"I told you, if i can't fix your problems, I'll just get rid of them."
♜𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠♖— 𝚂.𝚁.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub!Fem!Reader
A/N: !Skin Color & Ethnicity Neutral! Inspired by a book idea I have.
CW: angst 18+ | Mentions of Spencer's canon TRAUMA/Cat Adams/Murder/Crime Scenes, PTSD, GORE, failing justice system, very vague Sex Scenes,
I'd often found myself in helpless situations. I was kidnapped, tortured, drugged, held hostage, almost sacrificed... The thing that always got me through was my fundamental belief in justice.
I never did bad, always played by the rules. I helped the helpless, I caught the bad guys, and I hated myself for every ounce of harm I had to cause to survive.
I am a good person, and yet it seems to bring me nothing.
She'll be out. In a couple of days, Cat Adams is going to be out of prison.
An error of the court.
The lawyer had been high on heavy pain medication during her trial.
There will be a new court trial, according to everyone involved, but I know better than to believe in it.
The minute Cat Adams is free, she will vanish into thin air. All my suffering, all the statements of myself and my therapist, and all the times I had to stand before court and explain the torture I went through due to her have been for nothing.
I'd held back the urge to scream, cry, and vomit as I was informed about it, and by the time I am home that evening, I solely feel tired.
How much do I have to endure?
How did I always be a good person, following the rules, and yet I'm still getting fucked over?
How do the people, molding their morals as they seem fit and simply doing as they please no matter the harm they cause, always win?
I need a calm minute.
Darkness is clouding my mind; a depressive state starting to numb my bones. If I can't rely on justice, then what do I have left?
As I open the door to my apartment, I'm struck with dread.
The light in my bedroom is on, the half-opened door allowing it to illuminate the dark living room, and soft jazz music comes from my record player.
Somebody is here.
Cat isn't out yet.
It can't be her.
No.
Oxygen becomes a luxury as my body falls into a state of panic.
I grab my gun and slowly walk forward toward the bedroom. I can't hear a thing going inside, can't make out who is in there.
Pressing my eyes shut for a second, I take a deep breath and then storm inside.
"Freeze," I exclaim, taking in the scene before me.
It isn't Cat, yet there sits a barely dressed woman on my bed. A woman I know all too well.
"What are you doing here?" I ask, having her not even look up from what she is reading. She hadn't even flinched as I'd thundered in with my gun pointed at her.
"Put the gun down, Spencer. You're going to hurt yourself," she states, relaxed, going through one of the FBI files I keep locked away in my safe.
"How did you get in here?" I question her, and she finally looks at me.
"You need better locks, baby," she lectures me more than disinterested.
She has never been in my home before... at least not that I know. She usually keeps her distance, keeps it more accessible for herself to vanish before the morning, leaving me to wake up alone in a hotel bed.
"You picked my locks?"
She scrunches her nose, feigning disappointment. "Every novice is capable of getting in here. I almost feel insulted that you're surprised I managed to get in."
I finally lower my gun. This woman is a menace, but my messed up sense of self refuses to let me feel threatened by her.
She is like a dark shadow following me for over a year now, yet, I don't fear her, detest her, or want to get rid of her. Somehow I feel a connection between us – something not only coming from the nights we spent together in hotels across America.
She is almost always where I am. In the beginning, I seriously thought we would just randomly meet every other month, but she is always there.
When I am out there, hunting an unsub, my dark, little shadow follows me; when the unsub threatens to get away or harm me, my shadow devours the threat, leaving them served on a silver platter – more times than not, this happens literally.
Sitting down on my bed, I don't worry about turning my back to her. The fright of might getting stabbed by her eased after the first eight months of our... relationship. I sigh deeply while kicking off my shoes, slumping together like a sack of potatoes.
As I rest my elbows on my thighs, face buried in my hands, I feel hers on my back, softly rubbing circles into my skin.
"Where were you today?" she asks, something close to concern in her voice. "You weren't at the headquarters."
I stopped questioning how she knows information like this a while ago.
"Court," I reply as she hugs me from behind, her legs on either of my sides.
"Why?"
I chuckle weakly as she pulls me back, having me rest with my back against her chest. "You can't bare it not to know everything, am I right?"
"Pains me," she admits, wrapping one arm around me, the other running through my curls. "Diana's doing fine, by the way. They have her on this new medication that is very well-spoken of in Europe, and it appears that there are almost no side effects and just positives. They also have this new home-movie system somebody so graciously donated, and now there are many, many movie nights with James Dean, Frank Sinatra, and Fred Astaire for her to enjoy."
Relaxing into her, I smile at the knowledge that at least one Reid is doing well. My shadow had me suspicious of her as I met her as a nurse at my mom's care facility four months into our thing.
That was when I started counting one and one together:
She was at the crime scenes.
She was at my hotels.
She was everywhere.
Wigs, contacts, accents, different languages (I've counted four until now, spoken without any accent, flawlessly), different handwriting, different body languages, different walks, different names and IDs.
My shadow is smart, but somehow I intrigued her enough to come out and play. Meeting me in hotel bars, keeping up her disguises, both of us knowing it is her – me, still not exactly knowing who she is.
"Thank you, love," I tell her, and she kisses my temple.
"Now, why court?"
"Cat Adams," I tell her, triggering one of her almost medically clean information dumps.
"Catherine Adams. Alias's Cat, Miss .45, and The Black Widow Killer. Convicted for murder – over 204 – two attempted murders, one murder by proxy, 2009 attempted murders by proxy, two abductions by proxy, taking hostages, assault with an unlicensed gun, drugging, conspiring against the federal bureau of investigation–"
I interrupt her, "I was in prison because of her. She is obsessed with me."
I feel her tense up but continue her sentence, "Found guilty and to be executed by–"
I interrupt her again. "Court Error. She'll be free to go by the end of next week."
"No," my shadow says, no readable emotion in her voice.
"Just found out about it today. The system fucked up, and she'll be out to roam the streets again."
The woman behind me exhales sharply. I search for her gaze and am met with the cold stare of a predator. "She will come for you again," she states.
I nod, smiling through the tears pooling in my eyes. "I don't think I have a chance of escaping her. Don't even think the justice system is able to fix this mess once they let her out."
Getting up, I start stripping out of my clothes and walk into my bathroom. I step into my shower and wash off the signs of me crying. It has been a while since I last cried due to a helpless situation.
I feel my shadow get behind me into the shower, her arms wrapping around my naked body, her body pressing against my back.
"It's going to be okay," she vows softly, her cheek pressed against my back.
"You can't promise that," I answer croaky.
She turns me around, the warm water now running down my back. I stare at her beautiful face and naked form. I'd like to say I love every single imperfection on her body, but the feelings I have for my shadow are running so much deeper than that.
Rationally, I should avoid her, should inform the team about how deeply we are involved.
I should think of the one time we caught her at a crime scene. How she was standing there between crucified men, who'd been wanted for sex trafficking children. How impassive she was as I put my handcuffs on her, telling her her Miranda Rights.
"We're fixing this, Spencer. I promise I'll help you," she coos softly, brushing my wet hair out of my face. "I'm very good at fixing problems. I swear if push comes to shove, I'll make it go away."
My shadow has an astonishing thrive for justice. She is a dangerous weapon, yet, I am able to feel safe in her presence.
She cups my face and brings my lips to hers. I let it happen, deepen the kiss, and I counter every touch. It's dark and animalistic when we are together; it seems brutal, downright unholy, when I press her face first against the shower tiles and take what I need.
I always considered myself a gentle person, a gentle lover. I always held back, always made sure my partner came first in every instance, but my shadow thrives on seeing every part of me, no matter how depraved and selfish. She provides me with an outlet for all my pent-up feelings. She sees my ugliest, most unlovable self and still looks at me as though I am the most beautiful piece of art she ever laid her pretty eyes upon.
The darkness enveloping me when I am with my shadow is the only time I feel safe without seeing the light. It's the only time I ever consider their to be grey in the term justice.
How often does justice fail to happen, even when brought to court?
How often does a victim do everything right, and yet the perpetrator walks free?
Is my shadow truly a bad person? She never hurt anybody who didn't deserve it. The only thing speaking against her actions is the laws against vigilantism.
Maybe I should've killed Cat Adams when I had the chance; should've ignored all reason and common sense and strangled her.
My hand between her shoulder blades, I press my shadow harder against the tiles. She groans in a mixture of pleasure and pain as I glance at the scar on her trapezius muscle between her lower neck and shoulder blade.
Under the scar is a tattooed number: 1.007
Once she was taken into custody, the team and I came to many realizations:
She had no fingerprints (the skin from her fingers had been professionally and cleanly removed when she was relatively young, leaving her with now healed but fingerprint-less hands), she had no real identity, was in no system, and she was an intelligent and well-trained soldier of whatever kind.
Within two hours after her arrest, Linda Barnes, followed by men dressed in black working under the President himself, had come to get my shadow and every ounce of information we had on her.
Number 1.007 has immunity.
Number 1.007 has many names and identities, but to the nation, she's a number.
Number 1.007 is a weapon that was once chipped like a dog.
I don't know what happened to her, what organization trained her, how old she was when taken in, if she had family, or how she ended up hunting on her own without supervision.
All I know is that my shadow found me, and something within me let her let her guard down. The trained weapon considers me hers, and I welcome her claim on me.
*****
Sent home from a case two hours earlier, I exit the cab I have taken to the FBI Headquarters in Quantico.
Emily had gotten a call from Barnes. That is all I know.
I enter the FBI's Assistant Director of National Security's office, being met by her cold gaze and two police officers.
They all greet me professionally. I shake their hands, although everything within me finds it revolting.
I sit down, and they offer me coffee. I decline and question their reason for bringing me away from a case—all three exchange uncomfortable glances.
Linda Barnes speaks first, insisting that she ordered it since she found it imported I'd come here and hear it first from the officers instead of the news. Her cold gaze looks more sympathetic than I ever thought her able to be.
Then one of the officers informs me: Cat Adams is dead.
I don't know how to feel. For a moment, it just feels like somebody pulled the carpet away right under my feet. I am glad I am sitting.
Dead.
They inform me about Barnes having given them my alibi (being in a different state, working on a case). They ask me if I want to see photos of the crime scene, thinking I'd recognize something – anything – as they appear to have nothing.
I agree. Barnes assures me that I do not need to feel obligated to do so, but I agree.
Somehow I don't feel like Cat is actually dead (that the nightmare is over) until I see her body.
Symbolism.
Cat Adams was murdered in an unidentified location but presented on a silver platter in the very courthouse she gained her freedom in.
The scene presents itself right in the grand entrance hall. Right in front of the statue of Lady Justice.
The Lady's scale holds Cat Adams's heart on one side and a stag of papers (her charges) on the other.
Her lifeless body has been gutted and placed kneeling in front of the statue; with a brush in her hands, she (or rather somebody, as she was already dead for a couple of hours at this point) used her blood as ink to write "Summum ius, summa iniuria." Latin for "More law, less justice." on the ground between them.
This is my shadow's work. I can feel her energy radiating from every detail of the crime scene. I don't mention her with any word, though I should. This should scare me. I should feel more than I do.
I can't help the cops with their investigation. Cat Adams had many enemies. She hurt plenty of people. Many were angered as the verdict was revoked due to the court's errors. People had called for justice, but the law had to let her go.
This could be the work of anybody she wronged. Just not me. I have an alibi.
Barns wraps the questioning up, sending me home for a few days.
*****
I already lie in bed when I hear my apartment door opening. My brand-new home-security system goes off, but somebody enters the code and it falls silent.
The door closes, gets locked, and the security system gets activated again.
There are no sounds, and I consider the possibility of her having left again until the mattress behind me sinks in, and she snuggles up behind me.
"What the fuck have you done?" I ask her calmly, making her giggle.
"Oh, big boy words."
I turn on the lamp on my bedside table, sitting up. Just now noticing the missing one on her side. How does my shadow manage to smile and be happy although she murdered somebody no 24 hours ago?
"I am serious," I say, angrier than I thought I was. "You killed Cat."
"I told you I'd help you," she says, her smile leaving her face. "Why are you angry with me?"
Pressing the heel of my palm against my eyes, I try to be calm, but my past trauma shows itself in pure anger, annoyance, and confusion. "You realize that this is not a normal conversation I should have with you, right? I should not have to explain to you why killing somebody isn't okay. D-Do I have to worry that one day you'll snap, and then I am next?"
I speak my last sentence without thinking about it. I don't fear my little shadow; I love this mystery of a woman I barely know.
Her face pulls into a hurt expression. "That's bullshit. You know I'd never hurt you, Spencer."
"Do I know? Fuck, I don't even know your name."
"That's because I don't have one," my dark shadow hisses at me, tears in her eyes. She takes a deep breath and then explains, "I told you, if I can't fix your problem, I'll just get rid of it."
She did.
She had told me the – for her so logical – plan.
"I didn't think you would go that far... Or do anything at all," I admit.
A sob escapes her. "I- I didn't want to do it." She clears her throat and starts again. "I wanted to do it for what she did to you, but I was willing to simply keep an eye on her until her trial because you like your justice to be legal."
"And yet she wound up dead."
"Because she showed up here. The minute she was out, she came here, and let herself in like she owned the place," my shadow says, adding, "I told you you need better locks."
"So you killed her?"
She looks at me, irritated. "No, Spencer. I tried to talk to her. I made clear that you're mine and that I don't want her anywhere near you. She was the one attacking me. I'm not letting myself get attacked by a psychotic bitch, so I whacked her with the lamp from my bedside."
So that was why the lamp was missing.
"So it was self-defense?" I ask, tracing the deeply dark, bruised skin of her shoulder as she pulls my cardigan (the one I thought I lost) over her shoulder.
"Don't know if I'd call it self-defense since she didn't exactly have the military training advantages I have, but yeah. Sure. But it's not exactly like I could just call the cops, you know?" My shadow lifts her hand as to hint at the fact that she legally doesn't exist, then drops it again. "I didn't kill her with the lamp, but, like, it's not like there was a way to step back from the situation, so I just continued as I usually would."
"And that was the scene before Lady Justice?"
She nodded, stating, "If you can't live as a good example, you'll die as a warning for others following down your path. I tried to do it your way, and it didn't work. I don't regret having done what needed to be done to keep you safe."
Cat Adams broke me. She had me rot in prison for months; she let me live years of believing she raped me; she made me a murderer, let me think my mother was dead, that I'd caused her miscarriage...
Cat ridiculed the trauma she caused me and did what she could to convince me I was just as much of a monster as she was, so I'd let her lay her claim on me.
The woman beside me sobs, a tear running down her face. "You hate me now, don't you?"
"I don't. Could never," I answer. I delight in the knowledge that Cat finally got what she deserved.
The monster haunting my nightmares and messing with my head for so long is gone.
She underestimated my little, dark shadow and put herself in a cage with a monster just as big and scary but way more efficient than herself.
In the end, Cat Adams chose her ending herself. She could've left but refused to let go of the chance to have me. She chose her fate by challenging my shadow's claim on me and forcing her hand to keep me safe.
"I can't believe that it's over," I finally say, realizing I am crying like a child as the woman beside me cups my face in her hands. "It's over."
People say to forgive and forget. They insist on never holding a grudge and moving on, being the bigger person. Forgiveness is a cute idea, but it doesn't change that you suffer the consequences of another person's evil doings.
I laugh through the tears, savoring the relief of justice.
Cat will never again be able to hurt me.
I can move on and heal without fear.
I wrap my arms around my shadow, pulling her into the pillows with me. She cries too. Fair enough, I cry harder, but she clearly sheds tears of compassion, of love.
Who would've thought that the most real form of raw, unapologetic love I'd ever experience would come from someone that officially doesn't even exist?
"[y/n]," she whispers, making me look at her. "I don't have a real name, but I like [y/n]. That- That's all that I can give to you."
"It's more than enough," I whisper back, pressing a kiss on her forehead.
She freed me from the specter haunting me in the only way she seems to have learned how to, and although our future is uncertain, I doubt she even knows who she is herself, and one day my shadow will have to step into the light: I have laid my claim onto her just as much as she has laid hers on me.
Summary: You accidentally show too much of yourself to Spencer, and he's such a good guy about it... you just can't take it.
A few weeks after you set Spencer up on his call with his family, you still couldn't sleep.
You'd think the exciting events of the last month and a half would knock you out nightly, but the darkness wasn't your friend and never had been.
Plus, it was Teddy's birthday today. He would have been thirty eight.
You'd only been married two years when he died, and on nights like this, heady with memory, you couldn't help but think of the life you'd lost with him.
You'd planned for a family, a big one you'd dreamed of. You spent days putting together a room for Alijah to have when she came home with Teddy, proud and excited and ready to be a mother for her.
I tried to go easy on the pink, but it's such a pretty shade, Ted. Do you think she'll like it?
I know she will. We can't wait to see it, angel.
But then you'd been called up for duty, went to Afghanistan, and you got shot in the darkness. They pulled Teddy early from his mission so he could be by your side, and his plane exploded on its way to the military hospital in Germany.
They said it was mechanical failure, an accident. You didn't believe that for a second.
Before he died Teddy sent you a notebook, coded in the cipher he'd created as a kid so his brothers couldn't read his journals. He said he thought someone on his team was feeding information to Sayeed and his merry band of drug traffickers. Two weeks later he was dead.
Alijah's case was immediately pulled from the urgent pile, and she was sent back to Sayeed. She was twelve years old at the time, and they sent your daughter back into the arms of a child molester and murderer.
You'd die yourself before that happened to her again.
It was why you kept a stranglehold on who knew she was there. You didn't trust anyone, not even your unit, to visit her. It took a year for you to entertain the idea that Peanut could be someone in the room, and even then you'd changed your mind a million times.
The decision to let Spencer do it was a calculated one. Luke Alvez had served with Teddy in Iraq, and you'd come across him over the years on missions and the like. If Teddy trusted him, so did you, and now Spencer had proven himself to you so many times you couldn't help but do so.
You didn't think you could be Alijah's mother without Teddy being her father. You just didn't have it in you anymore. You'd woken up alone in that hospital bed in Germany with a bullet just missing your heart, and then it had been shattered irreparably when two Marines in Service Alpha uniform walked somberly in and told you he was dead.
You didn't have anything to offer her except to keep Teddy's promise and bring her to safety in the States.
You were sitting outside, drawing Teddy's face from memory and leaning against the CHU, wallowing instead of getting some sleep. You didn't notice Spencer until he sat down beside you, startling you and making you drop your pen.
"Jesus!" you gasped, slapping a hand over your chest as your heart beat wildly.
Spencer flashed you a sleepy sheepish grin that only made it pound even harder, "Sorry. I thought you heard me."
"Put a fucking bell on," you grumbled, snatching your pen from the ground and snapping your journal shut.
Spencer just watched you, his brow cocked and an unamused expression on his face. You groaned and rolled your eyes, "Sorry. I'm just not in a great mood."
“Well, this might make you feel better,” Spencer said excitedly. He dug through his pockets and fished out a notebook, flashing it at you. “I finally figured out the code.”
You hoped the shock of terror that burst through you didn’t show on your face. Luke had told you he was smart but… Jesus fuck, who could crack a code by hand that fast without writing anything down?
Spencer flipped through the book to a post-it marked page and pointed at a passage, “This says, ‘I’m scared for her, Angel. Somehow the suspect is always one step ahead of me. I think I’m being watched… or I’m going crazy. Could be one of each or both.’”
You’d read all the journals thousands of times at this point. You could recite it word for word.
“Teddy thought there was a mole in the unit,” Spencer mumbled quietly, then looked up at you. “But you already knew that.”
You swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, "Every move I make, Sayeed seems to know before I even make it."
"Then how'd you find Alijah again?"
"I didn't tell anyone, not even the unit, where we were going," you started slowly. You licked your lips and watched him in the moonlight. You hated how little you could trust those around you. It wasn't how you were trained.
As a Marine, and as a soldier, you were taught to trust your unit. The bond between people serving with one another was strong, even when you didn't like someone. These people had to have your backs and you had to have theirs otherwise nobody would survive out here.
"My team didn't have access to comms until we arrived at the hideout I heard Sayeed was at. When we got there, the only people there were his followers and Alijah." You rubbed your face roughly as the memory surfaced, groaning, "They tried to kill her to keep her from us. They knew she had information and had been turned before. Sayeed didn't kill her because apparently she's his favorite…
"We did what we had to. The mission changed as soon as I laid eyes on Alijah," you finished, staring down at your hands as the image of her in that dim old house came to the surface. "It was like Teddy was calling me from beyond the grave. I mean, she was right there… she wasn't even supposed to be there."
"Did you serve with him?" Spencer asked, making you look up at him with a furrowed brow. He pointed at the notebook he held, so similar to the one you'd been drawing your husband's face in, "Teddy."
"Uh, no, but Alvez did," you murmured. You couldn't let Spencer know how personal this was for you, not now that he knew about Teddy's plan to adopt Alijah. "I met him on liberty in Dubai. We kept in touch and I served with Alvez on my last bit with the Marines before I got shot."
Spencer smiled dreamily and leaned his head on the CHU siding, "I've never been to Dubai."
You glanced down at your hands again, scarred and damaged from years of putting your body through abuse in warzones. The new one on the side of your head throbbed. You'd never get to show Teddy your new scars like you had that night in Dubai.
"It's beautiful," you grumbled at the dirt. Your chin wobbled against your permission, and you had to clap your hand over your mouth to suppress it.
