were actually unfamiliar erotic nature of what you saw him doing.
“Well, I saw where it came from.” You revealed, not sounding accusing at all, just simply stating a fact.
“...How long 've ya been watchin' me?” He asked with an almost audible gulp. Though he was considerably excited about teaching you all that new stuff, he was still unsure if he should or not. It'd been so long since his last sexual interaction with someone else that he could barely remember it. And doing it with the daughter of the man that gave him a roof to put over his head in times like these? That was risky.
“A while.” You stated. Now, Daryl could notice how you started staring at his crotch area with a renewed sense of interest. That meant you had definitely seen his dick despite his efforts to hide it when he first got caught just moments ago. He wondered if you knew what it was or its purpose.
You stepped even closer to him and he couldn't help but step back slightly. “I've never seen somebody pee like that. Are you... Sick?” You raise an eyebrow. “The bathroom's just in the next room, you know...” Your worried tone was awfully adorable to Daryl. And well, he was indeed sick, but not in the way you meant it. Nonetheless, the amusing way you mistook his semen for urine made him share a light chuckle.
“Nah, tha's... Tha's not piss.” He bluntly let out. You walked across your room and over to your bed, sitting on its edge. Daryl followed you until he was standing in front of you. He crossed his arms.
“How so?” You tilted your head to the side with a sincere curiosity displayed on your face. You had seen the way he rubbed that one thing of his that you weren't sure how it worked until that slimy liquid started oozing out of it, deeply stimulating your curiosity.
“Ya sure ya wanna know?” His tone sounded more dark and his voice turned hoarser, however, that didn't seem to faze you. You nodded frantically. “Aigh', i'll show ya.” Once again, a smirk creeped onto his face. Your eyes were all sparkly as you attentively listened to him. “Sometimes people touch themselves ta feel good, ya know?” You shrugged, not really sure of what he was talking about.
As he spoke, he took light and slow steps towards you, like a predator preparing to hunt its prey, until his knees was almost touching yours. “Ya ever touched yerself, darlin'?” Despite the raspiness in his voice, it was now rather calm, with a surge of some sweetness to it.
“Like how?” You asked.
“Like here...” He extended his hand with a gentle movement, his finger tracing a path from the valley between your breasts down to your bellybutton. The slightly ticklish sensation made you flinch a little. Then, his finger continued making its way down to your lower belly, stopping inches above your clothed pussy. “'N here...”
Your breath hissed, and you started remembering how your dad told you those parts were sacred and shouldn't be touched by anyone, no matter who. The uncertainty was obvious in your face as you discreetly pushed his hand away. “Uncle Daryl...”
“Ya can call me jus' Daryl, sweetheart. 'M yer friend, remember?” He tried his best to sound convincing.
“Yes, Daryl...” You corrected yourself with an awkward chuckle. “I... I think I shouldn't.” You avert your gaze from his.
“Why not? Dontcha wanna know wha' it's like?” He leaned in a little closer, resting his hands on your thighs. You made a motion to try to push him away again, but he insisted on his touch. “Don' be scared, doll. 'M not gunna hurt ya. Quite the opposite.” He smirked while practically whispering the last part, making sure to sound extra coaxing.
You weren't really sure what you were afraid of, exactly. You just knew that you wanted to make your father happy and proud of you, since he'd always been so caring towards you and your family. In the end, you just wanted daddy's approval.
“I'm... I'm not sure. I don't know, it doesn't feel right.” You confessed, your voice filled with worry. Daryl knew how to be intimidating when he wanted to.
“'S okay, doll.” He spoke the way one would speak to a puppy. And giving you no time to protest, he used one of his hands to tug at the hem of your white tank top and pulled it up in one go, revealing your bare tits to him. He bit his lips, noticing you weren't wearing a bra. As quick as he did so, you felt so ashamed of your sudden nudity that you lifted your arms up to try to cover yourself up from his hungry eyes. “D-Daryl...”
“Shhhh...” He shushed you against your ear, making shivers run down your spine. Although you were uncertain, the way he spoke to you made certain parts of your body warm up, an unusual sensation for you. “Ya got such pretty tits... Ya shouldn't hide 'em away from me.” As he said that, he gently grabbed one of your breasts, giving it the slightest squeeze not to startle you. You couldn't help but let out a small squeak at the unfamiliar sensation. Weirdly enough, it felt good in a way you had never felt before.
“Ya like tha'?” He whispered. “It's nice, but... Daddy wouldn't like that. I just wanna make daddy happy.” You just wanted to be a good girl. Perhaps, you could find a different way of doing that.
