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Welcome to my darkest desires. 🌻Request are Open 🌻 💛MASTERLIST💛 25

[easytiger-xo]

someone you loved just died of mysterious causes and you look out your window..

[loveobx]

Masterlist

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tw: ALL stories contain dark romance

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Aerion Targaryen

* Chosen

dark!husband!aerion x wife!reader

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Part VI

Part VII

Part VIII

Part IX (posted 6/25)

Duncan The Tall

*My Lady (Y/N)

dark!duncan x reader

Part I

anon emojis taken: 🧃🪻🎠💫🤠🫧🦭✨🍄🥀🎀

[loveobx]

Chosen Part II

dark!husband!Aerion x wife!Reader

summary: your husband’s jealousy deepens in Ashford

tw: abusive marriage, dubcon

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Your expression was dull as Ashford finally came into view.

The journey there was uncomfortable, and painful for someone inexperienced with long bouts on a horse. Your body ached from being on horseback for so long, your inner thighs burning from it, your lower back throbbing.

Yet, you were not happy to see the kingdom.

Because arriving meant you would have to endure your husband again.

The entire journey, he had kept distance from you, traveling at the front of the Targaryen group, where he believed he should be because of his ‘important status’. You were placed near the back, with the rest of the ‘extras’, as he put it.

You dreaded the moment he would turn his attention back on you. It filled you with anxiety just picturing the sharp look in his eye. You prayed that with the commotion of arriving, he’d forget you came at all.

Five nights had passed since your husband called you into his room, and struck you for the crime of a knight bringing flowers to your chambers.

Your life had become more and more unbearable every minute that had passed since then.

You slept on his floor like a dog the first night, as he’d insisted. Every second after that, you had been locked in your chambers, forced to endure days of solitude so that you would be ‘reminded’ of how much of your life was a ‘priveledge’.

Nothing was truly a privilege to you. You would rather be starving and homeless than continue to be a wife to Aerion for even a day longer.

A bruise remained on your face from where he hit you. When the servants spoke to you, you could feel them looking at it.

“Poor girl,” you could hear them whisper. “She was practically given a death sentence on her wedding day.”

“She should’ve been more careful,” others would say. “Everyone knows of his anger.”

“She’s lucky she was not poisoned,” she once heard, “That was how his first betrothed died. He spiked her wine himself.”

Sometimes, you wondered if he would try to find you if you decided to run away.

You knew he had no heart to break, but surely his ego would be shattered if the townspeople heard he had a runaway wife. And Aerion’s hurt ego was the truest threat on your life.

“Do not embarrass me in Ashford,” he had reminded you moments before your group set off. “If you speak out of turn, I will not hesitate to slice your tongue in half.”

It was odd that he worried you would embarrass him, as if being attached to Aerion wasn’t the most humiliating experience in the world.

His family rode with your group. Yet, he forbade you from speaking to them.

“You have nothing to say to my father, nor my uncle, nor my cousin. It is in your best interest to remember that.

You had no desire to speak to any man of the same blood as Aerion, even if his uncle and cousin seemed more noble minded.

All Targaryens were evil, you had been made aware of it long ago.

Only Aegon, the child brother of your husband, was kind. But Aerion had banned you from speaking to the boy long ago.

As the group neared the Ashford gates, the horses are ordered to gallop into the town. Your thighs burn harsher as your own horse picks up speed.

Spectators watch you enter. They clapped at your group’s entry, yet their eyes were spiteful. They hated the Targaryens as much as you did.

You finally stop within the castle walls. You find yourself completely exhausted, and want nothing more than to rest for the remainder of the day.

You spot Aerion’s horse coming to a stop. He did not even glance around to find you. He simply dismounted his horse, tossed the reins on the ground, and walked towards his father.

The horse you are riding on is unknown to you. You struggle steering it with so many others around.

“Stop,” you speak to the horse. She ignores you. “Halt.”

She continues to walk on her own accord as if she had no rider.

You look around for the guards that were riding beside you. They are gone, no doubt dealing with the princes now.

“Halt,” you try again.

As if mocking you, the horse takes a faster step forward.

“Halt,” you urge louder, pulling on the grips. “Now.”

You panic as you glance around, and spy everyone else handling the horses with ease.

You try to turn her into the stables. She refuses to breach the doorway.

“Please,” you lean and whisper closer to the horse’s ear. “I will give you any feed you want if you just stop now-”

“Do you require any help, milady?”

You startle, straightening yourself properly and peering down to see a man standing at the archway of the stables. He appears to be quite the tall man, nearly eye to eye with you even as you remain on top of the animal.

You quickly turn your head to see if your husband is watching you. He is not.

“I need this horse to stop,” you say to the man.

He steps in front of your horse with ease, taking her reins and giving a quick. “Aye, girl. Settle down.” You are beyond relieved that it works.

You attempt to push yourself off your saddle, but realize that the long ride has made your legs practically unusable. Your knees are locked, and you struggle to awaken your lower body.

The man offers a hand out to you. “I can assist you down-”

“No. Away from me now.”

He flinched back. You’ve never seen such a large man flinch, as if you were actually capable of hurting him.

Again, you look towards your husband. He still has not set eyes on you.

“I-I apologize, milady,” the man uttered with sincerity. “I meant no offense by offering. You only seemed to be having trouble.”

You were still having trouble. You couldn’t comprehend how exhausted such a short journey has made you.

You suppress a groan as you pull both aching legs to one side of the horse.

Another glance at Aerion. He’s still preoccupied.

“I had no desire to make you upset, you only look like you will fall-”

“If you place hands on me, my husband will have your head,” you say to him, hoping he would take the warning and leave. “He will not care if you are merely a stable boy doing your job, his fury reaches everyone.”

He opened his mouth to speak again, but promptly shut it. He took a step back. Your threat seemed to work on him.

Yet, his urge to be a helpful gentleman was somehow untainted. “Perhaps you could describe your husband to me. I could let him know you need assistance.”

You would’ve laughed at the suggestion, if you did not feel so absolutely devastated that your husband would never be someone you could call on for help.

As if sensing that this was the moment you wanted his least, your husband appeared. Your chest tightened as he arrived.

Aerion frowned as he spotted you. “Why are you…” He paused as he noticed the man standing before you. The tall man. The very, very tall man. You did not realize until Aerion was next to him just how utterly tall he truly was. He held at least a foot of height over Aerion.

Your husband eyed him up and down, before dismissing him as nothing. He set his sights back on you. “Why are you still on that horse?”

You don’t meet his eye. You look at the ground below. “My legs seem to have fallen stiff on the journey. I...” You hesitate to ask. “I need help getting down.”

“It was not even a day’s ride. Are you truly this helpless?”

You almost glance at the stable boy, to gage his reaction, but you know that Aerion’s rage may spark if he catches you looking at him.

You swallow. “I fear falling-”

“Get down. Now. Before I yank you off myself.”

Your body tenses. You recognize his tone of voice, and understand this is no time to disobey him.

Slowly, you try to push yourself off of the horse. You brace yourself, and try to jump to the ground.

Your legs are still not cooperating. They give out as soon as you touch the ground, and you fall back onto the dirt.

You see Aerion rolling his eyes.

“See to this horse,” he commands the gentlemen, who still remains beside you.

The man finally speaks again. “I am not a stable boy, m’lord.”

It surprises you. You finally look up at him, and for the first time you notice that he is dressed differently than any other servant around here.

“Why? Not clever enough?” Aerion jeers. He directs to you, “Stand up before others see you.”

You use the legs of the saddle to pull yourself to your feet. You remain feeling uneasy and unbalanced.

It seemed you had taken too long composing yourself. Aerion’s hand comes out to slap your hand off of the saddle. “Straighten yourself. Are you a lady or a shoe cleaner?”

You force your shoulders straight, ignoring how stiff your spine is.

Turning back to the tall man, Aerion commands, “If you cannot handle horses, fetch me some wine and a pretty wench. Preferably one that does not hunch over like an animal.” Aerion glanced towards you, tilting his head and asking, “Why have you not brushed the dirt off yourself?”

You quickly begin patting down your skirts.

“Hurry off and find our tent,” Aerion snaps at you. “You do best where no one sees you-”

“How is that any way to speak to a Lady?”

You freeze.

Aerion’s expression changes. You see it clearly. He gets that look in his eyes, the one where he is angry at interruption, but also sickly glad for it, because now he gets the opportunity to put someone in their place.

“Oh,” Aerion says to him, voice low and mocking. “Apologies. Do you find my tone for her to be disrespectful?”

You don’t want to do this. You don’t want to be a part of Aerion’s sick game of jealousy. You body floods with despair at all the ideas of what this might lead to.

The man locks eyes with you. You try to give a quick shake of your head, to plead with him to change his words, but he does not.

Instead, he stands taller, his height making both you and your husband have to look up at him. “I find it cruel. There’s no need for it.”

You wince, as if already being able to feel the punishment you will have to endure for someone coming to your defense.

Aerion’s hand lands on the hilt of his sword. You panic, suddenly recalling the last time a stable boy spoke back to him, and how Aerion punished him with a scar across his face.

“Kneel,” Aerion demanded. “And I will educate you on what cruelty is-”

“He is unused to royalty, Prince Aerion,” you quickly say. “I’m sure he did not mean to offend you so greatly. He is but a simple serving boy.”

You were sure your actions would result in at least one more hit to the face. Or perhaps he’d decide to cut your tongue like he’d promised before. Either way, you felt it was worth it to try to spare this man.

There were such limited kind men left in the world, you would not allow one to be damaged due to helping you.

Aerion eyed you. “Serving boy or not, he must learn eventually-”

“I am not serving boy,” the man informs them. “I-” A pause, like he’s unsure if he should continue. “I have the privilege of being a knight.”

A knight. His chivalry made sense now.

Kind, and helpful, and strong. What a knight should be.

What your husband was not.

Aerion’s eyes trail over him. “I see.” There’s disgust in his expression. “Knighthood certainly has fallen on sad days.” His eyes go back on you. “He has come running to your defense, this knight. This has become a habit for you, hasn’t it? Finding yourself a knight the moment my back is turned?”

You keep your gaze on the ground, again being too much of a coward to meet his eye. “No, Prince Aerion.”

“No? Are you sure?”

If you bit your tongue any harder, you would slice it off yourself.

Aerion taunted, “Does he remind you of Ser Emeret?”

“No.” You feel your eyes stinging, grief rushing over you at the wasteful loss of life, panic hitting you as you imagine this man before you being slain because of your mistake.

“Pick your head up and find our tent before I make a scene of reminding you you’re place.”

You grips your skirts, quickly turning and walking in the direction of his father.

You could hear Aerion talking to the man as you walked away. You have no idea what else was said to the tall knight, you only catch Aerion speaking the word ‘whore’, and it is no doubt directed at you.

Aerion’s father is across the courtyard greeting his brother. You feel out of place as you arrive before him.

Maekar sees you approaching. “Lady (Y/N),” he nods to you. If he noticed your distressed appearance, he does not comment on it. “Might I introduce you to my brother, Prince Baelor. Brother, this is Aerion’s bride.”

You curtsy, and try your hardest to keep up your voice even. “I am honored to meet you.”

“Likewise, My Lady. Apologies for not being able to attend your wedding.”

Hardly anyone attended the wedding. Aerion rushed it, you did not know why, and the only guests were his father and brothers.

Maekar continued, “And his son, Prince Valarr.”

Another curtsy that caused you to feel the aching of your legs.

“Have you been injured from the ride?” The younger man, Valarr asked you. “You appear unwell.”

Baelar hit his son on the back of the head. “How is that any way to greet a Lady?”

“I did not mean it offensively,” he defended.

“I am alright, Prince Valarr. Thank you.” You feel yourself becoming as mentally exhausted as you were physically. “Prince Maekar, Aerion has asked for me to find our tent. Might you have the servants escort me?”

“Yes, yes.” He gestured around. A guard made his way over. “Escort the Lady to the tent prepared for her and Prince Aerion.”

You hesitate again as you stare at the single guard. “Prince Maekar,” you breathed. “I apologize, but...” It all felt so humiliating as he stared back at you. “Prince Aerion asks that I am not alone with any guard. He insists on two escorts at a time.”

The three men stare at you if it were your rule, and not merely one you were being forced to follow.

“I have not even greeted that boy yet and I find myself exhausted by him,” Baelar mutters beneath his breath.

Maeker sighed at the request, but sent a second guard.

The tent was large, and fitting for a prince. You wished it was dirty. You wished there were bugs that would crawl over Aerion’s skin and make him itch and squirm.

You did not know what to do with yourself when the guards left.

You wanted to sleep, but worried Aerion would burst in at any moment and call you lazy for it.

The tent had a bed, and a desk. You took the seat at the desk.

You sat for what felt like an hour, just staring down at your hands. Slowly, you lost your composure.

Your head rested on the desk, and you fell asleep.

You wake when the tent flap is shoved open. Aerion’s footsteps are loud as he makes his way over to you.

He grabs the back of your chair, and jerks it so that you are fully awake. You gasped, and start to rise to your feet.

His hands fall on your shoulders, forcing you back down.

“What were the instructions I gave you before we came here?”

You blink rapidly, trying to force your exhausted brain to start working again.

He gripped your shoulders tighter. “What were the instructions I gave you?”

You wince at his grip, and try to pull your shoulder from him. You’re unsuccessful.

“Do not embarrass you,” you quickly speak.

“Do not embarrass me.” His head leans down towards your ear. “Yet you decide to jump off your horse and fall on your ass-”

“I did not mean to. I-I told you I needed help-”

He pinches your shoulder. You shut your mouth.

“What else did I say to you?”

“…Do not speak out of turn-”

“Do not speak out of turn. Do not speak to my father, nor my uncle, nor my cousin.” You heard him sigh. “Yet what did you do, (Y/N)?”

In your head, you tell the gods that if they strike Aerion down at this very moment, you will dedicate your life to them.

They ignore you.

You find your throat has grown hot, and you struggle to swallow.

He pulls the chair back, startling you. You hold onto it tightly, expecting him to shove you to the ground in it. Instead, he turns the chair around so you are facing him.

Then, your husband kneels down on one knee in front of you.

“Tell me,” he says again, “my sweet, sweet wife.” His hands caress the ends of your hair, something he has grown fond of lately, “What did you do?”

You spoke to all of them.

And now he would punish you for it.

Your heart lurched with fear of your husband. It was torture, the way you had to sit here with absolutely no power to get away from this horrid man.

You try to explain yourself. “…You…told me to find the tent.”

“And so you used your intelligence and took it upon yourself to search out our tent on your own?” He brushed your hair over your shoulders. “Is that what you did?”

Your eyes stung again. You knew you looked pathetic, you felt it too. He probably relished in it.

You don’t answer.

“Or,” he speaks, “Did you...” His fingers trail up your thighs slowly, mimicking footsteps. “…walk up to my father...” You flinch as his fingers press harder. “…and my uncle...” You shift uncomfortably as you feel his nails through your clothes. “...and my cousin, and tell them that your jealous husband-” You cry out as he pinches your thigh, nails digging painfully as if trying to rip your skin off. “-is too scared to send you off alone with a single guard?”

Your hand flies to push his off of you. He does not let go. You hurry out, “I said no such thing about you-”

“My father said it about me,” he spat. “He scolded me for being such an ‘insecure child.’”

“I was trying to find our tent like you asked-”

He grabbed your jaw, pulling your head forward, and slamming it back against the wooden headrest of the chair. “I would have rather you wandered into the woods and died, you stupid girl. Can you not do anything yourself?”

You try to stand, telling yourself if you were able to escape his grasp, you really would run into the woods and die. You would rather lay dead in the dirt then deal with this monster for a moment longer.

But his hands shoot out to force you still.

“What will it take to reach that empty brain of yours?” he snapped you. “What form of pain do I need to inflict upon you so that you finally behave?”

You wondered if you might die here and now from the stress he is putting on your heart. It was as if he was squeezing it in his hand, playing with both your feelings and your life.

“Nothing else to say, (Y/N)?” He stood, and tsked. “Hm. You had so much to talk about with your hedge knight earlier.”

“I spoke with no hedge knight-”

“No? You didn’t grovel for me to show him mercy?”

“I-I did not speak with him. He was only offering help, we had no conversation-”

Aerion placed his hands on the rails of the chair, leaning down closer. “He did not care to help you. He was only trying to find your price so that he could fuck you.”

You turned your head.

He snatched your jaw, forcing you to face him. “He told me so. He admitted to wanting to bed you. He said he was giving it a try since you looked like you’d open your legs easy enough-”

“No.” You said the word like it was the one thing you were sure of. “It was nothing like that. He was a gentleman. He was only helping.”

“He said that you looked cheap, like you’d allow him to fuck you on the hay in the stables.”

“I’m dressed in your house’s traditional clothing. If I look cheap, take it up with the dragons-”

He grabbed the back of your hair, and slammed your face against the desk. Pain exploded in your nose.

When he yanked your head back up, you felt a trickle of blood run down your lips.

His rough fingers take your jaw, pulling you to face him again.

“Disrespect the dragons again, and you will be scalped for being a traitor,” he spits at you.

You touch your face. Your finger is coated red when you pull it away. Hatred burns you to your core.

You have come with his family to his tourney and done nothing but exactly what he asked of you.

Yet he finds a mistake in everything.

You were not brought for company, you realize, only for his sick entertainment.

You hated this man, and you wished him to have a slow, painful death.

Anger burning in your chest, you spit at him, “I do not disrespect the dragons, I disrespect my jealous husband whose own father has deemed him an insecure child.”

You hear him let out a loud laugh. One, single, loud laugh.

Then, he slams your head on the table twice as hard.

The room spins.

You don’t pick your head up this time. He seems happy to see you’ve learned.

His fingers release your hair after a moment of silence from you. His hand slowly drifts down your back.

“Sometimes, I feel that you crave my roughness,” he says to you. His fingers trail down your spine. “Is that it, wife? Are you the type of woman to be excited by pain?”

You clenched your fists, and you wish you were as tall as the kind knight, so that you did not have to be afraid anymore.

“Do you do these things for my attention?”

he mocks you. “Did you hear me ask for a pretty wench, and you acted up so that my attention would be placed on you alone?”

Still bent over the desk, you feel Aerion move to stand behind you. One of his hands falls on your hip, the other pushes down on your lower back, pressing your chest harder against the table top.

“You have my...full attention now, wife,” he breathed, as his hands slowly lifted your skirts, his body warming as he forced your backside bare. “Does that excite you?” You shudder as you feel his hand fall on your naked ass, fondling you like a man who hasn’t seen a woman in ages. “Are you aroused by the way I treat you?”

You inhale sharply as you feel his hand trail between your legs.

“I am,” he whispers, so low you barely catch it.

His fingers prod at your dry entrance, making you wince. He notices, and to punish you further, he pushes a second finger into your dry cunt.

You shut your eyes tight.

“I think I’ll enjoy fucking you bent over like this,” he speaks, his voice still taunting you. “I won’t have to see that goddawful face you make.”

Your blood boiled at how he demeaned you.

He brutally thrusted a third finger into you, bringing a sharper hiss of pain. He hummed as he heard it.

You could hear his smile as he said, “I’ll be able to pretend you are a different woman entirely.”

Gritting your teeth, you spat, “And I will be able to pretend it is Ser Emeret fucking me instead.”

His hands leave you in an instant. He steps away from you. With a rush of adrenaline, you pull your skirts back down, covering yourself, and flipping around the face your husband.

He stares at you with an expression you cannot decipher.

“...Take it back.”

You shuffle away from the desk, and place yourself closer to the fabric of the tent.

“Withdraw your words now,” he demands of you. “Before I have you hung for infidelity.”

“I take nothing back.”

His shoulders rise and fall as he takes a heavy breath. “Take it back this instant, or I will drag you outside of this tent, strip you for the world to see, and whip you until you are unconscious.”

You know he would not do that. Because it would embarrass him.

So you repeated, between grit teeth, “I take nothing back.”

His eyes darken.

But…he does not move closer. He does not grab you, nor take up a whip. He just stares with a narrowed expression.

He stays right where he is, like an animal who has set its sights on the hunt.

His voice becomes a whisper. “If I find out another man has placed his hands on you, I will take my sword, and I will skin him alive until every inch of his flesh is gone.”

You believe him.

You almost add to the fire. ‘Ser Emeret is dead,’ you almost say to taunt him, ‘You can’t skin alive someone who’s already dead’.

But his anger has become something you are unequipped to handle. You do not wish to test it any further than you already have.

“Undress,” he suddenly demands. “And lay onto the bed.”

You want to refuse. But his face tells you there will be no more tolerance of refusal.

You remove you dress, and your undergown.

There is no romance as you lay naked on the bed, and as he undresses and climbs on top of you.

You try to shut your eyes, as you always do.

He slaps you for it.

“Look at me.”

You have no choice but to do as told.

For the first time in your marriage, your eyes are on your husband the entire time he fucks you.

His eyes never leave you either.

[darkficslover]

Baelor already sounded repulsed by aerion lmao. Aerion you jealous mf.

[3racha-agustd]

Every morning I open Tumblr like it's the newspaper, searching for fanfiction.

[slasherscream]

Crazy ass husbands gang where reader is already married to someone else but the current husband is really shitty (the ways and degree of which you can decide) so the crazy husbands kill him? That'd be very fun and sexy I think<3

CRAZY ASS HUSBANDS GANG + KILLING YOUR CURRENT HUSBAND

WARNINGS: some of the husbands featured in this drabble are abusive (they get murdered crazy style over this). extreme yandere behavior - YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

JOEL MILLER:

"That man is going to get you killed"—the first thought Joel ever had about your husband.

His opinion hasn’t improved any in the months you’ve spent traveling together. If anything, it’s worsened. The man is an idiot. Careless. Bumbling. Whenever danger rears its head near your ragtag group of survivors, Joel has to resist his first instinct, which is to turn on his heel and put a bullet in your husband’s skull because the man has the uncanny ability to turn a bad situation into a disastrous one.

In a kinder world, the one you’d no doubt thought you were going to grow old in together, he would have been an adequate husband. Nothing special. But nothing egregious. A man passive enough to leave you in charge of most things, and so most trouble would have been avoided—in that kind, normal world—by the solid weight of the sensible head on your shoulders.

When Joel isn’t letting his mind get all grimed up with rage and disbelief, he can understand the choice you’d made then, even though it makes his stomach twist on itself now.

“He’s so sweet.” You would have said at your wedding, glowing and simpering as you clung to your new husband’s arm. “He’s always making me laugh.”

That’s the way you pick a husband when the horrors of the world are nebulous, foreign concepts, flickering at the edges of your reality like distant stars. But the horrors of the world are at your doorstep now, knocking politely, waiting to be let in. And the idiot you’re shackled to is always opening the door, greeting them like an old friend.

Joel watches your husband over the campfire. He’s sitting closer to its warmth than you are. You’ve wedged your hands between your thighs to keep them warmer. The idiot doesn’t notice. Because it isn’t in his nature to notice much of anything. The pinnacle of human evolution. The end point of an entire species that only ever survived on a planet full of things that wanted to kill and devour its kind by being observant, and your husband doesn’t notice you rubbing your palms together to generate heat.

An echo of the way he didn’t notice he was stepping into a raider trap when your group had drifted into the outskirts of a city during a scavenging trip. He’d screamed for your help like a pig realizing the axe in the farmer’s hand was for an impending slaughter and not for chopping wood. You’d gone running to rescue him without a second thought. Even as his screaming was already attracting a horde of the Infected to the store he'd gotten himself trapped in. You fought bravely, and clever, if not for the fact that the truly clever thing to do would have been to cut your losses.

But you were loyal. You’d be loyal to the bitter end of it all.

If Joel hadn’t been there—a little stronger than you, a little faster, a little more sure with the aiming of his gun—you both would have been dead. The world could do with one less idiot like your husband, as long as he didn’t get himself turned when he finally got himself killed. The world would be a darker, more miserable place without you in it. Joel’s world would be a darker place without you in it.

You deserve a long life. A happy one. You’ll be lucky if you make it another two months lugging around the dead weight that gets to lie beside you in your tent each night.

Joel takes your husband on a supply run. He comes back alone.

He hated to waste the bullet, but you would have cried yourself hysterical if you’d thought your husband suffered at the end. Joel’s conscience is clean when he holds you close and tells you it was over before he even realized.

HANNIBAL LECTER:

You are a gift, and your husband has deluded himself into thinking he is not only worthy of you—but your superior. It’s a baffling notion, one so deeply estranged from the reality of your marriage that it borders on psychosis.

Jack was entirely mistaken when he sent your husband Hannibal’s way with a personal request to mentor the man. Guide him. Hone his skills. “He’s a prodigy, Dr. Lecter,” were Jack’s exact words. From the moment Hannibal set eyes on your husband, he knew the man to be entirely mediocre. His sole talent lay in presenting himself as charming. And it was a thin veneer of charm at that. It had slipped to reveal noxious levels of insecurity the moment Hannibal had opted for polite disengagement instead of indulging the man in his posturing.

Hannibal had no intention of ever seeing the man again. A low-level irritant, like pollen during spring, your husband hadn’t even been worth the trouble of doing away with. Until Jack invited him to a dinner party—and of course, his fool’s gold of a prodigy had been sitting there when he arrived. An ambush. Jack’s dreadfully indirect means of begging Hannibal to reconsider.

You’d blended into the atmosphere of the room at first. Ephemeral. No more noticeable than the wallpaper. Until you’d spoken.

There was a vibrancy to you. A magnetism. He found that it was impossible to look away from you after your eyes had met just the once. Hannibal spent the rest of the evening trying to catch your gaze again. Your husband spent the rest of the evening growing increasingly inebriated. You’d ended the night herding him (unsteady and belligerent) into a taxi while wearing an expression of weary devotion that fit your face like an ill-tailored suit.

Hannibal took him on as a private student, taking such a keen interest in him it caused a stir among his peers. How else was he supposed to become a fixture in your life? You were reserved. Quiet. It took months to begin doing away with the armor you’d built around yourself to withstand the weight of your husband’s corrosive ego.

But for every pleasant conversation or shared laughter, there was your husband sending you off dismissively—in your own home—as if you were little more than a maid. In fragments and moments too minuscule to be considered moments at all, you bewitched him.

“Why don’t you whip up something for dinner, babe? The Doc and I are starving.” The sharp SMACK! of a hand meeting a backside as you make your way towards the kitchen. You freeze in mortification. Hannibal doesn’t so much as blink, only smiles at your husband wanly.

Your husband goes missing. You come to Hannibal sobbing, begging him to join the frenzy of effort Jack’s plunged the department into.

“Of course, of course-” he murmurs, pulling you into the soothing circle of his arms. You haven’t slept in days. Half mad from worry and grief. So many tears shed over an anchor that had been determined to drag you into the depths with it.

But Hannibal knows this is part of the process. You have to grieve the man you’re inventing in your head in retrospect—a kind and playful husband—before you can face the hard reality of the brute you’d given your hand to. He’s looking forward to guiding you through the worst of it until you’ve shed the meager remains of who you were beneath the thumb of the man who had loved you so cheaply.

“When was the last time someone cooked you a decent meal, hm?”

Hannibal relishes in the preparation of this particular feast. He watches hungrily as being looked after lights you up from the inside out, even as your shoulders tremble from bitten-back tears. Haggard with worry, you still take the time to compliment how fresh everything tastes.

Hannibal almost finds it in himself to be surprised—despite his talents in the kitchen, he’d half convinced himself your husband would taste quite rancid.

JARETH (THE LABYRINTH):

You were born to be royalty. Destined to be his.

Instead, you live a perfectly dull human life with a perfectly dull human husband. You were a creature born for elevation, but you had burrowed yourself down into the mud like a common earthworm, and you smiled as you brought this misery onto yourself. Jareth would not begrudge you this happiness if it was a mask you wore to get yourself through the long, dreary mortal days ahead of you. But it was not a mask you wore to survive. You were content. Truly content.

His temper got away from him on the best of days—but he stifled it for you. You did not know any better. Of course you’d made your peace with the meager conditions of your existence. What other choice did you have? You couldn’t have known that Jareth waited for you. Longed for you. Dreamed of the shape of your soul before he had ever set eyes upon your person.

A human man would not rob the Goblin King of his consort.

Feeding poison into your husband’s mind was a small thing. Human hearts were fickle. It was foolish, really, to have given the entirety of yourself to something so volatile. You’d be in much safer hands with Jareth. There was not a power in all the worlds known and unknown that could change the course of Jareth’s heart or his love for you.

He liked to sit at your windowsill, wings fluttering against the glass as he imagined the day when you’d become his. Satisfied to watch as you go from falling asleep in your husband’s arms to sleeping on opposite sides of the bed. You fight more. About money. About intimacy. About nonsense. Insecurities that had never before been spoken aloud now sat between the two of you like a third person. You begin to sleep in the guest room.

Jareth leaves a copy of the Labyrinth on your pillow; you wake up beside it the way you’ll soon wake up next to Jareth. He can close his eyes and imagine the warmth of you.

You read the play. Over and over, you read it. But you never call for him—never ask him to take you away from your suffering. You drag your husband to couple’s therapy, sit across from him, and beg him to see you and hear you no matter how cruel and apathetic he becomes. Your devotion is admirable. It’s also misplaced. You have the heart of a Fae, steadfast and unchanging, obsessive over what draws your eye. There is no spot for Jareth or all the magic and miracles he can offer while your husband soaks your life in all that is ordinary.

The coroner tells you it was a heart attack that took your husband. He was dead before the ambulance arrived. You plan the funeral in a haze. Utterly alone in a way your worst nightmares couldn’t have prepared you for.

You’re getting dressed for the funeral, cloaking yourself in black and the appropriate level of misery for a widow. You stop. Pick up the Labyrinth, flipping through the pages in silence. And then you say the words he’s been waiting desperately to hear—“Goblin King, please take me away from here.”

The crown he’ll place upon your brow will be as breathtaking as you are.

NORMAN BATES:

Norman can’t understand it. He’s turned the shape of your marriage inside out and can’t even begin to understand what you see in your husband.

The man is a brute. Worse than a brute, actually. He's an animal. Mindless and cruel—no better than the coyotes Norman has to occasionally run off the property. But a coyote knows what it is. A low predator, taking meat wherever it can. Your husband would consider himself a far prouder animal, like a lion, king of some distant jungle. He’d spent the last week walking around the motel with his nose scrunched in distaste at anything and everything. Like he thinks he’s better than the air Norman breathes. All the while you wander behind him, like a dog beaten into submission, shooting Norman pitiful looks of apology.

“I’m so sorry for him,” says a glance out the corner of your eye. “I wish he wouldn’t act that way,” goes another. "I’d stop him if only I were brave enough." Your eyes drop to the floor; so much shame is gathered in the slump of your shoulders that it makes his chest ache for you.

Norman knows plenty about not being brave enough to escape. He wonders how quickly your husband broke your spirit. Had it taken years? Months? Or maybe you’d said your sweet “I do’s” with a heart already broken and defeated. He can’t look at the ring on your finger without feeling sick.

“Do you always let him treat you so badly?” Norman had asked suddenly, his tone too biting, revealing too much.

You’d flinched at the familiar sound of an irritated man. Norman pulled himself away from that open chasm of rage immediately. Eyes going soft like candle wax for you. Curling in on himself so that he might seem smaller. He hated the way you held your breath as you watched him calm himself. You didn’t even speak until his jaw unclenched.

“I didn’t at first. But I was only making life harder for myself. It’s easier this way. I’m only sorry you have to see it. We’ll be out of your hair soon, Mr. Bates.”

But Norman doesn’t want you out of his hair. Not soon, or ever. He wonders if you’ll survive your husband. You’re already so tired. He’s met a great deal of tired strangers while running the motel. He’s never wanted to save any of them as badly as he wants to save you—free you. And he knows just how to do it.

You burst into the front office the next morning in a small panic. “He’s gone, Norman! He’s taken the car, and he’s taken all his things, and he left me here! He left me here like garbage! Oh, Norman, what will I do—what am I going to do?”

He wrapped his arms around you, kissing the side of your head reassuringly, “Why, you’ll stay here, of course. You’ll stay here as long as you need. Don’t cry. You’re going to be alright. I’ll make sure of it.”

You go limp against him, trusting and sweet. Norman holds on a little tighter. It’s been so long since he’s had anyone to take care of.

SHANE WALSH:

Your husband was the type of man Shane loved to put behind bars back when the world ran on law and order instead of chaos.

Was there anything more pathetic than a man who stood at an altar, promising “to have and to hold, to love and to cherish,” and then a few years later turn around and start putting his hands on what he was meant to protect? It made Shane mad enough to spit. And the way you defended the man drove him to the very brink of sanity.

No matter how he asked the question—or how clear the answer already was—you always denied the plain truth. Ducking your head, unable to look him in the eyes as you began your usual song and dance, “He’s never laid a hand on me, Shane.”

He must have missed the memo on when bruises and busted lips started falling out of the sky.

Your husband was dangerous. A man that could bring himself to hurt what was (allegedly) most precious to him was a man that didn’t value anything at all. Shane cleaned his gun and surveyed the camp and its makeup—all the kids, the women, the old and sick—taking a mental tally of all the people too weak to defend themselves if your husband decided to take his violence a step further. Lash out just a little more wildly.

You were standing at the edge of camp together. Your husband flinging around his arms, voice on the edge of yelling. He liked that volume. That way, when you’d step closer, begging him to lower his voice, with your face burning from embarrassment, he could start yelling in earnest in order to “show you the difference between goddamn talking and yelling.”

Shane couldn’t watch another second of this. It was his job to protect this group, and the biggest threat right now wasn’t Walkers or a group of violent strangers waiting to strike under the cover of night. The threat was right here. Eating up camp supplies. Scaring the kids. Scaring you. Hurting you. The threat had just given you a shove he could pass off as playful when you tried to press a soothing hand to his arm.

You covered your face. Shane knew you were crying, even from a distance. The tremble in your shoulders gave it away.

“Hey, man! You’re with me today! Need someone light on their feet for this supply run!” Shane called over to your husband, who was all too quick to agree. He always shape-shifted into something polite and obliging in the face of someone bigger and stronger than him. Fucking scumbag.

The plan was to put him down clean. A single bullet in the head, and problem solved. He’d lived like an animal. He should die like an animal. But Shane had thought of all the nights you’d spent cowering at the man’s feet, under his fists, his boot—and a cold rage washed over him.

Your husband was a shitty fighter when it got down to it. It was always that way, though, with men like that. If he’d been any stronger, he wouldn’t have felt the need to make you feel so small.

Shane walks back into camp with his knuckles bloody and raw. He brings back plenty of supplies. He does not bring back your husband. He does bring back the memory of the man’s last moments—begging Shane to stop. Snot, blood, and tears were running down the man’s face in equal measure.

“Did you ever stop when they asked you?” But they both knew the answer to that.

That’s not the story Shane tells you, of course. What you get is soft hands cupping your face, a thumb caressing the apple of your cheek, and “He told me to look after you, so you don’t gotta worry about a thing. Ain’t gonna let a dying man’s wish go to waste.”

HOMELANDER:

How could you love something so fucking ordinary? How could you stand to look at your husband—let alone roll over and let him touch you?

Homelander couldn’t stop looking at the two of you. Shouts of ‘Over here, Homelander!’ and ‘Can you give us a smile!’ would draw his attention away for seconds at a time, and then it would fall back to you like gravity. You were further down the red carpet than you should be. You’d stopped to sign something from some nobody. You were sweet like that. Not sweet for the cameras, or only when important people were watching. Just sweet. It was your nature.

Your husband wraps an arm around your waist. It’s a scrawny, ordinary human arm; he uses it to cinch the lines of your bodies tightly together. You look like a team, the two of you against the world. Despite being surrounded by all these cameras and eyes and insincerity, none of it seems to touch either of you. Nothing is capable of piercing the bubble of your love, which you seem able to manifest anywhere and at any time.

You lean into your husband easily, joyful about it. The back of your head finding his shoulder, and you peer up at him, lovestruck. You’ve got a grin on your face that only a teenager should have. Not someone who’s been married for years.

He cuts his way back towards you, uncaring as he interrupts photos and poses to get to you. “Hey, you crazy kids!” He tries for playful and just barely hits the mark. “We gotta get a move on, or we’ll miss the start of the movie. You can’t miss the start of your own movie!”

His hand lands on your shoulder, heavy and broad. You beam up at him. It’s not the smile you’ve been giving your worthless husband all night, but it’s a good smile. Earnest.

“Oh my gosh, you are so right!” You gasp and pull away from your husband to hurry inside. A wave of triumph washes over Homelander to finally see you unsmothered by your husband’s relentless affection. Needy fuck.

You reach back for your husband’s hand, intertwining your fingers, dragging him behind you. He looks like a hapless duckling following its mother. Homelander’s eye twitches; it’s been doing that more and more lately. You stop, realizing Homelander hasn’t moved, and double back for him. You link your arm through his, pulling him alongside you so confidently it feels like you’ve done it a million times before. You make everything feel familiar.

Homelander spends the entire movie watching you and your husband out of the corner of his eye. Whispered jokes. Holding hands. You’re the type of couple everyone rolls their eyes at in public but wishes they could be like in private. Homelander crushes the armrest beneath his fingertips, wishing he was the one holding your hand, wishing he was the one whispering in your ear.

“Do you ever think you got hitched a little too soon?” He asks you the next day, after the rest of the Seven have all trickled out of the debriefing room.

“Huh?” You blink up at him, guileless.

“Do you think you got married too soon? I mean—you didn’t know you’d end up here, in the Seven, back when you got married, right? You were a small-town Supe back then. Barely on Vought’s radar, let alone payroll. You didn’t know you’d have so many options, one day.” He’s spent plenty of sleepless nights wondering how you wound up in the marriage you did. With someone so beneath you. With someone who could never hope to be your equal.

“Sometimes you don’t need to know how your whole future is going to look to know what the best part of it is gonna be. From the moment I met him, I knew my husband was the one. He was the one back then, and he’s the one now.” You say the words so softly. Devoted. Loyal. Interpreting Homelander’s words in the best light, the same way you look at everything else: the bright side.

You deserve the world. Deserve to be with someone who isn’t beneath you on the gene totem pole. You deserve to be with someone who can lift you up—make a god out of you. Or help you see that you already are one. Your husband is keeping you trapped in the muck of humanity by proximity alone. But Homelander can fix that easily.

His only regret is not making it last. Not relishing the moment to the fullest. He’d put his hands on either side of your husband’s skull and squeezed until it had burst like an overripe fruit, spraying his face and suit with viscera and bone fragments. It was instant relief, like swatting a mosquito out of the air before it could bite you or bzzz past your ear.

Vought held a press conference a week later. You stood behind a podium looking weak, terribly alone. You were meant to be part of a pair. “If anyone has any information, please come forward. And honey—if you’re watching this—I love you; we’re gonna get you home soon, okay?”

Homelander steps up beside you, and he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tugging you into his side. “We won’t rest until you’re back home where you belong, buddy.”

A/N: This is my first time writing for anyone in the husband gang in forever. I hope I’m still doing them justice! Also—I finally gave in and tried my hand at Homelander. It had to happen eventually lmao.

if you enjoyed these headcanons consider reblogging, leaving a reply, or an anon! a writer's fuel is engagement. if you really loved this, check out my PATREON: slasherscream, for some exclusive content. this particular story was posted three weeks ago on the patreon, for early access. xoxoxo

a big thank you to my current patreon subscribers: audrey, bella, bug, jazz, kali, kelsey, and @u1tra-vi0lent. without amazing readers like you, i wouldn't still be up and kicking on this blog!

[muntitled]

I like smut as much as the next person but yall aren't even trying to write anymore. All fanfic on here is just 300 words of sex and then just tagging any character you think fits.

No tropes

No storyline

No arcs

[fireandcxnt]

Back in my day we had plot and anguish

[crowdedimagines]

Showtime

Aaron Hotchner x reader

summary: The BAU team is being sent to catch an unsub going after couples with age-gap relationships. How are things going to go when you have to go undercover with your boss in order to catch him? word count: 7 K 🌵

-

“Alright,” Hotch’s voice evenly said, “Let’s go over what we know.” 

Garcia clicks the remote. Four crime scene photos take over the screen. The team breaks their gaze on their files in front of them to look. Same town. Similar neighborhoods. Same brutality. 

You take a long sip of your coffee. Trying anything to get your brain caught up with the team. You’ve been a part of the team for nearly nine-months, the newest and youngest addition. You thrive under the pressure, but seeing pictures like this at this hour of morning is something you hope to never get used to. You’ve gotten comfortable with the team at this point, facing countless horrors together is impossible not to bond someone. Except for Hotch. All frowns and corrections on the surface. You do a lot of things to make him frown. Some of the team had taller walls than others. Hotch being one of them. You tease him, but cling to the fact that his dark eyes follow you. Watch you when he thinks you won’t see. You can always feel it. 

“All victims are couples,” Garcia looks over the group, ducking away from the images, “All of the attacks occurred in the Coyote Springs just outside Flagstaff, Arizona. All within a gated subdivision, heavy neighborhood watch presence, but it’s a large neighborhood. There’s nearly 6,000 residents in the community.” 

“Woah, big neighborhood.” Emily sighs, looking back to the file. 

Reid clears his throat, “The murders span six weeks. Each murder escalates in violence, but consistent within method. This suggests the unsub is a local. Or at least familiar with the area.”

“Not a drifter,” Morgan adds, “He knows their routines. Knows who belongs.” 

Your gaze sharpens, “Which means he’s comfortable there.”

Hotch nods without looking up to acknowledge you, “And patient.” 

Reid leans forward to add more, “There’s another commonality. Every couple has a significant age gap.”

“Yeah,” JJ agrees, “All of these women are at least fifteen years younger than their husbands.” 

“That’s not a coincidence,” Prentiss confirms, “That’s motive.”

You speak without hesitation, “Resentment.” 

Rossi turns to you, “Elaborate.” 

“When I was working in hostage negotiation,” Your voice calm, “large age gaps in relationships came from extremist ideology and vigilante thinking. They see themselves as a moral authority. He isn’t killing these couples, he’s correcting something he sees as wrong.” 

All eyes on you. Your eyes dart to Hotch. “Theft of youth.” 

Reid’s eyes light up, “A savior complex. He may believe he’s actually rescuing the younger woman from-”

“-a perceived predator,” Rossi finishes. 

“Which makes Coyote Springs his hunting ground. His own aquarium. Everyone inside thinks they’re safe.” Emily continues. 

Hotch exhales slowly, “So we canvass. Interview neighbors. Increase patrol presence.” 

“That could spook him into hiding.” JJ argues. 

“Yeah,” Morgan agrees, “This guy thrives on control. You flood the neighborhood with badges, he disappears.” 

Prentiss tilts her head, “Unless he comes to us.” 

You feel the shift before anyone could actually say it. Her eyes darting to you. Then Hotch. 

Rossi’s eyes flick between you two now, “You’re thinking bait.” 

It didn’t go over anyone’s heads that you and Hotch have a scarily similar age gap as the victims. Beautiful. Active. The perfect setup. 

“I’m thinking opportunity.” Emily corrects, “Two people who could fit the pattern. A new couple moves in quietly. Lets the unsub think something perfect fell in his lap.”

“No.”

Hotch’s answer immediate. 

You blink. Then laugh. “Wow, look at us already on the same page.” 

His eyes turn to you now, sharp and warning, “This is not a game.” 

“Never said it was,” You reply lightly, “I’m just agreeing that maybe the two of us playing house isn’t the best play.”

JJ steps in, “If the unsub is watching, he’s choosing couples that look stable. Happy.”

“Yet another reason this wouldn’t work.” You mutter, Rossi elbow in your side tells you he’s the only one that caught the comment. 

“Which means?” Garcia questions. 

“A married couple, or at least one that presents that way would statistically be the most appealing to draw him out.”

More eyes fall back to you. 

You slowly look around, “Oh, absolutely not.”

Hotch doesn’t look at you, “Agreed.” 

“You telling me you’re scared, Y/Ln?” Morgan grins. 

You look him dead in the eye, “I’m telling you I’m smart enough to know that Hotch and I can’t sell married and in love.” 

“Well,” Rossi turns his gaze over to the rest of the group, “Are there any other alternatives here on the team?” 

The group looks around at each other. You know there aren’t any. You don’t need to look around to know that most of them are too close in age to raise that kind of brow. 

“I can’t believe this.” You shake your head with a humorless laugh. 

Hotch’s jaw tightens, “He’s looking for a performance.” 

The rest of the room quiets at his words. You’d be ashamed to admit to the warmth pooling at the dark look on his eyes. This shouldn’t be able to work. 

“Look, you’re both qualified.” Emily claps, “It wouldn’t be your first time going undercover.”

“I mean no offense by it, but Y/Ln is the perfect trophy wife bait.” Morgan holds up his hands in self defense. 

“Somehow I’m still offended.”

Rossi raises a brow to you and Hotch, “The unsub is escalating. If we miss him again, someone else dies. This isn’t about what’s comfortable. It’s about leverage.” 

Hotch pinches the bridge of his nose. Silence stretches while everyone tries to come up with an alternative.

“So maybe it is the best play.” You sigh, coming to the same conclusion as the rest of the team.  Your hand slides to cover your face with a groan. 

“For what it’s worth, this is like so hot.” Garcia bites the end of her pen looking at you both, “So hot.” 

“Babygirl.” Morgan sighs with the shake of his head. 

“You’re enjoying this way too much, Pen.” You warn with a smile that is anything but friendly. 

“Immensly.” She continues to beam. 

A long pause. 

Finally Hotch exhales, “If we do this-”

He pauses to read your face. You aren’t supposed to profile each other, but you can see he’s looking to see if you’re truly comfortable. If you can do this. You know you can. You give him a subtle nod. 

“-we do everything by the book.” He continues, “Full surveillance. Backup within minutes. No unnecessary risks.”

You suddenly smirk, “You’re gonna hate every second of this.” 

“Yes,” He said flatly. You grin wider, “Then I’m in.” 

He looks at you. Really looks. 

“Wheels up in two hours. We prep covers immediately.”

Garcia squeals. Prentiss smirks at you. Morgan claps once.

This is going to get complicated. 

-

The jet's familiar hum rings over them lowly. You’re curled sideways in your chair, Emily to your right. Hotch directly across from you, Rossi to his left. A table separating you both. Morgan was making calls to get a stakeout van for the rest of the team. They wouldn’t be the only eyes on you two while undercover, but they would be most watchful. 

“Alright,” You smile, “Let’s build our beautiful lie.” 

Hotch’s eyes dart to yours over his file, “We already have preliminary covers.”

“Preliminary is not convincing.” You reply, turning to Emily for help. 

“She’s right.” She shrugs, “Especially since we know this unsub is watching his victims.”

He doesn’t argue, he simply sets down his file on the table.  “Progress.” You bite your cheek.  “Aaron Hayes. Attorney. Corporate litigation.” 

“Third marriage,” You add with cheer, “Which no offence, you can sell.” 

His mouth tightens, “It’s realistic considering the previous victims.” 

“And it adds baggage.” You continue, “Baggage is realistic. That’s what he’ll like.” 

Rossi raises his brows, “What about you?”

“Y/n Hayes.” You quickly reach out a hand to shake his with a pearly smile plastered to your face, “Twenty-six. Former marketing assistant. Now… professionally vague.”

“Trophy wife.” Hotch said flatly. You beam, “Exactly.” 

His eyes study you, “You’re sure you’re comfortable with this?” 

“Hotch, you’ve seen me pretend to be sympathetic to truly terrible people. Being hot and underestimated is a vacation.” 

He exhales quietly. 

“I want to add something else.”

He looks back up. 

“Power.” 

He frowns, “Explain.” 

“You’re already older. Already established. Already married multiple times, but I think we lean into it harder.” You lean back in your chair, “Make you a professor. Law school. Ethics. Authority.”

He immediately stiffens, “That’s unnecessary.” 

“Is it?” You tilt your head, “Our unsub in punishing perceived imbalance. We don’t know how long he watches his victims, he may have already picked his next couple. But if we tip the scale? Give him something that makes his skin crawl.”

The jet goes silent as it’s clear he is contemplating your idea. 

“A professor implies mentorship. Influence.” 

“And the implication that I was dazzled,” You add lightly, “By your mind. Your status. Your power.” 

The silence stretches back over the jet. 

“That makes you uncomfortable.” You observe. 

He pinches the bridge of his nose, again, “It complicates the dynamic.” 

“That’s the point.”

He stares for a long moment, “Fine.” 

You grin, “Great! So, how did we meet?”

“A conference.” 

“Boring. Try again.” 

He sighs, “Guest lecture. You were assisting with event coordination.” 

“Ooh, I love that!” You agree, “I spilled coffee on you.” 

“You did not.” 

“I absolutely did. You were very patient about it. Very kind. I thought you were intimidating.”

Hotch’s lips twitch into a smile for a split second before he could correct it . For a split second, you saw it. 

“And then,” You continue, “you asked me to dinner. Which I declined. Twice.”

“Why twice?” 

“Because it makes you chase.” You answer obviously, “And because neighbors love that kind of story.” 

Hotch closes his file, “You’ve done this before.” 

“Something tells me you really didn’t look at my resume all the times Straus sent it back when I was brought on.”

Rossi leans in closer to Hotch, “She did this for a year for the FBI. It was prior to the hostage negotiation.” 

You watch the realization and curiosity pass over his face. He hadn’t looked into you much at all. There wasn’t much desire after Straus insisted upon you. 

The jet began to descend shortly after that. By the time you guys touchdown, the local office had coordinated everything. A house at the end of a cul-de-sac in the middle of Coyote Springs. Clean title. Plausible history. A U-Haul full of furniture staged to look like it was from a loving family. 

As soon as you both stepped onto the tarmac, you slid your hand into Hotch’s. Walking over to the small public airport rather than the waiting black SUVs with the rest of the team. Hotch froze for a half second. 

“Breathe. Like you like me.”

“I don’t-”

“In character.” You correct yourself, “It's game on.”

Realistically the unsub could be anyone. Which is why they weren’t afforded with the luxury of riding with the rest of the team. The show has begun. 

You keep your posture relaxed, smiling brightly. By the time Hotch parks the U-Haul in the driveway, three neighbors were already watching from their front porches. 

“Showtime.” You give Hotch one last smile before hopping out of the truck. 

You make your way around to his side, wrapping both arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to his cheek. You look at the house in front of you both. He stiffened again, then recovered. He slips an arm around your shoulders.

“There you go.” You whisper, “Professor Hayes.” 

He glances down at you, “You’re enjoying this.” 

“Immensely.” You tease. 

They began unloading the truck under several curious eyes. You laugh loudly at his dry comments. Leaning into him. Stolen touches and passes. Selling the lie with ease. 

“Newlyweds?” A voice calls out.

You turn to see a woman from two houses down. You answer without skipping a beat, “Six months!” 

Hotch blinks, looking back down at you. 

You tip your head forward before Hotch can flinch. Ripping off the bandaid. You knew he would tense if you didn’t catch him off guard. He’s still trying to protect you. You can feel the hesitation. Your lips are soft on his. Convincing. He relaxes into it.

When you pull back, the woman waves before heading inside. You look at Hotch, his eyes still on you. 

“Relax.” You place a hand on his chest, “You’re doing great.” 

His voice is low, “You don’t hesitate.” 

You pull him down for a hug, whispering in his ear, “Neither does our unsub. We can’t afford to.” 

You press another kiss to his cheek, grabbing another box out of the back of the truck and hauling it inside. Hotch stood for another second before grabbing something himself. He was beginning to have the feeling that this cover was going to test more than just his professionalism. 

-

The surveillance van arrives a couple hours after they had returned the U-Haul. It pulls into their corner of Coyote Springs under the guise of a local internet provider. Uniforms are convincing, and plenty of equipment inside. 

Garcia is already online and active before Morgan can put it in park. The cameras in the house are connected now. Her screens fill with all different angles. Street coverage. Door sensors. Motion alerts. 

She hums in their earpieces, “For the record, the neighbors clocked you as ‘very affectionate’ within twelve minutes of you pulling in the driveway. Linda from two doors down texted her sister Sharon about you.” 

You arch your brow, “What’d she say?”

You can practically hear Garcia’s grin, “Quote ‘The new wife is gorgeous and very young. He’s either lucky or stupid'."

”I’ll take it.” You hold up your mug of coffee in mock salute.

Word spreads fast in this neighborhood. 

The team backs off for a while, letting them get settled together. Leaving you in a house that grows quieter and quieter. Heavier.

You open the fridge and take a peek inside, “We should establish routines.” you say, practical as ever, “Food. Morning patterns. Something that feels lived in.” 

Hotch nods, “I’ll take mornings. Coffee. The paper.” “I don’t do early.” You decide immediately, “But I’ll fake it if I have to.” 

He glances at you, something like amusement flashing across his face before he hides it. “Noted.” 

“I can handle dinner.” You decide, “What kind of trophy would I be without something warm on the table for you?”

You make a face at him that reveals your true feelings about that role you're playing. You still need to establish how much the mask stays on inside. You know the unsub was watching his victims, but not how. You start pulling ingredients and getting things ready on the stove.

“I can help.” He gets up from the counter, eager to wipe the sour look from your face. 

“Respectfully, you moved us in today. You should shower.”

The way your grin lights up your face, turning back to the stove top without a care in the world, makes Hotch freeze. His heart skips a full beat. It already feels so domestic. You catch it and turn back, taking a half step closer to him. 

“Don’t forget, I’m your hot twenty-six year old wife. Act like it.” You press a kiss to his cheek before he can protest. Now you actually focus on the stove, eventually hearing his steps take him away from the room. 

By the time Hotch is done with his needed shower, he can smell the food coming from downstairs. Spaghetti. He’s impressed that you’ve even set the table. Creating the fantasy. Creating his illusion. You set down his plate at the end of the table, and you take the seat closest to his on the right. 

“If we’re too distant we stand out, and now that we’re here-” Hotch clears his throat, “You’re right. I need to act like it. At any point now the unsub could be watching us.” 

He smiles as if he hadn’t said something so horrifying. The place had already been swept for bugs, and now they had eyes on them. Now they would have to wait and see if the unsub was watching them too. 

“I’m glad you’re officially on board.” You grin, placing your hand in his.

You guys both practically drag your feet cleaning up from dinner. Avoiding the bedroom. The last line to cross. 

The room has been staged well, it’s a pretty room. A large bed right in the middle of it. Hotch pauses just behind you in the doorway, “We can take turns on the couch.” 

You shake your head immediately, “No. Couples like us don’t do that.” 

He exhales slowly, “Understood.” 

You leave him in the bathroom and take your bag to the bathroom. You change quickly and then open the door back up while you take off your makeup and brush your teeth. After spitting in the sink, you look up in the mirror to see Aaron walking in. He’s changed into long pajama pants and a black t-shirt. 

You were hoping if you were fast enough, Hotch would be in bed with the lights off by the time you came out. You blush when you notice him taking in your cover wardrobe. You’re supposed to be a young hot wife, that means little for the pajama department. 

He begins brushing his teeth while you do your skincare. The silence stretching painfully rather than peacefully is the only clue that this isn’t real. 

You’re nearly done by the time Hotch leaves and heads back to the bedroom. You follow after turning off the lights and pull back the covers. Total darkness and silence. 

You lie on your back, your hands folded over your stomach, “Night, Hotch.” 

“Goodnight.” 

Neither of you sleep very well. He stares at the opposite wall. Plagued by listening to your soft breaths while you sleep. Morning comes too fast. He’s already up by the time your eyelids pull open. 

You pad into the kitchen to see a pot of coffee on, Hotch manning the stove. He still has on his pajamas, his hair disheveled from sleep. You’re surprised he didn’t fix it first thing. But, this isn’t really him. 

“Morning, professor.” Your voice lazy from sleep. 

He freezes for half a second.

Then recovers, “Sleep well?”

You smile, taking steps closer to him. He reaches out an arm to wrap around your shoulders. The food smells good. 

“Like a dream.” You lie. He knows. 

You wrap your arms around his waist while you both sway together. You’d be ashamed to admit it once you were more awake, but you lean your weight against him to support. 

By noon, you’re laying out by the pool. The bikini is not subtle. It isn’t meant to be. 

Garcia groans over the comms you can all hear again, “This seems deeply unfair.”

“Tell me about it.” Emily whined. 

Hotch watches from inside, his jaw tight, posture rigid. He knows exactly what you are doing and why it works. He’s almost alarmed at the pace you could set for the unsub. 

