hiiiii

nsfw account turned fanfic archive 18 i love smut 💻

[spenceloria]

(ONE OF THOSE) CRAZY GIRLS

˚₊ · »-♡→ prof!spencer reid x "fangirl!"reader

ⓘ this work contains mature subject matter such as … dead dove, sexual content (smut), legal age gap, imbalance of power dynamics, stalking, obsessive/manipulative themes ... the content you consume is under your discretion.

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"i never have any normal fans"

THEY SAY TO NEVER MEET YOUR HEROES, because more often than not, you'll end up disappointed with the reality of your own idealized expectations. though, you've found the age-old proverb couldn't possibly be more inaccurate, because spencer reid was everything you ever could've imagined. more than everything. he was perfect.

FIVE MONTHS AGO, spencer reid had been your saviour, your hero in the truest sense—an angel with warm brown curls and soft eyes who pulled you from depths and held you until your shaking subsided. you still remembered the weight of his arms, the smell of his skin, his voice as he soothed you—the tremor in your heart leveling to normal sinus as you soaked in his words you were safe, everything would be okay. you recalled the way the light you had been depraved of for god knows how long shone from above him like a halo. framing his silhouette and bathing him in gold. ethereal—your saving grace. you haven't stopped thinking of him since. you were an undying, devoted fan. you were certain this was love.

SPENCER REID had so foolishly assumed he'd only see you once, a ghost, a flash in the wind, patterned wings fluttering by him in a cool breeze. a tragedy he'd carry briefly past the threshold of salvation before moving onto the next case, the next victim. now, on one of his many sabbaticals reserved for the pursuit of his other passions, he finds his brain falling right back into the rhythm of a profiler's when his eyes landed on yours for an unexpected second time. now, he saw you in an entirely different light, metamorphosed from a trembling victim to something far darker. spencer realized he'd never be able to escape you. he knew your type, he'd studied profiles of women exactly like you, he knew the patterns of fixation and transference—and he knew if he ignored you, you'd drift onto a new object of affection, you’d find a new obsession. yet every time he tried to pull away, he found himself crawling back. you were an itch he was never supposed to scratch, and he couldn't manage to keep his hands to himself.

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˚₊ · »-♡→ TRACK LIST !

COMING SOON !

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gif by @reidgif !!! very loosly based on s13 spence, but i haven't watched that season in like... a while so do expect many inaccuracies..

anyway !! after recently hitting 1.6k (i love you all so dearly) and with the first anniversary of this account growing closer i’ve decided it was time for my first ever consecutive series… and of course this would not be a true work of spenceloria fiction if it was not disgustingly self indulgent and just a littleee perverted… so behold! fangirl!reader was born! (now i'm sure were all aware by now that the term fan should be used incredibly lightly, but just don't tell her that...)

updates will likely be somewhat scheduled? most likely weekly-ish but don't expect too much from me... of course ask to be added to a taglist!

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[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

oh my god this is so so so me i’m so excited for this…. pls pls pls add me to the taglist omgggg

[cherrygarcia-07]

Do Nothing Day // Spencer Reid 🩵

based off of this request :3

synopsis: when spencer comes home from a rough case in the middle of the night tired and injured, he wants nothing more than to spend the day in bed with you (and to make you breakfast)

genre: fluff !

wc: 1.6k

notes/tags: another sleepy spence fic? from cherrygarcia-07? its likelier than you think, im so sorry that im always writing him hurt i promise i love him, spencer has Anxiety, puppy coded! spencer strikes again

masterlist // pls reblog if you enjoy it helps promote the fic so much !!

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It was odd. You were sure you’d fallen asleep in a bigger bed than you’d woken up in. Now that you think about it, the bed was colder last night too. You blinked awake slowly, adjusting to the amber glow peeking through the blinds, listening to the distant sound of the world waking up outside. The sun. Of course. That must be why it felt so warm. Yet as you caught up with your consciousness you became aware of a weight over your waist, small, rhythmic puffs of air against the back of your neck. Your lips melted into a sleepy smile as you realised.

Spencer.

He must’ve come home in the middle of the night, careful not to wake you as he climbed into bed beside you. You could picture him, all heavy limbs weighed down with exhaustion and tie discarded on the sofa somewhere in the dark as he shuffled like a zombie into your shared room. It was never easy for him, coming home this late. The team usually stayed overnight wherever they were when a case ended deep in the night, opting to make it home for the morning instead. Whatever case they’d been working on must’ve been harrowing enough that they just wanted to get away as fast as possible.

You stretched as much as you could without stirring him, delighting in his sleepy grumble as he dreamily nuzzled further into you. From the way he had anchored himself to you, you could tell this was a much needed rest. You lay there for a while just listening to him, to the steady sound of his breathing and the occasional murmurs and mumbles that accompanied them, before you found yourself itching with the urge to see his face. Slowly, cautiously, you turned over in his grasp, cringing at every creak of the mattress and each rustle of sheets. Ah, there he is.

There was a graze on his cheek, red and raw and stinging- but he was alive. A cut curved over his lip, dark, dried blood making it look worse than it probably was but it made your chest tighten all the same. His hair fanned out over the pillow behind him, a little stringy like he’d been too drained to wash it. You made a note to do it for him when he was ready. Gently, you let your finger hover over the deep purple beneath his eyes, confirmation that this was probably the first decent sleep he’d gotten all week. Spencer’s cheekbones were always prominent. You always told him it made him look like a statue, carved and chiseled like he belonged in a museum. Yet now as the rising sunlight found them, the shadows beneath them looking darker and more hollow than usual- he looked frail.

You lay there for a while, just observing. It was something he often did to you after a bad case, too hyper vigilant to let himself rest. He needed the confirmation that you were okay, he needed to see the rise and fall of your chest to steady his own. It wasn’t often that it was the other way round.

“How long have you been watching me?” A low voice mumbled. It was thin and gravelly, like he’d been yelling until it broke.

“Hm?” You looked up from where you’d been staring at the split in his lip to find two half-lidded eyes squinting at you. “I haven’t been.”

Spencer let out a small huffed laugh. “That’s funny. I could’ve sworn I’ve been feeling your breath on my face for the past five minutes.”

“Nope. Must’ve dreamt it.” He began to smile but began wincing where his lip clearly stung. You kept your voice gentle as you swiped your thumb across it. “Are you okay?”

He groaned, like he deliberated answering and ultimately decided against it. Instead he lifted his arm from your waist, beckoning you closer against his chest. “Come here.”

You obliged, biting back your insistence and cuddling into him. He’d tell you when he was ready. For now, you allowed yourself to sink into him, feeling his arms wrap around you as you slung your legs over his. It’d been a long case. Too many nights of falling asleep in an empty bed, of not waking to the smell of coffee that always seemed to cling to him. Spencer’s knuckles began grazing up and down your spine, a hypnotic rhythm threatening to lull you back to sleep right there.

He let out a content sigh, mumbling to himself. “I think I’m going to stay home today.”

“What?” Your eyes shot open. In all the years you’d known him, he’d never ever taken a day off for himself. For his mother? Of course. For you? In a heartbeat. But you were convinced he would rather crawl into work straight from his deathbed than to simply exist at home with nothing important to do. Rolling off of him slightly, you propped yourself up so that your face hovered over his, narrowed eyes squinting down at him. “Who are you and what have you done with my boyfriend?”

He pouted, as if the sudden absence of you in his arms was physically breaking his heart. “I got my report done on the jet. I don’t have any paperwork that needs doing.” He reached out, desperately trying to guide you back to him and pouting even more when you stayed put. “I just really want to stay home today.”

“And do what?” You asked, leaning down and giving him a peck on the tip of his nose to appease the big, sad eyes he was giving you.

“Nothing.” He shrugged.

“Nothing?” Your eyebrows shot up, scandalised. “Pigs must be flying.”

Spencer chuckled, wincing as his split lip protested. “The idea of laying on the sofa in my pyjamas with you and catching up on Doctor Who is far more appealing to me than sitting at my desk for eight hours while everyone fails to pretend the past week didn’t happen. And for once, I have an opportunity to do the former.”

“The case was that bad?” You asked softly. You tried to soothe him, gently brushing back his sleep-tousled hair from his forehead, but his gaze dropped.

“Can you please just come here?” His voice was small as his big eyes found you again, his arm reaching for you once more and this time you let him pull you back into the warmth of his chest.

“So I’m not allowed to get up and make you breakfast?” You muffled into his shirt.

His arms wrapped even tighter around you. “I can make my own breakfast. And yours too while I’m up.”

You tried to lift your head up, but you found it pinned beneath his chin, breath fanning over the flushed skin of his neck. “What happened to doing nothing?”

“I am doing nothing.” He retorted, and though you couldn’t see his face you could tell his eyebrows had pinched. After so long, you could practically hear it in his voice, in the way his inflection rose ever so slightly. The perfect foundation for teasing him.

“Well,” you began, smiling against his neck, “‘doing nothing’ implies lying here motionless. Not getting up, not moving, not talking- definitely not making us both breakfast. Literally ‘doing nothing’. Unless of course you meant it figuratively- but that’s not what you said so…”

“Are you-“ Spencer let out a sharp laugh, his chest jostling beneath you. “Are you really arguing semantics with me right now so that I’ll let you make me breakfast?”

“Depends.” Finding your strength, you untangled yourself from his grasp just enough to hover your face over his again. “Is it working?”

“No.” He laughed again, a grin growing on his face much to the misfortune of his split lip. “But it was a very cute attempt.”

A tiny drop of blood emerged from the cut, making you cringe with concern as you lifted your thumb to it and swiped it away. As the sun continued to flood the room, the graze on his cheek seemed darker, angrier where it intruded his skin. Even the way he clung to you felt pained, desperation worsening his aching bones as he fastened you to him like he’d fall apart without you. Whatever happened must’ve haunted him. He was often a little over protective, a little obsessive over your safety. But it wasn’t often that he was afraid to let you out of his sight, especially in your own apartment.

“You want me to come with you?” Your hand drifted to his cheek, sweeping over the raw skin as gently as you could. “Make breakfast together?”

Beneath you, Spencer’s chest deflated like he was exhaling all the terror that had flooded his lungs over the past week. He took your hand from his cheek, bringing it to his lips and pressing a thankful kiss to your knuckles. “Please.”

“Alright.” You flashed him a smile, kissing his lips before pulling away with a teasing glimmer in your eyes. “You can do that thing where you hug me from behind like a koala and pretend to be helpful while I do all the work.”

“What?” He squeaked, following you as you hopped out of bed. “I do not do that.”

You turned the corner into the kitchen, laughing as he followed at your heel like a puppy. “You totally do. I bet you the last pancake in the stack that you do.”

“Deal.” He scoffed. “I can’t wait to eat that last pancake.”

He’d have to wait a little longer.

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[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

need him bad

[pathologicalreid]

diphenhydramine | s.r.

in which reader has a hard time getting to sleep at night, leading to Spencer's step by step instruction of which hormones help you fall asleep

margotober masterlist

who? spencer reid x fem!reader category: smut (18+ mdni) content warnings: unprotected p in v sex, fingering, spencer infodumps while fingering you, restlessness, ambien, sex as a sleep aid, effective but not recommended, physiology, female masturbation, insecurity, reader doesn't pee after sex which you really should do, no clean up, but fanfiction isn't real. softdom!spencer. not thoroughly proofread. word count: 1.99k a/n: i thought i had this scheduled so imagine my surprise when i went to check tumblr and it wasn't posted. ANYWAYS. this one goes out to all the girlies with chronic sleep issues (me) and the person who requested this. don't like, don't read.

Your pillow was warm. Surely that was what was hindering your ability to sleep. Lifting your head, you flip your pillow over, resting your head on the cool side and turning to your other side.

Facing Spencer, you pull your arm out from under the covers, wondering if you should only change one variable at a time to see what actually helps you get to sleep. Huffing, you shut your eyes again, the usually muted traffic outside of your apartment seeming extraneously loud for this time of night.

You couldn’t put a name to it, but there was something keeping you up at night. You’d always had sleep issues, but your restlessness from the last several weeks was unprecedented.

“Angel,” your boyfriend says from next to you, reaching his hand out and placing it on your waist, trying to drag you across the sheets and into his arms.

Willingly, you move to his side of the bed, leaving space between the two of you to keep your body cool—maybe you were just too warm to sleep. “Did I wake you?” You ask, peering up at him through your eyelashes. He looks so ethereal in the diffused moonlight that seeps in through the closed curtains, the cool light falling over the harsh edges of his face.

He hums in response, opening his eyes and casually slipping a hand under your sleep shirt, resting his palm on your bare waist, “No,” he murmurs, even though you know he’s lying through his teeth. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t sleep,” you tell him miserably, sticking out your lower lip even though he likely can’t see your face—his eyes would need to adjust to the darkness.

He shifts under the covers, gently skimming the pad of his thumb over your ribcage, “Have you tried Ambien?”

Your primary care physician prescribed sleeping pills for you, but you didn’t have any interest in taking them. “So I can end up at the Lincoln Memorial with my underwear on my head? No, thanks.”

“I would be very impressed if you managed to sleepwalk all the way to the National Mall,” he muttered, his voice clearing as he became more alert.

You sigh in exhaustion, “I’m multifaceted.”

Spencer kisses your forehead, “Go to sleep, multifaceted.”

“I can’t,” you complain, watching him through your eyelashes, “I’m open to suggestions.”

Your boyfriend groans at your impertinence, “You could try taking the pills that your doctor prescribed to you.”

Rolling your eyes in the dark, you tuck some stray hairs behind your ear, “Nope. Any other ideas in that big brain of yours?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you get kind of snippy when you get tired?” Spencer asks rhetorically.

Frowning in defeat, you consider going out to the living room to watch something on the TV. At least that way you would be able to let Spencer get some sleep. “Are you telling me that there’s nothing you’ve read recently that has any kind of information on remedies for restlessness?”

Next to you, Spencer stiffens, and you wonder if he’s cold. You turned on the ceiling fan in an attempt to cool down, “There are always new articles on sleep remedies, but none you’d be interested in.”

Your eyes flicker to the alarm clock on his bedside table, just past three in the morning, “I’m open to anything.”

“Orgasms produce some of the same hormones that are conducive to falling asleep,” he whispers, his ministrations on your waist coming to a halt.

Sighing, you flop onto your back, “I already tried that.”

He’s silent for a moment, “Were you touching yourself while I was in bed next to you?” There was a new lilt in his voice, some sort of shift as the type of frustration he was feeling changed.

Considering your options, you cross your arms in front of your stomach, staring up at the spinning blades of the ceiling fan, “Yeah, but I didn’t— I couldn’t—”

“You couldn’t make yourself come?” He finishes for you, the words that you couldn’t get out slipping easily past his lips.

It shouldn’t embarrass you, but you find your face warming under the cover of night anyways. “No,” your answer comes out as barely more than an exhale, “I couldn’t quite get there.”

With his hand now resting on your abdomen, your attention laser focusing on the way his pinky finger skimmed the elastic band of your panties, “Do you want me to try?”

Honestly, it wouldn’t be much of an attempt, like every other aspect of his life, pleasing you is something Spencer excels at. “I want you to go to sleep. I’m sorry for waking you,” you decline his offer.

He doesn’t move his hand, “Are you sure? I’m offering, if you’re accepting.”

“I-“ you falter, “I guess it doesn’t hurt to try, but only if you want to.” You were perfectly fine with going to the couch and wasting the night away in front of the TV screen. You’ve clocked a lot of time with the early morning newscast recently.

Spencer twists his wrist in response, looking at you in the cool light of the room, “I’m always interested in pleasing you.” He speaks to you quietly, retaining the reverent tones of the morning while slipping his hand deeper into your underwear. His index finger slipping easily through your folds, “Oh, you got close,” he whispers.

There’s no resistance as his finger breaches your entrance, already deeper than your fingers had gotten. Your mouth falls open, a small, choked gasp escaping your throat as your hand instinctively grabs at Spencer’s wrist, “Yeah.”

His motions are slow and precise, making sure you can feel every slight movement as he withdraws his finger before sliding it back into your pussy. Adding a second finger before his other hand pulls down at your underwear, haphazardly leaving them around your thighs before finding a rhythm. The peace of the night pauses only for the crude sounds from you, muffled by the blanket strewn over your bodies.

Gently, Spencer presses the pad of his thumb to your clit, maintaining the thrusts of his hand as he slowly encircles the sensitive nub, “Spence.” Your voice is a breathy laugh in recognition of just how quickly he can get you there.

There was something about having someone else touch you. When you do it yourself, you can hold yourself back or overthink it, but with Spencer’s hands on you—or in you, rather—there was nothing to hold back. “Sex can help you sleep for the simple reason that it’s physical activity, but it’s when you cum that your body releases hormones that can actually help you sleep,” his ministrations don’t suffer as a result of his physiology lesson. If anything, it all becomes more intense.

A sharp, high-pitched noise comes out of your mouth, the all too familiar knot in your lower belly coiling. And coiling. And coiling. “So, you can—” your voice cuts out as you gasp, “You can literally fuck me to sleep?”

Spencer hums a confirmation, “Sex reduces cortisol levels, and your body’s going to release oxytocin and prolactin,” he assures you, “and those will induce pleasant and relaxing feelings. All of which means I get to fuck you to sleep tonight.”

“’m close,” you breathe, closing your eyes as the pressure in your core nears unbearable levels. “Oh, Spence,” you say, your grip tightening on his wrist as his hands don’t let up on you.

His unoccupied hand reaches up to your face, gently sweeping hair off of your forehead in a way that makes you dizzy, his head falling to your shoulder before he kisses the worn fabric of your t-shirt, “You can cum, baby. It’s okay.”

He doesn’t want you to hold it in, so you don’t. Your head tips back into the pillows as the coil in your belly snaps, going off like a slingshot—sharp and quick.

Spencer’s fingers keep working you through your orgasm, slowing at the same pace that your orgasm does, the sheets sticking to your back as you slowly unarch, coming back to the surface as the pleasure of your orgasm drifts away almost as quickly as it came.

Every part of your body trembles as you fall away from your high, hooded eyelids staring over at your boyfriend as you catch your breath. Timidly, you reach down and push your underwear down your legs, kicking them off into the abyss of sheets to be discovered at a later date as you turn on your side.

“You’re so pretty,” he whispers, shifting under the covers as he pulls his cock out of his boxer briefs.

You hum, scooting yourself closer to him on the mattress, heat emanating from his body in a way that you now find welcoming, “You can’t even see me.”

Grabbing your thigh, Spencer slings your leg over his waist, opening your body to him, “Not right now,” he admits, “But I know you. I know the way you look right now, while I’m slipping myself into you.” His voice is low, but your attentions are focused on the feeling of his tip at your pussy, slowly pushing into you. He lets your body adjust, this isn’t an angle he usually takes you at, but you can feel every single ridge as he moves.

“I know the glossy look your eyes have right now,” he mutters, pushing your lower back closer to him, leaving his cock impossibly deep in you. “A combination of the orgasm that you just had and the sensations you’re feeling right now.”

You shudder at his words, tentatively rolling your hips against him, silently signaling to him that you’re ready for him to move. A soft cry escapes your lips as he withdraws his hips, pushing himself back into you while your cunt throbs around his length, “Spence.”

He grunts in response, finding a steady, gentle rhythm as your mind goes blank. You find yourself searching for that high again, “You feel so good, angel. So, so good.” His voice is low as he pulls your body closer to him still, “Fuck.”

“Spence,” your voice cracks at stimulation, overwhelming you as he breathes into the crook of your neck. You dig your nails into his back, trying to keep yourself from screaming as his hand slips between your conjoined bodies, swiping softly at your clit.

Spencer keeps moving, fucking into you as his movements grow messier and messier with each passing thrust. “You’re so pretty,” he repeats, seeing your features in the soft moonlight as your mouth gapes and your second orgasm quickly approaches.

Whimpering, you bite down on your lower lip, your leg that’s slung over him shaking uncontrollably as you chase your orgasm, “Oh my god,” you gasp helplessly.

“So good for me. Let it go, I’m close too,” he says, continuing his motions even as your pussy clenches around his length, the waves of your orgasm pulsating around him, sending him hurtling toward his own.

Stars dance in front of your eyes, and you let them fall shut. His movements come to a stop and you loose a sigh of relief at the realization that you’re exhausted. “Don’t go,” you mumble.

Spencer presses a soft kiss to your lips, holding you close to him with one arm while readjusting his underwear with the other. “I won’t,” he whispers, “You need to call your doctor about wanting new sleeping pills.”

You grunt in response, too close to sleep to form a coherent response.

“I’m not opposed to a more natural remedy, but I’m not always around at night, and I need to know you’re sleeping at night,” he tells you, his voice growing softer as sleep threatens to take him.

Humming, you nuzzle closer to him, letting your body melt into the mattress as you finally fall asleep. Staying cold was no longer a concern, staying close to Spencer was.

[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

i’m lonely as fuck omg

[reidslovegia]

u + me = <3

pairing: spencer reid x fem! reader

summary: the most beautiful day of your lives is coming to a close, but your wedding night is about to begin. spencer shows his love to you by setting up the most beautiful room— and giving you the pleasure you deserve.

content warning: mdni 18+, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, fluffy wedding night lovemaking (like sickeningly sweet), softdom! spencer reid, a little bit of nipple play, multiple orgasms, lots of pet names usage (angel, beautiful, baby, good girl), married couple, mentions of longer hair and white wedding dresses, creampie (i hate this word omg), sweet aftercare, no use of y/n

w/c: 5.4k words!

genre: smut, fluff

a/n: soooo welcome to my triumphant return. life kinda got crazy and i didn't want to force myself to write but now that it's summer...ideas have been coming to me. i pictured like season 7-9 spencer but you can imagine any season. this turned out way longer than i thought but i'm so proud of it! can you tell the olivia album inspired me? :)

  Spencer's fingers were entangled with your own, his thumb brushing the back of your hand in soft little circles. His brown eyes were shining in adoration as you looked up to meet his gaze, the elevator hum a distant noise in the background— a soundtrack to the beginning of the most anticipated night of your life thus far. He had been looking at you this same way since you walked down the aisle hours ago, like you were something sent from the divine. Just thinking back to that moment, that white dress still flowing all around you, you felt a familiar lump rise in your throat. You were his, and he was yours.

“Baby,” he murmured, searching your eyes and reaching his free hand up to cup your cheek. “You okay? Your eyes went all misty for a moment.”

Damn it. Now you want to cry again, not tears of sadness, no– but in pure joyful emotion. You had married a man who noticed even the slightest change of your eyes or or an off breath. 

“I’m more than okay,” you manage to whisper but it comes out more like a choked out wobbly breath. “I just– the way you're looking at me. The way you looked at me. I’ve never felt so much love.”

Spencer leans down to press his forehead against yours as the elevator steadily climbed to the hotel's top floor, the warmth of him flooding your system. 

“I love you,” he whispers firmly. “With everything I am, with every breath I take. I’m so happy you’re my wife. I know you know but I need to tell you it again and again. I can’t stop saying it. I’ll always look at you like this because you’re my love. Every chamber of my heart beats in unison for you.” 

Just before you could fully burst into tears at the sweetest words you had ever heard and wash off all the makeup that you had spent hours applying this morning, the elevator beeped and opened revealing a long, elegantly styled hallway.

“Cmon, angel,” Spencer murmured softly, his breath caressing your ear. “I want to show you our honeymoon suite,” He tugs on your hand and you giggle at the way he practically drags you down the hallway like an overeager puppy, stumbling beside him. 

When you make it to the door at the end of the hallways, Spencer suddenly stops to face you. You open your mouth to speak and then—

“Whoa,” you gasp as he picks you up, his lean but strong arms sliding under your back and your knees to form the classic bridal style hold. “Baby what are you doing?” you giggle into his shoulder, filled with elation. You’re pretty sure you know what he's doing, you just want him to say it. 

Spencer smiles down at you and it feels like the warmth of ten thousand suns shining down on you, and healing every emotional wound that ever hurt you. 

“I am carrying my very beautiful bride across the threshold of our honeymoon suite, and then I am going to spend the entire night worshipping her.”

You immediately turn that familiar pretty shade of pink that Spencer loves, still not used to hearing him talk like this—even after all this time together. 

“You look impossibly pretty like this,” he smiles as his gaze traces the features on your face. “You don’t even know how much.”

Before you can respond with a doubtful quip disguised by humour, he maneuvers you in his arms so he can push the hotel room door open.

Your breath catches.

“Holy shit.”

His eyes fill with pride and you can feel his spine straightening. The room was absolutely gorgeous. The room was lit, not harshly bright, yet light enough so you could see everything. The large windows had the curtains pulled back to reveal the glistening lights of the city. In the center of the room was a king bed, draped with silk sheets and piled with fluffiest pillows you had ever seen. The sheets were covered with rose petals scattered about, and at the foot of the bed sat a basket filled with champagne and other things you couldn’t make out. 

“I called a week ago and asked them to set all this up. Penelope helped me find your wedding pinterest board and I wanted to make tonight special, especially since you planned the wedding so beautifully,” he smiles at your wide eyed expression as he puts you down from the bridal carry and kneels down to remove each one of your beautiful but painful heels that had been pinching your toes for hours. “You do so so much, and I'm not the most creatively inclined but I wanted to do this for you. I know I’m about to show you how much I love you physically but I  wanted to show you a different way too. I…I hope you like it.” 

This. This is why you married him, you thought as he removed each heel— pressing a kiss to each knee through your dress. Not for his incredible profiling skills, not for his astonishingly high iq of 187, not for his tall stature, or his beautifully sculpted face, or his brown doe eyes or his pretty pink lips or his messy brown locks but this. How much he cared. How he remembered the details, like you offhandedly mentioning your pinterest board. How he didn’t mind sleeping with a nightlight on during storms because he knew you got scared. Every single note filled with a fun fact a day left in your lunch. How he would listen to you ramble on and on about your favorite shows that other boys might laugh and call too girly, but he made a detailed chart with you on whether Jess or Logan was Rory's soulmate in Gilmore Girls. You married him for him. For the way he loved you in a way you thought was only possible in fairytales. 

“Spencer,” you breathe out shakily as his eyes lock onto yours, looking impossibly soft. “I don’t even know how to describe how I’m feeling right now. I love you. I love you so so so much. I can’t believe you asked Penelope for my pinterest board. I can’t believe you even remembered me mentioning it. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“Of course I did…I love you,” he smiles gently as he tugs you closer, his hand wrapping round your waist. “I’m going to be doing things like this for you forever. It’s the least I could do. You are the most incredible girl in the entire universe,”. He smirks as he leans his forehead down to touch your own. “And that's saying a lot because the universe is actively expanding and actually the rate at which it’s expanding is accelerating which means—”

“Wait,”. He suddenly stops and takes a breath. “I’ll tell you about galactic redshift later because I’m getting too distracted by how you look in this dress,” His lips slightly turn up as his voice lowers. “And how much I want to see it on the floor.” 

You can feel your face heat up for like the ten thousandth time today and you groan, pushing a strand of hair back behind your ear.

“You can’t keep saying these things,” you pout and he quickly leans down to press a quick peck to your lips. “I can’t help blushing. I think I have a chronic blushing problem.”

He laughs as he picks you and gently sets you amongst the flower petals on the silky bedspread, putting the basket on the floor before tossing his suit jacket aside. 

“Chronic implies that it's long lasting which in this case I think is ideal,” he kisses your forehead in between words as he sits beside you on the bed. “You look too cute blushing— I don’t ever want it to go away.” 

You giggle until his lips brush yours and every other thought melts from your mind. He kisses you so gently at first, like you’re porcelain on the verge of shattering. One of his hands reaches up to cup your face, while the other one settles on your waist—contentedly drawing little circles into the fabric of your wedding dress with his thumb. You sigh against his mouth as every nerve ending in your body seems to spark to life all at once. 

At your sigh, his breath hitches and his tongue slowly slips into your mouth at the given opportunity. The hand that was against your cheek slides to cup the back of your head as he gently lowers you to lay back against the pillows. Your hair splays out, and he raises up from your lips to stare down at you adoringly. 

“My beautiful wife,” he breathes out as his eyes trace your every feature. He lowers his lips to barely brush against yours once more. “My gorgeous, gorgeous girl.”

Before tears of emotion could fall from your eyes, he's kissing you again, and you can feel how much of himself he’s putting into it. He’s kissing you like your lips are what will save him from an incurable disease. Your wedding dress is twisted and flowing around the both of you, and his hands slide under you to fiddle with the delicate buttons on the back. 

He raises his head once again and smiles at you, and everything that is outside of the little bubble the two of you created disappears.

“Can I take this dress off baby?” he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“Yes please.”

“Your wish is my command,” he winks and you giggle, amazed at the way he can turn everything from serious and deeply intimate to funny, and yet still make the silliest of things romantic. “Sit up a little for me, angel.”

You obey him and his soft voice without question. His long fingers begin to attempt to unhook each button. Keyword… attempt. 

He huffs with a slight pout as his nimble fingers fail to get a grasp on even the first button. 

“I have an IQ of 187 and yet these buttons seem to require one even higher. Why are they so tiny? I mean they're beautiful… but Vera Wang certainly doesn't design with efficiency in mind.” 

“You should send them a letter.”

“Haha… very funny,” he pouts again as he finally manages to unhook the first one. “I have half a mind to.”

Suddenly his face brightens and his eyes get that twinkling look again.

“I have an idea,” he grins as he leans down towards the buttons. “Kisses for good luck.”

You smile and start to giggle again until you feel the press of his lips to each button through your dress. The butterflies come to life in your stomach again and begin to fly in dizzyingly fast circles. 

“There we go,” he murmurs as his lips brush each button and somehow…they unbutton as he tries his hand at it once more. “Told you. Kisses are good luck. Scientifically proven now.”

“You don’t believe in luck,” you whisper as his fingers unhook the last of the buttons.

“I do when it comes to you,” he breathes out as he gently pulls the sleeves of your dress down your arms, and lays you down to pull it off the rest of your body. 

Damn, you’re blushing again. And you don’t think it will ever go away as long as Spencer is alive to make you feel this way. 

Once the dress is all the way off, you hear Spencer's breath catch, and you look up at him shyly through your eyelashes. You were in wedding lingerie, that this morning your bridesmaids giggled and complimented as they helped you dress. The lingerie was white and lacy, delicate edges against your skin. 

“You,” he leans down to kiss you between each word. “Are..” Kiss. “So…” Kiss.” Pretty…” Another kiss. 

“Do you like it?” you murmur, stealing another kiss as he lifts his head once more. “I wanted to look pretty and special for tonight.”

“Like it?” he blinks like he doesn’t understand what you’re saying. “Angel…like is too insignificant a word for how I feel about you in this. Like… is used for saying you like a drink or dessert. Like…is a widely disproportionate word for how I feel about you. I feel like love is even too small to describe it.”

He exhales and leans down to kiss the lace of the bralettes edge, murmuring sweet things that you could barely make out. 

“Hey,” you murmur as you reach for the buttons on his white dress shirt. “I can’t be the only one half naked.”

He grins as he raises his head, and now it's your turn to fumble with buttons.  

“Here,”  he whispers, as his larger hands cover your shaky ones and begin to help undo the buttons on his shirt. Once he reaches the end, he shrugs off the shirt and tosses it on the floor, not caring where it lands. 

You let out a soft breath as he lets you gaze upon his chest. He was so handsome, so pretty. He wasn’t built with bulging muscles or a wide chest. Instead, he was built especially for you. He was lean yet defined, strong without being crushing.  

You didn’t have any words so you said the only thing that really mattered. 

“I love you, Spencer Reid.”

He leans down, and right before his lips meet your own you catch the mist that begins to cloud his eyes. 

“I love you,” he murmurs as he kisses your lips and then begins trailing his own lips down your neck. 

“I love you,” he repeats again as his lips latch onto that special spot on your neck, the one he's studied thoroughly and knows it’ll make you squirm. Your hips slightly arch to meet his as he sucks and gently bites at the skin, marking you as his own. You can feel the length of him, a not so subtle hardness pressing against you. 

You let out a whiny whimper and you can feel his smile spread across his lips as he keeps kissing his way down to your lace covered breasts. 

He kisses all around the lace edge and then reaches both hands up to cup them, marveling in how they fit within his palms. 

You whine again as he gently squeezes and begins to knead them, the sensation shooting down between your legs. 

“These are so pretty,” he mutters in a low voice as he stares at them. “So perfect for me, look at how they fit in my hands.” 

“Oh…god,” you let out in a breathy little moan, the feeling and the sight of him playing with your breasts causing the damp patch on your panties to grow even damper.

“Mm-mm,” he tuts gently. “I don’t think a deity is making you feel like this right now baby.” He grins as you let out another soft little whimper. “Who’s making you feel this way right now? Cmon…you can say it.” 

“Spencer!” you cry out as he rolls his hips against yours while he continues playing with your breasts, the friction causing a delicious pleasure to flood your senses. 

“Thats it angel,” he whispers against your lips with each slow roll of his hips. “Good job… I knew you could do it.” 

The praise he lavishes you with goes straight to your core, while he simultaneously reaches around to unhook the lacy bra, this time his fingers not fumbling at all. As it falls off he stares once again for a moment, before lowering his head to attach his lips around one peak while his hand paid attention to the other breast so it wasn’t neglected. He gently sucks and laves his tongue over it causing an exorbitant amount of high pitched noises to leave your lips. 

He detaches for a moment to gaze up into your eyes. 

“Is this good, angel? Do you want me to keep going or do you want something else?”

“It's so good,” you manage to choke out as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “But can…can you use your mouth and fingers on me?” 

Of course, your cheeks pinken again and he grins. 

“Where do you want them baby?”

“You know where.”

“Uh-uh” he shakes his head, trying to hide the slight smirk that begins to form across his face. “I need you to say it. Do you think you can do that, huh? Tell me where you want my fingers and mouth. I need to know exactly.” 

“I want them…down there,” you manage to squeak out. 

He sighs as he shakes his head again.

“You’re going to have to be a lot more specific, beautiful girl,” he crawls down the length of your body. “‘Down there…,’” he leans down, his breath ghosting above your knee, “could be anywhere.”

He presses a kiss to your kneecap and then the side of it as you pout.

“Did you mean down here?”

“No…”

He grins and brushes a kiss to your inner thigh. 

“Then did you mean right here?”

“Spencer!” you whine again, looking down at him petulantly. 

“Tell me where, angel. Use your words,” he whispers looking up at you with soft eyes this time. “You can say it, it’s just me. I’m your husband. Don’t be embarrassed.”

You inhale softly, swayed by the love in his tone and the truth of his statement. 

“Can you use your fingers and your mouth…” your eyes duck down as your voice gets incrementally lower with every word that escapes your lips, “on my…on my pussy?”

Your voice comes out in the softest shyest whisper on the last word, but he still smiles gently.

“Of course baby,” murmurs and inches up a little bit to play with the little lace bow at the top of the edge of your panties. “Good girl, I’m so so proud of you for saying it.”

He presses a kiss to the bow, his lips skimming the lace and his fingers brushing over the wet patch that was increasingly becoming wetter. 

“You’re already so wet for me,” he says in a low tone, with a hint of pride. He begins to slowly inch the panties down your thighs and legs, like he was unveiling the most precious treasure in the world. “Look at you…” he breathes out, “so pretty and perfect. My wife. Made just for me.” 

You let out a breathy little gasp as his long fingers part your folds. He lowers his head so that his warm breath ghosts against your clit, and you whimper as you helplessly squirm. As you looked down upon his head between your legs— his hair fell in front of his forehead making him look even more handsome in the low lighting. 

He swipes his thumb against your aching clit, making you cry out as he relieves some of the tension. Your hips jump and he laughs softly and then... 

“Oh—” you gasp as his head finally lowers and he flicks his tongue against your clit, his hands gently holding your hips down in place. “Spencer I— ah!”

He continued licking at your clit, and then gently sucked at it, raising a high pitched sob from your throat. You could feel him alternate between flicking his tongue and suckling, the combination leaving you squirming and whimpering under his touch. 

