girl who can't control her addictions

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

“Is this okay?” He pulls away from you, a lock of his hair brushes against your cheek. 

You’re a little surprised by your own breathlessness.

“Absolutely.” 

“I umm… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” 

“What we’re doing is fine,” You plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth, and another on his jaw. “do you want me to get on top?

“Yes, please.” He nods, letting you put your hands on his shoulders as you ease him down onto the bed next to you before swinging your leg over his lap. 

His face is already red, god you love that, hair askew as he stares up at you with pupils blown, his hands awkwardly twitching at his sides.

“You can touch me, start with my waist and see what feels right.” You take his wrists, guiding his hands to your hips. You’ve obviously seen his hands before, but now, while they’re against your skin you’re surprised by how massive they are. Prominent veins along the back, and long, agile fingers, gripping the fleece fabric of your pants for dear life. 

His back arches off the mattress as he lets out a breathy whine, gasping as you press him back down. A rather noticeable bulge presses against your thigh in the process. 

Out of breath and needy beneath you, you come to a nauseating realization that you can’t believe you didn’t see sooner. 

Reid is fucking hot. 

You’ve noticed things before, he doesn’t have a completely terrible face, and he’s tall. When he wears fitted shirts you’ve certainly noticed an appealing figure, even if he’s annoying, you aren’t blind. His hair is always a mess, and he has no idea what he’s doing with it but right now, the way it falls in a pretty halo against your pillow… you’re feeling a little mesmerized by the discovery that he isn’t just objectively attractive. 

He’s hot, like really hot. 

Maybe it’s just the atmosphere, or maybe it’s situational, but right now, you’re noticing some perplexing details about him that just don’t add up with the irritating nuisance you’ve always taken him for. 

Like the curve of his lips, and the sharp angular point of his nose, you’d like to feel it pressed against your skin. His jaw is honestly a little ridiculous now that you’re really, properly, staring at him, it’s absurdly sharp, and he’s got a fucking movie star chin. And he’s clean, which is the oddest detail to notice, but his nails are recently trimmed and tidy, and he smells good. He clearly takes care of himself in a way most of the men you meet out at bars don’t.  

The way his hands twitch against the fabric of your pants, gently drawing them lower so he can run his fingertips against your bare skin is hot. The way his hips are desperately grinding up against you as you try to pin him down, is hot. And his stupid glasses are stupidly hot. 

“Is everything okay?” His voice snaps you out of it. 

Shit. 

“Sorry, yes, everything’s fine.”

“Can- can we keep kissing please?” His grip on you tightens as you let out an airy laugh.

Leaning down you cup his face with both hands, pressing your lips to his again, he’s hungry. His teeth graze your bottom lip as his tongue pokes at your teeth until you open your mouth. 

He doesn’t kiss the way you’d think a virgin would. He isn’t timid as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, desperate and ravenous. All teeth and tongue, and in a rush. One of his hands rests on the side of your face, his ridiculously large hands that practically engulf half of your head. 

 Eventually his hands wander, clearly nervous as he lets one slide down your thigh, the other slips under your shirt but he doesn't seem to have the confidence to drift any higher than your stomach. He whines when you break away from the kiss, taking his wrist you guide his hand up until your tank tops riding up and his hand is placed over your chest. You’d think you were granting him the greatest pleasure imaginable based on the way he moans, his head falling back in the process.

“Do you own any sex toys?” His voice is high pitched and strained. He squirms, breathing heavy as he cautiously squeezes, whimpering as his fingers dig into your soft flesh. 

The question makes your brows furrow. It’s not exactly the dirty talk you’re used to. 

“Yes, obviously, but I don’t see how that’s relevant.” 

“I’m just trying to plan ahead, while there’s no specific statistic, almost all men experience premature ejaculation when having intercourse for the first time. I’d like to have options to assist me afterwards since I doubt you’re going to achieve climax from ten seconds of penetrative intercourse.” He rambles, in that way you’re used to, except now his eyes are tightly shut, his fingertips glide over your nipple making your breath hitch. 

You stare down at him, eyebrows drawn together as you try and make sense of what he just said. Both of his hands return to their place on your waist, his fingers dig in just a little too hard, not that you mind  

“That’s…” Kind of sweet, in an insane, ‘only Spencer would think of that’ kind of way. “not something I’m really worried about right now. Let’s just focus on you right now.”

He nods and you take the opportunity to tilt his head up so you can nip at his neck, grazing your teeth along the edge of his jaw before you bite his ear. 

“Fuck-” He whines as you run your tongue over his ear lobe. You hardly have to grind your hips against his, he’s busying himself with doing it himself. His hands hold you in place as he thrusts up against you. You brace your hands on his shoulders, sitting up so you can look at him. 

His eyes are still squeezed shut tightly as he whimpers. His teeth dig into his bottom lip so hard you’re worried he’s going to break the skin. 

So fucking pretty. 

Unfairly so. 

The flush on his face and neck, the hair falling into his face, the noises he’s making. He’s so fucking loud. You’re sure you’ll be getting some dirty looks from your neighbors after tonight. Whining and groaning as he humps you, you haven’t even taken your clothes off and he’s putty in your hands. 

“Oh my god.” He keens as his head pushes back against the pillow. You wrap your fingers around his throat gently, with the intention of getting his attention but the sound he makes when you do catches you completely off guard. A strangled cry as he goes rigid beneath you, groaning as he gasps. “Fuck, shit… fuck.” He spits out a slew of curses through his teeth until his head falls back, the veins in his neck prominent as he cries out. 

No fucking way. 

Just like that there’s a wet warmth between your legs and a stain on his pants as he cringes. 

“I’m sorry.” He buries his face in his hands, you take the opportunity to tangle your fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp. 

You couldn’t be more thrilled, your grin spreads from ear to ear. 

“For what?” You try to keep the teasing tone out of your voice but it slips through. 

He only groans in embarrassment. 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s extremely flattering.” You tug on his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. You really do mean it, when was the last time you had this effect on a guy? Let alone a guy you hardly ever see in compromising positions? The most condescending, insufferable man you know just came in his pants before you so much as took your top off.  

This makes every correction, interruption, and outright rude comment he’s ever made, totally worth it. 

“Please don’t patronize me.” 

“I’m serious, don’t worry about it. How long does it normally take for you to recover? Do you need me to get you some water?” You start to lift off of him but he holds you in place, shifting his hips as he stares up at you. Face still hot with embarrassment.

“I’m all good.” 

“Are you sure?” His hips buck up against you, you have to brace yourself against the headboard so you don’t fall off of him but he gets his point across when you feel him already hardening again after just a few moments. 

Jesus. 

“Pretty sure.” He whimpers. 

“Why don’t you get on top for this part, I think if you control the pace you’ll last a little longer.” You climb off of him, laying back against the pillows. He watches, tongue poking out to wet his lips as you kick your pajama pants off, you wore a pair of pretty red panties for the occasion. He stares at you like it’s his first time seeing a woman, wide eyed and slack jawed. You can’t help but grin. “Take your pants off, Reid.” 

He nods frantically, he couldn’t move faster if he tried as he kicks his pants down to his ankles and off of the bed. There’s an obvious wet patch on his boxers and an impressive bulge you’re eager to set free. 

“Can you take those off too? And your shirt?” You point down and up, he simply continues to nod as he tosses his shirt aside, his fingers lingering at his waistband. You could ask him to do quite literally anything and in this moment he’d do it with a smile. 

You don’t even get to enjoy that fact because you continue to be faced by the horrifying truth of his hotness. 

Slender and scrawny Reid is hiding some fucking arms under those dress shirts and cardigans. He’s got a little blonde patch of chesthair, and his chest is about as toned as you’d imagine for a human encyclopedia. But his arms, you’re gawking at his biceps. It’s a subtle muscle, you get a really good look right as he’s pulling his shirt over his head as he flexes. 

You don’t get a lot of time to dwell on that as he shoves his boxers down, and there’s no going back. 

You watch as his cock slaps against his stomach and you can’t focus on anything else in the room. An asteroid could hit your apartment building and you’d still be staring at the monster between his legs.   

No fucking way.

“Jesus Reid, what the fuck?” You sit up straighter as he shoves his boxers down his legs until he’s kneeling in front of you completely naked. 

“What?” He’s quick to nervously cover himself with his hands but you kick his arms away as you stare, dumbfounded by the sight of him. 

“You’ve just been walking around with this thing? I’m surprised you don’t limp everywhere, you’ve got a third fucking leg.” 

“Shut up.” You didn’t think his face could get any redder but he proves you wrong, blush spreads down his neck, and across his chest. 

“Seriously, what the fuck?” 

“Was I supposed to announce it to everyone? It’s a slightly above average sized penis.” Maybe in the porn industry it’s slightly above average. 

Boy genius has the biggest cock you’ve ever seen, and you’ve seen plenty. 

“How is this fair?” Your eye is practically twitching.

“How is what fair?”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met and you’ve been blessed with this, and you don’t even use it.”

“I can’t be that annoying or we wouldn’t be here right now.” He mumbles under his breath, beet red at this point. 

You only scowl in response, laying back, you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“What do you want me to do now?” His voice is still tinged with a high pitched embarrassment. 

“What do you want to do?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious at this point.” It certainly is, his cock stands at attention, tip red and slick with his previous release. You can’t help but eye the thick vein running along the underside, from base to tip. Just like the rest of him, his cock is aggravatingly pretty. He shifts nervously. “Stop staring at it, you’re making me self conscious.” He grumbles.

“You have no reason to be self conscious, come here.” You pat the space between your legs, bending your knees so he can slot himself between them. “Take my panties off, Reid.” 

You don’t have to tell him twice. 

Nimble fingers wrap themselves around the fabric at your hips, lingering there and trembling softly as he runs the pad of his thumb across the lace band.

When he doesn’t make a move to pull them down you clear your throat. 

“So like… you know what to do, right?”

“Of course I know what to do.” He sounds a bit shrill.

“Would you like some guidance?”

“I just don’t want to mess up.” He sits back, fingers twitching against his palms. 

“You won’t, you’re too much of an overachiever for that.”

“I’ve seen a lot of videos, and I’ve read a lot of information, so I know there’s a few different things I can do to start. I just don’t want to do the wrong thing.”

“There is no wrong thing, Reid. It’s sex, it’s free flowing, it’s natural. Whatever you do is the right thing to do.” 

“But it’s you. And you’re staring at me with your eyes and touching me with your hands and talking to me with your mouth.”

He has such an endearing vulnerability about him. At work all you get is an argumentative, know-it-all, it’s a little jarring to see him so unsure. It makes you wonder if you should have done this at all. 

“Reid.” 

“What.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.”

“Really? Cause you’re looking at me like a frightened deer. I’m not going to disappear, and I’m not going to make fun of you. But you need to relax, if you don’t want to do this that’s fine but-”

“I do.” You believe it, he sounds almost panicked at the thought of not. 

“Then you need to relax.”

“Can you- can you just keep telling me what to do?” His head falls forward, staring down as he mumbles. 

“Do you like it when I do that?”

You brush his hair out of his face as he nods. 

“You can start by taking my panties off, you’ll feel a lot better if you aren’t the only one with your clothes off.” 

He does exactly as he’s told, this time when his fingers grip the fabric he’s quick to tug them down your thighs. You lift your hips to help him, watching as he carefully brings them to your ankles before removing them completely. 

The look in his eyes as he stares between your legs is exactly why you decided to give him a chance in the first place. 

Devotion.

His eyes are more pupil than iris as he stares silently, tongue poking out to wet his lips before he chews on them, a habit you’re noticing more and more from him. 

“I’m gonna need you to warm me up before you stick that thing in me.” You take his hand, resting it on your inner thigh, his fingers fidget nervously against you. “Why don’t we start with fingers, or if you want I can do it myself.”

“I want to do it.” He answers quickly, gripping the soft flesh of your thigh.

“Okay, start with one, and I’ll tell you when to add another.”

“Okay.” His breathing is heavy as you take him by the wrist, leading him gently between your legs, your breath hitches as his fingers slide between your folds, his cock twitches against his belly the second he feels the wetness pooling there. You guide him to your entrance, letting your eyes flutter shut as he finally presses a finger into you. 

It’s definitely been a while. 

You don’t want to make a fool of yourself but it feels so good to have another person touch you, especially considering the last couple of months have been entirely your own hand and toys. 

“Is this okay?” His voice is hoarse as he slowly starts to withdraw. 

“Perfect.” You squeak out, taking a deep breath. “I can probably take another.” You aren’t ready for it yet but the burn is so good you can’t help yourself. 

He’s happy to oblige, two fingers slide through the slick of your folds before delving into your cunt. He’s slow and precise as he moves in and out, hesitating when you groan, before repeating the motion that pulled that reaction from you in an attempt to hear it again. 

“Curl your fingers.” You dig your nails into the sheets around you, struggling to keep your voice even as he does so, hitting that spongey spot inside of you that makes your back arch off the mattress. “Just like that.” You hiss through your teeth.  

Oh he’s good. 

Your expectations were low, even if you didn’t want to tell him that, but he’s good. He doesn’t just do what’s hard or fast, when you open your eyes he’s studying you. Any noise you make, you make twice, because he tests everything. Curling his fingers, scissoring them, angling them up against you. His free hand eventually comes to rest on your pelvis, applying pressure as he simultaneously crooks his fingers, grinning when you cover your mouth with your hand in a failed attempt to stifle a groan. So rarely do you see such an earnest smile from him directed at you. Your reaction leaves him smiling like an idiot as he does it again, and again, and again, until you sit up and gently push on his shoulders until he withdraws his fingers.

“Where’d you learn that one?” You try to keep your voice steady, your core is buzzing from the sudden withdrawal.

“The internet.”

“For someone who claims to hate all technology you seem to spend a lot of time on the internet.”

“Sure do.” He shrugs, thankfully much less nervous. 

You can’t take your eyes off of him as you lean back, resting your head against the pillows as he brings his fingers to his lips with zero hesitation, as if it’s second nature to him. Moaning against them as he sucks them clean. 

Jesus. 

“Are you ready?” His fingers are still in his mouth when you ask, he hums as he nods. His dick literally couldn’t be harder, it looks almost painful, the weeping red tip, begging for a release you’re happy to give him. “Go slow.” Mostly for your benefit, you’re certain it’s going to hurt at least a little trying to cram his absurd dick into you. 

He continues to nod, as he moves closer to you, bracing himself with his hands on either side of your head as his cock pokes at your thigh. 

“Are you ready?” He mumbles as you give him a half smile.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You let your hand drift to the space between you, when you take his cock in your hand he whimpers, his entire body goes still as you help to line him up at your entrance. You don’t dare close your eyes now, you don’t want to miss the look on his face. 

The sound he makes when he slides through your folds is pornagraphic. Actually, it’s better than pornographic, in porn the sounds are always exaggerated and fake. The sounds he’s making are raw and real. You stare wide eyed as the space between his eyebrows creases, his lips parting slightly as his face scrunches up, if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was in pain, but you know better. 

“Oh my god-” His head falls back, you watch as his adams apple bobs, and best of all, you feel the stretch of his cock as he pushes into you. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” He whispers over and over again in an increasingly high pitched tone. Your headboard shifts as one of his hands moves to grip the wood.

He pushes inch by inch into you, the squiggly little vein on his temple looks like it might pop as he lets out a pitiful whine. You let out your own contented sigh as you bask in the feeling of being split open. It’s hard to believe you’ve been willingly denying yourself this feeling for so long. It’s even harder to believe you let Reid be the one to make you feel it. 

You thread your fingers through his hair as he bottoms out, his pelvis hitting yours. 

If you had known how good his cock would feel buried inside you, you would have unbuttoned his pants on your first day in the BAU and gotten on top of him right there at his desk. It feels like his dick was sculpted for you, thick and pretty, perfectly hitting every spot buried inside of you. 

“Oh my fucking god, oh my god-” He’s panting like a dog above you as he babbles on endlessly. “Holy fu- oh my god, fuck-” With a rather loud whine you can feel his hips twitching against yours, he continues to whimper, making little noises as his entire body tenses and your headboard creaks as he leans against it. 

Then there is a stillness. 

And a silence, in the dim light of your bedroom as he struggles to catch his breath. There’s a wet warmth between your legs as his cock slips out of you.

“I’m sorry.” He says sheepishly, when his head falls forward you can see that his smile is too genuine to convey any actual apologetic feelings. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” You run your hand from his wrist to his shoulder, simply touching him for the sake of touching him. “Do you feel okay?”

“I feel fucking fantastic.” What a shock it is to hear curses fall from his lips. “How do you feel?”

“Splendid.” You mean it, even if you aren’t necessarily satisfied, there is a pleasure in knowing that you’re the first person to see him like this. This version of Reid is so much more agreeable compared to what you’re used to. 

“Next time I’ll do better, I promise.” God, you’ll have to find a way to thank Emily without letting her know that this happened, he’s perfect. There’s nothing you love more than a man who’s eager to please. “Can I try to make you come?” The words sound foreign in his voice, like he’s unsure he’s using the right terminology. 

“Yeah of course, do you know what to do?”

“I think I can figure it out.” You can’t help but laugh at his confidence, he isn’t the first guy who’s told you he’ll ‘figure it out.’

“Have you watched a lot of videos?”

“Videos, forum posts, as many books as I could find on the subject, I read the book Sex for Dummies.” He’s lighter, and so much more at ease now when he speaks. 

“Is that a real thing?”

“It is, and it’s surprisingly helpful and informative.” 

“You’re unbelievable.” You sit up on your elbows as he sits back on his knees. “I’m sure you’re very well informed but I’m not the easiest girl to finish, I can do it myself first if you’d like.”

“I’d like to try and figure it out on my own first, if that’s alright with you. I would of course appreciate verbal cues from you if something feels good, or if it doesn’t” 

“I can certainly do that.” 

He bends your knees, reaching for a pillow he gently lifts your hips to slide it under you to give him a better view. He’s studying your cunt, eyes moving up and down as he sits back.

“Do you masturbate?” His eyes flit to your face as he asks, you can’t help but laugh.

“Everyone jerks off, Reid.” 

“Well I don’t know, I thought it might be different when you’re sexually active.”

“It is, sometimes I go a few weeks without doing it, sometimes I do it everyday, it depends more on my mood than my current partner.” 

“Hmm.” He nods, seemingly truly invested in the information you’re sharing with him. “How do you normally do it?” If you didn’t know any better you’d say his limp dick was starting to swell again. 

“I use toys, unfortunately these-” You hold your hand out in front of him, wiggling your fingers to show off your manicure. “prevent me from using my fingers most of the time. So I have tools to help.” While your arm is outstretched you take the opportunity to grab his hand, pulling him closer so his hand hovers just over your cunt. 

“Can I see them?”

“My toys?” You aren’t sure if you want him to, even if he’s been inside of you, it’s an oddly intimate thing to share. He nods, eyes so wide you can’t say no. “If you can make me come.”

He nods again, a determined look flickering in his eyes. 

With a surgical precision he separates your folds, examining your entrance with intense focus, with his other hand he pushes the come leaking out of you back in. Fingers scooping and pressing into you before pushing fully in, two digits sink into you, just as you’d instructed him to do previously, this time he curls them almost immediately. With a small gasp your eyes flutter shut. 

“What feels better, this-” He curls his fingers again, harshly. “or this?” He presses deeper before withdrawing swiftly and pressing deep again, holding his hand there the heel of his palm grinds against your clit, your head spins as you groan. 

“That, definitely that.” You grit your teeth as he repeats the motion, much slower this time as he finds his rhythm. Moving in and out ever so slowly as your fingers grip the sheets, an obscene wet sound accompanies his efforts. The hand that was parting your folds moves to your thigh to push your legs further apart as he crouches down, squinting as he looks you over, as if he can discern the secrets of the female orgasm by taking a closer look. 

The pad of his thumb swipes across your clit making you squeak as your hips buck involuntarily. 

Your eyes fly open when you hear the hiss of air and a sharp, wet sound, feeling a wetness dripping between your legs.

“Did you just spit on me?” 

“Proper lubrication can help to reduce friction, it’s for your comfort and pleasure.” He explains it like he’s presenting evidence, but you can see his cock swelling against his stomach again.

“Really?” You cock an eyebrow at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Really…” He rubs an experimental circle against your clit, spreading his spit across the bundle of nerves as your breath catches in your throat. “I also saw it in a video once and thought it would feel good to do, and I was right, it felt amazing.” He mumbles that last bit as his concentration drifts back between your legs, all of his focus on you as he finds a solid pace between both of his hands. 

You alternate between arching backwards, with your head leaning back, and shifting forward when you can, watching him closely. 

His tongue pokes out between his teeth, his focus is almost comedically intense, but there’s nothing funny about the way he’s working his fingers. He continues to try different things, moving his thumb a certain way, applying different amounts of pressure. Shifting his fingers to be angled a certain way until he finds the perfect position to brush up against all your most sensitive nerves. 

He’s relentless once he finds a way to make your eyes roll back and your legs shake, robotic in nature as he repeats the motion perfectly, again and again.

“Fuck, Reid-” You mumble, trying to stop yourself as the words tumble out. The last thing you need is for him to get an ego about this after you just told him it wouldn’t be an easy task. 

“Does it feel good?” His voice is hoarse, coming out as a strained whisper.

“Mhmm.” You hum as your hips lift off the mattress an inch as he crooks his fingers a bit. Your head is spinning as you suck in another breath. He carries on like it comes naturally to him, as the knot forms low in your stomach. “Like that-” 

The instinct of most men when something feels good is to do that thing harder and faster, which never really works out for them. Reid seems to have better intuition than most men though, instead he maintains that delicious pace. Fingers buried deep within you as you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle the cry threatening to burst from your throat. 

Until the knot in your stomach tightens, until it pulls taut, and threatens to snap. 

Your toes curl, digging your heels down into the mattress as you lift your hips. Despite the way your hips twist around wildly he manages to keep it up, burying his fingers deeper until the knot snaps and you come, hard. 

Clamping down on his fingers as you let out a series of moans. You open your eyes just long enough to see the satisfied smirk on his face. His own eyes are hungry, never leaving your cunt.

The pressure in your head releases as you let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in, your body going limp as you reach down and shove his hand away, the overstimulation buzzing through your body as he continues to try and play with your clit. You don’t get a lot of time to recover because he’s back between your legs, hard cock in hand as he guides himself back against your entrance.

“Again already?” You raise an eyebrow but he’s too hyper focused on what he’s doing to answer. You’re wet enough that there’s no resistance as he slams back into you. The stretching feeling returns full force as he forces himself into your already overstimulated cunt. “Jesus, Reid!” 

The feeling of fullness is overwhelming. You manage to yelp as he thrusts into you a few times, the head of his cock hitting your cervix with every sloppy thrust until his head falls back and you see the now familiar sight of his eyes fluttering shut as he comes, immediately melting into a whimpering mess. His face and neck are bright red as he falls over beside you. 

As he sucks in a harsh breath his hand wanders back between your legs. You instinctively swat his hand away, too sore for whatever he’s trying to do.

“Are you done already?” There’s a tinge of disappointment in his voice that makes you laugh.

“For now, there’s no reason to wear yourself out on night one, Reid.” You’re still fighting to catch your breath.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to wear me out.” 

“Oh, I intend to find out exactly what it takes.” You sit up on your elbows, eying him. 

“Yeah?” You watch as he licks his fingers clean again. You could watch him do that for hours.

“This is just training for what I have planned for you, think of this as the academy, pretty boy. I plan on having you ready for field work in record time.” The nickname isn’t one you’ve used before, typically only Derek calls him that but it feels appropriate considering just how pretty he looks right now. 

He moves to lay beside you, a sheen of sweat coats his skin, he smells musky in a good way, a mix of earthy and sweet. The heat of his body has made the ends of his hair curl.

“I graduated top of my class, and I completed all of the courses in a tenth of the time it took the rest of my class. It would have been less time but they didn’t believe me when I told them I’d finished all of the course content.” He traces his fingers up and down your arm as he beams at you like the sun. It genuinely looks like he’s lost ten years worth of stress in the last hour, the constant tension he carries in his shoulders has melted away, and his eye bags almost seem less dark. You can’t help but put a hand on his shoulder, lightly scratching your nails against his pale skin.

“How’d you do on the physical assessment?"

“Worst in the group.” He grins, flashing his teeth at you.

“Poor thing.”

“I got over it, being the youngest person ever recruited for the BAU was a nice consolation prize.”

“I hope your stamina has gotten better since then, I intend to put you through some endurance training.” You dig your nails into his shoulder. 

He frowns as he theatrically groans. 

“Oh you’ll be fine. It’s clear to me based on how you act that you’ve never once denied yourself anything. You need to be told no every once in a while or you’ll get spoiled.”

“Can I see your toys now?”

You pull the blankets up and over yourself, an exhaustion muddling your thoughts as you yawn.

“In the morning, get some sleep, we can talk about it in the morning.” You roll over onto your side, facing him. He shifts awkwardly as he pulls his boxers back on.

“Should I… go sleep on the couch? Or I could go home and come back tomorrow.” He starts to get up but you gently grab his arm. 

You should send him home. That’s what you’d typically do after a night like this, but this isn’t a typical night. If this is going to be an ongoing thing between the two of you then it doesn’t hurt to let him spend the night. 

“Lay down, Reid.” He does as he’s told, shuffling underneath the sheets with you, laying on his side so you’re face to face. 

You try to ignore him and close your eyes but he makes it hard with the intensity of his stare. 

“Goodnight, Reid.” You mumble, eventually rolling over to escape his severe gaze. 

“Goodnight.” He whispers back. 

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

He might be in love with you. 

His feelings towards you have been confusing and complicated for quite some time. He’s never been able to properly put it into words before. There was resentment there, but now he knows that was likely because he couldn’t have you. And now he does, and he’s pretty sure this whole time those confusing emotions might have just been love all twisted up. 

He hasn’t ever been in love but this has to be the closest thing he’s ever felt to it. He has no interest in so much as looking at another woman ever again, why would he? He doesn’t need anyone else, not with you laying next to him. 

You’re so sweet, even when you’re being mean. It confuses him and it confuses his penis even more. 

He didn’t know you could be so sweet, that must be why everyone at work loves you. He can certainly see the appeal. You didn’t tease him, at least not while he was vulnerable, and you didn’t pull the rug out from under him at the last minute. Instead you made pretty noises, smiled, and touched his hair. 

He didn’t want to sleep, he would have much preferred to stare at you as you snored softly beside him but the exhaustion of the evening caught up with him quickly and before he knew it he was out. 

He woke up first in the morning, light filtering in through the blinds against his face. He didn’t open his eyes at first, there was a very real possibility that he had dreamed everything and you would be gone when he opened his eyes. He wanted to live in that fantasy for a little while longer. 

Yet when he opened his eyes there you were. 

Drool on your pillow, lips parted with each quiet snore, your tanktop straps slid down your shoulders. You look like an angel. 

He’s tempted to get out of bed and raid your bookshelf, you have so many titles he hasn’t ever heard of, he doesn’t care about the contents so much as he wants to feel closer to you. But he’s worried he’ll wake you if he moves so he doesn’t. He just enjoys the steady rise and fall of your chest with each breath.

When you do finally wake, a wave of unease crashes over him as he waits for you to furrow your brow and glare at him before kicking him out. Instead you smile, and his heart feels like it’s beating so fast it may burst. 

“Morning.” You rubbed your eyes and reached for him, he’s more than happy to wrap himself around you. 

“Good morning.” He murmurs, burying himself in your arms as he twists his arms around you, resting his head on your chest. 

“What do you want to do today?” 

“This.”

“There’s too much time in the day to only do this.”

“Well, what do you want to do?” 

“You mentioned a chess tournament at some point, it’s today right?”

“You actually want to watch that?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“It might be boring for you.” 

“I know how to play chess, Reid.”

“You know all sorts of things.”

“I do, in some cases I’d say I probably know more than you.” Your nails scrape against his scalp as you comb through his hair. He’d always thought your long nails were impractical, another way for you to draw attention to yourself. He won’t be raising any more complaints about them going forward, not when they feel so good against his skin. 

“What else will we do today?” He tries not to sound too hopeful when he asks. 

“We can do whatever you’d like.” 

He would like to touch you more, he feels like he’s only scratched the surface of your body. He’d like you to give him permission first and foremost, or preferably, you’d ask him for it. He’d like this version of you, the one that lets him into your bed and says sweet, mean, things to him, to be the only version of you. 

“Can I see your sex toys now?” You roll over, hiding your face in the pillow and groaning as he sits up. “You promised.”

Turning your head you peek up at him. 

“I suppose I did.” You just lay there for a moment until you sigh and lean off the bed, reaching underneath before throwing a shoe box down onto the bed in front of him. “If you tell anybody about this I’ll-”

“Kill me, deny it, never let me touch you again. I think we can just assume at this point that I don’t intend on telling anyone about any of this.” You roll your eyes at him as he reaches for the box. 

You lay back down beside him as he flips the lid up, eyes widening as he stares down at the contents. Immediately with a grin he picks up the silicone cock, holding it out towards you. 

“Really?” He can’t help the sarcastic tone that seeps into his voice.

“What? Most women have one, if you’re gonna be a dick about it I’m gonna put them away.”

“Do most women have one so pink and sparkly?” You yank it out of his hands, throwing it back into the box. 

“It doesn’t matter what color it is if it gets the job done.” When you cross your arms in front of your chest he picks it up again.

“And this little toy gets the job done?” He thinks about how your jaw dropped when you saw his dick for the first time. You stared with wide eyes and told him he was big, just thinking about it makes his face feel hot. He’s certainly bigger than this tiny thing.

“Big talk from someone who came immediately." Low blow, you always resort to those when you don’t have a better response.

“You promised not to tease me about that.”

“And I didn’t, I’m just stating a fact.”

He sets the dildo back in the box, lifting the next thing to demand his attention, a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs up. 

“Theres a lot to address in this box but these are certainly eye catching.”

“Don’t get too excited. I got those as a gag gift, Emily gave them to me for my birthday.”

“Have you ever used them?”

“No, I prefer real cuffs.”

His mind races at the thought, any witty retort he might have formed fizzles out. You, handcuffed to the headboard, with your arms behind your back, to an interrogation table. All the blood in his head rushes out of his brain straight down to his dick as he flits through the possibilities, you, on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head, doing whatever you want to him. 

“Earth to Spencer.” You're snapping your pretty manicured fingers at him as he blinks at you. 

“Sorry, I must have zoned out.” He drops the cuffs, pulling one of your throw pillows into his lap. “What’s this?” He holds up a silver pill shaped thing with a wire attached to it, leading to a small plastic remote with a wheel.

“That would be my vibrator.” He’s never seen a vibrator that looks like this and the confusion must be apparent on his face. You take it from him, when you spin the wheel and the silver pill buzzes to life on the bed. “Most women don’t own the big hitachi wands you see in porn. Those things are expensive.” You seemingly read his mind, he had in fact been picturing the larger wands he’s seen in countless videos. He does recognize the last thing in the box, another flash of silver. A very small silver plug with a pink gem at the base, in the videos he’s watched they were usually a lot bigger. He can tell by the way you’re raising your eyebrows at him that you’re waiting for him to ask about it, he decides against it. 

“I thought there would be more.” He tucks everything back into the box, sliding it back over to you.

“I think that’s a perfectly normal amount for a person to have.”

“You always make it sound like you’re hiding chains and whips in your closet.”

“Do you want me to invest in chains and whips?”

“You lie a lot at work.”

“You listen in on too many of my conversations.”

“You talk loudly, why make things up? I’m sure you have plenty of stories that are true.”

“Because I like to tell a good story, besides, most guys aren’t into that kind of thing.”

“Are you into that kind of thing?”

“I’m into everything.”

His dick is so hard it hurts. 

“And you would like a guy who is also into everything.”

“There’s that big brain of yours putting in the work.”

“So you would want a long term thing with that kind of guy?”

“Don’t be weird about it, Reid. I have no desire to put a label on this.” Of course you don’t, you have an avoidant personality and you’re terrified of the thought of someone getting close enough to see behind the strict facade you put on. “But yes, I think we’re in agreement to enjoy each other's company outside of work. It’ll help me relieve stress and hopefully you won’t be so uptight if you’re regularly getting laid.” 

He wants more than getting laid regularly. He wants you, now more than ever. But until he figures out how to get that this will have to do.

“So we agree that this is a long term thing?” He does his best to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.

“It’s a long-ish term thing. If you must have something akin to a label you could call this a friends with benefits situation.”

“So we’re friends now?”

You frown at him.

“Coworkers with benefits, BAU with benefits, enemies with benefits, whatever you want to call it.” He has lots of things he wants to call it, but he knows that if he does that you’ll run far away from whatever this is. 

Long-ish term thing.

He hates that. 

Now that he knows what it feels like to have you moaning underneath him he’s not sure he can handle life without it. 

It’s fine. 

It’s going to be fine.

He’s solved harder cases than this. 

When he gets a chance to focus on something other than how beautiful you look right now glaring at him he’s going to figure out exactly what it’s gonna take to get rid of the ish in long-ish term thing. 

  ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

You spend most of the day on your back. 

On the couch, on the bed, on your bedroom rug at one point. 

Spencer acts like he’s found some kind of groundbreaking discovery in your vagina. And if he doesn’t check on it often enough it might disappear or change. 

You get up to make breakfast and he offers to make coffee. When he hands you a cup you’re almost irritated at how good it is, he knows exactly how much creamer you like and he’s seemingly brewed better coffee than you’ve ever made with your shitty french press. 

When you moan at the taste and set the mug down he seemingly can’t help himself. That sound is like a dog whistle to him. He leans against the fridge, staring at you with a tent in his pants until you roll your eyes and smile at him.

“Do you want to do it?”

He doesn’t even answer you, you're simply dragged to the couch and he’s on top of you. 

The eggs end up burning but you’re happy to make more. 

When you tell him you’re going to try and finish the book you’re reading he follows behind you like a dog on a leash. He doesn’t bother you, letting you sit against the headboard he finds his own book from your shelf. It’s one you have read, Bride. 

The sight of him with a romance novel in his hands with his brows furrowed makes you burst into a fit of laughter. 

“What?” He already sounds offended.

“Nothing, I just don’t think that’s the type of book you usually read.”

“I read all types of books.” He seems insistent so you let him flip his way through it. You don’t get through more than a page of your own book because you’re too focused on him. The way his eyes get wide when he clearly gets to a sex scene, or how his eyes flit up towards you when he gets to a page you dogeared on your own read through. It only takes him a few minutes before he’s closing it and staring at you with a mix of horror and awe. “You read that kind of thing at your desk at work?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s porn! It’s extremely inappropriate! Can you imagine if I started reading a dirty magazine at my desk?” His face is red as he throws the book down onto your end table. 

“It isn’t all porn, there’s plenty of plot and story.”

“I’ve seen you reading this exact book at work before, I can’t believe you’ve been reading this type of thing on the clock.” He seems genuinely frazzled by the thought. You can’t stop laughing as his voice gets higher and higher. “I can’t believe you read this around other people!”

“Relax, Reid, all the women in the office read books like that at work. We actually have a little book club.” He puts his head in his hands as he groans. You’re sure he’s mentally recalling every book he’s ever seen J.J, Penelope, and Emily reading at work, trying to piece together the contents based on the titles he can remember. You put your hand on his leg as he runs his fingers through his hair nervously. “Isn’t it kinda hot though? To read something like that in public?”

That’s all you have to say to get him back on top of you, it’s almost too easy. 

After that sort of thing happens about five more times you tell him you have to shower. He stays in your bed, reading more of your books with a horrified look on his face. When you return in a towel he’s on his feet immediately, hands on your waist as he tries to guide you to the bed.

“I don’t want to get the sheets wet, let me dry off first.” You laugh but he’s quick to get you on the floor instead. Even if you know it’s only going to be a few seconds it feels too good to pass up on any opportunity to get his dick inside of you. 

Around 6:00 p.m. he orders dinner for you both, picking through the takeout menus on your fridge you don’t have to so much as lift a finger. One of the perks of his stalker tendencies is that he knows exactly what you want from the chinese place down the street. 

You set up the chess tournament stream on your television while he does that. Waiting on the couch until he joins you, even after he’s been inside of you he still sits on the other side of the couch, legs pressed together with his hands on his lap like he’s afraid of taking up too much space. 

“How long is the average chess game?” You slide closer to him, until your legs are touching. 

“You can’t really put a number on it, there’s blitz games, rapid games, standard games, tournaments are normally the longest.” He always relaxes when he’s explaining something he knows a lot about. 

Which is most things.

“How long is this tournament?”

“It’s a longer one, but the time will depend on how the match goes, it could be as quick as a few minutes, though I seriously doubt it, it’s much more likely to be between three to six hours.”

“That long?” 

“We don’t have to watch the whole thing if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to.” 

Thankfully it’s only the first match he’s interested in watching. Over the course of the next three hours you’re surprisingly entertained. He explains everything to you in a way that is shockingly not condescending. 

After half an hour the food arrives, and of course he’s ordered you your favorite dinner combo, you swallow a comment about how he’s a creep.

It’s kind of nice to have someone care so much about things like that.

He spends the rest of the match explaining the players origins and significance to the chess community. 

When he isn’t correcting you about something you said, his ramblings are surprisingly interesting. You don’t play a lot of chess but he explains every move made in great detail to you, it almost makes you feel smarter. An hour and a half into the match he tells you who the winner is going to be, and after another hour and a half, he’s proven right. 

He reaches for the remote when the match is over but you grab his wrist to stop him.

“Let’s watch one more.” You give him a reassuring smile, who knew the know-it-all was going to need so much encouragement after the day he’s had. 

“Are you sure? It could be another long match, we can watch something else if you’d like.” You’re sure, you’ve got plans to keep yourself entertained during this next game. 

“No, I want to watch this.” You move close to him, resting your head on his shoulder. He balls his hands up into fists in his lap when you do.

For someone who's come inside you multiple times today he sure is nervous. He isn’t typically. Awkward, sure, but nervous? You’ve found him to be overconfidant most of the time at work. 

You start with a hand on his thigh, ignoring whatever might be happening on the T.V. as you scratch your nails against the cotton of his sweatpants. 

“Take your pants off.” That’s all you have to say to have him lifting his hips up off the couch, he unceremoniously shoves his pants and boxers down to his ankles before he starts to get on top of you. “Sit down, Reid.” You keep your voice even as you click your tongue. 

It’s so refreshing to have him comply without argument. Anytime you’ve ever told him what to do at work you’ve always been met with a whine or a “you’re not my superior agent.” He has no problems with compliance now, as he sits back, staring at you with those doe eyes of his as his cock strains against his stomach. 

“You like when I tell you what to do, right Reid?” You’re pleased as punch when he nods hastily. Good, you like telling him what to do. “Then watch the game.” 

“What?” He squeaks. 

“Watch the chess match.” You say it a bit sterner this time, frowning at him until he does. His eyes dart back and forth from the screen to you until they settle on the screen. His teeth are digging into his bottom lip as he stares, unfocused at the game. 

When you’re certain he’s watching you reach forward, he hisses through his teeth when you wrap your fingers around the base of his shaft. When he starts to look towards you you grab his chin with your free hand, gently guiding his attention back to the screen as you move at a snail's pace with your first stroke up and down his length. 

“Watch the game Reid. And tell me when you’re about to come, if you don’t I’m not going to be happy.” You whisper as you let go of his face. Watching the way his throat bobs as he nods. “I’d like you to tell me what you’re going to do.” You settle your hand back at the base of his cock, unmoving as he lets out a whine. 

“I’m going to watch the game and tell you before I come.”

You make a tsking sound at him, tightening your grip just enough to be noticeable. 

“Not before you come, when you’re about to.”

“What’s the difference?” His voice edges towards a whine as you slide your hand up his length, letting your thumb brush up against the pretty pink tip of his cock. 

“You tell me when it’s about to happen, that doesn’t mean it’s going to. Before implies an after, there isn’t going to be an after because you aren’t going to come until I give you permission.” He gives you a skeptical look the entire time you speak, there’s a moment of silence before he opens his mouth. 

“But what if I-” You swipe your thumb over his tip, and then trace a little circle over it as his words turn into a whimper. 

“You aren’t going to come until I give you permission.” You repeat yourself, still in a whisper. 

And he fucking pouts. 

Bottom lip jutting forward, brows furrowed and wide eyes filled with a dramatic sadness. 

Poor Spencer.

You’re a little embarrassed at how wet you are. Thank god you don’t have a penis that would give you away every time he does something stupid that arouses you. 

“Don’t you want to make me feel good?” You match his pout, batting your eyelashes at him theatrically, his frown deepens as he nods. “Then you’re going to need to build up your stamina. We’ll both be happier that way.” 

“But-”

“No, but.” You shake your head, at him, faux pity coating your words. “You’re going to tell me, or I’m going to be very cross with you.” 

He nods as he continues to pout. 

You continue to move slowly, up and down the length of him, keeping your grip tight and controlled. It doesn’t take much to get him there, almost immediately his legs tremble, his fingers dig into your throw pillows. His cheeks are bright red as he takes a shaky breath. You drag the pad of your thumb in lazy circles against his leaking tip until he gasps. 

“I’m gonna-”

“No, you’re not.” You slide your hand down his shaft, tightly squeezing him around the base of his cock, still and firm.

His head falls back as he lets out a pathetic whine. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he makes a pained sound. 

“Oh come on, Reid.” You can’t help it as you smirk at him as he continues staring at the ceiling. “You can’t already be whining, that’s only the first one.” 

“First?” He groans as he sits up straighter. “How many times do we have to do this?” You almost laugh at how frantic he sounds, instead you give him a knowing smile. 

“Until the game is done, silly.” He practically jumps out of his seat when you squeeze his cock again. 

“I can’t do that!” His voice hitches up, it’s the argumentative tone you’re used to from him. But instead of irritating you, it only serves to egg you on.

“You can, and you will.”

“We don’t even know how long this match will be, it could be hours!” His voice just gets higher and higher. 

You only shrug in response. 

He starts to sputter but stops, instead he scowls. 

“I could just do it myself if you won’t let me.” There’s that attitude you know all too well. 

“You won’t.”

“Why not?” He raises his eyebrows at you, pretty bold for someone whose cock is still in your hand. 

“Because you want to make me happy.” He opens his mouth but any response dies in his throat as he starts to chew on his lip, clearly thinking. “You want to make me happy, and you want to make me feel good. And you know that if you can control your dick for more than twenty seconds you might be able to feel really good. And you want me to feel really good, don’t you Reid?” With another gentle squeeze of his dick he’s putty in your hands.

“Yes-” He hisses as you trail a finger along the vein on the underside of his cock. “Yes, I- I want to make you feel really good.” He manages to stutter the words out as his dick twitches against your hand.   

“I thought so.” You nod, your expression is one of mock sympathy as you start to stroke him again, you don’t bother trying to get him to pay attention to the match. He can hardly keep his eyes open.

Luckily for him it doesn’t actually end up being that long of a game compared to the last one.

Over the course of an hour you bring him to that edge probably a dozen times, until his forehead is slick with sweat and he can barely longer speak. He simply whimpers and chews on his lip with his head thrown back, and like the good boy you knew he could be, he tells you each time he’s about to come. 

Not once does he beg you to let him finish. 

He really does want to please you. You’re reminded again and again that he’s perfect. 

You know it’s going to end in a forfeit when he manages to pay attention long enough to look over the board and sigh in relief. Not even ten minutes later one of the men knocks his king over and Spencer’s practically in tears at the sight. 

“You did so good.” You can’t help but smile, even if he can’t seem to stop his eyes from squeezing shut. 

“Mhmm.” He hums, quietly as you pick up the pace, the tip of his cock weeps, red and desperate for the release he’s earned.

“You know the best part about having to wait for it?” You rest your head on his shoulder once more, he’s sweating profusely but it doesn’t bother you one bit. 

“I- umm- no I don’t think- I-” His words come out half formed and slurred. 

“It feels so good when it finally happens.” He’s making a conscious effort not to finish in your hand as you continue to jerk him off, you’re actually impressed. He’s certainly earned his release. “I want you to come, Reid.” Halfway through your sentence his hand grips your wrist as his cock spasm against your palm, you continue to stroke him through his orgasm. 

His mouth falls open, lips wet and swollen from where he’s been chewing on them. You’re never going to be able to face your neighbors after thing, he’s so loud. Crying out as he repeats your name over and over again. 

You figured with how many times he’s come today he wouldn’t make too much of a mess. You thought wrong, his stomach is covered in his release as you rest your hand on his thigh. You give him a coy smile as he struggles to catch his breath. While he’s still out of it you hop up off the couch, quickly making your way to the kitchen to get him some paper towels and a glass of water. When you return his cheeks are flushed, and he’s staring at you with wide, dark eyes.

There’s too much behind those eyes. Too much beyond lust, an appreciation, a devotion. 

That’s what you wanted? Isn’t it? You wanted someone devoted to you without any string attached. You wanted someone who liked to have fun, someone who would enjoy it as much as you do. And that’s all this is.

You shake off the thought, focusing on the mess he’s made instead.  

He protests when you start to clean him up but you just shush him. Wiping up the mess and handing him the glass. He eagerly gulps it down in between hitched breaths. He pulls his pants up as you turn the television off. 

“Ready for bed?” You’re still smiling broadly as you say it.

And he returns your smile tenfold. You’ve never seen someone so happy because of an orgasm. 

He follows you to the bedroom, you flick the lights off in the apartment. When he joins you in your bed he lays beside you, resting his head on your chest. 

It’s the kind of thing that’s too intimate for what this is. Too personal. But you don’t have the heart to tell him that, not when he wraps his arms around you so tightly. Not when he did such a good job.

You feel… weird. 

Obviously you feel good, that was unbelievably hot. And he feels good, you nearly put him to sleep. His chest rises and falls slowly beside you, if he isn’t already asleep he’s about to be. You just feel weird. There’s an unfamiliar fluttering in your chest.  

“You’re right.” He mumbles against you. 

“About?” You whisper back to him, you can’t stop yourself from tangling your fingers in his hair, without thinking about it you lightly scratch his scalp.  

“About having to wait for it.” His voice sounds a thousand miles away when he says it, it’s the same tone he uses when you’ve been at a case for days and he finally finds some missing piece. He sounds so far away, it makes whatever is happening in your chest stir. Like you’ve got a bunch of butterflies loose in your ribcage. “It really does feel so good when it finally happens.”

  ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

i don't have a tag list but you can follow @holymolynotifications for updates!!

★

The BAU had a pretty serious reputation.

Highly skilled, highly specialized, and highly exclusive. 

You had a plan. Once you graduated from the academy you would get yourself assigned to a nearby field office, something in Virginia. After a few years in the field, once you prove yourself, you will go directly to Quantico and meet with the unit chief, in person, to show how serious you are about being a profiler. 

Half of your class had similar ambitions but you were serious. You already had your degree in psychology and with your abilities you could be a useful asset to their team.

You have the drive and the ambition to make it happen, you’re certain.

So imagine the look on your face when SSA Aaron Hotchner approached you one day after class. 

Your hands trembled when you shook his. 

Your head was spinning, you caught bits and pieces of what he was saying. 

“Highly recommended by your professors… Jason Gideon’s retirement… fresh new faces… good influence on the rest of the team… specialty in forensics.” 

You nodded along, and thanked him profusely when he handed you a business card and told you to call him when you graduated. 

And suddenly, a quick six months later, you were stepping out of the elevator and into the busy bull pen. Straightening the blouse you’d spent the last two weeks agonizing over.

You had a duffle bag full of clothes and toiletries, just as you’d been instructed to bring. And you’re large over the shoulder purse, filled with anything and everything, prepared for anything your first day could possibly throw at you. 

You were going to be a profiler, the best profiler the BAU has ever seen, and you’ll be damned if you let anything get in your way.

People shuffled around you, heads down in their files and phones as you weaved through them until you reached Agent Hotchner's office. He hung up the phone when you opened the door and stood to greet you. Telling you how happy he was that you accepted his offer. (As if you could ever say no.)

“Let’s introduce you to the team, and then I’ll show you to your desk. Everyone's been briefed on your arrival and I’m sure they’re all eagerly awaiting an introduction.” He gave you a practiced, professional smile as he led you out of his office and back into the bullpen. 

You followed closely behind him as he took you down a hallway, stepping into a side room you were met with a wall of screens and two people crowded around them.

“Allow me to introduce you to Agent Garcia and SSA Morgan.” He had urged you inside as you stared in awe. You’re familiar with both of them. 

Penelope Garcia, originally on the FBI’s watchlist, was arrested and offered a deal to avoid prosecution by joining the team instead. She’s a prolific hacker, she’s practically famous online. 

And of course you’re familiar with the shockingly handsome man beside her. 

Derek Morgan, seasoned member of the team with a focus on obsessional crimes and explosives. 

You know the whole team like the back of your hand and right now you feel like a fangirl at a meetup event.   

“Wow, it is- it’s so nice to meet you.” You held your hand out, relieved to be met with a handshake from both of them. 

Reserved but optimistic. 

They’re open to the idea of you, they just aren’t sure yet. 

You’ve been practicing your profiling. 

You exchanged pleasantries, nodded and laughed when it was appropriate. All of the things you promised yourself you would do to keep your cool. 

After a few minutes of small talk you followed Hotch out of the room, to a different office where you meet Agent Jareau.

Jennifer Jareau, media relations and police liaison. 

Also notably, drop dead gorgeous. 

And she couldn’t have been sweeter. Complimenting your outfit as your face burned hot as the sun. 

You run into your next introduction in the hall on the way to the bull pen. 

“This is SSA Prentiss.”

Oh, you know who she is. 

Emily Prentiss. Linguistics expert, with a specialty in terrorism and counter-intelligence. Her mother was a relatively notable U.S. diplomat. 

You must be smiling like an idiot when you shake her hand. 

You continue following behind Agent Hotchner, feeling like a kid in a candy store as you return to the bullpen. 

“And of course, saving the best for last, your deskmate, Dr. Reid.” Agent Hotchner leads you to an empty desk, directly adjacent to the young man who has his head in a book.

You’re more than familiar with him.

Dr. Spencer Reid, the youngest person ever recruited for the BAU. You’ve heard that he can read 10,000 words a minute. He has an eidetic memory, and an IQ of 187. You had a friend who met him once at a lecture, she told you that he’s a staunch germaphobe.

When he looks up you know you’re done for. 

Sharp angled features, accentuated as he tucks his hair behind his ears. 

His wide hazel eyes size you up as he closes his book. 

“I figured as the youngest members of our team you would get along well enough to share a desk. I’ll leave you to set up your space, we’ll meet in the conference room in an hour.” You watch as Agent Hotchner returns to his office, leaving you alone with Dr. Reid.   

“It’s so nice to meet you.” For the first time you don’t offer up your hand, you just smile at him. “Let me know if you like the desks a certain way or if I set anything up in a way that bothers you at all.” You take a few things out of your purse and place them carefully on the large wooden desk. A framed picture of you with some friends from the Academy, a few trinkets from home to fill the space, and several notebooks and pens.  

“You look a bit young for the BAU.” Spencer leans towards the little glass partition between you. 

“Not as young as you were when you started, what was it, twenty three?” You’re thrilled that he’s even talking to you, even if you’re being a bit overeager. Your friend had told you he was a little awkward if not outright abrasive. 

She hadn’t told you he was so pretty. 

“Twenty two actually, what else have you heard about me?” He fully stands and moves to lean on your desk as you rock back in your chair, his eyes wander across your desk, you can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to profile you. 

“I heard that you have three PHD’s, you got your first when you were only sixteen, and you’re working on a fourth. You have an eidetic memory, and an IQ of a hundred and eighty seven, and you can read ten thousand words a minute.” You ramble without thinking about it, hoping in the back of your mind that you aren’t scaring him off.

“It’s actually twenty thousand.” His eyes lock onto your face now, clearly gauging your reaction.

“Really? Do you really actually retain the information?” You give him a smile and are remarkably pleased when he returns it. 

“As far as I can tell.” 

“How was your last deskmate?” 

“I didn’t have one, Hotch says I have a personal space problem.” He looks a bit abashed at that, you’re surprised he even admits it so plainly. 

“Was there no other spot available?” You look around the room, sure every desk is full but there are several clumps of three and four, you could have joined a different group.

“There definitely were, but he seems convinced that I can be more sociable.” 

“If you want me to, I can probably move my desk to a different clump.” The last thing you want to do is upset one of your team members on your first day. 

“I wasn’t trying to imply-” His cheeks and ears burn red. “Hotch is right, it’ll probably be good for me to make a few friends.” Hesitantly he held his hand out to you. 

Your smile practically doubles in size as you shake it. 

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance then, Dr. Ried.” 

“Likewise.” 

★

You decide not to tell Spencer what you talked about with Peter.

It would only serve to stress him out. That’s what you tell yourself at least.

When you wake the red door is shut and locked once more, which puts you both on edge. What could possibly be waiting for you once it’s opened? Instead of stewing on it too much you spend the morning wrapped in Spencer's arms, enjoying a moment of normalcy before whatever the day brings crashes down upon you. 

Normalcy.

Is this what normalcy looks like now? Is this what your life will be like outside of here? You aren’t sure you could live without him after all this, and you have to imagine he feels the same way. 

He’s certainly gone to extremes to show you that. 

“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do after the team finds us?” You take his hand in yours, examining the burnt stumps of his fingers as you break the silence.

“Probably go to a hospital, and then a dentist.” He doesn’t pull away, letting you trace shapes mindlessly against his palm. 

“Well yeah, obviously. Aside from the obvious things, what will you do first?” You turn to look at him, despite everything he still smiles at you.  

“I haven’t given it much thought, I’m more focused on getting out of here first.”

“Just play along, please?” You groan. 

“Why don’t you tell me what you’ll do first?” He leans forward, bumping his forehead against yours. 

You have to think about it for a moment.

“I want to get my nails done. I was putting it off before all of this and now I definitely need it. Just the longest, most extravagant mani-pedi they offer.” Looking down at your hands now there’s blood under your nails, and your wrists are raw and bruised. 

“Then I imagine the first thing I would do would be sit in a salon waiting room until you’re done.” You aren’t sure if he’s joking or not and thinking too hard about it makes your head hurt so you change the subject. 

“What was the first thing you did after you were kidnapped by Tobias Hankel?” It’s probably too personal of a question but at this point are there really boundaries between the two of you? 

You know you haven’t crossed a line because he answers without hesitation. 

“I took a long shower, like two hours long. I just stood under the water, they had sent me home alone and I just wasn’t sure what else to do.” He pauses, chewing his lip as he thinks. “I felt alone for a long time after that.” 

You wonder if that’s how you’ll feel. That’s probably how you’re supposed to feel.

Except you aren’t alone.

You have him. 

It’s funny, you’ve known him less than a year but right now it feels like you’ve always been together. You hardly remember life without Spencer. 

“What happens when we leave here?” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them. 

What happens to us?

That’s the real question on your mind.

“I guess we go back to work, that’s sort of what everyone does when something like this happens. Everyone pretends it didn’t happen.” He sounds… hurt.

You have a hard time swallowing his words. 

Something like this. 

Like this is something you’re expected to go through.  

“Are we going to be okay?” Your brain feels like it’s becoming more and more scrambled, the line between performance and reality is starting to blur and you can’t help but wonder if he’s been acting this whole time. 

He really seems to stop and think about his answer. 

“I think so, I think you and I will be more than okay.” 

Whatever that means. 

You’re starting to get a headache so you decide to focus on his wounds to distract yourself, taking your time to examine his hand properly and then his mouth. The bleeding from his gums seems to have stopped completely which is great news. The corners of his mouth are stained red from residual bleeding overnight but he seems to be doing as good as you can hope for. 

“How does everything feel?” You ask as you release your grip on his jaw.

“I… don’t really know, physically I feel a little off, nothing I wouldn’t expect to feel all things considered. Mentally, I’m mostly worried, yesterday was out of place for the usual content he’s had us make. So I have no idea what to expect today, he could regress if he didn’t like it, if he did like it we might see some escalation.” 

Hands-on.

That’s the term he used.

“Well-” You start but close your mouth the second you hear the crackle of the intercom.

“Hello, my stars, I am thrilled to see you are more talkative today.” There’s an excited edge to his voice that makes you immediately uneasy. “I continue to be amazed by your performances. Yesterday did not go exactly as I had imagined yet I was still awestruck by some of your choices.”

“We weren’t exactly given much of a choice, were we Peter?” When Spencer speaks up you’re a little surprised by his continued attitude with your captor, especially considering the soft spoken conversation you’ve been having.

“Dr. Reid, you may think me a villain but I have given you everything you have ever wanted. You should be thanking me.” 

Even Spencer, who has a response to everything, doesn’t have a response to that. 

“Regardless of your rudeness, I have a present for the two of you. Behind the door you will find a delightful surprise, and with it a promise that you won’t have to hear my voice again for quite some time, maybe ever. I have decided our communication may be better across different mediums. And of course you know that if you do not comply you-”

“Will be separated, or shot, or whatever it is you feel like today, got it.” Spencer is quick to find his voice again, what has gotten into him? 

He’s a lot of things but he isn’t this. Interrogative, sure. Analytical, always. Brazenly aggressive? Never. 

“Oh doctor, you really are in some kind of mood today. That is fine, you are entitled to that mood after the performance you gave us yesterday. What a twist.” The door creaks open and neither of you moves, you aren’t in any rush to see what gift is waiting for you. “I have been thinking, yesterday your performance was… enchanting. I keep asking myself what made it so special and I think I found my answer.” He says every word as though he is the most important person in the world, saying the most important sentence anyone has ever heard. “You two hardly need directing, you just need a motive to perform, and you do positively captivating work. So, for the foreseeable future I will cease all specific requests, let us see what you can do. I think your motivation will become abundantly clear rather fast.” He makes a horrific swallowing sound, as if he’s salivating at just the thought of what’s about to happen. “I want to be dazzled, and I think this is how I get the best show possible from you both.”

“So you aren’t going to be giving us any instruction at all? We’re just supposed to do whatever we want?” It’s your turn to speak, voice cracking as you do because that’s almost worse, at least with specific directions you had plausible deniability for all of this. That all changes if you’re calling the shots. 

“No my sweet flower, I still have my expectations. You both have your… habits. Things that I enjoy, and things that I do not. I would like to put an end to some of your less desirable habits, and pave the way for more preferable ones. So no, you will not have free reign, but I also know that with a little slack on the leash you might do some of your best work. Now go, enjoy your gift. You may not hear from me again, but know that I am always watching you, angel.”  

For what might be the last time, you hear the click of the intercom. There’s a twisted finality to the sound, followed by the creak of the door opening.

“So we’re supposed to just make up a scene?” You turn to Spencer as he gets to his feet. Watching as he makes his way across the room, when he pulls the door open you see a little pink gift bag on the floor, complete with glittery tissue paper sticking out of the top. 

He picks it up apprehensively before bringing it back to you. When he hands it to you it’s heavier than you expected for such a small bag. 

“I assume it’s for you.” The bravado he had when speaking with the unsub has fizzled out now that you’re alone again. 

You move slowly as you pluck the tissue paper out of the bag. You can’t make out the contents so you flip the bag and dump them out onto the blanket. 

And you immediately recognize what it is. 

Two collars fall out of the bag, both with a thick chunk of black plastic attached to them with two silver prongs poking out. Accompanied by two little padlocks. 

You look up at each other in sync, with the same wide eyes, a silent understanding happens in your shared look. 

Here’s the motive to perform. 

Neither one of you wants to do this, obviously, but you both take one in your hands regardless. What choice do you have? For seemingly the first time since you arrived in this terrible place, you don’t even bother to think of a way to get out of this. There is a complete acceptance within you that this is simply another thing that you must do. 

It isn’t a great feeling, but there’s an odd comfort to it. 

You don’t need to think of a way out of this because there isn’t one, there’s nothing you can do about it so why upset yourself over nothing. 

Spencer must have come to the same conclusion as you because he picks up one of the collars with a resolute look, wrapping the thick nylon band around his neck. You watch as he carefully positions the prongs against his throat and closes the latch, scooping the lock up and with his fingers he snaps it shut before he loses his nerve. Sealing his fate. 

Taking a deep breath he looks at you, almost expectantly. 

Okay.

Your turn. 

Your hands are trembling as you lay the length of the collar out flat. After a few deep breaths, you wrap it around your throat, feeling the cold, sharp metal of the prongs. Your hands are still shaking like a leaf in the wind as you close the latch, dropping the padlock in the process.  

“Here, let me help.” He takes the prongs, adjusting them to a different part of your neck. “We want to avoid the carotid artery.” He murmurs before picking up the lock and clicking it shut, sealing your fate as well. 

You stare at each other once more, now with matching accessories. 

“So I guess we should just…” God, you don’t want to say it out loud, even if it isn’t something you’re necessarily dreading. But now, with the threat around your throat you don’t have much of a choice. 

“Probably, I imagine he isn’t exactly feeling patient now that we have them on.” His eyes roam over your body like he isn’t sure of what to do, as if you haven’t already done this. Finally he leans in, one hand cupping your cheek as he kisses you. He’s so gentle with you, slow and intentional. It feels so natural to be touched by him, like you were meant for this. Maybe this won’t be so bad, if it’s just having sex until the unsub is satisfied you can handle that. When his fingers comb through your hair your entire body seizes. 

The two of you both go rigid against each other, it feels like your body is being stabbed with a million frozen needles, an endless icy pain that seeps into your bones. Your spine straightens and you feel like you’re being puppeted as you twitch. After a few agonizing moments you collapse against each other. 

“That can’t possibly be a standard shock for a dog collar.” You gasp the words out as he nods.

“We need to try something else.” You look him over as he speaks, the flesh under the prongs is red, you’re sure you have a mark to match. At least it wasn’t enough to leave you with a burn, yet. 

“Clearly.” Your head is spinning, you can’t actually be expected to think clearly right now? All you can think about is the possibility of another shock happening at any moment. 

“So we try a different approach, do you think he’s just generally looking for rough intercourse or does he want something more blatantly violent? I just don’t think this is actually that efficient of a communication method. We have no-” Spencer’s ramblings are cut off as you both seize up again.

The shock lasts much longer than this time, your jaw clenches tight as you try to breathe. You can feel the electricity running through every inch of you, for a moment you swear your heart skips a beat. That can’t be good. 

You don’t know much about the dangers of electric shock. But Spencer does, and he looks terrified.  

His expression is enough to make you throw yourself at him the second you have control of your body again. Knocking him backwards onto the floor. 

“No more talking.” You mumble against his mouth as you bite his bottom lip. You don’t know what you need to do to make the shocks stop but talking about it certainly isn’t going to help. 

There’s a moment of hesitation from him and you just know he’s fighting the urge to ask if this is okay. That’s the last thing you need right now, stopping to ask if you're alright with this will undoubtedly end with another shock.

“Come on.” You murmur, taking his hand and guiding it between your legs.  

Thank god that seems to be permission enough for him as he slips his hands past your waist band, any shame you felt a few short days ago has long since gone out the window. Based on the way he whimpers when his fingers press against your folds you’re certain he’s in the same boat. 

Gone is a sense of shame between the two of you, if this is your normal you might as well enjoy it. 

“Just do what you want to do, it’ll be better for both of us.” You press your forehead to his, gently rocking yourself against his hand. After everything you’ve been through at this point it’s hard to believe his fingers are still hesitantly hovering above your entrance. 

You can practically hear his internal monologue in your own head.

Prior consent doesn’t count as consent in future situations. Especially when you’re being coerced by electric shock, We’ll do whatever you’re most comfortable with, even if it means getting shocked until our hearts simultaneously explode. 

His erection is actively poking your hip right now and he’s still looking at you like he’s waiting for the okay. 

The collar might not not be motivating enough for him but it certainly is for you, you know exactly what the unsub wants to see.

He wants to see all the things you want to do to the man staring up at you slackjawed right now.  

You bring your hand up to his face, squeezing his jaw, you force his mouth open wider, staring in his eyes as you spit into his mouth. You raise your eyebrows at him, daring him to react as his eyes manage to go even wider. 

Self proclaimed germaphobe Dr. Reid looks at you, and swallows. 

You really are the exception to his rules.

Finally he swipes two fingers against your clit, being electrocuted might have left you feeling tense and paranoid but his touch has all of that melting away. 

Thank fucking god. 

His fingers slide across the length of your cunt, he hums when he feels the wetness pooling at your entrance. He never pushes into you, only teases your hole until you’re keening against him. 

Hovering on all fours above him you’re sure you’re a sight, panting like a dog for more. 

Your noises only serve to egg him on. Using your wetness as a lubricant he focuses on your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut, almost instinctually rocking back and forth against the heel of his palm. He doesn’t seem to be in any rush, rubbing lazy circles against you until your legs shake so bad you’re worried you’ll crumble and fall down on top of him. 

“Can I get on top now?” The sound of his voice makes your eyes snap open as you nod eagerly. Holding onto your hips he flips you over so your positions are reversed. You lean back, waiting patiently for his hand to return to your cunt. When he doesn’t you whine. 

You’re rewarded with his fingers looping around the sides of your panties, yanking them down until you're bare before him. 

“Open your mouth.” His tone isn’t demanding, more like a plea. 

So you do just that, and when you meet his eyes you hardly even see Spencer anymore.

Gone is the sweet boy you share a desk with, he has been replaced by something hungry and tragic. 

He’s just like you now.

Sick. 

He leans down until your lips are almost touching, he isn’t as confident as you were but he still spits into your mouth without hesitation. Pulling back to watch. When swallowing his breath hitches. His fingers pull on the hem of your camisole, pulling it up until it’s over your arms and your head. 

He takes a moment to just stare at your chest in a way that would usually make you cover yourself up. Instead you just let him. Squeaking in surprise when he leans down and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, making obscene sounds in the process. His tongue swirls around it for a moment before he starts dragging his tongue back and forth, letting his teeth lightly graze against the sensitive bud, never actually biting down. Alternating between sucking and lapping at your nipple until it stiffens into a peak. When he’s satisfied he switches to your other breast, repeating the process. When he pulls away to admire his work your nipples are swollen and both of your tits are slick with spit. 