Neighbors slow as they pass.  A man across the street checks his mail. Twice. 

You don’t look at any of them. You keep your sunglasses on, body relaxed and unconcerned. 

It’s bait. 

And it’s effective. 

Hotch’s eyes finally snap up from your figure when he sees someone approach the fence. A woman smiling brightly and waving you over. You get up from your lounge chair and walk over to her.

“Hi! I’m Linda. We’re having a block party on Friday, and I thought we’d invite the new couple!” 

You smile, all warmth and charm, “Isn’t that sweet!”

Hotch steps out the back patio door and walks over to join you. His arm wraps around your lower back so his hand can find home on your hip. Linda notices. Everyone does. 

“Aaron.” He extends his other hand to shake Linda’s. 

It’s clear Linda is trying to hide her gaze on their PDA. She stutters out the time while focusing on your hand placed on Hotch’s warm chest. The rock the FBI provided glimmering brightly on your ring finger. The sun continues to beat down, Hotch very aware of how you’re all skin right now. He’s only touching bare skin. He vaguely hears you ask if you should bring anything. He misses the response. 

“Lovely.” She waves, “We’ll see you then!”

Linda walks away, you wave goodbye as she walks back to her house. 

“So, that's what it takes to get you to come outside?” You turn, Hotch’s hold still on you, “Linda?”

“What-”

“I mean, I’ve been out here for how long, Garcia?”

His hand tightens again, not expecting you to circle the team back in. He forgot their eyes and ears are on everything.

“Forty-five minutes.” She answers. 

“Disappointing.” You whisper, it fans over his face. 

“I’ll work on it.” 

He leans down before you can pull another stunt, he presses a kiss to your brow. 

-

Later Emily and Morgan come over under the guise of friends bringing a housewarming gift. They welcome them both in and accept the wine with hugs. They gather together in the kitchen, everyone’s face all smiles but Emily’s tone tells another story. 

“I think we’ve got to work on being what the unsub is looking for.” She reminds, “You both need to work on being closer. Physically.”

Morgan nods, “She’s right. The profile says entitlement. Ownership. A guy who thinks he’s won.” 

“You don’t protect, Y/n. You flaunt her.” 

Hotch’s jaw tightens, “That’s not-”

“That’s the role,” She cuts in, “A man who would absolutely brag about locking down another wife half the age of the last one.” 

Emily is exaggerating obviously, but she makes her point clear. 

“I’m good, Hotch.” You smile, wrapping your hand around his arm and pulling him closer, “I’m not fragile.” 

He exhales slowly. Once. Controlled. 

“Understood.” 

The shift is nearly immediate. You can feel it. He changes how he stands. How close he is. How his hand settles on your waist when you pass him in the kitchen. Unapologetic. 

An arm draped over her shoulder as they sit on the front porch enjoying the summer night, the sky beginning to darken. Morgan and Emily left a little bit ago, leaving them alone again. This time you claim each other's space. 

A neighbor you haven’t met jogs by on a late run, waving to them as she passes. Linda’s husband takes out the trash, putting it at the end of their driveway. A group of kids pass through on their bikes, loud yells and laughter. 

Lots of activity in this neighborhood. Lots of eyes. You and Hotch are putting yourselves in full view. 

“You good?” You ask quietly. 

“Yes,” He answers, “Are you?”

You study him, “I’ve played worse roles than this.”

His mouth tightens, “That doesn’t make it easier.” 

“No, but it gets the job done.” 

You reach up to card your hands through his hair. Running along the side, pushing it back. 

“Uhh, guys?” Garcia chimes in the earpiece. You both keep faces neutral. 

“One of the exterior cameras just changed angles.” 

You still. Hotch does too. You’re not sure you would be able to tell if you weren’t practically in his lap right now. 

Inside the van, Rossi leans closer to the screen. “Did we do that?”

Garcia typing away furiously. 

“No. And the system didn’t flag it either.” 

Emily frowns, “Can someone access it remotely?”

Garcia hesitates before answering. 

“If they had administration credentials they would have remote access.” 

“So, the unsub is watching right now?” You ask, eyes still on Aaron. 

“I would assume so since he adjusted the exterior to include you both in frame.”

“Let’s give him a show.” 

You want to pull Aaron to you, but you know he needs to push this. He is the pursuer. Your hand is still in his hair when he leans down to connect your lips again. You don’t give him the chance to cut it short, leaning into him. 

He opens his mouth wider to deepen the kiss, you sit up against him. Throwing one leg over his lap, practically indecent for the front yard. 

“Take me to bed.” Your words are pressed against his lips. 

Hotch stiffens under you for a second. His eyes wide, before you give a small nod. He picks you up from his lap, carrying you into the house. You let him set you down and pull him up the stairs by the collar of his shirt. Still full of smiles and teasing. Aaron corners you against a wall in the hallway, pressing hot kisses down your neck.

You push back from him, taking his hand and pulling him into the bedroom and shut the door. The second the door shuts, you both let go, but are still out of breath. Hotch paces a few feet away from you. The bedroom is one of the few places they didn’t put a camera. 

“Garcia, did any other angles in the house change? Any interior cameras?” Your voice sounds a lot more calm and clear than you feel. 

“Um,” She clears her throat, obviously still reeling from everything she just witnessed. “Uh-I-uh it looks like he has. The hallway is angled more in the bedroom than it was when it was installed. I think I can see if he’s watching.”

There’s a long pause while she works before she comes back on, “Wait, yes! He’s online. He’s still active on the hall camera. I’m guessing he’s waiting for the afterparty.” 

Emily nods, “He’s watching for something. He wants to know if they fit his needs.” 

Inside, the performance continues. You mess up your hair, Hotch’s to be fair already was. You change out of the clothes you had on before and opt for just one of Aaron’s law t-shirts. It feels right. Puts a little pressure on that authority insecurity. 

“Is he still watching?” You ask Garcia. 

“Mhm.”

You open the door and casually skip down the stairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water. You're still flushed from the couch make out. Didn't have to fake that.

“Babygirl, you’re a genius.” Morgan claps. 

It only needs to give the illusion they need. Just enough to piss him off. 

-

You made brownies for the block party. Aaron had to run out to the store, leaving an opening for the unsub to approach as well. They don’t know his true patterns and if he’s confident enough to approach them both at once. 

All morning there is activity out in the street. People are setting up tables, music, and food. It looks like they don’t do anything small here in Coyote Springs. You picked out the perfect summer sun dress, and curled your hair and leaving it down simply. It’s short enough to put your legs on display. 

“Safe choice,” Hotch nods, looking at the tray covered in foil. 

Safe to comment on the food, not the dress.

You smile up at him, “People trust baked goods.” 

He opens the door for you both to walk out, and it’s already full. The party is already in full swing. People everywhere. Children running around. The smell of the grill takes over. 

Too many faces. 

You immediately feel your posture sag a little trying to keep track of everyone’s expressions while walking through. You keep one hand on the tray and the other curled possessively around Aaron’s bicep. You let him guide you around, introducing yourselves. 

He leans down to press the occasional kiss to your lips, temple, brow. Anything to hear your low laugh. You both look inseparable. 

From the street, it’s enviable. From the cameras, he’s raging. 

“We’ve got a lot of eyes.” Garcia says into the earpiece. 

JJ watches over the crowd, “He’s here. He wouldn’t pass up this opportunity.” 

You move slowly. Deliberately. Introductions begin to blur.  Retirees, young families, couples who’ve lived here twenty years. Kids continue to race around playing. Teens hang back in groups, too cool to really participate. You laugh easily, leaning into Hotch. You even let him speak over you once or twice.

You both stop near Linda, who is holding court beside the grill and a whole table of food. 

“Oh! You made it,” Linda says brightly. “And you brought something.”

“Brownies,” You smile. “I hope that’s okay.”

Linda takes the tray. “Oh, people will love you.”

Her gaze flicks to Hotch. “You’re a lucky man.”

Hotch smiles wide, proud, exactly the wrong way.

“I know,” he says. “I really do.”

The reaction is instant. Not from Linda.

From just behind her.

A boy, sixteen maybe seventeen goes still.

Too still.

You can feel pressure between your shoulder blades. Hotch squeezes your hand, he saw it too. 

“Oh, where are my manners!” Linda sighs, “Meet my family. This is my husband Bill, and my son Matthew.” 

She then turns where the other boy still watches. “And this is my sister Sharon and her son Toby. They live just a couple streets down.” 

Toby is tall, a little lanky. He wears a black hoodie despite the heat. He stands half in the shadow of a tree, his eyes won’t meet yours. Instead they’re on Hotch. Specifically where his hand is glued to your hip possessively. You shift closer and his grip bruises, Toby’s jaw tightens. 

You turn to speak over Aaron’s shoulder so they won’t notice what you ask Garcia. 

“Garcia, what do we know on Sharon and her son?”

There’s a pause. You turn back your attention to Linda and Sharon, waiting for her chipper voice to come on the earpiece. 

“Let me see what I can find!” She eagerly begins typing. They had to move the surveillance van a couple streets down for the block party. It would be curious for them to be parked there with all the homeowners having a party together. 

You keep smiling and turn your attention to Sharon and her son who hovers behind.  “So, how long have you guys lived here?”

“All of his life.” Sharon answers, smiling softly at him. 

“Must be hard,” You reply gently, “watching things change. New people are moving in, although I hope we’re welcomed!”

Everyone laughs at your comment, except for Toby. His gaze has yet to leave Hotch’s touch. 

Sharp. Hurt. Furious. 

Hotch squeezes a warning. 

His eyes flick up to your face for the first time. 

You excuse yourself from the group to refill both of your drinks. When you return, you immediately slide onto Hotch’s lap. You dive back into conversation totally unphased, but in your peripheral you can see Toby’s hands clenching.

Hotch makes sure to brag about his job, about you, about how good his life is now. Toby is locked in with his full attention. Every laugh from you is a needle. Every kiss gasoline. Building.

“I’ve got something juicy,” Garcia jumps back in, “Sharon was just divorced from Toby’s father last March. They had been married for twenty-two years, but he moved out and left. And then six weeks ago it looks like he was re-married.” 

“Right when the killings started.” Emily reminds. 

“It get better-or worse, I don’t know which is-what way it-” 

“Garcia.”

“He has been teaching the girls college soccer team almost as long as they were married. His new wife? She just graduated from the team last year. Can you spell slimy?”

Garcia gags over the earpiece nearly making you wince and yank it out of your ear. 

“She’s twenty-four, he’s fourty-nine.” 

Bingo. 

You turn to look over Hotch’s shoulder to see Toby’s expression, only to find him missing. Linda’s son is gone now too. 

“Does anyone have eyes on him?”

No answer. 

You both thank people as you’re saying goodbye. Smiles. Keep the act flawless. 

The house feels wrong the second your foot crosses the threshold. Hotch’s hand moves instinctively toward his weapon and stops. Static takes over the earpiece.

-

Back in the surveillance van, the team waits anxiously. Re-watching footage to see if they can spot him disappearing. Eerie silence from the couple undercover. Garcia watches the door shut and suddenly the screens turn to pixels, static playing over the speakers.

“What the hell is that?” Morgan yells. 

“I don’t know! Something is blocking the signal.” Garcia types furiously. 

“We’ve got to go in now.” Morgan grabs his vest and his gun.

“If he’s not with them, this will blow their cover. We’ll scare him away.” Rossi adds. 

“It won’t matter if they’re dead. Toby is the unsub, I’m sure of it.” 

-

Toby is standing in the living room, holding a gun he shouldn’t know how to handle. And it’s aimed right at you both. His hands are shaking. Your hand tightens around Aaron’s arm.

“Shut the door!” He yells, you both slowly step the rest of the way into the house and shut the door. 

His face is pale, eyes wide, and breathing way too fast. 

He raises the gun closer to them, “Upstairs. Now.”

Hotch manages to keep himself placed between you and the gun as he follows you both to the bedroom. Every step is deliberate, intentionally trying to put you in the least amount of harm.

“On your knees.” 

Neither of them hesitates. Neither of you tries to reach for your weapon. Yet. 

Hotch’s shoulders brush with yours. Toby paces in front of you, waving the gun wildly in their direction the entire time. 

“You think you’re better than everyone!” He yells, “You think it’s okay to take whatever you want.”

You tilt your head slightly, “What did he take from you?” 

You try to remind that Hotch is not his father, although with the anger in his eyes you’re not sure he can tell. His pacing stutters.

“You watch people like us?” You continue, “You think you’re correcting something?”

“Correcting what he’s taking!” He jabs the gun at Hotch’s chest. You feel the air get knocked out of your lungs. 

“Correcting my theft of youth?”

Your words from the beginning of the case now echo with Hotch’s voice. Toby freezes. 

“That’s what he did,” Toby’s voice growing hoarse, “He took her youth. He took our family and replaced it with something younger. Easier.”

Hotch swallows when Toby turns his focus onto you. He lets the barrel of the gun slide across your collarbone. 

“It’s despicable. This is the same thing.” He gestures between you two.

You hold his gaze, “I chose him. He didn’t take anything from me.”

Your voice softens, “And I don’t regret it.” 

The truth in your voice is unmistakable. Hotch feels it like a shockwave. An earthquake. 

“You don’t want to kill us.” You voice gentle, calming the room, “You want someone to admit what happened to you was wrong. That it was fucked up.” 

Toby’s hands shake more, his eyes fill. 

“He didn’t even talk to me about it. He just moved out.” 

You nod, “Don’t you want it to stop hurting?”

His head bobs. 

“Then put the gun down.”

He hesitates. 

Hotch keeps his voice low and steady. Using his dad voice, “You’re not a monster. You’re a kid that got left behind.”

The gun lowers. Just enough. You reach forward and take the gun from his grasp and pass it back to Hotch immediately. You kneel beside him while he cries. Morgan breaks through the door, armed and ready. 

“It’s okay, we’re all safe now.” 

Red and blue lights take over the room flashing in from the window. Morgan takes Toby down to the cars to bring him into the station. An ambulance. Police. Statements. Protocols. 

-

The team gathers in the living room to discuss everything that just unfolded and establishing a time to meet at the jet.

“Sharon works for CPI Security. That’s how Toby was able to access the homes and the cameras. He was using her devices.” Garcia explains their total blackout on seeing and hearing them. Toby was smarter than they had thought. That’s how he was without a trace. The team gives them a couple looks, quiet comments about their act while they try to wrap things up.

“Enough!” You shout, “I would like to shower and then get on a plane and go home! Is that too much to ask for?” 

“No ma’am!” “We’re going!” “Okay, okay!”

Rossi leaves to go get one of the SUVS so they can head to the airport. It would be a late night flight home. You and Aaron are left with a few officers downstairs taking pictures and taking statements while you both pack up your belongings. 

“Well, I suppose I will have to give this back to evidence.” You sigh, holding up the rock on your ring finger to the light with a chuckle. 

“Yeah, I’m sure that’ll take some getting used to. You’ll feel lighter.” 

You roll your eyes, putting your toiletries away, looking at him in the mirror. 

Leaning your hip against the counter you look up at him, soft now and unguarded. “You were very convincing. You stepped it up.”

He matches your lean, a step closer. 

“You were extraordinary from the beginning.”

The smile on your face shifts into something real, “You used my words back there.” 

“I know.” He says, “I know what they mean to you.”

A beat passes. You swallow, his eyes follow down your throat. One he has kissed numerous times now. 

“Do you regret it?” he asks. 

You shake your head without hesitation, “Not even a little.” 

Hotch reaches out, slowly. Deliberate. He tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is warm. Bare. Uncharacteristically gentle. 

“Neither do I.” 

-

The jet hums as it cuts through the dark sky. Hotch sits at the table with a file open in front of him that he is definitely not reading. You took the same seat across from him as usual. Emily and Rossi join the table, Morgan and Garcia sit on the couch facing them with wide grins. 

For the first six minutes of the flight, no one says a thing. 

“So,” Morgan starts far too casually, “We gonna talk about the kissing, or are we pretending none of that ever happened?”

You close your eyes. Hotch exhales through his nose. 

JJ doesn’t even look up from her tablet, “I witnessed at least nine when I was on cams.”

Garcia gasps, “I’ve got so many screenshots-

“Garcia.” Hotch warns.

You groan, “Oh my god.” 

Rossi smiles into his coffee, “You know, I’ve been undercover a lot. But I’ve never seen Hotch commit like that.” 

Morgan grins, “My boss went from ‘don’t touch me’ to ‘this is my wife, don’t even breathe in her direction’ in twenty-four hours.” 

Hotch clears his throat, “Focus.”

“Sir,” Emily smiles, “You grabbed her waist every time someone looked at her for more than two seconds.” 

“That was tactical.”

You snort loudly before you can even stop it. 

Morgan points immediately, “See! She knew it!”

Garcia’s cuts in, “And can we discuss the wardrobe?”

You straighten in your seat, “Garcia-”

“The bikini,” She barrels on, “The sundress. The backless sundress. The way you were charming everyone and-”

“Garcia!” You say both mortified and laughing.

JJ smiles, “To be fair, it worked. He didn’t stand a chance.” 

“Hotch or Toby?” Rossi asks with a jab. 

Hotch’s ears turn red. 

“Well, technically Y/n is closer in age to Toby than she is to Hotch.” Reid interjects.  “Please, don’t ever remind me of that again.” You shake your head, a sour look on your face. “I would also not like to be reminded of that.” Hotch agrees. 

Rossi raises his brow still looking at Hotch. 

“It was part of the profile.” He reminds. 

Impossibly so, Rossi’s brow aims higher at Aaron’s answer, “You told three different men you were ‘very lucky’ and ‘not stupid enough to mess this up’.”

Silence. 

Your lips twitch with a smile as you look over to him, “You did?”

His jaw tightens, “That… may have come up.”

Morgan outright laughs, “Boss, you were bragging.”

You cover your face with one hand, “I can never show my face in Arizona again.” 

“You absolutely can,” Emily disagrees, “You own that cul-de-sac now. Whatever you two were doing, it sold and it worked.”

Reid nods, “Yeah, no notes. Except, next time? I want hazard pay for having to watch all that.”

"Me on the other hand, " Garcia grins wickedly, "I saved it all!"

“You’re welcome, you pervs!” 

You toss a harmless handful of plane popcorn at them, rolling your eyes. There’s an unguarded and warm smile on your face that makes Hotch shake his head watching it all unfold. 

Hours later it’s early morning on the east coast when they finally land on the tarmac. 

“Debrief tomorrow at 9AM.” Hotch says, “Get some rest.” 

The team disperses, still chuckling and yawning as they walk to their cars. The cabin is quiet as you lean back in your seat while Hotch packs up his briefcase. 

“You think any of them bought it?” You ask, a soft smile on your face. Honest and open. 

He flashes you his rare smile. The one usually saved for you and Jack on the weekends.

“Probably not.”

extra of the team finding out here!

an// all too aware of the fact that it’s been almost two years since i’ve written for Hotch, but I am obsessed all over again i fear. i had so much fun writing for him again!

[agnireed]

WARM SAFE PLACE

PAIRING ➩ eddie hicks x reader

WC ➩ 15.6k

SUMMARY ➩ College in NYC seems like it’ll be your biggest life change yet, until you meet the touchy sophomore who thinks you’ve hung the stars.

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ talk abt niche… this is my own interpretation of this terrible movie lol so totally new characters and kind of a new life for the character that is Eddie! it’s meant to read as a typical 2000s romcom set in the big city with montages and a killer soundtrack so i hope you can envision it! NOT PROOFREAD smut below

The city had been just about everything you dreamed off.

You’d been a real touristy cliche, stumbling out of a taxi with a box of your belongings and your heart set on conquering the big apple. College had always been a part of your plan and you would sit in your childhood home, surrounded by the woes of suburbia, and tell yourself that if it wasn’t far away then you didn’t want to go.

You were happy to be a stereotypical freshman girl from a small town, navigating the streets of New York with a smile and too big of a heart.

Your time between classes got spent reading down in the park or trying out local coffee shops, taking the train across town just to find your way back to campus without a map. You wanted to know the city like the back of your hand, even if it took getting lost and missing lectures a few dozen times.

Everything was going exactly as it should be.

Eddie wasn’t necessarily a part of your planned out future, in fact he was pretty close to the opposite of something you would have prepared for.

He had stuck out to you from the moment you saw him, getting far too rowdy in the back corner of a bar your new friends had dragged you along to.

It already wasn’t your scene, you hadn’t been to a place with people like this back home, and the added volume from the drunk boys definitely didn’t help.

One of Eddies friends had noticed one of yours and made his way over like a snake through the tall grass, shoulders bumping carelessly with the other tipsy patrons that didn’t even spare him a glance.

She seemed to like him enough, especially when he bought you all your first round of drinks like he wasn’t on a college kids budget, and fate was practically sealed from then on out.

You didn’t really talk to Eddie much that first night and you figured he wouldn’t have remembered it even if you had, already slurring his words and laughing loudly at his friends jokes before he even made it over to get introduced to you all.

He had scanned over each new face as your names were rattled off by your friend that was now pressed against the side of his own, eyes a little glazed like he wasn’t really registering the difference between them all.

And then he reached you.

You watched his gaze pass you by and then immediately falter and bounce back in your direction, sticking on your features even after the other names began to follow yours.

You’d flushed and looked away, eventually making your way outside and bumming a cigarette off of some older woman outside who looked about as haggard as you felt. It made you cough, chest itchy and sore from the unfamiliar feeling, but you were halfway determined to be the type of girl who smoked under the rush of the city.

You hadn’t thought much about the boy and the backwards cap, even though his friend started to make an appearance weekly.

It became clear pretty quickly that things were getting serious between him and your friend, halfway roommate considering how often you escaped the dorms in favor of sleeping on her couch.

The merging of the friend groups was slow but then permanent as soon as it became a reality. Suddenly Eddie Hicks was at every social event you attended, as big as a party in somebody’s parentless townhouse and as intimate as a movie night with just the four of you.

There were plenty of words people used to describe Eddie and you weren’t necessarily a fan of any of them. He wasn’t exactly stupid he just didn’t care about his studies as much as your average peer and he certainly wasn’t as immature as others might think he was based off of a drunken night or a brief public interaction.

You thought he could be really sweet when he wanted to. His voice would get soft when it was just the two of you and he’d talk a lot more with a much lower level of volume, rambling about small subjects you didn’t really understand and showing you he had more depth than getting wasted and jumping into the fountain on campus.

He’d lose that softness when others were around and you felt a little thrown off the first few times he did it before understanding it was just how he presented himself.

It was easier for him to be the party boy that didn’t get embarrassed or nervous in a crowd.

You liked to be around Eddie and he wasn’t shy about showing you that he felt the same way. He was almost constantly at your dorm, knocking lightly at the door and encouraging you to come outside with him as soon as you would answer.

That was your favorite part about him, other than the general comfortability you had started to feel after the first few months. He loved the city more than you, more than anybody else you’d met since you’d first stepped out onto the busy streets.

Not many people around you had actually been born in New York but Eddie was a city boy down to his core. He still went to eat dinner with his mom at his childhood apartment twice a week, taking the train thirty minutes across town without hesitation, and he had barely left the zip code area he was born in before college.

He thought it was sweet that you liked to get a little lost so he wouldn’t correct you when you went on your adventures together, letting you find your way back home despite the fact he knew it was the wrong way almost every single time. You’d take a glance at his face when you would board a train car, groaning and hiding in his shoulder when you realized you had messed up again and feeling the way his frame vibrated as he laughed.

The touchiness was a whole different ballgame you weren’t sure how to navigate with him.

Honestly, you hadn’t even noticed it. It just felt natural for you to gravitate towards each other in a crowd, his hand on your lower back or yours wrapped around his arm to make sure neither of you strayed too far from the other.

You’d press up against him during movie nights and he’d let your ankles lock together, playing with your fingers absentmindedly as he watched. You fell asleep together often on long study nights or at more lowkey house parties, his head in your lap or you resting against his chest and dozing off on his shoulder.

Eddie was your friend and you liked to be around him. You weren’t exactly an expert on boys so you didn’t think much of it until everybody else started to point it out.

At first it was curious glances between the two of you and then it was full out teasing confrontation, openly commenting on it in front of both of you despite how awkward you’d get.

“She’d never go for a guy like me.” Eddie would reply with a goofy grin like it was the easiest answer in the world, his arm going around your shoulder and shaking you softly for emphasis.

You would laugh and smile fondly but it made your chest feel a little weird and tight. You figured he was just being nice, playing it safe and rejecting you but making it sound like it was for your sake.

It could be blamed on your inexperience, the lack of willing suitors back in your hometown who didn’t get to see you in your college prime, or just plain denial. You assumed that if Eddie happened to like you then he would be just as eager to let you know as his friend Alex had been that first night at the bar with yours, immediately coming over to her and not leaving her side since.

But you weren’t too upset about it because you liked to be Eddies friend more than anything, even if it got a little confusing occasionally.

Now you were right back at the same bar almost nine months since the first time, pushing your way through the crowd with only a mildly disgusted look this go around. You’d started to get used to it along with the rest of the city and its liveliness.

You still felt a rush of relief when you got through the mass of bodies and saw your friends at the back table, your favorite drink already in the empty space besides Eddie.

You easily slid into the spot next to him, barely getting out a soft greeting before he was turning to look at you and wrapping his arm around your side.

“We thought you weren’t going to make it.” Sarah was frowning slightly like the idea was a lot sadder than it was in reality due to her already tipsy state.

You liked Sarah quite a bit despite how different the two of you were, her large apartment paid for by her parents and closet full of designer clothes painting a much different picture than your own humble upbringing. She let you crash on her fancy couch when your dorm mate was being obnoxious and occasionally gave you any tops she grew out of so you figured she liked you quite a bit back.

“I missed the train.” You replied softly even though she wasn’t even really listening to your reply, going to say something you couldn’t pick up to Alex.

You turned to Eddie instead who already seemed to be waiting for your attention, hand resting lightly on your side as he pushed your drink in your direction and watched you take a slow sip.

“Again? I thought we got that down by now.” He didn’t miss the opportunity to tease you for your lack of direction and you rolled your eyes.

“It was busy okay? I got a little bit distracted and it just flew past.” You explained over the noise, faltering between sentences to slightly grimace at his cigarette smoke that was floating in the space between your faces.

He didn’t hesitate to put it out when he saw your expression, waving the air to clear the rest of it and easily catching your weight when you leaned against him in thanks.

“You totally missed it.” Sarah was suddenly speaking up again and smacking a perfectly manicured hand down on the sticky table in front of you. “Eddies been trying to get the bartenders number all night.”

Your eyes went across the crowded bar to find the woman in question, definitely a few years your senior and intimidating enough that you quickly looked away before she caught you staring. You glanced at Eddie next to find him glaring at Sarah, eyebrows furrowed and his free hand turned up like he was questioning her

“Not going well?” You attempted to ask it as causally as you could, like you were just a friend equally as invested in your buddies attempt to pick up a pretty girl as everybody else.

You could feel his hand twitching against your side and you were suddenly hyper aware of the touch that normally came so natural to the two of you, stepping to the side just enough that he would have to awkwardly stretch to keep touching you.

He dropped his hand and gave you an almost guilty look before shaking his head.

“She’s just messing around.” He tried to smooth it over and that almost made you feel more upset.

You felt like this was the worst case scenario, Eddie somehow realizing you might feel something towards him and pitying you so much he felt like he needed to lie to keep your feelings from getting hurt.

“He’s been sitting here sulking all night waiting for you.” Alex was chiming in with an attempt to make things less tense but neither of the dismissals were helping especially now that your mind had gone to less than kind places.

“I’m going to get a fresh drink.” You managed to get out, sending them a tight smile before pushing your way back into the crowd. You vaguely heard Eddie saying something sharply, most likely directly at Sarah, but you were suddenly grateful for the loud music and voices to keep you from overhearing something you wouldn’t like.

You were leaning against the bar after requesting a drink, waiting patiently with your hands tapping on the wood, when you felt him behind you.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was and you had expected him to follow you regardless, sighing softly when you felt his arms go around you from behind. You let yourself get tugged back gently until your back was against his chest, your own hands reaching near your stomach to hold his wrist.

“Want me to get her number for you?” Your eyebrows raised as you looked at the bartender who was moving from section to section smoothly, feeling him tense behind you.

Now it was his turn to sigh and his forehead rested against your shoulder for a brief moment.

“Stop it, you know I wasn’t flirting with her. I don’t think I even talked to her.” He started to defend himself and you were once again wondering why he felt the need to, if it really just stemmed from pity and a friendly attempt to save you some dignity.

“It’s fine if you were Eddie.” You shrugged and you heard him let out another huffy breath at the words. “I mean it. You can have fun on a night out.”

“I have fun when you’re here.” He said back quickly and it was slightly muffled considering his face was now pressed against your shoulder like he was planning to hide in your neck.

Your drink got placed in front of you but you ignored it for a moment, turning to face him and rubbing your hand over his ribs and chest as he let out a deep breath of possible relief.

He’d told you before how much your touch made him feel better, whispered it in a quiet room when he was positive nobody was listening.

Your nose rubbed against his and his eyes fluttered shut when your lips brushed together, never fully touching but ghosting along just enough for the thought to cross your mind. His hands had moved to your lower back to keep you tight against him but you weren’t planning on going anywhere regardless.

You pulled back just enough so you didn’t accidentally kiss him, his eyes opening and looking a bit more dejected than beforehand.

“Let’s go back.” You said softly and he hesitated but nodded eventually, grabbing your drink for you and guiding you back to the table with a hand on your waist.

You and Eddie were always like that but you were suddenly unable to get used to it.

You were hyper aware of everything, including the looks Sarah and Alex would give each other whenever they saw the two of you standing closely or touching casually. His hands felt hot on your skin and you could barely stomach rubbing over his arms softly without feeling those nearly painful butterflies.

It was starting to feel that awful right now, sat on the couch together like you’d done dozens of times before.

Your legs were sideways over his lap, sides pressed together with one of his arms behind your back to support your weight and keep you from falling against the couch. His other palm was between your thighs right above your knees, just resting there in the warm skin of your closed legs.

You had one hand in his curls and the other on his arms. It was probably your most default position for watching a movie but you felt like it was beyond intimate right now, trying your best to try ignore the way it made you think and react so you could stay close to him.

The door was opening and you barely glanced up at Alex and Sarah coming in, grocery bags in hands and mid laugh like they always seemed to be.

She sent a look your way but didn’t say anything just yet although you tensed with the anticipation. It was a few more minutes before they got the food put away and came to join you in the dimly lit living room, plopping down on a loveseat and eyeing you curiously for a moment.

“Okay seriously, what’s going on with you two?” She asked abruptly and you sighed softly, already assuming she was going to pry as soon as she saw the way you were curled around each other.

“We’re friends.” You offer her the same line you always do even though you’re aware of how ridiculous it comes across when you’re holding each other like this.

Eddie doesn’t help much at all, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head that you’re half convinced he did just to drive her a little more crazy.

“This is hard to watch.” She sighs and sinks lower in her seat just in time to miss the handful of popcorn you throw in her direction.

Thankfully she doesn’t say anything else after the light teasing although Alex gives Eddie a wiggle of his eyebrows before getting his own spot for the movie, your eyes rolling once you catch it.

It’s almost constant lately but you really can’t blame them for their confusion considering you barely understand your relationship yourself.

The next week, you’re studying in his room, lying on your stomach in his bed and flipping through pages while you try to pretend you don’t feel him staring at you. He doesn’t even shy away when you glance up and raise an eyebrow, just giving you a soft smile and continuing watching you even when you go back to your textbook.

Eventually it starts to drive you so crazy that you have to set the book down to really stare at him.

“Hi Ed.” You keep your voice light and he finally leaves his place on the floor to come and join you on the small twin sized mattress, sitting up beside where you’re still flat on your stomach.

“Hey.” He sounds softer than normal, definitely distracted and maybe a little lost in thought.

His hand comes up to brush some of your behind your ear gently before he’s moving it lower, letting it rest on your lower back. He swipes his thumb right where the fabric of your tank top had ridden up, warming up your skin with his own.

You sigh blissfully and fold your arms in front of you so you can rest your head on them.

“You okay?” You nearly whisper and his eyes leave your back for a quick second to check your face before he’s back to staring at the area he’s touching.

“I’m… really really okay.” He says back and it’s still a bit far away sounding which makes you laugh lightly.

The air felt heavy and charged in a way you weren’t really used to and when he went back to watching your face, you almost thought he might lean down and kiss you.

You both jumped when the door swung open, intimate bubble popped immediately as Sarah and Alex burst in and barely acknowledged the fact they hadn’t even attempted to announce themselves before coming in.

Alex was sending you both a curious look and you focused back in enough after your shock to register that Eddie had taken his hand off of you rather quickly, still looking a bit suspicious with the off guard look he had on his face.

“Great news.” Sarah’s smile was bright and it was almost hard to be annoyed at her for interrupting when she seemed so excited, bouncing a little in her kitten heels and clasping her hands together in front of her. “I’ve got you both double dates for the poetry show tonight.”

“Sarah set it up.” Alex added on, she beamed like he was praising her but you figured he just wanted to shift the blame away from himself as soon as possible.

Neither of you said anything but you glanced at Eddie after a few long seconds to find him already watching you.

“No.” His voice was firm but calm, decisive despite not really having a reason to decline.

Sarah’s face fell immediately and she dropped her hands to her sides.

“But why not?” She asked desperately and shifted so she could kneel on the carpet beside the bed and really give you both a good view of her puppy eyes. “Please you know how much I love playing match maker and they’re both looking forward to it.”

“Alex.” Eddie spoke again in slight warning and your eyes went back and forth between each of your friends, trying to get a read on the silent conversation that seemed to be happy.

“I think it’s a good idea.” Alex shrugged and that made Sarah start to smile again. “And it makes her happy so.”

You didn’t realize you were frowning until you felt the familiar hand back on your skin, rubbing softly and drawing your attention right back to him. Eddie was staring at you in a way you really didn’t understand but you figured you could file it alongside the other mysteries you had surrounding him.

Sarah’s soft voice saying your name sent you spinning again, eyes meeting hers and slumping your shoulders in light defeat.

“You’ll do it?” She nearly gasped, hands reaching out to squeeze your arm.

“I mean I guess.” You sighed out, feeling terrible about disappointing her and also not being able to think of a legitimate reason you didn’t want to do it that wouldn’t immediately expose your weird feelings for the boy next to you.

Speaking of, he was getting up almost as soon as you voiced your confirmation. You tried to tune out Sarah’s excited squeals and the way she was squeezing your arm, watching as he left his own bedroom with a deep set frown.

Despite his initial refusal, the triple date ended up happening a few hours later.

You weren’t sure what Alex had said to get Eddie out of the apartment because you were too busy being dragged back to Sarah’s so she could give you a makeover.

Clearly it hadn’t been enough to get a smile on his face because he had been uncharacteristically stoic the entire night.

The bar had a much calmer crowd, soft spoken poetry replacing the usual loud music and sports television. Eddie still had never been this quiet during a night out and you felt overly guilty for agreeing to this arrangement and dragging him out in the process.

Your date was nice enough. He was supportive of the poets and asking you questions about yourself, putting your drinks on his tab and trying his best to get any type of positive response from you.

You’d given him your best attempt at a polite smile for the past two hours and your cheeks were starting to ache. You figured Eddie didn’t have the same issue because he hasn’t so much as grinned even once, instead awkwardly staring at you from across the table in an overly noticeable way.

His date was chatting his ear off enough that she didn’t even seem to notice his intense glare in your direction but yours surely did, shuffling in place nervously as he failed to understand the situation.

She was grabbing his arm and giggling obnoxiously every time she managed to get a small response from him even though they were few and far between.

“You’re liking the city so far?” Your date, maybe Zach something, was tilting his head to try and get your attention back on him and not the way her nails were curling around Eddies forearm.

“Yeah I…” You trailed off and cleared your throat, glancing at him and giving an apologetic smile. “I actually need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

You were pushing away from the table before he could manage out a reply, taking fast steps to the dimly lit hallway and pressing your back against the wall as you took a few slow breaths.

It wasn’t too surprising to hear the footsteps following right behind yours, the soft touch wrapping around your wrist as his frame moved in front of yours.

Eddie didn’t look at all like his usual goofy self, face far too serious for somebody as completely the opposite. You sighed in light relief when you felt him touching you and that only made him do it more, arm going around the small of your back and his forehead pressing against yours.

It was quiet for nearly a minute as you just stood there, your palms on his chest and the muffled sounds of a poem about grief coming from down the hallway.

“I can’t do this.” His voice was so quiet that you barely caught it but it still made you frown.

“Why not Eddie? She’s nice and she seems to like you.” It was hard to get out but you were trying your best to be supportive of him.

“Are you kidding me?” His eyebrows furrowed and he took a step back just enough so he could really see your face as you spoke. “I don’t care if she’s nice. I don’t want her.”

The word he chose to emphasize wasn’t lost on you and for the first real time, you let yourself think this might be about you. It was always in the back of your mind but that insecurity and fear of losing him kept it quiet, not wanting to let yourself feel any hope incase the disappointment that followed was too crushing.

“Ed.” You sigh softly and rub your hand from his chest to his shoulder.

He leaned down to bury his face in your neck and you fully wrapped your arms around the back of his so you could hug him tightly.

“I can’t watch this anymore.” He said eventually and that nearly confirmed it for you but you were stuck with that fear.

You couldn’t bear losing him, not while you were still surrounded by the city around you that he stemmed from. It would be a constant painful reminder of the good thing you had lost and you were in desperate need of this good thing.

Eddie was one of the best friends you’d ever had and you would happily, although torturously, never be anything more if it meant he stayed with you.

That fear was even more obvious to you when he was picking his head back up to really look at you, your noses rubbing together in a familiar way but with an unfamiliar tension hanging over your heads.

You could see the moment he decided to risk it all and your entire body locked up.

“Don’t Eddie.” You stopped him just as he was staring to shift his face closer to yours and his expression dropped.

He didn’t move away right away but you could see the way it stung him. You frowned with guilt and brought your hand up to cup his jaw, grateful when he nuzzled into it without any hesitation.

He may be hurt by your premature rejection but he still craved your touch and that made you feel much better.

“It’s okay.” You shift forward to kiss his cheek as you hold his face. His eyes are closed blissfully and his hands tighten around you at the contact. “Let’s go tell them bye.”

It was awkward to go back out there together and tell them bye as a pair, your dates sending you and each other confused looks while Sarah gave you a long disappointed stare.

You knew she didn’t mind the idea of you and Eddie together, in fact she encouraged it actively in the beginning, but she also was aware of your hesitance and she knew you well enough to know nothing had happened in that hallway. You were still choosing to waste the chance to spend a night getting to know a nice guy, just to go home with Eddie and stay in the same limbo.

You gave Zach a light hug goodbye but Eddie didn’t even bother with a parting wave to his date.

You waited until you got on the train back towards his apartment to bring it up, both of you standing on opposite sides of a pole.

“She was sweet.” You said softly and his eyebrows furrowed again for what felt like the dozenth time that night. “You could have been nicer.”

He winced and his shoulders slumped at your gentle scolding, looking a little guilty. Eddie wasn’t at all a rude guy, even when he got a little too rowdy to remember his manners. He was notably friendly and a good time so it was out of character for him to treat somebody so coldly.

“She was nice.” He agreed casually and now you took a long pause.

“She wanted to bang you.”

His face scrunched up at the idea of it as you both swayed with the sudden lurching of the train car departing.

“Yeah, no way.” He was shaking his head in disagreement and you eyed the way his curls had gotten a little bouncier after a long night. “She was flirting, yeah but.. I don’t know.”

“Why not?” You asked it with a tilt of your head like you were genuinely curious despite the fact you figured you knew his answer by now. He leaned back against the wall of the train car and crossed his arms, giving you a slightly disbelieving look. “How long’s it been since you hooked up with somebody?”

It wasn’t something you talked about even though you seemed to talk about everything else. You knew Eddie had a past of casual flings with a lot of girls, you’d heard it from Sarah after her first few times around Alex.

But you never actually saw the playboy antics yourself. He was at the college for a whole year before you even got there and either he had given up on the life style coincidentally as he became a sophomore or there was a secondary reason.

He looked just as thrown off by your question as you felt asking it although a little amused by the boldness.

“A while.” He admitted easily but he rubbed the back of his neck like he was nervous, face just pink enough for you to tell he’s affected. “I don’t know exactly but maybe a year?”

Your eyes must widen because he lets out an embarrassed laugh that sounds nothing like himself, like he’d rather be the first to laugh than to wait for you to inevitably do it.

“Yeah I just… haven’t been into it lately.” His eyes land hard on yours and you can’t really find it in yourself to say anything in response, especially since you’re more than certain he’s lying with the weak explanation.

You lean against the pole and watch him carefully, suddenly very glad you had left the bar when you did.

“What about you?”

Your mouth parts a little in surprise, not at all expecting him to turn the question around on you. You haven’t to really think about it which he doesn’t seem to enjoy, frowning just enough for it to be noticeable as he shifts in place.

“A few months I guess.” You say softly with a light shrug, just a little bit shy with the answer.

You hope he doesn’t ask you to specify because you really don’t know how to explain to him that you’d been so pent up one night from the way he touched you that you had no choice but to go and seek other forms of release. It was somebody you didn’t even remember the name of which was evidence enough towards how good it had been, not at all satisfying that craving he’d built up and actually just making it much worse.

You’d heard stories about Eddie from random girls around campus, their faces flushing with embarrassment when they noticed you listening or passing by like you had some sort of claim over him.

You were curious about it both because you liked him so much and because you were his friend and wanted to know what exactly he did that made girls get so hung up on their time together in the bedroom.

He hadn’t replied since you spoke, staring a bit blankly.

“What’s on your mind?” Your head cocked.

He shifted at the sound of your voice and moved back towards you, hand wrapping around the pole you’d been leaning on. It was just above your head so you were slightly caged in by his arm, eyes turning upwards to blink at him.

“Have you… wanted anyone since?” His voice had gotten a little lower and you took a second to glance around the train car and ensure nobody was paying too much attention to two college kids flirting awkwardly.

You stared at him through your lashes for a few seconds before your hand was rubbing over his ribs, smiling a little. “Maybe.”

He sucked in a breath at the touch despite how often he felt it and you watched as his eyes very obviously dropped down to your lips.

The train car picked the perfect moment to rock violently and you made a small surprised sound as it nearly threw you sideways, too distracted by him to remember to brace yourself.

Eddie barely faltered, more than used to the abrupt stops. He easily slid his hands around your waist to steady you and you gave him a quick thankful smile before you were realizing you’d reached your stop and grabbing into his wrist to pull him out onto the platform before you managed to get the both of you lost again.

“Didn’t think you’d catch it this time.” He smiled softly at you as you walked and you rolled your eyes despite being overly fond of his habit to never give you directions.

“You’re not that distracting.” You teased back but you’re more than aware of how obvious that lie is.

He certainly is distracting you in the following weeks as you get closer to summer and the heat begins to rise and rise.

To only make matters worse, the AC goes out in the boys apartment and Sarah’s dad sets out a strict ‘no boy’ rule when he catches Alex sneaking out one morning.

You heavily consider just ditching all three of them in favor of your college funded air conditioned dorm that you’d barely used since moving to the city but you feel a little too guilty and you figured you’d miss Eddie far too much while sulking away next to your dorm mate writing her boyfriend obsessive love letters.

So you join them in their suffering, all lounging around the furniture in various states of undress as you try your best to catch anything that resembles a breeze.

It’s bad enough to be literally hot, sweat coating your forehead and making your hair stick uncomfortably wet to the back of your neck, but to also be a little warm under your skin from Eddie and his lack of a shirt was a new type of torture.

Alex was on the smaller side, body lean and just muscular enough to show some definition and you imagined he was the more stereotypical choice for the college girls surrounding you.

You however, felt naturally drawn to the way Eddie was built. He was so noticeably strong, defined arms and a round chest with enough hair on it to really make you start to sweat, and that was without taking in for account the slight softness of his stomach.

You’d been spending the entire day trying not to look at the trail of hair leading down into his gym shorts, staring up at the ceiling fan as it did its best to cool you off.

Sarah was practically stripped down to her birthday suit, using a bikini top to keep some modesty despite the boy short underwear she had below it doing the opposite. Alex wasn’t much better, giving up on real clothes completely in favor of some oddly tight boxers.

You weren’t exactly shy about your body but you were overly aware of Eddie being in the room so you stuck with a small tank top and some sleep shorts, trying your best not to abandon another layer like the others.

Eddie hadn’t moved in nearly half an hour, eyes closed and lying flat on his back like he was picturing himself floating down a lazy river. You glanced around the room at the other two who were also lounging out with soft heated groans, only the sound of Sarah’s magazine waving back and forth breaking up the silence.

Your hand lightly touched Eddies chest, still close enough to you that your knee was pressed against his arm as you sat with your legs crossed next to him despite the heat screaming at you to separate. It was a little damp under your palm but you figured you weren’t much better.

“Maybe we could go to the beach.”

The words had barely left your lips before Eddie was shooting up off the bed, looking a little dizzy from the sudden movement. “God yes.”

“Careful bubba.” You said softly as you lightly pressed on his skin to get him to lay back down for a second until the wooziness passed.

Sarah had perked up too at the mention of a trip to the beach, most likely already mentally picking out a matching bottom to go with her top. Eddie had taken your hand that was on his chest and pressed a light kiss to each of your knuckles, smiling crookedly at you when you sent him an amused look.

“I’m totally in. Beach day.” He nodded in approval and sat up again at a much slower pace, now face to face with you and rubbing your noses together until you let out a small laugh. “We can use my mom’s van.”

“Your mom’s van is a piece of shit.” Alex supplied from across the room, still refusing to move in the heat even when Sarah sent a sharp swat to his sweaty chest.

It was in fact a piece of shit so it was hard to argue, especially as you stood in front of it.

You weren’t sure how she had managed to keep her lot for as long as she had especially considering the van clearly hadn’t moved in the last few years, coated in dust and making an odd rattling noise when Eddie hopped in and started it up.

He looked too excited for you to rain on his parade and you were still internally trying to impress his mom, talking to her quietly in the kitchen while the boys dug around in Eddies old room for an extra pair of swim trunks that might still fit him after making sure the van started.

“He talks about you a lot. I figured he must be making you up.” She was clearly teasing and she immediately reminded you a lot of her son, down to the shape of the smile she gave you as she poured you all a glass of lemonade.

“All good things?” You mused and you relished in the way she chuckled lightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sarah scoffed from the kitchen table, you’d nearly forgotten she was there at all but the heat and unfamiliar sight of a rundown apartment had made her uncharacteristically quiet. “Eddie couldn’t even think a bad thought about you let alone voice one.”

Her teasing was already bad enough in general but worse in front of his mother, your cheeks turning red just as the boys came stumbling out in clear excitement for the road trip.

It was a bit of a chaotic start, all holding onto the prayer that the van would even make it to the first gas station stop. You felt a bit of relief as it rattled its way out of the city, especially since Eddie had confessed he didn’t have a license and let Alex drive, giving Sarah shotgun after she sent him a sharp glare.

He was pressed against your side in the second row, a little uncomfortably considering the AC was barely sending out a light breeze in your direction but the windows being down on the open road helped cool off your skin just enough for you to relax.

You turned to look at him just to find he was already watching you, your nose brushing his as you both mirrored the other’s bright smile.

“You excited?” You whispered, trying to keep your voice under the song playing from the CD Sarah had dug out from the middle console.

“Yeah.” He said it back just as quietly and you appreciated the imaginary privacy the volume offered. His hand came up to brush your hair behind your ear and then lingered near your jaw.

“I’ve never seen the ocean.” You admitted and you watched his eyes widen in surprise, multiple emotions passing over his face like he had suddenly decided this meant something different than just cooling off in the water. “Not from here, remember?”

Eddie nodded slowly but you could tell he was sinking into thought now, his hand reaching over to squeeze yours with something close to determination.

If his goal was to give you the perfect beach day then he more than succeeded. You couldn’t have had a better time with the three of them, barely getting the van parked before you were running into the water and falling into a pile of waves and splash puddles.

The chill of the ocean and the relief you felt had nothing on how magical it was to be with your favorite people, one in particular who couldn’t stop smiling and laughing as he watched you play around with Sarah and narrowly dodge water attacks from Alex.

Eddie didn’t last long before wrapping his arms around your middle and dragging you under the water with him, completely beaming when you resurfaced and pushed him lightly by his shoulders in mock upset.

It took hours for any of you to get bored and you stayed out there with him even when the other two had their fill and went to shore, opting for getting a tan and catching up on a book.

He didn’t seem to mind when you wanted to calm down, naturally gravitating towards each other as you let the water move your bodies together. You held onto his shoulders with your legs wrapped around his waist, his big hands rubbing over your lower back and keeping you from drifting off.

The sun was setting as you talked in soft voices and let yourselves float in unison.

It was perfect and getting even better as the sun fully set and you retired back to the van, laying some blankets on top of it and feeling the cooling metal under your back as you laid down. You’d almost forgotten how the stars looked outside of the city and away from the light pollution, lost in the sight of them and barely registering Eddie climbing the ladder on the side of the van until he laying down beside you.

You could distantly hear Sarah laughing softly at something Alex had said, growing more and more faint as you realized they were walking back down to the water.

“Think they’ll get married?” You whispered once you felt him settle next to you, his hand reaching between your bodies to grasp yours and let it rest on his chest so he could play with your fingers.

“Without a doubt.” He answered easily, not needing any clarification.

“Maybe we can be their maid of honor and best man.” You mused. “Walk down the aisle together.”

You looked at him after the comment just to see his reaction, to double check if the image of you together in a wedding scenario had any effect on him even if it wasn’t your own. He was always watching you with soft eyes, moonlight highlighting his freckles and the slight redness he’d gotten from the sun.

“You’re always staring at me.” You whisper.

“Can you blame me?” He sounded so sincere that you felt a little embarrassed and it took a lot to not look away from his strong gaze.

“What’s that mean?” You shifted so you were lying more on your side and facing him better, the ocean crashing in the distance offering a welcome break between the silences.

“Means…” He laughed a little at your curiosity and shrugged his shoulders, searching for the right words to use. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You know you’re flushed now and you have to stare at the stars for a breath just to gather yourself, looking back and wishing you hadn’t considering he has the same expression he did the last time he tried to kiss you.

He’s closer than you realized, noses brushing again in that familiar habit of yours.

“Eddie don’t.” You whisper softly even though it pains you. “Don’t kiss me.”

He freezes immediately and it’s much more extreme of a reaction than last time, embarrassment rushing over his face as he awkwardly shifts away from you on the blanket to give you some space.

“Yeah okay.” He breathes out in agreement but it’s so clearly forced.

“Wait.” You frown and sit up a little so you can see his face still as he moves away. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

His face softened instantly like the idea crushed him and he also sat up, resting on his elbow and bringing his free hand up to cup your face and lightly caress your cheek.

“Hey.” His singular word was so full of affection that you almost fell on your stomach in relief. “I’m not mad at you. I’m never mad at you but especially not for that.”

“I’m just…” You have the sudden need for him to understand that you’re not meaning to reject him, a bit frantic as you finally sit up on your knees and touch his arm. “Nervous okay? I don’t want to mess things up so we just can’t… can’t kiss.”

He was silent for a long time as he stared at you like he was trying to understand, eventually nodding slowly but looking just a little bit frustrated and disappointed. You knew your reasoning didn’t make much sense and you felt a bit sick knowing he might be longing for something you’re not willing to give.

“This is why I wanted you to hook up with that stupid blind date.” You sigh and it’s a little bit of an over exaggeration because you probably would have cried for a month if he did but the meaning is still there. You didn’t want him waiting around for something you might not ever give him.

“I get it.” He says it slowly like you’re a live wire which you figure you probably seem like one right now, rushed speaking pattern unlike your usual calm demeanor. “But I don’t want her.”

“You want me?” You assume openly for the first time.

“God yes.” He doesn’t hesitate to answer, eyes staring into yours with devastating raw honesty.

You’re not sure if actually hearing him confess it makes you feel better or worse but your stomach lights up with interest anyways.

You both fall silent, you because of the admission and him because he’s clearly shocked you didn’t somehow already know that.

His hand is suddenly on your back and then you’re overly aware of how much skin you’re both showing. You lean closer to him when he starts to rub you in small soothing circles and then you let out a deep sigh.

“Can I ask you something?” You whisper and he nods before you even really finish. “You said you hadn’t had sex with anyone in a year. Is that because…”

You trail off but it’s obvious what you’re implying, especially given the conversation you’re having.

Because of you.

Now he’s finally hesitating and it’s a long anxious pause before he’s nodding his head.

You both don’t speak, don’t even breathe, as his hand slowly trails up from your back to your shoulder. You stare closely at his face as he toys with the strap of your bikini that rest against your warm skin, still slightly heated from the sun.

“Are you going to take it off?” You whisper and it’s clearly all the permission he needs, eyes meeting on yours as he notes the soft nod you give him, before he’s letting his fingers push it off your shoulder softly.

He moves to the other one at the same time he fully sits up so you’re both half kneeling in front of each other, slowly pulling the second strap down and lean in to kiss your collarbone as he does so. You suck in a sharp breath and he falters at that, glancing up at you to double check.

“You can take it off.” You say softly immediately, a little breathy. “You’ve been so patient.”

Clearly that patience had worn out because Eddie is quick to reach behind your back and undo the tie holding your top up, eyes locked on your chest when it falls in your lap.

He stares at you for so long you start to squirm uncomfortably and then he’s gently moving the fabric to the side and shifting closer so he can go back to kissing your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and your hands go to his curls, softly running your fingers through them as he kisses up your neck down to your shoulders.

“You can go lower.” You encourage and you feel him lightly tense like the idea is a little too overwhelming for him.

It’s brief though and he follows the light instruction soon after hearing it, his hands moving to cage both of your ribs in his big palms. He just barely grazes the top of your chest with his lips before you can hear a sharp laugh from Sarah down below.

You’re both hit with the sudden realization of where you are and what you’re doing, your eyes wide with panic and he sits up rigidly.

You hear Alex next and that snaps you out of it, scrambling to grab your top and pull it over your shoulders. Eddie is just as eager to get behind you and help you tie it back up, shivers down your spine when his fingertips touch your skin.

“You two okay?” Alex calls from below and you can’t bring yourself to answer, grateful when Eddie gives a murmur of approval before helping you climb down the ladder and get the blankets back in the van.

You stay quiet until you’re back in the van, tucking your face into his neck and groaning softly as the embarrassment fully hits you.

“That was humiliating.” You whisper once you pick your head back up.

“Yeah a little bit.” He agrees with a soft smile and that only makes you let out another disgruntled noise before resting your head on his shoulder.

The car ride back is mostly pleasant if you can block out the thoughts of somebody having seen you topless but you feel a large amount of relief when the city skyline comes into view. Sarah gets dropped back off at her apartment before the boys find street parking near campus for the van, calling Eddies mom on the pay phone down the road to let her know you’d bring it back tomorrow morning.

You linger around the dorms before opting for heading back to their place with them, ignoring the pleased smile on Eddies face when you catch up with him and wrap your hand in his.

Sleepovers aren’t that rare between the two of you so you can tell right away that he’s acting strange.

He’s taking twice as long as usual in the bathroom and hovering around his dresser like he’s looking for something. You’d changed into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts you’d left there before, the air much more chilled now that the sun is set.

You sit on his bed and frown at him as he stalls climbing in with you.

“Eddie.” You call after ten minutes have passed and he freezes, blinking at you. “Are you acting weird because you saw my tits?”

The question lingers in the air for a few seconds before he’s sighing and facing you fully.

“Okay yeah.” He admits with surprising ease and you continue to frown as he finally comes over to sit next to you. “I’m just thinking about it.”

“My tits?” You specify and now he winces at the vulgar phrasing.

“Not necessarily your… you know. Just the situation in general.” He supplies and you can only stare at the side of his face.

It’s awkward for a handful of seconds before you’re standing up to turn off the lights, leaving you in near darkness outside of the orange hued lamp in the corner of his room.

“Come on, let’s try something.” You say softly as you go and lay down on his bed, facing the wall as you rest on your side. “Get behind me.”

You can almost feel his hesitation but he doesn’t eventually, the position coming naturally to you both as he curves his body around yours. It feels more intimate than normal considering the conversation you were just having but you still reach back to grab his hands and bring them to the front of your chest.