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more pleasurable, he gently slipped a finger inside of you, moving it very slowly at first, and then finding a comfortable pace after he felt your walls adjust around him.

“Spencer it feels—” your words were cut off by the moan that you couldn’t help.

“Yeah baby, I know…it feels so good, I know,” he murmurs as he looks up then leans back down to suckle at your clit again. “You don’t have to say it, just let me keep taking care of you.” 

He continues to pump his fingers in you, adding a second one— then a third when he feels you’re ready. You could hear the obscene sound of your wetness as he licks and moves his fingers in and out, curling them until he hits that spot inside you. That spot that he knows will send you to the highest of heavens.

“Spence…mm..” you whimper. “M’close.”

He doubles down his efforts, but what sends hurtling over the edge of your orgasm was his whispered ‘I love you’ against your clit.

You shake and tremble through the waves of pleasure as he continues between your legs, licking and sucking as you ride out your orgasm.

When you finally lay panting, he presses one last quick kiss to your clit, the sensitivity making your hips slightly buck again and a soft whimper to leave your mouth. He makes his way back up to look into your eyes. 

“Hey,” he breathes out. “Are you okay?”. His eyes search your own. “You did so well, looked so beautiful.” 

“I’m good,” you whisper shakily, looking into his adoring gaze. “I…wow.”

He smiles gently and begins covering your forehead and cheeks in soft pecks.

“Do you want a hug?” he says softly, looking back up into your eyes. 

“Yes please,”  you whisper, wanting so desperately to be in his arms before he enters you again. 

He lights up, and pulls you into a hug, his lips brushing the top of your head. 

“I love you so much,” he hums out, rubbing your lower back. 

“I love you too,” you whisper back into his bare chest. 

He holds you tight for another minute, whispering soft ‘I love yous’ ever so often.

“I’m ready,” you whisper against his chest and he knows exactly what you mean. 

He kisses your forehead and sits up, beginning to slide his boxers off. You watch in soft adoration as they fall to the floor, and his pretty cock comes into view. You’ve never thought a cock could be thought of as pretty, but Spencer has proven you wrong time and time again.

You reach out to wrap your hand around it, but he gently catches your wrist in his own hand and holds it away.  

You begin to speak but he gently shakes his head, hair falling into his eyes.

“I want to make love to you now,” he breathes out as he eases you back onto the bed. “I want to be inside you and if you…touch me now…I might not last.”

When you're laying flat against the pillows again, his hands come up to hold onto yours beside your head. His eyes lock onto yours and you can feel all the love he has for you in his gaze. The emotion builds and builds in the silence until a lump forms in your throat and suddenly your eyes are stinging.

“Hey…hey,” he exhales, pressing his nose to yours, as you feel a drop of water make its way down your cheek. “Don’t cry, angel. I love you so so much. I’m right here. We’re married now,”. He swallows and now you can see that he’s on the verge of tears too. “You’re…You’re my wife now.”

He quickly swipes at his eyes before reaching back down to interlock your fingers again. He kisses each salty tear away with the aching tenderness that makes your heart squeeze. 

“I love you so much,” you breathe out as he reaches down to position the tip of himself against your entrance. 

“Love you back…my perfect girl…my wife,” he murmurs, kissing your forehead gently, then sweetly pecking your nose. “Ready, baby?” 

You nod, unable to speak, because if you do you might start crying again. 

He gives you the most gentle, the most impossibly sweet smile before he begins to sink into you. You squeeze his hands tight as he presses deeper slowly, taking his time to savor the first moment you are connected as husband and wife.  

You gasp as he goes as deep as he can go, his cock kissing the most inner parts of you. His forehead pressed against yours, and his eyes were closed. This was it. You felt every emotion spiral through you, both of your souls swirling and dancing around each other, connecting in the most intimate of ways. 

“God…” he breathes out, his voice trembling. “I love you with everything I am. You feel so good around me. You’re a perfect fit, like always. I don’t–...I can’t—,” he chokes out, taking another breath before continuing, “Every part of me belongs to every part of you.”

A tear rolls down your cheek, one that you both don’t bother brushing away. 

“I’m your girl forever,” you say shakily. “I want to be like this always. I never… I never want to be without you, Spencer,” You reach up to wrap your arms around his neck, drawing him closer, his chest, pressing against your own. “You’re my other half.” 

He swallows back the lump in his own throat, his Adam's apple bobbing, before he smiles softly and kisses your forehead.

“Us forever,” he whispers into your ear, then draws back to lock eyes with you, as he begins to thrust slowly. “It’s you and me.”

You gasped as his cock brushed against the most innermost part of you again and again. Every part of you was connected to every part of him. Each slow stroke sent sensations throughout your whole body— echoing into your bones. You clutched at his shoulders, fingers digging into his bare skin as he made love to you.

“That’s it, angel,” he whispers into your ear. “You’re doing so well. There you go,”. He looked at you with the kind of reverence one would show a religious landmark. You were the temple that he worshiped at. 

His thrusts remained slow but deep as he looked into your eyes— hitting that spot deep within you that made your whole body tense and clench around you. 

“Is that it?” he murmurs, reaching down to rub slow circles on your clit in tandem with his purposeful strokes. He smirks as you let out a high-pitched ‘ah’—hoisting your legs around his waist to pull him in deeper. “Yeah… that’s it.” 

"You don’t have to be so smug about it,” you manage to choke out between high pitched gasps. “I-oh,” your voice dissolves into the prettiest moan Spencer has ever heard. 

Spencer's breath hitched—any confident remark he was about to fire off gone as he felt your walls clench tightly around him again. He gazes at you like you were a miracle that he was somehow lucky enough to stumble into because, to him, you were. 

Spencer?” you whimper into his shoulder, as he adjusts your hips so he can hit that glorious spot each time. 

“Yeah, baby?”

“Harder…please.” 

Spencer's breath stutters at your whine, and you can hear the soft inhale he takes in your ear before he nods, adjusting his weight above you and starts to firmly thrust into you. The sound of the headboard rattling against the wall above you was almost erotic in its own way— knowing that Spencer was putting that much effort into bringing your pleasure that a whole king sized bed could shake. 

“You’re so good,” he breathes out as you clutch and cling to him, sensing you nearing the edge. “You’re my wife…my perfect girl.”

He keeps circling your clit, building you up through a steady rhythm instead of quickly trying to get you to your peak. As your body started to tense and tighten, he pressed kisses all over your cheeks and face, light brushes that were so light they felt like a feather caressing your face. 

“Baby, I’m close,” you whimper as your hips lift, chasing the friction of his hand as he thrusted. 

“I know,” he breathed out, kissing your collarbone. “You’re doing so well. Let me take care of you, I’m gonna get you there.” 

As he murmured sweet nothings in your ear, the waves of pleasure grew and grew until they reached their crest— and you shattered around him with a broken moan. 

“Spencer!” you cried as your body trembled and he held you so close it almost hurt but you didn’t care. 

“Let go baby,” He whispered as he continued with slow strokes as you rode out your orgasm. “I’m right here. I’ve got you. We have this forever.” 

You pant softly as you come down, him still thrusting gently trying not to overstimulate you as he reaches his own peak. 

“Fuck— baby,” he gasped out as you felt him tense then spill into you. “I love you.”

As you both catch your breath together, you look up into his eyes, a post orgasmic haze hovering around the both of you. Your hand lifts, trembling a bit, and you push the soft curls back from where they were hanging over his forehead into his eyes so you could have a clearer view. 

“You okay?” he whispers, studying every inch of your face to make sure there was no lingering soreness. “I went a little harder towards the end there. Was that okay?”

You smile because this was Spencer. Soft and sweet and yours. Always checking in and returning his gentle self after taking control and giving you the most pleasurable sensations you’ve ever felt in your life.

“Spencer,” you breathe out, pulling his head closer to yours to steal a kiss in between words. “That was amazing. Best wedding night ever.”

He presses another peck to your lips, then raises his head to look into your eyes with a silly smile forming on his lips. 

“Best wedding night ever?” he laughs, poking the tip of your nose. “This was your only wedding night ever.”

You giggle as you reach up to poke his nose back. 

“Yeah, but in my imagination if I had ever had any other wedding nights, this would be the best.” 

He caught your wrist before you could poke his nose again, and a slow smirk spread over his face before kissing your forehead over and over again. 

“I guess we just have to get married over and over to each other so we can have more wedding nights and do a comparison of all of them,” he smiles as you begin to giggle again, warmth from the sounds of your laugh spreading throughout your chest. “That way I can run a statistical analysis.” 

“Only you would suggest analyzing our wedding night for science,” you smile as he continues pressing kisses to your cheeks and forehead. 

He smiles as he leaves one more peck on your nose, before rolling off you and standing up.

“Where are you going?” you pout, the warmth that had been present only seconds ago now gone cold.

He smiles as he reaches down to stroke your hair.

“I am going to get something to clean you up,” he whispers, “and then…we’re going to order so much room service.”

You perked up immediately. 

“Room service? Can we get whatever we want?”

He laughs as he comes back with a warm washcloth, sitting beside you on the bed again. 

“Whatever we want, angel,” he says softly as he leans down to gently clean you between your thighs. His touch was so soft, wiping away whatever remained and soothing any lingering soreness. 

After he finished and quickly disposed of the washcloth, he lay back beside you and you immediately found yourself back in his arms— like you were two opposite ends of a magnet. 

“I love you,” he murmured against your forehead. “My lovely, perfect wife.”

You looked up from your cocoon in his arms, and met his eyes, overflowing with adoration.

“I love you too,” you whisper back, eyes fluttering as you tried to force yourself to keep them open— not wanting this night to end quicker than it had to.

“Hey,” Spencer breathed against your forehead, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes, “you can go to sleep…I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. We have tomorrow like this, then our honeymoon… then forever.”

Your stomach flipped again at the mention of forever, as his breath warmed your ear. You were plastered to him, like you were an extension of his body. 

“Don’t let go,” is the only thing you come up with to whisper back, because if you tried to say more you might start crying from emotion like earlier. 

He immediately shakes his head, like even the notion was absurd.

“Never ever” he whispered back with one final sleepy kiss to your forehead.

You fall asleep mid mumble of ‘I love you’, and he just smiled against your forehead, squeezing even tighter. 

You didn’t have to finish the sentence. He already knew. You had forever to say it again, anyways. 

****

hiiii! i hope you guys enjoyed, this took me like a wholeee day to write! if you liked it pretty please like and reblog! it would mean so so much to me!

[h0lym01y]

HEADLOCK MASTERLIST

pairing : spencer reid x fem!reader

summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.

tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism (additional tags on individual chapters)

CHAPTER ONE : like machines do : spencer and our leading lady find themselves in a tricky situation

CHAPTER TWO : you know you're better than this : things start to heat up between our stars.

CHAPTER THREE : too late to stop : our pairs on screen chemistry is tested.

CHAPTER FOUR : and you look half dead half the time : our couple prepares for their final act.

[h0lym01y]

HEADLOCK : ch. 4

chapter four : and you look half dead half the time

masterlist my ao3!

pairing : spencer reid x fem!reader

summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.

wc : 15k

tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, electric shock, switch!spencer, switch!reader, blood, gore, lots and lots of spit, unprotected p in v, oral f!receiving, squirting, multiple orgasms, choking, forced orgasms, face-sitting, angst, talks of pregnancy, broken bones, unhealthy conversations about SA, two extremely traumatized people trying to survive, bittersweet ending.

authors note : here she is!!!! at long last, the final chapter of headlock <3 the amount of support for this fic has me so incredibly grateful, i hope the ending lives up to expectations <3 please let me know if there's any spelling or grammar problems, this chapter kind of got away from me and my brain has been fried by the editing process lol

★

The BAU had a pretty serious reputation.

Highly skilled, highly specialized, and highly exclusive. 

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

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

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

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

Your hands trembled when you shook his. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reserved but optimistic. 

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

You’ve been practicing your profiling. 

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

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

Jennifer Jareau, media relations and police liaison. 

Also notably, drop dead gorgeous. 

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

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

“This is SSA Prentiss.”

Oh, you know who she is. 

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

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

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

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

You’re more than familiar with him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She hadn’t told you he was so pretty. 

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

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

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

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

“As far as I can tell.” 

“How was your last deskmate?” 

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

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

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

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

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

Your smile practically doubles in size as you shake it. 

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

“Likewise.” 

★

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

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

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

Normalcy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just play along, please?” You groan. 

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

You have to think about it for a moment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you aren’t alone.

You have him. 

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

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

What happens to us?

That’s the real question on your mind.

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

You have a hard time swallowing his words. 

Something like this. 

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

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

He really seems to stop and think about his answer. 

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

Whatever that means. 

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

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

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

Hands-on.

That’s the term he used.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you immediately recognize what it is. 

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

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

Here’s the motive to perform. 

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

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

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

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

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

Okay.

Your turn. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You really are the exception to his rules.

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

Thank fucking god. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He’s just like you now.

Sick. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t need to be told twice. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Focus.

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

Does he want more talking or less?

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

Rougher?

Meaner?

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

You can do that.

Happily.

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

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

God he’s pretty. 

Somehow even prettier with a collar around his neck. 

Don’t think like that.  

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

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

“I thought you said no talking.” 

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

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

“This is fine.” He mumbles.

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

“I don’t mind.”

“Yeah?”

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

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

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

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

Certainly not seizing an opportunity.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So fucking good. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yet somehow, it wasn’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Good luck saying no to that look.

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

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

All you can do is glare at him.  

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

“Spencer.”

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

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

“Well at least tell me!”

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

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

And god it feels good. 

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

It feels so good. 

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“Spencer…” 

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

What if this is what he wants?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hate that he was right, this is working. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Promise?” 

“I promise, please, just trust me.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you aren’t.

Spencer was right, thank god.

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

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

“I didn’t, it was a lucky guess.”

You sit straight up, looking offended. 

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

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

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

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

“Training?”

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

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

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

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

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

“How much do you think our collars emit?”

He hesitates before he speaks again.

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

“So it could kill us.”

“Yes, it’s possible.”

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

“Yes, that would be wise.”

“So we let him… train us?”

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

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

“What happens when we’re trained?”

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

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

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

“I guess.”

★

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

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

And you’re happy to let him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I couldn’t forget it if I tried.”

“Why do you think he did it?”

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

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

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

“It might save me.” 

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

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

“I can handle it.” 

“And if it doesn’t work?”

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

“I could seriously hurt you.”

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

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

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

Turns out he can go again. 

★

How many days has it been?

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

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

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

Just like the unsub wants. 

Just like you want.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know what I mean, Spence.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I was obsessed with you.”

“You were nice to everyone.”

“I was extra nice to you.”

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

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

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

Could you?

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

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

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

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

“Maybe.” You murmur.

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

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

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

“Yeah?”

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

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

“You have that effect on me.” 

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

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

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

“What do we do if I am?” 

“We… handle it. We can handle it.”

No you can’t.

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

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

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

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

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

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

★

This is it.

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

Okay.

You’re dead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Just like when Tobias Hankel saved him. 

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

You make sure to let your chest rise regardless. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When do you call it quits on this?

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

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

That almost makes you open your eyes. 

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

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

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

He’s so… ordinary. 

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

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

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

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

Again, and again, and again, and again. 

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

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

“Please.” 

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

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

He really meant it.

All for you.

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

Just a lump of gore with teeth. 

Because he loves you.

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

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

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

He has the same look in his eyes. 

Pupils blown, encompassing the rest of his iris.

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

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

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

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

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

“Every word.” 

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

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

“It isn’t too bad. I promise.”

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

It’s probably just a fracture. 

Probably.

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

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

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

“I love you.” 

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

“I love you.” 

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

He says it for you, just for you. 

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

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

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

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

You’re both faced with a ladder. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Spencer?”

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

“Yeah.” 

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

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

He looks awful. 

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

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

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

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

A perfect pair.

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

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

The way Morgan looks at you makes you nauseous. 

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

You’re glad it’s just Hotch. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“About three and a half weeks.” 

That catches Spencer's attention.

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

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

Three and a half weeks. 

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

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

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

How much time before you abandoned us completely?

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

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

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

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

★

You can see them through the glass. 

Emily, Morgan, J.J, even Penelope. 

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

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

He’s right, you really could be. 

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

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

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

And now you’re here. 

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

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

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

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

You aren’t, but you nod anyway.

“Me too.”

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

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

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

You scoff.

“I don’t need a rape kit.”

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

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

A hush falls over the room. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I said no.” You hiss.

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

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

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

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

Including Spencer. 

No one has anything to say to that. 

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

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

You don’t want their pity. 

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

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

You are a we now.

An us.

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

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

So much of your skin is covered in bruises. 

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

You look straight out of a horror movie. 

A shell of who you once were.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, so pretty.”

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

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

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

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

★

Everything is different now, how could it not be?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Maybe worse.

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

They don’t look at you the same anymore. 

Hotch looks at Spence like he’s dangerous.

Morgan doesn’t joke around with you anymore. 

Spencer made Penelope cry on your first day back.

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

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

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

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

You aren’t a normal couple. 

And you don’t want to be. 

★

a/n : i really hope y'all enjoyed headlock <3 <3 follow @holymolynotifications for future fic updates!!

[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

wow wow wow wow. i have no words…. it’s everything i wanted it to be. i just idk…. i sent an anon that started the same way i said some there. wow…

[whoswitchybabyanyway]

revised plan

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

word count: 2.4k

summary: spencer comes home from a case clearly upset about something, so you decide to help get his mind off of it

includes: fluff, established relationship, hurt/comfort, pillow fight, playful banter, domestic vibes, post-case stress, emotional vulnerability, soft intimacy, gentle touching, grounding, kissing, non-explicit but semi-suggestive ending

based on this request

The door doesn’t slam.

Spencer never slams doors.

But it closes a little too firmly, a little too carefully controlled, and that’s how you know.

You look up from where you’re curled on the couch, the soft glow of the TV painting the room in low light. For a second, he just stands there with his hand still on the handle, shoulders slightly hunched like he hasn’t quite made it all the way back yet.

“Hey,” you say softly.

His head lifts at your voice. The tension in his face shifts, not gone, just… tucked away. Filed under something neater.

“Hi.”

It’s automatic, the way he crosses the room to you. Like muscle memory. Like you’re part of the routine he trusts. He leans down, presses a quick kiss to your lips—gentle, familiar—but it’s over before it can settle into anything.

Too quick.

“Case ran long,” he adds, already pulling back, already halfway somewhere else in his head. “I’m—uh—I’m gonna shower.”

“Spence—”

But he’s already moving.

You watch him disappear down the hallway, the quiet click of the bathroom door following a second later. Then the rush of water.

And just like that, the apartment feels… off.

You frown slightly, staring at the space he left behind. The way he didn’t linger. Didn’t ramble. Didn’t even really look at you beyond that quick, checking-in glance.

Something’s wrong.

Not catastrophically wrong. You know what that looks like. You’ve seen it before.

This is quieter than that. He’s wound too tight.

You mute the TV, the silence settling in around you, filled only by the distant sound of running water. Your mind runs through possibilities—bad case, lack of sleep, something that stuck with him longer than usual.

Probably all of the above.

You push yourself off the couch, padding down the hallway. The bathroom door is still closed, steam already curling faintly from beneath it. You hover there for a second, considering knocking.

You don’t.

Instead, you lean your shoulder against the wall, arms crossing loosely as you wait.

The water runs longer than usual.

When it finally shuts off, there’s a pause. A long one. Like he’s just standing there, gathering himself, piecing something back together before he has to step out and be a person again.

Your chest tightens a little.

The door opens a minute later, and Spencer steps out, hair damp, t-shirt clinging slightly where it hasn’t fully dried him off. He looks… better, technically.

Cleaner. Still not okay.

He blinks when he sees you there. “Oh—hi. I didn’t—uh—realize you were—”

“Waiting?” you offer.

He gives a small, sheepish nod, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to disappear like that.”

“It’s okay,” you say, but your eyes narrow just a little, studying him. “You just got back. You’re allowed to be weird for at least, like, an hour.”

That earns you the faintest hint of a smile. It flickers across his mouth, brief but real. “Only an hour?”

“Mhm. After that I start charging you for emotional distance.”

A quiet huff of laughter leaves him, softer than usual, but it’s something. Still, he shifts his weight like he doesn’t quite know where to go next. Like standing still might let something catch up to him.

You tilt your head slightly, softer now. “Hey… are you okay?”

Spencer doesn’t answer right away.

His gaze drops somewhere between you, unfocused, like he’s flipping through thoughts too fast to grab just one. You can almost see the calculations, the quiet sorting, the way he tries to find the most accurate answer instead of the easiest one.

A few seconds pass before he exhales.

“I—” He stops, presses his lips together, tries again. “I will be.”

It’s honest. Not reassuring, not entirely comforting, but real. And you’ve learned that’s what matters with him.

You nod, stepping a little closer, your hand brushing lightly against his arm. “Okay. ‘Will be’ is acceptable.”

His shoulders loosen a fraction at that. Not fully. Just enough to breathe a little easier.

“I think I just…” He rubs at the back of his neck again, damp curls catching between his fingers. “I should probably sleep. Reset a little.”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “That sounds like a good plan.”

There’s another pause, smaller this time. Hesitant.

Then, quieter—almost careful—“Will you… come with me?”

It’s not a big question. Not really. You’ve done this countless times before. Fallen asleep together, limbs tangled, his breathing evening out beside you.

But there’s something different in the way he asks it now.

Less routine. More… needing.

Your expression softens instantly. “Of course.”

Something in him settles at that. Not all the way, but enough that the sharpest edges dull.

“Okay,” he says, almost to himself.

He shifts, gesturing faintly down the hall like he’s not entirely sure how to transition from standing here to actually moving. You don’t wait for him to figure it out. You slip past him, bumping your shoulder lightly into his as you go.

“C’mon, genius,” you tease gently. “Doctor’s orders. Bed.”

A quiet breath of amusement escapes him, and this time the smile lingers just a little longer.

He follows you.

The bedroom feels softer somehow. Dimmer. Safer.

You tug the blankets back and climb in first, settling into your usual spot without thinking. Spencer hovers for half a second before joining you, movements slower, more deliberate, like he’s still shaking off the outside world piece by piece.

The mattress dips under his weight. There’s that same brief hesitation. Then he shifts closer.

Not dramatic. Not even fully intentional, maybe. Just instinct. His arm slides around you, tucking you in against his side, his hand resting warm and steady at your waist.

You hum softly, adjusting so you fit better against him, your cheek brushing his shoulder.

For a moment, neither of you say anything.

You can feel it, though. The tension still coiled in him. Quieter now, but not gone. His fingers flex slightly against your side, like he doesn’t quite know how to let go of everything yet.

Your gaze flicks upward.

He’s staring at the ceiling. Wide awake.

Yeah. No. Not happening.

A small smile tugs at your mouth.

“You’re terrible at this,” you murmur.

Spencer blinks, glancing down at you. “At what?”

“Sleeping.”

“I just laid down,” he protests mildly.

“Mhm. And you’re already thinking too loud.”

His lips twitch faintly. “I don’t—think loudly.”

“You do when you’re trying not to.”

That earns you a slightly more real look. A little more present.

Good. But you have another idea.

You shift suddenly, twisting out of his hold just enough to grab one of the pillows from behind you.

Spencer frowns, confused. “What are you—”

You hit him.

Not hard. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to surprise.

The pillow makes a soft whump against his arm.

He stares at you. You stare back.

“…Did you just—” he starts.

You hit him again. That does it.

“Okay,” Spencer says slowly, pushing himself up onto one elbow, eyes narrowing just a fraction. “I see what’s happening.”

“Do you?” you grin, already backing up on your knees across the bed.

“I was under the impression we were going to sleep.”

“Revised plan.”

He watches you for a second longer. Then, something shifts.

It’s subtle, but you catch it. The way the tension in his shoulders loosens, replaced by something lighter. Sharper. Awake in a different way.

“You know,” he says, reaching for a pillow of his own, “there are several strategic disadvantages to your current position.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. For one—”

You don’t let him finish. You swing the pillow, aiming for his chest.

This time, he’s ready for it. And just like that, the room changes.

Laughter breaks through the quiet, sudden and bright, as Spencer catches the pillow and immediately retaliates. The first hit he lands is clumsy, glancing off your side, but the second—

“Hey!” you laugh, scrambling away as he moves forward.

The bed dips and shifts under both of you, turning the whole thing into unstable territory. You grab another pillow, swinging wildly, barely dodging his reach as he tries to corner you.

“You started this,” he reminds you, breath already a little uneven—but lighter now, threaded with something almost playful.

“And you’re losing,” you shoot back.

“I am not losing.”

“You absolutely are—”

Your sentence dissolves into laughter as he lunges, catching the edge of your pillow mid-swing and using it to yank you forward. You barely twist out of it in time, scrambling off the bed entirely with a soft thud of your feet hitting the floor.

“Oh, that’s cheating!” you accuse, already darting backward.

Spencer sits up fast, pushing his hair out of his face, eyes brighter now—really bright, the kind that only shows up when he’s fully, genuinely in something.

“That’s not cheating,” he argues, grabbing his pillow and sliding off the bed after you. “That’s adaptation.”

“You’re literally making up rules—”

“You didn’t establish any rules!”

You laugh again, breathless, backing toward the door as he advances. There’s something delightfully unfair about him like this—long limbs, quick reflexes, a surprising amount of coordination when he’s not overthinking every step.

“You’re supposed to be bad at this!” you protest.

“That seems like an assumption you made without evidence.”

“You trip over air, Spencer!”

“I trip when I’m thinking,” he corrects, already closing the distance, pillow raised like a very soft weapon. “I’m not thinking right now.”

“Oh, that’s terrifying—”

You dart sideways just as he swings, the pillow grazing your arm instead of landing square. You laugh, breathless, circling back toward the bed like it’s home base, except he’s already anticipating that, cutting you off with a step that’s just a little too quick.

Unfair.

“You’re taking this too seriously!” you accuse with a laugh, backing up until the mattress bumps into the backs of your legs.

“I take all competitive activities seriously.”

“This is not a competitive—Spencer!”

He lunges.

You try to dodge, really you do, but he catches your wrist mid-retreat, momentum carrying both of you forward. The mattress dips hard as you fall back onto it, a surprised laugh punching out of you as he follows, one knee landing on the bed beside your hip, the other sinking into the blankets for balance.

The pillows are forgotten somewhere in the chaos.

You twist beneath him, still laughing, trying to shove him off, but he’s already got you—hands catching your wrists, pinning them lightly above your head as he leans over you, hair falling into his eyes, glasses slightly crooked.

“Got you,” he says, a little breathless, a little triumphant.

“You cheated,” you counter immediately, though the words dissolve into another laugh.

“I adapted,” he corrects again, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth now—real, unguarded, lingering.

You both go still for a second.

Not fully. Your chests are still rising and falling too fast, breaths mingling in the small space between you. But the movement slows. The laughter fades into something softer, quieter, like the room is catching up with you.

Spencer doesn’t let go of your wrists right away.

His gaze flickers over your face, like he’s remembering where he is. Who he’s with. The shift happens again, subtle but unmistakable, the playful edge softening into something warmer. Something heavier.

“Hi,” you murmur, softer now.

His lips twitch faintly. “Hi.”

“I missed you,” you say softly. 

“I missed you too,” he says, and it lands softer than everything else—like something he didn’t realize he was holding onto until it slipped out.

Your chest tightens in that quiet, familiar way.

You don’t rush it. You just… shift.

One of your wrists twists gently in his grasp, and he lets it go immediately—of course he does, there’s no resistance, no hesitation. Spencer has never been someone who holds on when you pull away.

But you’re not pulling away.

Your freed hand slides up, fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his shirt, and you tug him down.

The kiss meets him halfway.

It’s warm and intentional. Your lips brushing his first, testing, and then settling when he exhales softly against you like something in him just… gives. He melts.

His grip loosens on your other wrist, not dropping it entirely at first, just easing—like he’s making sure you don’t want to move again. When you don’t, when your fingers tighten slightly in his shirt instead, he lets go completely.

His hand slides down, slow and careful, tracing the line of your arm before settling at your side.

The kiss deepens—not dramatically, not all at once. It builds. Soft turns into something warmer, something that lingers a second longer each time your lips meet. His breathing shifts, uneven at the edges, like he’s still catching up to the moment.

Like he didn’t expect this. Like he needed it anyway.

You hum faintly against him, and that does something—something visible. His hand tightens just a little at your waist, pulling you closer without thinking, pressing you more firmly into the mattress beneath him.

Grounding. Needing.

When he pulls back, it’s not far. Just enough to breathe, to look at you, curls falling messily into his eyes.

There’s still a trace of that earlier tension in him—but it’s changed now. Softer. Warmer. Redirected into something that hums low under his skin.

“Is this…” he starts, voice quieter, a little rougher now. “Is this your official treatment plan?”

Your lips curve, brushing his again, lighter this time. “Mhm. Very advanced technique.”

He huffs a small breath of laughter, forehead dipping briefly against yours. “Peer-reviewed?”

You laugh. “Extensively.”

Another kiss—shorter, but more certain.

His hand shifts at your waist, thumb brushing absent, slow circles like he’s thinking without meaning to. The rest of him follows in small ways—his weight settling more comfortably over you, one knee adjusting against the mattress, his body fitting closer instead of hovering.

Less distance. Less thinking. More here.

You slide your hand up from his shirt to his jaw, thumb brushing lightly along the edge, and his eyes flicker shut for a second at the contact.

When he kisses you again, there’s less hesitation in it. Still gentle, still Spencer, but steadier now—like he’s chosen this instead of stumbled into it. He sighs when he pulls away, a deep and satisfied sound that makes you smile again.

“Thank you,” he says.

“Any time.”

[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

sooo so cute and sweet i love it

[lavenderprose]

I love how some fics are called shit like "They Only Shoot The Birds Who Cannot Sing" and it's like the most insane porn you're ever read and then some fics are called Spit On Me and it's 18,000 words of the most achingly id-scratching prose you've ever read and they're both. They're both so fucking good. thank God for fanfiction.

[h0lym01y]

HEADLOCK : ch. 3

chapter three : too late to stop

masterlist my ao3!

pairing : spencer reid x fem!reader

summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.

wc : 11k

tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, interrogation, mentions of vomit (nothing too graphic), blood, burns, torture, dental based horror, spanking (hand+belt), self mutilation, spencer and our heroine are lowkey starting to lose it.

authors note : CHECK THE TAGS ON THIS CHAPTER FOR WARNINGS

★

Maybe Hotch will make sure the bureau pays for all the therapy you’re gonna need when you get out of here. 

If you get out of here. 

How are you gonna pass a psyche evaluation after this? Sure, you feel sane but a part of you knows that you’re… different. Spencer is too. You don’t leave a place like this unscathed. 

Maybe the team won’t ever find you.

And you’ll spend the rest of your days here, being fucked by Spencer in every possible position until the unsub gets bored or one of you dies. 

Right now, with your lips on his, that doesn’t sound like the worst way to spend however many days you have left. 

You slide yourself closer as you kiss him. It’s nothing like the ravenous, all consuming kisses you share in the throws of passion. It’s soft, it feels natural. You pull away when he doesn’t immediately kiss you back, just to glance at his reaction. 

You only get a moment to look into those big doe eyes before it’s his turn to lean forward as his hands dart up to your face, cupping your cheeks as he closes the gap between you once more. No tongues, no teeth, just the two of you. 

You revel in it, this moment that doesn’t belong to the unsub, or anyone else watching you right now. This is just for you and Spencer. 

When he pulls away it’s only when he has to take a breath, he keeps his forehead pressed to yours. 

“This is… torture.” He murmurs. “And I’ve been tortured, this is so much worse.” 

Yikes, that’s not what you want to hear. 

“Spencer…” 

“You can’t possibly know how abysmal it feels to be here. I would quite literally rather be tortured.” He says it so casually as your mouth settles into a deep frown, his gaze softens. “Not like that, not because of you, well actually, all because of you.” He’s quick to correct himself but he isn’t making you feel any less bad about kissing him if this is his reaction. 

“That doesn’t make it any better.” You mumble, wanting to shrink away but his hands are still on your face, his thumb moving in small, gentle circles.

He chews his lip, lost in thought for a moment before he nods to himself, like he’s figured it out. 

“Did you know that torture is one of the most ineffective ways to get information out of a person?” 

“Yes Spencer, I went through the same training you did.” 

“Statistically speaking it just doesn’t work, even when you manage to ‘break’ your victim, over seventy percent of the time their mental state has been compromised or they give false information to make the abuse stop. It’s extremely hard to get someone to talk if they’ve resigned themself to not doing so.”

“This really isn’t what girls want to hear after they kiss you, you have kissed someone before right?” You swear you heard a rumor about Spencer and some actress he met on a case. 

“I’ve been tortured.” He’s really hammering this point home. 

“I know, Emily told me what happened, I’m so sorry Spencer I’m just a little confused as to how that applies to this-” 

“And even through being physically tortured and…” His voice trails off for a moment but he shakes it off. “I was in a sense ‘broken’ but I still gave false information to my captor. I never fully complied. I lied, I stayed in the moment as best I could, always focused on survival, I refused to give up.” 

You just sort of nod in response, hoping that you didn’t break his brain when you kissed him. 

“And now I’m here, trapped in a cement box with you, and that’s all it took.” He’s talking like he does when he’s found some great break in the case. 

“I’m still not following.”

“All it took was you.” His brow furrows as his gaze intensifies. “He put me in a room with you and I broke immediately, I immediately gave in to my base instincts and did everything he wanted. He served you up to me on a silver platter and I couldn’t concentrate on anything else because a part of me felt… grateful. How sick is that?”

Grateful.

“Not that sick.” Your response is immediate, if that makes him sick what does it make you?

“Do you know how it feels to have the one thing you’ve wanted for so long, given to you in the absolute worst way possible? The guilt I feel for liking it, for wanting it, it’s eating up my insides worse than any drug ever has.”

The one thing you’ve wanted for so long. 

You know exactly how it feels. 

“Spencer, it’s okay.” You finally manage to snap him out of his ranting.

“Is this real?” His whisper is so soft he’s practically just mouthing the words. 

You kiss him again, a wordless answer to his question. 

“You’re sort of a romantic in the strangest, most morbid way possible.” You say against his lips in between kisses. “Only you could make torture sound so passionate.”  

“You make me feel like I’m losing my mind.” He doesn’t bother to pull away either as he mumbles against your mouth. 

Maybe he is, maybe you are too. 

You can think about that tomorrow, you’d like to spend the rest of the night making out with him. It’s hard to think about the morality of all of this with his mouth, so sweet and warm against yours. 

★

You must have fallen asleep at some point, when you wake your body is intertwined with his. You sigh against him, enjoying the last few moments of normalcy before your waking nightmare begins all over again. 

“I’ve been thinking.” You jump a bit at the sound of his voice, tilting your head up you can see he’s wide awake, the dark circles under his eyes look even more prominent than usual. 

“How long have you been up?”

“A while, we should start considering soon that we may have to be responsible for our own escape. I don’t see a scenario in which the team finds us unless they get remarkably lucky.”

“There is no escape, unless you know how to get through steel doors.” You stretch, leaning back into him as he adjusts himself to fit his body against yours. 

“There’s always a way, I just haven’t figured it out yet.” 

“Well let me know when you do.” 

“His emotional response to the scene yesterday has me concerned. I’m worried we might see considerable escalation today.” 

“That doesn’t make sense, our compliance should keep him placated.” You flip yourself around so you’re face to face with him now. 

“Normally I’d agree with you but the reaction was almost too positive. Now that he’s hooked he’ll need more to get the same rush.”

“So we should stop complying?” That doesn’t sound like a good idea. 

“No, that would be even more dangerous.” 

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“What we’ve been doing, whatever he asks of us.”

Great. 

“Good morning superstars.” He didn’t give you anytime to register that the intercom had even clicked on. “I see the two of you are feeling a lot more chatty, that is wonderful news. Now, as much as I love a nice emotional scene, your fans are not as interested in that. I think it is time to really test your limits as actors.” 

That’s not what you want to hear. 

“Are you up for a little roleplay?”

Definitely not what you want to hear.