“Yeah?” He muttered practically to himself as he got an idea. “Well, I can be yer daddy for today. Like tha', ya could make yer daddy happy in a way. Yer jus' gotta lemme lead ya, aigh'?” He didn't feel guilty in the slightest for making you engage in one of his twisted fetishes while you were barely aware of it.
“H-huh?" You were uncertain about the reason behind his suggestion.
“Ya can pretend 'm yer daddy.” He continued playing her mind. You weren't really sure if you liked the idea to depict him as your old man, but you tried to convince yourself to play along.
“But... What will he think of me when he finds out?” You fidgeted with your fingers. Meanwhile his grip on your breast continued to intimidate you.
“He don' have ta know. C'mon, dontcha wanna make daddy happy?” He conveyed in a hush against your ear, his thumb now grazing your sensitive nipple, making you feel that one funny sensation again. You couldn't help but lean into his touch.
You closed your eyes, darting your tongue out to lick your lips. The nervousness in you due to the newness of it all made your lips dry. The way Daryl was making you feel was curious, and you just wanted more of it. He took your silence as a confirmation.
“Good girl.” He cooed before capturing one of your nipples in his mouth, very gently sucking on it. The feeling made you arch your back instantly.
Yes. Yes. Yes.
You just wanted to be a good girl. And if following Daryl's lead was a way to do it, you were all in for it. Your senses awakened as a cascade of unfamiliar yet electrifying sensations coursed through you, a dance of pleasure that tingled on your skin. In that moment, a subtle warmth enveloped you, as if you had discovered a secret realm of bliss previously unknown.
You reached for his head, the feeling of your delicate fingernails scratching against his scalp and pulling him closer sent tingling sensations all over his body. Instinctively, you slightly opened your legs at the pleasure and that drew a smirk onto Daryl's face.
“Eager fer daddy, huh?” The way he referred to himself like that made a faint blush spread across your cheeks, although you couldn't wrap your head around the reason why. It felt so wrong but so right at the same time.
“I need ya to trust me, 'kay?” He said as he pulled your shorts down and then tossed them aside, revealing your white cotton panties. Once again, you felt to urge to hide, not knowing how to deal with someone else seeing you naked for the first time. But before your legs could involuntarily close, his big hands groped your thighs, keeping them spread apart. “'S okay, sunshine.” He practically manhandled you, gently but firmly pushing your body downward so you rested you back on the mattress.
The new position made you feel strangely vulnerable, but it wasn't exactly a bad feeling. Your doe eyes had a mix of unsureness and curiosity as they meet his. Sensing the mixed sensations within you, Daryl leaned in to place a small peck on your plush lips, aiming to make you more comfortable. The feeling of his rough lips against your soft ones so suddenly almost made you flinch, but they felt rather inviting. As he pulled back, a confident smirk could be seen displayed on his face.
The archer's rugged fingers traveled their way down your body once again until they found the soft fabric of your panties, making your breath hiss. He brushed his index and middle fingers against your clothed pussy lips. Just with that, the dampness was so obvious that a small wet spot could be seen on the cotton fabric right where your slit would be. He dragged his fingers across it until they reached your clit.
“This lil spot righ' here...” He kept his hand there. “...is magical." For now, he just added a small pressure, testing the waters and watching close to your reaction, but that was enough to draw a whimper from you, the unknown sensation making you grasp his forearm. It indeed felt magical. You bit your lips and though you couldn't see it, Daryl shared a satisfied smile at the way he was able to get you all hot and bothered with just a simple touch.
Your legs squirmed a bit and he took that as a good sign, so he continued. Now, he started slowly rubbing your clit in circular motions over the fabric of your panties. Your back arched again, and you accidentally let out a dangerously loud moan.
“Nuh-uh.” He brought his other index finger to his lips, gesturing for you to be quiet. “Ya gotta be quiet, ya hear me?” His tone was mostly reprimanding, which strangely excited you. You nodded, enjoying the authority he guided you with through those new sensations. You had touched yourself there before, but never like that. The sensation always felt somewhat wrong, but with Daryl, it was totally different.
You were still kind of upset at yourself for disobeying your dad, but the way Daryl worked his fingers so skillfully had you seeing stars. You never thought you'd be handing out your innocence for some old redneck you met just a while ago, but there you were, completely given to him.
In the beginning, Daryl used to always kind of avoid you, despite your attempts of trying to get to know at least a little bit about the mysterious archer. He knew that deep down, those desires towards you were always there, since the very first time he saw you. At first, he tried to brush them off, but now, all he wanted was to be the one to feel your tight virgin cunt for the first time.