You just hold them for a moment before you’re taking a deep breath and lightly pressing them against the fabric of your tank top.

He tensed behind you and sucked in air sharply through his teeth but it didn’t take him long to relax and follow the instinct to lightly apply some pressure.

“I-it feels good when you squeeze.” You whisper softly, face warming up instantly at how vulgar it sounded. “So don’t be shy.”

That was all he really needed to hear before he started to really touch you, big hands cupping your breast repeatedly as you both laid there and took shaky breaths. You were making soft whimpering sounds which really didn’t help the temperature as it started to climb against.

“Mm feels good Eddie. Is this okay?” You whisper.

“God yes.” He breathed out before pressing a few light kisses to your shoulders, his hands starting to get a little rougher now as he groped your chest eagerly.

“Should we take it off?” You nearly whine.

“Is that what you want?” He asks softly and keeps kissing your skin, moving onto your neck and lingering there as he waits for your reply. You nod immediately and he doesn’t waste any type before shifting your body and pulling the shirt you borrowed over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.

He was back to touching you instantly and you both made a strangled sound at the skin on skin contact, his hands getting rough again as he pulled your breast apart before squeezing them together. His thumbs kept brushing your nipples in a way that made you start to pant and he shifted behind you.

“Fuck I feel you getting hard.” You gasped and he made a nearly growl like sound, pressing his forehead to your shoulder.

His hips moved forward at the words on instinct before he was tensing and moving backwards like he was trying to avoid touching you like that.

“N-no I want you to feel good too. You can rub it against me.” You encouraged and it was mostly selfish, wanting to feel it so bad you could barely think.

He hesitated for a second before he was rocking his hips forward and going back to roughly groping your chest, his breath getting quicker in your ear as low grunts left his mouth.

You felt like you were on fire, stomach twisting in a coil of need as you tried to arch your back and rub yourself back with him as he moved almost feverishly.

The mixture of the two sensations was overstimulating in the best way possible.

“Say something. I love your voice.” You begged and you could barely recognize yourself and the high pitched tone you’d taken on in your pleasure.

“You’re so pretty.” He was quick to murmur it out, kissing your shoulder slowly again. “Fuck I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His hands were going back and forth between squeezing, lightly tugging at your nipples, and getting a bit more bold when he’d rest them on your neck.

You could really feel him now, your tiny shorts riding up so much there was barely any fabric to mute the sensation of him rubbing against you. He was hot and heavy, clearly large in size even if he wasn’t fully hard yet which you figured he was judging by the way he was almost whimpering into your neck.

“It’s so fucking good.” You gasped out and he full out growled now as he picked up the pace, bed rocking. “Oh god yes, keep humping me.”

Eddies movements were beyond frantic, moving a hand down to roughly grip your hips and keep you still so he could really grind himself against you. He swore under his breath and sat up abruptly, ignoring your whine so he could roll you over into your back and get on top of you.

You gasped and spread your legs for him instantly when you registered what he wanted, nodding his head and whimpering loudly when he rocked his hips against you from the new position.

Now you could feel his length right where you needed it most, your core so sensitive already just from the lewd way he was touching your body like it belonged to him. You loved the deep grunts he was making in your ear, foul words under his breath like he couldn’t contain them anymore.

You made a strangled sound and clung to him, arm around the back of his neck as he kept you pinned down with a strong hand on your stomach.

“Harder.” You whined impatiently.

“Fuck baby I’ll cum.” He groaned, shaking his head and kissing your neck so sloppily you got dizzy with the desire to have his mouth on yours.

He still listened to your request and started to really fuck against you, both of you panting and completely lost in the sensations as you chased the high of finally getting to feel eachother like this.

It was like you got thrown off the top of the mountain when you heard the familiar voice right outside the door, both of you stiffening as you tried to make out the words Alex was saying.

He sounded slightly panicked and definitely guilty but he was trying to tell you something about Sarah being in trouble with her dad and desperately needing a ride, asking Eddie if he could please take his moms van to go and get her.

Eddie sighed and flopped down ontop of you, waiting a long few seconds before he shouted out his approval. You listened to Alex walk away but you both already felt the side effects of being interrupted when you were potentially making a mistake.

You kissed the side of his face and he took the sweet cue, rolling off of you and tugging you against your chest while you tried to control your breathing.

“We can’t do anything with them around.” You whisper softly and you only realized after it left your mouth that it sounded like you intended to keep this up. “It’s too risky.”

He didn’t reply for a bit and you figured he had noticed the same thing, only confirmed when he softly hummed in agreement and rubbed your arm supportively.

That turned out to be a nearly impossible rule considering your friends were always around. Sarah had practically moved into the apartment after the disagreement with her dad and you couldn’t exactly give your opinion because it wasn’t necessarily your place either but the small space was getting a little too cramped.

You spent more time at the dorm just to get a little privacy but you missed Eddie too much to keep away for long.

Alex had currently turned the entire place into a full fledged party, no doubt welcoming a dozen noise complaints from the neighbors. You’d needed a break over an hour ago and you just now managed to get yourself away from the crowd, climbing out the window to settle up on the fire escape.

You were never surprised by how easily Eddie found you when you were disappeared so you barely blinked an eye when he was following behind you only a few minutes later.

He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth but he was quick to discard it as soon as he saw you looking.

“Hi.” You said softly once he was sat next to you, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Hi baby.” He whispered back, taking a sip from his nearly empty beer can before gazing out at the city with you.

“Can’t believe you grew up here.” You said in a bit of a daze, truly content to have him by your side like this while you admired the view you’d dreamt of for so long. “Does it get any less beautiful when you see it everyday?”

He was quiet for a bit so you dragged your eyes off the buildings to look at him, meeting his stare and smiling softly.

“Gets prettier every time I see it.” He whispered and you knew right away he wasn’t talking about the city, his gaze darting all over your face like he was committing it to memory.

You had to look away because you were suddenly feeling very emotional over the entire setting, resting your head back on his shoulder so you could avoid seeing his face again.

Eddie warmed you under your skin and it terrified you.

“I’m really going to miss it when summer comes.” Your voice is quiet and he tenses a little bit like he’d forgotten what looms around the corner.

You’d considered staying in the city during the months you didn’t have school, maybe asking Sarah to let you permanently room with her and even debating if you and Eddie were going to be at a place where you could just stay with him without it being weird.

You didn’t think you were, in fact you had decided that it would be almost catastrophic for the two of you to be around each other every single day, sleeping in the same bed and sharing a space like you were something much more than you were.

And you missed your home town underneath the awe of the big city, thinking about it often as you laid in bed and wished for a break from the constant noise pollution and busyness.

“You could stay.” Eddie whispered like he knew what you were thinking and he shifted so you had no choice but to look at him again, your knees touching and his eyes on your face while yours stayed downcast.

“Are you going to be here for me when I come back?” You tried to lighten the topic by ignoring his suggestion, not wanting to outwardly say that wasn’t an option to you.

“Of course I will be.” He answered earnestly despite your attempt at a joke, shifting and rubbing your noses together while his hands moved to squeeze yours. “I’ll pick you up the second you get here.”

“Not going to run off with any city girls?” Your tone was still teasing but you really hoped he would answer this one genuinely.

You were already depriving Eddie and even though it was his decision to not do anything with anybody else, you still felt guilty about your hesitance. Especially knowing you’d be far away and he wouldn’t even get the small relief of feeling you touch him, getting to have you close to him still.

It made you feel sick to think about him with somebody else, somebody more permanent with their feet caught in the concrete streets you couldn’t seem to get used to.

“Just you.” He says back and rubs your knuckles softly, bringing it up to kiss your wrist lightly.

You stare at him for a few long seconds with overwhelming fondness.

“Maybe you could come with me.” You whisper and he freezes.

“Seriously?”

“I don’t know if you’d like it. It’s a really small town and super outdoorsy.” You start to ramble to try and make yourself feel less embarrassed for the offer. It’s clearly not casual at all to try and bring him back to your hometown for the summer, surrounded by your entire family and the friends you grew up with. “I’d just… I would really miss you.”

He blinks at you like he doesn’t believe what you’re saying but the small smile on his face slightly eases your anxiety. He starts to slowly nod in agreement so you squeeze his hands and shift closer.

“You’d have to meet my parents.” You remind him before he can confirm, wanting him to understand the stakes of coming along instead of just impulsively accepting because he’s desperate to be around you. “And my siblings and be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’d be with you.” He cuts you off and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth that almost makes you frown, a little overwhelmed by how much you like him.

You keep waiting for him to do something you dislike, to give you a reaction or even a quick glance that lets you believe he’s not this perfect guy. He’s never angry or judgmental, he’s friendly and calm when it’s expected but knows how to have a good time otherwise and you can never stop laughing when you’re around him.

You think of the way Sarah constantly seems to be laughing with Alex, less sharp and intense when they’re together. She loses the bite behind her teasing remarks like he steadies her internally.

It was on your mind now as you took the trip back home for the first time since you left it all those months ago, a nervous bounce of your knee that’s immediately soothed by the familiar hand rubbing over it gently.

Eddie gives you a soft smile when you glance over at him appreciatively and you return it.

You didn’t need to discuss the logic behind him coming with you because you both knew it was happening as soon as you mentioned it. Neither one of you wanted to be without the other for that long of a time and it soothed any insecurity of worry about what he’d be doing in the city while you were gone, although you were certain beneath the mean voice in your head that he would be on his best behavior.

He didn’t owe you any loyalty but he had offered it so consistently that you felt comfortable expecting it.

The three months you spent together in your hometown felt just as magical as that day on the beach had.

Eddie fit in perfectly and despite introducing him as your friend to everybody, you could see the knowing looks being sent your way and you didn’t bother correcting them.

It was a whole new experience to get to see him outside of the city he was born in, the furthest he’d ever been from it both in terms of distance and lifestyle. He’d wake you up in the morning with a soft whisper that he was going fishing with your cousin, come home around dinner time with dirt on his pants and a proud, nearly boyish smile.

You felt a jolt of happiness as you stood side by side with your mom in the kitchen and helped her prepare dinner, your dad talking to Eddie the next room over as they flipped through your childhood photo books.

He came in at one point to give you a soft kiss on the cheek and ask if you needed any help from him before he ran to town for some household items, telling him you were okay and then trying to ignore the fond look your mom was giving you.

It was a new side of your connection, getting to almost roleplay a domestic small town life as you navigated the warm days and his constant presence.

You kept up with your search for something you could dislike about him, expecting it to show itself now that you were together almost all of the time, but you realized pretty quickly that it was pointless.

You’d watch him interact with the older women at the farmers market politely, call Alex weekly from your home phone and update him on the more rural things he’d been learning with genuine interest, and play with your younger siblings endlessly until the sun went down.

It was pretty clear by the end of summer that you were in love with him.

There was still that frustrating limbo you’d put both of you in but you didn’t know how to break out of it yet. You had wished he would just disrespect your old boundaries and make the first move but he was too good of a guy for that, backing up whenever his hands would wander a little too intensely.

He kept them mostly off of you around your family other than a hand around your waist or brief greeting kiss to your cheek but you felt the heat that still lingered when you’d be back in your room each night.

Your parents thankfully hadn’t set any rules about the two of you sharing a bed even though you almost would have preferred that to the torture of having him that close but somehow still so far.

He’d let himself be a bit more bold then, his palms that had gotten rougher over the weeks of outdoor activities would run over your bare stomach as he pushed your shirt up higher.

You’d both stay quiet in the room any time anything happened like you were afraid to speak and scare the other, memories of that night after the beach where he’d touch you constantly on rotation.

His hands wouldn’t go past your ribs and you’d try to ignore the disappoint each time he kissed the back of your neck and settled into sleep instead of going further.

It was a rough adjustment to go back to the city but you missed it all the same, especially your friends who greeted you both eagerly at the bus stop once you arrived.

Sarah had made a cute sign with your names combined on it, shaking it and jumping up and down when she saw you coming with your luggage.

She’d demanded that you spend the night with her so you could catch up and you locked eyes with Eddie as she dragged you away, feeling the ache deep in your stomach as you separated for the first time in months.

“You guys didn’t even kiss?” She looked appalled at the revelation, pulling back the brush she’d been using to apply a face mask to your skin. She’d told you that the country air had made you look dry and ignored you when you said you lived in the suburbs. “Are you joking?”

“I don’t know okay?” You groaned and went to hide in your hands before remembering the sticky substance all over your skin and throwing them down into your lap instead.

She gave you that familiar judging look, perfectly tweezed eyebrow raising as she gave you a once over.

“You need to make a move.” She determined by the end of it and you sighed in defeat. “I’m serious.”

“I don’t know if he’ll want it still.” You shake your head and now she scoffs in disbelief.

“Are you stupid?” Her voice is biting but you’ve known her long enough to know it’s from a place of support. “You’re hot, he’s horny and obsessed with you. Obviously he’s going to want it.”

You thought about it non stop after that conversation because you weirdly were able to believe her when she said it like that.

All four of you went out the next night for drinks, celebrating the end of a summer apart and the start of the next school year together.

It was ridiculous how much you had missed Eddie after only a day and a half apart, sliding comfortably against his side as soon as you and Sarah got into the bar. He seemed just as eager to see you, kissing the side of your head a handful of times and bringing both arms around your waist so you couldn’t go anywhere.

“Missed you so much.” He was saying it softly but it was loud enough for your friends to hear, groaning immediately while he flipped them the bird.

“How’d you two only get worse?” Alex teased but you were in too good of a mood to be annoyed, especially since he wasn’t necessarily wrong.

For the first time in a long time, you drank as much as they did. Typically you stayed sober and collected while they had their fun and you were quickly realizing how terrible of an idea it was to be drunk around Eddie.

You were ten times more wanting of his touch, constantly clinging to him and getting uncharacteristically pouty when he would leave to go to the bathroom or get another drink. He didn’t seem to notice how extra affectionate you were being due to his own tipsy state, easily giving you the attention you needed like it was second nature.

You both went to the bar together at one point and it was clear to you right away that it was risky to be without the buffer of your friends.

Your hands were sliding over his ribs and you could barely make out anything he was saying to the bartender, thankfully not the pretty one from all those months ago.

He finished ordering and turned to give you his full attention, your chest pressed together as he lightly kissed your temple.

“You know..” You were speaking before you even realized you were and his eyes locked on yours, a little less glossy than your own but still dazed. “I was thinking about that night in your apartment. The one after the beach.”

It had been months now but you both knew exactly what you were referring to, the unforgettable memory of his hands getting rougher on you and your whiny voice begging him to keep going before you were interrupted.

His eyes were darkening a little at the topic and you kept absentmindedly rubbing him, up his chest and then back down.

“Yeah?” He offered back and you were nodding in confirmation, gaze more hooded when he let out a shaky breath and slid his hands onto your lower back so he could tug you closer.

“It felt so good, didn’t it?” You whispered and he was quick to mumble out an agreement that you didn’t quite hear.

You pulled your lip between your bottom tip with slight nerves, the most you could still feel with this much alcohol running through you and offering up an abundance of liquid courage. He leaned down just enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth and your hands tighten where they’d been resting on his biceps.

The bartender was clearing his throat behind you and sliding your finished drinks closer to where you stood but you both ignored him, a small pout forming on your face as you rocked on your tiptoes to hide in Eddies neck for a second.

“You know I want you right?” You mumbled against his warm skin, thinking back on Sarah’s advice.

He tensed a little but held you closer, full on hugging you now as you rested against his shoulder.

“I want you too.” His voice was always so genuine when he was confessing something to you, a little innocent like he just desperately wanted you to know how much he liked you.

The bar area was getting a little too crowded and you felt a tinge of anxiety, sighing and pulling away from him to grab two of the four drinks.

“Let’s go back.” You encouraged and he hesitated before grabbing the remaining glasses and following you back to the booth you’d moved to almost two hours ago.

He set the drinks down before he was sliding into his spot and stretching his arm out like he expected you to sit next to him. You hesitated for a long few seconds, getting an eyebrow raised from Sarah that you took as encouragement.

You scooted along the wood until you were right beside him and then lifted yourself up and onto his lap, sitting sideways on his thigh and holding onto his shoulder so you didn’t sway backwards.

His eyes widened just enough for it to be noticeable but he was easily wrapping his arm around your middle to support you.

“Sorry. Just want to be close to you.” You explained to him and he looked a little choked up, nodding but not saying anything for a while.

You frowned as they all fell back into conversation even though Eddie was mostly just listening to the other two talk amongst themselves, his thumb pushing down the fabric of your jeans just enough to rub your hip.

Ten minutes passed before you were growing impatient again, taking a long sip of your drink before turning your body more and leaning down towards his ear.

“I want to talk more about that night.” You whispered and then pulled back to hold his gaze, his eyes curious and maybe a little bit confused.

Now it was his turn to lean towards you, lips brushing your ear enough to make a shiver run over you. “I think about it all the time.”

“Yeah?” You were desperately latching onto this information. “What about?”

“Just everything about you. The way you looked and the way you sounded when I touched you.” His eyes were leaving your face in favor of going up and down your frame repeatedly.

You shifted on his lap just to get more comfortable as you turned more to face him but his breath hitched, pausing the way he was rubbing your hip to instead hold it tightly and keep you still.

“I loved when you touched me.” You whisper next and he reaches up with his free hand to cup your jaw, tilting your face a little more in his direction so he can rub his nose against yours in that endearing habit of his. “Your hands felt so good.”

It was quiet for a few seconds and you moved in his lap again, not necessarily meaning to but still drunk and wanting so desperately to soothe that ache that was slowly building between your legs the more you spoke and thought back to that night.

“You got so worked up.” Your voice was getting a little whinier now and his breath was speeding up at the sound of it. “Probably would’ve came in your pants if we didn’t get interrupted.”

He nearly growled at that and you smiled, happy he was starting to crack a little bit the more you went on. Eddie was clearly doing his best to keep being respectful but you could tell how much he wanted to kiss you and speed things up.

You kept shifting and rubbing your thighs together and he swore under his breath, eyes going down to your lap. He snaked a hand between your thighs just to grip tightly and try to keep you from moving.

“Sorry.” Your pout was exaggerated. “Not trying to get you riled up.”

“Uh huh.” He kissed his teeth and sent you a playful glare, clearly not believing you considering the way you were acting.

“I wish I wore a skirt tonight.” You added and he let out a sigh at the idea, starting to rub your denim covered thighs instead of just holding them.

You were painfully wanting as he touched you, rubbing your nose along his jaw and closing your eyes to fully enjoy the way he was feeling you up under the table. It probably was overly obvious what you were doing but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about the others around you.

He helped you move so you were straddling him instead of sitting sideways, an instinctive move you both did without thinking.

His hands kept rubbing you, this time moving up and down your back with one of his palms going under your shirt to feel the bare skin.

Now it was impossible to not shift your hips a little bit on top of him, whining softly and burying your face in his neck.

“I-I’m needy.” You confessed in a near gasp and he groaned.

“I know baby.” His voice was lower than you’d ever heard it and that only spurred you on, closing your eyes and kissing the warm skin you were hiding against as you started to really gently rock ontop of him. It just looked like two drunk people feverishly making out, or at least you hoped so.

You were getting more and more worked up the longer you sat there together, his big hands moving to your hips to help you keep moving.

“Is this okay?” His voice was shaky and you were quick to kiss his jaw lightly in encouragement.

He adjusted himself on the seat, sliding a bit lower to give you a tiny amount of privacy and keep you slightly more covered by the table top. The movement just pressed you closer against him and you tried to muffle your needy whine in his shirt collar.

“Touch me.” You were firm in the request and he didn’t hesitate once he heard the tone you’d taken on.

You sighed in relief when you felt his hands leave your back and hips in favor of grabbing your ass through your jeans, back instinctively arching to give him better access. He massaged it softly just like he’d done with your chest all those months back, tugging you back and forth in his lap to keep building that friction.

“Fuck you’re getting so…” You picked your head up to look down at where you were connected, seeing the clear evidence of his arousal and locking eyes with him so he could tell how much the was driving you crazy.

His face was flushed like he was embarrassed and you noticed how overwhelmed he looked, slowing down and feeling a little guilty for your boldness before you felt him grunt at the lack of movement and furrow his eyebrows.

You hesitated for a few seconds to try and figure out what he wanted and then decided you were sick of guessing.

“You want to rub it against me?” You asked softly, leaning back in to kiss below his ear.

“Yeah.” He said immediately and squeezed your back pockets again. “Fuck yeah.”

He started to slowly tilt his hips up to move against your soft rocks, trying your best to not be so obvious while also feverishly chasing after that feeling.

It felt so good to finally get him like this, under you and just as wanting as you were. You couldn’t even contain yourself long enough to get to his apartment or even the bathroom, you needed him right now.

He was clearly getting overwhelmed again because his hips would jolt up against you like he couldn’t control it, soft apologies leaving his mouth when you’d gasp or jump at the sudden movements.

Knowing he was just as needy as you was only making you burn hotter.

“Fuck I wanna make you cum.” He almost whimpered it out and that was nearly too much for you, speeding up and letting your lips brush against his for a second before hiding back in his neck as you started to whine louder.

The friction was perfect, building up to the point you could barely even think about anything other than making him feel good with you.

“Hump me more.” You whined, not sure it was even audible considering how hard you were pressing your mouth against his shoulder to keep yourself quiet.

His hands moved from your ass to the back of your thighs to keep you moving even as you got a little too desperate to function, the way you were bouncing growing sloppier now that he was pressing up against you at the same time.

It was getting to be almost too much, your entire body tingling with the need to get off.

You could vaguely hear Alex awkwardly announcing they were going to get a drink from the bar, forgetting they were even there and silently hoping they’d get the hint and not come back for a while.

Everybody else around you was either too drunk or too tired to care about some horny college kids in the corner booth.

“Feel good baby?” He was speaking in a voice you’d never heard from him and that only made you speed up.

“Yes Eddie yes.” You whimpered

One of his hands moved to tangle in your hair, forming a fist in the locks and making you gasp at the light pain that spread across your scalp. You expected him to immediately release it once he heard that noise but he was clearly too buzzed or too caught in the feeling to remember how gentle he normally was with you.

You couldn’t complain, not with the way pleasure instantly followed the stinging sensation.

“Keep going.” You encouraged with soft pants, kissing alongside his neck. “I’m dripping.”

That seemed to really drive him crazy, like the idea that he was making you feel good was better than anything else.

His hand slid up under your shirt, rubbing your back and playing with the clasp of your bra like he was heavily debating taking it off. You’d started to sober up from the drinks but you were beyond drunk on him.

“Uh guys.”

You both froze but you didn’t dare look behind you at Alex’s awkward cough, burying yourself in Eddies neck and hoping he could just teleport you home instead of having to deal with this conversation.

His chest was lifting and falling heavily below you and making your frame move in the process. You knew him well enough to know his face was bright red, only confirmed when you finally slid off his lap and glanced at him with mild embarrassment.

“Yeah. Just friends.” Sarah quipped and you sent her a glare as she smiled and winked at you, clearly internally proud you’d taken her advice and made a move on him.

“Sarah.” Eddie's voice was still low and hoarse, another shiver running over you at how affected he sounded. “We’re just… tipsy.”

It was a weak excuse and a few months ago it would have hurt your feelings but you knew how much he wanted you, drunk or sober. He was clearly just trying to ease the tension and make you feel better about your desperate actions, a soothing hand landing on your thigh.

“We should go.” He said next and this time it was specifically directed at you, facing you finally and squeezing your leg to try to encourage you to agree.

“Yeah.” You were quick to nod and scoot out of the booth, grabbing his hand once he was standing beside you.

You both lingered by the table like you were trying to think of an excuse to give your friends that didn’t make it so obvious.

“Oh my god please just leave already.” Sarah groaned and pressed her forehead against the wood for a brief second to really showcase her exhaustion. “Don’t talk to us until you’ve fucked each other.”

Your face burned again at the comment and Eddie opened his mouth like he was going to try and defend you, stopped short when you tugged his arm and started to move towards the exit.

You walked in silence for most of the way, the night air thankfully cooling off how heated your body still felt especially since you could feel him staring at the side of your face.

Eventually you slowed to a stop under a flickering street lamp, avoiding his concerned eyes when he stopped beside you.

“I’m really sorry about that.” You said softly with clear humiliation. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“Stop it.” He said immediately and he cupped your face, tilting it back so you had to stare up at him. “It’s okay, I get it. We both were drunk and we really like each other.”

You smiled softly at that, how convinced he sounded.

“Yeah? You really like me?” You whispered back and you were half thinking he was going to tease you back about your own feelings.

Instead, he was surging forward to finally kiss you.

It was desperate and full of all the pent up emotions you’d kept for the entire time you’d known each other, all the times you’d nearly connected like this but not quite gotten there.

His mouth moved against yours urgently like he thought he didn’t have much time before you were telling him to stop like you always did so you made sure to eagerly lick into his mouth to make sure he knew just how much you wanted this too.

The heat from the bar came back with a vengeance, one of his hands instinctively going down to grab your ass tightly and tug you closer to him before it was resting on your lower back.

His tongue was rubbing against yours, coating your chin with saliva from how sloppy and needy it was on both ends.

You liked Eddie beyond words but right now you didn’t have time for the big romantic confessions, not making love and taking your time with each other. You figured you could do that for the rest of your lives but right now you needed him to fuck you.

You told him as much between kisses and his eyes darkened, tugging you into one more deep makeout before he was whistling down a cab and nearly pushing you into the back of it.

You kissed like that the entire ride back to his apartment, barely making it out of the doors in your refusal to let go of each other.

Thankfully it seemed like Alex and Sarah had no plans to come home tonight because you barely got inside before your clothes were coming off, falling back on the couch and gasping when he was landing ontop of you.

Your hands were all over him as you undressed, running over his stomach and chest while he eagerly groped at your nipples again and finally took them in his mouth like he’d been so close to doing those months ago.

It was euphoric, feeling him rub against you for only a few minutes before he was getting too impatient and pulling your panties down your legs.

The way you’d been humping each other at the bar was enough to ensure you both were ready to go, your legs easily parting for him so he could line himself up and push deep inside of you.

It felt like more than just sex, it felt like a connection that you’d been waiting for all this time. You felt whole with him like this, filling you up so nicely and giving you that perfect stretch you’d been dreaming of.

You wanted to take a second to really appreciate him, get on your knees and worship his cock so he knew just how much you loved him and the way he was always so gentle with you. But you decided to wait until after he fucked you stupid, his hips already struggling not to move the second he bottomed out.

“Fuck me, fuck me.” You gasped in a pant as you tried to get him to move, soaking up the low grunts he was letting out in your ear as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder and tried his best to not hurt you. “Please Eddie, I want it so bad.”

“Are you sure baby?” His voice was still that cute nervous tone you liked so much, kissing your cheek so gently despite the heat of the situation. You were quick to nod your head and try to adjust yourself to feel him more and he swore lightly. “Fuck okay yeah. I love you so much sweetheart, tell me if it’s too much.”

You wanted to focus on his words and let him know how much you loved him too but you couldn’t pay attention to his sudden confession once he started to really move.

He was fucking you with shocking roughness considering how sweet of a boy he was but you couldn’t have been happier, needing that pace after the year of dancing around each other.

It was perfect, just like every other day you got to experience with him before that and every single one after.

You didn’t forget to make sure he knew just how loved he was by you afterwards when you were holding each other in his bed, soft kisses on his freckled skin as he flushed over your words.

You told him it constantly in the morning after, whispering it when you cooked breakfast together and writing it in each other’s notebooks while you studied in the library.

There was no shortage of love in you for the city you’d dreamed of or the boy that had grown up with it.

[ceijoh]

a little small talk, a smile, and baby, i was stuck

pairings: brendon park x f!reader

Park hates you, or so you think. And so what happens if one night you question him as to why?

warnings: smut. creampies. hints of robby x reader (but not really). park being readers biggest and silent supporter but posing like an opp. teasing. bantering. park's in love with her, your honour. park cooking for reader. biting kink (both!) dirty talk. park being narcissistic. a little bit of choking. banter for days. fingering. park being condescending. praise kink! excessive use of parenthesis from yours truly. aftercare from the shark <3 oh he is soooo soft for her.

notes: this is technically part one to the series! but you can definitely read it as a stand alone, as i made all the parts so! i decided to break it up because it was hella long, and i thought it would be more enjoyable this way! as always, let me know what you think!

word count: 6.1k+

based on the blurb that i did here: it started out with a kiss

dont go wasting your emotions masterlist | the pitt masterlist | masterlist | ask

There was no doubt about it, Brendon Park hated you. You had no concrete proof, but it was a feeling. You don’t think he hated you at first sight, but maybe, most definitely, the second or third time he met you. 

You could feel his ire towards you whenever the two of you were in the same room. Robby often having to step in so he wouldn’t be too harsh, somehow that action eliciting more snark from the surgeon. 

Which was a blow to your ego, you admired him, one of his nicknames was ‘Ortho God’ for a reason. Call it a need for approval or whatever, but you hated the fact that he seemed to hate you with no reason at all. 

Not adding to the fact that you thought he was attractive, something that would never leave your mind because who in their right mind would find Park the Shark attractive? He was cocky, rude, blunt and had a God complex. 

But still. 

There was something about him that just made you gravitate towards him. Maybe it was his seemingly unshakeable confidence, his competency in his job, or the fact that his brain was probably as big as his forearms. 

Tired of him pretending you don’t exist when he walks into the same room as you, was what brought you here today. 

“Why the fuck do you hate me? You asked, bitterly swallowing the liquor and pointedly ignoring Park’s amused chuckle. “That’s fucking disgusting,” you passed the whisky to the man next to you. 

“That’s what you get for not ordering those fruity drinks,” he remarked, gladly taking the drink from you and downing it. If you noticed he moved the drink so his lips could be where yours were, you didn’t say anything. 

“How do you know what I drink?” Flagging down the bartender, you asked for your usual go-to and turned to Park. “And you still haven’t answered my question.” 

“I don’t hate you,” he eventually answered, in a tone that suggested that you were stupid to think that he hated you. “I hate how you act Robinavitch.” 

You pulled back, “Excuse me?” 

Park rolled his eyes, “You’re dewy-eyed every time he comes around,” he started. “I’ve seen you in action, you’re tough, you know your stuff, you command the room, you’re willing to get down and dirty, but when you’re with him, or if you think he’s around?” Park made a disgusted face and scoffed. 

“You’re clueless, as if being in a trauma bay is a field trip for you, and you’ve never encountered an actual medical case.” 

Balking at this criticism at your person, you were quiet, mulling over what he said. You tried to remember all your encounters with Park when Robby was around. Grimacing, you could see where he was coming from. 

Were you really like that? When you were with Robby? If someone like Park - who doesn’t come down that often sees it, who else does? Were you the fucking laughing stock of the ED?

Fury and embarrassment ran through you and you steeled yourself, “What’s it to you?” 

“I want you to be the best,” he answered, ordering another whisky. Park turned to you and under the light you saw the intensity in his eyes, the blatant expression almost too much for you. “I know that you can be the best.”

You were stunned at his words. 

“You can’t be the best when you’re too busy making sure that Robinavitch is noticing you, or whether he’s fucking one of the nurses again,” Park said truthfully. 

You want to say that Brendon Park is a liar. That he uses people to gain advantage. But he doesn’t. He’s mean, crass, blunt, impatient but not a liar.  

“I’m not trying to be mean,” Park glanced at you, watching as you fiddled with your drink. 

You scoffed, “Could have fooled me.” 

“I don’t want you to waste your potential. I’ve seen too many people in this field make themselves smaller so they can have the hot shot attending,” Park explained. 

“Speaking from experience?” You quipped and you mumbled an apology when he threw you a glare. 

“You have promise, you could make a good Chief one day, can’t do that when you’re too busy crying in an on-call room when you found out Robinavitch was fucking Hastings,” at the mention of the two people that have been the cause of your tears for the last few weeks, Park saw you tense, and then you relaxed. 

“That was one time!” You cried out. 

“You’re too attractive for him anyway,” he threw out, gulping down his shot, while looking at you through his peripheral. 

“Is this your way of getting into my pants?” You snipped. 

“I wouldn’t mind that,” he smirked. “But no, if I wanted to fuck you I don’t need to use pretty words.” 

“Oh really?” You sneered, and deep down inside you hated yourself because you knew he was right. But you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. “Why because you’re such an Ortho God that me having sex with you would give me some of your godly medicinal powers?” You hissed, narrowing your eyes, trying to figure out his plan. 

You followed the path of his mouth turning to a smirk, “No, I just know that you find me attractive as much as I find you attractive.”

You feigned a disgusted noise, snorting into your drink, “I never said I found you attractive.” 

“Oh, so do your eyes just follow everything attending that walk through the ED?” He remarked. “And do you accidentally like years old posts on their private Instagram as well?”

“That wasn’t me,” you mumbled, downing your drink, embarrassment alive and well, digging itself into every crevice of your body. 

Park laughed loudly, “Sure, baby,” the drinks making his lips a little looser. “Pretty sure I have a screenshot somewhere.” 

At the nickname, you squirmed in your seat. You weren’t uncomfortable per se, just confused that Park was talking to you like this. You squinted your eyes and poked him, trying to make sure that it was him in front of you. 

“What are you doing?” He leaned back, trying to figure out what you were doing. 

“Why are you talking to me now?” 

He took a moment to say anything to you, a silence that you filled by looking at him. 

“You did well today,” he begrudgingly said. Thinking back to your day, you remembered exactly what he was talking about. Park was called down for a consult, you were the resident in charge of the case. 

You caught something that the others didn’t see, that Robby didn’t see. They brushed you off at first, and you were frustrated at the lack of trust in your judgement. It wasn’t until Park came into the room and backed you up that people believed your claim. 

“A compliment? From Park the Shark?” You heard him huff and you could practically hear him roll his eyes. 

You didn’t know if it was the flowing of alcohol through your veins, or the fact that Park was actually talking to you, or the fact that conversing was easier than you anticipated. More comfortable and fun that you could ever imagine that you wanted to continue to talk to him. 

“So, back to that screenshot,” you smiled sweetly. “You were lying about that, right?” 

Park laughed and you watched, mesmerised at the rare sight. “Not a chance, sweetheart,” turning to you, a gleam in his eyes, “But if you don’t believe me, I can always show you back at my place.” 

“Smooth,” you rolled your eyes but downed the rest of your drink. 

You both stared at each other, knowing what each of you wanted. As if you were telepathically connected, Park paid for both of your drinks and looked expectantly at you. 

“I’ll call an Uber,” Park pulled out his phone, looking at you when you let out a breath through your nose. 

“You’re presumptuous,” you said but hopped off your chair, grabbing your things. 

“He’s on his way, let’s go,” putting his phone back, he waited for you to go past him, his hand landing on the small of your back. 

-

You were tense next to him, Park could feel it. Taking initiative, he placed his hand on your thigh squeezing once. You looked up to him, tracing his jawline with your eyes. 

“If you don’t want to do this, say so,” Park said, being uncharacteristically gentle. “I can book an Uber for you when we get to my place and we don’t have to speak about this ever again.” 

You rolled your eyes playfully, “Now I really know you want to get in my pants.” 

Narrowing his eyes, he pinched your thigh, causing you to yelp and the Uber driver to look at you. Nodding at him reassuringly, he looked back to the road.

“Are you always this mouthy?” 

Shrugging you turned to him, “Guess you just have to find a way to make me shut up.” 

Park grinned and the sight of his canines made you swallow. There was something so animalistic about him when he smiled at you like that. Feeling your heart begin to race, you felt yourself lean up. 

A clearing of a throat broke the two of you apart, you mumbled an apology, but didn’t move away from the warmth of Park. 

-

“I hate you,” you glared at the man between your legs. 

Park threw his keys by the side table and smirked at you, “I can live with that,” placing his hands on the back of your thighs, he squeezed once. “Up,” he commanded and you obeyed. “Good girl,” seeing your reaction at those words, Park filed the response away in his brain, fully intending to use it within the next thirty minutes. 

Lifting you up, you felt your back hit the door, and before you could complain, Park placed his mouth over yours. It was soft, softer than you thought his lips would be (not that you ever thought about his lips before this). Moaning quietly, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer. 

Deepening the kiss, you could feel his tongue slowly trace your bottom lip. Parting your lips, Park slowly slid his tongue, lazily allowing it to map out your mouth, your own tongue docile waiting for his command. 

“So needy,” Park smirked against your mouth, his tongue collecting both of your saliva from your chin and licking it back to your mouth. Feeling emboldened you stroked the underside of his tongue with yours, earning a groan from the man. Grasping the hair at the bottom of his neck, you pulled, eliciting another groan. 

Park pushed you closer to the door, his cock beginning to grind into your stomach, “Feel that, princess? Hope you can take it.” He swallowed your moan, this time completely taking over control, moving one hand to the back of your neck, he wrapped his hand around your hair and this time, it was him that pulled. 

Licking up your exposed neck, he could hear your panting from above, wanting more of your noise, Brendon sank his teeth in gently to the meat of your shoulder. 

“Brendon,” you gasped, his teeth leaving an imprint on your soft skin. You rutted against his bulge, earning a hitch of breath from the man in front of you.  

“I’m not going to fuck against my door,” he said against your lips. “Come on.” 

You briefly looked around his room. It was nice. Clean and precise, just how you thought Park’s room would be (again, not that you ever thought about that, definitely not), a few personal touches here and there. 

Feeling laughter bubble out of you, “Is that a picture of yourself on your table?” 

“I look good,” you looked back to the picture and he had you there. He did in fact look good, very good. 

“You’re narcissistic,” you replied. 

“I have good reasons to be,” he pulled his shirt off, tossing it somewhere in the room. You took a moment to look at him. The plains of his chest, the sprinkling of his chest hair, how broad his shoulders are. Just how fucking big he is. Wetting your lips, your eyes dragged down his happy trail, eyes landing on his bulge. 

He closed the distance between the two of you, clashing your mouths together again. Park grabbed the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, hands straight going to your ribs. You let your hands wander around his chest, eventually landing on his belt buckle. 

Biting his bottom lip, you moved your mouth down his neck, mouthing open kisses down his stomach. You heard him curse above you, spurring you on, you kissed the tent of his pants, your hands working on unbuckling his belt. 

Tugging his pants down, you noted the wet spot on his underwear, kissing the outline of his cock, you felt Brendon place his hands on your head. Pulling down his briefs, you watched his length appear. Practically salivating, you couldn’t help but lick the precum on the tip of his head. You rolled the liquid in your mouth, allowing it to coat every crevice. He tasted salty, masculine, and you wanted more. 

“Fucking hell,” Brendon gritted out, as his fingers gripped your hair. 

Sitting back on your heels, you took a moment to look at him. He was huge, to say the least. Big and thick in all the right places, a thatch of hair at the base of his cock. You took a moment to just admire his length, fingertip trailing against a particularly prominent vein. 

Licking your lips, you opened your mouth, ready to taste him properly. Before you could, you felt a tug on your upper arm. Brendon looked down at you, “Not tonight. Been thinking too long about this to not be in your pussy right now.” 

“You’ve thought about this?” You cocked your head to the side, and Brendon looked down at you and a little light flared up in his chest. 

Before you could think about what he meant, Park yanked you, grabbing your face and messily kissed you. Grinding his leaking cock into your stomach, you moved your hand downwards until you were able to grasp it. 

He hissed as he felt your hand on him, slowly twisting your hand up and down, spreading his precum around the head of his cock. Briefly pulling away from him, you brought up your hand and locked eyes with him. Sensually licking his cum off, you watched as his nostrils flared, his breath getting heavier, looking down you could see his cock twitching. 

With what could only be described as an actual growl, Park wrapped his hand around the nape of your neck, and roughly yanked you back to his mouth. 

“Get your fucking pants off,” he commanded against your lips.  

Kicking the rest of his pants off, you did the same, almost falling when it got caught on your ankle. “Careful,” he mumbled gently, as he caught you. 

Removing your pants for you, he laid you down on the edge of his bed. “Cute,” Park smirked as he stared at your underwear with cherries on there. His eyes focusing on the large wet spot. 

“Shut up, I didn’t know I was going to have sex with you,” you whined, closing your legs slightly. 

“So you would have worn something different if you did know?” He said arrogantly, and it took everything in you to not kick him in the head. Hot as he might be, he was still the arrogant Park you knew. 

Sensing your annoyance and that you were going to say something, he leaned forward and licked you through your underwear. A moan escaped your mouth as you felt him suckle your clit through the fabric. 

Tasting you, Park grunted and he felt himself subconsciously move closer to you, arms coming beneath your thighs and yanking them to his body. Kissing across the span of your pelvic area, you yelped when you felt him nip your inner thigh. 

Rutting into his bed, Park would have been ashamed of his actions, acting like a teenage boy tasting his first pussy, but you were here. You were under him and he really didn’t fucking care if he came right now just from tasting you. 

Having enough of the fabric in his way, he ripped the cotton, apologising by placing a soft kiss on your mound, eventually sliding down to your clit. 

“Prettiest fucking pussy,” as he spread your lips, your hole clenching at his actions. “Taste so fucking good,” he said against your hole. Lapping at your slick, your hands hovering near his head before you threaded your fingers through his hair. 

“Brendon, fuck,” you cried out, head falling back as you thrusted up to his face. Cupping your ass, he pulled you impossibly closer, allowing you to practically ride his tongue. 

You could hear the lewd slurp of his mouth, feel his drool combining with your slick. Brendon thrust his tongue into your hole, trying to get as much essence as he could, swallowing it down like it was his life elixir. 

Placing his thumb on your clit, Brendon growled as he felt you tighten even more against his tongue, moving away with an audible pop, he dragged his fingers down until he was at your entrance. 

Flicking his eyes back up to you, he watched as you arched your back as he entered your hole with two fingers. He closed his eyes at your warmth, the tightness and smoothness of your channel. He pressed deeper into your heat, eventually landing on your sweet spot. 

“Bren,” you sighed out as he began curling his fingers. You clenched your jaw, breath taken away from the sheer size of his fingers. 

Needing his tongue on you again, he pulled out his fingers, dipping them into his mouth and moaning at your taste. 

“You have the sweetest fucking pussy, baby,” he mumbled against your clit, sucking it into his mouth, Brendon almost rolled his eyes to the back of his head at the noises you were making. “Can’t believe you kept her from me.” 

You usually would have hated men referring to your pussy like that but fuck if didn’t turn you even more. Running one hand through his hair, your other hand gripped onto his forearm. Brendon shifted his hand to hold yours, interlocking fingers as he pushed his face closer to your heat. 

Feeling your release coming embarrassingly close, you tightened your grip on his hair and hand, your core tightening, you cried out, a long elongated noise as you felt your orgasm wash over you. You rutted your pussy against his face, prolonging the pleasure that you were receiving. 

Panting and trying to regain some sort of clarity, you slowly released the grip you had on his hair. The gel completely gone, you almost felt bad at how messy he looked, but all it did was turn you on. 

Sitting back up, you saw your release glisten against his face, you reached for him, needing to taste him. Crashing your mouths together, you cupped his cheeks, feeling his stubble against your palms. Dragging him down to you, you unashamedly licked around his mouth, collecting your juices and melted your mouths together again. 

Practically on top of you, you felt his shaft weep against your stomach, feeling drops of his precum dropping. Sliding yourself up, you wrapped your legs around him, letting his cock slide between your folds. Grunting into your mouth, Brendon followed your movements, his cock itching to be in you. 

Dragging you up his bed, Brendon reached for one of his side tables, opening up, blindly feeling around for something, all the while keeping his lips on yours. Bringing out what he needed, he slammed the drawer shut, and regretfully pulled away from you. 

Moving to open the foil packet, you grabbed his hand and looked at him, and against your all medical instincts, you shook your head, “Want to feel you.” 

Brendon breathed through his nose and for a second you thought you made a mistake. The next moment you saw, was him throwing the condom across his room, arms caging around your head, his weight slowly being placed on top of you. 

Gripping the base of his cock, he tapped the head a couple of times, your hips jolting trying to chase the feeling. He slid against your pussy again, his pre completely dripping down to your hole. Brendon groaned as he squeezed the base of cock and moved his hand up, forcing more of his precum to land on your clit. 

Spreading the liquid using the tip, you threw your head back, relishing in the feeling, as the man above you gritted his teeth.  

“Brendon, please,” you begged, eyes starting to tear up. You could feel yourself clench against nothing and it was aggravating to know he wasn’t in you yet.  “Please, I need you.” 

He stared at you, and for a moment you felt like you were prey finally being found by the big bad predator. Park kept eye contact with you as he slowly encompassed everything that you could see, everything that you could feel. 

Sliding into you slowly, Park watched as you closed your eyes at his size and the stretch. A blissful sigh leaving your lips as you felt him hit home, eyes closing at the fit. When he was flushed against your hips, he let out a strangled groan of your name. 

“I’m good,” you breathed out, nodding your head. 

“How do you want it?” 

You fluttered your eyes open and looked at the man above you, his gaze intent, “What?” You stuttered. 

“How do you want me to fuck you?” He elaborated -- the way he would explain simple medical terms to the medical students, but his tone was different. It was soft. 

“Slow, rough,” you gulped, a small sliver of embarrassment making a home in your chest, and you broke eye contact with him. “Hard,” you mumbled. 

Squishing your cheeks together with one hand, he turned your head to lock eyes with him. “Don’t,” he breathed as he began to pull out slowly, keeping his eyes on you, watching your reaction as he plunged harder into your pussy. Hands grasping his bedsheets, you arched your back, a loud moan of his name leaving your mouth.  

“That’s fucking right,” he purred against your neck, hands going to the back of your thighs, throwing them over his shoulder. Folding your legs, Brendon leaned on his forearms, as he held the rough pace. “Good fucking girl, taking my cock so well.” 

He was rewarded with you clenching your pussy tighter and a strangled noise coming from your mouth. 

“Feel so good,” you babbled, turning your face to kiss him. 

He grinned down at you, “Yeah, is that right, baby?” He pulled out to just his tip and you whined at the loss, “Who’s making you feel this way?” 

“You, just you,” you cried out, your hands reaching for the back of his body. Hanging on to him, “Brendon,” you moaned, eyes clenching tight. 

Roughly sinking back into your cunt, you let out a scream as you dragged your nails down his back. He kept at that rhythm, leaning on one forearm, other hand reaching towards to engulf the right side of your cheek. 

Caressing it softly, he looked down at you; sweat lining your forehead, your lips parted, cupid's bow just waiting to be kissed and Brendon didn’t want to ever forget this. Teeth latching on your jaw, not biting, just holding you there, one of your hands drifted to the hair on the base of his neck. 

“Where?” He mumbled against your jaw, lips moving to your lips.  

“Inside,” you panted, clenching your pussy. “Birth control.” 

You heard him briefly curse under his breath, his lips mouthing against your neck. “You just let anyone cum inside of you?” 

“No, just you,” you whined, your nails digging into his shoulder. “Just want your cum.” 

At that, Park’s eyes lit up, his face twisting into an animalistic look, brutally thrusting deeper into you, “That’s fucking right,” he growled against your skin. “You’re so fucking perfect, you know that?”  

Dragging his lips down from your mouth, he licked your neck, all the way down to your shoulder. “Tell me,” he mumbled and you grew confused until you felt his teeth sink into you. 

Clenching around him, you felt another rush of heat through you. “Brendon,” you gasped, breath hitching, fingers digging into his shoulder. “Fuck.” 

Softening his bite, he licked the mark, thumb moving down to circle your clit. “You want me to fill you up, huh?” Brendon taunted, as his lips found yours again. “Want me to breed your little pussy?” 

You nodded, tears running down your face, “Please, Brendon,” you cried out. 

Dragging his cock slowly, he pushed in and gave a little grind of his hips. Crying at the sensation of the tip of his cock grinding into your g-spot, and his hair catching on your little nub, you were in a euphoric state of mind. 

Breath hitching, you could feel your pussy pulse around his cock, your stomach tensing. You could feel your orgasm approaching. 

“Cum around me baby,” he said against your ear, thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. “Wanna feel you.” 

Shutting your eyes, you jerked your hips upwards, “Fuck!” It was all too much, his words, his touch, his cock, everything. With one last grind against your sweet spot, you let out another scream of his name as you felt your release go through you. You squeezed his shoulders, nails breaking into the skin. Panting his name, all you could do was hold onto him, as you felt your cum coat his cock. 

Pulling him to you, Brendon dropped his head to your neck, licking the sweat accumulated there. Feeling the spasms of your pussy, Brendon stuttered in his thrusts. 

“Best fucking pussy,” he groaned out, hand on your neck and face nuzzled into the crook of it. “Feel like you’re made for me.” 

You nodded at whatever he said, head too fuzzy to register anything with the exception that his hips were snapping faster now, trying to chase his own release. “Fucking best girl, yeah? Gonna fill you up.” 

With a final growl of your name, you felt him spill inside of you. Your hips jerking as you felt him continuously fill you up. “That’s my girl,” he panted against your ear, licking the apparent tears coming from your eyes, as he felt his cock twitch a couple more times. 

Placing kisses from your ear to your cheek, he travelled until he met your mouth. Grasping your face softly with his hands, he looked down at you, blue eyes blown with lust but the most gentle you’ve ever seen. 

“Holy shit,” you panted, blinking rapidly trying to make sure you were still alive. “Fuck, Park.” 

At your reaction, he couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “Good to know it was good for you as well, sweetheart.” 

“Good?” You asked in astonishment. “Jesus, Park. That was mind blowing.” 

Grinning, he shifted his forearms, he looked down and the sight made him pause. Your slick was all over him, a white ring at the base of his cock, your wetness all over his pubic hair. Mesmerised at the sight, he leaned further back, spreading your folds, he shallowly thrust into you. Whining at the overstimulation, you grabbed his bedsheets, heart starting to race again. 

“Look at you,” he said in a soft awe. He paused for a moment, to just memorise you on his bed; dishevelled, tears running down your face, his marks along your body. Fucking beautiful. 

He pulled out slowly, both of you hissing at the same time. Slowly lowering your legs, you felt him massage your sore hips as you hissed as they hit the bed. 

One hand slowly coming to caress your cheek again, Brendon couldn’t help but lean down again to kiss you. Unlike the previous times your mouths met, this time he met your lips softly. He slowly deepened the kiss, his lips working in a way that you didn’t expect from him. You felt him take his time to guide his tongue into your mouth, massaging your tongue with his. 

Reluctantly parting from you, he stared at you, blue eyes locking with yours. Brushing away the strands sticking to your face, you felt your heart jump at how he was looking at you. Gulping, you reached up and traced his cheekbone, admiring how pliant he was at this moment. 

“Stay,” he said softly, his tone completely different to a couple of minutes ago. Getting up he went to another room, which you presumed was the bathroom. You really tried not to admire his backside but Park truly was a god in terms of his physique alone. Watching as he walked back, you saw that even when he was soft, it was still a sight. 

“Spread your legs, baby,” he asked softly, and you did so, wincing as you opened your legs for him. 

You took a good look at him, as best as you could in your post sex haze. Admiring his thick thighs, you wondered what it felt like under your hands; to touch, to squeeze. Coming closer to you, you pondered on how his body would feel to just touch innocently, to have him wrapped around you. 

“Thanks,” you said in appreciation, staring at the way he was so gentle around you. 

Cleaning himself up, you watched as he threw the towel into his hamper. He stood by his dresser, leaning against it as he just looked at you. Running his eyes through your state. 

“What?” You chuckled, and a sense of insecurity ran through you. This was after sex. After the adrenaline and horniness of it all. Wanting to wrap his bedsheets around your body, you forced yourself to just stay. 

“You’re pretty,” was all he said and you were taken aback from the sincerity in his voice. Softening at his words, it was your turn to stare at him again. He stood in a way that radiated confidence, something that could never be shaken. 

“Go pee,” taking you out of your thoughts, you stared at him. 

“Excuse me?” 

“I have a spare glass on the counter. Are you happy with tap water?” 

“What?” 

He rolled his eyes and crossed the room to get to you. Gently picking you up by your pits, he sat you up. “You need to pee. You should know that, being a doctor and all,” and there he was. The annoying man you’ve become accustomed to. 

“I know that,” you snapped, slapping his hand away. 

Ignoring the wobbliness of your legs, you stood up, and you instantly regretted it as you almost fell face first on his floor. 

“Park,” you whined as you felt his hands supporting your body, you tried to wiggle out of his grip, but he wouldn’t give. 

“Are you always this annoying?” You moved to slap his thigh. “Jesus, if you’re still this annoying I need to fuck you harder.” 

“I’m going to pee now,” and with that you closed his bathroom door on him. 

You left his bathroom, and scanned the room, trying to see if you could see your clothes. You knew what came next, and you wanted to limit the amount of awkwardness that you’d inevitably feel. Padding over to where you vaguely saw Brendon throw your shirt, you frowned as you saw nothing. 

“What are you doing?” Park watched you with an impatient stare, noticing that he had put on some sweats and a shirt, you took a moment to drag your eyes down his figure. 

“Uh, going home?” You scrunched your face, and began trying to find your clothes. “Where are my clothes?” 

“I put them in my hamper, I’ll wash them tomorrow for you,” he jerked his head to the basket in the corner of the room. 

“Why?” You asked, confused. Isn’t this the part where he kicks you out? Tell you ‘thanks but don’t ever bring this up’. “Don’t you want me to leave?” 

“Did I say I want you to leave?” He got you there. But still this was the normal procedure. Rolling his eyes, he walked over to you, and dressed the extra shirt in his hand on your body. 

Leading you back to his bed, he laid you down and crawled over your body, “I’m not done with you.” 

-

Waking up, you turned over, hands reaching out for a warm body and opening your eyes when you didn’t find him. 

You slowly walked down, clad only his shirt, you observed for a minute, just seeing Park in his natural habitat. You saw him being at ease in his kitchen, if someone told you that you would be watching Park the Shark making breakfast with only his sweats on, you would have told them that they were crazy. 

Running your eyes down his back, you saw the marks that you left and pride (and a bit of embarrassment) filled you. 

“Morning,” you greeted, walking right beside him. 

Park ran his eyes up and down your body, “Morning. You look good.” 

“Sure, Park,” you knew you looked like a mess. Hair not even brushed, his shirt on you askew, and toothpaste residue you accidentally left on said shirt. 

You looked around at what he had, and you thought of what you could help with. 

“Just sit,” he jerked his head to his table, as if reading your thoughts. “I’ve got it covered.” 

Sitting down, you watched as Park continued to cook, you sat there in silence as you admired him. You wondered if he was like this every morning, or after every hook-up he had. Shaking your thoughts, you didn’t need to know about that. 

“I don’t know what you wanted,” Park spoke as he flipped the final pancake. “I don’t do this so I just made what I would usually have,” turning the stove off, he picked up the plates. 

“What? You don’t treat all your hook-ups like this?” You teased, heart lurching a bit, but you managed to ignore it. 

“No,” he answered bluntly. 

“Oh?” You asked, your mouth working faster than your brain. 

He looked down at you. “No. If I did sleep with someone, I wouldn't take them here and I certainly wouldn't make them breakfast.” 

“So what, am I special?” You teased, your heart lurching in a different way. 

Brendon didn’t say anything in response, just looked at you, and an unfamiliar (but welcoming) warmth made its home in your veins. 

Placing the food down, your eyes bulged and your mouth started to drool. “And I wasn’t lying,” Park said as he put your plate in front of you. 

“Huh?” 

“You look good.” 

Silence stretched until he sat down, Park really had no reason to lie to you. He already had you last night, several times in fact, and then this morning too before both of you truly woke up. 

The compliment sat on your chest and you didn’t know what to do with it. The warmth from before really hammering its presence. 

“Coffee?” You asked, not seeing anything on your side. 

“What do you usually have?” 

“Matcha,” and at that you heard him snort, making you throw a piece of fruit at him. 

“Of course, you do, princess,” Brendon rolled his eyes good naturedly. “I don’t have that,” as he made a mental note to place it on his list. 

Telling him your alternative preference, he got up and walked to his machine. “I can make it,” you started, getting up from your seat. 

“I got it, just eat,” and with that he turned his back to you. 

Taking a couple of pancakes and a few extra bits and pieces, you began to dig in. 

“Who knew that Park the Shark could cook,” you teased as you placed the pancake in your mouth. Moaning loudly, you looked to the food and to him, “Holy fucking shit, you made this?” 

“My mum made sure that I could cook,” he said as he placed down your coffee. “Said that I’m not a man if I don’t know how to cook for my woman.” 

Swallowing your food, you hummed, “Let me know her name and I’ll personally thank her.” 