“Listen closely, I do not enjoy repeating myself. On the underside of the sink in the bathroom I have taped a slip of paper, on it I have written my name, date of birth, and address. All the things your team would need to save you, of course if you reveal them during filming I will censor it, we are not done playing just yet.” You take his hand in yours instinctively squeezing. “I would like my leading lady to go, memorize her lines and then flush the paper. As she busies herself I would like Dr. Reid to move the props onto the set, I think you will know how I would like everything. Afterwards I will explain the contents of the scene.”

The door clicks in a way that’s starting to feel familiar. This time when you step out you’re surprised to find the hallway filled. There’s a small wooden desk, a duffle bag, and two metal chairs. He cocks an eyebrow at everything but does as he’s been requested, you can hear the scraping of metal as he drags the desk in. You focus yourself on fishing around under the sink, sure enough you find a folded scrap of paper. 

With trembling hands you unfold it, you’re a little surprised when you find exactly what he promised you would. 

Peter J. Hill

February 4th, 1989

301 Broadway W, Seattle Washington, 98137

Peter Hill. Just a normal, generic name, yet the sight of it makes you tense up. 

You repeat the information under your breath, over and over again until it’s branded on your brain, you couldn’t forget it if you tried. As instructed, once it’s memorized you flush it, stepping back out into the main room Spencer has set the desk up with the chairs on either side. His focus is entirely on the contents of the duffle bag, he’s holding it open. His mouth is pulled into a tight straight line and his brows are furrowed, you aren’t sure you even want to know what he’s looking at. That doesn’t stop you from trying to sneak a peek before he zips it shut, tossing it down.

“I don’t think you’re supposed to see that.”

“What? Why?” You’re about to reach around him for it but the intensity of his gaze stops you.

“Because I think I know that the scene is.”

“Brilliant Dr. Reid, always one step ahead, it is a shame you cannot help your team solve your own case, maybe they would have found you by now. Tell her what we will be doing today.” 

“It’s an interrogation.” He looks white as a sheet. “We profiled him as a sexual psychopath, not a sexual sadist.”

“Maybe you were right about me, Doctor.” 

“Interrogation? What information could he probably want from us?”

“Not from us.”

“From you angel. I would really like to see you from a damsel in distress angle, I just think you would be so perfect for it.”

“Spencer, what is he talking about?” When you turn to look at him you step back, he looks like he’s going to be sick. 

“Would you be so kind as to retrieve the timer from the bag, Dr. Reid?”

You watch with bated breath as he does just that, a blinking red digital timer set for three hours, waiting to be activated. 

“In a moment I will be starting the timer, and the brilliant Dr. Reid is going to show off some of his FBI skills for us. I want to see the best the bureau has to offer, make her talk or you won’t like what happens.”

“What’s the incentive? I don’t understand…” Your eyes are still locked on Spencer, he’s clearly figured out something that you haven’t.

“It’s a game, against each other. There’s a winner and a loser.” You’ve never seen him look so terrified, his hands don’t twitch nervously, they just tremble. "Which means ramifications for the loser."

“I like you more and more everyday Dr. Reid, we practically finish each other's sentences.” A chuckle crackles over the speaker. “He is exactly right, the winner decides the fate of the other.”

It’s an easy choice, if losing means you save Spencer from some kind of punishment then you’ll just give up whenever you’ve put on a sufficient performance. 

“So I just have to give him your information and he wins?” You speak up into the faceless void of wires on the ceiling that you’ve begun to associate with your captor.  

“I would not be so quick to do so my dearest. You don’t even know what the prizes are yet. And in order to secure your prize I expect a show, you do not want to know what is in store for you if I am not impressed.” 

“We know what your expectations are at this point.” You sneer up at where you can only hope the camera might be. 

“You sound so excited to begin so I will not make you wait much longer. If you win, angel, and he is not able to break you, you will be rewarded with a little trip out of the bunker. You and I will enjoy a nice dinner together, candles, wine, I will pull out all the stops for you. Nothing but the best for my headliner.” 

You feel as sick as Reid looks. 

“And if Dr. Reid wins. I will reward him with a little dental procedure.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Your voice is shrill, you can’t even glance at Spencer anymore as he continues speaking. 

“Two teeth, I do not care which ones, he can choose, are to be removed.” 

“This isn’t even a choice, you can’t expect us to play along with this or give you any sort of meaningful show, obviously I’m not going to tell him anything.”

“I think your precious doctor might disagree. Best of luck you two, your timer starts now.” 

You watch as the clock starts ticking down from the three hour mark, collapsing into one of the chairs, cringing as the metal shrieks against the floor. 

“This is ridiculous, what kind of show can he expect us to put on, I’m clearly not going to tell you and you obviously don’t want me to.” When you finally brave another glance at him he looks apologetic. His fingers twitching against his palm. 

He gives you an apologetic half smile before he stares at the floor. And you know exactly what he’s thinking.

“No.” Stern and serious the word leaves your lips before you've even fully processed the look in his eyes. “Don’t be stupid Spencer.”

The vibe in the room has shifted so violently it nearly gives you whiplash. Whatever cautious, intimate energy you had is replaced with rigid anticipation. 

How quickly your captor can flip the script. 

“You know it wouldn’t just be dinner.” His voice cracks as he murmurs. 

“That doesn’t matter.” You stand, slamming your hand down on the table. “This isn’t even a discussion.”

“I agree, it isn’t.” His eyes are downcast, both of you are standing defensively now, bodies angled almost aggressively towards each other. 

The timer blinks in your peripheral vision. 

“Spencer, we can’t do this.”

“We have to.” His voice is strained now as he flexes his jaw. “If we don’t then he’ll separate us. If you win he’ll separate us, I- it isn’t even a hard choice.”

“I’m a big girl, Spencer. I can handle myself, we aren’t pulling your fucking teeth out over this, absolutely not. I am telling you no.” 

He crumples himself down on the floor, sitting with his knees hugged to his chest. 

“You don’t understand, with the escalation we’re seeing if he were to be left alone with you…” He rakes his fingers against his scalp, a mannerism you’ve seen from him several times in high stress situations. 

“I- No. I don’t care, we aren’t discussing this any further. We can put on a little show or whatever it is that he wants. You can fuck me and try to get a confession out of me, I don’t care but I’m not entertaining this.” You sit back down, letting yourself relax a little bit as he sighs, sounding defeated. 

You let your head fall backwards, silently cursing Peter Hill as you stare at the ceiling. 

“Can I kiss you?” His voice is small, you’re a little taken aback by the request so you just nod. 

“Yeah, of course Spence. But we also need to figure out what we’re doing here, if we don’t put on a good show then I’m worried we’ll be living out both punishments.” You turn your head back towards him, he’s standing beside you, crouched down so he can catch your lips against his, his hands cup your face for a moment before sliding down your body, he holds your hand for a moment, squeezing. It’s almost a little awkward but you don’t mind. When he pulls away you take a breath as you’re met with that apologetic smile again. 

“I’m so sorry.” He leans forward and gives you another peck on the lips and before you can register what’s happening you hear a click and he grips your wrist tight.

“Spencer, what the f-” You start to stand but his hands push down on your shoulders, hard, you immediately realize one of your hands is cuffed. Before you can react he’s got your other wrist, with a click you’re once again restrained with your hands behind your back. 

“I am so, so, so sorry, and if we get out of this and you find it in your heart to forgive me I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

You yank on the cuffs, they’re metal and the second you pull against them you know they aren’t coming off without a key. 

“Spencer, let me go, now.” Your mouth immediately settles into a scowl. A stern look on your face as you try to stay calm.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“I’m serious.” 

“Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” His begging is so genuine, as if he’s the one restrained right now. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Three hours is a lot of time, and I think if we come to an agreement then this doesn’t have to get out of hand.”

“I’m not telling you anything.”

“You will.” He tosses the duffle bag up and onto the table, you can see that it’s unzipped again, the bastard must have grabbed the cuffs when you weren’t looking.

“I won’t, I’ve had the same training that you have.”

“Exactly. I know every strategy and coping mechanism you’ve been taught.” 

Well, that’s not good. 

“Lets put on a show, make a real spectacle out of ourselves for an hour, I promise I won’t hurt you, but you have to tell me at the end of the hour.”

“No.” Your resolve stands firm, this is not happening.

“Sweetheart, please.” He kneels beside your chair. “I’m begging you not to do this.” 

The look in his eyes is almost enough to break you. Wide eyed and pleading with you but all you can do is shake your head. 

“No. I’m sorry Spencer.” You keep your voice stern even if you want to cry when he rests his head on your leg.

“You know there’s no safeword, there’s no stopping point. Do you understand what I have to do to you now?” His voice cracks again. 

You do know.

Unfortunately. 

Everything in his power to make you talk. 

If the roles were reversed you’d do the exact same thing. You understand him completely. Which is why you know that he understands why you can’t let him win. 

You brave a glance at the clock, less than ten minutes have passed. It’s going to be a long morning. 

When he finally stands up he clears his throat. His expression suddenly unreadable as he moves across the table, rubbing his hand over his face as if he’s trying to wipe away any emotion. You watch, silently, as he takes the other chair and sets it aside. 

“In an interrogation when you’re trying to empathize with the other person you sit, make them feel heard, make it a conversation. Stand when you want them to feel less than you, when you want to make them feel trapped.”

Spencer had said that to you once, when you watched Hotch sit with an unsub, he inflated his ego, tried to make him feel like he had outsmarted all of you. You’d asked questions and Spencer had been happy to answer. Now those answers ring around in your head.

You focus on keeping your breathing as even as possible as he starts to dig through the bag. You don’t look away and you don’t react when he starts setting the contents on the table. 

More cuffs.

A thick leather belt. 

A large red candle with a lighter.

A knife with a large blade. 

A hammer and pliers. 

“Really, you want me to believe you’re about to use a hammer on me?” You scoff, he doesn’t so much as flinch.

“Try to remember we’re performing.” He’s robotic as he tosses the bag back down to the floor, the heavy thunk tells you there’s plenty still in there. 

“It’s a good move, to lay everything out. Very effective.” You murmur, not sounding nearly as unbothered as you’d hoped to. 

“Stop talking.” He doesn’t raise his voice, he doesn’t even bother to look at you as he speaks. His expression has darkened so severely you feel compelled to comply.

You sit up a little taller, trying to not feel so small compared to him as he leans forwards, looking over everything.

“I’m not going to bother trying to reason with you any further, it’s a waste of time, you aren’t going to listen. I’m going to start simple, and give you an opportunity to see the error in your ways before I do anything too drastic. Every half hour that you let pass is going to result in an increase in the severity of my actions.” He never breaks eye contact with you as he speaks and it makes your hair stand on edge.

For the first time since you were taken you don’t feel safe with him.

If you said no right now he wouldn’t stop. 

Don’t act like that doesn’t almost make it better. 

Now is not the time for your perverse tendencies to shine, you can’t disassociate and forget the stakes anymore. This isn’t just another scene where you get fucked and try and process it later, there are consequences to your actions now. Consequences that only affect him, leaving you to bear the guilt of your choices.  

The timer lets you know it’s been about fifteen minutes, he seems to have come to a decision as his hand hovers over everything on the table, he takes the lighter in his hand, fiddling with it for a moment before he lights the candle. It’s one of those thick and short ones, the size of a can. 

“I don’t want to hurt you.” He finally breaks eye contact with you as he stares down at the floor. 

“I know.” It feels weird to be reassuring him right now. 

He walks around the table until he's standing behind you, gentle with you as he repositions you so you’re bent over the table.

He kicks your legs further apart, one hand on your lower back.

“Simple and painful enough to show you that I’m serious.” He mumbles to himself as you turn your head to try and get a better look at him to no avail as he keeps himself just out of your sight line. “Not so boring that it would result in retaliation.” You chew on the inside of your cheek all the while he’s still mumbling to himself. 

His hand rests on your lower back.

“Bruises are actually one of the safest injuries to have, because the skin is left unbroken it's the injury that puts you at the least risk for infection. We’re gonna start with thirty minutes and see if that makes you eager to talk.”

Only Reid would give you facts about the beating he’s about to give you.

You flinch involuntarily when he raises his hand. 

Fuck.

He does not hold back. 

Loud and firm as his hand connects with your ass, immediately you bite your lip, stifling a yelp. 

You want to scold him, or curse him out, or do literally anything but he gives you no options as his hand on your lower back pins you down and another blow connects. It’s so wildly clinical, the way his face screws up, like he has to do this. 

Maybe he does, you can’t really know what the reverse scenario would be. Would you let him face the unsub alone? You want to confidently say yes but deep down you know that isn’t true. 

You don’t get much time to dwell on it, your focus is reoriented when he hits you again. 

★

“Let’s go over everything again.” 

“We’ve already gone over this a dozen times, Hotch. Nothing changes and every second we don’t find them puts them more at risk.” Morgan hasn’t sat down once in the last twelve hours, alternating between standing over the table staring at photos and transcripts and pacing the room. 

“I just don’t understand why you can’t find them. This guy’s uploading at least one video a day.” Hotch turns back to his computer where Agent Garcia’s face fills the screen, her eyes flitting back and forth across her own monitors. 

“This guy isn’t dumb, every video he uploads he uses a different VPN and location for.” She never looks at the camera, too lost in tabs upon tabs of information. 

“Is it possible that any of these locations might be the actual one?” Hotch’s brow furrows. 

“None of them are anywhere close to Seattle, sir. Based on the upload time of the first video we know they’re still in the city somewhere.” Her face scrunches up as she looks away from her screen. “There’s a new upload.” 

“God damnit.” Derek grumbles as he puts his head in his hands. 

“Can you get it taken down before it spreads?” If it’s possible Hotch sounds even more grave than he usually does. 

“I can try, but he has some sort of bot set up, by the time I get it taken down two more pop up on another site.”  Her voice cracks. Everyone knows just by looking at her that she’s been crying most of the morning. 

“Forward us the link Garcia, you don’t have to watch it.” Hotch sits down in front of his laptop, waiting for the video to download. 

“Well, the thing is, this one is different.” Her expression is that of confusion as the video plays out on her own monitor. 

“Different how?” For the first time in hours Emily speaks up, previously lost in her own notes and files. 

“He isn’t directing them to do anything, and it’s dark in the room.” 

“They didn’t know they were being recorded.” Hotch clicks impatiently on the file, as if it can make it load faster.  

“They’re just talking and- oh.” 

“Garcia?” Hotch’s voice rings out clear.

“I feel like I shouldn’t be watching this.” 

“Forward it to us, I can take care of it.” For the first time in most of their careers, Hotch doesn’t sound so sure.  

He has to. 

Two members of his team, taken at the same time. The entire thing is being posted online as it’s happening. He should be able to stop this.   

Reid’s only twenty seven. 

And then there’s you, just a few years younger. 

Digging his fingernails into his palm he straightens up, everyone needs to keep it together. 

★

You can’t seem to stop crying.

Of course you’re crying, it fucking hurts. That doesn’t mean you’re any closer to telling him. 

His hand ended up being not so bad, it was the belt that really hurt.

He put the timer in front of you so you could watch as the seconds agonizingly tick down. It feels like the longest thirty minutes of your life and when it’s done you can’t help but sigh in relief, the side of your face is damp as you lay in a puddle of your own tears. 

“Are you okay?” He doesn’t help you up, you’ve still got plenty of time together, but he does bring you some water, tilting the bottle so it flows into your mouth.

“As good as I can be.” You try to sound sarcastic but you just sound hurt as your voice trembles. 

“Are you ready to be all done?” As he talks he takes the knife, flipping it in his hands a few times before he lets it rest on the edges of the candle, the blade hovering directly above the flame. 

“Am I ready to talk? No, I’m not.” This time you do manage to keep your voice steady. 

“Maybe another thirty minutes would help.” You fight the urge to groan, especially when he leans down and plants a kiss on your shoulder before standing up straight. He drags the belt across the raw skin of your ass before sliding it down to the backs of your thighs. You press your forehead down onto the cool metal of the table as the first smack hits the sensitive skin there. 

★

“So?” Morgan’s the first to speak when Hotch returns, looking haggard. The look on his face would be concerning on any case, it sets everyone on edge. 

“They’re… okay.” He sits, sorting through the pile of files in front of him. 

“Okay? That’s it? In the last video he was mouthfucking her and now they’re just okay?” 

“Don’t be gross Derek.” Emily scowls, this whole situation has left her sick to her stomach. 

“I’m not being gross, I'm being realistic.”

“It was an intimate moment that they wouldn’t want shared with the team.” Hotch murmurs as he rubs at the worry lines on his forehead. How is he gonna explain a video of his agents confessing feelings for each other and making out?

“More intimate than what we’ve already seen?” The angry edge to Morgan's voice has been unrelenting since the night they were taken. 

“I’m making a call as the unit chief that is in the best interest of our team. End of discussion.” 

How the hell is he supposed to tell his team that he doesn’t really understand what’s happening in that room anymore? That he just needs to get them out before they forget that they’re being held there against their will. 

“We’re gonna circle back to every living victim, and I mean every single one of them. Somebody has to have something that will give us some kind of clue as to who we’re dealing with.” He splits the files up into even groups, spreading them out between the dwindling members of the team. “I want everyone on the phone until somebody can give me something new.” He keeps his tone even as Emily and JJ stand, eager to get out of the stuffy room. 

“What’s on the video?” Derek closes the door, leaving the two of them alone. 

“I told you, it isn’t important.”

“Then what’s got you so freaked out.” 

Hotch looks like he’s seen a ghost and he knows it. 

“I just- I keep waiting for him to snap out of it.” Aaron keeps his voice low, as if anyone outside of the conference room can hear him.

“The unsub? I don’t think he’s gonna snap out of whatever movie magic delusion he’s living in.”

“Reid.” Hotch breathes out his name, thinking of the team's boy genius, and how he didn’t seem to be thinking with his brain these days. 

“The kid?” 

“When he was taken by Tobias Hankle he was in the same situation, he knew he was being filmed and could send us messages, and help us get him out.” He glances down at his watch. It’s been almost sixty hours since they were taken. “All he does is think, every one of his actions is always taken with intentionality, he’s an anxious overthinker.”

“I’m not following, Hotch.”

“This time, there’s nothing, no glance to the camera, no hand signals, word play, nothing. It’s like he has no self preservation skills in there. He should be keeping his distance from her outside of the scenes to keep the unsub placated but he doesn’t, he jumps at every opportunity to give her whatever she wants, to be as close to her as possible, knowing that it could result in retaliation from the unsub.” 

“They’re both in a really bad spot right now. I don't see why it matters if he’s trying to keep her happy.” Morgan jumps to Reid's defense on instinct. 

“Because he understands the profile. Now that we know what he was always after, that changes things. He’s an organized offender, he’s motivated by his need to control the scene and his obsession with her. The killing meant nothing to him, it was simply a way to punish those who wouldn’t obey. He’s a sexual predator with obsessive tendencies. Under no circumstances should he be pushed in anyway, it will always have negative effects but Reid just… keeps pushing." 

“Is it possible he’s misunderstood the profile?”

“When has Reid ever been wrong? It’s like he suddenly has no regard for his own safety, look, I’m not blind, I’ve seen the flirting between the two of them around the bullpen. But this isn’t flirting, he’s blatantly throwing self preservation to the wind.”

“It sounds like you’re profiling Reid now.”

“I am. Right now he’s a danger to himself. The unsub is spiteful and cruel. But Reid knows he won’t hurt her, he’s the only one in danger right now and he’s doing nothing to take the target off his back.” 

★

You stop watching the clock after five minutes, closing your eyes you stop trying to swallow down your squeaks of pain with each hit of the belt. Thirty fucking minutes of torment.

Every strike of the belt leaves you what you can only assume is a pretty nasty red welt. Very rarely do you find yourself in a situation where Spencer doesn’t fill the silence with random facts about something niche, or a statistic relevant to your position. 

Remember that this is a scene. 

He doesn’t want to do this, he has to. Perform or the consequences will be worse than separation and missing teeth. 

He doesn’t want to hurt you. 

He’s silent, other than his heavy breathing from the effort required to continuously tear into the meat of your thighs. 

You cry out with every hit, no sense in trying to look tough anymore, he knows it hurts. 

You take every single one. 

It’s easier when you think about why you have to do this. The image of a faceless man with his hand in Spencer's mouth, yanking out his teeth flashes across your vision. 

You’re anticipating another hit but it doesn’t come, slowly, you peek your eyes open.

Oh thank god. 

One hour and forty minutes left. 

Over an hour down. 

He undoes the cuffs behind your back and he’s quick to reconnect one of your wrists to a loop on the top of the desk. He pushes you back until you’re sitting in the chair, the cold metal stings against your raw flesh, drawing a hiss out from between your teeth. He remains silent as he sits across from you. 

“Can we talk about this, please, just for a few minutes.” Your goal is to sound as natural as possible, like this is an everyday conversation. You aren’t sure if it comes out that way. 

His eyes flit over to the timer. 

“I just don’t think we have anything to talk about if you aren’t going to tell me what I want to know.” God he’s stubborn.

“I just want you to hear me out, then I’ll hear you out, okay?”

He sits back, combing his fingers through his hair. 

“Fine, ten minutes” He flips the knife over the flame, the metal of the blade’s covered in a thin layer of soot now. 

“I need you to think reasonably, he’s been a man of his word so far, if I’m left along with him it sounds like we’ll have dinner and talk and that’ll be all. I’ll be back here before you know it.” You try to sound like the idea of being alone with Peter doesn’t absolutely terrify you. “The alternative is something dangerous and permanent.” You say your peace, staring at him as you wait for a response. 

“No.”

“No?” Well you weren’t expecting that. You were expecting intelligent and rational Dr. Reid to listen to reason, or at the very least, consider it. 

“No. You heard me. I cannot sit back and willingly let you do this. You think that you’re biting the bullet here and that you’re doing something to ‘protect’ me, but all you’re doing is getting yourself killed.” 

“You aren’t listening-”

“No, you aren’t. The man that we’re dealing with is an obsessive, sadist. If you’re left alone with him he won’t be able to control himself. It’s why we’re in here and he’s out there. He knows that once he finally takes his favorite toy out of the box he’s going to break it. If you go with him you won’t be coming back.” 

“I just don’t think he’s a sadist, he doesn’t kill for sexual gratification, he kills when he doesn’t get his way. As long as I do what he says I’ll be fine.” 

“You say that like it's so easy to follow orders from a serial rapist and killer. You don’t know what he’ll ask of you, and what happens if you don’t live up to his every expectation.”

“Whatever, let’s agree to disagree.”

“No, I don’t agree with you at all. I’m right, and if you’re going to make me hurt you to keep you alive and safe then that’s what I’m going to do.” He takes the knife, careful to never touch the blade. “Where do you want it?” 

“Spencer.”

You can tell by the way his eyes frantically flit around that he’s cracking under the pressure of the clock. 

“Make a choice or I will, we’re running out of time and if you won’t listen then I have to do this. I was thinking on your torso, across your ribs, that way it’s covered by most clothes. You won’t be able to wear crop tops and you’ll be stuck with one piece swim suits but that’s not so bad. At least I’ll still have a couple of teeth that no one ever sees.” Oh he’s pissed. He lifts the side of your top, the skin of your hips and waist are still dark purple, why not add a few more marks? 

“Don’t act like this is up to me. You’re choosing to do this.” You hiss. 

“Torso it is.” The hand not holding the knife grabs your free wrist, pinning it to the table. “You don’t understand at all. I can’t let you do this, there’s nothing I won’t do to stop you.” 

You watch, unable to tear your eyes away as he presses the thin edge of the heated blade against your ribs for just a few seconds before pulling it back. You’re hit with a searing white pain as a white line sizzles itself into your skin. It’s a completely different pain that the one you’ve endured from the spanking, you’d rather deal with that ten times over than then deal with this.  

You don’t recognize the cry that leaves your throat. 

Jagged and pained. 

With the way Spencer flinches you’d think that he was the one who was burned. 

You wait for the next burn but it doesn’t come. Instead he stands, carefully setting the blade back down onto the candle. His jaw is locked so tightly you’re worried he’s going to pop a blood vessel. 

He stares at you, eyes roaming from your tear soaked face down to the burn. 

You expect to see impatience, or a tired annoyance. 

Instead you just see shame, all of the bravado he had vanished at the sound of your anguished cry. 

An immediate regret for his actions.

Something about his sadness makes you forget that he even hurt you to begin with. You just want to comfort him. 

Jesus. 

Maybe you’re both going crazy. How long have you been here? It can’t be that long, a day or two? 

Spencer looks positively disturbed. 

Maybe he finally realized that you’re right, and it probably isn’t worth it to go through all of this just to end up with a bloody mouth.  

He’s quick on his feet as he hurries across the room and out the door, you stare, worried as he darts into the bathroom. You turn away at the sound of him retching. Facing the clock and watching as it ticks down another twenty minutes, ever so slowly. Accompanied by the sounds of Spencer spewing the contents of his stomach up. 

Finally, after what feels like forever you hear the water running, and a few moments after that he returns. Pale and distraught. 

He looks different. Changed. Like something has snapped. 

You almost ask him if he’s okay. 

Instead you clear your throat.

“What next, Spence?” 

He has to have an idea. You have to finish out the scene, even if hurting you apparently makes him retch. He looks so ashamed, maybe he won’t be able to bring himself to do this anymore.

Returning to the center of the room he takes another set of cuffs, leaning over the table to attach your free hand to the back of the chair. It’s an awkward position. One hand laid out on the table and the other behind you. You don’t question it, you’re too busy watching, holding your breath as he picks up the hammer. 

He must not feel too bad if this is what he’s gonna do next. 

“Don’t make me do this.” His whisper is so sincere. Pleading with you for any submission you can offer him. 

“I’m not making you do anything.” Unfortunately you have nothing to give at this point. You won’t let him make this sacrifice. Not when the alternative is far less gory. 

At least you hope it is. 

“You can make this stop.” He balances himself, leaning against the table, one hand splayed out and the other gripping the hammer so hard his knuckles are white. 

“So can you.” 

He chews his lip, eyes wide and wet around the edges. 

“Don’t move your hand, I don’t want this to be any worse than it needs to be.”

His words make you freeze in place, your hand rests palm down on the table, fingers spread.

You keep telling yourself through all of this that he would never really hurt you. 

Just beat and burn you.

Suddenly you’re not so sure. 

You probably should have considered that was something he was capable of before you let him cuff you to the table without any resistance.

He really has lost it.

He’s convinced himself that this is the only way to ‘save’ you.

And you’re stuck trying to save him. Let him torture you to save him from torture. Or save yourself from any more agony and subject him to the same thing. 

It’s the same choice he’s trapped in. 

You should have asked yourself how far he might go to get you to talk. You would go pretty far.  

“I’m sorry.” His voice snaps you out of your thoughts, he seems to have made up his mind, a look of resolution in his eyes. “It’s kinda funny, it didn’t really matter what the alternative was, I was never going to let you go with him. He could have threatened to break every bone in my body and I would still be doing this.” 

When he raises the hammer you flinch, he gives you one last look, pleading with his eyes but you just shake your head. When he slams it down you shriek, wincing as you feel a fresh flood of tears flowing out of your eyes.

You’re waiting for the adrenaline to fade, for the pain to hit. When it doesn’t you slowly open your eyes, flexing your fingers everything feels fine. You’re staring down to your perfectly intact hand. 

With a splatter of red across it. 

Across the table from you his left hand is splayed out, where the tip of his pinky should be there’s only a red splat. 

Your mouth falls open as your breath hitches. 

The remainder of the finger twitches, still spurting blood. He moves quickly and efficiently as he takes the knife off of the candle. Crying out in pain as he smashes what’s left of his pinky against it, effectively cauterizing the wound. 

What the fuck. 

“Please sweetheart, just tell me, if you tell me we can stop.” His voice is strained and higher pitched, tinged with the agony you know he must be feeling. You try to reach out to him but he’s done a damn good job restraining you.  

“Spencer stop, please, please stop.” You’ve got tears and snot running down your face at this point, he’s clearly got tears streaking down his face as well but his resolve never wavers, his hand is back on the table. Fingers splayed wide as the smell of burning flesh hits your nostrils. “Don’t, Spence, please.” You start to babble incoherently as he raises the hammer again, his eyebrows furrowed but there isn’t a moment's hesitation as he stares down at you.

“Tell me.” He whispers, when you stare back at him wordlessly he nods, as if reassuring himself before bringing the hammer down again. You don’t have the foresight to look away this time so you’re forced to watch, horrified, as he eviscerates the tip of his ring finger. A fresh splatter of red decorates the table. He’s out of breath, and so pale you’re worried he might pass out. He doesn’t waste any time as he retrieves the blade once more, trembling so badly he nearly drops it before he repeats the same process of burning the flesh around his finger until the bleeding stops. Your entire body shakes as you dig the cuffs deeper into your wrists, futilely trying to do something, anything to make him stop.

“Spencer. I am telling you to stop. Right now.” You want to sound authoritative, but your voice trembles so bad you just sound like a scared child. 

“I don’t see how this is better than a couple of teeth but we can keep going if you think this is what you prefer.” He’s out of breath, his chest heaving. His whisper is so dejected it only serves to make your tears flow faster. 

God, is he right? Is this better than a couple of teeth? Your brain can’t process anything right now, you’re too fraught. 

“Anything else Spencer, I will give you anything else, just fucking stop, please.” You don’t comprehend his escalation, how can he go from such tame actions against you to this, why the fuck does he care so much? 

“You know what I want. And if this is the only way I can get it then this is what we’re doing.” He’s already splaying his hand out on the table in front of you again, you can’t look away from his mangled fingers, half of his hand is out of balance. 

“Wait! Just wait a second! Please, Spencer, if you care about me at all you won’t do this. If any part of you feels the devotion you claim to have for me you’ll stop. Just stop.” His hand is close enough to yours now that you manage to reach out and touch your finger tips to what remains of his. “Anything else, in the whole world, I’ll give you anything else, do anything else, just stop.” You whisper the words, like you’re trying to talk someone down off a ledge, which technically, you are. 

“There’s only one thing that I want.” 

“Please.”

At least I’ll still have a couple of teeth that no one ever sees. He’s certainly proving that point right now. 

“There’s only one thing I’ve ever wanted, and I’ll be damned if I let this man take that away from me.” You’ve never been as afraid of him as you are now. Eyes wide and focused, and surprisingly coherent for a man who just smashed his fingertips off with a hammer. He could have done so many other things, so many less violent things before going straight for this. 

“Spencer.”

“We’ve got so much time left, once I get through all my fingertips I can only imagine what I’ll have to do to myself to make you understand.”

“I understand you perfectly fine, Spencer. I understand that you’ve completely lost it.” Your voice cracks, you try to reach him again but he pulls his hand back, spreading his fingertips wide so there’s no room for error. 

“If you understood me at all you would know that it doesn’t matter what the alternative is, there is never going to be a situation where I choose to let you be alone with him, I don’t care if he’s chained to the wall and you have a gun. He doesn’t get to be in a room with you, he doesn’t get to touch you, he doesn’t get to talk to you, he doesn’t get to breathe your air.” He sounds like he’s giving one of his lectures as he manages to pull himself together long enough to regain his composure and stand up straight. “Now, tell me. Because once I get through my fingers I’m going to start pulling my teeth out, and all of this will have been for nothing. Then, I’m going to line them up right here.” He drags the hammer leisurely in a line across the table just out of your reach. “To remind you, that I’m doing this for you, because you’re all I care about. To show you just how devoted I am.”

You don’t have time to unpack that right now, not while he’s still holding the hammer. 

“Spencer.”

“Tell me.”

“Spence.” As your voice hitches up an octave as his eyes squint, like he’s bracing himself again. 

God, maybe he’s right, how can this possibly be worse than two teeth? 

“Please.” Your heart breaks in two as his own voice turns to a soft whimper, he sounds so fucking scared.

When his eyes squeeze shut your own go wide with the raise of the hammer. 

“Peter Hill! Peter J. Hill, he- he was born on February fourth, in nineteen eighty nine.” The words fly out of your mouth as he slams the hammer down again, you sob as it hits the table. He pulls his hand back just in time, you’re on the verge of hysterics, you can’t seem to catch your breath as you inhale sharply, no amount of air seems to be enough. 

“I need the address.” His voice is hoarse and he’s as out of breath as you are. 

“Three zero one, West Broadway, Seattle, Washington, nine, eight, one, three, seven.” You mumble, you put your head down on the cold metal, still slick with blood. You don’t care at this point. 

There’s a faint beeping sound as the timer blinks, permanently stuck just above the forty minute mark. 

You don’t move.

You don’t sigh in relief. 

You don’t react, or even listen when the intercom clicks and the low voice demands more things you don’t want to hear. 

Your body is still heaving with sobs as he clicks the key into the cuffs, your wrist twitches involuntarily. You don’t turn to look when the time beeps again. Spencer does, he’s saying something to you but the words just aren’t registering with you.

Eventually he grabs your shoulders and shakes you.

“Sweetheart, you did so good, we’re almost done.” How is he holding it together right now? He takes your hands in his, all you can do is stare at the missing fingertips, burned black on the ends. “Hey, honey, I need you to focus for a few more minutes.” You finally manage to meet his eyes as he gives your hands a gentle squeeze. 

Hotch said something once about how the most important time to remain calm is when one of your teammates is freaking out. Someone always has to be in control. 

“You don’t call me honey, you don’t call anyone honey.” You murmur, like you’re in a trance. 

“I know, but you’re so sweet, you’re so good, I just can’t help it. I need you to help me, then we can be all done.” The patient tone he’s using is tinged with an urgency you don’t understand. 

“Why would you do that Spencer? You had so many other options.”

“I didn’t, I’m sorry honey. I got so scared that he was gonna take you away from me, so I did the only thing I knew was guaranteed to make you talk.”

He hurt himself.  

“Can we go lay down?” You’ve never heard your voice sound so soft. It’s like someone else is talking and you’re just listening in.  

“Yes, we will go lay down, but you have to focus, can you focus?” He squeezes your hands tighter and god, you really do try to focus as he places the pliers into your hands. “I need you to pay attention. Nod if you understand.” He looks behind him and you follow his line of sight. 

Ten minutes remain on the timer now.

When he turns back you nod slowly.

“Good, we only have a few minutes, I need you to locate my premolars, I typically chew with the right side of my mouth so you’re going to be looking on the left.”

“What?”

“The fourth and fifth teeth from the back, take from the top row.”

“Why?”

“Because my incisors and canines are important visually and my molars are the teeth I use primarily when I eat.” He says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. 

“No, why are you telling me this?”

“Because I need you to pull them.” How the fuck is he so chill right now? 

“No.”

“Yes honey, I can’t do it, I know I won’t be able to, the body has ways of stopping you from hurting yourself.”

“You already hurt yourself.” You point at his fingers, your voice is starting to drift up an octave again. 

“That was instantaneous, it was one swift moment, I couldn’t stop myself once the swing was in motion. This will require a lot more pulling and possibly twisting.”

“I can’t, you can’t really expect me-”

“You can, and you will, because we don’t have a lot of time and if you don’t do this he intends to come in here and pull all of them himself, that’s what he said, okay?”

“Spencer-” 

“Don’t squeeze too hard or you’ll end up crushing it, pull in one swift motion. It’s very likely that I’ll pass out after the first one, remember, the fourth and fifth teeth from the back.” 

You watch as he feels around in his mouth with his fingers before he nods to himself. 

“You have less than ten minutes, you need to do the second one right after the first, keep me propped up. There’s gauze and cotton balls in the first aid kit in the duffle bag, stuff the gap in my teeth with anything you can, when it fully soaks through you swap them.”

“Spence, I can’t-”

“You can.” He’s deadly calm. “I know you can, you’re so strong, we’re going to make it out of this together, I promise. I’m gonna get us out of here.” He holds your face with his intact hand. Leaning forward to press his lips to yours for just a moment before he pulls back, the look in his eyes tells you that it pains him to do so. 

You flip the pliers in your hand, feeling the weight of them. 

“Promise?” 

“With all my heart.” It’s the last thing he says before he opens his mouth. 

★

“I want to see the video, Hotch.” Morgan followed him out into the parking lot.