Spencer was watching you, and you could feel the weight of his concern soaking you in that softness of his as you tried to hold back your tears. There was no hiding them, though, and they spilled down your cheeks in rivulets of hot streaks through the dirt.
"He was a good man," you whispered shakily, moving your hand just enough to let the words out. "He didn't deserve what happened to him. His family deserved better."
I deserved better, you thought selfishly. Alijah and I deserved better, dammit!
Warmth flooded your shoulders as Spencer's arm wrapped around you. He didn't say anything, just let you know he was there as you cried.
When he pulled you close, the cinnamon and musk of his aftershave flooded your nose with his comforting scent, your arms wrapped around his waist without thought. One of his hands trailed up your arm and into your hair, sliding your head into the crook of his neck.
With your nose underneath his jugular, you melted into him. You hadn't had a real hug in so long, and on a night like this you needed it more than ever. Spencer's strong chest beat in time with your own, seemingly deafening in the desert silence until your tears subsided.
You couldn't bring yourself to pull away, and instead as shame blossomed in your belly at finding comfort in another man on your husband's birthday, you nestled into Spencer Reid.
He held you for a long time, his thumbs rubbing soothing lines into your skin even long after you'd calmed down. It felt good to cry around someone you trusted, as odd as that sounded. For so long, you'd hidden your grief, not even letting it show at Teddy's funeral.
Instead, in your Marine dress blues and with a cane as you still couldn't stand easily from your wound, you'd stood as tall and straight as you could while you watched his coffin lower into a grave at Arlington National Cemetery. His mother and brothers had cried even though the boys were in uniform as well, but not you.
When the gun salute rang out, booming loud and causing everyone there who was not in the military to flinch, you'd saluted his coffin. You let Luke Alvez guide you to your car, and when the driver dropped you off at your now empty hole of a home, you dropped to your knees in the foyer and sobbed for hours.
You always regretted not crying for him there, for letting the shame of being seen consume you.
But…Spencer saw you. Without any effort at all he saw you, and he liked what he saw. He gave up his precious free time to hang out most of the night with you. You couldn't help but see the crush he had on you, and with horrified shock you realized you felt it too.
After a while, you pulled yourself from Spencer’s arms and grabbed your notebook, leaving him in the dirt and fleeing inside. Shutting the door behind you, you leaned against it and dove under the covers on your cot, hiding from the world and the desert and Spencer Reid… everything that hurt and frightened you.
You heard Spencer's boots clunk down the hall, flinched when his knuckles tapped softly on the door, but you didn't move. Instead, you curled up into a ball and coiled your muscles so tightly you were sure your bones would snap. You almost hoped they would.
At least then they would send you home and you wouldn't have to see Spencer or the unit for a while. You wouldn't have to worry about bringing them home.
It would be someone else's problem.
But then…you'd lose Alijah, again. You'd lose Sivan.
Lying on your cot and staring at the ceiling, you knew you couldn't let that happen. You weren't going to let the shame of being seen destroy these good things in your life.
You loved Alijah. Without knowing her, you had loved her all those years ago. Love, in its unbreakable true to form self, that had only changed shape.
It had made room for Sivan… and Spencer.
----------------
Spencer got exactly zero sleep last night.
He'd thought, perhaps foolishly, that cracking Teddy's code would make you happy. His crush-addled brain had conjured images of you laughing and smiling, maybe even hugging him. He had not thought for even a moment that the night would end with you crying and his hug being used for comfort instead of joy.
You had already cracked the code, and you'd tested him…again. He was prepared to be a little snippy about it, but as soon as he spotted you drawing somberly in the moonlight he couldn't quite bring himself to act like that.
Your hair had fallen over your shoulders, the pale wash of the moon mixing with the harsh overhead lights of the base and illuminating you in a glow that had stilled his good for nothing romantic heart in the darkness. He chose to make you smile instead, but it hadn't worked out like that.
When you pulled away he knew you were embarrassed, and he didn't want to push you any further. You were a private person, and he wanted to respect that, so when he walked quietly to your door he didn't really expect you to answer, just wanted you to know you could if you wanted to.
You didn't say much at the DFAC that morning, just leaned against Barretti's burly frame with your sunglasses on and drank your coffee while the unit joked around as they usually did. They didn't push you to talk, it seemed they knew better.
You didn't have a new FRAGO today, so you let them have a day off before heading off toward your office. Spencer was going to spend the day with the unit but he only lasted a few hours before he went to find you.
Spencer expected you to be at your desk, but when he opened the flimsy metal door to the trailer he found you lying on the floor with your legs propped up against the wall, snoring loudly.
He smiled to himself as he leaned against the frame. You were ridiculous, with your arms crossed over your chest and your mouth open wide enough to catch flies, rattling the metal frame of the trailer with those sunglasses still propped on your nose.
He decided to leave you be, and pulled out a chair as quietly as he could to sit at the table. Your snoring became the background noise of his research as he went over satellite data and Sayeed reports and case history. He didn't even notice you'd woken up until your palm slammed the side of the table in a death grip as you hauled yourself up from the floor.
Spencer jumped in surprise as his face was reflected in your lenses. You grumbled to yourself, dragging your body into a chair and resting your head in your hands.
"Why don't you just sleep in your CHU?" Spencer asked with a small chuckle.
"You keep me up at night," you growled into the table, making him laugh again. You looked up enough to scowl at him, snatching your glasses off your face and letting them clatter to the table, "You never shut the fuck up, Doc."
"Well if you snored like that next door I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway. We both might as well be awake," he snarked back, and finally you smiled.
You tugged on a file and pulled it close, squinting down at the information inside, "What are you doing here, anyway?"
"I wanted to talk to you."
You sighed and scrubbed your face with one of your hands, letting it drag down and pull on your jaw. "Look, I'm sorry I lost it. I had a bad day, is all."
"You don't have anything to apologize for," Spencer told you softly, and he reached out to bump his knuckle against one of yours. "People cry sometimes, and it's not a bad thing."
You bristled immediately, your shoulders coiling and your jaw tightening. You leaned forward and squinted at him, "Do you know where we are right now? You lose it, you get killed out here."
"We weren't outside the wire, Y/N," Spencer scoffed, leaning forward as well just to prove to you he wasn't scared of you. "But you wanna talk about getting killed? Not trusting your team is what gets you killed, and hiding information from me is a surefire way to send me home in a box."
You flinched, and Spencer regretted his words in an instant. He sighed and without much thought, reached out his finger to loop around one of yours. To his surprise you let him.
"You keep testing me, to see if you can trust me. That's fine, after reading Teddy's suspicions, I understand," he muttered, squeezing your finger lightly, and you squeezed back. "But I'd rather just do the thing I need to do to prove myself once and for all rather than digging up the same information you've already discovered."
You watched him for a long moment, your eyes heavy and your mind obviously full as it churned through the thoughts inside.
"I do trust you, Spencer," you told him, hardly above a whisper, as if you couldn't believe you said it out loud. "It's me that's the problem. I need to make sure you all make it home alive, and not in one of those fucking flag covered boxes. I need to stay… focused."
"I shouldn't have said that-," he started, but you waved your free hand at him to stop him.
"This mission has killed enough people. Hell, even I wanna go home after this and stay there."
"You and Teddy were closer than you admitted last night," he said, and you nodded.
"He was my best friend," you whispered, looking away. He could tell you were holding something back, so he found himself reaching out to cup your jaw to force you to catch his eye again.
"Then all we need to do is find Sayeed and take Alijah home to Angel. That's what he wanted, and that's what we'll do."
Your eyes welled with grief, and your tongue darted out to lick your bottom lip like you always seemed to do when the words got caught in your throat.
"I need to tell yo-," you started, but the door suddenly flung open to reveal a panting Morello covered in water stains.
You and Spencer flew apart like you'd been burned, caught and embarrassed at the act of intimacy in a warzone seen by anyone else. He missed the feeling of your calloused fingers against his skin immediately, longing to reach out and grab your hand and never let go.
"It's… it's fucking raining!" Morello gasped, not seeming to notice anything out of the ordinary at all.
You stood sharply from the chair, letting it clatter behind you. Grinning, you grabbed Spencer by the wrist and dragged him from the trailer and into the downpour.
Spencer had only been here a few months, so he hadn't thought much of the lack of rain, but by the giddy shouts and grown men and women running around it must have been a long time since anyone had seen it.
People rushed about, wrestling in the fast forming mud puddles and plopping down in the water in glee. You giggled madly as you dashed after Morello, Spencer struggling to keep up as he gawked at all the normally fierce soldiers running around like children.
He followed you to the makeshift soccer field the unit played on so often, and they were already running around and kicking a ball back and forth.
Garrett held up his fists in triumph as he spotted you, "I'm ready to drown in this shit!"
Peanut dashed over and snatched the ball from him, and soon enough they were all wrestling around in the mud and dirt, caked all over and panting excitedly. You tried to tackle Barretti for the ball and he simply remained his usual brick wall self and grabbed you and tossed you over his shoulder.
When he dropped you in a mud puddle, Morello was there in an instant to plop a handful of the muck into your hair. Garrett shoved Spencer squarely in the back and he fell over you and into the dirt.
He looked up just in time to see Peanut and Garrett descending into the pile, holding out his hands and cackling madly, "No, no, no, wait!"
It was too late, and the soccer game dissolved into a wrestling pit of them all shoving one another into the mud until they all eventually lay gasping and laughing on the ground. You slung your legs over his sweaty wet chest and crossed your arms under your head, grinning up at the rain as it poured over you all.
When it stopped after a mere hour, a chorus of groans and curses echoed around the base. The sun was beginning to set, arid heat rising again as it baked the mud into hard cakes along Spencer's clothes.
One by one the unit filtered out until only you and Spencer remained, heading out to clean up for dinner. The weight of your heavy boots on his chest was comforting in the dying daylight, and he could have fallen asleep like that in the mud.
"You miss home, Doc?" you asked quietly.
Spencer looked over but he couldn't see your face, just the bottom of your jaw and the steady rise and fall of your chest.
"Not like I thought I would," he replied. "I miss my books, though."
"You got a lot of those?"
Spencer chuckled and brushed back some of his dried dirty hair, wincing when his fingers caught in the thick paste. "I have seven bookshelves filled to the brim, and piles everywhere."
"Mmm," you hummed, then waved a lazy dirt caked hand, "what else?"
Spencer furrowed his brows at you, but you didn't even look his way. He didn't understand why you even wanted to know, and of course you didn't give much away. You never did.
"I have… a record player, a pretty nice clawfoot tub-."
"You a bath guy, Doc?" you interrupted him, sitting up on your elbows to flash him a mischievous grin.
Spencer got up on his own to wink at you, "Oh yeah, the best place to read is in a hot bath."
"Wow. You really are a giant nerd." You moved your foot enough to tap him on the jaw, and he playfully swatted it away.
You hoisted your feet from him and turned to plop next to him on the ground, sighing and looking up at the flashes of purple and blue etching their way across the fading blue sky.
"I would kill for a bubble bath right now."
"Same," you grumbled.
"You were going to say something earlier, before Morello came in," Spencer started, the feeling of your heat next to him reminding him of your earlier conversation…and the wondrous sensation of his hand touching your skin.
"Oh," you breathed shakily, and he could have sworn you blushed beneath the mud streaks on your face. "Just that… I think Angel is still going to adopt Alijah."
"Good!" Spencer smiled, but then frowned. "What about Sivan?"
"Her too, we just gotta find her first."
"At least Alijah will have the mom she wanted…" he murmured. Spencer broke out into a hearty laugh and you glared at him.
"What?"
"Nothing, it's just… Angel will become a mom and a grandma at the same time."
You blanched, "Oh dear God. She's only thirty two!"
You sat up sharply, staring wide eyed across the base. Spencer sat up with you and set a hand on your shoulder, "What’s wrong?"
"Uhm… nothing, " you blatantly lied. "I gotta go. I need to shower."
You got to your feet and hurried off without a backward glance. It wasn't like the usual way you walked away from him, it was anxious and you were twitchy with nerves.
Spencer followed a few minutes later, and he went to knock on your door to check on you but the shower in the latrine was already running, so he went to his own CHU and washed the muck from his body.
You were so strange, all the time. He couldn't seem to get a good read on you, and it bothered him.
Your caginess reminded him of Maeve. Though you were really nothing like her, your fierce protectiveness of your privacy was the same. He was trying to be respectful of it, but as had happened with Maeve he was infatuated with you, and it made him want to know more.
Spencer took a deep breath and let the lukewarm water flow over his shoulders. The dried dirt turned to rivulets of mud, and he watched it trail down his body and down the drain.
He tried to envision it washing away the queries in his mind, taking his crush on you and letting it go with the water and disappear into the pipes below. Soon enough, your face popped up in his mind, and as it had since he'd seen you in your underwear a few precious weeks ago, his body reacted to the image.
"Go away," he grumbled to his growing hard on.
That damned memory of you in your green Marines tee and black panties didn't want to dissipate, the clinking of your dogtags and the blush on your cheeks stained on the backs of his eyelids forever. You had tried not to appear embarrassed, but he could tell you didn't really mind if he saw you like that…and that was why he couldn't forget it.
Over the last few weeks your touches had started to linger, fingertips brushing skin and your body relaxing into him just before pulling away as you sat closer than colleagues outside your CHUs, talking and laughing into the night like teenagers. Each time another of your walls came down, another went up, but what he saw behind them was worth the aching in his chest every time he thought about you.
It had been so long since Spencer had looked at another person as anything but another human existing in this life. He saw you as an equal, a friend, and someone he trusted with his entire being.
Spencer even seemed to trust you with his heart, even though something told him it was dangerous, and you had too. He could realistically die out here, or you could, or the unit, and it would scar him forever. It would probably be the final crack in his facade of sanity.
But when he saw you smile… when your eyes crinkled at the edges and you let out those ridiculous guffaws of yours… when your snoring rattled the windows… when you bumped your shoulder with his and made a joke at his expense… it just ignited that flame in his belly that told him to ignore his screaming instincts.
You were going to break his heart. Spencer was going to let you.
Notes: How long do you think it'll take these two to jump eachothers bones?? How does it feel to realize reader will be a mother and a grandmother all at once??
Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Summary: A few weeks at the new house and Bunny's mind starts to play tricks on her...
It took a few weeks to get everything unpacked, mostly because Spencer kept pushing you onto every surface and into every closet he could and pounding the lights out of you.
You were so precious, your eyes glowing with childlike wonder as he hung Christmas lights on a precarious ladder, praying he wouldn't fall and break his neck. The fear was worth your giggling beneath him, and when he was finished you insisted he plug them in with you so you could do it together.
He barely got you inside the mudroom before he tore your clothes off.
When he helped you put up the Christmas tree, wrapped in a turtleneck as you wore a sweaterdress and boots with nothing underneath, it took everything he had to wait until you were finished to fuck you on the floor. After, sweaty and exhausted, he lifted you up naked as a jaybird so you could put the star on top.
He couldn't help himself, really he couldn't.
When this all started, Spencer's intentions with you were to just have another outlet. With you next door, his frustrations and the tightness in his shoulders eased every time he slipped inside you, so warm and pliant beneath his grip. You were addicting.
As time went on, he became increasingly drawn to you and your smile, the way you hugged him close and kissed his temples and cheeks. What started as a welcome release every few weeks became a daily necessity, to be with you every chance he could.
It had been years since he felt so comfortable with someone, and had his worries wash away the moment he saw them. They were still there in the back of his mind, but he wasn't plagued by nightmares and bodies and crime scenes when he was with you.
All you ever needed was for him to be there. Even after months of pushing you away and sleeping with other people, you just wanted him. He didn't even have to speak, you just seemed to like his presence. There were few people who had ever asked that of him.
At work, his brain was demanded to process at high speeds and provide answers where his team found none. He knew his team loved him and cared for him, but they always seemed to want his mind more than him.
In your arms, Spencer was safe, but in his you weren't.
He'd lost so many people just because of who he was, because of his job. Gideon, Hotch, Maeve, Max, Walker. He was dangerous to be around, and he'd nearly lost his own mother because of his job.
Cat and Lindsey might be gone, but Scratch was still out there. He was still hunting the BAU.
From your spot on the floor in front of the fireplace, Spencer hugged you close as he stared into the flames. You snored loudly in the crook of his shoulder, your body draped over his. This had been the last room to be christened in the new house, and you'd broken in a new carpet on the hardwood flooring.
He had you covered in a fuzzy blanket, rubbing your back lightly so you would fall asleep. He'd considered taking you upstairs to sleep in bed, but then he'd have to leave you alone up there while he smothered the fire.
Leaving you was getting harder. The near constant fear that something or someone would take you away threatened to make him run and hide, but he couldn't do that to you.
Sex had always been a release for Spencer. It was rarely something to do with or for someone else, a reflection of desires and trust. Instead, it was a primal release to clear his mind enough so he could continue working.
Since he started sleeping with you… sex became more. It meant more to him, even when he was bruising you and calling you filthy names. It became a mirror of his feelings for you, a way to tell you how much he cared and wanted you to feel safe and wanted and cared for.
The first step of his downfall was moving to the living room to fuck people so you wouldn't hear. The thought of you sleeping on your couch so you wouldn't have to listen to it and be hurt… it pierced something deep within him.
Soon enough he was sleeping over, which he hadn't really done before. The more he learned about how little you'd been pleased by others and taken care of, he started to overcompensate in bed so you would know what it was like to let go and feel good without having to think about it.
After the threesome with Luke, Spencer finally saw how little he really took care of you. The pain in your voice when you said he only came to you for sex… he hadn't even thought you would think such a thing.
That was how it started, but it wasn't what it became. Six wonderful months of spending most of his time with you and taking you to dinner, and Spencer found himself wanting more. He started sleeping with others less, becoming bored with it and preferring to be with you. Less and less had he kept you at arms length, instead preferring to be nestled into yours.
The problem was, he was so protective of you he could hardly breathe if there wasn't proof you were alive and well in front of him. It made him antsy and he couldn't sleep, for fear that if someone found out about you you'd get hurt.
As of now Luke was the only one, but with you moving in and him agreeing to only see you, Spencer knew that was likely to change.
The only reason Spencer had continued sleeping with others was so he wouldn't risk falling in love with you. It's the same reason he wouldn't kiss you.
Then this would all become real, too real, and he'd lose you like he lost everyone else. He was just yours now, and happy to be, but each passing day felt closer to the end. One day you'd leave because of his job, or get hurt because of it, and Spencer would spend the rest of his life being haunted by your ghost.
If he never kissed you, he wouldn't have to miss it when it was gone.
Sniffling to himself, Spencer pulled you tighter to his skin as if to make you melt into him. You grumbled and pushed at him in your sleep, but he held you close and kissed your forehead. That always did the trick, and you relaxed and sighed.
Rolling you onto your back, Spencer laid on top of you and buried his face in your neck. The fire crackled in the background as you stirred, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and groaning.
"Spencer?" you huffed, "You're heavy…"
"Am I?" he asked playfully, smirking against you.
Your legs were still damp from his latching onto your clit earlier and then fucking you into the carpet, and he knew you had rugburns in unfun places, but he couldn't help himself as the feeling of your used cunt pressed against his length, stirring him and riling him up.
Spreading on instinct, you clung to him as he lined himself up and pressed inside. You let out a little grunt, sore and tired, but still wet and open and ready just for him. You were so warm and tight, safe around him and far more special than you realized.
Bottoming out, Spencer hissed as he molded his body to yours. He needed this, this contact. You were here, you were safe, you were with him.
"Mmm," you swallowed thickly, smacking your lips as you sleepily let him do what he wanted to you and seemingly reading his mind, "I'm right here, Spencer."
Your fingers trailed up his spine, one hand lacing into his hair while the other rubbed his back to comfort him. You had no idea what you did to him, that just your touch could make him feel at ease.
"Need you, bunny," Spencer murmured, and you nodded with your eyes closed.
"'m right here, Spencer. You have me."
He gently rolled his hips, far sweeter and smoother than he'd done with any partner before, kissing your neck. You sighed and relaxed beneath him, your body wrapping around him like you were made to take him.
Still half asleep, you moaned quietly with each soft thrust. Spencer didn't want you to have to wake all the way up, so he kept himself in check even though it was always difficult. You were warm and soaking wet, gripping his cock with your muscles and pulling him back in each time he dragged himself out.
It always left him in awe, the way your body responded to his, wanting him just as much as he wanted you. You never shied away, never thought twice about rocking back and taking your own pleasure as he took his. But you also gave… and he'd never had that before.
Every partner Spencer had wanted what he did, to take and be emptied and carefree after, but not you. Without him asking, you gave to Spencer just because you wanted to. On your knees, with your hands or your mouth, with everything you had you gave so he could feel wanted and needed. He wasn't a tool to get off with, to you Spencer was with you in each moment. It was intoxicating and dangerous.
Spencer picked up his pace, watching you carefully. Your eyelids fluttered as you reveled in his attention, peaceful and trusting. Your slick dripped between the two of you, letting him glide and ease you open like the precious creature you were unlike the rough fucking he'd subjected you to earlier in the evening.
Red blotched your cheeks, your hair fanning out on the patterned carpet as you gasped. He felt you tense up, saw the way you began to shudder. Your fingers tightened in his hair, nails scratching down his back as you nuzzled your nose next to his and cried out quietly in the dark. You tightened around him as you came, and it took all he had to hold back as he groaned.