“Are you working today?” Was all he said, despite the fond smile on his face. 

“No, I’m off for five starting today,” you replied, shoving another piece into your mouth.  “Good,” he looked over his coffee, eyes trained on your face. “Eat up because I’m going to fuck you all day today.” 

park taglist

@realwhoreforfictionalmen | @noisynightmarepoetry

don't go wasting your emotions taglist

@melsunshine

[buffalokill]

hey, i don't know if you do request, but what about brendon Park x wife!medical malpractice attorney? and they have a kid together who needs urgent medical attention for a sprained ankle, aaaand she is just as intimidating as park. u can feel the pressure and tension in that room for both having the shark and a well recognized medical malpractice attorney

okay I did peds reader bc they’re almost the same??? lol brendon park x peds wife!reader

SHALLOW WATERS

"what've we got?" robby asked as the paramedics wheeled in.

"11 year old male, bp 119/73, HR 111, RR 20. apparently he took a fall; reporting pain to the left ankle." the EMT leaned in closer. talking in his ear. "neighbors called it in."

the attendings eyebrows drew in. “parents?" the medic tipped his head toward the kid discreetly. "he said his parents were at work— didn't say where. but he was adamant about coming here.”

robby glanced at the boy then back to the EMT. almost as if needing clarification. “we were closer to Presby.”

it wasn’t new to have patients rerouted. but it wasn’t something they’d ask for. especially by someone this kid's age. if his condition was worse, they would’ve taken him to Presby. no hesitation. 

“his name?”

“Henry— didn’t get the last. we were trying to get his heart rate down, his adrenaline was high.“ the medic explained. “besides his request to come here, he didn’t talk much after that. I assumed he was still in shock from the pain.”

“and the neighbors didn’t say anything else? where his parents are or where they work?” robby needed something. the medic shook his head. “not to me.” his head turning over to his partner. “Pzsonyi— did the couple tell you anything about the parents?”

“said they were doctors.”

and he was adamant about coming here.

“that should narrow it down. not like we have a hospital full of those—” robby said sarcastically. “we got it from here.”

robby turned and walked towards where the nurses were. the blonde already fixed on him as he approached.

“you good?” dana asked as she watched over the rim of her glasses.

Robby’s hands went behind his neck as he blew out a breath. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

he then looked over his shoulder where the boy was across the floor of the department. “the 11 year old patient that just came in” his head gestured back. Dana’s eyes following. “would you be able to work your magic and get his emergency contacts? came in without anyone. according to the EMT, his parents work here.”

the charge nurse's eyes pinched a bit. 

"they work here?" 

Robby shrugged. “I’m not for sure,” Dana gave him a look, rolling her eyes.

“one of the medics said his parents were doctors and the other told me the boy was insistent on coming here. It’s a long shot but I could only assume.” robby scratched his beard. Dana gave him a nod. “I’ll see what I can do.”

His hands clapped together, grasping one another as he gave her a tight lipped smile. A silent thank you before he turned to leave. heading over to where Henry was.

Jesse was with him. A smile on the boy's face despite his damp cheeks. 

“Henry, right?” robby started as he grabbed some gloves. blue eyes stared back at him, then a nod. a quiet ‘yes sir’ given.

it was a small movement. the corner of Robby’s mouth lifted up. 

Respectful.

his attention turned to Jesse. “500 mg of acetaminophen, 350mg of ibuprofen. and let’s get him in for xrays.” Jesse nodded as he gets the meds ready.

“We’re gonna get a hold of your mom and dad, Henry– let them know you’re here.” robby circled back to the patient. The attending watching. The boy’s lips parting before licking the bottom. almost as if it was on the tip of his tongue and he decided against it. “Okay.” 

“I hear they’re doctors here, any chance I might–”

“Robinavitch.” Dana peeked in. Robby glanced up. The charge nurse's head tipped the other way. “a word.”

Robby gave Henry’s shoulder squeeze. “I’ll be right back, in the mean time, Jesse here,” hand motioning to the tall male nurse, “aaaand” Robby’s head swiveled. eyes catching two of his students.

Student and first year resident.

“Whitaker. Ogilvie.” 

the two turned when they heard their names. Robby signaling them over.

“Dr. Whitaker and Dr. Ogilvie,”

“Student Doctor.” James interrupted with a finger up. Robby paused and nodded. “Right– are going to assist.” 

“Dr. Robby, we don’t–” whitaker’s words fell short as the older man delivered a shoulder pat. “You got this.” gloves snapped off as he sailed out. The blonde was standing in the hall with pressed lips, tablet held to her chest, and an amused glint in her eyes.

“Did you work your magic?” 

A smile stretched across Dana’s face. “I feel like you’re gonna regret asking me.” she laughed. “I did— and you’re never gonna guess who mom and dad are.” 

Robby eyed her. “Who?”

Dana flickered her sight a few feet away to where the boys were. her finger pointing to the younger one who sat on the hospital bed.

“you’ve got a baby shark in there.”

Robby blinked. then let out a laugh.

not a nervous one and not an amused one. It was one someone gave when they were just given information they couldn't fathom. Or really, didn’t like. Almost like not wanting to hear what they were just told even if they asked for it and now they were suffering the consequences.

that kind of laugh. 

“of course they are.” hands rubbing his eyes as he fell back onto the heels of his feet. “Are we sure?” he squinted as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Dana grinned. “Oh, I’m sure.” 

“Did you already let them know?” robby asked.

“And what? risk the chance of there being blood in the water because I waited to tell them that their son was down here. What are you fucking kidding me? Of course I told them.” the charge nurse gave him a wide look as if not believing he really just asked a stupid question. 

He was a man afterall. 

Robby blew out a breath. “Fuck– okay. When are they–” his question answered when you guys approach. 

“Park.”

It was rare to see you both down here at the same time. Not that it never happened, it was just unexpected. The interns said it felt wrong. like seeing a shark itself in the shallow waters.

You hadn’t even acknowledged robby; passing right by. Brendon barely sparing a nod. 

“Better not have anyone incompetent with my son.” 

Henry looked up when he heard his dad. A wide smile stretching when he saw his mom. 

Your persona was washed off. Not at all caring that you were completely exposed. Out in the open. Your hand caressing his cheek, his smaller one on top. 

“Are you okay?” a quiet ask. eyes watching him as he nods. “I’m okay.” 

A satisfied smile before you press a kiss to his forehead. Squeezing his cheeks in your grasp.

Whitaker and Ogilvie just stared. One not wanting to interrupt and probably too scared to do so, while the other stood with wide eyes. His mouth parted like a fish out of water.

Brendon pressed another kiss to the other side of his head. before his eyes lift to his boy's foot. an ice pack resting on his ankle.

“is he on meds?” Brendon asked as he leaned up. his hand brushing against his son’s hair before pulling gloves out of his scrub pocket. snapping them on.

“500 mg of acetaminophen– 350mg of ibuprofen.” Robby clarified. arms crossed as he nodded.

“iced the area to—” “I’m not blind.”

Whitaker closed his mouth.

“dad.” brendons eyes caught his sons. the boy giving him an unimpressed look that you knew he inherited from the man in front of him. “don’t interrupt.”

your suppress a smile. his words sounded familiar.

brendon cleared his throat. “finish.” gaze on the r1 for a split second before he diverts it.

Whitaker looks to robby, then looks to you then the young boy. he knows now how Ogilvie felt. only this time it was a little more reassuring knowing the kid had his back. he didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse.

“We uh— just iced to reduce the swelling, elevation above heart level. bp now, 105/61, HR 89, 99 on room….” his eyes finding Henry’s. the youngest park giving him a thumbs up.

“xray?” you asked from the side. "dr. robby already had them in order.” whitaker verbalised.

“we’re still waiting to get him in.” the attending intervened quietly. you slowly peeled yourself away from your son. "I'll be back— make sure dad doesn't kill anyone." you joke drily as you leave.

it earns a giggle from the kid.

Ogilvie, who had been surprisingly quiet, turns to where you just left. eyes wide as his head spins. “was she being serious—”

"It was just one time." Henry shrugs.

"One?” Whitaker and Ogilvie echo. Robby’s lips pursing as he watches in amusement. head shaking at how easy it was to reel them in.

the kids lip lifts up at the corner.

“I’m kidding— it was my mom.”

Brendon laughs loudly.

robby was pretty sure baby shark broke his dad.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

seeing red

✦Clark Masterlist - Read on aO3! - Main Masterlist✦

✦summary: all week, clark's been acting strange. he won't go near you, won't look at you, and by friday he's vanished all together. everyone seems to know why but you. but nothing's going to keep you away from him. not for that long.✦

✦warnings/tags: friends to lovers, secret identity shenanigans, emotional angst, fluff, sex pollen, sex pollen level smut, a little plot for the porn (male masturbation, manhandling, clark's feral, emotional sex, dry humping, blowjobs and facefucking, dumbification, dirty talk, sensitive reader, finger sucking, clark gets nasty, body worship, crazy overstimulation, sex pollen stamnia, fingering, oral f!recieving, begging, praise kink, monster dick clark, he fucks like a machine, breeding kink), no use of y/n, no descrption of reader✦

✦wc: 10.5k✦

✦author's note: request and voted fic! i got. real horny with it✦

Clark has been acting strange all week.

He got into work on Monday with a red face, and you didn’t question it. He runs everywhere. It’s a little ridiculous he doesn’t have a red face more.

“Want some water?” You’d tapped on his desk, and he’d let out a sharp breath.

“Yeah.” His voice had been strangely rough, his glasses almost slipping off his nose. “Water- Water would be nice. Thank you.

He hadn’t looked you in the eyes.

Not when you brought the water to his desk, or for the rest of the day. When you got in the next morning, he was already at his desk, but didn’t do more than mumble a good morning. His shoulders had squared and rippled, when you’d walked past.

You’d gone to the bathroom, and made sure you didn’t reek of something rancid. Maybe there was a sulfur leak in your apartment and you’d just gotten used to it. Maybe you’d stepped in dog poop on the train and no one’s told you.

“Do I smell bad?” You’d asked Jimmy, and he’d looked at you like your were crazy.

“I don’t know? I don’t go around smelling people like a- A serial killer-“

“I’m not asking you to smell me like a serial killer.” You’d hissed, leaning down to block him in his chair. “I’m asking you to smell me like a friend, Lois smells me all the time-“

“Then go ask Lois!”

“Lois is in Gotham, I can’t ask Lois-“

“Then ask Clark, he’ll be happy to smell me-“

“I can’t ask Clark.” You’d whined. “Come on, please smell me-“

Jimmy had eyed you suspiciously. “If this is some weird mating dance, I’m not interested-‘

“It’s not a mating dance!”

“It seems like a mating dance-“

“It’s not-“ You’d shaken your head. “Just stop being a fucking pussy and smell me!”

Someone had cleared their throat behind you. Jimmy’s eyes had widened, fixed right over your shoulder, and you’d known who it was before you turned.

You know that low, controlled sound. You know the rush that his attention brings, and the shiver up your spine whenever he’s close. You close your eyes tight, breathing through your nose, and turn to Clark with a plastered smile.

“Hi, Clark! No one was trying to smell anyone-“

You cut yourself off when you see him. You almost forget how to speak.

He’s a wreck. Curly hair is plastered to his brow, his white button up is more sweat stains than dry spots, and there’s a vein pushing out of his neck that seems painful. His glasses keep trying to slip off his nose, and he’s shifting like even just standing is uncomfortable. He’s pale and red all at once, ruddy in his face and paper white in his fists. The flush deepens near his neck, and returns to his arms right before the cut off of his rolled up sleeves. He’s breathing through his mouth.

His eyes are black, and gleaming.

You scramble away from Jimmy, yanking yourself back from going to press a hand to Clark’s brow.

Clark takes a jagged, stumbling step back.

You look back to Jimmy, and he gives you a tight shake of his head. He doesn’t know what to do either. You’ve never seen Clark with so much as a paper cut, and now it looks like he needs a hospital.

“Hey, buddy.” Jimmy tries, voice soft. Like he’s speaking to a feral animal. “You feeling alright?”

Clark jerks his head to Jimmy, and his nostrils flare. Like he’d almost forgotten Jimmy was there.

Jimmy leans back. And you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s Clark. The softest, sweetest heart you know, shoved into a giant’s body.

But like this, Clark doesn’t look like a man. He looks like something that’s crawled out of your darkest wet dream. Like something that should be in the sky, fighting Superman. With the black eyes and sudden, jagged movements, he looks like an animal.

He looks dangerous.

And he doesn’t respond right away. Clark stares at Jimmy, breathing heavily, then squeezes his eyes shut. You and Jimmy exchange another worried look. If he’s been corrupted by something—in this world, you can’t rule anything out—and he attacks, you’re not sure you can fight him off. Emotionally or physically. Clark’s huge, he’d crush Jimmy with one fist and you’d be nothing but an annoying fly to be swatted across the room.

But whatever’s going on with Clark, he seems to drag it under control. He opens his eyes, and a thin ring of blue is back.

“I’m fine.” He rasps, staring at Jimmy. “Just- Didn’t sleep well. You know.”

Jimmy blinks. “No, uh- I don’t-“

Clark looks at you.

And you could swear the blue flickers, when your eyes meet.

“You smell good.” He mutters.

He turns like something’s dragging him, and walks away. You and Jimmy stand there for about three more minutes—in total baffled silence—before Jimmy’s mouth falls open.

“What the fuck is up with him?”

Nobody seems to be sure.

On Tuesday, he seems a little better. He eats lunch with you. Wheels his chair next to yours like usual while he’s editing, because you always catch typos he misses, and he’s a good reporter but not the best writer.

“You can’t use that word here.” You tap his laptop screen. He frowns.

“There are no other words I could use, though-“

“Corrupt?”

“But- Oh.” He sighs, hitting backspace. “See? That’s why you’re the expert.”

You laugh softly, and Clark gives you his usual small, almost shy smile.

“How’s your piece coming?” He asks kindly—always kindly—and you groan.

“Dogshit.”

“I’m sure it’s not that bad-“

“My main source backed out.” You grumble. “Like a little baby bitch. I can’t make this level of accusations again LuthorCorp without a source, it’s asking for a defamation lawsuit, and after the last one Perry would kill me-“

“But you won the last one.” Clark frowns, and you give him a pointed look.

“Yeah. Because I had a source.”

“Ah. Right.” He pauses, pushing his glasses slowly up his nose.

You watch the movement as subtly as possible. You love it when he does that. It’s a tiny, adorable quirk that makes you want to rip his hand away and push them up yourself.

“What if I said I have a source for you?” He asks softly, and you perk up.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really.” He grins. “You know, I’d think you’d have faith in me, I wouldn’t lie about that-“

“Shut up, I’m excited-“

“I can tell.” He boops your nose, and you stick your tongue out at him.

He does that all the time. He says you get a bunny nose when you’re excited about something, and then you hit him because nothing about you is bunny like.

Sometimes you say that, and he chuckles.

You have no idea. He mutters under his breath.

And sometimes he hits your nose, and your breath hitches because he touched you.

Today you keep it under control.

It’s Clark that freezes. Coughs and goes red, wheeling his chair an inch back. You frown at him, ready to ask what’s wrong, but he shakes his head like he’s already denying you an answer.

“It’s- Uh- Superman.”

You blink. “What?”

“Superman can be your source.” He grunts, shifting in his chair. “I can ask him to. For you.”

“I- You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“I can find someone else-“

“No, I- I’ve got it.”

He stares at you. You stare back, heart swelling with something sweeter than you usually allow it to feel.

You’re used to your feelings for Clark. You try not to think about them, especially not in his presence. There’s no amount of love you’d risk your friendship for.

But he makes that rule hard to follow sometimes. When he starts being stupidly perfect.

You smile at him, wide and unrestrained. “Thank you.”

He nods—tight and jerked—stares for a long, long moment. He shoots to his feet.

“I have to go to the bathroom!” He announces to the whole bullpen.

Clark sprints away. Jimmy gives you a questioning look, and you shake your head.

He doesn’t come back for an hour. When he does, his face is wholly red again.

He’s back to not looking you in the eyes. Back to looking so sick you’re worried he might be going feral.

And you have no idea what to do.

Lois gets back on Wednesday, and the first thing she says to you is What’s up with Smallville? Perry corners you at your desk to ask if you’ve got any idea what’s Clark’s been up to that might be doing this to him. Steve loudly jokes that everyone should be placing bets on when Clark passes out. Cat keeps trying to bring him tea—a thin guise so she can suggest home remedies to whatever super hangover he has—and Clark always drinks it with shaking hands.

He listens to all her suggestions without interrupting, but whenever Jimmy suggests Urgent Care—you’ve given up on trying to get him to the ER—Clark grunts a sound like no and won’t hear another word.

You’re getting really worried. Everyone gets sick, but Clark’s always talking about his very good immune system.

And nobody gets sick like this. Legally, Perry should be making him go home, but no one can get close enough to confirm a fever, and it’s somehow not effecting his work performance.

“Clark.” You sit on the edge of his desk, keeping your voice soft. “You need to go to a doctor.”

His whole body locks up. His fingers freeze on his keyboard, and he bows his head like he’s in prayer.

“Clark-“

“Please.” He says, so quiet you almost miss it. “Back up.”

You blink. “Back up?”

He nods, and there’s a sting in your heart.

He hasn’t asked anyone else to back up.

But you slide off his desk, and take a single step back. Another, when he doesn’t relax from the first.

You clear your throat, tucking your hands behind your back. Clark lets out a heavy, ragged exhale, and looks up.

He still won’t fully meet your gaze. His darkened eyes are fixed right over your head, and you try not to let it hurt more than it already does.

“Clark.” You’ve lost a little bit of nerve. You try not to let him hear it. “The doctor-“

“I don’t need a doctor.” He tells the ceiling, and you sigh.

“You’re sick-“

“No. I’m not.”

“Dude, I- I can feel your fever from here.” The heat, rolling off his body like he’s an active star. “At least just go so they can say you’re not sick.”

He doesn’t answer. You almost take a step forward, before reeling yourself back. He doesn’t want you too close.

“Please?” You say. “It would make all of us feel better.”

That makes him look at you. For just a split second, barely a heartbeat, but long enough.

His eyes go wholly back. He wheels his chair backwards, like there’s something toxic coming off of you that he’s trying to avoid.

And it hurts. It hurts so much your face burns with shame, and your stomach does a sick clench of pain.

It’s never fun, for the man you’ve quietly been in love with for years, to look at you like you’re proximity might kill him.

The only thing that stops you from crying is worry for him.

But that’s not enough to hold back the crack in your voice.

“Clark- Please-“

He shakes his head, jaw clenching. You swallow, and take another step back.

“Oh- Okay. Sorry.”

You turn on your heels. Behind you, Clark rasps your name.

And you look back. You can’t help it.

But all he does is stare at you.

So you walk away.

Clark doesn’t come in on Thursday. Jimmy goes to check on him, but won’t report back on what he finds. When he gets back to the office, his face is bloodless and eyes wider than an owl.

“Is he-“

“He’s not sick.” Jimmy stares at you like you’re a ghost. “He’s- Um- We should- Give him space.”

You frown. “But-“

“Lots of space.” Jimmy mutters under his breath, already walking away. “And maybe me some bleach. Freakin’- Gross-“

Lois comes up next to you, watching Jimmy head into the bathroom. You’re wringing your hands, lips pressed in a painfully tight line, and Lois grabs your wrists.

“Don’t go visit him.”

You shoot her a glare. “I wasn’t going to-“

“Yes, you were.” She raises her brows. “Don’t.”

“But-“

“Don’t.”

“What if he needs something-“

“I texted his cousin. She knows what to do.”

“To…” You narrow your eyes, pulling your hands from Lois’ grip. “You know what’s going on with him, don’t you.”

Lois shrugs. “Yeah. Maybe.”

“Lois-“

“He’s going to be fine.” She says, giving you a firm look. “Don’t check on him.”

She walks away without another word.

On Friday, you go to Clark’s apartment.

You don’t go inside. Lois’ voice keeps ringing in your head, and while you’re more than willing to disobey her, it’s the way she’d said it.

Don’t.

His door is right there.

Lois’ voice fills the gaps in city noise. Pointed and direct. Almost hopeless. Like she knew you wouldn’t listen.

Don’t.

You made him soup, because you’re pathetic. He’d left his jacket at work on Wednesday, and you’d brought it home to clean up before returning it. You’d had a whole painted daydream made of pastels and watercolor, where you’d give Clark his jacket, he’d swoon with how romantic that is, and then kiss you.

But like real watercolor, the colors bleed and run. Blur together. It’s too fuzzy a picture to be reality.

You stand at his door. You don’t remember walking inside the building.

Don’t.

But you want to.

Don’t.

He could need someone, what if his cousin was busy, what if he’s been waiting for you to check on him-

Don’t.

Lois’ voice isn’t louder than your heartbeat. But it’s level. And your pulse is erratic in your throat and fingers.

And you keep seeing Clark’s face. Keep thinking of how he’d been stiffer than concrete, until you’d moved away.

He wouldn’t want to see you right now. He’d made that clear.

You put the soup and jacket on the doorstep, and ring the doorbell.

Before Clark can open it, you walk away.

On Saturday, you hole up in your apartment and work.

It’s a  distraction. Anything not to think of Clark. To think of how sick he is, how he might be in pain, how he might need help but not from you. How lately he can’t stand to be in the same room as you, and apparently everyone gets to know what’s going on with him except you-

You groan, tipping your head back against the couch.

This is exactly what you’re trying not to think about.

It’s hard, though. Impossibly hard. If only because you open your email, and see a bunch of messages from Clark. You open Teams, and his messages are pinned at the top. You send Jimmy something, and have to include Clark as a contributor. Lois sends you something, and Clark is CC’d.

He’s everywhere. You can’t stop checking your phone for a message, even if Jimmy says he’s basically out of commission. Can’t really do anything right now, he’d grumbled, making a sour face. Too… Sick.

He’d said it weird, but everything about this is weird.

Usually you’d talk to Clark about that.

You miss him.

Goddamnit.

Apparently, you’re very bad at not thinking about Clark.

You busy yourself. Clean the apartment, do the laundry, waste the day, don’t think about Clark.

He gave you this pencil. Let you borrow this  sweater, that you’ve been hoarding like a dragon with gold since. Sent you the cheesecake in the back of your fridge as a birthday present, and it had been horrible but you’d kept it anyway.

You lie flat on the floor, and fail not to think about Clark a little more. Maybe you should text him. Just so he knows you’re thinking of him. Or text Lois and ask for his cousin’s number, so you can ask her if he’s okay. Or let the anxiety fully overpower Lois’ voice in your head, and go visit him.

You’re about to go with that last option, when there’s a bang on your window. You shoot up with wide eyes, expecting a massive bird.

Instead you find Superman, standing in your fire escape. It’s hard to see him, in the shadows of dusk. His head is strangely bowed, his shoulders slumped in a way you’ve never seen on TV. Maybe he’s just more casual, when he’s doing home visits.

But why is he home visiting you.

Usually that would freak you out. This week, it’s just another fucking thing.

You open the window slowly, poking your head outside.

“Hello?”

Superman looks up at you, and your mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t look well.

Red and pale face, messed up hair, heaving chest. Clenched fists, sweat-slicken face, blown out eyes with barely a ring of blue-

Like Clark.

Just like Clark.

And it’s not just the ragged appearance. It’s something deeper. It’s the way he’s staring at you like he’s  worried you’re going to attack him. Like he’s restraining himself from moving, like you’re a repellant and he wants to fly away.

Or something else.

Without the glasses, there’s something else.

He looks desperate. The shadows on his face look longer. Maybe it’s just the sickness overtaking him, but he looks hungry. Desperate and starved. There’s an openness on his face that wasn’t there before. And he’s not looking at you like he’s afraid or skittish.

He’s looking at you like he’s a predator. Like you’re prey.

“Clark?”

“I’m here for your interview-“

You speak at the same time. Your voice is a breath. Superman—Clark? —pushes out his words like they hurt, and falters in a second.

He stumbles back like he’s been hit. You scramble forward to catch him, your body not worried about anything but Clark is going to fall.

Your hand wraps around his wrist. He makes a deep, rumbling sound from his chest. Almost a growl.

His eyes flutter. He moans out your name, trying to tug weakly away.

“Clark- Wait-“

Superman’s body goes slack, and he collapses in your arms.

At one in the morning on Sunday, too much is happening.

You put Clark—Superman? —in your bed. Took his temperature and dropped the thermometer in shock.

He’s burning at 150 degrees.

He should be dead. You’re not even sure how you touched him without burning up.

The thermometer clatters to the ground, and Clark shifts in his sleep. Groans out a garbled, pained noise that sounds like your name.

You swallow, hugging yourself tight. It’s hard not to reach out to him, but you don’t feel like you should. He hadn’t wanted you near him, and you’ve already crossed a few lines by putting him in your bed.

Then he moans, ripping the thin sheets off his body.

That time it was definitely your name.

Superman moaned your name.

You back out of the room slowly, with an embarrassing amount of effort. You can’t rip your eyes away from him.

Clark in your bed, calling for you and rolling around like a rutting beast. Whatever’s tormenting him isn’t enough to wake him up, but it’s enough to drive you out of your mind. You bite the inside of your cheek, and force yourself to close the door. It solves the looking at him problem.

It does nothing for hearing him.

And he’s loud. You’re lucky the apartments have thick walls between units, or you’d get a noise complaint. Clark is almost howling from his room, and whenever you give into temptation and go to check on him, he’s somehow managed to rip another item of clothing off in his sleep.

It starts with his top. The symbol on his chest gets torn to shreds, revealing a broad, flushed chest. He’s got a small happy trail. Muscles that you want to trace, and boobs that might be bigger than yours.

Your eyes wander to his abdomen. There’s a happy trail that leads down, down, down, and-

Oh.

That’s… Big.

You slam the door closed, and run back to the kitchen. Cold water does nothing against the heat building in your core. You splash it on your face and drink two glasses, but you might as well be downing sea salt. You’re thirstier than when you started.

The image seems to be burned behind your eyes. Clark’s bulge. Superman’s bulge.

You still haven’t really dealt with that.

Clark is Superman. Superman is Clark. You’re sure. You’ve spent the last hour on the couch, sketching out timelines and checking your work. The random disappearances in the middle of the day. How you’ve never seen him get drunk. The fact that he’s built like a Greek god but never works out, and whenever Jimmy asks him for a routine he just says grow up on a farm.  

And be a Kryptonian. That would probably also help.

To be sure—you have to be positive, before Superman wakes up and you start throwing around accusations—you cut out a pair of paper glasses and build up all your courage.

When you step into your room, it hits you like a tidal wave. The smell of sex, sweat and cum and something deeper. Clark’s ripped off his tights, and apparently the outside boxers are the only thing he’d been using for cover.

You don’t let yourself look. Your traitorous eyes try to, but you refuse to glance past his thick thighs. You won’t violate him like that. You’re here for confirmation, and nothing else.

Carefully, you wipe the sticky hair from Clark’s brow. His whole body shudders under your light touch, and he bucks up to chase your fingers when you pull away. A deep whine escapes from his lips, and you swallow.

Dear lord.

Very, very slowly, you put the paper glasses on his nose. He wrinkles it, trying to buck them off, but you plant a hand on his chest.

You don’t mean to. You move before you can think.

Clark relaxes. His body goes slack like putty, save for a single hand flying to your wrist, holding tight.

He could break you. He’s Superman. You’ve watched—albeit from afar—him pick up whole buildings. But his touch on you is light, as if you’re glass. His jaw relaxes. A purr rumbles under your hand, and his thumb starts to trace small circles.

You stare at him, every logical thought in your head evaporating in the heat of the room. The glasses confirmed exactly what you wanted them to.

Clark is Superman,

And somehow, that’s the least important thing that’s happening right now.

His brow is unfurrowed, his mouth hanging open as he pants out your name.

“Clark?” You breathe, and he moans.

This time, he calls your name. His eyes flutter in his sleep, and his hand starts to move. Dragging yours down his chest. Over his pecs, his ribs, to his abdomen and-

You yank away with a squeak, when you realize. Clark whines, immediately seizing up the second you pull away.

He looks like he’s in pain. Your touch helped, and he’d liked it, and-

No. You can’t. You won’t. You’re stronger than that, and he’s not in his right mind. Whatever’s effecting him—whatever’s strong enough to effect Superman—can’t be letting him think clearly. It would be one thing if he asked. Another to touch him in his sleep, just because he’d moved your hand there. He probably doesn’t even know it’s you.

But he’d been calling your name. He’s calling your name right now.

The steam of the room is getting to your head. You stumble away, squeezing your eyes shut when Clark keens in pain.

If you weren’t such a masochist, you’d put in earbuds to avoid hearing him. But he keeps calling your name.

And you’re not that strong at all.

Clark wakes up at four in the morning. You haven’t even managed to close your eyes.

You’re so dazed from the everything that you don’t hear him coming. You just realize the moans have stopped, and hear a quiet mumble of your name.

When you turn, Clark’s standing in the door of the living room.

He’s naked.

Fully naked.

And this time, you’re too tired stop your eyes from wandering.

He’s glorious. It’s not just the muscle and size of him, it’s all Clark. How his flexing arms are the ones that catch up when you stumble over yourself, and his legs are the ones that bring you coffee in the morning. Those fisted hands hold your hair back when you’re sick and boop your nose. His tense knees bump against yours under almost every table, and his chest keeps you tucked safely away from the world whenever you have a meltdown.

But it’s also the muscle and size of him. He looks wound up, so tight you’re worried he may snap. The coat of sweat on his skin is begging to be licked off, and his thick arms could wrap around your neck and you wouldn’t complain.

And his cock. 

You don’t know how he manages to walk around with that thing. It’s bigger than the toys you’ve seen in shops, bigger than the ones in porn that have to be fake, bigger than the lewdest drawings on the internet. Thick and veiny, hard and standing proud. His balls are heavy, and you kind of want to put them in your mouth. Every inch of him is slicked with cum, and you realize you just licked your lips far too late.

Clark clears his throat. You look up with burning cheeks and wide eyes.

“Clark, I- I’m so sorry-“

“Don’t.” He mutters, shifting on his feet. You can see his arms jerking wildly. Like he’s actively stopping them from moving. “I’m the one that should be sorry, I- I shouldn’t have come here.”

He winces at his own word choice, rubbing a stain of  release on his thigh. He’d been humping  the sheets all night. You’d heard the squeak of the mattress, and-

“I broke your bed.” He mumbles, not meeting your gaze. “I’ll fix it when- This passes.”

“Clark-“

“Stop saying it like that.”

You blink. Clark takes a deep breath, and looks up at you.

His eyes are shining. You can’t tell if it’s with frustration, or sadness, or that something else.

“Please don’t say my name. Like that, or- At all.” His throat bobs. “It makes everything very hard.”

Your lips twitch, and you glance back to his dick. He sighs.

“Yeah. I know. There are only so many words I can use, you know.”

You laugh softly, despite everything.

Clark grabs the doorframe with a groan. It cracks under his hands, and he won’t stop staring at you,.

“Don’t laugh either.”

“I- I’m sorry-“

“And don’t apologize, or- Or look at me-“

He cuts himself off with a long moan, and you fix your gaze very pointedly on the ceiling.

“Cla-“ You cut yourself off. “Should I call you Superman?”

“No- That- That’s weird-“

“Kal-El?”

“Worse.” He grunts, and you sigh.

“I need to be able to call you something.”

“It would be better if you didn’t talk, actually.”

That makes you glare at him. He winces, face scrunching in apology.

“No, not- Not like that-“

“Not like what-“

“It’s just, when you talk-“

“It’s hard?” You snap, and you don’t know why you’re so mad all of a sudden. Maybe it’s how you haven’t slept in almost two days.

It’s probably that. But also, something needs to break. If Clark just Supermans away after everything, you’re going to kill him.

“Please don’t sat that word.” Clark mumbles, and you shake your head.

“No. I’m going to talk, and you’re going to listen and give me answers.”

“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea-“

“You don’t get to decide what’s a good idea right now, boner-boy.”

He wrinkles his nose. “That… Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Maybe, but you know what’s also not fair?” You cross your arms over your chest, raising your chin. “Ignoring your best friend for a week, then showing up with a fever and- And magic boner then telling her to shut up!”

“I didn’t tell you to shut up-“

“You said I shouldn’t talk.”

“I said it would be better if you didn’t talk.” He mumbles, staring at the floor. “That’s not the same-“

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

The wall cracks further. You wrinkle your nose.

“You better fix the wall, Kent.”

“I will. ‘M sorry-“

“Stop apologizing to me, and just- Just tell me what’s wrong!”

You take a step forward. Clark shrinks back, but doesn’t move away.

“You’re not allowed to- To be mad.” He glances up under his lashes, and lets out another labored sigh. “Be more mad.”

 That’s not  promising, but your worry outweighs your anger. You nod, watching him expectantly. He closes his eyes, like he can’t bear to see your reaction.  

“You know kryptonite?”

You blink. “Of course I know kryptonite, I don’t live under a rock.”

“Right. Well,” he coughs. “There’s, uh- This thing. Called red kryptonite. And it does… Weird things. To me. And other Kryptonians. Which is just Kara- My cousin- I think you’d like her-“

“Clark.”

“Sorry- Sorry.” He groans. You can trace a bead of sweat down his brow.

“Red kryptonite?” You prompt, softer than before.

His cock twitches. You try not think about it.

“I got exposed to some.” He mumbles. “Last weekend. And it never does the same thing twice, but usually it’s something like… Shrinking me. Flipping my personality, or giving me an extra power or curse or- Once it turned me into a fish-“

“It what-“

“I got better.” He says quickly. “But it’s usually immediate. This wasn’t. I- I even hoped I got lucky. That it wasn’t going to effect me at all. Then I got into the office on Monday, and saw you, and…”

He trails off, words hanging in the air.

Saw you.

You activated the red kryptonite in him.

There’s a very reasonable guess to what it’s doing. You still need to hear him say it, before you do something about it.

“What happened when you saw me?” You breathe, and he gives you a pleading look.

Makes a loose gesture to his erection. You bite back a smile. He’s going to need talking into this.

“Clark.” You say gently, and he groans.

“Please don’t make me say it.”

You give him a look, and he turns even redder than before. Stares down at his feet like a scolded child. It’s almost adorable, while also remaining impossibly hot.

“It’s very… Demanding.” He mumbles. “About certain things that I would like to do. And it is very particular about who I need to do it with. But- I can’t ask that of you-“

“Can’t you?”

Your question is quiet. You know he’ll hear you.

And Clark’s head snaps up, his jaw hanging open. He shakes his head.

“You- You can’t mean that-“

“Why not?”

You take a small step forward. Clark grabs the other side of the door way, tracking your every movement with that predatory focus.

“I’d like to.” You murmur. He grunts.

“You don’t have to pity me-“

“It’s not pity.”

He chuckles dryly. “Feels like it. I know you don’t- That’s not how you feel-“

“Who says it’s not how I feel?”

You fix him with a challenging glare, and Clark swallows.

“Uhh… Steve?”

You scoff. “Steve’s been trying to ask me out for three years, of course he’d tell you that.”

Clark shakes his head, his whole body trembling.

You’ve stopped a foot away. More than close enough for him to grab you. But he has to make that final step himself.

“I- I could hurt you.” He says, giving you that puppy look.

You shrug. “I like being hurt a little.”

His cock jumps. He doubles over, and you’re a little worried he’s going to break your whole apartment if he doesn’t move soon.

“Clark.” You whisper, taking a small step forward. “I trust you. And I- I want this. I want you.”

“No, you-“

“Don’t tell me what I feel.”

He shuts his mouth, still giving you that desperate look. You want to soothe him, but you just hold your ground.

“Will it hurt you?” You ask. “If you ignore it?”

He nods, tight and controlled.

You steel yourself, even as your nerves start to buzz.

Not with fear.

With excitement.

“Then use me.” You whisper, holding his darkened gaze. “Please.”

And Clark snaps.

He kisses you so hard you stumble. Knees buckle as Clark’s fevered lips overtake yours, and your startled squeal only lets him kiss you deeper. Your fingers fly out for something to hold onto, and find only the air.

Clark picks you up like you’re made of feathers, and there’s something steady about there being no ground at all.

If you were in your right mind, you’d think something about free fall and having no worry if there’s nowhere for impact. If you can only be caught.

But you’re not in your right mind. Because Clark isn’t kissing you like a kiss.

He’s inhaling you, and it’s already lighting you on fire.

There’s a thick arm wrapped around your waist, the other holding your back. A hand wrapped around your neck, angling him to kiss as deeply as  he wants. His tongue presses over yours as he walks himself backwards.

You push back, and he moans. It’s the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard.

Clark’s back hits the wall, his legs sinking slightly as you make out. Nothing in his hold on you falters. If anything, it tightens. Like even with your open mouth moving against each other, there’s no way he can get close enough.

You respond to everything he gives you. Clark squeezes the back of your neck lightly, and you hum happily, smiling into the kiss. He grunts, when you thread your fingers through his hair.

He sinks further down, kisses turning short and desperate. He sucks on your lower lip, nipping softly and hauling you further up his body. Your nails dig into his scalp, and he drops his arm on your waist to grab your ass.

“Clark-“

“So- Sorry-“ He groans, and you can feel him rolling beneath you, trying to get himself back under control. “You’re just- So pretty, and- And soft, and-“

He drops fully to the floor, and you start slightly when he rips his mouth from yours, before burying his face in your neck.

“Smell so good.” He almost  whines. “So good.”

You take a deep breath, trying to collect yourself. You’re the sane one right now. The Clark beneath you is still your Clark, but he’s also a man who’s in a fugue state of lust. Not the mild, usually level headed, noble little dork you love.

Clark whines, when you run your nails gently against the back of his neck. He’s almost shaking, kissing and sucking on your neck like he can’t even help himself. You don’t think he can.

It makes sense why he was avoiding you. This would’ve been quite the HR violation in the copy room.

“It’s okay.” You coo, kissing the side of his head. “You can take what you need, Clark, I told you I want it-“

“You- You can’t-“

“Don’t tell me what I get to want-“

“No, you can’t.” He detaches himself from your neck, going completely still. His grip on your hips is bruising.

You don’t mind at all.

“I’ll hurt you.” He mutters, and you sigh.

“We talked about this-“

“I’ll hurt you.” He squeezes his eyes shut, over pouncing each word, and you stare at him for a moment.

You shift in his lap, trying to peer closer, and he hisses. His fingers dig into your sides, and his head slowly bows against your chest. Licking and kissing softly, as if he can’t physically stand to be that far from you.

And you feel it.

The literal alien cock pressing against your ass. You’d think was a stick if you didn’t know better.

Oh.

Right.

Clark must hear the way your heartbeat picks up, and put it together. He sighs, warm breath tickling over your breasts.

“I need to get you ready.”

You swallow. “I- I’m pretty-“ You can feel your heartbeat in your cunt, and there’s the familiar tingling ache that’s always a good sign. “I feel pretty ready-“

Clark grunts. “Not ready enough.”

“How do you know-“

“Nose.”

“Nose- Oh.” You flush. He can smell your arousal. “But that’s a good thing, right-“

“Not enough.”

He seems reduced to short worded grunts. You’re not faring much better, but there’s also a massive man below you that can’t stop sucking around your tits.

“Can you… Always smell me?” You manage to ask, and he hums.

That’s his agreement hum.

Your jaw drops.

“Are you serious-“

“I can’t help it.”

“You- You could wear nose plugs-“

“No. Like it too much.”

Your thighs squeeze, those deep words shooting straight to your cunt, and Clark groans.

“You- Can’t move-“

“You should move-“

“Won’t hurt you.” He grunts, like he’s making a vow. “Just- Need a second.”

You let out a slow breath, looking up to the ceiling. The idea comes faster than you want to admit, but you’re desperate.

“You were better when you woke up.” You say causally, stroking your fingers through his hair. “Lucid.”

Clark grunts. You smile at the air.

“You came in bed last night.”

He stiffens slightly. “Wet dream.”

“About who?”

You feel the ghost of a smile, against your chest. “You’re very… Mouthy. Like this.”

And you’ve been told that before. But something about the way Clark says it—like something he’s measuring, a note he’s jotting down for a piece—makes you feel all glowy and stupid inside.

“Wow. Mouthy.” You tease. “Not very polite, Clark.”

“There are other words I could’ve used for it.” He mumbles, and you giggle.

“Yeah? Like what?”

Clark draws slowly back, staring at you with those drunken, dark eyes.

“A brat.”

A lot of the fight leaves you, very fast. No ones ever looked at you like that. Like you’re something they want to chew on, carefully and deeply. To leave a mark while keeping every part of you both ruined and intact.

And his voice. Lower than you’ve ever heard, and hoarse with desire. You were already a lot woman. This just seals your fate.

“I should jerk you off.” You blurt.

Clark makes a sound like a wounded animal, and drops his brow against yours.

“You- You can’t just say that-“

“But it will help.” You give him your best, pouty and pleading expression. “You’ll feel better enough to- To get me ready.” You try to keep your voice level, as if you’re not thrilled just to say the words. “And then… More.”

Clark doesn’t answer. He just closes his eyes again, breathing heavily through his mouth. You wait, but you start to get a little worried he didn’t hear.

“Can you please look at me-“

“No.” He grinds out, and you frown. Reach up to cup his face.

“Clark-“

“Don’t ask me to move.” His words are tight. Pushed through his teeth.

You feel his cocks twitch, near your ass.

“Clark.” You make your voice soft. Traced the tensed line of his jaw, the bridge of his nose. He whimpers at the touch, and you smile. “It’s okay.”

“I- I need to get you-“

“I’m going to touch you, okay?”

His throat bobs, but he nods. Short and tight.

Enough.

You scoot back, and Clark lowers his legs at a painfully slow pace you accommodate you. Your ass drags over his dick, and he hisses, rutting up.

“Sorry-“

“It’s okay.” You say quickly, smiling slightly. “Good preview.”

He looks at you in befuddled exasperation. Opens his mouth like he’s going to snap something else out about you being a brat.

You settle against his knees, and don’t give him a chance.

The sound Clark makes when you wrap your hand around his cock is holy. Deep and guttural, like a man already wrecked. You let him sit in your loose grip for a second, watching his chest heave and eyes flutter.

He’s throbbing under your touch. You can barely hold him with the single hand.

You add a second, and squeeze at the base.

Clark makes another one of those beautiful noises, and grabs your wrist.

“Be- Be careful.”

You pause. “Does it not feel-“

“Feels good.” He grunts. “Too good. Gonna- Oh, fuck-“

Your mouth falls open. Clark swore.

You started to stroke his cock, and he swore.

And more. You need more. More of his swears, his sounds, his sweat running down his bare chest and the way he’s moaning your name. You need to see him fall apart, because once he’s back in control—once this massive dildo of a dick is inside you—you’re not going to be able to focus on such things.

You set a quick pace. Skin slapping and hot, unraveling him quickly.

Clark calls your name, his hands slamming back to grab at the walls. You watch in awe as his fingers sink into the wood, creating a slot for him to hold onto.

“Like- Like that- Shit.” He tosses his head back, moaning loud and lewd. “Yeah, baby, oh- Right there-“

He cuts himself off, rolling his hips up into your touch. You squeeze him again, switching your hands so one can thumb at the weeping slit on his head. Pre-cum leaks all over your fingers, and your lean further down.

You want to taste him.

When you slide off his legs—keeping your hands working—Clark says your name in a rough, garbled warning.

“What- What are you-“

You wrap your lips around the tip of him, flicking your tongue where your thumb had been. Clark makes a sound you’ve never heard from anyone before, his free hand flying to grab your neck.

The grip is tight, but painless. You’re in no danger of pain.

There’s something thrilling about how he’s gripping you so possessively. Like a life line.

You drop your hand to play with his balls. Clark bucks up into your mouth, bumping against the back of your throat.

“Sorry- Fucking Christ-“

You moan happily around him, drooling lips pushing down further. Your tongue swirls around him, and you suck, bobbing your head up and down. Trying to make him lose control again.

It doesn’t take long. Not when you reach up to his hand on your neck, and push it down.

“Are you-“

You moan, and Clark gives in.

He fucks your face like it’s a toy. Cock slipping in and out from between your lips, your spit staining with his pre-cum. Tears prick at your eyes, but you dig your nails into his thighs, refusing to be pulled off.

“Look- Look at you- Holy- Holy shit-“

Clark moans your name, and you let your hand drift back his balls. He slams up at the featherlight touch, and the tears start to flow.

“You’re so good at this sweetheart, so- So good-“ Clark moans, hips thrusting to meet every bob of your head. “Your mouth is so warm, and- And soft-“

You suckle lightly, the praise going right to your core. Your ass is sticking in the air, grinding up into nothing as he uses you.

And you can feel how close he is. His balls are tightening under your fingers, his cock twitching and pulsing, and-

Clark yanks you off suddenly, with one last cry of your name. Before you can protest or try to go back down, you see why.

He’s cumming.

And he’s not stopping.

Thick white ropes spurt from his dick, and you stare, transfixed. Every time you think he must be done, more comes. When the geyser finally stops, there’s not a place it hasn’t hit.

Clark lets out a shaky breath. You look up to him with wide eyes. He stares back, licking his lips.

“If you-“

“Do that inside me.”

You speak at the same time again. Clark blinks, leaning back slightly, and you flush.

“I- I mean- Clark-“

He starts to drag you forward, and your words turn into a squeak. Your being manhandled right into his lap, your ass still sticking up in the air and your hands just barely bracing you on the ground.

“I heard you.” He drawls, running a hand over the curve of your ass. “Pretty well, actually.”

His hand drags over your exposed core, and you whimper.

“Don’t- Don’t tease-“

“Trust me.” He mutters darkly. “I won’t.”

Two thick fingers toy at your clit, and you push yourself higher into the air. He knows exactly how to flick that little button, to drive you insane.

“Oh- Oh god-“

“If I had time.” Clark murmurs, almost to himself. “I’d keep you here for the rest of the day. Watch the sweetness drip down your legs,” his fingers trace over your sensitive inner thighs. “Let you make a mess in my lap. Wait ‘till you’re begging for it, then touch you,” one, broad finger rubs around your fluttering hole. “Nice and slow, until you feel what I’m dealin’ with right now.”

You moan, gaping at the floor. Clark gets a southern, Kanas drawl when he’s horny. It makes you clench around nothing, and he chuckles.

“Oh, you like that.” He presses the tip of his finger in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know. Know better than anyone, sweetheart.”

He pushes his hips slightly, forcing your ass higher into the air. There’s a rip, and cold air hits your core, making you shiver. His cock, still so hard, bumps against your tummy right as his finger slips into your cunt.

“Claaaark.” You moan, squeezing tight around him.

You’re rubbing backwards, trying to take him deeper. He splays one hand on your lower back, keeping you from getting what you want while still letting you chase the false hope.

He crooks his finger slightly, twisting it in a circle. You go limp, wrapping your arms around his thigh and pressing your cheek down for support.

“That’s it.” He mutters. “Just seeing what you need, it’s alright. Shit,” he lets out a sharp breath, cock twitching against you. “You’re so wet. I- I gotta-“

You hear it start to possess him, and you can’t be surprised when he pulls the finger out. Still, you twist to whine at him, maybe try to drag his hand back. He’s strong, but you’re horny, and that’s sure to help you somehow.

Instead, you trip on your own hands and collapse back down at the sight before you.

Clark cleaning your arousal off his fingers, eyes closed and face slack like he’s having a fine meal.

You can’t look away from it. It’s the hottest, most lewd thing you’ve ever seen. You whimper when he goes back into for more, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips before returning them to his mouth. He does it over, and over, and over again. Sometimes giving a little attention to your clit, like he’s milking you for more.

You’re a flushed, wiggling mess when he finally pulls his fingers away with a pop. His eyes are wholly black, gleaming with lust and fixed on yours.

There’s nothing left of you but putty, when Clark slowly starts to rub your pussy again. You’re a smeared, wrecked mess that can’t stop grinding back onto his hand, and he smiles down at you.

It’s predatory, but still soft. Exactly what you expect from him now. Pulling out the hair that got stuck in your mouth, all while slowly fingering your cunt.

“Wanted to do that for so long.” He coos, pushing two fingers deep inside of you. “You’d come into the office and start gettin’ wet right next me, I was slobbering like a dog. Thought I’d lose my mind, every single day.”

His fingers go deeper, bumping against your g-spot. You keen, making an almost unearthly sound from your chest. Clark notices it. Of course he does.

“There she is.” He mutters, starting to pump his fingers fast. Pushing against the gummy point over and over, until you’re drooling.

Your head has never been this empty during sex before. But you’ve also never been put over Clark’s lap like this. Fingered into oblivion while his dick pushes into your stomach. You start to push up—he needs attention—but Clark pushes you back down with a grunt.

“Need to be inside you.” He grunts. “Need you ready.”

Well. If he needs it.

It’s easy to relax into the feeling. Clark starting to thumb at your clit, rubbing it back and forth like a bop-it toy. Between that and his fingers, Clark is almost pulling pleasure out of you like a machine. It doesn’t take long for you to feel like you’re close. Your face his presses into his bare leg, your pussy fully pried open and well touched. You can feel the familiar tension inside you, about to burst.

“Clark- Clark-“ You don’t have the strength to twist, so you scratch at his leg. “I- I’m gonna-“

“I know.” He mutters, and fuck, you don’t doubt him. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart. Cum on my hand, let me feel it.”

It only takes a few more moments. Release hits you quickly, and lasts long. Thighs shaking and loud moans escaping your lips as Clark keeps playing with you.

You’re dazed from the orgasm. It’s the strongest you’ve ever felt, and your cunt is still pulsing when Clark’s fingers pull away.

“You’re ready.” He mutters, and you agree with a garbled sound.

He laughs, leaning down to kiss the back of your head as you quiver. He pulls you up into his lap, and you can feel his cock sliding between your folds. Both of your are so slick with everything there’s no friction. The tension in Clark tells you he’s close to going feral again, but his voice is still sweet.

“Just- Stay like that, beautiful.” He kisses the side of your head. “And if it- If anything starts to feel bad, tell me. I’ll stop.”

And you believe him. You know just how much this is affecting him, but you also know he’s Clark. And there isn’t a force on earth that could make him hurt you like that.

“Can you- Can you please say you’ll tell me-“

“I’ll tell you.” It’s barely more than an exhale.

Clark hears it.

“Good. Good girl.” He kisses your neck this time, and you whimper. “Let me- Can’t do it here. Not right.”

You’re not sure what he’s talking about until you’re airborne. Clark tosses you over his shoulder, holding you steady with one arm around your knees, and you blink at the cum and sweat stained floor. You might have to move, after this.

Maybe Clark could let you live with him.

Too fast. And not the thing to worry about right now.

Get fucked stupid, then think about your living situation and relationship status.

That’s a good plan. The best plan.

There really couldn’t be a better one, you decide. Not when Clark starts to rub your clit again, using the full pressure of his palm.

“Keeping her ready.” He rumbles, and you hum. You’re certainly not complaining.

You’re already close to another orgasm, when he lowers you down onto the bed. Your back hits the mattress, and you immediately reach between your thighs, fondling at your pussy hopelessly. Nothing feels as good as Clark’s hands. He might’ve already ruined you forever.

“Don’t do that.”

Those very hands catch your wrists. You stumble over your breath, when you look up at Clark.

He’s back into feral caveman mode. Stroking his cock with one hand, the other squeezing yours gently before setting it down at your side.

“I touch you.” He grunts, and you can’t argue with that.

You lay down, spreading your legs slowly. In offering. Clark makes that guttural sound, his dick somehow looking like it’s gotten harder. You swallow. It’s very hard not to touch yourself with a massive, hulking god standing over you and jerking himself off. For Clark, you’re going to try.

He’s been reduced back to deep noises from his chest and moans of your name, but he’s not making any attempt to move on you. He’s just… Staring.

Stroking his cock, and watching you. Looking between your wet, gaping pussy and flushed face, beating himself into his fist.

He moans, and doubles over. Pumps so fast his hand becomes a blur, and god you’d like him to do that to you later.

His face lands on your inner thigh. Soft stubble grazing the oversensitive area, cold breath pushing against your clit. You grab his hair, back arching off the bed at the taunting pleasure. Clark moans, watching you clench around nothing.

You cry, as his face fully presses into your cunt. It’s right as he finishes himself off, his cum painting the mattress and covering your ankles.

Clark rises back up, and for a second you just stare at each other.

“Didn’t mean to do that.” He rasps, and your lips twitch.

“I liked it.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Of course you did.”

Clark falls back over you, kissing you deep and slow. You call tell that the clear-headed affect of the orgasm is lasting for a shorter and shorter time.

And Clark choses to use it, just to kiss you.

He tests the head of his cock up and down your pussy, making sure to push it against your clit before going back down, and starting to slide slowly in. There’s almost no resistance, and he hums against your lips.

“Goin’ slow.” He mumbles. “While I can.”

You nod. It’s all you can manage.

He feels just as big—if not bigger—than he looked. Never has a cock stretched you so greatly, and so well. The fullness is incomparable, and you’d be worried you couldn’t take it if your pussy wasn’t greedily swallowing him whole.

“That’s it.” Clark groans, pushing in every inch so torturously and amazingly slow. Forcing you to feel every single inch. “There’s you go, just- Just take it- Fuuuck-“

He moans your name, and you kiss him. You want to feel everything he has, vibrating through your chest. Straight into your cunt.

Clark bottoms out, hiding his face in your neck. You blink up at the ceiling, trying to push off more tears. It’s good, unbelievably good, and your body doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Tight.” Clark mumbles against you, and you laugh breathily.

“Big.”

He looks up at you, and for a second, you only see Clark. Your best friend, looking out of you, always kinder than he needs to be.

“’m serious.” He says, low and rough. Like a secret. “When I call you pretty. When I- When I say I want you-“

You kiss him, and Clark melts into you in a second. You can’t stop your smile.

“I know.” You breathe, and he nods.

“Love you.” He pushes in almost an inch deeper, like the words spur him on. “So much.”

You blink, and his eyes widen.

“That’s- Um- I don’t think I meant to- You feel really good and my brain is soupy-“

Kissing to shut him up will only work so many times. You cover his mouth with your hand, every inch of you feeling alive. From his words, his body, every single inch of this glorious man that’s somehow, all yours.

“My brain is soupy too.” You whisper, clenching purposefully around his cock.

Clark grunts, rutting forward. You giggle, and he gives you a dangerous look.

“Very soupy. But,” You beam. “I love you too. And I’m very serious.”

Clark pauses. Smiles into your hand, eyes shining in the dark. You feel a little like your floating. You’d like to be rocketed right up to heaven.

“Make me dumb.” You breathe, and Clark’s shoulders square.

Your hand is knocked away in a second. His mouth attacks yours, and the moment he starts to move, an orgasm is ripped from your very core.

You scream, locking up and clenching around him. Clark moans against your lips, grabbing your knees and pushing them up to your chest. It’s a deep angle, and you can feel every inch of him, sliding in and out of your cunt. His balls slap near your ass, and his mouth hangs open as he stares down at him.

He’s fully gone to the red kryptonites effects. There’s no question, as he bends you in half and starts to fuck you like a doll. But he still doesn’t let his strength slip. You feel completely safe in his hands.

Safe and attended to.

You’ve never fucked a man who makes sure to hit your g-spot so much, and Clark’s barely even lucid right now. But he drills down into it, moaning your name and making those sinful, beautiful sounds.

It’s too much for your poor pussy. Two is a lot of orgasms. Three is your—usual—max, and that’s usually with time between. But Clark isn’t letting up. And you’re getting close again.

“Cla- Clark-“ You whine out, and he fucking growls. “Clark, I’m gonna-“

He makes a deep noise of understanding, and starts to fuck you harder. You cry out, grabbing uselessly at the sheets as the next release gushes from your pussy, flying up your spine like ecstasy.

Clark finds his own release there. With you clenching tight around him, writhing with overwhelmed pleasure and moaning his name like a hymn as you come. He throws his head back and starts to fuck like an animal, roaring your name.

He grabs your jaw, demanding your eyes on his. His thumb presses on your lower lip.

Cockdrunk and empty headed, you open your mouth and start to suck.

It feels even better than you’d thought. At first it’s nothing, just painting your walls and sticking so deep inside you, you think it knocks you into another, tiny orgasm. Then it’s more, spurting out of your pussy as he keeps fucking into you. An obscene fountain, staining your ass and thighs.