Garcia had called hysterically crying when the newest video was uploaded. Hotch left the room with his laptop and didn’t come back for a full two hours. At that point Derek had called Penelope himself, trying his best to calm her down. The only information he could get out of her was that their unsub had gone from porn to snuff. 

“We all need to fully understand the unsub if we're going to catch this guy, hiding information from us isn’t going to help them.”

“If this were any other case we’d be home by now. The unsub stops killing, we’re no longer needed. The only reason we’ve been allowed to stay on this case is because it’s our agents out there. There’s only so long we can stay on this.” 

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that from the point she was taken to the upload of the first video implies that the unsub is keeping them in a forty mile radius. I’m going to start going door to door, I’ve already got Garcia sending me a list of every house with a basement.”

“Hotch-”

“I don’t know what else to do. We have no leads, we have nothing. The unsub isn’t going to take any new actions other than ones that only affect the two youngest members of this team. I’m not going to have their lives on my conscience because I didn’t do everything I possibly could to save them. All I know is that we have no leads on this guy, but I’ll know him when I see him.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Call Emily and JJ from the car, tell them to start on the other side of the city, we’ll meet in the middle.” 

He’s quick to dial on his phone as he gets into the passenger seat. Once he’s instructed them on where to start they make their way to the edge of the radius. 

“What did he do to them?” He can’t help it, he has to ask. He has to know. He has to know how bad it was so he can know how to fix it when he

“It’s what he made them do to each other.”

“Jesus.” 

“It’s worse than I thought it would be, I don’t even know what state they’ll be in if we find them.

“When we find them, Hotch.” 

“Seattle wants us off the case in the next three days.”

“What?” 

“They say we can work on this from home, it isn’t a problem anymore because he isn’t taking any new victims.” 

“Why aren’t we pursuing this on a federal level?”

“I already tried, they want this handled discreetly, it doesn’t look good when two agents are simultaneously kidnapped and tortured on video. We haven’t even released anything to the public about them, haven’t technically filed them as missing.”

“You can’t be serious.” 

“I wish I wasn’t.”

★

You spent the next several hours taking deep breaths, trying to pull yourself together. Eventually you manage to get your breathing to even out.  

You do exactly as he said, keeping him upright against a wall, there’s a steady stream of blood at the corner of his mouth for a little while until the cotton seems to finally be doing its job. You dutifully change it out every few minutes, digging your fingers into his neck to feel for a pulse every time. 

You can’t help but take his hand in yours and examine his wound while he’s unconscious. There’s a good inch taken off of two of his fingers. You’re going to kill him when he wakes up. 

For now you lean your head on his shoulder. 

Letting your eyes rest for just a few minutes. 

When you wake it’s to low, pained moans. 

You snap to attention immediately, sitting up as you turn to assess the damage. He’s currently pulling the soaked cotton out of his mouth. 

“Let me have a look.” You’re quick to take his face in your hands as you tilt his head up, staring at his bloody mess of a mouth. He groans but you’re satisfied with what you see. His mouth isn’t the only part of him that’s a mess. His eyes are dark and frantic, his hair askew, the bottom half of his face is smeared with red. “You’re lucky, I got the root of both teeth, there shouldn’t be any fragments left and it looks like the blood is clotting. We should go to the bathroom soon and rinse out your mouth.” It’s your turn to be the calm one as he stares at you like a scared puppy. Even if your calm involves your hands still trembling as you hold his face. He nods, slow and measured as he lets his head fall back and rest against the wall.

You watch, focused on his every move as he winces. 

“You shouldn’t have done that.” You try to scowl at him but he looks so pathetic you can’t bring yourself to. 

“Shouldn’t have what?” His speech is a little garbled and you watch as his tongue pokes at the gaps between his teeth, gently prodding at his aching gums. 

You grab his hand, holding his smashed fingers up in front of his face. 

“This. You shouldn’t have done this. There are other ways to put on a show for that freak, you didn’t have to mutilate yourself.” 

“I didn’t do it for him, I did it for you. You weren’t going to tell me otherwise.”

You want to argue further but what he’s said is technically true, even if you don’t agree with his motive. If the goal was to get you to talk he found the only thing that was going to work.

“I’m not happy with you.” You mumble, clearing your throat. 

“I’m not asking you to be.” 

“Good.” How do you forgive someone in this situation?   

“I don’t regret it.” He says rather bluntly. 

“I know you don’t.”

What is this? 

What do you call your relationship with someone who does this?

He spent the morning romantically comparing being with you to torture and the afternoon torturing himself as if to prove it.  

Even now, with his blackened finger tips and missing teeth, he looks at you with those wide doe eyes like you’re the most important thing in the world. Like he’s trying to figure out if you’re okay. 

“You’re an idiot.”

“You keep saying that, it’s factually untrue. If I was an idiot I wouldn’t be able to-“

“Please just be normal for like five seconds. You were just brutally tortured, maybe chill on the ‘well actually’ of it all.”

“Brutally tortured is a rather extreme way of putting it.” 

You take his hand in yours, tracing your fingers across his palm and up and down his fingers, lingering on the ones missing the top knuckle. 

“Did he talk to you after I passed out?” He speaks your thoughts aloud, you’re both wondering if that was satisfactory. 

“No, radio silence, I’m wondering if that was what he wanted.” 

“He wanted extreme, we gave him extreme.”

“You gave him extreme.” 

“Don’t be mad at me, I did it for you.” 

He keeps saying that.

He tangles his fingers in yours, you watch as he flexes the, bending each digit carefully. His ring finger and pinky spasm, uncoordinated. 

He did it for you. 

All that just to keep you from spending a moment alone with the unsub.

When you don’t respond he turns to face you, hair still askew. 

“Are you afraid of me?” He whispers. You really think about it before responding, even if your instinct is to immediately say no. Are you afraid of him?

“I’m not afraid of you, I’m afraid for you.” You finally respond. It’s a half truth, there was definitely a moment today where he frightened you. You aren’t sure what he would have to do to make you permanently afraid of him. Even if he kind of lost it there for a minute, some revolting, and unrelenting part of you almost thinks it’s romantic.

How far he would go for you. 

You need to get the fuck out of here. 

Do you even want to?

Yes. Obviously. 

Obviously.

“I’m afraid of myself.” You whisper back to him, returning your head to his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you. 

“I know why I’m afraid of myself, but what do you have to be scared of?” He’s trying so damn hard to sound light hearted but you can see right through it. 

“When I woke up here, the second time, and you were with me it didn’t even cross my mind to be worried that you’d been taken. I was just relieved to be with you.” He doesn’t respond, silent beside you. “I think there’s something wrong with me. There’s this little voice in my head, constantly nagging at me, telling me these horrible things about myself.” Your voice cracks as you try not to cry. 

“We all have that voice.” His fingers trail down you back, lightly scratching at you, a weak attempt to soothe.

“Not like mine. It’s my voice, and all of the horrible things are true.”

Damn right they are. 

“What kinds of things has this voice been telling you lately.”

“That I-” You swallow the lump forming in your throat, staring at the floor ahead of you, anything to not look at him right now. “That I like this.”

“You’re being forced to orgasm, of course it’s going to feel good, you can’t control that.”

“It’s not just that, it’s all of this. It’s the excuse to finally be with you. Seeing you… care about me so strongly, even if it’s acting, or real, or whatever it is.” Your heart threatens to pound out of your chest as you finally say it out loud. “What is this? You and I? You know more than I do, are we victims of circumstance? If I was stuck in here with Hotch, or Emily, or anyone else would I still feel like this? Is this entirely based on a trauma bond?” You find yourself picking at your nails until he stops you, intertwinning his fingers in yours. 

“Well, I can’t speak for you, but I don’t think I would have smashed my fingers with a hammer for Hotch or Emily.”

Just for you. 

“Could you speak like, not in torture metaphors?”

“Do I really have to spell it out for you? I think you should know how I feel about you by now.” Missing teeth and fingers flash across your mind.

“You make me feel like I’m losing my mind.”

That’s what he said last night. 

Maybe the cost of being together is losing your mind. 

“What do we do if the team never comes for us? What if they just can’t put a profile together and we end up stuck here?” You don’t want to be grim but it feels like more and more of a possibility with every passing hour. 

“I have a plan.”

You cock an eyebrow at him and he shrugs.

“I obviously can’t tell you.”

You never know who’s listening. 

You have a plan too. You know, without a shadow of a doubt that it will work, you just have to get Spencer to agree to it. 

★

You can’t sleep, not after the day you had. Spencer on the other hand practically passed out in your arms, his head on your chest, the rest of his lanky body coiled around you. 

You stare straight ahead into the darkness. 

If the bureau doesn’t cover your therapy you’re gonna make Hotch pay for it out of pocket. 

The crackle of the intercom makes you straighten up a little.

“Trouble sleeping, angel?” 

You look down, Spencer still breathes in steady even breaths, still fast asleep. 

“I was just thinking about what tomorrow's film might be, I mean how do you top the performance we put on for you today.” You try to sound genuinely interested, as if the mere sound of his voice doesn't make you want to recoil. 

Any information you can get out of him is useful. 

“The performance today was just… I mean wow.” You can hear the smile that must be playing on his lips. As if the two of you are friends chatting on the phone, you lean in to it. 

“Did you like it? I can’t stop thinking about it.” 

“Oh sweet angel, I loved it. Although there were a few things I would change.”

“Like what?” 

“Too many props, the focus was not on the two of you. I thought I would like it more than I did, I prefer more hands-on scenes.” 

 “Really? I thought you would have been impressed by his prop work.” You play up a mock offended tone as best you can in a whisper.

“I didn’t say I wasn’t impressed. In fact there are definitely props I would like to see you use in the future.” 

This might be the only chance you get to speak to him alone, you have to ask the question that’s been eating at the back of your mind. 

“How does this end? I mean, there has to be an ending. You’re a film maker, I know you have to have some big final act planned.”

“You know me so well, I bet you are an excellent profiler.”

“I do my best.”

“And so humble, you really were born to be a star.” 

“Give me a little teaser trailer for the grand finale, please?”

“I suppose I cannot keep secrets from you, not when you are so eager. We are still far from our finale, I have so much more in store for you, but I especially liked watching you with those pliers in your hands. The way you did exactly as you were instructed to when the alternative was so much worse. I wonder what I would have to do to get you to wrap those pretty little fingers around something a little more lethal? Or make you aim at Dr. Reid? What would I have to do to get you to pull the trigger?”  

You wish you hadn’t asked. 

★

[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

oh you are sick and twisted and I LOVE IT!!!!!!!

[h0lym01y]

HEADLOCK : ch. 2

chapter two : you know you're better than this

chapter one my ao3!

pairing : spencer reid x fem!reader

summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.

wc : 12k

tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, oral sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk, dom/sub stuff, bondage, roleplay(ish), big dick spencer things

authors note : things heat up!! im a hardcore switch!spencer truther but for the sake of this fic he's domming it up rn

★

You wake first, still nestled against him, his breathing slow and even as you take stock of your situation. 

Spencer made some choices yesterday. 

Choices that make you want to throttle him.

Calling you sweetheart. 

Kissing you.

Whispering so sweetly to you.

Using his stupid tongue on you and ruining cunilingus from anyone else for you forever. 

The list goes on, how are you supposed to go back to work like this? Although, that’s only a problem if you’re found. 

The whole team is going to see the video. That’s going to be a problem either way.

You can already imagine them huddled around the conference room table with Hotch’s laptop between them. 

You know what, you can worry about that later, that’s only a problem if they find you. 

Of course they’ll find you. 

Hopefully. 

When Spencer wakes it’s with a groan as he cradles the back of his head, still sore from the wound. Rather than cower in shame you decide to just break the silence and speak to him. He’s still your friend, even after yesterday. 

“You didn’t tell me what happened when you were taken, just that you were knocked out.” You recall the unsub being so certain he would be able to get Spencer in the same day as you, it makes no sense when you ponder it. After having an agent taken captive you would assume they would be taking extra measures to ensure no one else was taken. 

When he doesn’t respond you tilt your head to look up at him, only to be met by a sheepish smile. 

“I was… a little careless.” He mumbles, his voice is scratchy and heavy with sleep. 

“When I was alone with him the unsub said I wouldn’t have to wait long for you.” You cock an eyebrow at him.

“We were given multiple tips on the call line JJ setup, there were too many, we all agreed to go down the list until we found a lead. It’s possible that I got a little bit ahead of myself and split off from the group. Before I knew it I was knocked to the ground, and then I was here.”

“Sounds like something I would do.” You grin at him as you sit up, urging him to roll onto his side so you can take another look. It looks better than yesterday, he likely just needs to rinse the dried blood out. “It looks okay, Do you think you have a concussion?” The thought makes your stomach churn. 

”Definietly not, I’m exhibiting no symptoms.” He seems so sure, you can’t help but wonder if that’s just something someone with a concussion would say. 

“I’m just worried you may not be making decisions you would normally make.” Jesus Christ, did you take advantage of him? Is he even in the right state of mind?

Kissing you, calling you sweetheart, tongue fucking you. 

He immediately knows where your train of thought’s headed. 

“I’m fine.”

”Are you absolutely sure?” 

”I have no headache or ringing in my ears, I haven’t vomited. I’m not nauseous, no confusion, no memory loss. I’m not sure if you’re aware but I am a doctor, I would know if I had a concussion.” As he rambles on you lean closer, examining his pupils closely. They appear normal, his greenish brownish eyes study you as you study them. 

“Promise you feel fine?”

”If you’re worried about consent there’s nothing to worry about.” He looks at you incredulously, as if this isn’t a very serious matter.

“Promise?” You tilt your head to the side. 

“I promise I am of sound body and mind.” He holds his hand up like he’s taking an oath. 

After another look at his pupils you believe him, even if he isn’t technically a medical doctor you trust his judgement. 

“How much progress do you think the teams made on the case?” You can’t help but change the subject as your thoughts drift back to your current predicament. 

”I’m sure they’re doing their best but we barely had a profile together by the time you were taken. And with him no longer taking new victims…” You know exactly what he’s implying. 

Typically if you’re on a job and the unsub suddenly stops killing victims you’re taken off the case. Without any evidence you can’t make a functional profile. 

“Not to mention they’re down two profilers.” He mumbles.

“We can expect escalation in his behavior as well.” Even if your compliance keeps him from completely losing it, the behavior will continue to escalate regardless. 

“How are you feeling?” He turns to stare at you, clearly gauging your reaction. 

”About this situation? Not great.” No reason to lie, he knows neither one of you is really okay right now.

”I mean physically.”

”Sore.” Just a little. 

”I’m sorry.” 

He shouldn’t be, he didn’t do anything you wouldn’t have let him do in any other scenario. 

”It’s not your fault, I could say the same thing to you.”

”You really don’t need to.” He shrugs, his concern is still apparent. 

“Spencer.” When you say his name in as firm of a tone as you can muster his face softens a bit. The creases between his eyebrows melt away when he stares at you, you swear the corners of his mouth twitch up. “I’m serious.” You manage to whisper, even though the look in his eyes is knocking the wind out of you. 

“After what I did to you? You really want to know if I’m okay?” He leans in, resting his head on his palm.

When did he get so close to you?

“What you had to do.” You correct him. 

He opens his mouth, a look of confliction flashes across his face. You have no time to further question him because the crackling intercom has you both sitting up straight. 

“Good morning my stars. You would not believe the response to your debut film.” 

Gross. 

“I simply cannot stop thinking about your performance yesterday, even yours Dr. Reid. What a hidden talent.” 

Neither one of you speaks now, what would you even say? After seeing that video the team will assume you’ve been released, just like every other set of victims, how long before they realize what’s going on? 

“I have a surprise for the two of you for such a dazzling performance, I am not a total monster. I want to show you that good behavior is rewarded.” You both flinch when the red door clicks, swinging open. You aren’t sure what you expect but it definitely isn’t what you find. 

There’s nothing. 

No one comes barging in so you both approach cautiously, pulling the door open fully you find not an exit, but a hallway. There is a door at the end of the hallway that you assume is the exit and an open room without a door halfway down the corridor. 

“Since the two of you will be my guests for an extended period of time I thought I might provide some amenities. Although I will expect continued compliance if you wish to have access to the facilities.”

You continue to move with your defenses up but when you lean into the doorway you find a sterile looking well lit bathroom. There’s a toilet, a sink with a mirror above it, and a small standing shower. When you step back out into the hall Spencer is pushing on the other door, you know it’s locked but it doesn’t hurt to check. 

“I have big plans for the day, I would like you both to make yourselves presentable, under the sink you will find a box with water and prepackaged unopened food, for your peace of mind.” You make your way to the sink, crouching down, opening the box you find exactly what he said, along with a stack of folded black fabric. “I have also provided you with fresh clothes. I expect no objections, you wear them or there will be consequences. You are to leave your dirty clothes in the box, except for your tie Dr. Reid, you may keep that in your room.” 

You ignore the clothes, not wanting to see what’s in store for you just yet, instead you take a sandwich and a water, passing them to Spencer. 

“I can see that you are not in a talking mood today, that is okay, I will be back in an hour to start filming our next project, play nice until then.” The click of the intercom makes you relax as you open one of the water bottles, tilting your head back and taking a long swig. 

You’re both on edge knowing what’s coming, the inevitable. Any snippet of a playful rapport you had going this morning has fizzled into nothing. 

“You shower first, I’m gonna go sit for a few minutes.” Spencer breaks the silence before leaving the room without another word. You don’t object, you just turn on the water. Tossing your clothes across the room, trying not to think about the cameras that are likely in this room as well. 

You clear your mind as the hot water rushes over you. Your instinct is to worry, to come up with a plan but the logical part of you knows you should just enjoy this moment of respite as best you can. There is no escape, at least not until your team figures something out. 

You try not to take too long, knowing that Spencer needs a shower too. You turn the water off, reaching for one of the hanging towels before patting yourself dry. 

Time to dare a look at the outfit you’ll be wearing. 

The first thing you pull out is a simple black cotton shirt, followed by dark grey boxers. Likely not yours. 

Below them is a surprisingly tame black camisole. When you pull it over your head it’s skin tight but it definitely could be worse. You aren’t granted as much coverage as boxers but the little black panties aren’t the end of the world, you were expecting hardcore lingerie, leather and spandex, but they’re simple cotton panties. 

When you step out of the bathroom you yelp as you almost trip over Spencer, sitting criss cross on the ground. 

“Sorry!” He stands, holding his hands up.

“You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry, I went back to the other room initially but then I was thinking that this might be a set up and if I went in there he could lock and close the door and separate us. And then you’d be alone with him, so I figured it was best to stay here, I was going to tell you but it seemed inappropriate to go in there while you were showering.” He rambles as you nod along, he’s noticeably staring at the ceiling, occasionally his eyes dart down to you before flying back upwards. 

“That’s… actually really sweet. Thanks.” You give him a soft smile as he steps around you into the bathroom, you hear the water running after just a moment so you take a seat right where he was, listening to water hitting the tile as you take another sip from your water bottle. 

You aren’t left alone for long, only a few minutes have passed before the water turns back off as you listen to the sounds of him shuffling around. You stand, not wanting to trip him as well.

When he steps out you find yourself in the same position as him, staring at the ceiling to avoid gawking. Just like you his top is tight. This is not the time or place to be drooling over the way the fabric stretches across his chest, or accentuates his slender waist. Without a word you both shuffle back into the other room, watching curiously as the red door clicks back into place with a loud thunk. 

“I hope the two of you are ready to get over your sudden silent treatment. I am quite fond of the way you speak to one another.” 

“What do you want?” Spencer pulls it together a lot better than you do, his voice comes out steady and controlled, even if his fingernails dig into his palm when he speaks. 

“There is that voice, what a wonderful question Dr. Reid, I have such an eventful scene planned.” You can’t help it as your hand drifts to his, intertwining your fingers with his as you try to appear calm. “I would love to give you both a detailed script but after yesterday I have to resist, you do such marvelous improv. I have a few things I would like to see, I do not care how you do them as long as they are done.”

You swallow loudly, you know it’s audible because he gives your hand a squeeze right after. 

“My angel, you did some impressive work yesterday but today I would like to reward Dr. Reid for his valiant efforts in making you shine. I will not ask for something as cruel as five orgasms of him, but I would like to see at least two. Because he did such a good job taking control of the situation yesterday I want to see more of that. I want her hands restrained, use your tie, I want you to do whatever you would like with her. I expect to see you in her mouth and in her pretty pussy.” You cringe, the way he talks about you makes you want to retch. “I found myself quite taken with the way you express yourself, Doctor. I would like more of that, I want to see what else your mouth is capable of. I want to hear dirty, nasty things, all for her. Take complete control Dr. Reid, take what you want from here, show me, show everyone, just how much you care about your dear friend and fellow agent. I expect all of my demands to be met, or you will be redoing the scene until you get it right. And I will not be so kind as to reward you with water and a bathroom if your performance is not up to my standards.” With a click he’s gone and you’re left with the aftermath of his demand.

“Hey, are you okay?” You find yourself seeking to comfort him now that it’s his turn in the hot seat. Untangling your fingers from his. 

“I’m fine.” He sure doesn’t sound fine. His posture has gone completely taut.

“If you don’t want to do this we’ll figure something out.” You lower your voice to a whisper, you know it likely isn’t making much of a difference but you can’t help but try and have an ounce of privacy. 

“There’s nothing to figure out, I spent half the night running through scenarios in my mind, there’s nothing. There’s no way out of this that doesn’t risk leaving you alone with him. And we’re absolutely not doing that.” He clears his throat. “I can do this.” He turns, his hair is damp, tucked neatly behind his ears. “I’m gonna have to… you know, do what he asked, will you be okay?” 

He’s going to fuck your mouth and your ‘pretty pussy.’ Are you okay with that? Is your heart pounding at the thought?

“I’m good, I promise, we’ve got this, this could be like, way worse. We could be getting tortured, instead we’re just doing… this.” You babble nervously. You know members of your team who have survived far worse at the hands of an unsub than this, you can do this. “We’re seeing some minor escalation but thankfully nothing too crazy, right? You made the right call yesterday, if we hadn’t done a good job we would have seen a much more aggressive escalation.”   

 “Yeah, the right call.” He’s mumbling, clearly lost in thought. 

“Hey.” You do your best to sound serious as he stares at you. You raise your hand like you’re taking an oath. “I promise that I’m okay with everything that is about to happen.” You smile like this is all just a funny inside joke, trying to ease whatever is gnawing at him. “I think I can handle a little dirty talk.”

“I just wish…” He starts a train of thought as he stares down at you, trying to muster a smile in return but he stops himself. 

“You wish?” 

“I wish we weren’t being put in this situation.” His shoulders remain tense, there’s no release of the pressure he’s holding in.

That’s not what he wants to say.

”Me too.” You put a hand on his arm, there’s no reason to push him right now, not with what’s about to happen. “Why don’t we go lay down?” You drag your hand down his arm to his hand, pulling him towards the makeshift bed. “I have an idea. Why don’t we agree to keep everything that happens during these ‘movies’ in a bubble, a bubble that we don’t touch when we’re outside of it.” 

“What you’re describing doesn’t sound healthy.”

”When we get out of here we can pop that bubble and deal with all of this then, but if we’re going to get through this now, we need to be a team. When we’re filming, we step into the bubble, and inside the bubble we do whatever it takes to survive. And when we’re done filming we don’t have to feel bad about it because we’re outside of the bubble and we can just be two agents working on the case.”

”Definietly not healthy.”

”Do you have a better idea?”

”No, but if you want to talk about what happens in the… bubble, I don’t want you to feel like you can’t just because we agreed to bottle it up.” He makes it sound a lot worse than it did in your head. 

“Okay, okay, it’s like diplomatic immunity, we don’t hold things that happen in the bubble against each other outside of the bubble.” You sit on the blanket, he mirrors you so you’re sitting face to face. 

”That’s an even worse idea, what if I hurt you?”

You laugh, maybe for the first time since you were put in this little concrete box, a real honest laugh.

”You aren’t going to hurt me, Reid. You’re like fifty pounds soaking wet.” Sure he’s tall but he’s still Dr. Reid, you’ve never seen him hurt a fly, actually he very specifically catches bugs and releases them outside when he comes across them. And he looks like a strong wind could blow him over. You’ve heard multiple people call him a pipe cleaner with eyes. 

“It’s not funny.” 

“Obviously, none of this is funny.” You gesture around the room when you speak. “But it’s happening, so if you don’t like my bubble idea then let's just scrap it and do this thing.” 

He’s nodding to himself, you can see him playing with his tie, picking at the fabric. 

”If you say stop I’ll stop.” He mumbles, you watch as he ties a knot, his fingers moving with practiced agility, as they untie it in the same motion. 

”I know Reid.”

”Spencer.”

”What?”

”I don’t like when you call me Reid, it feels… impersonal.” The knot he’s working on tightens. “We’ve been through enough together at this point, you can use my first name.” 

“Okay, Spencer, let’s stop stalling before one of us ends up with a bullet in our head. We put on another good show, he has limited escalation, so let’s do this.” You hold your wrists out like you would if you were about to be handcuffed. He’s just glaring at you expectantly. “Jesus, you’re so particular, and if I say stop you’ll stop.” You mimic his strict tone. It does seem to placate him as he takes your wrist in his hand. You watch with morbid fascination as his fingers trace the veins under your skin.

“I absolutely could hurt you if I wanted to.” He grumbles under his breath as you give him a harsh look.

”Enough joking around.” You scoff and his hand wraps around your wrist, his slender, long fingers easily encircling them as he twists your arm. His free hand darts to your shoulder and with a force you’ve never seen him use before he flips you over onto your stomach, catching your other wrist and pinning both behind your back. 

“I know you think you know everything, but I’d like to remind you that I have several years of experience in the field, as well as extensive training in how to use what strength I do have to the fullest extent.” As he speaks you squirm under him, uselessly, as he wraps the length of his tie around your wrist, one hand holding it in place as the other finds the nape of your neck, firmly holding you down. 

“Not funny, Reid.” You groan as he pushes you down until your face is buried in the pillow. 

“I agree, there is nothing funny about a little girl like you thinking that you can talk to me like that. You might have the knowledge and skillset to back up your arrogance but you don’t have the experience. In or out of the field.” You can’t see what he’s doing but you can feel the fabric tightening as his fingers wrap around them and pull, he’s somehow managed to restrain you with just the one hand. ”This is the first time you’ve ever had to be in a situation where an unsub has control over you and you’re not even acting like a federal agent, you’re acting like a spoiled brat.”

His words are clearly having an effect on you as you bite your lip to stifle a moan.

God you’re sick. 

“Can’t even hold your own against someone who’s ‘fifty pounds soaking wet’.” Pulling on your wrists he yanks you up so you’re kneeling, you pull on the bindings, testing them. No matter how you twist they hold tight. 

“You know you can be a real ass sometimes.” You groan, rolling your eyes as you turn your head back to shoot him a glare. 

“You know you drive me fucking crazy.” He leans against you, his breath is hot on your neck as he hisses, you can’t help but sit in stunned silence for a moment, you don’t think you’ve ever heard him curse before. “Do you know how exhausting this last year has been for me? Seeing how you handle yourself on every case? Watching you throw yourself into danger over and over again?”

”Well that’s not fair-”

”Since the day you started, they brought you in and told everyone you were a prodigy in your department, that you were going to be an invaluable asset to the team. And  sure, you were, until we put you in the field and you rushed into every situation. It didn’t matter if your life was at risk, you always had to be a hero. Do you know how hard it is for me to get any work done when I’m constantly worried about you throwing yourself into the line of fire to save someone else?” 

“You can’t seriously be using this as an opportunity to bring up work grievances with me.” You hiss back at him. “What is your problem, Reid?” His hand moves to the front of you, wrapping around your throat, he doesn’t squeeze but he holds it there, a silent reminder of the position you’re in.

”If you call me Reid one more time I’m going to fuck that stubborn little mouth of yours until you get it right. Until the only thing you can say is ‘Spencer.’ Until the only thing you can think about is my name.” He breathes the words out, so soft that for the first time you doubt the cameras even pick it up. If he’s playing it up for the unsub he’s doing an incredible job. 

And all you want to do right now is call him Reid. 

Both of his arms are wrapped around you now, his chest is flush with your back, one hand around your neck, the other drawing mindless shapes across your stomach, up and down towards your chest. 

At this point you don’t even care if he’s just putting on a show for the unsub, you stop yourself from whimpering, clenching your thighs together. You whine as he leans forward. With your hands locked behind your back you can feel him pressing against you, the crotch of his boxers up against your palms. Without thinking you lean back, cupping him, earning yourself a low groan.

”Jesus-“ He gasps out as you start to stroke him through his boxers. The hand around your throat tightens, just enough to remind you of its presence, his other hand floats downward, forcing your thighs apart, he doesn’t dip into your panties yet, instead he simply grazes his fingers across the length of your clothed cunt, when you whine he scoffs. Pulling his fingers back and holding them in front of your face. “Would you look at that?” You can practically hear the smug smirk on his face as you stare at the glistening tips of his fingers. “I have a theory.”

”Oh great.” You let your head fall back against his shoulder so you can see him, sure enough he’s got a shit eating grin plastered on his face. 

“I think that you want to be taught a lesson, I think that you’re acting like this because you want to be reprimanded.”

God, yes. 

“No.”      

“Maybe that’s what you’ve wanted all along, is that why you go against protocol all the time, barging into buildings before we have proper backup? Why you’re constantly disobeying direct orders? You want someone to put you in your place. It’s why you’re in this mess in the first place isn’t it? You were told to go with Emily but you insisted you would get more work done if you split up.” 

He’s like, too good at this, the words flow off of his tongue just like a practiced actor reciting a script. 

“You’re being a dick.” You snap your head back, trying to properly scowl at him but his hand grips your jaw, holding you firmly in place.

”See, even now, look at the situation you’re in. There is no reason for you to be mouthing off right now. We have a consensual agreement to fulfil the unsubs demands and an understanding that I’m going to be rough and talk to you like this. You’re restrained, and in a much worse position than I am, yet you still can’t help yourself.” 

He doesn’t raise his voice at all as he goes on and on, his tone and volume stay almost frighteningly even. As if to prove his point he lightly pushes you forward, without your hands to catch yourself you fall face first into a pillow with a soft thud and a groan. He flips you before you can pull yourself up, staring down at you with a mix of quiet simmering annoyance and something else. 

“The only time I’ve ever seen you not acting like this was when I had my fingers in you and my mouth on you, which confirms my theory.” You want to slap the tight lipped smirk off of his pretty face. You’ve always had such a friendly relationship with him, hearing him talk to you like this sends jolts of electricity through you. 

At this point you’re so caught off guard by his vulgar ranting you just stare at him dumbly, watching as his expression becomes more and more smug. 

Suddenly, you don’t care if this is all some twisted wish fulfillment for a bunch of perverts online from the mind of some sick voyeur. 

You are not going to let him have all the fun, you can play this game too. 

You twist your wrists behind your back, letting your chest arch up, your breasts straining against the fabric of the camisole. 

“Spence…” You let out a breathy moan and watch as he immediately loses his resolve, eyes wide, eyebrows arched, just for a moment before his stern expression returns.

”I would be very careful with whatever you decide to say next, sweetheart.” His hands settle on your thighs, gently pushing them apart. You feel like you’re playing chess with him, and you hate chess with Spencer. He always tells you how he’s going to win two minutes into every game. 

You’ve never beat him.

But this isn’t chess, and you can play dirty. 

You chew on your lip, frowning in the process. 

“Is that really how you feel?” You whisper, your voice cracking and you can tell by the way his face drops that you’ve got him right where you want him. “I thought we were friends, I- I didn’t know I was making your job harder. Does the whole team feel that way? I’m so sorry.” You manage a convincing lip tremble as you stutter your way through your apology, he doesn’t stop you as you pull yourself up and into a sitting position, facing him. 

“I-“ He starts, conflicting emotions crossing his face as you lean forward, batting your eyelashes at him.

“I wouldn’t be so bad if someone held a tighter leash.” You pull on your binds with an overemphasized whiney edge to your voice. “Please don’t be mad at me, you’re right, I need to be reprimanded.” The second he realizes you’re teasing him his brows furrow. “Will you help me, Reid?” 

The anger that flashes across his face almost makes you regret saying it.

Almost.

“You just can’t help yourself.” He clicks his tongue, and the look he gives you is one of fury but he couldn’t sound more pleased. He stands up, you don’t bother trying to as well, without your hands you know it would be useless. “Just remember that you asked for this.” His hands tangle in your hair as he gives you a warning tug, pulling you up from sitting to your knees. 

Asked for it, wanted it, needed it. 

He keeps one hand firmly in your hair, the other grabs your jaw, rougher than he’s been so far. The pad of his thumb brushes over your bottom lip.

“Open.” Your initial instinct is to snark back at him but his tone is so deathly calm a part of you automatically responds to the authority. You dart your tongue out, wetting your lips before you open your mouth. The corners of his own lips twitch.

He slides his thumb past your teeth, resting on your tongue, he doesn’t push deep enough to gag you but it certainly isn’t comfortable. 

And then you wait. 

His eyes never leave yours and he doesn’t move, he just stares at you, expectantly. 

Son of a bitch. 

He’s not gonna do anything until you give him what he wants so with a roll of your eyes you close your lips around the digit. Gingerly, you run your tongue along the length, you dare a glance up at him and he gives you a nod, grinning like a cat that finally caught the mouse. 

“Isn’t it so much easier to just follow directions?”

Oh, you could kill him.

Or fuck him, you’d take either option gladly. 

You open your mouth, ready to spit an obscenity at him but his thumb presses down on your tongue and all you can do is groan. 

“Still not enough to keep you quiet?” He raises an eyebrow and removes his thumb, his hand moves to the front of his boxers and you watch with bated breath as those long, delicate fingers trace the outline of the sizeable bulge that you’re now hyper aware of. “Is this what you need? Is this what it’ll take to make you behave?” 

Before you can think of a snarky response, before you can headbutt him in the crotch, and before you can give him the meanest glare you can muster, you lose control of yourself and your stupid body reacts faster than your brain, and you nod.

And his eyes just light up.

You’re never gonna live this down.

With your hands bound the way there are there’s no way for you to touch him, or even steady yourself. Your only anchor is his hand in your hair. It crosses your mind that he really could hurt you right now, there’s nothing you could do to stop it and you doubt the unsub would even want him to stop. He can do whatever he wants to you. 

Why does that make this even hotter? What is wrong with you? 

He never takes his eyes off of you, you can’t remember the last time he looked away, it’s an almost frightening look of concentration on his face as he tilts his head, examining you. You should be afraid. But you aren’t, because even now, in this situation, you know he wouldn’t ever really hurt you. 

And when he’s done with your mouth he’s going to take one look at your cunt and see just how much you love this. 

Behind the bravado, dominance, and faux anger in his expression, behind the show you’re putting on, you can still see that a tiny part of him is searching your face for a sign that you’re really okay with this. 

So you give him one. 

Leaning forward, you press your mouth against the outline of his cock. Peppering a trail of kisses along his length, trying to ignore the fact that the more you feel out this size of him, the less confident you are in your ability to fit him in your mouth. 

His eyes are definitely still on you when you look up at him through your eyelashes, except now you’re rewarded with the dumb look on his face as his mouth falls open. 

You’re caught off guard when he suddenly pulls you away, crouching down, you squeak as he pulls you into a kiss, nipping at you from your mouth to your chin, to your cheek, until you feel a light bite at your earlobe. He nuzzles his face into your hair and you swear you can hear him inhaling sharply  through his nose but your focus shifts when his lips return to your ear. 

“I don’t care what the reason is, if you want me to stop at any point you shake your head no and we will deal with the consequences. Nod if you understand.” He returns to standing leaving you breathless as you nod, probably a little too eagerly.

And without missing a beat he hooks a finger into the waist line of his boxers, tugging them down, effectively freeing himself. 

Oh he’s got a perfect dick.

You’re gonna need so much therapy after this. 

You feel like the last half an hour has just been you and Spencer gawking slackjawed at each other and it’s once again your turn. 