"Good girl," Spencer whispered, pressing his lips to your cheek over and over. "Good bunny, I'm so proud of you."
You whimpered the way you always did when he praised you, and it made his heart flood with warmth. When he buried his face in your neck, you clung to him and kissed his shoulder.
Your lips dragged sleepily across his skin, your light huffs with each thrust fanning breath across his ear. "My sweet, sweet bunny. You're everything to me."
Your happy grunt vibrated through his chest where it was pressed to yours, his own orgasm coming faster than he anticipated. He always came faster than he thought he would with you, and it took until recently to realize it was because he trusted you enough to do so.
"Hmm," you sighed, and he could tell you were falling asleep once more. Hugging him tightly before going lax into the carpet you said in a quiet voice, "I love you, Spencer."
Without warning, Spencer came hard. He dropped down on top of you as he mindlessly thrusted again and again until he was spent, his mind blissed out and shocked at the same time. You clenched around him in your sleep, and as Spencer's chest heaved he got up on his elbows to look at you.
Your arms slipped from his neck and fell to the floor, tired and fucked out. You didn't seem to know what you said or even care, dead asleep and looking like an angel with your red cheeks.
Spencer brushed back your hair and you grumbled as he tried to get your attention, but after a long day of fucking and moving you were long gone.
"Bunny?" he asked quietly, unsure if he wanted to hear you answer. "Do you love me?"
You let out a little hum, but all you did was curl up on your side and tug the blanket over your naked body. Spencer rubbed your back as he loomed over you, his heart pounding so loudly in his chest he couldn't believe you didn't wake.
"Bunny?"
You harrumphed and grumbled when he pushed on your back, "Spencer, I can't go again, I'm too tired."
"I don't want to go again," he murmured, leaning down and kissing your arm. "Do you love me, bunny?"
You were annoyed and half asleep, shoving at him halfheartedly so he'd leave you alone, "Of course I do, dummy, let me sleep."
Spencer huffed in shock, his brows furrowing at your tone. You only spoke to him like that when you were mad or half asleep, so he couldn't really blame you. But your words ripped him open, as if he were stupid for having to ask.
He pressed his forehead to your shoulder, and you patted him for a moment before going completely limp. He kissed your arm, his breath shuddering as tears welled in his eyes.
Pulling away before he broke down completely, Spencer covered you up while he smothered the fire, then carried you upstairs. He settled with you on the bed, staring out the window as he sat against the headboard. You barely stirred as he maneuvered you to lay on his belly, and he played with your hair as he looked out into the darkness.
This was exactly what he didn't want to happen. This was so dangerous, and you had no idea. There were so many awful things in the world, and they all seemed to come back to Spencer.
Maeve's death. Prison. Being tortured by Benjamin Cyrus' cult. Explosions, drug addiction, bullets tearing through skin… and so much more. How could he let that anywhere near you when you not only trusted, but loved him.
You were so delicate, so young and small. A part of him knew you weren't nearly as naive as he convinced himself you were, but just in case… Spencer had to protect you at all costs.
This house was perfect for that. There were only two entrances, and he had hidden cameras on them that told him when someone approached on his phone. The house and the neighborhood were both gated, with a guard at the opening who only let in residents and pre-approved guests.
You worked from home, so you wouldn't come and go so much. When Spencer was here he could keep an eye on you and one on the outside world, he would keep you safe and happy in this home you were building together.
Scratch couldn't touch you here. Not if Spencer had anything to do about it. You wouldn't end up like Maeve, with your brains splattered across his shoes and blood staining his knees as he dropped to them on that damned rooftop. You wouldn't end up like Walker with a broken neck, or Gideon bleeding out all alone in a cabin, and Spencer wouldn't help carry your coffin.
You let out a particularly loud snore that made Spencer jump and gasp, his arms tightening around you. You growled at him for disturbing you like it wasn't your fault, and Spencer chuckled to himself as he brushed back your hair and gazed softly down at you.
How did something so loud and guttural come from someone so sweet and small? Spencer supposed it had something to do with how grumpy you were when you were tired compared to your bubbly happy self when you were awake.
Spencer found now he could hardly sleep if you weren't there to snore in his ear, but he never told you that you did so. He was pretty sure you didn't know, which he couldn't fathom. More often than not you woke yourself up with a loud snort, then told him to leave you alone even though he hadn't touched you.
But now he slid down the bed, making you sleep angry, to hold you to his chest once more. He kissed your forehead as you settled once more and whispered, "I love you, bunny."
You snored in reply, your little chest vibrating against him. Soon enough, you'd start drooling on him, but he didn't mind. Spencer welcomed it, in fact, because it was just another reminder that you were there with him.
---------------
After you got unpacked, things got a little weird.
Spencer was on you, all the time. It wasn't always sexual, although because he was who he was it tended to be, but he was always touching you. Whether it was pulling you into his lap or lifting you onto the counter just to bury his face in your neck and hug you tightly, he barely let your feet touch the ground.
You weren't sure what changed that night in front of the fireplace. At first you chalked it up to your first major holiday together as a couple, but now that Christmas was only a few days away that theory went out the window. As far as you'd been concerned it was a normal night of screwing and cuddling and then Spencer playing with you after, but he was different.
He was still him, but he was more protective. He looked out the windows a lot and always answered the door before you could. He didn't want to go out for dinner much anymore, instead insisting he accompany you to the grocery store and keeping his eyes on every person around and a hand on the back of your neck.
If you were walking in the house, he'd scoop you up and set you on his hip, depositing you wherever you were heading, making sure to place a kiss on your temple. He was more affectionate, not that he'd really held back before, but this was new.
You didn't know what the hell was going on.
You were standing in the kitchen, stirring a pot of noodles and staring absentmindedly on your phone. Instagram was incredibly boring, and you'd wanted to get out of the house tonight, but Spencer was supposed to be back soon from a case.
You were growing restless in the house with its big empty corridors and the creaking it always made when it settled. At least at the duplex you were close to shops and markets, but out here you had to wait for Spencer to go anywhere as you didn't have a car from years of city living.
There was something about this place that made you feel small, and with winter you couldn't even enjoy the patio or a garden. You were lonely and he was gone so often…
Tap!
A tap at the kitchen window got your attention, making your heart stop for a second as you looked up in shock. It was dark, windy and rainy, so you couldn't see anything.
Turning the pot to a simmer, you went toward the back door, leaving the bubbling behind. Barefoot, you padded over and flicked on the back lights, flooding the yard with white halogen.
Rain splattered the patio with its frozen strikes. Snow covered the grass and the concrete, half melted with the break of day and refrozen after the sun had set.
Tap tap!
You gasped as you heard it again from the window in front of the stove, but when you looked over there wasn't anything hitting it. Making sure the door was locked, you went back over and climbed up on the counter to look out the window better.
Nothing but the snow and the big oak tree in the middle of the yard. You looked off into where the darkness met the forest line, your back fence reflecting the porch light. Was there something out there? Kneeling by the big gnarled trunk…
Tap! Came from the back door this time, and your chest heaved as you jumped once more. You didn't see anything out of the ordinary, but something felt wrong. The hair on your arms stood on end and you were on edge, suddenly feeling so very not alone in this big house.
A shadow moved, reflecting in the window. You watched it in horror as it approached behind you, going stock still as you trembled like prey.
"Bunny?"
You shrieked embarrassingly, scrambling away from the voice and kicking the hot pot on the stove. You clutched your foot and whimpered, looking tearfully as your eyes latched onto Spencer.
"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, squinting and coming close.
He reached out to inspect your foot, but you grabbed his hands and put them around your waist to hold you instead. You collapsed in his arms, clinging to him as you sat on the counter.
"You, you scared me!" you cried, bursting into tears. Spencer stiffened for a moment in confusion, but then he scooped you up and set you on his hip to hold you.
"Bunny, what's wrong?" he asked softly, kissing your temple as you sobbed. "I didn't mean to, I swear."
"I thought someone was in the yard," you sniffled, and his head snapped up as his body coiled dangerously.
He set you on the floor and pointed to the walk in pantry, pulling his service weapon out of its holster. You watched him with wide eyes as he snapped his fingers and pointed again, "Go in there. I'm just going to check it out."
"Don't," you pleaded, but he just pushed at your chest with his free hand.
"It'll be fine. I'm sure there's nothing out there."
You did what you were told, closing the door behind you and blanketing you in darkness. There was no lock, so all you could do was lean against the cool plaster wall and wait. The bubbling of your burning pasta echoed behind the thin wood of the door as you sat in pained silence.
It felt like ages that he was gone, and when you heard the heavy back door creak open and shut, then lock, your breath caught in your chest. Heavy footsteps sounded on the wood floor, coming straight for you.
The handle turned, and light flooded the little closet as you held a hand over your eyes.
Spencer stood in the doorway, holstering his gun. He held out his hand for you and helped you up, immediately lifting you and wrapping your legs around his waist.
"There's nothing there," he whispered, his big hand on the back of your head to hold you close.
You burst into relieved tears, and he just cradled you and rocked you. "It's okay. It's going to be okay. You just scared yourself."
There was a crinkling in his jacket you hadn't felt before, and you pulled back to peek inside his suit jacket. A manila envelope was tucked inside, and you looked up and frowned at him.
"It's for work," he smiled down at you, but you could see the worry in his eyes. "Crime scene photos and a file. I don't want you to look."
"I'm sorry," you sniffled, rubbing your cheeks in embarrassment. "I don't know how I got so worked up."
"It's okay, don't worry. I'm here, bunny."
Spencer carried you back to the kitchen and turned off the burner, using a hot pad to move the pot to a cool part of the stove. You shook in his arms, exhausted after your scare, but Spencer just rubbed your back as he took you upstairs.
"I didn't mean to ruin dinner…"
"Fuck dinner," he replied as you entered the bathroom. He set you on the counter and filled the tub, letting you clutch his fingers as he put bubble bath in and fluffed it up.
When it was ready, Spencer turned off the water and undressed you. With soft touches and gentle commands, he took off your clothes and then his, then carried you in the tub.
He massages your worries away, refusing to let you feel bad about dinner or getting upset. He washed your skin and made sure your hair didn't get wet, then took you to bed.
Whereas before you were worried about his clinginess and refusal to let you walk if he could help it, you were grateful that night. You spent all night plastered to his side, his big hands smoothing your fears and worries away.
He carried you back downstairs when your grumbling belly got too loud, made dinner while you sat on the counter and glared out the windows. He even fed you by hand, trapping your jaw with his fingers and making sure you were full.
Spencer kept you safe, telling not to worry, that he'd take care of you. He convinced you that you were okay, and you fell asleep in his arms and believed every word.
---------------
When you finally fell asleep, Spencer slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom to retrieve his suit jacket.
Pulling out the envelope, Spencer opened the little metal enclosure. He looked over his shoulder to where you lay, bathed in moonlight and snuggling a pillow in lieu of him. So small and vulnerable, naked and all alone in that big bed without him…
The snow had melted a bit on the manila, and when Spencer pulled the bundle of papers out of it it stuck to the inside. While you hid in the pantry, he'd already looked at them, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from doing it again.
They were pictures of you.
One was of you at the duplex, taken from the back yard as you cooked in the kitchen in a pair of leggings and one of his shirts. Your skin was a bit darker, and by the Halloween decorations Spencer knew that Scratch had known about you for a long time.
Another was of you and him hanging Christmas lights just a few weeks ago, with Spencer grinning like a fiend as you laughed below him. There were others of you through the windows, including one of you and Spencer drinking coffee at the bar in the kitchen.
He'd gotten an alarm on his phone just as he was pulling up in the driveway, that the lights had gone on in the backyard. He'd come quickly inside to check on you.
Then he saw you looking out the window, obviously terrified. He really hadn't expected anything to be outside in the blistering cold, but when he opened the back door the envelope sat on the patio table along with a note:
She's too pretty for you, Spencer. She'll look even better cutting her own heart out.
He'd signed it with a heart, the sick fuck.
Spencer dialed Luke and held the phone to his ear, watching you as it rang. He put the papers away and slipped them in his briefcase before standing in the doorway to keep an eye on you…just in case.
"What's up?" Luke asked as he picked up, but he sounded exhausted. "Bunny kick you out yet?"
It was in good humor, as Luke had told him he couldn't believe you even wanted to live with him after knowing him longer than two weeks, but Spencer wasn't in the mood.
"I need your help, Luke."
That got his attention, and Spencer heard him sit up as covers shifted around him, "What's going on?"
"Scratch found out about Bunny. He's been watching us."
Notes: Please tell me what you think! Do you think Spencer's reasons justify his actions to Bunny? Do you think Scratch will come for her?
a/n: so i just wanted to say thank you all so much for your support on his series, it means the world to me, getting to see how everyone reacted to each chapter was so much fun and it’s what keeps me going when i feel unmotivated <3
Summary: It’s the make-or-break weekend
Content Warnings: divorce, swearing, some mentions of birth, alcohol consumption
Word Count: 6.1k
Masterlist/ Navigation
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Spencer arrived early in the morning.
Even after three long phone calls, it feels like he’s overstepping, and he’s worried it will set them back, but he has hope. And that confirmed his decision. Spencer is determined to be there for his kids. Wife or not (but hopefully wife)
“Hey.” He whispered softly after kicking off his shoes at the door and walking towards the light turned on in the kitchen.
The childish butterflies in his stomach, which made it so difficult for him to sleep, peaked as he looked at her.
“Hi,” Y/n replied, controlling her facial expression as he walked around the corner. She chuckled when she looked down at his outfit. “Pajamas?”
Warnings: Extremely dubious consent, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, toxic relationship behavior, rough sex, dominating behavior, sex rules, dirty talk, choking, choking with a belt, spanking, blacking out, aftercare
Summary: Spencer takes you to the new house, and you quickly figure out which room to break in first... and things get a little out of control
A week after asking you to move in, Spencer took you to his house in a much too nice area of DC for you to feel at home there. The block was lined with large brownstones, intricate structures with their own fences and gates and a guard at the front of the neighborhood.
“Jesus Christ,” you marveled as you pulled up. Snow had started to fall, and Christmas was only a month away. The gated community had decorated itself with lights and displays, and only Spencer’s house sat dark and empty in the snowbed.
He’d had a company move all your things to the house already, and his as well from the duplex except the bed so he could sleep there when needed. In a big puffy coat, you turned to him excitedly in the front seat of the car and grinned, “Can we put up lights this weekend?”
He made a face, “We’ll just have to take them down in a few weeks.”
You deflated a bit and looked longingly at the house. It needed color, and you hadn’t had the chance to really decorate for Christmas in years. You’d never had a place to call your own besides the duplex and the other shitty apartments you had over the years, always dreaming of a real home to decorate and beautify.
You felt Spencer’s hand rest on the back of your neck, and he groaned in annoyance, "Okay, we'll put up the damned lights, but I'm drawing the line at an animatronic Santa."
You giggled happily and looked over to him. He was trying to scowl at you but his smile was peeking through so you bumped him with your elbow, "We're putting up a tree too, right?"
Spencer scoffed and nodded, "Where else am I going to put the presents I got you?"
"You buy me too many things, Spencer," you told him, but he just cocked his head at you.
"I don't buy you enough things, bunny."
He didn't let you reply, instead turning off the blessedly warm car and hopping out. He rounded the front and nearly tripped on the ice, flashing it a glare before opening your door. The cold air blew in and made you flinch, but Spencer grabbed your hand and pulled you from your seat. He laced his fingers with yours as you walked together up the walkway, and when he got to the front door he pulled out a d-ring with some keys.
One was purple, the other blue with a sunflower keychain while his had a stack of books, and he gave you the blue one with a smile, “This one’s yours.”
It was a simple act, but you couldn’t hold back your happy stupid grin as it landed in your palm. It was the same color as the sundress you wore the first day you slept with Spencer so long ago. Even though the small sliver of metal weighed next to nothing, the emotional weight it held for you was almost too much to bear. It was your key… to your home with Spencer.
He watched you expectantly as you stared at the key, pointing to the door, “Do the honors, bunny.”
Sliding the key into the heavy lock, the deadbolt opened with a loud thwack. The door was thick with a large window, and your jaw dropped as you peered inside.
The mudroom had a bench on either side with room to put shoes under and a coat rack, but it was empty. Another door lay a few feet in front, and Spencer didn't waste any time as he tugged you along and opened it, ushering you in out of the cold, locking both behind him.
You stepped into a large parlor with dark mahogany flooring, a long staircase leading to the upstairs while a living room lay to the left, a sunroom on the right.
Spencer's voice made you jump as he leaned down to whisper in your ear, "Which way do you want to go first?"
"Uhmm," you hummed, unsure. You didn't know this place, and to be honest you felt a bit uncomfortable in it as it was so much larger and more lavish than you could have imagined. "Left?"
"Left it is," Spencer chuckled heartily, and then he was pulling you into the living room.
Boxes lined the walls, some with your name on them, others with Spencer's. The walls were dark, a light gray blue and lined with mahogany trimming and hand carved moldings. A television hung on one side while your couch laid across it, the bright yellow velvet shining in the dim lighting.
"How long has it been since you lived here?" you asked, eyeing the cobwebs in the corners.
"I've never lived here, I just sleep here sometimes," Spencer shrugged, pulling you along. "I inherited it from a friend when he died."
"Oh," you said, coming to a stop. Spencer turned back to look at you, frowning. "I'm sorry you lost him, Spencer."
He smiled sadly at you, cupping your jaw with his free hand and kissing your forehead. He jerked his head toward the next room and said, "C'mon sweet girl, let's look at the dining room."
There wasn't much in there besides the built-in China cabinets in the corners and a hutch on one wall, the walls painted the same as the living room and a small bathroom off to the side, but when Spencer brought you into the kitchen you gasped as your mouth hung open.
"Holy shit," you whispered, making Spencer laugh.
The walls were a pale Robin egg blue with silver appliances and white cabinets. The countertops were a beautiful white quartz, and he watched from the doorway as you walked inside, running your fingers lightly across the surface. There was a bar peninsula at one end of one counter with little stools, room enough for all the coffee you and Spencer drank and to enjoy soft mornings together.
A breakfast nook overlooked the back yard that was now covered in snow, but you could see where the large patio sat behind the back door and the massive length of the fenced in yard.
You could see summer in your mind, the big oak tree flourishing with green leaves. There was room for your herb garden next to the giant windows at the back of the kitchen, even larger than the one you had at the duplex.
"I can't wait to cook in here," you marveled, turning to catch his eye.
Spencer grinned like a cat, "I can't wait to fuck you on these counters."
"Don't you think about anything else?" you scolded playfully.
He shrugged, "I think about you most of the time, bunny."
Pushing himself from the frame, he reached out for your hand once more and led you into the next room. They all connected in these types of houses, old and nearing ancient, but Spencer had kept it in top condition.
The last room downstairs wasn't just a sunroom, but a massive library with large windows overlooking the front of the house. A fireplace sat in the middle of the exterior wall, and you could already tell you were going to spend a lot of time there.
Your shoes clicked on the wood floor, echoing around the empty house as Spencer led you through. The stairs had two beautiful carved railings, and you delicately ran your fingertips along the cool wood as he took you up them.
The two rooms at the top of the stairs were larger than yours at the duplex, with big closets and their own small bathrooms, but the master suite nearly made your heart stop beating in your chest.
It spanned the entire front of the upstairs, overlooking the neighborhood with wide wall length windows. A four-poster bed sat near the middle as the centerpiece of the room. Two walk in closets on one end and the door to the bathroom on the other, the walls painted a bright light blue.
"Do you like it?" Spencer asked softly, setting his hands on your shoulders. You were grateful for it, as it grounded you when you were surely about to float away.
Turning in his arms you wrapped yours around his waist and squeezed him tight. He hugged you back and chuckled as you spoke muffled into his chest, "I love it, Spencer, it's perfect."
"We'll decorate however you want," he mused aloud, making you grin until his shirt. "The place will be covered in velvet before we know it, but I don't mind. It reminds me of you."
"Velvet is amazing," you declared, and he laughed.
"You can use the library or the little bedroom for your office so you can work. It'll be great, bunny. I'm so happy you're here."
You finally glanced up at him, and he was smiling down at you. You couldn't help yourself as you broke into a mischievous grin, "When are we going to break in this room?"
Spencer's eyes lit up, and before you knew it his hand shot out and gripped your throat tight enough to bruise. Heat rushed to your cheeks and the puffer coat became too much, but Spencer was pushing you towards the bed too quickly for you to do anything about it. Your gasp was quickly silenced by his choking grip, and he loomed dangerously above you as the backs of your knees hit the high footboard of the bed.
"Now I've got you all alone, bunny," he whispered hotly, his breath fanning your face as you clutched his wrist just to keep yourself upright. "New house, new rules."
You watched him with wide eyes, gulping under his strong palm against your vulnerable throat. Spencer kissed your cheek much softer than his tone, "I've got you all to myself…and I'm going to take full advantage."
"H-how are you going to do that?" you asked quietly, a bit nervous.
Spencer pouted at you mockingly, and it sent a delightful shiver up your spine, "Are you scared, bunny?"
You swallowed thickly and shook your head, "Excited."
Releasing you, Spencer reached out and slowly unzipped your coat. It fell to the floor with a loud echo that reverberated throughout the empty house as he pushed it off your shoulders, and soon enough he was gently pushing you down onto the bare mattress.
You laid with your legs hanging off the edge, watching him as he took off his own and set it on the side of the bed. You wore a pair of leggings and a sweater since it was so cold outside, and the house was chilled due to it being empty for so long, but it wasn’t the reason you trembled.
The dark look in his eyes could have swallowed you whole, and the way they trailed down your vulnerable body alone here with him… it had you feeling like prey caught underneath a predator.
Spencer slipped his hands underneath the hem of your sweater, his fingertips cool and biting against your body heat. You took in a shuddering breath as he pushed it up to palm your breasts, kneading them and moaning quietly to himself.
"You're so small and sweet," he murmured, leaning over you to press his lips to your sternum. "I love being with you. You know that, don't you bunny?"
He grazed his teeth along the sensitive skin before looking up at you, and you barely managed to squeak out, "Yes, daddy."
Spencer dragged one of his hands from your breast and over your chest, threading his fingers around your throat. It was gentle this time, and you extended your neck to make room for him.
"You fit so perfectly in my hands…" he murmured, "I think you were made for me."
You let out a happy chuckle and wriggled on the bed and he smiled at you, "Are you ready for your new rules?"
"Yes, daddy."
Spencer licked his lips before kissing your exposed nipple, the heat nearly sizzling your skin in the cool house. He groaned and his hips bucked forward. You knew that sign, that he was holding himself back.
"You are to be wet, open, and ready for me anytime," he growled lowly, a guttural thing coming from his chest. "I'll always take care of you, so you're going to take care of me."
"But I'm always ready for you," you frowned.
"I know, but things are different now. I'm all yours and I need you," he told you, and you nodded. "I need you to be here for me."
This time you weren't tied down, so you reached out and cupped his jaw. You wanted to kiss him so he could feel your words, your intentions, but he didn't want that. Instead you pressed your thumb to his lips and rubbed them so they dragged.
"I'm right here, Spencer," you said emphatically, putting every bit of yourself in it that you could. "I'm here for you, okay?"
Spencer kissed the pad of your thumb and nodded, then turned his cheek so he could lean into your palm, "You have no idea what that means to me, bunny."
You started to sit up, and Spencer pulled his hands from you so you could. You knew he still wanted to pound you into the mattress, but he needed a moment of sweet comfort and you were damned if you weren't going to give it to him.
Pressing your forehead against his you nuzzled close, holding him to you. You squeezed him in as big a hug as you could muster, and when his arms wrapped around your waist you knew he could feel what you wanted to tell him.
You kissed his cheek, each firm press of your lips staining a promise into his skin. Spencer leaned into each one, sighing and reveling in your attention. The scent of his cologne washed over you, his cinnamon shampoo flooding your nostrils as you kissed the shell of his ear. When you kissed that spot behind the back of his ear that he loved, Spencer actually whimpered and his hips twitched beneath you.
"I'm ready for you now, daddy," you whispered seductively in his ear. "Just for you, and only you, forever. In our house together, you can take me whenever you like."
A guttural snarl burst from his chest, and you knew you were in for it now. Suddenly you were being shoved back onto the bed and flipped onto your belly, your warm leggings pulled down just enough to expose your ass and your pussy to the cold air.
Spencer pushed up your sweater to show more of your back, trapping your thighs between his legs. You arched your back when you heard the clinking of his belt buckle in aching anticipation, twitching with excitement as his zipper pulled down.
His hand came down on the back of your neck to hold you down, but he didn't need to. You wiggled your ass to entice him, smiling when he groaned and pressed the blunt head of his cock to your wet pussylips. Unlike his apology the week before, he wasn’t slow. Spencer shoved inside you with one sharp thrust, splitting your walls wide and open and trapped around his thick throbbing length and making you yelp as you gripped the fabric of the mattress.
He leaned over you, shaking you by the back of your neck as he growled in your ear, “I’ll take you whenever I want, as slow or fast as I want to be."
You shuddered at his words, dripping at the mere thought.
"You belong to me, bunny," he hissed, but it was full of longing and care as he filled you. "I belong to you. We're going to take care of eachother."
Pushing back into him and whining, you said, "Let me take care of you, daddy."
He chuckled darkly and kissed your cheek, "Thank you sweet girl, thank you for taking care of me."
Without letting you reply, Spencer put one hand on your back, his big hand nearly covering all of it as he palmed your waist and started pounding into you. Each thrust made a small gasp or whine huff from you, the cool air fogging as Spencer held you down by the back of your neck.
Your dripping cunt pulled him back in, his guttural snarls making your eyes roll into the back of your head. You could see the houses outside the window, the neighborhood going on without knowing that you were being fucked into oblivion.
"My sweet little fuck bunny," Spencer groaned. His hips bruised the back of your legs with each slap of his skin against yours, the warming skin stinging in the cold room. "I can't believe I found you, I can't believe you're all mine."
"Just yours, daddy!" you whimpered into the bed, your voice muffled.
His hands left you and his hips stilled, the sounds of his belt clinking behind you. Just as you turned to see what he was doing you felt the leather slip around your throat, tightening in an instant and pulling you back. Your back arched as a near painful shudder ripped through you, Spencer holding your neck with the belt like a leash.
"Little velvet rabbit," he grunted, thrusting sharply to accentuate his point. You let out a groan as the fronts of your thighs hit the footboard, no doubt bruising them as much as the belt. "Daddy's little fuck toy…"
You yelped when he tugged on the belt, your hips pushing back to take as much of him as you could. There was something virulent coursing through you at his dehumanization, something primal and fucked up. Your head swam as the world went hazy, going limp as he screwed you like a piece of meat.
When Spencer’s hand came down on your ass, you let out a shaky moan, heat coursing through your body. The world faded away until there was only this, now, right here with him. His cock pummeled your cervix, your quaking walls shaking around him as you took what he gave.
"You're so beautiful like this. Maybe I should get you a collar of your own with my name on the tag," he chuckled darkly, panting with each thrust. "I'll get you a set of bunny ears and a little tail plug to keep you open for me, any hole, any time I want."
He hit you again, harder and the stinging radiated up your back, "What do you think, bunny? You want daddy to use this toy any time he wants?"
"Hnnnngg," you groaned, barely conscious between the subspace and his merciless pounding of you from behind.
He gripped your hair, making you gasp and drip your juices down your thighs, "I can't hear you, cocksleeve."
"Yesdaddy!" you barely managed to cry out. Your body was cold and so hot, tight and limp all at the same time, that belt squeezing your neck and leaving bruises to enjoy tomorrow. "Fuck your hole, play with my little cunt and my ass any time!"
He let you babble, knowing how you got once he dominated you into this headspace. Tears streamed down your cheeks as your breath escaped in quick pants, "Keep me on my knees, in a cage! Tied to the bed, I don't care! Just breed your little bunny pleaseee!"
You heard his shivering moan at your words, pushing him over the edge as they so often did. He twisted the end of the belt over his hand and held you taught and tight as he buried himself balls deep. His cum spurting into your cervix ignited your own orgasm, your heated body curling up the best it could in the position.
Your toes curled, your cries cut off by his grip, each new bit of spend flooding your cunt and soaking you in its warmth. Your vision whited out as you came again, barely breathing as your body lost all control.
When you came to, blinking blearily at the ceiling, Spencer loomed above you. He lightly slapped your face, speaking to you in quick tones.
"Oh thank god," he gasped as you locked eyes with him. "You scared the shit out of me."
"Mmm," was all you could reply, pushing at him so you could sleep, but he grunted and slapped at your hands.
"Let me look at you, don't go to sleep," he snapped. His hand slid up the column of your throat, pressing gently on the forming bruises. "Did you black out from cumming or could you not breathe?"
"I don't know," you grumbled.
Spencer sighed, "Bunny you have to tell me if you can't breathe. If you need a break or I'm being too rough, you have to tell me so I don't accidentally kill you."
You groaned in annoyance, "But I like it…"
Spencer broke into laughter, but it was a bit panicked. He brushed back your hair and you let your head loll to the side, realizing he'd slipped the belt from your neck and tossed it aside. He leaned over you and pressed his forehead to your cheek, one hand rubbing your tummy to soothe.
"You have to tell me, okay?" he begged, and you glanced sleepily at him, patting his arm in response. "You can't actually let me do whatever I want if it's really hurting you."
"But it felt so good," you insisted, and he pulled away to glare at you. You reached between you to touch his soft, pussy soaked cock, "I can go again right now, daddy."
"Oh fuck no," he said, pulling your hand from him. He stuffed himself into his pants and pulled up your leggings before scooping you up and carrying you into the bathroom.
A large clawfoot tub with stairs and a ledge sat in the center of the room, much bigger than even the ones you'd seen before like it was made for multiple people. A large shower with glass doors and tile floors sat on one wall, a bay window opposite the sink counters with their massive mirrors.
Even through your post-fuck haze you marveled at the beauty of it. Spencer held you like a baby in both arms, sitting on the tub ledge and corking the bottom. You clung to him limply as he filled it, going in and out until you found yourself in the water.
You hadn't even felt him undress you, nor set you down long enough to undress himself. Spencer set you between his legs with your back to him, his strong fingers immediately digging into your back and massaging you.
"Seriously," he murmured in your ear, and you smacked your lips as you tried to stay awake. "Are you okay?"
"I feel fine, Spencer," you rasped, realizing your throat was dry. "That was amazing."
He groaned and pressed his forehead to the back of your hair, "I don't want to hurt you for real, bunny."
"I think I just came too hard," you chuckled. "If your other partners can take it, so can I."
"I've never had anyone black out like you do sometimes," he said quietly. "I don't like thinking I lost control."
"Spencer, I don't think I ever had a real orgasm before I met you," you told him, and you felt his small laugh behind you. "You worry too much."
"You make me worry… I'm so scared of losing you or driving you away."
You groaned as you turned to straddle him and wrap your arms around his neck. He watched you with fearful eyes even as you bumped your nose with his, "I promise I'm okay. I'll tell you if it's too much. I just get so lost in you, I don't always realize."
"I feel the same way," he whispered. His hands rubbed lines up and down your back as he clung to you. "That's why this is so scary. You're so young, you can have anyone you want."
"I want you, Spencer. Even if you're an old man," you said playfully, and he chuckled embarrassingly.
"I'm twenty years older than you, Y/N."
"Like I said, old man." You pressed your lips next to his so you didn't push his boundaries, whispering, "My old man, though. Just mine, and I'm just yours. It'll only work if we work at it."
He smiled softly at you, bringing his hand up to cup your face and watch you softly in the dim light. The water sloshed around you, warm and safe, but really it was him that kept you grounded.
"I'm in this for real, bunny. Okay?" he asked tearfully, his eyes turning red rimmed and watery. "You're the only one I want, you're the only one I need. I'm in it for as long as you'll have me."
"Okay," you said back, smiling at him. "You have me."
He broke out in a devilish grin, "We're waiting a few days, but what room do you want to break in next?"
You tapped your jaw as you pretended to think, trying to decide how you'd entice him to fuck you before then.
"The kitchen," you decided. "Right on the counter, in front of that big window."
"Sounds like a plan."
Notes: Please tell me what you think! Do you think Bunny will start telling Spencer her boundaries? How do you think Spencer might take advantage of Bunny's new rules?
Warnings: canon typical stories, scars, homesickness, mentions of sex toys
Summary: A month in Iraq, Spencer starts to settle in. Later, you set up a surprise for him.
Two weeks after the explosion Spencer was fully entrenched in base life. After a month in Mortaritaville he was sleeping through the gunfire and bombings, staying up with you to chat after hours, and spending more time with the unit outside the wire.
He spent hours with Alijah, avoiding asking her about Sayeed and instead focusing on earning her trust. She looked forward to his visits, and her English was improving almost as quickly as his Kurdish. He poured over the notebooks you’d given him, slowly working out Teddy’s code so he could read the words inside.
A month in, and he was playing soccer with the unit, finally figuring out how to use his feet in a way JJ's gentle coaching never got through to him. Morello was teaching him how to play the banjo, and he wasn't very good but he was learning to like the sound.
Peanut taught him how to fix the radios that always seemed to malfunction, explaining how the software worked and the circuitry played into it. Barretti was teaching him how to use a sniper rifle, which was something he never thought he'd do. He and Garrett talked mostly about books, and exchanged every new one they picked up from the post exchange library to read one another's notes.
Spencer even started going on runs with you in the mornings, racing through the base and laughing at your jeers and teasing. His days were spent going over data, with Alijah or with the unit when you did your daily debriefings. He spent his nights with you, sitting in the moonlight and talking about nothing much at all.
He was starting to feel… at home here.
The thought was jarring. Who would have thought? Spencer Reid: Homeland Agent Enjoying Constant Danger and Sand in his Underwear.
Garcia would like that. It would've made her laugh.
He was currently sitting on a mountainside outside of Al Dhuluiya. About forty seven miles outside of Balad, they were on their third day of watching and waiting for some terrorist to poke his head out of a shack.
They'd been watching him, Abd Karimi. He was a pudgy man waddling around his hideout. Spencer wouldn't have suspected him of being one of the drug traffickers they were looking for aside from Sayeed Al-Mohhamed, but you'd informed him the man was on the run from Sayeed and may have information.
"This guy is so fucking boring," Barretti grumbled as he stared through the scope. He'd been in that position for a few hours now, lying on his belly and watching.
Spencer had been horrifically informed that if needed, snipers would do anything to remain hidden on the hilltops. That meant everything from not eating or drinking to literally crapping their pants to maintain their position of stealth.
On day one, Barretti had pulled a couple rolls of toilet paper out of his gunny sack and handed one to an uncomfortable Spencer and said, "Always bring toilet paper out here, Doc. You gotta bury what you use, but you gotta bury your shit anyways. Never use a leaf, because you always think, 'I'm gonna use this leaf to wipe my ass and it'll be fine…' it's never fine, man. You'll regret it."
Spencer had simply nodded and tried to put that conversation immediately out of his mind, but soon enough he'd needed to go and was grateful every moment of it for Barretti and his squirreled away teepee.
Spencer hadn't said much, as you'd told him to talk as little as possible, so he only really spoke when spoken to. It had been three days without a shower and pissing and more in bushes, all mostly in silence.
"People generally are pretty boring," he said, not bothering to look up from his book as he laid hunkered down behind some rocks. "That's what makes them fascinating. Take this guy for instance."
Spencer got up just enough to peek his binoculars toward the shack, using the bushes and sun direction to hide the glare off the lenses like Barretti had taught him.
"See the patio table?" Spencer said quietly, and Barretti grunted in agreement. "He has a coffee mug, different from yesterday, but the milk glass he's drinking from is the same as it was when we got here."
"How in the ever loving fuck is that fascinating?" your voice cracked through the comm in his ear. Spencer smiled, he hadn't heard you since you announced the spotting shift change this morning.
"I'd rather drink out of the same coffee cup for three days than reuse a milk glass," he said simply, and a round of chuckles went over the comms.
"Dude must be a psychopath, then. Right Doc?" Morello asked.
Spencer made a face, "From his file I'd say sociopath. Doesn't seem to be able to differentiate right from wrong, trafficks drugs and kids without caring about the damage done.
"Violent and hot headed, unable to maintain personal relationships due to the near constant threat of flying off the handle. Criminal psychopaths use quote-unquote normal life to mask their activity. This guy couldn't do that if he had a step-by-step manual."
"Sounds like the boss. Can't get anyone to give her a good lay because she'll punch them in the nose if they look at her wrong," Garrett laughed through the comms, but it was all in good fun.
"I'll have you know I make do, jackass," you grumbled, "The rabbit in my nightstand ain't covered in dust."
Spencer dropped his head as his shoulders shook from laughter, and a chorus of disgusted groans echoed through his earpiece. He was growing used to the crass jokes and unprofessional comments the unit and others made, and it was sort of a relief from the high and tight emotional constriction of the FBI.
"Waaaay too much information, boss," Peanut said, shuddering through the little speaker.
"We can't all be asexuals, Peanut," was all you said back, earning another laugh from the unit.
They were waiting on a relief team to take over for them. A team of snipers and boots on the ground guys would come in and take Karimi down, then bring him back to base to be interrogated. All they were doing was making sure he didn't have contact with anyone while he was here.
Peanut was manning the satellites in a safe location with Morello, while you and Garrett were on the opposite ridge from Spencer and Barretti, just watching, watching, and watching.
Spencer had reread the Redwall book you'd given him at least thirty times since he'd been here. Even with his aging mind he could recite it backwards and forwards at this point.
After another ten hours of watching the relief team showed up, and Spencer shook his replacement's hand without any thought. He'd grown used to that here, touching and being touched by people he didn't know. Even though after prison he'd gotten better with germs, this place was so dirty and his clothes were stained with blood and God only knew what else that he’d pretty much left that behind in DC.
They made their way back to base, and Morello decided it was time for a pickup game. Spencer jogged through their makeshift field with his shirt stuffed in his pocket and kicked a ball around while you debriefed General Dobbs on the status of Karimi.
His dog tags bounced against his chest as he ran around with the unit, and he had a big dopey smile on his face while he grappled with Peanut for the ball. She was almost as tall as him, and far faster and more muscular, so she stole it without much effort.
Spencer had long since gotten used to being sunburnt, as the sun was mercilessly attracted to exposed skin. His shoulders and his nose were nearly constantly peeling, and his aching skin rubbing against his scratchy clothes was the natural state he lived in now.
It was October, and DC would be cool and windy and transitioning into autumn, but here in Iraq the air was just plain hot and dryer than the dirt he ran across now. Stores would begin putting out Halloween decorations and costumes, vendors on the street corners would start selling the spiced lattes he enjoyed.
Spencer would give anything for a pumpkin spice latte at that moment.
Everyone around base was gearing up for Halloween. People made decorations out of recycled paper and hung up pictures their kids and family members had made for everyone to see. Morello's son had sent him a picture of his upcoming costume, and it was proudly pinned to the wall in the office to bring others joy in such a childfree place.
As much as he was enjoying himself and the freedom he had here to be Spencer, he really missed his family. Their weekly letters were a constant reminder of what he'd left behind… but days with the unit only showed him the possibilities of what could happen next.
He was coming into his own in a way being at the BAU never quite let him. Spencer was confident and strong here, a source of knowledge but not a fact and paper diving errand boy. You trusted him to know the same information you knew, but you didn't expect him to be the expert without any help.
This place allowed him to learn constantly, to grow and change and just exist with other wounded people in the desert. As much as he missed Russian movie nights and milling about at the Capitol Library, he found himself loving the opportunity to learn things outside of his comfort zone and succeed at them.
Spencer dove in to steal the ball away from Morello, but he biffed it and skidded his way across the dirt. A laugh escaped him even though the sand scratched his back, and Barretti hustled over with a booming laugh and a hand to help him up.
"Nice try, Doc," he chuckled as he basically lifted Spencer's much smaller frame with little effort. "Morello played for NIU, you'll never beat him."
Spencer shook it off and brushed his dirty hands down his pants, the sand combining with the sweat on his palms and streaking down the cargo material. As Morello jogged over, nearly doubling over with laughter, Spencer pointed at him.
"One of these days, I'll get that ball from you."
"Ehh, you wish!" Morello scoffed with a grin, and he clapped Spencer on the back with a sweaty hand.
"Doc's already gotten better in a few weeks, Morello. Could be a genius with his feet as well as his head," Garrett said, cocking a brow.
Morello looked put out as they all laughed, and Spencer didn't think twice as he said, "I'm a genius with other parts of my body, don't worry."
They all exchanged an amused look before bursting into laughter, and Peanut shook her head embarrassedly at his insinuation.
"Reid!" your voice called, and they all turned to see you standing on the edge of their field. You beckoned him with a hand before walking off without seeing if he was following.
When he looked to Garrett, the captain just shrugged and waved a hand for him to go after you. Spencer jogged through the sand to catch up, and as he reached you he pulled his shirt from his pocket to wipe the sweat off his face.
"What's going on? Is Alijah okay?" he asked breathlessly, moving the shirt up to dry out some of his long locks.
"She's fine," you said, guiding him through the base. You didn't offer anything else, though, so he bumped you with his shoulder.
"Are you okay?"
You laughed bitterly, coming to a stop and squinting up at him in the harsh sun, "I'm fine, Doc. You need a haircut."
His hands subconsciously brushed through his hair, an embarrassed heat pooling in his face. You just laughed again and said, "I can do it. Don't go to the barber shop on base unless you want Garrett's flat top."
Spencer made a face. He did not want a flat top, "Good to know. Where are we going?"
"There's something I need you for," you said, and as usual you turned on your heel and walked off without a backward glance.
Probably because you knew he'd always follow you.
His crush on you was only growing, and if Spencer let himself believe it, you might even like him back. He knew nothing would ever come of it, as you were as dedicated to your job as you were to your independence and privacy as he'd been to catching serial killers for eighteen years.
A guy could dream.
You led him to the office and instead of walking in front of him, you waited for him to go first. It set his teeth on edge, as you never did that. You always made sure you were the first in the door, on base and on tactical missions, you made sure to take the first hit.
You pointed at your desk chair, a thick Army-issued laptop on the surface of the desk, "Sit down."
Spencer cautiously rounded the desk, but instead of sitting he furrowed his brows at you, "Can't you just tell me what's going on?"
"Spencer," you huffed, and he nearly flinched. You'd never called him by his first name. You waved a hand at the chair and said, "Just trust me."
Now that he could do, easily and without thought, so he plopped down on the metal chair and eyed you nervously. You followed him behind the desk and squatted down as you logged into the computer.
Your perfume and sweat washed over him, and even with those pit stains and the dirt smeared across your cheeks, he found himself smiling as you leaned in front of him to set up the laptop. You caught him staring and stuck your tongue out before continuing.
"There's a few rules I have to go over," you started, and his smile gave way to a curious frown. You counted on your fingers as you said, "No disclosing your location, no discussing your mission, and because for some reason I always have to say this…"
You cocked a brow and flashed him a devilish smile, "Zoom sex is not allowed."
"W-what?" Spencer gulped, and you giggled before clicking a button on the computer.
The camera opened up to reveal yours and his face, and for the first time in over a month Spencer got a good look at the wrinkles near his eyes.
He was caked in dirt and sweat, the scars on his cheek and shoulder from the explosion bright pink and sticking out on his red, tanned and peeling skin. His hair was a mess, unbrushed and unwashed from the three days spent in the desert. You looked much the same, except you had a shirt on.
The computer beeped and the screen gave way to a familiar set of faces that made his eyes go wide and a grin crack across his tired face.
"Spencer!" a chorus of voices came through. It was the BAU, and they were on the jet with Garcia patching in from her office.
"Oh my God," he breathed, wanting to hug the computer in lieu of hugging them. "Hey, guys!"
"Damn, you two are filthy," Luke chuckled, and you grunted in annoyance.
"Can't all be living it up on a private jet, Alvez," you said, but it was playful.
"Wait, you're Agent Y/N?" Garcia gasped happily, and Spencer found himself searching her background to see what all had changed. She had a handful of knick knacks that were new, but he noticed a picture of him and her at ComicCon some years back on her desk.
"Wow, you're gorgeous!" Emily said, and your cheeks went beet red. "Luke didn't say you were a model."
"She's not anymore. The fuck happeend to your face?" he asked protectively.
Your hand went to your cheek, and you swallowed thickly. Quickly shaking it away you grinned, "Got blowed up, what else?"
"Was Spencer with you?" JJ asked sharply. Spencer groaned internally. He didn't want you to see them treat him like a little kid even though he was forty one years old.
"Who do you think pulled me from the rubble?" you chuckled. You tapped the table and said, "I'll leave you to it, nice to meet you guys. Good to see you Alvez."
Spencer's hand flashed out and grabbed your wrist, "You need me to come with you?"
You smiled sweetly down at him, "I'm gonna finish the pickup game. You've got thirty minutes, Doc, make the most of it."
With that you walked out of the office, making sure to softly close the door behind you on your way out so he had privacy.
"Ooh, Doc," Tara chuckled through the screen. "She's real pretty, Spence, even with the scars. She looks like she could bench press you."
"Everyone here calls me that," Spencer said awkwardly, and he rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. "And she probably could, honestly. Everyone here is ripped."
"Looks like you're getting there," Matt pointed through the screen at his naked chest. "What have you been doing out there, Reid?"
Spencer flushed hotly, quickly pulling his sweaty shirt from his pocket and tugging it over his shoulders.
"Soccer, some running. I've been working out with the unit in the mornings."
"WHAT?" Luke and JJ said together. Luke grumbled, "You hate working out."
"It's…different here, is all." He scratched his neck, because he didn't know what to say. There wasn't much he could tell them so he just told them, "I miss you guys."
"We miss you, too kid," Rossi finally spoke up. He was sitting near the back, leaning in his chair with his fingers laced behind his head. "It's not the same without you."
They'd said the same thing to him when he first left the BAU, and it had made guilt and grief rip through his chest. Now, it just made him sad in a different way. Spencer wasn't sure at this point if he ever wanted to go back to the FBI.
"Yeah, you look different," Emily sighed, frowning at him. "You look good, but different."
Spencer shrugged, "It's the sunburn. I'm okay, I promise. I'm actually doing really well here."
"Even after getting blown up?" Rossi asked with a cocked brow and that usual sly smirk on his face.
"Actually, it was pretty eye opening," Spencer mumbled, thinking back to Hitchens' empty eyed stare. The kid haunted his dreams.
He cleared his throat and sat up straighter, "I didn't think I could hack it here, but after that day I realized I was going to be fine. It's only scary if I let it be, and the unit's got my back."
"Ooh tell us all about them!" Garcia beamed, so Spencer leaned on his elbows on the desk and did just that.
He left out Alijah. He neglected to tell them about the quilt and the book you'd given him, that you seemed to understand parts of him without him needing to talk about them.
Spencer didn't tell them about your nightly talks, either. Those he wanted to keep just for himself.
Notes: Please let me know how you enjoyed this! Feedback is incredibly meaningful and only helps me write more!<3
Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
Warnings: Extremely dubious consent, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, toxic relationship behavior, crying, yelling, sex as an apology, cunnilingus, tie restraints,
Summary: Spencer promises to make some changes. When Spencer loses his temper following some aggressive behavior, he makes it up to you in the only way he knows how... and makes some more promises. Will he keep them?
You woke up with Spencer on top of you.
Surprisingly, it wasn't sexual. Instead, his heavy frame was draped over you as he snored loudly in your ear. You smiled to yourself and tangled your fingers in his hair, earning a happy groan as he settled deeper into you. You trailed your other hand up and down his back, leaving lines with your finger tips. Spencer nuzzled into your hair and sighed, his morning wood pressing insistently against your hip.
You couldn't fathom how he got the energy to be ready to screw at any moment. He always seemed so tired with those dark circles under his eyes, and every time his phone rang to call him back to work his shoulders sagged just a bit more.
You hoped what Luke said was true… that he was less agitated after he saw you. You were happy to do that for him.
As hesitant as you'd been to do a threesome with someone you didn't know, you were glad you'd done it. You liked Luke, and he was such a fantastic kisser. You hadn't realized how much you missed kissing until he'd given you one.
You still wished Spencer liked kissing, but he didn't, or at least he didn't want to kiss. For some reason it brought you a bit of peace knowing for a fact now that he didn't kiss anyone else…and that you and Luke were his only repeat partners.
Maybe he really did like you a lot, maybe you did bring Spencer a peace of his own just by letting him in your bed.
You felt Spencer's chest grumble before he even spoke, his lips pressing softly against your neck. He sighed happily and whispered, "Good morning, bunny."
"Good morning," you chuckled back. When you kissed the top of his head he got up on his elbows to look at you.
His hazels shone in the morning light as sun poured through the windows, gentle and sweet as he watched you. Brushing back his hair you smiled at him, and the smile he returned almost made your heart burst in your chest.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Sore," you laughed lightly, "I feel like I went ten rounds last night."
"I'm sorry," Spencer told you, making you still. It was so soft and genuine, and he'd never apologized for sleeping with you.
"Why?"
Spencer sighed, "I shouldn't have pushed you so soon. I don't want to scare you away."
A surprised laugh bubbled from your chest, and his brows furrowed together. He moved to pull away but you gripped his shoulders and held him firm.
"Spencer, all you do is push me," you told him, and he looked away in shame. You cupped his jaw to make him look at you, and his worried gaze locked onto yours, "I like exploring with you… I trust you to keep me safe. I know you'd never hurt me."
"Oh, sweet girl," Spencer breathed quietly, so full of emotion your heart swelled. He leaned in and kissed your cheek, and you sighed and closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling.
His lips pressed insistently into your skin, leaving tingling warmth in their wake. You relaxed into the pillows as he lavished you with kisses, moaning quietly with each one. When his lips brushed yours, you gasped and your eyes flew open, and Spencer rested his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose close and groaning.
Your legs spread on instinct, thighs wrapping around his waist and trapping his hard cock against your achingly sore and tired pussy.
You could see the pained way he held himself, struggling with something within. Too soon, Spencer pulled himself from your arms and tangled legs and got up from the bed. You whined pathetically and reached out for him, but he just leaned over and gave you a kiss on the forehead.
"Not today," he said quietly, and suddenly you were being lifted and set on his hip. You grunted as your bruised skin and tight muscles were forced to move, but Spencer just carried you into the bathroom and set you on the counter. When he moved to the bathtub and turned it on, you bit your lip and swung your legs, watching him pour in bubbles and fluff them in the water.
"I can take it, daddy," you insisted, and he looked at you over his shoulder.
His gaze trailed over your naked and bruised form for a long moment before he shook his head and focused back on the tub, "No."
You pouted, letting out a little grumble, "But it's the only reason that you stay."
Spencer snapped off the tub and shot you a squint. He got up and went over to where you sat on the counter, caging you in with his arms as he set his hands on the edge on either side of you. The warmth from his skin washed over you, bleeding into the fake marble, his eyes burning a hole through you.
"Is that really what you think?" Spencer whispered. His voice had a trembling fear to it, one you'd never heard, and it frightened you.
You shrugged and looked away, "Sex is the only reason you ever visit me."
You were staring at your hands, desperately trying to will your jaw to stop it's wobbling as tears threatened to form. When Spencer reached up and tugged on you to meet his eye, they started to fall, and he wiped them away with his thumbs.
"Y/N, listen to me," he murmured, but there was a begging to it, like he needed you to hear it. "I come here because I like being with you. I want to take care of you, to keep you safe."
You said nothing, just watched him with confusion. He was rarely so gentle with you unless he was emptied and satisfied, and you didn't understand.
"I'm sorry if you really think that. It's not what I want.” Spencer rubbed your cheekbones with his thumbs, gently massaging your blushed and damp skin. He clicked his teeth and sighed, “I’ve never been very good at relationships. The only way I know how to express myself is with sex, and that’s never going to be enough for me when it comes to you. I want all of you, not just what you can give me in bed.”
You frowned, your heart beating wildly in your chest at his words, “But this isn’t a relationship. This isn’t what a relationship is, Spencer.”
Spencer flinched, but he didn’t pull away. He pushed at his bottom lip with his tongue as he thought, and you could nearly see the gears turning in his mind as you waited with bated breath. After a long moment, he kissed the tip of your nose, pressing his lips to your skin as if he could melt into you.
Picking you up, Spencer carried you into the tub. The water was hot around your aching body, and even though it felt good, you laid stiffly against him while he held you to his chest with your back to him. His strong hands rubbed your shoulders and your back, as though he wanted to force your relaxation, but it didn’t seem to want to come. You felt his lips press to the back of your tangled hair, his wet chest sliding against your back as his arms snaked around to pull you tightly to him.
“I don’t give you enough, do I, bunny?” he asked quietly, his breath hot against your ear. You trembled despite the heat steaming the mirrors in your small bathroom, and he groaned quietly to himself and held you firmer. “I take what I want and I don’t give you what you need.”
“It’s okay,” you mumbled, even though you didn’t believe that. It wasn’t okay, the way he treated you. He left you empty when he rose from your bed and got dressed, each time he walked out the door you felt more alone than when he was with you. But for some reason… you always let him.
“I’ll be better,” he promised, but you didn’t want to believe him. You were already falling for him, probably already had fallen for him, and he had so much more power over you than he seemed to realize. “I’m still learning. I’m gonna take care of you, bunny. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“You always say that,” you said, and you felt him push his forehead against the back of your hair. “I don’t know anyone that wants to hurt me.”
“There’s all sorts of people in the world that want to hurt others,” he said back, “I see it every day at work. I’ve lost people because of it, but I won’t lose you too.”
“I’m right here.” Something about the way he spoke told you that you were being naive, but you wanted to comfort him. You settled into his body around yours and held onto his forearms as he sniffled behind you.
You could have sworn he was crying, but he probably didn't want you to see it. You just rubbed his arms softly until he settled, doing your best to make him feel better.
---------------
Things were different after that.
Spencer came over nearly every day, and if he was out of town he called you each night and stayed on the line until you fell asleep. When he came back he lavished you with gifts and even started taking you out to dinner, showing you off in the new dresses and clothes he bought even though you protested them.
You still had sex, nasty downright filthy sex, but it wasn’t the only thing you did together anymore. Spencer stayed the night more often than he didn’t, and you grew used to waking up to his body holding yours down, staining your sheets with his scent and your body with his kisses.
Some nights he woke you up to let you know he was there, riling you up and sliding inside like you were made to take him, but he wasn’t nearly as rough as he used to be. There were still times you were covered with bruises and teeth marks, and you loved it, but as time went on Spencer often rocked you into the mattress with sweet words and gentle hands.
He spent a lot of time learning about you and your interests, and you could almost see how he cataloged it to pull it out later. He took the information you gave him to get you things you liked, and you always told him not to buy you gifts as he insisted on paying your rent, but he never listened. Spencer told you few things about himself besides his interests, and that he visited his mother once a week, but he kept most of work to himself.
He was possessive, and it became increasingly clear how much so the more you went out with him. In public, Spencer tended to keep a firm hand on the small of your back or the back of your neck, keeping one eye on the men in the room and another on the entrances and exits. You knew his job made him protective, and the more you learned about his work with the FBI you supposed you understood why.
He hunted dangerous people, and he knew what could happen to girls who didn’t have anyone around to protect them. That’s what he told you time and time again, that he wanted to keep you safe, to protect you from the world outside the walls of your apartment.
You’d been extending your lease month to month, and before you knew it six months had gone by since you started sleeping with Spencer. Summer had turned to fall and then winter, and suddenly December was upon you. It had been months since your threesome with Luke, months since you’d had someone hold your jaw and kiss the life out of you.
Spencer still didn’t kiss you. You were trying really hard not to notice or mind, but… you missed it.
You were sitting in your living room, lounging on the couch and watching television. It was Sunday, and Spencer was visiting his mother. He'd been gone all week, so you hadn't seen him but the times you'd talked on the phone he was exhausted and worried about you.
He tended to get like that the longer he was gone, asking multiple times if you'd locked the doors and windows. You'd given him a key long ago so he usually came through the front door and not the back anymore.
The turning of the handle got your attention, and you sat up straight to grin at him as he came inside. Spencer glared at you as he spotted you on the couch, kicking the door shut behind him and pointedly locking it.
"What did I tell you about locking the door?" he snapped as he dropped his bag on the kitchen floor, stomping over to you.
Heat rushed to your cheeks as he loomed above you, so much larger and stronger than you could hope to be. You wrung your hands in your lap and pouted up at him, "I'm sorry, I forgot."
Suddenly his hands were on you, gripping your shoulders and shaking you as he got in your face. "You forgot!?"
His nose nearly touched yours as his face turned red, and you went stock still as he shook you again, "You can't just forget, Y/N! You don't know what's out there, you have to lock the door!"
"I'm sorry!" You burst into tears before you could say anything else, his fierce anger too much after a week without him in mostly quiet, "I'm, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"
Spencer softened, and then he was kneeling before the couch and holding you to his chest. His fingers threaded into your hair, his other hand smoothing firm lines up and down your back.
"No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he hushed as you blubbered against him. His sudden shifts in demeanor always shocked you, but by now you should have seen them coming. He'd always been unpredictable, and lately you could hardly get a good read on him.
"I had a bad case," he murmured against your ear. His warmth helped calm you down as he spoke softly to you, "I just… I can't protect you when I'm gone. I need you to keep yourself safe when I can't."
You hiccupped into his chest, covering your face with your hands as you tried to quell your tears. Spencer rocked you back and forth and whispered, "I'm sorry, bunny, I shouldn't have lost my temper. I'm sorry, okay?"
"Okay," you sniffled, but you didn't say anything else.
Spencer pulled back enough to look at you, and you peeked through your hands, expecting anger once more, but he was watching you softly.
"Can I make it up to you, bunny?"
You shook your head, "No, I'm okay. You scared me."
Spencer got down on his knees and put himself between your legs. You were obeying his rule, only wearing one of his sweaters and nothing else. He ran his hands up and down your thighs, squeezing you lightly.
Leaning down, he pressed his lips to one of your knees, then the other. His voice was husky and regretful as he said, "Let me make it up to you, please."
You shook your head again, not wanting him to feel guilty. He'd told you time and time again to lock the doors. All he wanted was for you to be safe and you couldn't seem to do something as simple as that.
"C'mon, bunny," he implored, moving his lips further up your thighs, pressing apologies into your skin. "I'm so sorry, let me make it up to you."
Your legs spread on instinct as he nuzzled between them, but your chin still trembled as you couldn't seem to stop the guilty tears that kept forming in your eyes. Spencer looked up at you from his spot on his knees, so painfully sorry you felt bad for being upset.
"I'm sorry," you cried, covering your face with your hands once more. He rarely yelled at you. When he was angry he usually spoke firm but never raised his voice, and when he did it always sent your system into a shock.
Spencer scooped you up and set you on his hip as you sobbed into his shoulder, carrying you into the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes before sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, clutching you tightly.
"I should have listened, I'm sorry," you whimpered, but Spencer just shook his head and kept rubbing your back as he usually did when you cried.
"You'll do better next time, won't you?" Spencer asked quietly, but it was more of a command. "You listen when I tell you things and everything will be okay, bunny."
"Okay," you agreed, and finally you pulled yourself up enough to look at him.
Spencer smiled and brushed back some of your hair, "You know why, don't you, sweet girl?"
"Because you know what's best for me," you said sweetly, "you take care of what you own, like a good daddy."
"And I own you, don't I, bunny?"
You nodded, "Yes, daddy."
Spencer laughed as he bumped your chin with his knuckles, "You're such a sweet girl. I just want to keep you safe."
You smoothed your hands over his chest before tugging on his tie. As it came undone, you leaned in to kiss his neck, licking his skin before you moved on to the spot behind his ears that nearly made him kick his leg like a dog.
"I know, daddy. You just want to take care of me," you whispered hotly in his ear, and to your delight he shivered and let out a surprised groan.
When you slipped his tie from the collar, Spencer took it and shoved you down on the bed. Without a word, he slipped the fabric through the slats of the headboard that he bought you because he grew frustrated with under the mattress restraints. You put your hands above your head automatically, and after pulling the sweater off, he quickly knotted them together with the purple slip of material.
Forcing his way between your thighs, Spencer sat on his knees and unbuttoned his shirt before throwing it off the bed, revealing his soft fuzzy chest. You wanted to reach out and touch him, frowning as you tugged on the tie.
"Calm down," he soothed, rubbing a soft hand over your belly. "I need to show you how sorry I am, bunny."
"I should have listened," you insisted, but he shook his head as he leaned over you to lick a hot stripe from your belly button to your sternum. It left a cool trail in its wake, and your body arched to keep as much contact with him as you could.
"I'm sorry I scared you," he murmured into your skin, laving his perfect tongue around one of your breasts. When his mouth closed around the bud and the hot flick of his tongue hit you, you let out a moan and relaxed into the mattress.
"I'm sorry I yelled," he whispered before moving on to the other one, this time suckling and rolling you between his teeth.
Your sex dripped between your legs, trapped underneath his clothed hardening length. Even though you wanted to wrap yourself around him, you let your thighs hang open as you knew where he was going next.
"I need you so much, bunny," Spencer said as he pulled himself off you, covering your body with his and brushing back your hair. He gazed longingly into your eyes before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, "The very thought that anything could happen to you… it tears me up inside."
"I'm safe with you," you mewled back, and his eyes turned watery and sad.
"I'm not always here," he said firmly. "I need to know you're going to be okay when I'm not around."
You hated how scared he seemed to be, and the closer you got, the more frightened Spencer became. You longed to touch him, to reach out and prove to him that you were safe, that everything was okay. His mind was playing tricks on him, telling him you were in danger, but he'd never tell you what that was.
"Losing you would kill me," Spencer breathed as he watched you. Your heart broke for him, so you nuzzled your nose with his.
"I'm right here, Spencer," you whispered. "I'm right here."
Spencer softly smiled, but in a way that told you he knew far more than you ever could, "I know. I'm going to keep it that way."
Before you could reply he hopped off the bed and got rid of his pants and underwear, then climbed back to settle between your legs. Kissing the apex of your thighs, he nosed your slit and breathed you in.
"Say you forgive me, bunny," he murmured. Nuzzling your clit gently, he watched you with wide apologetic eyes, "Please, sweet girl, I'm so sorry. Let me prove it."
"I forgive you," you told him with a smile, watching him with your biceps pressed against your head. The tie dug into your wrists, and you knew you'd have bruises tomorrow. You couldn't wait.
Spencer flashed you a devilish smirk, but unlike most times when he ate you out he started gently this time. He licked kittenlike stripes along your exposed pussy, toying with you until you whined and pushed yourself closer to his face.
"Hmmm!" you groaned in frustration, and you felt his chuckle against your lips.
When his tongue slipped inside you let out a sigh of relief, and Spencer wasted no time. Steadily, he fucked you with his tongue, opening you up and stretching you. The hot muscle lulled you to complacency, wet and warm and safe.
Spencer quickly replaced his tongue with two fingers, slipping them inside with ease. A cry burst from your chest when he latched onto your clit, suckling and flicking and driving you crazy. Your legs hung open uselessly as he drove into you time and time again, the sheets drenched underneath.
Spencer's groans reverberated through your cunt, and you moaned in tune with him as he scissored you. He drank you like nectar, like you were the only thing sustaining him. Your cheeks bloomed with heat and stained your biceps where they pressed against your face as you tugged on the restraints, your orgasm coming so much faster than you wanted it to.
Pulling out of you suddenly, Spencer crawled above you, kissing away your whines of annoyance. "Don't worry, bunny, daddy's right here."
"I need you," you whimpered, but he just chuckled.
"I know, I know," he murmured, lining his cock up with your soaking hole.
His arms shook as he pressed inside, setting his forehead against yours. You breathed in one another's gasps, his lips so so close, but you let him do what he wanted. It was his apology.
Your walls quaked with each slow, small thrust, Spencer drawing out his own pleasure to stretch you gently and take his time. The wet sounds of your pussy sucking him back in made your jaw drop, and you watched him in blissed agony while he bottomed out.
Spencer rested his weight on top of you, warming his cock as he kissed your face. Dragging his lips down your cheek and to your neck, he groaned into your ear, "You have no idea what you do to me, bunny…"
Pulling out achingly slow, Spencer grazed his teeth along your jugular. When you moaned and closed your eyes he chuckled, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, sweet girl. You make me so happy, I just can't handle the thought of you not being here one day."
"I am?" you asked, opening your eyes slowly and blinking in confusion. "I do?"
He nodded as he pushed back in, watching every small gasp and whine that escaped you as he slowly rocked you into the bed. As he usually did when he wanted you to feel cared for, Spencer kissed the tip of your nose and nuzzled close, thrusting into you so sweetly and gently the sensation threatened to swallow you whole.
"I can't breathe when you're not around," he whispered, moving to kiss the side of your nose and then the other. You clung tightly to the tie around your wrists as your head swam with fuzzy white light, your real consciousness long gone with the way he always seemed to make you malfunction.
"I'm better with you, I'm stronger," Spencer insisted, watching you carefully so you listened even in your subspace. His thick length split you open, holding you wide just for him as he fucked you like you were the most precious thing in the world. "You're mine, and I'm yours."
When he bumped your nose with his, you gasped. His admission shocked you. He'd only ever said he owned you, that you belonged to him. Never had he allowed you to think for one moment that you had him the same way.
Your walls swelled, wet and twitching around him as your orgasm came without warning. Spencer picked up his pace but still stayed gentle, drawing this out, saying sorry with his body and letting yours lead him to your pleasure.
When the wave crested and you cried out, Spencer pressed his forehead against yours, his jaw dropping as he felt you cum around him, reveling in the feeling. He grunted as he fucked you through it, letting you moan and shake and take what you needed from him.
As it faded away and the world turned hazy, Spencer slowed once more, watching you come back to him. He smiled at you, and you smiled shakily back.
"Hey bunny," he murmured, brushing back your hair.
"Hey," you whispered in return, blinking blearily up at him.
The heat that had coursed through you was gone with your ecstacy, and you shivered into the mattress as Spencer came to a stop. He reached above you and untied your wrists, then tugged at the blankets to cover you both up. Resting his weight on top of you, Spencer cuddled into your neck and held you close.
You stretched your hands out a bit to relieve the ache, then threaded your fingers through his hair. He moaned softly and sighed against you, his hot cock still throbbing inside you.
"You need to finish, daddy," you mumbled into his messy locks, then pressed your lips to the side of his head. "Let me help you."
"Mmh hmm," he grumbled, shaking his head even though his face was pressed firmly into your skin.
"You won't even have to move," you insisted. "Just lay on your back and let me take care of you."
Spencer sighed and pulled himself from your shoulder, settling on his elbows and smiling at you, "Move in with me."
Your hands stilled in his hair, your eyes going wide. He looked so nervous, biting on his lip and watching you with those hazel eyes.
"W-what?" you asked quietly. You couldn't believe your ears.
"Move. In. With. Me," Spencer annunciated, almost commanding. "Stay with me forever."
He was still inside you, so you couldn't pull away, but his request frightened you. You pushed at Spencer's chest until he got off you and rolled to sit next to you under the covers. He lounged against the headboard while you pulled your knees up to your chest, staring at the far wall as a horrible realization hit you.
"I can't," you said quietly, and you saw his shoulders deflate out of the corner of your eye. You turned to face him, and he was full of so much hurt, sitting here naked and vulnerable with you in bed, but… you couldn't.
"Spencer, I can't commit to you like that," you whispered apologetically.
"Why?" he asked, his voice cracked and his eyes watery. You wanted to hold him, but you had to focus on holding yourself together.
"Because you can't commit to me," you told him, hurt that he couldn't see that. "You sleep with other people and do whatever you want and that's fine. You have these rules for me, and I can deal with them in the short term to have these experiences with you but…"
A tear fell from your eye and dripped down your cheek as you cocked your head at him, dreading that this might be your last moment with him.
"I can't live like this forever. I won't be the thing you come home to after sharing yourself with someone else," you whispered tearfully. "I want and I deserve more than that. I won't spend my life with someone who won't spend theirs with me."
Spencer nodded to himself, bringing his knees up and setting his elbows on them. He thought for a long moment before he took one of your hands and held them in his own. Looking deep in your eyes, he said firmly, "Then you're the only one I'm going to be with. "
You pulled back, unexpecting that from him. He told you time and time again that he needed the release to take things out on others so he could be gentle with you, but you couldn't handle that if you were really going to let yourself be with him.
"It'll just be me and you unless we decide to play with someone else," he promised, tugging on your hands until you were sitting on his lap and straddling him. His eyes were rimmed with tears as he kissed the back of your knuckles, "I need you, bunny. I'll do anything to keep you."
"But do you want me?" you asked, your voice trembling with fear and so much love for this man. "Do you want… a life, and a future, kids? With me?"
"I do," he said, and he pressed his lips to your hand once more. "I want all of that, and I want it with you."
"Why now?"
Spencer frowned, pulling your hand up to cup his cheek, "I'm not as scared as I used to be. You changed everything for me, bunny."
You pulled your hands from him to wrap your arms around his neck. Spencer hugged you tight, burying his nose into your hair and breathing you in. A thought came across your mind, and you started giggling into his shoulder.
“What could you possibly be laughing about right now? I’m pouring my heart out here,” he chuckled, but he didn’t let you go.
“We can’t move into your side of the duplex,” you laughed, “between our books alone there’s not enough room.”
“We aren’t moving in there,” he said, like you were an idiot. “I have a house closer to work that I stay at sometimes. I don’t stay there much, but I thought we could make it ours.”
“Why would you wanna live in this tiny apartment duplex and not in a nice house?” you mumbled into his shoulder, and he chuckled lightly to himself.
“It’s too big for just me, and I haven’t lived with anyone since I went to college. That was a long time ago, bunny.”
You smiled, and he turned his head to press his cheek against yours when he felt it, “You’ve never lived with anyone but you want to live with me?”
Spencer rubbed his big hands up and down your back, making you feel small and protected with his strong frame wrapped around you. He whispered gently in your ear, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Y/N.”
“Okaaay,” you said lazily, pretending like it was a hassle to say this, and you felt Spencer laugh to himself. “I’ll move in with you.”
Spencer lifted one hand from your back to bring it down sharply on your backside. You yelped and pulled back to glare at him, but he just squeezed your ass in his palm and grinned.
“You know what we have to do now?” he asked lightly.
You cocked your head at the mischievous look in his eye, “What?”
“We have to fuck in every room of that house,” he said, his face taking that dark dominating nature he always got when he had a devilish idea. Brushing back your hair with his fingers, Spencer bumped your nose with his and said, “I’m going to christen that place with your cum, bunny.”
You blushed furiously and smiled back, “I can’t wait.”
Notes: Please tell me what you think! Do you think Spencer will stay faithful?
Warnings: Extremely dubious consent, emotional manipulation, possessive behavior, toxic relationship behavior, crying, yelling, sex as an apology, cunnilingus, tie restraints,
Summary: Spencer promises to make some changes. When Spencer loses his temper following some aggressive behavior, he makes it up to you in the only way he knows how... and makes some more promises. Will he keep them?
You woke up with Spencer on top of you.
Surprisingly, it wasn't sexual. Instead, his heavy frame was draped over you as he snored loudly in your ear. You smiled to yourself and tangled your fingers in his hair, earning a happy groan as he settled deeper into you. You trailed your other hand up and down his back, leaving lines with your finger tips. Spencer nuzzled into your hair and sighed, his morning wood pressing insistently against your hip.
You couldn't fathom how he got the energy to be ready to screw at any moment. He always seemed so tired with those dark circles under his eyes, and every time his phone rang to call him back to work his shoulders sagged just a bit more.
You hoped what Luke said was true… that he was less agitated after he saw you. You were happy to do that for him.
As hesitant as you'd been to do a threesome with someone you didn't know, you were glad you'd done it. You liked Luke, and he was such a fantastic kisser. You hadn't realized how much you missed kissing until he'd given you one.
You still wished Spencer liked kissing, but he didn't, or at least he didn't want to kiss. For some reason it brought you a bit of peace knowing for a fact now that he didn't kiss anyone else…and that you and Luke were his only repeat partners.
Maybe he really did like you a lot, maybe you did bring Spencer a peace of his own just by letting him in your bed.
You felt Spencer's chest grumble before he even spoke, his lips pressing softly against your neck. He sighed happily and whispered, "Good morning, bunny."
"Good morning," you chuckled back. When you kissed the top of his head he got up on his elbows to look at you.
His hazels shone in the morning light as sun poured through the windows, gentle and sweet as he watched you. Brushing back his hair you smiled at him, and the smile he returned almost made your heart burst in your chest.
"How are you feeling?" he asked.
"Sore," you laughed lightly, "I feel like I went ten rounds last night."
"I'm sorry," Spencer told you, making you still. It was so soft and genuine, and he'd never apologized for sleeping with you.
"Why?"
Spencer sighed, "I shouldn't have pushed you so soon. I don't want to scare you away."
A surprised laugh bubbled from your chest, and his brows furrowed together. He moved to pull away but you gripped his shoulders and held him firm.
"Spencer, all you do is push me," you told him, and he looked away in shame. You cupped his jaw to make him look at you, and his worried gaze locked onto yours, "I like exploring with you… I trust you to keep me safe. I know you'd never hurt me."
"Oh, sweet girl," Spencer breathed quietly, so full of emotion your heart swelled. He leaned in and kissed your cheek, and you sighed and closed your eyes, reveling in the feeling.
His lips pressed insistently into your skin, leaving tingling warmth in their wake. You relaxed into the pillows as he lavished you with kisses, moaning quietly with each one. When his lips brushed yours, you gasped and your eyes flew open, and Spencer rested his forehead against yours, nuzzling his nose close and groaning.
Your legs spread on instinct, thighs wrapping around his waist and trapping his hard cock against your achingly sore and tired pussy.
You could see the pained way he held himself, struggling with something within. Too soon, Spencer pulled himself from your arms and tangled legs and got up from the bed. You whined pathetically and reached out for him, but he just leaned over and gave you a kiss on the forehead.
"Not today," he said quietly, and suddenly you were being lifted and set on his hip. You grunted as your bruised skin and tight muscles were forced to move, but Spencer just carried you into the bathroom and set you on the counter. When he moved to the bathtub and turned it on, you bit your lip and swung your legs, watching him pour in bubbles and fluff them in the water.
"I can take it, daddy," you insisted, and he looked at you over his shoulder.
His gaze trailed over your naked and bruised form for a long moment before he shook his head and focused back on the tub, "No."
You pouted, letting out a little grumble, "But it's the only reason that you stay."
Spencer snapped off the tub and shot you a squint. He got up and went over to where you sat on the counter, caging you in with his arms as he set his hands on the edge on either side of you. The warmth from his skin washed over you, bleeding into the fake marble, his eyes burning a hole through you.
"Is that really what you think?" Spencer whispered. His voice had a trembling fear to it, one you'd never heard, and it frightened you.
You shrugged and looked away, "Sex is the only reason you ever visit me."
You were staring at your hands, desperately trying to will your jaw to stop it's wobbling as tears threatened to form. When Spencer reached up and tugged on you to meet his eye, they started to fall, and he wiped them away with his thumbs.
"Y/N, listen to me," he murmured, but there was a begging to it, like he needed you to hear it. "I come here because I like being with you. I want to take care of you, to keep you safe."
You said nothing, just watched him with confusion. He was rarely so gentle with you unless he was emptied and satisfied, and you didn't understand.
"I'm sorry if you really think that. It's not what I want.” Spencer rubbed your cheekbones with his thumbs, gently massaging your blushed and damp skin. He clicked his teeth and sighed, “I’ve never been very good at relationships. The only way I know how to express myself is with sex, and that’s never going to be enough for me when it comes to you. I want all of you, not just what you can give me in bed.”
You frowned, your heart beating wildly in your chest at his words, “But this isn’t a relationship. This isn’t what a relationship is, Spencer.”
Spencer flinched, but he didn’t pull away. He pushed at his bottom lip with his tongue as he thought, and you could nearly see the gears turning in his mind as you waited with bated breath. After a long moment, he kissed the tip of your nose, pressing his lips to your skin as if he could melt into you.
Picking you up, Spencer carried you into the tub. The water was hot around your aching body, and even though it felt good, you laid stiffly against him while he held you to his chest with your back to him. His strong hands rubbed your shoulders and your back, as though he wanted to force your relaxation, but it didn’t seem to want to come. You felt his lips press to the back of your tangled hair, his wet chest sliding against your back as his arms snaked around to pull you tightly to him.
“I don’t give you enough, do I, bunny?” he asked quietly, his breath hot against your ear. You trembled despite the heat steaming the mirrors in your small bathroom, and he groaned quietly to himself and held you firmer. “I take what I want and I don’t give you what you need.”
“It’s okay,” you mumbled, even though you didn’t believe that. It wasn’t okay, the way he treated you. He left you empty when he rose from your bed and got dressed, each time he walked out the door you felt more alone than when he was with you. But for some reason… you always let him.
“I’ll be better,” he promised, but you didn’t want to believe him. You were already falling for him, probably already had fallen for him, and he had so much more power over you than he seemed to realize. “I’m still learning. I’m gonna take care of you, bunny. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
“You always say that,” you said, and you felt him push his forehead against the back of your hair. “I don’t know anyone that wants to hurt me.”
“There’s all sorts of people in the world that want to hurt others,” he said back, “I see it every day at work. I’ve lost people because of it, but I won’t lose you too.”
“I’m right here.” Something about the way he spoke told you that you were being naive, but you wanted to comfort him. You settled into his body around yours and held onto his forearms as he sniffled behind you.
You could have sworn he was crying, but he probably didn't want you to see it. You just rubbed his arms softly until he settled, doing your best to make him feel better.
---------------
Things were different after that.
Spencer came over nearly every day, and if he was out of town he called you each night and stayed on the line until you fell asleep. When he came back he lavished you with gifts and even started taking you out to dinner, showing you off in the new dresses and clothes he bought even though you protested them.
You still had sex, nasty downright filthy sex, but it wasn’t the only thing you did together anymore. Spencer stayed the night more often than he didn’t, and you grew used to waking up to his body holding yours down, staining your sheets with his scent and your body with his kisses.
Some nights he woke you up to let you know he was there, riling you up and sliding inside like you were made to take him, but he wasn’t nearly as rough as he used to be. There were still times you were covered with bruises and teeth marks, and you loved it, but as time went on Spencer often rocked you into the mattress with sweet words and gentle hands.
He spent a lot of time learning about you and your interests, and you could almost see how he cataloged it to pull it out later. He took the information you gave him to get you things you liked, and you always told him not to buy you gifts as he insisted on paying your rent, but he never listened. Spencer told you few things about himself besides his interests, and that he visited his mother once a week, but he kept most of work to himself.
He was possessive, and it became increasingly clear how much so the more you went out with him. In public, Spencer tended to keep a firm hand on the small of your back or the back of your neck, keeping one eye on the men in the room and another on the entrances and exits. You knew his job made him protective, and the more you learned about his work with the FBI you supposed you understood why.
He hunted dangerous people, and he knew what could happen to girls who didn’t have anyone around to protect them. That’s what he told you time and time again, that he wanted to keep you safe, to protect you from the world outside the walls of your apartment.
You’d been extending your lease month to month, and before you knew it six months had gone by since you started sleeping with Spencer. Summer had turned to fall and then winter, and suddenly December was upon you. It had been months since your threesome with Luke, months since you’d had someone hold your jaw and kiss the life out of you.
Spencer still didn’t kiss you. You were trying really hard not to notice or mind, but… you missed it.
You were sitting in your living room, lounging on the couch and watching television. It was Sunday, and Spencer was visiting his mother. He'd been gone all week, so you hadn't seen him but the times you'd talked on the phone he was exhausted and worried about you.
He tended to get like that the longer he was gone, asking multiple times if you'd locked the doors and windows. You'd given him a key long ago so he usually came through the front door and not the back anymore.
The turning of the handle got your attention, and you sat up straight to grin at him as he came inside. Spencer glared at you as he spotted you on the couch, kicking the door shut behind him and pointedly locking it.
"What did I tell you about locking the door?" he snapped as he dropped his bag on the kitchen floor, stomping over to you.
Heat rushed to your cheeks as he loomed above you, so much larger and stronger than you could hope to be. You wrung your hands in your lap and pouted up at him, "I'm sorry, I forgot."
Suddenly his hands were on you, gripping your shoulders and shaking you as he got in your face. "You forgot!?"
His nose nearly touched yours as his face turned red, and you went stock still as he shook you again, "You can't just forget, Y/N! You don't know what's out there, you have to lock the door!"
"I'm sorry!" You burst into tears before you could say anything else, his fierce anger too much after a week without him in mostly quiet, "I'm, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"
Spencer softened, and then he was kneeling before the couch and holding you to his chest. His fingers threaded into your hair, his other hand smoothing firm lines up and down your back.
"No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he hushed as you blubbered against him. His sudden shifts in demeanor always shocked you, but by now you should have seen them coming. He'd always been unpredictable, and lately you could hardly get a good read on him.
"I had a bad case," he murmured against your ear. His warmth helped calm you down as he spoke softly to you, "I just… I can't protect you when I'm gone. I need you to keep yourself safe when I can't."
You hiccupped into his chest, covering your face with your hands as you tried to quell your tears. Spencer rocked you back and forth and whispered, "I'm sorry, bunny, I shouldn't have lost my temper. I'm sorry, okay?"
"Okay," you sniffled, but you didn't say anything else.
Spencer pulled back enough to look at you, and you peeked through your hands, expecting anger once more, but he was watching you softly.
"Can I make it up to you, bunny?"
You shook your head, "No, I'm okay. You scared me."
Spencer got down on his knees and put himself between your legs. You were obeying his rule, only wearing one of his sweaters and nothing else. He ran his hands up and down your thighs, squeezing you lightly.
Leaning down, he pressed his lips to one of your knees, then the other. His voice was husky and regretful as he said, "Let me make it up to you, please."
You shook your head again, not wanting him to feel guilty. He'd told you time and time again to lock the doors. All he wanted was for you to be safe and you couldn't seem to do something as simple as that.
"C'mon, bunny," he implored, moving his lips further up your thighs, pressing apologies into your skin. "I'm so sorry, let me make it up to you."
Your legs spread on instinct as he nuzzled between them, but your chin still trembled as you couldn't seem to stop the guilty tears that kept forming in your eyes. Spencer looked up at you from his spot on his knees, so painfully sorry you felt bad for being upset.
"I'm sorry," you cried, covering your face with your hands once more. He rarely yelled at you. When he was angry he usually spoke firm but never raised his voice, and when he did it always sent your system into a shock.
Spencer scooped you up and set you on his hip as you sobbed into his shoulder, carrying you into the bedroom. He kicked off his shoes before sitting on the bed with his back against the headboard, clutching you tightly.
"I should have listened, I'm sorry," you whimpered, but Spencer just shook his head and kept rubbing your back as he usually did when you cried.
"You'll do better next time, won't you?" Spencer asked quietly, but it was more of a command. "You listen when I tell you things and everything will be okay, bunny."
"Okay," you agreed, and finally you pulled yourself up enough to look at him.
Spencer smiled and brushed back some of your hair, "You know why, don't you, sweet girl?"
"Because you know what's best for me," you said sweetly, "you take care of what you own, like a good daddy."
"And I own you, don't I, bunny?"
You nodded, "Yes, daddy."
Spencer laughed as he bumped your chin with his knuckles, "You're such a sweet girl. I just want to keep you safe."
You smoothed your hands over his chest before tugging on his tie. As it came undone, you leaned in to kiss his neck, licking his skin before you moved on to the spot behind his ears that nearly made him kick his leg like a dog.
"I know, daddy. You just want to take care of me," you whispered hotly in his ear, and to your delight he shivered and let out a surprised groan.
When you slipped his tie from the collar, Spencer took it and shoved you down on the bed. Without a word, he slipped the fabric through the slats of the headboard that he bought you because he grew frustrated with under the mattress restraints. You put your hands above your head automatically, and after pulling the sweater off, he quickly knotted them together with the purple slip of material.
Forcing his way between your thighs, Spencer sat on his knees and unbuttoned his shirt before throwing it off the bed, revealing his soft fuzzy chest. You wanted to reach out and touch him, frowning as you tugged on the tie.
"Calm down," he soothed, rubbing a soft hand over your belly. "I need to show you how sorry I am, bunny."
"I should have listened," you insisted, but he shook his head as he leaned over you to lick a hot stripe from your belly button to your sternum. It left a cool trail in its wake, and your body arched to keep as much contact with him as you could.
"I'm sorry I scared you," he murmured into your skin, laving his perfect tongue around one of your breasts. When his mouth closed around the bud and the hot flick of his tongue hit you, you let out a moan and relaxed into the mattress.
"I'm sorry I yelled," he whispered before moving on to the other one, this time suckling and rolling you between his teeth.
Your sex dripped between your legs, trapped underneath his clothed hardening length. Even though you wanted to wrap yourself around him, you let your thighs hang open as you knew where he was going next.