Then it’s too much. You’re not sure you can breathe, but the lights dancing on the edge of your vision only add to the euphoria.

Now, it’s everything. You’re full. So full. You never want to be empty again.

And you don’t think Clark would allow that anyway.

Because he’s still fully hard inside of you. And with how he’s staring at you, you don’t think there’s a space of sound mind anymore.

Clark just stares at you, still mindlessly sucking on his thumb and growls.

You giggle as he grabs your hips and flips you onto your stomach. Drags your ass back up into the air and pushes himself back in with a thick moan.

There’s a chance that his cum is transferring some of the sexual stamina onto you. It’s the only possible way you can last this long. Clark fucks into you from behind, kissing up and down your spine as his balls slap against your clit. Your fourth orgasm hits you, and you think you see he stars.

Clark cums again. You don’t know how there’s still possibly space for it, but nature finds a way.

You giggle into the sheets. Clark kisses your shoulder, rutting deeper and deeper into your abused pussy.

He might take your laughter as a challenge. Suddenly you’re being flipped over, and Clark’s impaling you on his dick once more, forcing you to slide down and feel every inch.

It’s a good thing you get giggly when you have good sex.

If he sees it as a challenge, you’re ready to lose, over and over and over again.

On Sunday, Clark fucks you through the afternoon and into the night.

There isn’t a spot in the apartment that doesn’t feel the aftermath. After making you ride him, he clambered over you and held you to his chest, fucking you with just your knees on the bed. After that you ended up on your back, then riding him again, then somehow on the floor. Against the wall. In the doorway, your face pressed against the window, Clark flying and holding you in his lap. By the time the sun was over your head, you were a wordless, dumb mess. Clark had you in a headlock and you were smiling like an idiot, taking his cock over and over again until you think you reshaped each other.

Now, standing in the shower to wash off the everything, you think if you reached down and touched yourself, you’d find Clark completely rearranged your guts to his shape. When you’d looked at him during the soft, quiet cleanup, his cock had certainly looked like you’d molded him to only fit in you.

It’s an oddly romantic thought.

There are lots of those to go around.

Clark’s waiting for you in the living room. He’s been trying to clean, but you don’t think there’s a point.

“I told you I’m going to have to move,” you joke, and he sighs.

“Well, I- I really tried, but-“ He wrinkles his nose. “I think it got in things. When I- Yeah.” He groans. “I can see it.”

“See it-“

“X-ray vision.”

“Oh.” That fun revelation had gotten lost in everything else. It’s going to take some getting used to.

Clark bows his head, almost in shame.

“Sorry I didn’t tell you,” he mutters.

You shake your head. “It fine-“

“I wanted to-“

“Clark.” You place a hand on his chest, smiling softly. “It’s okay. Really.”

He blinks at you, then relaxes.

“Really?” He asks anyway, and you nod.

“Really.” You nod to the floor. “I can even start apartment hunting right now.”

Clark laughs at that, and you beam.

It’s the same. Even after I love yous and the sex marathon, it’s still just Clark. And you’re more lucky to have that, than anything else.

“You could move in with me.” He suggests quiet and nervous, and your eyes widen.

“I-“

“If it’s too fast, you don’t have to, I- Geez, I haven’t even taken you out on a date yet, never mind-“

“Clark.” You raise your voice, forcing him to quiet down. “I was thinking the same thing earlier.”

He starts slightly. His lips twitch. “You were?”

You nod, and he grins like you handed him the sun.

“It’s not- Maybe too fast-“

“Maybe.” You shrug. “But I- I’ve loved you for years.” You look down to your fingers. “And we kind of lived together before. For work. And you’re my friend, first, so if you think it’s fine-“

Clark pulls your own trick. He grabs your face, and shuts you up with a deep, long kiss. You smile, rising up to meet him, and it’s barely been a day, but it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I’m gonna do it right, though.” Clark says against your lips. “Take you out. Woo you.”

You laugh. “Bring it on.”

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[agnireed]

WARM SAFE PLACE

PAIRING ➩ eddie hicks x reader

WC ➩ 15.6k

SUMMARY ➩ College in NYC seems like it’ll be your biggest life change yet, until you meet the touchy sophomore who thinks you’ve hung the stars.

AUTHORS NOTE ➩ talk abt niche… this is my own interpretation of this terrible movie lol so totally new characters and kind of a new life for the character that is Eddie! it’s meant to read as a typical 2000s romcom set in the big city with montages and a killer soundtrack so i hope you can envision it! NOT PROOFREAD smut below

The city had been just about everything you dreamed off.

You’d been a real touristy cliche, stumbling out of a taxi with a box of your belongings and your heart set on conquering the big apple. College had always been a part of your plan and you would sit in your childhood home, surrounded by the woes of suburbia, and tell yourself that if it wasn’t far away then you didn’t want to go.

You were happy to be a stereotypical freshman girl from a small town, navigating the streets of New York with a smile and too big of a heart.

Your time between classes got spent reading down in the park or trying out local coffee shops, taking the train across town just to find your way back to campus without a map. You wanted to know the city like the back of your hand, even if it took getting lost and missing lectures a few dozen times.

Everything was going exactly as it should be.

Eddie wasn’t necessarily a part of your planned out future, in fact he was pretty close to the opposite of something you would have prepared for.

He had stuck out to you from the moment you saw him, getting far too rowdy in the back corner of a bar your new friends had dragged you along to.

It already wasn’t your scene, you hadn’t been to a place with people like this back home, and the added volume from the drunk boys definitely didn’t help.

One of Eddies friends had noticed one of yours and made his way over like a snake through the tall grass, shoulders bumping carelessly with the other tipsy patrons that didn’t even spare him a glance.

She seemed to like him enough, especially when he bought you all your first round of drinks like he wasn’t on a college kids budget, and fate was practically sealed from then on out.

You didn’t really talk to Eddie much that first night and you figured he wouldn’t have remembered it even if you had, already slurring his words and laughing loudly at his friends jokes before he even made it over to get introduced to you all.

He had scanned over each new face as your names were rattled off by your friend that was now pressed against the side of his own, eyes a little glazed like he wasn’t really registering the difference between them all.

And then he reached you.

You watched his gaze pass you by and then immediately falter and bounce back in your direction, sticking on your features even after the other names began to follow yours.

You’d flushed and looked away, eventually making your way outside and bumming a cigarette off of some older woman outside who looked about as haggard as you felt. It made you cough, chest itchy and sore from the unfamiliar feeling, but you were halfway determined to be the type of girl who smoked under the rush of the city.

You hadn’t thought much about the boy and the backwards cap, even though his friend started to make an appearance weekly.

It became clear pretty quickly that things were getting serious between him and your friend, halfway roommate considering how often you escaped the dorms in favor of sleeping on her couch.

The merging of the friend groups was slow but then permanent as soon as it became a reality. Suddenly Eddie Hicks was at every social event you attended, as big as a party in somebody’s parentless townhouse and as intimate as a movie night with just the four of you.

There were plenty of words people used to describe Eddie and you weren’t necessarily a fan of any of them. He wasn’t exactly stupid he just didn’t care about his studies as much as your average peer and he certainly wasn’t as immature as others might think he was based off of a drunken night or a brief public interaction.

You thought he could be really sweet when he wanted to. His voice would get soft when it was just the two of you and he’d talk a lot more with a much lower level of volume, rambling about small subjects you didn’t really understand and showing you he had more depth than getting wasted and jumping into the fountain on campus.

He’d lose that softness when others were around and you felt a little thrown off the first few times he did it before understanding it was just how he presented himself.

It was easier for him to be the party boy that didn’t get embarrassed or nervous in a crowd.

You liked to be around Eddie and he wasn’t shy about showing you that he felt the same way. He was almost constantly at your dorm, knocking lightly at the door and encouraging you to come outside with him as soon as you would answer.

That was your favorite part about him, other than the general comfortability you had started to feel after the first few months. He loved the city more than you, more than anybody else you’d met since you’d first stepped out onto the busy streets.

Not many people around you had actually been born in New York but Eddie was a city boy down to his core. He still went to eat dinner with his mom at his childhood apartment twice a week, taking the train thirty minutes across town without hesitation, and he had barely left the zip code area he was born in before college.

He thought it was sweet that you liked to get a little lost so he wouldn’t correct you when you went on your adventures together, letting you find your way back home despite the fact he knew it was the wrong way almost every single time. You’d take a glance at his face when you would board a train car, groaning and hiding in his shoulder when you realized you had messed up again and feeling the way his frame vibrated as he laughed.

The touchiness was a whole different ballgame you weren’t sure how to navigate with him.

Honestly, you hadn’t even noticed it. It just felt natural for you to gravitate towards each other in a crowd, his hand on your lower back or yours wrapped around his arm to make sure neither of you strayed too far from the other.

You’d press up against him during movie nights and he’d let your ankles lock together, playing with your fingers absentmindedly as he watched. You fell asleep together often on long study nights or at more lowkey house parties, his head in your lap or you resting against his chest and dozing off on his shoulder.

Eddie was your friend and you liked to be around him. You weren’t exactly an expert on boys so you didn’t think much of it until everybody else started to point it out.

At first it was curious glances between the two of you and then it was full out teasing confrontation, openly commenting on it in front of both of you despite how awkward you’d get.

“She’d never go for a guy like me.” Eddie would reply with a goofy grin like it was the easiest answer in the world, his arm going around your shoulder and shaking you softly for emphasis.

You would laugh and smile fondly but it made your chest feel a little weird and tight. You figured he was just being nice, playing it safe and rejecting you but making it sound like it was for your sake.

It could be blamed on your inexperience, the lack of willing suitors back in your hometown who didn’t get to see you in your college prime, or just plain denial. You assumed that if Eddie happened to like you then he would be just as eager to let you know as his friend Alex had been that first night at the bar with yours, immediately coming over to her and not leaving her side since.

But you weren’t too upset about it because you liked to be Eddies friend more than anything, even if it got a little confusing occasionally.

Now you were right back at the same bar almost nine months since the first time, pushing your way through the crowd with only a mildly disgusted look this go around. You’d started to get used to it along with the rest of the city and its liveliness.

You still felt a rush of relief when you got through the mass of bodies and saw your friends at the back table, your favorite drink already in the empty space besides Eddie.

You easily slid into the spot next to him, barely getting out a soft greeting before he was turning to look at you and wrapping his arm around your side.

“We thought you weren’t going to make it.” Sarah was frowning slightly like the idea was a lot sadder than it was in reality due to her already tipsy state.

You liked Sarah quite a bit despite how different the two of you were, her large apartment paid for by her parents and closet full of designer clothes painting a much different picture than your own humble upbringing. She let you crash on her fancy couch when your dorm mate was being obnoxious and occasionally gave you any tops she grew out of so you figured she liked you quite a bit back.

“I missed the train.” You replied softly even though she wasn’t even really listening to your reply, going to say something you couldn’t pick up to Alex.

You turned to Eddie instead who already seemed to be waiting for your attention, hand resting lightly on your side as he pushed your drink in your direction and watched you take a slow sip.

“Again? I thought we got that down by now.” He didn’t miss the opportunity to tease you for your lack of direction and you rolled your eyes.

“It was busy okay? I got a little bit distracted and it just flew past.” You explained over the noise, faltering between sentences to slightly grimace at his cigarette smoke that was floating in the space between your faces.

He didn’t hesitate to put it out when he saw your expression, waving the air to clear the rest of it and easily catching your weight when you leaned against him in thanks.

“You totally missed it.” Sarah was suddenly speaking up again and smacking a perfectly manicured hand down on the sticky table in front of you. “Eddies been trying to get the bartenders number all night.”

Your eyes went across the crowded bar to find the woman in question, definitely a few years your senior and intimidating enough that you quickly looked away before she caught you staring. You glanced at Eddie next to find him glaring at Sarah, eyebrows furrowed and his free hand turned up like he was questioning her

“Not going well?” You attempted to ask it as causally as you could, like you were just a friend equally as invested in your buddies attempt to pick up a pretty girl as everybody else.

You could feel his hand twitching against your side and you were suddenly hyper aware of the touch that normally came so natural to the two of you, stepping to the side just enough that he would have to awkwardly stretch to keep touching you.

He dropped his hand and gave you an almost guilty look before shaking his head.

“She’s just messing around.” He tried to smooth it over and that almost made you feel more upset.

You felt like this was the worst case scenario, Eddie somehow realizing you might feel something towards him and pitying you so much he felt like he needed to lie to keep your feelings from getting hurt.

“He’s been sitting here sulking all night waiting for you.” Alex was chiming in with an attempt to make things less tense but neither of the dismissals were helping especially now that your mind had gone to less than kind places.

“I’m going to get a fresh drink.” You managed to get out, sending them a tight smile before pushing your way back into the crowd. You vaguely heard Eddie saying something sharply, most likely directly at Sarah, but you were suddenly grateful for the loud music and voices to keep you from overhearing something you wouldn’t like.

You were leaning against the bar after requesting a drink, waiting patiently with your hands tapping on the wood, when you felt him behind you.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was and you had expected him to follow you regardless, sighing softly when you felt his arms go around you from behind. You let yourself get tugged back gently until your back was against his chest, your own hands reaching near your stomach to hold his wrist.

“Want me to get her number for you?” Your eyebrows raised as you looked at the bartender who was moving from section to section smoothly, feeling him tense behind you.

Now it was his turn to sigh and his forehead rested against your shoulder for a brief moment.

“Stop it, you know I wasn’t flirting with her. I don’t think I even talked to her.” He started to defend himself and you were once again wondering why he felt the need to, if it really just stemmed from pity and a friendly attempt to save you some dignity.

“It’s fine if you were Eddie.” You shrugged and you heard him let out another huffy breath at the words. “I mean it. You can have fun on a night out.”

“I have fun when you’re here.” He said back quickly and it was slightly muffled considering his face was now pressed against your shoulder like he was planning to hide in your neck.

Your drink got placed in front of you but you ignored it for a moment, turning to face him and rubbing your hand over his ribs and chest as he let out a deep breath of possible relief.

He’d told you before how much your touch made him feel better, whispered it in a quiet room when he was positive nobody was listening.

Your nose rubbed against his and his eyes fluttered shut when your lips brushed together, never fully touching but ghosting along just enough for the thought to cross your mind. His hands had moved to your lower back to keep you tight against him but you weren’t planning on going anywhere regardless.

You pulled back just enough so you didn’t accidentally kiss him, his eyes opening and looking a bit more dejected than beforehand.

“Let’s go back.” You said softly and he hesitated but nodded eventually, grabbing your drink for you and guiding you back to the table with a hand on your waist.

You and Eddie were always like that but you were suddenly unable to get used to it.

You were hyper aware of everything, including the looks Sarah and Alex would give each other whenever they saw the two of you standing closely or touching casually. His hands felt hot on your skin and you could barely stomach rubbing over his arms softly without feeling those nearly painful butterflies.

It was starting to feel that awful right now, sat on the couch together like you’d done dozens of times before.

Your legs were sideways over his lap, sides pressed together with one of his arms behind your back to support your weight and keep you from falling against the couch. His other palm was between your thighs right above your knees, just resting there in the warm skin of your closed legs.

You had one hand in his curls and the other on his arms. It was probably your most default position for watching a movie but you felt like it was beyond intimate right now, trying your best to try ignore the way it made you think and react so you could stay close to him.

The door was opening and you barely glanced up at Alex and Sarah coming in, grocery bags in hands and mid laugh like they always seemed to be.

She sent a look your way but didn’t say anything just yet although you tensed with the anticipation. It was a few more minutes before they got the food put away and came to join you in the dimly lit living room, plopping down on a loveseat and eyeing you curiously for a moment.

“Okay seriously, what’s going on with you two?” She asked abruptly and you sighed softly, already assuming she was going to pry as soon as she saw the way you were curled around each other.

“We’re friends.” You offer her the same line you always do even though you’re aware of how ridiculous it comes across when you’re holding each other like this.

Eddie doesn’t help much at all, pressing a soft kiss to the side of your head that you’re half convinced he did just to drive her a little more crazy.

“This is hard to watch.” She sighs and sinks lower in her seat just in time to miss the handful of popcorn you throw in her direction.

Thankfully she doesn’t say anything else after the light teasing although Alex gives Eddie a wiggle of his eyebrows before getting his own spot for the movie, your eyes rolling once you catch it.

It’s almost constant lately but you really can’t blame them for their confusion considering you barely understand your relationship yourself.

The next week, you’re studying in his room, lying on your stomach in his bed and flipping through pages while you try to pretend you don’t feel him staring at you. He doesn’t even shy away when you glance up and raise an eyebrow, just giving you a soft smile and continuing watching you even when you go back to your textbook.

Eventually it starts to drive you so crazy that you have to set the book down to really stare at him.

“Hi Ed.” You keep your voice light and he finally leaves his place on the floor to come and join you on the small twin sized mattress, sitting up beside where you’re still flat on your stomach.

“Hey.” He sounds softer than normal, definitely distracted and maybe a little lost in thought.

His hand comes up to brush some of your behind your ear gently before he’s moving it lower, letting it rest on your lower back. He swipes his thumb right where the fabric of your tank top had ridden up, warming up your skin with his own.

You sigh blissfully and fold your arms in front of you so you can rest your head on them.

“You okay?” You nearly whisper and his eyes leave your back for a quick second to check your face before he’s back to staring at the area he’s touching.

“I’m… really really okay.” He says back and it’s still a bit far away sounding which makes you laugh lightly.

The air felt heavy and charged in a way you weren’t really used to and when he went back to watching your face, you almost thought he might lean down and kiss you.

You both jumped when the door swung open, intimate bubble popped immediately as Sarah and Alex burst in and barely acknowledged the fact they hadn’t even attempted to announce themselves before coming in.

Alex was sending you both a curious look and you focused back in enough after your shock to register that Eddie had taken his hand off of you rather quickly, still looking a bit suspicious with the off guard look he had on his face.

“Great news.” Sarah’s smile was bright and it was almost hard to be annoyed at her for interrupting when she seemed so excited, bouncing a little in her kitten heels and clasping her hands together in front of her. “I’ve got you both double dates for the poetry show tonight.”

“Sarah set it up.” Alex added on, she beamed like he was praising her but you figured he just wanted to shift the blame away from himself as soon as possible.

Neither of you said anything but you glanced at Eddie after a few long seconds to find him already watching you.

“No.” His voice was firm but calm, decisive despite not really having a reason to decline.

Sarah’s face fell immediately and she dropped her hands to her sides.

“But why not?” She asked desperately and shifted so she could kneel on the carpet beside the bed and really give you both a good view of her puppy eyes. “Please you know how much I love playing match maker and they’re both looking forward to it.”

“Alex.” Eddie spoke again in slight warning and your eyes went back and forth between each of your friends, trying to get a read on the silent conversation that seemed to be happy.

“I think it’s a good idea.” Alex shrugged and that made Sarah start to smile again. “And it makes her happy so.”

You didn’t realize you were frowning until you felt the familiar hand back on your skin, rubbing softly and drawing your attention right back to him. Eddie was staring at you in a way you really didn’t understand but you figured you could file it alongside the other mysteries you had surrounding him.

Sarah’s soft voice saying your name sent you spinning again, eyes meeting hers and slumping your shoulders in light defeat.

“You’ll do it?” She nearly gasped, hands reaching out to squeeze your arm.

“I mean I guess.” You sighed out, feeling terrible about disappointing her and also not being able to think of a legitimate reason you didn’t want to do it that wouldn’t immediately expose your weird feelings for the boy next to you.

Speaking of, he was getting up almost as soon as you voiced your confirmation. You tried to tune out Sarah’s excited squeals and the way she was squeezing your arm, watching as he left his own bedroom with a deep set frown.

Despite his initial refusal, the triple date ended up happening a few hours later.

You weren’t sure what Alex had said to get Eddie out of the apartment because you were too busy being dragged back to Sarah’s so she could give you a makeover.

Clearly it hadn’t been enough to get a smile on his face because he had been uncharacteristically stoic the entire night.

The bar had a much calmer crowd, soft spoken poetry replacing the usual loud music and sports television. Eddie still had never been this quiet during a night out and you felt overly guilty for agreeing to this arrangement and dragging him out in the process.

Your date was nice enough. He was supportive of the poets and asking you questions about yourself, putting your drinks on his tab and trying his best to get any type of positive response from you.

You’d given him your best attempt at a polite smile for the past two hours and your cheeks were starting to ache. You figured Eddie didn’t have the same issue because he hasn’t so much as grinned even once, instead awkwardly staring at you from across the table in an overly noticeable way.

His date was chatting his ear off enough that she didn’t even seem to notice his intense glare in your direction but yours surely did, shuffling in place nervously as he failed to understand the situation.

She was grabbing his arm and giggling obnoxiously every time she managed to get a small response from him even though they were few and far between.

“You’re liking the city so far?” Your date, maybe Zach something, was tilting his head to try and get your attention back on him and not the way her nails were curling around Eddies forearm.

“Yeah I…” You trailed off and cleared your throat, glancing at him and giving an apologetic smile. “I actually need to use the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

You were pushing away from the table before he could manage out a reply, taking fast steps to the dimly lit hallway and pressing your back against the wall as you took a few slow breaths.

It wasn’t too surprising to hear the footsteps following right behind yours, the soft touch wrapping around your wrist as his frame moved in front of yours.

Eddie didn’t look at all like his usual goofy self, face far too serious for somebody as completely the opposite. You sighed in light relief when you felt him touching you and that only made him do it more, arm going around the small of your back and his forehead pressing against yours.

It was quiet for nearly a minute as you just stood there, your palms on his chest and the muffled sounds of a poem about grief coming from down the hallway.

“I can’t do this.” His voice was so quiet that you barely caught it but it still made you frown.

“Why not Eddie? She’s nice and she seems to like you.” It was hard to get out but you were trying your best to be supportive of him.

“Are you kidding me?” His eyebrows furrowed and he took a step back just enough so he could really see your face as you spoke. “I don’t care if she’s nice. I don’t want her.”

The word he chose to emphasize wasn’t lost on you and for the first real time, you let yourself think this might be about you. It was always in the back of your mind but that insecurity and fear of losing him kept it quiet, not wanting to let yourself feel any hope incase the disappointment that followed was too crushing.

“Ed.” You sigh softly and rub your hand from his chest to his shoulder.

He leaned down to bury his face in your neck and you fully wrapped your arms around the back of his so you could hug him tightly.

“I can’t watch this anymore.” He said eventually and that nearly confirmed it for you but you were stuck with that fear.

You couldn’t bear losing him, not while you were still surrounded by the city around you that he stemmed from. It would be a constant painful reminder of the good thing you had lost and you were in desperate need of this good thing.

Eddie was one of the best friends you’d ever had and you would happily, although torturously, never be anything more if it meant he stayed with you.

That fear was even more obvious to you when he was picking his head back up to really look at you, your noses rubbing together in a familiar way but with an unfamiliar tension hanging over your heads.

You could see the moment he decided to risk it all and your entire body locked up.

“Don’t Eddie.” You stopped him just as he was staring to shift his face closer to yours and his expression dropped.

He didn’t move away right away but you could see the way it stung him. You frowned with guilt and brought your hand up to cup his jaw, grateful when he nuzzled into it without any hesitation.

He may be hurt by your premature rejection but he still craved your touch and that made you feel much better.

“It’s okay.” You shift forward to kiss his cheek as you hold his face. His eyes are closed blissfully and his hands tighten around you at the contact. “Let’s go tell them bye.”

It was awkward to go back out there together and tell them bye as a pair, your dates sending you and each other confused looks while Sarah gave you a long disappointed stare.

You knew she didn’t mind the idea of you and Eddie together, in fact she encouraged it actively in the beginning, but she also was aware of your hesitance and she knew you well enough to know nothing had happened in that hallway. You were still choosing to waste the chance to spend a night getting to know a nice guy, just to go home with Eddie and stay in the same limbo.

You gave Zach a light hug goodbye but Eddie didn’t even bother with a parting wave to his date.

You waited until you got on the train back towards his apartment to bring it up, both of you standing on opposite sides of a pole.

“She was sweet.” You said softly and his eyebrows furrowed again for what felt like the dozenth time that night. “You could have been nicer.”

He winced and his shoulders slumped at your gentle scolding, looking a little guilty. Eddie wasn’t at all a rude guy, even when he got a little too rowdy to remember his manners. He was notably friendly and a good time so it was out of character for him to treat somebody so coldly.

“She was nice.” He agreed casually and now you took a long pause.

“She wanted to bang you.”

His face scrunched up at the idea of it as you both swayed with the sudden lurching of the train car departing.

“Yeah, no way.” He was shaking his head in disagreement and you eyed the way his curls had gotten a little bouncier after a long night. “She was flirting, yeah but.. I don’t know.”

“Why not?” You asked it with a tilt of your head like you were genuinely curious despite the fact you figured you knew his answer by now. He leaned back against the wall of the train car and crossed his arms, giving you a slightly disbelieving look. “How long’s it been since you hooked up with somebody?”

It wasn’t something you talked about even though you seemed to talk about everything else. You knew Eddie had a past of casual flings with a lot of girls, you’d heard it from Sarah after her first few times around Alex.

But you never actually saw the playboy antics yourself. He was at the college for a whole year before you even got there and either he had given up on the life style coincidentally as he became a sophomore or there was a secondary reason.

He looked just as thrown off by your question as you felt asking it although a little amused by the boldness.

“A while.” He admitted easily but he rubbed the back of his neck like he was nervous, face just pink enough for you to tell he’s affected. “I don’t know exactly but maybe a year?”

Your eyes must widen because he lets out an embarrassed laugh that sounds nothing like himself, like he’d rather be the first to laugh than to wait for you to inevitably do it.

“Yeah I just… haven’t been into it lately.” His eyes land hard on yours and you can’t really find it in yourself to say anything in response, especially since you’re more than certain he’s lying with the weak explanation.

You lean against the pole and watch him carefully, suddenly very glad you had left the bar when you did.

“What about you?”

Your mouth parts a little in surprise, not at all expecting him to turn the question around on you. You haven’t to really think about it which he doesn’t seem to enjoy, frowning just enough for it to be noticeable as he shifts in place.

“A few months I guess.” You say softly with a light shrug, just a little bit shy with the answer.

You hope he doesn’t ask you to specify because you really don’t know how to explain to him that you’d been so pent up one night from the way he touched you that you had no choice but to go and seek other forms of release. It was somebody you didn’t even remember the name of which was evidence enough towards how good it had been, not at all satisfying that craving he’d built up and actually just making it much worse.

You’d heard stories about Eddie from random girls around campus, their faces flushing with embarrassment when they noticed you listening or passing by like you had some sort of claim over him.

You were curious about it both because you liked him so much and because you were his friend and wanted to know what exactly he did that made girls get so hung up on their time together in the bedroom.

He hadn’t replied since you spoke, staring a bit blankly.

“What’s on your mind?” Your head cocked.

He shifted at the sound of your voice and moved back towards you, hand wrapping around the pole you’d been leaning on. It was just above your head so you were slightly caged in by his arm, eyes turning upwards to blink at him.

“Have you… wanted anyone since?” His voice had gotten a little lower and you took a second to glance around the train car and ensure nobody was paying too much attention to two college kids flirting awkwardly.

You stared at him through your lashes for a few seconds before your hand was rubbing over his ribs, smiling a little. “Maybe.”

He sucked in a breath at the touch despite how often he felt it and you watched as his eyes very obviously dropped down to your lips.

The train car picked the perfect moment to rock violently and you made a small surprised sound as it nearly threw you sideways, too distracted by him to remember to brace yourself.

Eddie barely faltered, more than used to the abrupt stops. He easily slid his hands around your waist to steady you and you gave him a quick thankful smile before you were realizing you’d reached your stop and grabbing into his wrist to pull him out onto the platform before you managed to get the both of you lost again.

“Didn’t think you’d catch it this time.” He smiled softly at you as you walked and you rolled your eyes despite being overly fond of his habit to never give you directions.

“You’re not that distracting.” You teased back but you’re more than aware of how obvious that lie is.

He certainly is distracting you in the following weeks as you get closer to summer and the heat begins to rise and rise.

To only make matters worse, the AC goes out in the boys apartment and Sarah’s dad sets out a strict ‘no boy’ rule when he catches Alex sneaking out one morning.

You heavily consider just ditching all three of them in favor of your college funded air conditioned dorm that you’d barely used since moving to the city but you feel a little too guilty and you figured you’d miss Eddie far too much while sulking away next to your dorm mate writing her boyfriend obsessive love letters.

So you join them in their suffering, all lounging around the furniture in various states of undress as you try your best to catch anything that resembles a breeze.

It’s bad enough to be literally hot, sweat coating your forehead and making your hair stick uncomfortably wet to the back of your neck, but to also be a little warm under your skin from Eddie and his lack of a shirt was a new type of torture.

Alex was on the smaller side, body lean and just muscular enough to show some definition and you imagined he was the more stereotypical choice for the college girls surrounding you.

You however, felt naturally drawn to the way Eddie was built. He was so noticeably strong, defined arms and a round chest with enough hair on it to really make you start to sweat, and that was without taking in for account the slight softness of his stomach.

You’d been spending the entire day trying not to look at the trail of hair leading down into his gym shorts, staring up at the ceiling fan as it did its best to cool you off.

Sarah was practically stripped down to her birthday suit, using a bikini top to keep some modesty despite the boy short underwear she had below it doing the opposite. Alex wasn’t much better, giving up on real clothes completely in favor of some oddly tight boxers.

You weren’t exactly shy about your body but you were overly aware of Eddie being in the room so you stuck with a small tank top and some sleep shorts, trying your best not to abandon another layer like the others.

Eddie hadn’t moved in nearly half an hour, eyes closed and lying flat on his back like he was picturing himself floating down a lazy river. You glanced around the room at the other two who were also lounging out with soft heated groans, only the sound of Sarah’s magazine waving back and forth breaking up the silence.

Your hand lightly touched Eddies chest, still close enough to you that your knee was pressed against his arm as you sat with your legs crossed next to him despite the heat screaming at you to separate. It was a little damp under your palm but you figured you weren’t much better.

“Maybe we could go to the beach.”

The words had barely left your lips before Eddie was shooting up off the bed, looking a little dizzy from the sudden movement. “God yes.”

“Careful bubba.” You said softly as you lightly pressed on his skin to get him to lay back down for a second until the wooziness passed.

Sarah had perked up too at the mention of a trip to the beach, most likely already mentally picking out a matching bottom to go with her top. Eddie had taken your hand that was on his chest and pressed a light kiss to each of your knuckles, smiling crookedly at you when you sent him an amused look.

“I’m totally in. Beach day.” He nodded in approval and sat up again at a much slower pace, now face to face with you and rubbing your noses together until you let out a small laugh. “We can use my mom’s van.”

“Your mom’s van is a piece of shit.” Alex supplied from across the room, still refusing to move in the heat even when Sarah sent a sharp swat to his sweaty chest.

It was in fact a piece of shit so it was hard to argue, especially as you stood in front of it.

You weren’t sure how she had managed to keep her lot for as long as she had especially considering the van clearly hadn’t moved in the last few years, coated in dust and making an odd rattling noise when Eddie hopped in and started it up.

He looked too excited for you to rain on his parade and you were still internally trying to impress his mom, talking to her quietly in the kitchen while the boys dug around in Eddies old room for an extra pair of swim trunks that might still fit him after making sure the van started.

“He talks about you a lot. I figured he must be making you up.” She was clearly teasing and she immediately reminded you a lot of her son, down to the shape of the smile she gave you as she poured you all a glass of lemonade.

“All good things?” You mused and you relished in the way she chuckled lightly.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Sarah scoffed from the kitchen table, you’d nearly forgotten she was there at all but the heat and unfamiliar sight of a rundown apartment had made her uncharacteristically quiet. “Eddie couldn’t even think a bad thought about you let alone voice one.”

Her teasing was already bad enough in general but worse in front of his mother, your cheeks turning red just as the boys came stumbling out in clear excitement for the road trip.

It was a bit of a chaotic start, all holding onto the prayer that the van would even make it to the first gas station stop. You felt a bit of relief as it rattled its way out of the city, especially since Eddie had confessed he didn’t have a license and let Alex drive, giving Sarah shotgun after she sent him a sharp glare.

He was pressed against your side in the second row, a little uncomfortably considering the AC was barely sending out a light breeze in your direction but the windows being down on the open road helped cool off your skin just enough for you to relax.

You turned to look at him just to find he was already watching you, your nose brushing his as you both mirrored the other’s bright smile.

“You excited?” You whispered, trying to keep your voice under the song playing from the CD Sarah had dug out from the middle console.

“Yeah.” He said it back just as quietly and you appreciated the imaginary privacy the volume offered. His hand came up to brush your hair behind your ear and then lingered near your jaw.

“I’ve never seen the ocean.” You admitted and you watched his eyes widen in surprise, multiple emotions passing over his face like he had suddenly decided this meant something different than just cooling off in the water. “Not from here, remember?”

Eddie nodded slowly but you could tell he was sinking into thought now, his hand reaching over to squeeze yours with something close to determination.

If his goal was to give you the perfect beach day then he more than succeeded. You couldn’t have had a better time with the three of them, barely getting the van parked before you were running into the water and falling into a pile of waves and splash puddles.

The chill of the ocean and the relief you felt had nothing on how magical it was to be with your favorite people, one in particular who couldn’t stop smiling and laughing as he watched you play around with Sarah and narrowly dodge water attacks from Alex.

Eddie didn’t last long before wrapping his arms around your middle and dragging you under the water with him, completely beaming when you resurfaced and pushed him lightly by his shoulders in mock upset.

It took hours for any of you to get bored and you stayed out there with him even when the other two had their fill and went to shore, opting for getting a tan and catching up on a book.

He didn’t seem to mind when you wanted to calm down, naturally gravitating towards each other as you let the water move your bodies together. You held onto his shoulders with your legs wrapped around his waist, his big hands rubbing over your lower back and keeping you from drifting off.

The sun was setting as you talked in soft voices and let yourselves float in unison.

It was perfect and getting even better as the sun fully set and you retired back to the van, laying some blankets on top of it and feeling the cooling metal under your back as you laid down. You’d almost forgotten how the stars looked outside of the city and away from the light pollution, lost in the sight of them and barely registering Eddie climbing the ladder on the side of the van until he laying down beside you.

You could distantly hear Sarah laughing softly at something Alex had said, growing more and more faint as you realized they were walking back down to the water.

“Think they’ll get married?” You whispered once you felt him settle next to you, his hand reaching between your bodies to grasp yours and let it rest on his chest so he could play with your fingers.

“Without a doubt.” He answered easily, not needing any clarification.

“Maybe we can be their maid of honor and best man.” You mused. “Walk down the aisle together.”

You looked at him after the comment just to see his reaction, to double check if the image of you together in a wedding scenario had any effect on him even if it wasn’t your own. He was always watching you with soft eyes, moonlight highlighting his freckles and the slight redness he’d gotten from the sun.

“You’re always staring at me.” You whisper.

“Can you blame me?” He sounded so sincere that you felt a little embarrassed and it took a lot to not look away from his strong gaze.

“What’s that mean?” You shifted so you were lying more on your side and facing him better, the ocean crashing in the distance offering a welcome break between the silences.

“Means…” He laughed a little at your curiosity and shrugged his shoulders, searching for the right words to use. “You’re so fucking pretty.”

You know you’re flushed now and you have to stare at the stars for a breath just to gather yourself, looking back and wishing you hadn’t considering he has the same expression he did the last time he tried to kiss you.

He’s closer than you realized, noses brushing again in that familiar habit of yours.

“Eddie don’t.” You whisper softly even though it pains you. “Don’t kiss me.”

He freezes immediately and it’s much more extreme of a reaction than last time, embarrassment rushing over his face as he awkwardly shifts away from you on the blanket to give you some space.

“Yeah okay.” He breathes out in agreement but it’s so clearly forced.

“Wait.” You frown and sit up a little so you can see his face still as he moves away. “Please don’t be mad at me.”

His face softened instantly like the idea crushed him and he also sat up, resting on his elbow and bringing his free hand up to cup your face and lightly caress your cheek.

“Hey.” His singular word was so full of affection that you almost fell on your stomach in relief. “I’m not mad at you. I’m never mad at you but especially not for that.”

“I’m just…” You have the sudden need for him to understand that you’re not meaning to reject him, a bit frantic as you finally sit up on your knees and touch his arm. “Nervous okay? I don’t want to mess things up so we just can’t… can’t kiss.”

He was silent for a long time as he stared at you like he was trying to understand, eventually nodding slowly but looking just a little bit frustrated and disappointed. You knew your reasoning didn’t make much sense and you felt a bit sick knowing he might be longing for something you’re not willing to give.

“This is why I wanted you to hook up with that stupid blind date.” You sigh and it’s a little bit of an over exaggeration because you probably would have cried for a month if he did but the meaning is still there. You didn’t want him waiting around for something you might not ever give him.

“I get it.” He says it slowly like you’re a live wire which you figure you probably seem like one right now, rushed speaking pattern unlike your usual calm demeanor. “But I don’t want her.”

“You want me?” You assume openly for the first time.

“God yes.” He doesn’t hesitate to answer, eyes staring into yours with devastating raw honesty.

You’re not sure if actually hearing him confess it makes you feel better or worse but your stomach lights up with interest anyways.

You both fall silent, you because of the admission and him because he’s clearly shocked you didn’t somehow already know that.

His hand is suddenly on your back and then you’re overly aware of how much skin you’re both showing. You lean closer to him when he starts to rub you in small soothing circles and then you let out a deep sigh.

“Can I ask you something?” You whisper and he nods before you even really finish. “You said you hadn’t had sex with anyone in a year. Is that because…”

You trail off but it’s obvious what you’re implying, especially given the conversation you’re having.

Because of you.

Now he’s finally hesitating and it’s a long anxious pause before he’s nodding his head.

You both don’t speak, don’t even breathe, as his hand slowly trails up from your back to your shoulder. You stare closely at his face as he toys with the strap of your bikini that rest against your warm skin, still slightly heated from the sun.

“Are you going to take it off?” You whisper and it’s clearly all the permission he needs, eyes meeting on yours as he notes the soft nod you give him, before he’s letting his fingers push it off your shoulder softly.

He moves to the other one at the same time he fully sits up so you’re both half kneeling in front of each other, slowly pulling the second strap down and lean in to kiss your collarbone as he does so. You suck in a sharp breath and he falters at that, glancing up at you to double check.

“You can take it off.” You say softly immediately, a little breathy. “You’ve been so patient.”

Clearly that patience had worn out because Eddie is quick to reach behind your back and undo the tie holding your top up, eyes locked on your chest when it falls in your lap.

He stares at you for so long you start to squirm uncomfortably and then he’s gently moving the fabric to the side and shifting closer so he can go back to kissing your skin. Your eyes flutter shut and your hands go to his curls, softly running your fingers through them as he kisses up your neck down to your shoulders.

“You can go lower.” You encourage and you feel him lightly tense like the idea is a little too overwhelming for him.

It’s brief though and he follows the light instruction soon after hearing it, his hands moving to cage both of your ribs in his big palms. He just barely grazes the top of your chest with his lips before you can hear a sharp laugh from Sarah down below.

You’re both hit with the sudden realization of where you are and what you’re doing, your eyes wide with panic and he sits up rigidly.

You hear Alex next and that snaps you out of it, scrambling to grab your top and pull it over your shoulders. Eddie is just as eager to get behind you and help you tie it back up, shivers down your spine when his fingertips touch your skin.

“You two okay?” Alex calls from below and you can’t bring yourself to answer, grateful when Eddie gives a murmur of approval before helping you climb down the ladder and get the blankets back in the van.

You stay quiet until you’re back in the van, tucking your face into his neck and groaning softly as the embarrassment fully hits you.

“That was humiliating.” You whisper once you pick your head back up.

“Yeah a little bit.” He agrees with a soft smile and that only makes you let out another disgruntled noise before resting your head on his shoulder.

The car ride back is mostly pleasant if you can block out the thoughts of somebody having seen you topless but you feel a large amount of relief when the city skyline comes into view. Sarah gets dropped back off at her apartment before the boys find street parking near campus for the van, calling Eddies mom on the pay phone down the road to let her know you’d bring it back tomorrow morning.

You linger around the dorms before opting for heading back to their place with them, ignoring the pleased smile on Eddies face when you catch up with him and wrap your hand in his.

Sleepovers aren’t that rare between the two of you so you can tell right away that he’s acting strange.

He’s taking twice as long as usual in the bathroom and hovering around his dresser like he’s looking for something. You’d changed into one of his shirts and a pair of shorts you’d left there before, the air much more chilled now that the sun is set.

You sit on his bed and frown at him as he stalls climbing in with you.

“Eddie.” You call after ten minutes have passed and he freezes, blinking at you. “Are you acting weird because you saw my tits?”

The question lingers in the air for a few seconds before he’s sighing and facing you fully.

“Okay yeah.” He admits with surprising ease and you continue to frown as he finally comes over to sit next to you. “I’m just thinking about it.”

“My tits?” You specify and now he winces at the vulgar phrasing.

“Not necessarily your… you know. Just the situation in general.” He supplies and you can only stare at the side of his face.

It’s awkward for a handful of seconds before you’re standing up to turn off the lights, leaving you in near darkness outside of the orange hued lamp in the corner of his room.

“Come on, let’s try something.” You say softly as you go and lay down on his bed, facing the wall as you rest on your side. “Get behind me.”

You can almost feel his hesitation but he doesn’t eventually, the position coming naturally to you both as he curves his body around yours. It feels more intimate than normal considering the conversation you were just having but you still reach back to grab his hands and bring them to the front of your chest.

You just hold them for a moment before you’re taking a deep breath and lightly pressing them against the fabric of your tank top.

He tensed behind you and sucked in air sharply through his teeth but it didn’t take him long to relax and follow the instinct to lightly apply some pressure.

“I-it feels good when you squeeze.” You whisper softly, face warming up instantly at how vulgar it sounded. “So don’t be shy.”

That was all he really needed to hear before he started to really touch you, big hands cupping your breast repeatedly as you both laid there and took shaky breaths. You were making soft whimpering sounds which really didn’t help the temperature as it started to climb against.

“Mm feels good Eddie. Is this okay?” You whisper.

“God yes.” He breathed out before pressing a few light kisses to your shoulders, his hands starting to get a little rougher now as he groped your chest eagerly.

“Should we take it off?” You nearly whine.

“Is that what you want?” He asks softly and keeps kissing your skin, moving onto your neck and lingering there as he waits for your reply. You nod immediately and he doesn’t waste any type before shifting your body and pulling the shirt you borrowed over your head, tossing it carelessly onto the floor.

He was back to touching you instantly and you both made a strangled sound at the skin on skin contact, his hands getting rough again as he pulled your breast apart before squeezing them together. His thumbs kept brushing your nipples in a way that made you start to pant and he shifted behind you.

“Fuck I feel you getting hard.” You gasped and he made a nearly growl like sound, pressing his forehead to your shoulder.

His hips moved forward at the words on instinct before he was tensing and moving backwards like he was trying to avoid touching you like that.

“N-no I want you to feel good too. You can rub it against me.” You encouraged and it was mostly selfish, wanting to feel it so bad you could barely think.

He hesitated for a second before he was rocking his hips forward and going back to roughly groping your chest, his breath getting quicker in your ear as low grunts left his mouth.

You felt like you were on fire, stomach twisting in a coil of need as you tried to arch your back and rub yourself back with him as he moved almost feverishly.

The mixture of the two sensations was overstimulating in the best way possible.

“Say something. I love your voice.” You begged and you could barely recognize yourself and the high pitched tone you’d taken on in your pleasure.

“You’re so pretty.” He was quick to murmur it out, kissing your shoulder slowly again. “Fuck I’ve wanted this for so long.”

His hands were going back and forth between squeezing, lightly tugging at your nipples, and getting a bit more bold when he’d rest them on your neck.

You could really feel him now, your tiny shorts riding up so much there was barely any fabric to mute the sensation of him rubbing against you. He was hot and heavy, clearly large in size even if he wasn’t fully hard yet which you figured he was judging by the way he was almost whimpering into your neck.

“It’s so fucking good.” You gasped out and he full out growled now as he picked up the pace, bed rocking. “Oh god yes, keep humping me.”

Eddies movements were beyond frantic, moving a hand down to roughly grip your hips and keep you still so he could really grind himself against you. He swore under his breath and sat up abruptly, ignoring your whine so he could roll you over into your back and get on top of you.

You gasped and spread your legs for him instantly when you registered what he wanted, nodding his head and whimpering loudly when he rocked his hips against you from the new position.

Now you could feel his length right where you needed it most, your core so sensitive already just from the lewd way he was touching your body like it belonged to him. You loved the deep grunts he was making in your ear, foul words under his breath like he couldn’t contain them anymore.

You made a strangled sound and clung to him, arm around the back of his neck as he kept you pinned down with a strong hand on your stomach.

“Harder.” You whined impatiently.

“Fuck baby I’ll cum.” He groaned, shaking his head and kissing your neck so sloppily you got dizzy with the desire to have his mouth on yours.

He still listened to your request and started to really fuck against you, both of you panting and completely lost in the sensations as you chased the high of finally getting to feel eachother like this.

It was like you got thrown off the top of the mountain when you heard the familiar voice right outside the door, both of you stiffening as you tried to make out the words Alex was saying.

He sounded slightly panicked and definitely guilty but he was trying to tell you something about Sarah being in trouble with her dad and desperately needing a ride, asking Eddie if he could please take his moms van to go and get her.

Eddie sighed and flopped down ontop of you, waiting a long few seconds before he shouted out his approval. You listened to Alex walk away but you both already felt the side effects of being interrupted when you were potentially making a mistake.

You kissed the side of his face and he took the sweet cue, rolling off of you and tugging you against your chest while you tried to control your breathing.

“We can’t do anything with them around.” You whisper softly and you only realized after it left your mouth that it sounded like you intended to keep this up. “It’s too risky.”

He didn’t reply for a bit and you figured he had noticed the same thing, only confirmed when he softly hummed in agreement and rubbed your arm supportively.

That turned out to be a nearly impossible rule considering your friends were always around. Sarah had practically moved into the apartment after the disagreement with her dad and you couldn’t exactly give your opinion because it wasn’t necessarily your place either but the small space was getting a little too cramped.

You spent more time at the dorm just to get a little privacy but you missed Eddie too much to keep away for long.

Alex had currently turned the entire place into a full fledged party, no doubt welcoming a dozen noise complaints from the neighbors. You’d needed a break over an hour ago and you just now managed to get yourself away from the crowd, climbing out the window to settle up on the fire escape.

You were never surprised by how easily Eddie found you when you were disappeared so you barely blinked an eye when he was following behind you only a few minutes later.

He had a cigarette dangling from his mouth but he was quick to discard it as soon as he saw you looking.

“Hi.” You said softly once he was sat next to you, resting your head on his shoulder.

“Hi baby.” He whispered back, taking a sip from his nearly empty beer can before gazing out at the city with you.

“Can’t believe you grew up here.” You said in a bit of a daze, truly content to have him by your side like this while you admired the view you’d dreamt of for so long. “Does it get any less beautiful when you see it everyday?”

He was quiet for a bit so you dragged your eyes off the buildings to look at him, meeting his stare and smiling softly.

“Gets prettier every time I see it.” He whispered and you knew right away he wasn’t talking about the city, his gaze darting all over your face like he was committing it to memory.

You had to look away because you were suddenly feeling very emotional over the entire setting, resting your head back on his shoulder so you could avoid seeing his face again.

Eddie warmed you under your skin and it terrified you.

“I’m really going to miss it when summer comes.” Your voice is quiet and he tenses a little bit like he’d forgotten what looms around the corner.

You’d considered staying in the city during the months you didn’t have school, maybe asking Sarah to let you permanently room with her and even debating if you and Eddie were going to be at a place where you could just stay with him without it being weird.

You didn’t think you were, in fact you had decided that it would be almost catastrophic for the two of you to be around each other every single day, sleeping in the same bed and sharing a space like you were something much more than you were.

And you missed your home town underneath the awe of the big city, thinking about it often as you laid in bed and wished for a break from the constant noise pollution and busyness.

“You could stay.” Eddie whispered like he knew what you were thinking and he shifted so you had no choice but to look at him again, your knees touching and his eyes on your face while yours stayed downcast.

“Are you going to be here for me when I come back?” You tried to lighten the topic by ignoring his suggestion, not wanting to outwardly say that wasn’t an option to you.

“Of course I will be.” He answered earnestly despite your attempt at a joke, shifting and rubbing your noses together while his hands moved to squeeze yours. “I’ll pick you up the second you get here.”

“Not going to run off with any city girls?” Your tone was still teasing but you really hoped he would answer this one genuinely.

You were already depriving Eddie and even though it was his decision to not do anything with anybody else, you still felt guilty about your hesitance. Especially knowing you’d be far away and he wouldn’t even get the small relief of feeling you touch him, getting to have you close to him still.

It made you feel sick to think about him with somebody else, somebody more permanent with their feet caught in the concrete streets you couldn’t seem to get used to.

“Just you.” He says back and rubs your knuckles softly, bringing it up to kiss your wrist lightly.

You stare at him for a few long seconds with overwhelming fondness.

“Maybe you could come with me.” You whisper and he freezes.

“Seriously?”

“I don’t know if you’d like it. It’s a really small town and super outdoorsy.” You start to ramble to try and make yourself feel less embarrassed for the offer. It’s clearly not casual at all to try and bring him back to your hometown for the summer, surrounded by your entire family and the friends you grew up with. “I’d just… I would really miss you.”

He blinks at you like he doesn’t believe what you’re saying but the small smile on his face slightly eases your anxiety. He starts to slowly nod in agreement so you squeeze his hands and shift closer.

“You’d have to meet my parents.” You remind him before he can confirm, wanting him to understand the stakes of coming along instead of just impulsively accepting because he’s desperate to be around you. “And my siblings and be stuck in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’d be with you.” He cuts you off and presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth that almost makes you frown, a little overwhelmed by how much you like him.

You keep waiting for him to do something you dislike, to give you a reaction or even a quick glance that lets you believe he’s not this perfect guy. He’s never angry or judgmental, he’s friendly and calm when it’s expected but knows how to have a good time otherwise and you can never stop laughing when you’re around him.

You think of the way Sarah constantly seems to be laughing with Alex, less sharp and intense when they’re together. She loses the bite behind her teasing remarks like he steadies her internally.

It was on your mind now as you took the trip back home for the first time since you left it all those months ago, a nervous bounce of your knee that’s immediately soothed by the familiar hand rubbing over it gently.

Eddie gives you a soft smile when you glance over at him appreciatively and you return it.

You didn’t need to discuss the logic behind him coming with you because you both knew it was happening as soon as you mentioned it. Neither one of you wanted to be without the other for that long of a time and it soothed any insecurity of worry about what he’d be doing in the city while you were gone, although you were certain beneath the mean voice in your head that he would be on his best behavior.

He didn’t owe you any loyalty but he had offered it so consistently that you felt comfortable expecting it.

The three months you spent together in your hometown felt just as magical as that day on the beach had.

Eddie fit in perfectly and despite introducing him as your friend to everybody, you could see the knowing looks being sent your way and you didn’t bother correcting them.

It was a whole new experience to get to see him outside of the city he was born in, the furthest he’d ever been from it both in terms of distance and lifestyle. He’d wake you up in the morning with a soft whisper that he was going fishing with your cousin, come home around dinner time with dirt on his pants and a proud, nearly boyish smile.

You felt a jolt of happiness as you stood side by side with your mom in the kitchen and helped her prepare dinner, your dad talking to Eddie the next room over as they flipped through your childhood photo books.

He came in at one point to give you a soft kiss on the cheek and ask if you needed any help from him before he ran to town for some household items, telling him you were okay and then trying to ignore the fond look your mom was giving you.

It was a new side of your connection, getting to almost roleplay a domestic small town life as you navigated the warm days and his constant presence.

You kept up with your search for something you could dislike about him, expecting it to show itself now that you were together almost all of the time, but you realized pretty quickly that it was pointless.

You’d watch him interact with the older women at the farmers market politely, call Alex weekly from your home phone and update him on the more rural things he’d been learning with genuine interest, and play with your younger siblings endlessly until the sun went down.

It was pretty clear by the end of summer that you were in love with him.

There was still that frustrating limbo you’d put both of you in but you didn’t know how to break out of it yet. You had wished he would just disrespect your old boundaries and make the first move but he was too good of a guy for that, backing up whenever his hands would wander a little too intensely.

He kept them mostly off of you around your family other than a hand around your waist or brief greeting kiss to your cheek but you felt the heat that still lingered when you’d be back in your room each night.

Your parents thankfully hadn’t set any rules about the two of you sharing a bed even though you almost would have preferred that to the torture of having him that close but somehow still so far.

He’d let himself be a bit more bold then, his palms that had gotten rougher over the weeks of outdoor activities would run over your bare stomach as he pushed your shirt up higher.

You’d both stay quiet in the room any time anything happened like you were afraid to speak and scare the other, memories of that night after the beach where he’d touch you constantly on rotation.

His hands wouldn’t go past your ribs and you’d try to ignore the disappoint each time he kissed the back of your neck and settled into sleep instead of going further.

It was a rough adjustment to go back to the city but you missed it all the same, especially your friends who greeted you both eagerly at the bus stop once you arrived.

Sarah had made a cute sign with your names combined on it, shaking it and jumping up and down when she saw you coming with your luggage.

She’d demanded that you spend the night with her so you could catch up and you locked eyes with Eddie as she dragged you away, feeling the ache deep in your stomach as you separated for the first time in months.

“You guys didn’t even kiss?” She looked appalled at the revelation, pulling back the brush she’d been using to apply a face mask to your skin. She’d told you that the country air had made you look dry and ignored you when you said you lived in the suburbs. “Are you joking?”

“I don’t know okay?” You groaned and went to hide in your hands before remembering the sticky substance all over your skin and throwing them down into your lap instead.

She gave you that familiar judging look, perfectly tweezed eyebrow raising as she gave you a once over.

“You need to make a move.” She determined by the end of it and you sighed in defeat. “I’m serious.”

“I don’t know if he’ll want it still.” You shake your head and now she scoffs in disbelief.

“Are you stupid?” Her voice is biting but you’ve known her long enough to know it’s from a place of support. “You’re hot, he’s horny and obsessed with you. Obviously he’s going to want it.”

You thought about it non stop after that conversation because you weirdly were able to believe her when she said it like that.

All four of you went out the next night for drinks, celebrating the end of a summer apart and the start of the next school year together.

It was ridiculous how much you had missed Eddie after only a day and a half apart, sliding comfortably against his side as soon as you and Sarah got into the bar. He seemed just as eager to see you, kissing the side of your head a handful of times and bringing both arms around your waist so you couldn’t go anywhere.

“Missed you so much.” He was saying it softly but it was loud enough for your friends to hear, groaning immediately while he flipped them the bird.

“How’d you two only get worse?” Alex teased but you were in too good of a mood to be annoyed, especially since he wasn’t necessarily wrong.

For the first time in a long time, you drank as much as they did. Typically you stayed sober and collected while they had their fun and you were quickly realizing how terrible of an idea it was to be drunk around Eddie.

You were ten times more wanting of his touch, constantly clinging to him and getting uncharacteristically pouty when he would leave to go to the bathroom or get another drink. He didn’t seem to notice how extra affectionate you were being due to his own tipsy state, easily giving you the attention you needed like it was second nature.

You both went to the bar together at one point and it was clear to you right away that it was risky to be without the buffer of your friends.

Your hands were sliding over his ribs and you could barely make out anything he was saying to the bartender, thankfully not the pretty one from all those months ago.

He finished ordering and turned to give you his full attention, your chest pressed together as he lightly kissed your temple.

“You know..” You were speaking before you even realized you were and his eyes locked on yours, a little less glossy than your own but still dazed. “I was thinking about that night in your apartment. The one after the beach.”

It had been months now but you both knew exactly what you were referring to, the unforgettable memory of his hands getting rougher on you and your whiny voice begging him to keep going before you were interrupted.

His eyes were darkening a little at the topic and you kept absentmindedly rubbing him, up his chest and then back down.

“Yeah?” He offered back and you were nodding in confirmation, gaze more hooded when he let out a shaky breath and slid his hands onto your lower back so he could tug you closer.

“It felt so good, didn’t it?” You whispered and he was quick to mumble out an agreement that you didn’t quite hear.

You pulled your lip between your bottom tip with slight nerves, the most you could still feel with this much alcohol running through you and offering up an abundance of liquid courage. He leaned down just enough to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth and your hands tighten where they’d been resting on his biceps.

The bartender was clearing his throat behind you and sliding your finished drinks closer to where you stood but you both ignored him, a small pout forming on your face as you rocked on your tiptoes to hide in Eddies neck for a second.

“You know I want you right?” You mumbled against his warm skin, thinking back on Sarah’s advice.

He tensed a little but held you closer, full on hugging you now as you rested against his shoulder.

“I want you too.” His voice was always so genuine when he was confessing something to you, a little innocent like he just desperately wanted you to know how much he liked you.

The bar area was getting a little too crowded and you felt a tinge of anxiety, sighing and pulling away from him to grab two of the four drinks.

“Let’s go back.” You encouraged and he hesitated before grabbing the remaining glasses and following you back to the booth you’d moved to almost two hours ago.

He set the drinks down before he was sliding into his spot and stretching his arm out like he expected you to sit next to him. You hesitated for a long few seconds, getting an eyebrow raised from Sarah that you took as encouragement.

You scooted along the wood until you were right beside him and then lifted yourself up and onto his lap, sitting sideways on his thigh and holding onto his shoulder so you didn’t sway backwards.

His eyes widened just enough for it to be noticeable but he was easily wrapping his arm around your middle to support you.

“Sorry. Just want to be close to you.” You explained to him and he looked a little choked up, nodding but not saying anything for a while.

You frowned as they all fell back into conversation even though Eddie was mostly just listening to the other two talk amongst themselves, his thumb pushing down the fabric of your jeans just enough to rub your hip.

Ten minutes passed before you were growing impatient again, taking a long sip of your drink before turning your body more and leaning down towards his ear.

“I want to talk more about that night.” You whispered and then pulled back to hold his gaze, his eyes curious and maybe a little bit confused.

Now it was his turn to lean towards you, lips brushing your ear enough to make a shiver run over you. “I think about it all the time.”

“Yeah?” You were desperately latching onto this information. “What about?”

“Just everything about you. The way you looked and the way you sounded when I touched you.” His eyes were leaving your face in favor of going up and down your frame repeatedly.

You shifted on his lap just to get more comfortable as you turned more to face him but his breath hitched, pausing the way he was rubbing your hip to instead hold it tightly and keep you still.

“I loved when you touched me.” You whisper next and he reaches up with his free hand to cup your jaw, tilting your face a little more in his direction so he can rub his nose against yours in that endearing habit of his. “Your hands felt so good.”

It was quiet for a few seconds and you moved in his lap again, not necessarily meaning to but still drunk and wanting so desperately to soothe that ache that was slowly building between your legs the more you spoke and thought back to that night.

“You got so worked up.” Your voice was getting a little whinier now and his breath was speeding up at the sound of it. “Probably would’ve came in your pants if we didn’t get interrupted.”

He nearly growled at that and you smiled, happy he was starting to crack a little bit the more you went on. Eddie was clearly doing his best to keep being respectful but you could tell how much he wanted to kiss you and speed things up.

You kept shifting and rubbing your thighs together and he swore under his breath, eyes going down to your lap. He snaked a hand between your thighs just to grip tightly and try to keep you from moving.

“Sorry.” Your pout was exaggerated. “Not trying to get you riled up.”

“Uh huh.” He kissed his teeth and sent you a playful glare, clearly not believing you considering the way you were acting.

“I wish I wore a skirt tonight.” You added and he let out a sigh at the idea, starting to rub your denim covered thighs instead of just holding them.

You were painfully wanting as he touched you, rubbing your nose along his jaw and closing your eyes to fully enjoy the way he was feeling you up under the table. It probably was overly obvious what you were doing but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care about the others around you.

He helped you move so you were straddling him instead of sitting sideways, an instinctive move you both did without thinking.

His hands kept rubbing you, this time moving up and down your back with one of his palms going under your shirt to feel the bare skin.

Now it was impossible to not shift your hips a little bit on top of him, whining softly and burying your face in his neck.

“I-I’m needy.” You confessed in a near gasp and he groaned.

“I know baby.” His voice was lower than you’d ever heard it and that only spurred you on, closing your eyes and kissing the warm skin you were hiding against as you started to really gently rock ontop of him. It just looked like two drunk people feverishly making out, or at least you hoped so.

You were getting more and more worked up the longer you sat there together, his big hands moving to your hips to help you keep moving.

“Is this okay?” His voice was shaky and you were quick to kiss his jaw lightly in encouragement.

He adjusted himself on the seat, sliding a bit lower to give you a tiny amount of privacy and keep you slightly more covered by the table top. The movement just pressed you closer against him and you tried to muffle your needy whine in his shirt collar.

“Touch me.” You were firm in the request and he didn’t hesitate once he heard the tone you’d taken on.

You sighed in relief when you felt his hands leave your back and hips in favor of grabbing your ass through your jeans, back instinctively arching to give him better access. He massaged it softly just like he’d done with your chest all those months back, tugging you back and forth in his lap to keep building that friction.

“Fuck you’re getting so…” You picked your head up to look down at where you were connected, seeing the clear evidence of his arousal and locking eyes with him so he could tell how much the was driving you crazy.

His face was flushed like he was embarrassed and you noticed how overwhelmed he looked, slowing down and feeling a little guilty for your boldness before you felt him grunt at the lack of movement and furrow his eyebrows.

You hesitated for a few seconds to try and figure out what he wanted and then decided you were sick of guessing.

“You want to rub it against me?” You asked softly, leaning back in to kiss below his ear.

“Yeah.” He said immediately and squeezed your back pockets again. “Fuck yeah.”

He started to slowly tilt his hips up to move against your soft rocks, trying your best to not be so obvious while also feverishly chasing after that feeling.

It felt so good to finally get him like this, under you and just as wanting as you were. You couldn’t even contain yourself long enough to get to his apartment or even the bathroom, you needed him right now.

He was clearly getting overwhelmed again because his hips would jolt up against you like he couldn’t control it, soft apologies leaving his mouth when you’d gasp or jump at the sudden movements.

Knowing he was just as needy as you was only making you burn hotter.

“Fuck I wanna make you cum.” He almost whimpered it out and that was nearly too much for you, speeding up and letting your lips brush against his for a second before hiding back in his neck as you started to whine louder.

The friction was perfect, building up to the point you could barely even think about anything other than making him feel good with you.

“Hump me more.” You whined, not sure it was even audible considering how hard you were pressing your mouth against his shoulder to keep yourself quiet.

His hands moved from your ass to the back of your thighs to keep you moving even as you got a little too desperate to function, the way you were bouncing growing sloppier now that he was pressing up against you at the same time.

It was getting to be almost too much, your entire body tingling with the need to get off.

You could vaguely hear Alex awkwardly announcing they were going to get a drink from the bar, forgetting they were even there and silently hoping they’d get the hint and not come back for a while.

Everybody else around you was either too drunk or too tired to care about some horny college kids in the corner booth.

“Feel good baby?” He was speaking in a voice you’d never heard from him and that only made you speed up.

“Yes Eddie yes.” You whimpered

One of his hands moved to tangle in your hair, forming a fist in the locks and making you gasp at the light pain that spread across your scalp. You expected him to immediately release it once he heard that noise but he was clearly too buzzed or too caught in the feeling to remember how gentle he normally was with you.

You couldn’t complain, not with the way pleasure instantly followed the stinging sensation.

“Keep going.” You encouraged with soft pants, kissing alongside his neck. “I’m dripping.”

That seemed to really drive him crazy, like the idea that he was making you feel good was better than anything else.

His hand slid up under your shirt, rubbing your back and playing with the clasp of your bra like he was heavily debating taking it off. You’d started to sober up from the drinks but you were beyond drunk on him.

“Uh guys.”

You both froze but you didn’t dare look behind you at Alex’s awkward cough, burying yourself in Eddies neck and hoping he could just teleport you home instead of having to deal with this conversation.

His chest was lifting and falling heavily below you and making your frame move in the process. You knew him well enough to know his face was bright red, only confirmed when you finally slid off his lap and glanced at him with mild embarrassment.

“Yeah. Just friends.” Sarah quipped and you sent her a glare as she smiled and winked at you, clearly internally proud you’d taken her advice and made a move on him.

“Sarah.” Eddie's voice was still low and hoarse, another shiver running over you at how affected he sounded. “We’re just… tipsy.”

It was a weak excuse and a few months ago it would have hurt your feelings but you knew how much he wanted you, drunk or sober. He was clearly just trying to ease the tension and make you feel better about your desperate actions, a soothing hand landing on your thigh.

“We should go.” He said next and this time it was specifically directed at you, facing you finally and squeezing your leg to try to encourage you to agree.

“Yeah.” You were quick to nod and scoot out of the booth, grabbing his hand once he was standing beside you.

You both lingered by the table like you were trying to think of an excuse to give your friends that didn’t make it so obvious.

“Oh my god please just leave already.” Sarah groaned and pressed her forehead against the wood for a brief second to really showcase her exhaustion. “Don’t talk to us until you’ve fucked each other.”

Your face burned again at the comment and Eddie opened his mouth like he was going to try and defend you, stopped short when you tugged his arm and started to move towards the exit.

You walked in silence for most of the way, the night air thankfully cooling off how heated your body still felt especially since you could feel him staring at the side of your face.

Eventually you slowed to a stop under a flickering street lamp, avoiding his concerned eyes when he stopped beside you.

“I’m really sorry about that.” You said softly with clear humiliation. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“Stop it.” He said immediately and he cupped your face, tilting it back so you had to stare up at him. “It’s okay, I get it. We both were drunk and we really like each other.”

You smiled softly at that, how convinced he sounded.

“Yeah? You really like me?” You whispered back and you were half thinking he was going to tease you back about your own feelings.

Instead, he was surging forward to finally kiss you.

It was desperate and full of all the pent up emotions you’d kept for the entire time you’d known each other, all the times you’d nearly connected like this but not quite gotten there.

His mouth moved against yours urgently like he thought he didn’t have much time before you were telling him to stop like you always did so you made sure to eagerly lick into his mouth to make sure he knew just how much you wanted this too.

The heat from the bar came back with a vengeance, one of his hands instinctively going down to grab your ass tightly and tug you closer to him before it was resting on your lower back.

His tongue was rubbing against yours, coating your chin with saliva from how sloppy and needy it was on both ends.

You liked Eddie beyond words but right now you didn’t have time for the big romantic confessions, not making love and taking your time with each other. You figured you could do that for the rest of your lives but right now you needed him to fuck you.

You told him as much between kisses and his eyes darkened, tugging you into one more deep makeout before he was whistling down a cab and nearly pushing you into the back of it.

You kissed like that the entire ride back to his apartment, barely making it out of the doors in your refusal to let go of each other.

Thankfully it seemed like Alex and Sarah had no plans to come home tonight because you barely got inside before your clothes were coming off, falling back on the couch and gasping when he was landing ontop of you.

Your hands were all over him as you undressed, running over his stomach and chest while he eagerly groped at your nipples again and finally took them in his mouth like he’d been so close to doing those months ago.

It was euphoric, feeling him rub against you for only a few minutes before he was getting too impatient and pulling your panties down your legs.

The way you’d been humping each other at the bar was enough to ensure you both were ready to go, your legs easily parting for him so he could line himself up and push deep inside of you.

It felt like more than just sex, it felt like a connection that you’d been waiting for all this time. You felt whole with him like this, filling you up so nicely and giving you that perfect stretch you’d been dreaming of.

You wanted to take a second to really appreciate him, get on your knees and worship his cock so he knew just how much you loved him and the way he was always so gentle with you. But you decided to wait until after he fucked you stupid, his hips already struggling not to move the second he bottomed out.

“Fuck me, fuck me.” You gasped in a pant as you tried to get him to move, soaking up the low grunts he was letting out in your ear as he pressed his forehead to your shoulder and tried his best to not hurt you. “Please Eddie, I want it so bad.”

“Are you sure baby?” His voice was still that cute nervous tone you liked so much, kissing your cheek so gently despite the heat of the situation. You were quick to nod your head and try to adjust yourself to feel him more and he swore lightly. “Fuck okay yeah. I love you so much sweetheart, tell me if it’s too much.”

You wanted to focus on his words and let him know how much you loved him too but you couldn’t pay attention to his sudden confession once he started to really move.

He was fucking you with shocking roughness considering how sweet of a boy he was but you couldn’t have been happier, needing that pace after the year of dancing around each other.

It was perfect, just like every other day you got to experience with him before that and every single one after.

You didn’t forget to make sure he knew just how loved he was by you afterwards when you were holding each other in his bed, soft kisses on his freckled skin as he flushed over your words.

You told him it constantly in the morning after, whispering it when you cooked breakfast together and writing it in each other’s notebooks while you studied in the library.

There was no shortage of love in you for the city you’d dreamed of or the boy that had grown up with it.

[agnireed]

MASTERLIST

POPE CODY

A FENCE AWAY ~ ongoing

intro 2 3 4 5 6 7

SUMMARY ➩ living next to the cody family was already a difficult task to manage and it only gets more complicated when the eldest boy gets back from prison

SAFE HAVEN 2

SUMMARY ➩ Pope only feels like himself when he’s alone with you in your apartment

CLEAN SLATE

JACK ABBOT

PRAISE PERFECTION 2

SUMMARY ➩ striving for perfection and running off nothing but study books and bitter coffee, you’re struck by your new night shift attending and his gentle praise that gets under your skin

PAPER THIN WALLS

SUMMARY ➩ Jack Abbot is the perfect neighbor who is always willing to offer you a helping hand. Until you ask him to take your virginity.

TILL DEATH DO US PART

SUMMARY ➩ Before Jack was a widower, he was a husband. (your love story from his eyes.)

SAMMY BRYANT

A GOOD MAN

SUMMARY ➩ moving in with your older sister tammi, you develop an odd fixation on her husband

BONDED IN GRIEF

SUMMARY ➩ after losing your husband nate, you find comfort in his partner

RESISTING TEMPTATION

SUMMARY ➩ sammy is beyond tested when nate’s new babysitter gains interest in him

PRIVATE SHOW

SUMMARY ➩ Sammy is insecure, lost in his marriage and lacking excitement in his life until he meets you, a stripper who misses the thrill of dancing simply because she wants to

STAN ROSADO

PRINCESS PROTECTION

SUMMARY ➩ You’re convinced the boy next door is your soulmate and the feeling hasn’t faded even after ten years apart

MISC

IN THE SHADOWS elvis schmidt

DARYL DIXON

The Silence of It > One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten Eleven Twelve Thirteen Fourteen

Walking Tension

Burdened

[101error-not-found]

Sharkbait (ooh-haha)

Summary: People start calling you Sharkbait. One day someone does it in front of Park.

Tags/Warnings: Brendon Park x reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, brief mention of an age gap (40s-20s), mild language, mild power imbalance, watch me avoid talking about medical things

wc: 1,146

a/n: I was possessed to write this in the middle of the night. Mean beefy men have me in a chokehold.

Dedicated to @godmadeaterribleerror . Look! I finished something!!

You didn't really think about it, the first time it happened. You'd been halfway through a chart, awareness pitched somewhere behind you in case someone needed you — someone always did, eventually — and when you heard the name Sharkbait, you knew instinctively Santos was talking to you. She's always giving out nicknames like that, and you didn't have one yet, and people had taken to dragging you over to present for Park the Shark, because apparently you were the only one who could handle him without getting your head bit off.

You didn't really get what the big deal was. It wasn't hard to figure out how to deal with him — that's what you do, after all, assess people and then figure out how to deal with them. He wants clear, concise answers, and respect, so you give him both. Easy.

He's not the kind of person you'd joke with, or get chummy with, not unless he crossed that line first. Even then, best to tread carefully.

But he's not complicated, and he's certainly not scary the way everyone seems to think he is — though you would categorize him as intense. Focused. It's what makes him such a good surgeon.

And sure, maybe he trains his laser focus on you more than anyone else in the ED. Maybe his attention is less sharp when it settles and finds you on the receiving end.

It doesn't mean anything, surely, but that didn't stop Santos from noticing, and it didn't stop her from making a shitty nickname, and if you were thinking a little more clearly, you'd have realized that you should've shut that shit down. Park is your much older, much more attractive, incredibly no-nonsense indirect boss, not to mention, you actually kind of like the guy. He probably wouldn't take lightly to everyone going around implying he's trying to get in your pants, and even if Santos is mean, she's not evil. She'd back off if you needed her to.

But you'd been tired, and distracted, and you hadn't really thought about it that hard. And when she called out "Sharkbait, get over here!" you hadn't corrected her.

Instead, you'd tapped out the last line of your sentence and carelessly called back, "Sharkbait, ooh-haha." It wasn't even a conscious decision.

It's from some fuckass movie you watched when you were eight, and you hadn't thought about it in years, but apparently that one word had been enough to trigger the call and response you learned in second grade. It shouldn't have stuck, either, but then Whittaker had called you Sharkbait while you were talking to a patient, and you'd muttered it under your breath, and now you just can't stop.

Everywhere you went, people called you Sharkbait. Even Robby does it sometimes, when he's calling you over to observe procedures. And you, in a true show of human adaptability, do not stop to think about why it's such a mistake. You hadn't caught it the first time, and you hadn't caught it the second time, and by the third it simply became another thing in the background. Another name, another title, none of them really you.

Everywhere you went, you'd parrot it back. Mostly it was an announcement, a way to say I'm here, I'm paying attention, tell me what you need, without quite so many words. In the more serious situations, it was a half-whispered thing under your breath, a reminder that there would be time where things weren't falling apart, and you would be capable of joy and whimsy again.

Either way, it always came.

Unless Brendan Park was in the room. The Shark walked in, and suddenly everyone was calling your full name like you're George fucking Bush. Even the mention of a consult from him was enough to dissuade the use of it for a few minutes.

All of which led to twenty minutes ago, when you'd been hunched over a trash can, shoveling a granola bar down your throat with such ferocity that you felt simultaneously like a starved horse and the kind owner feeding it.

You'd caught a glimpse of Park gliding through the ED like Moses parting the Red Sea, and had stuffed the last of your precious calories into your mouth in a desperate bid to be done by the time he reached you. Even when you weren't called over to present, he rarely came down without stopping by, so you'd gotten used to putting on your best face on a dime.

You could see that Dennis was going to call you over before he actually did it, so you'd already been shuffling over to the hand sanitizer when you it happened. "Sharkbait! Whittaker says you should present this one."

Your mind knew it was a bad idea — tried to stop your mouth from following through — but habit is a bitch. "Sharkbait, ooh-haha," you fired back, just loud enough to be heard over the ambient noise of the ED.

For a half-second, everyone froze.

Park turned to you, molasses slow. Arched an eyebrow. "You like that stupid nickname?"

You'd blinked at him. Refused to shrink under his gaze, or his tone, or the way it all made your blood sing and your skin burn. Forced your voice smooth and even, just as unbothered as he sounded about... well, everything. "I haven't really thought about it all that much, honestly. Mostly just reflex by now."

Maybe he genuinely believed you. Maybe it's because you've always been honest and efficient. Maybe he just doesn't think you have the balls to lie to him. Whatever it is, he hadn't commented on it further, so you didn't either.

You both pretended it never happened, right up until he disappeared back upstairs, and you allowed yourself a single moment to acknowledge the fact that you may have just lost all your goodwill with the best orthopod in the hospital.

What you don't know is that Park had been the one to start it with an offhand comment to Garcia about the ED dangling you in front of him like sharkbait every time he went down there. She'd repeated it to Santos, and soon it had spread like wildfire. Not what he'd intended, and he'd considered snapping at the mousy boy when he'd drifted by and heard him calling you that a few weeks ago — only to be stopped dead by your sweet little call-and-response, like you were fucking taunting him. Practically begging him to come bite.

The fact that you had the balls to do it with him right in front of you — and then look him dead in the eyes and call it reflex — has just cemented what everyone else already knows.

He wants you.

And if you don't mind flaunting that fact to the whole hospital, oblivious as you may be, he's not going to be the one to stop you.

[cadavercarcass]

put me in a movie

pairing — dark!truckdriver!joel miller x f!reader

description — you hitch hike to escape your small town, but the man that picks you up isn't the savior you initially see him as.

word count — 11,886

tags — dead dove do not eat!!! smut, noncon, age gap, drugging, perv joel obviously, body betrayal, throat-fking, creampie, forced breeding, what else is there to miss? oh, he spits in your mouth once. this is actually evil and entirely self-indulgent. read at your own risk. this is not meant to romanticize or promote the behavior written and is purely fantasy. THIS GETS SUPER DARK SUPER FAST, BEWARE !!!!

notes — this has been hiding away in my wips for almost a year, and I finally rushed out the ending. so yeah, kinda sucks near the end, but i was gooning writing it, so sue me.

You sighed sharply, letting your arm fall to your side for what felt like the hundredth time. The weight of the sun pressed heavily on your shoulders, the heat clinging to you like a second skin. A warm breeze teased strands of your damp hair from your face, a mercy against the uv rays. Tilting your head back, you gazed at the expanse of blue sky that had darkened in the hours you stood on the side of the road, your patience steadily unraveling like an old, worn thread.

How hard could it be to hitch a damn ride?

All you wanted was to escape the stifling monotony of this rundown, bumfuck-nowhere town. Where time seemed to crawl and every day bled into the next. There was nothing to do except drink cheap beer in collapsing barns with the people your age you could tolerate—which, frankly, wasn’t many. Your graduating class had barely scraped together two hundred students, and most of them were already neck-deep in their great-grandparents’ conservative, redneck ideologies, content to stay trapped in the same traditional, endless loop you were desperate to escape.

Entertainment options were laughably slim, unless you counted gossiping at the diner or staring at the peeling wallpaper of your living room. The highlight of the week was usually a herd of cattle escaping or a barn dance, where everyone pretended their lives weren’t as dull as dishwater.

It was no wonder that generations before had filled their houses to the brim with children. After all, raising a family gave them something to do, a purpose to cling to in the otherwise monotonous grind of small-town life. And maybe, just maybe, it helped fill the silence that crept in at night, the kind that even wolf songs couldn’t drown out.

It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. At night, the air hummed with the songs of frogs and crickets, a sound that felt almost sacred. The stars lit up the sky in a way that was impossible to see from the city, their light twinkling like scattered diamonds. Fireflies blinked alongside them, tiny, fleeting beacons in the dark. Those moments, rare and quiet, made this place almost bearable.

Almost.

But Christ on a cross, when the sun rose, it brought the same crushing realization: there was nothing for you here. Nothing except Sunday mornings at church, where people whispered behind hymnals and dissected the sins of their neighbors, the same people they'd smile brightly at as they prayed for blessings to come to them. At least they handed out free donuts. Small mercies, you thought bitterly, kicking at a loose pebble on the cracked asphalt beneath your feet.

You adjusted the straps of your backpack, the weight of it pressing uncomfortably against your spine. The highway stretched ahead in an unbroken line, a mirage shimmering in the distance, promising freedom just out of reach. All you needed was someone to pull over, just one car willing to take you somewhere—anywhere—that wasn’t here.

You even went so far as to wear the most revealing clothes you could find, not that your wardrobe had much to offer in that department. A perverted driver was still a driver, and at this point, you were desperate. You’d taken scissors to an old shirt, hacking it into a crop top that bared your midriff. The fabric was frayed and uneven, but it did the job. Your shorts were another matter entirely, uncomfortably tight and clearly too small, leftovers from when you were a kid. The waistband dug into your skin, and you had to keep tugging them down to avoid cutting off circulation.

God forbid any girl showed an ounce of skin in this town. The stares you got on your way out were enough to make you want to sprint out, but you were banking on that very same scrutiny to catch the attention of a passing car. Modesty might have been the golden rule here, but you weren’t above breaking it if it got you out of this dead-end stretch of nowhere.

You felt ridiculous, humiliated even, but the thought of staying here was far worse than enduring the leering eyes of some old man. You were used to that already. Men in this town had a way of looking at you like you were an object on a shelf they might pick up, inspect, and set back down when they were done. You’d learned to ignore it, to shrug off the uncomfortable heat of their stares and the muttered comments you pretended not to hear.

This was just more of the same, except now you were using it to your advantage. If showing a little skin meant one of those creeps would stop and offer you a ride out of this godforsaken town, then so be it. Dignity wasn’t exactly high on your list of priorities right now—freedom was.

If only one of these fuckers would actually stop. You’d been standing here long enough to feel the sunburn creeping across your shoulders, sweat pooling at the small of your back. You threw your arm out every time, trying to look as pitiful, or enticing, as possible, but all you got in return were waves of hot air as they sped by.

Was it just your town where men stared at women like predators? Or was that just how men were everywhere? You had no way of knowing. Your entire life had been spent here, in this suffocating bubble of prying eyes and wagging tongues. Sometimes you wondered if the rest of the world was different, or if the same lecherous glances and whispered judgments waited for you on the other side of this horizon.

Still, staying here wasn’t an option. Even if the grass wasn’t greener anywhere else, at least it would be different grass. And different was all you were asking for.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by the thunderous roar of an engine, deep and rumbling, shaking the stillness of the road. A semi. Your heart leapt, both with hope and a twinge of unease. You’d heard the stories, truck drivers were lonely old men who’d fuck anything with a heartbeat, and even that was a stretch. The thought made your stomach twist, but desperation outweighed caution.

Throwing your arm out again, thumb raised high, you focused on the massive vehicle barreling toward you. The sheer size of it was almost intimidating, the largest thing you’d seen on the road. Its grill gleamed in the sunlight like a steel beast, and you could already hear the hiss of brakes as it began to slow down.

This was it. Maybe luck was finally on your side—or maybe you were about to make the worst mistake of your life. Either way, it wasn’t like you had much to lose.

The semi groaned to a stop a few yards ahead of you, its engine idling. The driver’s side door creaked open, and out stepped a man, an old man, just as you’d expected.

His hair was almost completely gray, though uneven splotches of the lighter color dotted his scruffy beard like it couldn’t decide whether to age gracefully or not.

The glare of the sun bounced off the truck, making it hard to get a clear look at him, but you could tell enough. He was much larger than you, his frame broad and solid like he’d spent his life lifting things far heavier than the backpack you hauled. His hair had a slight curl to it, messy and unkempt, like he hadn’t seen a comb in days.

He tilted his head toward the passenger side, gesturing with his chin as he spoke. His voice was deep, slow, and unmistakably southern.

"Well, don’t just stand there, girl. You need a ride or what?"

There wasn’t much kindness in his tone, but there wasn’t any malice, either. Just a bluntness that matched the heat of the day. Your hesitation lingered for a moment before you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You all but scaled up the side of the truck, your legs shaky from a mix of exhaustion and the strain of hauling yourself up. The heat of the day clung to you, making every movement feel heavier than it should have. By the time you managed to get one foot inside, your muscles were screaming in protest.

The older man was already back in his seat, one wrist draped lazily over the steering wheel. He chewed on a wad of tobacco, the sound wet and unmannered as he watched you crawl in with a measured gaze. His eyes flickered up and down your figure, lingering just long enough to make your skin crawl. You swore you saw his hand shift subtly, adjusting himself as a low groan escaped your lips from the effort.

You settled into the passenger seat, the cracked leather sticking to your bare thighs. His stare lingered for a moment too long at the way they expanded before he finally spit into an old plastic bottle by his side.

“Where ya headin’, sweetheart?” he drawled, his lips curling into a half-smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.

Now that the sun was no longer blinding you, you could finally get a good look at him. To your surprise, he wasn’t all that bad-looking. In fact, he was quite handsome in a rugged, weathered sort of way. His deep chocolate-brown eyes had a sad look to them, like they had seen more than they cared to share. His nose was prominent, giving his face a bold, defined structure that worked with the lines etched into his skin. Those wrinkles, instead of detracting from his appearance like you'd expect them too, seemed to enhance his features.

Your eyes flicked to his hands resting on the wheel. They were large, rough-looking, the scarred, calloused kind of hands that did hard labor. An old, scratched watch clung to his wrist, the leather strap worn and glass cracked, but still functional.

Practical, like him, you figured.

Despite the circumstances, you found yourself momentarily distracted by his appearance.

“Well?” he asked again, the smirk on his face still lingering as he spit tobacco into his bottle. “Where ya headed?”

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat. “Anywhere but here,” you muttered, your voice low but firm.

He chuckled at that, a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the cab. “Fair enough. Lucky for you, I ain’t goin’ anywhere near here for a good long while. Buckle up, sweetheart.”

You slid your backpack off your shoulders, letting it rest on your lap as your fingers found the charms hanging from the zippers. You twisted them absentmindedly, trying to occupy your mind and ignore the creeping weight of his gaze. The truck didn't move. Confused, you glanced at the gear shift, expecting to see his hand on it. Instead, his hand rested on his thigh, his fingers tapping lazily against his jeans.

Looking up, you caught him staring at you again, his dark eyes locked on yours for a moment before shifting downward. He sighed, tilting his head slightly like he was deciding what to do next. Without saying a word, he leaned toward you.

Your breath hitched as he closed the space between you, his face so close you could almost feel the faint stubble on his jaw and the silver strands in his hair. His arm brushed your shoulder as he reached for your seatbelt.

"Seatbelt's stuck," he muttered, though you hadn't even tried to buckle it yourself. His large hands gripped the strap and gave it a few tugs, his breath fanning across your cheek as he grunted, the plastic clicked before the webbing slid free and he pulled it across your chest.

The motion seemed smooth at first, but you stiffened when his knuckles grazed the curve of your breast. He didn't pause or acknowledge it. His gaze wasn't on the seatbelt or even his hands, it was fixed lower, right where the strap pressed against your chest. His eyes lingered there shamelessly.

He adjusted the strap, tugging it tighter against your chest, his fingers brushing over the swell more than once. The way he moved was deliberate, too slow to be casual, like he was testing how far he could push before you said something.

It didn't feel accidental, but it wasn't obvious enough for you to call him out on it, either. Your throat tightened, and you froze, unsure whether to flinch or let him finish.

“There,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, as he clicked the belt into place. For a moment, he didn’t move, his face lingering close enough for you to see the faint lines around his eyes and the uneven streaks of gray in his beard. Then, without a word, he leaned back into his seat with a grunt, as though the small task had been a chore.

His hand moved to the gear shift, and the truck rumbled forward, pulling onto the road with a jolt. “Can’t have you flyin’ out the windshield,” he said, his voice laced with dry humor.

You didn’t respond, your heart still racing from the unnecessary closeness. Staring out the window, you gripped the straps of your backpack tightly, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of his hands, unease prickling along your skin.

Joel glanced at the cracked dashboard clock, tapping it lightly with his knuckle as if that would somehow make the time change. "We’ll probably hit a truck stop in a few hours," he said, his voice breaking the long silence in the cab.

He finally broke the silence with a grunt and a glance at the dashboard. “’Bout two ‘til we hit the next one,” he said, shifting in his seat and rolling his neck like it ached. “Gonna pull in there, grab some food. Might get a room if the lot ain’t full.”

You didn’t look at him, just nodded a little, eyes fixed on the streak of pavement disappearing beneath the truck. “Okay.”

He glanced at you then, like he was waiting for more. When you didn’t say anything, he added, “They got showers too, y’know. Clean ones. Not five-star or nothin’, but they get the job done.”

“Cool,” you murmured, trying to sound neutral, like you weren’t clocking every word.

Then he smirked a little—just a flicker, barely there, but you caught it. “Don’t worry, you can have your own bed,” he said, voice low, tone meant to be reassuring but sitting wrong in your gut. “Unless, uh... you’d rather save a few bucks.”

You turned to look at him, your expression unreadable. “I’ve got cash,” you said, flatly.

“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Joel said with a chuckle, eyes flicking to your chest again, not even subtle about it this time. “Just jokin’ around.”

You looked away, jaw tightening.

He scratched his beard, shifting in his seat again. “You’re real quiet,” he said after a moment. “Kinda figured a girl like you’d be more talkative.”

“A girl like me?” you asked, without looking at him.

“Yeah,” he drawled, his tone casual as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. “C’mon you ain't exactly dressed for church, honey.” He turned to you with a grin.

You rolled your eyes before you forced yourself to focus on the landscape outside, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the empty fields. But even as you tried to tune him out, you could feel his gaze darting toward you. It wasn’t constant, but it was enough to set your nerves on edge—quick, almost imperceptible glances at your legs, your chest, the curve of your neck.

Every time you caught him, he shifted slightly, like he hadn’t been looking at all. His fingers rubbed idly against his thigh, the movement subtle but deliberate.

“Don’t get too quiet on me now,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the uneasy silence. “A guy can only handle so much quiet before he starts gettin’ lonely.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “I’m just tired,” you muttered, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation.

“Tired, huh?” Joel’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his seat, one hand lazily adjusting his belt. “Bet you’ve had a long day, stickin’ that pretty thumb out on the highway. Lucky for you I came along. Not everyone out here’s as friendly as me.”

The way he said “friendly” made your stomach churn. You shifted in your seat, pretending to adjust your backpack as an excuse to look away. “Yeah,” you said flatly, unsure of what else to say.

He chuckled again, a deep, gravelly sound that filled the cab. “You know,” he started, his tone turning thoughtful, “truck stops ain’t so bad. Some of ’em even got little diners... Hell, if you’re lucky, you might even find a little entertainment.”

You glanced at him sharply, but he kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. You gritted your teeth, damn religious upbringings, you forced yourself to be polite and dryly humor his conversation. “What kind of entertainment?”

Joel shrugged, his fingers still idly tapping his thigh. “Depends on the stop. Some got TVs, little gift shops... and sometimes, you meet interestin’ people. Y’know, folks passin’ through, lookin’ for a little... company.”

Your pulse quickened, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m not really looking for company,” you said quickly.

His grin widened, and he let out another low chuckle. “Didn’t think you were, sweetheart.”

You turned back to the window, your heart pounding as the shadows outside grew longer. The truck rumbled on, the uneasy tension between you thickening with every mile.

The truck’s turn signal clicked lazily, a rhythmic tick that cut through the hum of the engine as Joel guided the semi off the highway and into the glow of the truck stop.

The lights hit first, flickering fluorescents mounted on leaning poles, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The parking lot was littered with rigs and pickups, a few scattered sedans, and the occasional figure ducking in and out of the convenience store’s heavy glass doors. Beyond that, a rundown diner and a flickering neon sign that buzzed louder than it glowed. It wasn’t much, two diesel pumps, a few bent metal benches out front, and a crooked billboard advertising pie that probably hadn’t been served fresh since the Reagan administration, and behind it, the shape of a small roadside motel slumped under a sagging roofline.

Joel shifted the truck into park with a heavy hand and let out a grunt, stretching his arms above his head until his back cracked. His faded shirt lifted just enough to reveal a strip of his stomach, leathery and scarred. He caught you looking, not at that, exactly, just observing the place, but he smirked like you’d been staring.

“Not bad, huh?” he said, pulling the key out of the ignition. “Cozy little stopover.”

You looked out at the rows of trucks and diesel pumps, trying not to fidget. The stillness inside the cab after the engine died was sudden, as if the noise from the it had been cushioning something you didn’t want to feel.

You said nothing, unbuckling your seatbelt with a quick snap and reaching for your backpack, your fingers finding those familiar charms again. You rolled one between your thumb and forefinger, grounding yourself. The tension in your chest hadn’t left since you climbed into the truck. If anything, it’d only settled deeper.

Joel opened his door and climbed out with a grunt. “Food’s better than it looks,” he said over the roar of the diesel engine cooling off. “Diner’s got burgers, eggs, hash. All the heart-attack bullshit you could ever want.”

You followed after a beat, the door heavier than you expected. He waited for you at the base of the steps, one hand resting on the open door like he was holding it open for a date. You stepped down, trying not to flinch as his eyes moved with you, tracking every inch.

You stared past him at the diner, its windows fogged and glowing yellow under too-dim lights. A man smoked on a bench by the door. He looked tired. Everyone here did.

Joel jerked his chin toward the motel attached to the back of the lot. “Gonna check if they got any rooms left,” he said, spitting a wad of his chewing tobacco into the dirt. “You hungry, or what?”

“Yeah,” you said, your voice flatter than you intended. “Starving.”

He grinned at that, like it pleased him. “Go on then, I'll meet'cha.”

Inside, the diner smelled like grease and bleach, two things that didn’t mix well. The waitress behind the counter didn’t look up when you entered, too focused on a crossword puzzle. Joel slid into a booth a few minutes after you had, patting the cracked vinyl across from him.

The seat felt sticky. He leaned back, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest like he owned the place, the other already reaching for a menu he clearly didn’t need.

“Go ahead,” he said, nodding at you. “Order whatever. I’ll cover it.”

You eyed him, unsure if it was kindness or another invisible string. He caught your look and smirked.

“C’mon. Not tryna poison you. Just don’t like eatin’ alone.”

You nodded slowly, glancing down at the menu as he watched you over the top of his.

Joel leaned back in the booth, the vinyl seat creaking under his weight. One arm sprawled across the top, the other cradling his plastic cup of water. He let out a long sigh, an exaggerated exhale, like he was trying to be noticed.

“Been on the road five weeks straight,” he muttered, glancing out the window like he might spot someone he used to know. “Start talkin’ to myself if I don’t get some damn conversation.”

You looked up, cautious. He smiled, but it was thin. Forced.

“Life gets quiet when you get to my age. Too damn quiet, sometimes,” he said, fingers tapping idly against the side of his cup. “Wife gone. Kids don’t call. Truck’s about the only thing still wants me 'round.”

He chuckled softly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. More like he expected a certain reaction and didn’t care if it was genuine.

“That’s why I don’t mind pickin’ up company when I can,” he added, taking a sip and eyeing you over the rim. “Makes the road feel less... long.”

You didn’t respond, just nodded faintly. He didn’t seem to care—he’d already settled into his little performance.

“Not askin’ for much,” Joel went on, looking down at his calloused hands. “Just someone to talk to. Hearin’ a pretty voice now and again reminds me I’m still 'round, y’know?”

His eyes flicked to your mouth when he said it.

“Hell, you don’t even gotta talk if you don’t want, face's pretty 'nough on its own,” he added with a little grin, eyes crinkling like he was doing you a favor. “I’ll just ramble on till I lose my voice. You can pretend I ain’t even here.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you want someone to listen to you talk till your mouth hurts.”

That got a chuckle out of him. “Alright, fair,” he said, scratching at his beard. “I like a little attention. Guilty as charged.”

The waitress came over, tired eyes scanning the table. Joel ordered without looking at the menu—“bacon cheeseburger, extra pickles, fries, and a Coke,” before nodding at you to go ahead.

As you gave your order, you could feel his gaze on your face, lingering just a tad too long on your lips when you spoke. When the waitress walked off, Joel leaned back again with a grunt.

“Bet you think I’m some sad old bastard,” he said, smirking.

You tilted your head slightly. “You don’t seem all that sad.”

He laughed again, low and knowing. “Don’t gotta be sad to be lonely, darlin’.”

He said it so easily, like it was the kind of thing he’d said a hundred times before. Like it worked on someone, once.

There was something off about the way he spoke—too rehearsed, maybe. Like he’d said this all before. The “poor old man” routine. Alone on the road, no family, no one to talk to. It felt... thin.

Still, something about it tugged at you.

Maybe it was the way he sighed after every sentence, like he didn’t expect you to care. Maybe it was the worn in look behind his eyes.

You glanced down at your lap, your fingers twisting the zipper of your backpack until it bit into your skin.

You knew better. You really did. People didn’t get like this for no reason. Men didn’t hand out kindness for free. But even as your gut whispered caution, another part of you, smaller, quieter, felt bad for him.

He wasn’t pushing anything. Not yet. And you were tired. Not just from standing on the side of the road, but from months of going nowhere, of waiting for someone, anyone, to see you.

Joel caught your eye again, that half-smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to lay it on thick,” he said, almost sheepish now. “Guess I don’t talk to people much these days. Gettin' rusty.”

You tried to smile, but it came out just as performative as his. “It’s fine. I get it.”

He tapped a finger against his glass, his tone softening. “You runnin’ from somethin’?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.

You hesitated. “Not really. Just… done with where I came from.”

Joel nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ out. Some places don’t give you much reason to stay.”

His voice was quieter now, less performative. For a second, it felt more real. Or maybe you just wanted it to.

You studied him for a beat longer—his hands, his eyes, the worn creases in his skin. You could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers pulling your seatbelt earlier, still see the way his gaze had lingered a second too long.

But right now, he looked tired. Lonely. And something in you, despite everything, softened just a little.

“I appreciate the ride,” you said quietly. “Really.”

Joel looked at you for a second, then nodded once and leaned back again. “Ain’t no trouble,” he said. “Like I said, road gets real damn quiet.”

You both fell into silence after that, the kind that wasn’t entirely comfortable.

He’d tried to make small talk over greasy plates and chipped mugs of diner coffee—asked about your favorite music, your family, whether you had a boyfriend “waitin’ around somewhere.” He framed it as harmless banter, chuckling over his fries, talking with his mouth half full like it wasn’t meant to mean anything.

You mostly nodded, gave short answers. Your appetite had all but vanished the longer his eyes lingered on you.

They didn’t wander constantly, Joel wasn’t that obvious. But every so often, as you cut into your food or brushed hair out of your face, you’d catch him watching you instead of eating. His gaze would always drop quickly, back to his plate or the tabletop, but the silence between those glances felt thicker each time.

You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were tired, overthinking.

But by the time he paid the bill and motioned for you to follow him outside, your stomach had twisted into something tight and uneasy.

The air had cooled a little with the setting sun. Crickets had started their nightly hum, and the truck lot buzzed quietly with the sound of engines cooling and the occasional burst of laughter from inside the diner. But your ears were filled with the sound of your own footsteps following Joel’s.

He led you past the edge of the lot, toward a squat, single-story row of motel rooms behind the diner. Faded numbers were bolted onto each door, and the porch lights above them flickered weakly, as if unsure whether to bother staying lit.

Joel stopped in front of one, jingling a key in his hand. “Only had one left,” he said, turning the knob. “Told the guy it’s just for a few hours’ shut-eye. Not like I’m settlin’ in.”

Your heart skipped. Just one?

The room door creaked open. Joel stepped inside first, tossing the key on the nightstand and flipping on the light. A yellow glow filled the room, bouncing off stained wallpaper and a twin bed with a faded comforter. The A/C unit in the window rattled weakly.

The moment you stepped into the room, something felt different.

Not in the air itself, the motel room still smelled like bleach and dust, but Joel’s presence had changed.

He didn’t say much after unlocking the door. Just let it swing open, stepped inside like he owned the place, and gave the room a lazy once-over. Gone was the exaggerated sighing, the talk of loneliness, the half-hearted chuckles meant to make you feel bad for him. Now he moved slower, more comfortably, like someone who’d settled into something.

You weren’t sure what.

He let the door close behind you with a click that made your pulse hitch. He didn’t bolt it, he didn’t need to. The message was already clear.

Joel walked over to the table near the bed and dropped the room key with a soft clink. His hand hovered for a second, then he sat in the chair near the window, stretching out with a tired grunt. One arm slung over the backrest like he was getting ready to stay awhile.

“Not bad,” he muttered, adjusting the waistband of his jeans before running a hand through his graying hair. “Could be worse.”

You didn’t answer. You were still standing near the door, backpack hugged to your chest like a shield.

Joel’s eyes flicked up to you. Slower now. Less polite. Like he didn’t feel the need to pretend anymore.

"You can sit, y’know,” he said. “Ain’t gonna bite.”

He grinned at his own joke, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were darker now. Not cold, just… sure. Like whatever this was, it was already decided in his head.

You moved slowly, choosing the edge of the bed farthest from him—you wished the separate beds calmed your nerves, they didn't. The springs creaked as you sat, and the sound felt too loud. You kept your backpack in your lap, your hands gripping the strap.

Joel let his gaze linger for a moment longer, then leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Y’know, most folks would be grateful by now,” he said idly, like he was commenting on the weather. “Free ride, free food, place to rest. Ain’t a bad deal.”

Your spine stiffened slightly. There was no edge in his voice, no threat. But there was something underneath it. Something that made your stomach coil.

“I am grateful,” you said carefully.

“Mm.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced. “You’re just real quiet is all. Hard to read.”

You didn’t reply.

Joel scratched at his jaw. “Guess it’s just been a while since I had company.” He looked at you again, head tilted, lips just barely curved. “It’s nice. Real nice. You're nice.”

You felt your shoulders tense. He wasn’t doing anything, not really, but you could feel it building. The shift. The subtle way he took up more space now, like just getting you through that door had changed everything.

Joel stood up, stretching again with a low groan, and walked toward the mini fridge. He bent to open it, empty, but lingered there a second longer than needed. When he straightened, he looked at you again. Still that same expression. Casual. Relaxed. Like this was just the natural next step in whatever he thought was happening here.

“I’m gonna go grab us some drinks,” he said, voice lighter now, maybe even cheerful. “You want soda, water, somethin’ stronger?”

You blinked. “Coke’s fine.”

He nodded, already halfway to the door. He paused, hand on the knob, then turned back.

“You lock that behind me if it makes you feel better,” he said, his voice quiet. “But I’ll be back in five. Don’t go disappearin’ on me.”

He winked. Not playful. Not mean. Just… like a joke he thought you were in on, even if you didn’t know the punchline yet.

Then the door clicked shut behind him, and you were alone.

The silence returned.

You sat still, backpack clutched to your chest, heart pounding a little faster than before. You weren’t sure what Joel thought this was. But for the first time, you were sure of one thing:

He thought he was owed something.

You weren’t sure why you stayed.

Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the weight of your backpack digging into your spine for hours that made you too tired to run again. Maybe it was something worse, something harder to admit. That small, scared voice that told you: This is what you asked for, isn’t it? A ride. A room. A way out.

You told yourself it was fine.

But when Joel came back a few agonizing minutes later, holding a single room-temperature soda like it was some kind of gift, that thin illusion started to crack.

"Vending machine’s shot to hell," he said, tossing it onto the end of the bed like he expected you to jump at it. “Still good, though. S'just warm.”

You nodded, reaching to take a grab the bottle. You tried not to acknowledge the way your heart sped up as you leaned closer to him, your hand shaking.

Joel didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care. He kicked off his boots, grunted as he lowered himself into the creaking chair near the TV, and grabbed the remote from the armrest.

The television flashed on, its speakers crackling as static fizzled into some old cable rerun. The volume was too loud for the tiny room, but Joel didn’t adjust it. He just leaned back and settled in, letting the laugh track fill the silence like white noise drowning out your thoughts.

You nerves were so shot, you hadn’t noticed the bottle hadn't hissed when you twisted the cap.

When your leg started to shake it was just a tremor at first, barely noticeable. But it spread, up your thigh, into your stomach, into your chest. Your heart fluttered under your ribs, fluttered wrong. Your throat was too dry. The lights were too yellow. The TV too loud. His breathing, even and steady from across the room, was the only rhythm that didn't match your panic.

You stood quickly, too quickly.

“Bathroom,” you muttered, grabbing your bag without really knowing why. Just needing it close.

Joel gave a vague nod, his eyes barely lifting from the screen. “Take your time.”

The bathroom was even smaller than you expected. Dim light. Cracked tile. A fan in the ceiling that buzzed faintly behind the walls. You closed the door and leaned against it, gripping the edge of the sink with both hands.

Your reflection stared back at you, paler than before. Eyes wide. Lips dry.

You didn’t even notice you were crying until the first drop hit the sink.

You weren’t scared, not exactly. But something inside you was twisting tight, something old and instinctive that didn’t care about politeness or gratitude or second chances. Something that whispered, Leave. Now.

You splashed water on your face. Once. Twice. The cold shocked your nerves, grounding you just a little, enough to breathe. But your hand trembled as you reached for the towel, and you had to brace yourself before you looked in the mirror again.

You stared at your own eyes for a long time.

You could still leave. You hadn’t unpacked. Your legs worked fine. The door wasn’t locked.

But outside that door, Joel waited. Not a stranger anymore. Not really. And that was somehow worse.

You dried your face, turned off the faucet, and in front the door of the bathroom for a beat, staring at the crack under it, the yellow-lit room shared the space of flickering blue light from the TV.

“You alright in there, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice warm again, sounding gentle despite how he'd had to hollar over the TV.

You took a breath. Then another. You told yourself you were overreacting.

People were weird, sure. Joel was… weird. But maybe that’s all it was. Maybe your nerves were shot from being on the road, from standing in the sun for hours, from not eating enough. You were tired. That made everything feel worse.

One night. Get some rest. Ditch him in the morning.

That was the plan. Simple. Safe.

You pushed open the door and stepped out into the dim light of the room again, trying to slide your expression back into something neutral. Something nice.

You gave him a polite, too-sweet smile in return, it was automatic, from that church-girl buried deep in your gut. You didn't owe him anything, but you still felt like you had to at least perform gratitude. Like that was part of the deal.

It was tight-lipped, polite, instinctual. The same smile you’d been trained to give since you were a kid, the smile that didnt reach your eyes, that said I’m fine, thank you, don’t worry about me.

He smiled back.

Not kindly. Not broadly. Just this thin, smug little thing tugging at the corner of his mouth.

He tried to play it off like nothing. Reached for the remote. Adjusted his posture. But it didn’t go unnoticed, not by you. Joel looked over at you from the chair, his arms resting behind his head now, relaxed.

You crossed the room, easing yourself onto the top of the bed. The blanket was old and dusty and reeked of stale detergent. Still, it beat the side of the highway. You opened the Coke and took a sip. Flat. Warm. Still, it gave your hands something to do.

On the TV, that same crusty sitcom was still going. Joel had turned the volume up since you'd gone. The laugh track punched through the tiny speakers like a drill to the temple. The jokes came rapid-fire—loud, overacted, dated.

You weren’t really listening until one of the characters—a middle-aged man with a gut and a mustache—joked about slipping a woman something to make her “act with less prudence.” The studio audience howled. His female co-star gave him a fake slap on the shoulder with an annoyed glare. The scene moved on.

You didn’t laugh. You didn’t even smile.

Joel did.

Not loud. Just a low huff of a chuckle, amused. Right in time with the laugh track. Like it had hit a nerve in him. The wrong nerve.

You stiffened. Your spine straightened just a little more. You didn’t look at him.

It was the type of joke that made men laugh in bars when they’d already had too much and weren’t watching their tone anymore.

Joel’s laughter stopped as quickly as it came. But when you risked a glance, you saw it, that same smug curl at the edge of his mouth, his tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on something he wasn’t going to say out loud.

You looked away.

It’s the show, you told yourself. It’s the show. He’s just laughing because it’s on.

But the hairs on your arms were standing up anyway.

You shifted around on the stiff mattress for what must’ve been the better part of an hour. The bed creaked with every movement, the scratchy comforter brushing against your skin like old sandpaper. You kept changing positions—legs folded under you, then stretched out, then pulled back in. Nothing felt comfortable. Nothing felt settled.

You kept reaching for the bottle of Coke on the side table, fingers brushing it absentmindedly before pulling back. The ritual repeated over and over until finally, you just brought it into your lap. The half-full bottle had lost what little fizz it had, but you held onto it anyway. The weight of it in your hands was something solid, something to focus on. It gave your fingers something to do besides twist the hem of your shirt or pick at your skin.

Joel hadn’t said much. The flicker of the TV lit up his face in little bursts. Every so often, he’d glance over at you. Not long enough to say anything. Just enough to make your body flare up with heat as your blood rushed.

You tried to focus on the show, but your brain had gone fuzzy. Not foggy, exactly, but distant. Like your thoughts were moving through syrup. Your limbs felt a little heavy, your eyes dry.

The Coke sat in your lap like a small weight. When you went to take another sip, you hesitated, your hand lifting slower than you expected. The bottle felt heavier than before. Not by much. Just enough for you to notice.

You frowned a little, blinked once, then twice. Maybe it was exhaustion. Your nerves had been running hot all day, your body could just be crashing. That had to be it.

Still… something felt off. You gripped the bottle a little tighter.

Your head rolled slightly on your shoulders as you tried to blink the haze away. You gave a small shake, like maybe you could rattle the exhaustion out of your skull, but it clung to you—draped heavy over your limbs like a damp blanket.

You weren’t that tired.

At least, you hadn’t been.

You blinked again. The TV was still flickering, the show’s punchlines rolling out like clockwork. Joel chuckled along with the laugh track, low and content. Like nothing was wrong. Like everything was exactly the way he wanted it.

You didn’t look at him. You just focused on the bottle in your hands.

It wasn’t spinning, but it felt like it could be. Your fingers curled a little tighter around it as if that might tether you to the present. You told yourself again that you hadn’t eaten properly. That this was just your body protesting the long day. That the motel room was warm, and Joel’s TV was loud, and your senses were frayed.

But still… your skin was buzzing. Not panic, just static. An edge.

You reached for your phone without thinking, fingertips fumbling slightly with the zipper of your bag. You didn’t even know who you’d text if you needed help, but the need to do something was rising in your chest, your instincts growing louder, like background noise you could no longer ignore.

“Feelin’ alright, sweetheart?” Joel asked suddenly, not looking at you.

You jumped slightly at his voice, your fingers freezing over your backpack. You glanced at him.

His eyes were still on the screen, but his smirk was back. Not wide, not obvious, just there. Subtle, like he was hiding something behind it and didn’t care enough to try hard.

“I’m fine,” you said automatically, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.

Joel made a little humming sound, like he didn’t quite believe you, but he didn’t press. Just leaned back further in his chair, exhaling like a man pleased with how the day turned out.

You turned your eyes to the bathroom door again.

It wasn’t far. You could go in, close the door, lock it. Just for a minute. Just to breathe.

You planted your hands on the edge of the bed and pushed yourself up. Your legs didn’t respond the way you expected.

For a split second, it felt like they weren’t even attached. Your knees nearly gave out as you stood, a sharp, disconnected jolt rushing through your lower body like the numbness you get from sitting too long in one position, but worse. There was no familiar prickle of circulation returning, no tingling promise of sensation coming back. Just absence.

And something about that absence made your chest tighten.

You reached out, grabbing the wall for balance. The Coke bottle in your hand slipped from your fingers.

Behind you, Joel’s chuckle drifted lazily through the static of the television. Not loud. Just enough to make the air feel thinner.

“You alright there?” he drawled, voice a little too casual. A little too slow.

You didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Just, stiff legs.”

Your voice sounded strange even to your own ears, it was muted, distant. You could feel his eyes on your back now, tracking your movement more attentively than before.

You didn’t turn.

Didn’t say anything else.

You pressed your hands against the rough motel wall, the chipped paint cool against your skin. Your legs felt weak beneath you, shaking softly, and you couldn’t seem to make them move.

Your breath came fast and shallow, chest tightening with each inhale. The vintage chair creaked faintly nearby, a reminder that Joel was still in the room, still watching.

You didn’t look over.

Your eyes darted to the flickering TV, its pale light casting long shadows on the cracked wallpaper. It buzzed softly, filling the silence with pointless noise.

Maybe not so pointless.

You could hear him settle out of his chair, the scrape of fabric on denim. Joel’s footsteps shuffled behind you, slow and deliberate.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” His voice was low, smooth, and far too casual. Almost mocking. It didn't sound like a question.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Instead, you pressed your palm harder against the wall, willing the tremors in your legs to stop. But the more you willed it, the worse it felt, like your body was betraying you, leaving you trapped between fight or flight, but doing neither.

You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, biting your lip to keep from shaking or crying. Your heart hammered so loud you were sure he could hear it.

You wanted to run. To scream. To disappear.

But you stayed still.

You didn’t realize he was approaching again until the floor creaked just to your left. A soft sound, but close. Too close.

“Hey, c’mon now,” Joel said, voice gentle in a way that made your stomach twist. “You don’t look too good. Maybe you should lie back down.”

His hand reached out, palm warm and rough as it hovered near your arm. Not yet. The faux tenderness in his tone didn’t sit right with the look in his eyes. They were too alert, too interested.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your voice was hoarse and small. You hated how it sounded.

“You sure? ‘Cause you’re swayin’ a little.” His hand landed on your arm this time, solid and steady. But he didn’t grip.

That should have made it better. It didn’t.

It was the stillness in his hand that made your skin crawl, how his thumb pressed, then circled slowly, like he was mapping out your pulse.

“C’mon,” he said again, guiding you gently, not forcing, but not offering space to resist. “Just for a minute. You’ll feel better when ya do.”

When... not if.

You let yourself be led. Partly because your legs still felt unsteady. Partly because you didn’t know what would happen if you pulled away.

He walked you the few steps to the bed, hand never leaving your arm, and helped you sit. His other hand reached for your shoulder, too familiar now, the way it rested there a beat too long.

You flinched.

Joel paused, then gave a soft chuckle under his breath. “Easy now. Ain’t tryin’ to scare you."

But when he leaned in to adjust the pillow behind you, his knuckles dragged against your collarbone. His other hand hovered lower on your side, not quite touching your hip—but close enough that the heat of it made you recoil inside.

“You’re all tense,” he murmured, gaze slipping down your frame like a slow leak. “Just breathe, alright? You’re safe.”

The worst part was how convincing his voice sounded.

But you knew better.

Your body knew better.

You sank down against the bed with a strange sort of heaviness, like your own limbs no longer belonged to you. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, a dry, musty scent rising up from the sheets.

You tried to sit upright, to keep your spine straight, but your body leaned without permission, your muscles slackened under the weight of your own breath.

Joel didn’t go back to the chair.

You heard the soft groan of the mattress again, felt the subtle shift beside you before your eyes caught up. He sat on the edge of the bed now. Right next to you.

Not touching, but close.

You turned your head toward him slowly, eyes trying to focus. Your brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, every thought dragging through molasses.

“Why…” you started, but the rest of the sentence didn’t come.

Your tongue felt thick. Heavy. Wrong.

He smiled, small, faint. You might've miss it if you weren’t looking. But you were looking. Because watching him felt like the only thing tethering you now.

“You okay, sugar?” he asked again, quieter this time. Closer. He didn’t sound worried. Not really.

You tried to speak, but your words came out slurred, barely above a whisper. “M’fine…”

It took all your strength just to swallow the lump in your throat, even that felt like work. You could feel your pulse behind your eyes now, slow and sluggish.

Joel didn’t move away.

His arm rested across his lap, hand curled on his thigh. The same hand that had guided you here. The same hand that lingered too long.

His eyes weren’t on your face anymore.

You saw that.

You felt that.

Still, you couldn’t quite pull your body back. Couldn’t seem to make your limbs respond.

You were here. And so was he.

And something deep in your gut told you the space between you wouldn’t stay empty much longer.

Joel's calloused hands reached toward the strap of your bra that had peaked out from your shirt. He lifted it in his fingers almost carefully, letting it lead up to the top of your bra. Your mumbled incoherently at his touch. He shushed you softly.

He didn't speak anymore, he didnt need too. He brought his fingers back up to your collarbone before laying his palm across it, the strap caught between his fingers as he pushed it down your shoulder. His body leaned forward to press his lips to your collarbone. His beard was scruffy and sharp against your soft skin, like needles.

His lips were dry and cracked, the wetness from his saliva being the only softness. He pecked at the bone a few times before his mouth wrapped around it, sucking.

Your hands weakly moved to his shoulders, but his hands patiently wrapped around your wrists, pushing them to sit by your head. The bed dented down. Your writhed weakly. He continued sucking and nipping at the spot till a dark mark appeared.

The knot in your stomach churned as he licked over where he bit to soothe your skin, his beard felt like a hundred tiny needles digging into you. Red appeared around the purple. His thumbs pressed into your wrists, feeling your pulse as you whimpered. His mouth lifted for a moment, his breath hot on your irritated skin.

"Your hearts finally slowin' down sweetheart, ain't losin' ya am I?" He huffed with a humor only he had. His mouth wrapped around the mark again, his tounge tracing your collarbone as he hummed.

He hadn’t lied, your heart finally slowed, but the panic stayed lodged in your chest. Each beat hammered against your ribs, like it was trying to tear its way out and leave you behind. The thump in your chest spread your blood throughout your body, heat rising on your skin.

His hands weren’t tight on your wrists, his thumbs traced slow circles on your pulsepoints before sliding into your palms. His mouth kept defacing your shoulder. There was no violence in it, if anything, he almost seemed to be comforting you.

You couldn’t decide if that made it better, or worse, or if it changed anything at all.

Your knees dragged upward in another weak attempt to slip free, but your bones felt like wet cement, heavy and useless. You turned your head away with a thin whine, your body mustering what little control it had to spill tears that slid into your ears. Your chest heaved as you writhed.

Joel shushed you without cruelty, his hum low and pitying, the vibration running from his throat into your collarbone. His mouth scattered pecks over the marks fresh on your neck and shoulders before he propped himself on an elbow, still looming above you. One calloused hand smeared the tears across your right cheek while his lips caught the ones on the left—and you swore his tongue slipped out to taste the salt straight from your skin.

“Don’t cry, sugarpie… I ain’t gonna hurt you, promise. Didn’t mean to upset you none. I just get real lonely out on the road, is all.”

He looked and sounded so genuine, like he truly believed every word he spoke. His lips brushed your ear when he talked, his voice almost swallowed by the blare of the TV—and now you understood why it was so loud. Not that it mattered. The only sounds you could make were thin, mousey whines, easy to mistake for the creaks of the old bedframe or an actual mouse.

Your lips trembled as you turned your face from his hands, eyelids pressed tight. The only refuge you had was to pretend, if only for a moment, that none of this was real.

“Hey now… look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes, baby.” His voice stayed soft, but there was an edge of annoyance beneath it.

When you didn’t obey, his hand closed around your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips puckered. He tilted your head toward him, but your eyes stayed shut. He clicked his tongue, then used his other hand to peel one eyelid open. Your iris was barely a ring around your blown pupil, whatever he’d given you was already winding through your blood, sinking heavy into your bones.

He smiled softly. “There she is…” he whispered, letting your eyelid flutter shut as his hand slipped into your hair, fingers combing slow like he meant to soothe. “Pretty, pretty girl.”

His lips met your forced pout in a mockery of a kiss, his tongue brushing gently against them, coaxing for a response you never gave. When you didn't reciprocate, he nipped at your lips gently.

He pulled back just enough to watch your face, your eyes still screwed shut, leaving you with nothing but the ghost of his touch. His hand hovered at your shoulder, and he grinned at the weak tremors rippling through your body. Slowly, he let his fingertips trail down to your hip, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts to trace the waistband, his blunt nail dragging a cruel line across your pelvis.

"It's okay, hun." He whispered as he slipped another finger into the waistband.

You felt his hand turn in your shorts, the pads of his fingers now touching you. You tensed but made no move to resist, not that you could. His hand slowly, painstakingly, moved deeper into your shorts. You quietly cried as his middle and pointer finger dragged across your clothed clit before it was quickly replaced by his palm, fingers down to your slit. Your heard a gravelly groan reach out of his throat.

"Fuck sweetie, you're soaking through your panties." He chuckled near the end of his words before exhaling heavily.

Your eyes wanted to shoot open, but only managed to lift with a furrowed brow. His eyes met yours, his bottom lip between his stained teeth. Confusion was painted on your features.

"Yeah baby, you're panties are fucking ruined." He huffed, his palm pressing onto your swollen clit.

A humiliating gasp was ripped from you as more tears fell from your eyes. No, no no no...

"Mhm, shit baby, see? Your body knows I'm not hurting ya, what was all that fuss about?"

The pads of his fingers brushed over your clothes slit, the wetness became more obvious as you heard a sickening squelch when he pressed them into your sopping hole over your panties.

"Ah... Joel.." you cried, your voice never felt smaller.

His hot breath fanned your face with a pant, "Yeah, baby, say my name."

You shook your head weakly, your eyes traveling down to where his hand disappeared into your shorts. You remembered you had hands as you tried to push his hand away. In your haze, you accidently pushed him closer, letting his palm rub harder into your clit.

You wanted to puke when your felt a shot of pleasure crack through you, you wanted to die when you felt your hips roll into his hand. Your voice cracked with a wordless 'No'.

Joel beamed, "You got such a needy pussy, baby... look at her, she wants so bad. She knows whats best for you... she just wanna feel good."

You grit your teeth as your hips rolled again, his hand meeting it with a circle of his own. Your nails dug into his forearm, but they barely made an indent. You felt his leg cross over yours as he hummed your thigh. His cock was hard in his jeans, the bulge large and visable despite your brain fog and the dark room.

His hand left your shorts for a moment, and you felt a wave of relief before you felt them fall straight to the button on them.

He unbuttoned them with one hand as he groaned, lifting himself to his knees. He grabbed at the waistband at both your hip bones and tore them down. You tried to cross your legs but one of his hands met your thigh and shoved it to the side, just long enough to get your shorts off.

He brought both hands to the back of your knees, dragging you down for his thighs to meet the back of yours. He spread you open and stared down like he was holding his fridge open, deciding what he wanted to feast on. He barely felt the tug of you trying to close them. In a last ditch effort you moved your hands to cover your crotch, and that's when you felt it.

You were completely soaked through, the wet spot making your white panties transparent. It was like something inside you broke at that moment. Your body had decided to completely betray you.

As if he noticed you resolve falter, he brought his hands to the side of your panties and ripped. One side, then the other. Throwing them across the room to land somewhere on the carpet. You bit into your hands as you stopped pulling away. Eyes distant but open, he would take it.

His hands lifted your shirt over your bra before he shoved that up too. It squeezed over the top of your breasts almost painfully.

"God bless you, baby... perfect fucking pussy," his hand slapped it as he leaned forward, "and perfect fucking tits."

His mouth wrapped around your nipple, tounge circling it wildly as he sucked the nub between his teeth. Your body reacted how it wanted, and you could only whimper and whine pathetically. He rested above you on one forearm while his other hand met your leaking slit again. His thick middle finger dragged up and down it, your wetness coating the pad. He brought it to you clit, circling slowly before he flicked it.

He moaned around you nipple when you jumped with a cry. The more your body reacted the more he seemed to lose it. He switched to the other nipple, "Gotta give her some lovin' too." He chuckled.

The actions repeated for a few minutes you think, your perception of time got foggy with each circle, flick, and switch.

The vibration from his groans tickled your breast, making your back arch further into his mouth. He was almost fucking drooling, copious amounts of spit shined your chest like you'd been rubbed down in oil.

He abruptly moved down, his hand leaving to grip your hips, holding them down as he settled between your legs. He licked a long stripe across your slit, shaking his head side to side as the muscle circled your clit before he sunk it into your organ. His hands moved to your chest as he tounge fucked you, fast and unrelenting. He only lifted from you to spit on you pussy before he flattened his tounge across your entire slit and diving back in.

Every groan and moan from his vibrated against your clit and the inside of you. You felt breathless and violated. And when a knot formed in your stomach that you couldn't decipher at first due to the sinking dread that had settled there, it was too late.

With a broken cry, you threw your head back as your legs shook around his head. His voice raised over the tv for a moment with how loud he growled against your pussy.

He detached from you before appearing in front of your eyes and shoving his hot tounge down your throat. You grimaced as you tasted yourself, your pussy still throbbing from your orgasm.

"Sweet as cherry pie, baby." He mumbled against your mouth. His tounge dragged along the inside of your mouth, just another hole to him. Along the ridges of the roof of your mouth to the back of your teeth.

He sucked on your tounge harshly before unlatching, raising back on his knees again with a hushed 'Fuck...' undoing his belt. The clink of metal echoed, as he stood. He didn't bother taking his jeans off, just shoved them down enough to release his raging cock.

He walked to the side of the bed, grabbing your arm and dragging you closer. His dick hung heavy as it twitched, face level with you. You closed your mouth tightly and turned your head, only to met with a gentle but forceful tap from the back of his hand. The same hand grabbed your jaw as he leaned down to meet your eyes.

"I'm only gonna say this once, you don't fucking bite. I don't wanna hurt you, sugar, but you bite my fucking dick and I'll knock your teeth out." He said it sternly with raised brows.

You only looked at him fearfully before he spoke again, "Do you understand?" You nodded.

He loosened his grip and brought his thumbs to the sides of your mouth, forcing it open. "Relax your throat, sweetheart. Be good for me, m'kay?"

What else could you do other then what you were told?

The tip leaked as he dragged it across your lips before he got an idea, backing up and manhandling you to lay with your head upside down on the edge. He returned to your lips, a couple heavy slaps of his cock landed on your cheek before he told you to stick your tounge out, and he slid into your warm waiting mouth.

He groaned as he moved till his balls touched your nose, stilling there for a moment as you suffocated. You whimpered around him as you brought your hands up, "Breath through your nose, sweetheart." He instructed.

He pulled out leaving just the tip in your mouth before he slowly bottomed out again. He didnt waste time changing the pace, his hips thrusted steadily. Drool dripped from your mouth as he fucked it, his heavy, twitching balls smacking your nose each time. He brought his hands to take your wrists, settling them on your stomach as he leaned forward so he could thrust harder. He panted and groaned, cursing occasionally inbetween.

One of his hands left your wrist to smack your pussy once before he lifted himself. Bringing one knee to the mattress, he stood as he thrusted downward into your throat. His hand enveloped it with a growl when he saw the shift inside of it. His eyes were locked on the bulge that appeared in your throat when he shoved it down.

His thrusts became sloppy as he got louder. He lean forward again, fully pounding your throat before hot seed filled it. You felt it hit your uvula in bursts, forcing you to cough and gag, your body desperately trying to suck in air through your filled neck. He stilled at the deepest point, his tip twitching to hit the back of your throat as you felt his balls tighten against your nose. He exhaled roughly before giving you one more slowly thrust, pulling out.

You gasped desperately, veins bulging in your face and neck. Your eyes were pink and your head was swimming due to it hanging upside down for so long. Spit and snot leaked down from your face along with his cum.

Kneeling next to you, he nuzzled your head with his own with soft shushing. "That's it, breath, honey... You did so good, took it so good. Made me feel so good, baby..." he muttered, kisses moving across your temple.

When your coughing subsided you breathed a sigh of relief that it was over, mumbling incoherently as your brain struggled to process. The fog lifted when you felt his hands around your ankles from the other side of the bed, dragging you to lay on it again. He crawled to join you before twisting you back around so your head was at the pillows.

Cries came more freely now as you saw his still hard cock scoot closer to your pussy. You head turned before narrowing in on a sheet of tablets sitting on the side table he'd been sitting at. Two blue pills missing.

Your throat burned as a weak cry tried to crawl out, but he'd abused it to the point of you loosing your voice. Pathetic squeaks falling from your mouth instead. You felt his cock slap against your pussy, it instinctively pulsed at the pressure. He pressed the tip to your clit, thrusting against it. Your back arched as your hips rolled with his, your brain was so fuzzy you didnt even register the noises spilling from your lips.

The stretch was sudden as he pushed into you. Your lips trembled around him as he slid inside easily. Your spit and already soaked his cock immeasurably, but the lube that leaked from you without permission added to it ease of which he came inside you without friction. You felt impossibly full when his hand came down to push on your lower stomach as he began working.

There was no build up, the speed was set from the jump as he hauled himself over you. His hips met yours with heavy thrusts, pounding into you without thought. The only time he let you breath was when he kneeled again, only to grab the back of your knees and shove them next to you head as he somehow fucked you harder. He felt no need to speak anymore, only occasion growls of how wet you were, which you hadn't needed verbal acknowledgement of. It was clear from the wet slaps that echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls and into your ears as you laid limp and took it.

Your mouth hung open as noises continued to force themselves from your throat, you had been so gone that you didnt flinch when you spit into your mouth, your throat instantly tensing as you swallowed it. You had lost almost all feeling, your hearing muffled, you took no notice of the impending release.

"Fucking shit baby... pussys so fucking tight 'round me... you gonna cum again? Hmm? You love this fucking cock, you know you do. You're body knows you do."

It went in one ear and out the other, you were reduced to a whimpering hole.

You didnt react when he pulled out to flip you onto your stomach, shoving one knee hip while the other stayed straight. He laid atop your seemingly lifeless body as he shoved himself back in and quickly resumed his previous pace. The cupped smacking sound reverberated with his pounding, your voice now muffled by the pillows you faced.

You felt his weight as his chest met your back and he rutted into you. Your fingers twitched with a mix of exhaustion, pleasure, and anxiety. He swiped your hair from your shoulder as he sucked another mark onto you from behind. Your voice raised a pitch as he thrusts began sloppy again.

"You're gonna make me cum again, honey... fuck yeah that's it, you can take it, knew you could." You whimpered as he lifted your hips, shoving you onto him just as harshly as he was fucking you. But you tightend around him all the same.

"Come on, cum with me, baby! Want your pussy to clamp down and suck my cum right out of my cock... milk me fucking dry, baby... lemme fill up that sexy fucking pussy!"

A scream was at the back of your throat as your body jumped like you were electrocuted. It came out as a broken cry as you shook violently. He didn't stop even after your orgasm run its course, only fucked you faster. Your hips pulled away as you mindlessly scrambled away from his unrelenting ones, but you were still under the influence of his roofie, and he was still so much stronger.

And so for another agonizing few minutes you shook and writhed and cried till he bottomed out. Cumming deep inside your abused cunt. You felt the warmth fill you as his tip hit your cervix, it spread quickly down to your opening where it leaked down onto the bed. He let himself to thrust a handful more times as he drained his balls inside of you.

And then he stayed there, his hand lifting your hips to keep it from leaking out. But there was so much, it filled your entire cunt. You felt his hands reached and pinch your slit closed around his cock. His mouth came to your ear as he whispered.

"Gotta make it stick... make sure you get nice and full."

You have nothing left in you to protest, only tears slipping by. You're so fucking dirty, cum and spit and snot and tears and sweat. The blanket your sprawled on feels like got left out in the rain.

You feel his cock soften inside you of before he pulls out. Two fingers immediately replace it, stuffing the little that leaks out back into your brushed pussy. You begin to lose your senses, your body unable to force itself to fight awake anymore.

You only feel the repeated drag of his fingers, a clicking sound like a camrea accompanied by a flash of light, and his breathless heaving. The bed shakes as he falls next to you before you feel his arm loosely wrap around you waist, pulling you into him. You eyes droop as you gave in. A lump forms in your throat when you feel a twitch against your ass as you slowly loose consciousness.

[lostcyberspace]

This game fitting to be a fucking MUST in this household.

[geminiwritten]

── profiled ; aaron hotchner

summary: you've spent years convincing the bau that your love life is chaotic, casual, and completely detached—while quietly dying every time aaron hotchner looks at you. but when your dating profile attracts the wrong kind of attention and your unit chief is forced to look a little closer, it turns out there are very few things more dangerous than being profiled by the man you're hopelessly in love with.

notes: i've been a little conflicted about posting lately, but... it's my birthday, and i want aaron hotchner—so here you go! i've been working on this for a while and had a very very smart friend help me with the "profiling" parts (especially reid) so i hope y'all enjoy! i also really wanted to actually write the smut, but this fic hit the block limit so hard and fast it actually hurt. as always, please please let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing / cursing, blushing, italics, reader wears a skirt (and heels), reader has a cat, implied age gap, best friend!reid, some pretentious ranting, horny thoughts, likely incorrect behavioural and psychoanalytical information, likely incorrect technical information (sorry garcia), canon-typical themes (homicide, etc. referred to off page), stalker / stalking behaviour, ambiguous use of "online dating" (because i tried to keep it vaguely around s6/s7 era), kind of rushed ending? and... fade to black / implied sex (i’m so sorry) 18+ only still, mdni.

word count: 19001

MONDAY 9:25AM

Working for the FBI means having secrets is difficult. Working with the BAU makes it downright impossible.

Not because your colleagues are nosy—no, they’re just… perceptive. Which means if you want to keep something to yourself, you need to know how to manipulate their perception. Even if it doesn’t work on all of them—you glance at Reid, already seated at the round table with his nose buried in a book—at least it works on most of them.

At least, it works on Aaron Hotchner.

Your boss. Your unit chief. The man who absolutely cannot find out about your big, fat, massively inconvenient, deeply inappropriate crush on him.

Reid glances up from his book as you drop into the seat beside him. “You’re wearing a skirt.”

You cross your legs and lean back. “Excellent observation, Reid.”

“It’s impractical,” he says simply. “Especially with heels. Your centre of gravity shifts forward by almost fifteen degrees, which shortens your stride length and reduces balance recovery time. You’re significantly more likely to trip while running.”

You roll your eyes. “Good thing I’m not planning on fleeing the scene of a crime today.”

“Ignore boy genius, baby girl,” Morgan says as he steps into the room, heading straight for the espresso machine. “You look good.”

You flash him a grin. “See? Somebody appreciates me.”

Reid hums as he glances back down at his book. “Interesting how your clothing choices become statistically less practical in direct correlation to Hotch’s proximity.”

Your stomach flips. “Spence.”

He lifts one shoulder. “What? He’s not listening.”

You glance back at Morgan, whose eyes are glued to his phone, brow furrowed just slightly as he waits for the whirring coffee machine to fill his cup.

“That’s not the point, Spencer,” you mutter, turning back to him. “You need to—”

The conference room door swings open again and Hotch walks in—files tucked under one arm, the rest of the team trailing behind him.

“Morning,” he says, dropping the files on the table. “Hope everyone had a good weekend.”

Morgan snorts. “What weekend?”

“Yeah,” Prentiss mutters, dropping into the seat beside Reid. “I was here until five on Saturday finishing geographical profiles.”

“That’s because you alphabetise your paperwork,” you point out.

She gives you a look. “I enjoy being proficient.”

“Well,” you say lightly, leaning back in your chair “some of us managed to finish our paperwork on Friday and still have a very enjoyable weekend.”

Garcia gasps dramatically as she falls into the last empty chair, coffee in hand. “Ooh, look at you. Was there a man involved?”

You shrug one shoulder, biting back a smile. “I’m choosing to plead the fifth.”

Morgan points across the table. “That means yes.”

“Or,” Reid says without looking up from his book, “it means she enjoys making people speculate.”

“Aw, Spence,” you tease. “Don’t sound so bitter.”

He finally looks up from his book and fixes you with a look so flat it borders on threatening—because he knows what you’re doing. It’s what you always do. It’s how you manipulate their perception. How you keep your secret.

You perform.

You swipe through dating apps, talk about men, brag about your weekends without ever being too specific. You flirt with almost everyone on the team—Reid more than the rest, because he’s your scapegoat... and your best friend.

He’s the only one who can see through the charade. Not because he’s emotionally perceptive, but because he did the math. He noticed the pattern. He realised very quickly that every time Hotch walks into a room or says your name, you react in a way that can only mean one thing:

Hotch is the secret you’re trying so hard to hide.

Because if you give a team of profilers an easy explanation—harmless flirting with a messy dating life and a weakness for attention—they won’t notice the way your entire body betrays you whenever your infuriatingly gorgeous boss gets too close.

Hotch clears his throat. “Well, lucky for all of you, it’s a quiet week.”

Reid shuts his book and sets it on the table.

“No active cases as of this morning,” Hotch continues. “Which means we’ll be catching up on consults, court reports, and the mountain of paperwork everyone’s apparently been neglecting.”

His eyes meet yours for the briefest second, and your pulse skitters.

“I’m bored already,” Morgan sighs, leaning back in his chair.

Hotch ignores him. “We’ve got two local consult requests from Fairfax County and a follow-up review from the Richardson case. Dave, I’ll need your notes finalised by this afternoon.”

Rossi nods once. “You’ll have them.”

“Garcia,” Hotch continues, “the Milwaukee office wants that digital forensic review by Wednesday.”

Garcia gasps softly, pressing a hand to her chest. “But I already colour-coded my entire week. That review wasn’t supposed to be due for another fortnight.”

Morgan blinks. “You colour-code your schedule?”

“Obviously,” Garcia says. “How else would I maintain my sparkling personality under crushing institutional pressure?”

Reid straightens. “Technically, organising information activates the same reward pathways as—”

“Don’t,” Prentiss says immediately.

Reid frowns slightly. “I was just going to say gambling.”

You snort softly before you can stop yourself, covering it quickly with your hand. Reid shoots you a look. Prentiss just shakes her head. And when your eyes finally flick back to the front of the room, Hotch is already watching you.

Not the team. You.

Your stomach twists.

That signature Hotchner scowl should not be as hot as it is. It shouldn’t make you cross your legs a little tighter or make your heart race the way it does. You should be used to that scowl by now. You’re on the receiving end of it often enough—whenever you crack a poorly timed joke or flirt a little too hard with Morgan.

Yet somehow, you still feel like you can’t breathe until his gaze finally shifts.

“Moving on,” he says evenly, “JJ will forward the consult details after the meeting.”

He spends the next thirty minutes briefing the team on consults and court appearances while you do your best to stay focused—but it’s hard. It’s hard because every time you look at him, your gaze drops to his mouth and your mind fills with all sorts of filthy ideas. Then he starts moving his hands as he explains something and you can’t help but wonder what they might feel like wrapped around your waist, your thighs, your throat.

His voice is a low rumble at the back of your mind, warm and firm, but you have no idea what he’s actually saying. All you can do is think about how that voice might sound, wrecked and rough, telling you how pretty you look when you—

“The briefing ended three minutes ago,” Reid says.

You blink hard. “What?”

He closes his notebook with a sigh. “The meeting’s over. You can stop internally monologuing now.”

You frown. “I’m not—”

He gives you a look.

“Ugh,” you groan. “You’re so annoying.”

You push up from your chair and walk out of the conference room without waiting for him, but you’re not surprised that he’s right behind you by the time you reach the bullpen. You drop down at your desk with another indignant huff, watching Reid do the same from the corner of your eye.

Everyone else is already settled at their desks—keyboards clicking, pens scribbling—and there’s a fresh stack of files next to your computer with a sticky note on top that reads: Fairfax files. Prioritize pages 12–18. – Hotch.

You want to laugh at the little sign-off, as if anyone else would have put these files on your desk. Your fingers trace over the note once before you peel it off and stick it to the bottom corner of your computer screen.

Reid snorts. “You know most people throw those away, right?”

You glance sideways at him. “I don’t want to forget the page numbers.”

He hums. “Sure.”

“You know,” you say, turning your chair to properly face him, “you’re being particularly judgemental today. What’s your problem?”

He stares at you for a moment, then glances back at the sticky note still attached to your monitor.

“I’m experiencing prolonged second-hand embarrassment,” he says plainly. “And repeated exposure tends to increase irritability.”

You roll your eyes. “Yeah, well—you’re increasing my irritability.”

He nods. “Good.”

You frown.

“I’m attempting corrective behavioural conditioning.”

Your eyes narrow. “By being annoying?”

“Exactly,” he says, already turning back to his computer.

You glare at the side of his head for a long moment, searching for a comeback—but your mind is completely blank. So with another irritated sigh, you turn back to your own screen, scoot your chair into the desk a little harder than necessary, and settle in for what’s shaping up to be a very boring Monday.

The next two hours pass by in a blur of interview transcripts, witness statements, and crime scene photos. The Fairfax County PD files detail the death of a woman in her late thirties who accidentally overdosed in her Reston home early last week. No prior history of substance abuse, financial instability, or high-risk behaviour—until forty-eight hours before her death.

In just two days, she withdrew a large amount of money, missed work without explanation, visited several bars she’d never been to before, and bought herself thousands of dollars’ worth of expensive jewellery and lingerie.

To anyone else, it might look like some sort of breakdown—an impulsive spiral that led to the kind of recklessness you can’t come back from. But to you, the behaviour feels too... artificial. As if someone is trying to construct the narrative of a troubled woman—checking all the right boxes to give investigators an easy explanation for a tragic overdose.

Only there isn’t enough concrete evidence to support your instinct. No stalker. No ex. No clear unsub who could have orchestrated this kind of ruse to cover what might actually be homicide.

You sigh. “Reid.”

“Hm?”

“Tell me if I’m overthinking this.”

Reid pushes back from his desk and scoots across the narrow stretch of carpet between your workstations. He doesn’t stop until his chair bumps the side of your desk, causing your pen cup to topple over and spill across the files you’ve got carefully laid out.

“Oops,” he says absently, pushing the pens aside.

You roll your eyes and start gathering them while he scans the files.

“The behavioural shift feels manufactured,” you say, dropping the pens back into their cup. “But there’s enough legitimate stressors here that I can’t tell if I’m forcing a pattern because it’s too clean.”

Reid examines the highlighted timeline for another few seconds.

“You’re focusing too much on the existence of the stressors,” he says. “Stress explains escalation. It doesn’t explain inconsistency.”

You frown slightly.

“She suddenly becomes impulsive socially, financially, and sexually, but her organisational habits never change.” He taps the timeline. “She still pays bills early. Still meal preps. Still attends a dentist appointment two days before her death. Real behavioural deterioration isn’t usually selective.”

Your brows lift. “So, I’m right?”

Reid nods, leaning back in his chair. “You’re right.”

“What’s she right about?”

You nearly jump at the sound of Hotch’s voice—low and even, a little rough around the edges in that way that always makes your stomach tighten.

“She thinks the behavioural shift is staged,” Reid says. “And I agree.”

He scoots back slightly as Hotch leans in, one hand braced on the back of your chair while the other pulls the file closer so he can read it properly. His tie falls forward, brushing lightly against your thigh—and suddenly, you can’t breathe.

He’s close. Way too close. You can feel the heat of his breath on your skin. Smell the bitterness of coffee beneath his cologne. Hear the quiet creak of leather from his belt as he leans in further.

“It’s too compartmentalised,” Reid says, his voice more distant than it was just a second ago. “Real behavioural spirals usually bleed into every aspect of a person’s routine. Sleep disruption, missed payments, changes in grooming habits, social withdrawal—something.”

Hotch lifts his hand off the desk and presses his thumb to the tip of his tongue—then flips the page.

Your pulse jumps so hard it almost hurts. Heat crawls up the back of your neck. Your whole body feels too hot, your clothes suddenly too tight, the bullpen too small—but you can’t move. Not with Hotch’s hand still on the back of your chair.

“But this is curated,” Reid goes on, tapping the timeline with the end of his pen. “The impulsive behaviour escalates while the foundational routines stay completely intact, which suggests intentional narrative construction.”

Hotch turns his head just slightly, dark eyes finding yours. “You caught that?”

You clear your throat. “I just... thought the escalation pattern felt off.”

“Her behavioural analysis is spot on, actually,” Reid says. “I can’t find a flaw in it.”

Hotch hums quietly as his eyes move back over the file.

“Good girl,” he says absently.

Your entire nervous system short-circuits.

“Keep it up,” he adds, smoothing his tie as he straightens.

You don’t say anything as he turns and walks away. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

Reid just sits there, hands folded in his lap as he watches Hotch disappear into his office before slowly turning back toward you.

“You know,” he says thoughtfully, “the age-gap preference is actually more interesting than the authority fixation.”

You finally blink. “What?”

“Because the authority thing makes perfect sense. High-pressure careers tend to reinforce attraction to competence, decisiveness, emotional restraint—especially in workplace environments where leadership qualities become psychologically linked with safety and stability over long periods of exposure.”

You frown. “What are you—”

“But the older man preference is statistically more complicated because you don’t actually display the attachment markers usually associated with paternal absence or instability.”

Your eyes go wide. “Spencer—”

“You have a healthy relationship with your father, no documented authority issues, and relatively secure interpersonal attachment patterns, which suggests the preference is less psychologically compensatory and more rooted in behavioural reinforcement.”

“Reid.”

“For example,” he goes on, ignoring you completely, “you spent your formative professional years surrounded almost exclusively by older men in positions of intellectual and behavioural authority. Gideon, Rossi, Hotch—which likely created a reinforcement pattern where emotional competence became unconsciously associated with attraction, arousal, and sexual interest.”

You freeze. “Reid, I swear to—”

“You don’t react this strongly to older men generally,” he continues. “You react strongly to Hotch because he’s emotionally controlled, professionally authoritative, intellectually intimidating, and—”

He pauses, tilting his head.

“Very obviously your type.”

You glance frantically around the bullpen, scanning the desks for the rest of your team.

Morgan has his headphones on, completely focused on whatever report he’s typing. JJ’s desk is empty, as usual—she’s probably with Garcia. And Prentiss is only halfway back from the kitchen, still stirring her fresh cup of coffee.

Your gaze cuts back to Reid. “You are so lucky no one heard that, Spencer.”

He shrugs. “Wouldn’t matter if they did.”

Your brows pull together. “What’s that mean?”

“You’re good at redirecting attention,” he says, slowly pushing his chair back toward his desk. “You’re less good at hiding physiological responses.”

Your hand flies up to your cheek, palm pressing flat against the burning skin.

“Whatever,” you mutter. “It’s warm in here.”

Reid glances around the bullpen. “It’s sixty-eight degrees.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.”

You shoot him one last glare before turning back toward your computer, aggressively waking up the monitor with your mouse.

You stay chained to your desk for the next few hours, finishing up the victimology report for the Fairfax files before taking them to Rossi for final review. Then you head out with JJ to grab a late lunch from the deli down the street, and when you get back, there’s a brand-new stack of files on your desk—only this time, with a tall takeaway cup of coffee set on top.

“Hotch got dragged into some last-minute Section Chief meeting across town,” Morgan says, pushing his headphones down. “Said he needs those cross-referenced before tomorrow morning.”

“Great,” you mutter, dropping into your chair.

Morgan chuckles softly as he pulls his headphones back up, turning back to his own pile of reports.

You grab the coffee from the top of the files and find a sticky note stuck beneath it—written quickly but still in his unmistakable handwriting: I owe you one. – Hotch.

Your stomach flips.

God. That’s pathetic.

You peel the note off and drop it into the top drawer of your desk, not wanting another psychoanalytic lecture from Reid if he were to spot that note stuck to your monitor.

The rest of the day passes the way every other caseless Monday afternoon does. JJ’s the first to head out—not long after five—taking advantage of the slow week to spend a little extra time with Henry. Rossi leaves about an hour later, announcing to the bullpen that he’s got a date with a bottle of wine and reruns of his favourite medical drama. Morgan manages to clear the files on his desk before seven, finally putting his headphones away before bidding the rest of the team farewell.

Prentiss and Reid linger until nearly nine, and only when the motion sensor lights blink out does Prentiss finally glance up, realising how late it is. She gathers her things and nudges Reid, who’s been firmly stuck in hyperfocus mode despite the rest of the world quietly slowing down around him.

“You coming?” he asks, adjusting the strap of his satchel.

You look up slowly, your brain buffering as it untangles itself from the files spread across your desk.

“Not yet,” you reply, blinking tiredly. “Hotch needs these by morning.”

Reid tilts his head. “Want me to wait?”

You wave a hand. “Nah, go ahead. I’ll get security to walk me to my car.”

“Alright,” he says, already turning away. “Just remember that positive reinforcement loses effectiveness when the subject becomes emotionally dependent on it.”

You glare at his back. “I’m reporting you to HR.”

“You’d have to explain the context,” he calls over his shoulder.

You roll your eyes as you turn back to the last file on your desk, taking a deep breath and flipping it open.

With the bullpen almost completely silent and the promise of sleep so close you can taste it, you manage to get through it in record time. You even give it a quick second pass to make sure you didn’t miss anything glaringly obvious in your tired state—but you’re used to working through sleep deprivation, and by ten p.m., you finally start packing up.

You organise the files back into a neat pile, then open the top drawer of your desk for Hotch’s note. You stick it to the top file and grab a pen, scribbling just below the words he wrote: Dangerous thing to promise me.

And, just as he did, you sign off with your name.

Then you gather the whole stack in your arms and cross the bullpen toward his office. Unlocked, as usual. You nudge the door open with your foot, warm lamplight casting an orange glow over the quiet space. It smells faintly like coffee and his cologne—enough to make your heart start racing the second you step inside.

You set the files neatly on his desk, trying not to linger on the quiet traces of him scattered throughout the room.

There’s still half a mug of cold coffee abandoned beside some paperwork, and the cashmere sweater he’d been wearing beneath his jacket this morning is draped haphazardly over the back of his chair. Quiet evidence of just how suddenly he’d been called away.

It makes you feel a little better knowing you really have helped him out.

You adjust the files until they’re perfectly straight, then take the sweater from the back of his chair and fold it neatly before setting it on the chest of drawers beside his desk. You hesitate for just a second before grabbing the mug of cold coffee and heading out of his office, straight for the break room. You empty it, wash it, dry it, then return to his office, placing it back on his desk exactly where you found it. Then you switch the lamp off on your way out, pulling the door most of the way shut behind you—the way it’d been before you stepped inside.

It doesn’t take long for you to gather your things, head down to security, and badge out. One of the guards escorts you to the parking garage, waiting until you’re safely inside your car with the engine running before he takes the elevator back up.

Once home, you quickly feed the yowling Leia—your cat, who’s very unimpressed by your late arrival—take a quick shower, change into your comfiest, threadbare sleep shirt, then crawl into bed with your laptop balanced on your knees. You know you should just try to get some sleep, but you’ve been ignoring a few personal messages and emails for a couple days now, and you know that if you don’t get to them soon, you’ll start to feel guilty.

You open your emails, reply to a couple, then pull up a new browser tab and type in the login address for the dating site Garcia set you up for. Not that you couldn’t have set up your own profile if you’d really wanted to.

No—this profile is just the unintentional byproduct of your ongoing attempt to redirect attention.

One slow Thursday evening in the bullpen, while you’d been loudly complaining about how impossible it was to meet men with a job like yours, Morgan had the brilliant idea of making you a dating profile. Garcia immediately lit up at the idea, pulling the site up on her computer while Reid launched into a rambling statistical analysis about the probability of finding genuine compatibility online.

Hotch hadn’t contributed to the conversation, but you’d known he was listening.

That had been the whole point. You always perform a little harder when Hotch can hear.

The site finally loads and you type in your credentials, waiting a few seconds for your profile to pop up.

Twelve notifications.

You click on the ‘messages’ tab and start scrolling. There are a few old conversations that fizzled out and you’ve long since decided not to reply to. There are a couple of messages from people you never intend on starting a conversation with. Then there are two new messages—ones you’d seen pop up on your phone but couldn’t be bothered to engage with over the weekend.

After all, you’re not actually looking to date anyone.

But one of the messages catches your eye.

DCRunner00: You seem like the kind of person who’s either very funny or very mean. I’m willing to risk it.

You snort, then type out a reply.

You: Unfortunately for you, those traits aren’t mutually exclusive.

Just as you hit enter, Leia leaps up onto the bed.

“Hey, sassy girl,” you coo, moving your laptop to reach for her.

Your fingers graze her soft coat, and she gives you an incredibly disapproving look.

You roll your eyes. “Alright. Sorry for loving you.”

You settle back against the pillows as she makes her way to the other side of the bed, curling up as far as she can possibly get from you.

Ping! Ping! Two more messages pop up.

DCRunner00: That’s probably the best possible answer you could’ve given. DCRunner00: So what’s your worst personality trait? I feel like that’s more interesting than hobbies.

That answer comes a little too easily.

You: Workaholic. You? DCRunner00: I get bored easily. DCRunner00: Which usually means I either start running or annoying people for entertainment. You: Sounds like a public safety issue. DCRunner00: Depends who you ask. DCRunner00: You should probably get some sleep, Workaholic. It’s late.

You glance over at Leia as she rolls onto her side, stretching her front legs, and only then do you realise you were actually smiling at your screen.

You shake your head, typing quickly.

You: Yeah, I should. You: Night, Running Man.

Then you shut your laptop before he can send another message.

TUESDAY 9:50AM

“Morgan, you’re with me at district court this afternoon,” Hotch says, closing the file in front of him. “The defence attorney’s pushing back on the Richardson testimony, so we’ll need to review our timeline before the hearing.”

He’s wearing a grey suit today.

You can never think straight when he’s wearing a grey suit.

Morgan sighs dramatically. “Nothing says excitement like four hours in a courthouse basement.”

Hotch ignores him completely.

“JJ, I want the media requests filtered through Strauss’s office before lunch. Reid, finish the geographic overlays from the Fairfax case and send them to Rossi when you’re done.”

He glances once around the table.

“If anything urgent comes in, you’ll be notified. Otherwise, continue using this downtime to catch up on reports.”

Then he gathers the files into a neat stack and stands, turning toward the door.

The rest of the room starts moving slowly. Morgan mutters something to JJ about the court hearing, Prentiss turns to Reid, asking something about a case you don’t quite catch, and Garcia is already explaining something on her laptop to Rossi, who’s watching the screen with quiet concentration.

Which leaves you to shamelessly stare at your boss’ ass as he walks out of the room.

“You should probably blink.”

Your head snaps toward Reid, frown already forming. “I’ll blink when I want to blink.”

He presses his lips together to keep from laughing, and you know he’s fighting the urge to launch into some deeply unwanted psychoanalysis of your behaviour—but thankfully, the rest of the team is still too close for him to risk it.

Eventually, everyone starts filing out of the conference room and back into the bullpen. You end up being the last to leave, behind Reid and Garcia who are chatting animatedly about some new phone app they’re both obsessed with.

You’re just about to pass Hotch’s office door when—you hear your name.

You turn your head, and he gestures for you to come in.

Reid glances briefly over his shoulder, an irritatingly knowing look on his face as you turn and step into Hotch’s office.

You clear your throat, stopping a few feet from the desk. “Sir?”

“How late were you here last night?” he asks.

You lift a shoulder. “About ten.”

His jaw shifts as he leans back in his chair. “That’s late.”

“Morgan said you needed them done by the morning.”

“I didn’t mean first thing,” he says, smoothing the end of his tie. “You could’ve finished the rest before lunch.”

You blink. “Oh.”

His gaze holds yours for a second too long.

“You don’t need to stay late to impress me.”

Your eyes widen slightly before you force out a small, awkward laugh. “Oh—uh—good to know.”

He glances briefly at the navy-blue cashmere sweater still folded neatly on the chest of drawers.

“Still,” he says, lower this time. “I appreciated it. The files, and… everything else.”

Your breath catches softly in your throat.

“Anytime, sir,” you manage.

He nods once, then drops his gaze back to the paperwork on his desk.

You don’t need any more of a dismissal than that, so you turn quickly and step out, pulling the door shut behind you. He prefers it closed, even if he won’t admit it because he doesn’t want the team to think he’s shutting them out. He’s just more comfortable in private—it helps him focus.

By the time you get back to your desk, everyone else is already settled and working quietly. Not even Reid glances up or offers a teasing remark.

You drop into your chair and wriggle your mouse, grabbing your phone while you wait for the screen to wake up.

Two new messages from DCRunner00.

DCRunner00: Running Man? DCRunner00: Great book. Slightly concerning nickname, though.

You can’t help yourself, so you type out a quick reply.

You: Better than ‘Workaholic’. You: You read Stephen King?

“Hey, you busy?”

You glance over at Reid. “Aren’t we all?”

He tilts his head. “You’re on your phone.”

“I could be working.”

“Are you?”

“No.”

“Good,” he says, shuffling the files on his desk. “Hotch wants us to prep the full geographic and timeline package for the Fairfax files in case it turns into an active investigation.”

You sigh, already pushing back from your desk. “And by ‘us’ you mean...?”

“I could use your help.”

“Fine,” you mutter, setting your phone down.

He scoots over as you roll your chair toward his desk, settling in beside him. The files are all laid out, including your victimology report with Rossi’s few annotations. There are crime scene reports, autopsy summaries, witness statements, geographic overlays, and maps—everything needed to justify escalating the case into a full BAU investigation.

“Where do you want to start?”

“I’m trying to rebuild the geographic timeline digitally,” he says, “but half the field reports were logged out of sequence and now the movement patterns don’t align.”

You nod. “Okay, walk me through where it stops making sense.”

Three hours later, you feel like your eyeballs are bleeding. You’ve read the same witness statement at least twenty times now, but with every pass it only makes less sense. How could Annabelle Hutton possibly be placed in two different counties less than forty minutes apart?

“It’s physically impossible,” you mutter, rubbing your eyes.

Reid hums quietly beside you. “Not necessarily.”

You stare at him. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well, depending on traffic conditions, inaccurate timestamp reporting, and the reliability of eyewitness memory retention, there are at least four scenarios where the timeline could still technically work.”

You sigh, leaning back in your chair and staring up at the ceiling. “If you know so much, then why can’t you figure this out?”

He still doesn’t turn away from his screen. “I will. Eventually.”

You groan softly, dragging both hands down your face just as a familiar voice cuts through the quiet bullpen.

“No, listen to me carefully.”

Both you and Reid glance up automatically.

Hotch is walking slowly past the desks with his phone pressed to his ear, expression calm but impossibly stern in a way that immediately makes heat crawl beneath your skin.

“You don’t need to explain the problem again,” he says evenly. “You need to tell me how you’re fixing it.”

He pauses briefly beside Reid’s desk, listening.

“Then prioritise the transfer first,” he says. “If the paperwork isn’t filed before opposing counsel reviews discovery, the timeline becomes vulnerable and the entire testimony gets picked apart.”

He rests a hand on the partition between the desks, gaze fixed somewhere distant as he listens to the person on the other end.

“No,” he says after a moment, voice lower now. “I’m not asking you to stay late. I’m telling you this needs to be finished tonight.”

Your stomach flips.

This absolutely should not be as hot as it is.

“Good,” he says calmly into the phone, straightening again. “Call me when it’s done.”

Then he keeps walking, cutting through the bullpen before turning sharply toward his office.

You stare after him, the thought slipping out before you can stop it. “Do you think he talks you through it?”

“Probably,” Reid says, turning back to his screen. “High-control personalities usually prefer maintaining verbal direction in intimate situations because it reinforces predictability and compliance dynamics.”

You go still. You hadn’t actually expected an answer.

“Someone like Hotch would probably place a pretty high psychological value on responsiveness,” Reid continues. “The immediate compliance aspect reinforces authority, which means verbal direction would likely become part of the overall intimacy dynamic rather than just communication.”

Your face heats.

“Especially because he’s not impulsive enough to rely on unpredictability. He’d want constant awareness of how the other person is responding emotionally and physically, so talking them through things would help maintain control of the situation while also reinforcing trust.”

Oh my God.

“And honestly,” Reid goes on, “people with highly structured leadership personalities usually develop pretty strong positive associations with obedience because it confirms stability, attentiveness, emotional investment—” He pauses briefly. “Which means he’d probably find it disproportionately attractive when someone follows instructions immediately or responds well to praise because it validates both the authority dynamic and the emotional trust beneath it, so statistically speaking he’d—”

He stops.

Then slowly turns toward you.

“...I crossed a social boundary somewhere in there, didn’t I?”

You nod slowly, your voice coming out unnaturally high. “Just a couple.”

He sighs, dropping his chin slightly as he turns back to his screen.

You huff out a breathless laugh and lean back in your chair again. You need a minute to recover from that, because now you’re hot all over and the only thing you can think about is your boss hovering over you, praising you in that low, steady voice while his hand settles around your throat—

Fortunately, it doesn’t take Reid long to start rambling about geographic overlays again. You do your best to focus on what he’s saying, but after another hour of scrutinising the timeline inconsistencies, you decide you need an actual break.

You grab your phone and your jacket and head out of the office, sending a quick text to the team chat asking if anyone else would like a coffee from the cafe down the road. It’s a thousand times better than break room coffee.

When you step out of the elevator on the ground floor, you bring up your messages with DCRunner00. You’re not sure why, because normally you only check your profile when you feel like you need to keep up the act, but something about this guy keeps making you want to reply.

DCRunner00: I’ve read a few. DCRunner00: What does a workaholic do for fun?

You type your reply as you step out of the building.

You: Work, mostly. You: And sleep.

By the time you return to the office with a tray of four coffees, you have two new messages—but you can’t reply to them until you set the tray down at your desk.

“Thanks, pretty girl,” Morgan says as he takes one, flashing you a grin.

You smile back. “Anything for you, gorgeous.”

Then you pull your phone out of your pocket and bring up the message thread.

DCRunner00: What’s your schedule even like? DCRunner00: You strike me as an “answers emails at midnight” type of person. You: Nah. That’s my boss. You: My schedule is chaos, though.

“Thanks,” Reid says as he takes his coffee, leaving only two.

You set your phone down and take the last two coffees out of the tray, leaving one at your desk before taking the other to Hotch’s office. You can see through the window that he’s not on the phone—for once—so you knock twice on the slightly ajar door before stepping inside.

He glances up, his brows pulling together slightly. “I didn’t ask for coffee.”

“I know,” you say quickly. “But it’s almost three, and you always need another coffee around three, and I figured you probably didn’t answer the team message because you still feel bad about me staying so late last night, which you shouldn’t, by the way.”

He straightens, brows drawing tighter.

“And I know you’ve got court with Morgan this afternoon, and you’re going to try to leave early, but someone’s definitely going to call at the last second and derail that plan, so you’ll only have enough time to get to the courthouse—not enough time to stop for coffee.”

You set the cup down in front of him.

“So,” you tilt your head, “coffee.”

He leans back in his chair, studying you for a second.

“That’s some pretty solid profiling, Agent.”

Your face heats instantly.

“Well,” you say, backing slowly toward the door, “maybe now you owe me two.”

The corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly, but it’s enough for the butterflies in your stomach to explode. You can’t help but grin as you turn away, slipping quickly out the door before your lungs forget how to work entirely.

You spend the rest of the day at Reid’s desk, finishing the case package for the Fairfax files and complaining about unreliable witnesses. Hotch and Morgan head off to court just after three, announcing to the rest of the team that they won’t be back. JJ is the first to head home again around five, followed by Prentiss, then Rossi—then you and Reid finally decide to call it a day just after six.

Which is also when you finally check your messages again.

DCRunner00: Chaos how?

You type a quick reply while you wait for your car’s AC to warm up.

You: Long hours. You: Weird hours. You: And a deeply unhealthy relationship with caffeine.

Then you tuck your phone away and head out of the parking garage.

Leia is already yowling by the time you step through your apartment door. She’s always hungry, even though she has an automatic feeder for dry food—but apparently that isn’t good enough. She prefers the wet stuff.

You quickly peel open a packet of fishy-smelling chicken jelly sludge and drop it into her bowl before washing your hands and moving into your bedroom. You flip the ensuite light on and start the shower, pulling your phone out of your pocket while you wait for the water to warm.

DCRunner00: Ah. So you’re one of those people. You: Rude.

He replies almost immediately.

DCRunner00: Accurate, though? You: Unfortunately.

You drop your phone on the bed and start undressing.

Ping!

DCRunner00: What do you actually do?

You hesitate. It’s not like you can just say you’re in the FBI. Contrary to what some people might think, real FBI agents can’t just go around bragging about their highly classified work status. It’s dangerous.

You: Mostly admin. You: Governmental stuff.

You toss your phone back onto the bed and turn into the steamy ensuite. You shower quickly, dry off, run product through your damp hair, then pull on a shirt and a pair of sweatpants before heading back out into the kitchen.

You’re not in the mood to cook tonight, so you grab a protein bar out of the cupboard and start boiling the kettle while you check your phone for what feels like the hundredth time.

DCRunner00: Sounds boring. DCRunner00: Do you get days off, though?

You drop a teabag into your mug before typing out a reply.

You: Sort of. You: But if my boss calls, I answer.

He replies instantly again.

DCRunner00: I’m starting to think you secretly enjoy being overworked. You: I think I’d get bored otherwise.

You pour the boiling water into your mug and watch his next reply pop up.

DCRunner00: That sounds suspiciously unhealthy. You: Probably. What about you? What do you do?

You tuck your phone into your pocket, then grab your tea and protein bar and head to the couch. There’s nothing you’re really interested in watching—since you don’t usually have the time to keep up with any shows—so you turn on the nightly news before grabbing your laptop and pulling up a new browser.

He’s already replied by the time you log in.

DCRunner00: Run. DCRunner00: Read. DCRunner00: Annoy people professionally. You: That sounds made up.

You open your protein bar.

DCRunner00: It mostly is. DCRunner00: So your boss actually calls you outside work hours?

You hesitate at the sudden redirection. Most men on dating apps prefer talking about themselves. Their jobs, hobbies, gym routines, childhood dogs—whatever makes them seem interesting—but this guy seems far more interested in observing than being observed.

You type out a vague response.

You: Sometimes. You: Occupational hazard, I guess. DCRunner00: And you always answer? You: Pretty much. You: He’d only call if it mattered.

His next reply takes almost two minutes to come through.

DCRunner00: Hm. DCRunner00: I’m starting to think your boss gets more attention than I do.

You almost choke on your tea.

That’s... weird.

Maybe you have mentioned your boss a little more than strictly necessary, but he’s the one asking all the questions about your job. It’s a little hard not to mention your boss when your life practically revolves around him—in more ways than you care to admit.

You: Jealous already, Running Man? DCRunner00: Should I be?

You sit up straighter, suddenly a little nauseous.

You: I think you’re spending too much time talking to strangers online. DCRunner00: Maybe. DCRunner00: You still replied, though.

“Okay,” you say, startling Leia who was half-asleep on the other end of the couch. “That’s enough.”

You: I’m going to sleep. You: Try not to spiral while I’m gone.

His last message pops up just before you shut your laptop.

DCRunner00: No promises.

WEDNESDAY 8:10AM

“Come on,” you mutter, mashing the elevator button for the doors to close.

You’re a whole thirty minutes earlier than usual this morning. You didn’t even make a coffee in your travel mug before running out the door. You just woke up, brushed your teeth, checked your messages—and decided you needed to talk to Garcia immediately.

“Hey—woah.” Reid steps out of your way as you rush into the bullpen. “You’re early.”

You drop your bag on your desk and quickly shrug off your jacket.

“Is Garcia in yet?”

He frowns slightly. “I think so. Why?”

You pull your laptop out of your bag.

“I just—I need her.”

You’re already walking away before he can press any further, moving back through the bullpen with your laptop hugged against your chest. You’re just about to round the corner toward the elevators when—

“Hey—” Hotch stops short just as you nearly run into him. “Slow down. You alright?”

His hand is hovering near your waist—not quite touching, but close enough for you to feel its warmth.

You blink up at him. “Sorry. Yeah. Uh—totally fine. Just going to see Garcia about... a case.”

His brows pull together slightly.

“Alright, well, Garcia’s not going anywhere,” he says evenly. “Take a breath.”

You nod slowly, already stepping around him.

“Right,” you mutter. “Breathing. Got it. Sorry, sir.”

You can almost swear you see the corner of his mouth lift—but then the elevator dings behind you, and you have to hurry to slip through the doors before they slide shut.

It feels like an eternity before they finally open again, but once they do you practically sprint down the hall to Garcia’s lair and burst through the door without warning.

She startles so hard she nearly drops her coffee. “Sweet mother of encryption, knock first!”

“Sorry,” you say, breathless. “I need you.”

“Well, obviously,” she mutters, checking her shirt for any spills. “I’m the backbone of this entire operation.”

You drop down into the spare chair and open your laptop, setting it on her desk.

“You cannot judge me for what I’m about to show you.”

She glances up, brows lifting. “Oh. So this is serious?”

You grimace. “I don’t know.”

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Slightly less reassuring than I was hoping for. Tell me what’s happened.”

You take a deep breath, then let it out in a rush.

“You remember the dating profile you set up for me?”

She nods.

“Alright, so, I won’t lie, I haven’t really met anyone on there yet, but I check the messages occasionally. When I’ve got time, you know? And I don’t have a whole lot of ongoing conversations, but this one guy sent me something that was kind of funny, so I responded, and the conversation was pretty normal for the most part. I couldn’t reply all that quickly, but he didn’t seem to mind.”

You shift awkwardly, scooting your chair closer to her desk.

“Nothing really felt out of place until—well, he wouldn’t talk about himself much, which is strange because most people on dating apps are usually more interested in presenting themselves than gathering information. He kept asking questions about my job, actually. Not that my job is on my profile, but he was really curious about my schedule, or—I guess—lack of schedule.”

You wince.

“So now that I think about it, that was probably the second sign something might be off. Or maybe he just wanted to meet up, I don’t know.”

You hesitate.

“But then he sent me this message at like... two a.m.”

She squints at the screen.

DCRunner00: Bet you answer your boss faster than you answer anyone else.

“Mmm. Nope. Don’t love that,” she says, shaking her head. “That is not a normal amount of emotional investment for a stranger.”

You sink back in your chair. “That’s what I thought.”

She starts scrolling back through the messages.

“Have you told Hotch?”

“Nope.”

She glances at you from the corner of her eye. “You answered way too fast for that to be a normal response.”

“Because the answer is no,” you say firmly, leaning forward again.

“Mm-hm.” She keeps scrolling. “Okay, well... technically this could still be nothing. He could just be some lonely basement cryptid with Wi-Fi and poor social skills.”

You groan, dragging both hands over your face.

“You do mention Hotch kind of a lot.”

Your head snaps up. “He’s my boss.”

Garcia gives you a long look.

“Okay,” she says slowly. “Sure.”

“Garcia.”

“I’m just saying, if a man talked about a woman this much online, we’d all be making faces.”

You point at the screen. “Focus.”

“Right. Yes. Creepy internet man. Sorry.”

Her expression settles into something more focused as she turns back toward her array of monitors.

“Okay. Here’s what we’re going to do. Don’t block him yet.”

You sigh. “I don’t love that idea.”

“Neither do I, babycakes, but if he’s routing through the website normally, I might be able to pull connection data if we keep him talking long enough.”

You frown. “In English?”

She gives you another look. “Timestamps, login patterns, regional pings, possible VPN usage, device signatures if he slips up—basic digital stalking fun.”

“Oh, of course,” you say sarcastically. “Normal stuff.”

“For me, it is normal.” She points toward the laptop. “Now reply to him. Something casual. I want to see if he responds immediately again.”

Your fingers hover over the keys for a second before you type out your reply.

You: I thought I told you not to spiral.

He replies so fast that even Garcia flinches.

DCRunner00: Relax. It was a joke. DCRunner00: Mostly.

She stares at the screen. “Okay, I officially don’t like him.”

You lean back in your chair again, nausea twisting low in your gut. “I feel sick.”

Garcia’s expression softens slightly. “Maybe you should tell—”

“No.”

She sighs quietly. “Okay. Fine. Can you keep replying from your phone?”

You nod.

“Good. Don’t overdo it, just enough to keep him engaged.” Her fingers start flying across the keyboard. “I’ll work my magic down here and call you if I find anything.”

You push yourself out of the chair, clutching your phone a little tighter.

“You’re the best, Pen.”

“I know.” She waves a hand without looking away from her screens. “Now go pretend to be emotionally stable upstairs.”

By the time you get back to your desk, almost everyone is already in the conference room ready for the morning briefing. You drop your phone beside your keyboard—too anxious to have it with you during the meeting—then quickly unpack your things and grab a notebook before making your way up.

Reid nods at you from his usual seat, gesturing to the empty one beside him.

“Hey,” you mutter as you drop down next to him.

His brows pull together. “Everything alright?”

You nod. “Yeah. Fine. I’ll explain later.”

Hotch keeps the morning briefing quick. He goes over yesterday’s court hearing, outlines the Fairfax briefing package in case it escalates into an active investigation, then gets JJ to run through the highest priority consultation requests.

You spend most of it toying with a loose thread on the cuff of your blouse. You’re pretty sure it’s the first briefing in years where you haven’t spent at least part of it staring at Hotch instead of your notes—and when the room finally relaxes and everyone starts to filter out, Reid turns to you.

“Okay, now I’m concerned,” he says.

You glance at him. “Why?”

“You didn’t look at Hotch once during that entire meeting.”

You roll your eyes. “Spence—”

“Something must be seriously wrong.”

You let out a long exhale, glancing briefly around the almost empty room. Only Morgan and Rossi are left, halfway to the door, deep in discussion about something that happened at the court hearing yesterday afternoon.

“Okay,” you say quietly, turning back to Reid. “I’m having some... trouble, I guess, with a guy.”

His brows shoot up. “A guy—”

“Online,” you add quickly.

He tilts his head. “I’m confused again.”

You sigh. “Remember that dating profile Garcia set up for me?”

“You mean the profile you allowed Garcia to create as part of your increasingly unsustainable performative dating strategy?”

You glare at him. “Yes. That one.”

“Then yes, I remember it very clearly.”

“Well,” you mutter, pinching the bridge of your nose, “I had this guy message me a couple days ago. It was normal at first but now it’s gotten... weird. So, I’m getting Garcia to look into it.”

His forehead creases. “Have you told—”

“No.”

“Maybe you should—”

“I said no.”

“Alright.” He raises both hands in surrender. “Okay. I’m dropping it. It’s just…”

You narrow your eyes at him.

“Well, statistically speaking, the majority of uncomfortable online interactions don’t escalate into actual stalking behaviour. Most people displaying premature emotional fixation online are socially isolated rather than violent.”

You lift a brow, waiting for the punchline.

“However,” he adds, “cyberstalking offenders also tend to develop parasocial attachments disproportionately quickly because the perceived emotional intimacy bypasses a lot of normal social barriers, which means escalation patterns can become highly personalised in a very short period of time.”

You stare at him.

“In cases where the fixation becomes grievance-oriented, the offender is usually highly organised rather than impulsive, so the behaviour tends to be significantly more deliberate and psychologically targeted.”

He pauses, frowning faintly.

“That was supposed to be reassuring.”

“…Thanks, Reid,” you mutter, turning away from him slowly. “Now I feel so much better.”

When you get back to your desk, you decide it’s time to reply again. You grab your phone and bring up the messages, taking a minute to think about what to type—knowing Garcia will be seeing the conversation too.

You type out the only mildly casual response you can think of.

You: You’re weird.

He replies just as fast as usual.

DCRunner00: You disappear a lot. You: Workaholic, remember. You: I told you my schedule was chaos.

You’re about to turn your phone over on your desk when a different notification pops up—from Garcia.

Garcia: If this is your version of flirting, baby girl, I think I just figured out why you’re still single.

You snort softly, typing out a quick reply.

You: Trust me, that’s not the reason. Garcia: So there IS a reason? You: Shh. I’m working. Garcia: Boo!

You huff another quiet laugh as you turn your phone over, nudging it toward the edge of your desk in the hopes that you might be able to focus on work rather than creepy internet man for at least a few hours.

It doesn’t work.

Barely half an hour later, you lift your phone to check for another notification—but there’s nothing there. You pull up the message thread again and scroll up, checking the timestamps to see if he’s ever gone quiet on you before—but he hasn’t. Not really. So you type another message.

You: You went quiet. Should I be concerned?

It’s a calculated move. If he’s paying attention to response patterns—and at this point you’re pretty sure he is—then following up first helps maintain the illusion that nothing has changed. No sudden distance. No obvious discomfort. No reason for him to think you’re pulling away.

If he is dangerous, the last thing you want is for him to feel rejected.

An hour later, Rossi drops a legal pad onto your desk, asking you to take another look at a witness timeline that doesn’t feel right—which keeps you occupied for a good forty-five minutes. Then Morgan leans over the partition between your desks, asking if you can translate Reid into English. That takes up another hour of your day, and by the time you grab your first afternoon coffee, you’ve got three notifications.

One is a missed call from Garcia. The other two are from creepy internet man.

DCRunner00: Depends. Are you worried about me? DCRunner00: Blue looks good on you, by the way.

Your stomach drops. “Oh my God.”

You immediately call Garcia back.

She answers on half a ring. “Are you wearing blue?”

“You saw me this morning.”

“I can’t remember,” she says. “Are you?”

You drag a hand through your hair. “Yes.”

“Holy shit,” she whispers. “You’ve got to tell—”

“No.”

“Are you insane?”

“Maybe, but—” You squeeze your eyes shut for a second. “Okay, just—hear me out. Blue is a statistically safe guess. It’s a neutral professional colour with high frequency in workplace attire, especially in government buildings.”

Garcia goes quiet for a second.

“And does this unsub know you work in a government building?”

“Don’t call him that,” you snap. “And—well, kind of. I didn’t tell him exactly, but I said... government adjacent.”

“I swear to God,” she mutters, “if I have to identify your body next week, I’m going to kill you.”

You press your free hand against your forehead.

“You won’t,” you say firmly. “Alright? We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

Garcia scoffs loudly.

“Seriously,” you insist. “It could still be nothing. A weird coincidence, maybe an awkward guy with boundary issues and too much free time. We deal with actual predators every day. I can handle a few creepy messages.”

The line goes quiet again—then she sighs.

“Why are you so against telling Hotch?”

“Because I don’t want to bother him,” you say quickly. “We’ve got a quiet week, he finally seems slightly less stressed, and I don’t want to cause a whole fuss over something that might turn out to be nothing.”

She sighs again, louder this time. “Fine. I won’t go to Hotch.”

Your shoulders sag. “Thank you.”

“On one condition,” she adds. “I’m sleeping over tonight.”

You nearly choke. “What?”

“Non-negotiable.”

“Penelope, that’s insane.”

“No,” Garcia says firmly, “what’s insane is you trying to casually explain away potential stalking behaviour while actively refusing to inform your unit chief.”

“He is not stalking me,” you protest, keeping your voice low.

“Mm-hm.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“And yet,” Garcia says, “if you die, I become morally complicit because I knew about creepy internet man and failed to intervene.”

You frown. “…Morally complicit?”

“Accessory to murder-adjacent,” she corrects. “And my guilty conscience requires eight hours of sleep minimum, so congratulations. We’re having a slumber party.”

You let out a long sigh. “Okay. Fine.”

She hums, satisfied.

“I need to reply to him again.”

“Well, don’t ask me,” she mutters. “You’re the one who’s apparently fluent in creepy internet freak.”

You laugh despite yourself. “Thanks, Pen.”

“Mm-hm. And just so we’re clear, tonight we are watching wholesome romantic comedies and eating enough sugar to kill a Victorian child.”

“I was actually thinking psychological thriller marathon.”

“Absolutely not.”

You smile faintly, leaning back in your chair. “Fine. Romantic comedies it is.”

“Good,” Garcia says firmly. “Now hang up before I change my mind and march upstairs to Hotch’s office myself.”

You roll your eyes as you hang up, then open the message thread again. You don’t have to think too hard about what to type. You don’t want to escalate or accuse him, but you need him to stay engaged. You want him to explain himself to see how he reframes the behaviour.

You: Lucky guess.

The next few hours slip by in a strange blur of routine tasks and fragmented conversations.

At about three o’clock, Prentiss drops a file on your desk and asks if you can double-check a victim timeline while she’s stuck on the phone with Chicago. Then Rossi calls you into his office to sanity-check a profile theory he’s working through out loud—which means fifteen minutes of listening to him argue with himself while you sit there trying not to focus on Hotch’s voice through the wall.

When you finally get back to your desk, Reid spends twenty minutes walking you through a probability model nobody asked for but everyone somehow ends up listening to anyway. He only stops when Hotch appears, carrying a stack of files from the Richardson case he wants Morgan to look over before he signs them off—and for the first time in God knows how long, you don’t stare shamelessly at his ass as he walks out of the bullpen.

By six p.m., JJ and Rossi are gone, Prentiss is helping Morgan with the Richardson files, and Reid is building a tiny tower out of paperclips while he reads over a file Rossi dropped on his desk before he left.

At exactly six-fifteen, your desk phone rings.

“Hello?”

“Pack your things, baby girl. Your government-issued sleepover is about to begin.”

You snort softly. “Alright. I’ll see you soon.”

You hang up the phone and start clearing your desk, organising paperwork into piles and packing away stationery while you wait for your computer to shut down.

“See who soon?” Reid asks.

You glance at him. “Garcia.”

He tilts his head.

“She’s staying over tonight.”

His brows lift. “Because of your stalk—”

“Girl’s night,” you interrupt, eyes widening. “That’s all.”

His gaze narrows. “Should I be worried?”

You scoff. “About me? Never.”

You slide your arms into your jacket then finally pick up your phone, finding two new notifications from creepy internet man waiting for you.

“Really?” Reid asks, turning his chair to face you. “Because you’ve spent most of the day staring at your phone like it’s a bomb, you spent most of Rossi’s profile discussion peeling the label off your water bottle instead of contributing, and you reorganised the same stack of paperwork three separate times.”

You pause mid-motion.

“Also,” he continues, “you usually correct Morgan when he misquotes case statistics and today you let him do it twice, which honestly might be the most concerning—”

“Okay!” you cut in quickly, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “Good talk. Love the observational skills. Bye.”

He doesn’t say anything else as you walk away, murmuring goodbyes to Morgan and Prentiss as you pass, but you can still feel him watching you. You’re just about to press the button for the elevator when—

“Agent.”

You stop automatically, turning to find Hotch with a file tucked under one arm and that signature frown etched between his brows. Only this time it isn’t frustrated or disapproving—it’s curious.

You force a small smile. “Sir.”

His eyes move over your face briefly. “You alright?”

You nod once. “Of course.”

He takes a step forward, his voice dropping lower. “You sure?”

Your breath catches.

He’s close now. Too close. You have to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. You can smell his cologne, feel his warmth, count the beauty marks dotted across his cheek.

“You’ve seemed distracted today,” he says.

You swallow hard. “Uh—no. No. Sorry, I just—I didn’t get much sleep last night.”

His brows draw a little tighter, and he opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something else—press harder, maybe—but then seems to think better of it.

“Alright,” he murmurs. “Get some rest tonight.”

Then he nods once and steps back, his jaw tightening for just a second before he turns away.

You don’t move immediately. You can’t. Your mind is reeling, your pulse is still hammering, and your breath is caught somewhere between your ribs while your lungs try to remember how to work.

“Hello?” Garcia calls from behind you. “I cannot hold these doors forever, babycakes.”

You shake your head. “Shit. Sorry.”

You turn and hurry into the elevator, slipping in beside her just before the doors slide shut.

For a moment, neither of you says anything.

Then—

“So, that thing you said earlier about there being a reason you’re still single…”

You shut your eyes. “Penelope.”

“I’m just saying,” she continues lightly, “unless I hallucinated whatever just happened in that hallway, I’m starting to develop theories.”

You ignore her, watching the numbers on the elevator slowly descend like counting down the days you have before the entire team figures out your secret. Because if this guy really is a creep, if you do have to tell Hotch, then it’s only a matter of time before the BAU are dissecting your dating life and realising what a ruse it really is.

And you know better than anyone that once these profilers start looking too closely at something, they rarely stop until they’ve pulled it apart completely.

The second you step through the door to your apartment, Garcia rushes past you to sweep the place. Leia startles almost immediately, running from the couch to your bedroom while Garcia complains about the fact that Leia is the only cat she’s ever met that doesn’t like her.

“Leia hates everyone,” you tell her, kicking your shoes off by the door. “Even me.”

Garcia just rolls her eyes, continuing from room to room to check the window locks and balcony doors.

Once she’s satisfied that everything is secure, she sets her laptop up on your kitchen counter and starts running a program that looks like hieroglyphics to you.

“Have you seen his latest messages?” she asks.

You shake your head, setting your phone on the counter. “No.”

She opens your laptop and logs into the dating site—because apparently she knows your password now.

DCRunner00: Maybe. DCRunner00: Or maybe you’re just easier to read than you think.

You type out the first response you can think of, not wanting to seem like you’re overanalysing this.

You: Or maybe I’m just not trying so hard to be mysterious.

Garcia then spends the next ten minutes trying to explain her process to you in terms that almost make sense. So far she’s managed to narrow him down to a general region through login patterns and routing behaviour, but she still can’t lock onto a direct IP address. Not because she can’t—apparently that part would actually be pretty easy—but because doing it properly would mean running requests through systems that leave a trail. And right now, this definitely isn’t an official investigation.

“The second I start pulling the fun federal strings,” Garcia says, typing furiously, “there’s paperwork, access logs, oversight, and approximately twelve thousand ways for this to become a whole thing.”

You lean against the counter. “We don’t want that.”

“Not yet.” Her expression sharpens slightly. “Also, if creepy internet man is more sophisticated than he seems, there’s always a chance he’s monitoring for targeted tracing attempts. If he realises someone’s looking too closely at him before we know who he is, he could disappear completely.”

Your stomach twists. “Or escalate.”

You spend the next couple of hours keeping creepy internet man engaged while Garcia rambles tech jargon that makes less sense the longer the night wears on. At some point, you order pizza, then you migrate to the couch, and eventually you both end up sitting through the credits of Two Weeks Notice while waiting for one last reply in the hopes that he might finally answer something about himself.

DCRunner00: Refreshing DCRunner00: Most people hide too much. You: Depends what they’re trying to hide. DCRunner00: What are you trying to hide? You: Besides the fact that I’m exhausted? Nothing. DCRunner00: You seem distracted tonight. You: Long day. DCRunner00: I noticed. You: How was yours?

You wait until almost midnight before finally deciding to call it a night.

Garcia checks all the windows and doors again while you brush your teeth and change into pyjamas. When you step back out of your bedroom to say goodnight, Garcia is trying her hardest to lure Leia onto the couch with her, but Leia is very stubbornly curled up beneath the TV unit.

“Night, Pen,” you murmur, rubbing your eyes. “Thanks again... for everything.”

“Night, gorgeous,” she calls, peering over the back of the couch. “Wake me up if you hear literally anything suspicious. Or if Leia finally decides it’s my time.”

You laugh softly, blinking slowly as you turn back into your room and fall face first into bed.

THURSDAY 6:45AM

You’re not sure whether to be relieved or concerned when you wake up to no new messages from creepy internet man. He hasn’t gone quiet for this long before—but if he is just a normal, slightly awkward guy with boundary issues and an internet connection, well... it’s not that hard to believe he might just be sleeping.

Garcia is already up making coffee by the time you step out of your room, trying to bribe Leia out from under the couch with a tube of tuna paste.

The second she sees you, she jumps up and launches into another long-winded explanation about login activity and movement patterns across different access points. Apparently, creepy internet man logged in from three different geographical locations over the course of a few hours last night—which is normal, right? That means he was out doing normal human things, not just lurking in his mother’s basement, stalking women online.

Garcia isn’t entirely convinced that him moving locations is enough to get him off the hook as the BAU’s next unsub, but it at least shuts her up until you’re both back at the office.

“Hey,” Reid says as soon as you walk into the bullpen. “You haven’t been murdered.”

You frown slightly. “Good morning to you too, Spence.”

Morgan glances up from the file on his desk. “Uh—why are we getting murdered?”

Reid gestures vaguely in your direction. “Because she’s potentially being cyberstalked by a—”

“Oh, wow, look at the time,” you interrupt, glaring at Reid. “Wouldn’t it be such a shame if we all started minding our own business right about now.”

Prentiss turns in her chair, brows raised. “Cyberstalked?”

“Nobody is cyberstalking anybody,” you say as you drop into your chair. “And nobody’s getting murdered—but great start to the morning, everyone. Love the energy. Now leave me alone.”

Morgan chuckles quietly. “Damn. Thought you said you got laid last weekend.”

Your hands slip off the desk as you try to pull yourself closer.

“Technically,” Reid says, “she only implied it by refusing to answer Garcia’s question during Monday morning’s briefing.”

“Ah.” Morgan leans back in his chair. “I knew this was a drought issue.”

You scowl at him. “A drought issue?”

“Statistically speaking,” Reid adds, “people experiencing prolonged romantic or sexual dissatisfaction often display lower frustration tolerance and increased agitation in familiar social environments.”

Morgan looks at him. “Man, just say she needs to get laid.”

“Oh my God,” you snap. “I do not need to get laid. I am having a completely normal amount of sex already, thank you very much—and frankly I think it’s deeply inappropriate that you’re all this invested in whether or not I’m orgasming regularly.”

Reid tilts his head. “You’re having sex?”

Morgan’s brows shoot up, Prentiss chokes on her coffee, and you open your mouth to fire back at him when—

Someone clears their throat behind you.

Heat crawls violently up your neck—but you don’t turn around. You can’t.

“Briefing room. Five minutes,” Hotch says, his voice dangerously even. “JJ’s got an update on the custodial interview with Wallace.”

Morgan presses a fist against his mouth, trying—and failing—to smother the strangled sound of laughter.

Very slowly, you turn in your chair.

Hotch is standing at the edge of the bullpen with a coffee in one hand and a file in the other. His expression is almost perfectly composed, but there’s something dangerous lurking beneath it—something suspiciously close to amusement in the tightness of his mouth.

“Be right there, sir,” you blurt, lifting two fingers to your forehead in the most ill-timed attempt at a salute the FBI has ever seen.

Hotch just looks at you, the muscle in his jaw jumping once before he turns away.

You want to die.

The second his office door clicks shut behind him, Morgan drops his fist and smacks his palm flat against the desk with a choked laugh.

“Oh, you are never recovering from that,” Prentiss mutters, smirking behind her coffee cup.

Morgan leans back in his chair, grinning. “Baby girl, that was painful to watch.”

You drop your head into your hands.

“You somehow escalated the situation at every possible opportunity,” Reid says thoughtfully.

“I hate you all,” you mumble into your palms.

You spend the next half hour with your nose buried in your notebook, avoiding eye contact with the entire team while JJ explains the month-long back-and-forth that it took to finally get approval for the Wallace interview.

Apparently, the prison is limiting the interview to a single hour and reserving the right to terminate it early if the inmate becomes uncooperative—which Rossi thinks is less about policy and more about Wallace trying to dictate the terms of the interaction.

It’s not ideal, especially considering you were the one who convinced Hotch to push for the interview before Wallace is transferred to death row. His case was one of the first you ever studied during the BAU training programme, and there isn’t much you wouldn’t give to pick the sociopath’s brains. One hour with him feels dangerously short—that is, assuming Hotch actually picks you to be in the interview with him.

“We don’t have enough time to waste managing personalities in the room,” Hotch says, gathering the files in front of him. “I’ll decide on a second agent and send out the interview schedule later today.”

Chairs start scraping back almost immediately, files and notebooks snapping shut as everyone gathers their things and starts filtering out of the room—but you don’t move. You stay firmly planted in your seat, chewing thoughtfully on the inside of your cheek while you debate whether to follow Hotch into his office and ask to be part of the interview. You don’t even have to be asking the questions, you just want to be there. You were the one pushing for it in the first place.

But then your brain very helpfully reminds you that Aaron Hotchner heard you say the word orgasming less than an hour ago and suddenly, being on death row yourself feels infinitely preferable to making eye contact with your unit chief.

“You alright?” Reid asks, lingering beside you.

You sigh heavily, finally closing your notebook. “Yep. Just thinking about how I’ll probably have to fake my own death and change my name after this morning.”

He shrugs. “Hotch probably isn’t even thinking about it anymore.”

You glance up at him hopefully.

“Morgan definitely is, though.”

You roll your eyes, letting out another resigned sigh as you stand up and follow him out of the briefing room.

The rest of the morning manages to pass without incident. You stay chained to your desk, reviewing reports and processing any files that come your way while very deliberately not glancing up any time Hotch steps out of his office. At around eleven, Morgan and JJ head out to the cafe down the street and come back with coffees for the whole team. Then there’s a printer jam that gives the rest of the office a rare glimpse at just how angry Emily Prentiss can get when frustrated.

It isn’t until just before midday that you finally get up to go to the bathroom, and when you return to your desk, there’s one new notification in your inbox.

From: Aaron Hotchner Subject: Wallace Interview You’re with me next Thursday. We leave at 0700.

Your stomach flips.

“Wow,” Reid says, suddenly standing right beside your desk. “He picked you pretty quickly.”

You shoot him a warning look. “Spence.”

“I’m just saying, he usually deliberates longer.”

You glance back at the screen, rereading the first five words that make your pulse skip a little faster.

“You and Hotch do work unusually well together in confined conversational environments,” Reid adds.

You turn back to him, frowning.

He tilts his head. “That sounded more suggestive than I intended.”

You open your mouth to tell him how deeply unhelpful he’s being when your phone buzzes twice against your desk—like it does several times a day, but something about it feels different this time. Wrong.

You reach for it slowly, your stomach twisting tighter as you turn it over.

Two new notifications from creepy internet man. The first since last night.

You open the message thread—and your stomach drops.

DCRunner00: [Image attachment] DCRunner00: Did you and your friend have fun last night?

The image is of your apartment building. It’s grainy, slightly crooked, clearly taken from somewhere across the street—but your living room windows are unmistakable. Warm light glowing through the glass. The blurred silhouette of someone inside.

Ice floods your bloodstream.

You stop breathing.

“Is that... your apartment?” Reid asks, leaning over your shoulder.

You don’t answer him. You can’t.

The bullpen dissolves into white noise around you.

Until—

“I’m done!” Garcia’s voice cuts through the static. “I can’t do this anymore!”

She’s marching right toward you, your laptop—that she’d still been monitoring—tucked under one arm.

Reid gasps. “Wait. Is that—”

Morgan straightens in his chair. “What’s happening?”

“Hotch’s office,” Garcia says, her expression dangerously stern as she stops beside your desk. “Now.”

You nod slowly, your shoes almost slipping against the carpet as you push your chair back. Reid steps aside just enough to let you stand, but before he can get too far, you reach out and wrap your fingers around his wrist, silently dragging him with you as you follow Garcia back through the bullpen.

Hotch glances up the second Garcia pushes open his office door.

“What’s going on?”

His tone is calm, automatic, already slipping into that low, calculated cadence he uses when he’s trying to talk someone down from the ledge. His gaze moves from her to you—and something in his expression shifts. Hardens. That muscle in his jaw ticking just once before he turns back to Garcia.

“What happened?” he asks, sharper now.

Garcia crosses the room quickly, opening your laptop and sitting it on his desk while you hover uselessly in the doorway with Reid still caught in your grip.

Hotch glances at the screen, his eyes flicking through the messages.

Then he looks back up—right at you—and something unreadable settles across his face. Something dangerous.

“Who sent this?”

Garcia spends the next five minutes explaining the entire situation at hyper speed while you just... stand there, leaning slightly against Reid like the whole world has tilted on its axis.

It’s funny how you can spend years building a career around finding bad people. Thinking like them. Predicting them. Profiling them. But the moment something happens to you—something real—that’s when all the theory suddenly stops feeling theoretical. And maybe it’s because you know exactly what people like this are capable of, or how quickly situations like this can escalate once someone decides they’re emotionally invested in you.

Or maybe it’s just the horrifying realisation that some part of you knew where this was heading all along. And you still didn’t do anything about it until now. Not until you put yourself—and your friend—in danger.

“Get everyone in the briefing room,” Hotch says the second Garcia finishes. “Now.”

Garcia nods once before slipping back out the door, and only then do you finally let go of Reid’s wrist—making a mental note to apologise later for the excessive physical contact.

Hotch’s eyes drop down briefly, following the movement almost automatically. Something tightens in his expression for half a second before his attention snaps back to the laptop still open in front of him.

“Reid,” he says. “Print the entire message history and document everything. Full timeline, screenshots, attachments—all of it. I want copies ready for the team in ten.”

You swallow hard. “The—the entire message history?”

“Yes,” Hotch says simply. “Every message.”

Could this day get any worse?

Fifteen minutes later, you’re back in the briefing room with the entire team flipping through printed copies of your dating profile and messages. It almost feels like an out-of-body experience. Like one of those mortifying dreams where you watch everything unfold from above without any real ability to stop it.

“Okay,” Prentiss says. “Where do we start?”

“Victimology,” Morgan answers immediately—then he glances at you. “Sorry, baby girl.”

You wave him off. “Reid’s been profiling me all week. Go for it.”

There’s a quiet ripple of laughter around the table, but Hotch barely blinks. He’s sitting on the opposite side, between Prentiss and JJ, with his arms folded tightly across his chest and gaze fixed on the copies spread out in front of him like he’s trying very hard not to look directly at you.

“We need to be careful building a victimology this early,” he says evenly. “Especially considering how well we know the victim. Personal familiarity creates bias.”

Reid tilts his head. “Normally, yes. But stalking crimes are often highly individualised.” He starts flipping through the printed messages as he talks. “Statistically speaking, stalking victims are usually targeted for a very specific reason. The motivation is generally rooted in either resentment, fixation, revenge, or romantic obsession.”

You grimace. “Fantastic.”

“Most victims also know their stalkers,” Reid continues. “Approximately seventy-five percent of stalking cases involve some form of prior relationship or perceived emotional connection.”

“Okay,” JJ says carefully, looking toward you. “Is there anyone you can think of who might hold a grudge against you? Someone you arrested, rejected, testified against—anything like that?”

You snort quietly. “Does every criminal I’ve ever interviewed count?”

The room goes still for half a second.

“Wait,” Prentiss says, sitting forward slightly. “Actually, that makes sense.”

Hotch’s eyes flick up as Prentiss pushes one of the printouts into the middle of the table, tapping the page.

“This escalation happened fast. Less than a week. That’s not somebody slowly building emotional trust from scratch—that’s somebody who already came into this interaction emotionally invested.”

“Or angry,” Morgan adds.

“Exactly,” Prentiss says. “He doesn’t lash out until she has Garcia over. That’s jealousy. Possessiveness.”

You sink lower in your chair.

“And he starts reacting every time she brings up her boss,” Rossi says, flipping through the printouts. “That’s territorial behaviour. He’s fixating on a prominent male figure in her life.”

“Not the only one fixating on him,” Reid murmurs beside you.

You elbow him immediately.

“Ow.”

Hotch glances up sharply. “Something to add, Reid?”

Reid straightens. “Uh—no. No, I think Rossi covered it.”

Hotch’s eyes narrow slightly, like he knows there’s something he’s missing, but he lets it go.

“Garcia,” he says instead, “tell me you found something useful.”

“Oh, I found things,” Garcia says immediately, the rapid clacking of her keyboard echoing loudly through the conference room speaker. “Deeply unsettling things. Our creepy little internet goblin has been very busy.”

Prentiss frowns slightly, mouthing ‘internet goblin’ across the table to JJ.

“Okay, so—profile was created nine days ago using a burner email and a VPN bouncing between three different states, which normally would make me want to set my computer on fire, but our boy got sloppy.”

Hotch leans forward slightly. “How sloppy?”

“Sloppy enough that one login pinged off a public Wi-Fi network less than six blocks from her apartment last night,” she says. “And before anybody asks, yes, I’m already pulling traffic cams.”

Hotch nods once, already shifting into command mode.

“Morgan, Prentiss—start canvassing within a ten-block radius of her apartment. Garcia will feed you anything useful from the traffic cams. JJ, coordinate with local PD and see if there’ve been any complaints of suspicious activity in the area. Peeping, prowlers, stalking complaints—anything that fits this escalation pattern. Rossi, start pulling names from old cases. Anybody with a history of fixation, stalking behaviour, or inappropriate attachment to investigators. Garcia, keep digging and keep me posted.”

Everyone starts moving immediately, papers shuffling and chairs scraping back as the room shifts into motion.

“I want to help,” you say suddenly. “This is my mess, let me fix it.”

“You can help,” he says evenly, “by going home, locking your doors, and staying there until we know exactly what we’re dealing with.”

You open your mouth to argue.

“I mean it,” he adds, voice low.

“I’ll take her,” Reid offers immediately.

“No,” Hotch says, gathering the printouts into one neat pile. “You go with Morgan and Prentiss.”

Then his eyes flick up, meeting yours.

“I’m taking her home.”

The next hour is one of the strangest of your life.

Hotch tells you to take your laptop back down to Garcia, who’s already in full FBI investigation mode—her screens covered in maps, metadata, CCTV stills, and enlarged screenshots of your own dating profile staring back at you in horrifying definition. When you finally make it back to your desk, Rossi spends twenty straight minutes walking you through every violent offender you’ve interviewed in the last three years, forcing you to revisit dozens of interactions you’d long since filed away as routine.

Somewhere in the middle of it all, Morgan drops a schematic of your apartment building onto your desk and starts questioning you about entrances, exits, blind spots, and security cameras while Reid quietly replaces the coffee you forgot existed an hour ago. It isn’t until Morgan leaves and JJ immediately takes his place beside you that you realise nobody has let you out of their sight for more than a few minutes at a time.

Then, finally, Hotch steps out of his office—files in one hand and his go-bag in the other, like he fully intends on staying the night if necessary.

“Ready?” he asks, stopping beside your desk.

You stare at the go-bag for one long, deeply horrified second.

“Yep,” you manage, voice tight as you slowly push out of your chair.

Hotch drives. You don’t even try to argue. You just sit in the passenger seat with your knees pressed together and your heart beating out of your chest. It’s not like you haven’t been in the car with him before. You have, plenty of times. This just feels... different.

Neither of you speak until he cuts the engine in the parking garage of your building, and you have to try very hard not to dwell on the fact that he hadn’t asked for directions the whole way here.

“Wait,” he mutters before climbing out of the car.

He grabs his bag from the back, then moves around the car and opens your door.

It takes an embarrassingly long time for you to unbuckle your seatbelt—your hands are shaking and your pulse is still pounding hard enough to make you dizzy—but once you finally do, you slip out of the car and lead him toward the fire stairs.

He never leaves more than a foot of distance between you. Never checks his phone. Never glances down. He stays glued to your side like a real protection detail. And thanks to your avid and wildly inappropriate imagination, you’ve already mentally written an entire bodyguard romance plot starring Aaron Hotchner and yours truly by the time you finally reach your apartment door.

“I—uh—wasn’t really expecting company,” you say as you push the door open. “Sorry.”

The second you step inside, Leia leaps off the couch with a loud, rumbling trill—probably wondering why you’re home before dark for the first time in years.

Hotch pauses, his brow furrowing slightly. “You have a cat.”

You glance back at him as you kick your shoes off and nudge them out of the way. “Is that really the most surprising thing you’ve learned about me today?”

He watches Leia for another second before glancing back at you. “It’s unexpected.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore the way your heart skips when he quietly toes off his shoes beside the door without even asking. Like he already expects to stay awhile.

Leia chirrups again as she pads through the living room toward you, no doubt about to demand an early dinner—until she catches sight of Hotch and abruptly stops short. Her ears flicker, her tail waving from side to side as she assesses the new man in her apartment.

Hotch crouches slightly, holding one hand out toward her.

“Oh, she doesn’t really like people,” you say quickly. “So don’t take it personally if she—”

Leia immediately walks straight up to him. She sniffs his hand once before pressing directly into his palm with a loud purr rumbling through her entire body.

Your eyes go wide.

Traitor.

Hotch’s mouth twitches faintly as Leia leans harder into his hand.

Oh my God. Are you jealous of your cat right now?

He gives Leia one final scratch behind the ears before straightening, the softness in his expression fading almost immediately as he slips back into work mode. He scans the apartment briefly before setting the files down on your tiny dining table and shrugging his jacket off, draping it over the back of a chair.

You stand there for a second longer than you probably should, watching him move through your apartment with the same calm focus he brings to crime scenes and briefing rooms and interrogation tables. He checks the windows, the balcony doors, glances briefly—thank God—into your bedroom, then double-checks the locks on the front door.

The whole thing feels weirdly surreal. You’ve imagined Aaron Hotchner inside your apartment a thousand times in a thousand different ways—just not like this. And nothing you imagined could have possibly prepared you for the reality of it. The way everything feels so much smaller. Warmer. More exposed.

Every object in every room suddenly feels mortifyingly personal.

If he lingers long enough in your kitchen, he’s going to notice the unusually empty trash can and realise you survive almost entirely on caffeine and convenience. If he looks too closely at your bookshelf, he’s going to find an unhealthy collection of romance novels with more trigger warnings than plot points. And if he looks into your bedroom again and turns his head just a little more to the right, he’s going to see your vibrator sitting on the nightstand—and then you’ll actually have to fake your own death.

Because you’ve spent years carefully curating a version of yourself that keeps people from looking too closely. Flirty. Casual. Detached enough to joke about bad dates and hookups and sex without anybody ever realising that none of it means anything. It’s easier that way. Easier to let everyone assume your attention is scattered in every direction instead of fixed very specifically on the one person you absolutely cannot have.

But this?

This feels dangerously close to being found out.

The next couple of hours pass in strange, uneven waves of normalcy and low-grade psychological torture.

Hotch sits at your tiny dining table without complaint, dwarfing it as he hunches over files and asks careful questions about your routines, your neighbours, and whether anyone in the building has seemed overly interested in you recently. His phone rings a lot, which isn’t unusual, and every time he answers it you spend almost the entire conversation staring unashamed at the way his shirt pulls tight across his back when he reaches for another printout.

Which is wildly inappropriate considering the circumstances, but you can’t really help it. You’re strung out, on edge, and, as Morgan so helpfully pointed out this morning, severely under-fucked.

And Leia, unfortunately—but not unsurprisingly—remains no help whatsoever.

By seven o’clock she’s fully abandoned you in favour of draping herself across Hotch’s lap while he reviews new data from Garcia, completely oblivious to the fact that you haven’t been able to breathe normally since he walked through the door.

“Are you hungry?” you ask eventually, moving back into the kitchen as if you have anything in there to offer.

Hotch glances up from his laptop, one hand resting absently against Leia’s back while she purrs in his lap.

“I’m fine.”

You lean a hip against the kitchen counter, folding your arms tightly across your chest. “Any updates?”

He glances back down at his screen. “Garcia narrowed the traffic footage down to three vehicles that stayed in the area longer than they should have—Morgan and Prentiss are running the plates now. And Rossi’s pulling relatives connected to your previous cases. Family members who attended trials, sentencing hearings, interviews. Anyone who might’ve had access to your name outside the official reports.”

You nod slowly, silence settling again for a moment before you exhale sharply.

“Are you sure sitting here doing absolutely nothing is really the best use of me right now?”

His eyes flick back up, that signature Hotchner scowl set between his brows.

“You think this is nothing?”

His voice stays calm, but there’s something firmer underneath it now.

“You’ve spent the last four days being threatened, surveilled, and followed by someone we still haven’t identified,” he says. “Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid are out chasing leads because somebody targeted you. Rossi’s pulling case files because somebody targeted you. Garcia’s been at her desk for six straight hours because somebody targeted you.”

His jaw tightens slightly.

“My job right now is making sure nothing happens to you,” he says quietly. “Let me do that.”

Your breath catches, something warm and uncomfortably familiar twisting in your chest as Aaron Hotchner just sits there watching you like he hasn’t said anything unusual at all.

Which, to him, maybe he hasn’t.

He’s just doing his job. Looking out for his team. He’s not here because he wants to be. He’s here because someone threatened one of his agents.

That’s all.

You clear your throat, pushing away from the counter before the silence stretches too long. “I’m—uh—I’m just going to shower quickly. If that’s alright.”

He nods once. “Want me to clear the—”

“No,” you say immediately. “God, no. No. It’s fine. Totally fine.”

His brows pull together slightly, confusion flickering briefly across his face before you turn and hurry into your bedroom, shutting the door a little harder than necessary behind you.

Then you take the longest shower known to mankind. You stand beneath the scalding spray for at least ten minutes before even touching anything. Then you scrub, exfoliate, shave, condition, rinse twice, and stand there for just a little longer before finally gathering the courage to step out. All the while trying desperately not to think about the fact that your unit chief is only two thin walls away while you’re dripping wet and completely naked.

You rummage through your dresser until you find an oversized sweater that isn’t totally threadbare and a clean pair of pyjama shorts. Technically, they’re just striped flannel pants you cut into shorts, but at least they’re not as short as the rest of your pyjama collection that definitely needs replacing.

If only you actually had time for things like shopping... and emotional stability.

“No, wait for Morgan before you approach,” Hotch says as you step quietly back into the living room, phone pressed against his ear while he paces slowly beside the dining table. “If the registration’s fake, I don’t want you making contact until we know exactly who’s inside.”

He pauses, expression sharpening slightly.

“Alright. Keep me updated.”

He lowers the phone slowly before looking over at you for the first time since you re-emerged—and for half a second, he visibly loses his train of thought. It’s only tiny. Barely there. Just a brief pause before his expression shutters back into place.

“Garcia tracked one of the vehicles from the traffic footage to a motel outside Arlington,” he says, glancing back down at the files scattered across the table. “The driver’s been masking his activity through multiple VPNs, so she couldn’t pull a clean trace from the motel Wi-Fi, but only one room in the motel was actively using the network.”

Your stomach tightens.

“The name on the reservation was fake,” he continues, “but the room was paid for using a credit card belonging to Daniel Mercer.”

The name hits you immediately.

“Ethan Mercer’s brother,” you say quietly.

Hotch nods. “Rossi confirmed it about twenty minutes ago. Morgan and Prentiss are waiting for local PD before they move in.”

You nod slowly, your pulse fluttering anxiously in your throat as you move toward the kitchen. Not because you actually need anything in there, but because standing still feels almost impossible right now.

“Ethan barely spoke during the trial,” you murmur, folding your arms as you lean back against the counter. “I don’t think I ever even met his brother.”

“You wouldn’t need to,” Hotch says, already gathering the files into a neat pile. “People build attachments to investigators without ever interacting directly. Especially when they’re looking for someone to blame.”

Your skin prickles. “You really think it’s him?”

“It fits,” Hotch replies evenly. “Established emotional investment, personal motive, no prior record. Which explains the inconsistency. The escalation without follow-through. The long gaps between contact attempts. He knows enough to be cautious, but not enough to stay controlled.”

He straightens, turning back toward you—and for the briefest second, his eyes drop to your bare legs before snapping back up to your face almost immediately.

He clears his throat. “This probably isn’t something he’s done before. But his brother has.”

The apartment falls quiet again after that. Hotch returns to collecting files while you stare absently toward the dark balcony doors, your pulse still refusing to settle beneath your skin.

“Well,” you mutter eventually, gripping the edge of the counter to hoist yourself up. “On the bright side, I still think I’ve dated worse.”

The joke leaves your lips lightly enough, the same way they always do—easy, detached, halfway between genuine and ironic so nobody ever pauses long enough to look too closely.

Except this time Hotch does pause.

“Why do you do that?”

You frown. “Do what?”

“Deflect.” He straightens again, one hand still holding a stack of printouts. “Every time something gets too serious, you make a joke. Or you flirt. Or you say something just inappropriate enough to throw people off balance.”

You lift a shoulder. “Maybe I’m just charming.”

“No.” His eyes narrow slightly, brows pulling together. “No, because it changes depending on the situation.”

Your pulse stutters.

“With Morgan it’s competitive,” he continues, setting the papers back on the table. “You tease him because he pushes back and it keeps conversations superficial. Garcia gets exaggerated stories because she responds emotionally instead of analytically. Half the things you say to Reid are specifically designed to make him flustered enough to stop examining what you actually mean.”

“Wow,” you murmur, shifting your weight against the countertop. “Starting to feel a little attacked here.”

But Hotch doesn’t seem to hear you.

“The dating profile doesn’t fit,” he says, almost to himself. “Neither does the apartment.”

Your stomach twists as his gaze moves briefly across the room. The bookshelves. The carefully organised clutter. Leia now curled up asleep on the couch.

“You project someone impulsive. Social. Sexually confident. But nothing in here supports that.” His eyes flick back toward you again. “You live like someone who protects their space carefully. Even the cat.”

“Leave Leia out of this.”

“She doesn’t like strangers.”

“She likes you.”

The words slip out too quickly, and something in his expression shifts.

“You keep people at a distance,” he continues slowly, close enough now that you can hear the quiet rasp beneath his voice. “Even the team. You let people think they know you because it keeps them from looking closer.” He hesitates, brow furrowing. “Except Reid.”

Your fingers tighten instinctively around the edge of the counter.

“You trust him,” Hotch says. “Not just socially. Behaviourally. You anchor yourself to him when you’re stressed. Physical proximity. Eye contact. Redirecting conversations through him.” He pauses, watching you carefully now. “And earlier you said he’d been profiling you all week.”

Oh God.

“Which means Reid already noticed the pattern.”

He goes quiet for a moment, his expression tightening almost imperceptibly as he looks back over the last few months—years—in real time. You can practically see it happening behind his eyes. Every interaction. Every joke. Every look you thought you’d hidden quickly enough.

“You track me.”

The words come quieter now. Less certain. Like he’s still realising them.

“You know my routines,” he continues slowly. “You anticipate questions before I ask them. You look up when you hear my office door open even when you can’t see me.” He steps closer again. “You know when I need coffee before I do. You watch my reactions before anyone else in the room.”

Your breath stutters.

And Hotch notices immediately.

His expression shifts slightly as his eyes flick across your face, your posture, your hands still locked around the edge of the counter hard enough that your knuckles have gone pale beneath the kitchen lights.

“Your breathing changes when I get too close to you,” he says quietly.

He takes another slow step forward, close enough now that you have to tilt your head back slightly to keep looking at him.

“You stop fidgeting,” he continues. “You go completely still.” His gaze drops briefly to your hands before lifting again. “Like you’re afraid movement alone is going to give you away.”

Your heart is beating so hard now you’re half-convinced he can hear it.

“You lose verbal fluency,” he says, voice lower now. “You trip over words you normally wouldn’t. Your pupils dilate. Your heart rate increases. And every single time I get close to noticing it—”

His eyes lock onto yours.

“You redirect.”

You can barely breathe now.

He’s standing right in front of you, close enough that the heat rolling off him sinks straight into your skin, close enough that one more step would put him between your knees where you’re perched on the counter.

And somehow the worst part is that he still sounds calm. Thoughtful. Like Aaron Hotchner is profiling you with the same careful focus he’d bring to an unsub—except this time the thing he’s slowly uncovering is the fact that you’ve been hopelessly in love with him this entire time.

You swallow hard, your gaze catching just briefly on his mouth before you drag it back up to his eyes, pulse hammering so hard you can barely think straight.

“Figured it out yet, Agent Hotchner?” you ask softly.

He goes still for half a second, something unreadable flickering across his face as his eyes drop to your mouth before lifting back to your eyes again.

The apartment suddenly feels oppressively quiet.

His throat shifts slightly.

And then—

His phone rings.

He steps back immediately, his expression shuttering back into something careful and unreadable.

“Hotchner,” he says, pressing his phone against his ear.

You don’t hear much after that. Not really. You recognise Morgan’s muffled voice, but you can’t quite hear what he’s saying. Not while Hotch slowly paces your living room. You catch fragments of the conversation. Questions. Short answers. The low, steady cadence of his voice slipping effortlessly back into work mode while your own nervous system continues actively collapsing in on itself.

Because holy fuck.

Holy fuck.

What the hell just happened?

“They got him.”

Your head snaps up. “They what?”

Hotch moves back to the dining table and starts gathering his things.

“It was him. Daniel Mercer,” he says. “Morgan and Prentiss found him in the motel room with multiple burner phones, printed screenshots from the dating profile, and enough surveillance material to establish intent.”

“Oh.”

“Local PD recovered notebooks too,” he continues. “Names, schedules, work addresses. Everyone connected to Ethan Mercer’s conviction. Judges, prosecutors, witnesses. You were first because you were the arresting agent.”

A cold shiver slips down your spine.

“Garcia also confirmed the motel Wi-Fi matched the same VPN chain used to access the dating profile,” Hotch adds. “Once Mercer realised the Bureau was involved, the direct contact stopped. After that he shifted to surveillance. Morgan said the room was covered in trial material. Photos. Notes. Newspaper clippings. He’d been building the grievance for months.”

He pauses, then looks at you.

“But they got him.”

“Good,” you say quietly.

Hotch nods once before turning back to the dining table, slipping his laptop into his bag with careful efficiency before gathering every file and printout into one neat pile.

“Local PD will hold Mercer overnight until federal transport clears,” he says, sliding the papers into his bag. “Garcia’s already started coordinating with the U.S. Attorney’s Office. You’ll need to give an additional statement tomorrow regarding the dating profile.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Hotch reaches for his jacket, draping it over one arm.

“There’ll still be additional officers patrolling the area tonight,” he says. “And if you don’t want to be alone, I can have Reid or Garcia stay here.”

“I’ll be fine,” you mutter, glancing down at the kitchen tiles. “You can stop babysitting me now.”

Hotch stills.

Then slowly, deliberately, sets his jacket on the table.

“Babysitting?” he repeats.

“You know what I mean.”

He steps toward you, brows drawn. “I don’t think I do.”

“You solved the case,” you mutter, heat crawling up the back of your neck. “You profiled me. Thoroughly. So congratulations, I guess. You figured out the whole sad little secret, the weird avoidance issues, the entire personality disorder cocktail—” You let out a short, humourless laugh. “You can go back to pretending none of this ever happened now.”

He closes the distance between you before you even fully realise he’s moving, stopping directly in front of the counter again. Exactly where he’d been when you asked him if he’d figured it out. Close enough that you can feel his warmth. Close enough that you can see the day-old shadow of stubble lining his jaw.

“You’re being deliberately provocative now because you’re embarrassed,” he says. “But embarrassment isn’t actually your primary response here.”

His gaze drops to your mouth again, and your pulse stumbles.

“If it was,” he adds quietly, “you wouldn’t still be looking at me like that.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

You want to say something. Anything. Another joke. Another deflection. Something sharp enough to cut through the tension in the air and stop him looking at you like this. Exposing you like this.

But you can’t.

All you can do is stare at him. At the steady intensity in his eyes. At the way his tie has loosened slightly over the course of the night. At the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the white shirt you’ve spent an embarrassing number of years picturing on your bedroom floor.

You swallow hard, and he notices. Of course he does.

Something shifts in his expression then. Something softer. Less guarded.

His hand comes up beneath your jaw, his thumb pressing gently into your chin as he pulls you closer. You fall forward without hesitation, and he leans in, dark eyes still searching yours as if he isn’t entirely sure he has permission yet.

Then he kisses you.

It’s not rushed. Not messy. If anything, the first press of his mouth against yours feels almost unbearably controlled, like he’s still holding himself back even now.

But the restraint doesn’t last long.

Your hand catches his tie, tugging him closer, and something rough slips from the back of his throat as he steps in, his hips slotting between your thighs. His hand slides from your jaw into your hair, fingers tightening just enough to tilt your head back exactly as far as he wants it.

Your lips part against his with a broken sound, and he deepens it slowly, his tongue moving against yours like he has all the time in the world. Tasting you. Learning you. Mapping every small sound and ragged exhale with the same focused intensity he brings to everything—and somehow that’s what undoes you the most. Not urgency. Attention.

His breath mingles with yours, hot and uneven, and when his teeth catch your bottom lip it’s deliberate, measured—a sharp little spark shooting straight through your spine. Your hips roll toward him without permission, and his answering groan rumbles through his chest, vibrating beneath your palm and making you ache everywhere you’ve been starving for him.

Then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly again. His hand still tangled in your hair. Thumb dragging once across your jaw. His eyes move over your face with the same intensity he uses in every debrief, every case, every crisis, except right now you are the thing he’s making sure of.

Like he needs to be absolutely certain this is real.

“Aaron—”

“Bedroom,” he says immediately, voice low and rough enough to send heat crashing straight through you. “Now.”

FRIDAY 6:15AM

Your alarm blares somewhere beside the bed, startling you awake hard enough that your heart immediately starts pounding. You reach for it blindly, determined to silence it before it wakes—

Oh God.

The second your hand hits the snooze button, you freeze.

Your heart is beating faster now, your pulse thrumming in your throat as you turn slowly—so slowly—toward the other side of the bed, where Aaron fucking Hotchner stirs sleepily.

Your stomach swoops.

You slept with your boss last night.

With a shallow, shaky breath, you carefully start to move. His arm is heavy at your waist, but you manage to slip out from underneath it without fully waking him. You shove the covers off and shiver at the sudden exposure, leaning over the side of the bed to find your discarded sweater. You pull it over your head before quietly padding toward the ensuite, refusing to glance back at your very hot, very naked unit chief still tangled in your sheets.

You only just make it around the other side of the bed before something tugs at the back of your sweater. You stop, glancing back to find Hotch half-awake, eyes half-lidded with one hand caught at the hem of your sweater.

“Do you really get up this early?” he asks, voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” you murmur. “Most days.”

His brows pull together slightly. “Why?”

You let out a small, breathless laugh. “Because my boss is kind of a hard ass about punctuality.”

Something that almost resembles amusement flickers across his face.

“Sounds like a terrible boss,” he murmurs.

Then he tugs on your sweater again—hard enough this time that you let out a startled laugh as you stumble backward onto the mattress and into him. He catches you easily, one arm wrapping around your waist before you can even fully recover, pulling you back against the warmth of his chest.

“Yeah,” you murmur, laughing softly as his mouth brushes beneath your ear. “He’s awful. Very demanding.”

He hums, breath warm against your skin.

“He’s really hot, though,” you add, smiling despite yourself. “So I like having time to put in a little effort, you know? Hope he notices.”

“Oh, he notices.”

Your stomach flips. “Really?”

“Mhm.”

His arm tightens around your waist. “He notices the skirts.”

Heat floods your face. “Aaron—”

“He notices the tights.” His mouth brushes against the nape of your neck. “The ones with the seam up the back.”

“Oh my God.”

You try to turn your face into the pillow, but he just holds you tighter, pressing his lips firm against your neck.

“And the red bra,” he murmurs.

Your breath catches.

“Noticed that so much I had to wait until everyone left the conference room before I could get up.”

You let out a strangled sound, squirming in his arms, but it’s no use. His chest vibrates against your back, something suspiciously close to laughter.

“My washing machine broke that week,” you whine. “It wasn’t my fault.”

“Mm, sure.”

You twist around immediately. “I’m not lying.”

The corner of his mouth twitches, like he doesn’t quite believe you, but before you can protest again—he kisses you. Warm, slow, sleep-soft. His mouth moves against yours almost lazily, his hand tightening slightly at your waist when a pathetic little whimper slips out before you can stop it.

“Careful,” you murmur, breathless against his mouth. “Don’t want to be late.”

You feel his lips curve.

“Good thing I’m the boss.”

10:35AM

You made it to work well on time. Even after three orgasms, a shower, and an awkward attempt at a ‘What Now?’ conversation—that ended in the aforementioned third orgasm. Because fortunately for your rapidly fraying nervous system, Hotch hadn’t even hesitated when you’d finally asked what happens next. In fact, he’d answered a little too quickly.

The first thing he’d asked was whether you’d be comfortable keeping things quiet for a while. Not because he’s worried about the team finding out—he trusts them. Trusts you. The concern is Strauss, and the Bureau, and keeping you in the BAU while he figures out exactly how much trouble the two of you have just created for yourselves. At some point he’d even started muttering about reporting structures and supervisory chains, half-thinking out loud while pulling on his tie. Something about possibly moving your reporting line over to Rossi. Something else about needing to review the Bureau’s fraternisation policies before making any moves.

That was when you kissed him—effectively, and very quickly, kicking off round three.

Because he’d clearly been thinking about this for a while, which means Aaron Hotchner has been noticing a lot more than just short skirts and inappropriately coloured underwear. It means that the second he decided to kiss you in your apartment last night, he’d already known exactly what he was getting himself into.

“Alright, gorgeous,” Morgan says, startling you as he raps a knuckle against your desk. “They’ll be ready for you downstairs in ten.”

You glance up at him, brows drawn—and it takes an embarrassingly long second for you to figure out what he’s talking about.

“Oh.” You blink. “Right. Yeah, I’ll head down soon. Thanks.”

Prentiss looks over from her desk. “You gonna be okay?”

You lift a shoulder. “Sure. What’s another case report?”

Morgan frowns, dropping into his chair. “It’s not exactly every day you’re the victim, baby girl.”

“Yeah, but nothing really happened.”

Morgan and Prentiss both stare at you.

“Because of the team,” you add quickly. “You guys caught him before he actually did anything. So... you know, nothing bad happened.” You plaster on a smile that feels reasonably convincing. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

Prentiss narrows her eyes, but before she can say anything else, Reid appears.

“You’re in a remarkably good mood for someone who was being actively cyberstalked twelve hours ago,” he says, stirring his second coffee of the day.

You turn back to your screen, trying to ignore the heat creeping into your cheeks. “Maybe I just have a newfound appreciation for life.”

Reid studies you for a moment, clearly unconvinced—but he doesn’t push. He just moves slowly back toward his desk, setting his coffee down with unnecessary care while the rest of the team turn away, finally deciding to mind their own business.

You force your attention back to the report in front of you, determined to at least look productive for the next ten minutes—when a familiar voice cuts through your concentration.

“Rossi’s taking Wallace with you next week,” Hotch says, setting the file down on your desk.

You blink up at him. “I thought you were leading the interview.”

“I was.”

Something in his expression tightens briefly before he lowers his voice.

“Wallace has a long history of using sex, intimidation, and emotional targeting to destabilise people during interviews,” he says. “Especially women.”

You frown. “Hotch, I—”

“And if he says something to you in that room,” he continues evenly, “or looks at you the wrong way, I need to know the agent sitting beside you is still capable of thinking objectively.”

Your stomach flips as his eyes meet yours—steady, intense, devastatingly honest.

“Right now,” he says quietly, “I’m not sure that’s me.”

Then he’s gone. Moving through the bullpen back toward his office like he hasn’t just set your pulse racing and your head spinning. You watch after him for a moment before shaking your head, glancing back at your computer screen as if you’d been focused on it at all in the first place.

“…Huh.”

You turn toward the sound and find Reid staring at you again. Not rudely. Just watching with the same focused curiosity he’d been wearing since your suspiciously cheerful comment about cyberstalking.

He tilts his head.

Then—

“Oh my God.”

You close your eyes. “Spencer… don’t.”

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