He’s got the kind of dick you see in a porn and think, ‘only pornstars have dicks like that, not regular guys.’ 

Although, Spencer Reid is the furthest thing from a regular guy but that’s besides the point. You’re face to face with the biggest dick you’ve ever seen in person. Pretty and pale with a prominent vein on the underside, you’re shamelessly ogling him at this point, staring at the pink tip as he takes himself in his hand. His free hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushes against your lips once more and this time you don’t need to be told what to do.

You open your mouth and eagerly lean forward as he slides into your mouth. 

You do your best to accommodate his size, flattening your tongue as you watch his head fall back with an obscene groan. 

All you want to hear is make him make that sound. 

You try to move your head forward but it’s awkward without being able to use your hands to balance yourself. You end up taking too much of him at once and you gag, his moan is pornagraphic but he’s quick to pull away as you cough.

“Are you okay?” He whispers, you know he’s trying to speak softly enough to not be heard but you doubt it works. You nod, catching your breath for a moment.

”I think I’m gonna need a little help.” You accentuate your point by pulling on the tie, wiggling your arms. There’s a moment of silence before he nods, once again he takes his cock in his hand, but this time once he’s past your lips you feel both of his hands tangle into your hair. He guides you slowly down his length and you take the opportunity to run your tongue across the vein you’d been eying. With a hiss he pulls you back, until all you’ve got is his tip. 

He’s overly cautious, and surprisingly gently as he pushes your head further down, he makes sure to never push you more than halfway down his length, never gagging you. It’s almost a little boring as he moves your head up and down. He lets out a few small sounds as he gingerly moves your head. You both freeze in place when you hear a click and a crackle from above.

”I thought I made myself clear, you perform or there are dire consequences. Neither one of you looks like you are enjoying yourselves. I told you to take control, I told you to take what you want. Not what makes her comfortable. It is obvious to me that you are exercising a severe amount of restraint Dr. Reid and we both know that is not what I want to see. Now do it right, show me you can make her shine, or I will find someone else who will.” He’s practically snarling into the microphone by the end of his rant, you both cringe in unison at the sound of the click followed by silence. 

When you turn to look at him his eyebrows are practically squeezed together he looks so concerned. 

“Look, Spencer, I’m fine with you doing whatever you have to do. If survival is our goal here-“ As you speak he shoves two fingers into your mouth, effectively silencing you.

”You’re done talking. The next time you speak it’ll be because I asked you to.” You hardly have a second to process what’s happening before he’s squeezing your jaw, forcing your mouth open as he slides his cock back in. His hands find your hair again but instead of moving your head he thrusts himself forward. Your throat tightens, and you gag immediately but this time he pulls back only to rock himself forward again. You let out a garbled whine as he finds a steady pace, he thankfully doesn’t gag you again, careful to go as deep as he can without choking you. 

You can do nothing but watch him as he fucks your mouth, his grip in your hair tightening as he holds you in place. His own hair falling in messy tangles across his face. 

“Look at you, finally quiet.” He groans, snapping his neck back to throw some of his hair out of his eyes as he grins down at you, groaning. 

The effect he has on you is just embarrassing at this point. You’re so turned on you’re about to straddle his foot and grind down against his socks. As you’re considering it he pulls himself out completely, a line of spit hangs from your lips to his cock. He wipes it off your lip with his thumb and taps against your cheek with his tip. 

“I bet you’ll look even better taking the whole thing.” When he pushes himself back against your lips you try to pull back, opening your mouth to protest but he just takes it as an opportunity to shove himself into your mouth as you gasp. “I didn’t give you permission to talk yet sweetheart.” You whine around him as he slides his hips forward another inch. “I know you can do it, just breathe.” He lowers his voice as he pulls your hair, hard. You let out a whimper, and he uses his free hand to brush any hair in your face behind your ears. 

You do your best to relax your throat as you feel him pushing further, you gag when he hits your throat but he doesn’t give so much as an inch of relief as he shushes you in between his groans. 

“Almost, just a little bit more, you need to relax.” 

Easy for him to say he doesn’t have a fucking baseball bat in his throat.

One hand grips your hair so tightly you feel tears prickling the corners of your eyes while the other cradles your face, his thumb rubbing soothing circles into your cheek. You swallow around him, taking shallow breaths in through your nose as he eases himself in the last inch and your nose hits that little patch of curls at the base of his cock. You gag around him but you’re expecting it so you manage to breathe through it enough that you don’t puke. 

The look on his face makes it worth it. 

Intoxicated.

Sharp little breathes as he fights back a moan, eyes dark and watching with so much intensity you feel like you’re under a microscope. His hair is in disarray and he doesn’t bother fixing it this time. 

“So good, s-such a good job.” He mumbles as his hips twitch involuntarily forward before pulling back a tiny bit. His thrusts are shallow but he stays in your throat. The tears that were forming flow freely now, he wipes a few of them away but they just keep coming. You take a shuddering breath in through your nose, drool dribbling down your chin as you squeeze your eyes shut.

As much as you want to watch his reactions it takes all of your focus to not retch as he fucks your throat. You know you won’t have to last too long because his thrusts become erratic after just a few more seconds and his soft moans turn to out of breath whines. You nose hits his pelvis once more and with a twitch of his hips you feel his cum hit the back of your throat.

You can’t help but steal a few glances, opening your eyes just in time to watch his head fall back, his face and neck flush red. With his cock still stuffed in your mouth you have no choice but to swallow as he comes down from his orgasm. 

Not that you mind all that much. 

When your throat constricts around him he seems to snap back to reality as he quickly withdraws. In one smooth motion he sinks to his knees to come face to face with you. Both hands cup your face and you know you must be a sight. Tears and drool slick on your face, the look of admiration on his face tells you he must not mind that much though. 

“Let me see.” He murmurs, tapping your chin with two fingers. You’re still catching your breath but you open your mouth and stick your tongue out, showing him the wet mess of semen and spit. “Such a good job, look how well you’re behaving now.” You’re caught off guard when he leans forward, his tongue sliding across yours, tasting the mix of the two of you. His hands find your shoulders and he lays you back against a few pillows. “You looked so pretty choking on my cock.” 

Even after everything you’re still surprised to hear him talk like that, it makes your head spin. When you don’t respond he slides his hands down your body until he reaches your panties, he wastes no time pulling them down your legs and tossing them behind him. You start to squeeze your thighs together but you aren’t fast enough, or quick enough to stop him from spreading your legs. 

His eyes practically sparkle. 

Ravaging you with just his stare, eyes consuming, memorizing, every detail between your legs. 

“Look at that.” God, he sounds so pleased with himself. 

He should be, you’re dripping and he hasn’t even touched you there.

”Isn’t that answer enough?” You sneer at him, bucking your hips. The smile he gives you is so genuine you can’t stand it. 

“There you go with that mouth again, can you only behave when you’re stuffed with cock? Do I need to keep you like that permanently? Want me to leave you like that until we’re found? Do you want the rest of the team to barge in here on a rescue mission only to find you drooling on my cock?” His fingers swipe through the wetness between your legs, the squelching sound makes your cheeks burn more than they already are. Your back arches as he sinks two into you, your cunt pulses around him immediately as you start to let out a pornagraphic groan. 

”Shut up.” You try to sit up but a small push from him sends you back into the pillows. He gives you a disapproving shake of his head. 

“I really thought we were making some progress, I guess you still haven’t learned your lesson.” He removes his fingers, rather abruptly, leaving you to whine at the absence. “I was going to be so nice to you too,” You’re getting used to being manhandled at this point, although this time you find yourself in a state of confusion as he sits beside you, lifting you by your hips and placing you in his lap. “I was going to work you open with my fingers to make this easier for you but I guess you don’t want that.” While he speaks you can feel him already hardening again against the swell of your ass. 

“Spencer…” Your tone is that of warning, like you might scold him. 

“Maybe you need another reminder of who’s in charge.” He bucks his hips, forcing you up and onto your knees as you straddle him, he’s quick and precise as he lines himself up at your entrance. Your eyes go wide as you realize what’s about to happen. The tip of his cock slides through your slick, when he bumps against your clit you nearly fall over. With a smirk he lines himself up with your hole, staring at you expectantly. When he tilts his hips and pushes himself into you, you both melt into a chorus of moans. The stretch burns so sweetly, your brain can’t seem to figure out if you want more or less. 

“Spencer, wait- please.” You start to object but he’s already shaking his head. 

“No, sweetheart. I think this is a lesson you need to learn the hard way.” He says it so gently but the glint in his eye tells you he likes this a little too much. 

Almost as much as you do.

”You’ve done so good so far, I know you can do this.” He coos, his hands wander up and down your body from your thighs to just below your chest, you sit up on your knees, impaled on his cock with your thighs already trembling. “I want you to show me how good you can be.” His voice turns to a murmur as he slides a hand under your top. You’re too focused on his monster cock trying to squeeze its way into you to pay attention to the way his hand starts exploring your chest. Slender fingers, cupping your breasts and drawing gentle circles around your nipples. You shift your body down, your thighs tense as you try to slowly lower yourself but you only make it about halfway down his shaft before you can’t take anymore, when you start to lift yourself off of him in an attempt to relieve the stretching feeling he catches your hips, locking you in place. 

“Please-” You start to whine as he holds steady, you squirm to no avail as he shakes his head. 

“You’re not getting up until you show me you can take the whole thing.” You know he means it, there’s no persuading him when you’ve come this far. And he must know a part of you enjoys this, if you didn’t you would outright tell him to stop, you’d shake your head no and he would stop. 

Probably. 

”Spencer…” You whisper his name like you’re begging but you don’t even know what you want, it’s too hard to focus on anything when the burn between your legs fizzles into a warm pleasure with every passing second. 

“What do you want, sweetheart?” His hair sticks to his forehead, a sheen of sweat coating his body, you likely match. His fingers alternate from tapping your waist frantically and squeezing the flesh of your hips. 

What do you want? 

What you want is to be at home in your own bed, in the exact same situation, with no cameras and no nightmare director watching your every move, and making demands. You want this to be real. 

You want him to buck his hips up and make you take it.

You want to know what he thinks about all of this.

You want him to force you down to the hilt, to make you take all of him.

You want to know if he feels the same guilt that you do for wanting more, and more, and more of this.

You want a copy of this recording before Garcia scrubs it from the internet so you can relive it if Spencer refuses to even look at you after this. 

”I want you.” That’s all you’ve wanted, for so long.

There’s too much sensation. Everything hurts and feels so fucking good and staring down at him doesn’t help. You’re a profiler, and a goddamn good one at that, but staring at his face you don’t get anything. You can’t decipher his body language in any meaningful way, not when your focus is all over the place.                                     

“Show me.” He sounds as fucked as you feel. “Show me how badly you want this.” He pulls his hands back so he isn’t touching you at all, holding them up almost as if he were showing you he isn’t a threat. You could easily sit up and pull yourself off of him but you’re too engrossed with the way his eyelashes flutter as he stares down to the point where the two of you meet. 

You start slow, inching yourself further down him but it hurts too much and you worry you’ll lose your resolve. Instead you look him in the eyes. Watching his tongue poke out of his mouth before he chews his bottom lip. An action you’ve seen hundreds of times at the office, now everytime you see it you’ll think of this. 

“Can you help me stay upright?” You whisper, his hands are hesitant and practically trembling when he returns to your hips. Not the same confidant movements he was displaying before. Once you’re sure he’s got you, you take a deep breath and let your knees give out. Slamming yourself down fully onto his cock. 

You’re pretty sure you scream, it’s hard to concentrate on anything other than the pressure against your cervix. When you manage to open your eyes you’re rewarded with such a treat. He’s as gone as you are, his hands flexing, digging into your skin as he bites his own lip so hard you’re worried he’ll bleed. His moans are muffled as he tries desperately to keep his mouth shut but what does slip through is delicious. 

You feel a sense of pride. 

You’re still catching your breath when he shifts himself up and on to his elbows. 

“You want me?” He sounds as needy as you feel right now. 

And all you can do is nod. 

When he lifts your hips and pulls out you whimper, the sensation of relief doesn’t make up for the lack of him. 

He’s gentle as he guides you rather than forces you this time down into a pillow. You’ve got your ass in the air and your face turned to the side so you can still see him in your peripheral vision. 

You’re expecting him to slam into you, to immediately find a punishing pace. You’re surprised when his body wraps around yours and he kisses the back of your neck, moving down your spine until he hits your lower back and sits up. 

He wordlessly lines himself back up at your entrance, and you keen when he pushes himself in, inch by inch until he’s fully sheathed within you once more. Your groan is long and drawn out as you readjust to his size. In this position he somehow feels even bigger, like he’s in your fucking stomach. 

“Jesus-” Your breath catches in your throat when he grabs you by your shoulders, pulling you back against him, somehow managing to push himself deeper. Making you feel every single inch.

“That’s not the name I want to hear.” With a snap of his hips he pulls out about halfway before thrusting fully back into you. 

“Spencer!” You’re so full, too full. 

“There it is.” He mumbles under his breath before he starts rocking his hips back and forth, experimentally shifting from quick shallow thrusts to slow long ones. Both make you bury your head in the pillow to stifle your moans. His hands stay locked on your shoulders, yanking you back against him with each thrust, pulling you closer to him. He eventually settles himself into shallow thrusts, pulling out halfway before snapping forwards, grinding himself against you, making you feel every inch. 

Slow and steady, he folds himself over you. Resting his forehead on your back as you lay there and take everything he gives you. With every thrust he brushes along that sweet spot that makes you see stars before slamming against your cervix. 

And then he fucking whimpers your name. 

Out of breath and desperate.

“Say it again, say my name.” He kisses you between your shoulder blades before latching onto your pulled back shoulder, sucking and nipping at the skin. “Please.”

And who are you to deny him when he’s asking so nicely?

With every snap of his hips you groan out the only thing you can think, over and over and over again.

“Spencer, Spence- Spencer, please.” You’re not sure when it started but you’re suddenly extremely aware of the knot forming in your core as your thighs tremble. With each jolt of his hips you’re pushed closer and closer to that edge, until all you can think about is him. His hands on your shoulders, on your hips, wrapping around you to paw at your chest, like he can’t decide on one so he has to alternate through them. His breath, hot on your back where he leaves kisses in between his moans. His cock, pulling out just enough to push your buttons so perfectly he must be doing it on purpose. 

Closer, and closer, and closer. 

Until you feel yourself nearing the point of no return, and in an instant all the sensation is gone. You don’t bother with your dignity because at this point it’s nonexistent, instead you whine and push your hips back. 

His hands are back on you, forcing you onto your back, your hands trapped under you as he flips you. His forehead is slick with sweat and you can see the sweet shade of pink flushing his neck and face, devastatingly pretty. 

“Spen-” You start to plead with him but he’s already on it, cock in hand as he eases himself back into the wet mess between your legs, in this position you can see the slick coating your thighs, you don’t get much time to watch his cock disappear into you because he’s on you like a predator on prey. His lips are all consuming on yours. He’s absolutely devouring you, biting at your bottom lip, darting his tongue into your mouth, you can’t resist the opportunity to suck his tongue. 

 God, you’re a goner. 

He finds the same pace, shallow thrusts, your body jerking with each one. Fucking into you with a brutal consistency, every thrust leaves you wanting more. It almost feels like he can read your mind when one of his hands drifts between your legs, his pointer and middle finger find your clit so fast you’d think he had a map to get there, rubbing circles in time with each snap of his hips. 

“Spencer…” At this point you’re running out of other words to say, he clearly meant it when he said all you’d be able to think about was his name, that’s certainly the case now as he coaxes your body towards an orgasm with surgical precision.  

“Do you understand why I have to do this, sweetheart?” He separates his lips from yours, nose to nose as he mumbles, when you get a good look at his face you know he’s just as fucked as you are. But his fingers have stopped their movements and all you can concentrate on is how badly you need them to start again.

You nod furiously, you’d say anything if it would make him start touching you again.

“T-to teach me a lesson, to make me behave.” It takes you a second but you manage to get through your sentence before he laughs, burying his face in your neck

“You’re a profiler, you can do better than that.” 

Does he want you to state the obvious?

“Because you don’t want him to be mad?” You know you sound unsure but you don’t care, all you can think about is his fingers dipping back between your legs. You try to rock yourself against him for any stimulation at all but his fingers squeeze your hips so tight you know you’ll have bruises there. 

“You’re so sweet.” His teeth graze your jaw, dragging down the side of your neck before he bites down, pulling a whine out of you. “So, so, so sweet. You think I care what he thinks?” He kisses the spot before he sits up, one hand on your hip and the other rubbing the mark he left. “Yours is the only opinion that matters to me.” 

He grinds himself against you, as if you’re not already full of him. 

“He said he’ll find someone else.” He’s all mumbles now. “But there’s no one else, just me, right sweetheart?” Sweet, breathy mumbles. 

“You’re not- oh my god, making any sense.” Nothing makes sense right now, not when he’s starting to thrust into you again, thrusts so shallow he’s practically just grinding his hips against yours. Like he’s trying to force himself as deep as he can, bruising you even where no one can see.

”I hate that he’s right about you.” He catches your lips in his as you start to open your mouth again, his fingers brush up against your thigh as you groan into him. He pulls away just long enough to mumble, like he’s overflowing with the words and has to get them out. “I’ve seen everything he describes, I thought it all before he ever put it into words.” His nose bumps against yours as he rambles, thrusts becoming erratic as he finally puts his focus back on your clit. “The way you shine, and sparkle, and light up a room.” 

“Spencer, I don’t-” You don’t know when you started crying again but you sure are now. Overstimulation, confusion, pleasure, you aren’t sure what brought it on. 

“I’m gonna make you light up, you- you don’t need anyone else.” His eyes are shut tight, his eyebrow twitching as he focuses. His ramblings don’t make any sense as he babbles on and on, lost in his concentration. 

“Spencer…” You softly hiss out his name as your stomach twists, he pushes hard on your clit as he continues his merciless patterns. 

It feels like you’re being electrocuted in the most addicting way possible, you twitch around him, you push your head back into the pillow supporting you as your back arches off the ground. The wave finally crashes over you as you come, hard. You clamp around him like a vice and he’s quick to follow. You aren’t fully aware of the immediate aftermath but you know he’s groaning something akin to your name as he collapses on top of you. 

You lay in a sweaty, panting heap for what feels like hours before he sits up. Both of you groan softly when he slips out of you. His touch on you is so light and cautious you’d think you were made of glass. His nimble fingers easily release the tie from around your wrists, you wince in pain as the blood rushes back to your hands. When you bring them in front of you, rubbing them gingerly you can see the raw red marks as well as the dark purple splotches starting to bloom around your wrists like sadistic bracelets. 

“I’m so sorry.” He murmurs, taking your wrist in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the mark. “I got carried away, I- I shouldn’t have.” You put your fingers over his mouth. 

“No apologies.” You lower your hand. “Neither one of us should be apologizing for anything that happens here, we’re alive and together because of you.” You’re about to continue but the buzz of the intercom snaps you both to attention. 

There’s only a moment of static before you hear a sniffling sound, it makes you stare at Spencer, both of you with eyebrows cocked in confusion. 

“Are you crying?” You can’t help yourself as you blurt it out, the absurdity of the situation still finds ways to shock you. 

“It was just such a beautiful performance.” He coughs, clearing his throat. “Thank you Dr. Reid, that was just what I was looking for.” You’re both surprised when the speaker clicks again and you’re left alone. The room dims back down to a single bulb, plunging you both into darkness. When the lock on the red door clicks again he stands, you avert your eyes as he straightens his boxers out to cover himself back up. You only look up when he tosses your panties to you. Neither one of you seems inclined to speak but he does help you to your feet, supporting you as you limp to the bathroom. Once he props you up in the shower he steps out, you know he’s right outside, waiting. 

You run the water, taking your second shower of the day. You rinse the sweat from your skin, carefully running your hand between your legs, hissing when you touch yourself there. 

You’re definitely going to be sore for a while. 

You finish up, toweling off and putting your top and panties back on but not before stealing a glance at yourself in the mirror. 

Yikes. 

No wonder Spencer’s so quiet. Your wrists are a sight but that’s nothing compared to the rest of you. When your cami hikes up you can see a myriad of bruises, up and down your waist and hips. Purple blooming all over your form, further down your thighs are a similar sight. He really did a number on you. You do your best to adjust your top so they cover everything on your torso as well as some of your upper thighs. He’s standing right beside the doorway when you step out. 

“Your turn.” You give him the best smile you can muster as he slips past you but you know it doesn’t convince him you’re okay. 

Are you okay?

Sort of. 

You’re sore, a little bruised, and tender between your legs, sure. You’re confused, by everything Spencer says to you, in and out of the scenes you’re performing. But overall, surprisingly fine. And you can thank Spencer for that. 

If you’d been stuck here with Hotch, or Morgan, or heaven forbid a stranger, you’d likely find yourself in much worse condition. Hotch and his overly seriousness. Everything is so serious and life or death with him, and then of course there’s the guilt he would feel, never ending guilt. And Morgan’s been like a big brother to you since the day you met him, even imagining intimacy with him makes your skin crawl. A part of you can’t help but be glad it’s Spencer, even if this has complicated your already complex relationship. 

You’re okay, mostly. 

You’ll be better when you aren’t being forced to follow the whims of some obsessed sexual psychopath, but you’re okay. 

You just have to hope he’s okay too. 

When he finally steps out of the bathroom he’s mopey. 

That’s the only word you can think of to describe him.

He isn’t exhibiting signs of anger, or depression. He isn’t twitching like he does when he’s anxious, he doesn’t even seem to be guilt ridden, he just seems… bothered. You give him space, after what the two of you just did it’s entirely justifiable, natural even, to need space. You bury yourself in the blankets, staring at the ceiling for forever. 

Until he joins you, bringing you a water bottle that you happily accept. 

It’s hard to remember you’re thirsty when you’re dealing with a million other far more pressing matters. He lays down beside you, rolling over to stare at you, eventually you mirror him. So you’re both on your sides, face to face.

You don’t need to be a profiler to know something is eating him up inside. You’re about to ask, you’ll force it out of him if you have to. He beats you to it. Wetting his lips with his tongue and chewing the inside of his cheek before he speaks. 

“You’re… a really great actress.” He whispers into the darkness. You can see the crest fallen look on his face the second the words leave his mouth.

That’s it?

That’s what he took away from all of this? That’s why he’s sulking? That’s why he got all quiet and sullen and pouty before you had sex? Your eye twitches, you should just roll over and go to sleep instead your mouth opens before you can stop it. 

“You’re so stupid.” You can’t help yourself as you roll your eyes. 

“Excuse me?” He sounds genuinely offended but you just scoff.

“You heard me. For someone who’s so smart you really are an idiot.” You scowl at him. Is that the best he can do? Some self loathing about how you might have been acting? You’ve been carrying the guilt of having feelings for him, and enjoying parts of this and that’s the best he can do? “Genius Doctor Reid, you’re supposed to be the brightest mind in the whole bureau and you can’t even figure this out.” Staring at the dumbfounded look on his face all you can think about is how despite this all he’s still your Spencer, no matter how much he’s put through. 

He is still the guy who makes you coffee for every plane ride, the guy who has an extra shirt if you forgot to put your pajamas in your go bag, the guy who looks confused and asks Morgan what’s so funny when they tease you about your crush. 

Tell him.

Who cares, after everything you’ve been through in the last forty eight hours? The damage to your relationship is done, you lose nothing if this goes wrong. 

“You’re being unnecessarily cruel.” He looks so genuinely upset. You inch yourself closer to him. Until your noses are almost touching, your hand wanders across his face, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. 

“Everything that’s happened to us is unnecessarily cruel.” You mumble before closing the distance between the two of you, crashing your lips into his.

a/n : probs one more chapter after this, maybe a short epilouge after that

[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

<333 crazy insane stuff

[h0lym01y]

HEADLOCK : ch. 1

chapter one : like machines do

chapter two my ao3!

pairing : spencer reid x fem!reader

summary : You're on the hunt for an unsub who's forcing his victims to perform carnal acts or die. What you don't know is that he's set his sights on you and your colleague, Dr. Spencer Reid.

wc : 12k

tags/warnings : no use of y/n, dead dove do not eat, fuck or die, noncon/dubcon, nonconsensual filming, kidnapping, voyeurism, fingering, oral sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, forced orgasms

authors note : lowkey locked in and started writing again after like two years and made a new account because im into a completely different fandom now lol

★

“Do you think it’s the serial killer in Seattle?” You whispered to Emily, she had rolled her chair over to your desk when Hotch announced an emergency meeting in five.

”I don’t know what else it could be, it’s all the news is talking about. I’m just surprised we weren’t called in sooner, the escalation from this guy is practically unheard of.” She whispered back.

”I heard he’s up to four victims a day, I don’t know when this guy even sleeps.” You clicked through the files on your computer, trying to tie up any loose ends in your paperwork before the meeting. Anytime an emergency meeting was called it was almost always accompanied by a “Wheels up in ten.” 

“They’re up to five,” Spencer leaned towards the partition between your desks, he didn't look up, his eyes still focused on the book in his hands. “We don’t know that the unsub is male, the victims are male and female.” 

“It was originally just women, I’m like ninety percent sure it’s a man.” You cocked an eyebrow at Emily as you logged out of your computer, standing up and leaning over the partition to see what he’s reading. 

The Divine Comedy 

“Again?” You scrunch up your nose, you don’t know how he reads the same books over and over again. 

“Yes, again.” He flips the page, his finger arched as it slides down the page, his eyes following the trail. When you first started you hadn’t believed them when they said no one reads as fast as Reid, you brought in book after book, trying to catch him in a lie until you couldn’t deny it anymore. “There’s actually a really interesting ongoing case in Toronto, a killer leaving pages with lines from Dante’s Infernos that seem to hint towards his next victim. I was hoping we might be called in to give some insight on the situation but it seems extremely likely that we’ll be on a plane to Seattle soon.” He closed the book, giving you that devastating little side smile of his.  

Not his usual overworked, tight lipped smile he used most of the time at work. His genuine little smirk that he only used when he really meant it. 

Don’t profile him. 

It’s common courtesy. Don’t profile your fellow profiler. 

“What do you think about this guy in Seattle?” You say as you watch him put the book into his go bag, he’ll finish it in the first five minutes on the plane. 

”I think…” His voice trails off, running his fingers through his mess of hair. “Something about everything they’re releasing seems off, we’re missing a big chunk of information, that might be deliberate from the news stations or it might be a choice from the unsub. Either way I’m curious to see what the files say if this is in fact our case.” When he stood and started heading towards the conference room you followed, whispering to Emily about how you’d never been to Seattle. 

Hotch was on the phone so you did your best to enter the room as quietly as possible, joining the group. You sit next to Spencer, watching as he rhythmically taps each of his fingers to his thumb, sorting out some kind of pattern you don’t understand. When he stops you realize he’s watching you stare, quickly, you turn away, cheeks burning hot.  

Your relationship with Spencer was complicated. 

Well, your lack of relationship with Spencer was complicated. 

You joined the BAU a little under a year ago, taking the desk next to his. You’d heard all about him, the youngest member of the BAU, (until you arrived.) with an eidetic memory and an IQ to rival the brightest minds of the FBI. Meeting him made you realize he was the brightest mind of the FBI. 

The boy genius. 

Unfortunately for you, boy genius was also known by another nickname. 

Pretty boy. 

Something so stupid, that should have been inconsequential, opened your eyes to something you’d give anything to unsee.

The second the name left Morgan's mouth you had giggled into your hand, laughing at the idea of anyone thinking your dorky, walking encyclopedia of a desk mate was pretty. Instead you smiled at him, planning to give him a playful punch to the shoulder or a wink, instead you were staring into those ever changing hazel eyes. Wide eyed like a deer he watched as you had giggled, his gaze hit you like a punch to the stomach as you considered for the first time since you met him that Spencer Reid might be pretty. 

Then you couldn’t stop considering it. 

The way his hair curls around the ends. The way his eyes change colors in certain lighting. The way his slender, precise, fingers are constantly in motion, fighting to keep up with the speed his brain is working at. His pretty chin, his pretty lashes, his pretty brows, his pretty arms, his pretty hips, his pretty jaw. God that fucking jaw. Somedays you would just stare at his jaw, leering at him from your side of the desk as he works, all while you fight the urge to reach out and grab him by his pretty chin and kiss all along the edge of that pretty jaw. 

You wanted to kill Morgan. 

How were you supposed to get anything done once he opened your eyes to this? He had opened a door you couldn’t seem to close, no matter how hard you tried. And god did you try, but no matter what you did, he always did something in a certain way that drew you right back in. 

The way he scrunched his eyebrows and got real quiet when he was focusing. 

The way he always perked up when someone mentioned a book they were reading, no matter what it was.

The way he second guessed himself, even though no one else was doubting his knowledge. 

The way he would decline a handshake. Claiming that it was more hygienic to kiss.

He had shaken your hand on your first day. 

A fact that now haunted you, keeping you up at night as you tossed and turned and asked yourself, why? 

It was easier not to think about it. It was the one case you just couldn’t seem to crack, and with real killers out there you had to focus on the cases that you could solve. 

You resigned yourself to being his friend, and pushing down any unprofessional thoughts that lurked in the back of your mind.

“Let’s get started, we’ve got about twenty minutes before I want us on the jet.” Hotch passed out rather sizable files. You immediately opened yours, not at all surprised to see that you’re heading for Seattle. “I’m sure everyone here has heard plenty about the case but the public has not been made aware of the sheer extent of what’s happening.” He turned towards the screen, clicking the remote until it settled on a list of website links. 

As you flip through the file your stomach churns, you can feel the tension in the rooms as everyone sees the same things you’re seeing. 

The first body was found two years ago. 

Four months after that a surviving victim came forward. 

More bodies were found but none of them were connected to the crime until recently. They’d been so spread out in time and location no one had put the pieces together until now. They’re taking up to five people a day, with an expectation of continued escalation. It wasn’t just that they were killing people that made everyone in the room uneasy, it was what happened prior to the killings. 

Local news broadcasts implied that the killer was taking victims captive, holding them for twenty four hours, and choosing at random afterwards to either kill them afterwards or release them. Like a Russian roulette of release or slaughter. 

It’s clear that that’s not at all what’s happening. 

Victims seem random, some are taken alone, some are taken in groups of two or three. Surviving victims report finding themselves in an empty room, with concrete floors, bare walls, a red door without a handle, and bright lights. The only thing in the room with them is miscellaneous bedding and anyone who might be with them. They don’t remember how they got there, or how they left. 

Once they wake they are always stripped down to their underwear, the unsub speaks to them remotely, explaining to them a set or rules. From there they either play along or their body is found a few days later, always in dumpsters around the city. You can’t help but wonder how many bodies weren’t found. 

“We can’t confirm every victim was related but we have good reason to believe there were dozens happening outside of Seattle.”

”I don’t understand, what exactly is he doing with them once he has them?”

”He’s making videos, and uploading them online.” Hotch motions towards the website list. “These are just the sites that have had the videos taken down, more pop up every hour.”

There’s so many. 

“How the hell is that legal?” Morgan closes his case file, you watch as his fist clenches and unclenches.

“It’s not.” Spencer speaks without looking up from the file, you’re sure he’s read it over twice by now. “We’re dealing with a voyeur, he never makes appearances in the videos he’s making, but he micromanages every action taken by the victims.” 

”Why isn’t it public knowledge that his motives are sexual?” Emily speaks up now, glaring at Hotch with a look that you know holds the rage that’s meant for the unsub.

“Many of the surviving victims didn’t initially reveal what was really going on, due to either shame or fear of not being believed. Stories didn’t match, people weren’t making the connection between cases.” He sounds tired, then again Hotch always sounds tired. 

”Shame. This bastard’s likely preying on their humiliation, it’s how he gets off.” Morgan stands as he speaks, dialing his phone as he heads towards the door. “I’m gonna see if Garcia can link any solved missing persons cases to people in the videos, maybe see if we can identify victims who might’ve stayed quiet.” When he’s gone you turn back to Hotch.

“So he’s impotent?” You speak softer than the rest of the group, cringing as you flip to a page in the file that lists every video he’s made, the titles and victims listed beside each one. “He can’t perform so he lives out his fantasies vicariously through his victims, when they won’t play nice it reminds him of his own inabilities and he lashes out.” 

“Not necessarily,” You can feel the heat off of Spencer's body as he speaks, putting his arm around your chair and leaning in close while his other hand points through the list you’re eying. “The titles of his videos are positive and speak almost highly of his victims, if he were impotent he would most likely resent his victims for being able to perform when he can’t. His videos would use much more degrading language.” His finger follows specific examples for you. 

Beautiful girl gets a special treat from handsome stranger

Good girl solo session

Two men sharing a pretty lady

Gorgeous angel plays with herself

You try to ignore just how close he is to you as you read through the list. 

“Then what’s his motive?” Your attention turns back to Hotch as he speaks, Spencer pulls himself back from you in one swift motion. 

”If he’s not impotent then he’s a sexual psychopath.” This time when you speak you can see Spencer nodding in your peripheral vision. “He won’t stop until he’s caught, he feels no remorse for what he’s done and we can expect continuous escalation from here. He’ll go bigger and bolder until he gets sloppy and we catch him.”

“So we need to catch him fast.” You could see Emily thinking as she spoke. “The victimology is odd.”

“I noticed the same thing. It was all women and one at a time up until about nine and a half months ago. His solo victims are still exclusively women but now he often brings in men with them.” 

“We need to find out what happened that made him switch.” Hotch turns the screen off, giving you all a curt nod. “Wheels up in ten.” 

The team around you disperses, hushed whispers filling the space until they dissipate and it’s just you and Spencer, staring down into the case files. 

“There’s something else in the victimology, why didn’t anyone point this out?” You hold the file out towards him. “All the female victims look the same.” You can tell by how he grimaces that he already realized that. 

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“Then why didn’t anyone say anything! Clearly these women are a surrogate for someone else so…” Your voice trails off when you see the look on his face. 

Oh. 

The hair color, eye color, and body type. 

They’re all the same as yours. 

“I’m gonna grab a coffee before we board, do you want one?” He speaks softly as he stands, you nod, collecting yourself before following after him. Heading towards your desk to grab your go-bag. 

★

“I know this isn’t pleasant for anyone but I need you all to understand exactly what we’re dealing with.” Hotch had his laptop set up where everyone could see it. The thumbnail of the video already made you feel sick. 

A woman in her underwear, curled up in the corner of the room. A wiry young man in a shirt and his boxers sits in the middle of the room, hugging his knees to his chest. 

“This kind of thing is my least favorite part of the job.” Emily grumbled beside you and you couldn’t help but nod in agreement. You have to remind yourself that you can handle this. You were selected to be a part of this team, you have to handle it. 

You were the youngest on the team, like Spencer you were brought on in your early twenties, shockingly young for the BAU. You didn’t have the field experience most agents have before joining, just a specific set of skills that made you invaluable. Advanced pattern recognition skills, an encyclopedic knowledge of forensics, and of course the fact that you pieced together a dozen cold cases in college. You could catch a killer in your sleep. 

Sex crimes were different, you didn’t have the experience in them and they made you a bit emotional. You knew it was something you’d eventually get used to, but that thought made you sad most days. You can’t imagine ever being desensitized to any of this. 

“We’re just going to watch the first few minutes, I want to give everyone a chance to hear how our unsub speaks and how he reacts to things. I believe it will give us a much clearer understanding of what we’re walking into.” The entire plane was silent as he pressed play, standing silently like a statue, turned away from the screen. He had clearly already seen it and has no interest in watching it again. 

It’s as bad as you expected, probably worse. 

Hotch only made you all watch about five minutes, unfortunately that was too much for you. But he was right, it did give you plenty of insight into your unsub. They communicated with their victims through an intercom system, a disembodied voice that can be heard making demands. The thing that stands out to you most is the formality. He gives them detailed and clinical instructions, how to act, when to moan, what position to be in, all the way down to how fast he wants them to go. He signals them to begin with one clear command. 

“Action!” 

The two terrified victims moved shakily, the woman looking like she was on the verge of a breakdown, and the man had tears spilling down his cheeks. You could see the silver of his wedding band glimmering on the screen. 