The sight is enough to make him bite his lip in a weak attempt to stifle a whine.

You’ve all but forgotten about the collar around your neck as he starts to bend your knees up towards your stomach. You're caught off guard when he keeps pushing until your legs are pointed straight up with your feet over his shoulders. Turning his head he kisses your ankle before gently biting the skin there. You’re positioned in a way that his clothed cock rubs against your core, your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. Just when you think he’s about to pull his boxers down he stops.

He opens his mouth and you just know his dumb ass is about to ask if you’re okay with this, so you kick the side of his head and glare at him as his mouth snaps closed. He nods, at least the part of his brain that uses his critical thinking skills still works. 

You both know the unsub doesn’t like when he asks you for consent, you don’t know or honestly care why. He can ask you if you’re okay a hundred times a day when you get out of here.

There’s another moment's pause from him, and if looks could kill your glare would put him six feet under. 

“For gods sake, Spence, just fuck me.” You hope you don’t sound too mean but he doesn't seem bothered, quite the opposite. 

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

You feel a rush of relief when he kicks his boxers off, his cock stands at attention, the poor neglected thing is already leaking, leaving his tip shiny and slick.

He wraps his arms around your legs, holding you like a vice as he lines himself up and slides into the heat of your cunt. 

It stings just as much as it did the first time but you revel in it this time. Who cares about a little pain anymore? You just squeeze your eyes shut and groan. He likely doesn’t even hear the edge to your groans over his own breathy moans. 

He doesn’t give you as much of an adjustment period this time either, his hips are already rocking back and forth. Whether it’s for fear of being shocked or simply because he can’t help himself is unclear.

He holds your legs firmly in place, ankles thrown over his shoulders as he pistons in and out of you. Both of you are reduced to whimpering messes in a matter of minutes as you feel the all too familiar tightening of the knot in your stomach.

Boy genius can’t be far behind you based on the sporadic nature of his thrusts. You’d say that happened fast but you’re in no position to judge, not when your breath is catching in your throat with every thrust. He knows your body surprisingly well because you can tell he’s holding out for your orgasm before his. His quick, sloppy thrusts become focused. Shallow, just the right way to slide against that sweet spot before slamming into your cervix until the knot snaps.

You clamp down on him, the force of which draws a string of whimpers past his lips as he scrambles to pull out, coming on your stomach. You watch the way his jaw tightens, and his cock twitches, admiring the sight before you lean back. Taking a few deep breaths as you try and collect yourself. He slumps over next to you, in a similar state. 

He plants a kiss on your shoulder before pressing his forehead against yours. 

Your eyes are starting to flutter shut when your back arches. A strangled cry leaving your throat as you feel a quick shock is delivered to your body. Spencer spasms onto you, his fingers twist around his collar, pulling uselessly. 

It’s a mercifully short burst of electricity this time but still enough to make you sit up straight. 

“What did we do wrong?” Your voice is hoarse. 

He looks troubled, more troubled than you’d expect, even after all that.

“I-I’m not sure, I guess we just have to try again.” So rare is it to hear Dr. Spencer Reid sound unsure. 

“Okay, fuck, okay.” You’re trying to think back over everything you just did. He didn’t shock you the entire scene until the end so he clearly didn’t have a problem with the contents of the scene. You’re a mess of scrambling limbs as you both smash your lips together once more in an attempt to avoid any form of reprimand. “Let’s try something else.” You grumble against his lips.

You’re racking your brain for ideas, clearly he’s doing the same but it’s edged with a panic. If you choose the wrong thing you risk another shock. How much would it take to stop your heart?

Focus.

He didn’t like what you just did, okay, do something else. Do something different. 

Does he want more talking or less?

More participation on your part, less on Spencer’s?

Rougher?

Meaner?

Without the unsubs direct commands Spencer isn’t as sexually dominant as he originally had to be, maybe the unsub wants that dynamic to be included in every scene. 

You can do that.

Happily.

First things first, you need him to be as naked as you are.

You climb into his lap, straddling him as you push him back so that he’s laying back once more. Yanking on the hem of his shirt until you’re able to pull it off of him, tossing it aside you drag your hands up and down his torso. 

God he’s pretty. 

Somehow even prettier with a collar around his neck. 

Don’t think like that.  

Grinding down against him you can feel his cock already swelling again. 

“You get hard so easily.” You grab his jaw, noticing his stubble for the first time. How long have you been here? 

“I thought you said no talking.” 

“Well that didn’t work out so well, I’m trying something different. Do you not like it?”  

The dumb look on his face makes you forget about the collar for a moment, it makes you forget about the room you're in, and it makes you forget all about Peter Hill. All you can think about are ways to make him keep making that face. 

“This is fine.” He mumbles.

“You do all the work every time Spencer, you must be tired by now.” 

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He really does sound tired. Maybe not from this exactly, but in general. 

“Maybe you could let me take care of you this time?” You tuck a strand of hair away from his face as he continues to nod. 

Assuming that the unsub might see Spencer as a surrogate for himself this would be a wise course of action. Seeing you as the dominant, more active, participant might be exactly what he wants. Maybe the reason you were shocked was because he could see how hesitant Spencer was, maybe he just needs to see one of you taking the lead. 

That’s the only reason you’re doing this. 

Certainly not seizing an opportunity.

Your panties have long since been discarded so it’s relatively easy to reach back and grab his cock, lining him up with your entrance as you sink down onto him. You’re typically concentrating and rolling your eyes into the back of your head when he first enters you, but right now you get a perfect view of his face. 

Mouth open in an ‘O’ as his eyes flutter shut, a pornagraphic moan slipping past his lips. This is already so much better. 

Once you’re fully seated on his cock you fight the urge to grind against him, instead you just watch his face, the way his features twist and contort in pleasure.

“Do you like it when I spit in your mouth?” You do your best to keep your tone sultry, more condescending than actually caring about the response. 

You’re met with a frantic nod and you nearly lose your resolve when he opens his mouth. 

This is better than any romance book, sexy movie, or porno you’ve ever seen. 

You want to take a picture, since that isn’t an option right now you settle for burning the mental image into your brain before you give him exactly what he wants. You hover over him, letting a line of spit fall from your mouth to his. His cock twitches inside of you simultaneously. You don’t dare take your eyes off of him as he swallows again.

So fucking good. 

He’s too good. Maybe this is what you should have been doing all along. He never needed to be in charge, this is a million times better than any show you’ve put on. If Peter wanted a star he’s got one right here. Licking his perfect pretty lips. 

Batting his eyelashes at you like his cock isn’t lodged in your stomach. 

“I wonder what else you like?” You don’t even say it for the camera, that was forgotten the second he opened his mouth and presented his tongue to you.          

He doesn’t have a response, just that pretty, dumb look. Is this what it’s like for him? Watching you come apart so easily, you completely understand his ridiculous torture metaphors now, this is fucking torture in the sweetest way humanely possible. 

You don’t know what possesses you to do it but you tentatively at first, you wrap your fingers around his throat, careful to avoid the bulky part of the collar. It’s a move made mostly for show. But when you’re met with a frantic, impatient, nod, you squeeze. 

His hips rock upwards immediately, fucking into you, instinctively your grip tightens around his throat as if you can steady yourself. It only makes him buck into you harder. He splays his hands out across the tops of your thighs, nails digging into your flesh, leaving a trail of crescent marks in his wake. 

The room fills with the sounds of curses as you let your head fall backwards, so much for doing the work, Spencer’s doing most of the work as he continues to fuck up into you. You briefly let your  hand slip off his neck, his hand catches your wrist, holding you against his throat as you wrap your fingers back around it. 

“Fucking- shit, oh my god.” His brows furrow together as he whines, you’ve never heard him curse so much before. 

He angles his hips off the floor, grinding the base of his pelvis against your clit until you’re seeing stars. You’re definitely squeezing too hard but he won’t let your wrist go and your body is too tense from the pressure building in your stomach. Based on the sounds he’s making you’re sure he doesn’t care, his eyes are basically rolled into the back of his head at this point anyway. 

“So fucking good, Spence, oh my fucking-” Your voice trails off into a moan as rolls his hips up against you just so. The goal was to focus on him but he seems hell bent on making you come, so much so that he doesn’t even bother thrusting into you. He just keeps angling his hips against yours in any way he can to put pressure on your clit. And you reward his efforts every time by tightening your grip.

Once again your orgasm hits first, before you’re ready for it and before you’ve recovered from your first orgasm. He forces it out of you. And in return you brand your handprint across the front of his throat. Your vision is blurring white as you cry out. Your chest heaves as you gasp, fighting, keeping your eyes open as you stare down at your pretty boy. 

His cheeks are bright red as he sucks in a breath, you’re about to start riding him in earnest, it’s the least you can do. But before you can he grabs the back of your head, forcing your lips onto his as his tongue presses against yours. You start to groan his name but he swallows the sound when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. Just like that with a stutter of his hips you feel his cock jerk inside of you as he comes, spilling out around the base of his shaft as he makes a mess out of both of you. 

The corners of his eyes are damp when you look at him, you can’t help but kiss him there, moving to his cheek, and then his forehead. You both stay silent, a palpable tension replaces the lust in your cloudy mess of a brain as you wait to see if it was enough. The energy in the room shifted completely. 

You can’t imagine a world in which that wasn’t adequate. 

Yet somehow, it wasn’t.

You fall forward, letting your forehead rest on the cold cement as you feel the burning against your neck. From your throat down to your fingertips, you can feel the white hot fire burning you from the inside out. It lasts long, too long. It feels like the prongs are boring holes straight through your throat and out the other side.  

When it finally relents Spencer's fingers are pulling on your collar. 

“What’s wrong?” You mumble, your visions a bit blurry as you struggle to sit up.

“I need to adjust the prongs, we’ve got burns now and we don’t want to keep hitting the same spot or it could become necrotic.” You don’t really comprehend what he’s saying but you sit still so he can do whatever it is he’s insisting on. “Okay, now can you do mine?” He tilts his chin up as he nods and you adjust his collar as well. 

The sight of his burn snaps you out of your stupor.

A gnarly red and white blister has formed under the prongs, it hurts just to look at but the sting on your own neck reminds you that you have one to match. 

The smell of burnt flesh floats in the air around you.

Once you’ve adjusted his collar as he instructs he leans in and kisses you, pushing you back until you’re the one laying down this time. When he starts to pepper kisses down your chest and stomach until he’s between your legs you squeeze your thighs together. You cannot deal with another orgasm right now. 

“No.” You’re firm as he gives you those ridiculous puppy dog eyes. 

Good luck saying no to that look.

“I’m serious Spencer, no. Get back up here and stick your dick in me so we can give this another try.” You’re fried. Mentally, physically, literally.

“Just you this time, sweetheart.” You groan as he kisses your inner thigh. Your hands tangle in his mess of hair, pulling too hard, even though it doesn’t seem to affect him. “I can’t go again, I need a minute. For someone my age the average refractory period is between thirty minutes to an hour and considering I've already gone twice in a row I’m gonna need a moment before I’m ready to go again. Since you are someone assigned female at birth you don’t have a physiological refractory period so by process of elimination this is what we have to do.” 

All you can do is glare at him.  

“I don’t know exactly what counts as a scene but I’m pretty sure it’s an orgasm. And it can’t be mine.”

“Spencer.”

“Look, I think I figured out what we have to do, just let me test my theory.”

He buries his face in the crease of your thigh, dragging his tongue across your skin. 

“Well at least tell me!”

“You aren’t going to like the answer.” He mumbles into the meat of your thigh as he sucks a mark into the skin before turning towards his main target. “I’ll try to get this done as fast as possible.” 

Your poor overstimulated clit is where he settles his mouth. Flattening his tongue against you as tries his damndest to get you there.

And god it feels good. 

He worships your cunt, his tongue writes prayers against you as it darts back and forth. You see god everytime he jams his tongue into you, as if he can effectively fuck you with it. 

It feels so good. 

But you’re too scattered. The last shock was different, demanding. And it’s left you genuinely afraid. You’re too on edge to come right now. Your body is tense in all the wrong spaces and even with his face buried between your legs all you can think about is the burn mark on both of your necks.

“I- I can’t Spence.” It’s too much, too much of a good thing, especially when you aren’t any closer to an orgasm.

“That’s just not true, you’ve done it before you can do it again.” He’s out of breath as he rests his head on your thigh.

You whine, kicking your leg weakly in an attempt to knock him away from you.

“Get on top.” If that’s his solution he clearly isn’t listening to you.

“What?”

“Sit on my face.” He says it like it’s the answer to all of your problems but you can’t imagine more stimulation is going to be the answer when your entire body is on edge. 

“Spencer…” 

“Please?” He whines, sounding like he might honest to god cry if you deny him this. “It’ll be better for you I promise.” He says it like his dick isn’t starting to harden just at the thought. Unfortunately you need him hard for what you’re sure will be round four when this inevitably doesn’t work. Until you figure out what Peter wants you need to prepare yourself for a long day.

What if this is what he wants?

What if he just wants you to fuck each other until you pass out? Until your body simply can’t handle it anymore. 

You don’t get long to dwell on the thought because Spencer’s laying down beside you. 

“Sit on my face, now. Or he’s gonna shock us again.” You’re getting tired and it honestly isn’t worth the fight. Especially when he’s staring at you so eagerly. 

“Fine.” You grumble as you sit up on your knees, throwing your leg over his head so you’re kneeling above him

“Just relax, I’ll do everything, okay?” It’s remarkable that he can sound so sure considering the circumstances. 

You aren’t sure if you can relax in this position. 

Your knees shake, and you struggle to hold yourself up above him. You just want to lay down but he wraps his arms around the backs of your thighs. In one swift motion he yanks you down so you’re sat in earnest on his face. 

“Jesus, Spencer.” You lean forward, tangling your fingers in his hair to steady yourself. Scraping your nails against his scalp in the process. 

You’d feel worse about how you might be hurting him if he wasn’t already moaning into your cunt, the vibrations only serve to tighten your grip on his hair.    

He isn’t as focused, instead he alternates between your clit and your now dripping hole. When his tongue is on your clit it feels like you’re being forced to sit on a vibrator. He darts his tongue back and forth against you, occasionally twisting his head to the side so he can breathe. Whenever that happens you’re rewarded with the stubble on his cheeks and chin against your sensitive nub. You can’t decide if it feels good or bad at this point. He pokes his tongue against the rim of your fluttering hole and you're in an even worse position. You’re dealing with the sensation of that combined with the bridge of his nose knocking against your clit.

You hate that he was right, this is working. 

You don’t have any choice other than to let it work because his arms are wrapped so tightly around your thighs you couldn’t lift off of him if you tried. Not that you would, you’re riding that precarious line between discomfort and pleasure now that makes this so much more bearable then you’d expected. 

If you had the capacity for embarrassment right now you’d be horrified by the wet sucking noises he’s making, instead you let your head fall backwards as he forces you closer and closer to your breaking point. The tightening in your stomach is inherently different than it usually feels, the muscles in your face twitch as you focus and chase that sensation.

Almost uncontrollably, your cunt flutters around nothing and you feel a gush between your legs, Spencer doesn’t let up for a second as you come. 

“Oh my fucking god.” You straighten your knees as you manage to pry his tongue off of your clit. You’re gonna have a permanent crease between your eyebrows after this, your face has been scrunched up so long. “Spencer stop-” You roll off of him, laying flat on your back beside him, the blankets are soaked. 

You’re gasping for air as you wait for the next shock. But Spencer clearly has other plans as he sits up next to you, shoving your legs apart once more, one of his hands pushes your thigh up towards your stomach. 

“We can't stop, we have to go again.” The bottom half of his face is shiny and slick.

When he slides his fingers against your swollen clit you shove him away. 

“No- I’m done. I need a break, just a few minutes.” You feel like you might cry.

“We don’t have a few minutes, we need to do this right now. Then you can take as long of a break as you want.” He sounds so sure. 

“Promise?” 

“I promise, please, just trust me.” 

Frantic and jittery, he strokes himself. His free hand slotting back between your legs, much gentler this time. 

“You don’t even need to do anything, just lay here and I’ll take care of it. Promise, I promise.” He mumbles, careful not to use too much pressure as you continue to fight the urge to shove him away. 

Any precision he usually has is gone completely by now, replaced by sloppy circles against your clit as he jerks himself off. When you whine at the friction he spits into his hand before returning to your clit. He holds his other hand out in front of your chin, wanting the same for himself. You spit onto his palm, earning yourself an breathy groan as he uses it to properly fuck his hand. 

It becomes abundantly clear that he isn’t trying to make you come again, if anything he’s simply touching you for his own gratification. And you’re thankful for it, if only one of you needs to have an orgasm to count as a scene you’re happy to sit this one out. Your clit buzzes, hypersensitive to every uncontrolled stroke against it. He whimpers as he ruts against his hand, hips stuttering as he makes a sound between pain and ecstasy. 

His eyes squeeze shut as a filthy whine leaves his lips, forehead slick with sweat as his head falls backwards. You can see the veins in his neck straining as he has what you're sure is a rather uncomfortable orgasm, spurts of come are added to the mess between your legs. 

Neither one of you dares to move. You’re waiting, convinced you’re about to be shocked at any moment. 

But you aren’t.

Spencer was right, thank god.

He collapses beside you and the room fills with the sounds of your haggard breathing.

“How did you know that would work?” You finally break the silence, still struggling to catch your breath as he rolls over onto his side to face you.

“I didn’t, it was a lucky guess.”

You sit straight up, looking offended. 

“You promised.” You try not to sound shrill, since he did technically fulfil his end of the deal. 

“I know, I’m sorry.” You can’t stay mad at that sheepish half smile. How is he still managing a smile after everything you’ve been through? 

“I mean, I guess it’s fine since you didn’t technically break your promise. How did you figure it out?” You lay back down on your side so you’re face to face. 

“The collars are meant to be used for ‘fixing bad habits.’ I eventually realized that that meant training.”

“Training?”

“Like training a dog.” He grimaces. “When we do something wrong we’re shocked, when we do something right we aren’t. What he’s essentially doing is training us to do what he wants unprompted.” 

“So that he doesn’t even have to ask.”

“Exactly, I have to assume that the goal would be that eventually we would be having sex the majority of the time. He said he isn’t going to speak to us anymore so it’s safe to assume he plans on using the collars as his only communication.” 

“How much would it take to kill us?” Your voice shrinks as you ask the question that’s been picking away at the back of your mind.

“Electricity? It’s hard to say. It’s less about the voltage and more about the current, any amount of voltage to a human heart could be fatal. But the human body has an inherent resistance to electrical current. It’s a really tricky concept because without sufficient voltage the current would be unable to travel through the body regardless. The closest thing to an answer that I can give you is that nine volts with enough current would typically be considered enough to deliver a lethal shock.” His hands start to move in that familiar way they do when he’s lost in an explanation.

“How much do you think our collars emit?”

He hesitates before he speaks again.

“The average dog collar emits three to nine volts with a low current but it’s safe to assume that based on the feeling of the shock, and how it courses through our entire bodies, that he has modified them to have a stronger current.” 

“So it could kill us.”

“Yes, it’s possible.”

“So we should do everything in our power to not risk another shock.” 

“Yes, that would be wise.”

“So we let him… train us?”

“I don’t think we have much of a choice in the matter.”

There isn’t much more you can say about that. What other options are there? That’s the question you’ve been asking yourself since you were taken. What else could you possibly do?

“What happens when we’re trained?”

“I think we just have to hope it doesn’t get to that point.”

You know the answer, he does too. If it works then you both become obedient pets, fucking each others brains out non stop until your hearts stop. 

“So from now on when we wake up we should just have sex until we’re sure he’s satisfied?”

“I guess.”

★

The next morning when the lights come on you do just that. 

You wake up to sloppy kisses, rolling over almost instinctually onto your belly as he tugs your panties down. You lay prone as he kisses down the length of your spine before sucking a mark into the skin. And another, and another, and another. You bury your face in your pillow, letting out a series of low moans. His knee spreads your legs as he slots himself between your thighs. 

And you’re happy to let him.

He comes buried in your pussy, but not before his arm twisted around to the front of you and ripped an orgasm from you.

“Should we go again?” You turned to whisper, worry biting at the edges of your voice. 

His hands on your hips guide you on top of him, once you’re straddling him he pulls you into a lazy kiss.

“I don’t know if I can right now.” He murmurs, almost cracking a smile. “Besides, I don’t think it’s about doing it multiple times, it’s about doing it unprompted."

“Okay, we can just do this then.” You wrap your lips around his bottom lip, lightly sucking. 

It’s easy to get distracted by him, everything about him is distracting. But you’ve had an idea on your mind for sometime and you need to find a way to bring it up without drawing attention to it. 

“Do you remember when Tobias Hankle saved your life?” He stiffens up a bit at the name but he nods.

“I couldn’t forget it if I tried.”

“Why do you think he did it?”

“He wasn’t a bad person, he was just a person in a bad situation, he never had a chance to be anything else. He was a victim of his circumstances.”

“I wonder if we could be saved the same way.” You murmur it against his jaw, hoping it’s loud enough to be heard and quiet enough to not be picked up by a microphone. 

“I don’t think that would save me, not this time.” He picks up on what you mean immediately, his fingers comb through your hair as you kiss his cheek. You brush your lips against his stubble. 

“It might save me.” 

He flips you both so he’s on top, where his lips can’t be read by anyone looking down from above. 

“It hurts.” His lips connect to your throat, kissing across the line of bruises. “You would have to stay completely silent and still.”

“I can handle it.” 

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“Then we do this.” Your hand trails down his body until you can palm him through his boxers, a small part of you is pleased to find he’s already hard. “We do this forever, until we’re old and grey.” He moves up your jaw, biting your earlobe before breathing his words out against you.

“I could seriously hurt you.”

“Then do it right, put those three PHD’s to work. Do it hard enough to prove that it’s real, and soft enough that you don’t break anything.”  

“That’s a really dangerous line to ride.”

“We won’t get another chance. Make it real.” It’s the last thing you say to him before you go back to kissing him in earnest. 

Turns out he can go again. 

★

How many days has it been?

It can’t have been more than a week since you were taken, you’re sure of it. 

Without the daily presence of the unsubs voice everything starts to blend together. Wake up, have sex, stare longingly at each other as you talk about nothing in particular until you either have more sex or are shocked into doing so. 

Out of habit, you start crawling on top of him before you’re even fully awake every morning.

Just like the unsub wants. 

Just like you want.

That line starts to get blurry and the thought scares you, so you choose to ignore the nasty little voice in your head. 

After another long day you curl up against him, grateful for the dim lighting the evenings provide for you. 

“Do you think he’s won?” You whisper into the darkness, you’re certain the unsub must be asleep at this point, you’ve been awake so long. He has to sleep eventually.  

“What do you mean? I’m sure the team is still looking for us.” He holds your face in one of his hands, an action that is starting to feel familiar to you. 

“Yeah, but look at us.” You motion at yourself dramatically. “He did it, we’re just animals now, doing whatever he wants and now we… we enjoy it, all we do is have sex. He won.” You notably haven’t been shocked in some time. 

“I don’t think that’s how we should view it.”

“How else are we supposed to look at it then?”

“We… take comfort in each other, despite the things he makes us do, we still-” He stops abruptly, swallowing loudly before continuing. “We still care for each other, that means we’re still human.” 

“He doesn’t even have to tell us what to do anymore, Spencer. We just do it.” Your voice cracks, this whole situation has made you insufferably emotional. 

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.” His thumb traces little shapes against your cheek.

“How much of this is real?” You hate how needy you sound.

“All of it’s real. All of this has happened and is continuing to happen.” He tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him.

“You know what I mean, Spence.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He looks at you like he feels bad for you and you hate it. 

“Why didn’t this happen organically? Why did it have to happen here, where it was forced?” The words are clunky as they force themselves out of your mouth.

“I think it would have happened organically, eventually. I can’t count the amount of times I almost asked you out.”

“Then why didn’t you? I would have said yes.”

“I realize that now but I just couldn’t be sure.” How the fuck could he be unsure? He’s the most intelligent man you’ve ever met and you certainly weren’t subtle.

“I was obsessed with you.”

“You were nice to everyone.”

“I was extra nice to you.”

“You never realized that I liked you either.” He scoffs. 

“Yeah, but I’m not a genius.” You poke him gently in the chest and he cracks a small smile. 

“We could still do that, go out. When we get out of here.”

Could you?

It’s hard to imagine a world where you sit across from him in a restaurant after all of this. 

Before this? Sure, you spent plenty of nights imagining it. You would style your hair down, and wear mascara. And you’d wear one of your dresses, something he’d never seen before that showed off your shoulders and legs. He never got to see that at work, you wanted to wow him. 

Now he’s seen it all, and he seems pretty pleased with it but you aren’t exactly fantasizing about a little italian restaurant with him these days. Not when you know what awaits you after dessert. 

Could you sit across from him, eating complimentary bread out of a basket, talking about the weather? Your relationship seems to be pretty far beyond that at this point. 

“Maybe.” You murmur.

“Maybe?” His voice hitches up as he cocks an eyebrow at you. “If you turn me down for a date after all of this I’m quitting my job and moving as far away from Virginia as possible.”

“I’m not saying that- I’m just saying… I don’t know. Can you really see us going back to normal after this? Just acting like this never happened, we start dating and- and what? We hold hands everywhere, we go out to dinner, go to the movies, we act like a normal couple? I just don’t think we’re a normal couple, Spence.” 

“We don’t have to be a normal couple, I don’t want to be a normal couple. We can be a couple that gets takeout and only watches movies at home because we’re scared to go outside. We can be disgusting with our public displays of affection, just to show everyone that they could never understand the devotion we share. Instead of dates we can stay in bed and I’ll show you every night just how much I want to be with you, I don’t care. We can do whatever you want to do, as long as it’s done together.” He sounds like he’s already made the decision for you and honestly, you’re glad. He makes it sound so easy. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I mean it, whatever you want.” He plants a kiss between your brows before resting his chin on the top of your head. “That also means that if we get out of here and you want nothing to do with me I’ll respect that choice.”

“You’re an idiot.” The absurdity of the idea makes you laugh.   

“You have that effect on me.” 

There’s a beat of silence where you simply enjoy the feeling of his arms around you before you bring up the question that’s been quietly building up in the back of your mind.

“Do you think it’s possible I’m pregnant?” You don’t feel too different but you have to ask. With the amount of unprotected intercourse you’re having it’s entirely possible. Spencer only pulls out half the time, it doesn’t seem like something he’s even concerned with. Yet when you look at him now he looks pale. 

“I- I hadn’t even thought about that. I guess I just assumed we’d be out of here by now, I hadn’t considered the possibility.” So rarely does he sound as unsure as he does right now. 

“What do we do if I am?” 

“We… handle it. We can handle it.”

No you can’t.

Not when there’s no end in sight. Imagining giving birth in this tiny room with only Spencer to help you makes your blood run cold. 

“Maybe we should handle it before it becomes a problem.” 

By putting your plan into motion and getting the hell out of here. 

What other choice do you have? You’ve all but given up on the team at this point, and you know he has too. Even if neither one of you wants to say it. 

“If you’re ready for that.” You can tell purely based on his wary tone that he knows exactly what you mean. 

“I’m ready.” You hope he is too. You’re only gonna get one shot at this, and if you fail there might not ever be another chance at getting out of here. 

★

This is it.

Hopefully you’re as good of an actress as the unsub seems to think you are. 

Okay.

You’re dead.

Your heart stopped, probably from all the electric shocks, it makes perfect sense.

You aren’t sure if Spencer’s awake yet, but you can’t check. You try to recall the original videos you watched on the jet of the victims. You don’t remember the quality being that good, there were multiple angles but they were all grainy. Hopefully the quality is poor enough that they can’t pick up the tiny movements of your chest as you try to stay completely still. 

After what feels like hours Spencer finally sits up beside you, mumbling a greeting to you before going quiet. He whispers your name, when you don’t respond he shakes your shoulders before repeating your name louder. 

“Sweetheart, wake up.” You’re doing everything in your power to keep your breaths shallow, keeping your chest as still as possible. “Come on, time to get up.” You aren’t the only one putting on a show, the panicked lilt of his voice is exactly what you asked for. Dejected and frightened. 

His fingers slide under your collar, pressing against your pulse point. You know he feels the beat of your heart but the hitch of his breath says otherwise. 

“No, no no no.” His voice is barely a whisper as he presses his ear to your chest. 

You’re both caught off guard when a shock is delivered to both of you. You grit your teeth immediately, it takes every ounce of strength you have left to not react. You let your body twitch, keeping your face free of any reaction to the best of your ability. It’s a full ten seconds of electricity through your veins, when it finally stops you fight the urge to take a deep breath, instead returning to your brief little inhales and exhales.  

You don’t dare to open your eyes but you can hear Spencer struggling to get back up. Your entire body feels fried and you’re almost thankful for the excuse to stay laying down. 

You can hear him sniffling, his hands are on you, locked together over the center of your chest. 

Just like when Tobias Hankel saved him. 

You brace yourself as he begins chest compressions, a steady rhythm against you. It’s exactly as you’ve been trained, hard and consistent, when performing CPR you should be pushing in at least two inches. He’s certainly doing that, you want to wince in pain but manage to resist when he stops, carefully opening your mouth with a hand on your chin before locking his lips to yours. He pinches your nose shut, when he blows the air you’re eternally grateful when he breaks the seal between your lips and lets the air escape instead of forcing it into your lungs. 

You make sure to let your chest rise regardless. 

After one exaggerated breath he sits back up and returns to the compressions, his own breathing is shaky and you can hear him gasping, scared little sounds. You count each agonizing slam against your chest, a small whimper escapes your throat when you feel a sharp pain in your ribs. He doesn’t relent, when he hits thirty on the dot his mouth is back on yours, your cheeks are wet this time when he pulls back, when he returns to the chest compressions each one sends a jolt of pain directly to your ribcage. 

“Come on, please, please, just wake up.” His voice trembles and it’s clear now that he’s crying. “Please I can’t do this without you, I can’t do anything without you, please, wake up for me, please sweetheart.” He’s a rambling mess, his voice a strained whine. 

You aren’t the only one acting like your life depends on it.

There’s no more shocks, and no voice over the intercom. Just the two of you putting on the performance of a lifetime, praying that this works. 

With each push you feel the pain in your ribs grow sharper and more focused on the left side of your body. 

You don’t know how many rounds of compressions you do, eventually you go numb, you briefly wonder if you’re actually dying as Spencer sobs over your body. Maybe you really did die, and these are your last moments in your body. 

Eventually he stops. His body folds forward, his forehead resting over your heart. 

“I’m so sorry, I should have kept you safe, I should have protected you.” His body trembles against you as he scoops you up holding your limp body in his arms. 

When do you call it quits on this?

You don’t have a plan for if this doesn’t work, do you just sit up and act like everything’s fine?

“Just wake up, please, I love you.” His voice is so soft and vulnerable. 

That almost makes you open your eyes. 

Instead you stiffen up at the sound of the door creaking open. You don’t dare move now, not when you’ve already come this far. 

You can feel Spencer's body go rigid against yours as foot steps cross the room.

“I- I never wanted her to get hurt. I never meant for this to happen.” You recognize the voice as Peters immediately, even without the crackling robotic tone of the intercom. “Oh god…” You can’t help but finally open your eyes to stare at him.

He’s so… ordinary. 

Mid to late thirties, white, balding, polo shirt and khakis. He’s crying, his head is in his hands as he whimpers. You don’t get a good look at his face before Spencer is on him. 

You’ve seen Spencer in the field before, this is nothing like that. 

Any of the calculated, deliberate restraint he usually exhibits goes out the window as his hands grip his shirt collar, his fist slams into the side of his head. Peter stumbles, falling onto his back, staring up with a look of horror as Spencer kneels over him. 

You watch, frozen as his fist connects to your captors face. 

Again, and again, and again, and again. 

You watch as his face goes from a terrified expression to a smashed mess of flesh and teeth. He struggles for a little while, weakly clawing at Spencer's chest, but it does nothing to deter him. 

At one point Peter looks at you, both eyes so swollen they’re barely visible. You hear his garbled voice.

“Please.” 

Spencer grabs him by the jaw, forcing him to look back towards him. You think back to something he said. 

“He doesn’t get to touch you, he doesn’t get to talk to you, he doesn’t get to breathe your air.”

He really meant it.

All for you.

He remains deadly quiet as he slams his fist into him until he stops twitching beneath him. His knuckles are split, but it’s nothing compared to Peter's face. He doesn’t even look like he used to be a person.

Just a lump of gore with teeth. 

Because he loves you.

There’s a moment of silence where Spencer’s chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, your own heart racing as you stare at him, sitting up and clutching your ribs. Eventually his fingers wander down and into the pockets of what remains of Peter Hill. Tossing his wallet to the side before carefully setting a cell phone beside the corpse.  

Finally he turns, a splatter of viscera coats his face and torso.

And you know all he can see on your face is the hunger behind your gaze. 

He has the same look in his eyes. 

Pupils blown, encompassing the rest of his iris.

No amount of therapy is ever going to fix you after this. 

“You did it.” You whisper as he sits up, crawling over to you as he holds your face in his blood smeared hands. 

“It was all you, you did so well.” He kisses your cheek as he tucks your hair behind your ears.

The logical thing to say right now would be ‘let’s get out of here.’ The logical thing to do right now would be to run out the now open door and scream until someone, anyone, comes to help you. Instead you turn your head towards his hand and kiss his palm.

“Tell me that you meant it.” You whisper. 

“Every word.” 

You slide your hand up and across his chest, making your intentions pretty clear as you lean forward to catch his lips in a kiss. Gentle and sweet to start, eventually becoming something with more fire behind it. He’s the one to pull away first.

“You’re hurt.” His hand traces over the back of yours, leaving a slick trail of red. 

“It isn’t too bad. I promise.”

“Are you absolutely sure?” He lifts your top to examine your ribs, you doubt anything's broken. 

It’s probably just a fracture. 

Probably.

It isn’t important right now, nothing is as important as the look in his eyes. 

“Say it again.” You pull your shirt down, lifting his chin so he focuses on your face instead of your potentially broken bones.

He knows what you want, he always knows what you want. 

“I love you.” 

“Again.” You mumble, unable to take your eyes off of him. 

“I love you.” 

And you know it isn’t for the cameras, it isn’t fearing punishment, it isn’t to keep you safe. 

He says it for you, just for you. 

You grab the collar of his now stained shirt and smash your lips against his. He devours you, all consuming and possessive with every lap of his tongue and every nip of his teeth. His hand is sliding up your leg, you don’t bother being as subtle as you shove your hand down the front of his boxers, you’ve never been as pleased as you are right now to find that he’s already hard. He groans into your mouth and you happily swallow every one. When his fingers graze against your inner thigh you gasp, the sharp intake of breath makes you wince as you yelp. The pain in your rips taking all of your focus as well as his. He immediately pulls away from you. 

“Hospital first, everything else later.” His tone is firm and you know it’s a command for himself as well as you. 

You whine for a moment but when the stabbing pain in your ribs continues you give it up, letting him help you to your feet. He practically carries you as you limp beside him, but not before taking the blood stained cell phone in his hands. 

Past your makeshift bed, past what’s left of your captor, past the red door, and through the hallway to the door at the end that’s now swung open. 

You’re both faced with a ladder. 

As you’re forced to climb up the rungs you’re less convinced your ribs are just fractured. You whine with each step up.

When he lifts the latch climbing out into the sun, he’s quick to turn around to help you up and out. Once you’ve managed to fully exit the bunker with what you hope is minimal damage you’re left standing barefoot in a suburban backyard. White picket fence and all. 

He kicks the hatch closed and you can see that the top of it is made to look just like patchy grass, blending right in with the rest of the yard. The rest of the team never would have found you here. 

You stay behind Spencer as he walks towards the front yard, your hand locked around his.

You aren’t really sure what you’re supposed to do now, outside of the basement you suddenly feel small compared to the rest of the world.  

Spencer's hand never leaves yours as he flips the unsubs phone open, dialing the number without looking at it as he brings it to his ear.

“Garcia, can you get a trace on this number?” He says it so casually, like it’s any other day.

There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line until you hear a quiet voice.

“Spencer?”

He hesitates, almost as if he isn’t sure.

“Yeah.” 

She starts to speak again but you don’t have a chance to hear what she says as he clicks the phone shut, tossing it onto the grass in front of you both. 

In the unforgiving light of the sun you get a really good look at him. 

He looks awful. 

The dark circles that seem to be permanently under his eyes have practically doubled in size. His jaw is lined with a sprinkle of stubble and god he looks thin. 

Of course he always looks thin but now he’s thin. 

And none of that even touches the fact that he’s still actively bleeding out of the gashes that decorate his knuckles. When you look him in the eye you can see he’s sizing you up as well.

You’re certain you’re as much of a sight as he is.

A perfect pair.

You stay standing, you’re a little worried that if you sit down you won’t get back up. You thought it was the morning but it looks more like evening, people pass in cars, slowing down at the sight of you and neighbors step out onto their porches. 

It isn’t long before you hear sirens. But it isn't the police that pull up first, it’s a black SUV, followed by an ambulance. Hotch and Morgan rush out of the car, guns drawn. You don’t have to tell them he’s already dead, one look at Spencer and they both holster their weapons. 

The way Morgan looks at you makes you nauseous. 

You’ve seen him look at corpses in a similar manner, scowling like he arrived at the scene a few minutes too late. Hotch seems to sense his reluctance, directing him towards the house. He’s all too happy to get away from you. 

You’re glad it’s just Hotch. 

He doesn’t try to embrace you, and he does his best to keep his expression neutral, even if it’s obvious he’s profiling you both right now. 

You zone out, focusing on the dozens of cop cars that come screeching down the street. Spencer and Hotch are having a conversation but you can’t focus on it when you’ve got half the Seattle police force storming the little blue house. Several of them stop in their tracks, gawking at you. 

To be fair, you are standing out on the lawn in panties and a tank top. 

A paramedic tries to lead you away from Spencer as he continues to talk with your unit chief, he stops abruptly as you let out a sob that catches you by surprise, a little hiccuping sound as they put an arm around you and try to take you away from him. 

Spencer reacts before you can even say his name, yanking you backwards as he shoves the paramedic to the ground. Standing in front of you defensively.

Everybody freezes. Hotch, the other medics, even the cops.

You feel everyone's eyes on the two of you as you cling to Spencer's arm. You want to say something, anything, but your tongue lay uselessly in your mouth.

Hotch is quick to help him to his feet, apologizing profusely as he puts a hand on the paramedics shoulder. You can hear him whisper under his breath. 

“I think it’ll be best if we don’t try to separate them.” 

When he approaches you his hands are out where you can see them and he speaks softly. 

“Reid, we need to get her checked out, from the way she’s walking I would imagine something is probably broken.” You recognize his tone of voice. It’s how he talks to victims on a case once they’ve been rescued. Technically that’s what you are now. “You can go with her but you need to get checked out too, you’ve lost a lot of blood.” 

You squeeze his arm, turning to look at him as he nods. 

Hotch escorts you both to the ambulance, when they lay you down on the stretcher Spencer stays by your side, silently watching, with his hand always holding yours. 

As they examine your ribs someone takes a look at Spencer's  fingers, you take the opportunity to finally try and speak.

“How long were we gone?” You don’t recognize the shaky, soft voice that leaves your mouth. 

You have seen him smile a single digit number of times since you joined the BAU, right now he gives you a sympathetic smile. Like he’s looking at a wounded animal. 

“About three and a half weeks.” 

That catches Spencer's attention.

“How is that possible?” He pulls his hand away from the doctor looking him over as he comes to sit beside you on the edge of the ambulance. “We couldn’t have been in there for more than a week.”

“Based on what we saw in the videos he was depriving you of sleep. He kept you awake for long periods of time and let you sleep for short bursts.” He almost looks like he’s about to put a hand on your knee but he thinks better of it when his eyes dart towards Spencer. “Garcia is in the process of recovering all of the footage, we promise we will keep it as private as possible, the rest of the team will not have access to it.” 

Three and a half weeks. 

“Where’s the rest of the team?” It’s like Spencer can feel how stressed you are as he tries to change the subject. 

“They had to return to Quantico.” He looks ashamed of himself as he says it. “We negotiated a deal to keep Morgan and myself on the case for an extended period of time but everyone else needed to return to work.”

“How much time did you have left?” You say it before you can stop yourself. 

How much time before you abandoned us completely?

Not that it mattered, it wasn’t the team that saved you. 

“We had another week and a half.” You have to give it to Hotch, he doesn’t try to lie to you. You only nod in response, squeezing Spencer's hand before he can say something he regrets. 

The paramedic poking at your ribs tells Hotch that they need to get you in for an x-ray as soon as possible, there aren’t any signs of internal bleeding yet but that could change at a moment's notice. 

You wish he’d talk to you directly, it makes you feel like a child when they don’t address you. 

★

You can see them through the glass. 

Emily, Morgan, J.J, even Penelope. 

You can also assume what he’s telling them. Usual protocol for someone in the state you’re in is to ease them into interactions with loved ones. At the very least you don’t have to worry about all of them running in here at once.

“We could be in worse shape.” Spencer mumbles from across the room. You refused to be in separate rooms, instead you stand opposite each other in your shared room. Neither one of you is ready to lay down, not after the day you’ve had, you’re too jittery. 

He’s right, you really could be. 

There aren’t words for the amount of relief you felt when they told you that your urine test came back negative for pregnancy. Your period was likely late because of the stress your body was under. Sure, having his baby wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but in those circumstances? You don’t know how you’d ever live with conceiving a child in those conditions. 

Spencer narrowly avoided sepsis, his gums were in bad shape, he’s on an IV drip of a pretty strong antibiotic. They said there was nothing that could be done for his fingers other than eventual cosmetic surgery to try and reconstruct the ends into something other than a smashed, burned mess. And of course he had several fractures along his knuckles. 

You did in fact have a broken rib, and two fractured ones. Spencer wasn’t happy to hear that but he never once expressed any upset towards you. You’re pretty sure you could kill someone in front of him and he wouldn’t so much as bat an eye. 

And now you’re here. 

Your stomach and chest are covered in bandages, his hands are in a similar state. Both sentenced to bed rest for quite some time.

You cringe at the sound of the door opening as Emily steps into the room.

She pulls you into a hug that you struggle to return.

“I’m so glad you’re okay.” She whispers as you hear her sniffle.

You aren’t, but you nod anyway.

“Me too.”

“We have the best nursing staff assembled to do your kit, everyone is female. I can stay with you or I can wait right outside the door.” She gives your hand a squeeze and you instinctively pull away.

“What kit?” You’re hyper aware of how shrill your voice sounds, it makes Spencer stand up straighter across the room. 

“The rape kit.” Her expression softens and she speaks like she’s scared you’ll run away like a frightened animal. 

You scoff.

“I don’t need a rape kit.”

“We really think you should, hon.” She takes a step towards you and you lurch backwards, Spencer is quick to cross the room to stand beside you, angled imperceptibly between you and Emily. 

“I don’t need a rape kit.” You say it more firmly this time, enough to catch the attention of the rest of your team in the hall, Hotch steps into the doorway as you look back and forth between them. “I wasn’t raped.” 

A hush falls over the room. 

“Maybe we could talk alone, you might be more comfortable-” Emily starts to walk towards you but Spencer steps forward, stopping her in her tracks.

“I’m not going anywhere without Spencer.” You accentuate your point by grabbing his arm and pulling closer.

“No one is saying that this is his fault.” Hotch doesn’t step into the room, he speaks in that steady even tone of his. “You are both victims in this situation, we just need to assess the extent of your wounds.” 

“They already did.” You wish they would all stop looking at you like you’re made of glass.

“With wounds of this… genre, it’s best that we get them checked out immediately, we have up to ninety six hours to-” Hotch starts again in that painfully gentle tone, like you might shatter into pieces if he speaks too loudly.

“The answer is no. You can’t do it without my permission, and I’m saying no.”

“I really think we should talk about this privately.” You glare at Emily when she speaks again, you’d always considered her to be your closest friend in the BAU. Now you feel on edge around her, around everyone. 

“I said no.” You hiss.

“You can’t legally force her into any testing without her explicit consent.” Spencer finally speaks, measured and authoritative. His tone reminds you of Hotch’s. 

It makes Emily flex her fist, they both stare at each other until Hotch steps in between them.

“And we have no plans to do any tests without her permission, if she doesn’t want the kit then we won’t do one.” You can tell Hotch is desperate to deescalate the situation. 

“I wasn’t raped.” You repeat yourself, watching as the entire room flinches as you say it. 

Including Spencer. 

No one has anything to say to that. 

“I think I’d like to be alone.” You manage to steady your voice as you glare at them. Hotch is the first to step out of the room, when Emily reaches the doorway she turns back. 

“Let’s go Spencer.” The second the words leave her mouth your hand squeezes his. Her eyes dart down as she catches the movement, when her gaze returns to your eyes her expression is devastating.

You don’t want their pity. 

Yet they seem resilient in their attempts to shove it down your throat. 

“We’ll talk to you all tomorrow. I’d like to sleep.” Your words are the final nail in the coffin.

You are a we now.

An us.

When you’re with Spencer you are alone. Without another word he helps you into your bed before pushing his own bed against yours. Neither one of you speaks as you lay down, you simply hold hands until you feel his breathing become even and steady, the all too familiar indicator that he’s fallen asleep. You take the opportunity to slip into the bathroom. When you flip the lights on you finally know why everyone keeps staring at you. You make Spencer look good in comparison. 

You don’t recognize the terrified woman in the mirror. She looks like she survived something much worse than being trapped in a basement for a month.

So much of your skin is covered in bruises. 

If he didn’t leave a bite mark or a hickie somewhere he squeezed you so tightly he left handprints. His grip hadn’t felt that tight in the moment. 

You look straight out of a horror movie. 

A shell of who you once were.

Your hair is still damp from when you had taken a shower earlier, pulling it away from your face while looking at your neck. Dark purple splotches cover your throat, spreading down your clavicle. A line of blisters and burns decorate your neck. 

You feel like a monster. No wonder everyone looks at you like you survived something horrifying. Maybe you did. 

You flick the lights off after just a few seconds, you don’t want to look at the creature staring back at you anymore. 

 When you step back into the room he’s sitting up, and he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

“C’mere.” His voice is thick with sleep as he motions you towards him. You climb into his bed, smoothing his hair down with your hands. “You’re so pretty.” 

“You’re delusional.” Your voice sounds like your own again when it’s just the two of you. Not the trembling quiet voice that seems to come out when anyone else is around. 

“So, so pretty.”

“Everyone's been staring at me like I’m a ghost.”

“They’re staring because they’re jealous. They can’t believe that you’re so pretty and you’re all mine.” And god, you believe him. Forgetting all about the monster in the mirror. He could tell you the sky was pink and that grass was blue and you’d believe him right now. 

“I love you.” He wipes a tear from your lash line with his thumb.

“I love you.” You don’t doubt that for a second. 

★

Everything is different now, how could it not be?

Neither one of you could have guessed how your time in the bunker would affect you in the long term. 

You both go back to work after a mandatory three month sabbatical. You avoid field work, opting to work from a desk most of the time, no one ever questions the choice. And Spencer always takes the stairs when you come in to work, he says the elevator makes him nauseous.

You moved out of your studio a week after you left the bunker. The single room space you once found cozy now made you feel like you were suffocating. Besides, neither of you slept well when you were apart, it just made sense to move in with him. 

Instead of the flowy and light pajamas you used to wear you now sleep in long sleeves and layers, even if it means waking up covered in sweat. 

Spencer never falls asleep before you, most nights you wake up to find he’s wrapped himself so tightly around you it’s impossible to get comfortable. You never complain, it doesn’t bother you. 

You don’t go to girls' nights anymore and Spencer never takes up Derek’s offer to grab a drink. When there’s the occasional team bonding trip to the bar you both go, never separating your hand from the others. 

The picture on your desk of your friends has been replaced with a photo of you and Spencer at your cousin's wedding. The trinkets that once sat under your monitor suddenly seemed silly, eventually they ended up shoved in the back of a drawer. You don’t need them anymore; your deskmate always makes sure you have fresh flowers to brighten up the space.  

Instead of being charmingly awkward Spencer’s been described as a bit more blunt and offputting than he used to be. And fine, you aren’t as bubbly as you used to be. You have every right to act the way you do. You still find him plenty charming.

Sure, you miss your friends. You miss spending your lunch breaks trying new local restaurants with Emily, and you miss long nights spent in Penelope's cave working on a case. And maybe you miss early morning trips to the gym with Morgan. But those things aren’t an option for you anymore. You try to be away from him but you can’t, it’s like you’re addicted. If you spend too much time apart you start to break down, hyperventilating until you find your way back to him. 

You’d feel worse about it if he wasn’t just as bad. 

Maybe worse.

The first time you interrogated an unsub after your sabbatical Spencer had burst into the room and Morgan had to put him in a headlock to stop him from strangling the unsub. 

They don’t look at you the same anymore. 

Hotch looks at Spence like he’s dangerous.

Morgan doesn’t joke around with you anymore. 

Spencer made Penelope cry on your first day back.

And Emily looks at him like he’s holding you hostage.  

You don’t care what they think. They didn’t save you, Spencer did. And you’d much rather have the ring that’s around your finger than a cuff around your wrist. 

They just don’t understand your relationship, they couldn’t. None of them know what it’s like to be loved like this. 

All that matters is that you’re happy, even if they don’t seem convinced. 

You aren’t a normal couple. 

And you don’t want to be. 

★

You don’t turn around from the stove. You know that tone. Measured and suspicious. The same one he uses when a story from a patient doesn’t quite add up, or when he’s looking for you to notice what he has noticed in your words.

“I’m doing a detox,” you say, plating the pasta with unnecessary precision. “So—you know, yoga, no alcohol, no drugs, no screens, no shopping, no sex, no soda—”

“—right there,” he cuts in.

You pause, glancing over your shoulder. “…No soda?”

He doesn’t even blink. “No. The no sex.”

You turn back to the counter, like this is completely normal. “What, you can’t handle a month without sex?”

Jack doesn’t bite—doesn’t rise to it like someone your age would. He just watches you, lips pursed, arms folded, weight settled into one hip, expression flattening into something more deliberate.

“Not when it’s without you,” he says, simple.

You huff a small laugh, trying to shake off the way it lands somewhere inconvenient in your chest. “That’s flattering. That will get you very far.”

You slide his plate toward him. He doesn’t take it yet.

“It’s not like I won’t miss it,” you add, softer now. “Same as alcohol. Same as everything else.”

“Yeah,” he says, pushing off the counter finally, crossing the kitchen in a few easy steps. “Difference is alcohol’s not making you come in under ten minutes, and four times in an hour.”

You shoot him a look—sharp, immediate. 

He shrugs, already reaching past you into the fridge like he didn’t just say that. “It’s a valid comparison.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You love it,” he shrugged, knowing, grabbing the cheese. “Point is - you know, it’s a big difference.”

You try not to smile. You fail, a little.

“I just—” you sigh, taking the cheese from him, grating it over your pasta. “I want to do something that requires actual discipline. Reset a bit. Clear my head.”

“Hon,” he says, quieter now, leaning his shoulder against the counter beside you, close enough that his arm brushes yours, “you work ortho and you’re an R3. You’re up for thirty hours at a time, you operate on broken bones for fun, you look amazing, you’re healthy—what part of you needs more discipline?”

You glance at him. He’s looking at you properly now. Not teasing.

You soften a fraction. “It’s not about that.”

“Then what is it about?”

You hesitate. Just a second too long.

“…It’s just a month,” you settle on. “Four weeks. Thirty days. We’ll live.”

He studies you. You can feel it—clinical, almost. Like he’s trying to diagnose something you’re not saying out loud.

Then—

“And this is just penetration?” he asks.

You freeze.

Your silence is loud.

Jack exhales, slow, disbelieving, dragging a hand down over his mouth. “Goddamn.”

You busy yourself with the plates again. “It’s part of the program.”

“Program,” he repeats flatly. “Who the hell put you up to this?”

“Santos. and McKay. We all agreed to do it together.”

That earns you a look.

“…Santos,” he says, like he’s deeply reconsidering several life choices. “Of course this has Santos written all over it - getting you into a nun-cult thing.”

You laugh despite yourself, handing him his bowl. “It’s not a cult. It’s a detox.”

“It’s a sexless cult,” he mutters, taking the bowl.

You nudge his hip with yours. “You’ve survived longer droughts.”

“Yeah,” he shoots back immediately. “In the army.”

You grin. “Oh, here we go.”

“You’re really gonna do this to me?” he says, following you toward the couch. “Make the disabled veteran relive his worst years?”

“Your worst years were not lack of sex, be serious.”

“Debatable.”

You snort, dropping onto the couch, tucking your legs under you. He sits beside you, close—closer than necessary, knee knocking into yours, like he’s testing the boundaries of this already.

You hand him a fork.

“It’ll be good for us,” you say, softer now. “Builds character.”

He looks at you sidelong. “I have enough character.”

“You could always use more.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

His hand comes up—absent, habitual—resting warm at your knee, thumb brushing once, slow. Not even thinking about it. Your breath catches before you can stop it.

His mouth twitches, just slightly. Not quite a smile.

“…Fine. I’ll do whatever I can to support you in this… detox, thing,” he says.

You smile, even though his calloused hand is rubbing softly against your skin, warm, rough and inched maybe a little further onto your thigh. “I appreciate that.”

He leans back into the couch, finally picking up his fork, but his hand doesn’t move from your leg.

A pause.

Then—

“We can still watch Housewives?” he asks, like this is the real negotiation.

You let out a breath, tension cracking just enough to smile. “Housewives stays.”

“Right,” he nods. “Good. Thought you were gonna take everything from me.”

You roll your eyes, nudging him with your shoulder. “So you think you can handle this?”

“‘Course I can handle this.”

★★★

“I can’t handle this,” Jack says.

Robby doesn’t even look up as he checks his watch, pulling up his sleeves as they step outside, already smiling like he’s been waiting for this. “It’s just a month, man. Cool it.”

“It’s not just a month,” Jack shoots back, arms folded, pacing a tight line along the bay, outside the ED. “It’s a month without her. There’s a difference.”

Robby snorts. “Oh, I’m sure there is.”

“I’m serious,” Jack says, sharper now. “You don’t get it—you don’t—” he gestures vaguely, frustrated. “When you have her, she’s— she’s everything. It’s not just sex, it’s…. well, it is, but it's also more, it's... deeper? No, it's... you know, I mean—”

“—you were about to say something amazingly poetic and then ruined it,” Robby cuts in, amused.

“Yeah, well,” Jack mutters. “We have sex four to five times a week. Minimum three. And now?” He throws his hands up. “Nothing. She won’t even let me spoon her.”

Robby pauses.

Then looks up slowly.

“…Spooning.”

“Don’t,” Jack warns.

Robby’s grin breaks wide. “Jack Abbot. Spooning. Are you the big or little one? Or does it switch?”

“Oh, shut up.”

“That’s… wow,” Robby shakes his head, impressed. “It’s a cute image.”

Jack drags a hand over his face, already irritated. “Not even—nothing. It’s like I’m in a goddamn monastery.”

“Voluntarily celibate,” Robby nods. “Very spiritual of you.”

“I did not volunteer,” Jack snaps.

“You stayed,” Robby counters.

Jack glares at him, then looking out into the evening. “Where the hell are they? They said two minutes.”

“Relax,” Robby says, still enjoying this far too much. “Also— five times a week? Christ, having that kind of libido at your age?” He clicks his tongue, an exhale. “Impressive. You should get that checked out.”

“Forget that,” Jack mutters. “She’ll kill me if I’m talking about this.”

“Oh, so there’s still fear. Good. That’s healthy.”

Jack exhales sharply, jaw tight, eyes flicking back out toward the ambulance bay.

“How long’s it been since you two…?” Robby asks, vaguely gesturing, curious as to how his friend is already so wound up.

Jack hesitates.

“…Two days.”

There’s a beat.

Robby stares at him. “…Two days,” he repeats.

Jack doesn’t answer.

Robby lets out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head. “You’re kidding me.”

“I wish I was.”

“You’re like this after two days?”

Jack shrugs, already keyed up. “Look, I mean, that is including any kind of touch and sexual actions, alright—”

“That’s pathetic,” Robby says, still grinning.

“I know,” Jack snaps, pacing again now, faster. “I know, it’s—this is ridiculous. She won’t even kiss me, barely hugs me. She’s… walking around like nothing’s changed—”

“Yeah,” Robby hums. “Almost like she’s not the one with the problem. Just let her ride this out. You expect her to put on a nun costume?”

Jack shoots him a look. “You're not helping.”

“I’m not trying to,” Robby says easily.

Jack exhales, running a hand through his silver waves, agitation sitting just under the surface now. He glances out again, scanning for lights, for movement.

“Where the hell are they?” he mutters. “They said two minutes.”

Robby straightens a fraction, checking his watch again. “Traffic, maybe—”

“Ambulance crashed!”

The shout cuts through the bay, and their conversation is finished quickly as they race out with nurses to help.

★★★

Jack Abbot was a strong man, in many respects.

He’d seen enough—done enough—to have a working relationship with pain, with loss, with the kind of things that hollow people out if they let it. He wasn’t perfect, but he was… steady. More emotionally literate than most men he knew—Robby included, which wasn’t exactly a high bar, but still.

He knew how to sit in discomfort. Knew how to carry it. Knew how to endure.

But this. This thing you were doing…

The thing about you was, he’d never really had to hold back before.

From the moment you’d settled into his life—properly, fully, toothbrush next to his, your things in his drawers, your presence in every corner of his apartment—he’d made a decision: you get all of him. Whatever he has, whatever he can give, whenever you want, it’s yours.

That includes the easy things. The soft things.

And yeah—sex too.

It wasn’t the foundation of your relationship. Not even close. Two years together, six months living side by side, working different departments, different hours—you loved each other in ways that had nothing to do with sex.

But – Christ. It didn’t hurt that the sex was very good.

And you—young, bright, all sharp edges and softness in the right places—you’d woken something up in him he hadn’t realised had gone quiet. Made him feel… not younger, exactly, but awake. 

Kept him on his toes. Made him care, in small stupid ways—like going to the gym on his off days so he could keep up with you, so he didn’t feel like he was lagging behind when you dragged him out into the world.

You were tactile in a way that blurred the line between affection and need. Always finding him. You always managed to make him feel like the centre of any and all desires.

Hands on his arm when you passed. Fingers hooking into his belt loops when you walked past him in the kitchen. Leaning into him mid-conversation like gravity pulled you there. Curling into his side on the couch, half on top of him, legs tangled, absentmindedly tracing patterns over his chest like you didn’t even realise you were doing it.

You’d climb into his lap without asking. Kiss him just because you could. Start something in the middle of nowhere—half a joke, half not—just to see the way he’d react.

It didn’t go unnoticed. Robby had picked up on it within the first few weeks.

Some shitty bar down the road with shittier beer, end of shift, nothing special—and all Jack could do was watch you.

“The hell did you find her?” Robby asked, leaning against the bar, eyes flicking between Jack and where you were across the room, laughing too loud at something Ellis had said, drink loose in your hand.

Jack followed his line of sight without meaning to. It softened him, visibly.

“She found me,” he said, like that explained anything. Took a sip of his beer. “Cafeteria. First week at PTMC.”

Robby hummed, unconvinced. “Right. Of course she did.”

Jack shrugged, trying for casual. “She’s… enthusiastic.”

Robby glanced back at you, just in time to see the way your attention shifted mid-conversation—like something had tugged on you. Your eyes landed on Jack immediately.

Locked. And then—there it was. That smile. Not polite, not social. Specific.

“Yeah,” Robby muttered. “That’s one word for it.”

You were already moving.

Didn’t even finish whatever you were saying, just peeled off like the rest of the room had lost its relevance. Straight line to Jack, weaving through people without hesitation.

You slipped into his space like you belonged there, like you always had.

“Hi,” you said, bright, a little breathless. “Missed you.”

Jack blinked. “You’ve been gone fifteen minutes.”

“Felt longer,” you shrugged, already reaching for him—fingers brushing over his bicep, then squeezing, slow and appreciative, like you were reminding yourself he was real. “I love this shirt.”

Robby snorted into his drink. He knew that shirt. Cheap, slightly too tight on purpose. Jack had once tried to pretend it wasn’t a strategy. Apparently, it was working.

You didn’t move away. If anything, you leaned closer—hips brushing his, hand still on his arm, thumb dragging once like you couldn’t quite help it.

Robby watched the exact second Jack stopped pretending this wasn’t affecting him.

“You busy?” you asked, softer now.

You tilted your head, smiling like you already knew the answer.

Then you leaned in.

Close enough that Robby couldn’t hear, but not subtle about it either—your mouth brushing Jack’s ear, your hand tightening slightly on his arm as you murmured something low.

Whatever it was, Jack went still.Immediate. A shift. Shoulders tightening, breath catching, eyes dropping to you like he needed a second to recalibrate.

Robby raised a brow. You pulled back like nothing had happened, smile sweet, completely unbothered. Jack set his beer down.

“We’re heading out,” he said.

Robby stared at him. “You just got here.”

“Yeah,” Jack replied, already reaching for his jacket. “We’re done.”

Jack had called it the honeymoon phase. It wasn’t. It just… evolved.

You stayed exactly as enthusiastic as he’d first described—just more efficient about it. More integrated into the rhythm of your lives. Somehow worse, if you asked Robby.

And when you were stressed—which was often, given Ortho, given your hours, given you—it got worse. Or better, depending on who you asked.

You’d come home wired, exhausted, brain still running at full speed—and instead of shutting down, you’d go straight to him. Like he was the off-switch. Like being close to him, touching him, feeling him, was how you came back to yourself.

You didn’t overthink it. You didn’t ration it.

And now nothing. He’s not sure if he recognises you. 

It’s not just the sex. That’s the worst of it, sure. The obvious absence. But it’s everything else that’s starting to wear on him. You’re thorough with it. Annoyingly disciplined.

★★★

Day Six.

He gets home just after eight in the morning, dead on his feet, the kind of tired that sits behind his eyes and dulls everything out.

The apartment’s not quiet. That’s the first thing.

The second— You.

On the floor in the lounge, in the middle of a yoga mat, moving through a pose like this is something you’ve always done. You quit yoga a year ago. Said it was boring. Said you couldn’t sit still long enough.

And yet here you are. And Santos is with you. Which is… its own problem. There’s a lot to unpack there.

Why does Santos know where you live?

Why is Santos doing yoga?

Why are you wearing that—some tight, soft, barely-there athleisure set that looks like it was designed specifically to make his life harder?

“Hi, baby!” you call, bright, easy, like nothing’s changed, as you both move into cobra.

“Gross,” Santos mutters under her breath.

“Hey, hon,” Jack says, voice rough with fatigue as he steps in, toeing off his shoes.

The coffee table’s been shoved aside, the TV playing some overly calm instructor guiding you through it like this is a wellness retreat instead of his living room.

He walks over anyway—automatic, like always. Bends down, aiming for your mouth—

—and you shift just slightly.

It’s subtle. Anyone else wouldn’t clock it. But he does.

His kiss lands on your cheek instead.

You don’t even break the pose.

“No kisses during yoga, interrupts my zen,” you remind him lightly.

A beat.

“Right,” he says, quieter. “Forgot about that.”

There’s the faintest pause—just enough to feel it.

“Feels like it’s all the time lately,” he adds under his breath. Then, correcting himself, “But—yeah. I get it.”

You hum, already moving out of cobra like nothing’s happened.

He straightens, slower now, glancing at Santos.

She rolls her eyes.

“Next pose,” she says flatly.

You shift without hesitation.

“You should shower, then have some breakfast,” you tell him gently, already moving into child’s pose. “I made oats. They’re in the fridge.”

“Oats?” he repeats. “Since when do you eat oats?”

“It’s good for your gut, heart health, digestion, blood sugar,” Santos answers, not looking up. “Cleansing in some cultures.”

Jack blinks at her. “…Right. I’ve been a doctor for twenty years. Think I’ve got gut health covered, Trinity.”

“I don’t think your army rations count as a gut health plan,” she shoots back.

You let out a small laugh into the mat.

“I thought you said oats were for Victorian children and farmers who hate themselves,” Jack adds to you.

“They are,” you mumble. “But these have honey and cinnamon.”

Santos chimes. “And spite.”

Jack just stares at the two of you for a second.

Looking at you—folded into the pose, calm, deliberate. Not reaching for him. Not pulling him down. Like he’s background noise.

“Okay,” he says finally, a little clipped. “You two… have fun.” He drags a hand over his face. “I’m gonna sleep for about five hours.”

He turns, already heading for the bedroom, shoulders a little tighter than when he walked in.

You glance up, watching him go.

There’s a beat of silence.

Santos shifts beside you into a side plank, already shaking slightly. “Jesus Christ.”

You follow, steady.

“He seems… stable,” she says.

“He’s a bit grumpy,” you reply. “We haven’t touched in nearly a week.”

Santos’s head snaps toward you. “So?”

“We’re touchy people.”

“Right,” she nods once. “I hate happy couples.”

You huff a quiet laugh.

“This was your idea, by the way,” you remind her.

“Yeah, and it’s a good one,” she says immediately. “I needed to not text Garcia at 2AM and ruin my life again.”

“You could just… not text her.”

Santos looks at you like you’ve said something deeply stupid. “Oh, yeah. Genius. Why didn’t I think of that?”

You smile slightly.

“She blocked me last night,” Santos adds, flat.

“Oh.”

“Yeah. ‘For her peace.’” She makes air quotes with one hand, nearly losing balance. “Which is crazy, because I’m incredibly peaceful.”

“Well, this detox thing is a great idea. You’ll cleanse yourself of her.”

“Evil lesbians are not for the weak.”

“Hon, where are those scented candles?” Jack calls from the hallway, voice carrying through the apartment.

“I threw them out,” you call back. “They release benzene. Cleansing, remember?”

There’s a pause.

“…Of course you did,” he mutters, just loud enough.

Santos snorts as you both move into the next stretch, threading your arm under your body.

“Bit much, isn’t it?” she says.

You exhale into the mat. “I am going to be so aggressively cleansed by the end of this, you’d consider me the Virgin Mary.”

★★★

Day Nine.

Virgin Mary, my ass.

That’s all Jack can think as he leans in the doorway for a second too long, watching you at the counter. Pink, ridiculous, barely-there panties.

The ones from Valentine’s. His t-shirt hanging off you like it belongs there, cut just high enough that every small shift of your hips flashes skin he knows too well. Music hums low from the radio—something easy, something you’re half-swaying to as you chop vegetables like this is just… normal.

He’s been up maybe five minutes. Has to leave in thirty. And he’s already half-hard. He pushes off the doorway anyway. Walks up behind you like muscle memory.

His arms come around you slow, familiar—settling over your waist, pulling you back into him. He feels the way you soften immediately, that slight melt into his chest like your body still knows him, even if you’re being… whatever this is.

You startle just a little, then relax.

“Hey,” you murmur, turning your head slightly as he drops his chin to your shoulder. “You’re up.”

“Mhm,” he hums, already pressing his mouth to your neck.

He doesn’t even pretend restraint. Just goes for it—slow, lazy kisses wherever he can reach, nosing along your skin, breathing you in like he’s been deprived, because he has.Which—he has.

“What’re you making?” he asks against you, voice rougher than he means it to be.

“Food prep,” you say, though it comes out softer than that. A little breath slipping through when he finds that spot under your ear.

“Shit—Jack,” you add, quieter now, the knife slowing in your hand. “You can’t.”

He smiles against your skin. Not nice about it.

“I can’t,” he repeats, low. “Or you can’t?”

His hands move without asking—sliding under the hem of his shirt on you, palms warm against your stomach first. Familiar. Testing.

You inhale sharply. He doesn’t stop. Just keeps going—slow, deliberate—up over your ribs, feeling the curve of you, the heat of your skin, until his hands settle over your chest. Not rough. Not greedy. Like he belongs there. Because he does. Or he did.

Your hand stills completely on the counter.

“Jack,” you say again, but it’s weaker this time. Less conviction, more breath.

He presses another kiss just below your ear, voice dropping.

“Been real good about this,” he murmurs. “Haven’t I?”

You don’t answer.

Because he has. You're not making it easy, after Santos suggested to have more fun with it. So, sure, you go for panties and shirt, maybe even the barely there nightgowns you bought a while back, feeling as he is completely still besides you in bed.

His touch shifts just slightly—not pushing, not crossing a line, but close enough to remind you exactly how easily he could.

Your head tips back a fraction before you catch yourself.

“No,” you say, firmer now, even as your body lags behind. “Nope. No, can’t. I’m staying cleansed. My book says even too much contact can make you unfocused.”

He exhales slowly, like he’s dragging himself back by force.

“Unfocused.. alright,” he mutters. “Whatever you want.”

But his hands don’t move right away. You finally set the knife down, turning in his arms so you’re facing him. Big mistake.

Because now you’re looking at him properly—sleep-rough, hair a mess, jaw shadowed, eyes still heavy but fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the room. And you know that look. You’ve felt what follows it.

“You should get a hobby,” you tell him quietly.

“Yeah?” he says, not looking away.

“Maybe pottery,” you shrug. “Something that isn’t being a SWAT medic and—” you hesitate just slightly, “—fucking me or whatever.”

His hands slide down your sides, slower this time. Reluctant.

“But I really like my hobbies,” he says, voice low, rough around the edges. “Especially fucking you, or whatever.”

The way he looks at you when he says it—like he’s imagining you in the most vulgar of situations—makes heat climb straight up your neck. You hate that it works.

He doesn’t move.

“Jack.”

“Just one kiss?” He asks.

You open your mouth to say yes, but you bite your lip and think for a second. You lean in pressing a deliberate kiss to his cheek, hand up to his neck, feeling how he melts under your touch.

You fingers briefly fidget with the grey curls at the nape of his neck, as his fingers dig slightly into your hips. You pull back.

“I’ll try pottery,” he mutters.

You smile—small, controlled. Infuriating. Then he lets you go. Barely.

You watch him walk off toward the bedroom, running a hand through his hair like he’s trying to shake it off, his own shirt fitted against him, rising, tight against his biceps, and the second he’s out of sight—

You exhale. Your grip tightens on the counter, head tipping forward for a second. This is... harder than you thought it’d be.

It’s him. The way he moves around you like it’s instinct. The way your body still answers before your brain catches up. The way one kiss feels like a warning.

If you touch him properly—if you let yourself lean into it even a little—you know exactly how it goes. There’s no halfway with him. There never has been. You've struggled to hold back with him.

You both work too hard, sleep too little. You orbit each other—shared meals, late-night TV, quiet mornings when they exist. He’s steady, solid, always there. And sex has always been part of that too. 

Easy, natural, constant, release. Escapism, almost. 

You press your lips together, shaking your head slightly as you keep chopping, trying to focus. You should’ve fought harder on the point about no sex, but Santos seemed so pitiful, you don’t have the heart to tell her you broke or to lie. 

Cleanse. Reset. Prove you’ve got discipline. Prove you’re not just running on impulse and instinct and whatever feels good in the moment. Focused...ness. All that.

It’s just you’ve never seen him like this. Not like this kind of worked up. Not this restless, this… needy. Your thighs press together instinctively, heat lingering, annoying and insistent.

“God,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing the knife again like that’ll ground you. “Pathetic.”

★★★

Day Twelve.

“I cannot tell if you’re being serious right now,” Robby says, standing beside Jack in the elevator as they head down from the roof.

Jack doesn’t even look at him. “It’s psychological warfare.”

Robby scoffs. “Oh my god.”

“I’m serious,” Jack insists, dragging a hand over his face. “I can’t think straight. It’s like… cognitive impairment. I should get tested.”

“You need to get a grip,” Robby replies.

“You don’t get it,” Jack mutters. “You haven’t had a relationship like this in—what, a decade? More? This isn’t casual. This is… routine. Structure. Stability.” He gestures vaguely. “We live together. We’ve got a system.”

“A system,” Robby repeats, flat.

“Yes,” Jack says, defensive. “And she’s dismantled it. Completely. No warning. Just—gone. Overnight. You know her, she's all over me usually. And I’m a touchy guy, man, I feel like a sunflower without sun. She is my sun.”

Robby exhales through his nose. “It’s been two weeks.”

“Twelve days,” Jack corrects. “That’s long enough to destabilise a man.”

The elevator dings. Doors open. A couple of nurses step in.

Jack lowers his voice, but not his intensity.

“She won’t even cuddle with me,” he mutters. “Do you understand that? Cuddling. Baseline intimacy. Gone. She almost slept on the couch the other night because she thought she might—”

He cuts himself off as one of the nurses glances over.

Robby stares straight ahead, deadpan. “Please stop talking.”

Jack exhales sharply, jaw ticking. “It’s like… all that energy I spent with her, is just… Like I’m all—”

“Do not say pent up,” Robby murmurs.

“I’m pent up, man,” Jack says anyway, under his breath. “I don’t—”

“Jesus Christ.”

“And she keeps wearing—”

“—and that’s our stop,” Robby cuts in quickly as the doors open.

They step out into the corridor, quieter now. Both hit the sanitiser on instinct.

Jack rubs his hands together, restless. “She’s doing it on purpose.”

“No, she isn’t.”

“She is,” Jack insists. “She knows exactly what I like. The shirts, the—lack of shirts. The shorts. The yoga. The fucking… tiny nightgowns. Sheer, too. Door open when she showers. It’s targeted.”

“Or,” Robby says, dry, “she’s a twenty-something woman existing in her own home.”

Jack ignores that. “And then—nothing. Won’t touch me. Won’t let me touch her. She kissed me on the cheek three days ago, and I was gonna… ruin my pants like an idiot. I feel like a teenager.”

Robby snorts. “You sound like one. She showers with the door open?”

“I’ve done tours,” Jack goes on, either ignoring or not hearing Robby’s query, quieter now, almost incredulous at himself. “I’ve been shot at. I’ve dealt with death at its worst. And somehow this is what’s got me pacing like a lunatic at three in the morning.”

Robby stops walking.

Grabs his shoulder.

“You hear yourself, right?”

“…Yeah,” Jack mutters. “Hearin' it.”

“Good,” Robby says. “Because it’s insane. And I’m tired of it, brother.”

Jack exhales, trying to reset—then his gaze shifts past Robby’s shoulder.

Locks. You.

At Central Four, mid-discussion with McKay and Mel, one hand braced lightly against a patient’s lower leg as you check the alignment on a fresh below-knee cast—thumbs pressing along the tibial crest, eyes flicking between the limb and the patient’s foot for perfusion. Focused. Calm. Explaining as you go, that steady, assured cadence you’ve grown into over the past couple years.

You look good. You always do, but—today is… worse. Yeah, he’s definitely pent up. Jack’s jaw tightens. Robby follows his line of sight, spots you, then looks back at him.

“You really look like a kicked puppy right now, bud.”

“Don’t.”

“I mean it,” Robby says. “It’s palpable.”

Jack exhales sharply. “I’ll be right back.”

“You aren’t going there.”

“I’m just gonna ask my girlfriend about her day.”

“No, you’re gonna say something deeply unprofessional to your girlfriend in the middle of a ward round,” Robby corrects. “While Shark is somewhere nearby, sensing weakness.”

“Right, ‘course, you’ve interrupted my plan to give her head in the middle of the ED,” Jack says, sarcastically, then a brief beat of thought. “God, If she asked me to I probably w-”

“-We need boundaries, man,” Robby says. “I don’t… You have fun with that.”

“Relax. It’s fine, we’re both clocking off now. Once she wraps up, we’re outta here.”

Jack glances back at you again. You laugh softly at something McKay says, adjusting the cast edge with careful fingers, smoothing it down. Your hand lingers just a second as you explain something to the patient—voice warm, easy, reassuring.

Mel nudges your shoulder, subtle, and tips her chin toward Jack.

You look up. Catch him. Smile. It’s small, but it lands.

Jack stiffens like he’s just been called to attention, gives you a tight nod—controlled, restrained—then abruptly turns and heads toward the station with Robby.

Robby snorts under his breath. “That was painful to watch.”

“I told you. Psychological warfare.”

McKay smirks a bit as she watches Jack retreat.

“What’s that about?” McKay murmurs, rolling her stool a little closer to the patient bed.

“Our detox program?” you say lightly, refocusing as you check distal circulation again. “Not a fan.” You glance to the patient. “Any numbness or tingling, ma’am?”

“No, love. Feels fine,” she says, half-distracted by her phone.

“Good,” you nod. “Let me know if that changes.”

McKay hums, folding her arms loosely. “Ah. The celibacy portion not going down well?”

You let out a quiet breath. “Not particularly. And I’m not being super easy on him about it either.”

“Yeah,” she says, dry. “Can’t imagine why.”

You suppress a smile, smoothing the cast. “Everything else is good, though. I’m committed now.”

“Mm,” McKay says. “Santos bullied us into it.”

“Santos encouraged it.”

“Santos got dumped and decided everyone else should suffer,” McKay corrects.

“That’s not—” you start, then pause. “…entirely inaccurate.”

Mel watches all of this with mild fascination, then looks back at the cast. “Um—can I try wrapping the next layer?”

You brighten a little. “Yeah, of course. Come here.”

You shift off the stool, making space. “Alright—support here,” you guide, hands hovering near hers. “Keep your tension even, don’t gap it.”

Mel nods seriously, concentrating.

McKay glances between you and the half-set cast, then back at you. “Are you feeling detoxed?”

You huff a quiet breath. “A little. More flexible, improved sleep, and a deeply irritated boyfriend.”

“Holistic wellness,” McKay deadpans.

You smile despite yourself. “And you?” you ask.

“Nope,” she sighs. “But Harrison’s loving the yoga mat, so at least someone’s thriving. And I wasn’t getting laid anyway, so—no real sacrifice on that front. But the no screens thing is doing wonders. I can feel my brain gaining another wrinkle.”

You snort softly, nudging Mel’s hand. “Smoother there—yeah, that’s it. Keep the overlap consistent.”

Mel adjusts, careful, precise, tongue just slightly between her teeth in concentration. McKay watches her for a second, then leans in a fraction closer to you, voice dropping just enough—

“He looks like he’s about five minutes from a breakdown.”

You don’t look over. “He’ll be fine.”

“Mm,” she hums. “He keeps looking at you between charts.”

“He always does that when I’m down here,” you say, a little softer.

“Yeah,” McKay replies. “Not like this.”

You ignore that, focusing instead on Mel’s technique. “Good—now just secure it there. Don’t pull too tight.”

Mel nods, finishing the wrap neatly. “Like that?”

“Perfect,” you say, genuinely pleased. “Nice work, Doctor King.”

Mel beams, small but proud. Behind you, you can feel it again—Jack’s attention, flicking back over, catching, lingering even when he forces it away.

You keep your eyes on the patient. But you’re aware of him. Constantly. And across the room, Jack shifts his weight, jaw tight, trying—and failing—not to look again.

Later, he finds you around the ED. You’re mid-conversation with Santos, focused, explaining something on the chart.

Jack walks up beside you, close enough that your arms brush. You don’t react. Don’t even break your sentence.

“…so we stabilise first, then reassess once imaging’s back—”

He waits. Nothing. Not even a glance. Santos clocks it immediately. Raises her brows.

“…Hi, Dr Abbot,” she says, dry.

You finally look up. “Oh—hey.”

He stares at you.

“…Hey, just... checking in,” he says, somewhat shy now.

You smile, polite. "All good here." Then turn straight back to Santos. “Anyway—like I was saying—”

He stands there for a second. Then another.

Robby, from across the station, watches the whole thing with poorly concealed amusement.

“…You gonna be okay?” he calls out.

Jack doesn’t look at him. “No,” he says flatly, before walking off.

★★★

Day Eighteen.

You’re supposed to be detoxing. Self-restraint. Discipline. Clarity.

Apparently, that also includes driving your boyfriend quietly insane in your living room.

“You need to be doing that right now?” Jack asks as he finally drops onto the couch, exhaustion dragging at him. Scrubs half-off, shirt discarded somewhere along the way before he drags a fresh one over his head, lazy, spent.

You don’t even look at him. “I can stop if you want,” you say, adjusting your stance—hands walking a little wider on the mat, hips tipping higher as you settle deeper into downward dog, covering a good half of the TV screen.

He watches the shift. The stretch. The way your shorts ride up just enough to be completely fucking useless.

He exhales slowly, dragging a hand over his face. “No, no—carry on. This is great. Very relaxing.”

You hum like you believe him. You don’t.

He leans back, head tipping against the couch as he reaches down, taking off his prosthetic with practiced ease, setting it aside. His body finally settles—but his eyes don’t.

They stay on you.

Track every adjustment.

You shift again—one leg lifting, extending behind you before you draw it through, slow, controlled, foot landing between your hands. Your back arches slightly as you ease into it. Jack’s jaw tightens.

“Park’s been on my ass lately,” you say, like this is normal conversation.

“Glad someone has,” Jack murmurs.

You shoot him a look. 

“I’m sorry, baby, I’m just… distracted, I don’t know” He says, somewhat earnestly, dryly. “What is it about Shark?”

“He’s not as bad as you guys make him seem, he’s just got tunnel vision," You try, slowly repositioning. “But he can be such a dick sometimes. No concept of tact. I missed one chart the other day, and he ripped me a new one in front of the med students.”

And then you slide down. Slow. Controlled.

One leg extending forward, the other back, lowering into a full split like it’s nothing—hips sinking, spine straight, hands resting lightly on your thighs.

Jack actually goes still. That’s new. 

“…Right,” he says, quieter now.

You keep talking. Like you haven’t just changed the entire atmosphere in the room.

“And I was gonna snap,” you continue, calm, measured, “but I did that breathing thing from the book. Actually worked. I didn’t react. I just… sat in it and breathed, five to two.”

“Yeah,” he says, voice a little rougher. “Looks like it’s working great.”

You shift out of it fluidly, folding in, then rolling onto your back—knees lifting, falling open as you stretch through your hips, one hand braced lightly on your stomach as you breathe through it.

Jack leans forward slightly before he catches himself, hand dragging over his jean clad thigh, like he’s trying to reset.

He’s trying to be good. You can see it.

Trying to sit still. Trying not to react. Trying not to reach for you.

You keep going anyway.

“So then Isla comes into the break room—did you know she’s getting divorced?” you say, drawing one knee closer, holding it there, breath catching just slightly at the stretch.

“Do you need help with that?” he asks, too quick.

“Nope,” you say immediately.

You don’t look at him.

Because you know exactly what that would do. You know exactly what this looks like from where he’s sitting. You know exactly what he’s thinking about, because you’re thinking about it too—the way he’s had you like this before, hands on you, holding you in place, your body not your own for a while.

You switch legs, pushing through it again, slower this time.

“Do you think he cheated?” you ask.

“Who?” His voice is tighter now.

“Isla’s husband.”

“Yeah,” he says after a beat. “Maybe.”

You let your leg drop, exhaling as you roll up, sitting back on your knees. Arms stretch overhead, spine lengthening, chest lifting.

Jack looks away this time.

Briefly.

Then back.

Like he can’t help it.

“I taught her the breathing thing,” you go on. “She calmed down immediately. I could totally pivot into this, you know. Wellness, mindfulness—”

“Yeah,” he cuts in, too fast. “You should absolutely do that.”

You glance at him now.

“Yeah, I’ll give up years of med school and fixing bones to teach whiny people how to lock in,” You joke.

“Whatever you want to do, baby,” He nods, eyes looking down at you on the floor, mind literally anywhere else.

“You look like a kicked dog right now. Was the yoga too much?”

“I’m fine,” he insists. “Robby said the same thing. Maybe I just have a pitiful face.”

You don’t disagree with that.

You look at him. Really look.

He’s not relaxed. Not even close. Shoulders tight despite the way he’s sitting, fingers flexing once against his knee like he needs something to do with them. His gaze flicks over you, then away, then back again like it’s a losing battle.

You stand, cross the room, and settle beside him, curling your feet under you so you’re facing him properly.

He immediately turns his head slightly away, like that helps.

“Thank you for putting up with this,” you murmur, softer now, even though it’s just the two of you. Then, almost casually—“Have you touched yourself at all?”

His inhale is sharp enough to answer before he does.

“No,” he says. Then, like he’s committing to honesty instead of dignity: “Figured we’re in this together. Minus… everything else. I can’t not do a line of cocaine before I go into work.”

That earns a small smile from you.

“Responsible of you,” you say.

“Have you?” He asks.

“Nope.”

“Are you struggling at all? Because it’s… you know, you… you really seem very comfortable with all this. This cleansing thing.”

You inhale sharply. “I’m doing great.” You lie.

“I feel like you’re forgetting how good our sex is,” He says.

You raise your brows, give it thought. “Or… I’m free from such… baseless temptations.”

“Baseless temptations had me eating you out for three hours, three times a week. Which in our line of work is a lot. And, at my age, a cardio workout.” He reminds. 

Your tongue darts to your lips, eyes flicking away from him like it helps you regain control. It doesn’t.

“I should go,” you say, too casually. “Errands.”

Jack nods once, like he’s trying to behave. “Two more weeks.”

“Two more weeks,” you repeat.

You lean in and press a quick kiss to his cheek.

It’s small. Controlled. Safe.

Except it isn’t, because it’s the first real contact in ten days and your body reacts like it’s been starved of oxygen. Like you didn’t realise how much you were holding your breath until you finally touched him again.

He turns his head slightly before you fully pull away.

Just enough. Just enough to trap you in that in-between space—faces inches apart, his breath warm against your mouth, his eyes locked on yours like he’s waiting to see if you’ll fold, head tilted, just a bit, curious.

You shouldn’t.

You press your mouth to his. It’s chaste, sweet, PG. Lasts maybe three seconds, and it’s not long enough for him as you pull away, as if you’ve rewarded him, but he can’t help but be greedy when it comes to you.

“You can do better than that, baby,” he says quietly.

“Mm,” you reply, steadying yourself. “I can’t.”

A pause.

“Promise I won’t do anything,” he adds.

You look at him for a second too long.

Then you nod.

His hand comes up immediately, settling at the back of your head—gentle, anchoring, familiar in a way your body reacts to before your brain does, mouth agape. His thumb brushes your cheek once, slowly, briefly moves to your jaw and chin, over your bottom lip, your mouth opening, almost instinctually, but he moves it back to your cheek, not entertaining it further.

You kiss him again properly.

It starts off controlled—your mouth on his, testing, like you’re still trying to keep it within the rules you made for yourself. The moment he kisses back, the rules seem very silly. No hesitation, no easing in—just straight into it, like your bodies already know exactly what they’re doing, falling into step all over again.

Your hand lifts like you’re going to hold him off, going to stop it but it just hangs there uselessly, mid-air.

His mouth is on yours harder now, deeper, tongue sliding in like he’s done waiting for permission. Slow, but not gentle. Familiar in a way that makes your stomach drop—like your body reacts before your brain even catches up. 

A small sound slips out of you without meaning to.

His hand at the back of your head tightens, fingers in your hair, not yanking but holding you exactly where he wants you. His other hand shifts at his crotch, you barely glance down at the corner of your eye, seeing as his palm moves over his hardening length beneath his jeans.

He exhales into your mouth, rough. “Damnit.”

You kiss him back harder, mouth opening more, his tongue dragging against yours again, slower this time but deeper, like he’s checking how far you’ll go if he just keeps pushing like this.

You make another sound—low, breathy—and he feels it immediately. You can tell by the way his hand tightens at the back of your neck, thumb pressing in like he’s grounding himself there, like he needs something solid to hold onto before he loses the plot completely.

“Mm—no more,” you manage, pulling back slightly, dazed. “No more. Errands. Oxygen. Meditation. Focus. Detox. Okay? Okay.”

“Okay,” he hums back, like he agrees, but he doesn’t move his eyes off you.

You’re both breathing heavier than you should be for a kiss that’s supposedly not doing anything.

He drags his tongue over his lips, slow, watching you properly now. Then his hand drops from your neck and he leans back a fraction—except he’s not actually done. He’s just shifting, exhaling through his nose like he’s trying to reset and failing.

You glance down.

He’s already adjusting himself, palming himself through his jeans, at the feeling and sight of you, far from subtle at all. His eyes flick between your face and your reaction like he’s half curious, half done pretending this isn’t affecting him.

You just stare for a second, hair slightly messier now from his grip, lips swollen, clearly trying to act normal and not really succeeding. Your eyes linger as you watch him become harder under the denim.

“Baseless temptation?” he echoes, dry, almost mocking, interested by your seeming entertainment.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, swallowing, standing up like that fixes anything. “I’m going. Errands.”

“Mm,” he says, already unbuckling his belt properly now, like he’s given up on dignity for the moment. “That.”

You clear your throat, turning away too quickly. “Yeah. That.”

“Great detox, honey,” he calls after you, voice low, almost satisfied, like he’s both impressed and completely fucked by it.

You don’t look back when you walk out.

★★★

Day Twenty Two.

You were even stricter after your brief lapse on Day 18.

Santos had spiralled a bit after Garcia tried to re-enter her life—one text, then another, then a “just checking in” that meant absolutely nothing and everything at the same time. And Santos, for all her bite, was still soft where it counted. So she doubled down.

We resist.

You weren’t going to be the weak link in that. Not when she was white-knuckling her way through it.

So you didn’t argue. Didn’t say that your situation was devolving.

So. Yoga, reading, no screens—none of it was enough anymore. Not because you were failing, but because you’d started treating this like something to actually get through properly. 

So you added structure.

Cooking, mostly. Proper cooking, technically normal, but now with a kind of performative discipline to it. Whole-food, vegetarian-heavy meals that smell intense enough to make Jack pause in the doorway like he’s trying to decide if he’s being punished or supported.

You explained something about how Santos had plenty of recipe choices, these were the best. He dreaded knowing the worst.

You’ve always cooked. So has he. It’s part of your relationship—easy, domestic, something you both fall back on without thinking.

But wow, the past three or four days have been a steady rotation of “cleansing” meals that are aggressively healthy in a way that feels almost personal and cruel.

You’ve also tightened everything else.

Early nights. Early mornings. You’re not avoiding him exactly—you’re just very efficient with your time now. No lingering in shared spaces. No sitting too close on the couch “by accident.” No hand brushing his back when you pass him in the hallway, even though that one clearly takes effort.

The hardest part was that you kept missing out on Housewives.

“Hon, you sure?” Jack had tried one night, hovering in the doorway. “It’s the mid-season finale.”

Pitch black room. Eye mask on.

“Tell me about it tomorrow,” you’d said.

He’d watched it alone. Hated it.

Even the small stuff has become intentional.

You’ve started drinking herbal tea that tastes like wet grass just to prove a point to yourself.

He’s started making coffee louder than necessary just to annoy you.

And still—you function.

You were both high-energy people—incapable of just sitting still without developing a new hobby or mild personality trait. 

The apartment was proof: books half-read, yoga mats permanently out, easels you didn’t touch, Jack picking up SWAT shifts “for fun” like that’s a normal recreational activity. 

And, historically, you’d had a very reliable outlet for all that excess energy. Now that’s been… aggressively decommissioned. So it lingers. In your body, in his shoulders, in the space between you—tight, charged, and just annoying enough to make everything feel a little harder than it needs to be.

The call comes down fast and ugly—trauma bay already prepped, voices sharp, movement tighter than usual.

Open tib-fib. High-energy. Motorcycle versus ute, no helmet.

You’re already pulling gloves on as you move, snapping them tight against your wrists, pace quick to match the rhythm of the room. Doctor Park is a step ahead of you—of course he is—already at the bedside, already assessing, already ten steps into the problem.

Robby and Jack linger to the side, Whitaker working the patient while they observe, supervise. Robby’s still here past his shift—because of course he is.

“Walk me through it,” Park says without looking at you.

“Mid-shaft tibial and fibular fracture, likely comminuted,” you reply immediately, eyes scanning. “Significant displacement. Possible vascular compromise—foot looks pale, delayed cap refill.”

“Good,” Park says shortly. “Check dorsalis pedis. Posterior tibial.”

You nod, moving in.

The leg is… bad. Angulated wrong, skin stretched too tight over something that shouldn’t be pressing there. Blood everywhere, soaked through layers Whitaker is trying—earnestly—to keep under control.

You don’t flinch. You tilt your head slightly, studying it like a problem you already want to solve, something in you clicking into place.

“Dorsalis pedis faint,” you say, fingers pressing in. “Posterior tibial—hard to appreciate.”

“Mm,” Park hums. “We reduce now.”

Behind Whitaker, Jack stands with his hands clasped behind his back, posture loose but attention razor sharp. Tracking everything—monitor, patient, Park.

You.

He hasn’t seen you all day. You left before he got home—left him in a cold bed, a note about oats, and absolutely nothing else. And now, every time he does see you, it feels deliberate. Like you’re making it harder. 

Three weeks of this… discipline.

And now you’re here, calm, focused, humming under your breath like you haven’t been systematically ruining his life, like his muscles aren’t taut without getting to feel you under him or on him.

Jack’s jaw tightens.

“Traction,” Park says.

You nod, hands steady as you take hold above and below the fracture. “On you.”

“Now.”

You pull—firm, controlled. There’s a shift. A sickening, mechanical realignment as bone slides back into place.

Whitaker visibly winces.

“Better,” you murmur, almost satisfied.

Jack exhales through his nose. “Hold it,” he says, stepping in just slightly. “Pulse?”

Whitaker checks, brow furrowed. “Stronger. Still thready, but—better.”

“Good. Splint.”

You glance up—just briefly—and catch Jack already looking at you.

Not subtle. Not tonight. Something heavier in it. Sharper. Like he’s been holding onto something all shift and hasn’t decided where to put it.

You hold his gaze for half a second.

“Doctor,” you say, light.

He tilts his head a fraction. “Nice work,” he says, dry. Then, without missing a beat—“You leave that… green-orange situation in the fridge?”

You blink. “Are you—seriously?”

“I got four hours of sleep,” he shrugs. “I’m allowed one grievance.”

You briefly glance to Park who doesn’t seem to care or mind your minor chatter with Jack, looking at the monitors with a hardened gaze.

“It’s vegetable soup,” you say, adjusting your grip. “It’s good for you. Anti-inflammatory.”

Whitaker glances between you, confused. “Soup? Do you two live together?”

Jack ignores him completely. “Tastes like punishment.”

“Funny,” you say. “You seemed very into punishment a few weeks ago.”

Robby lets out a short, sharp laugh from the other side of the bed. “Oh, I’m awake now.”

“Not helpful,” Jack mutters, not even looking at him.

“You started it,” you shoot back, breath steady despite the strain in your arms. “Also, Robby likes my soup. Don’t you, Robinavitch?”

Robby raises both hands. “I’m not being... triangulated into whatever this is.”

“You’re making bone broth for my best friend now?” Jack goes on, like he didn’t hear that. “That’s where we’re at?”

“It’s not bone broth,” you correct. “And maybe I’d cook for you if you weren’t so moody—”

You cut yourself off, refocusing as the splint is brought in.

“Keep traction steady,” Jack says, tone snapping cleanly back to clinical—but there’s an edge under it now. “You’re drifting distal.”

You correct it immediately. “Better?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Don’t let it shorten.”

Park finally glances back down, unimpressed. “If you’re both done flirting—”

“This is not flirting,” Jack and you say at the same time.

A beat.

Whitaker frowns. “…What is happening?”

Robby snorts. “I’ll tell you about it later. Celibacy ritual.”

“Robby,” Jack says, warning.

“What?” Robby shrugs. “I’m just saying. There’s context.”

“You told Robby?” you shoot at Jack.

He opens his mouth—

“I heard from Santos,” Robby cuts in, enjoying this far too much. “And McKay. Whole department knows you’ve gone monk mode.”

You scoff. “It’s not monk mode, it’s a detox.”

“Yeah,” Robby nods. “Abbot’s detoxing from joy, from what I can tell.”

Jack exhales sharply. “Can we focus?”

“You are the one who brought up soup. Besides, this guy’s gonna be fine. If he wasn’t, Shark here would’ve bit one of your heads off,” Robby shoots back.

Whitaker looks even more lost, Park stands off the side, giving Robby a brief glare before nodding back to you to continue.

“Angle your wrist,” you tell him, cutting through it. “You’re losing medial pressure.”

“Oh—right—sorry—”

“It’s fine. Just don’t let him bleed out.”

“Right. Yeah. Prefer that.”

Jack hovers just behind your shoulder now—close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the shift of his weight when you adjust yours.

He leans in slightly, voice low, for you.

“Breakfast tomorrow,” he murmurs. “Is it gonna be more… anti-inflammatory punishment?”

You don’t look at him. “Depends.”

“On?”

“How much you told Robby.”

He exhales a quiet, disbelieving breath, your words just for each other as the others get to work. “Just the basics. Nothing bad, just the weird bunny mask roleplay you’re into,” he jokes. “And I am not moody.”

“Debatable.”

“Reactionary to my dire circumstances some might say,” he mutters.

“You’re ridiculous.” You remark.

There’s the smallest pause. Then, softer, a bit quick, to make sure you know he means nothing bad by it—

“You look lovely, by the way. And I’d eat oxygen if you made it for me, promise. I love all your cleansing meals.”

You don’t respond to that. Not here, a small smile twitching at the corner of your lips.

“Secure it,” Park says, already moving on mentally. “Get him upstairs.”

You guide Whitaker through the final positioning, hands precise, controlled.

Jack steps back, watching you finish the job.

Still looking at you like that.

By the time you strip your gloves off, the room already shifting on, Robby’s watching you. Not subtle about it, an amused hint behind his tired eyes.

“When do you clock off?” you ask, tossing the gloves.

“An hour ago,” he says. “I stay for the live show now. Better than anything on TV.”

You huff. “How is he doing?”

Robby considers that, eyes narrowing like he’s actually weighing it up.

“Clinically?” he says. “Great. On top of it, always is. It’s annoying.”

“And not clinically?” you prompt.

He tilts his head. “Mm… a little rougher than usual,” he admits. “But he’s dramatic. You know ‘im.”

You grin. “Yeah, I do. It’s cute.”

“That’s certainly a word for it,” he mutters, jerking his chin subtly across the room. “Because he looks like he’s about to file a formal complaint with God.”

You follow the glance—Jack, shoulders tight, jaw set, mid-conversation with Park like he’s holding himself together out of sheer professionalism.

You look back, unfazed. “It’s temporary.”

Robby studies you for a beat, then huffs a laugh. “You’re enjoying this.”

You don’t even try to hide it. “A little bit. It’s fifty-fifty. It’s fun seeing him worked up, it’s annoying because we do have great sex. And I know that isn’t TMI for you because he tells me worse about your sex life.” You pause, then add, “Didn’t realise Hastings was so freaky.”

“Jesus,” Robby exhales, scratching at his beard. “You’ve been around him too long.”

“Occupational hazard,” you shrug.

He shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at it now despite himself.

There’s a small pause, then—more casually—

“Soup was good, by the way.”

You blink. “The vegetable one?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Don’t tell him I said that.”

“He called it punishment.”

“He’s wrong,” Robby shrugs. “I had two bowls.”

You brighten, just a fraction. “See? Someone has taste.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” he says. “It’s still soup.”

You laugh under your breath.

He glances around, then back to you. “I think Shark’s already ditched you,” he adds, nodding toward the empty space where Park had been.

You swear quietly. “Fuck. Whatever. Nice seeing you.”

“You too,” he says, stepping aside.

You pass Jack on your way out, offering him a light, professional smile like nothing’s off at all.

“See you at home in a few hours.”

He watches you go, something unreadable flickering across his face.

“Love you,” he calls after you anyway, voice a little rough, arms folded as the room empties out.

“Love you too,” you say as you hurry out, not turning back.

You’re gone. Whitaker stands there for a second, still blood-specked, brain clearly lagging behind everything that just happened.

“I’m… still a bit confused about—” he gestures vaguely between where you were and where Jack is now, “—that.”

Jack shoots him a look. Then Robby. Then just shakes his head, already walking. 

“Hey, what have you told her about me and Noelle?” Robby asks, following after, quiet, a bit antsy now.

Jack shakes his head immediately. “Nothing much, just the leash stuff you’re into. Anyway, I think you’re sleep deprived, man. Time to clock off, daywalkers.”

★★★

Day Twenty Nine.

“So, how’re we doing?” you ask, already halfway into the break room fridge like it’s part of your job description.

McKay and Santos are at the table with lunch. McKay looks as composed as ever—tired, but functional. Santos, on the other hand, looks like someone who has emotionally moved on from her entire relationship with Garcia but hasn’t informed her nervous system yet.

“Great,” Santos says immediately. Then, after a beat: “I stopped yoga.”

You glance over. “Why?”

“Pulled my calf,” she replies. “Turns out inner peace is physically unsafe.”

“Unfortunate,” you say, finding Jack’s labelled container and closing the fridge.

McKay watches you sit down. “That his lunch?”

“Yeah.”

“Doesn’t he need that later?” she asks.

“He’ll order takeout,” you say easily. “I’m doing him a favour. He keeps eating the stuff I make, even though I know he hates it, I think he thinks suffering is his virtue.”

Santos snorts. “He and Garcia would get along in a really unbearable way.”

You glance at her. “You miss her.”

She points at you with her fork. “Don’t.”

“You brought her up first.”

“That’s because you brought up food and suffering in the same sentence,” she shoots back. “It’s a trigger.”

McKay, calmly: “You both need to stop talking.”

You ignore her. You exhale, rubbing at your temple. You feel… weird. Wired. Like your body’s trying to replace one habit with ten others. You’ve thought about buying something three separate times this morning. Shoes, candles, a ridiculous blender you don’t need. You haven’t, obviously. Discipline. Wellness. Enlightenment.

“Where’s Robby?” you ask. “I can split this with him.”

“Talking to Gloria,” Santos says. “Looks like he’s in a mood. Snapped at Whitaker.”

“Great,” you mutter. “Two moody old attendings. Love that for you guys. I think Park might actually be more regulated than either of them.”

McKay doesn’t push it, just turns her attention back to you, calmer. “You’ve been very… consistent with this whole detox thing. Very controlled. Composed.”

Santos squints at you. “Almost spiritual, honestly. It’s impressive.”

You blink. “It’s just discipline.”

McKay hums. “Most people don’t call not having sex for a few weeks ‘discipline.’ They call it ‘being busy.’ Or just not having a high libido.”

You sigh, too quickly. “I’m just… glad it’s nearly over. I think Jack’s actually counting down the days.”

McKay tilts her head slightly at that but doesn’t bite yet, a slight purse in her lips. She makes eye contact with Santos. Santos bites back a smile. McKay begins to shake her head, as if reading her mind..

Santos, however, immediately does.

“So,” she says, leaning forward, “what’s he like?”

McKay shoots her a warning look over her fork.

“What?” Santos says, unbothered. “I’m curious. You thought of it too.”

“Like… personality-wise?” you try.

Santos waves a hand. “No. Don’t be boring.”

McKay mutters, “Oh God.”

Santos continues anyway, delighted now. “Like sex-wise. Come on. There has to be a reason he’s walking around like a man personally victimised by fucking… yoga and vegetables.”

You nearly choke. “Santos—”

“What?” she says. “I’m just saying. There’s clearly a secret here. He’s what, fifty-something? Night shift ED attending? You know how fucked you have to be to be the attending on night shift? Robby level fucked up. And you’re—” she gestures vaguely at you, “you. So either he’s got some hidden advantage or you’ve all been lying to yourselves.”

McKay, dry as ever: “Please stop talking.”

Santos ignores her. “Am I wrong?”

You stare at her. 

“That’s not an answer,” she says.

McKay finally looks at you properly now, faintly amused despite herself. “You do not have to answer that.”

“I’m not going to answer that,” you say immediately.

Santos leans back, offended. “Okay, so it’s missionary.”

You blink. “And that's my cue to leave.”

“Doggy?” she tries. “Am I warm? Am I cold?”

You stand up. “I’m very happy for you and your recovery from Garcia, truly.”

McKay actually smiles now. “This is why I eat alone.”

Then, casually—

“Do you guys have threesomes with Robby?” Santos adds. “Got a vibe there.”

You don’t even hesitate. “Constantly. He’s actually the glue holding the relationship together. Into weird shit.”

McKay exhales through her nose.

Santos tilts her head. “I don’t believe you.”

“That sounds like a you problem. We host swinger parties, come by next Thursday if you want.”

Santos rolls her eyes, somewhat disappointed by your sarcasm. At that exact moment, Dana walks in. She stops, looks between all of you, then sighs.

“Oh no,” she says, immediately clocking the energy. “We having a party? What are youse talkin’ about in here?”

“Nothing,” McKay says instantly.

Santos says at the same time, “Abbot’s sex life. Featuring Robby, too.”

Dana physically recoils. “Oh Jesus Christ, why?”

You look at her like salvation. “Help.”

Dana points at Santos without hesitation. “No. Absolutely not. I’m not bein’ dragged into whatever this is.”

Then she looks at you, and her whole face softens a little. She gives you a nod, as if to ask if you’re well. You give a nod back, a small smile.

Dana claps once, decisive. “Alright. Trauma two. You two. Now. Move it.”

Santos groans. “You’re ruining my research.”

Dana points again. “Move. It. Out.”

★★★

Day Thirty Two.

Your schedules have always been a mess.

Some weeks you overlap perfectly—same shifts, same hours, brushing past each other in hallways, stealing five minutes in empty consult rooms, syncing like it’s easy. Other weeks, like this one, you exist on completely different timelines.

Park needs you flexible. Jack is the schedule. So you miss each other.

You leave just as he’s getting in. He leaves while you’re dead asleep. Nights bleed into days, days into nights, and suddenly it’s been forty-eight hours of doubles and you’ve communicated more through texts and post-it notes than actual words.

Eat something.

You too.

Left food in the fridge.

Miss you.

Jack finally makes it back into the apartment, adrenaline high shaking in his veins, excited to finally see you, feel you.

He shuts the door behind him, exhales—and then pauses.

Something smells good. Really good. Definitely not green. Lacking salt, maybe, though.

“How are you cooking after working that long, baby?” he calls out, already loosening up as he moves toward the kitchen. “Challenge is over, I am going to give you the best damn head of your life and then cuddle like—”

“I’d cuddle with you,” Robby says from the stove, “but I’m busy right now. Preferably not the head part, though.”

Jack thinks for a moment, a slow nod.

“…You are not my girlfriend.”

Robby glances over his shoulder, unimpressed. “I like to think of us as work husbands, but yeah. Good observation.”

Jack just stares at him for a second, processing.

Then—“Why are you in my apartment?”

Robby sighs, turning back to the pot like this is his burden to bear. “This is not turning out well.”

He gestures vaguely at the spaghetti bolognese like it’s personally offended him.

“I followed her recipe,” he adds.

Jack moves further in, slower now, dropping his bag, still trying to catch up, somewhat antsy as he taps the counter repeatedly. “Where is she? She texted me she was home.”

“Shops,” Robby says. “Said she needed a few things. Asked me to start this because she didn’t wanna get changed and dirty her clothes, a surprise, or something.”

A beat.

“I think I’ve screwed this up,” he admits.

Jack sinks onto the stool at the island, scrubbing a hand over his face. “How do you fuck up spaghetti?”

Robby turns to him, dead serious. “Who puts that much sugar in a sauce?”

Jack doesn’t even hesitate. “She does. It’s good.”

Robby squints. “It feels offensive.”

“It’s not,” Jack mutters. “It’s… you know, balanced.”

Robby gestures at the pot again. “It’s dessert.”

Jack leans forward, peering into it like he’s assessing a trauma. “Did you reduce it?”

“…Did I what?”

Jack looks at him slowly. “Oh my God.”

“I stirred the thing, I don't know,” Robby defends.

“Yeah, I’m sure that helped,” Jack says dryly, already pushing himself up despite the protest in his leg. “Move.”

Robby steps aside with zero resistance. “Be my guest, chef.”

Jack takes over, grabbing a spoon, tasting it, making a face—not terrible, but not right.

“You didn’t salt it properly,” he says.

“I salted it.”

“You absolutely did not. I can even smell the absence of salt.”

Robby watches him work for a second, then glances at him sideways. “You look like shit, by the way.”

“Feel like it,” Jack mutters.

“You two haven’t seen each other?”

“Not properly.”

Robby nods once, like that explains everything. Then—casual, but not really—“Once you finally get laid and stop being so damn dramatic, I need help with Noelle. Bring your girl if you want, I told her the two of you’d meet. Tomorrow night?”

Jack doesn’t even look up. “My girl and I will be very busy, if all goes well, so, unlikely.”

“…I hate knowing things about you,” Robby mutters.

Jack huffs, stirring the sauce.

The front door clicks open. Both of them look up.

“Robby, you didn’t salt it—I can smell it,” you call out immediately as you step inside, toeing off your shoes.

“Salting it now, sweetheart,” Jack shoots back, not missing a beat. He flicks Robby a look. Robby scoffs.

You come in fully then, arms loaded with shopping bags—Victoria’s Secret, a couple of clothing stores, something small and overpriced in tissue paper. You were pretty keen to break that no shop rule, apparently.

“When’d you get back?” you ask.

“Five minutes ago,” Jack says, already moving toward you. “You walk? I would’ve picked you up.”

“I was trying to surprise you,” you say, smiling. “Robby wasn’t supposed to be part of it.”

“Shocking,” Robby mutters.

You barely register him—because Jack’s right there, closer now, and you really do not care about some cleansing shit anymore. You grab his shirt and pull him in, kissing him quick—warm, familiar, a little rushed like you’re making up for lost time in a single second.

You pull back just as fast.

“You look like shit,” you tell him, joking and dry.

“Yeah,” he says, softer now. “You look… really good.”

His hand slides up, brushing through your hair, lingering there a second longer than necessary.

You clear your throat, stepping away first. “Okay, how bad did he fuck the sauce?”

“I did not fuck the sauce that bad,” Robby says.

You move to the stove, peering in, grabbing a spoon. Taste. Pause.

“…It’s not that bad,” you admit. “Maybe a bit more sugar, not enough salt.”

Robby throws his hands up. “Of course it does. Why not throw chocolate in there while we’re at it?”

“Don’t tempt me,” you say lightly.

Robby exhales, grabbing his jacket. “Alright. I’m off. Dana’s gonna love that I delayed my shift because I was domestic here.”

“Tell her I said hi,” you call.

“I’m not telling her anything,” he mutters, heading out.

He pauses at the door, glances back at the two of you—at the way you’ve both unconsciously drifted closer again without noticing.

“Don’t give him a heart attack. At that age you never know,” he adds.

“Out!” Jack says.

Robby leaves.

The door shuts.

And just like that—

It’s quiet. No monitors. No pages. No interruptions. Just you and him. You don’t move at first, still standing by the stove, spoon in hand. He’s leaning against the island, watching you. Really watching you.

“Day Thirty Two, by the way,” he says.

“Really? Didn’t notice,” You shrug.

He nods, coming up besides you, watching as you stir the sauce.

“This is gonna take ages. He didn’t reduce anything. Useless,” You murmur, mostly sarcastic, as you look at it.

“Oh, you know Robby,” Jack sighs. “Can’t do anything right.”

You put the lid on top, lowering it to a simmer. You hum to yourself, feeling Jack’s eyes on you.

“C’mere,” he says.

You step in between his legs, your gaze dragging over him as his hands catch your waist, pulling you in. His grip is heavy, grounding, sliding over your hips like he’s relearning the shape of you after weeks of not touching.

“This alright?” he asks, quieter now—though his hand dips, squeezing your ass through the thin fabric of your dress.

You nod.

“Speak,” he adds, low.

“Yes.”

That does something to him. You see it—jaw tightening, breath shifting, his eyes darkening as they move over you slowly, deliberately. Chest. Lips. Eyes again.

“What am I gonna do with you?” he murmurs.

His hand comes up, sliding to the back of your neck, fingers spreading there, warm and steady. He tilts your face up, thumb brushing along your jaw, holding you in place like he’s taking his time deciding something.

You can’t quite read him. It’s too much at once.

His thumb drifts lower, pausing at your bottom lip. You hesitate—barely—but he notices.

“Go on,” he murmurs, giving a small nod.

You do. Tongue slow, tentative at first, wrapping your mouth around the digit, then steadier, your focus slipping as his breathing changes—subtle, but not enough to hide it. His shoulders pull back slightly, tension running through him like he’s holding himself in check.

He exhales, eyes still locked on you.

“Yeah,” he mutters under his breath.

“Want another?” he asks after a second, voice rougher now.

“Mhm.”

He moves his index and middle, thumb dropped to your chin, your saliva coating your jaw slightly as you suck the digits. He watches you for a beat longer, like he’s considering pushing it further—then drags his hand away instead, jaw tightening again.

“Bedroom,” he says, quieter, but it lands just as firm.

His other hand slides down your side, lifting the hem of your dress just enough to make his gaze dip—brief, restrained—before he turns you, your back to his chest, guiding you away.

“I’m running on an adrenaline high from work, I’m gonna fuck you, then we’re gonna cuddle and sleep for twelve hours,” he adds, voice low behind you. “That sound good to you?”

You turn your head, looking at him behind you. “Love you too,” You give him a quick kiss to his lips, feeling him smile from that. 

You head down the hall, already pulling the dress up and over your head, not looking back—but you can feel his eyes on you until you disappear.

Behind you, the stove clicks off.

A second later, you hear him move—quick now, like whatever control he had left is running out.

“You know, I was talking to Santos about our whole… challenge,” you start, slipping your dress off and draping it over the chair. You catch your reflection in the mirror, thumb swiping under your eye to fix the faint smudge of mascara. “Turns out she lasted all of ten days before she slept with Garcia.”

He huffs a quiet breath against your shoulder, voice rough where it meets your skin. “So all that torture for nothing?”

“Torture’s dramatic,” you murmur, but there’s a smile tugging at it.

“You did it on purpose,” he counters, hand sliding up to cup your tit, squeezing through the fabric of your bra like he’s testing a theory he already knows the answer to. “Walkin’ around in those… stupid shorts, the yoga, that little nightgown—won’t even kiss me, won’t even touch me.” His thumb drags slow, deliberate. “You know what that does to a man? That kind of taunting?”

You let your head tip back against his shoulder, soft, unbothered on the surface even as your breath shifts. “I think I’ve got an idea.”

“Yeah?” His mouth finds the space under your ear, kisses turning slower, heavier—less rushed now, more deliberate. He sucks at your neck, groaning low when you push back into him, feeling the way he’s already half-hard under your touch.

You turn suddenly, hands braced on his shoulders, guiding him back until his knees hit the mattress. “I lied,” you admit, pressing him down to sit. “About not touching myself.”

His brows lift, something amused and dark flickering there as his hands move instinctively—reaching behind you, unclipping your bra with practiced ease. “You? Lie?” he mutters, watching as you pull it off and toss it aside. “What happened to Miss Wellness Mary Magdalene?”

You barely get a breath out before his hands are back on you, over your tits, fingers pinching at your nipples, rougher now, less patient—palming, shaping, like he’s reacquainting himself. His mouth follows, pressing to your tits, tongue warm, stubble dragging just enough to make you jolt.

“It’s bullshit,” you breathe, the words breaking as he closes his mouth around your nipples, the sensation sharp and grounding all at once. “I was miserable the whole time.”

“Yeah?”

“Mm. The vegetable soup was shit. I miss my phone. Yoga is boring. I like tequila,” you say, feeling his chuckle vibrate against your skin as he kisses over your sternum.

“What else?”

“I like sex,” you tell him, whimpering as his teeth drag over your nipple briefly, the sharp tug making your core clench. His other hand travels over your stomach to the pink panties, fidgeting with the sides of the material over your hip. 

You climb onto him, knees spreading wide beside his thighs, your body hovering just above his. “I really like it when you touch me. I like touching you. I like when—” He cups your clothed pussy, his palm pressing firmly against the damp fabric.

“You like that?” he wonders, voice low and almost casual, watching as you moan at the contact, your arousal soaking through the panties instantly. “Speak, sweetheart.”

“You know I like that,” you gasp, grinding down against his hand instinctively.

He nods. “Damn right I do,” His fingers slip beneath the edge of your panties, tracing the slick folds of your pussy with deliberate slowness, teasing the entrance before pushing one thick digit inside you. 

The intrusion is warm and welcome, stretching you just enough to make you clench around him. He curls it slowly, stroking that sensitive spot deep within your walls, the pad of his finger rubbing in firm, unhurried circles that make your thighs tremble and your breath hitch. 

You rock against his hand, chasing the building pressure. He adds a second finger without warning, scissoring them gently to open you up, then pumping them in and out with deliberate thrusts—shallow at first, then deeper, his knuckles brushing your clit on every inward slide.

His thumb finds your clit, circling it with rough, insistent pressure, alternating between tight loops and light flicks that draw out breathy cries from your lips. The wet sounds of his fingers fucking you fill the room mingling with your moans as he watches your face intently, eyes dark with hunger, drinking in every twitch and gasp.

“How about this? You like it when I fuck you with my fingers?” he asks, his voice a gravelly rumble, free hand gripping your hip to steady your grinding.

“Mhm,” you whine, riding his hand harder now, your pussy fluttering around the invading digits as they twist and probe, hitting that spot again and again.

He slides in a third finger, gently stretching you out, the fullness making you gasp as he kisses at your neck, lips hot and sucking lightly on the skin. You moan into his mouth when he claims your lips in a messy kiss, tongues tangling as his fingers maintain their rhythm—curling, thrusting, spreading you wider with each pass. 

He varies the pace, slowing to a torturous drag that lets you feel every ridge and vein on his fingers, then speeding up to plunge deep and fast, his palm slapping wetly against your mound.

“That’s right, atta girl, doin’ so well, aren’t you?” he murmurs against your throat, nipping at the pulse point while his thumb resumes those relentless circles on your clit, pressing harder now, building the ache into something electric. 

He watches as you ride his fingers, your juices dripping down his wrist, the obscene squelch growing louder with every movement. 

“What’d you think of when you touched yourself, honey? You thinka me?”

You nod frantically, words caught up in your moans, your walls clenching tighter around him. “Uh-huh,” you whine as he curls his fingers deeper into you, hooking them to stroke that bundle of nerves with precision, his other hand sliding up to pinch and roll your nipple, adding sparks of sensation everywhere.

He keeps you teetering, easing off just when you get close—pulling his fingers almost all the way out before slamming them back in, thumb pausing its circles to let the tension simmer. Then he ramps it up again, fingers pistoning faster, thumb vibrating against your swollen clit. Sweat beads on your skin, your breaths coming in short, desperate pants as the coil in your belly winds impossibly tight.

“C’mon, baby, let go f’me,” he murmurs, kissing at your neck with open-mouthed presses, his teeth grazing your earlobe. 

He feels as you tense and tighten around his fingers, hips bucking erratically, thighs quivering you come undone, jaw agape as your body stills over him, warm and melting.

“You come when you touch yourself?” he asks, quieter now.

His hand leaves you, trailing over your hips as he guides you back onto the bed. You go easily, breath unsteady, the anticipation settling into something heavier as you lie there, bare and waiting.

You shake your head.

“You?” you ask, your hand drifting instinctively over yourself, fingers trailing over your core, testing the sensitivity, your eyes flicking back to him.

He gives a short shake of his head, rolling his neck once like he’s trying to keep himself together.

“Still got enough in you?” you murmur, a little teasing. “Or did that shift kill you?”

He huffs a breath—half laugh, half something tighter. “I’d find the energy,” he says, stepping out of his scrubs, not taking his eyes off you. “Don’t worry about that.”

You watch him move, slower now but deliberate, like he’s pacing himself instead of rushing it.

“You wanna take that off?” you start, glancing down to his prosthetic.

He follows your gaze, then looks back at you. “In a minute,” he says, already leaning over you again. “Wanna make sure I remember what you taste like first.”

He slides a pillow beneath your head, then gently eases your knees apart. You give a small nod. When his tongue traces slowly across your center, your body responds instantly—back arching, breath catching. His palm presses firmly against your stomach, keeping you anchored.

“Stay still f’me, can you, baby?” He murmurs against you, barely enough for you to hear.

You gasp his name between ragged breaths, managing to nod yes, your fingers threading through his salt-and-pepper curls. His mouth moves against you with deliberate patience—soft yet demanding—and your lungs empty completely, replaced by something molten and urgent.

 “Atta girl, you feel good yeah, baby?” He hums.

You nod fast. Your thighs tremble against his shoulders as he tastes you with unhurried determination, as though time has ceased to exist beyond this bed, beyond this moment. When his tongue finds that perfect rhythm, that perfect spot, coherent thought dissolves into desperate pleas that barely form words.

He groans against your center, vibrating against you as you claw at his nape, nails digging into his sun-kissed, freckled skin with desperate urgency. “God, fuck, I missed this,” you say, 

His tongue, slick and insistent, flicks against your clit, drawing out your orgasm with relentless precision. You feel the heat of your release coating his tongue, his lips, and he devours it hungrily, as if it's the sweetest nectar he's ever tasted.

“Please, please, fuck,” You mumble, brain foggy as his tongue sweeps over you with a kind of desperation of a starving man. 

His fingers digging into your hips, holding you in place as he feasts on you. You can feel his hot breath against your sensitive flesh, his tongue delving into every crevice, every fold as you come undone, moans loud to the point where you throw your hand over your mouth, biting down into your palm.

You let out a shaky breath, head back as he kisses your inner thighs, gentle, stubble coated in your orgasm before he climbs back over you, kissing you, deep, as you taste yourself on his tongue. 

“Once I wake up—after fucking you—obviously,” He murmurs against you, sloppy tongues colliding. “I’ll do that for three hours, until you can’t walk, alright?”

You moan at the thought, nodding. You believe him because he’s done it on many occasions. You think he just likes doing it to get you to go to sleep sometimes or knock you out and he can take care of you or something. That and he just entirely gets off on you.

“Fuck willpower,” He says against you as he briefly tests your folds with fingers over your sensitive clit, watching your mouth open in a small whine, lashes fluttering, another hand pulling your body even closer, as you wrap your legs around his waist. “Fuck being cleansed, alright?”

“Mm,” You say, watching as he swallows, you’re watching maybe the toll of his shift start to come back physically and you move your hands to his cheek, away from where’d he place them above your head. 

You don’t say anything, just still him briefly, eyes wide, a nod, a check in. He nods, mouth twitching in a smile.

He hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, pushing them down with a practiced ease born from years of undressing after long shifts. His cock hard and eager, his breath hitching as you wrap your hand around his length, your touch sending electric shocks through him. 

You spit into your palm, the wet sound echoing in the quiet room, and he groans, a low, guttural sound that vibrates through him. Your hand moves over his cock, slick and smooth, your fingers tracing the veins, your thumb rubbing over the sensitive head. He curses under his breath, a string of words that would make a sailor blush, his hips jerking forward, seeking more of your touch.

“Shit… fucking hell– You keep doing that this is gonna a lot quicker than I mentally planned for.” He tells you.

“What’d you mentally plan for?” You chuckle, a low, sultry sound that sends shivers down his spine, your hand never pausing in its slow, torturous rhythm.

“Well, six hours of foreplay,” he moves his cock over your pussy, gliding it over your folds, amused by your gasp of a moan. “Six hours of shower sex, kitchen, couch, each. Obviously six… emotionally… intelligent, beautiful conversation about life and marriage. Ever thought about wanting a third?”

“I don’t know, have you?” You murmur, watching as he taunts you as he moves his cock over your pussy, the head slipping through your folds, coating itself in your wetness. You gasp, your back arching, your hips lifting to meet him. He groans, his eyes fluttering closed, savoring the feel of you.

“Christ,” He murmurs, absentmindedly, then, with a slow, steady push, he slides into you, his cock filling you completely. You moan, your nails digging into his back, your body arching into his. “Maybe. I don’t know. We can talk about this later.” 

He’s still for a moment, body hot and warm above you as his hand grips onto your hips. You let out a shaky breath and smile. “You alright there, old man?”

“Heavenly,” he says quite earnestly, leaning to kiss you down at your neck. “Missed this. God, it’s like you’re made for me. So goddamn perfect.”

You clench slightly at his words, hearing as he groans at that, vibrating against your skin. A moment passes before you start getting desperate for action.

“Please move, baby,” You ask, looking up at him with eagerness.

“‘Course, whatever you want, sweetheart,” He kisses your lips softly, before moving.

Pulling out slowly before sliding back in, his pace steady and sure. With each thrust, he swallows your moans with his kisses, his hands tangling in your hair, his body pressing you into the mattress. You can feel every inch of him, every ridge and vein, and it's perfect. 

His tongue dances with yours, exploring your mouth, tasting you. His hand tangles in your hair, his grip firm but not painful, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss. You moan into his mouth, your body arching into his, your nails digging into his back. 

He pulls back, his breath ragged, his eyes dark with desire. "You feel so good," he murmurs, his voice hoarse. "So fucking good." 

You can only nod, your words lost in the pleasure that's coursing through your veins. He starts to move faster, his hips snapping forward, his cock sliding in and out of you with increasing urgency. You can feel the pleasure building, the tension coiling in your belly, your pussy clenching around him. 

His hand travels from your hair to your face, cupping your cheek, keeping your eyes on him. You gasp, your eyes fluttering closed, your body arching into his touch. He groans, his cock twitching inside you at the sight of you losing yourself in his touch. 

He gently moves two fingers down your chest and stomach, landing at your core, above where he fucks you. He circles your clit, his touch firm and steady, drawing tight circles that make your hips buck off the bed. You let out a low moan, your body tensing, your breath coming in short gasps. 

He can see your arousal coating his cock, your slick gathering around the base, and it spurs him on. He leans down, his lips finding your ear. "You like that, don't you?" he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "You like feeling me stretch you, filling you up?" 

“Yes, yes, mhm,” you try, nails moving from his back to his biceps, hard and taught beneath your touch.

He starts to move faster, his hips slamming into you, his cock sliding in and out of you with increasing urgency. You can feel the pleasure building, the tension coiling in your belly, your pussy clenching around him. 

His weight edges off just enough, bracing more through his arms and left side, breath going a touch uneven where it presses against your shoulder. Not stopping—he’d push through it if you let him—but compensating. You feel it.

Your hands slide up his back, slower now, anchoring “Take it off, baby,” you murmur softly, glancing down toward the prosthetic. “You’ve had it on too long.”

He eases to a stop, controlled, careful not to jostle you as he shifts his weight fully off. You guide him back with you, hands steady at his sides, both of you moving without needing to overthink it—this part practiced, familiar. 

He settles against the pillows with a small exhale, rolling his shoulder once as if resetting himself. You stay close, one hand resting at his hip, the other brushing briefly up his chest—grounding, not rushing him. 

He reaches down, undoing the prosthetic with efficient movements, years of muscle memory. There’s no awkwardness to it, no self-consciousness—just a small release in his face as it comes free. You take it from him without comment, setting it at the foot of the bed like you always do.

“Better?” you ask, thumb tracing idly along his side.

He nods once, eyes flicking back to you, something softer under the edge of want. “Yeah. C’mere.”

You shift back over him, settling in close again, your knees bracketing his hips, easy and familiar. You lean down to kiss him, long and sweet, less immodest as your other ones, maybe. Just maybe, as his hands immediately find your ass, helping your back arch into him, cock still hard as you slide over it, folds wet and sensitive.

“God, you’re–” He groans as you bite at his bottom lip, pulling it back, as you kiss down his chest. “Gonna be the death of me.”

You lean down, your tongue flicking out to taste his skin, tracing a path down his chest, over his stomach, until you reach the V that leads to his cock. You look up at him, your eyes meeting his, and you can see the anticipation in them. 

You take your time, your tongue sliding over his shaft, from base to tip, feeling him pulse under your touch. 

“Great way to go,” he murmurs as he watches you.

You take him into your mouth, feeling him slide over your tongue, your lips stretching to accommodate him. He groans, his hand finding your hair, not pulling, just gripping, as you take him deeper, your mouth warm and wet. You can feel him, hard and throbbing, and you know he's close, with how his arms tighten and tense, fingers tighter on your scalp. 

You pull back, your tongue flicking over the head of his cock, tasting the precum that beads at the tip. You sit back, straightening your spine, and look at him. His eyes are on you, hungry and intense. 

You spit on his cock, watching as the saliva slides down his shaft, making it glisten in the soft light. You rise up, your knees bracketing his hips, and lower yourself onto him, feeling him slide into you, inch by inch. 

“Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whimper as you settle on top, nails over his chest.

He groans, his hands finding your hips, holding you in place as he thrusts up into you. You can feel him, deep and hard, filling you completely. You start to move, your body rolling and grinding against him, your hips moving in a slow, steady rhythm. 

His hands roam over your body, one staying on your hip, guiding your movements, the other trailing up your stomach, over your breasts, squeezing them, his thumb brushing over your nipple. You gasp, your head falling back.

His thumb circling your nipple, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He starts to talk you through it, his voice slow and steady, a counterpoint to the fast, hard rhythm of your bodies. "You're so fucking beautiful, riding me like this. God- so tight and wet for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?" 

His words send a shiver through you, your body tensing, your breath hitching in your throat. 

“Yeah? Yeah, that’s right, that’s right," he mutters. “C’mon, baby, right there f’me, you’re doing so good.”

“Please,” you moan, hips grinding down against him.

“You need help, honey? Just ask,” He sits up, his chest pressing against yours, his breath hot on your neck. He reaches between you, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight circles over the sensitive bundle of nerves. 

You whine, your body arching into his touch, your hips moving in time with his fingers.

“C’mon, words for me,” he says, breathing heavily against you as he finds himself closer to the edge at how you clench down on him, tight and warm.

“Wanna cum,” you pant, your body tense, your breath coming in short gasps.

“Again? So greedy,” he mocks. “Go ‘head, you can do it”

His words push you over the edge. You move, your body rolling and grinding against him, your hips moving in a fast, frantic rhythm. You can feel it, the pleasure snapping, your body convulsing, your nails digging into his back, your mouth open in a silent scream.

"Good girl," he groans, his body tensing, his cock pulsing inside you. He follows you, his release hot and hard, filling you completely. 

You collapse onto his chest, your body spent, your heart pounding in your ears. He wraps his arms around you, holding you close, his body still trembling with the aftermath. You can feel his heart beating in time with yours, and you know, in this moment, everything is right.

You stay there a little longer than you mean to, half sprawled over him, your cheek pressed to his chest, skin still warm, damp, real. His arm is draped around you—loose now, heavy with exhaustion—but his fingers keep moving anyway, absentminded, tracing slow patterns over your back like he can’t quite stop touching you yet.

Like he doesn’t want to.

You draw lazy shapes over his shoulder, connecting freckles you already know by heart, like it’s something you’ve done a hundred times—because you have.

“I love baseless temptations,” you murmur.

Jack lets out a quiet laugh, the sound low in his chest, vibrating under your cheek. “Yeah,” he says, voice rough but easy. “Me too.”

There’s something softer in it now. Not the edge from before. Just… him.

You shift slightly, listening to his breathing settle, feeling the way his body gives into the mattress—finally. Like he’s been holding himself upright all day and only now gets to stop.

“Fourteen hours,” you mumble, almost to yourself, remembering your insane schedules. “And you still managed to—”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” he cuts in, dry.

You grin against his skin. “I was gonna say ‘impress me.’”

“Sure you were.”

“I was,” you insist, lifting your head to look at him properly. “Honestly, I thought you’d pass out.”

He cracks one eye open at that. “Have a little faith.”

“I do,” you say, brushing your thumb over his jaw, softer now. “I also have eyes. You look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Feel like it,” he mutters.

“Mm.” You lean down, press a brief kiss to his chest—nothing urgent, just there. “Still did good.”

He exhales a quiet laugh at that, head tipping back. “Christ. It’s alright, I’ll probably crash in twenty minutes. Took tomorrow off, at least.

You watch him for a second—really watch him. The lines of tension finally easing out of his face, the way his shoulders have dropped, the way he looks… settled. Not asleep, not yet. Just here. With you.

It hits you again, softer this time, how much of him is usually in motion—pulled in a hundred directions, needed everywhere at once—and how rare it is to have him like this. Still. Letting himself be here, with you, without reaching for the next thing.

You smooth your hand over his chest, slower now, grounding.

“You gonna keep up the meditation thing?” he asks, voice rough with the edge of sleep.

You huff quietly. “Probably not.” A beat. “Unless you’re suddenly interested.”

“Mm. I think I’ll stick to therapy,” he murmurs. Then, after a second, a little more awake—“You still think I need other hobbies?”

You glance at him, mouth curving. “No. I’m actually very supportive of your current hobby.” You lean in, kiss him soft. “Big fan. Please continue exclusively.”

He laughs into it, low and tired, something easy settling back into him.

“I’ll be right back,” you add, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “Gonna clean up, check the spaghetti. You’ll eat something, then we’ll watch Housewives in bed. Deal?”

“I can help, I’ll—”

“—Stay,” you cut in gently, pressing him back into the pillows. “I’ve spent a stupid amount of money while I was out this morning, this is more for me than it is for you, trust.” You tell, already slipping out from under the sheets.

You move around the room in one of his old shirts, easy, familiar—tidying, grabbing what you need, the quiet domestic rhythm of it settling everything back into place. It’s almost meditative, in a way that none of the actual meditation ever was. This is the version that works for you: him in the bed, you in the room, the soft comedown of it all.

When you come back, he hasn’t moved much. One arm over his eyes, breathing slower now, like he’s finally letting himself drop. You sit beside him, brush your hand over his chest again, then pass him a bowl.

“Eat, quick, before it gets cold,” you say.

He obeys, because of course he does, getting through a few bites before setting it aside with a quiet exhale.

You keep going, perched cross-legged beside him, the normalcy of it comforting after a month of physically pushing him away to be cleansed, when ironically, you feel more cleansed than ever to be near him.

There’s a pause.

“So,” you begin. “What was that thing you said? Earlier? About a third?”

He chuckles. “I was just kidding, hon,” he says, a little rough, like he’s not fully back yet. He presses a lazy kiss to your head. “Why?”

You tilt your chin up slightly, watching him. “I don’t know.” Your head ring vaguely with Santos’ words from the other day. He reads pretty quickly where your train of thought is going.

“Hypothetically. If you had to pick someone.” You ask.

He looks at you properly now, narrowing his eyes just a fraction like he’s trying to read the angle. Like there’s definitely a wrong answer here and he’d quite like to avoid it.

You just hold his gaze, completely neutral.

A beat passes. Something unspoken flickers between you—quick, familiar.

Who would you pick?

Who do you think I’d pick?

Are we about to say the same name?

“…Robby,” you both say at the same time.

There’s a pause. Then Jack lets out a quiet, disbelieving huff of laughter, shaking his head against the pillow. “Jesus Christ.”

You grin a little, unable to help it. “I mean—objectively—”

“He’d be… fucking insufferable about it,” Jack cuts in immediately. “You know he would.”

You refrain from commenting, leaving your spaghetti aside, as you open your computer. Jack groans, dragging a hand over his face. “He’d give me notes or something.”

You’ve got Housewives on your computer. It’s obviously the New York one, still early days - Season 4.

“So what happened in the mid-season finale again?” You ask as you settle against him.

“I barely remember, honestly,” He sighs. “Ramona’s being difficult, someone brought the wrong wine, it’s a mess. Cindy is great, though.”

His arm tightens around you again, a quiet, grounding squeeze.

The episode keeps playing. His commentary gets more frequent—dry, half-interested, pretending he’s above it while very clearly tracking every single detail.

You let it happen, tucked into him, warm, fed, a little tired in the best way.

Cleansed, in a way none of the yoga or herbal tea ever managed. Just this—him, you, the low hum of something ridiculous on screen, and the easy, familiar weight of being exactly where you’re meant to be.

a/n: i love this song! I got this though from when i watched a robby x abbot tiktok edit to my man on willpower, and if im desperate for inspo i go to my tiktok edits and see if i can spur some ideas, and i was like, oh maybe abbot like not fucking you or something because of some self care thing and i was like, god he’d never do that. he’s fucking whenever, life is short, he would want to treat his partner as much as he can mentally and physically handle i think. And then i was like. Wait, lets switch the beat…. anyway i had to restrain myself from writing more orlike writing everyday and unpacking different interactions. i wrote a scene where'd try to seduce you with his "slutty pyjamas" (his army uniform) and you gaf or something but i felt too much 2nd hand embarrasment. im so tired i have triivia to go to now i have no idea if this is good i just want it done so i caan study and work on the lawyer series!

Fear (1996)

Review 8/10 Story 1.7k words

Nicole Walker, a 16-year-old girl, meets the charming David McCall at a nightclub, following which the two fall in love with each other. However, things take a turn when David reveals his darker side.

Secret Obsession (2019)

Review 6/10 Story 5k words

Jennifer wakes up after a traumatic attack with amnesia and a doting husband caring for her, but she soon realises that the real danger is far from over.

Hush (2016)

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Living peacefully in the woods, an author, who is hard of hearing and without speech, finds herself a target of a masked killer.

The Perfect Guy (2015)

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Leah Vaughn, a successful lobbyist, breaks up with her long-term boyfriend, Dave, and enters into a relationship with a stranger. She finds herself caught in a dilemma when Dave re-enters her life.

The Boy Next Door (2015)

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When Claire Peterson engages in a steamy affair with Noah Sandborn, a man much younger than herself, little does she realise the consequences of her actions will have a perilous outcome.

The Invisible Man (2020)

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Cecilia's abusive ex-boyfriend fakes his death and becomes invisible to stalk and torment her. She begins experiencing strange events and decides to hunt down the truth on her own.

Til Death Do Us Part (2017)

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Michael and Madison had planned to spend the rest of their lives together, until one day Michael's controlling ways ruined their perfect marriage. Madison meets Alex Stone and learns to love again, until Michael re-appears in her life.

'Cause It's Insured — @theworstwolvie (May 5) ⤷ on sale: dining table

Life with Clark Kent is usually full of simple domestic bliss - until things are hot and heavy and he breaks your dining room table, of course.

Spilled Milk — @tw1sters (May 7) ⤷ on sale: kitchen counter

In a world where Superman never became a journalist, he crafts custom countertops for a living. His biggest challenge isn’t the work; it’s keeping his hands to himself around you long enough not to break what he’s trying to sell.

Under Pressure — @anon-188 (May 12) ⤷ on sale: bathtub

Clark can’t leave you alone—even when he really, really should. the pressure builds… and something has to give.

Is This Desk Taken? — @pinksplace (May 14) ⤷ on sale: executive desk

A party. An empty office. A very pretty dress. A very tight dress shirt. A drink, maybe two. A note. A desk. A questionable amount of trust placed in some wood and Formica.

Horsepower — @sparklingsin (May 19) ⤷ on sale: lex luthor's ferrari

Tired of the parade of men falling at your feet at Lex Luthor's wedding and your silence from last night's fight, Clark decides to take you on a wild ride in his best friend's Ferrari.

One More Load — @kryptidfiles (May 21) ⤷ on sale: washer/dryer

"Sweetheart, unless completely irreparable: it stays." Newly moved into Clark’s apartment, you’re trying very hard not to let his shitty washer and dryer ruin the honeymoon phase. Then one more load comes out damp, wrinkled, and still holding a soggy sock hostage at the bottom, and you finally snap. Clark walks in on you all bare legs and bad attitude, and decides if he’s handling the laundry, he’s handling you too.

Neighborly Favors — @thceseus (May 26) ⤷ on sale: couch

Clark Kent is the perfect neighbor and the ultimate gentleman. Baking cookies, fixing stuff around your apartment, always there with his reliable smile. So who's he to say no when you ask him to help build your new couch and… break it???

Sweet Stuff — @clarknsun (May 28) ⤷ on sale: porch swing

Going back to Smallville was supposed to be simple—visit his parents and keep them company for the weekend. Easy as pie, right? But when Clark comes face-to-face with a decade-old crush, a dinner at his ma's turns into bonding over apple pie, broken hearts, and a broken porch swing.

Off the Books — @heldbybarnes (June 2) ⤷ on sale: workout bench

Clark hires you off the books to help him control his strength in bed—because every partner before you has gotten hurt. You agree for the wrong reasons, pushing his limits on the workout bench until reinforced steel buckles and Clark loses control. He thinks you’re saving him. You’re really making yourself the one thing he can’t walk away from.

American Boy — @maiamore (June 4) ⤷ on sale: copier/printer

Staying at work late to impress the new editor-in-chief proves to be something Clark Kent isn't equipped to handle.

A very big shoutout to all my incredibly talented friends for participating in this brainrot collab. We're bringing our collective goon to the dash 💞

Special thank you to @unificsation and Pink (pinksplace) for helping me with the inspiration for the masterlist header and Ash (sparklingsin) for creating the lovely fic headers above!!!

@wheatley-the-boi we win because of readers like you!! thank you so much for all the love!! <3

@bittersweet-symphony-barnes aaah happy birthday lovely!!!!! we hope these fics brighten your day <33

@reidmiller THANK YOUUU we're super excited!!

@supermanville LMAO thank youuu!!!

@w1nter-fairy fernanda you're too sweet, thank you so much for sharing!!! it was fun coming up with the theme and ofc a huge shoutout to ash/@/sparklingsin for all the fic headers in this masterlist <3

@dontfightiit you're so kind, thank you for sharing!! <3

Those words brought a faint smile to your face, and you pulled out your phone to text her. 

Landed, and am currently waiting at the gas station. 

A few moments later, a response came through. Any sign of hot cowboys yet? 

You let out a laugh. Not yet, but I’ll keep you informed. 

Your fingers settled on the door handle. There was no reason to put this off anymore. You were here, and you were going to have to face what was out there, for better or worse. You opened the door and climbed out of your car. 

It smelled the same. The gas station had been updated to be more modern, but the faint scent of gasoline and rice from the farms remained. Walking inside, you found little had changed. There was an updated register, a few more products offered, but that was about it. When your eyes caught sight of your favorite candy, a grin spread across your face, and you found yourself reaching for them, even though you hadn’t had them in years. 

You didn’t recognize the cashier, which you were grateful for. A part of you had almost expected everyone you knew to pop out of nowhere as soon as your feet touched the ground. Now you realized how ridiculous that was. In fact, you might go this whole trip without setting eyes on a single person from before. Thanking the cashier, you made your way back outside right on time to see a large red truck turning in followed by a camper that was blaring a Tanner Adell song. You couldn’t see the driver of the truck because of the cowboy hat and sunglasses that partially obscured his face, but the guy in the passenger seat recognized you at once. “Hey! That’s her!” You could hear him say it since his window was open. 

The guy pulled to a stop, and the one in the passenger seat ran around the front of the car. His hair was dark and shoulder length, but covered with a baseball cap, and the bottom half of his face supported some facial hair. He was dressed much like you expected a tornado chaser to dress, shirt and shorts in different shades of dark green with a bandana around his neck. “Hey, I’m Boone.” He said, holding out his hand for you. “I gotta say, I’m a big fan.” He said the last part in an almost whisper, like he didn’t want anyone else to hear him. 

Which, considering you wrote romance books, he probably didn’t. Not the first man to say something similar to you, you nodded with a sincere smile, shaking his hand. “It’s nice to meet you. You guys are the Tornado Wranglers I’m assuming?” 

“Yeah, that’s Dexter and Dani.” He said pointing to two people that were exiting the camper behind them. “There’s Lily.” He said, pointing to a girl getting out of another car that you hadn’t even noticed. “And this is our fearless leader, Tyler.” 

At that moment, the world around you slowed down. In fact, you were pretty sure all the air was sucked out of your lungs. It couldn’t be him. Out of every person in the world you could be working with, it couldn’t be the one . . . But he took off his cowboy hat, and even though it had been ten years, he was unmistakable. You would know that face anywhere, after all, you saw it all the time in your dreams. 

For a moment, you thought he might not recognize you. It had been ten years, you’d both changed in that time, but the moment his eyes landed on you, he knew exactly who you were. He said your name, pure disbelief in his tone as he took a step forward. 

You nodded, unsure of how to respond. The two of you hadn’t left on the best of terms, but there were so many years before that. So many beautiful memories that you’d never be able to forget. Half of you wanted to run and hide, the other half (okay maybe more like three fourths) wanted to run into his arms. How could you do that though when you were the one who left? 

Tyler didn’t hesitate though. You watched as a slow grin formed on his face that turned into a bright smile, a smile that never failed to make your heart skip a beat, and the next moment he was hurrying towards you. Within seconds you were wrapped up in a hug so tight your feet weren’t even on the ground anymore. 

God it felt good. You slid your arms around his neck, hugging him back just as tight, and let out a little laugh as he spun you around. Your eyes closed automatically, and you realized at that moment while you may have written about the way Tyler made you feel, it was nothing compared to the actual emotions. You remembered how his arms always felt like home, and it was no different now. They must have some sort of magic, because no matter how long it had been, they brought your mindset right back to the teenager who was crazy in love with her boyfriend. 

After what was probably too long, Tyler put you back on the ground, slowly and a little too intimately for the strangers his team thought you were. In fact, he didn’t even fully let go of you, keeping his hands on your hips. You found yourself unable to let go of him too though, your hands resting on his forearms as he stared at you in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re here.” 

“I can’t believe you’re here.” You said, squeezing his arms. “You’re a storm chaser?” It made perfect sense when you thought about it. Tyler had always had such a good instinct for weather. You couldn’t count the amount of times during school when he told you football games were going to get canceled because it was going to storm. He was never wrong. You just never expected him to quit bull riding. 

“Yeah, got a meteorology degree from U of A and everything.” Tyler said, and your breath caught in your throat. Not just because his thumbs had started stroking your hips, but because of his words too. 

Tyler had done it. He had done what you had always known he was beyond capable of doing. The shy smile on his face, the love, care, and pride you still, and always would have for him rushed to the surface. Overwhelmed with emotions from the past, you felt tears fill up your eyes as you looked at him. “I’m so proud of you, Ty.” You told him, and you meant every word. 

There was no other way to describe it. He was beaming, and god you had forgotten how beautiful that smile was. It was like the sun, almost too bright to look at. 

“I get the feeling you two know each other?” 

You had forgotten that little aspect of being with Tyler. How everything else would disappear the moment he looked into your eyes. You took a step back from him, letting go of his arms even though every part of your body wanted you to keep touching him. His hands lingered on you for a moment, but then he let go as well. “I guess you could say that.” Tyler said, “this is the girl that broke my heart ten years ago.” 

“Wait,” one of the girls, you were pretty sure it was Lily, stepped forward. “I thought that girl’s name was-”

They knew your name. Tyler had talked about you enough that they knew who you were. “That is my name. My writing name is a pseudonym.” You admitted. Heat rushed to your skin, but there was no malice in Tyler’s voice or face. He was just looking at you with a fond smile, as if lost in the same memories you found swirling around in your mind. 

“So, you’re a big time writer now, huh? You always did tell the best stories.” Tyler said. 

“Man, you should read them. In fact, now that I think about it, one of the main guys kinda reminds me of-” Boone started to say, but you cut him off. 

There was no way you were ready for that conversation. “So, um, where did you guys want to talk?” You spoke up, trying to change the subject as subtly as you could. 

The look Tyler gave you said he saw right through your bullshit, but he didn’t comment on it, just grinned mischievously at you. “How about Frankie’s?” 

Of course he would suggest Frankie’s. It was the bar that the two of you used to go to all the time after rodeos. There were a lot of memories of playing pool, laughing with friends and dancing to whatever band was playing there. While you weren’t sure you were ready for all those memories to hit again, the draw of going back there with Tyler was too much. “Okay,” you agreed. “I’ll meet you guys- ”

“No need for that. You can ride with me.” Tyler said, patting the large red truck. 

Being in an enclosed space with your ex boyfriend definitely didn’t seem like a good idea. “Oh, that’s not-”

“It’s really cool. You’ll want to take a peek. He customized it all himself and everything. This baby can drive straight into a tornado.” Boone said while Tyler continued to grin at you. 

“Research is what you’re here for right?” Tyler asked you. 

Yes. That was a good reminder for yourself. You were here to learn about the essentials of storm chasing for your next book, not to spend all your time thinking about how good Tyler looked after ten years. “Right,” you agreed, and then watched as Tyler walked all the way over to the passenger seat and held it open for you. 

“Well, in that case, right this way ma’am.” 

————————

To your slight surprise, Tyler kept everything professional in the truck. He showed you all the features, and you couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it all. It was impressive, not only what he had thought of, but had attached himself. “Is this normal? I mean do a lot of storm chasers have vehicles they’ve rigged up?” 

“Nothing like this.” He said with pride in his voice as he grinned over at you. “I spent years putting this thing together.” 

“When you do something, you always go big.” You teased, smirking at him. “Remember that time in high school when we just wanted to fill the principal's office with ducks, and instead you said we should fill the whole school?” 

Tyler scoffed. “Of course I do. I got a month of detention for that because Belinda ratted me out.” 

“You did stand her up for a date.” You reminded him. 

“Yeah well,” Tyler glanced over at you again. “You needed me.” 

Your cheeks heated as the memories of that night flooded your mind. It hadn’t been long after your Dad had passed. You had gotten stupid drunk at a party that he hadn’t wanted to go to. You had been walking home, stumbling home really, when a familiar truck pulled up beside you. It turned out that Tyler had been waiting nearby for at least an hour after feeling like something was off. 

He held you in his arms in that truck for hours while you cried, letting out emotions you’d been holding back for months. Then he took you home and snuck into your bedroom to hold you some more. The next morning you told him you didn’t want to be just friends anymore. He told you he hadn’t wanted to be just friends for a long time. 

The two of you were inseparable from that moment until the day you left. Almost as if he could sense where your mind was, a palpable tension filled the truck. 

You weren’t ready to talk about it though. 

Thankfully you were saved from any further discussion as your phone went off with a text. It was from your agent, checking in again. 

“Boyfriend?” Tyler asked. 

You shot him a look, trying to bite back a smile. “That’s not very subtle of you.” 

He sent you a look right back. “Wasn’t trying to be.” 

“Agent.” You answered, choosing to ignore his response. “Who I now have to awkwardly tell that the ‘hottest cowboy she’s ever seen’ is actually my ex-boyfriend.” 

“So you really had no idea?” Tyler asked. 

You shook your head. “Not a clue. I didn’t even know where I was going until I got to the airport and she sent my travel information.” 

“Gotta say . . . I’m surprised. I never thought you’d step foot in the town again.” He said, pulling into the small parking lot. 

Glancing up at the building, you bit your bottom lip. “I wasn’t sure I would either.” 

Frankie’s was exactly what you would picture when you hear the words, “small town bar”, but as soon as you walked in, you couldn’t help but smile at the familiarity. It was big for a small town bar, featuring bars on both sides of the room, plenty of tables, as well as a couple of pool tables, and a stage with a small dancing space in front of it. Most of the furniture was wooden and looking a little rough, but they kept the lighting dim enough that it wasn’t very noticeable. There weren’t a whole lot of people, but there was no band playing, and it was a weekday night. It put you a little more at ease. 

“This place hasn’t changed a bit.” You said, looking around. 

Tyler shook his head in agreement. “That’s why I love it so much. Feel like I’m right back into my early twenties when I walk back in here.” 

“That was a long time ago for you.” You teased. 

He clutched his chest, scrunching his eyes at you and giving you a wounded look, but there was a playful edge to it. “Ouch. So you do still have some bite to you.” 

You smirked at him. “You bring it out in me.” 

Tyler’s frown turned to a grin as he placed his hand on the small of your back, sending chills down your spine. “Let’s grab a booth for everybody.” 

The next several hours consisted of you asking the Tornado Wranglers crew every question you wrote down as well as thought of. They not only answered honestly, but never talked down to you like you were stupid for not knowing something either. You loved the relationship that they clearly had with each other. They treated each other like family, with their own strengths and weaknesses that the other members of the team either supported or built upon. You knew immediately it was something you were going to want to include in your book. Not only that, but they were hilarious, and since they knew who you were, they seemed to be ribbing Tyler extra hard. 

“All right, you know damn well that was an accident.” Tyler said, pointing a finger at Dexter who was laughing hysterically along with the rest of the table. 

“I don’t know, it doesn’t sound like an accident to me Tyler.” You said, raising your eyebrows at the man sitting next to you. 

Tyler narrowed his eyes at you and bumped your knee with his under the table. “Now don’t you start.” 

“Hey, don’t be rude to our guest.” Dani said. 

“Too late for that. He hasn’t even gotten her a drink yet.” Lily spoke up, shaking her head at him in disappointment. 

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

Tyler shook his head. “No, they’re right.” He started sliding out of the booth. His hand reached up and gave your shoulder a squeeze. “I’ve got you.” 

“I notice he didn’t ask you what you wanted to drink.” Dexter said with a little grin after Tyler made his way to the bar. 

You bit your bottom lip. You hoped he remembered. “We’ve known each other a long time.” 

“Okay, now that he’s gone.” Boone leaned forward, putting his hands on the table. “One Last Rodeo. Theo. He’s based on Tyler isn’t he?” 

Heat rushed to your face. So Boone definitely had read your books. Looking back on it, it was pretty obvious that your first book had been based on Tyler. You were heartbroken, and trying to find a way to get it out on the page. The book was your way of coping with your breakup and how you wished it would have ended instead of the way that it did. By the time someone wanted to actually publish it, you realized how obvious the similarities were, and it was one of the reasons you wanted to write under a fake name. Since Boone had read your book, and now knew that Tyler was your ex . . . It couldn’t have been hard to put together. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to admit it outloud. “A writer never tells her secrets.” You said. 

They were all grinning at you though. “Oh, look how flushed her face is.” Dani said. 

“It’s definitely about him.” Lily said. 

You opened your mouth to deny it, even though it seemed pointless, but before you could you were interrupted. “Here you go,” he said, sliding back into the booth and putting a glass filled with an orange drink in front of you. 

“What is that?” Boone asked, “some kind of tropical-”

“Orange juice.” You answered, smiling over at Tyler. “You did remember.” 

Tyler gave you a look of disbelief, like he was insulted. “Of course I did.” When he saw the confused looks of his friends he explained, “she doesn’t drink.” 

“Twelve years sober.” You said. “Not something I’m against anyone else doing, it’s just not for me.” Tyler slung his arm over the back side of the booth closest to you, and you had to fight the immediate urge to lean back into his embrace. The rest of the team was smirking at you, and you lifted the glass to your lips to take a sip. “So I’ve just got one more question for you guys.” You said trying to change the subject. 

“Fire away.” Dani said. 

“Why do you guys do it?” That was what you really wanted to know. “I grew up here. I know how dangerous, how scary these things can be. Why do you guys willingly risk your life for something that seems to have no real reward?” 

There was silence around the table for a moment, and you made sure to avoid Tyler’s face. When you had written these questions, you had no clue he was one of the ones you’d be asking, and this question hit a little too close to the reason for your breakup. You didn’t think you could look at him if he answered. 

“We like to help.” Lily said. “That’s a factor. We sell these shirts, and we use the money to get people stuff like food and water.” 

“Then there’s just the beauty of it. Yes, it’s dangerous and destructive, but there’s also something incredible about it as well. There’s so many factors to tornados we don’t understand. Seeing them come together in person is . . . Indescribable.” Dexter added, while they all nodded their heads in agreement. 

“There’s the adrenaline too.” Boone spoke up with a grin. “I’ve never felt more alive than when we’re chasing.” 

Your body tensed at his words, memories of your last argument with Tyler trying to invade your mind. Once again, you felt sure he could sense what you were thinking as you felt his gaze on the side of your face. 

“It’s hard to put into words without actually seeing it.” Tyler said. “You should come on a chase.” 

That made you look at him, your eyes wide in shock that he would even suggest it. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Why not?” Tyler leaned towards you. “Scared?” He asked with a smirk. 

“Yes.” You answered honestly. 

“Ah, you’d be perfectly safe with Tyler. He’s got a knack for these things.” Boone said, and you looked over at him to find him grinning at the two of you. “You’d barely be in any danger at all.” 

You didn’t doubt that, but heading straight into something that could be so destructive had never been your thing. Hell, you hadn’t even gotten on a horse until Tyler talked you into it. “Still, any danger is too much danger for me.” 

Tyler shrugged. “The offer is there if you change your mind.” Tyler said, and you knew him well enough to see the flash of disappointment on his face. 

Weirdly, you felt a little disappointed in yourself too. 

————————

For the past hour, you’d been pacing around your motel room. Tyler had driven you back to your car, then followed you to the motel that funnily enough, him and the rest of the Wranglers were staying at as well. It was the only motel in your hometown, but knowing that Tyler was a few doors down from you made you anxious. 

God, seeing him again had been your worst nightmare and best daydream all rolled into one. It was so easy to think that after ten years you were over someone. Then you see them again, and everything comes flooding back. All the beautiful memories and all the mistakes you wish you could take back, and there were a lot of mistakes you wished you could take back with Tyler. You’d never loved anyone the way you loved him, and you didn’t think you ever would. Seeing him again had reminded you of that. 

Letting out a sad sigh, you sat down on your bed. Then there was Tyler’s invitation and disappointment. You hated disappointing him almost as much as you hated disappointing yourself. It had taken several years of therapy and hard work to not be so scared of ending up with the same fate as your father. You had grown though. You had learned about yourself and the things that caused those reactions. While getting close to a tornado was definitely dangerous, you knew that Tyler would take care of you. You also knew that you didn’t want to miss out on any more experiences in your life because you were afraid. 

You stood up, not allowing yourself another moment to try and talk yourself out of it, and left your room, knocking at the one three doors down. 

Tyler answered, clad in his white t-shirt and jeans, and smiled when he realized it was you. “Hey, what’s up?” 

Good lord was there ever a moment when this man didn’t look incredible? You swallowed, then nodded. “I changed my mind.” 

He leaned against the doorway, eyebrows raised in confusion. “About what?” 

You took a deep breath. “I wanna go on a chase.”

Tyler beamed. 

————————

It took three days for a storm to come through that Tyler felt good about. They had done some chasing in that time, but Tyler hadn’t brought you along because he said they hadn’t been the “right one”. The wait made you anxious, but you trusted Tyler’s instincts, and every night they were back at the motel ready to tell you about their day. You thought that they might eventually get bored of all your questions, but they were not only great, but amazing storytellers as well. You could see why their YouTube channel was so popular. 

Not that you spent a whole day watching it while they were gone or anything. 

Finally though, the day arrived and you found yourself standing outside by Tyler’s truck waiting for the team to join you, your heart pumping a little faster than normal. “Morning!” A voice called, pulling your attention away from inspecting Tyler’s truck again, and you saw the man in question heading towards you with a paper sack in one hand and an iced coffee in the other. “Haven’t talked yourself out of this yet?” 

You shook your head. “Nope. I’m doing this.” You smiled as Tyler handed you the coffee and bag. “Did you seriously get-?”

“Your breakfast sandwich and coffee? Yes, you need fuel for the road.” Tyler used his now free hands to open the door for you. “Hop on in, and let’s get going.” 

“Wait,” you said, glancing around. “Is everyone else meeting us there?” 

Tyler leaned against the door, and you watched as he looked at the sky behind you, then turned his gaze back to you. “Nah, I gave them the day off. I didn’t want you to have to deal with pressure from them if we get there and you decide not to do this.” 

You bit your lip. He was always so thoughtful. Back when he knew you, he would have had to drag you to this truck kicking and screaming, which he never would, and the fact that he wanted to save you some embarrassment in case you decided not to do this was just like him. Unable to help yourself, you reached out and gave his hand a squeeze. “Thank you.” You said sincerely. 

“Well,” you inhaled sharply as Tyler took a little step closer to you. “I’ve got to admit, getting you alone for the day also played a factor.” 

Your eyes widened and a shy smile formed on your face even while your mind was spinning. Over the past few days there had been brief moments where you thought Tyler might have been flirting with you, but you talked yourself out of it. Now though . . . Was there actually a chance this man still wanted you? He couldn’t. Not after how you had treated him. It didn’t make sense. “You might end up regretting that, you know?” You told him. 

Tyler reached up, and your whole body froze as he brushed some hair behind your ear. “I’ve never regretted a moment I’ve been with you.” 

His response took the breath from your lungs. “Ty . . .” You didn’t know what to say. Your heart was beating so fast it hurt. How could he possibly not regret that night? The night that you broke his heart? 

“I’ve missed you calling me that, you know?” He smiled at you, and then took a step back. “Come on, let’s get going.” 

Once again, you wanted to say something, but what? Nothing sounded right in your mind. So instead you hopped up in the truck and watched as he closed the door behind you. 

————————

“Can I be honest?” You asked him several hours later. 

“I didn’t realize you ever weren’t.” Tyler joked, sending you a smirk. 

You swatted at him playfully. “I didn’t expect all the waiting. What happens if nothing comes?” 

“Oh, something’s gonna happen.” He insisted, looking at some clouds in the distance. “Don’t you have any faith in me?” 

While he was kidding, you didn’t stop the serious words that slipped past your lips. “You know I have all the faith in the world in you.” 

Ty’s smile turned from something joking to something genuine. “Even after all these years?” 

You smiled at him. “It never stopped. I always knew you were destined for great things.” You admitted, and it was the truth. In fact, you’d never been more sure of anything in your life. 

“Just not riding on the back of a bull.” He replied, and though he winked at you, the mention of one of the reasons from your breakup filled the air with tension. 

Then the question that you had been dying to ask since you first saw him burst from your lips. “Why did you quit?” 

Tyler looked at you then, and you knew that look well. He was reading your expression, your eyes, your body language. He’d always been able to tell what you were thinking simply by looking at you, and this time was no different. “It wasn’t because of you.” He said, reaching over to place his hand on top of yours and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I mean, you were part of the reason, but it was more about me realizing you were right, and I could do more with my life.” 

He knew you had been carrying that guilt of wondering if you were the reason he quit something that he had loved so much. He told you that you weren’t, but you still frowned, looking out at the darkening sky miles away. “I wish I’d said it differently.” 

There was silence for a moment as you two watched the storm, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt more reflective, and your thoughts were only confirmed when he spoke up. “Do you ever wonder where we’d be now? If you’d stayed?” 

If only he knew . . . “I guess that depends.” You bumped your shoulder against his. “Would you have proposed by now?” You teased, but a part of you wanted to know the answer. 

Tyler grinned at you, an adoring look on his face. “Oh definitely.” 

A flush heated up your face as a pleased smile fell on your lips. “Then I guess we’d be married and driving each other crazy.” 

“Not to mention being driven crazy by the kids.” Tyler added. 

You let out a laugh. “After ten years, you still want three kids?” 

“Three is a good number.” He defended. 

You rolled your eyes. “You know I have this friend now. She just had her fourth. Going over to her house almost makes me not want any at all.” 

“That’s because she has four. Three, perfect number.” Tyler said, holding up three fingers. “Four?” He added a finger. “Now that’s just asking for trouble.” 

“Especially if they were your kids.” You added, grinning over at him. 

“Ah, we could handle them.” Tyler said with a wink in your direction. 

A vision formed in your mind of what he was describing. Three kids, all of varying ages, but in your mind it was two boys and one girl. The boys would be almost an exact copy of Tyler, blonde hair and blue-green eyes, dimples and charming smiles. Troublemakers, but also sweethearts who cared deeply and loved life to the fullest. Then the little girl. She definitely had a majority of your features but with Tyler’s smile. She would have Tyler so wrapped around her finger it would almost be embarrassing. Then there’d be Tyler and you, watching all the craziness unfold from your back porch with a glass of sweet tea in your hands. You were happy. You were loved, and you were home. 

At that moment, you realized you never wanted anything so badly in your life. You wanted it so badly your chest literally ached with it. Looking over at Tyler made it hurt worse. You thought being away from him would make the love you had fade, but it turned out, the opposite had occurred. In fact, seeing him watch the sky with a content smile and talking about what could have been made you realize you loved him more now. You had loved him in high school, you’d loved him in his early twenties, but this was different. You were different and so was he. 

The question was . . . Would he take you back if you tried? You knew you didn’t deserve it. You were the reason the two of you broke up. If you were in his shoes, you didn’t think you could forgive yourself. Tyler had always been a better person than you though. 

Was it worth a shot trying? 

“Hey,” Tyler pulled you out of your thoughts, lifting your hand and pointing it to something in the distance. “Do you see those clouds?” 

You looked out to where he was pointing your hand and frowned. Those definitely looked dark, and they were . . . “Are those spinning?” 

“That’s the updraft, and it’s cycling.” He told you. 

“And that means . . .”

“That means-” Tyler stood up, put his baseball cap back on his head, and held out his hand to help you off the bed of his truck. “We’ve got a winner.” 

————————

You were going to throw up. At least it felt like you were. Not five minutes after you guys reached the storm did a tornado touchdown. Tyler said it was rated for an EF1, so it would be safe to drive into. Well, as safe as driving into a tornado could be. As fast as your heart was pounding, and as sick as you felt you might be, you leaned forward to get a better look out the window. You couldn’t deny the beauty in it. “I’ve never seen something so amazing and scary at the same time.” You admitted. 

“It’s incredible isn’t it?” 

As nervous as you were, the look on Tyler’s face made you smile. God you hadn’t seen him this excited since he had been on the back of a bull. “It is. Especially when it doesn’t look like it’s going to kill me.” 

Tyler laughed, and he pulled to a stop. “Nah, this is just an EF 1. This and the truck are going to keep you completely safe.” Tyler said, reaching to tug at the harness he had secured so tightly to your body that you felt like you couldn’t take a deep breath. 

As you watched the tornado race forward, you felt your heart rate start to kick back up and took a deep breath. “And you too right?” You asked, biting your bottom lip. 

He parked the truck and faced you, a rare serious expression crossing his face. “You know I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.” 

At that moment, you realized you did. Tyler would never willingly put you in danger. He cared about you too much. If he said it was safe, it was. “I do.” You agreed, taking a deep breath, well, as much as you could in this harness. “Let’s do this.” 

The grin came back to his face full force as he started pressing buttons on his truck, anchoring it down into the ground as the tornado got closer and closer. “You’re gonna love this.” 

”Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” Even though you knew you were safe, there was nothing quite like a tornado heading straight towards you while you’re stuck in place. “Tyler . . . This is crazy.” 

It was getting closer and closer. Only yards away, and your heart was pounding harder and harder in your chest. You didn’t even think. Your hand reached for his, gripping it tightly as the tornado hit the truck. 

Tyler gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, “look up.” He called over the wind, and you did as he asked, leaning towards your side of the car to see out the window. 

It was the most incredible thing you’d ever seen. You could see all the way up the funnel to the clouds above as the vortex passed over you. You’d never seen anything like it in your life, and a laugh of disbelief left your lips as you watched it pass over you. When it was done you looked over at Tyler, shock all over your face. “Was that real? Did that actually just happen? Did I just see inside a damn tornado?!” 

Letting out a chuckle at your questions, Tyler nodded. “You sure as hell did.” 

You let out another laugh yourself and started unbuckling all of your straps. You needed one last look to convince yourself that you had done it. Once you were free, you hopped out of the truck, running around the back to watch it keep going through the field behind you. You heard the truck door close again, but you didn’t turn around, still mesmerized, until you felt Tyler’s hand on your shoulder. 

“So, how do you feel?” He asked. 

His question was loaded for so many reasons. Years ago, he never would have gotten you close enough to even see a tornado, much less let it speed over you. You were so proud of yourself for doing this, but also sad. How many other life experiences had you missed because of how your father’s life choices had traumatized you? There was no good way to answer his question, so you just did what you wanted to. You jumped up, latching your arms around his neck, and your legs around his waist. 

Of course he caught you easily, laughing as he spun you around and held you close. One of his hands rested on your back, while the other cradled your head against his shoulder. After a moment, he let out a content sigh. “I’m so proud of you.” 

You clutched tighter to him. He had no idea how much those words meant coming from him. Tyler had seen you at your absolute worst, when you had no one but him. You had clung to him then, leaning on him more than was healthy until you knew that you couldn’t anymore. It made you want to cry, knowing how far you had come and that Tyler could see it. You pulled back to look at him so he could see your watery smile too. “I’m proud of myself.” 

The butterflies in your stomach were doing somersaults as he looked at you. His fingers tightened in your hair, and you felt his arm muscles tense against your back. There was tension in the air, no doubt about it, and you found your eyes drawn to those familiar soft lips. You wanted to kiss him. A part of you wondered if it would be the same, or even better because you both were older. You weren’t sure, but either way, you wanted to find out. When you saw his eyes glance at your lips too, you knew he was thinking the same thing. Unable to help yourself, you let your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling yourself the slightest bit closer to him until your noses were brushing. 

Then his phone rang. 

Whatever spell the two of you had been under broke. Tyler slowly let you down to the ground, but reached for your hand, tangling your fingers with his and keeping you close. “Hey, Boone, what’s up?” 

You glanced down at your hands with a soft smile. Tyler’s hands were big and calloused from work and bulls, but they felt nice. You brushed your thumb on the outside of his palm, and he gave your hand a squeeze. 

“Yeah, we got one. She handled it like a pro.” Tyler told him, grinning over at you. There was a bit of silence for a moment as the phone conversation continued. “Let me ask her, and I’ll let you know? All right, sounds good. I’ll see you soon.” He hung up the phone and tugged you a little closer again. “Feel like celebrating seeing inside your first tornado?” Tyler asked. 

————————

Three hours later you found yourself in new clothes, freshly showered, line dancing between Dani and Boone. You were almost crying from laughing so hard, and your face hurt from smiling so much. It blew your mind that two weeks ago you were sitting in your apartment in South Carolina feeling alone and stuck with writer's block. Now you were back in your hometown, having a blast, writing faster than you had in years, and desperate to get back together with the man who was watching you from the booth, an adorable smile on his face. Feeling a little bold after your almost kiss, you sent him a wink as Boone spun you around, causing his smile to widen. 

“You guys are disgustingly cute.” Dani said as the song slowed down and the three of you started to exit the floor. 

Heat rushed to your face, and you found yourself asking the question you’d been wanting to ask for days. “Why have you guys been so nice to me anyway? Tyler’s your best friend, and I’m his ex. I broke his heart, but you’ve been nothing but kind to me since the start.” 

Boone and Dani exchanged a look. “Yeah, you’re right. If it had been another one of Tyler’s exes we probably would hate you.” Boone said, shrugging his shoulders. 

“But you were the one who got away for Tyler, and he’s never said anything but great things about you. Plus,” Dani reached out and patted your shoulder. “It's kinda obvious the two of you are still in love with each other.” 

The words hit you like a truck, and then you felt stupid for not realizing it before. You looked at the man sitting at the booth again. This time he was talking to Dexter, his expression animated, and his hands moving wildly with his words. Of course you still loved him. You never stopped. You buried it, hid from it so you could try to better yourself. When you left, you knew you weren’t good enough for him, you probably still weren’t, but now you knew you could love him like you were supposed to. If he was open to it. Boone and Dani made it seem like he was. He had given you signs that he was at least interested . . . The only question was how could you show him that you wanted it too? 

An idea hit, and a small smile formed on your face. “I’ll catch up with you guys in a minute okay?” You said to their confused faces and headed to the DJ stand. You gave him twenty bucks, which he gladly took, and promised your song would be next. By the time you’d made it back to the booth where everyone was seated, Never Leave by Bailey Zimmerman was playing. 

You approached Tyler, who was looking at you curiously as you held your hand out to him. “Dance with me?” You said, biting your bottom lip. 

A surprised, but happy smile formed on his face. “Yes ma’am.” 

It was not your and Tyler’s first dance. Probably wasn’t even your hundredth, and dancing with him was as effortless as remembering how to ride a bike. One of his hands rested on the small of your back while the other took yours. You placed your hand on his bicep, giving his arm a squeeze. You didn’t want to say anything. The lyrics of the song could do all the talking for you. Tyler led you around the floor with ease, and as the song went on, you could see the moment the words started to sink in. He leaned forward, his forehead pressing against yours,  and he whispered your name so reverently it made you close your eyes.

“Just listen,” you said softly, tightening your grip on his hand, letting the song say the words you wanted to. Tyler’s arm pulled you even closer until it was almost hard to dance, your bodies pressed against each other. Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure he could feel it against his chest, but you didn’t care anymore. You were laying it all out there now. 

As the song ended, you felt Tyler’s lips against your forehead, soft and lingering. Warmth exploded throughout your body, and you pulled back to look up at him. 

“Come back to the hotel with me?” You asked, your thumb caressing his arm, almost pleading with your voice. 

Tyler’s hand reached up to cup your cheek, and you immediately leaned into his touch, your whole body craving it. “Are you sure?” He asked. 

You nodded. There was nothing you were more sure about right now.

He took a step back from you, grabbing your hand and tugging you back to the booth where everybody else was sitting with knowing eyes. He told them that the two of you were leaving. You tried to ignore them, but you couldn’t help but grin when you saw them giving you a thumbs up or silently cheering as Tyler had his back turned. 

The ride was quiet, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, it was more filled with tension, and the two of you kept glancing at each other and smiling. He never let go of your hand either until he parked at the motel and came around to open your door. Before you could get down though, he stopped you. “This is what you want right? I don’t want to misinterpret what I think is happening here or pressure you in any way-”

You placed your hands on his face and leaned closer, interrupting him with your first kiss in ten years. 

For a moment, he didn’t respond. It was clear you had surprised him, but then his hands gripped your hips, and he was kissing you back. 

It was even better than you remembered. It had been good back in late high school and your early twenties, there was no doubt about it. Something about now was different though. Maybe it was because you were older, maybe it was because it had been so long, or maybe it was because you felt healed. Whatever it was, kissing Tyler now blew every kiss you’d had before out of the water. 

It was a short kiss, chaste, just to reassure him that you did want him, but when you pulled away the two of you were still breathless. “Am I crazy or was that incredible?” You asked, your hands sliding down his face to his chest. 

Tyler laughed, but nodded, his own hands dragging down your thighs and resting on your knees. “It was,” he replied, but then a smirk fell on his lips, “but we can do better.” 

Not one minute later, you were trying to open the door to your room, Tyler’s large hand low on your stomach as his lips left soft kisses on your neck from behind. You could barely concentrate as heat pooled where his hand rested, and you could not get the key in the door as he kissed a certain spot on your neck. “Ty,” you said through an exasperated laugh. “If you keep doing that I’ll never get us in this room.”

He took the key from your hand, but didn’t stop kissing your neck. You closed your eyes in pleasure as he did, letting him take over the door situation, and in a frustratingly short amount of time, you heard the door knob turn. Your eyes snapped open, turning in Tyler’s arms to find him smirking at you again. 

“How the hell did you do that so easily?” You asked, weaving your arms around his neck as he carefully backed you into the room. 

He shrugged, shutting the door behind him. “Guess you were just too distracted to focus.” 

You playfully glared at him, “I was not-” but you let out a gasp as he suddenly spun you around, pinning you to the door with his body. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment, just smiling at you as his hands rested on your hips, his thumbs brushing under your shirt to touch heated skin. “You were, but it’s okay. I liked it.” 

Well he had certainly become more confident in the years apart. Not that he ever wasn’t, but you could definitely tell a difference. However, you had gained a little bit of confidence too, and you smirked at him. “Oh, I can tell.” You replied, pushing your hips forward to press against the hardness you felt. 

Tyler bit his lip at your movements, his hands gripping your hips harder. “We don’t have to do anything. I want you to know that.” 

It drove you crazy, how he could go from being sexy and confident to sweet and respectful within a minute. You slid your arms up his chest and around his neck, tugging his head down to yours. “I want to.” You told him. “Do you?”

He let out a breathless chuckle, “You have no idea how badly I want to.” Tyler said, “I’ve wanted to since the moment I saw you at that gas station.” He told you, his nose brushing against yours. 

Tyler had been wanting to get together with you for that long? Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest, and you let out a sigh as his warm hand slipped up the back of your shirt pressing you against him. “You know, I don’t look the same as I did ten years ago.” You admitted, a little bit of insecurity leaking out as you thought about the last time the two of you were together. 

He shook his head, and his hands left a trail of heat as they slid down your back to grip your thighs. “You look better.” 

Your hands slipped into his soft hair. “Now, I know that’s not true.” 

You let out a nose of surprise as Tyler used his grip on your thighs to lift you into the air with his body, smirking up at you. “I think you’re forgetting . . .” His lips found a spot on your neck that he had always kissed, a spot that made chills explode over your body and made a soft moan leave your lips. “I know this body better than anyone.” He whispered in your ear. 

Tyler was right. He had been with you more than anyone else, seen every part of you bare. So what if you didn’t look the same as you did in high school. You were sure he didn’t either. Based on what you felt against your body though, you didn’t think that was a bad thing. You let your hands trail from his hair down his neck and to his chest, noting how his body flexed under your touch. “I think I might need a refresher on yours.” You teased, biting your lip as you played with the buttons on his shirt. 

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk on his lips. “Oh, is that what you need?” 

With fingers that were much steadier than what you felt, you unbuttoned a couple of the top buttons from his shirt. It wasn’t much, but enough to slip your hands into and touch his heated skin. It was the first time you had touched him, really touched him, in so long, and it made you ache for so much more. You pressed your forehead against his, “Right now I need everything you’re willing to give me.” You admitted honestly. 

“Well then,” Tyler’s hands slid down to your ass, holding you close as he started carrying you to the bed. “It’s a good thing I’m willing to give you everything.” He said as he placed you gently on the bed. 

His words made your heart stop for a second and a huge swell of affection for him filled your heart. You wanted to tell him that you still loved him then. That you wanted to give him everything too. The words wouldn’t come though. Not yet anyway. 

So instead, you tried to say them with a kiss. You sat up, grabbing his face in your hands, and tugged him down to meet your lips. The first time you had surprised him, and it took him a moment to respond. That was not the case this time. He kissed you back at once, moving your lips in a dance the two of you knew well. While the first kiss had been sweet, this one was full of passion and tenderness. You let out a little sigh when his lips parted and attempted to pull him closer. It had been so long since you had gotten to really touch him, and you didn’t want to waste another second not doing it. 

He complied, climbing into the bed on top of you, settling between your thighs and letting out a strangled groan as you pushed your hips up into him. He pressed his own against yours and you let out your own moan at the delicious friction. 

The sound made him pull away however, and you frowned, since that was the opposite of what you wanted right now. You watched him as he sat up, his gaze traveling over your body with such intensity you could feel your face heating up. Tyler’s hands rested on your stomach finally, tugging up your tank top so slowly it made you want to just yank it off yourself so his hands could be all over you. Waiting turned out to be worth it though, because as soon as your shirt was off, he started kissing down your neck. Your eyes closed as his lips went lower, and you arched your chest against his mouth as he got closer to one of the spots you wanted his mouth the most. 

“Have you been with other guys?” 

That made your eyes snap open. Those were not the words you expected to come out of his mouth when he was about two seconds away from putting his mouth around you. “W-What?” You said breathlessly. 

But he didn’t seem upset or anything, just genuinely curious. In fact he was grinning at you, his hands resting on your bare hips. “It’s been ten years. You have, right?” 

“Is now really the time for the, ‘how many people have you slept with since me?’ conversation?” You asked, raising your eyebrows at him. 

Tyler leaned down, pressing his lower body against yours again as his lips hovered over yours. “I don’t care about the number.” He said, shaking his head. “I just want you to know I’m about to kiss the memory of anyone else from your body.” 

His words took your breath from your lungs, but you tried not to let him see how much they affected you. Your arms slipped around his neck, fingers sliding into his hair. “You’re talking a lot of game for someone who hasn’t initiated a single kiss.” You teased. 

He chuckled,close enough that his lips brushed yours for the briefest moment. “Isn’t it better if you have to wait for it?” 

A soft smile fell on your face then as you ran your fingers through his hair. “Ty, you haven’t kissed me in ten years. Haven’t we waited long enough?” 

He leaned back so he could look at your face, smiling at the look you were giving him. “Yeah. I think we have.” 

Finally, he leaned forward and kissed you, setting your whole body on fire with the intensity of it. Your lips parted almost immediately, and his tongue slipped into your mouth, exploring you thoroughly. His hands did the same, heat trailing after them everywhere he touched. 

You knew then, as the two of you kissed and your body, and heart, felt close to combustion, that this was it for you. You had been with other men in your time apart, and none of them had ever come close to making you feel like this. Back when you and Tyler had first started dating, you thought he might have been the one, but now you were sure. So no matter what happened tomorrow, or even after that, you knew that Tyler Owens was going to be it for you. 

To your shock and surprise, you didn’t find that scary at all. 

A breathless sigh left your lips as he slowly pulled away, and he smiled down at you, brushing some hair out of your face. “God you’re beautiful.” 

You had always remembered what he was like in bed, how sweet he could be, but hearing it again was a different story. He had always made you feel so comfortable and sexy, you were so glad to know that none of that had changed. “I missed you.” You blurted out, heat rushing to your face at the confession. 

But his smile just widened, leaning down to press a kiss against your jaw. “You’ve got no idea . . .” He started kissing down your neck again. “How much I’ve missed you,” he said, and you couldn’t help but squirm a little as he kissed down your stomach, your breath coming a little faster as his kisses got lower and lower. Your hands tangled into his hair, biting your bottom lip and arching up into his hand as he started unbuttoning your jeans. 

You lifted your hips as he slid your jeans and underwear down the rest of your body, casting them aside somewhere in the room. You didn’t really care where. Tyler kissed back up your body, pausing for a moment on your bra, the last article of clothing you were wearing. After giving him an encouraging nod, he unclasped it, tossing it somewhere too, leaving you completely naked. 

He stared at you, and you felt heat following everywhere his gaze went. His gaze didn’t make you uncomfortable though, it made you feel . . . Desirable. While his eyes looked you over, your eyes watched his face, biting your lip as your hands slid up and down his arms. “You know you’re wearing too many clothes.” 

Tyler grinned down at you. “You wanna help with that?” 

You sat up then, returning his smile. “I would love to.” You took your time, slowly unbuttoning his shirt and taking in every bit of skin that was revealed. Tyler had been fit when the two of you were dating, but now? He looked like he’d come straight out of a magazine. Once his shirt was unbuttoned, you let your hands trail down his chest as you leaned forward to press a kiss to his neck. You felt his whole body relax as your hands slid back up his hard muscles to push his shirt off him, and you trailed your lips across his shoulder and down his arm. 

As soon as his shirt was off him, you made your way back up his arm, pressing gentle kisses every few inches until you reached his face again. He was smiling at you, and you couldn’t help but press a peck against his lips, then another until he had his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you against his warm chest. Letting out a sigh, you kept your forehead against his for a second, soaking the moment in. 

“I never thought we’d be here again.” Tyler said, shaking his head as his hand dragged up and down your bare back. 

“Me either.” You admitted, letting one of your hands comb through his soft blonde hair, “but I’m glad we are.” 

Tyler didn’t say anything, but leaned forward to meet you in a kiss that said everything he needed to. It told you how much he missed you, the familiarity of his lips moving in rhythm with yours. It told you how badly he wanted you when his tongue slipped into your mouth to caress your own. Then his lips weren’t the only thing showing how much he cared as he gently laid you down on the bed, never letting your lips disconnect. 

It was illogical, but you hoped his lips never left you again. You were drowning, no, floating in him, submerged but safe in the warmth of him as his body laid on top of yours. Your legs automatically wrapped around his hips, and a moan left your lips as the two of you came into contact. 

Tyler pulled away then, but he didn’t go far, leaving kisses down your chin and neck. “You keep making noises like that, and this is not going to last as long as I want it to.” 

You let out a breathless laugh, tugging at his hair. “The noises are your fault, Owens. You’re the one with no-” you let out a gasp as his lips found your breast, pleasure burning straight to your core. “-Self control.” You panted. 

He gave your nipple a gentle bite, causing you to whimper, before he pulled away to look up at you. “Sorry, what was that about self control?” Tyler asked with a smirk playing on his lips. 

“That you have none.” You said, arching your hips up to rub against him for a moment, making him groan against your skin. “But I don’t think I have any either when it comes to you.” 

His smirk turned into a smile, and his lips found your breast again, immediately shooting even more pleasure through your body. 

Nobody really talks about what it’s like to have sex with someone you used to date years ago. Tyler knew your body so well, he knew exactly how you liked to be touched, and what spots would drive you crazy. It was so easy to fall back into it. On top of that though, the two of you had been with other people in the last few years, and you had more experience and confidence than the kids you used to be.

There was no hesitation in Tyler’s hands as they explored your body, and none in yours as one dragged down his back and the other tangled in his hair, holding him against you. You let out another moan as his hand moved from your inner thigh and a finger slid inside of you. 

He let out another groan as he discovered how wet you were, and leaned up to press his forehead against yours as he added a second finger in. “Are you already ready for me, sweetheart?” 

You nodded, bumping your nose against his. “Do you have a condom? I wasn’t anticipating-”

“Having sex with your ex-boyfriend in a motel room?” Tyler grinned as he reached into the back pocket of the jeans you forget he was still wearing and pulled out his wallet, reaching in to take out a condom. “Guess it’s a good thing I’m always prepared.” He said with a smirk. 

You rolled your eyes playfully, but secretly you’d never been more thankful. If the two of you had to stop now to run out and buy condoms, you might’ve lost your mind. You slid your hands down his well defined chest, biting your lip at the muscles you felt there before stopping to rest on the belt of his jeans. “You’re still wearing too many clothes though.” You reminded him. 

“Weren’t you supposed to be helping me with that?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you. 

Narrowing your eyes at him, you started undoing his belt. “It’s not my fault you distracted me with how hot you are.” 

He laughed, moving your hands out of the way to get his jeans off faster. “Why do you think I got your clothes off so fast? Can’t get distracted if they’re already off.” 

“Guess I’ll just have to remember that for next time.” You teased, sliding your hands back up his chest to rest on his shoulders. It was only when his body froze that you realized what you said. The two of you stared at each other, and you had no clue what to say about your implication of a next time. You didn’t even know if he’d want a next time . . . 

Tyler didn’t let the moment linger though. He shoved the rest of his clothes off and leaned down to kiss you, hard, and all consuming in a way that erased every thought from your head except how much you needed him. Your legs wrapped around his waist, and you let out a gasp as your hips came into contact. 

You had forgotten how big he was. 

Almost as if sensing your thoughts, he pulled away slowly from your lips, barely leaving a centimeter between them as his finger trailed up and down your slit for a moment. “You can take it. You’ve done it before.” He whispered, and then slipped three fingers inside of you. The sudden intrusion sent your nails digging into his shoulders and heat exploding across your body. “If you can take that, you can take me.” He assured you, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. 

He was going to ruin you. Part of you thought he already had, since every other time you’d had sex, he was always on your mind, but now you were sure of it. Nobody was ever going to get you more turned on than Tyler Owens. You nodded, because it seemed like he was waiting for an acknowledgment, and attempted to pull him closer with your legs when his fingers slid out of you. “It’s just - it’s been a while.” You admitted.

Tyler gave you a gentle smile. “For me too.” 

His words shocked you for a second, but then you realized they shouldn’t have. Tyler had never been a one night stand kinda guy. As confident as he was, even before the two of you had started dating, he’d only ever dated girls he felt a genuine connection with. The fact that he still felt that with you enough to want to do this had emotions clogging up your throat. You let your hands trail down his body again, taking the condom from his hand and slipping it on him, your gaze never leaving his face as you enjoyed the sight of his reaction to you touching him. “Then let’s not wait anymore.” You said, guiding him towards you. 

He didn’t need any more encouragement. He pressed forward, and you let out a sigh as he slipped inside of you, your head falling back against the pillow. It was a tight fit, there was no doubt, but he moved slowly, showing, once again, how well he knew your body. Any time you tensed up, he paused, though you could feel by how tense his muscles were how much he was holding back. “That’s right,” he would tell you when your breath started to come faster. “Remember how well you take me?” 

Oh God you did. He fit inside of you like no one else. Even years later he filled you up just enough to not be painful, but more than enough to be satisfying. Another gasp of air left your lips as he pushed more inside of you, and you could tell he was almost completely in. 

“You’re doing such a good job.” Tyler said, leaving another kiss against your skin. “Made just for me.” And while his voice was soft, it was also strained from effort. 

You opened your eyes as you felt him push forward again, and dug your nails into where they had rested on his shoulders once more as he pushed completely inside of you, letting out a sigh of pleasure as he did. 

There was nothing like this. Absolutely nothing. You moved your eyes from the ceiling to find him looking at you like you’d just hung each star in the sky for him alone. “Tell me what you’re thinking.” He said breathlessly. 

Did he really expect you to be able to think right now? You couldn’t think enough to have a filter if you opened your mouth, and you knew that was partially what he wanted. So you let the words slip from your lips. “I’m thinking about how no ones ever felt as good as you do.” He rewarded your words with a little thrust of his hips that had you gasping. “I’m thinking about how you’ve ruined me for anyone else.” Another thrust, this one harder, and you tightened your legs around him. “And I’m thinking about how much I missed you, Ty.” You said softly, letting out a whimper as his hand slid up to your breast, cupping it and letting his thumb caress your nipple. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just watching as your hips jerked against his, desperate for the pleasure only he could provide, his eyes locked on your face as if he was committing it to memory. “Would you believe me if I told you I was thinking about all those things too?” 

You didn’t have to think about it. You nodded, moving your hands from his shoulders to tangle in his hair. “I know.” 

Tyler leaned down to meet your lips in a bruising kiss as he thrust inside of you, starting a slow and steady pace that continued to pick up speed with every passing minute until you couldn’t keep up the kiss any longer. Your head fell back against the pillows, and your eyes closed in pleasure as his warm, calloused hand traveled down your body to where the two of you met. “Eyes on me sweetheart.” He said, and pressed his thumb against your clit. 

“Fuck, Ty!” Your eyes snapped open and your chest arched into his, tugging on his hair at the overstimulating sensation. His hips stuttered for a moment as you felt yourself clench around him, but he kept up the movement of his thumb, tracing circles around it. The pleasure was almost too much. You could feel it building inside of you, desperate for release, and you clung tightly to him. “I can’t- I’m-” You couldn’t even get the words out, too overwhelmed with feelings. 

“It’s okay, you can let go.” He said, “I’ve got you.” He assured you, never ceasing his pace or his finger. 

His words triggered your release, almost as if you’d been waiting for permission and you moaned out his name as it washed over you. You clung to him like he was a liferaft, holding you in above water as you clenched around him. You heard him groan your name, saying how good you were, and within seconds you felt his body tense, falling over the edge with you. 

As the pleasure faded from your body to satisfaction, you didn’t want to let him go and groaned in discontent when he pulled back and out of you. He chuckled and leaned down to press a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’ll be right back.” 

You sighed, opening your eyes as you watched him head into the bathroom, unable to believe that you had just had sex with such an attractive man, even if he was your ex. He was more than an attractive man though, or just your ex. He was Tyler. The boy you gave your heart to ten years ago who never gave it back. A tender smile was on your lips as he came back to you with a damp washcloth and started gently cleaning you up. 

“You okay?” He asked, the hand that wasn’t cleaning you up resting on your thigh and rubbing the skin there. 

“I will be once you get back in bed.” You replied, and your smile widened at the pleased expression on his face. You let out a laugh as he tossed the washcloth aside and hurriedly climbed into bed, spooning you against his back. 

He nuzzled into your neck, leaving kisses against your skin as he made himself comfortable against you, and shivers exploded across your body as his hand rested on your stomach. “Comfortable?” Tyler asked, pressing another kiss to your cheek. 

Being in his arms again? Comfortable didn’t even begin to describe it. As cliche and embarrassing as it sounded, for the first time since you’d come to your hometown, you actually felt like you were home. “Perfect,” you replied, scooting back even more into him. 

And you meant it. 

————————

You woke up cold, but oh so satisfied. Part of you wondered if last night had been a dream, but you knew that your body couldn’t lie like that. You definitely had the post sex ache. You stretched your limbs out and rolled over, wanting to curl back into Tyler and maybe sleep for a few more hours, but you were met with nothing but sheets. 

Frowning, you opened your eyes, letting your fingers drag across the fabric. It was cool, so he’d been gone for a while. It was only when your eyes drifted up to the pillow did you notice the scrap of paper. 

Stay. 

It was written quickly, almost as if an afterthought, and you frowned at it. Did he really think that he had to ask? You got out of bed, and found a tshirt in the floor. Slipping on your underwear and the tshirt, you sat down at the small table and grabbed your laptop. You’d been writing like crazy lately on a new book, and you’d definitely woken up feeling inspired this morning. 

You weren’t sure how long you sat there typing. It was a great distraction from your thoughts, and when you got into the zone, it could be hours before you realized you hadn’t stood up from your chair. You weren’t so in the zone though that you didn’t hear the doorknob start to turn. 

Tyler entered, once again looking entirely too good in his dark brown button down, jeans and cowboy hat. He carried a familiar brown bag and cup of iced coffee in his hand and held a cautious smile as he looked at you. “Brought you some breakfast.” 

You held out your hands to take it from him, eagerly sipping at the iced coffee as he sat down at the seat across from you. “Thank you, I needed this.” You said, leaning back against your chair. He was watching you, that cautious look still on his face making you nervous. Was he regretting last night? Was he trying to figure out the polite way to tell you it had all been a mistake? 

“What are you thinking?” He asked, and the sudden question threw you off, you didn’t even have the chance to think about throwing up a filter. 

“I’m thinking that I hope you’re not regretting last night. I’m also thinking that you’re too far away.” You admitted, frowning at the distance between the two of you. 

His whole body seemed to relax at your words and the smile that you knew and loved fell back onto his face. He held out his hand to you, and without hesitation you took it, returning his smile as he tugged you out of your chair to sit sideways across his lap. You buried your face in his neck, letting out a contented sigh as he wrapped his arms around you, and held you close. “Better?” Tyler asked, one of his hands tracing up and down your outer thigh. 

You nodded, tightening your arms around him. “Much better.”

The two of you sat in silence for a few moments. You knew the conversation that needed to be had, but you had no clue how to even begin to start it. Should you blurt out how you feel? Should you ask him how he was feeling? Tyler beat you to the punch though with a statement that stopped your mind in its tracks. 

“I read your book.” 

Your body froze as your brain took a moment to process his words. Once they did, heat rushed to your face, and you pulled away to look at him. “How did you even-”

“Boone. He gave me a copy pretty much right after you showed up.” He said, and his hand gave your thigh a squeeze. “I noticed some . . . Similarities.” 

You bet he did. More than enough to be embarrassing. You bit your lip, knowing the question that he wanted to ask, and decided to go ahead and give him the option to ask it anyway. “What do you want to know?” You finally said. 

For a moment it wasn’t the new Tyler that you’d been getting to know over the past couple of weeks that was looking at you. The confident, caring, intelligent tornado wrangler. It was young Tyler, the bull rider who wanted nothing more than to ride his fears and bring you along for it. “I guess I’m just wondering why they got their happy ending, and we didn’t.” 

Just because you anticipated it, doesn’t mean it hurt any less. “Ty . . .” You placed your hand on top of his, gripping it in yours. “I wrote that book two years after our breakup. I wasn’t ready to be her then. There were . . .” You took a deep breath. “A lot of things I was still holding onto.” 

“But if I had quit when you asked me to-”

You were shaking your head before he could even finish his sentence. “I never should have asked you to do that.” You let go of his hand to take his face in your hands to encourage him to keep his eyes on you. “Tyler, our breakup had absolutely everything to do with me, and nothing to do with you.” This confession had been sitting on the tip of your tongue for years now, and you finally had the courage to say it. “I looked at you, riding those bulls, and all I could see was my dad. It scared me.” You admitted, caressing his cheek with your thumb. “Drunk, constantly concussed, and soon to be dead either from one or the other. I know that’s not you now, and I should’ve known it back then, but I was too damaged.” 

Tyler looked sad, his hand still caressing your skin. “I would have fought for you.” 

“I know.” You said, and you did. You knew that Tyler would have fought to stay by your side until the end if you hadn’t pushed him away. 

“You were everything to me back then.”

God it hurt. Remembering the look on his face when you had walked out that door. You still had nightmares about it, but like you had struggled to learn, there was nothing you could do about it now. The two of you sat there for a moment before you finally got the courage to ask the question you’d been wanting to. “What about now?” You asked. “Think we can make it?”

A small, disbelieving smile formed on his face. “Is that an option?” 

You nodded. “At least I hope it is. That ball’s in your court Tyler Owens. I’m the one that broke your heart.” You said, sliding a hand down to rest over his heart. “So . . . is that an option?” You asked, biting your lip as your heart started thumping heavily against your chest. God what if you’d just said all that and spent the best night of your life with him for Tyler to say it wasn’t worth the risk? That’d you’d done damage beyond repair? 

Tyler didn’t give you time for your thoughts to get any more out of control. “Oh, it’s definitely an option.” He said, and his bright smile had your heart fluttering. “In fact, I’d say it’s my preferred option.” 

You could barely believe it, even after last night. “You really want to give me a second chance?” You asked in disbelief. 

His smile turned soft, and his hand covered your own on his chest. “Sweetheart, I’d give you all the chances in the world.” 

And then, because you didn’t know what else to say, you leaned forward and kissed him.