A/N: this had been in my drafts for so long i had to reformat it bc it was in my old format version. SORRY! anyway hope you like it.
Warnings: Smut, masturbation (both f and m ;)//mutual masturbation, sexual daydreams about f! oral, creampies, etc, squirting
You had the place alone tonight.
It's the first time in awhile actually. Your roommate got forcibly dragged out by your ridiculously chaotic neighbor Wade. Something about a boys night out, and your roommate did not sound happy about it.
and while you liked having the place to yourself, you actually found yourself missing Logans presence quickly.
Showing up suddenly about 6 months ago, Wade had graciously offered your 2 bedroom apartment for Logan to crash in till he gets on his feet. Considering Wade is one of your closest friends, the people-pleaser in you, and the fact that Logan was the hottest man you ever seen- you accepted it in quiet resignation.
Logan was a nice roommate, does the dishes, helps with rent- and actually has managed to keep Wades nosy ass out of your home. He was a bit quiet and reserved at first, and you were a nervous wreck anytime you got close to him but soon you both melted into a routine, and became something like good friends- as much as Logan will allow anyway. You always would like to get closer to him, but there's a wall that you can't seem to cross with him.
You don't know a lot about his past. Wade rambled something about a TVA and multiple timelines when he first introduced Logan (by barging into your place and loudly welcoming Logan into his new home) and you decided not to pry, letting Logan tell you if and when he was ready. There's been snippets, when he gets drunk, where he admitted he did some terrible things.
Yet for some reason, you could never find yourself scared of him.
You had a big crush on Logan, a crush that was growing more and more by the day and it was becoming harder and harder to hide it.
Especially because now, as you lay in bed, ready to sleep for the night. You can't stop thinking about him.
You can't stop thinking about every interaction you had with him. The multiple times you've walked in the bathroom where he had nothing but a towel on- still wet and glistening. You thought about how his muscles bulged when he moved the couch for you- by himself. His hand touches your lower back every time he squeezes past you in your incredibly tiny kitchen- The way you could feel his breath on your neck when he excuses himself, and the press of his broad chest against your back....
Fuck.
Your skin was getting hot. You pressed your thighs together trying to give yourself relief from the ache in your core. You hadn't done anything in awhile, despite the vibrators that lay inside your bedside table. After you learned about Logan's enhanced hearing ability when he told you about your elderly neighbors who are apparently a bit rambunctious when it comes to their sex lives and keeps him up some nights- you couldn't bring yourself to use them anymore unless it was a rare night he wasn't home. If you needed to get yourself off, you used the shower.
You felt an excitement you haven't felt in a long time thinking about Logan and it filled you with slight guilt.
He's your roommate, your friend. You shouldn't be thinking about him like this- and yet...
You toss the blanket off yourself. The cool air of your bedroom brought relief to your hot skin. Still apprehensive about what you were going to do, you slowly spread your legs, tipping your head back and closing your eyes. You lifted your shirt over your breasts, feeling your nipples harden against the cool air.
You pictured Logan sucking on them. His tongue swirling around the bud. His teeth tugging at the skin before he leaves several bite marks around your breasts. It sends a fresh wave of warmth down to your pussy.
Your hand slid down your belly, resting over your panties. God they were soaked. You don't remember ever getting this wet when you were with an actual partner.
You tested with a teasing stroke against your panties and it causes you to gasp from just a little touch. Your mind flashes to Logan in that towel- and immediately you try to push it out of your mind. You can't, you shouldn't. It was perverted, you're sure Logan would be disgusted if he ever knew you did something like this.
Your hand didn't stop. Your fingers pressed into the fabric and rubbed teasing circles against your clit, until you finally slipped under your panties into your slippery folds. You pictured Logan's fingers doing the same- Big and strong- God he could probably get you off so fast with his hands before he even used his dick.
You spun fast circles into your clit, desperate for a release while thinking about Logan and you got it. Your mind went to him eating you out first- but quickly switching to the picture of your legs hooked over his shoulders and he's pounding you into the mattress. His cock stretching you open over and over- His voice taunting you, then praising you for taking him like a good girl. That's what sent you over the edge.
Your free hand came to cup your breast, squeezing it and rubbing circles into your nipple which spurred you on. Your hips lifted off the bed, and you moaned his name while you came. You fell back into bed when you finished letting the aftershocks continue, out of breath with your heart pounding.
That felt great, but it left you feeling emptier- and needier after your first daydream of Logan. The urge to be full- preferably with Logan's cock was strong.
You pulled your panties off, tossing them somewhere in the room. You press your fingers into your clit again, gently swirling against the sensitive bud, while your other hand worked down to your hole- begging to be filled. You dipped one finger inside, working yourself open. You thought about Logan again, how endowed he must be under those pants.
You haven't seen it, no- but a towel, boxers, especially the sweatpants. They leave little to the imagination. He's big. You could tell just by the frame of him, and his goddamn attitude too. He's hairy too, judging by the hair of his arms down his chest- You were able to peek a thick bush from the towel and that spurred you on more.
You added another finger, biting your lip and holding back a moan at the stretch. Logan would definitely have to spend some time preparing you- with his hands, maybe his mouth too, dipping his tongue inside your hole. Maybe it would feel good for his entire cock to be pushed inside you, taking you as you are and using you in every way he desires. You even thought about him cumming inside, filling you up so much you're leaking him for days.
You moaned his name again, your hand working yourself faster as you felt another orgasm rise in you- stronger this time, with the way your pussy squeezed your fingers and the core of your belly coiled tighter
"Moan any louder, and the neighbors are going to hear sweetheart."
His voice snapped you out of your dirty daydream. You yelped, hands quickly pulling away to cover your breasts, pulling your shirt back down as you sat up in bed. It's futile, since the person the voice belongs to just saw the whole package of your body- but it helps you protect your dignity- Although now you probably don't have any.
Logan stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame. His expression stern and made you cower a bit. Panic was all you could feel, your mind running through with a million, humiliating, horrifying things he was about to say to you. Your heart had sunk, and you had to fight back tears.
"Heard you calling my name." He says, taking one step into your room. Shame was eating your alive, and you just wanted to crawl six feet underground.
"Why'd you stop?" He finally ask after a brutal silence. Everything inside you freezes, you blinked at him, opening your mouth and shutting it- looking and feeling like a fish out of water.
He completely steps inside your room. Pulls a chair from your desk out, staging it at the end of your bed and sitting down with his legs spread. Your eyes unconsciously went down to the bulge in his jeans.
Holy shit, am I dreaming?
"Keep going." He orders, "I want to see how it ends, pretty girl."
You're still frozen, everything in your body telling you to move, to say something- anything. You're staring at each other, and slowly he starts to crack a smile.
"Feeling shy with an audience?" He asks. "Don't gotta be... it's just you and me."
You swallowed hard, like a robot, you slowly laid back down, resting on your elbows as you continued to meet his eyes. You spread your legs, giving him an absolute delightful view of your pussy he couldn't fully see from the door. His eyes looked down, and they looked hungry.
He licks his lips, "Good girl." His voice was deep and husky, with an edge- like he was holding himself back. "Lift your shirt back up hm?"
You nodded amazed by his confidence- the way he took control of everything while you stared at him like a deer in headlights. Your hand grabbed the hem and lifted the shirt back over your breasts. He lets out a hiss.
"Fuck, you're gorgeous darling." He grunts, his hands digging into his thighs, his eyes scanning over you. "You been thinking about me?"
You nodded again. Your hand slipped down between your thighs again and he smirks. "Eager to get back to it, hm? Before I rudely interrupted you sweetheart?"
You found your clit and began circling over again. Logan leans back in the chair, a hand resting over the bulge in his jeans, where he gently palms it every so often.
"I want to see you cum, darling." His voice turns husky. "You already did once didn't you?"
"Yes-" You find your voice again. You tipped your head back with your eyes falling shut, spreading your legs in the air. Spurred on by the heat of Logan's stare- Your mind rushing through the embarrassment of being discovered- and the excitement of being able to continue, and perform for Logan.. "Thinking about you." You pant.
He smirks, "Here, I thought you couldn't stand me...Fuck."
You heard a clink of his belt and lifted your head to see him. You moaned at the sight of his cock- big and thick, just as you thought. He spits into his hand and starts stroking himself, using his thumb to gather pre-cum at his angry and red tip and lubed himself further.
"Keep going-" He grunts through his teeth. He's matching your pace, but you could tell he wants more. For a moment- you thought about playing with him, a tease to make him pay for scaring you. Go slower, draw out every second and make it harder for him to resist cumming.
Maybe another time- Your body ached for release, and even more for him.
"Oh, Logan-" You gasped, your free hand coming up to cup your breast again.
"Good girl, say my name."
You both continued like that, fucking yourselves while watching the other until you finally climaxed. You came so hard your whole body froze, arching off the bed.
"Logan!" You cried out his name again, feeling pressure build up and before you could stop yourself- You squirted. You never did it before, but you couldn't even focus on that as you rode out the wave of pleasure, any shame you felt left your body as you basked in the relief of your orgasm, your body and limbs became empty.
Somewhere in the fuzziness in your mind you could hear Logan grunting, and you opened your eyes- knowing you wanted to see him cum too.
You hadn't even noticed he grabbed your panties, now using them to finish himself off before cumming into the fabric. He tips his head back, letting out a guttural noise of your name. His Adam's apple bobbed in his throat, his ears red, and a sheen of sweat on his skin. His head falls back forward with his mouth in the shape of an O as he pants for air.
You're both taking a minute to catch your breath. You're starting to realize what the hell just happened- but before you could say anything or even think about regretting it, Logan was on top of you.
He didn't say a word before he was kissing you. It was needy and desperate. He had an arm braced above your head, and a hand cupping your cheek. You pressed your hands against his chest, kissing him back - He took your breath away.
He finally parts leaving you both gasping for air.
"You okay?" He asks, brushing a strand of hair out of the way. You nodded.
"You scared the hell out of me." You laughed breathlessly. "You're home early."
"You can thank the loudmouth for that." He chuckles. "Got us kicked out everywhere we went- Not that I'm complaining..." He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, and along your jaw. You laughed, because you really do have Wade to thank for all of this...Not that you ever would.
But you're suddenly remembering now- this whole situation. What does this mean for your friendship? Did you hear him say he thought you hated him?
"Logan..." Your hands reached up to cup his face so he'd look at you. "About what just happened....We, we should talk about it-"
"Sure." He sits up, and you find yourself already missing his closeness.
Instead of leaving, he lifts up his shirt and tosses it aside, revealing his toned and hairy body. Your eyes drifted back down to his cock that was still hanging out of his jeans. He was hard again. He lays back down over you, his hand wrapping around your thigh and lifting it over his hip. He presses his cock against your core.
chapter four : and you look half dead half the time
masterlist my ao3!
pairing : spencer reid x fem!reader
summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.
wc : 15k
tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, electric shock, switch!spencer, switch!reader, blood, gore, lots and lots of spit, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, squirting, multiple orgasms, choking, forced orgasms, face-sitting, angst, talks of pregnancy, broken bones, unhealthy conversations about SA, two extremely traumatized people trying to survive, bittersweet ending.
authors note : here she is!!!! at long last, the final chapter of headlock <3 the amount of support for this fic has me so incredibly grateful, i hope the ending lives up to expectations <3 please let me know if there's any spelling or grammar problems, this chapter kind of got away from me and my brain has been fried by the editing process lol
★
The BAU had a pretty serious reputation.
Highly skilled, highly specialized, and highly exclusive.
You had a plan. Once you graduated from the academy you would get yourself assigned to a nearby field office, something in Virginia. After a few years in the field, once you prove yourself, you will go directly to Quantico and meet with the unit chief, in person, to show how serious you are about being a profiler.
Half of your class had similar ambitions but you were serious. You already had your degree in psychology and with your abilities you could be a useful asset to their team.
You have the drive and the ambition to make it happen, you’re certain.
So imagine the look on your face when SSA Aaron Hotchner approached you one day after class.
Your hands trembled when you shook his.
Your head was spinning, you caught bits and pieces of what he was saying.
“Highly recommended by your professors… Jason Gideon’s retirement… fresh new faces… good influence on the rest of the team… specialty in forensics.”
You nodded along, and thanked him profusely when he handed you a business card and told you to call him when you graduated.
And suddenly, a quick six months later, you were stepping out of the elevator and into the busy bull pen. Straightening the blouse you’d spent the last two weeks agonizing over.
You had a duffle bag full of clothes and toiletries, just as you’d been instructed to bring. And you’re large over the shoulder purse, filled with anything and everything, prepared for anything your first day could possibly throw at you.
You were going to be a profiler, the best profiler the BAU has ever seen, and you’ll be damned if you let anything get in your way.
People shuffled around you, heads down in their files and phones as you weaved through them until you reached Agent Hotchner's office. He hung up the phone when you opened the door and stood to greet you. Telling you how happy he was that you accepted his offer. (As if you could ever say no.)
“Let’s introduce you to the team, and then I’ll show you to your desk. Everyone's been briefed on your arrival and I’m sure they’re all eagerly awaiting an introduction.” He gave you a practiced, professional smile as he led you out of his office and back into the bullpen.
You followed closely behind him as he took you down a hallway, stepping into a side room you were met with a wall of screens and two people crowded around them.
“Allow me to introduce you to Agent Garcia and SSA Morgan.” He had urged you inside as you stared in awe. You’re familiar with both of them.
Penelope Garcia, originally on the FBI’s watchlist, was arrested and offered a deal to avoid prosecution by joining the team instead. She’s a prolific hacker, she’s practically famous online.
And of course you’re familiar with the shockingly handsome man beside her.
Derek Morgan, seasoned member of the team with a focus on obsessional crimes and explosives.
You know the whole team like the back of your hand and right now you feel like a fangirl at a meetup event.
“Wow, it is- it’s so nice to meet you.” You held your hand out, relieved to be met with a handshake from both of them.
Reserved but optimistic.
They’re open to the idea of you, they just aren’t sure yet.
You’ve been practicing your profiling.
You exchanged pleasantries, nodded and laughed when it was appropriate. All of the things you promised yourself you would do to keep your cool.
After a few minutes of small talk you followed Hotch out of the room, to a different office where you meet Agent Jareau.
Jennifer Jareau, media relations and police liaison.
Also notably, drop dead gorgeous.
And she couldn’t have been sweeter. Complimenting your outfit as your face burned hot as the sun.
You run into your next introduction in the hall on the way to the bull pen.
“This is SSA Prentiss.”
Oh, you know who she is.
Emily Prentiss. Linguistics expert, with a specialty in terrorism and counter-intelligence. Her mother was a relatively notable U.S. diplomat.
You must be smiling like an idiot when you shake her hand.
You continue following behind Agent Hotchner, feeling like a kid in a candy store as you return to the bullpen.
“And of course, saving the best for last, your deskmate, Dr. Reid.” Agent Hotchner leads you to an empty desk, directly adjacent to the young man who has his head in a book.
You’re more than familiar with him.
Dr. Spencer Reid, the youngest person ever recruited for the BAU. You’ve heard that he can read 10,000 words a minute. He has an eidetic memory, and an IQ of 187. You had a friend who met him once at a lecture, she told you that he’s a staunch germaphobe.
When he looks up you know you’re done for.
Sharp angled features, accentuated as he tucks his hair behind his ears.
His wide hazel eyes size you up as he closes his book.
“I figured as the youngest members of our team you would get along well enough to share a desk. I’ll leave you to set up your space, we’ll meet in the conference room in an hour.” You watch as Agent Hotchner returns to his office, leaving you alone with Dr. Reid.
“It’s so nice to meet you.” For the first time you don’t offer up your hand, you just smile at him. “Let me know if you like the desks a certain way or if I set anything up in a way that bothers you at all.” You take a few things out of your purse and place them carefully on the large wooden desk. A framed picture of you with some friends from the Academy, a few trinkets from home to fill the space, and several notebooks and pens.
“You look a bit young for the BAU.” Spencer leans towards the little glass partition between you.
“Not as young as you were when you started, what was it, twenty three?” You’re thrilled that he’s even talking to you, even if you’re being a bit overeager. Your friend had told you he was a little awkward if not outright abrasive.
She hadn’t told you he was so pretty.
“Twenty two actually, what else have you heard about me?” He fully stands and moves to lean on your desk as you rock back in your chair, his eyes wander across your desk, you can’t help but wonder if he’s trying to profile you.
“I heard that you have three PHD’s, you got your first when you were only sixteen, and you’re working on a fourth. You have an eidetic memory, and an IQ of a hundred and eighty seven, and you can read ten thousand words a minute.” You ramble without thinking about it, hoping in the back of your mind that you aren’t scaring him off.
“It’s actually twenty thousand.” His eyes lock onto your face now, clearly gauging your reaction.
“Really? Do you really actually retain the information?” You give him a smile and are remarkably pleased when he returns it.
“As far as I can tell.”
“How was your last deskmate?”
“I didn’t have one, Hotch says I have a personal space problem.” He looks a bit abashed at that, you’re surprised he even admits it so plainly.
“Was there no other spot available?” You look around the room, sure every desk is full but there are several clumps of three and four, you could have joined a different group.
“There definitely were, but he seems convinced that I can be more sociable.”
“If you want me to, I can probably move my desk to a different clump.” The last thing you want to do is upset one of your team members on your first day.
“I wasn’t trying to imply-” His cheeks and ears burn red. “Hotch is right, it’ll probably be good for me to make a few friends.” Hesitantly he held his hand out to you.
Your smile practically doubles in size as you shake it.
“It’s nice to make your acquaintance then, Dr. Ried.”
“Likewise.”
★
You decide not to tell Spencer what you talked about with Peter.
It would only serve to stress him out. That’s what you tell yourself at least.
When you wake the red door is shut and locked once more, which puts you both on edge. What could possibly be waiting for you once it’s opened? Instead of stewing on it too much you spend the morning wrapped in Spencer's arms, enjoying a moment of normalcy before whatever the day brings crashes down upon you.
Normalcy.
Is this what normalcy looks like now? Is this what your life will be like outside of here? You aren’t sure you could live without him after all this, and you have to imagine he feels the same way.
He’s certainly gone to extremes to show you that.
“What’s the first thing you’re gonna do after the team finds us?” You take his hand in yours, examining the burnt stumps of his fingers as you break the silence.
“Probably go to a hospital, and then a dentist.” He doesn’t pull away, letting you trace shapes mindlessly against his palm.
“Well yeah, obviously. Aside from the obvious things, what will you do first?” You turn to look at him, despite everything he still smiles at you.
“I haven’t given it much thought, I’m more focused on getting out of here first.”
“Just play along, please?” You groan.
“Why don’t you tell me what you’ll do first?” He leans forward, bumping his forehead against yours.
You have to think about it for a moment.
“I want to get my nails done. I was putting it off before all of this and now I definitely need it. Just the longest, most extravagant mani-pedi they offer.” Looking down at your hands now there’s blood under your nails, and your wrists are raw and bruised.
“Then I imagine the first thing I would do would be sit in a salon waiting room until you’re done.” You aren’t sure if he’s joking or not and thinking too hard about it makes your head hurt so you change the subject.
“What was the first thing you did after you were kidnapped by Tobias Hankel?” It’s probably too personal of a question but at this point are there really boundaries between the two of you?
You know you haven’t crossed a line because he answers without hesitation.
“I took a long shower, like two hours long. I just stood under the water, they had sent me home alone and I just wasn’t sure what else to do.” He pauses, chewing his lip as he thinks. “I felt alone for a long time after that.”
You wonder if that’s how you’ll feel. That’s probably how you’re supposed to feel.
Except you aren’t alone.
You have him.
It’s funny, you’ve known him less than a year but right now it feels like you’ve always been together. You hardly remember life without Spencer.
“What happens when we leave here?” The words tumble from your mouth before you can stop them.
What happens to us?
That’s the real question on your mind.
“I guess we go back to work, that’s sort of what everyone does when something like this happens. Everyone pretends it didn’t happen.” He sounds… hurt.
You have a hard time swallowing his words.
Something like this.
Like this is something you’re expected to go through.
“Are we going to be okay?” Your brain feels like it’s becoming more and more scrambled, the line between performance and reality is starting to blur and you can’t help but wonder if he’s been acting this whole time.
He really seems to stop and think about his answer.
“I think so, I think you and I will be more than okay.”
Whatever that means.
You’re starting to get a headache so you decide to focus on his wounds to distract yourself, taking your time to examine his hand properly and then his mouth. The bleeding from his gums seems to have stopped completely which is great news. The corners of his mouth are stained red from residual bleeding overnight but he seems to be doing as good as you can hope for.
“How does everything feel?” You ask as you release your grip on his jaw.
“I… don’t really know, physically I feel a little off, nothing I wouldn’t expect to feel all things considered. Mentally, I’m mostly worried, yesterday was out of place for the usual content he’s had us make. So I have no idea what to expect today, he could regress if he didn’t like it, if he did like it we might see some escalation.”
Hands-on.
That’s the term he used.
“Well-” You start but close your mouth the second you hear the crackle of the intercom.
“Hello, my stars, I am thrilled to see you are more talkative today.” There’s an excited edge to his voice that makes you immediately uneasy. “I continue to be amazed by your performances. Yesterday did not go exactly as I had imagined yet I was still awestruck by some of your choices.”
“We weren’t exactly given much of a choice, were we Peter?” When Spencer speaks up you’re a little surprised by his continued attitude with your captor, especially considering the soft spoken conversation you’ve been having.
“Dr. Reid, you may think me a villain but I have given you everything you have ever wanted. You should be thanking me.”
Even Spencer, who has a response to everything, doesn’t have a response to that.
“Regardless of your rudeness, I have a present for the two of you. Behind the door you will find a delightful surprise, and with it a promise that you won’t have to hear my voice again for quite some time, maybe ever. I have decided our communication may be better across different mediums. And of course you know that if you do not comply you-”
“Will be separated, or shot, or whatever it is you feel like today, got it.” Spencer is quick to find his voice again, what has gotten into him?
He’s a lot of things but he isn’t this. Interrogative, sure. Analytical, always. Brazenly aggressive? Never.
“Oh doctor, you really are in some kind of mood today. That is fine, you are entitled to that mood after the performance you gave us yesterday. What a twist.” The door creaks open and neither of you moves, you aren’t in any rush to see what gift is waiting for you. “I have been thinking, yesterday your performance was… enchanting. I keep asking myself what made it so special and I think I found my answer.” He says every word as though he is the most important person in the world, saying the most important sentence anyone has ever heard. “You two hardly need directing, you just need a motive to perform, and you do positively captivating work. So, for the foreseeable future I will cease all specific requests, let us see what you can do. I think your motivation will become abundantly clear rather fast.” He makes a horrific swallowing sound, as if he’s salivating at just the thought of what’s about to happen. “I want to be dazzled, and I think this is how I get the best show possible from you both.”
“So you aren’t going to be giving us any instruction at all? We’re just supposed to do whatever we want?” It’s your turn to speak, voice cracking as you do because that’s almost worse, at least with specific directions you had plausible deniability for all of this. That all changes if you’re calling the shots.
“No my sweet flower, I still have my expectations. You both have your… habits. Things that I enjoy, and things that I do not. I would like to put an end to some of your less desirable habits, and pave the way for more preferable ones. So no, you will not have free reign, but I also know that with a little slack on the leash you might do some of your best work. Now go, enjoy your gift. You may not hear from me again, but know that I am always watching you, angel.”
For what might be the last time, you hear the click of the intercom. There’s a twisted finality to the sound, followed by the creak of the door opening.
“So we’re supposed to just make up a scene?” You turn to Spencer as he gets to his feet. Watching as he makes his way across the room, when he pulls the door open you see a little pink gift bag on the floor, complete with glittery tissue paper sticking out of the top.
He picks it up apprehensively before bringing it back to you. When he hands it to you it’s heavier than you expected for such a small bag.
“I assume it’s for you.” The bravado he had when speaking with the unsub has fizzled out now that you’re alone again.
You move slowly as you pluck the tissue paper out of the bag. You can’t make out the contents so you flip the bag and dump them out onto the blanket.
And you immediately recognize what it is.
Two collars fall out of the bag, both with a thick chunk of black plastic attached to them with two silver prongs poking out. Accompanied by two little padlocks.
You look up at each other in sync, with the same wide eyes, a silent understanding happens in your shared look.
Here’s the motive to perform.
Neither one of you wants to do this, obviously, but you both take one in your hands regardless. What choice do you have? For seemingly the first time since you arrived in this terrible place, you don’t even bother to think of a way to get out of this. There is a complete acceptance within you that this is simply another thing that you must do.
It isn’t a great feeling, but there’s an odd comfort to it.
You don’t need to think of a way out of this because there isn’t one, there’s nothing you can do about it so why upset yourself over nothing.
Spencer must have come to the same conclusion as you because he picks up one of the collars with a resolute look, wrapping the thick nylon band around his neck. You watch as he carefully positions the prongs against his throat and closes the latch, scooping the lock up and with his fingers he snaps it shut before he loses his nerve. Sealing his fate.
Taking a deep breath he looks at you, almost expectantly.
Okay.
Your turn.
Your hands are trembling as you lay the length of the collar out flat. After a few deep breaths, you wrap it around your throat, feeling the cold, sharp metal of the prongs. Your hands are still shaking like a leaf in the wind as you close the latch, dropping the padlock in the process.
“Here, let me help.” He takes the prongs, adjusting them to a different part of your neck. “We want to avoid the carotid artery.” He murmurs before picking up the lock and clicking it shut, sealing your fate as well.
You stare at each other once more, now with matching accessories.
“So I guess we should just…” God, you don’t want to say it out loud, even if it isn’t something you’re necessarily dreading. But now, with the threat around your throat you don’t have much of a choice.
“Probably, I imagine he isn’t exactly feeling patient now that we have them on.” His eyes roam over your body like he isn’t sure of what to do, as if you haven’t already done this. Finally he leans in, one hand cupping your cheek as he kisses you. He’s so gentle with you, slow and intentional. It feels so natural to be touched by him, like you were meant for this. Maybe this won’t be so bad, if it’s just having sex until the unsub is satisfied you can handle that. When his fingers comb through your hair your entire body seizes.
The two of you both go rigid against each other, it feels like your body is being stabbed with a million frozen needles, an endless icy pain that seeps into your bones. Your spine straightens and you feel like you’re being puppeted as you twitch. After a few agonizing moments you collapse against each other.
“That can’t possibly be a standard shock for a dog collar.” You gasp the words out as he nods.
“We need to try something else.” You look him over as he speaks, the flesh under the prongs is red, you’re sure you have a mark to match. At least it wasn’t enough to leave you with a burn, yet.
“Clearly.” Your head is spinning, you can’t actually be expected to think clearly right now? All you can think about is the possibility of another shock happening at any moment.
“So we try a different approach, do you think he’s just generally looking for rough intercourse or does he want something more blatantly violent? I just don’t think this is actually that efficient of a communication method. We have no-” Spencer’s ramblings are cut off as you both seize up again.
The shock lasts much longer than this time, your jaw clenches tight as you try to breathe. You can feel the electricity running through every inch of you, for a moment you swear your heart skips a beat. That can’t be good.
You don’t know much about the dangers of electric shock. But Spencer does, and he looks terrified.
His expression is enough to make you throw yourself at him the second you have control of your body again. Knocking him backwards onto the floor.
“No more talking.” You mumble against his mouth as you bite his bottom lip. You don’t know what you need to do to make the shocks stop but talking about it certainly isn’t going to help.
There’s a moment of hesitation from him and you just know he’s fighting the urge to ask if this is okay. That’s the last thing you need right now, stopping to ask if you're alright with this will undoubtedly end with another shock.
“Come on.” You murmur, taking his hand and guiding it between your legs.
Thank god that seems to be permission enough for him as he slips his hands past your waist band, any shame you felt a few short days ago has long since gone out the window. Based on the way he whimpers when his fingers press against your folds you’re certain he’s in the same boat.
Gone is a sense of shame between the two of you, if this is your normal you might as well enjoy it.
“Just do what you want to do, it’ll be better for both of us.” You press your forehead to his, gently rocking yourself against his hand. After everything you’ve been through at this point it’s hard to believe his fingers are still hesitantly hovering above your entrance.
You can practically hear his internal monologue in your own head.
Prior consent doesn’t count as consent in future situations. Especially when you’re being coerced by electric shock, We’ll do whatever you’re most comfortable with, even if it means getting shocked until our hearts simultaneously explode.
His erection is actively poking your hip right now and he’s still looking at you like he’s waiting for the okay.
The collar might not not be motivating enough for him but it certainly is for you, you know exactly what the unsub wants to see.
He wants to see all the things you want to do to the man staring up at you slackjawed right now.
You bring your hand up to his face, squeezing his jaw, you force his mouth open wider, staring in his eyes as you spit into his mouth. You raise your eyebrows at him, daring him to react as his eyes manage to go even wider.
Self proclaimed germaphobe Dr. Reid looks at you, and swallows.
You really are the exception to his rules.
Finally he swipes two fingers against your clit, being electrocuted might have left you feeling tense and paranoid but his touch has all of that melting away.
Thank fucking god.
His fingers slide across the length of your cunt, he hums when he feels the wetness pooling at your entrance. He never pushes into you, only teases your hole until you’re keening against him.
Hovering on all fours above him you’re sure you’re a sight, panting like a dog for more.
Your noises only serve to egg him on. Using your wetness as a lubricant he focuses on your clit. You squeeze your eyes shut, almost instinctually rocking back and forth against the heel of his palm. He doesn’t seem to be in any rush, rubbing lazy circles against you until your legs shake so bad you’re worried you’ll crumble and fall down on top of him.
“Can I get on top now?” The sound of his voice makes your eyes snap open as you nod eagerly. Holding onto your hips he flips you over so your positions are reversed. You lean back, waiting patiently for his hand to return to your cunt. When he doesn’t you whine.
You’re rewarded with his fingers looping around the sides of your panties, yanking them down until you're bare before him.
“Open your mouth.” His tone isn’t demanding, more like a plea.
So you do just that, and when you meet his eyes you hardly even see Spencer anymore.
Gone is the sweet boy you share a desk with, he has been replaced by something hungry and tragic.
He’s just like you now.
Sick.
He leans down until your lips are almost touching, he isn’t as confident as you were but he still spits into your mouth without hesitation. Pulling back to watch. When swallowing his breath hitches. His fingers pull on the hem of your camisole, pulling it up until it’s over your arms and your head.
He takes a moment to just stare at your chest in a way that would usually make you cover yourself up. Instead you just let him. Squeaking in surprise when he leans down and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, making obscene sounds in the process. His tongue swirls around it for a moment before he starts dragging his tongue back and forth, letting his teeth lightly graze against the sensitive bud, never actually biting down. Alternating between sucking and lapping at your nipple until it stiffens into a peak. When he’s satisfied he switches to your other breast, repeating the process. When he pulls away to admire his work your nipples are swollen and both of your tits are slick with spit.
The sight is enough to make him bite his lip in a weak attempt to stifle a whine.
You’ve all but forgotten about the collar around your neck as he starts to bend your knees up towards your stomach. You're caught off guard when he keeps pushing until your legs are pointed straight up with your feet over his shoulders. Turning his head he kisses your ankle before gently biting the skin there. You’re positioned in a way that his clothed cock rubs against your core, your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head. Just when you think he’s about to pull his boxers down he stops.
He opens his mouth and you just know his dumb ass is about to ask if you’re okay with this, so you kick the side of his head and glare at him as his mouth snaps closed. He nods, at least the part of his brain that uses his critical thinking skills still works.
You both know the unsub doesn’t like when he asks you for consent, you don’t know or honestly care why. He can ask you if you’re okay a hundred times a day when you get out of here.
There’s another moment's pause from him, and if looks could kill your glare would put him six feet under.
“For gods sake, Spence, just fuck me.” You hope you don’t sound too mean but he doesn't seem bothered, quite the opposite.
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
You feel a rush of relief when he kicks his boxers off, his cock stands at attention, the poor neglected thing is already leaking, leaving his tip shiny and slick.
He wraps his arms around your legs, holding you like a vice as he lines himself up and slides into the heat of your cunt.
It stings just as much as it did the first time but you revel in it this time. Who cares about a little pain anymore? You just squeeze your eyes shut and groan. He likely doesn’t even hear the edge to your groans over his own breathy moans.
He doesn’t give you as much of an adjustment period this time either, his hips are already rocking back and forth. Whether it’s for fear of being shocked or simply because he can’t help himself is unclear.
He holds your legs firmly in place, ankles thrown over his shoulders as he pistons in and out of you. Both of you are reduced to whimpering messes in a matter of minutes as you feel the all too familiar tightening of the knot in your stomach.
Boy genius can’t be far behind you based on the sporadic nature of his thrusts. You’d say that happened fast but you’re in no position to judge, not when your breath is catching in your throat with every thrust. He knows your body surprisingly well because you can tell he’s holding out for your orgasm before his. His quick, sloppy thrusts become focused. Shallow, just the right way to slide against that sweet spot before slamming into your cervix until the knot snaps.
You clamp down on him, the force of which draws a string of whimpers past his lips as he scrambles to pull out, coming on your stomach. You watch the way his jaw tightens, and his cock twitches, admiring the sight before you lean back. Taking a few deep breaths as you try and collect yourself. He slumps over next to you, in a similar state.
He plants a kiss on your shoulder before pressing his forehead against yours.
Your eyes are starting to flutter shut when your back arches. A strangled cry leaving your throat as you feel a quick shock is delivered to your body. Spencer spasms onto you, his fingers twist around his collar, pulling uselessly.
It’s a mercifully short burst of electricity this time but still enough to make you sit up straight.
“What did we do wrong?” Your voice is hoarse.
He looks troubled, more troubled than you’d expect, even after all that.
“I-I’m not sure, I guess we just have to try again.” So rare is it to hear Dr. Spencer Reid sound unsure.
“Okay, fuck, okay.” You’re trying to think back over everything you just did. He didn’t shock you the entire scene until the end so he clearly didn’t have a problem with the contents of the scene. You’re a mess of scrambling limbs as you both smash your lips together once more in an attempt to avoid any form of reprimand. “Let’s try something else.” You grumble against his lips.
You’re racking your brain for ideas, clearly he’s doing the same but it’s edged with a panic. If you choose the wrong thing you risk another shock. How much would it take to stop your heart?
Focus.
He didn’t like what you just did, okay, do something else. Do something different.
Does he want more talking or less?
More participation on your part, less on Spencer’s?
Rougher?
Meaner?
Without the unsubs direct commands Spencer isn’t as sexually dominant as he originally had to be, maybe the unsub wants that dynamic to be included in every scene.
You can do that.
Happily.
First things first, you need him to be as naked as you are.
You climb into his lap, straddling him as you push him back so that he’s laying back once more. Yanking on the hem of his shirt until you’re able to pull it off of him, tossing it aside you drag your hands up and down his torso.
God he’s pretty.
Somehow even prettier with a collar around his neck.
Don’t think like that.
Grinding down against him you can feel his cock already swelling again.
“You get hard so easily.” You grab his jaw, noticing his stubble for the first time. How long have you been here?
“I thought you said no talking.”
“Well that didn’t work out so well, I’m trying something different. Do you not like it?”
The dumb look on his face makes you forget about the collar for a moment, it makes you forget about the room you're in, and it makes you forget all about Peter Hill. All you can think about are ways to make him keep making that face.
“This is fine.” He mumbles.
“You do all the work every time Spencer, you must be tired by now.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He really does sound tired. Maybe not from this exactly, but in general.
“Maybe you could let me take care of you this time?” You tuck a strand of hair away from his face as he continues to nod.
Assuming that the unsub might see Spencer as a surrogate for himself this would be a wise course of action. Seeing you as the dominant, more active, participant might be exactly what he wants. Maybe the reason you were shocked was because he could see how hesitant Spencer was, maybe he just needs to see one of you taking the lead.
That’s the only reason you’re doing this.
Certainly not seizing an opportunity.
Your panties have long since been discarded so it’s relatively easy to reach back and grab his cock, lining him up with your entrance as you sink down onto him. You’re typically concentrating and rolling your eyes into the back of your head when he first enters you, but right now you get a perfect view of his face.
Mouth open in an ‘O’ as his eyes flutter shut, a pornagraphic moan slipping past his lips. This is already so much better.
Once you’re fully seated on his cock you fight the urge to grind against him, instead you just watch his face, the way his features twist and contort in pleasure.
“Do you like it when I spit in your mouth?” You do your best to keep your tone sultry, more condescending than actually caring about the response.
You’re met with a frantic nod and you nearly lose your resolve when he opens his mouth.
This is better than any romance book, sexy movie, or porno you’ve ever seen.
You want to take a picture, since that isn’t an option right now you settle for burning the mental image into your brain before you give him exactly what he wants. You hover over him, letting a line of spit fall from your mouth to his. His cock twitches inside of you simultaneously. You don’t dare take your eyes off of him as he swallows again.
So fucking good.
He’s too good. Maybe this is what you should have been doing all along. He never needed to be in charge, this is a million times better than any show you’ve put on. If Peter wanted a star he’s got one right here. Licking his perfect pretty lips.
Batting his eyelashes at you like his cock isn’t lodged in your stomach.
“I wonder what else you like?” You don’t even say it for the camera, that was forgotten the second he opened his mouth and presented his tongue to you.
He doesn’t have a response, just that pretty, dumb look. Is this what it’s like for him? Watching you come apart so easily, you completely understand his ridiculous torture metaphors now, this is fucking torture in the sweetest way humanely possible.
You don’t know what possesses you to do it but you tentatively at first, you wrap your fingers around his throat, careful to avoid the bulky part of the collar. It’s a move made mostly for show. But when you’re met with a frantic, impatient, nod, you squeeze.
His hips rock upwards immediately, fucking into you, instinctively your grip tightens around his throat as if you can steady yourself. It only makes him buck into you harder. He splays his hands out across the tops of your thighs, nails digging into your flesh, leaving a trail of crescent marks in his wake.
The room fills with the sounds of curses as you let your head fall backwards, so much for doing the work, Spencer’s doing most of the work as he continues to fuck up into you. You briefly let your hand slip off his neck, his hand catches your wrist, holding you against his throat as you wrap your fingers back around it.
“Fucking- shit, oh my god.” His brows furrow together as he whines, you’ve never heard him curse so much before.
He angles his hips off the floor, grinding the base of his pelvis against your clit until you’re seeing stars. You’re definitely squeezing too hard but he won’t let your wrist go and your body is too tense from the pressure building in your stomach. Based on the sounds he’s making you’re sure he doesn’t care, his eyes are basically rolled into the back of his head at this point anyway.
“So fucking good, Spence, oh my fucking-” Your voice trails off into a moan as rolls his hips up against you just so. The goal was to focus on him but he seems hell bent on making you come, so much so that he doesn’t even bother thrusting into you. He just keeps angling his hips against yours in any way he can to put pressure on your clit. And you reward his efforts every time by tightening your grip.
Once again your orgasm hits first, before you’re ready for it and before you’ve recovered from your first orgasm. He forces it out of you. And in return you brand your handprint across the front of his throat. Your vision is blurring white as you cry out. Your chest heaves as you gasp, fighting, keeping your eyes open as you stare down at your pretty boy.
His cheeks are bright red as he sucks in a breath, you’re about to start riding him in earnest, it’s the least you can do. But before you can he grabs the back of your head, forcing your lips onto his as his tongue presses against yours. You start to groan his name but he swallows the sound when he sucks your tongue into his mouth. Just like that with a stutter of his hips you feel his cock jerk inside of you as he comes, spilling out around the base of his shaft as he makes a mess out of both of you.
The corners of his eyes are damp when you look at him, you can’t help but kiss him there, moving to his cheek, and then his forehead. You both stay silent, a palpable tension replaces the lust in your cloudy mess of a brain as you wait to see if it was enough. The energy in the room shifted completely.
You can’t imagine a world in which that wasn’t adequate.
Yet somehow, it wasn’t.
You fall forward, letting your forehead rest on the cold cement as you feel the burning against your neck. From your throat down to your fingertips, you can feel the white hot fire burning you from the inside out. It lasts long, too long. It feels like the prongs are boring holes straight through your throat and out the other side.
When it finally relents Spencer's fingers are pulling on your collar.
“What’s wrong?” You mumble, your visions a bit blurry as you struggle to sit up.
“I need to adjust the prongs, we’ve got burns now and we don’t want to keep hitting the same spot or it could become necrotic.” You don’t really comprehend what he’s saying but you sit still so he can do whatever it is he’s insisting on. “Okay, now can you do mine?” He tilts his chin up as he nods and you adjust his collar as well.
The sight of his burn snaps you out of your stupor.
A gnarly red and white blister has formed under the prongs, it hurts just to look at but the sting on your own neck reminds you that you have one to match.
The smell of burnt flesh floats in the air around you.
Once you’ve adjusted his collar as he instructs he leans in and kisses you, pushing you back until you’re the one laying down this time. When he starts to pepper kisses down your chest and stomach until he’s between your legs you squeeze your thighs together. You cannot deal with another orgasm right now.
“No.” You’re firm as he gives you those ridiculous puppy dog eyes.
Good luck saying no to that look.
“I’m serious Spencer, no. Get back up here and stick your dick in me so we can give this another try.” You’re fried. Mentally, physically, literally.
“Just you this time, sweetheart.” You groan as he kisses your inner thigh. Your hands tangle in his mess of hair, pulling too hard, even though it doesn’t seem to affect him. “I can’t go again, I need a minute. For someone my age the average refractory period is between thirty minutes to an hour and considering I've already gone twice in a row I’m gonna need a moment before I’m ready to go again. Since you are someone assigned female at birth you don’t have a physiological refractory period so by process of elimination this is what we have to do.”
All you can do is glare at him.
“I don’t know exactly what counts as a scene but I’m pretty sure it’s an orgasm. And it can’t be mine.”
“Spencer.”
“Look, I think I figured out what we have to do, just let me test my theory.”
He buries his face in the crease of your thigh, dragging his tongue across your skin.
“Well at least tell me!”
“You aren’t going to like the answer.” He mumbles into the meat of your thigh as he sucks a mark into the skin before turning towards his main target. “I’ll try to get this done as fast as possible.”
Your poor overstimulated clit is where he settles his mouth. Flattening his tongue against you as tries his damndest to get you there.
And god it feels good.
He worships your cunt, his tongue writes prayers against you as it darts back and forth. You see god everytime he jams his tongue into you, as if he can effectively fuck you with it.
It feels so good.
But you’re too scattered. The last shock was different, demanding. And it’s left you genuinely afraid. You’re too on edge to come right now. Your body is tense in all the wrong spaces and even with his face buried between your legs all you can think about is the burn mark on both of your necks.
“I- I can’t Spence.” It’s too much, too much of a good thing, especially when you aren’t any closer to an orgasm.
“That’s just not true, you’ve done it before you can do it again.” He’s out of breath as he rests his head on your thigh.
You whine, kicking your leg weakly in an attempt to knock him away from you.
“Get on top.” If that’s his solution he clearly isn’t listening to you.
“What?”
“Sit on my face.” He says it like it’s the answer to all of your problems but you can’t imagine more stimulation is going to be the answer when your entire body is on edge.
“Spencer…”
“Please?” He whines, sounding like he might honest to god cry if you deny him this. “It’ll be better for you I promise.” He says it like his dick isn’t starting to harden just at the thought. Unfortunately you need him hard for what you’re sure will be round four when this inevitably doesn’t work. Until you figure out what Peter wants you need to prepare yourself for a long day.
What if this is what he wants?
What if he just wants you to fuck each other until you pass out? Until your body simply can’t handle it anymore.
You don’t get long to dwell on the thought because Spencer’s laying down beside you.
“Sit on my face, now. Or he’s gonna shock us again.” You’re getting tired and it honestly isn’t worth the fight. Especially when he’s staring at you so eagerly.
“Fine.” You grumble as you sit up on your knees, throwing your leg over his head so you’re kneeling above him
“Just relax, I’ll do everything, okay?” It’s remarkable that he can sound so sure considering the circumstances.
You aren’t sure if you can relax in this position.
Your knees shake, and you struggle to hold yourself up above him. You just want to lay down but he wraps his arms around the backs of your thighs. In one swift motion he yanks you down so you’re sat in earnest on his face.
“Jesus, Spencer.” You lean forward, tangling your fingers in his hair to steady yourself. Scraping your nails against his scalp in the process.
You’d feel worse about how you might be hurting him if he wasn’t already moaning into your cunt, the vibrations only serve to tighten your grip on his hair.
He isn’t as focused, instead he alternates between your clit and your now dripping hole. When his tongue is on your clit it feels like you’re being forced to sit on a vibrator. He darts his tongue back and forth against you, occasionally twisting his head to the side so he can breathe. Whenever that happens you’re rewarded with the stubble on his cheeks and chin against your sensitive nub. You can’t decide if it feels good or bad at this point. He pokes his tongue against the rim of your fluttering hole and you're in an even worse position. You’re dealing with the sensation of that combined with the bridge of his nose knocking against your clit.
You hate that he was right, this is working.
You don’t have any choice other than to let it work because his arms are wrapped so tightly around your thighs you couldn’t lift off of him if you tried. Not that you would, you’re riding that precarious line between discomfort and pleasure now that makes this so much more bearable then you’d expected.
If you had the capacity for embarrassment right now you’d be horrified by the wet sucking noises he’s making, instead you let your head fall backwards as he forces you closer and closer to your breaking point. The tightening in your stomach is inherently different than it usually feels, the muscles in your face twitch as you focus and chase that sensation.
Almost uncontrollably, your cunt flutters around nothing and you feel a gush between your legs, Spencer doesn’t let up for a second as you come.
“Oh my fucking god.” You straighten your knees as you manage to pry his tongue off of your clit. You’re gonna have a permanent crease between your eyebrows after this, your face has been scrunched up so long. “Spencer stop-” You roll off of him, laying flat on your back beside him, the blankets are soaked.
You’re gasping for air as you wait for the next shock. But Spencer clearly has other plans as he sits up next to you, shoving your legs apart once more, one of his hands pushes your thigh up towards your stomach.
“We can't stop, we have to go again.” The bottom half of his face is shiny and slick.
When he slides his fingers against your swollen clit you shove him away.
“No- I’m done. I need a break, just a few minutes.” You feel like you might cry.
“We don’t have a few minutes, we need to do this right now. Then you can take as long of a break as you want.” He sounds so sure.
“Promise?”
“I promise, please, just trust me.”
Frantic and jittery, he strokes himself. His free hand slotting back between your legs, much gentler this time.
“You don’t even need to do anything, just lay here and I’ll take care of it. Promise, I promise.” He mumbles, careful not to use too much pressure as you continue to fight the urge to shove him away.
Any precision he usually has is gone completely by now, replaced by sloppy circles against your clit as he jerks himself off. When you whine at the friction he spits into his hand before returning to your clit. He holds his other hand out in front of your chin, wanting the same for himself. You spit onto his palm, earning yourself an breathy groan as he uses it to properly fuck his hand.
It becomes abundantly clear that he isn’t trying to make you come again, if anything he’s simply touching you for his own gratification. And you’re thankful for it, if only one of you needs to have an orgasm to count as a scene you’re happy to sit this one out. Your clit buzzes, hypersensitive to every uncontrolled stroke against it. He whimpers as he ruts against his hand, hips stuttering as he makes a sound between pain and ecstasy.
His eyes squeeze shut as a filthy whine leaves his lips, forehead slick with sweat as his head falls backwards. You can see the veins in his neck straining as he has what you're sure is a rather uncomfortable orgasm, spurts of come are added to the mess between your legs.
Neither one of you dares to move. You’re waiting, convinced you’re about to be shocked at any moment.
But you aren’t.
Spencer was right, thank god.
He collapses beside you and the room fills with the sounds of your haggard breathing.
“How did you know that would work?” You finally break the silence, still struggling to catch your breath as he rolls over onto his side to face you.
“I didn’t, it was a lucky guess.”
You sit straight up, looking offended.
“You promised.” You try not to sound shrill, since he did technically fulfil his end of the deal.
“I know, I’m sorry.” You can’t stay mad at that sheepish half smile. How is he still managing a smile after everything you’ve been through?
“I mean, I guess it’s fine since you didn’t technically break your promise. How did you figure it out?” You lay back down on your side so you’re face to face.
“The collars are meant to be used for ‘fixing bad habits.’ I eventually realized that that meant training.”
“Training?”
“Like training a dog.” He grimaces. “When we do something wrong we’re shocked, when we do something right we aren’t. What he’s essentially doing is training us to do what he wants unprompted.”
“So that he doesn’t even have to ask.”
“Exactly, I have to assume that the goal would be that eventually we would be having sex the majority of the time. He said he isn’t going to speak to us anymore so it’s safe to assume he plans on using the collars as his only communication.”
“How much would it take to kill us?” Your voice shrinks as you ask the question that’s been picking away at the back of your mind.
“Electricity? It’s hard to say. It’s less about the voltage and more about the current, any amount of voltage to a human heart could be fatal. But the human body has an inherent resistance to electrical current. It’s a really tricky concept because without sufficient voltage the current would be unable to travel through the body regardless. The closest thing to an answer that I can give you is that nine volts with enough current would typically be considered enough to deliver a lethal shock.” His hands start to move in that familiar way they do when he’s lost in an explanation.
“How much do you think our collars emit?”
He hesitates before he speaks again.
“The average dog collar emits three to nine volts with a low current but it’s safe to assume that based on the feeling of the shock, and how it courses through our entire bodies, that he has modified them to have a stronger current.”
“So it could kill us.”
“Yes, it’s possible.”
“So we should do everything in our power to not risk another shock.”
“Yes, that would be wise.”
“So we let him… train us?”
“I don’t think we have much of a choice in the matter.”
There isn’t much more you can say about that. What other options are there? That’s the question you’ve been asking yourself since you were taken. What else could you possibly do?
“What happens when we’re trained?”
“I think we just have to hope it doesn’t get to that point.”
You know the answer, he does too. If it works then you both become obedient pets, fucking each others brains out non stop until your hearts stop.
“So from now on when we wake up we should just have sex until we’re sure he’s satisfied?”
“I guess.”
★
The next morning when the lights come on you do just that.
You wake up to sloppy kisses, rolling over almost instinctually onto your belly as he tugs your panties down. You lay prone as he kisses down the length of your spine before sucking a mark into the skin. And another, and another, and another. You bury your face in your pillow, letting out a series of low moans. His knee spreads your legs as he slots himself between your thighs.
And you’re happy to let him.
He comes buried in your pussy, but not before his arm twisted around to the front of you and ripped an orgasm from you.
“Should we go again?” You turned to whisper, worry biting at the edges of your voice.
His hands on your hips guide you on top of him, once you’re straddling him he pulls you into a lazy kiss.
“I don’t know if I can right now.” He murmurs, almost cracking a smile. “Besides, I don’t think it’s about doing it multiple times, it’s about doing it unprompted."
“Okay, we can just do this then.” You wrap your lips around his bottom lip, lightly sucking.
It’s easy to get distracted by him, everything about him is distracting. But you’ve had an idea on your mind for sometime and you need to find a way to bring it up without drawing attention to it.
“Do you remember when Tobias Hankle saved your life?” He stiffens up a bit at the name but he nods.
“I couldn’t forget it if I tried.”
“Why do you think he did it?”
“He wasn’t a bad person, he was just a person in a bad situation, he never had a chance to be anything else. He was a victim of his circumstances.”
“I wonder if we could be saved the same way.” You murmur it against his jaw, hoping it’s loud enough to be heard and quiet enough to not be picked up by a microphone.
“I don’t think that would save me, not this time.” He picks up on what you mean immediately, his fingers comb through your hair as you kiss his cheek. You brush your lips against his stubble.
“It might save me.”
He flips you both so he’s on top, where his lips can’t be read by anyone looking down from above.
“It hurts.” His lips connect to your throat, kissing across the line of bruises. “You would have to stay completely silent and still.”
“I can handle it.”
“And if it doesn’t work?”
“Then we do this.” Your hand trails down his body until you can palm him through his boxers, a small part of you is pleased to find he’s already hard. “We do this forever, until we’re old and grey.” He moves up your jaw, biting your earlobe before breathing his words out against you.
“I could seriously hurt you.”
“Then do it right, put those three PHD’s to work. Do it hard enough to prove that it’s real, and soft enough that you don’t break anything.”
“That’s a really dangerous line to ride.”
“We won’t get another chance. Make it real.” It’s the last thing you say to him before you go back to kissing him in earnest.
Turns out he can go again.
★
How many days has it been?
It can’t have been more than a week since you were taken, you’re sure of it.
Without the daily presence of the unsubs voice everything starts to blend together. Wake up, have sex, stare longingly at each other as you talk about nothing in particular until you either have more sex or are shocked into doing so.
Out of habit, you start crawling on top of him before you’re even fully awake every morning.
Just like the unsub wants.
Just like you want.
That line starts to get blurry and the thought scares you, so you choose to ignore the nasty little voice in your head.
After another long day you curl up against him, grateful for the dim lighting the evenings provide for you.
“Do you think he’s won?” You whisper into the darkness, you’re certain the unsub must be asleep at this point, you’ve been awake so long. He has to sleep eventually.
“What do you mean? I’m sure the team is still looking for us.” He holds your face in one of his hands, an action that is starting to feel familiar to you.
“Yeah, but look at us.” You motion at yourself dramatically. “He did it, we’re just animals now, doing whatever he wants and now we… we enjoy it, all we do is have sex. He won.” You notably haven’t been shocked in some time.
“I don’t think that’s how we should view it.”
“How else are we supposed to look at it then?”
“We… take comfort in each other, despite the things he makes us do, we still-” He stops abruptly, swallowing loudly before continuing. “We still care for each other, that means we’re still human.”
“He doesn’t even have to tell us what to do anymore, Spencer. We just do it.” Your voice cracks, this whole situation has made you insufferably emotional.
“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.” His thumb traces little shapes against your cheek.
“How much of this is real?” You hate how needy you sound.
“All of it’s real. All of this has happened and is continuing to happen.” He tilts your head up, forcing you to look at him.
“You know what I mean, Spence.”
“I don’t know what you want me to say.” He looks at you like he feels bad for you and you hate it.
“Why didn’t this happen organically? Why did it have to happen here, where it was forced?” The words are clunky as they force themselves out of your mouth.
“I think it would have happened organically, eventually. I can’t count the amount of times I almost asked you out.”
“Then why didn’t you? I would have said yes.”
“I realize that now but I just couldn’t be sure.” How the fuck could he be unsure? He’s the most intelligent man you’ve ever met and you certainly weren’t subtle.
“I was obsessed with you.”
“You were nice to everyone.”
“I was extra nice to you.”
“You never realized that I liked you either.” He scoffs.
“Yeah, but I’m not a genius.” You poke him gently in the chest and he cracks a small smile.
“We could still do that, go out. When we get out of here.”
Could you?
It’s hard to imagine a world where you sit across from him in a restaurant after all of this.
Before this? Sure, you spent plenty of nights imagining it. You would style your hair down, and wear mascara. And you’d wear one of your dresses, something he’d never seen before that showed off your shoulders and legs. He never got to see that at work, you wanted to wow him.
Now he’s seen it all, and he seems pretty pleased with it but you aren’t exactly fantasizing about a little italian restaurant with him these days. Not when you know what awaits you after dessert.
Could you sit across from him, eating complimentary bread out of a basket, talking about the weather? Your relationship seems to be pretty far beyond that at this point.
“Maybe.” You murmur.
“Maybe?” His voice hitches up as he cocks an eyebrow at you. “If you turn me down for a date after all of this I’m quitting my job and moving as far away from Virginia as possible.”
“I’m not saying that- I’m just saying… I don’t know. Can you really see us going back to normal after this? Just acting like this never happened, we start dating and- and what? We hold hands everywhere, we go out to dinner, go to the movies, we act like a normal couple? I just don’t think we’re a normal couple, Spence.”
“We don’t have to be a normal couple, I don’t want to be a normal couple. We can be a couple that gets takeout and only watches movies at home because we’re scared to go outside. We can be disgusting with our public displays of affection, just to show everyone that they could never understand the devotion we share. Instead of dates we can stay in bed and I’ll show you every night just how much I want to be with you, I don’t care. We can do whatever you want to do, as long as it’s done together.” He sounds like he’s already made the decision for you and honestly, you’re glad. He makes it sound so easy.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. I mean it, whatever you want.” He plants a kiss between your brows before resting his chin on the top of your head. “That also means that if we get out of here and you want nothing to do with me I’ll respect that choice.”
“You’re an idiot.” The absurdity of the idea makes you laugh.
“You have that effect on me.”
There’s a beat of silence where you simply enjoy the feeling of his arms around you before you bring up the question that’s been quietly building up in the back of your mind.
“Do you think it’s possible I’m pregnant?” You don’t feel too different but you have to ask. With the amount of unprotected intercourse you’re having it’s entirely possible. Spencer only pulls out half the time, it doesn’t seem like something he’s even concerned with. Yet when you look at him now he looks pale.
“I- I hadn’t even thought about that. I guess I just assumed we’d be out of here by now, I hadn’t considered the possibility.” So rarely does he sound as unsure as he does right now.
“What do we do if I am?”
“We… handle it. We can handle it.”
No you can’t.
Not when there’s no end in sight. Imagining giving birth in this tiny room with only Spencer to help you makes your blood run cold.
“Maybe we should handle it before it becomes a problem.”
By putting your plan into motion and getting the hell out of here.
What other choice do you have? You’ve all but given up on the team at this point, and you know he has too. Even if neither one of you wants to say it.
“If you’re ready for that.” You can tell purely based on his wary tone that he knows exactly what you mean.
“I’m ready.” You hope he is too. You’re only gonna get one shot at this, and if you fail there might not ever be another chance at getting out of here.
★
This is it.
Hopefully you’re as good of an actress as the unsub seems to think you are.
Okay.
You’re dead.
Your heart stopped, probably from all the electric shocks, it makes perfect sense.
You aren’t sure if Spencer’s awake yet, but you can’t check. You try to recall the original videos you watched on the jet of the victims. You don’t remember the quality being that good, there were multiple angles but they were all grainy. Hopefully the quality is poor enough that they can’t pick up the tiny movements of your chest as you try to stay completely still.
After what feels like hours Spencer finally sits up beside you, mumbling a greeting to you before going quiet. He whispers your name, when you don’t respond he shakes your shoulders before repeating your name louder.
“Sweetheart, wake up.” You’re doing everything in your power to keep your breaths shallow, keeping your chest as still as possible. “Come on, time to get up.” You aren’t the only one putting on a show, the panicked lilt of his voice is exactly what you asked for. Dejected and frightened.
His fingers slide under your collar, pressing against your pulse point. You know he feels the beat of your heart but the hitch of his breath says otherwise.
“No, no no no.” His voice is barely a whisper as he presses his ear to your chest.
You’re both caught off guard when a shock is delivered to both of you. You grit your teeth immediately, it takes every ounce of strength you have left to not react. You let your body twitch, keeping your face free of any reaction to the best of your ability. It’s a full ten seconds of electricity through your veins, when it finally stops you fight the urge to take a deep breath, instead returning to your brief little inhales and exhales.
You don’t dare to open your eyes but you can hear Spencer struggling to get back up. Your entire body feels fried and you’re almost thankful for the excuse to stay laying down.
You can hear him sniffling, his hands are on you, locked together over the center of your chest.
Just like when Tobias Hankel saved him.
You brace yourself as he begins chest compressions, a steady rhythm against you. It’s exactly as you’ve been trained, hard and consistent, when performing CPR you should be pushing in at least two inches. He’s certainly doing that, you want to wince in pain but manage to resist when he stops, carefully opening your mouth with a hand on your chin before locking his lips to yours. He pinches your nose shut, when he blows the air you’re eternally grateful when he breaks the seal between your lips and lets the air escape instead of forcing it into your lungs.
You make sure to let your chest rise regardless.
After one exaggerated breath he sits back up and returns to the compressions, his own breathing is shaky and you can hear him gasping, scared little sounds. You count each agonizing slam against your chest, a small whimper escapes your throat when you feel a sharp pain in your ribs. He doesn’t relent, when he hits thirty on the dot his mouth is back on yours, your cheeks are wet this time when he pulls back, when he returns to the chest compressions each one sends a jolt of pain directly to your ribcage.
“Come on, please, please, just wake up.” His voice trembles and it’s clear now that he’s crying. “Please I can’t do this without you, I can’t do anything without you, please, wake up for me, please sweetheart.” He’s a rambling mess, his voice a strained whine.
You aren’t the only one acting like your life depends on it.
There’s no more shocks, and no voice over the intercom. Just the two of you putting on the performance of a lifetime, praying that this works.
With each push you feel the pain in your ribs grow sharper and more focused on the left side of your body.
You don’t know how many rounds of compressions you do, eventually you go numb, you briefly wonder if you’re actually dying as Spencer sobs over your body. Maybe you really did die, and these are your last moments in your body.
Eventually he stops. His body folds forward, his forehead resting over your heart.
“I’m so sorry, I should have kept you safe, I should have protected you.” His body trembles against you as he scoops you up holding your limp body in his arms.
When do you call it quits on this?
You don’t have a plan for if this doesn’t work, do you just sit up and act like everything’s fine?
“Just wake up, please, I love you.” His voice is so soft and vulnerable.
That almost makes you open your eyes.
Instead you stiffen up at the sound of the door creaking open. You don’t dare move now, not when you’ve already come this far.
You can feel Spencer's body go rigid against yours as foot steps cross the room.
“I- I never wanted her to get hurt. I never meant for this to happen.” You recognize the voice as Peters immediately, even without the crackling robotic tone of the intercom. “Oh god…” You can’t help but finally open your eyes to stare at him.
He’s so… ordinary.
Mid to late thirties, white, balding, polo shirt and khakis. He’s crying, his head is in his hands as he whimpers. You don’t get a good look at his face before Spencer is on him.
You’ve seen Spencer in the field before, this is nothing like that.
Any of the calculated, deliberate restraint he usually exhibits goes out the window as his hands grip his shirt collar, his fist slams into the side of his head. Peter stumbles, falling onto his back, staring up with a look of horror as Spencer kneels over him.
You watch, frozen as his fist connects to your captors face.
Again, and again, and again, and again.
You watch as his face goes from a terrified expression to a smashed mess of flesh and teeth. He struggles for a little while, weakly clawing at Spencer's chest, but it does nothing to deter him.
At one point Peter looks at you, both eyes so swollen they’re barely visible. You hear his garbled voice.
“Please.”
Spencer grabs him by the jaw, forcing him to look back towards him. You think back to something he said.
“He doesn’t get to touch you, he doesn’t get to talk to you, he doesn’t get to breathe your air.”
He really meant it.
All for you.
He remains deadly quiet as he slams his fist into him until he stops twitching beneath him. His knuckles are split, but it’s nothing compared to Peter's face. He doesn’t even look like he used to be a person.
Just a lump of gore with teeth.
Because he loves you.
There’s a moment of silence where Spencer’s chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, your own heart racing as you stare at him, sitting up and clutching your ribs. Eventually his fingers wander down and into the pockets of what remains of Peter Hill. Tossing his wallet to the side before carefully setting a cell phone beside the corpse.
Finally he turns, a splatter of viscera coats his face and torso.
And you know all he can see on your face is the hunger behind your gaze.
He has the same look in his eyes.
Pupils blown, encompassing the rest of his iris.
No amount of therapy is ever going to fix you after this.
“You did it.” You whisper as he sits up, crawling over to you as he holds your face in his blood smeared hands.
“It was all you, you did so well.” He kisses your cheek as he tucks your hair behind your ears.
The logical thing to say right now would be ‘let’s get out of here.’ The logical thing to do right now would be to run out the now open door and scream until someone, anyone, comes to help you. Instead you turn your head towards his hand and kiss his palm.
“Tell me that you meant it.” You whisper.
“Every word.”
You slide your hand up and across his chest, making your intentions pretty clear as you lean forward to catch his lips in a kiss. Gentle and sweet to start, eventually becoming something with more fire behind it. He’s the one to pull away first.
“You’re hurt.” His hand traces over the back of yours, leaving a slick trail of red.
“It isn’t too bad. I promise.”
“Are you absolutely sure?” He lifts your top to examine your ribs, you doubt anything's broken.
It’s probably just a fracture.
Probably.
It isn’t important right now, nothing is as important as the look in his eyes.
“Say it again.” You pull your shirt down, lifting his chin so he focuses on your face instead of your potentially broken bones.
He knows what you want, he always knows what you want.
“I love you.”
“Again.” You mumble, unable to take your eyes off of him.
“I love you.”
And you know it isn’t for the cameras, it isn’t fearing punishment, it isn’t to keep you safe.
He says it for you, just for you.
You grab the collar of his now stained shirt and smash your lips against his. He devours you, all consuming and possessive with every lap of his tongue and every nip of his teeth. His hand is sliding up your leg, you don’t bother being as subtle as you shove your hand down the front of his boxers, you’ve never been as pleased as you are right now to find that he’s already hard. He groans into your mouth and you happily swallow every one. When his fingers graze against your inner thigh you gasp, the sharp intake of breath makes you wince as you yelp. The pain in your rips taking all of your focus as well as his. He immediately pulls away from you.
“Hospital first, everything else later.” His tone is firm and you know it’s a command for himself as well as you.
You whine for a moment but when the stabbing pain in your ribs continues you give it up, letting him help you to your feet. He practically carries you as you limp beside him, but not before taking the blood stained cell phone in his hands.
Past your makeshift bed, past what’s left of your captor, past the red door, and through the hallway to the door at the end that’s now swung open.
You’re both faced with a ladder.
As you’re forced to climb up the rungs you’re less convinced your ribs are just fractured. You whine with each step up.
When he lifts the latch climbing out into the sun, he’s quick to turn around to help you up and out. Once you’ve managed to fully exit the bunker with what you hope is minimal damage you’re left standing barefoot in a suburban backyard. White picket fence and all.
He kicks the hatch closed and you can see that the top of it is made to look just like patchy grass, blending right in with the rest of the yard. The rest of the team never would have found you here.
You stay behind Spencer as he walks towards the front yard, your hand locked around his.
You aren’t really sure what you’re supposed to do now, outside of the basement you suddenly feel small compared to the rest of the world.
Spencer's hand never leaves yours as he flips the unsubs phone open, dialing the number without looking at it as he brings it to his ear.
“Garcia, can you get a trace on this number?” He says it so casually, like it’s any other day.
There’s a moment of silence on the other end of the line until you hear a quiet voice.
“Spencer?”
He hesitates, almost as if he isn’t sure.
“Yeah.”
She starts to speak again but you don’t have a chance to hear what she says as he clicks the phone shut, tossing it onto the grass in front of you both.
In the unforgiving light of the sun you get a really good look at him.
He looks awful.
The dark circles that seem to be permanently under his eyes have practically doubled in size. His jaw is lined with a sprinkle of stubble and god he looks thin.
Of course he always looks thin but now he’s thin.
And none of that even touches the fact that he’s still actively bleeding out of the gashes that decorate his knuckles. When you look him in the eye you can see he’s sizing you up as well.
You’re certain you’re as much of a sight as he is.
A perfect pair.
You stay standing, you’re a little worried that if you sit down you won’t get back up. You thought it was the morning but it looks more like evening, people pass in cars, slowing down at the sight of you and neighbors step out onto their porches.
It isn’t long before you hear sirens. But it isn't the police that pull up first, it’s a black SUV, followed by an ambulance. Hotch and Morgan rush out of the car, guns drawn. You don’t have to tell them he’s already dead, one look at Spencer and they both holster their weapons.
The way Morgan looks at you makes you nauseous.
You’ve seen him look at corpses in a similar manner, scowling like he arrived at the scene a few minutes too late. Hotch seems to sense his reluctance, directing him towards the house. He’s all too happy to get away from you.
You’re glad it’s just Hotch.
He doesn’t try to embrace you, and he does his best to keep his expression neutral, even if it’s obvious he’s profiling you both right now.
You zone out, focusing on the dozens of cop cars that come screeching down the street. Spencer and Hotch are having a conversation but you can’t focus on it when you’ve got half the Seattle police force storming the little blue house. Several of them stop in their tracks, gawking at you.
To be fair, you are standing out on the lawn in panties and a tank top.
A paramedic tries to lead you away from Spencer as he continues to talk with your unit chief, he stops abruptly as you let out a sob that catches you by surprise, a little hiccuping sound as they put an arm around you and try to take you away from him.
Spencer reacts before you can even say his name, yanking you backwards as he shoves the paramedic to the ground. Standing in front of you defensively.
Everybody freezes. Hotch, the other medics, even the cops.
You feel everyone's eyes on the two of you as you cling to Spencer's arm. You want to say something, anything, but your tongue lay uselessly in your mouth.
Hotch is quick to help him to his feet, apologizing profusely as he puts a hand on the paramedics shoulder. You can hear him whisper under his breath.
“I think it’ll be best if we don’t try to separate them.”
When he approaches you his hands are out where you can see them and he speaks softly.
“Reid, we need to get her checked out, from the way she’s walking I would imagine something is probably broken.” You recognize his tone of voice. It’s how he talks to victims on a case once they’ve been rescued. Technically that’s what you are now. “You can go with her but you need to get checked out too, you’ve lost a lot of blood.”
You squeeze his arm, turning to look at him as he nods.
Hotch escorts you both to the ambulance, when they lay you down on the stretcher Spencer stays by your side, silently watching, with his hand always holding yours.
As they examine your ribs someone takes a look at Spencer's fingers, you take the opportunity to finally try and speak.
“How long were we gone?” You don’t recognize the shaky, soft voice that leaves your mouth.
You have seen him smile a single digit number of times since you joined the BAU, right now he gives you a sympathetic smile. Like he’s looking at a wounded animal.
“About three and a half weeks.”
That catches Spencer's attention.
“How is that possible?” He pulls his hand away from the doctor looking him over as he comes to sit beside you on the edge of the ambulance. “We couldn’t have been in there for more than a week.”
“Based on what we saw in the videos he was depriving you of sleep. He kept you awake for long periods of time and let you sleep for short bursts.” He almost looks like he’s about to put a hand on your knee but he thinks better of it when his eyes dart towards Spencer. “Garcia is in the process of recovering all of the footage, we promise we will keep it as private as possible, the rest of the team will not have access to it.”
Three and a half weeks.
“Where’s the rest of the team?” It’s like Spencer can feel how stressed you are as he tries to change the subject.
“They had to return to Quantico.” He looks ashamed of himself as he says it. “We negotiated a deal to keep Morgan and myself on the case for an extended period of time but everyone else needed to return to work.”
“How much time did you have left?” You say it before you can stop yourself.
How much time before you abandoned us completely?
Not that it mattered, it wasn’t the team that saved you.
“We had another week and a half.” You have to give it to Hotch, he doesn’t try to lie to you. You only nod in response, squeezing Spencer's hand before he can say something he regrets.
The paramedic poking at your ribs tells Hotch that they need to get you in for an x-ray as soon as possible, there aren’t any signs of internal bleeding yet but that could change at a moment's notice.
You wish he’d talk to you directly, it makes you feel like a child when they don’t address you.
★
You can see them through the glass.
Emily, Morgan, J.J, even Penelope.
You can also assume what he’s telling them. Usual protocol for someone in the state you’re in is to ease them into interactions with loved ones. At the very least you don’t have to worry about all of them running in here at once.
“We could be in worse shape.” Spencer mumbles from across the room. You refused to be in separate rooms, instead you stand opposite each other in your shared room. Neither one of you is ready to lay down, not after the day you’ve had, you’re too jittery.
He’s right, you really could be.
There aren’t words for the amount of relief you felt when they told you that your urine test came back negative for pregnancy. Your period was likely late because of the stress your body was under. Sure, having his baby wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world, but in those circumstances? You don’t know how you’d ever live with conceiving a child in those conditions.
Spencer narrowly avoided sepsis, his gums were in bad shape, he’s on an IV drip of a pretty strong antibiotic. They said there was nothing that could be done for his fingers other than eventual cosmetic surgery to try and reconstruct the ends into something other than a smashed, burned mess. And of course he had several fractures along his knuckles.
You did in fact have a broken rib, and two fractured ones. Spencer wasn’t happy to hear that but he never once expressed any upset towards you. You’re pretty sure you could kill someone in front of him and he wouldn’t so much as bat an eye.
And now you’re here.
Your stomach and chest are covered in bandages, his hands are in a similar state. Both sentenced to bed rest for quite some time.
You cringe at the sound of the door opening as Emily steps into the room.
She pulls you into a hug that you struggle to return.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.” She whispers as you hear her sniffle.
You aren’t, but you nod anyway.
“Me too.”
“We have the best nursing staff assembled to do your kit, everyone is female. I can stay with you or I can wait right outside the door.” She gives your hand a squeeze and you instinctively pull away.
“What kit?” You’re hyper aware of how shrill your voice sounds, it makes Spencer stand up straighter across the room.
“The rape kit.” Her expression softens and she speaks like she’s scared you’ll run away like a frightened animal.
You scoff.
“I don’t need a rape kit.”
“We really think you should, hon.” She takes a step towards you and you lurch backwards, Spencer is quick to cross the room to stand beside you, angled imperceptibly between you and Emily.
“I don’t need a rape kit.” You say it more firmly this time, enough to catch the attention of the rest of your team in the hall, Hotch steps into the doorway as you look back and forth between them. “I wasn’t raped.”
A hush falls over the room.
“Maybe we could talk alone, you might be more comfortable-” Emily starts to walk towards you but Spencer steps forward, stopping her in her tracks.
“I’m not going anywhere without Spencer.” You accentuate your point by grabbing his arm and pulling closer.
“No one is saying that this is his fault.” Hotch doesn’t step into the room, he speaks in that steady even tone of his. “You are both victims in this situation, we just need to assess the extent of your wounds.”
“They already did.” You wish they would all stop looking at you like you’re made of glass.
“With wounds of this… genre, it’s best that we get them checked out immediately, we have up to ninety six hours to-” Hotch starts again in that painfully gentle tone, like you might shatter into pieces if he speaks too loudly.
“The answer is no. You can’t do it without my permission, and I’m saying no.”
“I really think we should talk about this privately.” You glare at Emily when she speaks again, you’d always considered her to be your closest friend in the BAU. Now you feel on edge around her, around everyone.
“I said no.” You hiss.
“You can’t legally force her into any testing without her explicit consent.” Spencer finally speaks, measured and authoritative. His tone reminds you of Hotch’s.
It makes Emily flex her fist, they both stare at each other until Hotch steps in between them.
“And we have no plans to do any tests without her permission, if she doesn’t want the kit then we won’t do one.” You can tell Hotch is desperate to deescalate the situation.
“I wasn’t raped.” You repeat yourself, watching as the entire room flinches as you say it.
Including Spencer.
No one has anything to say to that.
“I think I’d like to be alone.” You manage to steady your voice as you glare at them. Hotch is the first to step out of the room, when Emily reaches the doorway she turns back.
“Let’s go Spencer.” The second the words leave her mouth your hand squeezes his. Her eyes dart down as she catches the movement, when her gaze returns to your eyes her expression is devastating.
You don’t want their pity.
Yet they seem resilient in their attempts to shove it down your throat.
“We’ll talk to you all tomorrow. I’d like to sleep.” Your words are the final nail in the coffin.
You are a we now.
An us.
When you’re with Spencer you are alone. Without another word he helps you into your bed before pushing his own bed against yours. Neither one of you speaks as you lay down, you simply hold hands until you feel his breathing become even and steady, the all too familiar indicator that he’s fallen asleep. You take the opportunity to slip into the bathroom. When you flip the lights on you finally know why everyone keeps staring at you. You make Spencer look good in comparison.
You don’t recognize the terrified woman in the mirror. She looks like she survived something much worse than being trapped in a basement for a month.
So much of your skin is covered in bruises.
If he didn’t leave a bite mark or a hickie somewhere he squeezed you so tightly he left handprints. His grip hadn’t felt that tight in the moment.
You look straight out of a horror movie.
A shell of who you once were.
Your hair is still damp from when you had taken a shower earlier, pulling it away from your face while looking at your neck. Dark purple splotches cover your throat, spreading down your clavicle. A line of blisters and burns decorate your neck.
You feel like a monster. No wonder everyone looks at you like you survived something horrifying. Maybe you did.
You flick the lights off after just a few seconds, you don’t want to look at the creature staring back at you anymore.
When you step back into the room and he’s sitting up, and he looks at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.
“C’mere.” His voice is thick with sleep as he motions you towards him. You climb into his bed, smoothing his hair down with your hands. “You’re so pretty.”
“You’re delusional.” Your voice sounds like your own again when it’s just the two of you. Not the trembling quiet voice that seems to come out when anyone else is around.
“So, so pretty.”
“Everyone's been staring at me like I’m a ghost.”
“They’re staring because they’re jealous. They can’t believe that you’re so pretty and you’re all mine.” Ang god, you believe him. Forgetting all about the monster in the mirror. He could tell you the sky was pink and that grass was blue and you’d believe him right now.
“I love you.” He wipes a tear from your lash line with his thumb.
“I love you.” You don’t doubt that for a second.
★
Everything is different now, how could it not be?
Neither one of you could have guessed how your time in the bunker would affect you in the long term.
You both go back to work after a mandatory three month sabbatical. You avoid field work, opting to work from a desk most of the time, no one ever questions the choice. And Spencer always takes the stairs when you come in to work, he says the elevator makes him nauseous.
You moved out of your studio a week after you left the bunker. The single room space you once found cozy now made you feel like you were suffocating. Besides, neither of you slept well when you were apart, it just made sense to move in with him.
Instead of the flowy and light pajamas you used to wear you now sleep in long sleeves and layers, even if it means waking up covered in sweat.
Spencer never falls asleep before you, most nights you wake up to find he’s wrapped himself so tightly around you it’s impossible to get comfortable. You never complain, it doesn’t bother you.
You don’t go to girls' nights anymore and Spencer never takes up Derek’s offer to grab a drink. When there’s the occasional team bonding trip to the bar you both go, never separating your hand from the others.
The picture on your desk of your friends has been replaced with a photo of you and Spencer at your cousin's wedding. The trinkets that once sat under your monitor suddenly seemed silly, eventually they ended up shoved in the back of a drawer. You don’t need them anymore; your deskmate always makes sure you have fresh flowers to brighten up the space.
Instead of being charmingly awkward Spencer’s been described as a bit more blunt and offputting than he used to be. And fine, you aren’t as bubbly as you used to be. You have every right to act the way you do. You still find him plenty charming.
Sure, you miss your friends. You miss spending your lunch breaks trying new local restaurants with Emily, and you miss long nights spent in Penelope's cave working on a case. And maybe you miss early morning trips to the gym with Morgan. But those things aren’t an option for you anymore. You try to be away from him but you can’t, it’s like you’re addicted. If you spend too much time apart you start to break down, hyperventilating until you find your way back to him.
You’d feel worse about it if he wasn’t just as bad.
Maybe worse.
The first time you interrogated an unsub after your sabbatical Spencer had burst into the room and Morgan had to put him in a headlock to stop him from strangling the unsub.
They don’t look at you the same anymore.
Hotch looks at Spence like he’s dangerous.
Morgan doesn’t joke around with you anymore.
Spencer made Penelope cry on your first day back.
And Emily looks at him like he’s holding you hostage.
You don’t care what they think. They didn’t save you, Spencer did. And you’d much rather have the ring that’s around your finger than a cuff around your wrist.
They just don’t understand your relationship, they couldn’t. None of them know what it’s like to be loved like this.
All that matters is that you’re happy, even if they don’t seem convinced.
You aren’t a normal couple.
And you don’t want to be.
★
a/n : i really hope y'all enjoyed headlock <3 <3 follow @holymolynotifications for future fic updates!!
description: after a few drinks during girls night with robin and nancy, the liquid courage kicks in and you decide to send a risky photo to your not-so-secret crush, eddie. and let's just say, the feelings are mutual.
pairing: eddie x you (fem!reader)
tags: eddie x you, no y/n, girls night chaos, drunk confession, eddie is down BAD, dirty talk on the phone, bar bathroom photos, reader is a huge tease, eddie and reader are mutually horny, they lowkey some freaks fr
TW: NSFW (18+) content, minors do not interact!!! dirty talk the house boots, insinuation/descriptions, no actual action
WC: 2.0k
A/N: requested by @darth-aragorn i hope you enjoy!! reblogs are always appreciated!!! ts freaky ngl
The thing about Eddie Munson was that he could flirt with everyone except you, seriously.
The guy could lean over a lunch table and make some poor sophomore nearly pass out with one wink, could sweet-talk bartenders into free fries at The Hideout, could stand on stage with a guitar slung low on his hips and command an entire room without even trying.
But the second you walked into the room? Gone. Reduced to a fidgety, chain-fiddling idiot who forgot how sentences worked. And honestly? You weren’t much better.
It had been like that for months now, maybe longer. Ever since Steve accidentally invited you into the weird little orbit of his friend group one summer night after work, things with Eddie had been weird. Not bad weird, but worse. Tense weird, full of pent-up energy.
The kind of weird where everyone else noticed before you did. The kind where Eddie always saved you a seat without asking. Where his hand would land on your lower back in crowded rooms. Where he’d light your cigarette for you before lighting his own. Where he looked at you like you’d hung the goddamn moon and then immediately panicked the second you caught him doing it.
Robin called it painful to witness. Nancy called it emotionally constipated. Steve called it “like watching two idiots repeatedly miss a stop sign.” Because apparently, everyone knew Eddie Munson was in love with you, except Eddie Munson. And apparently, everyone knew you were in love with Eddie, except you.
Or— no. You knew, you just refused to do anything about it because the possibility of rejection made your stomach hurt. So instead, you and Eddie existed in this endless cycle of longing glances and almosts.
Almost touching, almost kissing, almost saying something real, then immediately chickening out. Which was exactly how you ended up five tequila shots deep at girls’ night, squished into a booth between Robin and Nancy while aggressively denying the obvious.
“He does not like me,” you insisted for maybe the fifteenth time, words slightly slurred as you pointed your straw accusingly at them. “You guys are projecting.”
Robin barked out a laugh so loud the table next to you looked over. “Oh my God,” she said, clutching her chest dramatically. “Nancy, I can’t do this anymore. They’re actually stupid.”
Nancy looked equally exhausted. “Eddie nearly walked into traffic last week because you waved at him.”
“That is not true.”
“It absolutely is true,” Robin said immediately. “Steve had to physically yank him back onto the sidewalk.”
You snorted into your drink. “That’s dramatic.”
Nancy leaned forward, expression deadly serious. “He watches you like a starving animal.”
“No, he does not!”
“He does,” Robin insisted. “It’s honestly embarrassing. You say his name, and he sits up like someone rang a little bell.”
Nancy nodded calmly. “And you’re not any better, by the way.”
You scoffed, offended. “I am incredibly chill.”
The two of them stared at you, then burst out laughing.
“Bullshit!” Nancy retorts.
“Oh my God,” Robin wheezed. “You wore his leather jacket home once and slept in it for like three days.”
“It smelled good!”
Nancy took a sip of her drink. “Case closed.”
You groaned, hiding your face in your hands while alcohol buzzed warm through your body. Maybe they were right, maybe Eddie did like you.
Robin suddenly narrowed her eyes at you over the rim of her beer. “You know what your problem is?”
“I’m scared of vulnerability?”
“You’re both cowards,” she corrected.
Nancy nodded. “Severely.”
“Thank you, Captain Wheeler.”
Robin grabbed your wrist dramatically. “One of you needs to make a move before I lose my mind.”
Your cheeks felt hot now from the alcohol. Definitely the alcohol, and not from imagining Eddie’s hands or his mouth or the way he looked at you whenever you wore short skirts. Absolutely, 100% not that.
“You know what?” you announced suddenly, sitting up straighter. “Fine.”
Nancy immediately looked wary. “That tone concerns me.”
“I can make moves.”
Robin’s eyes widened in delight. “Oh no.”
You were already digging through your purse for your phone. Nancy reached for you immediately. “Wait— hold on, maybe let’s think first—”
“No thinking,” you declared. “Thinking is what got me here.”
Robin looked thrilled. “I support women’s rights and women’s wrongs.”
Your phone nearly slipped from your hands as you unlocked it, tequila confidence making you reckless.
“What are you doing?” Nancy asked cautiously.
You grinned, then wobily stood up, sashaying your way to the bathroom. Robin immediately grabbed Nancy’s arm. “Should we stop her?”
Nancy sighed into her drink. “There’s no point.”
You flipped them both off over your shoulder, nearly tripping over your own boots in the process, before disappearing into the tiny neon-lit bathroom. The second the door shut behind you, you stared at yourself in the mirror and burst into drunk laughter.
Your eyeliner was slightly smudged, your cheeks warm and flushed from alcohol, and your lips shiny from the cherry gloss Nancy insisted you borrow earlier. Cute, dangerously cute, at that.
“This is insane,” you whispered to yourself, then immediately unlocked your phone anyway.
Because maybe it was the tequila. Maybe it was the way Eddie looked at you like he wanted to devour you whole every time you wore a low-cut top. Maybe it was the fact that he’d spent months touching you like he was terrified of wanting too much.
Whatever it was, it made your pulse flutter wildly as you adjusted your top just slightly and angled your phone. Not fully nude, but just enough to make him weak in the knees. Enough cleavage, thigh, and pouty face to absolutely destroy him. You stared at the picture for a long moment afterward, chewing your lip.
Then typed:
you: girls night has me making bad decisions apparently
you: don’t let this go to your head munson
[image attached]
Across town, Eddie was lying across his bed pretending to watch some shitty late-night horror movie, pretending being the key word. Because really, he’d spent the last hour thinking about you. Again.
Your laugh earlier this week. The way your hand lingered on his arm yesterday. That tiny skirt you wore last Friday that nearly made him drive his van into a mailbox. Pathetic behavior, honestly.
He was halfway through wondering if maybe he should finally grow a pair and ask you out properly when his personalized ringtone for you shattered through the room.
Eddie tried to play it cool, giving it some time before he opened the messages, but failed instantly. Then he opened the message and short-circuited.
“Jesus Christ,” he breathed.
Eddie bolted upright so fast he smacked his knee against his bedside table, hard, but didn’t even feel it. Because there you were on his screen, all flushed cheeks and glossy lips and soft skin, looking pretty and teasing and so unfairly gorgeous he thought he might actually die.
Not fully exposed, but enough. Enough to make his brain completely stop functioning and send every coherent thought directly out the window.
“Oh, my god,” Eddie sighed instantly, closing his eyes and clutching the phone to his chest like he was protecting a sacred artifact.
His face was burning, his heart was pounding, and embarrassingly enough, his first thought wasn’t even 'holy shit she sent me a dirty picture.' It was:
She thought of me. Out of everyone, she thought of me.
Then his eyes drifted back to the photo, and okay. Maybe a few less gentlemanly thoughts immediately followed. Because Jesus Christ. The angle, the look on your face. The fact he knew you were probably drunk and giggling somewhere while simultaneously ruining his entire life.
Eddie scrubbed a hand down his face, already feeling warm all over as his imagination immediately started betraying him in vivid detail.
What you’d look like sitting in his lap. What that top would look like on his bedroom floor. What noises you’d make if he finally kissed you the way he’d been wanting to for months.
You hit call before the liquid courage could wear off, heart slamming against your ribs as you leaned back against the cool bathroom wall.
“…Hello?” Eddie’s voice was rough with sleep and surprise, like he’d been halfway to dozing and your name on the screen jump-started his wake. “Sweetheart? You okay? It’s late, you’re—”
You smiled at your reflection, cheeks flushed, top still pulled just low enough. “I’m fine, Munson. Better than fine, actually.”
You could picture him sitting up in bed, hair a mess, eyes wide. “Did you… uh… did you mean to send that picture? To me?”
God, he sounded so shy. The same guy who could flirt with half of Hawkins but turned into a nervous wreck the second you looked at him too long.
You let out a soft laugh. “Yeah, I meant to. Girls’ night got a little… dangerous. Tequila made me bold. And I’ve been thinking about you all night.”
A stunned little pause, then a shaky breath left his mouth. “You… yeah? Fuck. I don’t even know what to say. You look insane in that photo. Like, stupidly hot. I can’t even formulate a coherent thought.”
You smiled, leaning back against the tiled wall. “Good. I want you stupid for me.”
Eddie swallowed hard enough for you to hear it. “Jesus Christ. You’re really doing this?”
“Mhm.” Your voice dropped. “I keep picturing you pushing me up against this wall. Kissing my neck all sloppy while your hand slides up under my skirt. You’d find out real quick how wet I am just from thinking about you.”
A rough exhale. “Fuck… yeah? You’re wet right now?”
“Soaked,” you whispered. “Can you help me, Eddie?”
You swore you could hear his eyes rolling back. “Help you with what, sweetheart?”
“Tell me what you’d do to me. I need to know.”
He groans, “That little mouth? I keep imagining those lips stretched around my cock, looking up at me with those pretty eyes while I fuck your throat slowly. You’d take it so good for me, wouldn’t you?”
You let out a soft, needy sound. “Yes. I’d be so good.”
Eddie’s breathing was getting heavier. “Shit, sweetheart… I’ve thought about that so many times. You in my van, skirt flipped up, riding me in the backseat while the windows fog up. Or bending you over the hood, fucking you stupid.”
Your thighs pressed together. “Eddie—”
“I’d take my time with you first,” he continued, voice rougher now, confidence growing with every word. “Eat you out until your legs shake. I wanna feel you come on my face before I even think about fucking you.”
Your mind begins to race, flashes of what were mere fantasies coming to fruition every second he speaks. The thought of him actually pounding you against the van causes an audible whimper to leave your throat.
“Fuck,” he growled. “I’ve wanted you for so long. Every time you smile at me, I get stupid. Every time you wear something short, I go home and lose my mind imagining exactly this. Pinning you down in my bed, legs over my shoulders, pounding into you until you’re crying and begging and coming so hard you see stars.”
Fuck is right, Eddie. You were breathing fast now, flushed and aching. “Then stop imagining. Come get me. Right now. I’m done waiting. I want your hands on me tonight. I want you inside me now.”
There was a long, charged pause. You heard him shift, probably sitting up fast.
“You—,” he pauses, taking a deep breath. “I’m coming to get you. Fifteen minutes, tops. You stay right there in that bar. Don’t you dare leave with anyone else. You’re mine tonight, sweetheart.
Then, the line clicked dead. You stared at your phone, cheeks burning, and a giddy smile spreading across your face.
Eddie refuses to give into your drunken flirtation - but what happens the next day when you’d slept it off & still want him?
a/n - amidst my multiple WIPs it’s always good to have a smutty one shot ready to go - right?
TW/CW - temporarily drunk!reader (but Eddie’s a gentleman), making out, smut, oral (f! receiving), no use of y/n, praise, discussions of consent
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Eddie was breathless, sweat stinging his eyes as the final chord of "Runnin' with the Devil" rang out, vibrating through the floorboards and up into the soles of his boots, leaving that distinct ringing in his ears that he lived for. He looked out into the crowd - what little there was of it, anyway - and immediately, his dark eyes landed on you.
You were standing by the edge of the stage, bathed in the shitty, flickering stage lights. You looked radiant - like you always did, obviously - but tonight? Tonight you were wearing a skirt that just barely covered you, and a top that clung to you in all the ways he spent his nights imagining he would one day. The way he wanted you was a constant, dull ache in his chest that flared up into something hot and jagged every time you looked at him.
As the “show” came to an end, he hopped off the stage, wiping his palms on his jeans, trying to compose himself. Just be cool, Munson. She’s your best friend. She’s off-limits. She’s... Oh. Very drunk.
He saw you stumble a little before he even reached you. Your movements were loose, too fluid, while your eyes were glassy and unfocused. Panic spiked in his throat, instantly cooling the heat of the performance.
"Whoa, easy there, sweetheart," he said, rushing forward to catch your elbows before you could face-plant into the sticky floor. His hands gripped your skin, and the contact was electric. You were burning up. "Didn't know you were planning to go this hard tonight. You okay?"
"I'm fantastic," you slurred, and the sound of your voice, thick and syrupy, sent a shiver down his spine. “You did so good up there.”
You leaned your full weight against him, your face pressing into his sweaty neck. He froze and nearly stopped breathing. You were nuzzling into the crook of his neck like it was the most natural thing in the world - meanwhile his heart was busy trying to beat its way out of his rib cage. He could smell the alcohol on your breath, sharp and sour, but underneath it, you smelled like you - some sort of perfume that was a mixture of cherries and vanilla that secretly drove him insane.
"Hey," he managed to choke out, his voice sounding wrecked even to his own ears. He carefully pulled you back, forcing himself to hold your shoulders at arm's length, cocking his head down to get a better look at you. "You're burning up. Let's get you some water."
"No," you stuck out your lower lip in a slight pout, and he had to look away, swallowing hard. You grabbed his wrist, your fingers hot and trembling. "Come outside with me. Please? It's too loud in here.”
He looked at Gareth and Jeff; they were busy packing up, oblivious to the internal war currently shredding him apart. He looked back at you. Your lower lip was still jutting out in a way that made him want to bite it. He knew he should just get you water. Help you sober up before driving you home to tuck you in like the good, platonic friend he was supposed to be.
But he was weak. God, he was so weak when it came to you.
"Okay," he relented, the defeat heavy in his voice. "Just for some air. Before I drive you home."
The alleyway was freezing compared to the stifling heat of the bar, but the cold air did nothing to cool the fire raging under his skin. He leaned against the brick wall, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive position he hoped you wouldn't notice.
"You should drink this," he said, pulling the spare water bottle from his back pocket. His hands fumbled with the cap and it fell to the ground. He felt clumsy, stupid.
You ignored it, stepping into his space and invading the safety zone he tried to maintain until your toes were touching his boots. He looked down at you, his breath hitching in his throat. You were so close. Way too close.
"What’re you doing?" He asked, his voice dropping to a whisper. His hands hung limp at his sides, useless, aching to touch you.
"Nothing," you breathed. Your hand came up to his jaw, your fingers tracing the line of bone. Your touch was feather-light, torturous. His eyes fluttered shut against his will. "I'm jus’ looking at you."
"Don't," he whispered back, a plea. "Please don't look at me like that."
“Why not?”
“You’re drunk.” Eddie cleared his throat. “I’m just trying to make sure you stay outta trouble. Take care of you.”
"You're always taking such good care of me, Eds," you murmured, your thumb brushing over his lower lip, tugging down slightly. His lips parted in a gasp. "Always watching out for me. Why?"
Because I love you. I've loved you since we were six years old and you shared your lunch with me when you saw I didn’t have one. Every time you smile at me, I feel like I've won the lottery. You go out of your way to make every single day better. The thought of anyone else touching me makes me want to tear my own skin off, and I can’t imagine wanting to be with anyone as much as I want to be with you.
"Because I'm your friend," he lied, the words tasting like poison in his mouth. "And someone has to.”
"I don't want a friend right now," you whispered, standing on tip-toe and letting your lips brushed the sensitive skin just below his ear. Your hips pressed against his ever so slightly. “And I don’t think you do either.”
Eddie’s knees nearly buckled. A guttural sound tore itself from his throat, half-groan, half-sob. His hands flew to your waist on instinct, fingers digging into the soft flesh there, holding you up against him and holding you back all at once.
He wanted to let go, he really did. But it wasn’t very gentlemanly to feel up someone who was drunk off their rocker. He would never take advantage of anyone who was drunk - especially not you.
But that didn’t stop him from wanting to grab you by the back of the neck and crash his mouth against yours. To spin you around, push you up against this wall and show you exactly what you did to him. He’d spent years memorizing the way you laughed, the curve of your hips, the swell of your breasts, and now you were here, seemingly seconds away from offering it to him on a silver platter.
"You don’t mean that," he choked out, voice barely recognizable. "It's the alcohol talking."
"It's not," you insisted, your hand sliding down his chest, over his still slightly sweaty t-shirt, heading lower. "Kiss me, Eddie. Please."
Your fingers grazed the waistband of his jeans, teasing the sliver of skin there. His hips jerked forward involuntarily, and to his horror he was becoming hard - painfully, embarrassingly hard - and there was no hiding it as you pressed up against him. He was disgusted with himself. Taking advantage of his best friend because she had a few too many drinks? Fuck, he was scum. No better than the guys the manager of the bar occasionally asked him to toss out for getting too handsy with other customers, or trying to lure drunk girls out to their cars.
He caught your hand before you could go any lower, his grip almost bruising.
“Please, Eddie. Just’ one -“
"D-don't," he gasped, his head falling back against the brick wall.
He looked down at you. Your beautiful eyes were glassy, and your cheeks were flushed a tempting shade of lusty pink. But he knew you weren't really seeing him. You were seeing a warm body, a safe pair of hands. A temporary scratch to an alcohol-fueled itch. You definitely weren't seeing the guy who had spent a decade silently worshipping the ground you walked on.
"You're going to wake up tomorrow," he said, the words tearing at his throat, "and you're going to regret this.” And I can't handle just being the mistake you make when you're too drunk to know better.
"I’d never regret you," you whispered, tears welling in your eyes. “You're… Eddie."
He let out a shaky laugh, feeling like his heart was being ripped out of his chest as he gently peeled your fingers off his waist, fighting every instinct in his body that screamed at him to pull you back. He needed to get you away from him before he did something he could never take back.
"Let's get you in the van," he said, his voice rough, forcibly devoid of the emotion that was threatening to drown him. "I'm taking you home to sleep this off.” And we are never talking about this again.
He opened the passenger door and helped you inside, his hands lingering on your lower back for just a second too long before he pulled away. He shut the door, closing you in, and leaned his forehead against the cold metal of the roof, dragging in ragged breaths of air. He was hard, aching, and utterly miserable - and he wanted you so bad it felt like dying. But he loved you enough to let you go.
The drive to your place was a blur of dark trees and silent roads, the only sound the hum of his van engine and your quiet, uneven breathing from the passenger seat. Eddie gripped the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, his jaw set in a hard line as he stared resolutely at the road. He refused to look at you, or to let his eyes trace the curve of your very bare thigh.
You were dead weight, soft and pliant in his arms, face buried in his chest as he half-carried you up the walkway to your apartment a little while later. The scent of your shampoo and perfume filled his nose with every step, clouding his mind. He fumbled with your keys, hands shaking as he swore under his breath until the lock finally clicked.
Inside, he guided you straight to your bedroom. You probably needed a shower to get the film of bar sweat off your soft skin - but he wasn’t about to try and tempt fate, or wrestle you into your small shower. He sat you on the edge of the bed, kneeling to tug off your heels. You giggled drunkenly, sliding your fingers into his hair, tugging gently at the roots. It sent a bolt of electricity straight down his spine. Jesus Christ, sweetheart. Don’t do that again.
"You're so good to me, Eddie," you mumbled, eyes heavy-lidded and unfocused. "Stay with me? Please? Don’t wanna be alone."
Eddie froze, his hands resting on your ankles and thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin there. He looked up at you. "I... I shouldn't."
"Please," you whispered again, clutching at his shoulders like he was your lifeline. "Just until I fall asleep. Feel… Dizzy.”
He let out a long, ragged breath, closing his eyes for a second. He knew he should leave. Tuck you in and go sleep on the couch immediately. But the thought of saying no to you, when you looked at him like that… It was impossible.
"Okay," he whispered, the defeat heavy in his voice. "Just until you fall asleep."
He helped you slide under the covers, his movements bordering on reverent. You looked like an angel lying there, hair fanned out across the pillow, cheeks flushed. He sat on the very edge of the mattress, trying to take up as little space on the bed as possible. But you weren't having it, tugging on his sleeve, mumbling something about laying down. Next thing he knew you were wrapping an arm around his waist, burying your face in his back.
He stiffened, his entire body locking up. He could feel the heat of your breath through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He could feel the softness of your breasts pressing against him. It was agony. The sweetest kind of hell he had ever known. The kind guys like him wrote songs about. Eddie stared at your wall, counting the seconds, forcing himself to breathe evenly, trying to ignore the way his body was screaming at him to turn around and pull you into his arms.
Slowly, your breathing evened out, deepening into the slow rhythm of sleep. Your arm went lax around his waist. He waited another ten minutes, just to be sure, his heart slowly returning to a normal rhythm.
Gently, he peeled your arm away, sliding out from under your grasp. He turned back to look at you, bathed in the soft moonlight filtering through the blinds. You looked so peaceful. Almost innocent. He felt a wave of self-loathing wash over him at the mere thought of doing anything to ruin his friendship with you.
He reached out, hand hovering over your cheek for a moment before he let his fingertips graze your soft skin. Then, he leaned down, pressing a feather-light kiss to your forehead. It chaste, a purely platonic gesture of affection, but it burned his lips like a brand.
"Goodnight, sweetheart," he whispered into the silence.
Sunlight streamed through the open living room blinds, stabbing directly into Eddie's eyelids. He groaned, rolling over and burying his face in the cushion. His back was stiff, neck popping as he shifted. He hadn’t even had a drop of beer the night before but he still felt like he’d been hit by a truck.
He sat up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, the events of the night before crashing down on him. The alleyway. The kiss that almost happened. The way you had clearly wanted him. His stomach twisted with a mixture of shame and lingering desire. He scrubbed a hand through his messy hair, trying to smooth it down, and grabbed his discarded flannel shirt from the floor, shrugging it on.
He needed coffee. And he needed to know if you remembered anything. God, he hoped you didn't.
He walked into the kitchen, digging through your cabinets for a mug when he heard your bedroom door creak open. He froze, his heart jumping into his throat.
You shuffled out, wrapped in your oversized bathrobe, your hair a tangled mess on top of your head. You looked beautiful, even as you winced at the bright light, shielding your eyes with one hand.
"Hey there," Eddie said, his voice coming out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, turning to lean against the counter. "How’re you feeling?"
"Like I died," you groaned, shuffling over to the kitchen table and collapsing into a chair. You buried your face in your hands. "I am never drinking again. Ever. Why’d you let me do that?”
Eddie let out a small laugh. A small wave of relief washed over him, cooling the anxiety in his gut. "That bad, huh?"
"Worse," you mumbled, peeking out at him from between your fingers. "I don't even remember how I got home. Did I... did I do anything stupid?"
He watched you closely, searching your face for any sign of recollection. There was nothing but confusion and a pounding headache. You didn't remember the alley. Or begging him to kiss you. Or the way he'd had to physically pry your hands off him. He forced a casual shrug, plastering a noncommittal smirk on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Nah. You just had a bit too much fun. Brought you home, tucked you in. You were out like a light."
You sighed, dropping your head onto the table with a dull thud. "You're a saint, Munson. I don't know what I'd do without you."
If only you knew, he thought, his chest aching with the weight of the secret he carried. He turned back to the counter, turning on the coffee maker with trembling fingers to hide the expression on his face.
"Yeah, well," he said, his voice tight. "Someone's gotta look out for you."
The shower hissed to life a few minutes later, the sound of water against the tile and your gentle humming filling the small apartment. Eddie leaned back against the kitchen counter, staring blindly at the coffee pot as it slowly filled. He brought his hands up to his face, rubbing his palms roughly over his eyes. He felt raw, exposed, like he’d just run a marathon without training. The image of you in that alleyway, desperate and wanting in that practically nonexistent skirt was burned into the back of his eyelids. Anytime he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish the memory of feel of your skin, but it was no use. It was branded there, permanently.
He heard the water shut off. A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened, and a cloud of steam rolled out. You walked into the kitchen, your hair, wearing shorts and an oversized Metallica shirt. You looked cleaner, but still fragile, moving slowly as the light hit you again.
"Coffee?" Eddie asked, his voice sounding a little too loud in the quiet room. He turned to grab a mug, needing something to do with his hands.
"Please," you groaned, sinking into a chair. You pulled your knees up to your chest, wrapping your arms around them. "I feel like my brain is sloshing around in my skull."
He poured you a cup and slid it across the table without another word.
"Thanks," you murmured, closing your eyes in caffeinated bliss briefly. "You really are the best."
"I try," he said, leaning back against the counter, crossing his ankles. He watched you over the rim of his own mug, trying to gauge your mood. You seemed calmer, but there was a furrow between your brows that suggested you were thinking. Hard.
You were quiet for a long moment, staring into the dark liquid in your cup. The silence stretched, thick and heavy, until you finally spoke, your voice barely a whisper. "I... I keep having these flashes. Like, snippets of memories."
Eddie’s heart stopped. He set his mug down a little harder than he intended. "Yeah? That happens. Think it’s called, like, alcohol amnesia, or something.”
"It's not just random stuff," you said, looking up at him, your eyes searching his face. "I remember... Was I out behind the bar? Like, in the alleyway?”
Eddie felt the blood drain from his face. He kept his expression neutral, but inside, he was panicking. "Yeah. We went out there for some air. You needed to cool down."
"And we were... Alone?" you asked, brow furrowing deeper.
"Yeah," he said carefully. "Just us."
You bit your lip as your gaze dropped to the table. "I feel like I said something. Or did something, maybe? Shit, did I make a total fool of myself?”
Eddie let out a breath, a short exhale. He quickly pulled out the chair opposite you and sat down. He leaned in, resting his elbows on his knees. "Hey. You didn't do anything. You were just drunk. Happens to the best of us."
"Eddie," you said, your voice firming up. You looked him dead in the eye, your cheeks flushing. "What happened?”
“It’s not a big deal. You just… Got a little flirty is all.”
“Oh no-“
“It’s no big deal.”
“Shit, I didn’t kiss you did I?” You clamped a hand over your mouth, seemingly catching Eddie’s face blanch. “Did I try something?”
He stared at you, caught. He could lie. He could brush it off, tell you that you just talked about the weather or complained about your ex. But looking at you, seeing the genuine fear and confusion in your eyes, he couldn't do it. You deserved the truth. He looked down at his hands, picking at a chip in the polish on his thumb.
"Kinda. I mean, you… Didn’t do anything. Exactly." He admitted quietly. "You said you didn't want to be friends. You said you wanted, uh, me."
You let out a small, horrified gasp, your hand flying up to cover your mouth. "Oh my god.“
A faint, self-deprecating smile touching his lips. "You were... Attempting to be very persuasive."
Your eyes widen with mortification.
"Don’t worry about it, okay? Nothing happened. Your hands were just wandering places they shouldn't have been."
You dropped your head into your hands, letting out a groan of pure despair. "I am so sorry. Fuck - I can't believe I did that. I must have made you so uncomfortable."
"You didn't," he said immediately, reaching out to gently pull your hands away from your face. He held them for a second, his thumbs brushing over your knuckles, before letting go. "It's fine. Really. You were drunk. Nothin’ to be embarrassed about. Happens to me all the time as a small-town rock star at a dive bar.”
“It’s not funny, Munson. Shit, I never… I didn’t mean to… God, I ruin everything.”
"You didn't ruin anything," he said fiercely. "I promise. We're good. It's forgotten."
“And you’re sure nothing else happened?”
“Swear on my life.” Eddie searched your expression carefully. “I also need you to know that I don’t accept those types of offers from drunk girls, okay? Kinda the bare minimum, but I’m not that kinda guy, I swear. “
You looked at him, eyes swimming with unshed tears - partially from embarrassment, partially from realizing you’d dodged a bullet in your state the night before. You were quiet for a long moment, studying his face, like you were looking for something. Then you took a deep breath, and your next words knocked the wind out of him.
"If any guy had to take advantage of me," you said softly, your voice trembling slightly, "I’d have wanted it to be you."
The silence that followed was deafening. Eddie stared at you, his mouth slightly open, his brain short-circuiting. He felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. It was nice to know that you trusted him, but Jesus Christ, your words horrified him.
"Woah, what the fuck?" He choked out.
"I mean it," you said, your eyes locking onto his. "I trust you more than anyone. You're... you're Eddie. You're the one person who actually gives a shit about me. If I was going to be that… Like, forward with someone, I'm glad it was you."
Eddie recoiled, the chair scraping loudly against the floor as he stood up abruptly. He shoved his hands into his hair, pacing restlessly away from the table.
"No," he said, his voice rising in agitation. "No, absolutely not. Don't say that. Don't ever say that."
"Why not?" you asked, confused by his sudden intensity.
"Because I would never do that!" he burst out, spinning around to face you. "I would never take advantage of you like that. You were drunk, you were vulnerable, and I’m supposed to protect you. Not... Do the shit you were asking me to do."
You watched him, expression unreadable. Then you tilted your head to the side, your eyes narrowing slightly. "Geez, are you really that horrified by the idea of being with me?"
"What? No, fuck. It's not about being with you!" he yelled, frustration cracking his composure. "It's about consent. And like, being a decent human being!"
"So let’s say you have my consent. Can you honestly say," your voice dropped to a dangerous, silky calm, "that you’ve never thought about it?"
Eddie froze. The air left the room. He stopped pacing, shoulders rigid, and he could feel your eyes burning a hole in his back. This was it. The moment of truth. He could lie. He could laugh it off or make a joke. But the words died in his throat. He couldn't lie to you. Not about this. Not when he had spent the last ten years lying to everyone else, including himself.
He turned around slowly, face pale and eyes dark - filled with a turmoil he couldn't hide. He saw the challenge in your gaze. You knew. Or you suspected. And you were calling his bluff. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. So he stood there, trapped, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs, waiting for the inevitable fallout.
The silence stretched between you, taut and vibrating, like the hum of an amp before the feedback kicks in. Eddie didn't move, just stood there looking at you like a deer caught in headlights.
"You can't say it, can you?" You whispered, a slow, triumphant smile spreading across your face. The shame from earlier was gone, replaced by a sudden, electric thrill. You leaned forward in your chair, resting your elbows on the table, eyes locked on his. "You can't look me in the eye and tell me you've never thought about us."
Eddie’s jaw worked furiously, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He looked down at the floor, at the ceiling, anywhere but at you. "It doesn't matter," he gritted out. "I'm not that guy."
You walked around the table, moving into his space, just like you had in the alleyway, but this time you were sober, and every step was calculated. "You're the guy who takes care of me. The guy who protects me. The guy who drives me home and sleeps on my couch."
"Stop," he warned, backing up until his spine hit the wall. He held his hands up as if to ward you off, but you saw the way his fingers curled toward you, wanting to grab hold of you.
"But you never made a move," you mused, stopping right in front of him. You reached out, trailing a finger down the front of his flannel shirt, feeling the rapid thud of his heart beneath your touch. "All these years. Not once. Why? Think I'd break your heart? Think you’re too good for me?”
If anything is too good for someone - it’s you. You’re way more than I deserve.
"Because you're my best friend!" he shouted, the words exploding out of him. "If we hooked up and I ended up losing you, I wouldn't survive it!"
"You wouldn’t," you said, looking up at him through your lashes. "I'm right here. And I'm asking you. I'm giving you permission to be honest with me. Just for once.”
His eyes darted across your face, searching for a sign of hesitation - but he found none. All he saw was a heat that matched his own, a challenge that hung in the air between you.
"Fine. I think about it all the time," he finally ground out, the admission torn from him by your pleading expression. "Every single day. Every time you laugh at my jokes or wear those goddamn shorts or tell me about the book you’re reading. Every time you look at me like I'm actually worth something because you’re like, the only person who does.”
The satisfaction that surged through you was heady, better than any drink. You stepped closer, eliminating the last inch of space between you, until your hips were brushing his.
“Really?”
“Y-yeah.”
"Good," you whispered. "I was hoping you'd say that."
You looked up at him, your eyes wide and curious. "So tell me, Munson. If I let you... If I actually gave you the green light... What would you do with me?"
Eddie’s breath hitched audibly. His eyes went black, dilating until the brown was just a thin ring around the edge. He stared at you, and for a second, he considered bolting. But then something snapped. The leash he'd been holding onto for a decade finally broke.
"You really want to know?" He asked, voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated through your chest.
"I do," you nodded eagerly.
"I don’t know if I’d be very gentle, sweetheart," he said, gaze dropping to your lips, then lower, to the pulse beating wildly in your neck. "I might not be the sweet, careful friend you're used to. Maybe I'd be selfish."
He leaned down, face inches from yours, but he didn't kiss you. He just let you feel the heat of his breath, the weight of his words.
"I'd start by getting you out of these clothes," he murmured, his eyes tracing the line of your shirt. "Slowly. I'd want to draw it out. Make you beg for it, kinda like you begged me last night. I'd peel every layer off till you were completely bare for me. Would you like that?"
He grinned as you trembled slightly, but still held your ground, mesmerized while you nodded.
"I wouldn't just use my hands," he continued, his voice roughening. "I think I’d like to memorize every inch of you with my tongue. Find every spot that makes you gasp and squirm, and I'd stay there until you were screaming my name."
He shifted, crowding you back against the wall, but didn’t touch you yet, one hand bracing beside your head. Tension radiated off him.
"And when you were finally as desperate as I could make you," he whispered, “when you couldn't take it anymore... I still wouldn't give it to you right away. I'd make you wait. Use your words. All that.”
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, sending a shiver down your spine that rattled your bones.
"And when I finally got inside of you," he breathed, "I wouldn't stop. Not until you were so wrecked you couldn't remember your own name. Not until the only thing you knew, the only thing you could feel inside your tight little body, was me."
He pulled back slightly, looking you in the eye, his expression fierce and hungry. "And I'd ruin you for anyone else. Make sure you never looked at another guy again without thinking of me. Mark you, inside and out. I'd make you mine. That’s the only way this ends.”
The air in the kitchen seemed to have vanished. You were gripping the front of his shirt now, breath coming in short, sharp gasps. It was clearly the most intense thing anyone had ever said to you, likely made infinitely hotter by the knowledge that it was your friend. Eddie. With the sweet doe eyes and nerdy side hobbies. The guy who looked like an intense, devil-worshiping troublemaker - but who was truly an angel in disguise.
"Is that..." you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice. "Is that all?"
A dark, wicked smirk curled the corner of his mouth. It was a look you'd never seen on him before - predatory, confident.
"I mean, that’s just the start," he said softly. "I've got ten years of ideas to work through."
Your fingers clenched tighter around the fabric of his flannel, twisting it until your knuckles threatened to split open. The air between you was thick enough to choke on, charged with a decade of repressed longing that was finally snapping its tether. His words were still echoing in your ears, dark and heavy, painting pictures in your mind that made your thighs tremble.
"So do it.”
Eddie froze, his dark eyes searching yours. He looked like a man standing on a precipice, terrified to jump but longing for the fall.
“What?"
"You h-heard me," you said, voice gaining strength. You tugged him forward, pulling him flush against you until you could feel the hard lines of his body pressing into yours. He was solid, warm, and vibrating with a restraint that was visibly crumbling. "Stop talking about it. If you want to ruin me so badly, Eddie... Then ruin me."
He let out a ragged half-groan, half-laugh, shaking his head slightly. "You don't know what you're asking, baby. You deserve so much better than me.”
"I'm not asking for someone else," you shot back, eyes flashing. "I'm asking for you. All of you. Unless," you tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips, "you're all talk?"
That was the spark that lit the fuse.
Eddie’s brown eyes narrowed, the heat in them intensifying. He didn't say a word as he moved with a sudden, fluid speed that stole your breath. One hand shot out, bracing against the wall beside your head, and the other hooked around your waist, hauling you off your feet. You gasped as your back hit the wall, harder than you expected, knocking the wind out of you. But before you could recover, his mouth was on yours.
It wasn't really a sweet, tentative first kiss. It was all tongues and desperate hunger. He kissed you like he was starving, like you were the only oxygen in a burning room. His lips were demanding, punishing, slanting over yours perfectly with a passion that made your head spin. You moaned into his mouth, hands flying up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. He growled low in his throat, the vibration reverberating through your chest. His hand left the wall and gripped your thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise, hauling your leg up to wrap around his hip. The position left you open, vulnerable, and you could feel the hard ridge of his erection pressing against your core through the denim of his jeans
"Eddie," you gasped, tearing your mouth away to breathe, but he didn't let you retreat. He immediately latched onto your neck, his teeth scraping against the sensitive skin below your ear, sending jolts of electricity down your spine. If he had his way, (and if you were okay with it) it was going to be the first of many marks he’d leave on your body to remind you exactly who you belonged to.
"I warned you," he muttered against your skin, his voice muffled and rough. "I told you I wouldn't be gentle."
"G-good," you choked out, head falling back against the wall as he sucked the mark onto your pulse point in earnest. "Don't stop."
He didn't. His hand slid up under your shirt, his palm hot against your stomach, tracing the curve of your waist. His touch was electric, searing you from the inside out. He wasn't exploring; he was claiming. Every touch felt like he was marking his territory, learning the map of your body by heart.
Eddie suddenly back away from the wall, letting you slide out of his arms slightly. You groaned in protest but before you could say anything coherent, the world tilted upside down as he threw you over his shoulder with surprising ease. His arms banded around your legs, one hand splayed over your ass as your shorts rode up way too far than was decent. A few moments later he kicked open your bedroom door, the wood banging against the wall. The world righted itself as he carefully dropped you onto the center of the bed.
He was on top of you before you could even process the movement, caging you in, knees on either side of your hips and hands braced on either side of your head. He loomed over you, a predator finally closing in on its prey. He looked wild, his hair a mess, his chest rising and falling rhythmically.
"You sure you want this, sweetheart?” He asked, his voice dropping to a growl.
You looked up at him, shivering at both the intensity in his eyes and the raw need that matched your own. It was endearing that even in his intensity and insistence that he was about to totally ruin you - he still wanted you to fully consent to all of it. Reaching up, you grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down until his nose brushed yours.
"If you stop now," you whispered, "I'm gonna kill you."
He let out a dark chuckle, the sound sending a jolt of excitement down your spine. "That's my girl."
Eddie crashed his lips against yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation. There was only that fire you were quickly becoming addicted to. His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, and with a rough jerk, he pulled it up and over your head, tossing it carelessly to the floor, leaving you in a thin bra. The scorching heat of his palms landed on your waist, holding you firmly in place so he could take a moment to drink you in properly.
"Look at you," he murmured, voice a low, vibrating rumble against your sternum as he leaned down, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to the sensitive skin of your stomach. "Fuck, I’ve dreamed about this. Real thing is way better though."
His mouth traveled lower, his tongue dipping into your navel, making your hips buck writhe against the mattress. But his hands were the real distraction. He had large hands, slender and strong, and the cool metal of his rings - the thick silver bands he wore on almost every finger - was a shocking, exquisite contrast to the burning heat of your skin. He dragged those hands up your ribs, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts, and the rings snagged slightly against the lace of your bra, sending a riot of goosebumps racing across your flesh. It felt dangerous, despite knowing you were safe with him.
Your breath was beginning to come in short gasps, causing Eddie to look up at you from under his lashes. A smirk played on his kiss-swollen lips, and his hands ghosted further over your breasts. Your back arched instinctively, pushing your chest further into his hands. He squeezed ever so slightly, & a small moan worked its way up from the back of your throat.
“Awe, too much, baby?”
"N-no."
His smirk widened, a flash of white teeth. "Good. Because I'm just getting started."
Eddie carefully reached behind you, his fingers fumbling with the clasp of your bra with an ease that probably shouldn’t have surprised you. The fabric gave way, and he pulled the straps down your arms, tossing the garment aside with the same disregard he’d shown your t-shirt. The air felt heavy, charged with a sudden, intense vulnerability as you lay bare-chested beneath him.
For a few moments, Eddie didn't speak. He just looked. He stared at you with a hunger that was almost terrifying, eyes darkening as they traced the curve of your breasts, the rapid rise and fall of your chest. It felt like he was physically consuming you with his gaze.
"Fucking Christ," he whispered reverently. "You're perfect."
He lowered his head, but he didn't take a nipple into his mouth immediately. Instead, he ran his knuckles - decorated in cold, hard metal - over the soft swell of your breast. The sensation was startling against your overheated skin. You gasped, your nipples hardening instantly into tight peaks.
"Like that, baby?" He murmured, doing it again experimentally, this time on the other side. He watched your face intently, cataloging every reaction as if he intended to file them away to revisit at some point.
"Y-yes," you hissed, your own hands tangling in his hair, trying to guide him closer. "Eddie, please."
"Please what?" His teasing breath ghosted over your skin. "Use your words. Tell me what you need."
"I need your mouth," you practically begged, your hips lifting off the bed in a desperate search for friction as he let out a small laugh. "Please, put your mouth on me or something.”
"Since you asked so nicely."
He leaned down and closed his lips around your nipple, sucking hard. The wet heat of his mouth was a shock after the cold metal of his rings. And he didn't just suck; he used his teeth too - grazing the sensitive bud just enough to make you gasp. A sharp mix of pleasure with a twinge of pain shot straight to your groin. His hand came up to knead your other breast, his palm rough, his fingers twisting and pinching.
After a few intense minutes that had you panting, he switched sides, giving the other nipple the same treatment. Eventually, his free hand slid slowly down your stomach, rings clinking softly against your skin. With practiced ease, his hand delving inside your sleep shorts, beneath the waistband of your underwear.
You knew you were soaked. You could feel the slick heat gathering between your legs, and now he definitely could as well. He choked out an against your breast, fingers sliding through your wetness.
"Christ,” Eddie murmured. “This all for me, angel?"
"All for you," you managed, head falling back against the pillow. "Only you."
"Good girl," he praised, his voice dropping an octave, becoming impossibly deeper. It was a tone you’d never heard from him - commanding, authoritative. It made your stomach clench with anticipation.
Quickly, he pulled his hand out of your pants, ignoring your small whine of protest, and hooked his fingers into the waistbands of both your shorts and panties. He tugged them down your legs in one rough motion, helping you kick out of them so you were left completely bare before him.
Eddie sat back slightly as he situated himself between your legs, his large, dark eyes roaming over your naked body like he didn’t know what he wanted to focus on first. He looked so terrifyingly beautiful like this - hair wild, chest heaving beneath his t-shirt. He looked like a fallen angel. Your fallen angel.
"Spread your legs a little more for me," he ordered, his deep voice leaving no room for argument.
You hesitated for a split second, an old instinct to be modest warring with the overwhelming need to please him. But the look in his eyes - fierce, hungry, but underneath it all, still kind and understanding - shattered your reservations. You slowly parted your thighs, exposing yourself to him completely.
To your surprise, he didn't touch you immediately. He just looked, gaze heavy. He took his time, his eyes tracing the curve of your hips and stomach, the dip of your navel, the slick folds of your center.
"Beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "Absolutely fucking beautiful."
Then, Eddie leaned forward, bracing his hands on your thighs. The rings pressed into your skin, anchoring you, pressing you open for him. He lowered his head, his breath hot against your inner thigh as you braced yourself for the lashing of his tongue… And then he bit down. Hard.
“Ow, Eddie! What the fuck -“ You cried out, hips bucking, but he held you firm, his grip like iron. He licked the red mark he’d left, soothing the sting, then moved higher, leaving a trail of lighter bites and kisses up your thigh, teasing you, tormenting you.
“Gotta make sure you remember me, sweet girl.”
"Eddie, please," you gasped, hands fisting in the sheets. "S-stop teasing. I need... I n-need..."
"What do you need?" he asked, his voice vibrating against your skin. He was so close, his breath ghosting over where you needed him most, but of course he wouldn't give you the satisfaction. He seemed to get off on your desperation. "Tell me exactly what you need, or I'll keep you here like this all day."
"I told you need your mouth -“
“Yeah?” He placed a searing hot kiss an inch above your clit and you nearly kneed him in the side of the head. “How badly?”
“S-so badly -“
“Where do you want me?”
“This isn’t fucking funny, Eddie.”
He just chuckled, watching you helplessly writhe beneath him, trying to raise your hips to his mouth. “Kinda is, actually.”
A frustrated cry fell from your lips as he kissed you again, this time just a tad lower. Any residual shame or embarrassment for asking what you wanted for was gone, replaced by pure desperation.
“Just… Fuck - I need you t-to eat me out. Please, Eddie."
He let out a satisfied laugh. "With pleasure."
And then he was on you. He didn't ease into it or bother starting slow. He flattened his tongue and licked a long, broad stripe from your entrance up to your clit, tasting you with a groan that vibrated through your entire body. You’d never had someone between your thighs that devoured you with the intensity your friend - well, could you even call him a friend after this? - was currently doing. His mouth was hot and demanding, tongue swirling and flicking with a skill that made your eyes roll back in your head.
Eddie pleasured you with the same finesse with which he played guitar. Which was to say intensely, precisely, and somehow also with a reckless abandon that made his actions seem like second nature. As if he’d been doing this for years, and knew your body as well as he knew his own. He growled against you, the sound muffled by your flesh, his chin scraping against your sensitive skin. Eddie’s hands continued to hold your thighs open, his rings digging in, grounding you. In some twisted way, it felt like he was claiming you, bit by bit. Every time he flicked his tongue over your clit, you saw stars.
"God, Eddie," you moaned, your hips grinding against his face, seeking more. "Yes - I, fuck - just like that -
He hummed agreeably against you, the sensation sending shockwaves through your system. He shifted one of his hands, sliding two long fingers deep inside you without warning. You gasped, your inner walls clamping down around him. He curled his fingers upward, finding that spot inside you that made your vision blur, and began to pump them in and out in a relentless rhythm, all while his tongue continued its assault on your clit.
The dual stimulation was far too much for so early in the morning. You could feel the pressure building low in your belly, a tight coil of pleasure winding tighter and tighter with every thrust of his fingers, every swipe of his tongue. You whimpered pitifully. Sensing you were close, Eddie didn't let up for a moment. If anything, he went harder, sucking your clit into his mouth, flicking rapidly with his tongue while his fingers fucked into you with brutal precision.
"Let go for me, baby," he commanded, voice muffled and breath still hellishly hot against you in the best way. "Lemme feel you. Now."
The command was your undoing. With a cry that tore from your throat, you shattered. Your back arched off the bed, toes curling, and your entire body shaking as release ripped through you. It was intense and overwhelming. A riptide of pleasure that drowned out everything.
Eddie worked you through it, his tongue slowing but never fully stopping, his fingers easing up as you rode out the aftershocks. You collapsed back against the mattress, gasping for air, your body limp and spent. He pulled his fingers out of you slowly, and you nearly whined at the loss. He sat up, his face shiny with your arousal, and looked at you with a dark, satisfied gleam in his eyes.
"I’m not religious, but I think you taste like heaven," he said, bringing both fingers to his mouth and licking them each clean, one by one. The sight was erotic, filthy, and it made your exhausted body twitch with renewed interest.
Leaning down, Eddie braced his hands on either side of your head and captured your mouth in a searing kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue. It probably should embarrassed you. Make you feel kinda weird. Yet in that moment, it was easily one of the most intimate things you had ever experienced.
"How was that?" he asked, pulling back to look at you, a smug, satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Feeling any closer to ruination, baby doll?”
"Shut up," you breathed, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him down for another kiss.
He laughed against your mouth, a dark, rich sound that you’d felt like you could become hooked on for life. Eddie pulled back just enough to yank his t-shirt over his head. The fabric hit the floor, and your eyes devoured the expanse of pale skin revealed. He was a bit leaner than you’d expected, but there was a dense, compact strength to him that made your mouth water. A scattering of dark hair trailed down from his navel, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans. His chest was heaving, the heavy tattoos on his ribs stretching as he breathed.
You reached for him, desperate to feel the closeness of his bare skin against yours, but he caught your wrists in one hand, pinning them effortlessly above your head. The position forced your chest up, arching your back, leaving you completely at his mercy.
"Mmm, none of that," he tsked, shaking his head slowly. His free hand trailed down your side, his rings scraping deliciously over your ribs. "I'm in charge here. Remember? You wanted to be ruined? So you’re gonna let me."
He leaned down, biting a path along your collarbone, sharp stinging nips that soothed instantly under the hot press of his tongue. He was mapping you with an obsessive thoroughness, like he was trying to memorize every inch of your body through touch alone. He’d released your wrists, but his hands were everywhere - skimming your waist, gripping your hips, kneading your thighs - constantly moving, as if he needed to feel every bit of you before you vanished into thin air.
"I've thought about this," he admitted against your skin, not meeting your eyes. His voice was a bit softer, as if he wasn’t sure what your reaction would be to finding out he’d been silently lusting after you. "A lot, over the years, if I’m being honest. I've, uh, laid in bed at night picturing exactly how you'd look spread out for me.”
A full-body blush flushed over your skin, and you shivered. “H-hope I met your expectations.”
Eddie finally pulled back to look at you, his eyes burning. "Oh, baby. You surpassed them. Easily.”
On one fluid motion, his hands slid to grip your hips, and the room tilted as he flipped you over. You gasped as you found yourself face-down in the pillows, your ass exposed to the cool air. Before you could move, Eddie gently shoved a pillow beneath your hips, and then his hands were on you once more, massaging the flesh.
"Look at this," he groaned, his thumbs brushing over your entrance as if he hadn’t spent the better part of an hour with his head between your thighs already. "You're fucking perfect."
You felt the bed dip as he moved, and then the metallic clink of a belt buckle being undone. The sound was loud in the quiet room, followed by the lower rasp of a zipper. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a mix of nerves and anticipation so potent it made you lightheaded.
Positioning yourself carefully on your elbows, you glanced over your shoulder to look back at him, watching as he shoved his jeans and boxers down his thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat.
He was... Big.
You’d expected him to be… What? Average? Perhaps a little more, given his height and frame. But this was… A surprise to say the least. He was thick, heavily veined, and seemed almost dauntingly heavy. The flushed head of him already glistening with precum. Eddie’s eyes met yours as he gave you a mischievous grin and wrapped a hand around the base, slowly stroking. The sight of his fist - with those glinting silver rings - pumping himself made your mouth go completely dry.
Eddie smirked. "Like what you see?"
"I..." You swallowed hard, your eyes darting back up to his face. You were tempted to mouth off, make a flippant remark about his ego just to see where your brattiness would take you. But rational thoughts had abandoned your blissed-out brain. So you responded honestly. "You’re, uh, just… A bit bigger than I thought you’d be.”
“Think about my dick often, sweetheart?”
You made a face. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“But I’m so good at it.” Eddie cocked his head thoughtfully. "Think you can handle it?"
The challenge hung in the air. You wanted to say yes. You wanted to be someone who could take him. Satisfy him. Make him forget every other person he’d ever been with so that this was more than a one-time thing. But looking at the sheer size of him, a spike of genuine apprehension pierced your haze of lust.
"I-I don't know," you admitted, voice trembling ever so slightly. Eddie’s eyes softened, his rough edges vanishing into the familiar sweet man you knew.
"Don't worry," he said, crawling back over you, covering your body with his. The weight of him felt grounding. He nestled his hips against your ass, letting you feel the hot, hard length of him sliding between you. "We’ll go slow, okay?"
“Promise?”
Eddie pressed a kiss between your shoulder blades. “Cross my heart.”
He reached over to your nightstand, fumbling blindly in the drawer until he found a condom. He tore the foil open with his teeth - a move that was unfairly hot for some reason - and maneuvered to roll it on. Then, he shifted his weight, spreading your legs wider with his knees.
"Relax for me, baby,” he murmured, his hand stroking up and down your spine, trying to soothe the tension he could feel radiating off you. "Breathe. Just breathe."
He notched the head against your entrance, pushing forward just enough to barely enter you. The blunt pressure was immediate, a burning stretch that made you gasp into the mattress.
"That's it," he coaxed, his voice low and encouraging. "Open up for me, sweetheart. God, you feel so good already, you know that?”
The praise was a balm as he pushed in deeper, agonizingly slow. You clawed at the sheets, breath hitching in your throat as inch after thick inch breached you. It felt like he was splitting you open, filling you up beyond what you thought possible. The stretch was intense, a sharp, burning friction. You knew that just beneath it would be burgeoning pleasure that made your toes curl - but it still felt far too large.
"Eddie," you whimpered, tears blurring your vision as your face pressed into the mattress. "It's... it's too much. I-I can’t -“
"Shh," he hushed you, leaning down to press kisses along your shoulders, neck, and finally to the sensitive spot behind your ear. "You can take it. I know you can. You're doing so good for me, baby."
Eddie kept pushing, feeding you his length with a relentless, aching pressure. It felt like ages until he’d seated himself fully, hips finally flush against your ass, and you let out a broken moan. You felt so incredibly full - especially at this angle - stretched to your limit with him. You could feel every ridge, every vein, the heavy heat of him pulsing inside you, his heartbeat almost as fast as your own.
"Fuck," he groaned, his head dropping forward to rest between your shoulder blades. He was trembling with the effort of holding still, giving you time to adjust. "It's like you're choking me."
“S-sorry -“
“Oh shit, don’t apologize, angel.” Eddie let out a breathy laugh, shifting ever so slightly to once more run a hand over your back and down to your hip. “You doing okay?”
“Yeah - I - gimme a sec.”
He stayed just as he was for a long moment, letting you get used to the intrusion. You took deep, shuddering breaths, willing your muscles to relax around him. Slowly, the burning pain faded into a dull ache, and the pleasure began to creep back in.
"O-okay. Move," you breathed, pushing your hips back against him slightly, somehow nudging him even deeper. "Please, move."
He let out a guttural sound, part groan, part growl. "Hold on."
“Are you going to ruin me or not, Munson?”
At your goading, Eddie pulled out almost all the way, leaving just the head inside of you, before rocking back in. The force of the thrust knocked the air out of your lungs, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. He set a brutal pace immediately, no more gentle build-up - just hard, deep strokes that rattled your teeth. The bed creaked loudly under the onslaught, the headboard banging rhythmically against the wall. You prayed your neighbors weren’t home, because it was too late to fully silence the sounds he was pulling out of you. Skin slapped against skin - lewd sounds that filled the room, mixing with both your moans as well as his heavy breathing and steady stream of praise.
"Look at you," he gritted out, his hand wrapping around your hip, pulling you back to meet his thrusts. "Taking it so deep. S’like you’re - fucking hell - sucking me in, sweetheart. Startin’ to think you were made for me."
He reached under you, his fingers finding your clit, and he began to rub tight, rapid circles. It felt like your body caught in a vice of pleasure, and your brain was struggling to catch up. Shifting his angle slightly, his next thrust hit a spot inside you that made you see white. You cried out, your entire body convulsing. Quickly taking the hint, he locked onto that spot, abusing it with ruthless precision, driving into you over and over again.
"You like that, baby? You like it when I fuck you right there?"
"Ye- oh god, yes, Eddie, I -“
He was losing control. You could feel it in the way his rhythm faltered, in the way his grip on your hip tightened. He knew you were close, but he was also chasing his own release, using your body to get there, and the thought of him losing himself inside you pushed you closer to the edge.
Just as the surface of the mattress seems to fall away from under you as your release overtop you, Eddie bit down on your shoulder as he slammed into you one last time. He buried himself to the hilt, and stilled. You felt him pulse inside you, the condom filling with his release as he let out a long, ragged moan in your ear. The sensation triggered your own aftershock-like wave that rippled through your exhausted body.
He collapsed on top of you, his weight heavy and suffocating, but you didn't care. You wrapped your arms around his forearms, holding him close, listening to the frantic racing of his heart as it began to slow.
For a long time, neither of you moved. You just lay there, tangled together, sweaty and sticky and completely wrecked. You could feel the harsh pattern of his breathing against your back, the occasional twitch of his hips as he came down, though he hadn’t pulled out of you just yet.
Finally, he shifted, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice raspy and wrecked.
"Better than okay," you mumbled into the pillow, a satisfied smile stretching your lips.
He laughed against your skin. "Good. Because after that, I don’t think I want anyone else to have you.”
“Gonna keep me all for yourself, Munson?”
“Obviously.”
Your index finger traced one of the tattooed bats on his forearm thoughtfully. “Because you ruined me?”
“Oh, no sweetheart.” Eddie laughed again, stroking your hair and pressing a kiss to your sweaty temple. “I think you’re the one who ruined me.”
I can’t believe he’s so trusting While I’m right behind you thrusting
Summary: Jonathan had been emotionally distant for months, pining after another girl while you sat there helplessly. Fortunately, Byers isn’t the only one who wants you, and he’ll never have to know.
4.8k words
Contains: TW: cheating (emotional and physical), p in v smut, fingering, allusions to oral (fem receiving), guilt, angst, happy(ish) ending.
…
The first time Eddie Munson kissed you, Jonathan Byers was thirty feet away buying popcorn.
Which honestly should’ve made you stop.
Instead, it made your pulse race harder.
The Hawkins Theater buzzed with noise around you; sticky floors, neon lights, kids shouting near the arcade machines, but all you could focus on was Eddie leaning lazily against the hallway wall beside you, cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his jacket.
“You’re staring,” he murmured.
“I’m not.”
“You totally are.”
You rolled your eyes, but he grinned anyway, smug and impossible.
Jonathan had dragged you there with Nancy and Steve after one of their “investigating weird shit” days. Except Jonathan barely spoke to you anymore during those outings. He and Nancy walked ahead together whispering constantly, heads bent close enough to touch, and Steve fought for his own girlfriends attention like a kicked puppy.
You noticed everything.
The way Jonathan looked at Nancy when she wasn’t paying attention.
The inside jokes you weren’t part of.
How he always seemed more awake around her. Meanwhile, you’d become background noise.
A girlfriend in title only.
So maybe that was why you kept finding excuses to talk to Eddie lately.
Because Eddie looked at you directly. Like he was interested, like he noticed when you entered a room, and maybe you were angry enough to let that matter too much.
“You wanna know something?” Eddie asked quietly.
“What?”
“You keep looking at them like you’re trying not to set something on fire.”
You followed his gaze automatically.
Jonathan was laughing softly at something Nancy said. That ache returned immediately.
Sharp. Familiar. Humiliating.
“I think he’s cheating on me,” you admitted before you could stop yourself.
Eddie’s expression shifted.
Not joking anymore.
“You know that for sure?”
“No.” You swallowed. “But I think he wants to.”
The words tasted awful out loud.
Eddie stared at Jonathan for another second before muttering, “He’s an idiot.”
You laughed weakly. “You don’t even know me.”
“Don’t have to.”
And God, maybe you were lonelier than you realized, because that almost hurt worse.
…
After that, Eddie started appearing everywhere.
Leaning against your locker after class, sliding into the seat beside you during lunch, waiting outside the arcade while you pretended not to notice him immediately.
At first you thought he was messing with you.
Most people in Hawkins treated Eddie like trouble wrapped in denim and chains.
But Eddie looked at you like he understood something ugly sitting inside your chest.
And the worst part?
You understood him too.
“You know Byers is gonna kill me eventually, right?” Eddie asked one afternoon while walking you home.
“You’re assuming he’d notice.”
The bitterness slipped out before you could stop it.
Eddie glanced sideways at you carefully.
“Huh.”
“Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize.” His voice softened. “I just… don’t think you should talk about yourself like you’re invisible.”
You looked away immediately.
Because lately, invisible was exactly how you felt.
…
The sneaking around started accidentally.
At least that’s what you told yourself.
A ride home after Hellfire ran late. A cigarette shared behind the school gym.
Long conversations in the trailer park while music played softly from Eddie’s room and Wayne slept down the hall.
You kept saying it wasn’t serious. Nothing you’d done with Eddie was physical.
You kept saying Jonathan already emotionally left first anyway.
But guilt still crawled beneath your skin every time Jonathan kissed your forehead distractedly before running off to meet Nancy again.
Because despite everything, Jonathan still trusted you.
And you were starting to hate yourself for breaking that trust even while your heart broke too.
…
One night after a party, everything finally snapped.
You found Jonathan and Nancy alone in the kitchen talking quietly while everyone else crowded the living room.
Nancy’s hand rested on his arm.
Jonathan looked at her the way people looked at stars.
Your stomach twisted painfully. Neither of them noticed you standing there. That somehow hurt most.
You left without saying goodbye.
And twenty minutes later Eddie’s van pulled up beside you while you walked home alone down the dark road.
“Jesus Christ,” he said through the open window. “You look miserable.”
“Thanks.”
“Get in.”
You should’ve said no.
Instead you climbed inside.
The van smelled like gasoline, old leather, and Eddie’s cologne. Music played softly through blown-out speakers while rain started tapping against the windshield overhead.
Neither of you spoke for a while.
Then finally Eddie said quietly, “You love him that much?”
Your throat tightened.
“Yeah.”
“And he still makes you feel like that?”
You stared out the window. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
“Hey.” Eddie’s voice sharpened instantly. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
“Blame yourself because some guy can’t figure his own shit out.”
You laughed bitterly. “Easy for you to say.”
“No, actually, it’s pretty easy in general.” Eddie leaned back against the seat. “If I had a girlfriend who looked at me the way you look at Jonathan, I wouldn’t even know other girls existed.”
That shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did, but after months of feeling unwanted, Eddie’s attention felt dangerously comforting.
The silence between you shifted.
He noticed it too. You could tell by the way his breathing changed slightly.
“You should go home,” he murmured.
Probably.
Instead you kissed him.
It happened fast. Messy. Impulsive.
The second your hand touched his face, Eddie made this startled sound against your mouth like he genuinely hadn’t expected it.
Then suddenly his hands were in your hair and he was kissing you back hard enough to make your heartbeat stumble.
It felt wrong. It felt reckless.
It felt unbelievably good.
Teeth clashing together, knocking against each other with soft taps. His tongue wet, massaging over your own.
When you finally pulled apart, both of you breathing hard, reality crashed back immediately.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
Eddie stared at you wide-eyed for half a second before laughing softly in disbelief.
“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s about the reaction I was expecting.”
Guilt flooded your chest instantly.
Jonathan.
Jonathan, who still held your hand.
Jonathan, who still said he loved you even if it sounded distracted now.
Jonathan, who might actually be innocent while you were here kissing Eddie Munson in the front seat of a van.
“I’m a terrible person,” you said quietly.
Eddie’s expression softened immediately.
“No,” he said. “You’re hurt.”
“That doesn’t make this okay.”
“No,” he admitted. “Probably not.”
Rain hammered harder against the roof.
Inside the van, everything felt small and overheated and impossible to undo now.
Eddie looked at you carefully.
“You wanna know the really messed up part?”
“What?”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
You laughed weakly despite yourself.
Then Eddie started grinning too.
And suddenly both of you were laughing quietly in the middle of this awful complicated mess because honestly, what else were you supposed to do?
…
By December, sneaking around with Eddie Munson had stopped feeling shocking.
That was probably the worst part.
At first, every secret meeting had made your stomach twist with guilt so sharp you thought you might actually confess just to make it stop.
Now it felt normal.
Dangerously normal.
You’d tell Jonathan you were studying with a friend, then end up tangled in blankets in Eddie’s trailer while Black Sabbath played low through his speakers, your legs thrown over his shoulders in a deep mating press, taking you in a way Jonathan could never quite do for you.
You’d sit beside Jonathan in class the next morning while Eddie burned holes into the back of your chair from two rows over, grinning to himself because nobody else knew where you’d been the night before.
Nobody knew.
Not Nancy.
Not Steve.
Not even Robin, and she somehow knew everything.
Especially not Jonathan.
And honestly?
After a while, you stopped feeling as bad about that as you probably should have.
Because Jonathan still looked at Nancy like she hung the moon.
He still disappeared for hours with her chasing supernatural disasters while you sat at home pretending not to notice.
Half the time he barely touched you anymore unless you initiated it first.
Meanwhile Eddie looked at you like he couldn’t help himself.
Like every room improved the second you walked into it.
It became addictive.
…
Eddie hovered over you on the mattress, curls falling into his face while his hand stayed planted beside your head, trapping you between him and the tangled blankets in a way that made your pulse feel unsteady.
One thigh rested over his broad shoulder, the other wrapped around his hips. His body forced your thighs open, body trembling with uncontrollable need.
His fingers settled deep inside, scissoring them slowly, letting the burning stretch take over.
The closeness alone was enough to make your thoughts blur a little, the smell of cigarette smoke still clinging faintly to his hair, the cold rings brushing your skin whenever he moved, the way he looked at you like he found this entire situation unbelievable in the best possible way.
Months ago, you used to leave the trailer feeling guilty.
Now you just never wanted to leave at all.
Eddie tilted his head slightly, watching your expression shift.
“There’s that look again.”
“What look?”
“The one where you remember you snuck around with me for months.”
You groaned immediately. “You are never letting that go.”
“Absolutely not.” His grin widened. “You know how insane that was from my perspective?”
“Oh, here we go.”
“No, seriously.” Eddie laughed quietly. “You’d walk into Hellfire meetings holding Jonathan Byers’ hand, then show up at my trailer three hours later looking at me like that.”
Your face burned instantly.
“Like what?”
“Like you wanted to climb me like a tree.”
You shoved his shoulder hard enough to make him laugh louder.
“You’re unbelievable. You are inside of me right now, this couldn’t wait?”
“And yet,” Eddie said smugly, leaning closer again, “still your favorite bad decision.”
The space between you disappeared again after that.
Not rushed.
Not careless.
Just magnetic.
Your hands slid up into his hair while Eddie buried his face briefly against your neck with a groan dramatic enough to make you laugh softly.
“Don’t laugh,” he muttered.
“You’re so dramatic.”
“You made me wait months, sweetheart. I earned dramatic.”
You rolled your eyes again, but your heartbeat stumbled anyway when he looked back at you.
Because teasing aside, Eddie still had this dangerous habit of looking at you too sincerely when things got quiet.
Like underneath all the jokes and flirting, he still couldn’t fully believe you chose him.
His fingers quickly became replaced with something bigger. He sheathed himself all the way in, not satisfied until his pelvic bone ground against yours.
His thumb brushed lightly along your jaw.
“You know what I think?” he asked softly.
“What?”
“I think part of you liked that I noticed you.”
The teasing tone was gone now, replaced by pure confidence and a little bit of power. That made it harder to answer.
You swallowed, because he was right.
Jonathan used to notice you once.
Then somewhere along the line, you became something familiar. Expected. Easy to overlook.
But Eddie noticed everything.
When you were upset.
When you were pretending not to be.
When you walked into a room.
When you looked at him too long.
Even now, his attention felt intense enough to make your chest ache a little.
“You looked at me like I mattered,” you admitted through strangled breaths.
Eddie’s expression changed instantly at that.
Softer, amost angry on your behalf.
“You do matter.”
The words hit harder than they should have, and he drilled in deeper with a brutal force. For a second neither of you moved, Eddie holding you there, letting you feel him pulsing inside of you.
Rain rattled against the windows.
The trailer creaked softly around you.
And Eddie just stayed there close enough that you could feel his breathing, looking at you with an intensity that made everything else feel very far away.
Then his grin returned slightly.
“Still think Byers was blind, by the way.”
You laughed despite yourself.
“There’s the ego again.”
“Massive ego,” Eddie agreed proudly before leaning down to kiss your forehead this time, slower and gentler than before. “Can’t help it. I won.”
The pace picked up again, a conversation far too deep for an act meant to be completely casual melting into pleasurable moans and deep grunts.
The mattress creaked, filling the small room with an unavoidable heat.
…
“Your boyfriend’s gonna figure this out eventually,” Eddie said one night.
You were sprawled across his mattress while cigarette smoke curled lazily toward the trailer ceiling. Outside, rain hammered softly against the windows, wet marks adorning your skin where clothes hid the evidence.
Eddie sat beside you tuning his guitar absentmindedly.
“He hasn’t so far.”
You didn’t even bother to put your shirt back on, perfectly comfortable laying spread in only your underwear.
“That’s because Byers is too busy staring at Wheeler.”
The words should’ve hurt more, instead you just rolled your eyes.
“That obvious, huh?”
“To literally everyone except him.”
You laughed quietly. Months ago that conversation would’ve made your chest ache, now mostly it just exhausted you.
Eddie noticed immediately.
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
“Liar.”
You looked over at him.
The dim light softened the sharp edges of his face. His rings glinted silver as his fingers moved over the guitar strings lazily. The same fingers that had been knuckle deep inside of you just moments before, completely drenched with the arousal he pulled from my core mixed with the slick saliva from his messy mouth.
His dirty mouth becoming something softer after, always carrying a simple conversation, and somewhere along the line, Eddie had become easy to be around.
Too easy.
“You know what’s weird?” you murmured.
“What?”
“I thought I’d feel guiltier than this.”
Eddie stopped playing.
The room went quiet except for the rain.
“Do you wanna?”
You considered it honestly.
Then shrugged.
“Not really.”
That should’ve sounded horrible.
Maybe it was horrible.
But after months of being ignored, overlooked, and quietly replaced emotionally, your guilt had slowly burned itself out.
Jonathan still technically belonged to you, but his heart didn’t. Maybe it hadn’t for a long time.
Eddie set the guitar aside carefully.
“You ever gonna break up with him?”
The question hung heavy between you. You stared at the ceiling.
“I don’t know.”
“Bullshit.”
You frowned at him. “Excuse me?”
“You know.” Eddie leaned back against the wall behind the bed. “You just don’t wanna be the bad guy.”
That hit too directly.
Because maybe he was right.
If Jonathan officially left you for Nancy, then at least your heartbreak could stay clean.
Simple.
But this?
Sneaking around with Eddie for months while pretending everything was fine?
That made you complicated too.
Messy.
Selfish.
Eddie watched your expression carefully.
Then quieter, “I’m not judging you, sweetheart.”
“You should.”
“Nah.” He gave a crooked smile. “I like complicated girls.”
You snorted despite yourself.
“Your standards are concerning.”
“Very.”
The tension eased after that.
It always did with Eddie.
He had this irritating ability to make terrible situations feel lighter without pretending they weren’t terrible.
That was part of why you kept coming back.
With Jonathan, loving him had started feeling lonely.
With Eddie, even silence felt full.
…
The secrecy became routine.
Thursday nights at the trailer park.
Quick hidden conversations after Hellfire meetings.
Eddie’s hand brushing yours under tables while Jonathan sat three feet away completely oblivious.
Honestly, that part started becoming thrilling too.
Not because you wanted to hurt Jonathan.
But because for once, somebody was choosing you in secret instead of choosing someone else right in front of you.
“You’re staring again,” Eddie murmured one afternoon in the school parking lot.
You blinked. “At what?”
“Me.”
“I am not.”
He grinned immediately. “You totally are.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“And yet here you are.”
You shoved his shoulder lightly, trying not to smile.
Eddie caught your wrist before you could pull away.
The touch lingered.
Your pulse skipped instantly.
God.
That still happened every time.
Eddie’s expression softened just slightly as he looked at you.
Not joking now.
Not flirting.
Just… looking.
“You know,” he said quietly, “you laugh more now.”
Something about that made your chest tighten unexpectedly.
Because he was right.
You did.
Even with all the lying and sneaking around and emotional disaster of your life, you laughed more with Eddie than you had in months with Jonathan.
Maybe that should’ve told you everything already.
…
The closest Jonathan ever came to figuring it out happened in January.
The three of you were at Family Video helping Steve reorganize tapes while Robin complained loudly from behind the counter.
Jonathan reached for your hand absentmindedly while talking to Nancy.
You froze immediately.
Because Eddie was standing across the store watching.
For one horrible second guilt came rushing back hard enough to make you nauseous.
Jonathan squeezed your hand lightly without even looking at you.
Automatic.
Distracted.
Like habit.
Then Nancy said something and his attention snapped right back toward her.
Your chest went cold.
Across the room, Eddie saw it too.
The hurt.
The realization.
Jonathan let go of your hand a second later without noticing your expression at all.
But Eddie noticed.
Of course he did.
Later that night, you showed up at the trailer without calling first.
Eddie opened the door already smirking. “Miss me?”
Instead of answering, you kissed him immediately.
Hard enough to shut him up.
Eddie stumbled backward laughing against your mouth. “Whoa, okay—”
“You were right.”
“That narrows absolutely nothing down.”
“About Jonathan.”
Eddie’s grin faded slightly.
You looked away.
“He doesn’t love me anymore.”
The words hurt less now.
Mostly because you’d already mourned the relationship while still inside it.
Eddie’s face softened.
Slowly, carefully, he reached up and brushed hair away from your face.
“You deserve somebody who actually sees you,” he said quietly.
And maybe that should’ve scared you more than it did.
And maybe it did.
After that night, something shifted, not between you and Eddie, that had already shifted months ago. No, the change happened inside you.
Because Eddie’s words kept echoing in your head every time Jonathan forgot to call. Every time he canceled plans because Nancy “needed help.” Every time you caught yourself sitting silently beside your own boyfriend feeling lonelier than when you were actually alone.
You deserve somebody who actually sees you.
The problem was, Eddie did see you.
Too much, maybe.
And lately that was starting to scare you.
…
“You’re distracted,” Jonathan said one afternoon.
You nearly laughed out loud at the irony.
The two of you sat together in the Byers living room while Will and Joyce argued softly in the kitchen. A movie played on the television, forgotten background noise neither of you were really watching.
Jonathan had barely spoken to you for twenty minutes.
Now suddenly he noticed something was wrong.
“I’m fine,” you answered automatically.
He studied you for a second like he wanted to believe that.
Then Nancy called the house phone, and just like that, his attention vanished again. You watched him smile at the sound of her voice.
Watched him lean forward unconsciously like hearing Nancy Wheeler speak required his full concentration.
Something inside you finally went numb.
Not broken.
Not shattered.
Just… done.
You stood quietly, grabbing your jacket.
Jonathan looked up distractedly. “You leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“You okay?”
There it was again, that guilty little crease between his eyebrows, like part of him already knew he was losing you.
You almost wanted him to fight for it anyway.
Instead he just looked tired.
And suddenly you couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked at you the way Eddie did.
“I’ll call you later,” Jonathan said.
You both knew he probably wouldn’t.
…
Eddie was waiting outside some building on the outskirts of town when you arrived.
Leaning against the brick wall, cigarette glowing between his fingers, leather jacket damp from the cold.
The second he saw your face, his expression changed.
“What happened?”
You crossed your arms tightly. “Nothing.”
“Bullshit.”
You looked away.
Eddie sighed softly, flicking the cigarette onto the pavement before stepping closer.
“He with Wheeler again?”
You hated how easily he guessed. You hated even more that you nodded.
For a moment Eddie didn’t say anything.
Then quieter, “C’mere.”
The words were so gentle they nearly undid you. You let him pull you against his chest without protest.
His arms wrapped around you instantly — warm, solid, familiar now.
You remembered when touching Eddie used to feel dangerous, now it felt like relief.
“You know what’s really messed up?” you mumbled against his jacket.
“What?”
“I don’t even feel sad anymore.”
Eddie’s hand slowed against your back.
That got his attention.
“I just…” You swallowed hard. “I think I stopped missing him before we even ended.”
The confession sat heavy between you both, because neither of you had said it out loud yet.
Not really.
You and Jonathan were still technically together.
But it felt more like a memory than a relationship now.
Eddie tilted his head down slightly, trying to catch your eyes.
“You gonna tell him?”
“Eventually.”
“Eventually,” Eddie repeated skeptically.
“I know.”
He studied you carefully.
“You’re afraid.”
“Obviously.”
“Of hurting him?”
You hesitated.
Then whispered, “Of him not caring.”
That made Eddie visibly flinch.
His jaw tightened immediately like the idea genuinely upset him.
“Jesus,” he muttered. “He really did a number on you, huh?”
You tried laughing it off.
It came out shaky instead.
…
The next few weeks became unbearable in a different way.
Not because of Jonathan.
Because of Eddie.
Because somewhere along the line, the rules between you had gotten blurry.
This was supposed to be casual. Revenge, maybe. A distraction. Something reckless to numb the ache Jonathan left behind.
Except Eddie started memorizing things about you.
Your favorite songs.
How you took your coffee.
Which movies made you cry even when you pretended they didn’t.
And worse?
You memorized things too.
The exact sound of his laugh when he was genuinely surprised, the way he got quieter when he was tired, how he always handed you the last bite of whatever he was eating without even thinking about it.
It stopped feeling temporary.
That was the problem.
…
“You’re staring again,” Eddie said one night from across the trailer.
You blinked. “Shut up.”
He grinned lazily from the couch. “Nah, seriously. It’s getting weird now.”
“You’re literally wearing a Dio shirt and leather pants indoors.”
“And?”
“And you look ridiculous.”
“Yet deeply attractive.”
You rolled your eyes.
But Eddie caught the tiny smile anyway.
He always did.
The trailer felt warm despite the snow outside. Music played softly from Eddie’s cassette player while Wayne worked the late shift.
You sat cross-legged on the floor flipping through one of Eddie’s campaign notebooks absentmindedly.
Then you found it.
A sketch.
Messy pencil lines of your face tucked between pages of monster designs and campaign notes.
Your chest tightened instantly.
“Eddie.”
“Hmm?”
“You drew me?”
His expression changed the second he realized what you found.
For once in his life, Eddie Munson looked caught off guard.
“Uh.”
You stared at him. “When?”
He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “Couple weeks ago.”
“A couple— Eddie.”
“It’s not a big deal.”
But his face had gone slightly red.
Which somehow made it worse.
You looked back down at the drawing.
The detail startled you.
He’d drawn you carefully.
Like he’d spent time on it.
Like you mattered enough to study.
Something dangerous twisted low in your stomach.
“This,” you said quietly, “doesn’t really feel casual anymore.”
The room went still.
Eddie looked at you for a long moment without joking this time.
Then finally:
“No,” he admitted softly. “Guess it doesn’t.”
The silence after Eddie admitted it stretched painfully long.
Outside, wind rattled weakly against the trailer windows. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once before everything went quiet again.
You stared down at the sketch in your hands.
Eddie stared at you.
Neither of you seemed to know what happened next, because feelings complicated things.
Feelings turned this from something reckless and temporary into something capable of hurting people.
And maybe the worst part was realizing you didn’t want it to stop anyway.
“You should’ve told me,” you said softly.
Eddie let out a short laugh. “Oh yeah, because that conversation would’ve gone great.”
You looked up.
“I mean it.”
His expression shifted immediately at your tone.
“I know.” He leaned back against the couch cushions, running a hand through his hair. “I just… didn’t think you wanted this to be serious.”
You opened your mouth. Then closed it again, because months ago he would’ve been right. Months ago Eddie had been escape. A distraction. A way to feel wanted while Jonathan slowly drifted toward Nancy.
But now?
Now Eddie was the person you looked for first in crowded rooms.
The person you wanted to tell things to. The person who noticed when you were upset before you even spoke.
And that terrified you a little.
“You know what the really pathetic part is?” you murmured.
Eddie frowned slightly. “What?”
“I think I started falling for you while I was still trying to convince myself I loved Jonathan.”
The confession hung heavily between you both.
Eddie looked stunned for half a second.
Then something softer settled into his expression.
Not smugness.
Not victory.
Just tenderness so genuine it made your chest ache.
“Sweetheart,” he said quietly, “there is literally nothing pathetic about choosing someone who actually makes you happy.”
Your throat tightened immediately.
God.
Jonathan used to make you feel like this once.
Seen.
Important.
But somewhere along the line, loving Jonathan had started feeling like waiting outside a locked door hoping someone might eventually let you in again.
With Eddie, the door had always been open.
You just hadn’t realized how badly you needed that.
…
The breakup finally happened three days later.
Not dramatic.
Not explosive.
Honestly, that almost made it sadder.
Jonathan stood beside you outside the school parking lot, shoulders tense against the cold while students passed around you pretending not to eavesdrop.
You’d rehearsed this conversation all night.
None of the words sounded right anymore.
“I think we both know this isn’t working,” you said quietly.
Jonathan looked down immediately.
That told you everything.
No confusion.
No shock.
Just resignation.
Like some part of him had been expecting this too.
“Yeah,” he admitted after a moment.
The simplicity of it hurt more than yelling would’ve.
You crossed your arms tightly.
“I didn’t want us to end like this.”
Jonathan nodded slowly. “Me neither.”
But neither of you knew how to fix it anymore.
Maybe you never really could’ve.
You studied his face carefully, searching for the devastation you’d imagined for months.
It wasn’t there.
He looked sad.
Guilty, maybe.
But relieved too.
And strangely enough?
So did you.
After a long silence, Jonathan finally said quietly, “Is there someone else?”
Your heart stopped.
For one horrible second, you thought he somehow knew.
You thought about Eddie waiting for you at the trailer later tonight.
About hidden kisses and secret smiles and months of lying.
About the few times he’d have you half heartedly, and all you could think about while he shoved your face into the mattress was how much deeper Eddie could reach. Then, when it became more the physicality, how much sweeter Eddie would talk to you.
Your stomach twisted.
But Jonathan looked tired more than suspicious.
And suddenly you realized something awful:
He was asking because he hoped there had been someone else, because then maybe this wouldn’t entirely be his fault either.
You swallowed hard.
“No,” you lied.
Jonathan closed his eyes briefly.
Then nodded.
“Okay.”
That was it.
No screaming.
No accusations.
Just two people quietly acknowledging they’d already lost each other a long time ago.
When Jonathan finally walked away, you expected heartbreak.
Instead you mostly felt empty.
And underneath that emptiness:
Relief.
…
Eddie answered the trailer door already smiling.
“You’re late.”
You stared at him silently for a second.
His smile faded immediately.
“What happened?”
“It’s over.”
The words came out smaller than you expected.
For a moment Eddie just looked at you.
Carefully.
Like he was trying to figure out whether to comfort you or celebrate.
Then finally he asked softly, “You okay?”
And somehow that question broke you more than the breakup itself.
Because Jonathan hadn’t asked.
Not really.
But Eddie always did.
You laughed shakily, wiping suddenly burning eyes before tears could actually fall.
“Yeah,” you whispered. “I think I am.”
Eddie stepped aside quietly to let you in.
The trailer felt warm compared to the freezing air outside. Music hummed softly from the radio while a half-finished campaign map sat spread across the table.
Normal.
Comfortable.
Homey in a way you hadn’t expected it to become.
You set your bag down slowly.
Then Eddie reached for your hand.
Not rushed.
Not secretive.
Just open.
Like he wasn’t afraid anymore.
Your chest tightened painfully at the difference.
“You know,” Eddie murmured, thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles, “this means I can finally flirt with you in public now.”
You laughed through the lingering ache in your chest.
“That’s your first thought?”
“Absolutely.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet,” he grinned softly, pulling you closer, “you still picked me.”
This time, when he kissed you, there was no guilt left hiding underneath it.
warnings (18+): cute sweet fluff, smut [perv!spencer, f masturbation, m masturbation] below break
roommate!spencer who was nervous when he first met you. he mumbled something about how he didn't expect you to be so beautiful, before promptly apologizing for making you uncomfortable, but still standing by the fact that you are very beautiful.
roommate!spencer who went away for work a lot, so you insisted on doing something special for whenever he was in town. you'd leave him little gifts when he came back from an especially long trip. just little things that you thought he'd like or appreciate. sometimes they were even as simple as his favorite snack or a new travel toothpaste.
roommate!spencer who absolutely treasured the gifts you left him. you'd gotten him some of his favorite granola bars and he saved the cardboard box they came in.
roommate!spencer who also loved the little notes you'd write him every once in a while. when you first left him a note, just a little post it saying
"welcome home! missed having you around these past few days... i hope you don't mind i washed your sheets :)" he'd been so happy, he'd hung the note up by his bed.
roommate!spencer who was overjoyed to find another note on his bed after his next trip. this one containing a few updates from while he was gone, like a movie you'd watched and loved or the new brand of bread you'd started buying. he started leaving you notes in response.
roommate!spencer who started calling you before his trip back home to notify you he was coming back. he did this after realizing you only left notes if you knew when he was coming home. and he'd gotten to a point where he was so excited to see what you'd written him, he was the first one off the plane.
roommate!spencer who took over doing things around the apartment when he was home. putting up the dishes, doing the laundry, general cleaning -- he wouldn't let you do any of it when he was home.
roommate!spencer who was doing his laundry one day when he found a pair of your, uh, unmentionables that had been left on top of the dryer. they were rather ornate... well not in size but in design.
roommate!spencer whose mind had come to a halt after an image of you in said underwear flashed in his mind.
roommate!spencer who felt his dick twitch in his pants at the thought, immediately dropping the panties onto the top of the machine and pretending like it hadn't happened.
roommate!spencer who, a few weeks later, had come home a day early from a case and forgotten to tell you about the change of plans.
roommate!spencer who walked into the apartment and noticed strange noises coming from your room. it was pretty late and he honestly thought you'd be asleep.
roommate!spencer who walked up to your bedroom door to hear better and almost fainted when he clearly heard a moan come from your room.
roommate!spencer who knew it was wrong to listen to you as soft moans and whimpers continued to pour out from behind your shut door.
roommate!spencer who knew it was wrong to keep listening but did nothing to stop his hand from palming his hardening cock.
roommate!spencer who knew it was wrong but stopped caring as soon as he heard you breathlessly whimper "oh fuck-- spencer"
part of my winter holiday celebration | main masterlist
pairing: spencer reid x BAU agent's daughter!reader
summary: you'd spent quite a bit of time with your fath they were all great, so sweet and always welcoming to you. all except for one: spencer reid. while you thought you'd been somewhat subtle about your dislike of spencer, it seems he's caught on to that... as well as some other feelings you have towards him *wink wink* wc: 3.6k
warnings (18+): smut [unestablished relationship & bdsm dynamics (dom!spencer x sub!reader), spanking, spencer loves your ass, kissing, thigh humping, cumming in pants, crying], age gap (spencer is late 30s, reader is early 20s), enemies to lovers, intentional past to present tense change, spencer lowkey is a dick, but like a really really hot sexy dick... this gets kind of intense. lmk if i missed anything !
note: tysm for 200+ followers!!! it happened a few days ago but i didn't have a chance to say how thankful i am ❥
Spencer Reid was an arrogant, obnoxious asshole but it seemed like you were the only one who noticed. Everyone else you talked to seemed to love the wunderkind but man, he got on your nerves.
It all started when you first visited your dad at work as a senior in high school. You had gone around meeting every member of the team. Everyone had been so welcoming and kind, congratulating you as your dad bragged about your recent acceptance into one of the top universities in the country.
When your father had mentioned this to Spencer, he immediately retorted the fact, rambling on about "actually, it's only number blah blah blah."
You hadn't been able to hide your frown at the comment. Your dad brushed it off and said he was still very proud of you, but you didn't let it go so easily.
Since then, every interaction you had had with Dr. Reid (mind you, he's not an actual Medical Doctor... just a PhD!), he had made some sort of comment. Something subtle but effective in making you feel like an idiotic child, even after you had grown into a bright young woman.
The worst part was that every time you brought it up to anyone they'd just write it off as "Spencer being Spencer." So you'd been forced to just suck it up and pretend to not deeply dislike him every time you'd been by the BAU.
Unfortunately for you, another one of those times was coming up. It was the BAU's annual Christmas party and your father had invited you to come. You had agreed since you wouldn't miss a chance to get to see Penelope, but you knew that he would be there.
When you got to the party, you didn't see him at first. You thought that, maybe, by some miracle, Spencer wouldn't be there this year. Unfortunately, this dream was crushed when you heard his annoying voice ring out through the crowd.
"Actually, White Christmas by Bing Crosby is the highest-selling Christmas song of all time, not Silent Night."
You couldn't stop your instinctive eye roll. You looked to your left to see Spencer lecturing Luke. Everything was fine until you realized that your second thought after "damn it he's here" was "damn it he looks good."
You physically shook the thought from your head. No, no. There was no need for that. You didn't like this guy. Spencer was an obnoxious know-it-all, he was not hot. Except for the part where that last bit was a lie. Yes, he was an obnoxious know-it-all, and yes, he did seem to have a penchant for insulting you with statistics, but you had to admit he was an increasingly attractive man. It seemed like every time you saw him, someone had dialed up the Fineness of that man by 10%.
You physically shook your head again, hoping that it would clear the topic from your mind, even though it didn't work the first time.
"What are you doing?"
Spencer Reid had appeared before you in all his annoying attractiveness. You looked around for a second, wondering if anyone else had seen him disappear and reappear like a magician, but no one was paying attention to the conversation.
"Nothing," you said, regaining some of your usual standoffishness. "Why? Are you here to tell me that shaking my head won't actually get rid of a thought?"
"Well, actually, while shaking your head doesn't magically make the thought go away, the motion can help disrupt intrusive thinking patterns," Spencer said.
You fought the urge to roll your eyes until they felt physically strained. Spencer looked at you closely for a second before speaking again.
"You don't like me," he said matter-of-factly.
Though it was true, you did scoff lightly as if to feign surprise or offense. "What? Why? Who..." you let the words die on your tongue. Anyone with half a brain could guess you didn't like Spencer Reid and this guy definitely had more than half a brain.
"I study people for a living. It's what I do. And studying you, I've found noticed some interesting things."
"You mean that I don't like you? I think anyone could have figured that out," you replied casually.
"Well, while you may not like being around me, you do find me attractive. I can tell by your dilated pupils and increased heart rate. Also by the fact that you stare at me every time we're in the same room."
You were speechless. Was this really happening?
"But you're confused, aren't you? Because you think I'm annoying and rude, which maybe I am, to you, but you also find me attractive." He dropped his voice to a whisper and leaned in towards your ear. "So, let me know when you figure out if you want to hit me or kiss me."
And with that, he was gone, off to start lecturing Luke about the top Christmas songs again. You were left standing with your mouth agape and very, very confused. What the fuck was that?
You felt your cheeks flush as your heart rate quickened. Spencer had changed a lot since you had first met him. He was more confident in himself, but you knew he'd had to be. You'd heard bits and pieces from your father that indicated Spencer had been through some bad times. While you'd felt bad for him at the time and tried to be a little nicer, his comments just kept coming. So you'd settled for an attempted indifference whenever you were around him.
But now, you were finding it very hard to be indifferent. In fact it was almost hard to breathe at a normal rate. You realized that you had been standing in the same spot, unmoving beside the rapid inflation and deflation of your chest, since Spencer had left you.
You shook your head again in a feeble attempt to clear your mind. Unsurprisingly, it failed you again. You walked over to the punch bowl and filled up another glass.
You drank the punch quickly, like maybe if you finished it, you'd stop thinking about how it felt having Spencer so close to you, the warmth from his body radiating to you. His face so close to yours you could have touched him by just moving an inch. You took in another deep breath and refilled your punch glass.
"Hey!" you heard someone say right next to you. You jumped and turned to see Emily standing next to you, holding an empty punch glass.
"Hey, Emily," you said as you finished filling your cup.
"How've you been?" she asks as she took the ladle from you and began filling her glass.
"Oh, good. You know, busy time of year," you say mindlessly. Your eyes had wandered around the room and found Spencer, but he was already looking at you.
"Yeah, gosh, I know..."
You can't focus on what Emily is saying anymore. You're in a trance of some sort watching Spencer eye you from the other side of the room. He raises his eyebrows at you expectantly. You aren't sure what to do, so you just keep staring at him until he looks away. As he does, Emily's voice pulls you back into reality.
"...I mean, can you believe that?" She had finished her thought and was waiting for your response.
"Wow, yeah. That's a lot," you fumble your way through a reply. Before either of you can say anything more, a hand wrapped around your arm.
"Sorry, I've got something I wanted to show her," you hear Spencer say from beside you. How had he gotten over here this fast? Before you can dwell on that anymore, Spencer is dragging you away towards a hallway.
"Spencer? What are you doing?" you ask, feet scrambling to keep up with him as he keeps a tight grip on your arm.
"It took too long for you to decide, so I decided for you," he says.
"Huh?" you say as he comes to a stop in front of a door. He doesn't say anything, just opens the door and ushers you inside. The room is dark until Spencer flips a switch on the wall which turns on a single lightbulb. In the dim lighting, you figure out that you're in a supply closet of some kind. Boxes and books are stacked up and a spare desk is pushed against the wall.
"Spenc--" you're cut off by a kiss that was somewhere between a peck and a french. It's chaste, no tongue is used, but you can tell that takes a considerable amount of restraint on Spencer's part (and yours too, if you're being honest). It's sweet, tender but his hands slide up to grip the back side of your neck with a surprising amount of strength.
But then he pulls away. Just a few inches, so you can still feel his breath and see every detail of his stupidly hot face.
"Do you want this?" he whispers. Your mind spins as it tries to understand the past few minutes.
"Spencer--" you say slowly, apprehension present in your voice but you don't make any move to get out of his grasp.
"Do you want this, yes or no?" he asks very carefully, enunciating each syllable.
Your breath catches in your throat as you see the look in his eyes. It's like barely restrained lust and it's got you in a trance. With the pressure of his hands on your neck and the closeness of his body, you can't think of any words to say. So you nod. Two short shakes of your head and his grip tightens on your neck.
"Turn around," he whispers before dropping his hands from your neck. You do as he says, turning around to face the empty desk. You feel his hand slide up your back, pressuring you to bend over the desk. You fold, letting your arms brace your upper body on the empty desk, your ass facing Spencer.
You shiver as Spencer's hand travels down your back to the curve of your ass. He gropes it for just a second before pulling away. Then his hand comes down with a smack. You gasp, body jolting forward at the feeling.
He leaves his hand on your ass for just a moment before pulling back and spanking you again. You gasp again, this time from the jolt of pleasure you feel between your thighs.
"Spencer," you breathe out as he massages your ass. He spanks you again, the sound of the slap echoing through the room.
"Shut up," he snaps, delivering another spank to your ass before gripping the bottom of your dress and hiking it up to your hips. You gasp and try to stand up but Spencer comes up behind you. His body is flush to yours, his hands grasping your wrists lightly. You can feel him all along your backside but your breath catches when you feel him through his pants against your lower back.
"Spencer," you say shakily, your mind flipping between confusion and arousal. You can feel his breath on your neck as your body leans back into his warmth.
When he speaks, it's like every word has been chosen very carefully. "Before you get a reward, you need to be punished," he whispers into your ear.
You almost moan at the way he says the word punished. You nod slightly against him before bending over the desk again, your ass pushing against his erection. He lifts your dress to your hips again and caresses your ass through your panties.
"Apologize" Spencer says.
"What?" you mumble. He slaps your thigh lightly before bringing his hand back to your ass.
"Apologize."
"For what-- ah" you cut yourself off with a moan after he delivers another sharp slap to your ass.
"For the attitude you have every time you see me," says Spencer.
"You had --oh!-- attitude first!" you practically whine as he spanks you again. His hand comes down to soothe your left cheek, which had become quite tender in a hand-shaped region.
"I simply stated the facts. You rolled your eyes at me every time I breathed near you," Spencer replies calmly.
You huff a breath at his response, which leads to him pinching your thigh. You look over your shoulder at that, ready to snap at him again, but there's something in the look on his face. It's almost like he's... sad? Maybe not just sad, there's definitely some frustration in there, but he almost seems upset that you've been less than cordial to him in the past. You get the sense that this isn't the first time someone's been put off by him "stating the facts."
So you look back at the desk where your hands are bracing. You swallow your pride for just a second and quietly say "I'm sorry."
"Louder," he says, punctuating the thought with a light smack on your ass.
"I'm sorry," you say louder. He spanks you again so you say it louder. You two continue this until you're practically screaming "I'm sorry" and you can feel a wetness in your panties. You shift your hips after the last spank, trying to squeeze your thighs and find some relief from the desire that has been growing between your legs.
Spencer stills at the sight, hands going to still your hips. He then carefully drags your underwear over your ass, careful to avoid the tender skin, until they've dropped to your ankles. He runs his hands over your bare ass, admiring both the curve and the raw skin that he has just finished spanking.
He places a chaste kiss on each of your ass cheeks, the sweetness of the kiss contrasting with the cruelty of the spanks. He spreads your cheeks, molding the flesh so he can see the bottom of your cunt. It's wet, the skin glistening in the soft light of the closet. He runs a finger from your clit to your hole, feeling the slick that has accumulated. You moan lowly at the sensation, feeling yourself clench around nothing.
He pulls away very suddenly, spinning you 180 degrees so the backs of your thighs bump into the table, the front of your body now practically flush against his. The lust you saw in his eyes earlier isn't restrained anymore as he grabs the back of your neck and kisses you in a way that is anything but chaste. His tongue practically forces its way into your mouth, his teeth scraping along your lip. He drinks you in until you're breathless.
Then, he shifts his focus lower. He tilts your head to the side, allowing his lips to latch onto your neck. One of his hands lightly tugs your hair while the other grips your hip. You groan at the feeling, trying to get a little bit closer to him. You feel his erection poke you in the stomach. You're desperate to feel more as you try to angle your clit on his bulge but he's so damn tall you're not getting anywhere. You settle for lightly humping his leg until he notices what you're doing. He almost laughs at the sight of you rutting against his leg.
"Spencer, please," you whimper.
"You're terrible at begging," he says shortly, but his flushed cheeks and dilated eyes say you're not doing half bad. Fortunately for him, you're about five times as desperate as he is right now.
"Please, Spencer. I need it, I'm so wet," you whine, letting your hands run over his chest.
He tries to appear unaffected but you feel his grip tighten on your waist. "What do you want?"
"Anything, please. I just wanna cum so bad, please, Spencer, I'm so wet," you beg, rambling as you squeeze your thighs together again.
With a sharp inhale, Spencer decides to take pity on you. He quickly spins, swapping position so he's the one in front of the desk. He sits down, spreading his legs wide and guides you to sit down on one of his thighs, allowing yours to bracket his. You squeak as your pussy touches the fabric of his pants. You know your wetness has probably already started to leave a stain on his pants, but you can't care. All you can focus on now is the feeling of your wet cunt pressed against his strong thigh.
He keeps both hands on your hips, coaxing you to start moving. So you start grinding against his thigh. You're slow, sort of hesitant, at first, but quickly your arousal overtakes your hesitation.
You moan at the feeling of the pressure and friction on your clit. You can feel your cunt clench again as you speed up. You find that making it a more circular motion hits a spot that leaves you panting.
At some point, your hands fall forward, grasping onto whatever they can for support as you squeeze your eyes close. It's not until you feel whatever it is you've wrapped your left hand around twitch that you open your eyes to discover it was Spencer's dick. You look from from his clothed cock to his face to find he's already watching you, clearly pleased with the embarrassment you feel at having unknowingly groped him. That is until you're reminded that you're humping his leg as you feel you clit pulse against him.
You forget your embarrassment quickly, not moving your hand from his bulge as you keep grinding against him, breathless moans pouring out of you as you chase your orgasm.
"Spencer, please. I'm gonna cum, can I cum please? I need to cum, please," you rambled.
"Wait," Spencer says.
"But, please, Spen--"
He cuts you off sharply. "Wait."
You slow your hips down a fraction, trying to hold off cumming but the friction is getting to be too much. You feel tears form in your eyes as you keep rutting against his leg, desperate for your release. You squeeze Spencer's cock so tightly, you can hear him groan. You open your eyes and look up at him. Tears are welling up in your lashes, your lip is trembling as you shakily breathe in and out.
"Spencer," you whimper.
"Cum for me."
You feel your pussy clench as you keep grinding your clit against his thigh. Your mouth opens in a silent moan as you squeeze his bulge even harder, your other hand gripping his arm tightly. Your eyes are shut and all you can feel is the pleasure from between your legs. You hear him groan from beneath you, but your ability to focus on anything other than your orgasm is pretty low.
It's not until your cunt stops clenching that you stop moving against his thigh. You stare down at his pants as you catch your breath. You can see the top of the wet spot that you've created, your cheeks flushing even more at the sight.
You feel his hands drift up to your cheek, where he gently turns your face up towards him.
"You okay?" Spencer asks, his eyes inspecting your face. You nod, leaning into his touch.
"I'm good," you whisper, though your eyes quickly dart away from his. You look down to where your hand had been gripping his cock to see a growing wet spot next to the softening bulge. "Did you cum?" you ask.
He nods after a second, though his red cheeks already told you he did. You smile softly, but it doesn't reach your eyes. There's a heavy feeling in your chest all of the sudden and you don't really know what to do.
Spencer's hands are suddenly cupping your face, lifting it so you're looking at him again.
"I'm sorry if I was too rough. I shouldn't have-- I'm sorry," he says and it's the softest thing he's ever said to you. You don't know it's his words or the way he's hold you or the intense sexual experience you just had, but the tears that had been lining your lashes earlier spill over. He pulls you into his chest, his arms wrapping around you. You let him hold you as you cry quietly, a few tears slipping out and staining his shirt. He rubs your back, whispering "I'm sorry" against your hair. He keeps holding you even after you've stopped crying.
"It was just a lot," you whisper once your tears have dried.
"I know. I shouldn't have been that rough with you. I'm sorry, honey." His voice breaks at the end, fading from a whisper into silence. You rest against his chest for a few more minutes before carefully climbing off his lap. You're mortified to see drying stains of both your cum and his on his pants, as well as your tears on his shirt.
"Oh no," you say as you realize he'll have to walk out in those pants. "Spencer, I'm so sorry," you whisper as you continue staring at the stains in horror.
"It's okay, it's okay," Spencer says quietly, catching hold of your wrists once you start freaking out. "Come on, let's go to the bathroom and clean up."
So he helps you pull your panties back on, then walks you two to a bathroom that's tucked away from the party. You try to help him clean off his pants but he insists that you just use the restroom and that you can go back to the party if you're ready. You eventually listen, but not before exchanging phone numbers with him. He gives you a kiss on the forehead, the tenderest of them all and promises to call.
note: i keep changing my enemies to lovers from true enemies to lovers into sweet yearning stories of tender love and crying and emotion. not sure what's going on with that.. ha ha. ha :( anyways, thank you guys again for 200+ followers! that's insane.
taglist: @bonjourjiminie @yesav111 @paubotty27 join my taglist!!!
Summary: Since getting pregnant as a late teenager, it's just been you and your daughter, Heather, living together trying to make things work so your daughter can have a better life in the future. That is until ‘uncle eddie’ shows up
Word count: 1k
Note: This is my first time writing for Eddie, so I hope you enjoy
She was always seen as the golden child, the one who never slipped up, a high school graduate ready to take on the world, until that summer when she met a guy, believed he was the love of her life and had a bit too much fun in the bedroom. This led to having to tell your parents you were pregnant at 18 and then kicking you out. Unfortunately, you couldn't afford to go to college, so you had to do couch hopping while trying to deal with the pregnancy. Even going to the dad to tell him, only for him to leave you too. Soon, you're on your own having to deal with having a baby. You weren't sure what to do, but as soon as you gave birth to your daughter, you instantly fell in love with her. You couldn't blame her for any of this. She didn't ask to be born to a struggling mother, but she knew she deserved better and couldn't give up on her.
Cut to a few years later, at the age of 22, with a three year old daughter named Heather. She had your hair and her father's eyes, and you loved her to pieces. In your struggle, your friend managed to help you get a place in Hawkins, a small trailer big enough for the both of you. It wasn't ideal, but it would be enough for now. As the years have gone by the neighbours knew you, and would often help out, bring extra food, offer to look after Heather in emergencies at work or make play dates so Heather could have friends despite everything. Everyone except Wayne.
Wayne lived across the ‘street’ from them. She didn't think much, just figured the guy was busy and already had enough on her plate, she just didn't realise how true that was. She knew he had a nephew but that was it, everyone telling her and Heather I was best to stay away but she didn't know why. She'd hadn't really seen him either, he was apparently still in school while she would have to go to work and usually crashed out as soon as Heather had fallen asleep.
That was until she called Heather in for dinner one late afternoon. Heather would usually play with the other kids and since they were slightly older she trusted them to look after each other, she saw her running over with… a dragon plush she'd never seen before. “Uhh Heather… What's this, where did you get it? “Uncle Eddie”! She yelled back… whose Eddie? She wasn't aware of an ‘Eddie’ living around here. She decides its best not to question it for now and bring her inside. She finishes her microwaved dinner for Heather and sits her down, and once she's settled, asks again. “Heather… who's ‘uncle Eddie?” She grabs her short hair pulling it up to look big before going “big hair, black jacket and dragon!” Heather holds up her dragon plush again, it wasn't big but she seemed to adore it in the small time she had it. She decides to leave it be and continue on with their evening. After dinner she gives Heather her bath, having to convince her she can't bring her dragon into the bath or he'll get too wet and need drying so she couldn't cuddle him, getting dried, changed into her pj's and putting her into the only bedroom on the trailer. She puts a movie on for her before kissing her goodnight and leaving her room.
Once everything has calmed down she heads outside, the sun setting in the distance, leaving the door open in case Heather yelled wanting something. She sits on a chair outside and sighs another day over and a new name to try and figure out the face. As she sits there basking in the sunlight disappearing, a sudden voice interrupts. “Oh excuse me? Are you Heather's sister? Or mother or something?”
She looks over seeing a tall guy, around her age, big messy hair, brown eyes and a black leather jacket over some band shirt. “Uhh.. yes, that's me, is everything okay?” She stands up hoping Heather isn't in trouble. A small smile is on his face, “Oh good, I was wondering how she liked her dragon”. Dragon? Wait… big hair, black jacket and dragon. “Oh you're uncle Eddie”. He looks a little taken aback by that. “Uhh.. uncle?”
“Oh sorry yeah uhh, it's what she calls you, didn't mean to”. He chuckles softly, “Nah, you're good, it's cute… how old is she by the way?”
“She turns four in about a month so”
He nods “ahh, still young then, she's a sweetheart, a little cutie. She saw that dragon and immediately fell in love with it you know”
She smiles, “Yeah she hasn't let it go since she got it”. He beams at her response, “Oh good, glad. So can I find out more about Heather's… sister?” She chuckles, a slight blush on her face “Not sister, mother”.
He gasps “Oh right… sorry didn't mean to offend you”. She shakes her head “No it's fine really don't worry about it”
He nods “well since I didn't blow that up, I was wondering if I could at least know the name of Heather's very pretty mother” he says, a hopeful glint in his eye, a small smile on his face. “it's y/n, nice to meet you uncle Eddie”. He chuckles at the nickname. “Nice to meet you too… I'm across the way if you need some help with Heather”. “You're Wayne's nephew? I had no idea”
“Yeah well, if I knew Heather's mom was this good looking I would have introduced
myself to you sooner”. He flirts shamelessly. Her blush grows slightly, having not been flirted with since before having Heather, a blush that doesn't go unnoticed by Eddie.
Before they could continue, the distant voice of Heather yelling for water can be heard back in the trailer. “Well uh… duty calls I guess, I'll see you later then?” She asks a little hopeful to see him again
“Yeah, definitely, goodnight y/n. And tell Heather Uncle Eddie said goodnight as well and that he's glad she enjoys her dragon”. She nods “Will do, goodnight Eddie”. She walks back inside, closing the door. The sky has gotten darker, the stars now coming out, Eddie stands outside their trailer for a moment before walking away, back to his uncle's place, a small smile, finally meeting the two across the road, and hoping to see them again.
No use of Y/N, reader is described as fab. No description of features..
-Dark Romance / Dubious Consent: The scene involves power imbalance and heavily blurred lines of consent. Consent is implied but not explicitly given or discussed. -Stalker Themes: The male character has been implied to be stalking/obsessing over the reader, including reading private material (e.g., a journal). -Choking / Breath Play: Includes physical choking with control over the reader’s ability to breathe. -Degradation Kink: Verbal humiliation including terms like “pathetic,” “used,” and “cock sleeve.” -Praise Kink: Verbal praise is also present, often in contrast to degrading language. -Non-Removal of Mask: A nod to anonymity/fear/identity play that may feel dehumanizing or unsettling. -Rough Sex: Includes aggressive thrusting, overstimulation, and total physical dominance. -Possessiveness / Obsession: Heavy use of possessive language (“mine,” “you belong to me”), bordering on unhealthy fixation. -Overstimulation: Reader is pushed past the point of orgasm, with no break or care afterward. -Emotional Manipulation: The male character uses the reader’s fantasies and vulnerabilities for control. -Name-Calling / Objectification: Language includes “toy,” “slut,” “cock sleeve,” etc. If i missed any please let me know 🥰
W.c 1.4k
The coffee in your cup had long since gone cold, but you didn’t care.
You were halfway through telling Garcia about the latest filthy fantasy book you’d devoured—your voice low, eyes alight with mischief, completely unaware that Spencer Reid, resident genius and secret eavesdropper, had paused just around the corner with a stack of case files and a rapidly escalating heart rate.
“—he just grabs her, Pen. Like, out of nowhere. Masked, completely anonymous, all shadowed in the doorway. Says something like ‘You're mine now, little bird,’ and then he takes her.” You giggled, sipping from your cold mug. “I swear to God, I have never clenched so hard over a damn book. I want that. Just once. Just—dark, and rough, and masked. No names. No expectations. Just… want.”
Garcia’s mouth dropped open. “Girl. Are you okay? Do we need to get you a cold shower? Because I’m sweating just listening to this.”
You both cackled like teenagers.
And Spencer?
Spencer was not okay.
He spent the next three nights in a deep-dive spiral, reading stalker romance books like he was decoding the Zodiac letters, eyebrows climbing his forehead at least fifteen times. He made a spreadsheet. He had a column titled ‘Choking: why it works’ and ‘Praise kink — see: "good girl" usage frequency.’
But more than that—he started imagining you.
Not his—not technically. But God, he wanted you to be.
He saw you curled up in your reading nook, eyes wide with anticipation. Saw your thighs press together when you thought no one noticed. Saw the way your breath hitched when he got too close. He noticed everything.
And if you wanted to be taken by a stranger in the dark?
Well… he could be whoever you wanted him to be.
Two Weeks Later
It started with a note. Slipped into the cover of the new paperback you’d left on the kitchen counter.
Be home at 8. Don’t turn on the lights. Wear that silk robe. Leave the door unlocked.
— For the little bird who longs to be caught.
Your heart practically galloped out of your chest.
There was no signature. No handwriting you recognized. But the nickname…
Little bird.
Oh god.
You swallowed hard. You should be scared. Right?
Instead, your thighs were pressed together before you even finished reading it again.
8:01 PM
You sat in the living room, legs folded beneath you, robe clinging to the curves of your body like temptation incarnate. The only light came from the hallway outside—flickering, fading.
Then the door creaked open.
Your breath caught.
He stepped inside, dressed in black from head to toe. Combat boots. Gloves. A black hoodie zipped up. But it was the mask that made you whimper. Smooth, black, featureless. Like something out of your most twisted fantasies.
He said nothing at first.
Just shut the door behind him.
And locked it.
You swallowed.
Then he moved.
Like a predator. Controlled, calm, certain.
You didn’t even realize you were trembling until he stood in front of you.
He leaned down, gloved fingers brushing your chin as he tilted your gaze up to meet the blank stare of the mask.
“Did the little bird think her cries would go unheard?” The voice was modulated. Low. Dangerous. But familiar.
Your breath hitched. Your thighs clenched.
“Yes,” you whispered. “But I hoped.”
A low chuckle.
“You wanted to be taken, didn’t you?”
You nodded.
“You wanted someone to ruin you like those filthy books you read.”
“Yes,” you breathed.
He leaned in close, lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“Then tonight, little bird, I’m going to break you wide open.”
He didn’t take off the mask.
Not when he had your wrists pinned above your head with one gloved hand, your body squirming beneath his like you thought struggling would save you.
Not when his other hand slid between your thighs and found you already soaked—needy, slick, practically begging for him with every trembling breath.
And not when he undid his belt.
You heard it first.
That slow, controlled clink of the buckle.
The deliberate zip of his fly.
Then silence… right before the low, cruel sound of your own gasp as he pushed his pants down just enough to free himself.
Because—
Oh God.
He was huge.
Thick. Heavy. Sinister. Like something out of one of those smutty books you pretended not to read—but Spencer knew you did. He knew everything. Every dirty thought. Every late-night scroll through porn. Every time you touched yourself while whispering his name.
He gave himself one slow, agonizing stroke—gloved hand wrapped around the thick length like he had all the time in the world to ruin you.
"You scared, little bird?” His voice was low and distorted through the mask, but the smirk underneath was almost tangible.
“You should be.”
“Girls like you don’t walk away from nights like this.” he says as he pulls your panties down your legs.
You whimpered, thighs trembling as he dragged the flushed tip of his cock through your soaked folds, gathering your slick with a satisfied groan.
"So fucking wet for me already,” he growled. “Pathetic. Been dreaming of this, haven’t you? My little bird dreams of Being used. Owned. Fucked like you’re nothing but a tight little toy."
Then—without mercy—he thrust inside.
And your body snapped, arching like you’d been jolted with live electricity.
You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He was everywhere, stretching you open inch by brutal inch, splitting you in half until your throat was raw from the scream that never made it out.
"Jesus fuck,” he groaned, voice feral. “Tight little hole’s tryin’ to suck me in."
“This cunt was made for me. You hear that? You were built to be ruined.”
And ruin you, he did.
He didn’t pause. Didn’t ask if you were okay. Because he already knew. You were dripping. You were pulsing. You were a broken, needy mess underneath him—and he’d barely started.
His thrusts were vicious, the rhythm feral, like he'd waited too long and snapped the second he was inside you. The couch creaked violently beneath your bodies, the force of his hips slamming into yours like he was trying to fuck you into the fabric.
"You like being used like this?" he snarled, hand tightening around your throat.
“Being nothing but a warm, wet hole for me to fuck? You want to be a good little cock sleeve for your stalker, sweetheart? Then take it.”
You were sobbing—shaking—your thighs trembling from the onslaught, but your pussy just kept squeezing around him, clenching like your body didn’t know whether to run or beg.
“Say thank you,” he snapped, voice sharp.
“Thank me for giving this filthy body a purpose.”
You tried. God, you tried.
But your voice was lost to the scream that tore out of your throat as your orgasm slammed into you, violent and blinding. You clenched so hard around him he growled, the sound inhuman—hungry.
And still, he didn’t stop.
“You think we’re done?” he hissed.
“One orgasm’s not even a fucking appetizer. No, baby. I’m not stopping ‘til you forget your own name, Until all you know is me."
He fucked you through it—through the spasms, the tears, the overstimulation—like he owned your body now. And maybe he did. You weren’t sure anymore. Your mind was a haze. Your legs were jelly. You were his, completely—helpless and wrecked.
Only when your cries turned silent, your body limp, did he finally slow.
One gloved hand gently cradled your cheek. The other still curled tight around your throat.
And beneath the mask, he whispered—soft and low, like a promise burned into your skin:
“You belong to me now, little bird”
You blinked up at him through bleary lashes as he reached up and pulled off the mask.
And there he was.
Spencer.
Flushed. Sweaty. Breathless.
And smiling.
“I—” he started.
You cut him off with a kiss. Hard. Desperate. Grateful.
“You read my books?” you whispered against his lips.
He smiled.
“I wanted to know how to touch you the way you deserve.”
“You could’ve just asked, nerd.”
He chuckled. “But where’s the fun in that?”
Later
He made you tea. Rubbed your sore thighs. Let you wear one of his cardigans while you curled up in his lap.
“You gonna call me little bird all the time now?” you teased.
“Only when you beg,” he murmured, smirking behind his mug.
And something in your belly twisted all over again.
Because you knew…
That wasn’t going to be the last time he wore that mask.
Not by a long shot
~Please like, leave a comment and reblog if you enjoyed it.~ 🥰
Summary : You wake up just as Spencer is getting ready to leave for work. It's still early, and when you ask for a kiss, it seems like there's something he wants to say to you. You reminisce on the day you met.
word count : 3.7k
Notes : No content warnings, this is all tooth rotting fluff, as per usual. I don't know what got over me, but this is the cheesiest shit I've ever written. Anyway, enjoy <3
Oh and there's no description of the reader, gender neutral.
same fic on ao3
masterlist
(title from the song by the same name by John Denver)
This is my first time writing x reader, I hope it's not too bad
The first thing you felt was warmth covering your cold shoulder. You snuggled deeper into the blankets, before noticing the weight lifting from the mattress. One eye still stubbornly closed, you peeked through the other to find the other side of the bed freshly empty.
Groaning softly, you looked over your shoulder to where your boyfriend was buttoning up his shirt, his belt hanging undone at his hips.
"What time is it ?" you mumbled through the grogginess you felt, rubbing your knuckles to your eyes.
Judging by his startle and the apologetic look in his eyes, that was when Spencer noticed you were awake.
"It's five thirty. I'm sorry I woke you up." he murmured gently as he tucked the stripped button up into his slacks.
"'S fine," you shook your head, "I want you to wake me up before you leave."
"You need the rest," he whispered as he tightened his belt.
"Did I say I'd stay awake ?" you huffed, "I just don't want to wake up and find the bed empty."
He nodded with a soft smile, and you sat up in bed.
"Don't get up or you'll wake up too much," he hummed, "feet and are the fourth most sensitive part of your body, with around two hundred thousand nerve endings per foot, which means if you stand up, you're giving your brain a bunch of information at once, which isn't ideal if you plan on falling back asleep."
You smiled and tilted your head to the side, your eyes filled with a fondness that your boyfriend was still getting used to, if the color of his cheeks and ears was any indication.
"What ? It's true." he mumbled as you gestured him closer.
"I know it is. I just love when you worry in nerd language," you grinned, "come over here then, since I'm not allowed to come to you."
He mumbled something along the lines of "It's not that you're not allowed," but complied, coming to sit on the edge of the mattress, back pressed to your legs.
You tugged him closer, grabbing each end of his tie and carefully knotting it.
"I can do it myself, you know ?" he murmured.
"I know," you replied, adjusting the knot, "I just like doing it. Gives me an excuse to have you close."
He let out an amused scoff, "As if you need an excuse."
You pulled him closer by the back of his neck and kissed the plush of his cheek, "I don't, but it's nice to have one anyway."
You had been together for over three months now, but apparently ninety days weren't nearly enough for the doctor to adjust to your affection. It wasn't that he didn't want it, on the contrary, he was a sucker for any kind of closeness you were willing to provide. But it didn't stop him from being completely flustered at any and all contact or compliment from you.
His inability to hide it didn't seem to bother you though. In fact, judging by the look of pure glee in your eyes at any sign of a stutter in his voice or a flush on his skin, you loved every bit of it.
So when you proceeded to kiss every available inch of his face, it was all he could do to attempt at keeping his composure, failing miserably as he melted like ice cream in your arms. You giggled as he his his face against your chest, arms tight around your waist as you carded your fingers through his hair.
"I have to be in the jet in 20 minutes," he said, voice muffled by your shirt, "I want to stay with you."
His voice tugged at your heart, and you leaned your head down to kiss his hair.
"I wish you could too baby, but there are people out there who need you even more than I do," you knew that objectively, this was true. But as you said it, a part of you yelled that no one could need him more than you did. So before you could help it, you added a small "maybe."
He looked up at you, "Maybe ?" he teased.
"Shut up," you looked away and pulled him tighter against you, his laugh vibrating through your rib cage.
After a few seconds, Spencer pushed you to fall back onto your back, and you let out a small yelp of surprise. He prodded himself up with his palms on either side of your head, grinning down at you like the cat who caught the mouse.
"Hi" he whispered lovingly.
"Hi," you whispered back with the same amount of affection, before hooking your arms around his neck and urging him closer.
He obliged, bending his arms to rest on his elbows instead of his palms, allowing his fingers to carefully brush a few strands of hair off of your face.
"You look pretty," he whispered.
"So do you." you replied.
"Liar," his accusation made you scoff.
"What do I have to do to make you believe it ?"
He seemed to think about it for a second, "I don't know. You could start by kissing me, but I can't promise it'll work."
You rolled your eyes and lifted your head just enough to brush his lips with your own. Hearing his breath hitching, you paused, a wicked grin adorning your face. When he chased your lips, you dropped your head back, and pressed one of your hands to your mouth.
This made his brows knit together, "What are you doing ?"
"I'm gonna get you to believe me," you hummed, your breath hitting your palm, "I'll only kiss you if you say it convincingly enough."
"Say what ?"
"That you're pretty."
Spencer huffed and rolled his eyes, "Oh come on."
You looked at him expectantly, and he sighed in defeat.
After a moment, he murmured, "You're pretty."
You chuckled and swatted his shoulder, "That's not what I asked !"
He joined in on your laughter easily, "Yes it is ! You said, and I quote, 'I'll only kiss you if you say it convincingly enough' then 'you're pretty'"
"You're forgetting a very important 'that', smart-ass."
"No idea what you're talking about." he tried to sneak in a kiss, but his lips landed on your cheek as you turned your head to the side. He let out a quiet whine.
"Just say that you're pretty you rascal," you giggled.
Dropping his forehead to your shoulder, he sighed, "Fine, fine…"
"Look at me," you whispered.
His eyes found yours again as he lifted his head back. Then, he spoke, his voice uncertain and quiet, "I'm… pretty"
You tsked and shook your head, "Not good enough. Again."
"Oh come on ! It's embarrassing to say and you know it." he complained, his voice a whiny melody that would've more easily been attributed to a pre-teen than to a twenty-seven FBI agent with 3 PhDs.
"I don't care." you shook your head, "It's true, and a man of science and facts such as yourself should be able to state such truth with utter unshakable belief."
Spencer grumbled a few moments before trying again.
"I'm pretty." he said, his voice still hesitating to make itself known.
"Again baby," you hummed.
"I'm pretty," he murmured, his brown eyes scanning your face for any sign of approval.
"Better," you smiled, "One more. Give it all you got."
The young doctor breathed in like he was about to dive into a bottomless lake before speaking again.
"I'm pretty." he said, with an adorable firmness.
"There you go," you chuckled and cupped his cheeks, pressing a kiss to his lips.
Spencer didn't seem entirely satisfied with the peck you gave him, chasing your lips again. You allowed the contact this time, your fingers finding the hair at the back of his neck.
His knuckles traced your jaw reverently as your lips crashed together again and again, the action made violent by its overwhelming tenderness.
The doctor only pulled away when his lungs started feeling like they'd been compressed by an unfathomable deep sea pressure, and even then, he didn't stray very far. His forehead pressed to yours, his nose nudging yours as you chuckled breathlessly.
After a few moments, allowing the both of you to catch your breath, you felt Spencer's thumb caress your shoulder.
"There's something I want to say," he whispered, and you found his eyes closed when you open your own, "but I'm afraid I might scare you off."
"I doubt you could ever scare me off." you just replied. You had an idea what weighed on his mind. It weighed on yours too.
"Still." he breathed softly, "I… I'm afraid to risk it. People always warn not to say it too early on, but they never tell you when 'too early' actually becomes 'too long'."
You reached up to cup his cheek, your thumb tracing the soft skin under his eye. His eyelids fluttered open at the gentle touch.
"There's no too early, and there's no too late. You just say it when you feel like you can't hold it in anymore." you reassured him quietly, "Just don't force yourself to say it."
He shook his head before you even finished your sentence.
"No I– I've been fighting to hold it in for almost as long as I've known you."
Your heart stuttered, and you held your breath without realizing, "We met six months ago, Spence."
He leaned into the touch of your palm, his eyes never leaving yours.
"187 days, 7 hours and…" he glanced at the clock, "34 minutes."
You scoffed, incredulous. "There's no way you actually kept track. I have no way to check."
He raised an eyebrow, "Oh, you don't trust me ?"
"I do, I just– That's too precise, there's no way you'd know that."
"I can prove it." he whispered before slipping away from you.
You propped yourself up on an elbow, craning your neck to track his movement in the dim room. He reached into a drawer of his dresser, which, without too much shock, you saw was filled with worn notebooks. Spencer pulled out a pile of them, before grabbing one at the bottom of the drawer.
"What are all of those ?"
He picked one up and sat back next to you on the bed, "They're just notebooks. Some journal entries, some more random notes." he hummed as he flipped through the pages.
"Of what use are those if you already remember everything ?"
He looked at you then, "I don't exactly remember everything. I only say that because it's simpler than to explain how my memory works. And it's close enough to the truth that it isn't a lie."
You glanced at the messy handwriting and adorably creepy doodles filling the pages.
"An eidetic memory is a photographic memory. Also known as total recall–"
"Like the movie ?"
"Like the movie," he nodded, before continuing, "I can remember things in extreme details, and I can picture the things I hear, which helps my auditive memory." his fingers traced over a few lines as he finally found the page he was looking for.
"But I can only faintly recall what I actually felt through a given event. I can only vividly remember what I felt in moments that deeply affected me. Like when my dad left, when I was taken by Hankel, when Gideon…" he cut himself off when you caressed his hair. "And when I met you."
You smiled tenderly, but didn't speak. He continued.
"Except– Well, sometimes I wish I could forget some of those. But never you. Not even then. So I…" he bit his cheek and handed you the open notebook, "I wrote it all down. Just in case."
As your eyes drifted to the page, you read the date. It was indeed the day you'd met, you'd been late to your first day as a professor at the faculty. After a nerve-wrecking morning, you'd decided to walk to your favorite coffee shop, hoping it might bring you some well needed comfort. You'd breathed out in relief at the warmth of the cup of hot chocolate seeped through and gently burned your palms.
Unfortunately, the shop had been busy, leaving only two seats free. One right next to the door, where a woman was still wearing her winter coat, her expression a clear painting of her regret over the choice in seating. The second one was a table by the corner, the nook you usually bee-lined for on lighter days. Except today, it was occupied by a man, the pen in his hand frantically moving over the pages of a green covered notebook. His tie hung loose from the collar of his soft-looking cardigan, his glasses slipping to the tip of his nose as he frowned in concentration.
You opted for the latter seating option, telling yourself it was a practical choice to avoid the cold, but a warmth in your chest hinted at another reason.
"Excuse me ?" you had murmured, trying to avoid scaring the man.
From the way he'd jumped, your attempt had been a fail.
"Oh– Sorry– Yes ?" his eyes were wide as he pushed his glasses up with his pen.
"No, I'm sorry– I didn't mean to scare you. I was wondering if you minded if I took the seat across from you ? The café is packed, and I really don't want to get back to work just yet." you'd smiled nervously. God, he had the most beautiful eyes you'd ever seen.
"Oh– Of course, go ahead." he nodded quickly before hesitantly going back to his notes.
You'd noticed his struggle to fall back into his previous focus, his eyes darting up to you every few seconds. Whenever his gaze would meet yours, you'd smile at him, and he'd look back down, his ears a bright red. Amused by his reaction, you allowed yourself some more looking. His brown curls fell loosely over his eyes as he kept his gaze trained on the notebook, even as he felt your own burning through him. His handwriting was tilted, long and a little messy, but he was fast.
"You don't like coffee ?" his voice pulled you out of your observation.
"I– No, not really. Too bitter, no matter the amount of sugar you add. How did you guess ?"
He simply nodded toward your cup, "Hot chocolate. It fits you."
You chuckled, "Fits me how ?"
The man looked at you over the frame of his glasses, his cheeks flushed a light pink.
"Your perfume smells like cinnamon. You have a picture of your cat on the back of your phone. You have a heart locket around your neck. And– well, you just– you just seem as sweet as your taste in beverages."
It was your time to blush as he described you, which seemed to make him panic.
"I– Sorry, it wasn't meant to sound like a weird pick up line– I mean, you do seem really sweet– I'm just– I'm sorry–" he stammered, quickly cut off by your chuckling.
"And if I wanted it to be a weird pick up line ?" you grinned, "Would it become one ?"
He blinked, "I– I'm not one for… Well, pick up lines."
"So you're not going to tell me my father is a thief ?"
"What ?" he frowned.
"I'll do it if you won't" you warned playfully.
"I don't–"
"Is your father a thief ?" you hummed, "because he stole every star from the sky to fill your eyes with them."
The man flushed, before whispering, "My father left when I was 8."
Your eyes widened, and without meaning to, you burst into laughter.
"Oh god– I'm so sorry, I'm not laughing at you, it's just very unfortunate–"
"I know," he replied, not sounding nearly as offended as you thought he'd be. When you glanced back up, he was smiling.
"Sorry–" you reiterated quietly, and he just shook his head gently.
"It's alright. I have stars in my eyes ?"
You couldn't bite back your smile, "It's just a cheesy line," you explained, though you couldn't help but add, "But honestly, yes."
"I do ?"
"I'd say so."
"Oh"
He seemed like he didn't really know what to do with the information. His fingers brushed over the knuckles of his other hand.
"Do you come here often ?" you asked, and amusement filled his eyes, "Not like that. Unless you want it to be another pick up line."
He chuckled bashfully, "I… I come here whenever I have a real break from work."
"Are there fake ones ?"
"What ?"
You smiled. He tucked his hair behind his ear like a schoolgirl. You didn't remember ever developing a crush so quickly.
"You said 'real break', that implies there are fake ones."
He nodded, "Oh yeah. Plenty."
"So what, you're also a teacher ?"
His lips quirked up, "Not exactly. Why, are you ?"
"Yeah. Faculty professor."
"And you have fake breaks ?"
"Plenty." you echoed. "Though it's my first day teaching in DC, so I haven't had the chance yet."
"So this is a real break ?"
You nodded, and he hummed.
You talked like that for a while, and before you knew it, you were about to be late for the second time in your first day.
"Shit–" you chugged the now lukewarm last few sips of your drink, before pulling your coat back on.
"You're leaving ?" maybe you'd been dreaming, but you could've sworn you'd heard sadness in his voice then.
"Yeah, I can't exactly afford being late again today." you pulled your bag to your shoulder, before pausing, biting your lip in hesitation.
"What is it ?" he asked, and you decided to risk it.
"Can I give you my number ?" the words stumbled from your lips like a house of cards after a breeze.
The man's eyes widened in surprise, but he found himself nodding before he could think about it.
You quickly snatched the pen from his hand, leaning over the table to scribble your number in the margin of his notebook.
"There–" you started, before your elbow knocked over his coffee, spilling it over the fresh ink.
"Oh god– I'm sorry–"
But the man didn't pay any attention to the growing stain on the page, instead tugging at your sleeve to get your attention.
"Just tell me. I'll remember."
You looked at him, a little stunned, before giving him your number.
"Okay. I'll text you. What should I name the contact ?"
His fingers still gently held your sleeve as you introduced yourself to him, for the first time you realized.
"I'm Spencer. Spencer Reid." he hummed.
"I'm sorry about your coffee Spencer–" you fumbled through your bag for your wallet.
"Don't," he just said, shaking his head, "You'll buy me coffee next time."
You paused, a stupid grin pulling at your lips.
"Right. Next time."
He returned your smile, "Now go before you miss your class completely."
₊ ⊹₊ ⊹
Your fingers traced the edge of the coffee stain, the smudge of ink that had once been your number. Over the brown-ish paper, Spencer had documented his feelings during your conversation, the way his heart had flipped at the mere sound of your voice, then again when you laughed, and again when you said his name so softly. He'd written down the time his watch had shown when you'd sat down, as if he knew, even then, that it was important. Pivotal.
When you looked up, you found him already studying your expression. Before he could say anything, you whispered, your eyes damp with emotion.
"I love you"
Spencer's breath caught, the words stealing his own for a second, before a grin broke free. A silly, adorably wide grin that made his eyes shine.
"I was supposed to say it first."
"When did I ever agree to that ?" you chuckled, blinking to chase away the tears, but as his hands found your cheeks, you couldn't help but let them fall.
"You didn't. But still," his thumb wiped a tear away, "you beat me to it. Fair and square." he tucked your hair behind your ears.
"I love you too" he whispered, and you sprung up to kiss him. The kiss was sweet, a testament to the affection you held for each other.
After a moment, you leaned your forehead against his, "You're gonna end up late."
"Who's fault is that ?"
"Yours, darling."
He chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your cheek.
"Indeed it is. But I'm going. See ?" he walked backward toward the door, "Going."
You grumbled and pulled yourself to your feet, just like he knew you would. Just as he reached the front door, slipping his feet into his converse, you wrapped your arms around his waist.
"John Denver talked about this, you know ?" you mumbled against his chest as he cradled your head.
"What about ? Leaving on a jet plane ?" you nodded, and he continued, "I believe what he wrote was, Now the time has come to leave you, one more time, let me kiss you, then close your eyes, and I'll be on my way," he hummed the song quietly, and you made a mental note to ask him to sing you to sleep when he got back.
"Kiss me, and smile for me, tell me that you'll wait for me, hold me like you'll never let me go. 'Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again…"
He pressed a kiss to your hair. "oh babe, I hate to go"
So you did. You kissed him, smiling as he pulled back. You told him you'd wait right there, your arms still tied around his waist. Then you made him promise to text you throughout the case, and he assured you he wouldn't survive if he didn't.
When the door closed, you could feel your ears burning with how cheesy it all was.
But it was yours.
It was all yours.
₊ ⊹₊ ⊹
lmk what you thought in the comments or reposts <3
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader
Rating: 🔞 Explicit
Vibe: Desperate reader, composed Spencer, aphrodisiac accident, public tension, file room smut
Word Count: 1397
Warnings: Accidental ingestion of aphrodisiac, explicit sexual content, reader begging, fingering, oral (f receiving), penetrative sex, dom!Spencer, scientific dirty talk, overstimulation, mild dumbification, praise
requests are open
masterlist
You should have known something was off the second the barista hesitated.
You were late. Rushed. Running on three hours of sleep, two skipped alarms, and one stupid heel you couldn’t find. The new coffee shop on the corner had a line out the door, but your usual place was closed, so you ducked inside and prayed they moved fast.
“Order for Sophie?” the barista called, eyes scanning the crowd.
You stepped forward before your brain could stop you.
“That’s me,” you lied. Close enough. Sophie, Y/N. One of those generic white girl names. Besides, the coffee looked like what you’d ordered. Iced oat vanilla something. Probably.
You grabbed it and bolted.
Halfway through your drive, your cheeks were flushed. You cranked the A/C. Your thighs felt hot, your chest tighter than usual, your whole body suddenly... hypersensitive.
You figured it was the stress.
It was not the stress.
By the time you reached the BAU, your skin was buzzing and you had to bite your tongue to keep from making sounds when you brushed your arm against the elevator wall. This was not normal caffeine jitters. This was something else. Something warm and pulsing and low in your belly.
You were aching.
You could barely focus through the team briefing. You tugged at your blouse collar, tried to cross your legs only to uncross them again, but your thighs rubbed in a way that made you press your lips together just to breathe through it.
Spencer noticed first.
“Are you alright?” he murmured as you passed him a file. “You’re flushed.”
“I’m fine,” you lied. You were not fine. You were dying.
He watched you with that same gentle concern for a moment before he tilted his head.
“Did you go to that new café on 3rd this morning?”
You blinked at him. “What? Yes. Why?”
His lips twitched.
“No reason.”
You narrowed your eyes. “What?”
He glanced down at your half-finished drink.
“You didn’t order the one with the pink sticker, did you?”
Your heart dropped.
“What does that mean?”
Spencer stepped a little closer, voice low. “That place has... a specialty menu. Most of the public doesn't know about it. They use botanical aphrodisiacs. There was an article on it in The Journal of Integrative Medicine. I read it last week.”
You stared at him in abject horror.
“Please tell me you’re joking.”
“No. That’s real damiana and maca root you’re tasting. They work synergistically to stimulate circulation, lower inhibition, and increase sensitivity in erogenous zones. Especially for women.”
“Spencer.”
“Some studies even show spontaneous orgasmic response when paired with caffeine. Although, those results were largely anecdotal.”
You were going to scream.
You were flushed, soaked, and slowly unraveling in the middle of Quantico because you stole someone else’s herbal sex potion.
You yanked him by the wrist and dragged him down the hall.
“Where are we going?” he asked, startled.
“Somewhere private,” you hissed.
The file room was empty. It always was. You slammed the door shut behind you and pressed your back to it, trying to breathe.
Spencer stood a few feet away, still calm, still composed. That made it worse. His sweater was tight across his chest, his pants fit just right on his hips, and his mouth was still talking about botanicals like your thighs weren’t trembling.
“I need help,” you whispered.
He blinked. “Help?”
“I can’t think. I can’t breathe.”
His eyes darkened, just slightly.
“You want me to help you with your... reaction?”
You nodded, desperate.
“Say it,” he said, voice soft but firm.
You bit your lip.
“Spencer, please. I need you to touch me. I need your fingers, your mouth, your cock. I need something. I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m soaked. I’ve been aching all morning and I just... I can’t take it anymore.”
He inhaled like he was savoring the words.
“I was going to wait until we were alone,” he said, stepping forward. “But this is much more interesting.”
You barely had time to process before he was in front of you, one hand cradling your cheek, the other slipping under your skirt.
You moaned when he touched your inner thigh.
“You’re burning up,” he murmured. “Do you know what else damiana does? It enhances nerve sensitivity. That means every touch feels about five times stronger than it should.”
“Please,” you gasped. “Please don’t tease me.”
“I think that’s exactly what I’ll do.”
He sank to his knees.
Your back hit the door. He spread your legs open with slow, deliberate care, then dragged your panties down your thighs and let them drop to the floor.
You were dripping.
“Fascinating,” he said, almost to himself.
“Spencer—”
He licked a long stripe up your center.
You cried out.
He licked again, then again, tongue curling just right as he circled your clit. You grabbed a fistful of his hair and ground your hips into his face, no shame left in your body.
He hummed against you.
“That’s the maca. Increases blood flow to the pelvis. Makes you swollen and throbbing, doesn’t it?”
You whimpered.
He didn’t stop.
His mouth worked you open with expert skill, alternating between slow, agonizing licks and sharp, precise flicks of his tongue. When he slid two fingers inside you, you almost collapsed.
“Shh,” he whispered. “You’ll have to be quiet. Someone might come in.”
You nodded frantically. You didn’t care. You would risk everything for this.
His fingers curled just right, pressing against your spot with surgical precision. You were so close. So close it hurt.
“Please, let me come,” you begged. “Please, please, please—”
“Not yet.”
He pulled back.
You sobbed.
“You need to be patient. Let me observe how long you can last.”
“I can’t,” you moaned. “I need you inside me. Now.”
He rose to his feet, unbuckled his belt, and dragged his slacks down just enough to free himself.
You reached for him, but he grabbed your wrists and pinned them to the wall above your head.
“Let me,” he said, voice rough.
He lined up and pushed in slowly. You both gasped.
The stretch was perfect. Too much. Not enough. Just right.
“You feel incredible,” he said against your throat. “Tight. Hot. Clenching around me already. Your body’s starving for it.”
He started to move.
Slow, deep thrusts. His hips snapped against yours, his hands braced on your thighs as he buried himself over and over.
You could feel every inch.
You were losing it. Your eyes rolled back, your legs trembled, your moans came out like gasps.
“Please, harder,” you begged. “Faster. I need it. Please—”
“Beg properly.”
You sobbed.
“Spencer, please fuck me. Please, I’ll be good, I swear. Just give it to me. I can’t take it. I’ll do anything, just please.”
“That’s better.”
He slammed into you.
Your head hit the door. You saw stars.
He fucked you like he meant it, like he’d been holding back for years. His name spilled from your mouth over and over. He reached between you and rubbed your clit, circling it fast and firm.
You shattered.
Your whole body convulsed. You cried out into his shoulder, clutching him like a lifeline as your orgasm ripped through you.
He kept going.
Another hit you right after. Then another.
“Too much,” you whimpered. “Spencer, I can’t—”
“Yes you can,” he murmured. “You’re taking it so well. Just a little more.”
You were a wreck. Legs shaking. Eyes blurred. Skin flushed. But you never wanted it to stop.
He kissed you as he chased his own release, tongue sliding against yours, hands gripping your hips as he drove into you one last time and groaned your name.
You felt him come inside you, hot and deep.
He held you there for a moment, both of you breathing hard.
You blinked up at him, dazed and ruined.
“I think that coffee had a half-life of about six hours,” he said.
You groaned.
“Don’t worry,” he added. “We’ve got plenty of time. I can help you come down.”
Summary: After seeing what was recorded that night, dread filled her as the night swindled down. Goosebumps covered the surface of her arms. Despite her eyes being sore from exhaustion, her mind was fighting her to stay awake.
Warnings: Supernatural, demons, horror, graphic details of wounds, thriller-ish, some fluff, eventual smut.
She didn't want to slip into sleep.
She couldn’t. Not after what she saw. Not after the way it touched her.
But tonight, she had a plan.
A kitchen knife sat hidden beneath her pillow, the handle cool against her fingertips. It wasn’t much—not against whatever that thing was—but it could do some damage. It made her feel like she still had some say and control in her own goddamn house.
Her dream. Her money. Her name on the deed.
She wasn’t going to be chased out by something with claws and curls and a tail that moved like it was mocking her.
She had her sheets pulled up to her chin, her eyes closed just enough to fake sleep. Her heart thundered under her ribs like a warning drum, but she didn’t flinch. She laid in bed, still as a statue, prepared for it to come.
She waited.
The clock ticked—eyes became heavy.
2:12 a.m.
The air changed.
Thickened. Slowed. Like the night had taken a breath and held it.
And then—the floor creaked.
Just once.
She didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. But she knew. It was here again.
A whisper of shadow crossed the far side of the room. The temperature dropped, not cold, but cool, like something had opened a door between here and somewhere else. She could feel it draw nearer, inch by inch.
Another creak.
Then—the mattress dipped.
It settled at the foot of the bed, the same exact way it had in the footage. Slow. Confident. Comfortable.
Like a pet curling up beside its favorite person.
Her fingers tightened around the knife.
And then—a whisper.
“Trying something new tonight, are we?”
The voice was rough, low, and maddeningly amused.
She jolted upright. The knife flashed out from beneath her pillow, blade catching the sliver of moonlight seeping through the curtains.
He froze.
His gaze dropped to the weapon, then flicked back up—smirking like he’d just walked in on something adorable.
No longer a shadow. No longer just a shape in the dark.
He sat crouched at the foot of her bed like he belonged there—tall, lean, coiled like something that hunted for fun. Pale skin stretched over sharp features, and thick, unruly curls framed a face that might've been boyish—almost pretty—if not for the glowing red eyes. Tiny horns poked through the mess of hair. Fangs peeked past the curl of his lip. A tail flicked lazily behind him, brushing against her comforter like a cat in mid-stretch.
And he was smirking at her. Like this was all a game.
“Didn’t peg you for the stabby type,” he drawled, glancing at the knife. “Though I gotta say... it’s kind of hot.”
“Get out of my house.” Her voice was sharp, unwavering. “I don’t know what the hell you are, but you’re not staying.”
“Aw, sweetheart,” he purred, tilting his head. “You bought the house. You didn’t check the attic crawlspace terms and conditions.”
“I saw you. I saw what you did.”
He lifted a clawed hand like he was swearing an oath. “Technically? I curled up and kept you warm. You didn’t seem to mind. All that soft snoring, the way you mumbled—”
“I will cut you.”
“Noted.”
He didn’t look worried. If anything, he looked amused. Like he’d been threatened a thousand times before and never once bothered to leave.
“I don’t want you here. Get out.”
“I come with the foundation,” he said casually. “I’m in the walls. In the brick. You’re not haunted—you’re cohabitating.”
Her grip on the knife tightened. “Leave. Or I’ll stick this in you.”
That gave him pause—not fear, just... interest.
He lowered into a crouch, red eyes gleaming like embers.
“You’re not scared,” he said, tasting the words. “You’re mad.”
“I’ve got nothing left,” she hissed. “I poured everything into this place. I’m not leaving. So whatever the hell you are? Back off—or get put down.”
His grin widened, fangs catching the light.
And then he purred.
“I think I’m starting to like you.”
The blade didn’t waver, not even when he crawled closer—slow, deliberate, like a cat considering whether to bat something off the counter.
“You’re bold,” he murmured, eyes locked on her. “I like bold.”
“Back. Off.” She jabbed the knife toward him.
He stilled, gaze flicking lazily to the point of the blade.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighed, and reached out—gripping the blade.
Her breath hitched.
She watched it pierce his palm, clean and deep. Watched as no blood spilled. As the skin closed, healed, like nothing had happened.
He let go, grinning wider.
“Sorry to disappoint, but mortal toys don’t work on me.” He winked, rising to a slow prowl as he circled her bed. “Most people scream. Or cry. Sage everywhere. It’s a whole thing. But you? You’re different.”
“I won’t forget what you did.”
He tilted his head. “You mean the part where I scratched your ankle or the part where I held you like a goddamn weighted blanket and kept your nightmares away?”
She flinched.
He caught it.
“Ohhh,” he cooed, faux-guilty. “You liked that part.”
“You don’t get to touch me,” she snapped. “And you don’t get to leave bruises on my body.”
“Didn’t,” he said quickly. “Not really. The bruises happen when your body fights the night terrors. The cuts? Barely grazes. Call it demon hospitality. A polite tuck-in. You’re welcome.”
She lunged.
Just enough to make him jerk back.
His smirk faltered for half a heartbeat.
Then a chuckle. Low. Raspy.
“You’ve got teeth. That’s new.” He leaned against her dresser, claws tapping against the wood. “The last one cried. During the exorcism. After. Honestly, exhausting.”
“Then go haunt someone more fragile.”
He looked her over like she’d offered him something vintage and rare.
“But you’re interesting. Angry. Sharp. And really, really pretty when you’re pissed.”
She didn’t lower the knife.
He stepped forward, just enough to feel close. Not enough to touch—just enough for her to feel his heat, like standing too close to fire.
“Want me gone?” he said, voice dropping like a slow burn. “Figure out how to banish me. Otherwise? I’ll slip back into the dark. Into whatever part of your house you forgot to bless.”
She didn’t answer.
And that pause?
He devoured it.
His grin turned smug. Slow. Inevitable.
“See?” he whispered. “You don’t want me gone. Not really.”
“Right now?” she said, throat tight. “I want you out of my bed.”
Her chest rose with a sharp inhale—fury scraping against fear, or maybe something worse: curiosity.
That was the part that scared her most.
He leaned in, his voice curling around her like smoke.
“You can keep the knife under your pillow,” he whispered. “I like it when it gets rough. Makes things fun.”
And just like that—he vanished.
Smoke. Shadow. Gone.
She was left alone, knife trembling faintly in her hand.
The bed was still warm at the foot where he’d crouched.
Series masterlist
Pairing: Spencer Reid x femBAU!reader
Category: smut 18+ MDNI, angst
Summary: Attending Rossi's wedding while nursing the betrayal of your boyfriend, you find solace (and revenge) in the arms of Dr. Spencer Reid.
Content: 7.7k porn with a plot. Mentions of smoking and drinking, reader wears a dress, heels, and make up, and cheats on her shitty bf, semi-public sex, oral (m and f receiving), softdom!Spencer, fingering, overstimulation, squirting, reader is called naughty girl and good girl, very slight degradation, lots of praise, big dick!Spencer, size kink, unprotected p in v, creampie, rumination and references to sin and Eve and religion in general, probably blasphemous, Jeid mention, unhealthy coping mechanisms, this is kinda toxic but it's sexy I swear (I HOPE; yell at me nicely if i missed anything)
A/N: this fic had been MARINATING for more than a month. Probably overwritten and self-indulgent, years of Catholic trauma rlly just spilled onto my docs ya know. Tried very very hard to make the smut worth it because there's so much build up and I'd hate for the smut to be meh. Lost the plot multiple times. Reached the point of i’m sick of this fic pls let it end but ultimately it's a piece that I’m actually proud of. Dedicated to user @notlongtolove for the yap fest and brainstorming, iykyk!!! Pls enjoy while I rejoice; this mammoth is finally over. Special request to leave a comment so I feel accomplished, pretty please tyyyy.
Rossi's wedding had been your opportunity to introduce your new boyfriend to the team. You've taken great pains to keep your relationship private, a feat that makes you proud because the amount of things that gets past Penelope Garcia is next to nothing. But somehow, in the past four months, you've managed. You've passed the threshold, the personal rule of three months of privacy, of keeping things on the down low, and you had been excited to stroll up to Rossi's fourth wedding in the arms of Cameron, your boyfriend of nearly five months.
Unfortunately, you'd caught another woman's underwear in his car nearly a week before the day of the wedding. He still hasn't admitted to his betrayal, no matter how many times you've pleaded and talked to him. You already know, anyway. It's easy enough to tell from his body language. The twitch of his lips he does whenever he's nervous, the way he overuses the phrase come on, every single one of his tells point to his infidelity. You've used every trick in the profiler handbook— interrogation, an attempt to seduce, anger— none has worked.
Your pathetic boyfriend would only repeat that he loves you so much, why are you acting like this?
So you're a depressing cloud on Rossi's big day. You hide it behind a big smile, which would normally be unconvincing, but everyone is too wrapped up in the festivities to look too closely at your hastily erected facade.
And it’s worked, for the most part. You know it’s not because of your acting skills, but more because there’s too much going on to pay attention to you. And disappearing as part of the crowd allows you to observe and stew in your betrayal, fingertips tingling with the desire to get even somehow.
You wish you could say he’d tempted you. Pursued you with gentle brushes of his hands on the exposed skin of your back, bewitched you with his dimpled smile, so inhumanly beautiful you just couldn’t say no. How could you resist temptation when it is being presented to you by someone who looks like he’s been carved by the hands of God himself?
Because Spencer Reid has always been something akin to divinity, at least to you. As the BAU's newest recruit— appointed and transferred by the infamous Linda Barnes herself—you've had to fight tooth and nail to earn the team's trust.
Now, Linda Barnes is gone, you have a spot on the team, and Spencer Reid remains elusive.
His reputation preceded him, of course, one of the smartest active agents, incarcerated for something he didn't do. He's kind in the moments you've spent with him, with a bumbling earnestness that you've found endearing.
He's also incredibly beautiful.
So who could blame you if you did give in to his advances? People stronger than you have succumbed, after all, and you, in your vulnerable, lovelorn glory, would not have been responsible if you decided to take a bite from the forbidden apple, right? Giving in to temptation is the lesser sin, more forgivable, would absolve you of guilt especially after the betrayal you've gone through.
Except Spencer Reid hadn’t pursued you. The meeting had been accidental, at least that’s what you tell yourself. You’d seen him leave towards the end of the ceremony. Of course you did, you had been watching him all night. Sometime towards the end of the ceremony, while the minister was talking about the importance of second chances, he’d slipped away.
You had been the one to go after him. In your defense, you’ve been itching to get your hands on a cigarette since you got here. Weddings have always made you giddy, excited. It’s a celebration of love, after all, a declaration of two people’s commitment to each other. In sickness and health. But Cameron's infidelity weighs heavily upon your shoulders, and though you've borne more than this—you're a BAU agent, after all, you face horrors on a daily basis—it's still difficult to set aside the burn when you're surrounded by happy couples.
So you’d put your focus on Dr. Reid: handsome in his suit, but something about him seemed distracted. Perhaps he'd been banking upon the wedding as a distraction, just like you had been. Everyone is too busy with the happy couple to pay attention to two lonely souls.
But he's wrong. You've got your eye on him, and you see something in his amber irises that reflect your own.
Loneliness.
Why is Spencer Reid lonely?
It’s the intrigue that ultimately leads you out into the hallways. And when you stumble upon his brooding form, your excuse is truthful, “I'm trying to find the bathroom.”
He kindly escorts you to the correct wing, making small talk. Something about wedding dresses not being white historically. You smile and nod, thanking him graciously as you slip into the ladies room. When you leave the bathroom after basically inhaling a stick of cigarette, he’s still lingering outside. Waiting by the wall, smiling upon your return.
“Oh,” you return his smile, “You’re still here.”
“Figured we could walk back together.” his nose wrinkled a little as you stepped closer, the smell of your cigarette apparently not sufficiently disguised.
You're smile becomes sheepish, shaking your head, “I thought I was being slick by spraying perfume, but apparently not.”
He laughs. It reminds you of the church bells that rang for the wedding. Rich and lilting.
“Not to judge, but why the need for a smoke break?”
“Why should there be a reason?”
“You've told me you only smoke when you're stressed out.” Fuck. “Why are you stressed out?”
“Just having a bad day.”
It's the wrong answer, because his gaze zeroes in on you, oozing with an intense curiosity. “On Rossi's wedding?”
“Not because of it,” You laugh airily, but in the quiet of the hallway, it's much more difficult to pretend that everything is okay. Two can play at this game though. “Why are you out here?”
He averts his gaze to his shoes, brows furrowing in a way that makes you blood spike. He’s hiding something.
“I just needed some fresh air.” he pushes his hands deep into his pockets, lifting his gaze from the floor and dragging it through your form, taking in your appearance in the cocktail dress you’ve donned for the wedding. His voice is strangled when he speaks again,, “You look lovely. I don’t think I’ve had the chance to tell you yet.”
“Thank you. You look very dashing too.” A pause stretches between you. In that quiet moment, it seems like the universe has presented the perfect way of retaliation for you. The nicotine had made you bold, audacious. And if you’d read him correctly, then he’s in need of relief as much as you are, the kind of relief a simple cigarette wouldn’t fix. You step closer, looking straight into his eyes, “Truth be told, I’m not in any hurry to go back.”
You see his jaw clench, the beautiful brain of his going a thousand miles per minute, likely computing every possible meaning of your words. His eyes flicker to your lips, and you decide to help him out, taking another step forward and tilting your head up.
When you kissed him, he didn’t even hesitate to kiss you back. Mouth parting, fingers tightly clenched at your waist, pulling you closer and closer until space felt like a foreign concept altogether. He is an insistent kisser, leaning his whole weight into you as his lips opened and sucked at yours.
The dark corner isn’t ideal, but it was the closest space at your disposal. Neither of you are willing to spend more time looking for somewhere to hide, not when you could spend that time running your hands and lips in places undiscovered. Your lips across the strong angle of his jaw, his stubble tickling your skin. Spencer tonguing the space beneath your ear, fragrant with traces of your perfume. Your hand massaging him into an erection through the fabric of his pants.
He lets out the prettiest moan when you drop to your knees in front of him.
You don’t miss the irony of it as you tugged and undid his belt and zipper, fully conscious of the act you’re about to commit. Kneeling in a chapel, for all the wrong reasons.
“Are you sure?” the words spill from his lips so sweetly, as if he isn't standing before you with his erection only inches from your face. Long and thick and already leaking precum at the tip.
You take him into your mouth as an answer, condemning yourself to your fate. Spencer is beautiful like the devil, and you’re Eve succumbing to the first sin.
Two wrongs do not make a right. You know this. Everyone does. A lesson as old as time itself, written in languages you can’t comprehend. Even mathematics dictates that adding two negative integers does not cancel them out—the negative value merely increases. You should not retaliate on your boyfriend by committing the very sin that hurt you in the first place. By all accounts, nothing good should come from it.
Yet here you are, on your knees for a man as pretty as the devil himself. A man very much not your boyfriend.
Even fucking worse, your coworker.
Tucked in some dark corner—not even given the dignity of a dusty closet. That at least would have given you complete privacy. No, you’re on your knees in some seemingly abandoned hallway, half hidden by a combination of the dim lights, and ostentatious pillars, and him. His lean body shields you from general view as your lips stretched around his throbbing length.
You learn that he is a contradiction. A large hand gathers your perfectly styled curls, holding them at the crown of your head. Gentle, careful. The other rests just beneath your jaw, holding your head still as he slowly pushes his hips forward. Your nails grip his pants as your mouth stretches around his girth. The fabric wrinkles under your clutches as the tip of his cock hits the back of your throat, then begins to push beyond it.
Only half of his length in and you're already choking.
Wide, panicked eyes dart up to meet his deceptively honeyed ones. You consider pulling back, just to catch your breath but you can’t; his hands are holding you steady. Oddly enough, the look in his eyes helps you relax. There’s something inherently trustworthy about those ochre irises, despite the fact that his pupils have blown up so much and nearly eclipsed them. Maybe you’re too used to indifference from Cameron, too used to sex being so clinical and borderline perfunctory, that the unbridled lust in his gaze excites you instead of scare you away.
Still, it doesn’t help the little choking issue you’re currently having.
“Breathe through your nose,” he murmurs. You blink back the tears that have gathered at your lashes, still maintaining eye contact with him. Spencer sighs, pulls his cock out. Mercy. It's not something you deserve, but you take advantage of the moment wisely, following his instructions and breathing through your nose.
The stench of sin is musky and stale. You fill your lungs with it all the same, just as he rams his cock back down your throat and fills your mouth. He hisses when you gag around him lightly, but doesn’t stop. You realize that you’d probably chase after him if he does anyway.
His thumb caresses your cheek, “That’s it, good girl. You can take it.”
Well fuck.
It’s a little too much, balancing on your knees like this while he uses your mouth and throat, but you push through because he says you can. You fancied yourself the seductress, but somehow, the tides have turned and you’re little more than putty in his hands.
His cock glides in and out of your mouth with ease, painting chapped red marks from your lipstick along the veined length with every push of his hips. Finding your balance, you wrap a hand around the base of his cock, stroking up what you can't fit into your mouth. After a few clumsy attempts, you manage to match the rhythm of his hips.
What a pretty figure you make, on your knees, looking up at him with fluttering lashes. You moan around his length, sending vibrations up his spine, and are rewarded by his mouth falling open, a wordless expression of pleasure. He continues to fuck your mouth, never breaking eye contact as he eases his cock deeper with each thrust. Tears gather at your lash line every time he goes down your throat.
You’re sure your throat is distending in order to accommodate his girth, and it makes your own pussy clench at the idea. What would it be like to have such a large cock inside your walls, filling you? It makes you moan again, and Spencer’s hand tightens at your hair. His pace quickens, and you hollow your cheeks, urging him to continue.
You hear his undoing before you feel it, strained groans tumbling from trembling lips, before his hips thrust forward and suddenly your nose is pressed to his crotch, and there’s an explosion at the back of your throat. He holds you there, eyes watering, drool spilling from the corners of your ruined mouth as he blows his load deep in your throat.
Yeah, he definitely needed that.
You swallow what you can, but that’s difficult when there’s a huge cock obstructing your throat.
It ends up being a mess, combination of your saliva and his cum dripping out of your mouth and onto the floor. How fitting. In the back of your mind, you’re just happy that only a few drops landed on your dress. Easy enough to clean. Miraculously. Your conscience, however, is an entirely different story.
Still, some part of you can’t even begin to feel bad. Cameron had cheated first, he’d broken the bounds of your relationship first.
Sure, this is still wrong. You have no moral ascendency to stand on, but who cares about any of that when Spencer Reid is kneeling before you with gentle hands and even gentler eyes?
“Are you all right?” he murmurs, his voice slow and sensual like dripping honey.
Somehow, your voice does not betray you, coming out clear and far more confident than you’re actually feeling. “Yeah, I’m good.”
He smiles, thumbs wiping away some of the residue off your lips, “Are you sure? You look a little dazed.”
You laugh, “I mean, yeah, but I just need to catch my breath.”
He takes your hand, helps you stand back up. “I think another trip to the bathroom is in order.” he says as he guides you to the bathroom again.
When you get there, you are a wreck of the highest order, curls dishevelled despite his attempts to be careful, lipstick smudged around your mouth. Your chin is still a little moist from the drool and cum that had dripped down. Tear tracks drag down your cheeks, but thankfully your eye makeup and foundation are only a little smudged. Nothing a little dab of a napkin won’t fix.
You fix what you can—quick spray of perfume, reapplication of lipstick. Hands steady as you work. You aren't sure if this is a sign of guilt, or lack of it. You don't really care. He's gone when you leave the bathroom now, and the soft, treacherous side of your heart fills with disappointment. You remind yourself that it's better this way, less conspicuous, if he returns to the wedding before you.
Still, swallowing his load with an obstructed throat somehow had been easier than swallowing the bitter disappointment that builds in the back of your tongue.
The ceremony is just about to end when you return to the makeshift chapel, people standing and clapping as David and Krystall Rossi share the sweetest kisses. A celebration of love and second chances. After what you've done with Spencer, you know this is out of your cards now. You've fallen far beyond redemption, shot the remnants of your relationship with Cameron after kneeling in service of another man.
You catch sight of Spencer, standing in the midst of other agents. Clapping like everyone else, but his eyes are trained upon something else. Curiosity gets the best of you and you follow his gaze, trying to approximate what he's looking at.
Or rather— whom.
If you're correct, then he's looking at someone.
Oh.
Blonde hair, a slim frame in a beautiful red dress that perfectly accentuates the long, muscled lines of her arms and legs. Beside her, a man with salt and pepper hair and kind blue eyes. His arm at her waist. Your coworker and her husband. JJ and Will.
Oh.
Your gaze returns to Spencer, and despite your attempts not to dig deep, not to learn why he's looking so forlorn, it’s easy to put the pieces together. Whether or not this is a full blown affair isn’t important; all you know is he wants her, and she's married to another man.
Is this connected to the previous case? You recall the last case, the hostage situation in LA. He and JJ had been in there for a long time, but neither really shared what exactly happened. Nobody knows except for the two of them, the unsub, and the victims. You aren’t about to pull rank and ask traumatized people about the drama between your coworkers. You’re better than that.
Are you?
Yes. You don’t hold much sacred, but your job is important. It is above you. You aren’t about to jeopardize it over some workplace drama.
But still, the curiosity gnaws at you no matter how much you attempt to tamp it down. Does he have feelings for JJ? Does she, for him? She couldn’t possibly; she has a husband, two beautiful kids. Easy enough to deduce that it’s probably Spencer, then, who is pining after her.
As though he feels your stare, Spencer looks over at you. Hurriedly, you avert your eyes, heart pounding faster than you would like it to.
Was he thinking about JJ while he used your mouth?
The thought knocks the wind out of your lungs, and you banish it to the deepest crevices of your mind. It shouldn't matter.
It doesn't. It doesn't.
You don’t have any room to judge, anyway. You’ve dragged Spencer into your own messy relationship by sucking him off in the middle of the wedding. A relationship he doesn’t even know about. So, with a smile, you clap for the new couple, and follow the crowd to the reception.
Joy and excitement are nearly palpable in the room. A small, intimate crowd of smiling faces surrounded by the tastefully extravagant decor, obviously paid for by the wealthy groom. The air is filled with that soft, electric energy that often occurs when people are happy and sufficiently buzzed with some drinks.
The only thing on your mind is him.
How can it not be, when you can still remember the little tryst you'd had prior. The weight of him in your mouth, the fetid mess of skin and cum and the lingering nicotine.
It passes by in a blur. The food is delicious, you gush to Portia, you look so beautiful; congratulations, to the new couple. None of it is fake, but you are possessed by a single, irrevocable urge to watch Spencer. That glance at JJ has intrigued you more than you should be. What sort of web had you stumbled upon? And instead of trying to get out, you're eager to spin more.
Bringing the champagne flute to your lips, you pretend to sip, allowing the glass to obscure some parts of your face while you continue to watch them. They’ve met up at the bar now, deep in conversation, hands clasped together in a way that’s far too intimate to be just friends. You can't tear your eyes away as JJ leaves, returning to the embrace of her husband, and you watch with an almost sick sense of fascination as Spencer lingers by the bar. Longing, pure and unmistakable, is etched upon every line on his face.
Before you can stop yourself, your feet are moving, gliding across the floor until you're beside him. He startles, brows lifting as he gazes at you. Your name slips through his lips with an exhale.
“You don't have to act like I'm a ghost, Spencer.” your lips quirk up in a teasing grin as the bartender refills your glass of champagne.
He looks chagrined, the implications of your words hitting him like a brick. “I’m not, you just seemed like you were having fun with Garcia.” he says, leaning on the counter. His eyes travel down the length of you again.
“You’re right, but you were looking a little lonely,” you take a sip from your champagne, letting the bubbly drink fizzle in your mouth and wash away the taste of him. “So, what was that with JJ?”
He sputters, eyes wide as his gaze darts back to your blonde coworker—now currently wrapped up in her husband’s arms.
“Nothing!”
“Holding hands when you’re a known germaphobe doesn’t seem like nothing.”
“I’m not that bad,” he protests, shaking his head, “I’d hold your hand too, but that’s besides the point.”
“It is,” you agree, tilting your head innocently, as your voice lowers, “Just wanted to know who you were imaging in place of me.”
He looks horrified to be reminded of your little quickie from before, “No one. It’s not—I wasn’t using you to—god, it’s not like that.”
“I’m not judging you if it was,” It’s true. It’s exactly what you’re doing with him, using him to forget about Cameron, to get back at him. Poor Spencer just doesn’t know about your secrets. Your amused look only makes him fluster even more.
“It isn’t,” he insists, “I just –”
“Listen, it’s okay,” you interrupt gently, fighting the urge to rest a reassuring hand on his forearm. The words are true anyway; you don’t wish to unearth whatever secrets he wants to keep buried. You have your own, anyway; it’s only fair he’s allowed his secrecy. Your reasons for approaching him are entirely different, and perhaps a little self serving. But you’ve already condemned yourself to being the bearer of temptation, you might as well take full advantage of it.
“Don’t look so ashamed,” you grin as you lift the recently refilled glass to your lips, “You know I have a room for the night… in case you want to blow off more steam.”
The invitation makes his eyes darken in a way that’s becoming increasingly familiar. “You’re—we shouldn’t.”
“Who would know?” you quirk a brow in response, “Besides, it’s pretty much tradition for people to hook up at a wedding. Why shouldn’t it be us?” Please, say yes.
“We’re coworkers.”
“We’re adults.” you deliberately don’t say single adults, “It’s fine. Listen, I booked a room because I didn’t want to deal with the traffic, so if you want, it’s 309B. Completely up to you.” with a smile, you leave him at the bar and Spencer Reid is forced to watch a woman walk away from him for the second time.
That night, there's knocking at your hotel door—three sharp, no nonsense knocks that seem to mean business—echoes in your room minutes before midnight. You don’t bother looking through the peephole to confirm who’s on the other side. The moment you open the door, there’s not a lot of build up.
He’s shed his suit jacket; wearing only the white button down, slightly rumpled from the day’s events. His crown of light brown curls, carefully pushed back earlier, had fallen all over his forehead, messy tendrils tumbling across his face.
He takes one look at you—still in your lavender dress, but devoid of makeup and no more heels to add inches to your height. In the dimness of the room, you are diminutive, stripped of the ethereal mystique you bore from earlier. Human.
God, he wants you.
Not even as someone to help him forget about JJ. No, he wants you in your entirety, to possess you even for one night.
He kisses you again, but there’s no rush to his movements now. The previous rendezvous had been hasty in every sense of the word, made within minutes in an attempt to alleviate the desperate need all while staying safely hidden and inconspicuous.
Now, you have the entire night. He intends to make full use of it. He kicks the door closed behind him, one hand reaching back to lock it as the other tilts your face up so he can kiss you deeper. Your own arms snake around his neck, hands burying into those messy curls. There’s no more public reception to worry about; you can tug and twist and mess with it as much as you want.
Spencer groans into your mouth, hands tight at your hips, before pulling back slightly, “Jump.” he mumbles against your lips.
Your body reacts as if it’s wired to obey him, launching off the balls of your feet. His hands help to hoist you up, and you wrap your legs around his hips.
“You smell so good,” He whispers as he noses through your neck, before his teeth close around your earlobe. You giggle, urging him on by craning your neck to the side. His teeth tug on your earlobe playfully as he crosses the room to your bed. He toes off his shoes and lays you down carefully, his body hovering above yours while his kisses travel down your neck. Soft and sloppy and wet, they mark you like a brand.
Long, eager fingers hike your dress up, bunching it up your thighs, past your hips, and you hear him groan when your bare pussy is exposed to his darkened gaze.
“No panties?” he runs a finger up your folds, gathering your slick, “Don’t tell me you’re been going around like this all day?”
“Maybe I have,” you grin, legs parting even more to accommodate him. You haven’t—you’d just been touching yourself to the thought of him as you waited, but you’re not about to tell him that.
“Naughty girl,” he mumbles, one long finger pushing past your entrance and curling into you, “And so wet, too. You get off on being this dirty, or am I just lucky?”
A breathy laugh escapes your lips, “Which one would you prefer?” you ask, because tonight, you’re not yourself. Not really. You’re whoever he needs to be, the same way he’s exactly what you need right now. A body to which you can lose yourself.
“I’d like to think this is all just for me,” he adds another finger, the pace languorous and teasing.
“It is,” you gasp as he curls his fingers, then withdraws. Torturously slow, he fucks you with two lengthy fingers, hitting the spot inside you with ease. Your toes curl into the bed, sinking into the soft mattress, “Faster.”
“So needy,” he murmurs, shaking his head as he takes you in. There’s something addictive in the way you look in this moment, spread out beneath him like something unreal and sublime.
Your hips buck up. Something volatile simmers beneath your skin, desperate for more, “Please.”
Spencer chuckles as he watches you, fingers stilling inside your fluttering walls. Hovering above you with soft brown curls framing his face, he looks every bit an angel come to life. The laughter continues, his lips twisting into a sneer as you push your hips up desperately.
“So, so needy.” he repeats, but he acquiesces to your plea. More than that, he sinks a third finger inside you and speeds up. A cry of surprise and pleasure falls from your lips, head thrown back as he works his fingers inside you, “Oh, you’re taking it so well.”
Shame unfurls in your chest. What are you doing? Begging another man to fuck you with his fingers? Enjoying it? Is this truly what you’ve come to?
It’s not something you can dwell on, as Spencer begins to curl his fingers inside you while his thumb finds your clit. It circles the nub slowly, adding a layer of stimulation that has your thighs trembling. With a squeal, you writhe, moving to close your legs as the sensations become red-hot, building up closer and closer to a crescendo.
Spencer tuts teasingly, one leg pressing down on your thighs, and his other hand coming to grip your hip and hold you in place. “No, no, darling, I want to see you coming undone on my fingers.” he says, continuing to make come hither motions inside you.
“God—oh, I’m so—ah!” words trip over one another as you approach your climax, the world coming down into one point of focus. “Spencer!”
“That’s it, good girl,” he murmurs, laying his body over you as his fingers help you through your orgasm, “There you go.”
You’re thankful for the weight of him; it is a grounding presence in the midst of all the flurry. You’ve come undone at the hands of another man—literally. Never mind that Cameron had betrayed your trust first; you are no better than him.
But if sin felt as good as Spencer Reid’s kisses, then you have no qualms indulging.
His lips are upon you again, traveling down your collarbone and nipping at the skin there. You whine and wrap your legs around his waist, sensitive but still eager for more. He laughs against your skin with a tenderness that takes you by surprise.
“Are you always this needy?”
“No,” you’ve had a taste of the forbidden fruit earlier. Thrown out of Eden, you’re already past the point of no return. Might as well succumb and have one hell of a time. “Only for you.”
He hums, pushing your dress up again. It gets caught somewhere around your chest and there’s a brief moment of awkward laughter as he tries to tug at it, force it up and off you.
“Zipper,” you gasp when your brain finally works. Lifting yourself up on your elbows allows him to slide his hands to your back, find the dangling piece of metal and ease it down. The dress loosens across your shoulders and chest, and he’s finally able to pull it off altogether.
“Beautiful,” he sighs, descending upon you once again, “So beautiful.”
His words have you preening, and you wonder how something so insignificant as the word beautiful could make you feel so heavy. You used to associate delight with weightlessness, floating and light, but everything about Spencer is lumbering and grounded especially after he came back from prison.
You feel his lips and tongue making their way down, kissing every inch of your body. He tugs your bra down, not even bothering to take it off completely, your breast spilling forth and free for his touch. He takes one nipple and sucks, while his thumb circles and gently tugs the other. Every single act has you gasping, and you wonder when and where the hell did Spencer Reid ever learn how to do this? You shouldn’t question it though.
When his mouth lands upon your hips, you jerk. “Spencer,” you gasp, looking down on him, but there’s no more teasing from him now, no hesitation. Before you can even formulate what to say next—you don’t have to, I’ve already cum, I’m still so sensitive—his mouth is at your core, tongue lapping up what remains of your previous orgasm and all evidence of your arousal.
“Fuck!” you are not responsible for your actions anymore, not responsible for the way your fingers find his russet curls and tug hard, the way your thighs try to clamp shut around his head. He chuckles against you, the sound sending tingling vibrations that travel from your pussy to the tips of your toes and fingers.
“Settle down,” laughter drips from his gentle admonishment, “Or I’ll stop.”
“Please don’t.” you’re past the point of shame and guilt, eager to beg and obey as much as he wants. The positions have turned since the tryst in the hallway. No longer are you on your knees for him, no longer the one servicing him and choking around his length, yet somehow you’re still at his mercy. “Don’t stop, please, so good.”
He laughs, and you feel something sliding past your entrance. You clench around it involuntarily, as if you can tell what it is from the mere feeling, but then his mouth wraps around your clit and you’re reeling into oblivion once again.
“Spencer!” you thrash against the pillows, overwhelmed and sensitive but still eager to take more, “Spencer, oh my god, Spencer!” you lose count of how many times you’ve uttered his name from your lips. It has simultaneously lost every meaning, yet retained all of it. An invocation of fervent desire from a lowly, undeserving sinner. Thankfully, your god is merciful and giving, because Spencer wraps his arms around your thighs to hold you down, sucks at your clit harshly and thrusts into you again—fingers, you now realize, all three spreading you open and curling deep inside you.
With everything going on, your climax comes as no surprise. You and Spencer are both expecting it, you’re so worked up after all. What makes you both pause is the fact that something gushes out of you as you arch off the bed and cry out his name.
His movement stills for a split second, before he continues and helps you through your orgasm, tongue lapping at the mess between your legs as your body is wracked with the aftershocks, trembling beneath him. After a few moments, he stops, resting his head at your hip.
Looking at him feels like a risk. Fear keeps your eyes squeezed shut, afraid of what you’ll find. More teasing? Disgust? Doesn’t seem like it, from the way his fingertips are trailing over your thighs. You lift your lids again, eyes meeting his own hazy ones. They are nearly black, but what pulls your attention are his lips and chin. Glistening with slickness.
Your slick.
“Oh god,” your words are half groan, half laugh when the reality hits you, “Did I really?”
He laughs again, light and tender. “I believe you did.”
“I’m sorry.” you mutter, feeling utterly mortified that you just squirted all over your coworker’s face.
Spencer’s expression is one of mischief, but his eyes gleam with something darker. “What for?”
“Don’t make me say it.”
Another laugh, “But I wanna hear it,” he coos, pressing his lips to your hip bone, “Come on, darling, what are you sorry for?”
When you don’t answer, he nips at your skin playfully, slowly moving back to your center. Your pussy throbs both in anticipation and overstimulation.
“Spencer.”
“Mhm?”
“Too sensitive.” you try to squirm out of his grip. It only tightens, presses you deeper into the mattress.
A lick, teasing and light. “Tell me why you’re sorry.”
“Spencer!”
“Come on,” He's grinning, the bastard, “Why are you sorry?”
“Because I squirted in your face.”
He bites your inner thigh with more force than usual, “You shouldn't be.”
“Hm?”
“I loved it,” He murmurs, soothing the bite with a flick of his tongue, “Wanna see you do it again.”
You shudder, though you’re unsure whether it’s from his moistened tongue, or his words. “Yeah?”
“Mhm,” he drags himself up, kissing along your body as he does so, “Think you can be a good girl and do it again for me?”
“I think that’s entirely dependent on how well you do.”
Soft, dewy lips curl into a smirk at your challenge, and suddenly he’s sin incarnate, a devil about to pounce. Once again, how are you to deny this man of anything? How could you resist temptation when someone who looks like he’s been carved by the hands of God himself is looking at you as though you were the masterpiece? Liquid gold irises take you in, inspecting every inch of your body with unabashed want, and you’re reminded of the fact that he’s fully clothed, cock straining through his pants, and you’re in nothing but your flimsy bra that’s been pulled down your chest it’s not even covering anything anymore.
You fight the urge to squirm under his gaze, but then his hands come up your sides, ghost over your ribs and your back until he finds the hook of your bra.
“Not really fair,” you say as the last strip of your clothing falls away, your chest heaving from the sheer weight of his gaze, “I want to see you too.” with that, you reach for him, deft fingers quickly undoing the buttons of his shirt.
He doesn’t fight it, doesn’t help, only continues to regard you with quiet intensity.
Once his clothes are off, he meets your lips again. His kisses are slower this time, an almost dreamy tangle of tongue and teeth, but his body is hot and slick with sweat even as he holds himself on his elbows above you. His cock rests upon your lower abdomen, its heft reminding you of how much your mouth had to stretch to accommodate him earlier. How the length and girth had all but blocked your airways as he thrusted into your throat.
You clench around nothing at the idea of that same cock filling your pussy.
His kisses move down your jaw, down the column of your throat, being careful not to suck too hard on the skin and leave marks. You never know when you might be called in for a case, and he doesn’t want any trouble.
“Last chance to back out,” he murmurs, his hand wrapped around the base of his cock, positioning the tip at your entrance.
You grin and shake your head, “No, I want to see if you can make me squirt again, or if that last one was just beginner’s luck.”
Laughter. You’re beginning to find sex with Spencer enjoyable on more than just the physical aspect. He drags the tip of his cock over your folds, combining his precum and your arousal into a heady, natural lubrication. He’s big, you already know that, but right now, you’re so pleasure drunk that you have no problem opening up to him.
You can tell he’s being careful, pushing his tip in slowly, and your entrance flutters, stretches around him. There’s a slight burn, but it’s accompanied by awe, overtaken by pleasure. You marvel at how his cock sinks into your slick, velvety heat, the way every slight thrust makes your body conform to his own as he carves out a space for himself.
As if he belongs there.
As if you’re his.
Every single memory about your cheating boyfriend is expelled from your mind with every thrust of his hips. You moan and clench around him at the thought.
“Fuck,” he groans, hips stilling. His cock is only halfway through, and you already look so fucked out, “Careful with that, darling, or this is gonna end sooner than we’d like.”
Your lower lip trembles, but you nod, spreading your thighs apart even further. “Sorry.”
He kisses that expression away, “Don’t be sorry,” two large hands hold your thighs in place, keeping you spread for him as he sinks in another inch. And then another. You’re so wet, and he’s done such a great job stretching you out that your walls engulf him easily.
“Oh god!” you gasp, eyes squeezing shut as he fills you. You hear a chuckle, before he retreats, pulls out almost all the way, and once again you’re clenching around his length as though you’re trying to convince him to stay buried inside you.
“Stop clenching.”
“Can’t help it!”
“Fuck, you’re so tight.” With a soft hiss, he thrusts back inside, still slow and steady. The curse makes you gasp; you’ve never heard him curse before, somehow it’s even more jarring than when he’s murmuring filth into your ears. When you open your eyes, he’s staring at you, unblinking and focused, watching your every reaction. “You okay?”
“Fuck yes,” you gasp as his thrusts grow steady. The world seems to disappear around you, the only point of importance is where your bodies are coming together repeatedly. You reach up, hands seeking for something to ground you, and finding purchase at his tangled curls, “Oh god, yes!”
It’s funny, crying out for a god you don’t really believe in. Crying out for a god when you’re in the midst of sin, carnal pleasure and infidelity and who knows what else, you were never religious to begin with. You wonder if this is what religion is, this free fall, the blind surrender. But faith as you know it believes in something unseen, the conviction to the intangible and unexplained.
Spencer is very much here, and you can feel him between your thighs, his very existence present in the stretch of your walls around his cock, the soft curls you’ve woven around your fingers. He keeps his thrusts slow but deep, letting your walls feel every single vein and ridge on his cock.
“Spencer,” you moan, one hand falling to his face, soft palm on the stubble at his jaw, “Feels so good.”
“You too,” he turns his face, pressing his lips to the warmth of your hand. He’s very tender, his movements measured to ensure your comfort, “God, you’re taking me so well.”
Your walls tighten around him in response.
Something seems to ignite in his brain, his hand catching your wrist, pulling it from his face and pinning it to the bed. “You like that, my pretty girl? Like knowing you’re doing a good job for me?”
Fuck. The same rush of heat from when he’d had you on your knees fills your stomach. The heat that compels you to do whatever he wants, take whatever he’ll give in order to hear more of his praise. Like a devoted servant, at the service of a benevolent god.
“Yes,” you gasp, hooking one leg around his hips, while the other is bent at an angle, foot pressed to the mattress in order to allow you some leverage to meet his thrusts. It’s sloppy at first, your body not entirely in your control right now.
“That’s it, my darling, you can do it.” he mutters encouragingly, pausing to allow you to join in this tangled, exhilarating dance. When you’ve gotten steadier, he resumes his thrusts, and you’re finally able to buck your hips up to meet them.
The action sends his entire length buried deep inside you, something he’s been very careful to avoid in fear of hurting you. But instead, you let out a cry of pleasure, eyes rolling to the back of your head, “Yes!”
“Right there?” he grunts. You’ve never heard him before, voice low and strained as he slams his hips into yours, again and again. The mattress begins to creak from the force of his actions.
“Mhm hmm!” You meet him thrust for thrust, the impact hitting spots deep inside you that you’ve never felt before. Toes curling in on themselves, one hand buried in his hair, the other pinned by his strong grip, “Oh, god, Spencer, yes!”
He loosens his grip on your wrist, intertwines your fingers together, “Good girl. Look at you, so pretty while you take me.”
No words come from your mouth, only his name, repeated over and over that it begins to sound made up, unreal. Perhaps he is divine. Nothing human can make you feel this way, surely.
He shifts, his free arm wrapping around your hips to elevate you slightly, and the new angle has you keening, every single muscle in your body tightly wound and white-hot as he pounds into you. It’s obscene how easily your body accepts every single inch of him, the way your pussy flutters and yields to the throbbing length of his cock.
“My god, you feel like heaven,” he groans, and that’s it, those words have you screaming so loud he starts to laugh and kiss you just to swallow the sound. You’re shuddering beneath him, crying, the pleasure coiling and building until it bursts and snaps, cascading over you with such fervor he has to wrap both his arms around your limp body to help you calm down.
Somehow, your hazy mind registers the wetness between your thighs, the loud, nearly pornographic squelching of his body plunging into yours. He’d done his goal; he’s made you squirt again. You are boneless in his arms as he fucks you through your orgasm, and chases his own. You only regain agency when he tenses, groaning into your ear.
“Gonna cum,” he says, moving his hips to drag his length out. He’s so long you’re able to wrap your legs around his waist before he’s pulled his cock out all the way.
“No, please, do it inside.”
His body stutters, head falling to the crook of your neck as he ruts his hips into you, not even bothering to argue or ask you if you’re sure. He thrusts into your sensitive pussy erratically, mouth open and groaning into your neck, “Oh my god, oh my — ah!”
Spencer holds onto you, breathing heavily into your ear as you both come down from your high. You feel simultaneously weightless and heavy, melting into your mattress with sweet, glassy eyes.
“That was incredible,” you whisper against his hair. He’s already half asleep on top of you, mumbling incoherently against your shoulder. You don’t bother to move, letting his still hard cock stay buried inside your pussy as you both drift off into dreamland.
Morning comes with a delicious ache in your lower belly. Spencer has you tucked to his chest, his arm around your waist. The air is heavy with the lingering smell of sweat and sex, but also oddly light with the knowledge of a new day. You shift in his arms, yawning as you will your body to wake up and shake off the sluggish feeling clinging to your bones.
He wakes slowly, groaning into your hair, “Morning.” he mumbles.
“Morning,” you reply, but before either of you can say any more, your phone rings. Mindlessly, you reach for it, not even bothering to hide the screen from Spencer, who’s nosing at your temple sweetly.
Cameron ❤️
Your heart sinks. Before you can hit the ignore button, Spencer turns his head, still half asleep as he catches sight of your screen. The name, the heart emoji, the multiple missed calls shakes off every single sleepy cell in his body.
“Who’s Cameron?”
more size kink fics in the BUD Chronicles.
Forehead smooches to the many people who witnessed the conception of this fic and patiently listened and helped me as I crashed out and went screaming crying throwing up, hey nachos, @mggslover (who also proofread ty) @beenreidingaboutyou @reidingandallthat @burymagdalene and @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat good god there's so many, my need for reassurance is actually extremely bothersome and embarrassing but ily guys.
A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 59 (Human Alastor x Widowed Reader)
CW: Blood
AN: Upcoming bonus chapter Wednesday next week thanks to Lady!
Prev__ Welcome Post__ AO3__ KoFi Want a bonus chapter on Wednesday? Unlock it via KoFi updates! More information here
You watched Alastor walk confidently down the stairs, taking each step as if he walked the path hundreds of times. It never stopped amazing you how he could look to be so at home in another man’s home.
But this wasn’t another man’s home anymore, was it?
Laurence was gone. No, he wasn’t gone, not yet at least. What he was, was dead. He was laid out on the floor of his office in a sea of his own blood, cooling.
You did that to him.
The thought made your stomach roll. Bile clawed up your throat, and you fought back the urge to vomit. That urge came paired with the desire to grab fistfuls of your hair and scream.
Neither would be helpful right now.
Alastor gave you a task. That was what you focused on. It seemed like a perfectly reasonable place to start.
The water sloshed loudly in the bucket as you wrung the rag out. In hindsight, it would have made more sense to have filled the bucket up in this bathroom instead of having filled it in the kitchen and carrying it here, but you hadn’t been thinking.
You pushed back the urge to cry, something you thought of as illogical. Laurence hurt you. You didn’t love him. He wasn’t a good man. There was no reason for you to cry over him, over his death.
But you wanted to.
Instead of crying over a man who didn’t deserve it, you pushed every thought that wasn’t about Alastor out of your mind.
He was what mattered.
If one of you were to be arrested for this, you needed it to be you. It was your fault he was in this mess.
The water in the bathtub turned pinkish. You told yourself it was just the soaps or oils as you reached in, pulling the drain stopper. Good. That was a good start. Next was the sink.
You could do this.
You had to do this.
Blood dried on the counter, smears and splashes from Alastor washing the blood from his face. It felt like a lifetime ago. It felt like just a few seconds ago. Closing your eyes, you took a few slow, deep breaths and told yourself it was just a mess.
That was all it was.
You’d cleaned up plenty of bloody messes before. This did not differ from when you cleaned them before. It’s just, this time, it wasn’t your blood you wiped away.
Your eyes met Alastor’s in the mirror as you scrubbed the blood from the sink. Seeing him reassured you. He believed in you and the warmth of that was enough to pull a smile to your face.
“I’m almost done here.”
Alastor nodded, dipping a rag he brought up with him into the bucket. “I’ll start on the floor.”
It was still strange to you how Alastor would clean. That wasn’t something you were used to seeing from the men in your life. It wasn’t something you were sure you could ever get used to.
After a moment more of thought, your focus returned to cleaning the last of the dried blood from the sink. The glass tincture bottle Laurence had grown so dependent on clattered on the hard surface as you knocked it over. The sound cut through the peace Alastor’s humming had brought to scrubbing away blood.
The rag splashed slightly, falling into the bucket with hardly a thought. Your attention was focused on the little brown bottle rolling loudly in the sink basin. This was the bottle that had provided you an ounce of relief when the pain was too great. It sang to you, promising a poison gift that you were always terrified to accept.
It was also this bottle that had so much influence on Laurence. It wasn’t something you could dwell on before, but now? He was worse with it and better with it. It changed him, making him more extreme.
Rage bubbled up in you. Flames of anger ignited, fanned by every time Laurence shoved his bitter tongue in your mouth, forcing your body to accept his. Each memory came hotter, demanding more anger to replace any ounce of grief that dared to find a place in your heart for what was done.
Each strike. Each blow. Each bloodstain. Each time a pregnancy took root, only to be knocked from your womb before it could birth a baby. Each time you told yourself that it was nothing more than your monthly cycle being a little strange. Each lost dream. Each shattered hope.
Alastor’s hand wrapped around yours, stopping its forward momentum before it could really begin. It was right then that you realized your arm was cocked back, fingers wrapped so tightly around the little brown bottle.
“No,” Alastor said softly. “I understand the desire, but now is not the time.”
“I- I’m sorry,” you stuttered out, shocked by your impulsive actions.
“It’s alright,” Alastor placed a soft kiss, now no longer masquerading as anything but a kiss, to the side of your temple. “Right now, we must focus on anything we can use to get out of this. We may need to use his addiction to our favor.”
“Addiction?” You watched as Alastor carefully set the bottle down, lining the bottom up with the stained rings on the counter.
“No one using it just for pain purchases it so often that the pharmacist cuts them off.” Alastor said it as if it was simple. “We’re just about done in here.”
“What next?” you asked, following on his heels as he carried the bucket of refreshed water out of the bathroom.
“If you cannot do this,” Alastor said, forcing himself to mind his tone as he stopped in front of the office door, “then I will do it myself.”
“I can,” you insisted, though in your heart you didn’t know if that was true. “I want to at least try. It’s- this is my fault.”
He turned to you, resting a large hand on your cheek to ensure you paid attention to what he was going to say. His warm brown eyes threatened to swallow you.
“None of this is your fault.”
“Alastor,” you sighed. “You got hurt because-”
“I got hurt because Laurence was a brute, the same reason you got hurt again and again. That is no one’s fault but his. He paid the price for it.”
Alastor strode into the room unbothered by the blood and clutter. You hesitated, lingering in the doorway for a few moments longer before stepping inside. The room was too silent, dust floating through the harsh sunlight. The only thing you could hear was the beating of your heart and your harsh breathing.
“Do you know where he keeps the key to his desk?” Alastor asked, carefully stepping around the blood and books on the floor.
“I don’t.” You struggled to keep your eyes off the man that you’d been married to for years, laying broken on the floor. It was hard not to look at him when Alastor knelt over the body, shoving his hands in Laurence’s pockets as if they were on a doll. “What are you-?”
“If a man keeps his desk locked, there’s something in there he doesn’t want seen. Whatever it is, it could help us.” Alastor rolled Laurence slightly, reaching into his other pocket. “There we are.”
The keys jingled loudly as Alastor pulled the ring from Laurence’s pocket. You were helpless to stop your eyes from moving, following the drying blood soaked into Laurence’s side up his torso. His neck gaped open in a grewsome second mouth, grinning at you.
“Oh, God.” The words came out choked as bile rose in your throat, threatening to force itself out. It took every ounce of effort you had to swallow it down. Getting sick would only make the mess worse. You couldn’t do that to Alastor. He was already doing so much because of what you did.
“Don’t look at him.”
Your eyes snapped to Alastor at the sound of his voice. If he could be calm and controlled right now, you could too. You had to be.
“What can I do?” Your voice sounded far weaker than you wanted it to.
Alastor looked at you, eyebrow raised. “Look for my buttons. Anywhere you see handprints, smear it with the rag. Don’t wipe it up, just smear it.”
“Why only-?”
“If we clean it, it’ll look intentional. The last thing I need is the bulls to get any prints.” Alastor rarely had to worry about prints. He wasn’t sloppy. He wore gloves when he hunted. None of it mattered. Today he was sloppy. Today, his prints were everywhere.
“Okay,” you carefully worked through the space, telling yourself that the red you wiped and smeared was little more than just paint. Each time you found a little brown button, ripped from Alastor’s shirt, you plucked it up and slipped it carefully into your dress pocket, continuing to wipe and smear the blood.
It was only paint. Nothing to be worried about.
While you worked, Alastor’s warm humming wrapped around you. It put your mind at ease, each note seeming to pull the muscles in your shoulders back, softening them.
Alastor busied himself with the desk. There was little of note on the surface, at least to most anyone else looking. The snuff box sat, recently refilled and reeking, when opened.
“Do you come in here often?” The sound of Alastor’s voice startled you out of the light trance you worked yourself into.
“No, not often.” You struggled to your feet before taking careful steps to join Alastor’s side, standing somewhere you had never been- behind the desk. “He kept the office locked. The last time I’ve been in here was when you were here for dinner, before-”
“The day you claimed what was yours.” Alastor teased, forcing a smile to your face.
“What?” You couldn’t help the light laugh that slipped between your lips. Now wasn’t the time for this and yet, Alastor made it all feel right.
“My heart,” Alastor’s boyish smile widened into a grin as you rewarded him with your attention. The more he could keep you focused on him, the less he had to worry about you falling into the trap of regret.
“You’re a charmer,” you laughed before the wall calendar caught your eye. “What are these?” Your fingertips ghosted the looping letter E written on the pages of the calendar. “Meetings?”
Alastor’s eyes flicked over the days before answering, “Emma. Those are the days he planned meetings with his mistress.”
Alastor watched you as he unlocked the drawer, waiting to see what your reaction to another proof of your late husband’s infidelity was going to be. The corners of your mouth pulled tense. Tears simmered in your eyes before you blinked them back.
“I wonder if he loved her?” you mused instead, voice soft.
“What do you mean?” You hugged your arms around your middle as you stepped closer to Alastor’s side.
“Do you know what I keep locked in my desk?” Alastor asked instead of answering, only continuing to speak when you shook your head. “I keep the letters you put under the tree. Every single one of them.”
The sentimentality of the action hit you like a physical blow. It was Alastor that advised you both burn the notes. It was better that there was no evidence. It was better that they did not risk anyone finding out about them.
“Your letters are in the mattress.” Alastor’s smile turned sharper for a moment at your words. It was dangerous, a risk you shouldn’t have taken, but that you valued his words enough to take that risk, stroked something inside him, that part of him he thought he didn’t have. “I couldn’t bear to burn them.”
“I’ll take them with me when I leave,” Alastor spoke as he pulled a fat stack of envelopes from the drawer. “It’s better investigators don’t find them.”
“Oh,” was all you could think to say. The very idea of Alastor taking those letters from you broke your heart. He was right, though. You needed to not have them. It didn’t make the string any less.
Alastor was quick to notice the shift, leaning down and placing a chaste kiss on the side of your head. “I’ll hold on to them for you. You can have them back and more when they’ve cleared out.”
“More?”
Alastor hummed in response as he flipped through the stacks of papers. “Of course,” he said. “I’ll have no reason to not deliver them to the door now or post them. Though I suppose I’ll still put them under the tree for the sake of sentimentality.”
“What are those?” The bright red ink on the papers stole your attention from the way his words made your heart flutter.
Alastor slowed the flipping of the pages. “Past Due” screamed up at you on page after page. “Final Notice” was also frequently printed on the pages. Unpaid invoice after unpaid invoice flipped through Alastor’s fingers. “Notice of Eviction” was printed on a paper, listing the address of the marketing offices.
“What’s this?” Your voice was little more than a whisper as you stilled Alastor’s hand with a light touch.
Above you, he looked on silently, reading the words along with you. He didn’t need to read it to know what it said. An eviction notice was pretty straightforward. He was more interested in your reaction.
“What does this mean? What happened to the offices?”
“I imagine they’re gone,” Alastor said carefully.
“Gone?”
“I’m sorry, Cher.” Alastor kept his voice soft as he watched the sadness wash over your face. No tears came with it. It was a bitter sadness as the reality of your household financial situation unveiled itself to you. “It appears Laurence hasn’t been able to cover his financial responsibilities for a good while now. Did you not know?”
Alastor knew you didn’t know.
“No,” you whispered. “What is going to happen to me?”
Alastor set the stack of papers down, directing all his attention to you. “You will be alright.”
“How do you know?” Your hands came to rest on his chest as he wrapped you in his arms. “I’m widowed with what? Nothing? Where will I go?”
“Breathe, Cher.” Alastor had to bend his knees a little to rest his forehead against yours. “You will be alright. Nothing is changing for you. You’re only aware now. I will not allow anything to happen to you.”
He could feel your muscles under his hands, the light start of trembling threatening to give way to panic. He tilted his head and sealed his lips against yours, kissing away what threatened to pull you under.
It was intended to just calm you. A soft reminder that you were not alone, that he was there. You sighed into the kiss, leaning against his chest as he pulled you closer. Something about the way you sighed made him want to make you do it again.
He nipped at the soft swell of your lip, wanting to claim more of you. He needed more of you. You gave into him willingly, lips parting as you sucked in a breath. Alastor’s tongue slipped between your lips as his fingers dug into the hair at the back of your head, gripping you as if you’d somehow float away from him.
The desk rattled as your hip bumped into it, body pinned between the harsh wooden edge and Alastor. Pain flashed through you as the wood bit into your hip, drawing a moan up your throat only to be swallowed by Alastor.
He pulled away, gasping as he tried to claw back his control.
“Once we’ve gotten out of this mess,” Alastor whispered, lips so close to yours that you could feel the brush of his full lips against yours, “I am never letting you go.”
“Promise?” You clung to him as you breathed him in. “Do you promise?”
“I’d kill every person in this cursed city if I needed to in order to keep you in my arms.”
The dark promise wrapped around you, caressing every part of your heart and soul. There was no reason to doubt the honesty of those words when the proof lay on the ground on the other side of the desk, cooling more and more with every passing minute. It should have terrified you and yet you wanted it.
“I’d kill for you, too.” You whispered the words, terrified of them as the truth of them washed over you as each syllable passed over your lips.
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💔 Infidelity / Cheating (Eddie is in a relationship)
🛠️ Mechanic shop setting / Workplace sex
👄 Oral sex (including under-the-desk BJs with customers nearby)
🔧 Semi-public sex / Risk of being caught
👨🔧👨🔧👩 Threesome (M/M/F)
🫢 Secret relationships / Lying / Deception
🫦 Degradation, praise kink, dirty talk
🤬 Language / Crude dialogue
🧠 Dubious morals / Questionable ethics
🚫 No condom / Unsafe sex
🥵 Rough sex, manhandling, slight possessiveness
🧨 plot with lots of filth
🔥 3k words of filth so potent it voids your HR policy
(Divider curtesy of @thecutestgrotto 🥰)
It always started the same way.
A lull in the grind of the day. The clang of a wrench hitting the floor. The buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead. Customers gone, workers on lunch, phones quiet. The air in the garage hung heavy with heat, the smell of oil, and the unspoken tension between Y/N and Eddie Munson.
Y/N had only been working at the shop for a year. Hired on the spot when Eddie’s uncle Wayne mentioned they needed help with paperwork and someone who could organize the chaos the guys left in their wake. She’d been quiet at first—sweet and polite, with long red hair she kept twisted up in a clip, her curves barely hidden beneath the mechanic-branded polo shirts and tight black pants.
But Eddie had noticed. Oh, he noticed.
She was younger, sharp-tongued when she got comfortable, and when she leaned over the counter to ask if he wanted a soda? His brain short-circuited. The flirtation was playful at first, innocent enough. Harmless.
Until that day in September. Rain pounding outside. The two of them alone. Eddie leaned over the hood of a Charger he’d been elbow-deep in for hours, and Y/N wandered in with a clipboard. She cracked a joke. He smirked. And then she said, "You missed a spot."
When he asked where, she pointed to his cheek. Then wiped at it with her thumb.
The kiss that followed was messy. Desperate. His hands gripped her hips like he’d die if he let go. She pulled him by his collar into the bathroom in the back, locked the door, and for the next eleven minutes, they forgot who they were supposed to be.
And that was the beginning.
Now? It was practically routine. If business was slow, you could bet Y/N was pinned between Eddie and the wall of the employee bathroom. Or bent over his workbench, engine diagrams sliding to the floor beneath her. Sometimes, if the mood struck, he’d lift her onto the hood of whatever car he was fixing—tools forgotten, her fingers white-knuckling the edge of metal while he left fingerprints on her hips.
They didn’t talk about what it meant. Or how it felt. Or the fact that Eddie had a girlfriend.
Heather. Blonde. Preppy. Sweet, in a way Y/N could never be. She brought muffins for the boys on Fridays and kissed Eddie’s cheek when she picked him up in her little white Civic. She had no idea. Not really.
But Heather wasn’t stupid.
Twice now, she’d walked into the shop unannounced. Once just as Eddie was zipping up his pants behind the office door. Y/N had her shirt half undone, her lips flushed. She spun toward the file cabinet and muttered something about inventory while Eddie called out “Hey, babe” like nothing was wrong.
The second time, Heather had walked in just as Eddie finished pressing Y/N’s thighs apart over his toolbox bench. Y/N heard the jingle of the bell, shoved him back, and dropped behind the desk with a frantic whisper of “Fix your pants, Munson!”
Heather had blinked. Tilted her head.
“Was someone else in here?”
“Nah,” Eddie lied smoothly, wiping sweat from his brow. “Just me and the radio.”
Still. It couldn’t last forever. Y/N knew that.
She hated how her heart skipped when Eddie looked at her like she was the only girl alive. How he whispered things like, “You feel better than any girl I’ve ever had,” while pulling her panties down behind the garage door. How sometimes, after he came, he’d rest his forehead to hers and breathe like she was the only oxygen he had left.
But he always left. Got in Heather’s car. Smiled like a boyfriend should.
And Y/N was left with grease-smudged thighs, a clipboard in hand, and a growing ache in her chest she didn’t dare name.
Until the day came when the ache got too loud.
Heather arrived again, this time with cupcakes. She smiled at Y/N—genuinely. Called her “hon” and offered her one with sprinkles. Y/N’s stomach turned.
She turned back to the desk, gripping the edge, while Heather wrapped her arms around Eddie’s neck.
“I was thinking maybe we could move in together,” Heather said softly. “I found a place.”
Y/N froze.
Eddie didn’t answer right away. He glanced at Y/N. Just a flick of his eyes. Fast. But she caught it.
“I... we’ll talk about it,” he mumbled.
And Y/N knew then—knew—that she was losing him.
That night, when the shop was quiet and Heather had gone, Eddie found Y/N in the back room. She was leaning against the file cabinet, arms crossed, hair wild from humidity.
“You gonna say it?” he asked.
She didn’t look at him.
“Say what?”
“That I’m a piece of shit.”
She shrugged.
“You are. But that’s not news, Munson.”
He stepped closer. Hands in his pockets.
“Don’t want to hurt you, Red.”
She scoffed.
"Too late for that.”
They didn’t sleep together that night. Didn’t even kiss.
But the next day? The tension was worse than ever. And when Eddie yanked her behind the stack of tires during lunch break and kissed her like he was starving—Y/N didn’t stop him.
She knew she was playing with fire. She just couldn’t bring herself to put it out.
It was a slow Thursday. The kind of day where time moved thick and sticky like molasses, and the fans spinning above couldn’t cut the heat in the air—or the tension.
Eddie had been watching her all morning. Watching the way Y/N’s hips swayed as she restocked oil filters. How she licked cupcake frosting off her thumb without realizing he was watching. She wore that same tight little pencil skirt she knew drove him nuts, and he? Oh, he was already sporting grease on his jaw and a familiar ache in his jeans.
So when the others left for lunch, and the shop fell quiet?
Eddie didn’t even bother with pretense.
He tugged her into the garage—hands under her skirt before the door even shut behind them. Y/N was laughing, trying to scold him, but she never really meant it.
Not when his fingers were already slipping into her underwear.
He pushed her back onto the hood of a half-fixed Firebird, the metal warm beneath her thighs. Her shirt was halfway undone, bra pulled down, skirt hiked up around her waist. Eddie leaned over her, one hand gripping her hip, the other fisted in her hair.
“Tell me who you belong to,” he growled, rocking his hips into her.
“You—oh.. fuck—only you, Munson,” she gasped, nails dragging down his back.
And then—
CLANG.
The back door slammed.
“Yo, Eddie, you left the keys to the van in—WHAT THE FUCK?!”
They both froze.
Steve Harrington stood in the doorway, wearing sunglasses, almost dropping his coffee, and staring at the very naked truth unfolding on the hood of a Firebird.
Y/N squeaked, scrambling to pull her shirt shut. Eddie? He just turned his head, blinked at Steve, and grinned.
“Hey man,” Eddie said, totally unfazed. “You wanna join or just watch?”
“What the fuck—” Steve repeated, voice cracking.
Y/N let out a strangled noise—half shock, half a why-is-he-like-this whimper—while Eddie casually adjusted himself, leaning on the car like he wasn’t mid-thrust two seconds ago.
“Eddie!” Y/N hissed, smacking his shoulder.
“What?” he shrugged. “Stevie's cool. He looks like he’s into it. Look at him. Mouth open. Coffee shaking. That’s not a no.”
Steve blinked. “I—I came for keys! Not a damn porno!”
“You sure?” Eddie teased, licking his thumb and dragging it slowly down Y/N’s stomach, just to make Steve flinch. “’Cause we could always use an extra set of hands...”
Steve made a strangled noise and turned on his heel so fast he nearly knocked over the mop bucket.
“I hate it here. I’m going to church.”
The door slammed behind him.
Silence.
Then She slapped Eddie’s chest, breathless and red-faced. “You idiot!”
“You liked it,” he said smugly.
“I didn’t say I didn’t,” she snapped back, cheeks burning.
Eddie just smirked and kissed her hard.
“Next time, I’m locking the damn door.”
She huffed, but pulled him back down by the collar anyway
Steve’s POV
Steve Harrington had come to the auto shop for one reason.
One. Reason.
Grab the goddamn keys Eddie left in the back of his van. That was it. In and out. No drama. Maybe he’d swing by Scoops for a free cone on the way out, flirt with the girl at the counter, feel like he still had it after his most recent dating disaster—a yoga instructor who ghosted him mid-downward dog.
Easy. Breezy. Low-effort day.
Except no one told him he was walking into Eddie Munson’s Grease Lightning XXX Edition.
The second he stepped inside and rounded the corner—he saw it.
Y/N. Gorgeous, red-haired secretary Y/N, bent backwards over the hood of a Firebird, shirt undone, skirt around her waist.
And Eddie. That smug, curly-haired bastard? Balls deep and smirking like he was filming a scene for a VHS tape called Backdoor Body Shop.
Steve almost dropped his coffee. “Yo, Eddie, you left the keys to the van in—WHAT THE FUCK?!”
And then—and then—Eddie had the audacity to ask if he wanted to join. Like they were ordering pizza. Like this was casual.
Steve spun on his heel and practically bolted out the door.
His heart was racing. His face was on fire. His brain was running like a Windows 95 dial-up modem with a virus. And below the belt?
Yeah. Awkward boner city.
He made it three steps toward his car. Three. Before he stopped. Dead in his tracks.
His hands were shaking.
His pulse was thudding.
And that image—Y/N gasping, Eddie gripping her hips, the sound she made—it was seared into his damn skull like a branding iron.
Steve stared at the keys on the pavement.
He’d had a really bad streak with women lately. Like, “rom-com protagonist who gets rejected at the altar” level bad. He was tired. He was horny. And clearly, the universe had handed him a front-row seat to something… fun.
And Eddie had offered. Casually. Like it wouldn’t even be weird.
Steve looked over his shoulder at the door. Then up at the sky.
“…fuck it.”
He turned around and walked right back inside.
---
Eddie had Y/N on the hood again, shirt half-open, his hands under her skirt when the door creaked open.
“...Steve?” She blinked and tried To move
Eddie looked over his shoulder, eyebrows up, cheeks flushed. “Thought you ran off to confess your sins.”
Steve cleared his throat. “Thought about it.”
“Changed your mind?”
“I mean…” Steve scratched the back of his neck. “...you did say you needed a third set of hands.”
Eddie’s grin went feral.
“Ohh, Harrington. We’re gonna ruin you.”
Her jaw dropped—but her thighs instinctively squeezed together.
Steve stepped forward slowly, hands trembling just slightly as he reached for his belt. “Go easy on me.”
Eddie turned back to Y/N, voice low.
“You okay with this, sweetheart?”
She bit her lip. Her eyes flicked between them—and lord help her, the idea of both of them, hands and mouths and that slow, sexy smirk Steve had… it sent shivers everywhere.
She nodded. “Yeah. Let’s wreck him.”Three’s a Crowd, But Who’s Complaining?”
Steve couldn’t quite believe where he was standing.
One second he was dropping his damn coffee and running like a flustered virgin, the next… he had Y/N—Y/N!—on her knees in front of him, red hair wild, mascara already smudged, and lips stretched wide around his cock.
“Jesus Christ—” he choked, gripping the edge of the hood behind him.
Eddie leaned beside him, arms folded, watching like a man at a drive-in—except this show was way better than popcorn and car chases.
“Fuck, look at you, Harrington,” Eddie purred, licking his lips. “Didn’t know you were packin’ like that. No wonder you walk around like you’ve got back problems.”
Steve couldn’t answer. He was too busy trying to keep his soul in his body while y/N gagged prettily around his length, tears beading at the corners of her eyes—but she didn’t stop. No, she took it, pushing deeper, letting out soft, sinful little moans like she loved choking on it.
Eddie crouched down beside her, one hand stroking her hair, voice low and teasing.
“Good girl, huh? You like showing off for him?”
Y/N nodded with his cock still in her mouth, humming just to feel Steve twitch.
“She’s fuckin’ filthy, man,” Eddie kept going, grinning as he watched her hands fist in Steve’s shirt. “Loves being watched. Loves being full. Loves messy. You’re gonna ruin her makeup, Stevie.”
Y/N gave a particularly loud slurp, and Steve whimpered. He had never whimpered before in his life, and yet—here we were.
“Holy shit,” he gasped, one hand moving to Y/N’s hair before pausing, unsure.
Eddie noticed. “You can touch her, Steve. She likes it rough. She’ll let you know if it’s too much.”
With Eddie’s encouragement ringing in his ears, Steve threaded his fingers into her red hair and guided her, hips stuttering as he accidentally hit the back of her throat.
“F-fuck, sorry—”
She moaned in response, eyes fluttering closed, and Eddie laughed.
“She’s sorry you stopped,” he muttered, palming himself lazily through his jeans. “Isn’t that right, Red?”
She pulled off with a wet gasp, a trail of spit connecting her lips to Steve’s cock, her eyes shining.
“Don’t be gentle,” she whispered. “I can take it.”
Steve blinked like he’d been slapped. “Oh my God.”
Eddie smirked and stood up, hand coming to wrap around Steve’s shoulder.
“Welcome to the dark side, Harrington. We spit, we bite, and no one’s pants survive.”
Steve was too far gone to care. She had already taken him in again, bobbing her head with purpose while Eddie reached down to spread her ass, teasing the slick mess gathering between her thighs.
“Once she’s nice and soaked,” Eddie murmured, voice filthy in Steve’s ear, “you’re gonna bend her over this car, and we’re gonna share.”
Steve let out a broken sound somewhere between a moan and a prayer.
Y/N gagged again. And again.
And still kept going.
And Steve?
He was starting to think coming for keys might’ve been the best decision of his
She barely had time to catch her breath before Eddie had her up on her feet and bent over the hood of the car. The metal was warm under her skin, but not as hot as her flushed cheeks or the dripping heat between her thighs.
“Hands flat, baby,” Eddie murmured, guiding her down. “Show Stevie how pretty you arch that back.”
Steve stood frozen for a second, flushed red from chest to hairline. “She’s… fuck, she’s dripping.”
Eddie grinned. “Told you she likes being watched.”
She moaned when she felt Eddie’s fingers tease between her legs, spreading her open. “So wet already,” he muttered, tongue practically hanging out as he looked back at Steve. “You ever see something this perfect and just wanna wreck it?”
Steve stepped closer. His cock twitched, still slick with spit, and when he brushed it against her lips again—Y/N whimpered.
“Let me taste you again,” she begged, voice ragged and desperate.
Eddie’s grin turned feral. “You heard her, golden boy. Feed it to her.”
Steve didn't need more convincing. He pushed past her lips, his hand in her hair again, more confident now—thrusting slow and deep while Eddie knelt behind her and dragged his tongue through her folds like a man starved.
Y/N gasped around Steve’s cock as Eddie moaned against her, tongue curling and flicking in ways that made her legs shake. The sensation of both of them—one in her mouth, one on her pussy—was overwhelming.
“Fuck, she’s clenching,” Eddie mumbled, breath hot against her. “She’s close, Stevie. Feel her moaning around you?”
Steve groaned, fingers tightening. “She’s—Jesus Christ—she’s gagging on me while she’s coming.”
Eddie didn’t stop. He licked her through it, two fingers curling inside her as she trembled, sobbing around Steve’s cock with messy tears streaming down her cheeks.
When she finally pulled back, panting, lips swollen and slick, she looked up at them both with that wicked, satisfied smile.
“Switch.”
Eddie blinked. “What?”
“I want Steve inside,” she said, voice rough. “I want you in my mouth while he fucks me.”
Eddie practically growled. “Yes ma’am.”
They moved like predators with a shared kill—Y/N guided back onto the hood, ass up, Eddie sliding in front of her as Steve lined up behind.
The second Steve pushed inside—slow and thick and fucking deep—She cried out and nearly collapsed. He was big, stretching her so perfectly she forgot how to breathe.
“F-fuck—Steve—”
“She tight?” Eddie rasped, watching her eyes roll back.
“So tight,” Steve gritted out, hips rocking into her with shaky control.
Eddie leaned in, feeding her his cock slowly, one hand on the back of her head.
“There’s my girl,” he cooed, voice low and dirty. “Stuffed at both ends, just how you like it.”
Y/N couldn’t answer. Her mouth was full. Her body was full. Her mind? Gone. Absolutely obliterated.
They found a rhythm, Steve pounding into her from behind while Eddie fucked her mouth slow and deep, watching her take it all. Filthy praise passed between them—Eddie calling her his favorite toy, Steve whispering how beautiful she looked all fucked out.
And when she came again—tightening, shaking, moaning around Eddie’s cock?
They both followed. Steve buried deep with a strangled groan. Eddie gripped her hair and spilled across her tongue.
Silence hit like a dropped wrench.
Heavy breathing. Sweat-slicked skin. Y/N still bent over, boneless, between the two of them.
“Holy shit,” Steve panted, half-laughing. “I’m never gonna be able to look at this car the same way again.”
Eddie chuckled darkly, tucking himself back in. “You’re welcome.”
Y/N turned her head, face flushed and wet and smug.
“You boys always this fun on lunch break?”
Eddie leaned down to kiss her neck. “Only when you’re the main course.”
Girl I LOVE the murder stuff. Maybe it's just me having grown up on crime dramas and roleplaying assassins in games, but I love all the blood! Honestly I usually prefer that over the smut, even. I wonder what that says about me lol
What's really funny is the detail and shit was what I got marked OFF for in creative writing class lol The murders are so fun to write- it's not often I get to really write dynamic scenes like that