You knew from the file that the victims were almost always strangers, despite the fact that the female victims had visual similarities; they were still seemingly selected at random. Unlucky women who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, trapped because they looked a certain way. They looked like you. 

It made you want to cry. Watching the way they trembled as they hesitantly touched each other, you could hear the man in the video repeating himself softly. 

“Is- is this okay? Are you okay? I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” 

If you cried right now no one would think less of you, you almost let yourself. The woman is despondent, her eyes squeezed shut, when she starts to cry you have to look away. You can feel your companions glance in your direction and you know that they’re all thinking because it’s what you’re thinking. 

She looks too much like you.

If you squint she’s your spitting image. 

“Excuse me.” You mumble as you push past Hotch towards the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind you. 

You are good at your job, great at your job, you’ve never let a case get to you before but this? It’s too much, you’ve never been asked to watch a video of two people being raped. It’s too much. 

You run the water, letting the sound drown out the crying you can still hear out in the cabin. 

“God damn it! At least pretend like you like it you stupid fucking slut!” So much for Spencer's theory that he thought highly of his victims. When you finally hear the laptop close and the audio turn off you step out of the bathroom, but not before looking yourself over in the mirror. 

All you see is the girl from the video. 

You stumble back out into the cabin, Derek has taken your seat next to Emily, they speak in hushed whispers as they work through her notes. When you step out she gives you a reassuring smile. 

You take Derek's seat on the bench next to Spencer, he gives you a tight lipped sympathetic look. The last thing you want is for him to pity you. 

“From the sounds of it he doesn’t hold much respect for his victims, the derogatory language would imply that he does resent them but the video titles say differently. I can’t wrap my head around it.” You speak in a hushed voice so only he can hear you as you open one of the files, flipping back to the page of titles. Not once does he use degrading language toward the women, he regrets them as beautiful, gentle, angels. 

“Something seems to be happening between the videos being made and the upload time that makes him feel…” He chews on his lip, his brows furrowing as he searches for the solution. 

“Regret?” 

“No, regret would imply that he feels badly about this, as a sexual psychopath he feels no remorse for what he’s done. It’s almost like he’s lying to himself with the titles, like that’s what he wants them to be. They can’t live up to whoever he wants them to be.” He sounds unsure but it makes sense. Whoever he’s using these women as a surrogate for is who he actually wants, these women can’t live up to her no matter how hard they try. But when he titles and uploads the videos he’s thinking of her, so the language switches back to favorable. He turns to look at you, both of you eye to eye, a strangely serious moment as he runs his fingers along the spine of the file. “Are you okay?” 

It’s so earnest it nearly knocks the wind out of you, his big hazel eyes searching for an answer. 

“I’m… fine. It’s just hard sometimes, but I think I’m alright, I’ll feel even better when we catch this guy.” You give him an encouraging smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes. “But I appreciate you checking in.” The look of relief he gives you nearly melts your heart. 

“Then let’s catch this guy.” His smile falters a bit as he thinks. “Something just isn’t clicking for me, it’s incredibly frustrating.”

“We’re missing something.” You mumble as he nods. 

“Something vital. It’s like we’re missing one big puzzle piece right in the middle of a nearly finished picture.” 

“Exactly. I understand that there must be a woman out there that he’s focused on but I just feel like there are too many possible alternative motives.” You flip through the victims photographs, living and deceased. “Is he a porn addict? Maybe the stuff online just wasn’t doing it for him anymore so he resorts to making his own?” 

“I was thinking the same thing but from what I can tell the videos he’s making are relatively tame. I had Garcia send me a list of all the general themes in the videos and it’s all pretty standard vanilla intercourse, he isn’t having them engage in anything objectively taboo.” He holds the sheet out to you, you take it from him, immediately searching the page for answers. 

Missionary

Missionary

Missionary

Missionary with handcuffs

Missionary 

Medical Play

Missionary

Doggy Style

Missionary

Gun Play

Missionary

”Medical play?” You scrunch up your face as you try to imagine that, all you can think about is needles. 

“Not at all uncommon, typically a doctor patient roleplay involving very impersonal, and detached intercourse.” You want to poke at him for knowing that off the cuff but you’re too distracted by his choice of words. 

“I hate that you call it intercourse.” You feign a grimace at him. 

”That’s the professional terminology.” He grins back at you, a real bonafide Spencer Reid smile. 

“I know, you just make it sound so… clinical.”

”In this setting it should be clinical!” His voice hitches up, his smile never faltering. 

“I’m sure it is, Dr. Reid.” You tease as you bump your shoulder against his. Laughing as his ears burn red, he clears his throat loudly. 

“I would assume he’s trying to fulfil some specific fantasy but nothing he’s doing seems to have any correlation.” His tone stays light but you can tell this case is bugging him, he doesn’t like being confused, no one does but especially him. 

“So is he a sexual psychopath or a sadist?” You throw him a bone, a question he can make sense of that you want an answer to. 

“He doesn’t seem like a sadist, a sadist enjoys the cruelty of the act, although I wouldn’t fully rule out sadism. It’s actually rather fascinating reading the transcripts of our unsubs videos. He doesn’t seem to enjoy what he’s doing but he has to for some reason, it’s like it’s a chore. Not necessarily that it’s a compulsion that he can’t help but like it’s a job he’s clocking in for. I’m hoping when we speak to some of the victims we’ll get a clearer picture of what happened.” He speaks vividly with his hands, as he gets caught up in his ramblings a chime signals that you’re soon to land.  

You felt yourself leaning into him as the plane began its descent. 

You hope to get this entire case sorted and taken care of quickly. Everything about it made you queasy, the faster you got out of Seattle the better. 

When you land you all end up in separate cabs heading in different directions. With too many victims and too many bodies it only makes sense to split up. 

★

Your head hurts like hell.

Jesus, what the fuck happened last night? You definitely didn’t go out drinking, you didn’t catch the guy. Yet you feel like you have an absolutely wicked hangover. You can hardly open your eyes, the harsh fluorescent lights burning your retinas as you try to orient yourself. 

Definitely not a hotel room. 

You have no idea where you are. 

Okay, that’s fine, just stay calm, it’s imperative in situations like these to remain calm. 

“Find a focus point. The last thing that happened to you before you lost consciousness. Where were you? What were you wearing? Who was with you? What time was it?” 

Hotch’s emergency hostage training rings around in the dizzy mess that is your train of thought. 

You would have landed in Seattle around 8:00 P.M. 

You were in a cab heading to the most recent surviving victims home.

You were wearing black trousers, and an olive green short sleeved turtle neck, you had tucked your blazer into your bag. 

You were in the cab, there had been an unfamiliar sound, like air being let out of a balloon. 

Or gas being released into a car.

Deep breaths. 

In,

and out. 

You force your eyes open, locking eyes on the first thing you can focus on. 

Directly in front of you is a large red metal door, with no handle. 

Fuck.

Turning quickly, your eyes find a folded pile of blankets, pillows strewn about, and a small room with four walls and no windows. 

Fuck fuck fuck.  

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. 

“Don’t freak out, at least not physically. The moment you break down you’re giving your captor power over you.” 

You chewed the inside of your cheek, digging your nails into your palms as you steady your breathing.

In,

and out. 

In,

and out.

In,

and out. 

“Hello, Agent. You cannot fathom how delightful it is to finally meet you.” You immediately recognize the voice that crackles over the unseen intercom. 

This can’t be happening.

You swallow, fighting the urge to scream.

”I would like to make a movie with you.” It’s like he’s in the room with you, you can practically hear the smile on his face. You cringe when you hear the wet sound of him licking his lips. 

”I bet you would.” You fight the urge to mumble, speaking clearly as Hotch would instruct you to do. ”Is this the part where I choose between being murdered or being raped?” You turn your head, trying to find where the camera you know is watching you might be. 

“Oh, no, you sweet thing, you wound me.” His voice is a sickening coo, as if he’s soothing a frightened animal. “You, and your whole team, you misunderstand me.”

”Our entire job is to understand you.” You scoff, desperate to appear nonchalant while your head spins and your heart races.

”And you are doing a terrible job.”

”Then why don’t you help me, fill in the gaps, let’s start with a name.” You try to act as confident as you’ve seen the rest of the team be when faced with an unsub. 

”I think you know I cannot answer that, it would ruin the fun before we have even started. I simply cannot have you screaming out clues during my movie.” 

”Your movies? Is that what you call the snuff you’ve been peddling?” 

“Oh come now, you think of me as some demented, perverse deviant. That is how I know your profile is all wrong.” By the time they find you you’ll be another girl on one of those websites. ”I am an artist.” 

“I wouldn’t call anything you do art.”

”Art is subjective, perhaps you are not my intended audience.” He sounds so smug, you know he’s pleased with himself. 

”And who is?”

”Hmm… What a question.” You know by the way his tongue clicks that whatever he says next will be a lie. ”People who want to feel something. Everyone likes sex, some people are just willing to admit it.”

”Bullshit. You’re making them for someone specific, a specific group of people just as sick as you are.” 

“I suppose you are right, in a way. Some of my recent work has been… self indulgent.” 

“So who’s the woman?” There’s only silence in response when you ask the question that's been on your mind since you read the file. “Who’s the unlucky lady that we all look like?”

The silence is deafening until you finally hear that crackling voice again.

“I cannot wait to start, angel.”

”Then why haven’t we started? You’ve got me here, I’ve seen your videos, I know how this goes.” You’ve seen Hotch push and push an unsub until they crack but you don’t have the experience he does and your voice shakes. 

”Clearly you do not, or you would not have so many questions.” There’s a pause again, as he thinks something over before you hear him again, for the first time he sounds almost unsure. ”We simply cannot start without your co-star.” 

Your entire body froze, your breath catching in your throat. 

In all of his videos with multiple people they all wake up together, why would he stray from his usual routine just for you? You have no idea and you aren’t excited to find out. 

“Until then I suggest you get comfortable, I am not sure how long it will take before he makes an appearance but I have a sneaking suspicion you will not be in suspense for very long.”

”What do you mean?”

The laugh that flows from the intercom settles in your stomach, heavy and vile.

“I know he will not keep you waiting, I am certain it will only be a few hours before we are ready.” 

You open your mouth to question further but the speaker clicks and you know the conversation is over. Looking around the room you know there’s nothing you can do but wait. Clawing at the door will get you nowhere. Screaming will get you nowhere. And crying will get you nowhere.

Pacing the room tells you next to nothing, the walls are concrete, as well as the floor, there’s no windows. 

Likely underground.

You trace your fingers along the edge of the red door, there’s no gaps, when you push yourself up against it there’s no give. The ceiling is a mess of pipes and wires, you know somewhere up there are cameras, capturing your every move. 

Not the best situation to find yourself in. 

“It will only be a few hours before we are ready.” 

You feel like an inmate on death row. You know without a shadow of a doubt that the team doesn’t have a sufficient profile to find you in the next few hours, unless they pull off some kind of miracle. 

   What twisted fate does he have in store for you. The possibilities for your ‘co-star’ are endless. You’re almost thankful for the hiss of gas as you feel your vision get blurry, at least he isn’t going to make you sit here and stew. 

★

This time when you wake you’re being shaken by someone, your immediate instinct is to fight, if this is your captor this will likely be your only chance to escape. You grab at the hands on your shoulders, forcing them away from you as you kick wildly, throwing yourself at him and pinning him down, until you’re straddling him under your hips. You’re about to start punching, as hard as you can so you take a moment to force your eyes open once again. It will do you no good to slam your fist into concrete. 

When you open your eyes you aren’t met with a stranger though, instead you’re staring at familiar wide hazel eyes.

“Hey, you’re all good, it’s just me.” His voice is so soft, like he’s not about to take a beating, hands up defensively and all. “Just me.” 

“Oh my god.” Too many thoughts are firing through your brain, instead of focusing on the horrifying implications of his arrival you fold over against him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you embrace him. 

Hesitantly, his arms wrap around you as well, anchoring you in this sea of madness.

“I’m gonna guess based on your reaction that you know exactly where we are.” His words are still gentle as he holds you tight, releasing you when you finally pull back, crawling off of him. You both orient yourselves, standing and doing a turn about the room. 

“I woke up alone, he changed his MO.” You listen, waiting for your captor to finally make himself known. You know he’s there, he wouldn’t miss this. Watching with bated breath for both of your reactions. 

He winces as he reaches for the back of his head. 

“I wasn’t gassed or slipped something like his usual victims either,” He turns to you, concern becoming more and more apparent on his face. “did he talk to you?” 

“Briefly, he definitely fits the sexual psychopath profile, he doesn’t think anything he’s doing is wrong. What do you remember? How did he get you here? I was knocked out in the cab, then I woke up here…” You trail off as you motion for him to turn so you can look at the back of his head. You tentatively run your fingers through his hair, you find a bit of blood drying, it looks like he’s been bludgeoned with something. “He’s never physically hurt a victim like this, he doesn’t get hands on unless they don’t cooperate and even then it’s almost always done with a gun. All the victims were shot to death, not beaten.” 

“We‘re still dressed.” Spencer motions to himself, he’s still in his button up, cardigan, and dress pants and you’re still in the same clothes as well. 

“Just another thing we can add to the list of things that make no sense.” You’re so close, you can taste it. “Maybe because we’re federal agents? He isn’t sure what the best course of action is because he’s never dealt with something on this scale.” 

“I just don’t get it.” He’s still hung up on the clothes, you can tell as he pulls on his tie, straightening it. You both know from the tapes and files that the first thing he does is undress his victims, leaving them in their undershirts, bras, and underwear. “It’s a part of the ritual, he shows them how much control he has over them by stripping them of basic comforts.” 

“We’re different.” Your voice falls to a whisper. Everything is different for you two, like you’re his guests of honor. 

“All the other victims recall being taken together, from the same location, we weren’t selected at random like them. We hadn’t even spoken to the local police department when you were taken, did he anticipate our arrival? Is he concerned about the FBI getting involved?” The gears in your head twist and turn as he rambles on. Painting a horrifying picture as you realize the only possible explanation. “And then he took me, which makes no sense. He already has you, if he plans to ransom us back then he doesn't need two of us.”

He isn’t going to ransom you.  

“If his goal was just to make another video he would have done it with just you.”

That wasn’t his goal.

“Reid.” Your voice cracks but he’s hyper focused now on his own mental processings, his hands waving around as he paces back and forth.

“Is it respect? Because of our positions in the bureau? It would make sense why we’re still dressed, but he’s previously taken doctors, lawyers, plenty of people in positions of authority. It makes no sense for him to stray just for us.”

We’re different. Different from every single person he’s taken previously. 

“Reid.” Your voice is so quiet now you can’t blame him for not hearing you. 

“No- no, that makes no sense, he shouldn’t have taken you at all, he’s been so cautious up until now. He moves with the intention of never getting caught, our unsub isn’t stupid enough to choose federal agents as his targets. Is it possible we’re dealing with-”

You step in front of him, effectively silencing him and stopping him in his tracks. 

“He’s been after us all along.” For a moment his expression is blank, you watch as his eyes get wider, and wider. And just like it did for you, everything clicks into place, he’s given no time to react as the crackle of the intercom makes both of you look up. 

“I have been after you all along.” That polite voice rings out once more. 

Your entire body tenses up.

Shoulders and jaw locking into place as your feet step into a defensive stance. 

You know he isn’t talking to Spencer. 

“My girl.” He speaks in a gooey, loving tone that makes you want to crawl out of your skin. “I have been after you since you first graced my screen all those years ago. How lucky I was to stumble upon you as I wasted away, searching for my muse. And finally, completely by accident, there you were. An FBI training video, used to educate the public on a few basic things, you smiled and talked about your program. I must have watched that video a thousand times. You had but a few moments on screen but god were they glorious.”  

You can feel Spencer's presence change, he was on edge before but now his body language shifts from nervous to something else. His mouth is settled into a deep frown as he steps between you and the door, like he can protect you from this nightmare. 

Oh my god.

Spencer. 

You’d been so relieved to have someone here with you that you hadn’t even begun to process the implications of his presence. And now he’s here, standing between you and a man obsessed with you. 

You need to get him out of here immediately. 

”You were glowing, the camera loved you.” He speaks about you like you’re a past lover, someone he once knew dearly and is now reminiscing about. “I could not get you out of my head after that. In everything I watched, I compared every actress to you. I looked online, desperately trying to find someone, anyone, who could hold a candle to you. Every woman I brought here, every cheap trinket, was a pale comparison to your light.”

“Then why bring Reid into this at all? I’d think you’d want me all to yourself?” You manage to keep your tone even despite the fact that you feel deep in your bones like he’s already violated you. “Maybe our profile was right, you’re impotent, so you had to bring someone in to do the job you know you can’t.” 

In a way he has already violated you, through every woman he brought here as a surrogate for you.  

All of these people suffered because of you. 

“Don’t taunt him.” Spencer whispers, soft enough that your captor likely can’t hear him. “It will only result in a negative reaction. I’m starting to think he really is a sadist.” 

“Maybe I am.” For the first time you hear his prim and proper tone drop to something darker, more authentic. ”A sadist, that is, as far as the impotence goes, I do not think that is a theory you want to test.” Spencer's reaction is more severe than your own as he practically growls. The subtle changes that you’ve been trained to notice, the clicking of his jaw, the clenching and unclenching of his fist, the tilt of his gaze as his stare turns to a glare. “I felt more like a masochist than a sadist when I was finally able to see you again on my screen, after searching for so long for a morsel of information on you. You were not an easy girl to find. I remember my joy, my pure bliss, when I saw you again. A euphoria that was immediately destroyed by the presence of Dr. Reid.” You’re pretty sure you know what he’s talking about, when you joined the BAU you were sent out with Spencer to a few schools around Virginia to talk to the students about becoming a profiler. They did a news segment on it, Penelope, Morgan, and Emily teased you about it for weeks because you were staring at Spencer like a schoolgirl in love the whole time. “My heart was broken into a thousand tiny pieces. My shining star, ogling some man in a constant state of disarray. Mismatched socks, tangled hair, wrinkled pants, it was nearly enough to drive me mad. How could my angel settle for such a mess?”

”Reid and I aren’t together.”

”We aren’t together.” 

The two of you respond in unison, the room fills with crackling laughter.

”I told myself that… that it did not matter, that I could just have you and be happy. And for a while that was the plan. Until I went to Quantico to see you.”

You want to vomit.

You’ve probably seen him before, he was there, watching, and you missed it.  

”You and your precious team, out at some dive bar, it took all my strength to not take you then and there. But I told myself to wait. I told myself everything had to be perfect. I told myself that your colleagues would spoil everything if I tried to take you then. I told myself it would not hurt to buy you a drink, to say hello, but as I made my way over to you, you were intercepted by Dr. Reid.” It doesn’t take a background in profiling to tell that he isn’t as fond of Spencer as he is you. ”And you just lit up.”

Even in this moment, in this situation, you find yourself burning red with embarrassment. Your little crush on Spencer was coming back to bite you in the ass in full force. 

“Like he was the sun, and not just some insignificant dying star in your orbit.”

In the most twisted way humanely possible. 

”I knew then and there that I could never make you shine like that. I want your films to be perfect. You would not be perfect all alone, you would be dull, but with Dr. Reid you will sparkle like a diamond.” 

“I‘ll do whatever you want, please, just let him go.” You hope your voice doesn’t shake too bad as you call out to the faceless man. You can’t help but ask for his safety now that you know it’s too late.  

”You will do whatever I want regardless, even if it pains me, he is an integral part of this production.” 

You turn, walking to the nearest wall and slumping down against it, it’s all you can do to keep yourself from screaming. All you’ve wanted to do since you woke up here is scream.  

“I have seen the way he looks at you too. From an objective and artistic standpoint he is the perfect scene partner, looks of yearning that I could not beat out of an actor.” 

Spencer is silent as you look up at him, a few tears finally slip past your steely resolve and down your cheeks, blurring your vision so you don’t see his reaction as he turns away from you. 

“Make yourself comfortable, agents. We start shooting tomorrow.” You’re left with the click of the intercom and your own uneven breathing. 

The energy in the room has shifted from awful to downright unbearable. 

Spencer eventually sits against the wall opposite to you, you watch him through your hair as he twitches, fingers tapping against each other until they grow restless and sift through his hair instead.

“I suppose the first conclusion we should have come to is that we’re set to meet the same fate as the previous victims” He breaks the silence first, sounding haggard. 

The same fate. 

The man behind the voice is going to make demands of you very soon and if you don’t meet them he’s going to be sending you back to Quantico in bodybags. 

“His speech is overly formal, no contractions, he’s a control freak. Likely in a position of power with a career that lets him afford a set up like this and lets him take time off to spend with his victims.” Your tone is monotonous as you continue to stare at your shoes rather than him. 

“We don’t need to profile him right now.” God does he sound sincere when he says it. He’s typically all work and no play but now, here, even he can’t keep that up. 

“Then what are we supposed to do?” 

“Evaluate our options.” He stands, cautiously walking to your side of the room and sitting down beside you, giving you a wide berth of space. “We have a general idea of what to expect tomorrow, we should… make decisions.”

“On if we’re gonna rape each other?” You don’t mean to sound so harsh but you can’t help it, you immediately regret it when he flinches like he’s been slapped. 

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to, I swear.” He scootches a little further away as if to prove his point and you hide your face in your hands, stifling another scream that eventually escapes as a groan. 

How many times have you imagined being with him? How often do you spend your lonely nights after closing a case lying in bed, wide awake, imagining what it would be like if he were beside you? And here he is, practically being served to you on a silver platter. 

“Reid…” 

“I mean it. I don’t care about the alternative, you’re in charge here, whatever you say goes.” 

“You get a say in this too you know.”

“It’s different.” He sounds so sure. 

“It’s not.” You’re offended on his behalf that he would assume he doesn’t have a choice here. “You have as much of a choice as I do.” 

“I need you to trust me, it’s different.” It clearly pains him to say it, it makes you want to reach out to comfort him but you can’t move. Your body is still locked up defensively. 

“Explain.” 

“This situation is bad enough as is, I’m begging you not to make me do this.” He sounds so beaten down you know it would be cruel to push. 

“Fine.” 

“Thank you.” 

“I think we should do it. It’s the obvious choice, it’s the only way we make it out of here alive.” You say it like you’re making a decision on something as mundane as what to have for lunch. 

“I agree.”

“We won’t be like the others, it won’t just be one time. He’s been saying films, plural.” He’s been waiting for you, he isn’t going to make one little movie, he’s going to make a whole franchise with the two of you. 

“He plans on keeping us.” 

“Until the team finds us.” 

After they watch every movie you make. 

“Are you up for that?” 

Up for sex with the coworker you’ve spent the last year fantasizing about? 

“I don’t know.” 

This is punishment for every sick, perverted thought you’ve ever had about him. 

“You don’t have to decide now, you can change your mind whenever you want.” He says it as if changing your mind wouldn’t result in fatal consequences. 

“No amount of talking it over first is going to make this okay, you know that, right Reid?” You snap, tired of the voice in your head demanding your attention. 

What if you like it?

“Hey, we’re gonna be okay. We’re gonna go step by step, and I don’t care what the consequences are, if you want to stop we’ll stop. And we can take breaks, and we can be professional about it, I can make it very detached-”

What if he realizes you like it? 

“Can we lay down?” Your voice is small, and tired. You really are tired, even if you’re mostly just desperate for him to stop talking. 

“I’ll set up the blankets.” He gives you the closest thing to a smile that he can as he lays out a few of the blankets on the cold concrete, making something akin to a bed as you lay down beside him. As if on cue the fluorescent lights above you flicker out until only a small red bulb is left, bathing you in the dim light. 

“He’s probably still watching us.” You whisper as you roll over, the two of you face to face, even in the dark you can make out his concerned features. 

“I’m sure he is. There’s no privacy here, even in our whispers.” He speaks softly too, and you know he’s right. 

You’ll be under nonstop observation in this little room. 

“Goodnight, Reid.” You whisper as you roll away from him, facing the wall in the darkness. 

He doesn’t respond, all you hear is fingers tapping on the cement beside you. 

★

You know the man on the intercom is speaking to you but all you can hear is the ear splitting ringing in your ears. 

“Five times?” You squeak out as Reid takes your hand in his, giving you a reassuring squeeze. 

“I would like to see what my new toys can do. So yes, I want to see five orgasms from my shining star, I do not care how you do it, I just want it to happen. As a bonus, I will not even micromanage you, I will let you work through it together, I want the scene to feel organic and natural. ” 

You couldn’t bring yourself to talk to Spencer when the two of you woke up and now you’re regretting it, you should have come up with a game plan.

But you didn’t, and now you’re being given instructions that you don’t know if you can follow.

Five? With the pressure you’re under right now? Not to mention that the most you’ve ever done in a row is two and you did it yourself. None of your previous partners had ever given you more than two orgasms, most of them struggled to give you one. 

“I can’t do this.” You can feel your heart starting to race once, your breath shaky and quick. If you don’t pull it together you’re gonna start hyperventilating. 

“Why should we listen to you at all? Clearly you adore her, you wouldn’t hurt her like your other victims, what would stop us from sitting here and waiting for the rest of our team to finally arrest you.” You want to tell him to stop, you know it won’t make a difference.

“Dr. Reid, you are not in a position to be arguing with me. She may not be expendable but you certainly are.” 

There is a moment of quiet between the two of them, you watch as Spencer goads him, cocking an eyebrow as he looks up towards the ceiling.  

“If you refuse to cooperate I suppose she and I will have to sort out the next course of action. Let us play a round of Would you Rather, my angel.” Everytime he calls you by a pet name you want to claw your own ears off. “Would you rather, I come into that cell of yours and shoot your companion dead and have you all to myself? I do not know if I can promise to keep my hands to myself while in such close proximity to you all alone, I might just have to indulge in a taste. Or would you rather I keep him alive, chain him to the wall in your room, draw out his life for god knows how long as I make you watch him decay? Of course I’ll still want to make my movies so you will have to touch yourself as you watch me stick a funnel down his throat. I wonder how much gasoline he will have to drink before he loses the attitude? Which of those options is preferable to you, my love?” 

You just burst into tears. 

Your entire body trembles as you do your best to remain standing. He catches you, pulling you into a hug as you let out a sob, praying you might wake up and realize this was all just a terrible dream. You can feel him rubbing circles into your back for a few quiet moments, you know that the absence of commentary from the unsub is his way of letting you know he’s waiting for your decision. 

“I can’t- you can’t. I can’t be alone with him, please Reid- don’t leave me alone with him.” You mumble into his shirt as his hands go to your shoulders, he pulls you back and bends down to be eye level with you. Your noses just a few inches apart, he’s shockingly calm as he nods. 

“Hey, it’s okay, we’re gonna be okay.” He says it so confidently you almost believe him. 

Almost.

”I won’t leave you alone with him, I promise.” His hands cup your face, thumbs brushing away stray tears. “We can do this, you can do this.” You try to nod but his hands hold your head in place, his eyes are dark as he stares at you with an intensity that makes you want to avoid his gaze. 

“Spence-” You don’t know what you’re going to say, but whatever it was is cut off when he leans forward and crashes his lips into yours. 

Your brain has no time to process what’s happening as you relinquish any resistance and let him. 

He kisses you like he’s hungry. Like he’s starving for it. Not like he has to do it because some pervert is watching from behind a screen and expects it of him. Your mouth matches his movements as best it can, trying to keep up with the sheer ferocity. His mouth opens, demanding more and more as you feel his teeth graze your bottom lip you gasp and he pulls back. 

“I won't leave you alone.” He sounds so sure of himself all you can do is nod. “Just pretend he’s not here, it’s just you and me.” He pulls you close again, fingers tapping against the back of your neck as he presses his forehead to yours. “Just you and me, can you do that?” 

“Y-yeah, I can do that.” Your heart is racing so loudly he can definitely hear it. 

It’s just the two of you.

“We can do five, all you have to do is lay here, okay? I’m gonna take care of it. I’m gonna take care of you.” You don’t understand how he can be so collected right now but you’re glad he is because you’re struggling to put together sentences. “I know it’s a lot, you’ll be okay, I’m gonna handle it. We’re gonna get through to the end. If we can do that we’ll be all done for a little while.” 

“But that’s just one day done, we don’t know how long-” You’re starting to spiral as he gently places his hand over his mouth, quietly shushing you. 

“One day at a time. We’re gonna take this one day at a time.” He slowly lowers his hand, nodding at you as he does. “I want to hear you say it’s okay.” 

“It’s okay.” You don’t sound at all sure of yourself as he guides you to the blankets and eases you down so that you’re laying down propped up on a pillow. 

“I want to hear you say what we’re gonna do so that I know you understand. I’m not going to stop until you’ve come five times.” His fingers hover above the button of your pants. Those fingers that you’ve stared at from your own desk. Fingers that you constantly find yourself fixated on. Long, defined, adept. You’ve seen him solve rubix cubes, spin pens, and flip through books. You’ve dreamed about those fingers and now they’re here, taunting you.

“You’re going to take care of it.” You stare at him, his pupils are so blown his eyes look almost black, his hair is a mess, it always is. He’s waiting, he wants a proper response. “I want you to take care of it.” 

That’s clearly what he wanted to hear.

With expert dexterity his fingers loop around the button of your slacks and pull it up and open while his other hand slides your zipper down. 

“I’m going to partially undress before I touch you, to make you feel more comfortable and less exposed in comparison.” He’s already tugging his black cardigan off, tossing it aside as yanks his tie loose, throwing it in the same direction. Without missing a beat he unbuttons his shirt, leaving it on but fully unbuttoned as you stare at the skin there. Even now you can’t help but gawk at the pale skin. He isn’t muscular by any means, but you can see that he’s surprisingly toned. You do your best not to stare wide eyed, everything about this situation is awful, you don’t need to make it worse by getting caught staring. 

Although it probably doesn’t matter considering what he’s about to do. 

He’s so gentle with you. One hand sliding under you to lift you a tiny bit as he pulls your slacks down until they’re completely off, folding them in half before he sets them aside. Only Spencer fucking Reid would nicely fold your pants before fingering you. 

Jesus Christ, this is happening. 

You lay back, unable to look at him as you arch your hips to help him as he slides a finger under both sides of your panties. You take a deep breath as he removes them as effortlessly as your pants, setting them aside as well. 

You squeeze your legs together, tilting your head back and closing your eyes. You can feel his hands on your hips, grounding you for a moment as you try and slow your breathing. 

One of his hands moves from your side to the center, you burn hot, covering your face with your hands as he tenderly spreads your legs and there’s no going back as you find yourself completely exposed to him. He’s silent, you can feel him still holding your thighs apart now as you sit up, daring a look at him. He lays in front of you on his stomach, staring at your core with an intensity you’ve seen him use when he can’t solve a case and he’s spent an hour just staring at the white board. 

“Jesus, Reid, you do know what you’re doing, right?” You can’t help it as you grumble, exasperated. 

“I know what I’m doing, I’m just trying to decide the best course of action to do this as efficiently as possible.” His tongue pokes out of his mouth, wetting his lips as you lean back again, groaning this time. 

He’s torturing you. 

“Please- please just do it.” You try not to sound like you’re whining but at this point why bother holding on to any dignity you have left? All of your self respect went out the window the second he pulled your panties down. If he keeps laying there just staring at it you’re going to take matters into your own hands.

Thankfully, that seems to be all he needed to hear, you feel his fingers brush up against you as you suck in a sharp inhale. One hand resting on your hips, holding you in place as the other finally brushes up against you. You can feel him moving tentatively as he parts your folds, swiping a digit through the wetness there. 

He knows exactly how much you like this you sick fuck, look at you, dripping. 

When the pad of his thumb swipes over your clit you squeak, arching your back until he gently pushes you back down, he moves in slow, precise, circles that make your head spin. A finger prods at your entrance for only a moment before he pushes it fully in. 

Your curiosity gets the better of you and you prop yourself up on your elbows, a whimper slipping past your lips as he curls his finger, pressing into that sensitive spot that almost makes you fall back over. 

His pretty brown locks are tucked neatly behind his ears now. His eyes, still dark and wide, his brow furrowed. You watch him lick his lips for a moment before he curls his finger again, simultaneously pressing down hard on your clit. Testing, seeing what makes you tick. You can’t suppress the moan that bubbles out of you. He’s so meticulous, timing the pumping of his finger with the slow circles of his thumb, he finally looks away from your cunt to stare at your face, watching your reaction as he abruptly adds another finger without warning. Your eyes squeeze shut as you gasp. They feel better than you ever could have imagined, long and nimble, he works you like he’s an expert after just a few minutes of experimenting with pace and patterns. Curving them at the perfect time, in sync with the increasing pace of his thumb. 

“Reid-” You start to groan his name as you can feel the knot forming in your stomach. 

You’re going to come immediately and he’s going to know just how much of a slut you are. Writhing for him on the cold hard floor. 

“Shh… I’ve got you.” He plays you like he knows your body better than you do, and at this point, he might. Before you can react he’s pistoning his fingers in and out of you as you let out an obscene sound. The hand that held your hips down is spreading your legs apart now, he watches, enraptured as you clamp down on his fingers, your legs trembling as he practically rips your first orgasm out of you. Your fingers claw at the pillows behind you as you arch your back up, pushing yourself against his fingers as you ride it out. 

“Fucking- oh my god, Reid, Fuck-” You start to sit up but he coaxes you back down, sushing you softly, his fingers still slick as he slides them up and down your folds. You squirm under him, your sensitive bundle of nerves screaming for a moment's respite as he brushes up against them. “I need a second Reid.” You grumble but he doesn’t let up, deliberate little bumps against you as you whimper. 

His pointer and middle finger find your clit now, applying just the right amount of pressure as you fight the urge to push him off of you. 

“There was an interesting study done where a researcher suggested that the woman he was studying had a hundred and thirty four orgasms over the course of a single hour. Of course it’s difficult to track that sort of thing, they went based on her heart rate to get the number as close to exact as possible.” He’s unrelenting against you, his left hand grips your thigh, pushing your legs further apart as he continues. 

“Reid, please.” you can’t handle his ramblings right now.

“Obviously what she was experiencing wouldn’t technically be classified as multiple orgasms, it would be considered stacked orgasms because she wasn’t given time to come down from her initial orgasm.” The knot in your stomach is already forming again, he picks up the pace, scooping up the wetness from your initial orgasm and using it as a lubricant for his brutal little movements, increasing the pressure until you’re a whimpering mess. “Typically with stacked orgasms the goal is to prevent a person from fully climaxing, and to keep them in an orgasmic state. I think that’s our best course of action if we want to get this done as quickly as possible.” 

“I can’t- I- It’s already too much, Spence- Reid, I can’t do five like this.” Why is it so fucking hot when he does that? You hadn’t realized until just now how much you love the sound of his voice, even if you want to shove him off of you before he can force another orgasm out of you before you’re ready.

“If you’d like me to give you a break that’s completely fine but I think you’ll be better in the long run if we stack them. Not only will we be done sooner but if we take breaks our unsub will likely get bored and resort to more extreme forms of entertainment quicker. If we keep him entertained then he’s more likely to give us space to put on a show for him.” 

“Put on a show for him? Is it a good idea to encourage him?” Your voice pitches up an octave as he lightly pinches your clit, his brow furrowing as he studies your reaction. 

“He’s encouraged either way but if we play nice he’s far less likely to lash out or escalate.” You can feel your second orgasm approaching rapidly and you know he wants you to make a choice. He rubs your clit between his finger and his thumb and you just melt.  

“Fuck, Reid.” You cover your face with your hands, letting loose a string of expletives. 

“Don’t call me Reid, I think we’re beyond that.” He sounds so stern, a desperate edge to his voice that wasn’t there before. “Please.” He sits up as he pushes you closer and closer to the edge, you can see the focus on his face, and when you look down you can see the reaction in his pants. 

Completely normal, he’s a straight guy, you’re like a personal pornstar in front of him right now, try not to be too flattered. 

“Spence- Spencer, fuck.” You can hardly think straight with all of this, all you know is that you trust him. “Fine, you’re right, do it. Whatever you need to do to do the stacked thing.” Your words fade into groans as your second orgasm hits you, another wave cresting over you. You hardly get a moment to breathe before you can feel him shifting positions, you shoot up when you feel the wet, hot heat of his mouth clamp on to you. “Spencer!” His name is punched out of you as his tongue encircles your engorged clit. He runs his tongue up and down your dripping seam before he pulls away, lips wet and pink as he stares up at you with those stupid puppy dog eyes. “What the fuck!” 

“We agreed he needed a show to be kept happy.” He sounds confused as to why you’re stopping him, the look on his face is so close to disappointment that you just lay back. 

“Then put on a show.” You mumble as he returns to his work, you bury your face in your hands, trying to swallow the moans fighting their way out of you as he wraps his lips around your clit. His tongue moves in rapid patterns, alternating between sucking and licking at you, eating you just like he kissed you, like he’s starving. Your fingers eventually find themselves tangled in his hair, tugging at him gently as he devours you.  

You lose it when he moans against you. 

A low whine as he rocks against a pillow he placed under his hips when you weren’t looking. 

You’re so fucked. 

The sight of him sends you over the edge that you’re becoming all too familiar with. 

Already? Jesus, he definitely knows that you like this. 

A painful overstimulation, coupled with the force of your third shaking orgasm. Your thighs squeeze his head and, god, he doesn’t let up even for a second. Your entire body feels hot, tears prickling at your eyes. It’s too much, you’re glad you told him not to stop because honestly you don’t know how you’d start again. Your thighs shake, and you’re fighting the urge to kick him away as he tilts his head down the tiniest bit, his tongue lapping at your weeping hole as his nose bumps your clit.

“Reid- Spencer, Spence.” You’re limited to a stuttering of his name as his arms loop under your thighs, throwing your legs over his shoulders, effectively locking you in place as he pulls you closer. His tongue delves into you as he buries his face between your legs, pushing himself deeper and deeper until your back is arching up and off the ground. 

You’re trapped between two urges. The need to kick him off of you to ease the pain, to stop the delicious burning being delivered to your overworked clit with every focused lap of his tongue. After three orgasms every touch is like a flaming hot poker that you just can’t get enough of. The other urge is to grab him by the back of his head and hold him there forever. 

That urge is the one that won out in the end. Your hands tangling themselves into his curls, tugging shamelessly at him, needing more and more of the delicious pain he’s drilling into you. Your body is spent, writhing as he tries his damndest to pull another orgasm from you. 

”I don’t think I can-“ You mumble out through breathy moans, pulling admittedly a little too hard on his hair, but all that earned you was a lengthy groan, the vibrations rocking through your center. 

“You can.” He’s muffled, you can hardly hear him as he stays buried in your cunt, refusing to pull back for even a moment. 

You’re glad he seems so sure because you certainly aren’t. He pulls one of his arms back, slotting his fingers between your folds once more. Easily sliding two fingers back into you as let out a pitiful squeak.

Yeah, you can. 

You definitely can, he presses his fingers deep, focusing on that sweet spot nestled away inside of you. 

When they say Spencer Reid knows everything they really mean it, he knows how to twist his tongue against you in a way that makes you scream like a fucking pornstar. He knows how to work his fingers into you and find every single nerve that lights you up. He knows how to work you better than you work yourself. When he adds a third finger you feel yourself tensing again. He works tirelessly, never faltering. Tears are flowing freely now from your eyes, you’re so fucking tired, everything hurts, everything feels so good. When he flattens his tongue against your clit you gush around his finger, soaking the bottom half of his face. 

You can’t remember ever coming so hard, let alone squirting like this. It’s enough to snap him out of his animalistic state, when he looks up at you try not to look too shocked. 

You’re probably just as much of a sight at this point. 

His lips are wet and swollen, he wipes the bottom half of his face on his shirt and you recall every time he’s made a big deal of germs around the office. Clearly that’s all been abandoned. You’ve put his hair in a state of disarray. When you finally look him in the eyes you can’t look anywhere else. 

Dark and desperate. 

“Was that five?” Your voice is raw and quiet, when you break the silence he shakes his head, crawling up your body until he’s on all fours above you. His knee locked firmly between your thighs, likely soaking his pants with your juices. 

“Almost.” He whispers back, his tongue poking out before he chews his lip. You shake your head in return, your entire body trembles as a fresh flood or tears rushing out of you. 

“No, no I can’t do another one, I’m all done.” You bring your hands up to cup his cheeks, begging him as if this is his choice and not some cruel gods, still watching you somewhere on a little screen as if this is all just a silly little movie and not your sadistic reality. 

“You can, I know you can, you’re so strong. You’re so good.” He whispers so sweetly, it almost makes you forget the circumstances of all of this. “Just one more, I know you can last just a little longer.” 

“Spencer, please, it hurts too much.” You cry unabashedly. Moving your hands down his neck to his chest, clinging to his shirt collar. His touch is light as he brushes your hair back and out of your face. 

“Deep breath, stay with me sweetheart.” He kisses your forehead and it really does make a difference in grounding you. It’s so strangely personal and intimate, even knowing that he’s gonna have to put you through another crushing orgasm he treats you with such tenderness. 

“Please.” Your voice sounds so small, and you’re thankful for the recognition in his eyes when he nods. He knows you aren’t asking him to stop, you’re asking him to finish this. 

When he kisses you this time he isn’t as forceful as he was the first time. There’s a gentleness, it crosses your mind that he isn’t putting on a show for the camera with this kiss, this kiss is just for you. For just the two of you. 

You whimper when his hand wanders down your body and between your legs for what you hope is the final time today. You feel raw down there, you know he can feel it too because his hand flies back up to his mouth, you watch with morbid fascination as his lips part and he sucks his fingers, wetting them and returning them to your cunt. 

“You’re doing so good, so good, so good for me, all for me.” He’s moving in focused, deadly accurate circles. Kissing you between his praises, his free hand continues to sweep your hair away from your face. He’s hovering over you in an awkward position as he presses a kiss to the corner of your mouth while you whine. The muscles in your stomach ache and scream as you feel the burning knot forming once more. 

You groan, the buzz of pleasure is almost entirely gone, replaced solely by the dull, blunt pain of overstimulation.  

“Just me, just for me now, okay? This one isn’t for him, or anyone else, just me.” He’s rambling, picking up the pace, the strokes becoming more chaotic as he mumbles, seemingly to himself more than you. The shocks to your clit are erratic and relentless, as you feel yourself approaching a release you know is inevitable. His knee shifts, when his body presses down against you you can feel the outline of his cock against your hip, he positions himself in a way that can’t be comfortable, it makes it hard to focus on achieving any kind of release until you realize what he’s doing. 

Just for him. 

He’s covering you up, since you can’t see the cameras you have to assume they’re on the ceiling, tucked away near the fluorescents where you can’t find them. Regardless of where they are, if they’re from an elevated angle they won’t see your face, or most of your body as far as you're concerned.

Just. For. Him.

You cry out his name when you come, repeating it like a prayer as you sob against him, he kisses your face. Your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids, your chin, and your lips as he murmurs against your skin. 

“I knew you could do it, look at you. So good, so pretty.” Whispers branded onto your skin with his lips. 

He wipes between your legs with the blanket, making you whine. 

“You did so good.”

You’ve never felt so spent in your entire life. There’s no energy left in your body so you just let him work, he pulls your panties back up your legs. He tries to get your pants back on but the tight fabric makes you cringe so he doesn’t bother. Instead he wraps his cardigan around your shoulders before laying back, pulling you against his still bare chest with a sigh.  

You sit in silence for what feels like hours, catching your breath and fighting sleep, your eyelids heavy. 

The crackling of the speaker startles you, you’d been so focused on Spencer you’d almost forgotten the dark reality of your situation. For a moment your captor doesn’t speak, he just claps, loud, cruel, beats. 

“I have no notes. I knew you would be incredible, I just- I did not realize how good it would be.” He sounds so worked up you swear he’s crying. “You really are my muse, you have inspired me, I have to go, I need to put together tomorrow's script, rest well my shining star.” 

In a swift motion as if a switch has been flipped the lights go dark, and you’re left alone in the void with only Spencer to cling to. For a moment, you aren’t sure what to say. What do you talk about after what just happened? Eventually you figure it out, right as you’re about to pass out from exhaustion. 

“You called me sweetheart.” You practically sigh the words out, your fingers find a button on his shirt, twisting it between your thumb and forefinger. 

“I did, should I not have? I wasn’t sure if I could pull that off, I don’t think I’ve ever used a pet name on anyone, maybe ever. It’s kind of Morgan's thing.” He sounds apologetic as he combs his fingers through your hair before sliding them down your back. 

“No, I liked it. Sweetheart works, it’s… timeless, and simple.” He rubs your back as you shut your eyes, mumbling against his chest as you trace a line up and down his sternum. 

“Get some sleep.” You don’t bother resisting, you feel like you’re already halfway there. 

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, Sweetheart.”

a/n : hope yall enjoy, you can find me on ao3 under the same username, all updates go on there a few days earlier than they will on here

[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

it’s like you personally catered this idea for me<333

[cosmicreidd]

all of this turbulence wasn't forecasted .𖦹 ´

masterlist.

pairing: spencer reid x reader.

genre: angst. hurt/comfort. tags: reader has depression & adhd, reader is described to have hair long enough to be tied up but is otherwise gender neutral, mentions of self harm, antidepressants, suicidal ideation, self-neglect, body horror(?) (creepy depictions of depression feeling like you're 'rotting'.) w/c: 3.4k ༄

summary: you're not sure when the rot accumulated to this degree. it's been growing for longer than you can remember. the only reasonable thing to do is to let it fester until it deems you free. except, spencer won't fucking let you.

There’s a bomb in your apartment. You can hear the ticking. A slow countdown to your inevitable demise.

You can hear flies. Buzzing over empty takeout boxes. You stare at them, eyes so dry it hurts to squint, and try to remember how long they’ve been there. You find you have no clue.

The vague memory of eating pizza presents itself in your head, blurred at the edges, feeling more like remembering an old dream than a real moment you lived. You can hardly differentiate these days. Yesterday (was it yesterday?) you’d stared at your trash can, confused by the three bags still sitting beside it, swearing you’d thrown them out.

There’s a faint buzzing. You feel it more than hear it, which is weird, ‘cos you haven’t been doing a lot of that. It’s beneath you. Or inside you. In your spine, maybe.

Perhaps you’re finally decomposing. Your body’s been merged with the mattress for so long that they’ve fused into one substance. You swear you can feel the rot climbing into your body. Making its way up your spine. Slithering beneath your ribs. Settling down metaphorical suitcases and making its bed. Not even considering the possibility that it might leave someday.

You imagine maggots crawling out of you—out of a hole in your chest, like an open wound that never quite shut. Not spilling with blood in some dramatic movie-like fashion. Just empty. As if someone had taken a hole puncher to your sternum. Soon enough, the flies will abandon cardboard for flesh. Crawl over your skin. Buzz near your ears just how you hate it. But you won’t realise it this time. You won’t swat them away or even groan. You’re dead already, even if your eyes are still seeing and your nose is still sucking in oxygen and your heart is still beating, despite your best efforts.

Maybe biology was wrong. Somehow, somewhere, the scientists messed up. Maybe they should’ve created more specific terms. Shouldn’t have forced all living organisms to only have two states to choose from. Because whatever this is, your current state of being, it doesn’t quite fit the term alive. Yet, scientifically, medically, physically, you’re not dead either.

You imagine death wouldn’t quite feel like this anyway. It would feel warm. It would feel like floating on a cloud and finally being able to shut your eyes. It would feel like silence. Not the deafening kind. Not the awkward kind. Not the eerie kind. The comforting kind. Just pure, ceaseless silence, both physically and mentally. The world would stop invading your privacy with its abhorrent, constant soundwaves. With its beeping cars and footsteps and wind and voices and all those repulsive signs of life. That you might be able to achieve with headphones, if only you’d gather the energy to use your legs. But the issue of your brain remains. At least in death, your mind wouldn’t race from one unnecessary thought to another, as if it were hellbent on being as scrambled and overwhelming and useless as it could possibly get.

You can feel the buzzing again. A smidge higher this time. You close your eyes, waiting for the rot to continue its climb up your spine. Begging it to move faster. You imagine it growing vines, wrapping tight around your heart to stop its incessant, unnecessary beating. You imagine the vines creeping out of your chest, along with the maggots, wrapping themselves around your bed, your nightstands, the floor, the wardrobe, the whole room, the whole apartment, until it is all but one substance. Until nothing differentiates you, a supposed human, from the hardwood floors or the empty fridge or the blackout curtains. Until it’s like there is no proof of you ever having existed. They’d only find you once you’re buried too deep beneath the rot. Once you’ve decomposed enough that even your bones have crumbled into sludge. They wouldn’t assume you to be a person at all. Maybe they’d take samples. Add you to the periodic table. Parading around a highly unstable, brand new, extremely confusing element.

There’s a beam of light. It’s blinding. It’s accompanied by warmth—subtle, but there—and you wonder if you’ve ever felt such deep relief. Death’s finally come for you. You’d always dreamed of someone, something coming to save you. And it’s here. You welcome it by shutting your eyes, patient for what feels like the first time as you wait for the decomposition process to begin. You just hope the part where your brain quietens comes soon.

You hear your name. You open your eyes again. Wonder if perhaps death needs you to sign a form before taking you to the underworld. You’re not sure if your muscles function anymore, but for this, you’re willing to try.

You thank some mysterious force for helping you sit up. In another life, perhaps you’d have tried to investigate it. Use that curious mind of yours to its greatest potential as the adults had always insisted was possible.

You hear your name again. There’s something on your cheek. It’s warm. All-consuming. Encompassing your body with a sensation that feels foreign enough to be terrifying. Jarring enough that your brain snaps out of dreaming its own demise.

“Hey. There you are.”

You stare, blankly, at some blurry being in front of you, waiting for your eyes to focus, like an old camera. The liquidy browns and beiges somehow form into—

Spencer.

“Yeah. I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

You hadn’t realised you’d said it out loud. What if you’d said something else too? Your body’s been betraying you for a while now. You’ve given up on gaining any semblance of control. It’s irritating. You wish you could lay back down and shut your eyes and continue decomposing again.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Oh. He’s actually real. Like, physically. You confirm by tentatively poking his arm.

Speaking feels like trying to get an old machine to run again. Your throat’s so dry it hurts. You’re sure your lip must be bleeding in at least three different spots.

The rim of a bottle presses against the inside of your bottom lip. A hand against your back. A faint whisper to drink. You feel the water going down. Imagine it dissolving all the rot you’d been accumulating. You find yourself annoyed at the erasure of your progress and pull away.

“Why’re you here?”

Your voice comes out raspy. Rough around the edges. Hollow inside. At least that’s how it sounds to you. It’s true form is annoyed.

“I haven’t heard from you in days.”

“Well, maybe that means I want to be alone.”

You’re not sure what’s making you reply so curtly. The words come out before going through any kind of verification.

“Yeah, I’m not letting that happen. C’mon. I brought food.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You look like you’ve lost a hundred pounds. Get up.”

“Go away.”

“Please? Y’know what, I’ll just bring it here.”

He disappears into your living room and you finally take the chance to look around at your surroundings. Your mind unhelpfully provides snapshots of the current state of your apartment. Piles of dishes in the sink. Three tied up trash bags near the trash can. Enough clutter on the bedroom floor that walking has become an obstacle course.

Your own state isn’t all that better. Inside never has been, but it’s started to show too. The rot’s been seeping out of you for days now, out of your eyes and your ears and your mouth and your pores. Your hair’s been re-tied-up so many times, the hair tie has frayed around the edges. There’s a fast food chain’s worth of grease in there. Your nails are bitten raw. There are mystery stains on your t-shirt. And most of all, you stink.

This is the complete opposite of how you’d like to present yourself. Especially to Spencer, of all people. Spencer, who is your… something. Best friend, definitely. Boyfriend, maybe, if you’d had the energy to let it get there. You don’t remember when your life went from hopeful to hopeless. You recall the lovely date he’d taken you on. The midnight conversations. The bookstores that smelled of old pages and coffee. The feeling of his lips against yours.

But underneath it all, the undertone of every single seemingly happy moment in your life, has been layers upon layers of what can only be described as pure melancholy. It doesn’t matter if you gain the energy to socialise, or are laughing at a joke, or are enjoying a nice meal, or are celebrating your birthday. Beneath it all, that sadness has never quite left. It changes, sure, manifests itself as anger, or dread, or numbs itself into a dull ache, but it doesn’t go away. It makes the precarious act of normalcy extremely difficult. It makes simple things like small talk with a coworker feel like moving a massive rock uphill while a rope tries to drag you down simultaneously.

There’s a steaming box of pasta in front of you. A plastic bottle of water. A clean fork in your hand. A hand on your knee.

“You need to eat, love.” He sounds so soft it feels wrong. Like he doesn’t belong in this wasteland of your misery. In this rotting apartment that’s seconds away from collapsing.

“I haven’t showered.”

“I know. It’s alright. One thing at a time.”

“No, I smell. You’re not supposed to be here.”

“That’s what you’re worried about? How you look? Honey, I’m more focused on keeping you alive here.”

“No. You need to— You need to go away. I wanna be alone.”

“Not happening. Eat.”

You huff, feeling the anger simmer up again. “Spencer—”

“Eat. Please.”

His expression hits you like a wrecking ball. It’s so fucking gentle. You hate it.

You stab the pasta with your fork, shoving it in your mouth as if trying to prove a point. Instead, you freeze. You feel sick. Your stomach protests. It’s become accustomed to the hollowness same as you. But unfortunately, stupid Spencer is making you eat this stupid food to keep your stupid body alive, so you force it down anyway. Begrudgingly, yes, but at least it’s working.

After watching you for a few bites, he gets up, grabs a trash bag you didn’t know you had, and starts picking things off the floor.

“Can you tell me why you’re here now?” you mutter, downing the water bottle in one go because God, you hadn’t realised you’d needed it this much.

“You weren’t answering my calls.”

Right. “...I don’t know where my phone is.”

There's a brief silence, broken only by the crinkle of the trash bag and Spencer's footsteps.

“So, what, you just came over ‘cause I wasn't responding?” you mutter, aiming for amused, teasing, but your tone is far too brittle.

Spencer straightens up and makes eye contact before responding. “Yes, I did. I was— I am worried about you.”

You scoff, “What, that I'm getting bad again? S'that how incompetent you think I am?”

“Don't do that.”

“I don't need to be saved. I can't be saved. You should know that by now. You've tried enough. Just… give up or something, I dunno. Leave me be.”

Your voice tapers off by the end, as if you're not quite sure you even want what you're saying. You haven't been sure of much these days.

But it's true. Months ago, Spencer had been the one to drag you to the psychiatrist. Spencer had been the one to convince you that you weren't overreacting, that it doesn't matter if other people have it worse, that you do in fact, deserve help and that you can be saved.

Except, the current state of your life begs to differ. You'd downed fifty milligrams of serotonin everyday. Then a hundred. Even before that, you'd made countless detailed plans to get yourself out of this funk. Tried keeping a routine and going out and forcing yourself to get in the shower and being positive or whatever the fuck all those articles had said. But every single time, without fail, it would end in you screaming into your pillow, or picking at your sticky sleeves.

If being medicated didn't change anything either, perhaps it's time to give up. The rot has spread too far, too thick, latched itself onto your ribs. It's been growing for a while now. Spencer needs to realise that he's too late. He can't stop it. You can never be fixed.

The mattress dips in front of you. You feel it rather than see it, keeping your gaze fixed to your lap and your torn fingernails.

“Listen to me,” he starts, voice soft, trash bag discarded, eyes fixed on yours even if you won't reciprocate, “You can't give up. I know it's hard. I know you have bad days, but you have to believe me when I say that there is still hope.”

“That's the thing. I don't believe you, Spence.”

“Then let me believe enough for the both of us. Please. You're not a lost cause. You're strong and you're trying and— and as exhausting as it is you need to keep trying. You can get your life back, I promise you.”

You didn't notice the dampness on your cheeks. Not until Spencer's thumbs brushed it away. Nor did you notice the trembling his arms tried to stop as they wrapped around you, tucking your face against his shoulder.

Your voice comes out in jagged pieces. Like glass shards, sharp at the edges, brittle in the center.

“I just— Spence, I'm so tired.”

His hand rubs a circle onto your back. “I know, honey.”

“And— I- Nothing works. The meds don't work. The— They— I still have bad days and I can't focus or- or sleep or do anything and I'm so tired of finding new solutions ‘cause nothing fucking works!”

You're in too deep to stop it now. It's getting hard to breathe, ‘cos your nose has gone all stuffy and your body shivers with hiccuped breaths and the tears won't stop and you have so much more you want to complain about. But your mind's racing, constantly playing five audio tracks at once, along with being emotionally overwhelmed. You can't possibly string together words.

“I know, honey. I know. We'll— We'll figure it out.”

You don't notice how he sounds so choked up all of a sudden. You don't notice the tears dampening his shirt or the fork falling off the bed as you crawl closer into his arms. All you do is let the rot seep out through tears, let Spencer coax it out of your spine, so that there is at least a little more room inside your chest.

— x.

Spencer holds a water bottle to your mouth. Wipes your tears and your nose. Only leaves to dig for a brush in the clusterfuck that is your vanity. He ties your hair up again, knowing it'd overstimulate you otherwise, and tucks you into bed so gently, you feel like a toddler. You'd protest if you weren't half asleep.

When you wake, the apartment is clean. The clutter is gone. You recognise the whir of the washing machine—a rare sound these days. And the corner of your bedsheet, the one that had slipped off days ago, is tucked in neatly again.

Motivated only by the need to investigate, you make your way to the kitchen, stopping only to let the wave of vertigo pass, and Spencer's still there. His presence hadn't been a fever dream. The apartment serves as evidence. He's at the sink, his back to you, plates clinking as he does your dishes like it's the most natural thing in the world to him.

“You… cleaned,” you mutter, collapsing onto a chair. Just a few seconds of walking and your legs already ache.

He turns, expression melting into what can only be described as pure affection.

“Hey. Yeah, I did. Not everything, though. The bathroom could use a clean, but I thought the dishes were of higher priority. Oh, and I put your leftover pasta in the fridge. And, I found your phone.” He holds up the device, looking very proud of himself as he hands it to you.

“Where did you—”

“Under your bedsheet. Must've gotten lost in there ‘cause your bed wasn't made.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“I'm gonna go pick up your prescription soon too, after this. S'there anything else you need? I was wondering if I could stock your fridge with meals that you can just reheat. Rice would be good. With chicken and vegetables, so your body gets the nutrients it needs. I know you like broccoli. It's high in vitamin C, K, and antioxidants. But I can make something else if you'd like. Maybe—”

His words used to feel comforting once. Right now, they're suffocating. They claw at your chest, tightening vines made of guilt around your throat, overloading your brain with far more information than it can handle.

“Spencer.”

He pauses immediately, giving you a sheepish look that only tightens the guilt. “Sorry. Too much?”

You shake your head, “No. No, just—” A pause as you look for the words. “Um. Thank you. I- You're doing too much. You don't have to.”

His brows furrow, as if you'd just said something absurd or gotten his favourite fact wrong. “‘Course I have to. I care about you.”

That makes you pause. It makes your head feel fuzzy and your eyes widen and your chest loosen.

He steps closer. You expect him to sit on the chair beside you, or stand. What you don't expect is for him to kneel. He fully gets on his knees right there on the hardwood floor, taking your hands between both of his, looking up at you with the softest, most earnest brown eyes. He looks like a puppy. Or a deer. Perhaps a hybrid of both.

“Look at me. I want to take care of you. This isn't some obligation or burden to me. I— I'm not doing it out of necessity, honey, it's pure want. I want to help you get better. I want to do your dishes, and cook for you, and brush your hair, for the only reason that it might make you feel at least one percent better.”

You blink away the all-too-familiar sting. “Spence—”

“Uh-uh. I'm not done yet. Remember what I told you on the drive home from the hospital?”

You recall the feeling after your first appointment. The image of your prescription in your hands, fingers crinkling the paper. You recall Spencer's hand resting on your knee, and more specifically, the conversation.

“...I'm sorry. About… all of this.”

“What?”

“I- I feel bad. You shouldn't have to… take care of me like this. I hate that I can't do it myself.”

He'd waited for a red light before responding, so he could look at you when he did. “I'm not planning on leaving you just ‘cause things get hard, y'know.”

You'd turned to look at him.

“I'm here. Not just for the dates and the friendship and the good days, but the bad ones too.”

“...Yeah,” you whispered. He can see the recognition in your eyes.

“You haven't ruined anything. And certainly not… this. Us. I need you to know that I love every part of you. Every past and every future version of you. And I'd consider it a privilege to be there for all of them.”

You're crying again. It's unfair. He's being so unfair. What are you even supposed to say to that? What are you meant to do, except chew at your lip and stare at your lap ‘cause looking at him only makes the tears flow faster? What are you supposed to do but focus on the way his thumb traces figure-of-eights around your knuckles?

You've handled every hardship alone. It's just how you're wired. Just how you were born. Supposedly, God didn't feel the need to send you a saviour. Not until now.

And he hasn't even saved you yet. That's the ridiculous part. You know this doesn't fix everything. He hasn't quite gotten rid of the rot in your chest or the mess in your head. You know that, even if he does, it'll return again. And again. And again. And again. And you'll keep trying to give up. You'll beg and cry and scream for it to end. You'll make yourself bleed just to feel some semblance of control. You'll snap at people who don't deserve it. You'll try to shut him out at least a hundred more times. It could be years before you ‘get better’. You've never been one for patience.

But for some ridiculous reason you can't wrap your head around, he's still here. Still yours. You find that that realisation makes the journey at least a little bit tolerable.

a/n: this was extremely self indulgent. in case you couldn't tell already. just pure projection written at 4am, really. based on my own personal experiences. oh to have spencer reid come in and whisk me away and save from The Rot™️.

────ᯓ★ reblogs are the best way to help out writers on this platform. if you enjoyed, i'd love to hear your thoughts!

[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

took me a bit to reblog this because i read it on a not so good day of a not so good week or month idk. point is it hit me pretty hard and so you did a great job 👍👍👍👍 really good writing.

[marcidstars]

thinking about kneeling under prof!reid's desk...

MDNI .ᐟ prof!reid, smut, cockwarming, withholding sex, praise, just straight huffing his crotch we have no shame | @crime-bunny hijacked my brain and made me write this.

face nestled between his legs. mouth open. just breathing him in through the fabric of his trousers. him shifting in his seat, readjusting, trying to focus on his work.

─ .⟢ thinking about how he'd be chewing on the inside of his cheek, pushing the feeling of you nuzzling his crotch into the background as he grades papers. how his free hand may find its way into your hair, and those gentle fingers would press your face against his cock. how you'd look up at him, desperate, and he'd ignore you. he'd keep his gaze fixed on his work, and the most you'd earn from him would be a soft sigh. or a slight hitch in his breath.

─ .⟢ and when you'd grow impatient, when you'd get all whiny, all he'd do is tut. stroke your hair. tell you to "be good" in this dismissive, almost uninterested tone that really should irritate you, but it'd only make you all the more desperate. you'd start using your hands, trying to palm him through his slacks, and he'd swat them away—gently, but stern enough to know that he's serious.

─ .⟢ you'd already be a mess, all wound up and needy, high on denial, when he'd finally decide that enough was enough. he'd pull you into his lap, hands set firm on your waist, and kiss your cheek, murmuring soft praises into your skin, telling you how patient you are, how good you're being for him, before asking you to unfasten his belt. he'd coo about rewarding you, peppering kisses along your jaw as you fumble with his fly.

─ .⟢ his cock would be so hard. flushed red and swollen with pent-up desire. he'd catch your chin in his hand, touch ever so loving as he asks if you're seeing what you've done to him. how badly you've distracted him. these papers need to be graded by tonight, and you have slowed his work speed by twenty-seven percent—and we can't have that, can we?

─ .⟢ you'd try to apologise, and he'd silence you with a kiss. he'd tell you that it's okay, and that you'll compromise. you want him inside of you, right? he'll give you that, but you'll need to do something for him in return.

─ .⟢ he wouldn't tell you what this something was, not until he was easing you onto his cock. not until you were making sweet little noises into his neck and trying, feebly, to rock your hips—but he'd be keeping you still. holding you firm. fingers anchored in the plush of your hips. he'd tell you that you aren't to move, not an inch, until he's finished with his work. he'd shush your protests, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into your skin as he asks you to keep being good, keep being patient—you can do that, can't you? this'll be easier, for both of you, if you just relax. lean on him. enjoy the feeling, the connection, without chasing something.

─ .⟢ you'd try to fuck yourself on his cock anyway. you wouldn't be able to help it. as soon as his focus has returned to his work, you'd be shifting your hips, doing everything he had just told you not to do. he'd hiss, you'd feel him pulsing inside of you, and his hands would grasp your hips once more. rougher, this time, as he tells you that he'll stop this altogether if you keep moving like that. if you want this, really want this, then you'll have to listen.

─ .⟢ in the end, you'd bury your face in his neck, breathing in his scent as you try to relax. he'd return to his work, keeping one hand on your back to soothe your whimpers, and he'd press the occasional kiss to your shoulder, murmur the occasional praise, but that's all. you'd melt against him like a weighted blanket, something to keep his cock warm while he grades his papers, until your eyes would grow heavy and you'd feel your mind beginning to drift.

─ .⟢ the feeling of his hands on your thighs would startle you, and before you'd be able to react he'd be picking you up. he'd set you on his desk, keeping himself buried in your warmth, and he'd kiss you. softly at first. tenderly, giving you time to reorient yourself before his hand is cupping the back of your head and his tongue is in your mouth and you're moaning helplessly into his.

─ .⟢ he'd pull back just enough to tell you how good you were for him, and to ask where you want him to fuck you—the desk, or the bed. and you'd answer both.

[cosmicreidd]

get crazy perverted about spencer NEEEEOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWW please

dadbf!spencer reid headcanons ⋆˚꩜｡

MDNI. fauxcest, age gap, prof!reid, smut, orgasm denial, praise and degradation and dumbification, we eatin' good tonight my fellow freaks, fem!neurodivergent!student!reader. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ masterlist.

—𖥔. thinking about post-prison dadbf!reid, who was surprised at himself for liking this... relationship so much. initially, he felt guilty. you were so young, still in college, and worst of all, his student. just the ethical dilemma is enough to send him into a spiral.

—𖥔. but once he'd stumbled into your orbit, try as he might, he couldn't leave. your gravity was too strong, too tempting—your bright eyes, staring up at him like he'd given you the world (wellhisdick'sjustasbigamiritewhaaat), your breathy giggles as you passed by him in the hallways, chatting with your friends. he didn't know he could love a sound so much. sound—scientifically, at least—is nothing but vibrations. molecules being disturbed just so to communicate. how can that be so attractive, he wonders.

that is, until he hears you moaning beneath him for the first time.

—𖥔. your relationship is an exasperating game of push and pull. two forces—one constant, pulling with increasing magnitude, and one who's just weak. the slightest push and you're bent over his desk. the slightest pull and he's ignoring you. telling you i'm too old for you, sweetheart. i'm your professor. do you even understand what's at risk here? you've got your whole life ahead of you. this is not a good decision. at least until you tug at his tie, pulling him into the storage closet, batting your lashes just so, and suddenly he's forgotten what the word ethical even means.

—𖥔. you aren't just young. you're stubborn. and probably unhealthily attached. but is it really your fault? you've never had this. never had somebody take care of you. never had a lovely man who's way too old for you scolding you on skipping breakfast, leaning over your shoulder to explain the mistake in your assignment he damn well knows you're too smart to make. you like his voice, is that a crime? is it a crime to purposefully bring home a bad grade and be punished for it? you revel in just how dumb he makes you feel, scolding you, how you should've tried harder, how look, you've made dad upset now, i don't like punishing you either, but we've gotta discipline somehow, right? you're far too spoiled, making you promise you'll do better next time, not letting you come even when you beg. he leaves you right there, sweaty and trembling on the bed, handing you your backpack with a stern look.

—𖥔. maybe sometimes, if you've got a test in his class, he fails you on purpose. gaslights you into thinking that he hadn't marked it wrong, that you didn't answer correctly, slapping your drenched cunt when you try to dispute it because how dare you? d'you think you know better than dad, hm? we need to work on your manners, baby.

—𖥔. and when you do in fact bring home an A? he is so proud. puts it on the fridge and everything. kisses your forehead, murmuring just how much of a good girl you are, how you work so hard, and he knew you could do it, my smart girl, and how dad is just so proud of you, that you deserve a reward. he does let you come this time. tells you to lay back, not allowed to lift a finger, whispering there you go, thaaat's it, kiddo, let go. you've deserved it into your neck as his fingers work on your third orgasm.

—𖥔. you don't need to lift a finger outside of your sex life either. like your coffee made a very specific way, in that one special mug, at the exact same time before school? it's on the counter, every morning, at the same time, made the exact same, without fail. nothing to eat? dad's got it. you just rest, sweetheart. exhausted from school? he's already got his arms open the second you get home, wrapping you up, getting rid of your bag and your coat, tying up your hair 'cos it's so hot, i dunno why i wore it down today, rocking you in his arms right there in the entryway. kisses on your temple, his hand warm under your shirt, aw, honey, s'okay. you jus' rest now, yeah? i've got you murmured into your ear. he waits for you to relax a good amount before gathering you in his arms, carrying you to the bedroom. undresses you himself, pulling your favourite pajamas over your head, wiping away your makeup oh so gently. you're practically half-asleep, head lolling to the side. he has to hold you up to ensure he's gotten all of it off, 'cos you'd be upset otherwise and we can't have that, can we? he'd always vowed to take care of his sweet girl. he'd like to make good on that promise.

—𖥔. he's annoyingly caring about your health, too. mental and physical. tracks your cycle, has not only pads but chocolates and warm tea ready. notices you being extra quiet in class, shoulders hunching in on yourself, leg bouncing beneath the desk, shrinking away from all the noise, so he calls you to his office for a 'talk', which, really, is an invitation for you to decompress before your next class. keeps a pair of noise-cancelling headphones in his desk drawer, hair ties, chewing gum, your favourite snacks, fidgets, and your favourite cardigan of his—that worn knitted navy blue one, embroidered with little yellow stars along the hem. it's so old it hardly fits him in anymore, but on you? it's perfect.

a/n: thank u for the req!! not sure what exactly u had in mind, but i had someone (@craftyglitterluvr ty for opening my eyes babes. ily) asking for spencer under my dadbf!matt hcs post. I litr have another request older than this asking for the exact same thing. is it the same anon😭 idk, probably. but I'll also probably do smth with that too. but thats a maybe. I fear i make too many promises and don't live up to them. anyways, enjoy you freaks.

+ divider creds: @strangergraphics

[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDD

[hystericwaif]

[burymagdalene]

Take What You Need - S. Reid x Reader

After going full hermit mode during finals, you reach out to your relatively new boyfriend for a textbook he might be storing in his apartment. Or, Spencer putting you through his mattress for the first time as finals stress relief.

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader genre: Smut! Fluff? (18+ pls pls) tags: Softdom!Spencer, sub reader (bet you thought you'd never see the day I did this), pet names in Russian, finger sucking, fingering (fem!receiving), established (new) relationship, your first time together, praise kink, pinv sex, creampie, teasing!!! overstimulation. wc: 6k a/n: I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY! Writing this during my finals felt like method acting. I imagine many of you are just now finishing or in the throes of finals- here's a treat!

Your head is hurting in places that you don’t even think have been identified in the anatomy of the brain while you continue to type away at your final essay. 

You had thought you’d given yourself ample time to begin and finish the essay without any stress-induced cramming. Yet, here you are, halfway through with the deadline a couple days away.

Phone on do not disturb and your social life coming to a screeching halt– you have forced yourself to go awol in order to get everything you need done.

Which worked. For a bit.

Now, you’re panicking over a Russian literature textbook you didn’t even know was on the syllabus that you’re supposed to reference in your final. 

Shit shit shit shit shit shit.

The first time you left your apartment in the last 48 hours was to check your university library for it– no dice. You drove to your local library after, out of luck there as well. Who on earth is using the 9th edition Russian and Comparative Literature text you need so horribly? They do not need it as much as you do.

Dejected and sighing from your pounding headache, you rest your forehead against your steering wheel, the sun is going down on another day without finishing your paper. Then it hits you. The biggest distraction in your life, is also the smartest person in your life. If the library doesn’t carry what you need, you might just have to put your pride aside and call Spencer.

You had promised yourself to use him as a form of reward once you completed everything, but you just have to ask him now. You can’t possibly get too distracted. 

One of your rings sounds off in your car before he’s picking up.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. How’s the studying?”

Even through the tinny speaker of your phone his voice releases butterflies in your stomach.

“Spencer! Hey. Umm. It’s not going very well, actually...”

“Oh hon,” his voice drips with remorse from the other line, “I told you how breaks would make it all go more smoothly than whatever guerilla method you decided on.”

You smile to yourself briefly, before a surge of emotion comes over you. Of course, he was right. Your stomach is growling, head aching and going stir crazy in your apartment these last couple of days has not turned out to be the picture perfect portrayal of self-care.

In a small voice you reply, “I know. I’m sorry. I just- I was wondering if you had a textbook I need for my final. Russian and Comparative Lit? Or something adjacent?”

“Hm? Oh, please don’t say you’re sorry. I honestly might. Would you like to come over and look with me?”

Your fingers come up nervously to play with your bottom lip, “Yeah, please, if it’s no trouble.”

“No trouble at all, Zayka.”

Whatever it is, he says it smug enough that you roll your eyes, starting your car back up to finally get to the next step in finishing your paper.

Of sorts.

Like some heightened form of sensory deprivation, once you’re stepping up the staircase to get to Spencer’s unit, you can smell his scent from the bottom of the steps. The aged leather on his clothes and hand soap he uses that clings to him all day circling around your dizzy head as you give one, two knocks at his door.

His slight stubble and loosened tie catch your eye first. You want to run a hand where the sliver of his collar bone is revealed. 

You give him a shy smile instead, Spencer pulling you into a hug in his doorway with a kiss on top of your head where he speaks against it, “I missed you. Come in, come in.”

Sighing as he pulls away you beeline towards his bookshelf. Seeing it’s a stack of differing Russian texts on the floor he must’ve pulled out on your drive over.

“Oh, Spencer, thank you. Even if it’s not here, I seriously owe you one.”

He gestures his hand in an oh stop motion and walks over to where you’re reading the spine of each ridiculously long book.

“You don’t owe me anything. Happy to help. You’ve been pretty stressed out, huh?”

This pauses your flicking through titles like a cue in your system to spill out every detail you haven’t shared in the last couple days.

A deep sigh, then, “Yeah. It’s been really tough. I thought I’d be able to crank everything out, but. I just feel so burnt out. And the library by me is always so busy that I have to study at home, and my room is a mess and I haven’t bought any groceries, I just. I feel horrible. I have this headache,” you rub your face with your hands, “I’ve been getting no sleep and my body does not know how to handle this anxiety, it’s… it like, physically hurts.”

You’re on your knees by his coffee table and before you’re finishing your onslaught of complaints Spencer is sinking to his knees beside you.

“Oh, honey. That sounds miserable. You’ve drained yourself.” His hand comes to your lower back to rub at soothingly. “You need to regulate your nervous system. Let me feed you or-”

“This is it!”

You cannot believe your eyes. A perfect condition of the exact textbook you need to finish your paper. You owe Spencer all the stars in the sky, that big beautiful brain of his. Leaning over, you peck his lips swiftly. Which was your first mistake. You always need another.

“Mm,” he hums, “I’m glad. However, I do think you should embark on whatever journey reading through this will take you tomorrow.”

“What? But I’m so close,” another kiss is being pressed to his soft lips, “I just. I just need to-”

The way he’s looking at you. The pressure of his kiss lingering on your overactive mouth. The warm light of the lamp coming from his bedroom. You know if you keep pressing, you actually are going to have to leave, Spencer not being the type to force you in any capacity. 

You have to shut your mouth.

Spencer pulls your hand into his, lifts up to press a kiss to your knuckles, “Well. If you got everything you need…”

A panic-inducing sentence. 

“I d-didn’t.”

“Oh? Is there something else-”

“I, um. What did you say earlier? On the phone, in Russian. I… was wondering, actually.”

His lips pull into a genuine smile, one that makes you ache. You missed it so much. 

“Ever so curious. It just means bunny, it’s a common nickname. Could also translate to baby.”

Embarrassment heats up your neck. 

“I’m not even! I’d argue I’m more of a cat than anything else.”

“Hm. Kotik. I’d disagree though. I could practically hear the scrunch in your nose when you called me.”

“Ugh! Whatever. What does that make you then?”

“Whatever you want.”

Is he doing this on purpose? Is he being extra impossibly irresistible because he’s trying to make you stay or because of your distance from him? Either way, you hold your breath. 

“I-if I’m a bunny you have to be one too, that only makes sense.”

“Of course. Cross-species breeding can get weird.”

He has to be doing this on purpose. You haven’t done it yet. But Spencer is no stranger to working you up. The pet names, the fucking insinuations. Spencer is nothing but careful with his words around you. He’s being a tease out of his own volition. 

Knees starting to get achy where they’re pressed into his hardwood, you shift a bit. Nothing more than a shift, but given the context, lets Spencer know exactly what’s keeping you chained to his apartment. 

“Um. I think I’ll stay.” you blurt nearing a socially awkward delivery as you break his eye contact.

“Oh thank God,” he laughs out through a sigh of relief, “I don’t think I could’ve morally let you go home.”

“I just think I deserve a little break.”

“Mhmm,” Spencer rubs your jaw lightly with his thumb, “you’ve been working so hard, you deserve more than a little break.”

“Yeah? What should my big break be? Travel somewhere warm… should we go to Mexico?”

“I’ll take you to Mexico. You look so exhausted I’d just about take you anywhere.”

You giggle and nuzzle your face into his shoulder. “How about your bedroom?”

Not even having to look up to see it, you can feel the way his eyes widen. Having made out with Spencer a fair share on his couch, more than playful sleepovers at your apartment, and even an instance where Spencer had fingered you under your skirt in the parking lot of an AMC (before turning around to drive back home, skipping the movie) you’ve built up enough confidence to tell him you’re ready to feel him this way now. 

“Wh- yeah. Yeah, course.”

With Spencer’s whole neuroses around germs and “outside clothes on the bed” you actually have not gotten the privilege of laying down in there. Sure, you’ve picked through his closet and rummaged through some bedside books, but nothing wrapped up in his silky white sheets.

Your knees feel wobbly as you stand up before Spencer, gazing softly down where he’s criss-cross on his floor. He smiles up at you softly, reaching his hand up to rub your hip with his thumb over your jeans.

“What should I do to help all that stress?” He trails off, if spoken by another person, this could seem like a bit of a sarcastic remark, but Spencer continues to live and breathe sincerity.

Laughing slightly you shrug, “Come up here first, please.”

Sluggishly, Spencer gets up on his feet, his hand remaining on your hip now that he’s face to face with you. 

After kissing you gently he rubs his nose softly against yours, “I could give you a massage- you know stimulating the parasympathetic nervous system will help your cortisol levels a lot. You also just seem tense, sitting a lot in front of your laptop?”

“I mean,” you laugh and kiss him while pausing your sentence, “I’d like that. But. I want you in a different way. More than that... ahem, in your room.”

“I kind of just wanted to hear you say it.”

Once Spencer was able to pry his hands from your waist and lips from your mouth (with difficulty, he really missed you) he takes your hand into his to walk to his bedroom.

Of course you’ve been in here before, but right now every detail in his room; every book on a desk, every folded line in his bedding seem to have a shining glow around them. Through rose-tinted glasses Spencer's belongings cast an easy feeling over you. 

Being led to the bed you’ve never been in doesn’t incite any fear because you’re so familiar with the surroundings. Already in-tune with him and how he’s so particular about the things he owns, proves just how encapsulated by all-things-Spencer you are right now, completely safe and in your element. 

Warm hands bring your arms around his broad shoulders, kissing you against his bedframe. The cool carved wood pressing indents into the back of your thighs as you allow your full body weight against it. 

In your school-induced mania, you’d nearly forgotten how obsessed you are with kissing Spencer. His pillowy lips against yours, tasting him. He’d nearly get irritated at you for kissing him too hard in public. Now, after locking yourself away you're savoring how his tongue skims your bottom lip as he’s asking for access into your mouth. 

You whine and pinch your eyebrows together when he slightly pulls away to talk, “Darling, you’re so lovely, so beautiful,”

Pouting, you pull him back in by his collar. Before, you had been so adamant about focusing on your work and now you’re falling fast into the mess of hormones he typically makes of you. A total 180 in the past hour.

Allowing yourself to give into what has been simmering the last few days has you jittery and clumsy. Tightening and loosening your grip on Spencer’s shirt you’re tugging him closer and pushing him away when the whining from your throat becomes too embarrassing. Desperate and determined.

Your open-mouthed whining is coming from an understandable place though. Mouths melding together and a taught thigh wedged between your legs, you’re losing yourself in the way he tastes. 

Spearmint toothpaste that you both use on his breath. The shared taste you two have after you bought Spencer’s (out of a moment of weakness) when you happened to run out of your own while he was away on a case. A girlish, silly pining that now has your eyes rolling back as you taste yourself on him and consequentially, Spencer on you as well. 

Spencer curls your tongues together, grabs your hips flush against his and you whimper out a small final plea of a moan against his lips before he’s pulling away again.

“You’re being a little siren,” Spencer grins and places a kiss underneath your jaw where he knows you’re the most sensitive. 

“Sorry- was I? I missed you so much,” you trail off and kiss the warm skin of Spencer’s neck before he pulls you off him slightly.

Unabashedly staring directly at your bitten lips while replying, Spencer falls into an easy grin, “Don’t say sorry. How many times have I said I love your sounds?”

Shame creeps up in a gentle heat across the back of your neck, “Um. Too many!”

You get a simple tsk from Spencer in return. Not having the energy to argue with you over the shyness around moaning, he settles on a simple noise of disapproval.

Gently taking both of your wrists, he pulls you up from where you were propped against his bed frame and maneuvers you till the back of your knees are being tickled by his lush bedding. Maybe it's a tickle or just your skin's hyper awareness of what's to come.

Having tasted him earlier, there has been a discovered pining demand for Spencer you cannot keep at bay anymore. His sweet lips, a sugary glaze to the sour week you’ve had. Like the time you licked a dribble of honey off his finger when he was making you a cup of tea and you had to perch yourself on his lap for an hour kissing him senseless. You have no control over that dam inside you once broken. 

Cradling the back of your head while he guides you to his bed, you instinctively wrap your legs around his narrow hips, hoping to do anything in your power to keep his body weight on you for as long as humanly possible. 

“Babe- baby,” Spencer whines out, having to wiggle away from your grasp if any clothes were to be shed tonight, “let me undress you, please.”

Fine, you think, separating for that, should be livable.

Teasingly, Spencer rubs his hands up and down your waist, pulling your shirt up slowly as he massages into your skin. A wiggle in your hips has him smiling in acknowledgment but continues to toy with your top.

“You’re giving me goosebumps,” you pout.

“Good goosebumps?”

“Mmf. Yeah.” You turn to hide your face defiantly into his bedding.

“Always good goosebumps with you.” He smiles and pulls your shirt off, wiggling and arching your back, you help him even through your faux sulking.

Spencer’s sheets meet your bare skin (no bra, you couldn’t manage something so menial during your studying) and glide over your torso like a flat pebble skipping over a lake.

The seam of your jeans between your legs are pushing into your center as Spencer’s thigh remains pushing in small intervals while kissing over your chest. Approaching an overwhelming stimulation, your hips writhe as you grab silently at Spencer's tie. 

“T-take my pants off too, Spence, wanna feel you.”

“Aww,” he pulls up from your chest, “they look so good on you though.” He relents still, sitting on his knees as he fiddles with the band of your jeans.

A playful flicker in his eyes and he’s gently pulling up and down at it. You scrunch up your face, subconsciously aware of his bunny comment, and grab at his wrist. Only a small fuck falls from your lips.

“Mm, too much, huh? I’ll get them off of you, my love.”

Your hands reach up to tug off his barely knotted tie to fling it off while he slides the rough fabric down your legs, placing a kiss to a bruised knee on the way. Once your jeans are making a home on his floor he continues moving down further so he can take off your socks, kissing over the fabric of your panties.

You giggle a little, they’re not your sexiest, moreso cute; cotton with a little bow. 

“These are my lucky panties.” You explain through your laugh. 

“Yeah? Did you put them on in hopes they’d help you find your textbook?” His hands are holding the sides of your thighs now and he bends down to take the small bow between his teeth tugging up before letting it go in a snap against your belly.

“Mm-mm. I just decided that now.”

“From now on they’re your lucky underwear?” He looks up at you between your legs with a lopsided grin.

“Yup,” you pop out the “p” sound, “but you can still take them off even though they’re lucky.”

Spencer hums into a kiss against your inner thigh, “This is great news. May I?”

“Yes, you may.”

You can feel how wet you are by the slight resistance there is while peeling your panties off. Spencer hasn’t made you cum in quite some time, busy schedules and all. Now with finals, you can’t even remember the last time you got yourself off. The dripping into your panties reminding you of how long it must have been.

All that time not thinking about it is catching up to you as you feel more deprived than you have in your entire life.

“God- Spence. I want it… really bad.” These are the begging eyes you give him when you have to pull out your biggest trick in the books. When you’re making him drive you to the mall or begging to leave a hickey on his neck when he has to leave for work in thirty minutes.

Safe to say, they work pretty well.

“Baby, you can’t look at me like that,” he laughs, “I’m not in any mood to tease you.” His voice fills with a teasing tone anyway, the dirty liar. “You’ve been through enough already, huh?”

“Mhmm…” Your affirmation melts into a hum of pleasure as Spencer very gently runs his thumb over your entrance. With the coat of your slick on the pad of his thumb, Spencer brings it up to his mouth for a moment before sucking it off. You can’t help but shoot him a jealous look as your thighs close to rub together.

“Needy,” Spencer mumbles while pulling his thumb out, shifting up towards you so he can bring it to your lips. Sucking in happily, you bite down gently on his thumb, smiling around it as you hear a little groan coming his way. 

Thumb now covered in both of your saliva, he uses it as extra lubricant to rub circles over your already wet clit. Another reminder of how long its been hits you with how you already feel close. With just a few circles on your clit, you’re already clenching around nothing, hoping to be filled.

A squeak topples from your throat as Spencer switches his thumb to two fingers against you.

“Y-yeah, like that-”

Spencer is your boyfriend- he’s sweet and attentive and genuine. But he is also evil and horrible. He takes his hand away.

Your shocked gasp makes him laugh and move to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck.

“I’m mean. I’m sorry I’m sorry,” his laughter tickles your neck, “you’re so much fun to tease.”

You can barely hear him, not laughing along. Solely focused on wiggling under his weight, trying to gain any more friction on your clit.

No fight left in you, you want to politely take what Spencer gives you, but a slight panic fills your mind at the thought of having to wait much longer.

“Please- I’ll be good…”

“I know angel, you always are for me.”

Before the praise can affect you to its fullest potential, his fingers are returning against you. Three of his long perfect fingers dance across your clit as it thumps pathetically against them.

“Mmm! Shit, thank you, thank you-“ you babble softly. 

“Want them inside?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Really?”

“Really!” 

You’re not above this. Giving into every prompt easily as if you’re made for it. With all the planning and studying and working this week you have no issue with surrendering control over to someone else for a change.

Spencer flips his wrist so the inside is towards you and he’s positioning his ring and middle finger against you. You’ve never felt so spoiled, your clit is still throbbing painfully the second he removes his fingers to put them inside you, you never can get enough. 

The stretch of two fingers has you preening, accommodating his digits in a way that makes you so excited for the stretch of his cock soon.

“God, I missed this,” Spencer pants, “you’re so stunning, so warm.”

You allow the new wave of wetness to pool around his fingers with little to no guilt. If he says he likes it so much, what’s a little more?

He curls his fingers up and your jaw drops. He can find your sweet spot faster than you or any toy you have can and it makes you hate him and love him more and more each time. Moving languidly, you perch yourself on your elbows, wanting to gaze down between your thighs. 

Your eyes trail to the soft skin of his inner wrist, pretty blue veins, the network of his life, on display as they lead down to where you’re the most sensitive. The snap of his slender wrist as he speeds up, goes deeper and deeper until your hand instinctively comes down to pet your clit in tandem with his thrusts. 

Pushing your hand away, Spencer replaces it with his hand that’s not working at your g-spot, silent with his full attention on making you cum. You appreciate this, but if he’s trying to tip you over, he’s going to have to keep talking to you in the dirty sweet way he’s mastered.

“B-baby,” your voice is shot, “talk to me, talk to me.”

“Mm. My pretty baby-”

“Can you call me that again… t-the Russian?”

Bending down and dragging his lips across your neck he hums out, “Moy Zayka,” coming up he traces his tongue against your bitten lips, “Say it…”

Two bats of your wet eyelashes and you’re muttering “Zayka,” in the softest voice you can muster, shyness drying your speech.

“Mhm. Good. Sounds so pretty coming from you.”

“God, don’t talk like that or I’ll cum right now, fuck.”

“You said-” he begins, but you cut him off with a moan. “Sorry, sorry, you’re right.”

Five more seconds of Spencer's warmth radiating off him along with the sensation of his taking you apart between your legs and you realize you have to warn him you’re about to cum. Like seriously, about to.

“Spence! Close!” You muster, legs shaking slightly as proof.

“Yeah? Good girl.” He continues his movements until black spots dance behind your eyelids and you’re coming hard against his fingers. 

Working you through it until your chest is rising and falling, he takes his fingers out, but two fingers remain on your clit.

Shit. All that fucking begging got you here.

Moans increasing, your thighs clamp together around his wrist. Trying to stop him, but just making the sensation more intense. You gasp and try to open your legs back a bit. It’s torture, but it’s the least you’ve been able to think in the past week, which is exactly what you needed.

Sitting back on his knees, dick making a tent in his trousers, Spencer smiles at you squirming. “You okay?”

Are you? Yesyesyesyesnononono. You find yourself nodding anyway.

“M… ‘ore.”

“What’s that?”

Toes squeezing, your clit starts up that heartbeat again, reviving itself at his words. Ready to cum again.

“More!” You whisper, hoping he won’t ask again.

Spencer kisses your knee sweetly, rubs his cheek against it. “You’re doing so well. Really, making me so happy.”

Your entrance flutters at his words and the overstimulation has gotten to a point of just brain melting pleasure, and your legs fall open easily, allowing him more mobility once again.

The second time you orgasm on his fingers today you’re jolting upright. Hand pressed into the mattress while the other one clamps over your mouth as you tremble watching him rub your clit and pull away at the first whine he hears from you.

“Holy shit,” You sigh out, head falling down to his pillow.

Spencer’s face to face with you again, kissing your heated skin gently. 

“How are you feeling? Can you give me another one? We can stop here, sweetie.”

“Noooo,” your lips spread into a grin at the thought of coming around his dick for the first time. How good he must feel, how it will literally melt your brain into a puddle. “I want you-”

He kisses your lips like he would when picking you up to take you to dinner. Sweet and innocent like you weren’t just painting his fingers with your release. 

You trail a trembling hand up to begin undressing him. A shameful fumble with one button that takes two times as long to unbutton than it normally takes you. Spencer’s hands cup yours to steady them and finishes off the rest of his buttons with ease.

Maybe that’s another reason to call him Dr.- the steady hands he usually has. Unless you’re giving him head, but he definitely wouldn’t be experiencing that during a procedure. He’s also not even that kind of doctor. Maybe you’ll ask him to roleplay-

You look down and Spencer is in his underwear. You could thank God. His dick is the hardest you’ve ever seen it and it’s still under its confines. The tip has leaked enough to turn the fabric slightly see through and you can make out the details of him. Your mouth is watering. 

Without a second thought you trail a nail over his bulge. As Spencer sucks in a breath you snap the band of his underwear against his lower stomach, causing him to suck in his lips and his dick to twitch.

Almost as affected as you are, Spencer breathes shallowly and looks at you expectantly till you’re lowering the band and revealing all of him. Thick and long and covered in his precum you immediately grow hazy, giving him a few pumps to gauge how he might feel inside you. He’s going to split you open.

Spitting in your hand (not that you even needed to, he's already wet with precum) you continue to jack him off, his stomach curling in when you shift into a reverse grip on him and stroke his head a few times. His hands finally grow shaky as they reach down to stop you from making him finish too fast.

Momentarily Spencer stands by the bed to remove his underwear fully, you watch his dick as it bobs in the air, wanting to give it a steady place to move into until it’s-

“Spence, please.”

“Yeah, pretty.” He nods in understanding, his tough resolve breaking down more now as he also realizes how you’re going to feel around him for the first time.

Laying down, he positions himself between your legs. He wraps his arms around your head pulling you into a kiss before moving them to cage you in while staring into your eyes. You’re trying to keep eye contact but you can feel his cock brush your stomach and you could die.

“You still want this? You’re not feeling dizzy or anything?”

“Y-yes. Not dizzy. I just really want you inside.”

He laughs and kisses your neck, “Yeah. I really do too.”

Warm palms are positioning your hips against his bed and move to break you apart. He swipes his dick, wetting it with you, before he makes any moves to penetrate you. It feels really good- you’ve heard your friends mention it, but this feels… super good. 

Going down to collect more wetness, he draws his head back up to circle your clit again. It’s probably a form of torture for him- but with the way you’re nearly giggling with pleasure, he figures it won’t hurt to do it a few more times.

“Baby,” he shudders out a breath against your forehead, “This feels really good, but I’ll cum like this, and I’d rather it be inside you.”

You laugh and wrap your hands around his neck (Spencer is polite enough to ignore the way you squeeze it slightly), giddy with happiness.

“Kay. Can you fuck me like that until we both cum next time, though?”

The way you say it, so conversational and wholesome makes Spencer clear his throat. You’re going to be the death of him. 

“Anything you want, angel.”

Then he’s moving his head against you with intent. Eyes flickering between where he’s entering you and to check your face for pain (which remains in a blissed out expression throughout the entire thing). 

Pushing the tip fully in, both of you gasp with a newfound lucidity that hasn’t overcome you since you were in the living room. There could be a LED light sign on both of your foreheads that flashes oh fuck in pink shining blinks with hearts surrounding it.

“Oh baby-” He whispers over your repeated ah, ah, ah’s.

“F-feels so good,” You squeak out, knowing he’s gonna be a worried mess to make sure you’re not feeling any pain.

With that confirmation he allows himself to rest his head down, chin against your forehead as he moans into your hair while bottoming out. The stubble is sort of scratchy against you but in a way that’s beckoning your legs open wider.

Your legs automatically wrap around his hips to keep him at the deepest point, wanting to feel the way he’s first opening you up forever. Lips gasping and closing to place a kiss at your forehead he whimpers out, “Baby, gotta let me move.”

So you let him move. You would probably do anything he suggests right now. A comical dizzy swarm of birds circling your head with a dumb smile on your face. He wants to move, your legs spread open on the bed. He wants to cum inside you? You’re gonna let him.

His first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. You make a note to yourself never to spend longer than a day away from him again. Then, another note to do this every day with him the rest of your life.

Spencer repositions himself so that his arms are straightened, alleviating some of his weight off you (sigh), but allows him to move into you at a better angle. 

Moaning, you turn your face to the side, looking at the inside of his wrist again. The intense thrusts combined with his delicate skin and fragile veins right there, you get dizzy. Shifting a little, you place a kiss to the inside of his wrist. Then another, a wet mess of a kiss that delivers the message of complete infatuation. 

Spencer groans and realizes how far away from your lips he is right now and moves to his forearms again. He pets the top of your head and whispers into the air, “You feel so perfect- just like I thought. You’re so perfect everywhere.”

In his vulnerable state, you’re right in front of his perfect, untainted neck, and you want to lick and suck at it to work through the mind numbing pleasure, like it would ground you to reality. Usually, he needs more coercing, with the team and all, it’s very hard to hide hickeys. Yet,

“Spence, baby,” you whine, putting that lilt in your voice that tears him apart, “can I kiss your neck, please?”

Immediately, “Yeah, honey, take what you need.”

And your tongue immediately licks a stripe up his skin, salty and sweet with sweat. Sucking the skin between your teeth you leave a fresh deep mark for him to parade around the next few days. You say sorry in your head looking at it, but it doesn’t make it to your lips.

He laughs and shakes his head, knowing exactly what his skin is going to look like tomorrow and in retaliation he moves your thighs overtop his shoulders, hitting a spot inside you that has your mind fuzzing. 

Your hips thrash a bit, not used to being unable move and wiggle around the pleasure like you typically do. Especially with this new stretch inside you, you’re keening.

“That feel good, baby?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, “God. Yes.” 

“Tell me I feel good.”

“Spencer,” you whine, dragging out the syllables, “you feel so good. Fucking me so good.”

He moans high, then, “Now, tell me you love me.”

With an even smaller pause than before, “Fuck, I love you.”

“Mhm. Again.”

“Baby- I love you-” You whimper out, realizing instantly he’s about to make you cum once more.

“I love you.” He replies gently, juxtaposing his thrusts again, which are now growing sloppy with his nearing orgasm.

Pulling him into a harsh kiss, you pull his bottom lip between your teeth, trembling with his skin between your jaws. Having the power to draw blood but keeping yourself at bay. Ever a good girl for him.

Without having to ask, he brings a hand to rub your clit again. You let go of his lip with a groan, head falling back against his pillow with your back arching into him.

“C-can I cum?”

“Of course you can. Baby, ‘need to feel you coming around me, I know you feel so good.”

Who are you to deny that? Biting the inside of your cheek, you're coming for him again. It’s better than you could’ve imagined, the unstoppable stretch inside you while your walls flutter for reprieve around him. Better yet, Spencer is spilling into you. 

You whine high in your throat feeling him cum inside you, somehow making more room for this alongside his cock inside you. Overwhelmed, you grab for his hand, he interlocks his fingers with yours instantly, a whimpering mess alongside you.

When his hips are still against yours, you cannot think a single thing, you only feel. The slow slow slowness of him pulling out of you with a pop. The drip of his cum out of you like a sedative. The kisses against your face and lips.

Nails scratching lightly at the base of his neck convince him enough of your coherency, nothing to panic over. Spencer is giving you space to be fucked out of your mind.

“My sweet, pretty bunny, I wanna clean you up. Can I? I’ll be gone for just a moment.”

You groan, that does not sound like something that should happen. 

“Coming with…” You mumble, barely legible.

Spencer laughs, “Yeah. Right. You’re not walking on those two legs again today. See? I’ll run.”

You smile back and close your eyes, shooing him away with a wave of your hand. He’s right too, you barely even notice the time pass before he’s back with a warm rag.

He’s cleaned you up, positioned you to lay on top of him and is pulling teasingly at your earlobe, muttering something about a takeout order he placed for you both.

You eat cuddled up on his sofa, watching some new space documentary perched on his lap. You’re sitting right by the textbook you pulled out earlier and you haven’t even noticed, your essay so far from your mind that the only thing you could possibly learn right now is the pattern of Spencer’s breath against the back of your neck.

[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

this was sooo so so good

[mariasont]

Craving Like A Lungful - S.R

you ask spencer a question about breath play. he gives you a lecture, a safety demonstration, and a mind-shattering orgasm. in that order.

pairings: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, AFAB, reader wearing a skirt, breath play, choking (consensual), fingering, dirty talk, praise, experimentation, soft dom reid, power exchange, pet names, 75% smut and 25% love letter to spencer reid's fingers wc: 4.1k

He’s torturing you. Actually, genuinely torturing you. Spencer Reid, certified genius, closeted sadist, worst man on Earth. 

Except, well, obviously, he isn’t. You would qualify him as your favorite person in existence on any given day, and therein lies half the problem. 

Because right now, he’s just sitting there, reading, while his fingertips scrap absent-minded shapes along the slope of your neck. Each harmless pass managing to turn your thoughts to mush and bones to jelly. 

At this point, you’re convinced you’re less a person and more a limp collection of nerves slumped against his side, pretending (poorly, might you add) to watch a show you mentally abandoned about ten minutes ago.

You’re too busy contemplating just how blatantly you’d need to behave to distract him from those words and coax him into pursuits you deem far more exciting. Pursuits that involve significantly more touching.

His grasp on you briefly firms, just a heartbeat of strain if that.

You know it was surely accidental, but your body can’t compensate for the difference. You try to swallow the intrusion of indecent thoughts like sour medicine.

The dose doesn’t take.

You can’t help but wonder what it would be like to be pinned beneath him, discovering firsthand the perfect contradiction that is Spencer’s innate gentleness and the strength you’re suddenly craving from his hands.

You’re not crazy for this, you reassure yourself desperately. He’s safe. He’s the literal personification of comfort, disguised in scholarly tweed and tender kisses. 

Fantasizing him into something rougher, a little less cautious... it doesn't cancel that out. It just colors it deeper. Some might consider it acceptable, even. Right?

“Spence?”

“Hmm?” He answers preoccupiedly, the pad of his finger wetting against his tongue before flipping another page.

“What do you, um… what do you know about breath play?”

You hate the way your throat tightens immediately as the question leaves your mouth. (The universe is a huge fan of irony, you’ve discovered.)

“You know I love when you ask me questions,” he begins slowly. “But something tells me this one isn’t purely theoretical.” His regard eases as his eyes track over your shoulders, now curving inward. “Am I right?”

“Yeah.” 

You could try to pretend otherwise, but you’ve come to realize, faking it is futile with Spencer. You’re sure he already knows. He’s had months to figure you out, and he treats that like a privilege — just one he’s very good at using to his advantage.

“Alright, sweetheart. Enlighten me. What exactly has you curious?”

You flap your hand, unsure what you’re even trying to say with it, and instantly feel ridiculous. Silly even. 

But Spencer smiles like he thinks you’re charming and suddenly your embarrassment feels a little less terminal.

“I guess like, what’s the science behind it? Is it an adrenaline thing? A psychological thing? Or is it just, you know… a thing?”

Spencer’s hand drops from your neck, sliding to rest on your shoulder instead. It’s not exactly abrupt, but it’s unexpected enough to spark a little twinge of disappointment that sneaks out in the form of a tiny frown.

You hurry to erase it, but not fast enough.

“I only moved my hand,” he clarifies, “because I don’t want to introduce any external variables into this discussion.”

You stare, brows pinching together. “External variables?”

“Yes.” He nods. “If I kept touching your neck while describing breath play, I'd risk subconsciously steering your reactions. Maybe stirring up curiosity, maybe aversion, or maybe something more complicated. Removing the physical cue ensures you form your opinion independently.”

You squint at him. “That’s… weirdly considerate. And possibly a tiny bit intense, Professor.”

“It’s an intense topic.”

“Oh. Right. Guess that tracks.”

He’s got that look now, that particular smile he only pulls out when you’ve made him laugh without intending to. You should feel annoyed. You’re not. It's more like lucking into treasure when you were content sifting through scraps. 

“Okay, so… think of it like this,” he starts, already slipping into that half-professor, half-boyfriend tone. “When you restrict airflow, even briefly, your body interprets it as a stressor. That triggers a fight-or-flight response. Your heart rate spikes, adrenaline kicks in, and your brain releases dopamine to counteract the stress.”

He pauses slightly, eyes searching yours to ensure you’re still with him. You are, mostly. Enough, anyway.

“That dopamine rush is what makes it feel so good to some people. It’s the same principle behind things like sky-diving or high-intensity workouts, the brain perceives a mild, controlled threat and rewards you with a chemical high.”

You open your mouth to interrupt but Spencer’s lips are already curling into a sideways grin, like he’s already one step ahead of you.

“And before you ask, yes, it’s completely safe when done correctly. The key is control. It’s never about actual danger, just the illusion of it.”

You hesitate for a second, then ask, “I mean… how do you know when someone’s doing it right versus, like, actively trying to murder you?”

“First of all, it shouldn’t feel aggressive or sudden. You should feel an edge of intensity without genuine fear or distress. Your body’s reactions shouldn’t tip over into panic or actual pain.” He leans forward, his proximity suddenly sharpened. “And secondly, it has to be with someone you trust implicitly. This isn’t the sort of activity you’d want to try after a few drinks at a questionable frat party.” He lifts a brow. “Selfishly, I’d much rather you not explore something this delicate with anyone but me.”

“Spencer.”

“Just being responsible, angel,” he says lightly, completely unrepentant as he dips forward, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. “I’d hate to imagine you in the inexperienced hands of someone less qualified.”

You press your lips together, glaring in a way you hope reads as stern instead of hopelessly flustered. “Don’t make fun.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Which, given his shit-eating grin, is an outright lie. His hand finds your knee and squeezes. “Any other pressing questions?”

“Have you ever done it?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” You fumble momentarily, grasping to find footing that doesn’t involve imagining him with someone else. “Um, so, was it — did you like it?”

He tugs your knee a little closer. “I think you’re asking because you hope my experience will give you some clarity about your own feelings.”

You freeze, because, well, yeah, that’s exactly what you were doing. And hearing it out loud makes it harder to dodge.

“The thing is,” he continues softly, patiently, “my answer won’t really help, sweetheart. My role is fundamentally different, both physically and psychologically, from yours. You're the one feeling the rush. I’d be the one carefully controlling it.” He tilts his head, studying your reaction. “What you need to ask yourself is how the idea itself makes you feel.”

You stare down at your hands, willing an answer to manifest. But the truth is, you don’t have one.

Everything you know about this is secondhand. The way your friends talk about it, joking over drinks like it’s no big deal. The way it’s portrayed in movies, always intense and dramatic. The way a passage in a book makes you pause, reread it over again, just to be sure.

But all of that is distant, safely removed from your actual life. None of it feels like you.

“It’s complicated,” you admit, squirming under his gaze. “It feels interesting in theory. Like, hypothetically exciting. But actually enjoying it? That’s still an enormous, intimidating question mark.”

Spencer’s eyes flick over you once, assessing, before he nods. 

“Alright,” he says. “Well, this is a safe, controlled environment. We can take it step by step, nice and logical, okay?”

You nod quickly — probably too quickly. Spencer’s mouth twitches, but he’s kind enough not to call you on it.

His hand moves back to one side of your neck.

“Let’s start by narrowing it down,” he continues, “If I touched you right here —” his voice dipping intimately, “— what’s the first thing you feel? Excited? Nervous? Both?”

Spencer’s hand is cold, just on the edge of uncomfortably so, but by now, you’ve learned to anticipate it.

The first time, he’d explained away the chill, intertwining your fingers while he launched into a gentle explanation about blood vessels, circulation, and temperature regulation, as if medical jargon might warm you up faster. Your dazed, crush-drunk state had earnestly tried to soak up every word.

The second time, however, there had been no hope of retaining anything. His fingers tracing circles around your clit, whispering against your neck something vaguely scientific — vasoconstriction, maybe? — the words entirely lost beneath your own breathy sighs.

Maybe some responsible corner of your brain caught it and tucked it away for later. But right now, all you can feel is the heat flooding your skin, surging up to meet those same chilly fingers, smothering any hope of remembering a damn thing.

You wet your lips. “Yeah, I…I think I like it.”

Spencer raises an eyebrow. “Think?”

You try to swallow, but it’s clumsy. Like your brain forgot how, his touch is so light, it barely registers, and you're honestly not even sure he is touching you or if your brain's inventing it, already drunk on the idea.

“I do like it,” you clarify quickly, ears burning. “But it’s not like you’re doing anything unusual yet.”

“That's because I’d rather ease you into it than overwhelm you.” 

His eyes remain locked with yours as he slowly adjusts his hand, four fingers resting on one side of your neck, thumb curving around to the opposite side. 

“And this? How does this make you feel?”

You don’t plan to react, but your breath tangles mid-inhale, catching on something sharp. