Born to be a Nymph @born-tobea-nymph1 - Tumblr Blog

born-tobea-nymph1

Jun 22

h0lym01y

HEADLOCK : ch. 4

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!!

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