In a swift motion, his big hands tugged at the hem of your underwear. “Up.” He ordered, gesturing for you to lift your hips so he could pull them down. You didn't argue at all and promptly did as he said, reveling in the control he had over you. It was like he dominated your weak mind. “Good girl.” He cooed once again. Oh, if only he knew what that did to your little inexperienced pussy.
After tossing the piece of fabric aside, he reached for you knees, gently spreading them apart. The sight of your glistening bare cunt had his mind rushing through all the things he could do to it. He wondered if he would be able to hold himself back and be gentle or if he would end up losing control. After all, he hadn't done anything like that in such a long time that his whole body was aching for it. He stared at it in an almost scary way, you'd never seen his eyes so hungry.
If his cock hadn't awaken until that moment, now it was hard as a fucking rock. He had to really fight the urges to pull it out his pants and dick you down right there and then, but he knew he had to take it easy on you at least for now and get you nice and ready for him, even though you were already visibly dripping wet.
“Is this all fer me?” His tone was almost mocking. You weren't sure what he meant by that, not fully understanding the concept of natural lubrication, but you just nodded with your eyes closed. Something about being in that position felt so right, so freeing that it had you wondering why you never did that before, and why you were so afraid of trying it in the first place.
Daryl's hands sensually traced their way down your body, exploring your every contour until they reached the back of your thighs, pushing them back until your wet cunt was all over his face. He tried his best to control himself, but his own arousal was practically taking over his mind, so he buried his face on it like a starving man. As soon as his wet tongue made contact with your sensitive little clit and he lapped at your abundant juices, you immediately gasped, gaining a look of disapproval from Daryl.
“I warned ya.” That was all he mumbled before taking your panties he had just took off you and sticking them into your mouth almost aggressively. You could taste yourself on the white fabric, and although it felt strange, it turned you on even more. Now, your little sounds were muffled by the piece of clothing as he resumed eating you out, flicking his tongue on hour clit and burying it between your folds. You never thought a feeling like that could actually exist as you experienced that overwhelming rush of pleasure, a novel sensation coursing through you sending shivers down your spine as a delightful warmth enveloped your entire being. You tried your best to hold back your sounds since your dad was home and could hear you if you slipped, but Daryl's skilled tongue and lips made it an extremely difficult task, even with your panties stuck in your mouth.
He continued working your clit with his mouth, and maybe a little sooner than it should, a tingling sensation forming in your lower belly caught your attention. Daryl noticed the obvious shift in your demeanor and took the panties out of your mouth so you could speak. “D-daddy...” You experimented the honorific he had previously suggested. “I-I feel funny.” You whimpered, squirming a bit harder than before as it started feeling as if you were gonna burst at any moment. Daryl smirked against your skin and gave your pussy a last peck before pulling away, making you whine in disapproval. It had only been seconds but you immediately missed the sensation. You craved it.
“Not yet, sweetheart.” He said. Not yet what, you wondered. But you still wanted to be good for him, so you nodded as the good girl you were. You couldn't think of anything you wouldn't do for him in that moment, considering how desperate you were to feel that pleasure again.
Your curious eyes followed his hands as they reached to unbuckled his own belt, setting it aside. He undid his pants and pulled them down just enough to reveal his boxer briefs to you. There. There was the place where you saw that sticky white thing shooting out from. Now, the excitement in you was unbearable as you propped yourself up on your elbows to watch his movements closely. Your eyes visibly lighted up and that didn't go unnoticed by Daryl.
“Yer gunna love this, lil' girl.” He bit his lips. Something was very obviously bulging in his boxers, which you found odd since it didn't seem to look so obvious when it was in his pants even though now it looked so big. Either way, you were completely drawn to it. You glued your eyes to his crotch while he pulled his underwear down.
You had heard about it, but you had never actually seen one of those before. In the aftermath of the apocalypse, his pubic hair had grown wild and untamed, a reflection of the makeshift survival and the absence of the once routine grooming practices. Not that he used to care a lot about that kind of thing before the outbreak. In a way, you thought it looked charming, suiting his rugged looks and personality.
You could feel your mouth starting to water at the sight of his cock standing tall and proud in front of you. Since the archer had touched his mouth to your cunt, you wondered if you could do the same to him in that same area on his body. As if he could smell your thoughts, he brought a hand to your head, gently pulling you closer to his crotch while he held it by the base.
“Ya wanna have a taste?” He slyly suggested and chuckled at your frantic nodding. Leaning closer to it, you felt the musky and raw scent that emanated from it, which made you even more drawn to the possibilities that ran through your mind. But at the same time, you didn't know what to do or how to handle it.
Bringing his hand to his mouth, he collected some saliva from it and rubbed the wetness on the tip of his cock to lubricate it. “Gimme yer hand.” He reached out his hand, and instantly you complied, allowing him to direct it towards his cock. He enveloped your hand around it, keeping his atop yours, slowly starting to move it up and down. It felt warm and hard against your soft fingers, and the way he threw his head back and quietly groaned made your stomach churn with butterflies. “Fuck baby, tha' feels good.” He had to whisper due to the dangerous presence of your dad in the house threatening to put your little playtime to an end.
You smiled proudly at yourself. You liked the way he sounded and you wished to draw more of those grunts from his lips. And Daryl, being just as eager as you, removed your hand from his length, holding it by the base. His other hand found its way to the back of your head, his touch almost feeling impatient as he pulled you closer to his cock. “Open yer mouth.” He didn't have to tell you twice. Therefore, he guided his swollen tip to your awaiting tongue, smearing his salty pre-cum all over it. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying his best to hold back any compromising sounds.
Your lips instinctively closed around his tip, trying to mimic the way he sucked on your clit, aiming to make him feel as good as he previously did to you. The act not only gave him pleasure, but it also brought you a deep sense of satisfaction, making you hum against his sensitive skin. The vibrations from your vocal chords sent a chill through his body and he couldn't hold back this time, the warm sensation of your mouth being so tempting and promising that he pushed his hips forward a bit too much, causing it to hit the back of your throat and you to gag on it.
He immediately retracted his body, removing his cock from the velvety confines of your mouth. Your eyes got a little watery but you smiled either way. “Sorry, princess.” He said with a hint of awkwardness in his voice.
“It's fine, I liked it.” You confess, looking up at him with those big doe eyes of yours, sitting at the edge of the bed while he stood in front of you. Your innocent expression contrasting with the dirty nature of your encounter made him impossibly hornier, and he didn't feel like waiting any longer. “Fuck” He almost whined. Eagerness to feel you wrapping around him filled his body, so he grabbed you by the arms, not too rough so he wouldn't hurt you, and put on your feet against the pink wall of your room.
He brought a hand to your head, pressing it against the wall. You gasped a little at his roughness but soon you felt him brushing the tip of his cock on your slicky slit and clit. “'S gunna feel good, I promise.” He mumbled against your ear, making your body hair stand on end. The sensation had you biting your lips to try and not make any sounds, but your efforts were proven useless as you felt the pressure of his tip carefully going in your cunt, causing a burning sensation and you accidentally let out a loud cry.
Daryl's hand went immediately to your mouth, forcefully pressing his palm against your lips to muffle your sounds, your dad shouldn't hear Daryl using his sweet daughter in his own home after all. “Shhh, shhh.” He shushed you, resting his chin on the top of your head for a moment. You wrapped around him so tight even though he only had his tip in yet that he couldn't restrain himself from pushing his hips forward a little more, intensifying the burning sensation while he stretched your virgin cunt out.
“'S okay, ya can take it.” In that moment, you were confused at why he was making you feel so good just a moment ago, and now he's ripping your little pussy apart. But even though it hurt, it was somewhat pleasant to feel so full in such a new way, so you stuck your ass towards him, inviting him in. While still keeping his hand pressed on your mouth, he brought his other one to your hips, gripping them a little too tight.
Without warnings, he buried his entire length in you in one swift motion, filling you up to the brim and worsening the burning to a whole new level. The only thing that kept you from letting out a scream at the sudden invasion was his hand muffling your pathetic sounds and the fact that you'd be in deep trouble if your dad found out about that, but even so, Daryl couldn't help but quietly grunt at the intense sensation. He didn't know he missed fucking a warm cunt so badly until he was completely inhumed inside you. “Good girl. Yer being so good fer daddy.” He praised you. His words had an immediate effect on you, making your pussy even wetter, if that was even possible.
You didn't even care if it hurt or not anymore, so you just stood there, caught in the paradox of sensation — a mix of pain and pleasure etched across your face. The twinge felt like a sweet ache, and yet, an irresistible allure pulled her deeper into the experience, as if the discomfort held a hidden charm that she couldn't resist exploring.
Despite the pain, you found herself oddly drawn to the sensation, craving more as if the discomfort carried an inexplicable appeal that kept you coming back for another taste. So you slightly wiggled your ass against Daryl's body, moving his cock a little inside you. The feeling of being stretched out had you desperate for more.
Daryl's warm breath hit your ear as he let out a light-hearted laugh at your reaction, sending delicious goosebumps all over your body. His hips started going back and forth to meet yours in a sensual dance. He tried to be gentle at first, but your virgin cunt was just so wet and warm that he couldn't help it but succumb to his primal desires. “Jus' like tha', princess. Take this fat cock.” He whispered loud enough so only you could hear, making you weak in the knees.
His calloused hand let go of your hips to find your clit, starting to rub it with just the right pressure to make you squirm under his touch. The mixed sensations of intense pleasure and pain confusing your brain, making you melt like putty in his hands. Overwhelming waves of pleasure surged through you, leaving your head blissfully empty as if every thought had been swept away by the sheer intensity of the sensation, which was exactly what Daryl wanted, to turn you into a brainless little fucktoy for him.
If a few months ago somebody told you that you'd be letting some perverted older man take advantage of you in your own room, you would've laughed right in their face. Giving your innocence away to anybody used to feel like such a distant reality, and now there you were, pressed against the wall by Daryl's sweaty body while he mercilessly pounded your no longer virgin cunt, making you experience the most pleasurable pain you could ever feel.
As he continued bucking his hips like a desperate animal, you drooled against his hand, your brain now reduced to putty due to the overpowering sensation that dominated your every sense. “Nngh...” Your muffled moans stirred an even deeper desire within Daryl, turning him as primal as one could be. Your body language made it obvious that you were close to your orgasm, and this time, he didn't plan to deny you of it.
But you had never experienced something like that. You didn't know pleasure could get so extreme that could made you burst, so as the sensation built and grew stronger, it also made you unsure about where it was taking you, and you tried to fight the feeling. Daryl's skilled fingers working your clit only threw you even closer to the edge and you felt like your legs could fail at any moment.
Noticing the shift in your demeanor, he muttered against your ear. “Jus' let it go, baby. Trust me, don' hold it.” His tone was strangely sweet considering what you were both up to, but his encouraging words relaxed you a little, and as he intensified the rubbing on your clit, you knew you wouldn't be able to hold it in not even if you wanted to, whatever it was.
Then, it hit you. An entirely unfamiliar and intense sensation washed over you, catching you off guard. It felt like uncharted emotional and physical territory, leaving you completely stunned, wide-eyed, and grappling with the unexpected intensity of the experience, something that almost made you mad at your dad from convincing you of staying away from it for so long.
Daryl had to intensify the pressure of his hand against your lips, but even so, he wasn't able to muffle your cries completely as your body convulsed and you were sure you lost consciousness for a few seconds. “Good girl, cum for me.” You didn't know what that word meant, but considering the situation, you understood that it probably had something to do with the new type of pleasure you just experienced.
As the orgasmic sensation slowly faded away, it was replaced with an even more overwhelming feeling of overstimulation. You squirmed even harder and you swore you could cry if he continued using your cunt like that, not giving you any breaks to catch your breath. You'd been turned into a whimpering and drooling mess, a total slut for his cock. You wanted him to have his way with you and you knew that if he wanted to, you'd let him fuck you all day without arguing.
The intense clenching of your tight pussy around his length initiated his own orgasm, and now it was his turn to experience the compelling feeling of being right on the edge of pleasure. “Fuck, turn 'round." He desperately voiced, but he didn't even waited for you before decisively grasping your shoulders, swiftly turning you to face him. As he did so, he removed his cock from inside you and stroked it hard and fast for a few seconds with just enough pressure to make himself burst.
Your mesmerized eyes watched as the pleasure took over his body. And now, it all made sense as he started shooting his load aiming right on your bare pussy, just as he was doing earlier today when you first caught him in your room. The warm sticky substance coated your cunt and it was so much that it felt like it would never end, leaving you astonished. You couldn't help but smile at the sight before you.
You two stared into each other's eyes while desperately trying to catch your breaths, sharing a small chuckle and satisfied smiles. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to your forehead and now, you knew who to come up to when you feel that funny feeling in your lower belly again. You knew Daryl had what it took to take care of your needs.
Without saying anything else, he pulled his briefs and pants back up again, adjusting his clothes. Then, he reached for his pocket, pulling out those panties he had stolen earlier and putting them on you again, leaving his load smeary and sticking to your skin. “Leave it there.” He hoarsely voiced, ordering you to walk around with his cum inside your clothes while no one else knew of it except the both of you.
“And these...” He walked over to your bed and bended his knees a little so he could reach for the white cotton panties he had tossed aside right before railing you and put them in his pocket.
“...'M gunna keep these fer later.”
a/n: omg guys the first part of sweet scent got over 1.1k notes and that's like??? insane??? tysm for all ur support, that's crazy. it was so much fun to write both parts and i'm so thankful if you read it this far!! i hope y'all have a great and happy holidays xx
