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He's slower than usual to look up at you, and his eyes don't light up like they normally do at the sight of you. That's how you know this one has really gotten to him.

"Hey," he rasps out, giving you what seems to be a tired smile. It's hard to tell with that mask covering his face.

You watch as he pushes himself off the wall, stumbling on his feet in the process, and climbs into your apartment. You reach out to steady him as his feet touch your bedroom floor, and he mumbles his thanks.

There's still a lot of blood coming out of his side, and you know that if you don't get him patched up soon he's going to have to take an unwanted, and probably very expensive, trip to the hospital.

Still silent, you place your hand on the middle of his back. You then grab his arm and wrap it around your shoulders, urging him to lean his weight on you. He gives in easily, using your body as support as you two walk stumble to the living room. You grunt softly as you lower him onto the couch, silently happy to get his weight off of you.

"You're heavy," you grumble, eliciting a laugh from him. It quickly turns into a pained groan, and you rush to the bathroom to grab all the medical supplies you brought home from work.

You never thought you would have to steal so much of the hospital's supplies, and then Dex came into your life.

There's blood on your couch when you come back to the living room which only fuels your worry even more.

"Take off your mask and your shirt," Dex raises a brow at your stern tone and words, but chooses to bite his tongue. Whatever sexual remark was about to leave his mouth instantly vanishes from his mind when he peels off his shirt and hears you gasp.

Maybe he should've told you how bad it was before coming over.

You crouch down beside him, peering into the wound the best you can with all the blood in the way. Fate seemed to favor him again because all of his major organs were spared by literal inches.

While you're examining him, he takes off his mask and sets it down neatly right next to his shirt. When he looks down at you, he immediately notices the slight furrow between your brows as you try to see how deep the cut in his side goes.

He thinks it's cute you worry about someone like him so much.

"I'll have to stitch this up," you say, eyes flickering up to meet his. He only nods in response, already expecting you would say that.

He's quiet and still as you clean the wound, biting down on the tip of his tongue until he tastes copper to keep quiet.

You're silent as you try to stop the bleeding, doing your best to ignore the way his muscles tense and flex beneath your touch.

It's a little awkward sitting in silence like this, you think, but Dex doesn't seem to mind it one bit. It lets him focus better on how gentle you are as you press the now red cloth back onto his skin, on how soft your fingertips feel as they lightly graze his ribs.

He likes this a little too much, you think. You have half the mind to believe he gets himself injured on purpose just so he can come back to you.

Once you manage to get the bleeding to settle down some, you grab the needle and thread from the side table. With how gentle you are, he barely even feels the first stitch.

It's when you poke through his skin again that you decide you can't stand the silence anymore. "Do you wanna talk about what happened?" You ask, voice soft as if you're afraid you'll scare him.

His answer is instant. "Not somethin' you need to hear about."

Dex hates himself for telling you that over and over again. He knows the least he could do is tell you what causes him to get this injured while on the job, but he's scared. You're the one somewhat consistent thing he has in his life, and he's worried if you find out what he's really doing while he's out there, you'll run.

He knows he could find you and catch up to you, but you would be scared of him by then. You wouldn't want him after finding out he's killed innocent men, wouldn't look up at him with worry in those pretty eyes of yours.

If keeping you around for a little longer means being selfish and hurting your feelings, then he'll gladly do so.

You pause for a moment, and he notices the furrow between your brows is back. He wishes he could soothe it away with his thumb, but he knows now isn't the right time for that.

"Why not?" You ask, doing your best not to sound hurt. It's so obvious he's hiding things from you and you hate it. You know whatever he's doing out there isn't any good, considering he wears a mask and shows up frequently at your apartment with a hole in his side—but you want to know.

He sighs, partly in frustration, and tips his head back against the couch to stare up at the ceiling instead of your face. He won't look at you while he lies to you, he can't.

"Don't want to worry you." You scoff at his response, not believing a single word of it. Multiple things to say to him fly around in your head, the majority of them horrible, so you decide to keep quiet. For some odd reason, your gut tells you he's been through a lot.

Maybe it's the slight sadness in his eyes, or the loneliness that seems to follow him around everywhere he goes. You can't quite place which it is, but you don't want to add to his problems.

When Dex is sure that your anger has died down, which he is assuming is right now since you've stopped stabbing the shit out of him with the needle, he speaks up again.

"I don't want to worry you more than I already do, is what I meant." You look up at him, but he's not looking back at you. Those hazel eyes of his are still fixated on the ceiling, searching for things that aren't there.

You keep stitching him up while he talks. It's a good distraction from the weird, aching feeling in his chest.

"I'm not a good man, I think that much is obvious. There are people out there who hold things over my head because of what I do."

You don't say anything, but he knows you're still listening.

His throat goes dry and threatens to close in on him, but he keeps talking, counting the dots on your ceiling to ground himself. He would prefer some music, but this works too.

"I'm scared if I tell you the truth, that… that if I open up to you, those same people will come and take the one good thing I have away from me."

Your chest tightens at his words, and you so desperately want to say something to him, but you decide to wait until he's gotten everything he needs to say out of his system.

You're putting some gauze on his now stitched up wound, hands still so incredibly gentle against his undeserving skin. He wishes he could feel this every night, but that's just not possible with how things are.

"If I don't tell you, then you're safe. You not knowing is better, that means no one will come take you away." He finishes, voice a little shaky now.

You stare at him for a moment, unsure of what to say. This is the first time Dex has truly opened up to you, and you're a little overwhelmed by it all.

"Dex…" you start off, mouth opening and closing as you think of what to say. Finally, you settle on the most basic answer of them all.

"No one is going to take me away from you."

Now, he looks at you, pretty hazel eyes meeting your own. It's safe to assume that while he had been telling you about what he's so scared of, he had also been crying.

Swallowing hard, you push the mess of your medical supplies off the couch and climb straight into his lap. He welcomes the closeness like it's the only thing he knows, shaky hands hovering over your waist before finally settling on your skin.

The way he holds you makes you feel like you're something precious.

"You don't know that," he insists, voice breaking. "Every– everything good that happens to me always gets taken away." Tears prick at his eyes, and he quickly squeezes them shut in a desperate attempt to not let them fall.

When one does fall, you gently wipe it away with your thumb.

"I won't let them take me away from you." You whisper softly, hands creeping up to cradle his face in your palms. His skin is stained with blood, and it's sure to dirty your hands even further, but you can't bring yourself to care in the moment.

At that, he lets out a breath that feels like he's been holding in for forever.

One of his hands leaves your waist, moving to settle over your heart instead. You're confused by the gesture for a split second until you realize he's feeling of your heartbeat. You let one of your hands fall from his face to his chest to reciprocate the gesture.

Unlike the steady rhythm of yours, his is wild and frantic as if it were trying to escape.

"Swear it," he says, tone softer, more vulnerable than usual.

You bump your nose against his, light and playful. "I swear it." You whisper back in a tone just equally as soft. You're treating him like he's some sick, wounded little thing, but he doesn't hate it. It's a lot better than being treated like the merciless, depraved man he is.

His hand leaves your heart, now sliding up to cup your cheek. His palm is calloused, worn from years of work, but yet you still lean into the touch. He can't resist the urge to drag his thumb across your bottom lip, relishing in the way your breath hitches in response to the touch.

You just sit there, pretty eyes locked onto his while you wait for his next move. The way you're so trusting to let him touch you as he pleases makes him feel strangely human, like he isn't all bad.

Surely there has to be some good in him, even if it's strictly reserved for you.

"Don't deserve to touch you like this," he mumbles, mostly to himself. Despite his words, he doesn't let you go, doesn't stop caressing the soft, plush flesh of your lip.

You speak before you think. "You're the only one who deserves to touch me like this, Dex."

There's a beat of silence, and it goes on long enough for the realization of what you just said to dawn on you. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you're so close to apologizing and pulling away from him, but his grip on your face is firm.

"Say that again," he breathes, leaning in closer. When you look into his eyes, there are no traces of the sadness you usually see, you only find hope and desire staring back at you.

"Please, baby. Let me hear you say that again, please, please, please." He sounds completely and utterly ruined, and you hate yourself for liking it.

"You're the only one who deserves to touch me like–" you don't even get the full sentence out before his lips are on yours, teeth nipping at your bottom lip in order to get access to your mouth. It takes you a second to kiss back, but when you do, he practically melts underneath you.

It's not rough and full of teeth like you expected it to be, but slow and painfully intimate in a way that has heat pooling in your stomach. When your hands find their way into his hair, Dex knows he's done for.

You give the strands an experimental tug, and he can't stop the embarrassing whimper that escapes his throat. The sound does nothing but add to the heat between your legs.

This time, you tug harder, yanking his head back in the process, and he moans like he's in pain. It's a sound you want to hear again and again and again.

His hand comes up to cup your jaw as he licks into your mouth, tongue sliding against yours. You taste like mint toothpaste, he tastes like gunpowder and copper.

When the two of you finally pull away from each other, you greedily drink in the sight of him, storing it in your brain for later. His cheeks are flushed with pink, and his lips are swollen and slick with spit.

He takes a moment to admire you, too. How your pupils are blown wide with desire, how your lips are all slick and swollen—all because of him.

He so desperately wants to lean back in and keep kissing you, but he knows that if the two of you kept going it would lead to a lot more than just kissing. Which he wouldn't mind, and he's positive you wouldn't either, but he has stitches to heal, lest he rip them and get even more blood on your couch.

So he grounds himself. His hands slide underneath your shirt and up the expanse of your back, feeling of the soft skin there. Instinctively, you lean forward, resting your cheek against his bare shoulder.

He's never had a moment like this with someone before, so he's not sure what to do, or even say for that matter. He's thankful that you're able to figure it out before he does.

Almost shyly, you peer up at him, still looking a little disheveled from the kiss. "Stay with me tonight?" You ask, like he would ever say no. He hates following orders, hates being bossed around, but he doesn't seem to mind it when it's you. He finds himself wanting to bend to your every whim.

"Yeah," he says finally, voice rough. "Yeah, I'll stay, sweetheart." You smile up at him, pure and sweet, and Dex is suddenly a little glad that he slipped up and got stabbed tonight. He'd gladly endure the pain if it meant getting to be here with you like this.

With some convincing, and a lot of reluctance on Dex's part, he lets you get up from his lap so you can wrap his stomach with dressing. He wasn't going to argue with you about it, considering you were the nurse here and not him.

He just sits back, obedient as ever, watching as you fret over him.

When his stomach is wrapped, you step back to make sure his side is completely covered. You stare for an extra second longer than normal, acting like you're looking for something out of place when you're really just using that as an excuse to stare at him while he's shirtless.

If he notices, he doesn't say anything.

You clear your throat before speaking. "I have, uh, I have an extra shirt if you want to borrow it."

"Nah, think I'm alright like this." You nod in understanding, watching as he makes himself comfortable on your couch. He sucks in a sharp breath when he turns to lay on his back, feeling the wound pull taut. He would definitely be out of commission for a few days.

He notices you're still standing in front of him, hovering like you're waiting for something. Sighing deeply, he pats the spot in front of him on the couch, an invitation. "C'mere," he says gruffly, and you listen.

You shuffle into the spot beside him, taking a minute to get comfortable. The couch is way too small for the both of you, but you somehow manage to make it work.

Dex is warm and solid when you press yourself against him. His hand comes up to cup the back of your nape, gently coaxing you to rest your head against his chest. You feel safe like this, and he feels fulfilled. "This okay?" He asks, breath ghosting over the top of your head.

When you whisper a soft "yes" in response, he can't help but hold you just a little tighter against him.

The two of you don't talk about the kiss or what it meant, you just lay there. You, listening to the sound of his heartbeat underneath your cheek, and him gently running his fingers through the strands of your hair.

It doesn't take long for you to fall asleep like that, but Dex doesn't follow. He stays awake, watching every slow rise and fall of your chest. He even counts the breaths you take.

You're beautiful like this, he thinks. With your eyes shut and lips slightly parted as you snore against him softly. Vulnerable, trusting, and so incredibly beautiful. If he wasn't so tired, he would watch you for hours.

But for now, he watches you until his eyes start to burn, the urge to sleep overtaking his stubbornness. He leans in to kiss away the slight furrow between your brows before he finally decides to let himself rest.

That night, Dex doesn't wake up in a cold sweat with his mind replaying all of the horrible things he's done in his head. He remains still and constant against you, the occasional snore escaping his own throat.

And when he wakes, you're still there pressed against his chest–soft, real, and still something he doesn't deserve.

The morning’s alarm has just gone off, but you are not ready to leave the comfortable haven that is your shared bad. “Just a little longer” you plead as the sunrise shines beams of warm light across the room. Your eyes are half open as you scoot closer into his side. You wedge your shoulder under his arm, and lay your head right over his heart, the organ thumping lazily in your ear. You shift your head into his armpit and inhale the unique scent of him. It’s a combination of a little sweat from sleep, soap from last nights shower, and the essence of his own skin. The smell of it makes you feel lightheaded with pleasure. It’s the smell of comfort and safety.

“Whatcha doin’ sweetheart?”

“Nothing” you mumble, only somewhat paying attention to his words. You are half asleep and the awake part of your mind is only thinking the words him, skin, want.

You run your hands softly over the plane of his abdomen. Firm muscles beneath your touch. Your hand travels up to his chest to grip his pectoral muscles, then impossiblely broad shoulder. You shift to prop yourself up on one elbow so you are looking down on him.

“You are an odd one” he comments.

You rub your eyes sleepily. “But you love me anyways.”

You dive your face into the center of his chest, between his pecks, and softly run your face back and forth over the area. The hair tickles your nose, but still can’t help inhaling again and again. “I like this place, here” you comment, voice muffled. He lets out a quick, quiet huff of air through his nose, amused “Do you, baby?”

You mouth the skin over collar bones and swells of muscle, dragging your lips and occasionally sharp teeth. The skin just above his heart is sensitive so you run your tongue along it. “Tastes good” you mumble. It’s a little salty, earthy, and makes your brain quiet to a low hum. His hand comes to cradle the back of your head, not to press down, but to further connect you together and let you know he doesn’t mind your attention even if it is a bit strange.

You hand travels back down to his stomach. A small bit of fat over his low tummy. It’s a little padding, energy storage, protection over abs and the vital organs underneath. Everything about him is solid, heavy, beefy. You adjust your positioning over him you can unceremoniously press your face into his stomach. “Can I crawl inside your skin?”

“If I could figure out a way to let you, I’d have done it already” he replies in a deep voice, made gravely by slumber.

slowly he turns to look at you, expression once again impassive. immediately you're stumbling backwards, shaking your head and muttering incoherent pleas. the back of your thighs hit your desk as dex pursues you with a dangerous glint in his eyes. so fast you can barely register, a thick hand wraps around your throat, just barely lifting you off the ground and further into the desk. you gasp, mouth agape as he constricts your breathing. your pussy clenches around nothing. "now, why the fuck did you just hit me?" he says between gritted teeth. you try to stammer out an apology, pleas to let you go, but you can barely breathe. the most you can manage is a pitiful "please,"

suddenly dex is dropping you, ass landing hard against the desk as you pant. dex barely gives you a second to recover before he's ripping you off the desk, whirling you around bending you over and pressing your abdomen into the desk. "you're going to regret that," he mutters, nestling his crotch against your ass. "do you understand, princess?" a hand is around your throat again, while the other is gripping your hip hard enough to bruise. tears are welling up in your eyes, cunt already aching for him against your better judgement.

the hand around your throat moves to grab a fistful of your hair and tugs hard, making your back arch painfully and tilts your face to look at him. his expression is dark and angry, lust swirling in his blown out pupils. "answer me," he tugs again making you whimper. "do," he grinds against your ass, "you," dex grips your hip impossibly tighter, "understand?" he's no longer playing games with you.

"please," you half sob, "let me go, dex." he's off you in an instant. you slump against the desk, elbows hitting the wood hard as you try to collect yourself. you can barely hear the jingle of his belt through the roaring in your ears.

his rough hands are on you again, slipping his fingers into your waistband and forcefully pulling down both your bottoms and underwear. he crowds your space again, thick cock sliding over your soaked cunt making him groan. "i'll make you understand, sweetheart," he whispers against your hair, head dipping to bite and lap at your neck as he uses your wetness to lube himself. you moan at the feel of him, trying to garner the strength to fight him off... but, god, he knows your body too well.

"dex," you whine, desperate and needy for the man who just broke into your home minutes earlier. pathetic and horny for the man who's been the only person to ever break you. "fuck me," you plea, shoving your ass against him.

he groans against your neck, biting you hard. "i'm calling the shots," he grunts "not the whore who just slapped the only guy who knows how to fuck you right." he pulls back and slots his cock between your ass, fingers coming around to play with your clit. you lurch forward, breath hitching when he finally slips his fingers inside you. you're melting into him, knowing full well you're giving him exactly what he wants. your bring one hand to his wrist and the other behind your back to grip his hip and pull him closer to you. "be patient!" his free hand slaps your ass, hard. dex's fingers slip out of your pussy and grips the nape of your neck.

without warning he's shoving his cock into you, pushing your head down harshly onto the cool desk. you scream as you take all of him, barely getting time to adjust to the size of him as he brutally drills his cock into you. "brat," he mutters squishing your face harder into the desk. you're falling apart underneath him, moaning wildly and bucking your hips back against his dick. dex carves half-moon shapes into your side as he grips you tightly to pull you on and off his cock the way he wants.

your body goes taut and your violently coming on his cock, cunt constricting and making him groan loudly. dex grabs your hair again and tugs as he bends over you, capturing your mouth in his as he fucks you relentlessly through your orgasm. tears are falling freely now as your tongues dance and his brutal pace never falters. "good," he mumbles, "so fucking good, darling," his control is wavering fast, forehead falling against your shoulder.

"come, dex," you whine, overstimulated and overwhelmed by him. this snaps him out of his reverie and he's pulling out of you, flipping you over and bending your legs so your knees press against his chest before he's pounding into you again, pulling his cock almost all the way out of your cunt before slamming himself to the hilt over and over again.

your back arches off the desk and your vision goes white as you come around his cock again. you're trembling, you can barely think as dex continues to treat you ruthlessly. "say it again," he whispers against your cheek, "say my name again, princess."

"dex," you breathe, nerves shot as you continue to take him. "dex, god, dex!" his hips stutter and falter, burying himself deep inside you as he cums. he groans your name and slumps against you.

every thrust lands with striking precision, your whole body jolting beneath him at each slam of his hips against yours. pleasure hits you so strong it creates a deep pressure just below your navel, your mouth slackening to release sounds that seem foreign coming out of your own mouth. you're sure your entire fucking neighborhood can hear you at this point.

"dex—dex! if you keep—oh my fucking god—we'll have to stop—" you all but yelp, hands flying in an attempt to steady yourself. they land across his back, nails digging into skin with enough force to draw blood.

"no! no no no, sweetheart," dex urges, eyes snapping open to find yours. "i'll go slow then. i'll make it good for you. like this—" the change in pace is deliberate, instantly allowing you room to breathe again once he's no longer pounding into that sensitive spot over and over again. "you like it like this? let me make you feel good, please."

you know it'll give you only a few minutes before dex starts to get lost in it again, but you can't really deny him anything when he looks this desperate—this eager to please you. so you will yourself to nod, even as your head feels much lighter than it probably should, your face contorting into what you're sure is the most dumb, fucked out expression to ever grace your features.

You sobbed, thighs trembling around his waist as another devastating stroke punched right into that spot again. Your walls clenched hard around him, slick and fluttering, but he just laughed softly under his breath, psychotic delight gleaming in his gaze.

“Poor little thing,” Dex murmured, leaning down closer so his breath ghosted over your wet cheek. His hand came up to brush a tear away with his thumb, almost tender, but the smirk twisting his mouth ruined any illusion of care. “I’m hitting it so perfectly, aren’t I? Right there… and there… and there.” Each word was punctuated by a sharp, targeted snap of his hips that made stars burst behind your eyelids.

You cried out, fresh tears pouring as the overwhelming pressure coiled tighter in your belly. It was too much, his thick length stretching you open, the relentless accuracy of every thrust grinding against that perfect angle until your whole body shook. Pain and pleasure twisted together so viciously you couldn’t breathe.

Dex’s pout deepened theatrically, eyes sparkling with cruel amusement. “Shh, shh, don’t cry so hard. I thought you liked it when I don’t miss.” He rolled his hips in a slow, filthy circle, pressing right up against that spot and holding there, grinding. “Or is it too good? Are you gonna break for me already, hmm?”

You nodded frantically, half-delirious, choking on a moan as another wave crashed through you. Your nails dug into his shoulders, leaving red crescents, but he only grinned wider, clearly thriving on the sight of you falling apart beneath him.

“Good,” he whispered, voice dropping into something darker, hungrier. “I like you like this. All teary and ruined… just for me.”

(We do actually have to discuss this in detail I think).

Dex with slathering sunscreen over himself. Dex with a rescue buoy tucked under one arm. Dex sitting up in that lifeguard chair like a Baywatch angel straight from heaven. Dex getting wet every day. Dex getting sun-tan while being pissed off at tourists. 

Anyway. Very hot.

And then there’s you. 

You are a surfer. You are more well known as the local menace. The other lifeguards call you an absolute nightmare. Death trap on two legs. Owner of an equally death-trap 1972 VW Camper that looks like it runs on fumes and divine intervention.

You are, allegedly, “surfing.”

Except your version of surfing involves paddling out when the sky looks mean, cutting too close to the rocks because “the waves break nicer there,” laughing when you wipe out, bleeding casually, showing up with bruises like accessories, and treating red flags like invitations that say: come in! The water’s nice!

Dex’s supervisor literally points you out on Dex’s first day like, “Watch out for her. She’s got a couple screws loose.”

And Dex is like, noted.

Then you walk past him, look up at the tower, clock that he’s new, clock that he’s hot, clock that he’s already annoyed, and wink.

“First day, huh?”

Dex hates you immediately.

By which I mean he wants you so badly it starts ruining his life within forty-eight hours.

Because you’re everything Dex cannot stand.

You are skilled, so he cannot ban you for being stupid. But you are also reckless to the point where he cannot relax when you’re in the water. Cocky enough to make every argument feel like foreplay. Pretty enough that when you grin at him with saltwater in your lashes and blood on your knees, his brain starts smoking.

And you definitely know that Dex is fixated on you.

Look, you’re already an adrenaline junkie, but now there is this shirtless, furious, rule-obsessed lifeguard watching you from the tower, and unfortunately, you are an attention whore. Especially for a man as attractive as him.

So it makes you worse. Obviously.

He tells you not to surf by the rocks.

You say, “Watch this!” And run straight into where the rocks are sharpest. 

He tries to blow the whistle and you just smile and give him a thumbs-up.

He considers walking into the ocean and letting the gods take him.

Dex’s supervisors tell him has they have a feeling that you might be suicidal, but they cannot prove it. 

But you never say you want to die, even though Dex knows better than that to judge it as a risk metric. You never act helpless. You never panic. You’re not some poor lost thing drifting toward the current.

Instead, you are doing tricks in dangerous places, in dangerous weather. On fucking purpose.

So Dex understands, that in true adrenaline junkie fashion, knowing you could die is half the fun. The wave feels better when it could literally crush you. The trick feels better when the rocks could impale you. The storm in the background feels like flirting if you’re unwell enough about it.

And you are deeply unwell about it.

Dex can see that.

That’s why you like pissing him off.

Because every time you look back from the water, he’s already watching like you are the only hazard on the whole beach. Watching like the ocean is background noise and you are the actual emergency.

And fuck, you love it.

You love coming out of the water dripping wet, bikini clinging like a second skin, surfboard tucked under one arm, acting like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to him (spoiler: you do).

To be fair, half the beach knows.

They can see it in the way his teeth grind when you laugh off another wipeout. In the way he climbs down from that lifeguard tower too fast when you get too close to the rocks. In the way he says your name like a warning, a reprimand, and a prayer all at once.

The locals know the play by now: the hot lifeguard in red swim trunks and the hot surfer girl in a bikini having another one of their little public arguments that looks more like aggressive foreplay to anyone with eyes.

Because it’s not just about safety.

Dex would be standing too close, broad and sun-warmed and furious, whistle resting against his chest, telling you to follow the rules, pretending he’s not staring at your mouth. You’d smile up at him like you want to know exactly how far his control goes before it snaps. He’d always pretend this is about red flags and dangerous currents when everyone knows he would drag you out of the water with his bare hands if you gave him half a reason.

And you keep giving him reasons.

You'd give a flirty wink before you paddle out, a grin after he blows the whistle. You’d give him a slow look down his body when he tells you to stay away from the rocks, the kind of look that makes his eyes go flat because he knows you are doing it on purpose.

Every time he says you are going to get yourself killed, you smile back like, maybe, but you’ll save me, won’t you?

This goes on for months.

And the insane thing is, Dex becomes really good at his job. 

By now, his lifeguard record is spotless. Zero incidents. Zero drownings. Zero major rescues gone wrong. The beach runs clean when Dex is on shift because he watches everything and clocks everything immediately. 

Which is actually impressive considering you exist.

Because you wake up, see dangerous weather, and think, nice.

Dex wakes up, sees the same forecast, and immediately knows you are going to ruin his day.

He likes structure. You like impact. He likes rules. You like breaking them specifically while making eye contact with him.

The whole thing turns into this deranged little ritual. You paddle too close to the cliffs. He stands up in the tower. You look back. He blows the whistle. You smile. He clenches his teeth like he’s trying not to climb down and drag you out by hand.

Eventually, the wires cross. Your obsession with danger and Dex’s obsession with structure stop being separate problems and become the same sickness.

He tells himself he watches because you’re reckless. You tell yourself you piss him off because it’s funny.

Both of you are lying.

Because Dex doesn’t just want you to follow the rules because he likes structure anymore. You become his obsessive, pretty little challenge. 

And he becomes your obstacle. He’s now part of the thrill you are chasing. 

Dex would never admit the obsession, obviously. He’d rather swallow his whistle. But you both find it so, so fun.

Especially when he says. “Stay out of the water.”

And you tilt your head and say, “Make me.”

Oh, Dex has thought about it.

Obviously he has thought about dragging you back to that stupid little VW camper, slamming the door shut behind you, and finally doing something about that smart mouth of yours. He thinks about filing your mouth high him in the backseat, making you learn structure the only way you might actually understand.

Because Dex likes structure.

And you clearly need structure.

And he’s gonna fuck his structure into you if that’s what it takes. 

That, and he also thinks about how he’s gonna fuck all that bratty, reckless, death-chasing arrogance out of your pretty little head and you have nothing clever left to say except his name.

But he doesn’t. Not yet.

So yeah. It’s a rivalry, technically.

But only in the way two freaks make eye contact across a warning sign and both think, oh, you’re as bad as me.

One day, though, he actually has to save you.

It's a cocktail of unfortunate circumstances: the weather is very bad, you mistimed a trick, and you had a very rare lapse of concentration. 

A wave rises wrong behind you, higher than it looked from the break—

And then you disappear. Dex hits the sand running.

The water is freezing when he dives in, but he barely feels it. The current grabs at him hard, dragging sideways toward the rocks, exactly where he knew you would end up one day if you kept playing chicken with the ocean.

There is foam everywhere. Your board knocks past him. The leash trails loose, useless, and that makes him panic a bit because that means you’re not attached to it anymore.

“Come on,” he snarls, to you, to the ocean, to whatever part of the universe thinks it gets to take you from him.

Then he sees your hand break the surface.

Dex lunges.

He catches your wrist, then your waist, hauling you against him. Your body jerks, coughing water before your head even clears the next wave.

He locks one arm around you and drags you back.

The ocean fights him the whole way.

By the time he gets you onto shore, he’s breathing like an animal. He drops with you in the wet sand, one hand braced beside your head, the other already checking your face, your pulse because there’s no way he’s letting a pretty girl fuck up his perfect record. 

You roll onto your side and cough seawater hard enough that your whole body shakes.

Then you laugh like a fucking maniac.

Dex freezes over you as rain starts running down his face. His hair is soaked flat. His chest is heaving. He looks furious in a way that’s almost frightening, except his hands are still on you like he cannot make himself let go.

“You think this is funny?”

You blink up at him, mouth trembling around that beautifully smug grin. “I’m alive, aren’t I?”

Dex looks at you like he wants to put his hands around your throat and shake every bad idea out of your skull.

Instead, his eyes drop to your back.

The rock caught you worse than you realised. There’s a long scrape cutting down from your shoulder blade,red and bloody under the rain, saltwater making it burn so much your grin twitches before you can stop it.

“We have antiseptic in the shack,” he says.

You blink. “Aw. Taking me somewhere private?”

“Get up.”

“You’re making me blush, Dex.”

“Now.”

And maybe you shouldn’t enjoy that as much as you do, but you have water in your lungs and thunder in your ears and Dex kneeling over you looking like a soaked, furious swimsuit commercial, so really, what are you supposed to do? Behave?

The lifeguard shack is small and damp and smells like sunscreen and bleach. Rain starts beating against the roof. The storm throws white lightning through the little window every few seconds. 

Dex roughly sets you on the edge of the desk.

He turns away for the first-aid kit, shoulders tense, and it’s clear that he is one bad comment away from snapping. Which is unfortunate for him, because you’re very good at bad comments.

He stands behind you and tries to be very normal about untying your bikini. 

The antiseptic hits. You hiss.

For half a second, he’s unbearably careful. You smile, even though it stings.

“You like this,” you smile as he finishes off dressing your wound.

He goes silent.

“You like saving me,” you accuse, more taunting now. “You like dragging me out. You like getting to pretend you’re a good person because you did your job.”

Dex says your name like a warning. You turn your head, just enough to look at him over your shoulder.

“But we both know we’re not good people, don’t we, Dex?”

There it is, the truth. 

Rain pounds harder against the roof. Thunder rolls low over the beach. Dex’s hand tightens at your waist, and you feel the exact second his restraint gives up and walks into the ocean.

“You need to stop talking,” he says.

You smile. “Make me.”

The antiseptic bottle hits the desk.

This time, his mouth is on yours.

The kiss is hot, searing, and wet from the rain and the ocean and all that anger he has been pretending is professionalism for months. He kisses you like he is mad you survived. Like he is madder that some sick, ugly part of him loves being the one to save you. He loves that he has the fact that he saved your life over you, that you owe him somehow. He feels like he’s winning.

And you kiss him back like that’s the whole point.

Your fingers hook in the whistle cord at his chest and yank him closer. The desk groans beneath you, the thin cloth covering your breast slipping down the floor and Dex pretends not to be affected when he feels it on his skin. You knew better though, because when  Dex steps between your knees with half growl, you feel his arousal against you.

“You wanted this,” he says against your mouth, realising that this was the reason for ragebaiting him. You want him to lose control to prove a point. So now you feel like you’re winning, in your own fucked up way. 

“Don’t lie to me, it’s insulting,” You laugh between lewd kisses, breathless and awful as he desperately, pathetically starts rutting into you through the thin fabric of his shorts. “You clearly want this, too.”

He bites your lower lip because he’s too proud to answer that truthfully. 

Outside, the storm rips across the beach. Inside, Dex finally ruins his perfect record of self-control.

The desk rattles and you paw the drawstring off his waist and push his shorts down. You moan as he stretches you out, and as soon as he starts moving, the first-aid kit spills open. Gauze rolls across the floor. Your wet palms drag over his shoulders, his chest, pulling you flush into him like he has spent months imagining exactly where he would put you if you ever gave him the chance.

Dex knows that it was never about just the ocean.

It was about him.

You wanted him to watch. You wanted him to care.

You wanted him furious and soaked and shaking, dragging you back from the edge like he had a right to.

You jolt when thunder crashes, a bit jumpy. 

Dex catches you immediately, one hand careful around your bandaged back, the other braced beside your head. Even now. Even like this. Even ruined and breathing hard against your mouth, he’s still watching for pain. 

He’d rather swallow his whistle than admit he’s started to fall for you, but he is. 

Then, you kiss him again, smiling wickedly against his mouth, because you are still you, and he is still Dex, and neither of you has learned a single useful lesson.

“Feel like a good person now?” You rasped.

Dex’s forehead drops to yours.

His laugh is breathless and almost angry. “No.”

You chuckle through dirty little gasps.

His hand tightens at your waist, but his pace doesn’t falter. “But you’re not going back in the water today. You’re not ruining m’fuckin’ record just cause you have a— hmphh— death wish.”

You grin into the crook of his neck. “We’ll see about that.”

And the storm keeps going and he keeps fucking you, completely past pretending he can help himself.

After all, you’re always gonna be his pretty little challenge. 

—

Hotch turned his chair towards the door, pointing at Spencer, and speaking sternly, “Reid. We’re leaving in 30. I need you to go to Locke’s place right now. She’s not answering.” 

“What do you mean, she’s not here?” Spencer’s brows furrowed in concern.

“She hasn’t come in and she’s not answering any of our calls,” Hotch said, his voice clipped and flat. 

“We’ve got a double homicide in an affluent suburb in New York. It is believed to be the third in a series of hate crimes and the media is already all over it. We don’t have time for a missing agent today, Reid. Now, go.” 

Spencer swallowed hard, nodding quickly, “I’ll go get her.” he grabbed a file, stuffed it in his satchel and turned on his feet, immediately leaving. 

To his luck, he used his car this morning instead of the metro, so the job of driving to her apartment and checking on her isn’t anyone else’s.  

He knows she was breaking down last night. He knows she was fragile. And a sharp spike of guilt tugged in his chest—Did she do something because I kicked her out?

He quickly found himself in the parking lot of her apartment complex, he looked at the time, they still had twenty minutes to get back on time. He hoped Hotch would understand and lend them a few extra minutes to catch up, especially if she wasn’t doing very well. 

Spencer firmly knocked on her door, “Locke?” he called out.

No answer.

His hand immediately went to the knob, twisting it with a desperate hope that it might be unlocked, despite how dangerous that would be.

He huffed, worry starting to crowd his senses. 

His eyes darted to the ground before he stepped back and kneeled to look for a key under the small rug by the door, but nothing was there. 

He thoroughly searched his satchel, finding a ballpoint pen—something he was not too sure could pick a lock like hers. 

He kneeled down, his long fingers frantically working to dismantle the pen. 

His face was buried close to the lock as his large hands worked with precision, using the ink cartridge as a tension wrench—holding it at the bottom of the keyhole while simultaneously inserting the pen clip, turning with slight pressure until he got the perfect angle and managed to unlock the door after a few long tries. 

He was in. 

No lights were turned on, but the light peaking through the blinds of the living room was enough to make everything semi-visible. 

Spencer took slow, careful steps into the apartment, glancing to the open kitchen area where an empty bottle laid on the floor next to the fridge. 

He called out her name, his voice not too loud to scare her, but enough to reach all corners of the empty apartment. He stepped further into her place, taking in how everything seemed so lived in. 

He cautiously pushed her bedroom door that was ajar, taking in the perfectly made bed, the navy sheets laying neatly on the bed with no trace of anyone’s recent presence. 

Some light was bleeding from underneath the bathroom door in her room. 

Spencer didn’t hesitate to barge into the bathroom, already expecting a sight of pure horror. 

She was unconscious and curled up tightly in the corner of the empty, dry bathtub. She was only in her underwear, her skin and hair damp as she shivered with her knees tucked against her chest, almost as if she was trying to fight against the freezing porcelain. But he was met with her in her underwear, her skin and hair damp as she shivered against the white tub. 

Spencer crossed the small bathroom in two long strides, dropping onto his knees right beside the edge of the tub. 

“Locke,” he breathed out, his voice almost cracking as his hands went to her bare shoulders. Her skin was covered in goosebumps, her teeth chattering violently. “Locke, wake up. Hey, look at me,” his trembling hand wiped the strands of hair that stuck to her forehead. 

The touch—the sudden invasion of reality—hit her system like an electric shock, making her eyes snap open. 

She scrambled backward against the curved wall of the tub, her hands flying up to strike whatever it was in front of her. 

His large hands moved quickly to catch her wrists, pinning her erratic movements before she could hurt herself, “It’s me,” his voice was a quiet, soft whisper. He moved his face close to hers, his hazel eyes wide, trying to lock her gaze onto his, “It’s Spencer. You’re safe, okay? It’s just me.” 

The name—Spencer—and the warmth of his touch against her freezing skin finally pierced through the fog in her brain. 

She froze, her eyes frantically darting all over his face. Her chest rose and fell in ragged, shallow pants, the strong scent of alcohol filling the space between them. The blurred lines of his face were finally sharpening in focus, making reality slam right into her head. 

She was stripped down to her underwear, trapped in a bathtub, unconscious and shivering, reeking of alcohol, and completely exposed. 

Spencer’s hand gently reached toward her head, “Hey, I-” 

She swatted his hand away, “What the fuck, Reid! How did you get in?”

“You- you weren’t answering anyone. I- I had to pick the lock-” 

“You picked the lock? Why the fuck would you pick the lock!” her voice was rising, her hands frantically wiping her damp skin, wishing nothing more than stripping out of her own skin right now. 

“Because I thought something bad happened to you!” Spencer snapped back, his voice cracking under the weight of the fear that had been fueling him for the last forty minutes. 

His chest heaved as he stared down at her, his hands remaining braced on the edge of the tub, not knowing if he should back away or not. 

“Hotch called a briefing. You didn’t show up and you weren’t answering your phone. After last night, I-I thought you did something stupid,” 

The accusation hung heavily in the humid bathroom air. 

“Get out.” she choked out, “Get the fuck out of my bathroom, Reid. I just need ten minutes to shower-” 

“You’re not going.” He said flatly. 

She blinked a few times at him, “What?” 

“We’re not going on this case. I’m calling Hotch right now and telling him that you have a bad fever and that I’m staying to take you to the hospital.” 

Her voice quivered, tears welling up in her eyes before quickly spilling down her already-damp cheeks, “No.. no please Spencer, you can’t do this to me.” her fingers clawed at his biceps, clinging onto his shirt, wrinkling it with her wet hands, “I need to go. Please don’t call him. I need this case-” she looked up at him with those glassy, pleading eyes, her own cry interrupting her. 

He moved closer to her, not minding that his clothes were getting wet. 

He gave her more access to hold onto his arms, while his hands slightly hovered over the backs of her arms, “You’re hungover, Locke. If we do go, Hotch will sideline you and send you back home-“

She quickly shook her head, her clammy hands going to his face, holding onto him, bringing him closer to her face as if that would get her words across better—convince him better, “please, Spencer, I’ll be fine,” she sniffled, her lips fighting against another cry that was crawling up her throat, “please.” 

Spencer’s lips parted, torn between standing his ground because he knows she’s not fine and giving in because he recognised the desperate look in her eyes. 

He closed his eyes for a brief second. 

“We’re not going,” he said, his voice dropping to an even softer whisper. 

Her fingers tightened on his jaw, a gasp of pure defeat leaving her mouth, “Spencer, please-” 

“Listen to me,” he interrupted firmly, his hands sliding down her arms to gently grip her wrists, leaving her hands on his burning face and feeling how violently her pulse was racing, “We’re not going now. I won’t let you leave like this; you can’t even stand on your own.” 

She blinked through her tears, the word now giving her hope. 

“I’m gonna to call Hotch,” he continued slowly, forcing his eyes to be steady and lock with her glassy ones so she couldn’t look away, “I’m gonna tell him that you only need a few hours to get back on your feet and I’ll book us a flight to New York in a few hours.”

He paused, his eyes scanning over her shivering frame before coming back up to her flushed face, “Does that sound okay?” he slightly tilted his face into her palm. 

Her fingers twitched against his cheeks before she slowly let her hands drop from his face. 

She nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered, her voice incredibly small, “Yeah, okay.” she looked down at herself. 

Spencer’s face moved slightly away from her, his eyes following her own, “do you want any help?” 

Want. 

He didn’t want her to think that he implied that she needed him in any way right now. 

He knew his presence alone was making her feel small—exposed in a way that risked him being bit by her as usual. 

“No, just..” her voice cracked, her eyes remaining fixed on the drain of the tub, “just give me twenty minutes and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” 

Spencer swallowed the lump in his throat, his hands dropping from the edge of the tub. 

“Okay,” he whispered. 

He stood up, his joints aching from the hard floor, his eyes kept on the tiles away from her before he turned to leave and close the door behind him. 

Spencer stood in her room for a moment, taking in a long breath to steady the hammering in his chest before walking out. 

To his left was the kitchen. 

His eyes fell to the bottle that was still lying next to the fridge, a bit of vodka pooling around the tip before picking it up. 

He opened the cabinet beneath her sink, found a trash can, and gently placed the bottle inside. 

He dampened a small paper towel and wiped the residue from the floor before using a dish towel to give the counters a few quick wipes for good measure. 

He looked into the sink, a few dirty plates and spoons were sitting there, and they looked like they'd been there for a day or two but not longer. He rolled up his sleeves to keep them from getting any more wet, washed the dishes, then placed them on a small wire rack out to dry. 

He used a few napkins to dry his hands and forearms before throwing them in the trash can. 

He immediately headed toward the living room to his right. 

Books were scattered on the coffee table in front of the red couch that sat in the middle of the room. Some books were open, others were not, but he could tell that she definitely wasn’t reading any. 

Without a second thought, Spencer immediately sat on the couch, his hands gently closing the splayed pages, and stacking the books on top of each other in two groups of six. 

He would put them back into the empty slots in the book shelf next to the window, but he couldn’t tell how she organized her books. They weren’t in any clear, particular order, so he chose to not risk messing up whatever personal system she had. 

He neatly aligned the two stacks in the middle of the dark wood. He reached for his phone that was in his pocket, deciding to call Hotch and tell him that they’ll be taking a flight in a few hours to catch up with the team in Westchester. 

After getting off the phone with Hotch, he walked back into the kitchen, deciding to make her some breakfast with whatever he could find in her fridge. 

A part of him worried that this would deem him too vulnerable, too willing to bend to her whims. He didn’t want to look desperate for her approval, or worse—be genuinely nice to her. 

He figured that if he made her food without her permission, she’d have no choice but to eat it. 

He found some eggs and an almost-finished bag of toast in her fridge, so he opted for a simple choice that he hoped she would eat.

He scrambled two eggs and toasted two pieces of bread before covering the plate of food with a tissue and leaving it on the counter. 

He reached into his satchel, pulling out the case file he’d managed to snag before leaving the bullpen, starting to work on the case, helping in any way he could until she was ready to leave her room. 

A while later, he heard her bedroom door creak open before she appeared in a fitted, crisp white shirt and deep brown slacks that hung low on her hips. 

Her hair was wet and held up in a loose pony tail with the shorter strands falling around her face. 

Her bloodshot eyes weren’t looking at him—they weren’t looking anywhere in particular really. 

Her eyes wandered for a few moments, looking for something to busy herself with and not talk to Spencer. 

“I called Hotch. He said Garcia will send us our tickets for a flight at 2 pm today.”

A pause. 

“Did you clean my kitchen?”

“Yeah, I just threw some things out.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know.” 

“Thanks,” 

He pressed his lips into a tight line, giving her a small smile. “You should eat.”

“I’m not hungry,” 

Of course she’s not. 

“I already made you something to eat. I also found some ibuprofen, you can take one after you eat if you need it. It’ll help with the headache.” 

“So you snooped in my place.” 

“It was on the counter. I didn’t have to snoop.” 

Tension wasn’t foreign between the two. It was always there, filling the empty space between them, softening at times, then amplifying when the lack of friction caught up to them.

But this was different. This was clinging onto her insides, wrapping around her ribs and lungs, pulling them down and weighing down her feet. He saw her in a state that made it impossible for her to brush off his penetrating gaze right now. Impossible to kick him out. And impossible to be who she usually chose to be with him. 

Whatever was filling the space between them had wrapped around her hands, stripping her of all the control she thought she had. 

She silently walked to the counter, finding the plate he had made for her. 

“What’s the case?” she brought the plate with her to the couch, sitting next to Spencer. 

He didn’t think she would ignore everything else, but she was right, there was nothing to be said about what happened earlier. 

Spencer cleared his throat, grateful for the familiar anchor of the case to pull them out of the suffocating stillness. 

She brought a piece of toast to her mouth, finally realizing that she was in fact starving. 

He opened the folder that was shoved by his side, placing it between them for her to see, “Two victims—Sandra Davis and her on-again, off-again boyfriend Ken Newcomb. Their bodies were found in a park near the male victim’s car in Groton, an affluent mostly white suburb of New York City in Westchester County. It’s the third of three killings believed to be a series of hate crimes.”

Her brows furrowed, “Hate crimes?” 

She turned to sit sideways on the couch, now facing him as she took rhythmic, mechanical bites of her food. 

“The first two victims were Keisha Andrews, 15, and Vickie Williams, 17. Their bodies were found in a wooded area in the southern part of the county, near the city. Strangled. Beaten. Stabbed.”

He paused, looking at her face and giving her time to take a look at the file in front of her. 

“And this was painted on their faces.” he pointed at a few images of the victims. 

“What about this couple? How are they part of it?” 

“There’s nothing in the file about this, but Hotch and Penelope should be updating us with everything they’ve got.” 

“So we’re just useless for now?”

“I’m not. I’ve already figured out that this message-” he pointed at the attached piece of paper on the inner cover of the file, “-was certainly written by an adolescent female and notified the team. But yeah, you are useless for now.” 

Somehow, Spencer’s jab was the best thing he could’ve done at that moment. 

The familiar friction of his words relieved some of the pressure on her ribs. 

A very small ghost of a smirk formed on her face, “yeah,” her eyes flicked to his hands for a brief moment almost seeming unguarded, and almost a little convinced that she’s not the most useful she could be—for now of course, “for now. Enjoy the head start while you have it, Reid.” 

“We have a few hours before we need to head to the airport. I suggest you try and sleep. Real sleep, not-”

“I know,” she mildly snapped before he could complete that sentence, “but I don’t need to sleep right now. All I need is to keep up, okay?”

“Okay,” he muttered, the word leaving his lips with soft compliance. 

He didn’t argue. He just looked at her, focusing on her stubborn set of eyes that were studying the details in the file even though they weren’t enough to make them as efficient as the rest of the team. 

“Can I have your notepad?” 

“My notepad..” he trailed off as he reached for the object in his bag, “yeah, why?”

She plucked it from his delicate fingers, “None of your business,” she tucked her knees into her chest, propping the legal pad on her thighs, close to her face. 

She reached for a pen from the table next to her, clicking it, and immediately began scratching down sharp words. 

He waited for a few seconds, expecting her to show him what she’s written, figuring it was case-related, but she didn’t. 

Instead, she shielded the yellow paper with her palm, making it impossible for him to sneak a glance. 

“Are you.. gonna show me that?” he asked softly. 

She didn’t even look up from the page, the pen continuing its rapid, consistent rhythm on the paper, “No.”

“Well, can you give it back?”

She finally looked up at him, “Are you gonna use it?” 

“No, but it’s mine and I-” 

“Then, no.” she buried her face back into the page on her knees. 

“You’re actually impossible,” he stared at her in disbelief. 

The three hours they had before leaving for the airport were spent in heavy silence that oscillated between suffocating and comforting—the two existing in the same circle with little to no friction. 

They both did separate things, and she was nice enough to let him read one of her new books that she had never touched before under the condition that he wouldn’t say a word about it. 

—— 

She decided to completely shut down as soon as they left her apartment and headed to the airport in Spencer’s car. 

She gathered all the scraps of energy she could find in her body and chose to utilize them in keeping her sanity until they got to New York. 

This was one of the days where she desperately needed to step out of her brain and be a passenger in her own skin, waiting for the next stop. 

She was grateful for her intentional dissociation, the smooth process at the airport, the white noise of the airport filling her ears, and the quick one hour flight. 

——

The moment they stepped into the police station, she could tell that Hotch’s focus was on them, but specifically her. 

The local PD was buzzing with overwhelming noise and chaos. 

Spencer was vibrating with nervous energy by her side, making it impossible to breathe comfortably without being painfully aware of the weight of his presence. 

It made her skin crawl. 

She hated how much space they took up together, hated the invisible wire that tied to Reid after the morning they’d had. 

She pushed down the nauseating wave of anxiety rising in her throat, stepping closer to where the team was, each of them busy with officers or papers between their hands; they weren’t free enough to ask where she’d been all morning. 

She walked to the massive board that was set up against the smooth wall of the cramped conference room the team had been given to work on the case. Her eyes studied the crime scene images more intently than she had in her apartment, desperate to lose herself in the brutality of the case. 

“A fever, Locke?” Hotch asked with simple directness. 

He had stepped next to her without a sound. 

“Yes, sir.” she kept her eyes focused on the victims’ pictures hung on the board in front of her.

“Are you feeling better?”

“Yes. A lot better,” she nodded, giving him a small smile to thank him for asking, but she could tell his concern was laced with suspicion. The quiet sharpness in his eyes made her stomach drop, making her wonder what he was thinking. 

“Good,” he placed a hand on her shoulder for a brief moment, before walking away. 

She shifted her gaze away from the board, locking eyes with Spencer who was already staring at her, but he quickly looked down at the table in front of him without looking at any specific paper.

She slightly shook her head and let out a long sigh before returning her focus to the case, ignoring the thumping migraine that was relentlessly eating away at her brain. 

Within half an hour, the bullpen filled to the brim with officers either holding notepads, ready to write down important details, or listening intently with nothing in their hands. 

Hotch took his spot at the top of the room, facing everyone, his authoritative voice bouncing off the walls, “The suspect we’re looking for is a black male statistically between the ages of twenty and thirty five. We know he’s black because of his victims. Sexually motivated killers almost always kill within their own race. His victims are all low-risk. This guy’s a smooth talker. A hustler. He may not have a lot of education, but he knows how to trick young girls.”

Morgan took over, stepping next to Hotch, “We know the unsub has a vehicle. Big enough to transport a body, it’s clean and it’s not too old, nice enough to make a girl feel comfortable inside but not flashy. Probably a large, dark sedan.” 

She sat on the edge of a cluttered desk next to Emily, dangling her foot off the table, not able to peel her focus off the lines of tension etched deep into everyone’s faces. 

JJ walked to detective Rick Ware, “We recommend putting this profile on the news, the paper, anywhere it might be seen by the people in this county. This guy’s ruse didn’t work on everybody. Somewhere out there is at least one woman who didn’t fall for his game and that’s who we need to find.” 

“The key to this unsub’s psychology is the souvenir he takes. We don’t know what it is, yet, but we know that once he has it, his victim then becomes disposable. And that’s when he kills her. The unsub’s ritual was interrupted when he killed Sandra Davis.” 

Ware seemed uneasy, his eyes flicking to the far front doors of the station, where the press was waiting for more details about the case. 

“What’s the problem?” Derek asked.

“Well, the problem is I would have to be crazy to release this profile to the public,” said detective Ware. 

She was listening to the conversation from a few feet away, only stepping closer after she heard Ware speak, “What are you talking about?” she interjected.

“Reverend Williams has already stirred up enough trouble by choosing to make this town a soapbox for his anti-racism campaign.”

He tipped his head down, trying to keep his voice in the inner circle, “What do you think is gonna happen if I go to the press and tell them the killer is black?”

“Hey, the best way to stop all this is to find the killer.” she took a step closer, her tone unusually brittle, “We just gave you the best we to do that.”

“Right, by telling everyone to look out for an anonymous black man? They’re gonna say that’s racial profiling.” he turned his palms up in question. 

She furrowed her brows then glared up at Ware, “It’s not racial profiling. We gave you a complete profile which includes race.” 

He huffed, obviously stressing, “Alright, look, the point is I’ve never even heard of a serial black killer.” 

“You can believe in black serial killers or not. But the fact is they do exist and it’s only a matter of time before he kills another girl.” her tone was too harsh. She was boiling inside—thinking about nothing but how close the unsub could be to his next victim. 

“Detective Ware,” Hotch said, stepping behind Locke, “The profile stands. Whether you choose to utilize it or not, that’s your administrative decision. Now if you’ll excuse us for a moment.” He nudged her shoulder, gesturing for her to step back, but he didn’t speak to her. 

Instead, he turned his head, his eyes locking onto Spencer’s, “Reid.” he called out. 

Spencer immediately jumped from his seat, quickly walking to Hotch, his fingers holding onto the leather strap of his satchel. 

Hotch didn’t look at Locke who was standing behind him. He slightly tilted his head back as he spoke, “Take her and go to Marriott hotel, I already sent you the location. I only want you two back here at 6 am sharp tomorrow. Am I clear?”

She furrowed her brows and stomped to stand in front of Hotch, “Hotch, I’m fine. I’m in the middle of-” 

“I am not asking you, Agent. This is an order.”

His words and harsh look made her fall silent. They made her feel small, so she didn’t say anything else. She just stared at him through her eyebrows as he gave her one last, warning look before turning on his heel and returning to his work. 

She peeled her eyes off Hotch and onto Spencer. 

He stared at her for a few moments, able to read her enough to expect a few possible responses, but she only turned away, beelining through the chaos to the door, finding her way to the exit.  

He quickly grabbed a file in case he’d want to work during his free time later tonight and hurried out the door, following her. 

She was standing by the passenger’s door of the SUV with her arms crossed, staring at nothing, her jaw clenching and unclenching at a rapid pace. 

She didn’t want to drive today. 

That was new. 

When they both settled into their seats and locked the doors she couldn’t keep her mouth shut anymore, Spencer could sense it. 

“He thinks I can’t do my fucking job?! I was working just as good as everybody in there! He profiled me the second we walked into that bullpen and he sent you to watch me like a child who can’t be trusted enough to be left alone!” 

Spencer let out a long breath, “He didn’t need to profile you to conclude that you’re not entirely present, Locke. I mean come on, you just let a detective bait you into losing your temper.” 

“I didn’t lose my temper.” 

“You-”

“Reid, I didn’t lose my fucking temper!” 

“You were basically yelling! And- and you are now,” his voice spiked, making him stutter as his eyes kept darting to her. 

She flexed her jaw as she leaned back in her seat, crossed her arms, “I had the situation under control. I was regulated and I was not yelling, Reid. Hotch did have to profile me to make this stupid order. You’re pinning it on the last interaction I had with Ware and I don’t know why—since it’s certainly not to protect my feelings from being hurt.” She was practically panting by the end of her long string of words. 

Spencer put his hand slightly up next to the steering wheel, “Okay.. are you done?” 

“Fuck you,” she rolled her eyes at his underwhelming response and turned to face the window. 

It felt like an eternity had passed by the time they pulled up to the hotel’s parking lot. 

She quickly left the car the moment Spencer stopped the car, leaving him staring at her seat for a few moments before quickly following her movements out of the car. 

He was taking more time to take his bag from the trunk, trying to slow down to match her pace.

She swung her go-bag on her shoulder, glanced up at him, then turned her eyes back to the car and shut the trunk.

“Are you okay?” he finally broke the silence, his voice high-pitched, and his brows slightly furrowed.

How could he ask her such a stupid question. 

She brushed her palms against each other, not looking at him, “Why would I not be okay.” it sounded like a statement. 

She looked up at him, “are you okay?” she raised her eyebrows, holding his gaze for a moment to mirror the absurdity of his question. 

“I didn’t risk my job because of a severe hangover, so yes, I’m fine.” 

“I didn’t risk my job, Reid.” she glared at him, their feet were now in sync, quickly walking into the lobby

“Then I’m sure you’re fine too.” he nodded, “You clearly have enough energy to be defensive, so I’ll see you at 6 am for another exciting round of solving this fun case.” 

He turned to the front desk, getting their key cards. 

She took a few steps to stand closely behind him, not very aware of how close she was actually standing. 

She couldn’t tell if the invisible pull was nothing but a basic need for human proximity regardless of the source, or if it had something to do with Spencer—and she desperately hoped it was the former.  

He turned around and handed her the card. 

112. That was her room number. Her thumb brushed over the red ink on the back of her keycard. 

113. That, of course, was Spencer’s room. 

——

She opened the door of her room, paused for a moment, wishing that something would physically stop her from stepping into the deep emptiness of the cold room, but she heard Spencer’s door shut with a sharp click behind her. 

She filled her lungs to the fullest with the warm air of the hall before taking a small step into the icy room, the low temperature sending shivers down her spine. 

Her first instinct wasn’t to change into comfy clothes, or to go to bed. Instead, she took slow, aimless steps around the room, circling it over and over again until she wore herself down to nothing. 

She reached onto the neatly tucked, white sheets grabbing her keycard and sliding it into the back pocket of her slacks before leaving the room. 

She was faced with the metal numbers 113 on the wooden door, making three firm knocks. 

The door was gently opened and she was met by his peaceful face. 

“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” he said, his voice a quiet, raspy whisper.

“I don’t want to sleep,” she snapped, stepping closer, slowly invading the small space between them. Something about his pure gentleness was not something she was able to find in herself, something that was tucked so deep in her soul that seeing it in Spencer compelled her to subconsciously want to be close. But that only made her angrier with herself. 

Why was she acting like this? 

“But Hotch said-”

She stepped past him, making him step back and make space for her to come through. 

“What, you gonna tell Hotch that I’m refusing to sleep?” she mocked.

The door shut behind her, locking in the coldness of his room that was somehow much more comforting than hers even though they were identical. 

“I could if I wanted to,” he crossed his arms over his thumping heart, figuring that this stance would make him seem less affected by her presence. 

“And do you want to, Reid?” the corner of her lip twitched, obviously enjoying his palpable nerves that were seeping out of his pores. 

His eyes dropped to her mouth, to the faint, raw swelling on her bottom lip. 

He shook his head, forcing himself to peel his eyes off her lips and up to her eyes, but her gaze only stripped away whatever composure he had left, “I don’t want to, but I might have to if you don’t go to sleep.” 

“Come on, then. Call him.” she furrowed her brows, urging him to take his phone out of his pocket as she stepped closer. 

His fingers twitched against the pocket of his gray sweatpants as he stuttered, “No I dont-” 

“Why don’t you wanna call him? huh?” she tilted her head to the side, teasing him as she kept getting closer, and neither of them knew how to stop the space from shrinking. 

“Just go to sleep, Locke.” 

“I won’t.” she simply replied, shrugging, “Come on call him. What are you waiting for?”

Spencer’s chest heaved, his back now pressed flat against next to the doorframe as he looked down at her. 

“You really want me to call him?”

“I’m waiting,” she murmured, tilting her face up to him, “pull out the phone, Reid.”

“Stop,” he warned.

“Stop what?” 

“Locke, you’re.. you’re too close,” he whispered, his shaky, warm breath hitting her face instantly. 

“And?” her eyes followed his, trying to catch his gaze—something he’s obviously fighting to avoid, “does that make making a phone call too hard for you?”

“Yes,” he blurted out before thinking twice. 

“What?” her brows crinkled and her smirk slightly faltered for a moment, his answer catching both of them off guard. 

Spencer’s breath was getting heavier, rattling unsteadily in his chest—the sound travelling to her ears and vibrating through her chest. 

“I..” he attempted to speak, wanting to say anything that’ll save him from her burning closeness.

“Are you okay?” she raised her eyebrows, her eyes flicking down to his lips. 

She noticed how his lips were parted, letting more breath in and out of his lungs as his lower lip trembled with the sheer weight of restraint.  

He murmured a string of shaky, sudden words, “I know you believe we don’t trust you on this team, and that you take out your anger on me,” his innocently-knitted brows twitched at the last word.

She didn’t back away. His breathless rambling echoed in her head—showing her how deeply she was getting to him and how she had lost herself and let him get to her in a way she swore no one ever would. 

She looked up into his hazel eyes, wide and stripped of the defense she walked in with. 

And for a ruinous second they were completely exposed to one another. 

The silence between them stretched so thin till it finally snapped the last thread of his sanity.

A quiet, defeated sound caught in the back of his throat as both of his hands flew from his sides to hold her face and slam his mouth onto hers. 

The clash of their teeth pulled a gasp out of her, making her eyes fly wide open at the sudden force and friction against her bruised lips. She was unable to pull away—unable to fight the force between them—so she chose to grant herself the terrifying grace of feeling and giving into her senseless, impulsive desires. 

She was never one to let go and free her soul from the tight cage of her ribs. 

But his kiss was sucking these emotions right out of her mouth, giving space for more air in her chest instead of the rotting weight she believed would always be a part of her.  

Her fingers found their way to grip Spencer’s cotton tee shirt, dragging him down closer until there was no air left between them. 

Her knuckles turned white as she tightened her fist on the fabric. Her other hand went straight to the back of his head, her fingers carded through his soft curls, tugging on them as she pressed herself closer to his body. 

Her tightening grip on his hair pulled a soft whimper that vibrated from his mouth and into her throat, somehow making it feel like the air was reaching places it never did in her body.

His hands were shaky yet firm around her face, each palm covering an entire cheek with so much force as if she was slowly disappearing and he couldn’t let go. 

She caught his lower lip between her teeth, sucking on it to reclaim parts of her control. He grunted into her mouth, his hands slowly softening on her jaw before sliding down to her sides. The thin fabric of her shirt didn’t protect her from his searing fingertips. 

She moved one leg between his unsteady thighs, feeling the growing bulge pressed firmly against her pelvis. 

The contact made his torso lean forward, letting her lock him in place. His face was already a deep shade of crimson, both of their mouths working restlessly at eating one another, her tongue finding its place deep in his mouth. 

He kept his mouth open, widening it whenever her tongue pushed for more access, letting her suck the quiet moans out of his throat, making them grow louder. 

“Still want me to go to sleep?” she pressed her leg harder against his aching erection.

He whined as his long fingers splayed out on her back over the fabric that covered her goosebumps. 

Spencer couldn’t even form a coherent word. His hips twitched against her as his mouth momentarily stopped moving; unable to keep up with her mouth against his, her pressing the heavy pressure between his thighs, and her hands that seemed to dissolve every thought from his brain by simply tugging on the strands at the nape of his neck. 

She shifted her hips to turn his body back and into the room, making him stumble back until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed. His slender fingers instinctively loosened their grip on her waist so she wouldn’t fall on top of him. He thought that if her entirety fell on top of him, he would explode in no time. He could barely handle the flames that her touch was already igniting on his fragile skin. 

She stood between his legs as he plopped down to sit on the mattress. 

She looked down at him completely at her mercy—a disgustingly beautiful sight that made her guts twist with a sick sort of pleasure. 

Her hands instinctively went up to his face, cradling his flushed cheeks between her cold hands. 

He didn’t move, only staring up at her with patience and curiosity of what she wanted to do next. 

Her brows scrunched as her eyes looked at every part of his face, slowly moving her gaze from his lips to his finely carved nose then to his wide, doe eyes that were desperately searching hers then to his soft eyebrows that framed his eyes perfectly. She knew that if she were to look away she would snap back to clarity, and she didn’t want that. 

She didn’t want the so-called ‘responsible’ her to pull her out of this haze. 

She didn’t want her brain to take over like it always did. 

Please, just let me have this. She told herself as she stared down at Spencer.

His face tilted up, needing to reach her and feel her lips on his own again—they were the softest part he’d ever seen of her, yet the part that hurt the most. 

How could such a pretty mouth spit so much venom? 

She didn’t make him chase her, because she too needed to feel his lips while she still could. 

She took a slow, shaky breath, her face leaning down to meet his. 

The moment their lips met, she pressed his jaw with one hand, making him completely open his mouth to her, his lack of resistance making the corners of her lips turn up into a predatory smirk. 

Her other hand gently pulled his hair backward to give herself more access into his mouth as she leaned her full weight forward, pushing her thighs flush against his lap. 

Spencer let out a muffled moan against her mouth, his hands sliding frantically sliding under her shirt, pressing his palms against the bare, sensitive skin of her back that arched into him at the touch. 

“Tell me to leave, Spencer..” she breathed against his lips, “didn’t you want me to go?”

He only whined, his lips trying to catch hers and keep them from talking because he couldn’t answer her questions right now. 

“Tell me to go to my room and sleep, just like Hotch ordered.” her tongue swirled in his mouth, catching the grunt that came with her knee pressing against his pulsing length, “Tell me to follow Hotch’s orders, Spencer.. and I’ll do it” she teased. 

He didn’t want her to leave. 

The sheer humiliation of his absolute surrender was burning through his veins but he couldn’t fight it. 

He shook his head as he pulled her whole body closer to his, “don’t go,” his eyes were filled with pure desire that cost him every last drop of his dignity. 

His raw vulnerability tightened the already existing knot in the pit of her stomach, compelling her to move her legs over his lap, fully straddling him, “Shouldn’t I be in my room?” she grinded her core against his hips, deepening the friction and rubbing right where she needed it most. 

His hips bucked up, chasing the frustrating heat as a loud moan escaped his lips, making him bite down on her lower lip before flattening his tongue against her raw lip in a silent, soft apology.  

He furrowed his brows, his hands tightening on her hips, begging her to undo him, “I really hate it when you do this,” 

“Do what?” 

“Turn everything into a twisted game,” he rasped, his hips helplessly twitching beneath hers. 

“This isn’t a game, Spencer.” she slightly pulled back to look down at his glistening face.

The corners of her lips turned into that familiar, sharp smirk as her eyes dropped to his trembling lips, “It’s not my fault you’re so easy and desperate,” 

“You came to my room,” 

“I might have walked through the door, Spencer, but you’re the one begging me not to leave. Look how little it took for you to forget about Hotch..” her lips pressed against his jaw, “and the case..” another kiss behind his earlobe, “and every precious protocol..” she whispered directly into his ear, feeling him shiver at the vibration of her voice.  

His hands that held onto her hips slid to her thighs, his long fingers splaying out to hold her tight as he slightly parted his own legs a fraction wider, letting her sink deeper against his hips. 

Her pelvis tilted forward, burying his aching length directly into her center, making her inner walls clench as heat spread through her stomach. 

Her body betrayed her and her mind went blank as need flooded though her flesh and she moaned against his jaw, pulling his head closer to her by his hair. 

She tore one hand from his curls and slid it down between their bodies. 

A small smile curved her lips that were working against his as her fingers brushed against the strain of his pants. 

She flattened her palm directly over the hard throb of his erection through his clothes. 

She could tell he’s big and that made the heavy heat already pooling between her thighs ache. 

“You’re not gonna come in your pants, are you?” she teased. 

“N-no,”

She kept her palm flat and firm against him, sliding the heel of her hand slowly down his rigid length, pressing into his twitching cock again and again. He dropped his sweaty forehead in the crook of her neck, his mouth sucking on the closest spot of her skin, leaving a wet, gasping hitch against her exposed collarbone--a slick trail of his saliva cooling her skin. 

Suddenly, she stopped, withdrawing her hand and cutting off the friction entirely. 

Spencer picked up his head with a helpless whine at the loss of contact, his eyes searching hers in question. 

A wicked grin returned to her bitten lips as she looked down at his ruined state, “I think I should go to sleep. We have to be at the station at 6 am, did you forget?”

As much as she wanted to be the cruel director of this play, the pure need pumping through her veins made walking away feel like absolute punishment. 

She untangled herself from his body, giving into her arousal to grind her covered pussy against his length one last time, hearing him gasp before she stood up. 

“Oh my god, you’re evil,” he muttered as he looked up at her with confusion and humiliation at her mocking him, deciding to follow orders only when it meant denying his wishes. 

“I just want to get enough sleep and be energized for work tomorrow,” she faked an innocent smile that didn’t match her eyes. 

She was drunk on the power that came with depriving him of what he wanted most, especially after he’d attempted to cross the line, peek into her mind, and read the contents of her head. And she knew that this want was blinding, that it would convince him of the illusion that he hadn’t seen anything of her, that she was never weak or broken in front of his bare eyes. 

She knew that a person can be blindfolded by sheer desire and desperation and be led to believe that they were in control of nothing. 

She’s always had a complicated relationship with desire. 

Her relationship with desire wasn’t linear, and it wasn’t a cause and effect equation that she could easily calculate and alter her actions around. 

There was no action and reaction to  how she dealt with desire and how desire dealt with her.

There was no pattern to recognize. 

There were no variables to control. 

There was nothing to distinguish. 

There was nothing she could fix, even though she believed there was a lot that needed to be fixed. 

She’s dealt with the kind of intense want that led to obsession—the kind that only pulled her cravings closer to her. It turned her thoughts to reality and made her feel on top of the world. 

But desire usually punished her without warning, amplifying her obsession and strangling her heart till she got so close, till there was nothing left in her hands to control. And that’s when reality would hit her. That's when she wouldn’t get what she wanted. 

It wasn’t that she wasn’t worthy of her desires; she wasn’t worthy of desire itself, and something told her that Spencer wasn’t so worthy of that tonight. 

She fixed her now wrinkled shirt, covering the red skin of her collarbone. 

Spencer stayed still on the edge of the bed, his hands hopelessly dropped on the mattress on either side of him, not making an effort to cover the prominent erection that tented his pants, showing her exactly what she’s managed to do to him. 

“Goodnight.” she turned around, taking measured, deliberate steps out of his room, leaving him with the stifling air of the untouched room. 

Spencer’s eyes were fixated on the door she’d just shut at his face until his head dropped into the heat of his palms, covering his entire face and rubbing his eyes harshly. 

Her intoxicating touch still lingered on his skin, the feeling wrapping around his head like cool, delicate silk—so comforting, so unlike her. 

He quickly tore himself out of his head by rushing to the bathroom, deciding to take a cold shower to wash off all her poison. 

He quickly stripped his clothes off of his glistening body, turning on the cold shower and holding his hand out under the running water to cool his skin before stepping under it. 

He filled his lungs with the crisp air of the bathroom, letting his eyelids rest under the water. 

He leaned his forehead against the cold tile, the freezing stream hitting the back of his neck, but it did nothing to cool the pulsing heat between his thighs. 

The image of her, sitting on top of him, looking down at him with that predatory, all-consuming stare, was burned into the back of his eyelids. 

He couldn't fight against the growing desperation of release, the ache only growing by the second. His hand moved down his lean stomach, his long fingers trembling as they wrapped around his pulsing length. 

A ragged, choked gasp left his throat as she began to stroke himself, giving himself the ultimate friction he couldn’t get from her. His mind went back to her, trapping him beneath her weight, her core pulling him in with every roll of her hips. 

His lips parted at the thought, fighting against a broken moan as his fingers tightened their grip around his dick, not caring enough to give his tip much attention or care. He quickened the pace of his hand, his hips helplessly twitching against his hand, nothing holding his body back from pleasure except for the humiliation blooming in his chest at the thought of her. 

She had dismantled his dignity, showed him how easily she could reduce him to nothing but a pathetic mess in front of her. 

With a final, frantic roll of his hips against his palm, the tight tension coiled in his guts finally shattered. A long defeated moan left his lips, his jaw hanging wide open as the blinding release ripped through him. His body pulsed at the force of his orgasm, spilling thick, white-ish load onto the wet tiles. 

The rushing water washed away all the evidence of his intense orgasm and his total surrender to the wicked arousal.  

He pressed his forehead further into the slick tiles, his chest heaving as the adrenaline-filled blood slowed in his veins. 

He was entirely spent and hollowed out. 

But that emptiness was quickly filled with immense guilt for failing to stand his ground and for breaking the very rules he believed were never to be interfered with. 

He grabbed the new paper-wrapped bar of soap next to the shower, quickly unwrapping it to wash his body with it. He rewashed his skin thrice for good measure, hoping that his scrubbing would strip away the memory of her touch. 

Finally he turned off the shower head, the sudden silence of the bathroom deafening against his ears.

He wrapped a thick, white towel around his waist and stared at his reflection in the mirror for a few long seconds before turning around and leaving the small bathroom. 

He walked back into the bedroom, not giving himself much time to sit with his thoughts as he quickly pulled on a clean shirt and a new pair of boxers before climbing into the fluffy yet stiff sheets of the hotel bed. 

He dropped his head onto the white, cloudy pillow, letting out a deep breath as he remembered tomorrow. At 5:45 am, he would have to look the creator of his ruin right in the eye, and her eyes would eat him raw even if she didn’t know all the details of the wrecked state she had left him in last night. 

He shut his eyes gently, letting the pitch-black emptiness of the room swallow him and the lingering shame whole into unconsciousness. 

At 4:00 am, the harsh ringtone of his phone pierced through the dead silence of his room. 

Hotch.

His hand shot up to snatch the phone from the nightstand, pressing it against his ear, “Reid.” 

Hotch didn’t give him a chance to speak, “We caught the unsub—Terrance Wakeland—outside the A&L recording studio with his new victim. Morgan and Prentiss took him into custody.” 

Spencer blinked in the darkness before rubbing his eyes, “It’s over?”

“It’s over. JJ’s gonna handle the press conference in two hours. I don’t need you and Locke at the station, just head straight to the airport, we’ll catch up with you then.”

“Okay, understood.” 

The line went dead. 

The case was solved, and they barely contributed to any part of it. 

Not only was he entirely useless, he had been locked in this suffocating room, letting himself be unraveled by a woman who couldn’t care less about the rules or the duties she was stripped of during this case. 

Spencer relaxed his heavy limbs, wanting to dive back into his slumber, but he couldn’t. His body drowned into complete stillness, but the gears in his head were restless, holding him hostage until the clock hit 5:40 am. 

He shot up, beginning his morning routine that felt so unnatural due to the lack of sleep he got, making the morning feel like a long extension of the previous night. 

He grabbed his go-bag and left to knock on the door of room 112. The door swung open a few moments later, not making him wait much, and there she was. 

“Good morning,” 

“Morning,” she said flatly, not moving any part of her face. 

“Hotch called-”

“I know.” she interrupted, “he texted me. I’ll be at the lobby in a minute,” she swung the door shut, not waiting for a response. 

Spencer stood frozen in the hallway, staring at the black wood in front of him. He couldn’t find an answer to what his brain was questioning at the moment, so he just walked off with his belongings to the elevator. 

If he thought she was ignoring him at the hotel, it was ten times worse on the way to the airport. 

She existed next to him, utterly indifferent to his presence. 

Her eyes didn’t even accidentally glance at him once. 

He was completely invisible to her, while his senses were heightened, magnifying everything she did in his mind. 

He couldn’t wait to be around the team again.

Eddie pressed his lips together to keep the smirk already tugging at the corners of his mouth from giving him way, settling instead for a quiet tsk of feigned annoyance. He didn’t bother replying as he led his little group of black sheep further down the hall.

Instead, he let the noise of the hallway fill the silence while his mind drifted back to the events of last night. And despite his best efforts, that smirk found its way onto his lips anyway.

Ever the observant one – unlike Gareth, who was operating purely on horny teenage instinct – Jeff noticed it immediately the second he fell into step beside Eddie.

“Yeah,” he breathed out dramatically, jerking his head towards Gareth as he leaned down just enough to look at Eddie properly. “He’s a goner.”

Gareth’s brows shot up as he leaned in for another look at him.

“Jesus,” he snorted. “She’s got you wrapped around her finger, don’t she?”

Eddie rolled his eyes, though the warmth climbing up the tips of his ears betrayed him instantly.

“Fuck off.”

“No, seriously,” Jeff continued, smacking a hand against Eddie’s shoulder while a mischievous grin tugged at his lips. “I’ve never seen you like this. It’s a good look on you, buddy.”

Eddie’s ringed fingers twitched around the handle of his metal lunchbox as he fought the urge to roll his eyes again and throw some snarky comment back at them.

Instead, he let the endless blabbering of his best friends fade into the background noise of the hallway while his eyes wandered over the sea of students around him, his mind drifting elsewhere entirely.

This morning had been a good one.

Birds had chirped softly from the electricity wires high above the trailer park while the quiet dripping of the coffee machine filled the delicate silence inside the trailer. Eddie had spent most of it half-awake, just letting his eyes wander across your face as you slept beside him – taking in the soft breaths leaving your nose and the way every muscle in your face had relaxed completely against his chest.

Not even Wayne nearly ripping the front door off its hinges on his way bay inside had managed to pull a harsh reaction out of him.

It had been a little after six when Eddie finally gently nudged you awake, the sky outside already splitting open with warm streaks of sunshine, and honestly? It almost pained him to do it – which was a realization he still wasn’t entirely comfortable unpacking.

But he’d figured you should probably get home to get ready for school, and besides, he wanted to give you the option of driving your own car instead of being stuck with him again.

Still, the image of your sleepy blinking, eyelashes brushing softly against your cheeks while you tried to wake up, had carved itself a permanent place somewhere inside his brain.

And frankly? That scared the living shit out of him; how easily he could slip into this whole… thing the two of you had going on.

Eddie was brought back to the present when his shoulder accidentally slammed into another student.

“Watch it, freak,” someone muttered while brushing past him.

“Yeah,” Gareth snorted. “Lover boy’s not mentally present right now.”

Somewhere near the end of the hall, Nathalie sucked thoughtfully on her bottom lip while one of her brows slowly arched upward as she stood in front of a corkboard, pretending to read one of the random flyers pinned to it.

Gareth froze for a second before quickly clearing his throat.

Then he muttered something about a blonde babe looking lost under his breath and immediately veered off in her direction.

Eddie barely seemed to notice – but if he did, he wasn’t particularly interested in it.

Beside him, Jeff pursed his lips thoughtfully like he was turning something over in his head before nudging Eddie with his elbow and jerking his head back towards the entrance doors.

“Wanna smoke one more time before we get tortured?” he asked, already patting his pockets for his cigarettes.

He pretended to think about it for a second before finally nodding and turning back towards the entrance, Jeff falling into step beside him.

The hallway had emptied out considerably in the few minutes they’d spent standing there, most students finally dragging themselves to class as the first warning bell echoed faintly through the building.

By the time they stepped back outside, the morning air felt even warmer than before.

The two of them made their way towards the picnic table – far enough from the entrance to avoid attracting the attention of any faculty member wandering around in search of students skipping class.

Jeff tossed his battered pack of Marlboros towards Eddie before hopping up onto the tabletop beside him. He flicked his lighter open and lit the cigarette hanging between his lips, squinting his eyes when he felt the flame a little too close from his face for his liking.

The two of them sat there quietly for a moment, smoke curling lazily into the warm morning air while chirping birds overhead filled the silence between them.

“So, what’re you gonna do about it?”

Eddie furrowed his brows slightly as he pulled a cigarette from the pack. “The hell you talkin’ about?”

Jeff snorted softly around his cigarette before taking another drag.

“C’mon man,” he muttered, smoke still trapped in his lungs. “I’m not stupid.”

That made Eddie still for half a second before he leaned back on his free hand.

The morning air sat warm and still around them while late students trickled through the parking lot in the distance, the faint rumble of car engines drifting across the school grounds.

“The fuck’s that supposed to mean?” he muttered after a while, finally lighting the cigarette between his lips.

Jeff only shrugged one shoulder. “It means, you’ve been weird as Hell lately.”

Eddie just snorted softly around his cigarette, muttering something about Jeff needing to stop analysing his bullshit all the time.

“Nah, man, I’m serious.” His best friend pointed at him with the two fingers holding his cigarette. “You disappeared last night, and this morning you come back looking like you’ve received divine revelation.”

“That’s just my face.”

“You can bullshit me all you want,” Jeff replied, bringing the cigarette back to his lips for a quick drag, “but you can’t bullshit yourself.”

Eddie rolled his eyes automatically, though it lacked most of its usual bite, and tapped ash onto the dry soil beside his sneakers as his jaw tightened slightly.

“She’s just…” he started before trailing off. “Y’know?”

Jeff glanced sideways at him immediately, catching the hesitation and the way Eddie pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek.

“You sound like a fucking thirteen-year-old trying to describe his first crush,” Jeff chuckled.

Eddie lamely flipped him off before busying himself with his cigarette again.

The thing was, he knew his best friend wasn’t wrong – and that was exactly the problem.

Because he’d done this before – the hooking up, the lingering stares during sets, messy almost-somethings that burned out long before they ever even got the chance to matter.

But this?

This felt dangerously close to mattering – and he wasn’t used to that.

His fingers tightened slightly around the cigarette while his eyes drifted out towards the empty football field beyond the parking lot fence.

“She liked you too, y’know,” Jeff muttered before taking one last drag. “Could see it on her face when we played.”

“Yeah,” he muttered back, almost absentmindedly letting the words slips out before he could stop them. “That’s kinda what scares me.”

Eddie still carried the conversation around his head long after he and Jeff had parted ways towards their own classes.

Chairs had already stopped scraping against the tiled floor by the time he stepped into Mr. Sullivan’s classroom, though class hadn’t started just yet.

He let out a quiet sigh as his fingers dragged through his hair while he made his way towards the back of the room where he usually sat.

The bell rang just as Nathalie jokingly shoved you through the doorway, the two of you laughing about something incomprehensible with a grumpy Mr. Sullivan trailing closely behind.

The loud teenage noise filling the classroom didn’t dull immediately when the teacher walked in, but something inside Eddie’s mind did the second he laid his eyes on you.

Whatever words you’d been about to say to Nathalie died on the tip of your tongue when your eyes flicked towards him. Instead, you swallowed softly before offering him a small, shy smile as you slipped into your usual seat.

Your hair shifted over your shoulders when you turned back for one quick glance at him before facing forward again as the scratching sound of chalk against the blackboard filled the room.

You hadn’t brush it, or applied whatever the Hell Eddie thought girls usually used to make it look all neat and perfect. Instead, you’d left it messy – like it had been when you woke up beside him this morning.

And just like that, Jeff’s words came back to haunt him again.

Unfortunately for Eddie, lunchtime only made things worse.

Jeff didn’t even have to look up from his disgusting sandwich to make Eddie feel painfully called out – and neither did Gareth, who seemed far more enthralled with a certain blonde sitting a few feet away than with whatever was sitting on his lunch tray.

Honestly, Dustin and his annoyingly observant eyes were more than enough.

“So, like, are you guys a thing now, or what?” Dustin muttered casually before shoving a handful of cold fries into his mouth.

Jeff finally looked up at that, chewing slowly while his hips twitched around an amused grin.

“What? No,” Eddie coughed out immediately – a little too quickly. “Jesus, Henderson.”

The boys exchanged smug looks instantly, completely ignoring the daggers Eddie shot at them across the table.

He opened his mouth to throw an insult back at them when the sound of loud laughter cut through the cafeteria noise.

His head turned before he could stop himself.

You sat across from Nathalie, absentmindedly picking at your food with the plastic fork in your hand while the blonde dramatically waved her hands around like it was absolutely necessary to do so while she rambled on about whatever story had currently taken over her brain.

The sunlight spilling through the cafeteria windows caught in your hair as you glanced around the room over your shoulder – eyes lazily scanning the neighbouring tables until they landed on him.

And just like that, your entire face softened.

Fuck.

And apparently so did his, judging by the way Jeff’s eyes suddenly glimmered a little more than usual; the insufferable grin spreading across his face certainly didn’t help either.

“Don’t even,” Eddie muttered quickly before swallowing hard.

Jeff only snorted under his breath. “You’re both disgustingly obvious.”

Eddie ignored him completely, though the warmth creeping up the back of his neck betrayed him instantly.

“You too, Loverboy,” Jeff added while nudging Gareth with his elbow after noticing he was still openly staring at the blonde without an ounce of shame.

Meanwhile, two tables down diagonally, Nathalie continued waving her hands around while complaining about the fact that you and Eddie had forced her to take the remaining two thirds of Corroded Coffin.

Well, complaining wasn’t exactly what she was doing – although she clearly liked to think she was. In reality, there was a new glimmer in her eyes you’d never really seen before, accompanied by a small smile she kept unsuccessfully trying to brush away.

Your hand curled around your water bottle while her voice faded in and out in the background, your attention too busy stealing quick glances over your shoulder instead.

“Are you even listening to me?” she sighed dramatically before tossing a cold fry at you.

It hit right beneath your clavicle before dropping soundlessly onto your lap – but it was enough to pull you back into the conversation.

“Of course I am,” you mumbled with a soft furrow between your brows.

“No, you aren’t.”

“You were pretending not to like Gareth’s cologne,” you replied matter-of-factly with an arched brow.

Nathalie froze for half a second, her eyes widening slightly.

“No, I wasn’t,” she answered a little too quickly.

“Yes, you were,” you laughed softly.

Her pale eyes flickered briefly towards your neck before returning to your face again.

“Yeah, well,” she muttered grumpily, clearly displeased that you’d called her out, “I didn’t let a vampire abuse my neck like some people.”

Now it was your turn to freeze in your seat before quickly averting your eyes.

You blinked a few times too many while your brain scattered desperately for some kind of snarky remark to throw back at her.

“No comment,” you mumbled back.

Her eyes flickered back towards the bruises before drifting over to the other table and then back again, her brows pulling into a deep furrow.

She looked back down at her cold fries like they held all the answered to the questions she wasn’t sure she actually wanted to ask you.

“Would it be weird,” she started softly, almost hesitantly, “for, y’know…”

She pushed her tray away with obvious disgust written across her face before her expression softened again.

“For me to be a little worried about you?”

That pulled your eyes back to her face immediately.

“Why would you be worried about me?” you asked nervously. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, I can clearly see that,” she absentmindedly pointed towards your neck before rolling her eyes jokingly, like that might somehow soften the weight of her next words.

She leaned back in her chair, rolling her shoulders as she carefully considered what to say next.

“I’m just scared people are gonna treat you differently,” she mumbled quickly under her breath, almost like she was ripping off a bandage in one quick pull. She noticed the way your shoulders tensed immediately – not anxiously, but defensively.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Nat.”

“I’m not. Just… listen,” she muttered softly while reaching across the table to intertwine her fingers with yours, her thumb brushing gentle circles against the back of your hand. “Hawkins is cruel to girls.”

Her gaze lingered on you for a moment longer.

“People don’t care what boys do,” she sighed before letting her eyes drift towards the Hellfire table. “But a girl like you? I’m scared they’ll turn you into a story.”

Her thumb continued its slow movements against your skin while she let the weight of her words settle between you for a moment longer.

“But, I can also tell you’re serious about this, about him,” she added quietly, the look in her eyes softening once again. “And I saw the way he looked at you yesterday, too.”

The fluorescent lights overhead were too harsh on her features, but somehow, they still couldn’t harden the gentleness she only seemed to reserve for you. For a moment, neither of you spoke, and the silence between you filled itself with the loud teenage noise surrounding your table.

Nathalie’s teeth found her bottom lip when she noticed the quiet, gradual way your expression fell.

And she wasn’t the only one who noticed. Eddie did too – even from where he sat.

He could feel the start of something uncomfortable settling somewhere behind his ribs the second he noticed the quick glance Nathalie sent towards his table.

But then your eyes slowly found him instead, and the soft smile you gave him when your gazes locked again was more than enough to quiet the uneasy buzzing beneath his skin.

Nathalie’s words continued echoing somewhere deep in your mind even after the four classes that followed lunch period – even with the hallways buzzing with teenage chatter, squeaking sneakers against tiled floors, and entirely too much hairspray for a Wednesday afternoon.

You knew her words came not only from concern, but love too, and because of that, they didn’t settle quite as wrong in the pit of your stomach as you’d expected them to. That didn’t make you safe from your nasty habit of overthinking everything, though.

You flinched when you accidentally yanked a little too hard on your locker door, sending a book and far too many loose papers spilling onto the floor. Like the imaginary eyes you’d felt following you around all day weren’t enough, now you had actual fucking people staring while you let out an exasperated sigh and dropped to your knees.

The first thing that came into view were the harsh reflections of the fluorescent lights overhead – honestly, they hurt your eyes – before you tilted your head back and found yourself staring at a familiar mess of dark curls.

“B plus on an algebra test?” Eddie scoffed while reaching down to grab one of the papers that had escaped your locker. “Why isn’t this hanging on your family’s refrigerator?”

You huffed out a quiet laugh while taking the thin stack of papers from his hands.

“Because it’s not a big deal,” you mumbled back while shoving everything carelessly inside your locker again.

“Sweetheart, if I was getting anything above a C,” Eddie started, another soft scoff slipping from his lips, “I’d be buying drinks for everyone at the Hide Out.”

You rolled your eyes at him while putting away the books you didn’t need to bring home, replacing them with the ones you did. Eddie shifted his weight awkwardly as his eyes flickered around the hallway.

“So…”

“So,” you echoed, a soft smile slowly creeping onto your lips.

“Speaking of drinks…” He forced a cough into his fist when he felt his voice slipping somewhere it definitely wasn’t supposed to. “Do you, like…”

You adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder before closing your locker and turning back towards him again.

His hand stayed tucked deep inside the front pockets of his jeans while he awkwardly nodded to himself, like the absentminded movement might somehow help him force the words out.

“Do you wanna get something to drink?” he asked quietly under his breath. “Like… I dunno, a milkshake or something?”

Eddie’s eyes flickered nervously from you to the ground and back up again while he bit awkwardly at the inside of his cheek, suddenly realising he’d just asked you out – in quite possibly the lamest way imaginable, too.

“That sounded pathetic, didn’t it?” He visibly cringed at himself, his nose scrunching as he looked somewhere over your shoulder instead of directly at you.

You, on the other hand, nervously bit down on your lower lip while his words continued echoing through your head.

“No, it didn’t,” you answered softly, your gaze dropping away from him when the warmth creeping across the tips of your ears started spreading down your neck. “I’d love to.”

Someone near the end of the hallway suddenly shouted something just as Eddie opened his mouth to answer you, pulling both of your attention away for a brief moment.

Lockers continued slamming in the background, along with the obnoxious squeak of brand-new sneakers against tile, while Eddie let the words die on his tongue instead. He dragged a ringed hand through his hair – a nervous habit he never quite managed to shake, even after all the times his curls had gotten caught around his rings and yanked painfully. Your eyes drifted back towards him just in time to catch the funny face he pulled after accidentally tugging a few strands too hard.

“Ah, fuck,” hissed quietly while scowling at absolutely nothing in particular.

The sight in front of you pulled a small, disbelieving laugh out of you – one that only worsened when you noticed the soft pout forming on his lips while he untangled the strands of hair caught around his rings.

“So,” you murmured once you’d finally gotten your laughter under control, “what time were you thinking?”

Eddie’s eyes widened slightly as his eyebrows shot upwards.

“I, uh…” he trailed off before scratching awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I was kinda thinking… now?

“Now?” you laughed, already gesturing down at your clothes. “You don’t even want me to change into something a little nicer?”

“I couldn’t care less about your outfit, Sweetheart,” he murmured back, a soft grin tugging at his lips.

You hummed softly before raising a brow at him.

“That’s not what you said yesterday.”

He slowly looked away, his teeth catching his bottom lip as warmth into his cheeks at the memory of the previous night. After a second, he let go of it and pursed his lips instead.

“Y’know what?” Eddie scoffed softly while finally looking back at you again. “I got nothing to say to that.”

That pulled another quiet laugh out of you while you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. Your fingers tightened slightly around the strap of your bag.

“Follow me back home?” you murmured softly, already starting to walk towards the main exit leading out to the parking lot. “Or am I supposed to drive myself home tonight?”

The deep rumble of Eddie’s van died the moment he turned the key before glancing over at you.

“You ready to terrorise the diner?”

Your eyes had already been on him, too busy taking in the way the neon lights bled through the windshield and across his face, painting his pale skin in shades of pink, orange, and bright red. It made you wonder how he’d look on a real stage – one big enough for him to thrive even more than he already did at the Hide Out.

“Never been more ready,” you replied while forcing yourself back into the moment.

The harsh slam of the van’s creaking doors echoed loudly into the open air, starting a few birds from their comfortable spots atop the electrical wires as the two of you made your way towards the diner entrance. The small bell above the door chimed softly when Eddie pulled it open for you, holding it there with a dramatic flourish of his free arm and a low milady slipping from his lips.

The old Wurlitzer tucked against the back wall hummed softly in the background, filling the diner with some cheesy love song from the fifties while the occasional burst of laughter and clatter of plates blended into the warm noise around you.

“You got a favourite seat?” you asked while stepping further inside, immediately getting hit with the thick scent of French fries and the faint underlying smell of industrial cleaning supplies.

“At the back there,” Eddie replied, pointing a ringed finger towards the vinyl booths tucked near the jukebox.

The two of you slid into the booth furthest from the windows, the old leather squeaking softly underneath you movements while a waitress somewhere behind the counter shouted another order into the kitchen. The song currently humming through the diner crackled softly as it came to an end, only for another to slowly drift through the staticky speakers a second later.

Your brows lifted slightly when Eddie’s ringed fingers immediately started tapping against the tabletop in perfect rhythm with the beat – not absentmindedly, either. Knowingly.

“What?” he asked after catching you staring.

“Just didn’t expect you to know this song,” you replied with a quiet laugh.

Eddie scoffed dramatically, pretending you’d just personally offended him. “Of course I know it. It’s the Hollies.”

Your lips parted slightly in surprise before small smile slowly spread across your face.

“That one band I played yesterday?” you laughed softly under your breath. “You actually listen to them?”

“C’mon, Sweetheart,” Eddie tsked while shaking his head jokingly. “Show some respect.”

His fingers kept drumming lazily against the tabletop while he leaned further back into the booth.

“Besides, good music’s good music,” he shrugged simply. “I contain multitudes.”

That pulled another laugh out from you.

“A random – what is it, sixties – love song?” One of your brows lifted playfully. “You’re kinda ruining your whole spooky metalhead reputation right know, y’know.”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie started dramatically while placing a hand over his chest, “metalheads are allowed emotional depth too.”

“Is that what this is?” you teased. “Emotional depth?”

“No,” he deadpanned immediately. “This is me being devastatingly cultured, something we unfortunately cannot say about you.”

Your laughter mixed softly with the music drifting through the diner, and for a moment, Eddie found himself growing quiet again. Not awkwardly – just enough to watch the way the warm amber lights overhead reflected in your eyes while you smiled at him from across the table. And somewhere underneath the diner lights, with What Kind of Girl Are You still humming softly through the speakers, Eddie realised this felt dangerously close to the kind of night he wouldn’t forget anytime soon.

The waitress finally wandered over with a tired – yet somehow still welcoming – smile and a notepad tucked against her apron.

“What can I getcha?”

Eddie barely glanced at the menu before looking up at her. “Chocolate milkshake.”

“Pictured you as a strawberry guy.” Your brows lifted slightly.

He gasped dramatically. “Pink’s definitely not metal, Sweetheart. C’mon, now.”

“Neither are the Hollies.”

The waitress snorted softly under her breath before scribbling the order down. “One milkshake or two?”

Eddie visibly short-circuited – you could practically see the exact moment his brain stopped functioning behind his eyes.

“Can I get a vanilla shake, please?” you answered softly before he could completely spiral.

“You betcha,” the waitress replied absentmindedly while finishing the order. “Be right back.”

The Hollies had taken it upon themselves to fill the soft silence that settled between the two of you for a little while longer, the playful, teasing melody lingering gently over the table.

Eddie absentmindedly played with his rings – turning one around his finger before pulling it off completely, only to slide it back on again a second later. There wasn’t any pressure lingering between the two of you anymore – no pressure to act a certain way or force conversation into every quiet moment just to fill the space. Just… comfortable silence – the kind where two people simply existed beside each other without needing anything more.

“So, vanilla, huh?” Eddie said after a few seconds, something dangerously close to mischief settling in your eyes.

“If you’re about to call me boring,” you deadpanned while narrowing your eyes at him, “I will kick you.”

“You’re everything but,” he murmured under his breath – just quietly enough that the waitress couldn’t hear it when she returned balancing two tall glasses in her hands.

Eddie nodded faintly in appreciation when the waitress placed both milkshakes down onto the table before disappearing again almost immediately. His dark eyes stayed glued to the perfect milky swirls sitting in front of you.

“What?”

“Oh, y’know,” he started while softly pursing his lips to stop himself from smiling, “just wondering if it tastes as boring as it sounds.”

“Don’t knock it until you’ve tried it.”

Before you could kick him, or he could stop myself, Eddie’s fingers curled around the short stem of your milkshake glass and pulled it closer before taking a quick sip from your straw.

He let the taste settle on his tongue for a second before swallowing. And then he froze; not because of the brain freeze, either.

“…I don’t know why I just did that.”

One of your brows lifted slightly while your lips curled into an amused little smirk.

“Well?” you murmured teasingly. “Is it boring?”

“Not in the slightest,” he answered after a moment, his eyes still fixed on yours.

Eddie’s fingers drummed lazily against the steering wheel while the radio played quietly in the background. The neon diner lights had long since been replaced by the soft amber glow of the sunset streaks stretching across the windshield while he drove with an unusual kind of calmness settling over him.

He’d noticed the way you’d lazily kicked off your shoes and stretched your legs across the dashboard, your head softly bobbing along to whatever song was currently playing – one he could barely hear properly anymore after the years of playing music without bothering to protect his ears. His gaze kept flickering between the road and you, stealing quick glances while the glowing fifties sign slowly disappeared into the distance behind you.

“Do you, uh… wanna go home yet?” he asked carefully, almost like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to interrupt the comfortable silence the two of you had fallen into.

You slouched a little further into the vinyl seat before finally dragging your gaze away from the passing window outside.

“Not really, no,” you admitted without even taking a second to think about it.

That pulled a small smile from Eddie while he nodded faintly to a beat only he could hear, his fingers tapping softly against the steering wheel along with it. The windows had been rolled down, letting the early-summer evening air drift through the van. It felt noticeably softer now than it had that morning while Eddie drove the two of you in the opposite direction of your house. His curls blew carelessly in the wind while his free hand briefly stopped tapping against the steering wheel to pull down the visor.

Storefronts and average buildings blurred into grey smudges that slowly gave way to stretches of green the further Eddie drove from downtown, until the loamy scent of wet earth and mineral-laced air drifted in through the open windows before Lovers Lake finally revealed itself ahead.

Gravel crunched softly underneath the tires when Eddie finally pulled the van to a stop near the edge of the lake. He killed the engine and, for a moment, the sudden quiet rang loudly in your ears before the slow croaking of frogs gradually drifted into the foreground instead.

“C’mon,” he murmured after a while, already pushing open his door.

The back doors of the van creaked loudly when he pulled them apart, revealing a wooden crate stuffed with old blankets, a concerning amount of empty soda cans shoved into a grocery bag, and the lingering smell of cigarette smoke and worn leather. He reached for one of the blankets along with his trusted metal lunchbox before tilting his head back slightly, silently coaxing you to follow him while he nudged van doors shut again and started towards the docks.

“So, I was thinking,” he started slowly, turning his head just enough to glance at you over his shoulder, “how about I teach you how to roll, hm?”

Eddie stopped a few feet from the edge of the pier before setting his lunchbox down with a soft metallic clank. He unfolded the blanket and spread it across the wooden planks as neatly as he could, despite the occasional breeze trying to fold the corners back over themselves.

The green, damp tang of early-summer lake water felt stronger now, faint hints of fish and algae lingering in the air around you while the vivid trills of crickets rose and fell in soft waves through the trees. Warm streaks of sunset still glimmered from behind the thick trees, though somehow they still managed to find their way across Eddie’s face when he sat down and patted the free space in front of him before reaching for his lunchbox. You sat cross-legged in front of him, your eyes lingering on his face while you took in the way the golden streaks of sundown made him look even softer than the diner lights had.

When Eddie finally flicked his gaze up from the lunchbox beside him, his brows furrowed slightly.

“C’mere, turn around,” he mumbled lazily motioning his ringed finger in a small circle.

“Hm?”

“It’ll be easier to teach you like that.”

So you did just that – clumsily turning around on the blanket until your back faced him instead. One of Eddie’s ringed hands settled carefully against your waist while he shuffled closer behind you until the warmth of his chest pressed softly against your back, each of his legs splayed comfortably on either side of you. You all but melted when the soft warmth of him spread across your back and his chin found its place on your shoulder.

“A’ight, first step,” he mumbled softly while passing you the flimsy rolling paper, “you’re gonna hold it between your thumb, pointer, and middle finger. Like this, see?”

And for the next twenty minutes, his chin barely left your shoulder while his uncontrollable laughter rang in your ear every time your fingers clumsily failed to follow his instructions.

“Oh, God,” he breathed out, his curls brushing against your cheek even after he’d finally managed to get his laughter under control. “It’s like watching Bambi try to roll a joint, but worse.”

Somewhere between shared laughter and exhausted, belly-aching sighs, Eddie had eventually pulled the crinkled rolling paper from your hands with the clear intention of salvaging whatever damage you’d managed to inflict on it. Expert fingers quickly rescued it before he rolled the joint shut and held the sticky edge up towards your lips.

“See?” he murmured softly after sealing it closed. “That’s how you do it.”

He handed the finished joint over to you while patting himself down in search of hi lighter.

“Ah, fuck,” he mumbled quietly to himself. “Think I left the lighter in the van.”

“It’s in the inside pocket of your jacket.”

Eddie stilled for half a second before pulling open the front of his jacket and reaching into the inside pocket with two fingers.

“Huh,” he mumbled quietly once the lighter landed in his palm.

Then his hand found your waist again, gently tugging your back a little closer to his chest before he pressed a quick kiss against your cheek. The joint had been lit in the gentle silence surrounding the two of you, with only the crickets and early-summer cicadas filling the open air.

You took another small, tentative drag before passing it back to Eddie, blowing the smoke upwards as you watched the breeze curl it softly through the air until it disappeared altogether. His arm had long since snaked around your frame to keep you tucked closer against him while neither one of you had bothered moving from your original positions.

Somewhere between the lazy haze settling behind your eyes and the fading reflections trembling across the water, your fingers had found his hand resting against your waist and quietly intertwined with his.

As the sun dipped lower and the world seemed to exhale alongside the two of you, the sky softened into streaks of molten gold and bruised violet. The last remaining rays of sunlight slipping through the thick trees stretched across the still lake water in shimmering ribbons. The shadows along the shoreline deepened while the water slowly darkened into shades of indigo and shifting silver, like the lake itself was holding onto the sunset without any hurry to let it go. The slow, unhurried transformation of the glowing horizon into softened amber spread a gentle calmness through your chest as you instinctively snuggled a little closer into him.

“What are you thinking about?” you asked softly, your eyes already closed while your head lulled heavily against his chest.

“How pretty it looks,” Eddie murmured quietly before taking another drag from the joint.

Your eyes slowly opened again, heavy with warmth and smoke, taking in the view stretched out in front of you without realising Eddie hadn’t been talking about the sunset at all.

Soft streaks of morning sunlight stretched across your room until they landed on the leather jacket tossed carelessly over your bed – like it didn’t hold as much meaning as it actually did – while you actively tried to pretend you weren’t searching your closet for something that looked good with it.

Eddie had draped it over your shoulder the previous night when the glittering stars overhead had given way to a colder breeze rolling off the lake, and he hadn’t asked for it back before you made the short walk from the driveway to your front door.

It was far too early in the morning to be wearing a leather jacket – and far too early for Nathalie’s words to already find their way back into your overthinking mind. So you shoved both thoughts aside and pulled the sleeves over your arms before heading out to school.

The excruciating heat trapped beneath the dark leather wasn’t the only thing making you feel claustrophobic – gossiping eyes and turning heads followed your every move the second you stepped out of the car, only worsening the closer you got to the school entrance. And it wasn’t even about being seen in Eddie’s jacket as much as it was about the judgment already dripping from every lingering stare thrown your way – the confused expressions, the overly critical furrow of brows while people leaned forward their friends to whisper about how you’d been wearing a completely different jacket just two weeks ago.

By the time you reached your locker, your fingers had already curled around the hem of the sleeve twice with the intention of pulling it off – but you stopped yourself both times. The scent of cigarette smoke, worn leather, and cheap cologne still clung faintly to the inside lining, grounding you just enough to keep your hands still.

“Jesus Christ,” Nathalie muttered the second she rounded the corner and spotted you leaning against your locker. “They’re acting like you showed up pregnant.”

Your eyes flickered uncomfortably towards the groups of students lingering further down the hallway before settling back on her again. “Is it that obvious?”

“Well…” she grimaced slightly while adjusting the strap of her bag higher onto her shoulder. “You are wearing Eddie Munson’s jacket like it’s the most natural thing in the world.”

“Jesus,” you mumbled under your breath while heat immediately crawled up the back of your neck.

Nathalie’s eyes flickered briefly towards the jacket again before she nudged your shoulder lightly with her own. “For what it’s worth, you look cute.”

Before you could answer, your head instinctively turned towards the loud burst of laughter that suddenly echoed through the hallway.

And so did Eddie’s.

He’d been halfway through saying something to Gareth when his eyes landed on you standing by your locker – or, more specifically, on the oversized black leather jacket hanging from your shoulders.

Jeff immediately noticed the way Eddie’s entire body stilled.

“Holy shit, dude,” he whispered dramatically while grabbing Eddie’s shoulders hard enough to jolt him slightly. “She wore the jacket.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he muttered automatically, though the words came out far weaker than intended.

Because you had worn the jacket. Not just publicly – but at school. Like it had never even been a question.

And suddenly, Eddie felt something uncomfortable settle beneath his ribs when he became painfully aware of every set of eyes flickering between the two of you in the hallway, followed by whispers, blatant stares, and the heavy judgment already threatening to settle over your shoulders right alongside his jacket. But when your nervous eyes finally found his across the crowded hallway, you still reached up and pulled the leather tighter around yourself instead of taking it off – like not even the awful crawling anxiety underneath your skin could convince you to let go of it.

And then you gave him a small smile from where you stood – one that quietly told him you were going to be okay. Eddie’s breathed caught softly in his throat before he slowly smiled back.

The second bell still rang loudly in your ears even minutes after it had stopped echoing through the hallway. You adjusted the strap of your bag higher onto your shoulder while hurrying towards the biology classroom through the empty hall. Besides the sound of your footsteps, the silence around you was only broken by the crinkling hallway slip clutched tightly in your other hand after Mr. Flanagan had kept you behind to talk about an essay you’d written.

A soft creak suddenly echoed through the hallway before an arm shot out from the janitor’s closet and yanked you inside. “What the–”

“Shhh,” Eddie whispered quickly while peeking back out into the hallway to make sure no one had seen the two of you disappear inside. “I’ve been waiting for ages. What took you so long?”

“Mr. Flanagan wanted to talk about an essay I wrote,” you answered breathlessly before confusion pulled at your brows. “Why are we hiding in the janitor’s closet?”

His curls bounced softly when he turned back towards you, his hand immediately finding your hips before gently pulling you flush against his chest.

“Because,” he started while tilting his head slightly backwards, a mischievous grin slowly spreading across his lips, “you kinda short-circuited my brain when you walked into school wearing my jacket.”

Warmth instantly crawled into your cheeks when he leaned down just enough to press a soft, lingering kiss against your cheekbone before his expression softened again afterwards.

“I just…” he hesitated briefly, thumbs brushing absentmindedly against your hips. “I hope people haven’t been assholes to you because of it.”

Eddie’s grip on your hips tightened ever so slightly before his thumbs started tracing soft circles against the denim of your jeans. You blinked at him a few times before a shy, knowing smile slowly tugged at the corners of your lips. Your hand lifted to his cheek, and you couldn’t help the quiet hum that escaped you when he immediately melted further into your touch, his dramatic persona slipping away just as easily as it always seemed to around you.

“It’s okay–”

“No, it’s not,” Eddie cut you off softly, his head still tilted into his palm while his eyes stayed closed. “You don’t deserve any of it.”

“It’s okay, Eddie,” you said a little more firmly while your thumb started brushing softly against his cheek. “They’ll get bored eventually.”

The two of you fell quiet again for a moment, but neither of you made any move to pull away. Your eyes drifted briefly towards the sleeve hanging loosely from your shoulder before a small smile tugged softly at your lips.

“It made it easier, y’know.”

Eddie’s brows furrowed slightly. “What d’you mean?”

“The jacket,” you shrugged one shoulder lightly. “It smells like you.”

That alone was enough to make his fingers tighten ever so slightly against your hips again.

“The cigarettes?” he snorted softly.

“The cigarettes,” you hummed jokingly before your expression softened again. “The leather. Your cologne.”

Your eyes flickered back towards him again.

“It made it easier.”

He went completely still – not dramatically, just enough for you to notice the way his eyes searched your face for a second longer than usual, like he didn’t quite know what to do with the confession you’d just handed him. Something vulnerable flickered underneath his usual teasing expression before he looked down briefly and softly exhaled through his nose.

“You can’t just say stuff like that to me,” he muttered quietly, almost more to himself than to you. A snort escaped you. “Why?” “Because,” Eddie mumbled while his thumbs absentmindedly brushed over your hips again, “you keep making me feel things, Sweetheart. It’s very inconsiderate of you.”

That pulled another snort out of you.

And maybe it was the quietness of the closet, or the lingering warmth of the previous night still stubbornly clinging between the two of you, but your hand instinctively slid from his cheek towards the back of his neck instead. Eddie’s eyes flickered briefly down to your lips before slowly lifting back up again. Your breaths tangled together in the cramped little space while he leaned down carefully, giving you more than enough time to pull away if you wanted to – but you didn’t. Your lips met his softly – careful at first, almost hesitant – before the kiss deepened ever so slightly when your fingers curled gently against the nape of his neck.

But then, the sharp sound of footsteps suddenly echoed right outside the closet door, making the two of you jolt apart immediately.

“You still in there, Munson?” “Shit,” Eddie muttered while nearly knocking over a mop bucket beside him. “Gimme ten more minutes, Jared, and I’ll give you a discount.” “Fuck, kid. Don’t gotta tell me twice,” the older voice replied from the other side of the door before the footsteps slowly faded down the hallway again. You bit down hard on your lip to stop your laughter while Eddie frantically dragged a hand through his curls. “Did you just–” A chuckle escaped you before you could finish. “Did you just bribe the janitor?” “First of all,” he whispered dramatically, pointing an accusing finger at you, “that was not a bribe.” You raised a brow. “You literally offered him a discount.” “That,” Eddie corrected while grabbing the mop bucket before it fully tipped over, “was a mutually beneficial business arrangement.” Your laughter echoed softly through the cramped closet before his grin slowly softened again when he looked back at you. “Now, c’mon,” he murmured while reluctantly stepping closer again just to steal one more quick kiss. “Before he makes me give him a whole ounce for free.”

As the day dragged on and classes came and went, you’d slowly started growing used to the lingering stares and the occasional whispers by the time you stepped into the cafeteria with Nathalie glued firmly to your side.

The dramatically loud overlapping noise of teenagers immediately swallowed the both of you whole – trays clattering against tables, bursts of laughter echoing through the room, chairs screeching loudly against the tiled floor.

And somehow, despite all of it, your eyes still immediately found Eddie’s.

He sat slouched lazily at the Hellfire table with Jeff beside him and Gareth halfway through dramatically retelling something with his hands flying around like his life depended on it. But the second Eddie noticed you standing near the cafeteria entrance, the distracted grin on his face softened almost instantly.

Jeff noticed it too, unfortunately.

“C’mon, bro,” he groaned jokingly and loudly enough for the entire table to hear while leaning back in his chair. “You two are becoming unbearable.”

Dustin immediately twisted around in his seat to follow Jeff’s line of sight.

“No way,” he breathed out while pointing an accusatory greasy finger towards Eddie. “She’s still wearing it.”

“Thank you, Henderson,” Eddie deadpanned while flipping him off without even looking away from you. “None of us would’ve noticed otherwise.”

He rolled his eyes automatically, but the smile tugging stubbornly at the corners of his mouth ruined any attempt to annoyance. Then his gaze flickered briefly back towards the jacket still hanging from your shoulders.

And the rest of the day went on exactly like that – Eddie’s gaze flickering towards you whenever he got the chance, his jacket still hanging from your shoulders while small smiles tugged at his lips even when you weren’t actively looking at him.

His leg had bounced relentlessly through the entirety of last period, anxiously shaking beneath his desk while every word leaving Ms. Sullivan’s mouth completely flew over his head as she explained whatever equation currently covered the blackboard.

He wasn’t even supposed to be sitting through Algebra. And yet he’d still shown up anyway just so his eyes could linger on you a little longer.

The final bell rang, and Eddie all but shot out of his chair with his lunchbox clutched tightly in one hand as he made his way over towards your desk.

Before you could even reach for your bag yourself, his free hand had already curled around the strap and tossed it over his shoulder instead.

“You know I can carry my own bag, right?” you joked while quickly shoving your notebook and pen inside as he held it open for you.

“I’m asserting dominance and all that,” Eddie replied lazily, a crooked grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

You snorted softly while shaking your head before gently tugging him along towards the hallway. As usual, the halls buzzed incessantly with exhausted teenage energy – lockers door slamming, squeaking sneakers echoing against tile, and the occasional dramatic just one more day of hell shouted somewhere in the distance.

“So…” Eddie trailed off while angling his body sideways to avoid accidentally shoulder-checking a freshman.

He briefly licked his lips before turning his face towards yours.

“You got any plans tonight?” he asked softly. “Or d’you maybe wanna hang out?”

Besides his words earlier, there was nothing particularly soft about Eddie now when he pushed you back against the trailer door the second the two of you finally stumbled inside.

His ringed hands found your cheeks almost instantly, and a moment later his lips crashed back onto yours to continue what the two of you had started earlier in the janitor’s closet.

A muffled mmpff! escaped your lips when Eddie deepened the kiss, his body pressing you more firmly against the trailer door.

It took you only a split second to recover from the sudden intensity before your arms wrapped tightly around his neck, one of your hands immediately threading through his curls and tugging softly at the roots just to pull him closer still. Your breath hitched, eyes suddenly shimmering beneath the warm amber light when Eddie finally pulled away just enough to look at you. Heat flooded your face so quickly it almost felt like the sun itself had melted into your skin when his hands pressed just slightly harder against your cheeks.

“Bedroom?” he breathed out shakily.

The small nod you gave him was all the answer he needed.

Eddie’s grip on your face softened almost immediately before one of his hands slid down to intertwine with yours instead, gently tugging you towards the bedroom with a patience that hadn’t existed even seconds earlier when he’d kissed you against the trailer door. The electric warmth of Eddie’s hand wrapped around yours sent a shiver racing up your spin while he pushed open the bedroom door.

Your eyes immediately flickered towards the unmade bed sitting in the corner, heat quickly flooding your cheeks again at the fleeting memory of two nights ago when you realised he still hadn’t changed the sheets.

He still held your hand when he sat down on the edge of the mattress, gently pulling you between his legs before softly guiding you down into his lap.

“This okay?” he asked quietly, like he hadn’t just pushed you against the trailer door and kissed you hard enough to leave both of you breathless seconds earlier.

“Yeah,” you nodded softly while your arms curled around his neck once again.

Eddie felt his heart hammering violently against his ribs as he took in the warm slants of sunlight filtering through the blinds, stretching across your face like threads of gold.

“You’re beautiful, y’know that?” he whispered almost absentmindedly, like he hadn’t meant for the words to slip out loud in the first place.

Your breath hitched once again as you sank deeper into his touch, warmth spreading across your face so intensely it almost felt like it had seeped into your bones. You tried focusing instead on the way your fingers curled tightly into the fabric of his shirt, your eyes locked briefly onto the faint bruise peeking out from beneath the collar.

His bedroom suddenly felt too small and far too vast all at once, every shift in your breathing echoing loudly in your ears like thunder.

But you didn’t pull away – instead, you buried your face into the crook of his shoulder.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, splaying one of his hands on your back. “Where did you go just now?”

“I’m… just not used to that.” You took a second before continuing. “Being called that.”

Eddie’s arms tightened around you almost instinctively at that, like he could physically shield you from the vulnerability creeping into your voice. His nose brushed softly against your temple before he leaned back just enough to look at you properly again, one of his hands still spread carefully against your back while the other stayed warm against your waist.

“Beautiful?” he asked quietly.

You nodded once against his shoulder, eyes still avoiding his.

A soft breath escaped him through his nose – not quite a laugh, not quite disbelief either. More like he couldn’t fully wrap his head around the fact you genuinely didn’t know.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie murmured gently, thumb brushing slow against your side, “I don’t think I’ve thought about anything else since the moment you walked into the Hide Out.”

Heat immediately rushed back into your face, while your fingers tightened slightly against the fabric of his shirt as a nervous breath, somewhere between a laugh and something far more overwhelmed.

“Hey,” he whispered again, softer this time. “C’mere.”

His arms wrapped more securely around you before he carefully pulled you closer against his chest again, one of his hands sliding up your spine in slow, grounding movements.

“There’s no rush here, okay?” he murmured into your hair. “We can just sit here if you want. I kinda like holding you anyway.”

That finally pulled a tiny smile from you against his shoulder. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Eddie breathed out without hesitation. “You’ve very holdable.”

A soft, disbelieving chuckle escaped you before you finally pulled away from his shoulder just enough to look at him properly again.

Eddie’s warm eyes melted into yours, and every nerve in your body seemed to light up from the simple act of being this close to him. You pressed your forehead gently against his, breathing in the scent of sun-warmed skin, faint traces of cologne, and something deeper underneath it all that felt uniquely him. Your fingers twitched lightly against the fabric of his shirt before you slowly tilted your head downwards again until your lips brushed softly against his.

The kiss stayed soft and warm, but every movement of Eddie’s lips still sent electric jolts racing down your spine until your fingers suddenly tightened around his shirt like you needed something solid to anchor yourself to.

Eddie pulled away just slightly afterward, taking a quiet moment to study your face like he was trying to commit every detail to memory – the arch of your eyebrows, the softness of your lips, the shy warmth still lingering in your eyes. Then he leaned in again, closing the small distance between you once more. His lips brushed gently against yours at first, feather-light and careful, before the kiss depend when his hand rose to cup your cheek, his thumb slowly tracing along your jaw.

For a moment, everything else faded away – the crunch of gravel beneath passing cars outside, the distant chirping birds, the faint rattling of the trailer walls whenever the wind shifted. There was only him – only the warmth of his mouth against yours and the quiet way he poured every ounce of longing he had into the kiss, like somehow you’d understand all the things he still didn’t quite know how to say out loud.

He pulled away again afterwards, resting his forehead gently against yours while his chest rose and fell unevenly between shallow breaths.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he whispered before stealing another quick kiss. “Especially wearing my jacket.”

The hand resting against your back slowly slid lower until it settled against your waist instead, holding you gently while his thumb traced absentminded circles beneath the hem of your shirt.

“Can I…” Eddie trailed off quietly, swallowing hard when his fingers accidentally tightened around your waist for a brief second before loosening again. His eyes flickered carefully between yours. “Can I show you? What you do to me?”

He leaned back just enough to properly look at your face again, like he was trying to read every reaction before he moved any further.

Your breath hitched when you felt him twitch under you.

“Yeah,” you whispered back, your chest rising faster than it had just a few seconds before.

Eddie pushed his mouth gently back onto yours, lips moving softly as he almost hesitantly pushed your lips open to deepen the kiss. His tongue brushed against your bottom lip in that way that made your stomach tighten, while your hands found his hair.

“Can I take this off?” he whispered against your lips as his hands brushed softly against the rough material of your jeans.

You nodded softly, eyebrows furrowing as your heart hammered into your ribs.

“I need to hear you say it, Sweetheart,” he whispered before he gave you another quick kiss.

“Yeah, t-that’s okay,” you whispered back.

Leaning in, he captured your lips with his, while his hands roam over your jeans-clad thighs.

He tilted his head and kissed softly along your jaw, relishing the soft gasps that escaped you as he nuzzled your neck, and breathed in your scent as his hands tighten their grip on you just slightly.

Eddie’s ringed fingers found themselves undoing the button of your jeans, slowly lowering zipper while his other hand grabbed at your hip, anchoring himself as he gazed up at you. His hand slid inside your jeans until his palm pressed against your clothed heat. He then leaned in again, capturing your lips in a slow kiss, and poured everything he couldn’t say out loud into the slide of his tongue against yours, the nip of his teeth at your bottom lip.

His hands move underneath your ass before he scooped you up, gently lying you down on his bed to carefully slide your jeans over your hips and down your legs. Then, he grabbed at your thighs again, spreading them gently as he settled between them before his fingers moved to carefully remove his jacket off your frame, followed by your shirt.

He drank in the sight of your clothed breasts, desire coiling tight in the pit of his stomach before he forced himself to snap out of it.

“I wanna see you in just my jacket, would that be okay?”

With a shaky breath and a nod, you gulped down before your fingers reached behind you to loosen your bra. Eddie slowly slid it off your shoulders before he reached for the jacket, and helped you put it back on. The heavy jacket against your bare skin fuelled his need as he settled between your legs once more, pressing reverent kisses along your inner thighs while working his way up higher. Meeting your gaze again, he sought affirmation before he took his time pulling your panties down slowly.

“Just tell me if you wanna stop, okay?” He murmured as his thumbs brushed softly against your knees. “Any time.”

“O-okay,” you breathed out.

Eddie’s curls brushed softly against your inner thighs as he leaned in, and pressed a tender kiss right above your pussy before taking you into his mouth. His eyes fell closed the second his tongue delved to taste your essence, a shaky, muffled groan escaping him when his pink lips latched onto your clit.

Moans spilled freely from his lips, muffled against your glistening pussy, when his eyes travelled up your body until they found the sight of your furrowed eyebrows and mouth lulling open. Eddie then doubled his efforts as soon as a broken gasp escaped your lips, swirling his tongue around your swollen clit, and alternating between firm flicks and gentle suckling.

“I- fuck, Eddie.”

Gently, he slipped one of his fingers into you, pumping softly in and out of your dripping core while his lips continued latching onto your clit.

“This is all I could think about today,” he whispered softly against your swollen nub, his own eyebrows furrowed as his eyes travelled down your body until his gaze fell on the way his finger disappeared inside of you. “Eating you out in my bed, wearing only my jacket.”

Another groan escaped his lips when your hand found his curls, tugging harshly at the strands when you felt him gently add another finger into your dripping core.

“Fuck, look at you, Sweetheart,” he chuckled breathily, licking his lips as his gaze travelled up, taking in the way your hard nipples peeked from under your bra, and the way the oversized jacket fell to your sides. “So fucking beautiful, all for me.”

“E-Eddie–”

He could tell you were already getting close by the way your pussy fluttered around his invading digits and the desperate arch of your hips seeking more of his lips. Eddie was desperate to push you over the edge, and sealed his lips around your clit once again and sucked hard, thrusting his fingers in and out of you faster while your slick gushed onto his tongue. He alternated between lock licks and fast flicks, savouring the tangy-sweet taste or your slick coating his tongue, while he curled his two fingers until they rubbed against that special spot.

It didn’t take long for you to clench around his fingers, followed by broken whimpers as you gushed over his chin. Eddie lapped tenderly at your sensitive clit until your thighs twitched around his face, an utterly spent and satisfied hum leaving your lips.

“Jesus,” you mumbled breathlessly. “You… Fuck.”

Something new flickered underneath the adoration in his eyes when he finally pulled himself back from between your legs and shifted over you again, close enough that your noses almost brushed.

“I’m obsessed with you,” he admitted breathlessly, like the words had slipped out before he could stop them. A helpless little smile tugged at the corners of his slick mouth while his hand rose to gently cup your face again.

Your chest rose and fell unevenly while you tried to catch your breath, Eddie’s words still sinking slowly into your bones.

His thumb brushed softly against your cheeks while his gaze lingered on your face, taking in the warmth flooding your skin, the breathless little puffs leaving your lips, and the way you looked back at him like he’d hung the moon himself.

“I’m obsessed with you too,” you whispered quietly before your hand slowly drifted down towards the button of his jeans.

Eddie’s other hand immediately wrapped gently around your wrist, stopping you before your fingers could move any further.

“It’s okay,” he whispered softly while licking his lips nervously. “You don’t have to.”

His chest started rising a little faster above you anyway, your fingers still rested lightly against the button of his jeans.

“But I want to,” you whispered back. “Will you show me?”

Eddie’s cheeks somehow flushed even warmer as his brows pulled together, like your words had physically pained him.

“I…” he trailed off, forcing a dry lump down his throat as he suddenly felt far too aware of himself. “Are you sure?”

Your breath caught softly at the uncertainty suddenly flickering across his face – the same boy who had kissed you breathless against the trailer door, and eaten you out, now looked almost nervous above you, like he was terrified of crossing a line he couldn’t uncross. So you lifted your hand from where he still held your wrist and gently pressed your palm against his cheek instead.

“I’m sure,” you whispered softly.

Eddie’s eyes searched yours for another long moment, like he needed to be absolutely certain before the two of you went anywhere further. Then he slowly nodded once, distracted by the shy little smile that had found its place on your lips.

“Okay,” he breathed out shakily.

His hand loosened around your wrist before his fingers intertwined carefully with yours instead, guiding your hand back down with a patience that made warmth bloom all through your chest.

“C’mere,” he murmured quietly, the tips of his ears still flushed red while a nervous little smile tugged at his lips. He pulled you upright and let himself indulge in another kiss. “I’ll… fuck, I'll show you.”

He slowly unbuttons himself before pulling down the zipper, and pulls at his jeans until they pooled around his ankles. He looks painfully hard when he palms himself over his boxers, pulling the material slowly down his thighs until his cock springs out – flushed and leaking at the tip. Eddie’s wrapped a fist around the base, stroking languidly as he gives you another kiss.

“First thing,” he breathed out shakily as his eyes open to look deeply into yours, “come sit between my legs.”

You gulped nervously as your socked feet touched the floor before you did what he just told you. Kneeling on the carpet felt somewhat grounding, even with the muffled scrape and gentle drag on your skin. Your hands grab at his thighs, brushing your thumbs against his skin as you wait patiently for his next instructions.

Eddie’s eyes glistened when he looked down at you – sitting prettily between his legs, your fingers twitching nervously against his thighs while the leather of his jacket shifted softly with every rapid breath you took. Something overwhelmed flickered across his face for a brief second, like he still couldn’t fully process that you were here with him like this. His free hand came up almost instinctively to brush a loose strand of hair away from your face before his thumb lingered gently against your bottom lip.

“Jesus. You’re gonna kill me one day,” he breathed out softly, more to himself than to you. He then gulped down and licked his lips while he continued lazily stroking his cock. “Can you– can you open you lips for me, Sweetheart?”

He moved his thumb away from your bottom lip, and slowly replaced it with his swollen tip.

“Th– this is gonna sound stupid,” he chuckled breathlessly, slightly shaking his head at himself, “but it’s kinda like… sucking on a lollypop?”

Eddie’s cock twitched when you looked up at him – eyes glimmering, slick lips after you gave him an experimental lick – and hesitantly wrapped your lips around him. His hips jerked ever so slightly as you tentatively moved your tongue. Your mouth felt velvety smooth and slick around his cock as you slowly took more of him.

“T-that’s it, Sweetheart,” he groaned softly, furrowing his brows as he tried to burn the image in front of him into his brain: your soft, pink lips wrapped unsurely around his cock with your hard nipples peeking from under his jacket. “T-take– fuck. Take all the time you need.”

His brown eyes fluttered shut when you gave him a tentative suck before you tried getting more of him into your mouth. His free hand brushed softly against your cheek, then slid to the back of your head before curling his fingers into your hair – he didn’t push himself deeper into you, instead, he just held you softly.

“Jesus, just like that, baby,” he groaned out with furrowed eyebrows as he looked back down at you.

His head fell back when he saw the way your eyes glistened and your eyebrows furrowed as your throat strained around his cock.

“I’m– fuck, Sweetheart,” he whimpered out, soft yet desperate as you continued bobbing your head tentatively. “I’m close.”

You looked up at him, desperate to see his face as you brought him closer to the edge, and quickened up your pace just slightly. Eddie’s cock twitched as he released into your mouth with one last whimper. He groaned when your tongue continued lapping at his slit, despite the sudden and unusual taste of his tangy cum filling you before you swallowed it down.

Your eyebrows furrowed as he gently pulled at your hair when he started to feel overstimulated, and pulled his cock from between your lips. A string of spit and cum hung between your pink lips and his swollen tip. Eddie blinked tiredly at the view before he wiped his thumb against your bottom lip, his chest rising rapidly as he watched it break and drop down your chest.

“Jesus, fuck,” he gulped nervously.

“W-was that… was that okay?” you asked nervously blinking up at him while you slowly brought your twitching hands back into your lap.

Eddie’s brows shot upwards immediately, clearly not expecting that question to leave your mouth – not after the breathless mess you’d just turned him into. He swallowed hard, his chest still struggling to steady itself.

“O-okay?” His eyes widened before a broken, disbelieving laugh escaped him. “Sweetheart, that was fucking amazing.”

Warmth flooded your face instantly.

His hands immediately found your cheeks again, gently pulling you up and closer towards him like he physically couldn’t help himself.

“You’re fucking amazing,” he whispered breathlessly before crashing his lips back onto yours.

Eddie pulled you back into his lap before wrapping both arms tightly around your frame, pressing your chest flush against his again. The heavy leather of his jacket stayed trapped between the two of you while he pulled you into another soft kiss, softer this time and far less desperate than before.

His hair had become a complete mess from the amount of times he’d dragged his hand through it when you had him in your mouth, loose curls brushing and tickling against your face while you melted further into his touch.

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispered quietly against your lips.

“I really like you too,” you giggled before closing your lips against his once again.

That pulled a soft, breathless laugh out of Eddie before he kissed you again, smiling so hard against your lips it almost made you laugh. He murmured a teasing yeah? between kisses, though the flushes cheeks and warmth in his eyes completely ruined any attempt at sounding smug.

Your fingers curled gently into the back of his shirt while you nodded against him. “Yeah.”

Something unbearably fond flickered across his face then – something so open and unguarded it almost stole the breath from your lungs all over again.

“Fuck,” he whispered quietly while pulling you impossibly closer against his chest, like he still couldn’t fully believe you were real.  “Good. ‘Cause I think I’m in pretty deep here, Sweetheart.”

His hands found their way to your naked hips, tightening his grip on you. “Especially when you look like this.”

You giggled shyly as you hid your face in the crook of his neck, feeling somewhat embarrassed at the way you probably looked – breathless, messy hair, his jacket basically swallowing your naked frame.

“Stop it,” you said flustered, brushing your nose against his neck.

“No way, Sweetheart,” he chuckled before placing a quick kiss against your temple. The warmth in Eddie’s laugh rumbled softly underneath your cheek when you buried yourself further into his neck, clearly far too pleased with how flustered he’d made you. “You’re adorable when you do that,” he murmured teasingly while his fingers continued tracing lazy patterns against your hips underneath the oversized leather swallowing you whole.

A groan immediately escaped you.

“No, seriously,” Eddie snorted softly before tilting his head just enough to brush another kiss against your hairline. “You’re sitting in my lap, wearing my jacket and looking all fucked-out and shy. What exactly do you expect me to do with that?”

Your entire body heated up instantly. “Eddie,” you whined into his neck, horrified laughter muffled against his skin.

That only made him laugh harder, breathing dramatically while tightening his arms around you again. “I’m a weak man.”

He gently pulled you away from the crook of his neck, thumbs brushing softly against your hipbones while his eyes searched lazily for yours again.

“You, uh…” Eddie licked his lips, visibly getting distracted for a second by your flushed face and thoroughly kissed-swollen lips before he managed to gather his thoughts again. “You hungry?”

A soft giggle escaped you before you nodded.

“Alrighty,” he mumbled warmly before suddenly scooping you up into his arms just enough to place you carefully back down onto the mattress.

The springs creaked softly underneath you while Eddie leaned over you again, his ringed fingers gently tugging at the sleeves of his jacket still hanging loosely from your frame.

“There they are,” he murmured teasingly under his breath once he finally pulled it free, clearly far too pleased with himself when he caught sight of your naked breasts and still-hard nipples.

“Eddie,” you groaned softly while hiding your face behind your hands.

His laugh came out low and warm while he leaned down to scatter a trail of soft kisses across your cheek and jaw.

“I’m kidding,” he whispered against your skin before pressing one final kiss beneath your ear. “Mostly.”

Your heard drawers opening somewhere behind you before Eddie reappeared beside the bed again, wearing a clean pair of boxers and holding one of his shirts.

“C’mere,” he murmured gently while helping you out of the jacket and pulling the shirt over your head.

The shirt practically swallowed you whole, sleeves falling far beyond your hands while Eddie stared at you for a second longer than necessary afterwards.

“…Okay, maybe I’m not surviving this actually,” he breathed out dramatically.

A few minutes later, your legs dangled from where you sat on the kitchen counter while you watched Eddie frantically move around the kitchen, trying not to somehow burn the pasta he was cooking for the two of you. Your laughter mixed softly with the record playing in the background while Eddie cursed under his breath somewhere near the stove.

The oversized Motörhead long sleeve hung from your frame shifted when you swung your legs lightly against the cabinet beneath you, watching Eddie with warm amusement while golden evening sunlight stretched through the tiny trailer kitchen.

“What?” he asked suspiciously when he caught you staring.

“Just…” A soft smile tugged at your lips while heat immediately rushed into your cheeks. “How easy this feels.”

Your stomach flipped embarrassingly hard the second the words left your mouth. And apparently Eddie noticed too, because his eyes widened slightly in realisation before a smug grin slowly spread across his face. His soft chuckle filled the tiny trailer kitchen, low and warm and completely unrestrained. Then, without warning, he abandoned the stove entirely and crossed the kitchen towards you instead.

“Hi,” he murmured softly once he settled himself between your legs.

Your hands slowly lowered from your face again. “Hi.”

One of his hands settled against your thigh while the other gently brushed your hair behind your ear.

“You look really pretty in my clothes,” he admitted quietly, like the confession had slipped out before he could stop it.

The softness in his voice immediately stole whatever teasing remark you’d been about to throw back at him.

Somewhere behind him, the pot suddenly boiled over with an aggressive hiss.

“Shit,” Eddie yelped before whipping back towards the stove.

Your laughter immediately echoed through the kitchen and into the living room while Eddie pointed accusingly over his shoulder at you.

“This is your fault, Sweetheart.”

⋆˚꩜｡a/n: eeeep!!! we're almost at the last chapter guys :( ugh i love them sm i think i'll cry of how much i'll miss writing them </3 pls lemme know what you thought about it <3 thank you for reading, love u

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“Can we stop at the gas station?” You ask, an hour into the drive. Your music playing through the aux. Dex shook his head no, turning his head towards you for a split second before turninh his gaze back onto the road. “No, baby. You need to pee? Hungry?” He asked, because he would stop if that was the case but he doubts it. And when you shake your head no with a pout, “Drop that.. we’ll stop and go to the supermarket around the cabin.” He rests one hand on your thigh, rubbing through the denim.

“Fine, i guess what i want doesn’t matter” you bite back, it was mean, yes, and sometimes you did feel bad about acting like it. But you couldn’t help but take the small hatred you had towards your father for arranging this marriage out of him.

Your dad, was a good guy, sure. You had couple nice memories. And the fact that he arranged this marriage, made you resent him slightly. Although, Dex wasn’t having it this time. “Alright, enough with that attitude.” He said rather harshly. And when i mean harsh? I mean full fbi voice and all.

“You got to be a big girl, alright? Want something? Speak up for it.” He gave you a side glance, retracting his hand from your thigh. You dropped both your hands onto lap. You were quiet for once, not talking back at everything he says. Also, your thigh felt empty, as much as you hated it, you were used to it. Used to his routine, how he always had to touch you somewhere.

“….Sorry.” You murmur, fidgeting with your fingers. Not wanting to look at him. When he heard your apology Dex stilled for a moment, turning his head to look at you. “What.” It was more so shocked then a statement, he had heard you apologise, obviously. But just never to him.

“…I said ‘m sorry.” You say, a little louder this time, thinking he didnt hear you. “Yeah, i heard what you said baby. Just suprised.” He replied back, tense still.

“Say you forgive me.” You huff out, waiting for his reply. Instead, he just slowed the car and parked on the side. Dex shifts to look at you, holding your chin and turning your face to him. You look to share his gaze, still pouty.

“What did i just say about pouting, baby?” He caressed your cheek with his thumb a little. “You said to drop my attitude, not my pout.” You couldn’t help but lean into his touch a little. His warm hand felt good.

“Yeah, well, same thing.. we cant keep doing this if you act like this you know that?” He said, so lovingly. It broke your heart a little, what was he trying to even say?

“Keep doing what?” You ask hesitantly, not sure if you even want to hear what. You bat your lashes, wanting him to soften up a little.

“If you want it, we can get a div-“ Dex had a defeated look on his face like he gave up. what? No, no, no, no! How could he even think you would want that. “No!” You bursted out before he finished his word.

“You’re my husband.. what are you going to do find a new wife?” What were you even saying that didnt make sense at all. He didnt even say something like that.

“Allright, thats settled then.” He smirked coyly, moving to start the car back on. “Wait.. ‘m not finished.” You tug on his arm that was on the stick.

“Yeah? What do you want?” He asked, grabbing the same hand and engulfing your hand in his, giving you a look that said ‘go on’.

“I wanna.. make it up to you.” Dex was silent for a moment, that was the last thing he thought you’d say. He couldn’t help but think of ways you could make it up to him. But no, he was the one thinking dirty, he thought.

“Mhm? Gonna make me dinner? Give me a kiss?” He said teasingly, squeezing your hand twice. “Nuh uh.. i wanna..” you murmured, looking at his face then down at his crotch then back at his face.

So he wasnt thinking dirt at all, but he decided to play cool. “Yeah, what do you want? Told you to speak up earlier didnt i?” He hummed, now he got you right where he wanted all along.

“Can i.. suck you off?” You spoke softly, batting your lashes at him. How silly of you to think that he’d refuse!!! “Well… i dont know, anyone who drives by could see us?” He said, already reaching to unbuckle his belt.

You suddenly sit up straighter, tugging on his belt faster then he cant get it off. “Easy… Easy, girl…” he cooed, making you drop your hands.

You watched him very intently. He lifted his hips slightly in the air in a thrusting motion to slide off his belt completely. “Fasterrrr, Dex..” you whine.

“Save that for later, baby.” He groaned, taking out his cock for you. “Ready? Come on. It doesnt bite.” He leaned back on his seat.

You leaned in, taking the tip in your mouth. Dex’s breath hitched, but did no move to push you down his length, letting you do your own thing instead.

You took your time, looking at him every few seconds see if he likes it. Dex gives you an encouraging smile, one hand resting it on your hair. “Thats nice baby…” he murmurs, petting your head gently.

You took the praise as a sign to take him deeper down your throat, bobbing your head up and down few times before taking him out of your mouth completely. And that earns you a big whine from Dex, “Wha- no, come back,” he hissed as cold air came in contact with his wet cock.

In response you just licked a striped from his balls to the tip of his dick. Soon learning that the tip was his actually most sensitive spot.

———

Dex panted heavily as your hand was now coated heavily in his cum, you sat up straighter, licking his cum from your fingers, making sure to look him in the eye during it, giggling when his breath hitches.

P.s had to cut out most of the smut part because i realized im rusty and dk how to describe it properly

He walked toward the wall to switch off the lights when he heard it—a small, muffled thud. Not against his door but the one next to his. Then another. Dex paused, listening. The sound was soft but insistent, like something—or someone—knocking rhythmically from the other side of the wall. He opened his door and saw her: Y/n, his neighbour.

She had moved in a few months ago, a young law graduate with a smile that seemed to carry its own warmth. They had developed a friendship of sorts—casual, unspoken, but present. On her first day, she had knocked on his door with a plate of homemade cookies, calling it a “first impression offering.” Dex had accepted them without saying much but he remembered the way she laughed when he muttered a stiff thank you. She was sweet. Warm. There was a natural gravity to her that pulled Dex in without effort, without warning.

There was something about her that felt untouched by the darker corners of the world—something pure and kind in a way that made Dex both trust her and keep his distance. Just the other day, she had brought him dinner, claiming she’d “cooked too much.” But Dex knew better. The portion was perfect. The ingredients were good—expensive, even. The cooking itself felt deliberate, almost tender. It wasn’t leftovers. It was a gift wrapped in a sweet lie and he had accepted it anyway.

He had noticed her on his morning runs, too. She was always kind to the street vendors, patient with the elderly, gentle with stray animals. Once, he saw her hold her umbrella over a dog tied to a leash outside a supermarket, standing there in the rain until the owner came back. Dex hadn’t meant to follow her. That’s what he told himself, at least. It was just a coincidence that he happened to see her on his morning runs. Never mind that he started lacing up his running shoes the second he heard her door click shut. Never mind that he mentally tracked which days she went grocery shopping and suddenly found himself in need of eggs and bread.

He was good, though. He kept his distance. He didn’t make things obvious. He had his north star—someone he’d found years ago, back when he was barely holding on, at a suicide helpline. Julie. Her existence had been the anchor in his worst nights. But lately, something had shifted. The compulsive pull to reach out to her had begun to fade. Sure, he had still visited Julie a couple of times over the past few weeks, but it was different now. Less desperate. More like checking in on an old lifeline rather than clinging to it.

Maybe things were finally looking up.

The past weeks had been rough—Fisk was out again and that alone was enough to tighten the screws on Dex’s composure. But even so, he had managed to make it home every other night. The walls in his apartment were thin in places and through one particular seam in the plaster, he could hear her humming from the other side. It was sweet. Calming. As if that small, quiet sound could set things right in the world or at least in Dex’s.

“Y/n?”

Dex stepped out cautiously into the dim hallway, the door clicking shut behind him. The overhead light was flickering again—it had been for weeks—but even in that unsteady glow, he could see her clearly. Y/n was wearing clothes he had never seen on her before. A silvery dress that would have sat just above her knees if it hadn’t ridden up her thighs, clinging to her like second skin. Fishnets ran the length of her legs, one strap of her dress slipping carelessly off her shoulder. Her hair was dishevelled, falling in tangled waves around her face and her makeup—usually so neat, so controlled—had smeared across her cheeks and eyelids like watercolour in the rain.

She had gone clubbing. That much was obvious.

Dex hadn’t pegged her as the type. She always seemed so steady, so warm in that quiet, domestic way. But she was young. It made sense. And yet, seeing her like this—vulnerable, unguarded—stirred something unfamiliar in his chest. Not judgment. Not concern, exactly. Something softer. More dangerous.

“Dex?” Y/n slurred, her voice thick and slow. Her eyes squinted hard, as if trying to focus on him through a blurred, spinning daze. She pressed one hand flat against the wall and took a few wobbly steps in his direction, her heels clicking unevenly against the floor.

Dex watched her sway and immediately closed the distance between them. His hands hovered just above her sides—close enough to catch her if she fell, far enough to pretend he wasn’t touching her at all. He didn’t want to assume. Didn’t want to overstep. But the way her knees buckled slightly told him she was seconds away from collapsing.

“Hi,” she said and then she grinned—so wide her eyes squeezed shut, crinkling at the corners. There was something childlike in it, pure and sweet. She smelled of sweat and cheap alcohol and the faint floral perfume she always wore. It should have been off-putting. Dex didn’t care.

“Hello, Y/n,” he said quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Had a fun night?”

“Uh huh.” She nodded enthusiastically, the motion making her stumble forward another step. He steadied her without thinking, his palm barely brushing her elbow. “So fun,” she added with a giggle, then her face fell into an exaggerated pout. “But you know… I can’t find my keys.”

Dex felt something warm uncurl in his chest. She looked so utterly ridiculous and so utterly adorable at the same time—her smeared eyeliner, her fallen strap, her bottom lip jutting out like a child denied dessert. His fingers twitched at his sides with the urge to reach out, to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, to touch her properly for once. He didn’t.

Instead, he tilted his head toward the purse still dangling loosely from her arm. “Did you check your purse?”

“Of course I did.” Her indignation came out sharp and slurred all at once. “You think I’m a five-year-old?” She huffed and began digging through her bag with aggressive clumsiness, nearly dropping the contents out twice.

Even her anger was adorable. Dex smiled to himself and reached over. His fingers slipped past hers into the purse and came out with the keys in one smooth motion. The silver glinted under the flickering light.

Y/n stared at him as if he had just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. Her mouth fell open. “H-how did you—” she sputtered, her cheeks flushing pink beneath the smeared remnants of her makeup.

He held the keys up between them, jingling them once before unlocking the door and for a moment—just a moment—he let himself imagine what it might be like to be the person she came home to every night, “A good magician never reveals his tricks.”

Y/n huffed and stumbled past him into her apartment. She made it exactly six steps before collapsing onto the couch. “Collapsing” wasn’t quite right. Neither was “falling.” Sprawling was the word, though even that felt too graceful for what she’d just done. Her legs hooked over the backrest, her head dangled off the edge of the cushion, and her arms splayed out like a starfish washed ashore. Her dress had ridden up on her hips, but she didn’t seem to notice—or care.

“Thanks, Dex.” Her voice floated toward him, muffled by the couch cushions and her own exhaustion. “Don’t know what I’d do without ya.”

She threw up a peace sign without lifting her head, two fingers waggling vaguely in the air. It should have been ridiculous. It was. Dex stood in the doorway, one hand still on the frame, telling himself he should leave. This was her space. Her mess. Her night.

Against his better judgment—the same judgment that had failed him more times than he cared to count, Dex stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

“Let’s get you to bed, hmm?” He kept his tone soft, unhurried. Like coaxing a stray cat out of the rain.

Y/n groaned in agreement, then swung her legs off the backrest with a clumsy flourish. She sat up, briefly, before her torso swayed like a tower of blocks in a light wind. “Hmm,” she murmured, her eyelids drooping. “Bed sounds nice.”

She tried to stand. Her knees buckled immediately. She tried again, planting both palms on the couch cushion and pushing upward with the determination of someone trying to lift a car. Her legs refused to cooperate entirely, folding beneath her like wet paper.

She looked up at Dex from her failed crouch, her bleary eyes wide and almost lucid for a moment. A sheepish expression crept across her smudged face—part embarrassment, part plea.

“Do you need help getting up, Y/n?” Dex asked carefully. He wasn’t sure if he was sparing her further embarrassment or adding to it just by asking. Either way, the question hung between them like a held breath.

“Yeah,” she whispered, then added something indistinct—something about her legs betraying her, about how she used to do gymnastics as a kid, about how this was humiliating. Most of it dissolved into mumbles.

Dex reached for her outstretched hands and pulled. Nothing happened. He pulled harder and for a terrible moment, he worried he might pop her arms out of their sockets like wings off a doll. She was heavier than she looked, or maybe just dead weight in a way that had nothing to do with mass.

So, he leaned closer. He slid his arms under her armpits—the same way you’d lift a child out of a shopping cart or pull someone from shallow water and hoisted her upward in one steady motion. Her body sagged against his for a brief second, warm and smelling of too many things at once, before he adjusted his grip.

“I’m not a child,” she whined, her forehead bumping against his shoulder. But she didn’t resist. Didn’t push away. Her fingers curled loosely into the fabric of his shirt as if holding on to the last solid thing in a spinning room.

Dex carried her to her bedroom. Her legs dragged behind them like boulders, her bare feet skimming the floor, her heels abandoned somewhere in the living room. He nudged the bedroom door open with his hip and set her down on the edge of the bed as gently as he could manage—like placing a broken thing on a shelf, hoping it might hold together a little longer.

Her body was hunched forward, her head bowed low as if the weight of the night had finally settled on her shoulders. She wasn’t looking up. Her hands lay limp in her lap, fingers occasionally twitching like she was trying to remember how to move them. The dim light from her bedside lamp caught the curve of her cheek, the tangled mess of her hair, the small smudge of lipstick near her jaw he hadn’t noticed before.

Dex didn’t speak. He simply lowered himself to her level, bending one knee to the floor so his eyes could meet hers—or at least so she wouldn’t have to lift her head any higher than she already couldn’t manage. The carpet was scratchy beneath his knee, but he didn’t move.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, sunshine?”

The nickname slipped out before he could stop it. He hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t rehearsed it. But it felt right in his mouth—warm, almost tender, like something he’d been holding back for weeks.

Y/n blinked at him, slow and dopey, and offered a sleepy smile. “Can you get me my night suit? It’s purple and has blue flowers on it.”

Dex nodded once and rose to his feet. He crossed the small bedroom toward the closet, his footsteps muffled by the scattered clothes and discarded shoes on the floor. When he pulled the closet door open, a faint sweet scent drifted out—something soft and floral, the kind of fragrance that clung to skin and sheets and memory. Tucked in the corner, he spotted a small wardrobe perfume packet, the kind meant to keep clothes smelling fresh. It smelled almost exactly like her perfume. Of course it did.

His hand moved before his mind could catch up.

His fingers traced over her clothes—blouses hung on thin velvet hangers, folded sweaters stacked neatly on a shelf, a few dresses she wore to work. He felt the softness of the fabric between his thumb and forefinger, thinking back to seeing her in some of these. The cream-colored cardigan she’d worn the morning she brought him dinner. The green blouse she had on when she laughed so hard, she snorted. The grey hoodie she threw on for late-night grocery runs.

He opened the drawers next, searching for the night suit she’d described. And then his breath hitched.

It was her underwear drawer.

Most of them were cotton, simple and practical, in soft colours: blue, pink, yellow, lavender. Some had minimal patterns—tiny polka dots, thin stripes, a small bow stitched into the centre of the waistband. These were the kinds of things he might have expected. The kinds of things that felt safe to see.

But then his gaze drifted to the far end of the drawer.

Lace.

Delicate, intricate patterns in fabric so thin it was almost wispy. Sheer enough that looking at them felt like crossing a line he hadn’t known he was approaching. Blacks and deep reds and a shade of midnight blue that reminded him of the sky just before dawn. His fingers grazed the edge of one—lace cool and light against his skin and images flooded his mind before he could stop them.

Y/n was a beautiful woman. No doubt about that. She was young and sweet and her smile was as good as her figure. Dex didn’t mean to look. He swore he didn’t.

But how could he not?

How could he not notice when she knelt down to retrieve something from under the couch, her back arching just so, the hem of her dress riding up? How could he not notice when he was up on a ladder fixing something on her roof and she looked up at him, and from that angle, he could see straight down the loose neckline of her shirt? How could he not notice when he sat in the dark in his car some nights—watching, just watching, not stalking, he told himself—and she forgot to draw her curtains and started changing, her silhouette moving behind the glass like a story he wasn’t meant to read?

He didn’t mean to look. Truly.

But what could he do when she was offering so freely? She didn’t know she was offering. That was the problem. That was the part that gnawed at him late at night, the part that made him feel like something was rotting beneath his ribs. She was just living her life. And he was just watching.

“Did you find it?” Y/n called out from the bed, her voice sleepy and slurred.

Dex snapped back to the present like a man waking from a trance. His hand withdrew from the drawer as if burned. He spotted the purple night suit with blue flowers, folded neatly at the opposite end of the drawer, far from the lace and snatched it quickly. He didn’t look back at the rest. He couldn’t.

He walked back to the bed and placed the night suit gently on her lap, careful not to let his fingers linger.

“Here,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended.

“Thanks, Dexie,” Y/n muttered, her voice thick and drowsy. Her fingers found the straps of her silvery dress and began to push them down her shoulders without a second thought—casual, unguarded, as if he were furniture rather than a man standing three feet away.

“Whoa—Y/n.” Dex’s eyes went wide, his body jerking backward like he’d been shocked. His hands flew up to his face, palms pressing over his eyes with more force than necessary. He wasn’t trying to be a hero. He was trying not to look like a creep. “I’ll wait in the living room.”

Y/n responded with something unintelligible—a hum, a mumble, maybe the beginning of a protest that dissolved before it reached her lips. Dex didn’t wait to find out. He turned on his heel and walked out, closing the bedroom door behind him just enough to leave a sliver of deniability.

He stood in her living room, hands shoved into his pockets, jaw tight. The clock on her wall ticked loudly. Somewhere in the building, a toilet flushed. Normal sounds. Ordinary sounds. Nothing like the thunderstorm happening inside his chest.

A few moments later, her voice floated through the crack in the door. “Dex?”

He straightened. “Yeah?”

A pause. Then, quieter. “Could you help me with the… thing? In the back.”

Dex closed his eyes for half a second, exhaled through his nose and walked back in.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, her back to him. Both straps of the dress had slid completely down. Her fishnets were gone—he spotted them crumpled on the floor near the foot of the bed. Her hair had been swept to one side, exposing the elegant line of her neck and the long stretch of her bare back.

The dress had a small decorative corset at the back—silver ribbons laced through fabric loops, purely for show, the kind of detail you added when you wanted something to look delicate. Beneath it, a zipper ran from the bottom of the corset down to the small of her back. The laces were half done. Or maybe she had simply given up.

Dex felt the urge immediately—a pull so physical it was almost painful. The desire to touch. To run his knuckles slowly down the ridge of her spine. To press his palm flat against her warm skin and feel the subtle shift of muscle beneath. To trace each vertebra like a promise.

He didn’t. He couldn’t.

Not because he didn’t want to. God, he wanted to. But because he couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk letting his urges show. Couldn’t risk shattering whatever fragile, unnamed thing had grown between them over these past few months—the cookies and the borrowed sugar, the dinners she claimed were accidents and the morning runs that absolutely were not.

So, Dex did what he had trained himself to do. He compartmentalized. He focused on the task. He worked the silver laces loose with careful, deliberate fingers, trying his hardest not to brush against her skin. The ribbons slid free one by one, and then he gripped the tiny zipper pull and drew it down in one slow, steady motion.

The zip ended right at the base of her back. Right where the curve of her spine met the gentle dip above her hips.

She had dimples there. Small, symmetrical indentations just above the curve of her backside. Soft. Deliberate. As if someone had pressed their thumbs into warm clay and left a permanent impression.

Dex stopped breathing.

His hands hovered in the air behind her, trembling almost imperceptibly. The urge surged again, hot and sharp and entirely unwelcome. He wanted to grab her waist. Wanted to press his thumbs directly into those dimples. Wanted to feel the way she might arch into him or pull away. And Y/n was a vocal person in general, he had noticed that months ago. She let out small squeaks and sounds whenever anything happened. When she dropped a spoon. When she stubbed her toe. When she reached for something on a high shelf. Simple things. Ordinary things. And so Dex found himself wondering—in the half second of silence before he pulled his hands away—what sort of sounds would she make if he pressed down on those dimples while buried deep inside her?

The thought arrived fully formed, devastating in its clarity.

He swallowed hard. Stepped back. Said nothing.

“Thanks, Dex,” she whispered, already pulling the nightshirt over her head and shimmying the dress down beneath it. The purple fabric with blue flowers swallowed her whole, hiding every inch of skin he had just been imagining.

“Let me get you a glass of water,” Dex said, rougher than he intended and didn’t really wait for a response.

He walked to her kitchen, the floor cool beneath his feet and stood at the sink with his hands braced against the counter. He filled a glass without really seeing it. His reflection in the dark kitchen window stared back at him—hollow-eyed and hungry, ravenous for something that had little to do with food.

In all honesty, he needed to get away. Horrible, sinful thoughts plagued his mind like locusts, devouring every quiet field of restraint he had spent years cultivating. He wanted her. Not in the soft, romantic way people wrote about in books. Not in the candlelight-and-whisper way. He wanted her the way a starving animal wanted a meal—messy and desperate and without grace.

He walked back from the kitchen, the glass of water cool and sweating in his hand, and handed it to Y/n. She took it with both palms, cradling it like a small animal, and drank half of it in one long, unsteady gulp. Water spilled down her chin but she didn’t seem to notice.

“You know, Dex?” she began, her voice quieter now, the earlier slur fading into something more worn. “Whenever I get drunk, for some reason I keep waking up in the night from weird dreams. At odd times. And then the fucking hangover the next day.” She let out a breath that was almost a laugh but not quite. “I hate it so much.”

There was something raw beneath her words—a weariness that wasn’t from the alcohol and had everything to do with the months before it. She gestured vaguely toward the vanity in the corner, where a packet of makeup wipes sat next to a tangle of hair ties and an empty coffee mug. Dex grabbed them without being asked and placed them within her reach.

In truth, Y/n hadn’t gone clubbing because it was something she particularly enjoyed. The noise. The crowds. The press of strangers’ bodies in the dark. None of it was really her. But her college friends had been in town, old faces, old memories, old versions of herself and she had joined them for a night out. Told herself she owed them that much. Told herself she owed herself a break.

Her brother Matt’s passing hadn’t been particularly easy on her. That was an understatement so vast it was almost insulting but she didn’t have better words for it. After all, he was the only family she had left. Some days, the grief arrived like a wave—predictable, crashing, receding. Other days, it was just there, a low hum beneath everything, the way you only notice the absence of silence when someone points it out. She had spent a lot of time moping. That was her word for it. Moping. When she wasn’t working, she was drifting through her apartment in old sweats, eating cereal for dinner, staring at walls. Foggy and Karen helped only so much. They meant well—they always meant well—but they had their own lives, their own grief, their own versions of Matt to carry.

Having Dex around was what really made the difference.

She hadn’t expected him. Hadn’t planned for him. He was just there one day, a quiet presence on the other side of the wall and then he was there at her door with a tool she’d asked to borrow and then he was there on the stairs with groceries and then he was just… there. Always there. A bright presence even on her dark days. Helping her with little things. Fixing her sink. Changing her lightbulbs. Noticing when she had looked down and showing up with something warm. He wasn’t loud about it. He didn’t make her feel like a burden. He just existed in her orbit, steady and constant, like he had decided somewhere along the way that she was worth being near.

Sometimes, Y/n thought Dex felt like a guardian angel. Not the kind with harps and halos. The rougher kind. The kind that showed up with calloused hands and said very little but stayed when she needed someone to.

“I have chamomile tea,” Dex said, his voice pulling her back to the present. “It helps with sleep.”

Y/n looked up at him. Behind the lingering daze in her eyes, something else flickered—conflict. She had already taken so much from Dex. His time. His attention. His small kindnesses. She couldn’t ask for more. It wouldn’t be right. The thought sat heavy in her chest, guilt curdling beneath her ribs.

Dex saw it. He always saw it. And before she could open her mouth to refuse—to say something polite and self-denying about not wanting to be a bother—he spoke again.

“I’ll make some for you.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t an offer. It was a statement, delivered with the quiet finality of someone who had already decided and wasn’t interested in debate. He turned and left before she could say anything.

Back in his apartment, Dex moved through the familiar motions with mechanical precision. He grabbed a clean cup from the cabinet, then a box of chamomile tea bags from the shelf beside the coffee canister. His kitchen was small and immaculate—everything in its place, no dishes in the sink, the counter wiped down to a shine. Order. Control. The only things he could reliably manage.

He brought everything to the kitchen table, poured hot water from the kettle into the cup and watched the tea bag steep. The liquid darkened slowly, amber bleeding into clear. Steam curled upward, fragrant and mild.

Given how much she had drunk, the tea alone probably wouldn’t be strong enough. Chamomile was gentle. Soothing, yes. But against the kind of hangover she was describing, the kind that came with fragmented sleep and strange dreams, it might not do much more than hydrate her.

His eyes drifted across the table to a small orange bottle. His sleeping pills. He had just gotten the prescription refilled yesterday. The bottle sat there, innocent and unassuming, a dozen small tablets inside waiting to do what they were designed to do.

Perhaps that would help?

The thought arrived quietly, almost reasonably. She said she struggled with sleep. The tea alone might not be enough. Just one pill crushed into the cup, she wouldn’t even taste it. She would sleep deeply. No weird dreams. No waking at odd hours. She would wake up groggy, maybe, but better than she would have otherwise. It would help her.

A voice in his head started to build the case, calm and logical and terribly persuasive.

He shut it down promptly.

No. He couldn’t. It wasn’t right. The words felt flimsy even as he thought them, but they were true. He wasn’t an animal. He couldn’t do something like this. Not to her. Not to Y/n. She trusted him. She didn’t know about the other things—the morning runs that weren’t coincidences, the nights spent watching her window, the drawer of lace he had no business opening. But she trusted the version of him she knew. The one who brought her tea and fixed her sink and had dinner with her.

That version of him would never drug her.

But it would help her. Didn’t she just say she struggles with sleep? Didn’t she look exhausted? Didn’t she deserve one night of real rest?

The voice returned, softer this time, almost gentle. Dex stared at the orange bottle. His hand hovered over the cup of tea, the chamomile scent rising around him like a question he didn’t want to answer.

Dex crossed the hallway with the cup, the warmth seeping through the ceramic and into his palms. The door to Y/n’s apartment was still open, exactly as he had left it. Either she had been too tired to get up and close it, or some small, trusting part of her had left it ajar just for him.

He stepped inside and found her in the same spot as before, still perched on the edge of the bed. She hadn’t moved. Her shoulders were slumped, her bare feet pressed flat against the floor as if anchoring herself to something solid. She looked smaller somehow. Less like the warm, radiant woman who brought him cookies and more like someone who had been carrying something heavy for far too long.

Dex walked over and extended the cup toward her. Steam curled up between them, carrying the gentle, honeyed scent of chamomile.

“Something for your head,” he said quietly.

Y/n looked up at him, her eyes still glassy but softer now—less lost, more grateful. She wrapped her fingers around the cup and murmured a thank you that seemed to cost her nothing and everything all at once.

She lifted the cup to her lips and took a slow, careful sip.

The warmth spread through her immediately—not just in her throat or her chest, but deeper, like sunlight bleeding through frost. The chamomile was rich and soothing, a quiet contrast to the sharp, chemical burn of the alcohol she had been drinking all night. She could feel something in her begin to loosen. Not just her muscles, though they softened too. It was the weariness—not just of the day, but of the week, the month, the long and lonely stretch of months before that. The kind of exhaustion that lived in her bones, that she had stopped noticing because noticing would mean admitting how tired she really was.

And then, slowly, strangely, it began to dissolve. Not disappear entirely, nothing could do that, but fade into something lighter. A strange weightlessness, as if the tea had reached into her chest and untied a knot she didn’t even know she had been holding.

Her eyelids grew heavier. Her breathing slowed. She took another sip, then another, until the cup was nearly empty.

Dex watched her in silence. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. He simply stood there, a few feet away, his presence steady and unfaltering. When she lowered the cup and let her hands fall into her lap, he stepped forward and gently took it from her. Their fingers brushed again. Neither of them acknowledged it.

“Close the door behind you when you leave,” Y/n said, her voice soft and drowsy, already half-muffled by the pillow she was turning toward. “I don’t really want to get up.”

Dex nodded, though she wasn’t looking at him anymore. Her eyes had already fluttered shut, her body curling into the mattress like a cat finding warmth.

“Of course,” he said.

He walked to the door, pausing for just a moment to look back at her. The faint rise and fall of her shoulder beneath the purple fabric. The way her hair fanned across the pillow. The peaceful stillness on her face—something he had rarely seen before.

Then he stepped into the hallway, pulled the door closed behind him, and stood there in the dim light, holding her empty cup, wondering if he had just done something good or something terrible.

Back in his own apartment, Dex tossed and turned in his bed, the sheets twisted around his legs like restraints. He punched his pillow into a different shape, then another, then gave up entirely. Sleep was a foreign country tonight and he had lost his passport.

He tried to push the thoughts out of his head. Tried to drown them with logic, with restraint, with the memory of every good thing she had ever done for him. The cookies. The dinners. The way she smiled at him like he was someone worth smiling at.

He couldn’t do it. He shouldn’t do it. He shouldn’t go so far.

Even if every single bone in his body told him to. Even if the urge had settled into his marrow, into the spaces between his ribs, into the quiet corners of his mind that he usually kept locked. Even if the thought of her, soft and trusting and utterly unaware, sent a current through him that felt less like desire and more like destiny.

He should let her be.

The drugs would have kicked in by now, a voice sounded in his head. Smooth. Reasonable. Almost kind. She’s not going to wake up. Not for hours. Not until the morning.

She trusts you, another voice fought back, sharper and more desperate. You shouldn’t do this. You can’t do this. Not to her.

But she’s asleep. The first voice returned, patient and persuasive. She wouldn’t even feel a thing. After all, you’ve been so nice to her. You’ve been there for her. You’ve helped her. You’ve protected her. You deserve this.

Dex sat up in bed, his heart hammering against his ribs. The room was dark except for the moonlight cutting through the blinds. His hands were trembling. He didn’t know if it was from restraint or anticipation.

He thought about the door. Since he had closed it, opening it again wouldn’t be an issue. She hadn’t asked him to lock it. She hadn’t told him to stay out. And deep down, somewhere beneath the alcohol and the weariness and the weight of everything she carried, she must have known. She must have left that door open for a reason. She wouldn’t have done it if she didn’t want him to come in. Not really. Not at some level. Even she must recognize what it is that she truly needs.

The thought tasted like poison and honey all at once.

Dex swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He didn’t turn on any lights. Didn’t put on shoes. Didn’t allow himself a single moment to reconsider. He simply walked to his front door, opened it and stepped into the hallway.

Her door was still closed from when he had left it. He turned the knob slowly, silently and slipped inside.

The apartment was dark and still, wrapped in that particular silence that only exists in the small hours of the night. No traffic. No neighbours. No hum of appliances. Just the soft, rhythmic sound of breathing coming from the bedroom.

The door to her bedroom was open.

Dex stood in the doorway for a long moment, letting his eyes adjust to the dim light. Y/n was lying on the bed exactly where he had left her, except now she wasn’t sitting up. She had collapsed sideways across the mattress, one arm flung above her head, the other resting limply over her stomach. She wasn’t even tucked in properly. The purple nightshirt with blue flowers had ridden up her stomach, the shorts too exposing the soft curve of her thighs. Her legs were tangled in the duvet, one foot dangling off the edge of the bed.

The sleeping pills had acted faster than he had anticipated. They had pulled her under before she could gather the energy to arrange herself properly, to pull up the blankets, to close the curtains. She had simply fallen where she sat and the drugs had done the rest.

Dex’s gaze travelled over her slowly. There were still remnants of makeup on her face—smudged eyeliner beneath her closed eyes, a faint stain of lipstick on her lower lip, patches of foundation that the wipe had missed entirely. Her hair was a wild mess, tangled and flattened on one side, sticking up in soft tufts on the other. She looked young like this. Younger and more delicate. Vulnerable in a way that made something twist painfully in Dex’s chest.

He remembered something then. A passing comment she had made weeks ago, over breakfast—the time she had claimed she cooked too much and invited him to share. She had been rubbing at her chin, complaining about a breakout and she had said, almost offhandedly, that she broke out horribly if she slept with makeup on her face. My skin just freaks out, she had said with a laugh. It’s like it knows I’ve been lazy.

Dex turned away from the bed and walked to her vanity. The surface was cluttered—bottles and brushes and small glass jars, a hairbrush with strands of her hair still caught in the bristles, a necklace she had forgotten to put away. He found the micellar water easily enough, a clear bottle with a blue label and a round container of cotton pads beside it.

He brought them back to the bed and sat down on the edge of the mattress. It dipped slightly under his weight and he froze for a moment, listening. Her breathing didn’t change. Slow. Deep. Unconscious.

He checked anyway. Leaned close to her face, watching for the flutter of her eyelids, the twitch of her lips, any sign that she might surface from the darkness. Nothing. Her chest rose and fell in a steady, unbroken rhythm. Her mouth was slightly open. A strand of hair had fallen across her cheek.

She was dead unconscious.

A small smile tugged at the corner of Dex’s mouth. Not a cruel one. Not triumphant. Something softer, more private—like the smile of a collector admiring a rare and precious thing that no one else would ever see.

He poured a small amount of micellar water onto a cotton pad until it was damp but not dripping. Then he carefully pulled her upper half toward him, sliding one arm behind her shoulders and lifting her just enough to reach her face. She was limp in his grip, heavy with sleep, her head lolling against his forearm. The warmth of her body seeped through the thin fabric of her nightshirt.

With feathery light touches—so gentle, so tender that anyone watching might have mistaken it for affection—he began to wipe the makeup from her face. Slow, circular motions across her forehead. Soft swipes along her cheekbones. Delicate dabs beneath her eyes, careful not to press too hard. He turned her chin slightly to the side and cleaned the residue from her jaw, her nose, the corners of her mouth.

She didn’t stir. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t make a single sound.

Underneath the makeup, layer by layer, Dex could see how tired she truly was. The faint purple shadows beneath her eyes. The slight pallor of her skin. The fine lines at the corners of her mouth that hadn’t been there in the photos on her walls—the ones of her and brother, brighter and untouched by grief.

But there was something else there too. With the tea in her system and the pills pulling her under, her face had softened into an expression he had never seen on her while awake. Peace. Not the forced kind, the I’m-fine smile she wore like armour. Real peace. The kind that came from a deeper rest than sleep alone could provide.

Dex set the used cotton pad aside and looked down at her. Clean-faced. Quiet. Completely at his mercy.

She had never looked more beautiful.

He stayed there, still for a moment, her head cradled against his arm. Her breath warm against his skin. The apartment was silent. The world was asleep. And Dex was exactly where he had wanted to be for months—close enough to touch her, close enough to keep her, close enough to do whatever he wanted.

He knew of her brother’s passing. It had happened a little before he had met her—just a few months, maybe less. The timing was something Dex had turned over in his mind more times than he cared to admit. A part of him—the part he tried to keep buried beneath layers of routine and restraint—was quietly, shamefully thankful. Because her brother’s, Matthew was his name if he recalled correctly, death had left her broken. Fractured in ways that didn’t show on the surface but that Dex could sense the way a shark senses blood in water from miles away. And that brokenness had left room for him. Room to step into the spaces Matt had once occupied. Room to pick up the pieces, one by one and make himself indispensable.

It had made it easier. Easier to insert himself into her life. Into her daily routine. Into her mornings and evenings, her grocery runs and her quiet nights in. And now, into her bedroom.

For the most part, she had come to him willingly. That was the truth Dex clung to, the rope he wound around his knuckles whenever the guilt threatened to pull him under. She had offered herself to him willingly—the cookies, the dinners, the smiles, the thank you’s. She had invited him in. She had left the door open. She had asked for his help, again and again, as if she trusted him with something more than just a borrowed tool or a fixing hand.

Just like now. Even unconscious, even drugged, even utterly incapable of consent—she had brought him here. She had called out for him. She had let him in. She had handed him the keys, in every way that mattered.

Dex pushed the thought aside. Or rather, he reshaped it into something he could live with.

The micellar water had done its work, wiping away the last traces of the night. In the faint light of the night, filtered through the thin curtains and softened to a pale silver glow, Dex could see her clearly. Not the version she presented to the world. The real her.

He traced the ridges and contours of her face with his eyes first, then with his fingertips. Featherlight. Barely there. The gentle slope of her forehead. The delicate arch of her brows. The soft plump of her cheeks, still flushed with the last remnants of alcohol. The impossible length of her lashes, dense against her skin, fanned out like tiny wings. And then—his touch hovered, hesitated, then descended—the fullness of her lips.

Dex’s attention had often gone to them. In the hallway. Across the dinner table. Through the thin walls when he heard her laughing on the phone. They were so pretty. Soft-looking. Unfairly pink even without lipstick. And kissable. God, they were kissable in a way that had haunted his quieter moments, that had slipped into his dreams uninvited and overstayed their welcome.

He wondered what it would be like to actually kiss them. To press his own lips against theirs. To feel them part beneath his, warm and yielding. To hold them with his own, gently at first, then harder, until he had tasted everything she had to offer.

But would she really kiss him? Knowing the kind of person he was? The things he had done? The person he was becoming?

The questions arrived like cold water and Dex shoved them aside. Because now—now, with her unconscious and pliant and utterly his—she wouldn’t mind it. She was sweet. So sweet. And surely, after all he had done for her, after all the times he had been there, after all the times she had said “thank you, Dex” in that soft, grateful voice, after “I didn’t know who else to ask” and “couldn’t do it without you” with that sweet voice and sweeter smile—surely, all of that added up to something. Surely, one would assume she wanted it too. Why else would she do all that? Why else would she look at him like that, speak to him like that, invite him into her life so completely?

She wanted it. She just didn’t know it yet. Or maybe she did. Maybe deep down, beneath the grief and the exhaustion and the walls she had built, she had always known. And she had been waiting. Waiting for him to finally take what she had been offering all along.

“You’re so sweet for me, doll,” Dex murmured, his voice barely above a breath. He caressed her cheek, his thumb sweeping across the soft skin just below her eye. She was so incredibly sweet. And now, so incredibly pliable under his touch. Limp and warm and utterly unresisting. She didn’t pull away. Didn’t frown. Didn’t open her eyes. She simply lay there, breathing softly, her lips slightly parted, her body completely surrendered to the darkness he had given her.

Dex leaned closer. His heart was pounding now, a heavy, insistent rhythm that seemed to fill the entire room. He could feel the warmth radiating from her skin, could smell the faint traces of her perfume mingled with the chamomile and the lingering sharpness of alcohol. His hand slid from her cheek to the back of her neck, fingers threading gently through her tangled hair.

And then he kissed her.

It started softly—a brush, a whisper, a question she couldn’t answer. Her lips were warm and slightly chapped, tasting faintly of the tea he had made her and the liquor she had drunk hours ago. The sensation was unlike anything he had imagined. Beyond euphoric. Electric and devastating and entirely, utterly consuming.

But soft wasn’t enough. It was never enough for Dex.

He pressed harder, his mouth moving against hers with increasing urgency. She didn’t respond, couldn’t respond and somehow that only fuelled the fire burning low in his gut. He was chasing a high now, the same way he had chased so many other things in his life, the same way he had chased her. His lips parted hers and he deepened the kiss, tasting her properly for the first time.

A small amount of drool had pooled at the corner of her limp mouth, escaping past her slack lips. Dex noticed it immediately. And then, without hesitation, he lapped it up—gladly, hungrily, like ambrosia. Like something sacred and forbidden all at once. The faint saltiness of her, the warmth of her breath, the complete and total surrender of her body beneath his hands.

He pulled back just slightly, his forehead almost touching hers, his breathing ragged. His thumb traced her lower lip, slick with their combined moisture.

“See?” he whispered, his voice low and thick. “You wanted this too.”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.

He stayed there, his lips smiling against hers after drinking her in like a man dying of thirst. The world outside her bedroom window shifted—the moon creeping across the sky, the wind picking up and then dying down again, the distant wail of a siren somewhere in the city. But Dex noticed none of it.

“Poor baby,” Dex cooed, his voice dripping with a tenderness that felt almost obscene in the quiet darkness of her bedroom. His hand drifted from her cheek, fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path down the column of her neck. He could feel her pulse there—steady, unhurried, completely unaware of the predator tracing circles against her skin. “You must be so frustrated.”

His hand curled around her neck, not squeezing—not yet—just resting there, palm against her throat, feeling the gentle vibration of her breathing. The weight of it. The intimacy of it. He could kill her right now, he realized. It would be so easy. One hard press, one sustained grip and the light behind her eyes would flicker out forever. But that wasn’t what he wanted. Death was final. Death was boring. He wanted her alive. He wanted her aware. He wanted her to know, eventually, that she had always belonged to him.

“That’s why you went clubbing, didn’t you?” His voice dropped, losing some of its honeyed warmth, hardening at the edges. “To forget. To drown yourself.” He thought about her in that silvery dress, the one now folded neatly on the chair in the corner. Thought about her pressed against strangers on a crowded dance floor, bodies grinding, hands roaming, men leering at her. His grip on her neck tightened—just a fraction, just enough to make her breath hitch slightly in her sleep. “Pressed against men who want only one thing from you?”

The thought of her dancing against strangers sent a spike of cold rage through his chest. It was irrational—he knew it was irrational. She didn’t belong to him. Not yet. Not officially. But in his mind, in the deep, possessive place where logic never ventured, she had belonged to him from the moment she had knocked on his door with that plate of cookies. The thought of anyone else touching her made his vision narrow, his jaw clench, his fingers twitch with the urge to commit immense violence. He wanted to find every man who had looked at her tonight, every man who had breathed the same air as her and kill them. Slowly. Thoroughly. One by one.

He didn’t blame her, though. Not really. He told himself that as he forced his hand to relax, as he reminded himself to breathe. She was grieving too. Her brother’s death had hollowed her out, left her raw and searching for anything to fill the void. The clubbing, the drinking, the desperate need to feel something other than loss—it wasn’t her fault. She was broken and broken things made poor decisions.

But she had him. She had him. So why did she feel the need to do that? Why wasn’t he enough? Why did she have to go out and offer herself to the world when he was right here, waiting, patient, devoted?

Dex exhaled slowly, pushing the anger down into the place where he kept all his sharp edges. It didn’t matter now. She was here. She was his. And tonight, she would learn what that meant.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his thumb stroking the side of her throat in soothing circles. “I’m not mad. Not really. I understand. You’re hurting. You’re lonely. You needed something I haven’t given you yet.”

His smile returned, softer now, almost playful. Almost dangerous.

“But you’ll have to make up for it you know,” he said, his voice lilting with false sweetness. “You had your fun tonight. Dancing. Drinking. Letting strange men look at you.” His hand slid lower, trailing down her chest, over the thin fabric of her purple nightshirt. He could feel the warmth of her skin through the cotton, the gentle swell of her breasts beneath his palm. “I deserve some too, yes?”

He didn’t wait for an answer. She couldn’t give one. Not that he cared for it now anyway.

His hand settled over the curve of her breast and for a moment, he simply held it there. The weight of it. The softness. The way it fit perfectly against his palm, as if it had been made for him. Dex’s breath caught in his throat. The moral part of his conscience—the voice that had once whispered warnings, that had once reminded him of right and wrong, of boundaries and consent—had drowned in his desire long ago. He couldn’t remember the last time he had heard it clearly. Maybe the day he met her. Maybe earlier. Maybe it had always been a weak and flickering thing, easily extinguished.

He had never touched her like this before. Sure, there had been occasional accidental touches—a hand on her lower back when he guided her through a doorway, fingers brushing hers when she handed him a cup of coffee. Times when he had caught her from falling, his arm wrapping around her waist, his hand landing just at the curve beneath her breasts. But he had never actually held them. Never allowed himself to cross that final line.

Until now.

His fingers traced the outline of her breast through the fabric, slow and exploratory. Then his thumb found her nipple, already slightly peaked from the cool air of the bedroom and began to circle it. Softly at first. Then with more intention.

He felt it happen. The way her body responded to his touch even in sleep. The way the sensitive peak hardened further beneath his thumb, pressing against the thin cotton like it was reaching for him. A small, surprised sound escaped Dex’s lips—half laugh, half groan of pleasure.

“Oh?” he said, genuinely delighted. He circled again, watching her face for any sign of awareness. Nothing. Just that deep, drugged sleep. But her body knew. Her body was responding instinctively, as if some primal part of her recognized what it wanted even while her mind was trapped in darkness.

He was absolutely loving this. The way her nipple tightened under his touch. The way her breathing changed—not waking, but deepening, as if her body was sinking further into sensation. The way she lay there, completely vulnerable, completely at his mercy, while her own flesh betrayed her.

“You like this,” he said, not a question. A statement. A discovery. He chuckled softly, the sound low and warm and utterly devoid of innocence. His fingers rolled her nipple between them, gently at first, then with more pressure. He could feel it stiffen further, pebbling against his fingertips like it was begging for more. “Don’t you, doll? Even asleep. Even with the pills. Your body knows what it needs.”

A part of him wished she was awake. Not a large part—the larger part was too busy enjoying the reality of her beneath his hands—but a part, yes. He wished he could see her face. Wished he could watch her brows knit together in that way they did when she was concentrating, or confused, or feeling something she couldn’t name. Wished he could hear the soft sounds that would escape from her lips—little gasps, tiny whimpers, the kind of sounds she probably didn’t even know she made.

He wished she would say his name.

Dex.

Not as a neighbour. Not as a friend. But as the man touching her, the man making her feel things she had never felt before. Breathless. Needy. His.

Dex’s hands moved with a deliberateness that belied the chaos simmering beneath his skin. He lifted her shirt slowly, not because he was hesitant but because he wanted to draw out the moment. Savour it. Commit every second to memory the way a thief does to the contents of a vault before emptying it.

She hadn’t been wearing a bra. Of course not. Given the make of the silvery dress she had worn to the club, the way it cinched and draped and clung to her like a second skin, she wouldn’t have needed one. The dress had done all the work, holding her in place with architecture and intention. So why would she bother putting one on now? Why would she fumble with straps and hooks in her drunken, drugged state when she could simply fall into bed as she was?

Dex was grateful for that small mercy. Her small mercies.

He didn’t wait for any fanfare. There was no drumroll, no hesitation, no last-minute check of his conscience. That part of him had gone quiet now—muffled beneath the weight of want and the thin, fragile justification that she had brought him here. She had asked for his help. She had trusted him. She had left the door open.

He dove in.

His mouth latched onto her stiffened peak with a hunger that startled even him. The heat of her skin. The soft give of her flesh beneath his tongue. The way her body remained utterly limp and unresponsive—no arch of her back, no sharp intake of breath, no hand threading through his hair. She was asleep. Deeply, chemically asleep. And that silence, that absence of reaction, should have given him pause.

It didn’t.

He could taste the salt on her skin—the faint residue of sweat from the club, from the dancing, from the long night that had drained her. Beneath that, something else. A taste that was so uniquely hers that Dex knew he would recognize it anywhere, even blindfolded, even decades from now. Sweet. Subtle. Intoxicating in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.

Her skin was so soft under his lips and teeth. Softer than he had imagined and he had imagined it, more times than he cared to count. In the dark of his own apartment, with his hand wrapped around himself and her name a whisper on his lips, he had pictured this. But the reality was sharper. More vivid. More dangerous.

He felt the animal urge rise up from somewhere deep and primal—the need to sink his teeth in, to mark her flesh, to claim her in a way that couldn’t be washed away with soap and water. He wanted to taste the iron tang of her blood on his tongue, to leave behind a bruise that would bloom purple and blue across her skin, to brand her as his in the most primitive way possible.

But he knew he couldn’t. Not yet. Not now.

He couldn’t leave a mark on her skin that she might notice later. A bruise on her chest would raise questions. A bite mark would be impossible to explain away. She would look in the mirror whenever the drugs finally released their grip and she would see something she didn’t remember earning. And she would start to ask questions. And questions led to doubts. And doubts led to distance.

Dex couldn’t afford distance. Not after he had come this close.

Still, the thought lingered. The secret thrill of it. The idea of her waking up with marks on her body—tender, unexplained, mysterious—and having no idea how she got them. Would she run her fingers over the bruises and feel a shiver she couldn’t explain? Would she stare at herself in the bathroom mirror, turning this way and that, trying to piece together the fragments of a night that refused to come into focus? Would she wonder, even for a moment, if she had done something she didn’t remember?

Dex smiled against her skin. The thought was almost as sweet as the taste of her.

Y/n wasn’t a prude. Dex knew that much. He had watched the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention—the quick, shy glances across the hallway, the way her eyes lingered on his hands when he fixed something for her, the slight flush that crept up her neck whenever he stood too close. She wanted him. Maybe not consciously. Maybe not in words she could speak aloud. But the body didn’t lie and Dex had spent years learning to read the subtle language of bodily reactions.

He had also spent years learning other things. Tricks he had picked up at the bureau. Skills that blurred the line between investigation and violation. He told himself, at first, that he was just trying to find common interests with a friend. That stumbling across her internet search history, even the private ones, the ones she had cleared and deleted and thought no one would ever see, was an accident. A byproduct of curiosity. A harmless peek behind the curtain.

But all pretence was dropped now. There was no point in lying to himself anymore. Not when he had his lips around her, not when he could feel the soft weight of her other breast against his palm, not when every rationalization he had ever constructed had crumbled to dust beneath the weight of what he was doing.

What use was pretence when he had his mouth on her like this? When he was licking and sucking like there was no tomorrow, like the world outside her bedroom window had ceased to exist and all that remained was the two of them—one conscious, one unconscious, one taking, one giving without knowing?

His hands kneaded her breasts with a rhythm that was almost tender, thumbs circling her nipples, fingers pressing into the soft swell of her flesh. He could feel her heartbeat beneath his palms—slow and steady, undisturbed by his ministrations. The drugs had her in a deep sleep, the kind that drowned out everything. She wouldn’t feel this tomorrow. Wouldn’t remember. Wouldn’t know that his hands had been here, that his mouth had been here, that he had helped himself to what she had offered so freely.

His lips moved further down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along her torso. The dip of her sternum. The soft plane of her stomach. The delicate ridges of her ribs, each one a note in a song only he could hear. He lingered at her navel, breathing her in, feeling the subtle rise and fall of her belly beneath his cheek.

She was so still. So quiet. So utterly, devastatingly his.

Dex kissed lower still, his hands sliding down to grip her hips, his thumbs pressing into the soft flesh just above the waistband of her shorts. He could feel the heat radiating from her, could smell the faint, musky scent of her and for a moment—just a moment—he closed his eyes and let himself pretend.

Pretend that she was awake. That her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer instead of lying limp at her sides. That the sounds he was drawing from her were moans of pleasure instead of the soft, unconscious breaths of a woman who didn’t know she was being touched.

But pretending was dangerous. Pretending was how you lost yourself.

Dex opened his eyes and looked up at her face—peaceful, blank, empty. And then he lowered his mouth again, because the truth was simpler than the fantasy.

She didn’t need to be awake for this. She didn’t need to want it. She just needed to be here.

And she was. She would be.

Dex’s fingers found the waistband of her shorts. He paused for a moment, his thumb tracing the elastic edge, savouring the ordinary intimacy of it. This wasn’t the silvery dress or the lace from her drawer. This was the real her. The unguarded her. The her that only emerged when she thought no one was watching.

He pulled her shorts down slowly, carefully, lifting her hips just enough to slide the fabric over her curves and down her thighs. She didn’t stir. Her legs remained limp and heavy, offering no resistance, no assistance. Dex took his time, peeling the shorts away from her skin inch by inch, until they cleared her feet and he could set them aside. He folded them once, neatly and placed them at the bottom of her bed. Old habits. Everything in its place.

Then he spread her legs.

Not roughly. Not hurriedly. Just enough to make room for himself, to create the space he needed to do what he had been imagining for months. Her knees fell open without a fight, her body still deep in that chemical slumber, utterly indifferent to the hands arranging her like a doll.

Dex moved down the bed, positioning himself between her thighs. He lowered his face until he was inches from her sex, close enough to feel the warmth radiating from her, close enough to see the delicate dampness already gathering at the fabric of her underwear. And then he pressed his nose against her—directly against her, through the thin cotton and took a deep, slow breath.

The scent of her flooded his senses. Sweet and musky and unmistakably, devastatingly her. It was intoxicating in a way he had never know. His head spun. His eyes fluttered half-closed. For a moment, he forgot where he was, who he was, what had brought him here. There was only her. Only this.

He pulled back with a huff of a laugh—soft, almost disbelieving. His heart was pounding, his lips parted, his breath coming faster than it should. He felt drunk. Drunk on her, on the power of having her like this, on the sheer, staggering reality of what he was doing.

“Oh, darling,” he muttered, his voice thick and low, barely more than a whisper. “You’re fucking perfect.”

He meant it. Every word. In the light filtering through her curtains, with her legs spread and her chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths, she looked like something painted. Something sacred. Something made just for him.

Dex leaned down again, this time using his teeth. He caught the waistband of her underwear and tugged it downward with careful precision. The fabric slid over her hips, down her thighs, past her knees, until he could pull it free entirely with a flick of his head. He held it in his hand for a moment, soft and warm from her body and felt the urge rise like a tide. Pocket it. Keep it. Take a piece of her home with him, a secret souvenir that no one would ever know about.

But he knew that wasn’t the wisest decision. She might notice. She might count her laundry or find it missing, or wonder where her favourite pair had gone. Small details could unravel everything. So he put it aside with the shorts, adding it to the small pile of her clothes at the bottom of the bed.

His hand found her calf, warm and smooth beneath his palm. He pulled her toward him, bending her leg at the knee and settling her calf against his shoulder. The position was intimate, almost loving—the kind of hold a lover might use, not a predator. Dex liked that. He liked the blur.

He began with her calf, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the curve of her muscle. Little pecks at first, then longer ones, his lips dragging against her skin. He licked a slow stripe from her ankle to the back of her knee, tasting the faint salt of her, the lotion she might’ve applied, the simple, human warmth of her. She tasted like nothing and everything. Like a woman. Like something he always wanted and didn’t realise till this very moment.

He travelled downward, his mouth finding the delicate skin of her inner thigh. This was softer, more sensitive, more vulnerable. He could feel the heat radiating from her core, could smell her more intensely here and it drove him forward like a compass needle finding north. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to her thighs, alternating sides, working his way up and then down again, never quite reaching where she might want him most. Not yet. He was taking his sweet time.

And then he licked her—long, slow stripes along the sensitive skin of her inner thigh, from knee to groin and back again. Her skin was almost velvety here and he could feel the fine hairs rise beneath his tongue. She was so responsive, even in sleep.

A part of him wanted to leave a mark. Not the kind she would see immediately—not on her neck or her chest or anywhere obvious. But somewhere subtle. Somewhere she might not notice for days, if ever. A small, secret bruise that would fade before she found it, but that would exist just long enough to satisfy something primal in him. A claim staked in flesh. A signature carved into her skin without her knowledge.

He lifted her leg higher, tilting it to expose the back of her thigh—a spot that was hard to see on oneself, hidden in the crease where thigh met buttock. Dex pressed his lips to that hidden patch of skin and sucked. Gently at first, then harder, drawing the blood to the surface, leaving behind a small, dark blossom that would bloom purple by morning. It was small. Subtle. She might not notice it for days and even if she did, she might dismiss it as a bruise from dancing, or from bumping into furniture, or from any number of innocent accidents.

But Dex would know. He would carry the memory of putting it there.

A small groan escaped Y/n’s lips—soft, almost indistinct, more breath than sound. Dex froze instantly, his mouth still pressed against her thigh, his entire body going rigid. His eyes darted up to her face, watching for any sign of consciousness. A flutter of eyelids. A furrow of brows. A shift in breathing.

Nothing. Her eyes remained closed. Her face remained slack. The groan had been reflexive—a response from a body that was still asleep, still drugged, still unaware. But it was a warning. A reminder that sleeping pills rendered a person unconscious, yes, but not entirely unresponsive. He still had to be careful. He still had to pay attention.

Maybe I’ll alter the dosage for next time, he thought, the idea sliding into his mind like a key into a lock. A little more. Just enough to ensure complete stillness. Complete silence. Complete surrender.

He paused at the thought.

Next time?

Would there be a next time to this?

Dex looked up at Y/n, lying in her bed like something out of a painting. Her hair had spread across the pillow in soft waves—like a halo, he thought, though the comparison felt almost blasphemous given what he was doing. Her lips were parted, slightly swollen from the kisses he had pressed to them, still glistening with the moisture he had left behind. Her shirt had bunched up above her breasts, the purple fabric with blue flowers now slick with saliva in places. And then further down—to himself, positioned between her legs, close enough to feel the heat of her, close enough to see the way her pussy glistened in the low light, wet and ready and his for the taking.

She couldn’t do a thing to stop it. That was the thought that settled over him like a blanket, warm and heavy and suffocating all at once. She couldn’t push him away. Couldn’t say no. Couldn’t even open her eyes. She was completely, utterly, helplessly at his mercy.

And all of it was so easy.

So why wouldn’t there be a next time? Why would he stop at one night, one taste, one fleeting moment of possession when she would wake up tomorrow with no memory of any of it? When he could do this again and again, refining his approach, learning her body, claiming more of her each time? When she would continue to thank him, continue to trust him, continue to invite him into her life because she had no idea what he was doing in the dark?

Dex smiled against her thigh, soft and private and deeply, terribly satisfied.

There would be a next time. There would be many next times.

This was only the beginning.

“You’re not getting rid of me so easily, doll.”

The words came out low, almost a growl—not threatening, but possessive in a way that surprised even himself.

Dex spread her legs a bit more. His knees pressed into the mattress on either side of her thighs and the bed dipped under his weight. She shifted slightly—an unconscious response, or maybe not so unconscious after all. The drugs had done their work, but somewhere beneath the surface, some part of her knew he was there. Some part of her had been waiting for this.

He leaned over and kissed her again.

This kiss was different from the ones before. Messier. More animalistic. The careful restraint he had shown earlier—the featherlight touches, the tentative press of lips had burned away, leaving only the raw hunger beneath. He let his saliva pool on the underside of his tongue, let it gather and warm, and then he parted her lips with his own and let it drip down into her mouth. Into that soft, waiting, pliable space that she had opened for him without resistance.

She didn’t choke. Didn’t gag. Her body accepted what he gave her the way it accepted everything else tonight—quietly, completely, trustingly.

Dex tilted her head up with one hand cupped beneath her jaw, adjusting the angle of her throat so the saliva would slide down naturally. So, she would swallow it without thinking, without waking, without breaking the fragile spell that held her in that twilight space between sleeping and waking. He watched her throat work reflexively, a small, involuntary motion that sent a jolt of satisfaction straight through him.

Good girl, he thought, though he didn’t say it aloud. Not yet. That word was for later, when she was awake enough to hear it, when she was ready for it.

His length had been stirring in his pants from the second he had first put his hands on her from the moment he had lifted her shirt and seen the soft swell of her breasts, bare and unguarded. But now, with his body pressed between her legs and the taste of her still fresh on his tongue, it was straining harder against the fabric of his sweatpants. Demanding. Insistent. The ache was almost painful, but he ignored it. This wasn’t just about him. Not yet.

“Let me get a taste of you first,” he murmured against her lips, pulling back just enough to look down at her peaceful sleeping face. “Then you’ll have your turn, hmm?”

He patted her cheek gently—two soft taps, the kind of gesture that was almost affectionate, almost tender, if you didn’t know what was coming next. Her head lolled slightly to the side, her lips still parted, her breathing still slow and even. Dex moved back down her body, trailing his hands along her sides as he went. He could feel the ridges of her ribs, the soft dip of her waist, the flare of her hips.

Then he buried his face between her folds.

The first breath was always his favourite. The musky scent of her filled his lungs and he felt something in his chest unlock. He had imagined this so many times, in so many lonely hours on the other side of the wall. But imagination was a pale shadow of reality. Nothing compared to the warmth of her, the wetness that had collected there as a natural physical response but Dex accepted it as proof. Proof that her body knew what her mind could not consciously acknowledge. Proof that even in sleep, even drugged, even unaware, some part of her wanted this. Wanted him.

He licked up a slow stripe from her entrance to her clit, savouring the taste of her on his tongue. Sweet and sharp and utterly intoxicating. And then he felt it—a hitch in her breathing. Small. Barely perceptible. A tiny catch in the rhythm of her chest that might have been nothing, might have been a dream, might have been her body finally beginning to respond to what he was doing.

Dex paused, lifting his head just enough to look up at her face. Still asleep. Still peaceful. But there was something different now—a faint flush creeping across her cheeks, a slight furrow between her brows, as if her body was trying to surface from the darkness and her mind was holding it back.

“Don’t worry,” he said softly, his breath warm against her most sensitive skin. “I’ll make sure you enjoy it too, sweetheart.”

He spread her folds apart with his thumbs, exposing her completely to his gaze and his mouth. The dim light from the window caught the slickness of her, the way she glistened like something precious pulled from deep water. She was ready—so obviously, undeniably ready—waiting for him in a way that made his mouth water and his restraint crumble to dust. This wasn’t reluctant. This wasn’t tolerance. This was acceptance.

And then he lowered his head again.

He lapped at her like a man starving. No—that wasn’t quite right. A starving man eats with desperation, with urgency, with the fear that the food might disappear before he’s had his fill. Dex wasn’t afraid of that. She wasn’t going anywhere. She was right here, spread open beneath him and he had all night.

It was something less civilized than a man. Something older. Something that existed before manners and restraint and the careful masks people wore in daylight. Something hungry and single-minded and utterly without shame.

His tongue moved in broad, flat strokes first, covering as much of her as he could in one long, slow pass. He wanted to taste all of her—not just the center of her, but the edges, the folds, the soft skin of her inner thighs where her scent clung so preciously. Then he tightened his focus, his tongue circling in smaller and smaller spirals until he was tracing the delicate bud of her clit with the tip, teasing her with the promise of more.

Then came the quick flicks—fast, rhythmic, relentless.

Her hips twitched. Involuntarily at first, a small jerk like a muscle spasm. But then again and again, a stuttering rhythm that matched the movements of his tongue. She wasn’t waking. Not yet. The drugs still held her in their soft, grey embrace. But she was close. So close. Dex could feel it in the way her body was beginning to respond, beginning to surface, beginning to remember that it was capable of pleasure even if her mind was still adrift.

Her breathing grew faster. Shallower. Her chest rose and fell beneath the rumpled nightshirt, the purple fabric with blue flowers shifting with each quickening breath. The rhythm was no longer the slow, steady tide of deep sleep. It was more tumultuous now—uneven, catching, stuttering in her throat like she was trying to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

Dex groaned against her, the vibration of it traveling through her flesh like a current. And then he felt it—a subtle shift beneath his hands. Her back arched. Just slightly. Just the barest lift of her hips off the mattress, pressing herself closer to his mouth, seeking more of what he was giving her.

That’s it, he thought, the words forming clearly in his mind even as his tongue never stopped moving. There you are, sunshine. Come for me.

He doubled his efforts. Licking and sucking and devouring her with a focus that bordered on religious—not the quiet, solemn kind, but the ecstatic, crazed kind. The kind where you lost yourself in the act of worship. His tongue pressed flat against her clit then curled, then flickered in patterns as if he had learned from hours of study and practice. Not on her, of course. Not until tonight. But he had made a study of pleasure, the same way he had made a study of her. He knew what he was doing.

The taste of her flooded his mouth—sweet and sharp and complex, like something that couldn’t be reduced to a single flavor. It dripped down his chin, warm and slick and Dex realized with a jolt that he was making a mess. A beautiful, obscene mess. But a mess nonetheless.

He pulled one hand away from her thigh and slid it beneath his face, cupping his palm under his chin to catch what was falling. He wouldn’t let any of her drip onto her sheets. Couldn’t. She would notice that in the morning—a stain she didn’t remember making, a mystery she couldn’t solve. And while Dex enjoyed mysteries, he preferred the ones he could control.

He gathered what had collected in his palm and brought it to his lips, slurping it up with an audible sound that seemed too loud in the quiet room. The taste was even more concentrated now, warm from his skin and he closed his eyes for a moment just to savour it.

Then he looked back at her.

Her face was still slack with sleep, but there was something new there now. A flush across her cheeks. A slight parting of her lips. Her brows were drawn together in the faintest furrow, as if she was dreaming of something intense, something that was pulling her toward an edge she couldn’t see.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice rough and low. “Still asleep and already falling apart for me. You have no idea what you look like right now. No idea what you’re doing to me.”

Dex felt his length strain almost painfully against the fabric of his sweatpants—a dull, insistent ache that had been building since the moment he first stepped into her apartment. It was asking him, even begging him, to act. To provide himself some relief. To finally have his share too. The need thrummed through his veins like a second heartbeat, hot and demanding and growing harder to ignore with every passing second.

He looked over her sprawled beneath him, bare and beautiful and completely surrendered. Tasting her like this was delectable, yes. The sweetness of her, the way her body responded even in sleep, the soft sounds she made without knowing she was making them. All of it was everything he had dreamed of and more.

But he wanted more. Not just more of her body, though God knew he wanted that too, wanted to bury himself inside her until neither of them could remember their own names. No, what he truly wanted was more warmth. More of the personality that had drawn him in and made him stay. The way she laughed at her own jokes. The way she hummed while she cooked. The way she looked at him sometimes, like he was more than just a friend.

He wanted her to open her pretty eyes. To say his name in that sweet tone of hers—not slurred with alcohol or thickened by drugs, but clear and conscious and meant just for him. He imagined it so vividly that he could almost see it: her eyelids fluttering open, her gaze finding his in the dim light, a slow smile spreading across her face as she reached up to cup his cheek with her warm palm.

“Dex,” she would whisper, her voice still rough with sleep but already full of that particular tenderness she reserved just for him. “Take me.”

The fantasy was so real, so achingly close, that Dex had to close his eyes for a moment and steady his breathing.

Taking what he had taken so far—the kisses, the taste of her, the intimacy of touching her while she slept—was still within the bounds of his twisted morality. But weren’t first times supposed to be well planned? Magical? The kind of memory you carried with you for the rest of your life, warm and golden and untouched by regret?

Surely he couldn’t take that away from her. He cared far too much for her to do that.

Dex had it all in his head already—had been building it for weeks, in fact, in the quiet hours when he couldn’t sleep and the walls between their apartments felt too thin and too thick all at once. He saw it perfectly: the bed covered in rose petals, deep red against the white sheets. Scented candles flickering on every surface, casting soft shadows across the walls. Soft music playing from somewhere just out of sight. And Y/n lying in the center of it all, looking up at him with that shy blush on her cheeks, her lips parted, her eyes shining with anticipation and trust.

That was how it was supposed to happen. That was the memory she deserved.

If he wanted this relationship to last and God, he did, more than he had ever wanted anything in his life—he had to build it properly. On a foundation of intention and care, not haste and hunger. He had to prove to her that he was worth the risk she was taking, that he could be the man she needed him to be. The man who brought her dinner when she was sad and fixed her sink when it leaked and planned first times with rose petals and candles and music.

He imagined what it would be like to be in a real relationship with her. Not just stolen moments in hallways and carefully orchestrated coincidences. Something real. Something lasting.

Him coming back from work, exhausted and frayed around the edges, and her greeting him at the door with a kiss and a question about his day. The simple domesticity of it made his chest ache. Or him preparing dinner in the kitchen while she sat at the counter, still in her work clothes, telling him about her day at the law firm—crappy clients who didn’t appreciate her, firm partners who were being annoying, a paralegal who kept microwaving fish in the breakroom. The mundane details of a shared life. The small, beautiful ordinary moments that added up to something extraordinary.

It was all he wanted. All he had ever wanted, really, though he hadn’t known it until she moved in next door with her cookies and her smiles and her quiet, persistent kindness.

Dex looked down at her unconscious form—so peaceful, so trusting, so completely unaware of the war being waged inside him. He smiled, small and soft, and reached out to brush a strand of hair from her forehead.

“I won’t take you yet, darling,” he said quietly, the endearment slipping out as naturally as breathing. “Not like this. You deserve better than this.”

His body screamed in protest, his length still straining against his sweatpants, demanding attention he wasn’t ready to give. But Dex had spent years learning to ignore his body’s demands. Years of discipline and control and putting one foot in front of the other even when every fiber of his being wanted to run in the opposite direction. He could wait a little longer.

“But we still need to do something about this, hmm?” He looked down at the obvious bulge in his pants and let out a soft, rueful laugh. The situation was almost absurd—here he was, hard and aching, kneeling between the legs of the woman he wanted more than anything and he was choosing to walk away.

Almost.

Dex shifted his weight, settling back on his heels. His hand hovered over the waistband of his sweatpants and he glanced at Y/n’s face one more time. Still asleep. Still beautiful. Still completely unaware.

He wouldn’t take her. Not tonight. But that didn’t mean he had to leave empty-handed.

“It’ll be quick. I promise.”

The words were meant for her, but also for himself—a reassurance whispered into the quiet darkness of her bedroom, an anchor to keep him from drifting too far into the depths of his own hunger. Dex pressed a kiss to her forehead, soft and almost reverent, before shifting his attention to the task at hand.

He reached down and grabbed both of her legs, his hands firm around her calves. Her skin was warm and smooth beneath his palms and he lingered for just a moment, savouring the feel of her. Then he crossed her legs at the ankles, one over the other, and pressed them together tightly. The position held her thighs flush against one another, leaving no gap, no space between. With one hand, he kept them pinned in place, his grip firm but not painful. With the other, he slid beneath her waist and lifted her hips just enough to slide a pillow underneath.

The angle was better now. More deliberate. Her hips tilted upward slightly, her thighs pressed together in a perfect channel of warmth and softness. Dex adjusted himself between her legs, his breath coming faster now, his heart hammering against his ribs like a caged thing.

He pulled down his sweatpants first, the fabric pooling around his knees. Then his boxers followed, tugged down just enough to free himself. His length sprang forward, red and weeping at the tip, the evidence of his need glistening in the dim light. He had been hard for what felt like hours, had been fighting the urge to act since the moment he first touched her. Now, finally, he let himself breathe.

He took himself in his hand, his fingers wrapping around his shaft, and guided himself between her thighs. Right above her sex. The placement was deliberate, precise—close enough to feel everything, close enough to pretend, but not close enough to cross the line he had drawn for himself tonight. Had he thrusted just a little lower, just a fraction of an inch, he would be buried inside her right now. The thought sent a jolt of electricity through his spine and he had to close his eyes for a moment to steady himself.

A part of him felt bad for doing this. A small part, buried somewhere beneath the layers of want and need and justification. It whispered to him in a voice that sounded like guilt, like shame, like the ghost of the man he used to be before he started down this path. This isn’t right. She trusted you. This isn’t what she meant.

But what could he do? Benjamin Leonard Poindexter was an animal of need after all. He had spent so long denying himself, so long keeping his distance and playing the role of the good neighbour, the helpful friend, the safe pair of hands. And now that he had her—now that she was here, warm and soft and willing in the way that mattered most—he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop.

He began to move.

At first, his thrusts were slow. Experimental. He pushed his length between her thighs, feeling the press of her skin against his on all sides. The friction was exquisite—the warmth of her, the softness of her, the way her thighs hugged him like they had been made for exactly this purpose. He could feel his own juices gathering at his tip, spreading between her legs with each pass, mixing with the evidence of her earlier arousal. The combination was slick and hot and utterly intoxicating.

His pace quickened almost without his permission. His hips snapped against her thighs in a rhythm that was less human and more instinctual, the kind of motion that came from somewhere deeper than thought, somewhere primal and raw. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, sharp and rhythmic, punctuated by the low, deep grunts that escaped Dex’s throat with every thrust. Beneath it all, a wet squelching sound, the unmistakable noise of liquids gathering and shifting between their bodies.

He was almost like a rabid dog now—mindless, driven, consumed by the singular need to chase his release. He had told her it would be quick and he hadn’t been lying. His control was fraying at the edges, unravelling with every pass of his length between her thighs. He just needed this. Needed to feel her. Needed to feel himself get a taste of what he had wanted for so long. Even if it wasn’t everything. Even if it was only this.

Dex looked down at her face, searching for any sign of awareness. Her eyebrows had knit together slightly, a small furrow appearing between them. Her fingers twitched at her sides, just barely, just a flutter of movement, as if she could feel what he was doing somewhere distantly, somewhere in the fog of a dream she wouldn’t remember in the morning. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of heat through him.

She can feel it, he thought, wonder mixing with hunger. Some part of her knows.

He imagined what she might be dreaming. Perhaps she was running through a field, or falling from a great height or standing at the edge of something she couldn’t name. Perhaps she was dreaming of him—of his hands on her body, of his mouth on her skin, of the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t watching. He hoped so. He wanted to live in her dreams the way she lived in his waking thoughts.

“Just a little more,” Dex muttered, his voice strained and breathless. He quickened his pace, his hips pistoning between her thighs with increasing urgency. The wet sounds grew louder, obscener, mingling with the creak of the bedframe and the ragged rhythm of his breathing. His grip on her legs tightened, his fingers pressing into her skin hard enough to leave marks that would fade by morning.

He was close now. So close. The pressure built at the base of his spine, coiling tighter and tighter with every thrust, threatening to snap. His vision blurred at the edges, narrowed to the small space between her thighs where he moved in and out, in and out, chasing something that felt less like pleasure and more like salvation.

Just a little more.

With a sound that was half groan, half scream—something torn from the deepest part of his chest, raw and unrestrained—Dex let go.

The release crashed over him like a wave, white-hot and all-consuming, stealing the breath from his lungs and the strength from his limbs. His seed spilled between her thighs first, hot and thick, coating the soft skin where he had been thrusting moments before. Then, with each subsequent pulse, it spurted onto her stomach—stark white against the expanse of her belly, catching the dim light like something almost beautiful. The final strings shot higher, landing on her chest, her collarbones, the delicate hollow of her throat. A few stray drops marked the underside of her chin and Dex watched them with a kind of dazed fascination, as if he were observing something happening to someone else.

His eyes were screwed shut for the duration of it, his face twisted in an expression that hovered somewhere between ecstasy and agony. Every muscle in his body had gone tight, locked in the final throes of his peak, and for a few suspended seconds, the world outside her bedroom ceased to exist.

Then he felt movement.

Small. Subtle. Barely there. But unmistakable.

His heart dropped.

Dex’s eyes flew wide open, panic flooding his system with ice-cold adrenaline. He looked down at her face, really looked, and saw that Y/n’s eyes were half lidded, her lashes fluttering as if she were trying to surface from deep water. Her lips were parted and she was indistinctly murmuring something, the words too soft and too slurred to make out. Her fingers twitched again, more purposefully this time, and for one terrifying moment, Dex was certain she was waking up.

No. Not yet. Not now.

A wave of panic rose in his chest, hot and suffocating. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, could hear the rush of blood in his ears. His mind raced through possibilities—what would he say? How would he explain? The tea, the pills, the position she was in, the evidence cooling on her skin. There was no innocent explanation for any of it.

But then he noticed her eyes.

They were dazed. Unfocused. The glassy, wandering gaze of someone who was still caught somewhere between sleep and waking, not quite in either world. She wasn’t looking at him so much as through him, her pupils dilated, her stare unfixed and dreamy. She wasn’t fully conscious. Not yet. She was hovering on the edge, teetering between the darkness he had put her in and the light she was trying to reach.

Dex swallowed hard and forced his hands to stop shaking. He reached out and placed his palm gently against her cheek, his thumb stroking the soft skin just below her eye. The touch was tender, almost loving—the kind of gesture that could mean anything, depending on who was watching.

“Go to sleep, sunshine,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, the same tone he might use to calm a frightened animal or lull a child back to bed. “You’re okay. Just go back to sleep.”

Y/n hummed softly—a sound that might have been agreement, might have been acknowledgment, might have been nothing more than the involuntary vocalization of a body too drugged to form words. Her eyelids, which had been struggling to stay open, finally fluttered closed. Her breathing deepened again almost immediately, her body sinking back into the mattress as the pills reclaimed their hold on her.

Within seconds, she was under again. Deep, unconscious, unaware.

Dex let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding—a long, shaky exhale that seemed to drain the remaining tension from his shoulders. His heart was still racing, but the panic had begun to recede, replaced by something colder and more calculating.

That was too close, he thought. I really need to alter the dosage next time.

He had calculated carefully—had measured the pills, had accounted for her weight and her alcohol consumption and her general tolerance. But he hadn’t accounted for the possibility that the physical stimulation might pull her toward consciousness. His thrusts between her thighs, the sounds he had made, the sheer intensity of his release—any of it could have been enough to disturb the fragile equilibrium of her sleep.

He couldn’t afford another close call like this. Next time, he would crush an extra half tablet into her tea. Just to be safe.

Dex slipped out from between her thighs carefully, slowly, so as not to jostle her more than necessary. He set her legs down on the bed one at a time, arranging them in a position that looked natural rather than posed. Then he stood up and surveyed the scene before him.

The mess was considerable. His seed gleamed on her skin in the low light, stark and damning. The sheets beneath her were damp in places and the pillow he had placed under her hips had shifted during his exertions. He needed to move quickly. Quietly. Methodically.

Dex grabbed a handful of tissues from the box on her nightstand and set to work.

He wiped the stains from her skin with almost feather-light touches, dabbing and cleaning with a gentleness that belied the urgency thrumming through him. He was careful—so careful—to not disrupt her sleep. Each swipe of the tissue was measured, deliberate, designed to remove the evidence without causing enough sensation to rouse her. He cleaned her stomach first, then her chest, then the delicate skin of her collarbones. He wiped between her thighs last, pressing the tissue into the crease where his seed had pooled, absorbing as much as he could.

When he was finished, he inspected his work. Her skin was clean again, free of any visible traces of what had happened. The only signs were the slight dampness of the tissues in his hand and the faint, musky scent that lingered in the air—something that would dissipate by morning or that she would attribute to her own dreams.

Dex paused for a second, the balled-up tissues in his fist and felt a sharp pang of regret.

I should’ve taken a picture, he thought, wincing internally. At least one. Just to remember.

The image of her lying there—his seed cooling on her skin, her face peaceful and unaware, her body still warm from his touch—was already seared into his memory, but a photograph would have been different. Tangible. Something he could look at later, in the quiet of his own apartment and remember exactly what he had done to her.

He shook his head slightly. It’s okay, he told himself. You’ll have more turns. This wasn’t the last time. This was just the beginning.

He disposed of the tissues away from her, so that she wouldn’t find it. Then he returned to the bed and began the process of clothing her again.

His movements were almost clinical now—efficient, detached, the same methodical care he might use to fold laundry or arrange dishes in a cupboard. He pulled her nightshirt back down over her torso, smoothing the purple fabric with its blue flowers over her stomach and chest. He adjusted the duvet, pulling it up to her chin, though he deliberately left it slightly rumpled. Not tucked in as properly as he would have liked. He didn’t want everything to look too perfect. Too arranged. If she woke up and found herself swaddled like a child, she might wonder. She might start asking questions.

A little imperfection was natural. A little mess was expected. And Dex needed everything to look exactly as it should when she opened her eyes in the morning.

He stepped back and looked at her one last time. Curled beneath the duvet. Hair spread across the pillow. Lips slightly parted. Peaceful. Untroubled. Completely unaware of everything that had happened while she slept.

A sweet, satisfied smile spread across Dex’s face—the kind of smile that belonged on a man who had just received exactly what he wanted, exactly when he wanted it. He walked to the head of the bed and stood over her for a moment, drinking in the sight of her.

Then he reached down and traced his knuckles slowly, gently, down the side of her face. From her temple to her jaw. From her jaw to her chin. The touch was almost reverent, like a prayer whispered against her skin.

“I don’t think I’ll ever have enough of you,” he said softly, his voice barely above a breath, “now that I’ve tasted you.”

The words hung in the darkness, unanswered, unheard.

Dex straightened up, turned away from the bed, and walked out of her bedroom. He left the door slightly ajar, the way he had found it, and made his way through her silent apartment to the front door.

He stepped into the hallway, pulled her door closed behind him, and stood there for a long moment in the flickering light. Tomorrow, she would wake up groggy and confused. The drugs would leave her head thick and her thoughts sluggish, the kind of morning where coffee tasted like necessity rather than comfort. She would lie in bed for a while, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before. The club. Her friends. The walk home. And then—maybe—a flash of something else. Tea. A familiar voice. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Dex, did you come over last night? I can’t remember much.

He could already see the words in his mind, could already hear the tentative confusion in her voice. And he would reply with something gentle. Something reassuring. Something that sounded like the good neighbour, the helpful friend, the safe pair of hands she had come to rely on.

You had a rough night. I brought you tea. You fell asleep. I hope you’re feeling better.

No lies, exactly. Just omissions. Just the careful selection of which truths to tell and which to keep folded away in the quiet corners of his memory.

She would thank him. She always thanked him. That was the thing about Y/n—she was grateful to a fault, appreciative in ways that made his chest ache. She would thank him for the tea, for checking on her, for being the kind of person who looked after her when she couldn’t look after herself. She would never know how much more he had given her. How much more he had taken.

And life would go on.

The routine would continue. The morning runs that weren’t coincidences. The borrowed sugar that wasn’t really borrowed. The dinners she cooked too much of, the ones she claimed were accidents, the ones he accepted with a quiet smile and a plate carried back to his own apartment. The walls between them would still be thin, and he would still hear her humming from the other side, and she would still be sweet and warm and utterly unaware of the hunger that lived just a few feet away.

Only now, Dex would carry this with him. This secret. This memory. This proof—cooling on tissues he made sure to destroy, imprinted on his skin, seared into the back of his eyelids—that she was his in ways she didn’t even know. That she had been his for longer than she would ever understand. That she would continue to be his for as long as he wanted her to be.

He returned to his apartment, seeing the bottle of the pills and the piece of paper and hammer he had used to crush the pills. He would clean it in the morning, when the light was better and his thoughts were clearer. His sweatpants went into the hamper. His shirt followed. He stood in his bathroom for a moment, washing his hands, watching the water swirl down the drain, and wondered if any part of her would remember the weight of his hands on her skin.

Probably not.

He climbed into his own bed, the sheets cool and crisp and perfectly folded against his skin—the way he always left them, the way he needed them to be. Order. Control. The small rituals that kept the chaos at bay. The mattress welcomed him like an old companion and he settled into the hollow he had worn into it over months of restless nights.

But tonight was different.

The silence in his apartment was absolute. No hum of the refrigerator cycling on and off. No distant sirens bleeding through the walls. No faint whisper of traffic from the street below. Just the quiet. Deep and still and complete, like the inside of a held breath.

And the memory.

It played behind his eyelids in vivid, relentless detail—the warmth of her skin, the taste of her on his tongue, the soft hitch of her breathing when his body had pressed against hers. The way she had looked in the dim light, sprawled across her bed, trusting and unaware and so utterly, devastatingly his. The memory was a living thing now, coiled in his chest, warm and possessive. It would keep him company on nights when sleep came hard. It would sustain him through the long, patient work of making her his in truth.

And beneath it all, the slow, steady beat of his own heart—calmer now than it had been in weeks. Months, even. The perpetual hum of anxiety that had lived in his ribcage for as long as he could remember had quieted to a whisper. The sharp edges of his thoughts had softened. For the first time in a very long time, Dex felt something that might have been peace.

There she was. His true north star.

For years, that title had belonged to Julie. The voice on the other end of the suicide helpline, the anchor that had kept him from drifting into the abyss when everything else had fallen away. She had helped him—there was no denying that. Watching her from afar had talked him down from ledges he didn’t even know he was standing on, had given him courage to hold onto when his own mind had turned against him. But even then, even at his most grateful, Dex had known the truth. Julie had been a necessity. A lifeline thrown to a drowning man. He had reached for her because there had been no one else.

But Y/n was different.

Y/n was choice. Deliberate and warm and so impossibly sweet that sometimes Dex wondered if he had imagined her into existence. She cared for him directly—not out of obligation, not because it was her job, but because she wanted to. He saw it in the way she looked at him across the hallway. In the way she even remembered how he took his coffee. In the way she said his name, soft and familiar, like it belonged in her mouth. She didn’t know everything about him—not yet atleast—but she knew enough. And she had stayed anyway.

She was the light at the end of a truly dark tunnel. The tunnel that had been his life for as long as he could remember—the years of scrambling and surviving, of pushing people away before they could leave, of telling himself he didn’t need anyone when really he was terrified of needing and losing in equal measure. But Y/n had walked into his world with her warmth and her smiles and her quiet, persistent kindness and something in him had shifted. Something had unlocked.

She was his now.

Not in the way the world would recognize—not yet. There were no rings on fingers, no shared last name, no public declarations of belonging. The neighbours didn’t know. Her friends didn’t know. Even the well-meaning remnants of her brother’s life, had no idea that the man next door had laid claim to something they didn’t even know was vulnerable.

But she was his nonetheless.

He had tasted her. Had felt the warmth of her against his lips, had swallowed the sounds she made without knowing she was making them. He had touched her—everywhere, everywhere—had learned the geography of her body the way a cartographer learns a new country. He had claimed her in the only way she would allow, had marked her as his in a language only he could read.

And he would have her again. And again. And again.

Not just her body—though that, certainly, again and again until he had memorized every response, every sound, every shudder and sigh. But her attention. Her time. Her trust. The small, precious currency of her daily life that she had been handing him in increments without realizing what she was paying for.

Each time he would pull her a little closer. Each time he would bind her a little tighter. With every cup of tea, every fixed appliance, every morning run that wasn’t a coincidence, he would weave another thread into the web that held them together. Until the day she finally opened her eyes and saw what had been in front of her all along. Not a neighbour. Not a friend. Not a helpful hand. But him. Dex. The man who had been watching, waiting, wanting, from the very beginning.

And on that day, she wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t flinch. She would look at him with those sweet, trusting eyes and she would say his name the way he had always wanted to hear it. Because by then, there would be nowhere else for her to go. By then, he would be the only thing holding her together.

Dex smiled into the darkness.

It was a slow smile, unhurried and deep, the kind of smile that lived in the bones rather than on the lips. Satisfied. Full of promise. The smile who waited a long time for something and had finally, finally taken the first real step toward having it.

On the other side of the wall, Y/n slept on. Her breathing was soft and even, her body curled beneath the duvet, her face slack with the particular peace that comes only from deep, chemically assisted unconsciousness. She was dreaming of nothing at all—no monsters, no memories, no premonitions of the man who had been in her room just hours before. Just the warm, empty darkness of a sleep from which she would wake with a headache and a void where her memories should have been.

And in his own bed, Dex slept better than he had in years.

No dreams troubled him either or if they did, he didn’t remember them in the morning. What he remembered was the warmth coiled in his chest, the satisfaction settled into his being, the quiet certainty that something fundamental had shifted. He had crossed a line tonight and he had done it without hesitation. Without regret. And he would do it again.

The walls between them were thin.

But the bonds he was weaving were thicker. Stronger. Unbreakable.

Dex closed his eyes, and for the first time in a very long time, he let himself fall asleep without fighting it.

╰ ┈➤ A/n: I fear I Chekhov’s gunned myself with the back dimples and didn’t follow through 🫠🫠 Also this man pmo so bad istg i cannot with him—

╰ ┈➤ Masterlist

╰ ┈➤ Tags: @avantlilies @bonelotus @because-of-reasons @chaots-world @eternaloutlawvoyage @zillawrld @dolcesaints @mariayjws5 @this-is-where-u-wanna-be @x-vadon @seashelleseashellsbytheseashore @wastd--youth @pOisonb3rry

© cheriecelestial - arabelle | 2026

you dragged yourself through the front door after a day that seemed determined to wring every last drop of energy out of you. your feet ached, your shoulders felt heavy, and all you wanted was the comfort of your familiar apartment and a few hours of peace.

for a moment, that was exactly what you expected to find. the distant sound of rain against the windows. the warm glow of the lamp in the corner of the living room. everything appeared normal until your eyes settled on the coffee table. immediately, your exhaustion vanished.

sitting there, perfectly centered as though it had been carefully arranged for you to notice, was a silver necklace. your pulse skipped. you hadn’t left a necklace there. you lived alone. nobody should have been inside your apartment. yet the evidence was right in front of you.

as you stepped closer, the small charm attached to the chain caught the light, and your stomach twisted when you recognized the symbol. a target. bullseye. for a long moment, you simply stood there staring. the room felt strangely still around you, as if even the air itself was waiting. outside, rain slid down the glass in slow trails, blurring the city lights into hazy streaks of gold and white.

somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed before fading into silence. your apartment suddenly felt different than it had only minutes ago because the necklace wasn’t just a gift. it was proof that he had been here. proof that while you had been working, someone else had stepped into your private space without permission.

someone who knew exactly where you lived. someone who always seemed to find a way inside no matter what you did. the realization should have terrified you. it did terrify you at least a little.

you sank onto the couch and leaned forward, elbows resting on your knees as you stared at the necklace. memories surfaced one after another, impossible to ignore. the bouquet of your favorite flowers that had appeared in your kitchen a few days ago. the chocolates left beside your coffee machine after a particularly awful day. the novels that somehow always matched the exact books you’d been planning to buy.

at first you’d convinced yourself they were coincidences. but eventually you’d been forced to accept the truth. someone was leaving them. someone was paying attention.

every gift had revealed another impossible detail about him. he listened. he remembered. he noticed things. tiny things. insignificant things. the kind of things nobody else seemed to pay attention to. every present felt like evidence that he knew you better than he should.

you knew what he was. you knew the stories. you knew the headlines and the rumors and all the reasons you should want absolutely nothing to do with him. yet every time you tried convincing yourself to hate him, your mind betrayed you.

the person who somehow knew your favorite author, your favorite chocolates, your favorite flowers. it was ridiculous. completely ridiculous. your mind knew that. your heart apparently hadn’t gotten the message. that realization settled heavily in your chest as you leaned back against the couch cushions.

you pressed a hand over your eyes and let out a frustrated laugh. what kind of person develops feelings for someone they’ve never properly known? what kind of person spends days worrying about an intruder and then catches themselves smiling whenever another gift appears? apparently, you.

the necklace continued to glimmer softly beneath the lamplight while the storm deepened outside. shadows stretched across the apartment walls, turning familiar corners into unfamiliar shapes. the rain grew heavier, tapping steadily against the windows.

you felt suspended between two worlds: the comfortable reality you’d always known and the strange one that seemed to revolve around him.

every answer you found only created more questions. why you? why the gifts? why did he keep coming back? and perhaps most troubling of all, why did part of you secretly hope he wouldn’t stop? the thought sent another wave of guilt through you. you knew you should be angry. you knew you should be frightened. maybe you should even call someone.

instead, you remained exactly where you were, staring at the necklace while your thoughts spiraled endlessly in circles. outside, the city carried on as if nothing had changed. inside, however, it felt as though something invisible had shifted, leaving you alone with a silver necklace, a stormy evening, and feelings you weren’t quite ready to face.

eventually, your thoughts became too exhausting to keep entertaining. the necklace remained on the coffee table, untouched, while you forced yourself through the motions of your evening routine. you changed into comfortable clothes, tied your hair back, and tried convincing yourself that tomorrow would somehow make more sense than today.

it didn't work. every room you entered felt haunted by unanswered questions. even as steam filled the bathroom from your shower, your mind kept drifting back to the silver necklace and the impossible feelings tangled around it. by the time you finally emerged and climbed into bed, the rain outside had intensified.

water streaked across the windows while distant thunder rolled across the city. you had just started settling beneath the blankets when a sudden knock echoed through your apartment. sharp, deliberate. coming from the window. every muscle in your body locked instantly.

another knock followed. your pulse began hammering as you slowly pushed yourself upright and stared toward the dark outline of the fire escape beyond the glass.

the moment you pulled back the curtain, your breath caught. there he was. standing on the fire escape as casually as if he belonged there. rain soaked through his clothes, dark hair plastered against his forehead while city lights reflected faintly off the metal railing behind him.

you simply stared at each other through the glass. he lifted a hand in what might have been an awkward greeting. after everything that had happened, after weeks of gifts and secrets and unanswered questions, he was standing outside your bedroom. you started shaking your head before he could even speak. absolutely not. no chance.

but then your eyes dropped lower. beneath the rainwater staining his clothes was something darker, blood. there was more of it than you initially realized, smeared across his sleeve and disappearing beneath his jacket. despite yourself, concern twisted sharply through your chest. he noticed where you were looking and gave a small, dismissive shrug. unfortunately, that did absolutely nothing to make you feel better.

against every instinct screaming at you not to, you eventually unlocked the window. dex climbed inside carefully, tracking rainwater onto your floor as he stepped into your apartment. suddenly the space felt much smaller than before.

he looked exhausted. pale beneath the dim lighting. there were bruises along his jaw and a cut near his temple. up close, the blood looked worse. "sit down," you said before you could stop yourself. the words came out sharper than intended. he obeyed surprisingly quickly, settling onto the edge of your couch while you disappeared to retrieve your first aid supplies. neither of you spoke much at first.

the apartment filled with silence and rain and the occasional rustle of medical supplies as you cleaned the wound on his side. every time he winced, your stomach tightened. every time you remembered who he actually was, you forced yourself to harden again.

"you're scared of me."

his voice cut through the silence so unexpectedly that you nearly dropped the bandages. you glanced up and found him watching you carefully. not smug. not amused. just observant. "I don't blame you," he continued quietly. "I know how this looks." a humorless laugh escaped your throat. how this looks? the understatement nearly made you angry on its own.

you continued wrapping the injury without answering. after a moment, he spoke again. softer this time. "I know you probably think I'm some monster that just showed up in your life one day." his gaze lowered briefly toward the floor. "but I've never wanted to hurt you. I never will."

your hands paused. the words lingered heavily between you. under different circumstances, maybe they would've sounded reassuring. maybe they would've meant something. but all you could think about was the fact that he'd spent days entering your apartment without permission.

probably months watching you closely enough to know your favorite flowers and books. months deciding what information you deserved to know about him. the more you thought about it, the less comforting his explanation became.

anger arrived slowly, it settled beneath your concern and your confusion until it became impossible to ignore. you finished securing the bandage and leaned back, staring at him in disbelief. "you don't get to say that like it fixes everything," you finally said. the frustration in your voice surprised you.

dex opened his mouth, but you weren't finished. days of uncertainty came spilling out all at once. "do you have any idea how insane this is? showing up in my apartment? finding out someone has been inside my home whenever they feel like it? finding out you've been lying to me this entire time?" your chest felt tight. your hands trembled slightly.

across from you, dex remained silent for once. outside, rain continued pounding against the windows while thunder echoed somewhere beyond the city skyline. neither of you looked away. the tension stretched painfully between you because for the first time since he'd entered your life, concern was no longer the strongest thing you felt, anger was. judging by the expression on his face, he knew it.

the silence that followed felt suffocating. rain continued tapping against the windows while the freshly opened first aid supplies remained scattered across the coffee table between you. dex sat motionless on the couch, one arm resting carefully at his side where you'd finished bandaging him.

for once, he didn't have a clever response ready. he simply watched you. you hated how difficult it was to read his expression. part of him looked exhausted. another part looked almost regretful. but none of that changed the knot of frustration sitting heavily in your chest. you crossed your arms tightly and turned away, needing distance even though there was barely any space between you.

after everything you'd learned tonight, after months of secrets and confusion, you didn't know what he expected from you. forgiveness? understanding? because he certainly wasn't getting either.

"one date." his voice broke through the silence so unexpectedly that you almost laughed.

you turned back toward him slowly. "what?"

"one date," he repeated. "that's all I'm asking."

for a second, you genuinely thought he was joking. the absurdity of it nearly left you speechless. here he was, bleeding on your couch after revealing himself as the criminal who'd been secretly inserting himself into your life for months, and somehow his solution was a date. the more you thought about it, the angrier you became.

"absolutely not." your answer came immediately, firm, final. dex nodded once as though he'd expected that response. but then he didn't leave. he didn't drop the subject. instead, he leaned forward slightly.

"just hear me out." you rolled your eyes so hard it almost hurt.

"no."

"one evening."

"no."

"one chance."

"still no." every answer became sharper than the last. every attempt he made only seemed to fuel your irritation further.

the conversation spiraled quickly after that. each time you refused, he found another argument. not aggressive. not demanding, because he sounded completely convinced that if he explained himself properly, you'd eventually understand.

"you don't get to decide that one nice evening magically erases months of lying."

"I'm not asking you to forget anything."

"then what are you asking?" your voice rose despite yourself. frustration had finally boiled over into genuine anger. "it sounds like you want a reward for finally telling the truth." the words hung heavily between you. dex visibly flinched. not dramatically. just enough for you to notice.

you stood abruptly and began pacing the room. your emotions felt tangled together into something impossible to separate. anger. confusion. disappointment. concern. all crashing into each other at once.

the apartment felt smaller than ever. the storm outside had intensified, casting occasional flashes of pale light across the room. finally, dex exhaled quietly and looked down at his hands. when he spoke again, his voice lacked the confidence it had carried before.

"I'm not asking you to trust me." that made you pause. "I know I haven't earned that." another silence followed. "I just." he hesitated.

"I wanted one chance where you could actually see me. not the headlines. not the rumors. not whatever version you've built in your head." his gaze lifted briefly to meet yours. "if you hate me afterward, fine. I'll leave you alone."

there was no argument attached this time. no clever remark. no attempt to push harder. for the first time, he sounded uncertain, almost nervous.

you closed your eyes briefly and rubbed your temples. this entire night felt unreal. every instinct told you this was a terrible idea. an objectively terrible idea. yet another part of you remembered the flowers. the books. the notes. the countless questions that still remained unanswered. maybe that was the problem. despite everything, you still wanted answers.

when you finally looked at him again, he was watching you carefully but saying nothing. waiting. giving you space to make the decision yourself. "one date," you muttered.

dex blinked. "what?"

you immediately regretted speaking. "one date," you repeated, louder this time. "that's it. one." a warning pointed finger followed immediately. "and if you do literally anything suspicious, anything at all, I'm leaving." for the first time all evening, something softened in his expression. not triumph. not smug satisfaction, genuine relief.

"one date," he agreed. you groaned and dropped onto the couch.

"I can't believe I'm agreeing to this." outside, thunder rolled across the city while dex tried, and failed to hide a small smile. despite every sensible decision you'd ever made in your life, you had the distinct feeling that you'd just agreed to something that was going to change everything.

the tension in the room lingered long after the argument had ended. neither of you seemed entirely sure what to do with it. the first aid supplies remained scattered across the coffee table, forgotten in the aftermath of everything that had been said. outside, rain continued to drum softly against the windows, casting rippling shadows across the apartment.

dex finally pushed himself off the couch, moving more carefully than he wanted you to notice. despite his attempts to hide it, you could tell the injuries were bothering him. your gaze followed him automatically as he adjusted his jacket and glanced toward the window.

then his eyes flickered toward the fresh bandages beneath his shirt and something softened in his expression. "thanks," he said quietly. the sincerity caught you off guard. "for patching me up." you opened your mouth, closed it again, and finally settled on a simple nod. after everything else that had happened tonight, those three words felt strangely intimate.

he turned toward the window, clearly intending to leave the same ridiculous way he'd arrived. you watched him in disbelief before finally breaking the silence. "you know I have a door, right?" the corner of his mouth lifted immediately. "normal people usually use those." his smile widened slightly as he rested one hand against the window frame.

"good thing I'm not normal." despite yourself, a short laugh escaped your throat before you could stop it. the sound surprised both of you. for a second, the heaviness in the room seemed to ease. then your eyes met again, and the atmosphere shifted completely. the amusement faded. the silence returned. except this time it felt different. heavier. warmer. charged with something neither of you seemed willing to acknowledge out loud.

the rain outside blurred the city lights into streaks of gold and white beyond the glass while thunder rumbled faintly somewhere in the distance. dex's gaze remained fixed on you, unusually steady, unusually quiet. you couldn't look away. maybe it was because tonight had changed everything.

maybe it was because after days of mystery and unanswered questions, he was finally standing here in front of you, real and human and impossible to ignore. whatever the reason, the distance between you suddenly felt much more noticeable than before.

your eyes drifted downward without permission. only for a second. only for a moment. but it was enough. when you looked back up, you immediately knew he'd noticed. the look in his eyes had changed. not dramatically, just enough to make your pulse stumble.

your stomach tightened. every rational thought in your head began screaming at once. this was ridiculous. dangerous. stupid. yet your body seemed determined to betray you anyway. without realizing it, you took a small step closer. dex didn't move immediately, but something unreadable flashed across his face. the apartment felt unbearably quiet now.

neither of you looked away. your attention flickered between his eyes and his mouth before you could stop yourself. the same thing happened to him. the realization hung heavily between you. slowly, almost cautiously, the space separating you seemed to disappear. not because either of you consciously decided to close it, but because neither of you was backing away.

the tension built until it became almost impossible to think through. your heart pounded so loudly you were convinced he could hear it. then reality finally crashed back into place. you pulled away first, taking a step backward so quickly it almost startled you. heat rushed to your face as you looked anywhere except directly at him.

"no," you said quietly. your voice sounded far less steady than you'd intended. "that's. not a good idea." for a moment, dex simply stared at you. then he lowered his gaze and gave a small nod.

"yeah." the agreement somehow made your chest tighten even more. "yeah," he repeated softly. neither of you seemed particularly convinced, but neither of you argued either. after another long silence, he stepped backward onto the fire escape and offered one final look before disappearing into the rain.

you shut the window and just stood there, staring at your own reflection in the glass like it might have answers. your heart was still racing embarrassingly fast, your face felt warm, and every time your mind replayed those last few seconds, your stomach twisted itself into knots. what had you been thinking?

one minute you were yelling at him for breaking into your apartment and lying to you for months, and the next you were standing there looking at him like you'd forgotten every reason you were supposed to be angry.

you dragged both hands down your face and let out a groan of pure frustration. nothing about this made sense. not him, not tonight, and definitely not the fact that some part of you had wanted to close that distance.

"oh my god," you muttered to the empty apartment. "what is wrong with me?"

the entire evening felt surreal from the moment you stepped outside your apartment building. the sky above the city was clear, the storm from a few nights ago long gone, leaving behind crisp autumn air that carried just enough of a chill to make you grateful for the jacket draped over your shoulders. golden streetlights illuminated the sidewalk, casting warm pools of light across the pavement while distant traffic hummed softly in the background.

you stood near the entrance of your building, smoothing your hands down your dress for what had to be the tenth time in the last five minutes. every few seconds you found yourself checking your reflection in the darkened windows beside you. then immediately feeling ridiculous for doing so.

your stomach had been tied in knots ever since you'd started getting ready. what exactly was supposed to happen tonight? were you going to spend the evening interrogating him? arguing with him? laughing with him? somehow all three felt equally possible.

you remembered yesterday evening and the kiss that almost happened. every time you thought about it, your pulse sped up all over again. the low purr of an approaching engine pulled you from your thoughts. you looked up just as a sleek black car rolled smoothly to the curb in front of the building.

for a second, you simply stared. then the driver's door opened and dex stepped out. your breath caught embarrassingly fast. he looked unfairly good, tonight he looked polished, composed, and completely at ease in a dark suit that somehow made him look even taller than usual.

when his eyes landed on you, however, something in his confident expression disappeared. he actually stopped walking for half a second. the realization sent warmth rushing into your face. "woah," he said.

"don't start," you warned immediately, though there wasn't nearly enough conviction behind the words. a grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"I wasn't gonna say anything."

you rolled your eyes, but the smile threatening to appear was becoming increasingly difficult to hide.

the drive to the restaurant was surprisingly easy. you'd spent the entire afternoon preparing for awkward silences and uncomfortable conversations, yet somehow neither happened. instead, the two of you slipped into conversation naturally. occasionally teasing each other. occasionally arguing over completely meaningless topics.

at one point dex claimed he had excellent taste in music, which immediately started an argument that lasted three traffic lights. by the time he pulled up in front of the restaurant, you found yourself laughing despite every intention you'd had of remaining guarded. the building itself was beautiful. elegant without being overly flashy.

warm golden light spilled through enormous windows while people drifted in and out of the entrance dressed for an evening out. suddenly your nerves returned full force. before you could overthink yourself into disaster, dex rounded the car and opened your door.

"ready?" he asked. you glanced up at the restaurant, then back at him.

"nope."

he laughed. "good. me neither."

the warmth inside wrapped around you immediately. soft music drifted through the restaurant while conversations blended together into a comfortable background murmur. candles flickered atop polished tables and crystal glasses reflected the light like tiny stars. for a moment, you felt slightly out of place.

then dex lightly rested a hand against the small of your back to guide you toward your table. the gesture was brief and respectful, gone almost immediately, but your heart still managed to stumble over itself. you hated how aware of him you were. every glance. every smile. every small thing seemed impossible to ignore.

when the hostess seated you, dex pulled out your chair before taking his own seat across from you. the soft glow of candlelight danced across the table between you, making everything feel strangely intimate.

the menus arrived, giving you something to focus on besides the fact that your date was technically a wanted criminal. you immediately buried your face in yours.

"I'm pretending this is normal," you announced.

dex replied. "I'll pretend with you."

you peeked over the edge of the menu to find him smiling. not the cocky smile you were used to. something softer. before you realized what was happening, the two of you were debating appetizers and making fun of each other's food choices like you'd been doing this for years. the tension that had haunted every previous interaction slowly began melting away. not disappearing completely.

as your food order disappeared toward the kitchen and the conversation continued flowing effortlessly across the table, you found yourself thinking something dangerous: maybe agreeing to this date hadn't been such a terrible idea after all.

the conversation came surprisingly easily once the food had been ordered. for a while, neither of you touched the more complicated subjects. you talked about small things instead. the music playing softly through the restaurant. the ridiculous prices on the menu. a couple seated nearby who had clearly been arguing before arriving and were now pretending everything was fine.

by the time the appetizers arrived, some of your nerves had finally started settling. eventually, you set your glass down and leaned back slightly. "okay."

dex immediately looked suspicious. "that tone means I'm about to be interrogated."

"correct."

"wonderful."

you pointed your fork at him. "you wanted this date. you wanted me to give you a chance. so start talking."

his eyebrows lifted. "about?"

"your life." the answer came instantly. "the actual version this time." for a moment, he looked thoughtful. not defensive. just careful.

"there's not really a glamorous story." he glanced down at the table before continuing. "I grew up moving around a lot. never stayed anywhere long enough to get attached. spent most of my life figuring things out on my own."

you listened quietly while he spoke. the confidence he normally carried seemed muted tonight. "I've made a lot of mistakes," he admitted. "more than I'd like." a humorless smile tugged at his mouth. "some of them I'm still paying for." you studied him carefully.

"that's a very vague answer."

"I know."

"are all your answers like this?"

"only the uncomfortable ones." despite yourself, you smiled. after a moment, his attention shifted back to you. "your turn."

immediately you groaned. "why do I suddenly feel like i walked into my own trap?"

"you did." he looked entirely too pleased about it. "tell me something about yourself." you thought for a second before shrugging.

"there's honestly not much to tell. I work too much. I buy too many books. I spend half my weekends convincing myself I'm going to be productive and then end up watching movies instead."

dex nodded seriously. "interesting."

"that's not interesting at all."

"it is to me." the response was so immediate and sincere that you nearly forgot what you were saying. he rested his chin against his hand while watching you. "favorite movie?"

"that's impossible."

"favorite book?"

"also impossible."

"favorite flower?"

the question made you narrow your eyes. "you already know that one."

"okay, fair." his smile returned. "favorite memory?" this time the question caught you off guard. you looked down at your plate for a moment while thinking.

"when I was younger, my family used to take road trips every summer." a small smile appeared before you could stop it. "nothing fancy. just long drives and terrible roadside diners." dex listened quietly. "don't know why I remember them so much. I just do."

he nodded thoughtfully. "sometimes the small things stick." something about the way he said it made you wonder what memories he was thinking about. before you could ask, he spoke again. "what's something you've always wanted to do?"

after a second of thinking, you admitted, "I've always wanted to travel more."

his expression brightened slightly. "where?"

"everywhere."

the conversation continued like that for the next hour. questions and answers passing back and forth across the table. some serious. some ridiculous. you learned that dex hated olives with an unreasonable amount of passion.

the more the evening continued, the easier it became to forget how strange all of this actually was. yet every so often, you'd catch yourself looking across the table and remembering who he was.

remembering everything that had happened before tonight. and every time, you found him watching you with the same patient expression, as though he knew exactly what was going through your head. as though he understood that trust wasn't something he could ask for. only something he would have to earn, one conversation at a time.

the dinner eventually started to wind down in that slow, reluctant way neither of you wanted to acknowledge. empty plates were cleared away, replaced with a small check placed neatly at the edge of the table like a quiet reminder that the night had a timeline.

for a moment, you just stared at it, pretending you hadn't noticed it arrive, while dex reached for it at the exact same time you did. his hand paused midair when he realized you were also moving. "I've got it," he said simply.

"no," you replied just as quickly, without even looking up. he raised an eyebrow.

"are we arguing about a bill right now?"

"we might be."

"on a first date?"

"especially on a first date." despite yourself, your lips twitched.

before you could even fully commit to the argument, dex had already slipped the check from the table. you watched him sign it with an ease that made you narrow your eyes.

"you did that way too fast."

"practice."

"that’s not comforting."

he stood, offering you his hand out of habit more than necessity, and you hesitated only a second before taking it. the warmth of his fingers against yours lingered longer than it should have as he guided you out of the restaurant.

the night air hit you immediately outside, cooler than the warmth inside, brushing against your skin and pulling a soft breath from your lungs. city lights stretched down the street in glowing lines, and the world felt quieter out here, like the noise of the restaurant had been left behind in another life.

dex walked beside you with his hands loosely in his pockets, glancing over at you every few seconds like he was trying not to be obvious about it and failing completely. at one point, you caught him staring and immediately pointed it out.

"what?" you asked. he didn’t even pretend to deny it. instead, he just smiled.

"nothing."

"stop looking at me like that," you said, trying and failing to sound serious.

"like what?" he tilted his head slightly.

"you know exactly what I'm talking about." you rolled your eyes as you reached the sidewalk corner and slowed without realizing it, the end of the night suddenly feeling too close, too final. the thought hit you before you could filter it.

"I don’t want tonight to end," you admitted quietly, more to the air than to him. there was a beat of silence. then dex’s voice, lighter again.

"oh?" you glanced at him. he was already looking at you. "so you liked being on a date with me."

"don’t get ahead of yourself."

"that sounded like you liking it."

"it sounded like me being polite."

"you’re terrible at lying."

"you’re insufferable."

he laughed softly, shaking his head as he stepped closer to the curb. the tension from earlier in the evening had melted into something easier now, something almost comfortable. "good," he said finally. "because I know a place."

you narrowed your eyes immediately. "that might be the most suspicious thing you could’ve said, considering everything I know about you."

"fair." he opened the car door for you anyway. "but trust me." you hesitated only a moment longer before sliding into the passenger seat, still watching him carefully as he closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. the engine started smoothly, and the city began to move past you in streaks of light as he pulled away from the curb. you turned slightly in your seat.

"so where are we going?" dex didn’t look over. instead, he just smiled faintly, hands steady on the wheel.

"you’ll see." and that, somehow, made your heart beat just a little faster.

the drive felt quieter than the rest of the night, but not in an uncomfortable way. more like a pause in the middle of something that had been moving too fast. city lights slipped past the windows in soft streaks, painting brief flashes across dex’s face as he focused on the road.

you kept glancing out your own window, trying to guess where he was taking you, but every street looked more or less the same in the dark. the uncertainty should’ve made you uneasy. instead, it just made you more aware of him sitting beside you.

the calm way he drove. the occasional glance he stole in your direction when he thought you weren’t looking. you crossed your arms lightly, leaning back into the seat. "you realize this is how people end up in horror stories, right?" you said eventually.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to say that."

"I’m serious."

"so am I." that earned him a skeptical look from you, which he clearly enjoyed.

when the car finally slowed and pulled to a stop, you immediately leaned forward, trying to see through the windshield. the building ahead wasn’t what you expected at all. warm light spilled from tall windows, and faint music drifted out whenever the door opened. it wasn’t a restaurant this time.

it was a bar, but not the loud, chaotic kind you’d imagined. inside, you could see soft lighting, wooden tables, and a row of billiard tables near the back where a few people were casually playing. for a second, you just stared. "a bar?" you asked, turning toward him.

dex unbuckled his seatbelt casually. "yeah."

"this is your mysterious plan?"

"you said you didn’t want the night to end." he stepped out of the car anyway, already walking around to open your door. "come on."

the moment you stepped inside, the atmosphere immediately wrapped around you. it was warm, dimly lit, and comfortable in a way that didn’t feel overwhelming. there was soft laughter somewhere near the billiard tables, the occasional clack of balls breaking apart, and music low enough that it didn’t drown out conversation.

dex led you toward a quieter table near the pool area and ordered drinks without hesitation, glancing at you only once as if confirming you’d agree. you raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. a moment later, two glasses of wine were placed in front of you.

you wrapped your fingers around the glass instinctively, feeling the warmth of the room settle into your shoulders as the earlier tension from the night slowly loosened its grip.

you followed dex over to one of the empty billiard tables, watching as he casually picked up a cue like he’d done it a thousand times before. "I’ve never played this," you admitted, slightly unsure. that made him pause just long enough to look at you properly. then, almost immediately, he smiled.

"I’ll teach you." he stepped closer without touching you, adjusting the angle of your stance with simple instructions rather than actually grabbing you, his voice lower now, more focused. "relax your grip," he said. "like this."

you tried, failing immediately. "nope," you muttered.

"you’re doing fine."

"I am absolutely not."

he laughed softly under his breath, and the sound alone made your chest feel annoyingly lighter.

the next few minutes blurred into a mix of instruction, frustration, and laughter. every time you missed a shot, dex would give you a look that was half amusement, half encouragement, like he was trying very hard not to tease you too much.

every time you actually got close, he’d lean in slightly to point out what you did right, his voice brushing just close enough to feel distracting. at one point, you finally managed to sink a ball properly, and your immediate reaction was so dramatic that dex actually laughed out loud. "see?" he said. "you’re getting it."

"don’t sound so surprised."

"I’m not surprised," he replied, still smiling. "I’m impressed." that made you pause for half a second longer than necessary before you quickly looked away and took a sip of your wine.

somewhere between the easy conversation, the soft music, and the way he kept standing just a little too close while showing you how to aim, the night stopped feeling like something uncertain and started feeling almost comfortable.

familiar in a way that didn’t make sense yet didn’t feel wrong either. for the first time, you weren’t thinking about what he was. or what he had done. or what tomorrow might complicate. you were just here, laughing softly over missed shots, watching him lean against the edge of the table with that amused expression that never seemed to leave his face when he looked at you.

despite everything, you found yourself hoping this moment didn’t end anytime soon. the rest of the night at the billiards table faded into something soft and unhurried, like time had decided to stop rushing you for once. you found yourself watching dex more than the game, noticing the small things you hadn’t allowed yourself to register before.

the way he waited instead of interrupting when you were thinking. the way he adjusted his tone when you got frustrated, like he actually cared whether you were enjoying yourself. even the teasing felt gentle, never sharp, never mean. and somewhere between the laughter and the easy conversation, a dangerous thought slipped in without permission.

maybe he wasn’t just what you’d built him up to be in your head. maybe he wasn’t only the headlines or the warnings or the version of him that broke into your life months ago. maybe, in the strange quiet of this dim bar with soft music and warm light, he was just a person you were happy to be around.

you realized you were staring only when dex tilted his head slightly, catching your gaze. instead of calling you out immediately, he just smiled first, slow and knowing, like he had already caught you and was choosing to let you stay there a second longer.

"what?" he asked lightly.

"nothing," you said too fast. he hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push in the way you expected him to. instead, he leaned back against the pool table, watching you with that same amused expression that had become far too familiar tonight. "you’ve been doing that a lot," he said.

"doing what?"

"looking at me like you’re trying to figure me out." you rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite behind it anymore.

"maybe you’re just confusing."

"or maybe you’re overthinking it." that made you huff a laugh despite yourself, turning your attention back to the table even though your mind was very much still on him.

when you eventually left the bar, the city had shifted into a quieter version of itself. the streets were calmer now, the air cooler, carrying the faint scent of night and distant rain that never quite arrived.

dex walked you back to the car without rushing, hands in his pockets, glancing over at you every so often like he still couldn’t quite believe you were actually there. the drive back felt different than the first one.

you leaned your head slightly against the window, watching reflections of streetlights slide across the glass while faint music played low from the radio, something old and smooth that felt like it belonged in another era entirely. when you asked him to change it, he only smirked and left it exactly where it was.

"it fits the mood," he said.

by the time he stopped in front of your building, the night had fully settled around you. you both sat there for a moment longer than necessary, neither of you immediately moving. the silence wasn’t awkward anymore. it was comfortable in a way that made you nervous if you thought about it too much.

eventually, you unbuckled your seatbelt but didn’t get out right away. "today was. actually fun," you admitted quietly, almost like you didn’t trust the words. dex turned slightly in his seat to look at you properly.

"actually fun?"

you narrowed your eyes. "don’t push it."

he smiled. "I’m taking it as a win." that made you shake your head as you finally got out of the car.

inside your apartment building, the elevator ride up felt slower than usual, like neither of you were in any rush to end the night properly. when you reached your floor, you unlocked your door but hesitated just long enough to glance back at him.

"you can come in," you said before you could overthink it. dex raised an eyebrow.

"inviting me in again?"

"don’t make it weird."

he followed you inside anyway, stepping into your apartment like it was no longer unfamiliar territory. the soft glow of your living room lights wrapped around both of you, and for a moment everything felt strangely intimate in its simplicity.

you slipped off your jacket and tossed it over the chair while he leaned against the wall, watching you with that same calm attention he always had when he was trying to read your thoughts without saying a word.

somewhere in the background, you turned on music without thinking about it too much, something soft and old and warm. dex tilted his head slightly as he listened, a faint smile forming. "this is your taste?" he asked.

"don’t judge me."

"I’m not judging," he said easily. "I like it." you paused at that, glancing at him again, and he only shrugged like it meant nothing. like everything about tonight meant nothing and everything at the same time.

"you know," he added after a beat, "for someone who thinks I’m dangerous, you’re getting really comfortable letting me into your apartment." you crossed your arms, trying to ignore how warm the room suddenly felt.

"don’t get used to it."

his smile widened just slightly. "too late."

the apartment felt warmer than it should have, or maybe it was just the way everything had softened after the long night. the low glow of the lamps cast gentle shadows across the room, and frank sinatra’s voice drifted through the speakers like it belonged there, like it had always been waiting for a moment like this.

you stood a few feet apart without really acknowledging the distance, as if neither of you wanted to be the first to break whatever strange quiet had settled between you. dex was still watching you, not in the sharp, analyzing way he used to, but something slower now, something that didn’t feel like he was trying to figure you out anymore so much as just staying there.

you reached for your glass of water out of habit, but forgot to actually drink it. your fingers tightened slightly around the glass instead. "this is. weird," you said quietly, almost to yourself.

"what is?" he asked. you looked up at him then, really looked, and immediately regretted how close he suddenly felt just by standing still.

"you," you said. "tonight. all of it." dex hummed softly, like he accepted that answer without argument. he took a small step closer, not enough to trap you, just enough that the space between you stopped feeling neutral.

"you could’ve told me to leave earlier," he said.

"I know."

"but you didn’t." your throat tightened slightly at that. you hated how calm he sounded when he said things like that, like he already knew what you were going to do before you did it.

you exhaled slowly, looking away for a second like it might help you think clearly. it didn’t. the music filled the silence instead, soft and slow, wrapping around the room like something old and familiar. when you looked back at him, he was still there, still waiting, still not pushing. that somehow made it worse. or better. you weren’t sure anymore.

"I don’t know what this is," you admitted, quieter this time. dex’s expression softened.

"we don’t have to figure it out tonight." that should have scared you, it didn’t. instead, it just made everything feel even more unreal, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you standing in a living room that didn’t quite belong to reality anymore.

for a moment, neither of you moved. the air between you felt suspended, fragile in a way that made your heartbeat louder than the music. dex’s gaze dropped briefly, then returned to yours, and whatever restraint had been holding the night together finally felt like it was loosening.

you took a small step forward without thinking, then stopped as if you’d surprised yourself. he didn’t move away. if anything, he stepped closer in response, just enough that the distance disappeared without either of you fully deciding it should. the silence that followed wasn’t empty anymore. it was full of everything you hadn’t said since the moment he first appeared in your life.

and then, very quietly, the moment shifted into something neither of you could ignore anymore. the music kept playing. the lights stayed low. and whatever came next didn’t need to be spoken out loud.

his lips finally met yours, tentative at first, like he was afraid you'd pull away. but when you didn't, when your breath hitched and your hands instinctively rose to his chest, something in him melted.

the kiss deepened slowly, no longer frustrated or rushed but soft now. tender even. dex tilted his head slightly to fit better against you, the movement careful and deliberate.

his lips were warm and a little chapped from the cold outside earlier. they moved gently over yours. one hand lifted slowly into your hair, fingers threading through gently, just holding you close as if this moment mattered more than anything else right now.

you pull back first, not gently, not slowly, but like something inside you finally snapped back into place after being pulled too far. the air between you suddenly feels too sharp, too real.

your breath catches as you take a step back, fingers curling tightly at your sides like you’re trying to hold yourself together physically. the low music keeps playing, absurdly soft, absurdly normal, like it doesn’t understand what just changed in the room. dex doesn’t move at first, only watches you, confusion flickering across his face as if he’s trying to recalibrate the moment.

“what’s wrong?” he asks quietly.

that question makes something in you fracture further.

you shake your head once, then again, like you’re trying to dislodge the entire situation from your mind. “no, no, this is. this is wrong,” you say, voice rising before you can stop it. your pacing starts without permission, a few steps away from him, then back again, like your body can’t decide whether it wants distance or answers. “I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t even be here right now with you, I shouldn’t,"

you cut yourself off with a sharp breath, hands dragging through your hair in frustration. everything feels too loud inside your own head. too tangled. too fast.

dex finally straightens, his expression shifting from confusion into something more serious. “hey, slow down. talk to me.”

“don’t tell me to slow down,” you snap immediately, turning back to him. the words come out harsher than you mean them to, but you don’t stop them. “you don’t get to stand there like this is normal. like you didn’t break into my life and rearrange everything and then just, just act like I’m supposed to be okay with it.”

his jaw tightens slightly. “that’s not what I’m doing.”

“then what are you doing?” your voice cracks on the edge of it, anger and panic mixing until you can’t tell them apart anymore. “because I don’t know anymore. I don’t know what you are, i don’t know what this is, and I don’t know why I keep letting you get closer when every part of me knows I shouldn’t.”

dex takes a step forward instinctively, but you flinch back without meaning to. that movement alone says more than anything else. the silence that follows is sharp.

his voice comes out lower now, strained at the edges. “what are you so afraid of?”

that hits something raw in you.

you laugh once, but there’s no humor in it at all. your chest rises sharply as you stare at him, eyes burning with everything you’ve been trying not to say out loud. “I’m afraid of you.”

the words land heavy in the space between you.

for a second, dex doesn’t respond but then his expression changes, not anger yet, but something hurt cutting through the confusion. “me?” he repeats, quieter now.

that only makes everything in you boil over more. “yes, you,” you say, stepping forward again now instead of away, like the fear has turned into something sharper. “you show up in my life out of nowhere, you lie, you sneak into my apartment, you leave gifts like you own parts of my life you don’t even ask for, and then you sit here and look at me like I’m the one who’s supposed to be calm about it.”

your breathing is uneven now, your hands shaking slightly as you gesture without thinking. “I don’t know what you want from me. I don’t know if you’re dangerous or just. broken or what, but I do know I can’t tell the difference anymore when I look at you.”

dex’s voice rises for the first time, sharp enough to match yours. “and you think I don’t see how you look at me?”

he exhales sharply, frustration bleeding through now. “you act like I’m the only one doing something wrong here, like you haven’t been standing right there every time I show up, like you haven’t let me stay every single time you could’ve shut the door.”

your breath catches again, anger and confusion colliding so hard it almost knocks the wind out of you.

“don’t you dare,” you say, voice shaking now for a different reason. “don’t you turn this on me.”

“I’m not turning anything on you,” he fires back immediately, stepping closer again despite everything. “I’m asking you to tell me what this actually is, because right now you’re acting like you hate me and like you-" he stops, jaw tightening as if he catches himself before saying something he shouldn’t.

the silence that follows is heavier than anything before it. you both stand there, breathing hard, too close and still somehow not close enough, the music still playing softly in the background like it doesn’t belong to this moment at all.

and neither of you has an answer anymore that feels safe. the argument doesn’t really end so much as it collapses into silence, leaving both of you standing in the middle of the room like you’ve forgotten what to do with your hands, your bodies, your breathing.

you stare at him for a second too long, then look away, then look back again like you’re trying to reset your thoughts and failing every time. your chest still feels tight, your mind moving too fast to settle on anything coherent. every thought splits into another thought before you can finish it.

did you go too far? did he? why did you let it get this close? why does part of you still want to stay in the room instead of leaving it?

dex isn’t moving either. he’s watching you, but not in the confident way he usually does. it’s different now, slower, uncertain, like he’s replaying everything you said and trying to figure out where it shifted. his jaw is slightly tense, his hands loosely at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to reach out or say something that might make it worse.

he looks confused in a way you haven’t really seen before, not about you exactly, but about the situation between you, like he’s lost the thread of something he thought he understood. that alone makes your stomach twist again, because it means he’s not as steady as he pretends to be either.

the silence stretches, and neither of you breaks it. it’s not comfortable silence, not even close. it’s the kind that makes you hyperaware of every small sound, the faint hum of the city outside, the soft crackle of the speakers, the almost,too ,loud rhythm of your own heartbeat.

you can feel yourself overthinking in real time, spiraling through every word you said, every expression you made, every step you took closer and then away. you don’t know what the right version of you in this moment is supposed to be anymore, and that uncertainty sits heavy in your throat.

dex shifts slightly, like he might speak, then stops himself. you notice it immediately, and that makes everything worse in a way you can’t explain. because now you’re both holding back at the same time, both unsure if the next sentence fixes something or breaks it further.

you glance at him again, and he’s already looking at you. neither of you says anything. neither of you looks away fast enough. and in that suspended, awkward quiet, it becomes painfully obvious that whatever this is, neither of you knows how to step back from it cleanly anymore.

a minute after, dex walked up to you fast, shoes thudding against the floor, shoulders tense under his suit. your chest was still rising sharply from yelling, eyes blazing with hurt and anger. you didn’t get a chance to react.

in one fluid motion, he closed the distance between you, his hands shot out like lightning and gripped your arms hard enough that it almost stung and his mouth crashed into yours.

lips collided violently at first: messy teeth clashing briefly before dex adjusted just enough to deepen it. he kissed you like he wanted control.

his breath came hot and uneven through flared nostrils as his mouth opened wider. tongue pressing forward aggressively while one hand left your arm only to fist tightly in your hair near the base of your neck

you kissed him back just as fiercely, no surrender, no softness. you were angry too. your hands flew up instantly: one gripping the front of his suit, the other tangling into his hair. you pulled him closer, refusing to let him dominate this kiss completely.

lips moved desperately against each other now. saliva mixed between open mouths as breathing turned shallow and uneven, the kiss was deep, messy, hungry. not romantic or sweet but raw like two people fighting through it instead of talking.

dex made a low noise in his throat, something between a growl and groan and suddenly he bit down gently on your lower lip before reclaiming your mouth even harder than before. the kiss finally broke, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen, chests rising fast. dex’s hands were still tangled in your hair and on your dress.

“I need you.” his voice shook slightly from how much he meant it despite everything you'd just fought about minutes ago.

your breath hitched as his words sank in. i want you. before you could even fully process it, the reply tore out of your chest.

"I need you too, dex."

you barely got the words out between panting breaths, nodding fast, eyes locked on his like a promise. dex didn’t smile. didn’t say anything sweet or romantic. he just moved.

in one fluid motion, he swept you up into his arms and carried you across the room, your feet barely touching the floor before he was gently lowering you onto your bed. the mattress dipped under his weight when he followed right after.

he hovered over you for half a second, dark eyes searching yours in that quiet way where everything unspoken passed between them and then his lips crashed down on yours again: hard, hungry, desperate like kissing was breathing now and there wasn’t enough air without it.

his mouth covered yours completely; warm and demanding at once, the kiss deepening immediately with wet heat as your tongues met eagerly. no finesse this time, just pure need pouring out through touch alone

his large hand slid up slowly along your jawline careful at first before gently curling around your throat. a firm press of his palm against your skin; possessive but controlled.

It sent a shiver through you. the sensation made him groan into your mouth, a low sound vibrating between connected lips as if holding you sent sparks straight to his core.

his lips moved against yours in slow, hot sweeps: biting your lower lip lightly then soothing it with his tongue; tilting his head to change the angle for better access. each shift made the kiss feel different, new angles sparking new sensations. still resting at your throat, thumb now brushing softly over your pulse point where it thudded rapidly beneath warm skin. dex could feel how fast your heart was racing.

his hands moved first to your dress, fingers gently tugging at the hem before sliding it up slowly. dex helped lift it off completely without breaking contact for too long, just a brief separation while fabric came away and then immediately returned to kiss you again: deep and slow, mouth warm against yours. your torso was bare beneath him.

dex didn’t waste time, he trailed kisses downward from jawline to neck, then collarbone, each one softer than last until reaching chest where he paused briefly.

then both palms came down lightly at first testing pressure as they covered each breast through thin bra fabric still clinging on skin. thumbs brushed over nipples. as soft little moans escaped your lips, dex exhaled sharply through nose like those sounds physically affected him somewhere low in stomach.

dex’s hands lingered on your chest, thumbs moving in slow circles over the fabric covering you, feeling the shape beneath, testing how responsive you were to every touch. when those soft moans slipped out again, his breath hitched almost imperceptibly through his nose.

without breaking contact dex shifted lower, his mouth leaving yours and trailing down instead along your throat. warm lips pressed lightly at first, a kiss just below jaw, then another right where pulse beat steady under skin.

he kissed slowly downward: collarbone, sternum, each press of lips gentle but deliberate like he was mapping every inch with purpose.

while kissing neck and shoulders dex’s hands wandered, palms sliding off breasts to explore further, one hand gliding down side of waist where it fit perfectly against curve of body; other hand followed similar path lower reaching hip bone.

dex’s mouth stayed focused on your throat, right beneath the shell of your ear where skin was sensitive and warm. his lips pressed there again and again: soft kisses.

his hands grew bolder now, no longer just exploring but claiming and both palms squeezed firmly at your waist first, thumbs digging slightly into soft curves where body met hipbone.

then down he went, one hand sliding over each thigh in slow strokes before gripping them fully; fingers pressing into plush muscle through fabric as dex rolled his hips upward instinctively, grinding against you.

dex’s mouth moved with quiet hunger against your skin, lingering beneath your ear where the warmth of his breath mixed with each soft kiss. he pressed his lips there again, this time adding a gentle nip before dragging them slowly downward along the side of your neck.

his hands never stopped moving either: both palms smoothed over every curve they could reach, squeezing lightly at first as if memorizing shape and texture through touch alone. when dex reached waist again he gripped tighter and thumbs rubbed slow circles into soft flesh there.

simultaneously dex shifted more weight onto you now, grinding upward gradually. steady pressure that created friction between bodies already aligned so perfectly on bed

dex’s lips stayed on your skin, but now between kisses came quiet words, mumbled right against your neck, low and rough with need. "god. I need you so bad," he whispered without pulling away fully.

each breathy confession slipped out between presses of his mouth: another kiss to collarbone, then a soft bite near shoulder followed by another murmur "fuck. been thinking about this all day."

you responded instantly, moaning softly as hands tangled in his hair and when you breathed out "I need you too dex. please," it unraveled something in him.

his eyes flicked open for half a second, dark pupils blown wide with want and then he was kissing you properly again: deep and messy this time; tongues meeting hungrily like they couldn’t get enough.

dex sat up slightly to start undressing, his movements quick but not frantic, just eager. he tugged his t-shirt off first, revealing the smooth expanse of chest and stomach underneath. warm skin met cool air briefly before your hands immediately reached out.

your palms glided over him. fingers tracing collarbone, then pecs, thumbs brushing his lower abs as dex breathed in deeper.

while you explored every inch of exposed chest with gentle curiosity dex focused on removing the rest: kicking off shoes first without standing up; then unbuttoning his pants. then his attention was back on you.

he took a quiet second just looking, drinking in how beautiful you looked beneath him right now, hair slightly messy, cheeks flushed, lips kiss, swollen.

"so pretty." no teasing tone or sarcasm just pure sincerity dripping from voice the air between them felt thick with warmth, both from the quiet intimacy and the rising heat of desire.

dex’s gaze lingered on you for a few more heartbeats, completely mesmerized by how beautiful you looked beneath him: skin glowing faintly in dim light, breath coming soft and even.

then slowly, almost reverently, he leaned back down. his mouth found yours first: a slow kiss this time, deep but gentle. lips moving together like they had all night to explore each other. no rush now that clothes were gone; just two bodies close without barriers anymore.

as kissing continued one hand slid up your side again, palm warm against ribcage and then higher until fingertips brushed gently over your breast.

while other hand traveled downward along stomach, pausing briefly at navel before continuing lower still toward hip bone.

dex’s touch was feather, light at first, just a whisper of fingertips tracing the soft inner skin of your thigh, moving upward with agonizing slowness. every nerve there tingled in anticipation, and when his breath hitched slightly against your lips mid, kiss, a tiny sound you felt more than heard, it sent a shiver through both of you.

each new spot kissed made dex exhale softly through nose again like he couldn’t believe how good this felt.

dex’s mouth lingered on your breast for a few breathless seconds, lips warm, tongue flicking gently over sensitive skin, before the quiet moment shifted into something deeper.

there was no sudden roughness, but desire had built to a peak where waiting wasn’t an option anymore. dex lifted himself slightly above you again, eyes dark with need as they met yours, searching once more without words: this okay?

when you nodded or kissed him back, or maybe just arched up toward him in silent answer, that was all he needed.

slowly at first, carefully. dex aligned himself between your legs and pressed closer. there was brief hesitation only because this mattered so much. not rushing anything despite how badly both of them wanted it.

the moment dex pushed inside, you felt a deep stretch, slow and full, filling every space inside you in the most overwhelming way. it wasn’t painful or uncomfortable at all. just intense, like being completely claimed by warmth and presence.

your breath caught softly in your throat as you adjusted to the feeling: so much sensation all at once. not just physical but emotional too, this closeness, this intimacy after everything leading up to now.

pure, steady waves of good flooding through your core with each slight movement dex made instinctively, tiny shifts of hips adjusting deeper into you both finding rhythm together naturally.

you exhaled shakily, a quiet sigh laced with contentment and without thinking you wrapped your arms around his back tightly, pulling him closer still.

his hips rocked gently forward, then back, creating a soft, steady rhythm that filled the quiet room with nothing but shared breath and rustling sheets. each outward glide was smooth almost lazy in its calmness but when he pushed inward again, warmth spread deeper through your body like sunlight breaking through clouds.

each time dex sank into you fully his stomach brushed against hers lightly; skin-to-skin contact adding another layer of intimacy that made everything feel even more real.

and slowly gradually, the pace increased just slightly: still controlled but gaining subtle momentum now as bodies adjusted naturally together.

the soft moans spilling from your lips, quiet, breathy sounds full of pleasure, seemed to unravel something in dex. each one made his chest tighten and his movements grow slightly bolder.

between thrusts that were now deeper and more confident, dex leaned down just enough to whisper against your ear, voice low, rough with emotion and arousal:

"you like how I fuck you baby?" then without waiting too long, another quiet murmur came: "fuck. you feel so good. so tight."

each word came out ragged between breaths; not spoken smoothly but stammered almost like thoughts tumbling directly into speech because they wouldn’t stay inside anymore.

the gentle rhythm dex started with quickly gave way to something more urgent, more aggressive in the best way.

his hips began moving faster, deeper, each thrust gaining strength and purpose as pleasure built inside him. there was no harshness or roughness about it. but a raw, primal energy took over: his body responding instinctively to how good this felt.

grunts slipped from his lips now, short exhales through clenched teeth every time he pushed forward, low sounds of effort and enjoyment tangled together. each one came out rougher than before like they were being pulled straight from his chest.

"dex!" every moan that escaped you seemed to fuel him further, making dex bolder without realizing it. he leaned over slightly again, bracing one arm beside you head while other hand gripped hip tightly, not hard enough to hurt but firm enough for stability during these stronger movements.

he kissed down your jawline suddenly between grunts, biting gently at collarbone. the gentle rhythm dex started with quickly gave way to something more urgent, more aggressive in the best way.

his hips began moving faster, deeper, each thrust gaining strength and purpose as pleasure built inside him. there was no harshness or roughness about it. but a raw, primal energy took over: his body responding instinctively to how good this felt.

you felt the shift when dex’s hand slid down, warm palm gliding over stomach, then lower, until his fingers found you.

the second his thumb brushed against your clit in slow circles, a spark shot through you. it was gentle at first, testing, but so electric that your breath hitched instantly.

then he kept going, firm pressure building with each rotation, and the pleasure started rising fast. every nerve there lit up; body tensing slightly not from discomfort but anticipation.

your moans came louder now, unfiltered and honest, as hips lifted toward his touch without thinking. you wanted more friction, more of that perfect circle. and dex gave it to you: thumb moving faster now while thrusts continued deep inside.

each stroke of dex’s thumb on your clit grew more intense, faster, firmer, and the coil inside you tightened with every second. it wasn’t a slow build anymore; it was rapid, overwhelming.

your body tensed in waves, muscles along stomach and thighs coiling like springs about to snap. breath came in short gasps now. moans spilling out one after another: loud, desperate little sounds you couldn’t control.

without realizing it at first, your fingers curled into his back, nails digging lightly through skin as pleasure surged higher and higher. not enough to hurt but strong pressure from instinctive need for something solid to hold onto.

"dex, fuck-"

you scratched down slightly, just once or twice, as if trying to anchor yourself while everything else blurred around edges. the knot low in belly pulled tighter. the knot finally snapped.

a sudden, amazing wave of pleasure crashed through you, intense and all, consuming. your entire body locked up for a split second: back arching off the bed, thighs squeezing around dex’s hips on instinct.

warmth flooded every nerve; pulse throbbed between legs as climax hit hard, wave after wave rolling through you in quick succession. moans turned into breathless cries now, unfiltered, loud without meaning to be, but pure ecstasy pouring out from deep inside.

through it all dex stayed right there with you. his hand never stopped moving at first, thumb still gently circling even as orgasm crashed over you, but his voice came low and encouraging against you ear.

"that's it baby. so good, let go."

he whispered soft praises while he watched you come undone beneath him.

as the last pulses of your orgasm faded, body still humming with aftershocks, you melted completely into the mattress, breathing heavily, skin flushed and sensitive everywhere. dex slowed his thumb, easing up from your clit as he felt you come down. he pressed soft kisses along your jawline now: tender. affectionate.

you could feel dex’s rhythm shift, more urgent now, more needy, as he kept going without pause. your body was still buzzing from your own orgasm, oversensitive. just intensely aware of every movement.

his hips drove forward with steady force: deeper each time, faster, chasing that peak only he could reach now. you stayed beneath him, soft and pliant after coming so hard, letting him take what he needed while warmth spread between you both.

each thrust made his stomach press into yours slightly; skin on skin slick with shared heat.

dex’s breath came out in short bursts through nose, sharp little exhales that told you how close he was getting. one arm braced beside your head while other hand gripped sheet tightly. the final push hit dex like a wave, unavoidable and overwhelming.

his body tensed completely: shoulders locking, stomach going rigid, thighs tightening around yours where he knelt over you. for one suspended second everything stopped, breathing froze.

"fuck"

"dex, too much, too much-"

a low groan tore from his chest, deep and guttural, almost pained in its intensity, but pure pleasure underneath. hips jerked forward instinctively as orgasm ripped through him. heat flooded inside you instantly; warmth spreading deep within as dex came hard, pulse after pulse, completely lost in sensation with no control left.

he didn’t make loud noises. just that single long groan vibrating against your neck while his forehead dropped onto shoulder weakly. entire weight slumped slightly over you now, crushing you heavy with release.

the room was completely dark, lit only by the faint orange glow slipping through the curtains from the street outside. the fight felt far away now, though the tension still lingered in the quiet spaces between breaths. you were lying on your side, facing dex, your head resting against the pillow as you watched him.

his face was softer than it had been few minutes ago, stripped of all the sharp edges he'd carried during the argument. outside, the night was cold enough to make the window glass fog slightly, and every now and then the wind brushed against the building with a low whistle.

beneath the blankets, his hand found yours without looking, his fingers weaving through yours as naturally as breathing. the silence wasn't uncomfortable anymore. it was the kind that came after everything important had already been said. dex's thumb moved slowly over your knuckles, absentminded and warm.

when you looked into his eyes, you found him already staring at you. there was something vulnerable there, something he rarely let anyone see. "what?" you whispered, a small smile tugging at your lips.

he shook his head and moved closer, his forehead bumping lightly against yours. "nothing," he murmured. "just looking at you." after everything, those simple words settled deeper in your chest.

you shifted closer until there was barely any space left between you. the blankets tangled around your legs, trapping the warmth you shared. dex wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you against him with quiet insistence, like he needed the reassurance that you were really there.

his chin rested on top of your head for a moment before he tilted it down to press a lingering kiss against your hair. the fight had been loud, messy, and exhausting, full of things neither of you had meant the way they sounded. but now, with his heartbeat steady beneath your ear, it felt impossible to remember why either of you had been angry in the first place.

"I hate fighting with you," he said eventually, his voice rough from disuse. you let out a quiet laugh. he groaned immediately, burying his face into your neck.

the sound that escaped you this time was warmer, softer. when he looked back up, there was a reluctant grin on his face, and you reached out to brush a loose strand of hair from his forehead. the gesture made him pause. for a second he simply leaned into your touch, eyes half-lidded, looking more peaceful than you'd seen him in days.

the room grew quieter as the hours slipped by. outside, the cold night stretched endlessly beneath a dark sky, but under the blankets everything felt sheltered and distant from the rest of the world. dex's arm tightened around you as sleep slowly pulled at both of you.

you glanced up one last time and found him watching you again, stubbornly refusing to close his eyes first. "go to sleep," you whispered.

"you first," he whispered back. neither of you moved. eventually you felt his laugh rumble softly through his chest, and when you settled closer against him, he pressed another kiss to your forehead and held you there, as if letting go wasn't even an option anymore.

Growing up in a small town has a lot of charm to it, but also it can have a lot of lackluster to it as well. Everyone knows everyone and word tends to spread a whole lot faster than it should. Your choice of friends can also make things harder for whatever reason that may be. That being said, I’ve grown up with Eddie Munson by my side for as long as I can remember. Outside of being best friends with the proclaimed “freak”, I have a pretty good social status. However, since I started seeing someone, things have started to get weird between Eddie and I. He’s always been overprotective, but it has never been this bad before. 

On occasion I catch him giving Devin dirty looks from the corner of my eye and sometimes he’ll just be straight up glaring at him. Today, I caught him staring down Dev until he backed away from me and let go of my hand. There have been times when he’ll sit between the both of us when we spend time together. This behavior has been going on for almost over a month and I’ve decided that enough is enough and that I have to talk to him about it once and for all. 

After parking outside of his trailer, I kill the engine to the car and get out; slamming the car door behind me. I walk up to the door and knock then wait for a moment, when he doesn’t answer. I start pounding on the door in case he can’t hear me due to whatever he’s doing. It only took a few seconds of my slamming my fist against the door for him to finally answer and open the door. “Is there any particular reason why you’re beating the crap out of my front door?” he asks while propping one of his arms up against the doorframe to lean on it. 

“Simple, you were taking your sweet ass time to answer” I replied as I slightly pushed him aside then stepped into the trailer. “Yeah, okay.. you can come in.” he said then followed behind me after closing the door. Ignoring his sarcasm, I headed to his room then sat on his bed with my arms crossed. He walked in and leaned against the doorframe, mirroring me by crossing his arms. “What’s with the sour mood and all the attitude you have going on?” he asked with a raised brow. I scoffed while shaking my head and looking down at my shoes before looking back up at him. 

“What is your problem with Devin?” I asked while looking him in the eyes and he looked off to the side, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He was quiet for a second then met my gaze again, “I don’t have a problem with him.” Eddie said. I stared at him blankly before I laughed at him, humorlessly. “That is such bullshit and you know it, I saw the way you tensed up when I said his name,” I replied as I stood up and took a step closer to him. He just looked down at me while shaking his head at me. I groan in frustration while getting up and put my hands on top of my head along with starting to rock back and forth on my heels. “Fucking spit it out, you’ve been nothing but a pain in the ass for over a month when it comes to him and I’m sick of this shit,” I said while my voice slightly raised due to how frustrated I was, but despite how I felt I was met with nothing but silence once again. 

“Great, more silence.. just what I wanted from you.” I say with a scoff then deciding that I’ve had enough of this because it was going nowhere, I try to push past him to leave. Before I can even get one foot out of the bedroom he grabs onto my upper arm then pulls me back into the room and starts walking me backwards to the bed. “Eddie, what the hell-“ I don’t even get to finish my sentence because once the backs of my legs hit the edge of the bed, he gently pushes me to sit back down. I go quiet as I watch him squat down in front of me and make eye contact. “You want to know why I can’t stand him so much?” he quietly asked while slightly tilting his head to the left. I furrowed my brows while I tried to get a read on him based on his facial expression, but I couldn’t. “Yes” I replied while sighing a little and relaxed my shoulders a bit. 

“I have a problem with him because he’s in my way.” Eddie said then he inched his face closer to mine. I just stared at him out of confusion, not knowing what to say while he reached forward and tucked some of my hair behind my ear. “What are you talking about Eddie, what do you mean by in your way?” I asked while laughing nervously. He smiled at me then pulled back slightly only to lean up to my ear and whisper, “I like you, I always have.” Eddie pulled away from me again but this time it was because he stood up. While trying to make sense of it all I could hear my heartbeat in my ears and was trying to slow down my breathing. All of this being so strange yet refreshing because the more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The only thing that wasn’t making sense was why I wanted him to be that close to me again. 

After sitting there for a moment, I stood up and looked up at him “You can’t though, this can’t be happening… I have Devin-” I stopped talking because he placed a hand on each side of my face. “If I haven’t made it clear already… I don’t give a fuck about him, I’m not messing up my chance to have you again.” He said and before I could even get another word out, he kissed me. Instead of pushing away like I should’ve, I kiss him back because deep down I’ve always liked him. I was just scared of ruining the friendship we have. He ended up wrapping an arm around my waist and pulled me closer then picked me up and walked over to the bed. Before I knew it, I was laying down with him on top of me. Eddie gently bit my lower lip causing me to whimper in response and I felt him smirk against my lips while one of his hands slowly slid up my thigh and skirt. 

He pulled back before continuing any further, “Do you want this or do you want me to stop?” he asked and I shook my head while trying to pull him back in. Eddie slightly chuckled, “I need you to use your words, baby.” he said and it made me feel like all the air in my lungs had vanished. I pulled myself together as much as I could before responding, “Yes, I want this and no… I don’t want you to stop.” I replied and that was all he needed to hear because after that his hand slid further up my skirt while he started kissing me again. I sat up a bit and took my shirt off then laid back down and pulled him closer to me while his hand dipped into my underwear, causing me to gasp. Eddie took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into my mouth and I hummed while he slightly groaned. 

His fingers slowly started to rub gently circles against my clit, making me shudder and whimper. Eddie went and started kissing my neck while using his freehand to reach underneath my back to unclasp my bra. I slid the straps down and pulled it off then tossed it elsewhere in the room which made him chuckle quietly. He kissed his way down to my tits then slowly flicked his tongue over one of my nipples causing me to moan slightly and squirm. “You’re so fucking pretty, baby.” he said before taking my nipple into his mouth and gently biting down on it and I moaned in response while arching into him. While he kept using his mouth to tease my breasts he took the finger that he was using to play with my clit and used it to rub against my entrance. “I- Eddie, please..” I whimpered while spreading my legs a little. “Please, what sweetheart?” He asked while continuing to tease me. “I- I need more… please just… please touch me.” I begged which made him hum in approval. He then slowly pushed two fingers inside of me, making me moan. While he started to move them in and out of me, I started to roll my hips. “That’s it, ride my hand darling.” He said as he used his thumb to continue rubbing slow, tight circles against my clit. 

When I started to move my hips faster, he picked up the pace with his fingers and started kissing his way down my abdomen to between my thighs. My pussy ended up clenching around his fingers, causing me to whimper and I felt him smirk against my inner thigh. He started to take my underwear off with his freehand and I helped him by lifting my hips off the bed slightly while using one of my hands to help push them down. When I went to try and remove my skirt, he gently grabbed my wrist and stopped me. “Leave it on for now, baby.” he said before dipping his head down and before even giving me the chance to respond, I felt his tongue gently flick against my clit. “O- oh fuck-.. mm..” I whimpered more while my legs trembled a little and I reached down, putting one of my hands in his hair feeling some of his curls wrap around my fingers as I pulled him closer. 

Eddie groaned in response then wrapped his lips around my clit and started to gently suck on it. I loudly moaned while arching my back and draping my legs over his shoulders. He then slightly curls his fingers, hitting my g-spot causing my pussy to clench around his fingers once again making me moan more. “E- Eddie, I- I’m close-..” I started to say before he sucked on my clit a bit harder while slipping a third finger inside me, making me whimper and pant. “Come on pretty girl, you got it… go ahead and come for me.” he said while pumping his fingers in and out of me at a pace that was even faster than before. That was all it took for me to tip over the edge and let go all over his fingers. He slowed down the movements of fingers to help me through it before he pulled them away from me, making me whimper.  I watched him bring his fingers to his lips and put them in his mouth, sucking them clean while groaning. Eddie released them with a pop then got off the bed to undress while I laid there, catching my breath. 

I shamelessly let my eyes roam over him while he undressed and bit my lip. He got onto the bed and hovered over me, settling himself between my legs once more. His hands went for my skirt and started to take it off me, once it was off it joined the rest of my clothes that had been thrown to the bedroom floor. Eddie let his eyes wander and roam all over me, “Fuck… you’re so beautiful, it’s unreal.” he said, making me blush a bit. “Thank you.” I replied with a sigh then reached up and carefully ran one of my hands through his curls, making him smile. He leaned down then kissed me while I wrapped my arms around his neck and he grabbed one of my legs and had it wrap around his waist. I felt his cock slide through my folds and I gasped a little, making him chuckle. “What is it baby?” he asked as he pulled back then grabbed his cock and rubbed the tip against my entrance. He then had it slip in a little, making me whimper before pulling away. “Is it this, is this what you want, hm?” Eddie asked while slipping the head of his cock inside me again while I moaned and squirmed, my pussy clenched around it trying to get him to sink into more. 

He tsked while shaking his head as he pulled out of me and I whined. “Use your words, if you ask me nicely… maybe I’ll give you what you want.” He said, slightly smirking at me as he squirmed a bit. “Come on Eddie, pleaseee…” I desperately whined which caused him to chuckle as he rubbed himself against me again. “Please… what?” Eddie asked as he tilted his head and I shakily sighed, blushing a bit. “P- please… fuck me..” I said while making eye contact with him and he smirked. “Good girl.” he replied and then slowly slid his cock inside me, inch by inch. I moaned loudly as I felt him slowly stretching me out and he groaned, “Holy shit, y- you feel so good… you’re so tight, baby- fuck.” Once he was fully inside me, he gave me a moment to adjust to his size. I whimpered a bit while I moved my hips just a little, “Y- you can move now, please… please move.” I said then he slowly pulled all the way out of me, but before I could protest, he thrusted all the way back into me and we both moaned. 

Eddie did it once more before he settled into a slow pace while also being rough at the same time. “That’s it, sweetheart… you’re doing so good.. taking me so well.” he said then leaned down and started kissing my neck while I moaned and held onto his shoulders. He started to pick up his pace while continuing to roughly thrust into me. I whimpered and moaned while trying to move my hips to meet his thrusts, but then he grabbed my other legs and wrapped it around his waist. He sunk deeper into me, bottoming out and I gasped, “O- oh my fucking god- Eddie!” I cried out and he smirked against my neck before gently biting it. I felt him slowly lick over the spot on my neck he had just bit then he pulled back a bit to look at me. “Yes, baby?” He replied as he gently wrapped one of his hands around my throat then lightly squeezed, causing me to clench around him and he groaned. 

“You’re so pretty like this darling, all nice and full of my cock.” Eddie said as he used his thumb to drag my lower lip down then let go of it and watched it snap back into place. He then rolled his hips in a way that made me see stars and I just moaned in response while throwing my head back. “D- don’t stop.. please..” I said through whimpering and he chuckled. “Don’t worry, baby.. I don’t plan on it.” he replied before his thrusts got rougher than they were before and all I could do was loudly moan. It didn’t take long before he started to hit my g-spot over and over, turning me into a moaning, whimpering mess while my legs started to shake. Eddie squeezed my throat again,a little harder this time while his freehand slid down between us and between my legs. He used his thumb to rub against my clit in fast, small circles which caused my pussy to clench around his cock and he groaned. 

“E- Eddie, I’m gonna- oh fuck.. I’m going to-” I cut myself off with a moan, not being able to completely think straight. “Go ahead, baby… come all over me and soak my cock.” he said while groaning and pressing his thumb down on my clit. Before my mind could process and catch up with my body, I came while crying out his name. My pussy tightly clenched around him as my back arched off the bed while my thighs trembled. Eddie let out a deep, guttural groan as he continued to roughly thrust into me, drawing out my orgasam. “Such a good girl, making a mess all over me.” he then moaned and groaned as he thrust into me a couple more times. I felt him throb inside of me before he came, filling me up. Eddie caught his breath then placed one hand on one of my hips then slid one of his arms underneath my back and carefully clipped us around, laying down with me laying on top of him. He held me close, keeping himself buried inside me. 

I rested my head against his chest and he began to play with my hair. “So… does this mean you’re going to break up with him?” He asked and I slightly chuckled. “Wow, really subtle Munson.” I replied, making him laugh. “It’s a genuine question.” Eddie said then kissed the top of my head, making me smile. “Yes Eddie, yes I’m going to break up with him.” I replied while looking up at him. “Good… good because you’re mine now and I’m not letting you go.” He said then kissed my forehead and I chuckled then buried my face in the crook of his neck.

ꨄ end note: This was inspired by an imagine I posted months ago. I had such a fun time writing it and I hope you enjoyed it!

ꨄ If you liked this fic, I would really appreciate it if you liked and reblogged it to help my account grow! 💕

ꨄ Don't forget to comment if you want more fic like this or would just like another Eddie fic from me in general!