"I need you so much, bunny," Spencer said as he pulled himself off you, covering your body with his and brushing back your hair. He gazed longingly into your eyes before pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, "The very thought that anything could happen to you… it tears me up inside."
"I'm safe with you," you mewled back, and his eyes turned watery and sad.
"I'm not always here," he said firmly. "I need to know you're going to be okay when I'm not around."
You hated how scared he seemed to be, and the closer you got, the more frightened Spencer became. You longed to touch him, to reach out and prove to him that you were safe, that everything was okay. His mind was playing tricks on him, telling him you were in danger, but he'd never tell you what that was.
"Losing you would kill me," Spencer breathed as he watched you. Your heart broke for him, so you nuzzled your nose with his.
"I'm right here, Spencer," you whispered. "I'm right here."
Spencer softly smiled, but in a way that told you he knew far more than you ever could, "I know. I'm going to keep it that way."
Before you could reply he hopped off the bed and got rid of his pants and underwear, then climbed back to settle between your legs. Kissing the apex of your thighs, he nosed your slit and breathed you in.
"Say you forgive me, bunny," he murmured. Nuzzling your clit gently, he watched you with wide apologetic eyes, "Please, sweet girl, I'm so sorry. Let me prove it."
"I forgive you," you told him with a smile, watching him with your biceps pressed against your head. The tie dug into your wrists, and you knew you'd have bruises tomorrow. You couldn't wait.
Spencer flashed you a devilish smirk, but unlike most times when he ate you out he started gently this time. He licked kittenlike stripes along your exposed pussy, toying with you until you whined and pushed yourself closer to his face.
"Hmmm!" you groaned in frustration, and you felt his chuckle against your lips.
When his tongue slipped inside you let out a sigh of relief, and Spencer wasted no time. Steadily, he fucked you with his tongue, opening you up and stretching you. The hot muscle lulled you to complacency, wet and warm and safe.
Spencer quickly replaced his tongue with two fingers, slipping them inside with ease. A cry burst from your chest when he latched onto your clit, suckling and flicking and driving you crazy. Your legs hung open uselessly as he drove into you time and time again, the sheets drenched underneath.
Spencer's groans reverberated through your cunt, and you moaned in tune with him as he scissored you. He drank you like nectar, like you were the only thing sustaining him. Your cheeks bloomed with heat and stained your biceps where they pressed against your face as you tugged on the restraints, your orgasm coming so much faster than you wanted it to.
Pulling out of you suddenly, Spencer crawled above you, kissing away your whines of annoyance. "Don't worry, bunny, daddy's right here."
"I need you," you whimpered, but he just chuckled.
"I know, I know," he murmured, lining his cock up with your soaking hole.
His arms shook as he pressed inside, setting his forehead against yours. You breathed in one another's gasps, his lips so so close, but you let him do what he wanted. It was his apology.
Your walls quaked with each slow, small thrust, Spencer drawing out his own pleasure to stretch you gently and take his time. The wet sounds of your pussy sucking him back in made your jaw drop, and you watched him in blissed agony while he bottomed out.
Spencer rested his weight on top of you, warming his cock as he kissed your face. Dragging his lips down your cheek and to your neck, he groaned into your ear, "You have no idea what you do to me, bunny…"
Pulling out achingly slow, Spencer grazed his teeth along your jugular. When you moaned and closed your eyes he chuckled, "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, sweet girl. You make me so happy, I just can't handle the thought of you not being here one day."
"I am?" you asked, opening your eyes slowly and blinking in confusion. "I do?"
He nodded as he pushed back in, watching every small gasp and whine that escaped you as he slowly rocked you into the bed. As he usually did when he wanted you to feel cared for, Spencer kissed the tip of your nose and nuzzled close, thrusting into you so sweetly and gently the sensation threatened to swallow you whole.
"I can't breathe when you're not around," he whispered, moving to kiss the side of your nose and then the other. You clung tightly to the tie around your wrists as your head swam with fuzzy white light, your real consciousness long gone with the way he always seemed to make you malfunction.
"I'm better with you, I'm stronger," Spencer insisted, watching you carefully so you listened even in your subspace. His thick length split you open, holding you wide just for him as he fucked you like you were the most precious thing in the world. "You're mine, and I'm yours."
When he bumped your nose with his, you gasped. His admission shocked you. He'd only ever said he owned you, that you belonged to him. Never had he allowed you to think for one moment that you had him the same way.
Your walls swelled, wet and twitching around him as your orgasm came without warning. Spencer picked up his pace but still stayed gentle, drawing this out, saying sorry with his body and letting yours lead him to your pleasure.
When the wave crested and you cried out, Spencer pressed his forehead against yours, his jaw dropping as he felt you cum around him, reveling in the feeling. He grunted as he fucked you through it, letting you moan and shake and take what you needed from him.
As it faded away and the world turned hazy, Spencer slowed once more, watching you come back to him. He smiled at you, and you smiled shakily back.
"Hey bunny," he murmured, brushing back your hair.
"Hey," you whispered in return, blinking blearily up at him.
The heat that had coursed through you was gone with your ecstacy, and you shivered into the mattress as Spencer came to a stop. He reached above you and untied your wrists, then tugged at the blankets to cover you both up. Resting his weight on top of you, Spencer cuddled into your neck and held you close.
You stretched your hands out a bit to relieve the ache, then threaded your fingers through his hair. He moaned softly and sighed against you, his hot cock still throbbing inside you.
"You need to finish, daddy," you mumbled into his messy locks, then pressed your lips to the side of his head. "Let me help you."
"Mmh hmm," he grumbled, shaking his head even though his face was pressed firmly into your skin.
"You won't even have to move," you insisted. "Just lay on your back and let me take care of you."
Spencer sighed and pulled himself from your shoulder, settling on his elbows and smiling at you, "Move in with me."
Your hands stilled in his hair, your eyes going wide. He looked so nervous, biting on his lip and watching you with those hazel eyes.
"W-what?" you asked quietly. You couldn't believe your ears.
"Move. In. With. Me," Spencer annunciated, almost commanding. "Stay with me forever."
He was still inside you, so you couldn't pull away, but his request frightened you. You pushed at Spencer's chest until he got off you and rolled to sit next to you under the covers. He lounged against the headboard while you pulled your knees up to your chest, staring at the far wall as a horrible realization hit you.
"I can't," you said quietly, and you saw his shoulders deflate out of the corner of your eye. You turned to face him, and he was full of so much hurt, sitting here naked and vulnerable with you in bed, but… you couldn't.
"Spencer, I can't commit to you like that," you whispered apologetically.
"Why?" he asked, his voice cracked and his eyes watery. You wanted to hold him, but you had to focus on holding yourself together.
"Because you can't commit to me," you told him, hurt that he couldn't see that. "You sleep with other people and do whatever you want and that's fine. You have these rules for me, and I can deal with them in the short term to have these experiences with you but…"
A tear fell from your eye and dripped down your cheek as you cocked your head at him, dreading that this might be your last moment with him.
"I can't live like this forever. I won't be the thing you come home to after sharing yourself with someone else," you whispered tearfully. "I want and I deserve more than that. I won't spend my life with someone who won't spend theirs with me."
Spencer nodded to himself, bringing his knees up and setting his elbows on them. He thought for a long moment before he took one of your hands and held them in his own. Looking deep in your eyes, he said firmly, "Then you're the only one I'm going to be with. "
You pulled back, unexpecting that from him. He told you time and time again that he needed the release to take things out on others so he could be gentle with you, but you couldn't handle that if you were really going to let yourself be with him.
"It'll just be me and you unless we decide to play with someone else," he promised, tugging on your hands until you were sitting on his lap and straddling him. His eyes were rimmed with tears as he kissed the back of your knuckles, "I need you, bunny. I'll do anything to keep you."
"But do you want me?" you asked, your voice trembling with fear and so much love for this man. "Do you want… a life, and a future, kids? With me?"
"I do," he said, and he pressed his lips to your hand once more. "I want all of that, and I want it with you."
"Why now?"
Spencer frowned, pulling your hand up to cup his cheek, "I'm not as scared as I used to be. You changed everything for me, bunny."
You pulled your hands from him to wrap your arms around his neck. Spencer hugged you tight, burying his nose into your hair and breathing you in. A thought came across your mind, and you started giggling into his shoulder.
“What could you possibly be laughing about right now? I’m pouring my heart out here,” he chuckled, but he didn’t let you go.
“We can’t move into your side of the duplex,” you laughed, “between our books alone there’s not enough room.”
“We aren’t moving in there,” he said, like you were an idiot. “I have a house closer to work that I stay at sometimes. I don’t stay there much, but I thought we could make it ours.”
“Why would you wanna live in this tiny apartment duplex and not in a nice house?” you mumbled into his shoulder, and he chuckled lightly to himself.
“It’s too big for just me, and I haven’t lived with anyone since I went to college. That was a long time ago, bunny.”
You smiled, and he turned his head to press his cheek against yours when he felt it, “You’ve never lived with anyone but you want to live with me?”
Spencer rubbed his big hands up and down your back, making you feel small and protected with his strong frame wrapped around you. He whispered gently in your ear, “I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Y/N.”
“Okaaay,” you said lazily, pretending like it was a hassle to say this, and you felt Spencer laugh to himself. “I’ll move in with you.”
Spencer lifted one hand from your back to bring it down sharply on your backside. You yelped and pulled back to glare at him, but he just squeezed your ass in his palm and grinned.
“You know what we have to do now?” he asked lightly.
You cocked your head at the mischievous look in his eye, “What?”
“We have to fuck in every room of that house,” he said, his face taking that dark dominating nature he always got when he had a devilish idea. Brushing back your hair with his fingers, Spencer bumped your nose with his and said, “I’m going to christen that place with your cum, bunny.”
You blushed furiously and smiled back, “I can’t wait.”
Notes: Please tell me what you think! Do you think Spencer will stay faithful?
Warnings: canon typical stories, blood, stitches, a bit of shitting on the BAU's treatment of Spencer, death, grief,
Summary: After you get back to base, Spencer and the unit keep you awake since you have a concussion. Later, you think about Spencer in the soft morning light.
Barretti carried you on his back through the base a few hours later. Spencer followed with an embarrassingly dumb smile and his hands shoved in his pockets. The doctor had told them to keep you awake, that you had a pretty nasty concussion. That prompted a round of hooahs and Peanut declaring it was what she referred to as 'bonfire time.'
Your head lolled into the side of Barretti's neck, and you kept whispering things to him that made him giggle like a child. Spencer could tell the drugs were wearing off, because you kept wincing and rubbing your face. He hoped it didn't hurt too much.
His side was beginning to ache, but something about watching you bounce on Barretti's back made the pain lessen.
They'd all been injured in the attack, with you and Spencer receiving the worst of it. His left shoulder was bruised and aching, a few stitches had been put into his eyebrow, cheekbone and ribcage, but nothing compared to yours.
Nobody fawned over him, though, and it was such a relief. If he'd been with the BAU, he had little doubt that JJ and Garcia would have forced him into a hospital bed and cried, and he would have had to comfort them about something that happened to him.
It wasn't that Spencer resented their love and care for him, but there was something about the way the unit trusted him to know his own limits that finally made him feel like part of a team… instead of the fragile little brother everyone wanted to take care of.
They approached an open section in the center of the base, with a few errant tires and sandbags set up around a cinder block fire pit. It was already burning, and Mercer was standing in front of it, sipping from a pocket flask as he stared into the fire.
Barretti set you down as they all slowed. Spencer half expected Garrett or you to decide against the bonfire, but you just walked over to Mercer and lightly elbowed him.
"Mind if we join you?" you asked quietly.
Mercer watched you for a moment before letting a small smile escape the normally grim line of his mouth, "I'd prefer it, actually."
You said nothing, just picked a sandbag and plopped down in front of it. You stretched out your legs and sighed, and when Barretti sat down next to you, you leaned against his shoulder.
You held your hand out, palm up, and he took it with a chuckle. Morello and Garrett eased down in front of a tire, and when Peanut found her own spot she immediately pulled a small radio and her little tools out, going to work on the circuitry.
She did that a lot, worked on random equipment. Spencer liked Peanut. Hell, he liked them all, and their quirks were showing more and more as he spent time with them.
Morello liked to strum on a guitar or banjo when they had downtime, wearing floppy hats and sticking his feet in one of the various kiddie pools that seemed to be all over the place. The water was always warm, but he seemed to love lounging like Jimmy Buffet and pretending he was on vacation any chance he got.
Barretti liked to draw, and he'd often spot the two of you giving one another tips. You liked to draw in an old traveler's notebook while he preferred graphing paper. He mostly drew landscapes and you drew portraits.
Garrett mostly liked to read. He always had some old western in his pocket to pull out and read in awkward positions for a man his age. Spencer could tell each of his books were well read and well used, and he liked to dogear pages and underline things inside… just like you.
How much of them had rubbed off on you in your time here? How much of you had rubbed off on them?
How much would you all haunt him when he left?
Spencer decided to shelve that self discussion for now as he eased his way into the sand. It was still hot outside even in the darkness, but there was something comforting about the bonfire in front of him.
The flames danced in the moonlight, bouncing off everyone's cheeks as they chatted quietly, attempting jokes to make the heavy day less hard to stomach. Spencer felt the smile creep across his face as he watched you all try to push that weight off your shoulders.
It reminded him of home after a hard case. He missed his family.
When Mercer sat slowly next to him, Spencer found himself wondering what his quirks were. Surely he wasn't always a grim jackass ready for a fight. Maybe he used to be soft and this place was what changed him.
"I'm sorry about Hitchens," Spencer said quietly. Mercer grunted and took another sip from the flask and held it out to him, but Spencer shook his head.
"I'll call his mom in the morning," he muttered after a thick swallow, "his sisters too."
Spencer nodded, moving his gaze back to the firelight. He pulled his legs up and rested his wrists on his knees, wringing his hands together as he struggled through the heavy saliva in his mouth.
"I saw the kid with the bomb. I should have said something earlier."
Mercer made another grunt, "We all saw him. Nobody wants to think a kid is the enemy."
"I saw it a lot in the FBI. Serial killers using their kids or their victims to lure other ones," Spencer said, eyeing the dirt under his nails and avoiding the way Mercer looked at him. "I don't know what I expected here but… I didn't want it to be as similar as working those cases."
"Can't escape the shitshow, Doc. It's everywhere."
Spencer nodded, but his brows furrowed, "What about the girls?"
Mercer frowned and took another sip, "What girls?"
"The ones from mail day, the ones he was writing."
Mercer shrugged and shook his head, "Those are his sisters. Kid was having a hard time adjusting, so he wrote to em every day. He'd only been here three months."
Spencer said nothing, just groaned and put his head in his hands. Fuck this place.
"I don't know what your deal is," Mercer started slowly, and when Spencer looked up he just shook the flask at him, "but there's meetings here, if that's what you need. I know a few guys who can point you to em."
"Not like there's much here to tempt me," Spencer said, confessing without confessing as his NA chip weighed heavily in his pocket.
"You'd be surprised," he muttered.
"C'mon boss, please!" Barretti begged from the other side of the fire, and both Spencer and Mercer decided to pretend like they weren't talking about sobriety meetings to see what the commotion was.
"Fuck. You," you laughed, pointing a finger at him. "I got blowed up today. I'm not doing shit."
"One song," Peanut chuckled, holding out a finger. She leaned over her circuit board and waved it at you, "You know you want to."
"Can't. There's no guitar," you purred, leaning back and threading your fingers behind your head as you smiled like a satisfied cat.
"Ope," Mercer grunted, and he reached behind the tire they were leaning against to pull a guitar out of his gunny pack. He stood just enough to hand it over to you and you took it with a barely restrained grimace.
"Goddammit. Fine." You set the guitar on your lap and strummed a bit to test it, "What are you thinking? Remember, I'm only doing one."
"The morning one," Barretti decided, and a round of agreement went through the unit.
"Yeahhh, I like that one! It makes you smile," Morello agreed.
They all leaned back and settled in to watch as you tried to hold back said smile. You shook your head and started picking at the strings in a soft tune that made Spencer smile despite himself.
"The sun comes up too early, ain't that the way it seems?" you sang softly, but your voice was strong. "I left the curtains open
Curtains closing on my dreams."
Your fingers played expertly over the strings, your cheeks as red as the fresh stitches on your face. You watched your hands, tapping your foot as you played.
"My baby’s eyes are empty
It’s like nobody’s home
I’m not afraid of empty
I’m afraid of all alone."
They all seemed to know the song, nodding their heads along to the rhythm and patting their legs or the tires in time with your guitar playing.
"So mama let’s lose
These morning blues
C’mon let’s lose
These morning blues."
The song picked up as you played, and sure enough you started to grin as you went through the chorus.
Spencer couldn't help but think of spending nights with the teams at the bar, singing karaoke badly and smiling so wide his cheeks burned. The unit was singing along with you, trying to wash away a horrible day with a bit of family time and hoping the morning would bring a fresh breath of air.
You caught his eye from the other side of the fire, grinning as you sang, "No use in playing tough. I know just what you’re feeling…"
It turned a little sad as the next line spilled from your lips, "Darling ain't you had enough?"
Maybe it was just the long day he'd had, but you seemed to look right into him with that phrase. Maybe it was just the crush he seemed to be forming every time he looked at you, but it felt like more than that.
The only way he could explain was that it felt like August. The hottest month of the year, blazing and thick with humidity, but it was always the quickest one to slip away into the ether of memory.
When it came around, it was smothering, achingly long and near painful. There was some longing to it, though, a sadness. It was the end of summer, the beginning of winter, and soon enough February would be blistering its way through the streets of DC and everyone would beg for June.
August was a point of transition. Unlike spring, which came with birth and renewal, August was about preparing for what came next, which prompted a question to surface in Spencer's mind.
What's coming next?
----------------
The sun stained the sky with purple and orange as you laid against the sandbags with a smile on your face. That familiar arid heat crept over you as the daybreak shattered the shadows of dusk, bathing you in warmth.
You welcomed it. After your brush with death you let it bake your healing skin, knowing full well it would only deepen the scarring you were going to have. You didn't mind another batch of scars, you were littered in them by this point anyways.
The night you and Teddy first got together you compared scars, laying naked in a bed in Dubai and talking lightly about traumatic events. Such were the ways of soldiers, to ease the impact of painful memories.
Everyone had long since fallen asleep around the campfire, cuddling into rocks and sandbags as they snored in the sand. As always, you couldn't sleep even though you were exhausted and your head pounded as it achingly swelled.
Your stitches were tightening as the skin tried to heal itself, and you weren't looking forward to the itching that would come in a few days. You just watched the team in an attempt to ignore it, feeling oddly at home and comforted in this place.
Trailing your gaze along their sleeping forms, your eyes landed on Spencer slumped against a tire. He'd gotten nicked by some shrapnel, a two inch stitched wound on his cheek and another smaller one on his eyebrow.
You couldn't help but lick your lips as the memory of him shirtless in the infirmary bubbled to the surface. He looked good without it.
Patched with fuzzy chest hair and shining with sweat, your doped up brain had been way too interested in his naked torso. His dog tags had clinked as they swung from his neck, landing on the valley of his sternum as he leaned back so the doctor could patch him up. The fact that he was covered in blood and you were fucked up really didn't help.
You liked him a lot more than you'd wanted to admit, and now that you knew what he hid underneath those stuffy button ups your mind wanted to be closer still to him.
He'd smelled like sweat, but it was lined with cinnamon and musk, no doubt from his aftershave since he probably wasn't wearing cologne out here. He needed to shave again, a light stubble that had popped up now turning into a beard after a few days without having done so.
You jumped when he sniffled hard and sat up, his chest heaving and his eyes wide. Your body coiled automatically even though whatever you were ready to fight was probably in his head, the hairpin trigger of your training going off without thought.
He relaxed when he noticed you watching him, and he flashed you a lazy grin and a wave. You waved back, and he pulled himself from the dirt to come over to where you sat.
Plopping down in the sand, he was hardly more than a few inches away, and he brushed back his messy hair with his hands. He bumped you with his shoulder, "Hey."
"Hey," you said back quietly.
"How's your head?"
You shrugged, but your fingers brushed the stitches subconsciously, "It'll be fine. How about you? At this rate you won't leave here as pretty as you came."
You pointed a finger at his tzone, the bruises from Mercer’s punch finally healed to give way to the bruises from the bomb. He gently slapped at your hand and smirked, "Believe it or not, I've had worse."
"Ooh, do tell, Doctor Badass," you chuckled, easing into the bags and smiling up at him.
"Well, I got shot in the neck once. That hurt way worse," he said with a smile, but it wiped yours away.
Spencer shoved his hair away from his neck to reveal a nearly two inch scar just under his jugular. You came to the realizing horror he probably almost died from it.
"Getting shot in the knee was the worst one, though. I walked with a cane for over a year."
You frowned and nodded, "Shot multiple times and you went to prison. You really are Doctor Badass."
He shrugged, but his shoulders seemed to struggle with the weight of it, "I've also been blown up a few times, so yesterday wasn't anything new for me."
He breezed right past you knowing he'd been to prison, so you did the same. You waved a hand at him, "It's blowed up here, Doc."
Spencer scoffed and smiled at you, and some of the weight lifted from him, "I'm never going to know all this jargon, Agent."
"'S okay. We don't know what the hell we're talking about half the time anyway," you told him, and he laughed.
It was bright, and it made something twist in your chest. Even though you laughed with him, your heart was clenching roughly at the thought of all he'd been through. Your first impression of him had been correct.
He was soft, but traumatized. You wondered how he kept himself so gentle even after all that. Maybe you could learn how to do it too.
Notes: Please let me know how you enjoyed this! Feedback is incredibly meaningful and only helps me write more!<3
Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter
“do you think we could do it?” i ask. spencer looks down at me from his book, eyes tired from flying halfway across the country, but he never goes to sleep without reading. i sit up a little to clarify. “like JJ and Will.”
“JJ and Will?” he asks. “is this because we saw henry and michael today?”
“you just turned 34, come on.” i sigh. “and michael’s hands are just so tiny! besides, we’re already henry’s godparents…”
“you want a baby?” he puts his book down on his lap, looking over to watch me as i lay down beside him on the bed.
“of course i want a baby!” i whine. “you’re away so often, and as much as i love penelope it’s not like i can take care of her like a child.”
spencer chuckles. “no, i don’t think she’d like that very much.”
a smile crosses my face. “so you agree? we should have a baby?”
“you know you’re ovulating now, darling,” he looks over his book again, “why don’t we have this conversation when your hormones aren’t as dominant.”
“spencer reid if you say anything that misogynistic again i will suffocate you while you sleep.”
once again he chuckles.
“i mean i don’t want you to make a choice you might regret.”
“i won’t regret it, i’m 30, i have a good job. you know i’ve always wanted kids.” i pull the puppy dog eyes. “and don’t you want little geniuses running around?”
spencer takes a deep sigh. “i know you’ve thought about names. what are they.”
i perk up, folding the pillow under my arms to prop me up.
“something classical.” i smile. “like theodore.”
“theodore?” spencer places his book on the nightstand before turning to me, giving me the attention i want. “means ‘loved by god’.”
“ancient greek name.” i finish.
he leans over to give me a quick kiss.
“and for a girl?” he prompts.
“amelia.”
“amelia?” he raises his brows and i shrug. “i thought you wanted classical?”
“what do you think?” i ask and he takes a moment to think.
“sebastian.”
“sebastian?” i giggle.
“you wanted classical!”
“i like it.” i assure. “and for a girl?”
“charlotte.”
“are these the names of the characters in your book?”
“you caught me.” he laughs and i groan.
“spence!” i whine as he grabs me in a bear hug.
“well, i think you should name our kids.” he says and i blush, no matter how many years we’re together it still feels new. “i think you would be a great mother.”
i giggle as he whispers in my ear, trying to push him away playfully but he won’t let me go.
“now look who wants a baby.” i tease and he kisses my neck.
“what can i say?” his hands lower. “you convinced me.”
“I always go to Samuel Beckett’s ‘Fail again. Fail better.’ And, Toni Morrison’s ‘A failure is just information.’ Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about Isak Dinesen’s ‘I write a little every day, without hope, without despair.’”
— Helen Phillips, in this week’s Ten Questions; read the rest at pw.org! (via poetsandwriters)
Summary: Spencer spends a day watching you work and it frustrates the hell out of him. When JJ and Emily call later, it only pisses him off more.
Spencer couldn't figure her out.
As she interacted with customers, bright and cheery and clomping around in those ridiculous shoes of hers, she showed no sign of the fear of someone being stalked like prey. She laughed with regulars as he sat behind the counter with a book he couldn't read because he had to observe her amidst the crowd.
When they were alone she was reserved, pieces of herself held back and protected behind layers of steel. Now, it seemed she was further behind them and the first line of defense was to pretend that she was the happiest girl in the world.
He couldn't tell if she was just in her element, or if this was a carefully constructed facade for the world around her. Maybe the facade was only around when she was alone with him.
Spencer tried not to let his gaze linger on her curls bouncing out of that claw clip, or admire the gentle curve of her neck. She was beautiful, like delicately carved marble…and that fact that she was still wearing his cardigan didn't help. It fluttered halfway down her thighs as she helped pull books off of shelves and rang people up at the register, and more than once he caught her pulling the collar up to her nose to breathe in his scent.
He wondered if she liked it, but a part of him hoped she didn't.
After a long day of sitting and watching, bored out of his skull and desperate for a shower, she finally walked the last customer out and locked the door behind them. On an instinct that made him feel better about her ability to protect herself, she shielded his view from the keypad as she typed in the alarm code.
She turned and flashed him an awkward smile. The facade was gone, or maybe it was back. "I don't know about you, but I'm beat."
He said nothing, and she gave a small huff before making her way up the stairs. Her boots clunked with each stomp, as if she were trying to wake the dead. The alarm blared upstairs as they stepped inside, and Spencer groaned in annoyance. The steady thump of a forming headache only increased at the sound.
He stood uncomfortably in the doorway as she turned it off, then went about what seemed to be her normal routine; take off shoes, bring them back into the shoe room, then head into her closet.
He followed, clearing the rooms with a peek around the corners until he was satisfied. Her little closet hallway was filled to the brim with clothes, obviously more expensive for his taste but he was sure they looked good on her. Everything seemed to.
"The shower sticks sometimes," she said absentmindedly as she dug through the closet, pulling out a crushed yellow velvet duster that she used as a robe. "You just need to jiggle the handle and it'll go."
Spencer lingered in the doorway as you pulled out the smallest pair of cotton shorts he'd seen in his life and waved it at him. He flinched back, and she gave him a reassuring smile, "You said you like to shower before bed, right?"
Spencer's cheeks flushed with heat, "Uh, yeah. I'll go… do that."
She squinted at him as he turned away, but he pretended not to notice. He gathered some checkered pajama pants and a sweater and made his way to the bathroom. It was small, with a clawfoot tub and a wrap-around shower curtain. The floor was checkered with small black and white tiles.
She had eucalyptus hanging from the showerhead, bottles of vanilla and cinnamon washes and shampoos alike sitting on a wooden shelf built into the wall. Spencer spotted butters and creams, as well as something called sugar scrub that he wasn’t sure what the use could be.
Sure enough, the shower stuck. Spencer grunted in frustration as he jiggled the handle, and finally water came through the old pipes. Spencer closed the curtain and sat on the lid of the toilet, putting his head in his hands and sighing.
He already hated it here. Even though he enjoyed the books and the atmosphere, watching her pretend all day like she wasn't being hunted down like a dog bothered him. Had she spent the last eleven years like this? Or had it taken time to learn, time to be beaten down until only the mask remained?
The shrill ringing on his phone startled him, and he let out a small gasp as it buzzed in his pocket. He dug his hand in, grumbling to himself, pulled it out and read the screen. Rolling his eyes, he swiped it and held the phone up to his ear.
“Yeah, JJ?”
“Hey, how’s it going?” her voice came through the line. “Did everything go okay?”
“It’s fine. I’m about to take a shower,” he mumbled, frowning down at his shoes. He eyed them critically, they weren’t nearly as nice as a single pair Emily’s mistake owned. “She has one hundred and eighty three pairs of shoes in her closet.”
"Jesus," Luke muttered, making Spencer furrow his brow.
“Courtesy of Finn Doyle,” Emily’s voice rang in the background. “He bought her a lot and she started buying them for herself.”
Spencer groaned, “Am I on the Round Table Room phone?”
“Gang’s all here!” Rossi called. “Tell us all about it, kid.”
"She just helped customers all day. Nobody suspicious." Spencer glared down at his shoes again, not looking forward to having to replace those heels of hers he helped break. "She's good at pretending she's not terrified."
"Is she still wearing your cardigan?" JJ asked, and Spencer could see the mischievous grin plastered on her face.
"No," he lied, but he wasn't sure why. He just didn't want to talk about it right now. "Look, it's been a long day and I haven't slept in over twenty four hours. I gotta go."
"Reid, wait," Emily's voice came again, and he heard the distinct click of the line disconnecting from the conference room phone. After a few moments of rustling, she spoke, "How is she really?"
"I don't know her well enough to give you a good answer. She seems fine, though she doesn't like me much."
"If you read her file-."
"No," Spencer snapped, cutting her off. He rubbed his face roughly with his free hand and sighed, "I can tell enough without reading it. She's fucking traumatized and cut herself off from the world as much as she could. You can't even tell it's daylight in the store and she spent all day with a smile on her face like nothing was wrong.
"She's an abuse victim. I don't need a file to tell me what he did to her," he muttered into the phone. "How she acts tells me enough."
"She's a good kid, Spencer. She's just been through a lot."
"She's not a kid, Emily. She's thirty one years old."
"I know, I know," she said quickly, but it seemed more like she was trying to convince herself. "She used to smile for real, you know?"
"I'm sure," was all he said back.
"I think if you let yourself you might like it there," Emily said quietly, musing to herself. "With all those books and the restoration she does, maybe you'll… I don't know, maybe you'll ease up a little."
"Emily…" he groaned, happy the sound of the shower was muffling his voice. "I just want to get this over with and come home."
"Do you?" she asked seriously and it made him roll his eyes. "You haven't been you in a long time. Maybe it'll be good for you, to get away and just focus on this."
"Emily, I gotta go."
Spencer didn't wait for her reply, just ended the call and set his phone on the sink ledge. The screen lit up immediately with Emily’s photo calling him back, but he ignored it and stepped into the shower.
He let the water wash over him, annoyed that he had to bend down to get under the stream. Clawfoot tub showers were meant for people much shorter than him, and he could see over the top of the curtain if he stood up straight.
When he dried off and got dressed he stepped out into the living room to find the lights still on but her door closed. He grumbled to himself and stomped over, knocking on the hardwood.
There was no answer, so he slowly turned the handle and opened it. She was lounging on her stomach, reading a book and eating cookies from a sleeve of Chips Ahoy.
"What?" she asked through a mouthful.
Spencer sighed angrily at the little shorts she had on, really trying not to notice the outline of her ass under the thin cotton. "You have to keep the door open."
"But I'm going to bed," she replied, scrunching up her face, that little button nose only making him more frustrated.
"I don't care."
"Fine, leave it open then," she growled. She snapped the book shut and got to her knees to glare at him with her hands on her hips.
Spencer took a moment to take in her bedroom. She seemed to prefer fairy lights, and they dripped from each corner, lined with faux vines. Painted canvases covered the walls, mostly of the bookshop downstairs. Others were of locations he couldn't place, but his gaze landed on one of Emily, of her undercover as Lauren Reynolds.
Sitting in a bed of violet flowers and dressed in cream linen, Lauren basked in soft amber light. It highlighted Emily's high cheekbones and strong jaw, gleaming off the pendant necklace he remembered Ian Doyle had given her.
She noticed his gawking at the painting and waved a dismissive hand at it, "I painted that a long time ago."
"I thought you hated Emily," he said quietly. She'd obviously painted it with care. From the way Emily's hair was highlighted with delicate brush strokes to the detail in the clothing and background, she'd put a lot of work into it.
"I didn't hate Lauren," she whispered, almost to herself. She looked to the piece with a strange longing, so heavy with memory that Spencer had to shift his gaze away.
"Goodnight," he said instead, turning and making his way back toward the couch.
She didn't say anything back, but after a moment he heard the click of the light switch. A pile of blankets and pillows already laid on the couch cushions, and Spencer was far too tired to pull the whole bed from the unit, so he unfurled them and laid down.
Looking up at the ceiling, Spencer scoffed. She'd painted it, some remake of Michaelangelo's Sistine Chapel but in her own distinct style. It still held the emotion and detail of the Chapel, but her brush work and anatomy was a bit more accurate and detailed with more pastels and gold foil.
She was talented, that much could be said. He'd never read her books, but if she put as much into them as she did her art and restoration of old volumes, they were surely good, even if they were porn with plot novels.
With his eyes, Spencer followed each curve and line of the art, letting it lull his beating chest into a dull thump. Soon enough it pulled him under, and he gave way to blessed sleep.
-----------------
"What you wanna do? I got that old thing back…"
Spencer groaned as he peeled open his eyes, glaring up at the painted ceiling as the booming music woke him up. He sat up slowly on the tiny couch, his aging back screaming at him for laying with his feet slung over the armrest all night.
He realized the music was coming behind him, and when he looked to where yesterday two bookshelves had rested against the wall, he found them split apart to reveal a bright room.
“The fuck?” he muttered, thinking it was a dream. It was early, the sun just beginning to poke through the curtains and wash him in amber light.
"Old thing back
Like B I double G I E, with some R U L E
Notorious know to bust in your E Y E, baby baby
Bitches know they love and hate me."
The music didn’t seem like something he’d dream about, although he’d heard the song because of Morgan and Blake. It was a remix of one of The Notorious B.I.G.'s songs and someone else who’s name he hadn’t bothered to learn. Cautiously, Spencer rose from the couch and made his way to the opening in the wall, wondering if he should grab his gun from under the dresser in the closet.
An array of canvases on easels were perched around the room, painted with landscapes and portraits and scenes. They were all oil-based with a lot of detail and colors, and Spencer eyed each of them as he made his way further inside.
There were no windows, instead bright covered lights were mounted into the ceiling to simulate daylight. He rounded a table full of art supplies and finally spotted Emily's Mistake perched on a wooden stool in front of a canvas.
She looked like a painting herself, a stunning piece of artwork with that crushed velvet robe flowing out behind her. Her bare feet rested on the bottom rung of the easel, legs toned from years of walking in high heels. A bright white scar stood out on her left thigh, shredded and marring her otherwise unmarked legs.
He spotted a bruise on the bottom of one of her thighs, probably from falling the day before in the doorway, and guilt tore its way into his chest at the sight. He ripped his gaze from it to land on her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her tank top, then cleared his throat.
She didn't hear him over the music, instead swaying in time with the beat and mouthing the lyrics to herself. Her curls were no longer held up in the clip, but flowed in ringlets down her back.
It infuriated him. She looked too good, and he hadn't slept with anyone in so long his stupid dick wanted to take control of his mind. The way she leaned in close, holding a pallet in one hand and a thin brush in the other and lost in her work, she was more beautiful than he'd like to admit.
He slowly stepped closer to peek at what she was painting, his breath catching in his throat.
On a gray painted canvas, she was detailing a picture of Spencer. Leaning over the old copy of War and Peace, he saw a half finished image of himself, smiling so much softer than he could remember having done so in years.
The light caught his brushed out curls in a way that made him look ethereal, bouncing off his cheekbone in the profile of his face. She'd drawn in the small wrinkles in the corner of his eye, the gentle curve of his smile, a shine on his bottom lip from him licking them.
He looked happy, immersed in watching the book, the dim lighting of the restricted area glittering off his eye. She'd even put the small scar on his cheekbone and the one on his neck from getting shot a few years back.
Spencer didn't recognize himself.
Each time he looked in the mirror he saw only the broken shell of his former self. A little heavier and a lot more tired, the dark circles under his eyes that had once been an afterthought were now one of the more prominent of his features. Here he was vibrant, not as youthful as he hoped he looked but he seemed…happy, content.
Was this how she saw him? Or how she chose to paint him?
She turned her head and noticed him, jumping and dropping the paintbrush on the ground, and he took a step back as she let out a startled yelp.
"Jesus Christ!" she gasped, clutching her chest with her free hand as the brush clattered to the tile floor.
"Sorry," he called over the music. She reached over to a table and grabbed a remote, turning it off and leaving them in pained silence.
"I didn't know this room was here," he said, and her cheeks turned bright red. "I told you I need to know all points of entry and I need to enter a room before you do."
She glowered at him as she leaned down to pick up the brush. She wiped it off on her leg, leaving a streak of orangey brown oils on her thigh, "The only way in here is through the bookcases."
"Okay, but I didn't come in here before you, did I?"
Spencer tried to contain his annoyance as she rolled her eyes, "Maybe I wanted one thing to keep to myself…"
"You can keep your life if you manage to just listen to me, Y/N."
"Fuck you," she snapped, turning back to the canvas. She definitely didn't see him the way the picture looked, then.
Spencer stepped forward to inspect her work, impressed with the level of detail. He must have only been in that position for a few moments, and she hadn't taken a picture of him, and yet it looked as though it was drawn from one.
He eyed the paintings around him, thinking of the one of Lauren Reynolds in her bedroom.
"Do you have an eidetic memory?" he found himself asking.
She squinted up at him, then looked back at the picture. It was half finished, only his face and hair painted in, everything else left in a sketch on the gray canvas.
"Uh, no, just a good one." She frowned and looked sheepishly back up at him, "Is this weird? I just started drawing this morning and this is what came out."
Spencer's eyes widened a little, her small embarrassed smile lighting something within him. He didn't want to make her feel awkward, so he shook his head, "No. You're…very talented."
"I know. I had very little to work with," she chuckled. When he glared down at her she shrugged, "That was an attempt at a joke. You never smile, do you, Spencer?"
"There's not much to smile about," he muttered, but instantly regretted it.
Her shoulders deflated, and she stood quickly from the stool and began putting away her supplies. He shoved his hands in his pockets and said in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, "You don't want to finish?"
She shrugged with her back to him, "The inspiration is gone."
Spencer groaned internally. He couldn't seem to say the right thing around this woman so he decided to take a look around instead. A rack of finished canvases rested in the corner of the room, and he found himself walking toward it.
"What are you doing?" she asked sharply as he walked past her.
Spencer pointed at the racks, feeling caught, "Do you mind if I take a look?"
She eyed him warily, chewing on her cheek as she thought. Finally, she waved a hand, "Go ahead. Those are… old ones."
Spencer made his way over, the weight of her gaze settling heavily between his shoulders. Rows of finished works lived inside the racks, leaning against one another and piled high in any spot she could fit them.
There were portraits of people he didn't know, landscapes of places he did. One was of Paris, one of an old bar in Williamsburg.
He tugged on the corner of a large one and pulled it out, recognizing the home instantly. It was Ian Doyle's mansion in Italy, an exact match for the photos he'd seen when investigating the man.
After Emily faked her death, Spencer studied the files inside and out to learn more about the man who had killed his friend. He thought time and time again about finding his old dealer and buying dilaudid, almost always when he was searching through those damned files for the monster who had taken Emily from him.
It was dated four years ago, long after Emily's Mistake left Italy and fled from Finn Doyle and his abuse. It wasn't painted in the bright light of the Italian countryside, instead clouded by shadows and red lights.
Had he not known better, he would have thought it was just a depiction of it at night, but he knew enough.
This had been her cage.
This house was as much a monster to her as her abuser was, the literal embodiment of her abuse and torture at the hands of her ex boyfriend.
Spencer's eye caught on a picture of the man himself, standing tall and imposing in a cacophony of grays and blacks. He'd seen a picture of Finn years ago when they first heard about Ian, and he seemed like just another IRA grunt, but here…
His sharp jaw and piercing eyes jumped from the canvas. His light blue eyes were the only part of it in color, and even though the hue was cool, somehow his irises raged violently toward the viewer. He was beautiful, stunningly so, oddly mesmerizing for one Spencer knew to be a cruel and awful man.
"He wasn't always scary," she said behind him, making him turn to face her. She shrugged and waved a paintbrush at him, "I mean, he was always a criminal, but… he didn't used to be cruel."
"Not to you, but probably to others," Spencer replied.
She nodded and looked down at her stained hands, "That's fair. I guess I let myself be naive to what he was really like."
Spencer set the canvas back in the rack and made his way over to her. Standing on the side of the table opposite to her, he shoved his hand in his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck with the other.
"You were just a kid. He was a lot older than you. How were you supposed to know?"
She caught his eye, watching him with a queer gleam and a furrowed brow, as if he were trying to trick her. She set down the brush and leaned on her hands on the table, and Spencer desperately tried to avoid looking down her shirt.
"Have you read my file?" she asked quietly. Her small jaw was set tightly, working over as she obviously tried to quell her anxiety at his answer.
"No," he said back, just as quiet. "I don't want to know what he did to you."
She cocked her head, "Why? Isn't that your job?"
Spencer shook his head and let out a long sigh, "My job is to keep you safe until Emily finds him."
"And what did you do that made her decide to give you the shit babysitting detail?"
There was something mischievous about the way she asked it, as if she wanted one more reason to prove that Emily didn't care or way or another about what happened to her. It made Spencer defensive, especially of Emily, who he knew to have a lion's heart and a steadfast loyalty to those she cared for.
"She trusts me to do what needs to be done," Spencer told her seriously, leaning on the table himself to hammer his point in. "She was terrified for your safety when she found out Doyle was back in the States."
"She didn't do anything last time he came here, when he found me in Dallas," she growled, her face taking a dangerous turn as she glared at him. "She left me to fend for myself."
"Well, you're not alone anymore, are you?" Spencer snapped. He'd had enough, and he didn't want to hear any more about Dallas or how it was probably connected to that scar on her thigh.
She flinched back, but her lip curled into a snarl.
"I wish I was."
"Too bad," he grunted, glaring right back. "You're stuck with me, and I'm stuck with you."
She scoffed, a bitter chuckle falling from her lips that only infuriated Spencer further. "You're an asshole, you know that?"
Spencer stood straight and crossed his arms over his chest, "You're not much fun to be around either, sweetheart."
"Fuck you," she snapped.
"Fuck you," he snapped back.
She said nothing else, just turned on her heel and walked out of the room.
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Notes: Please let me know what you think! Feedback and comments are what fuel the fire for this story! <3
“Ao3 needs an algorithm” no it doesn’t, part of the ao3 experience is scrolling through pages of cursed content looking for the one fic you want to read until you get distracted by a summary so cursed that it completely derails your entire search
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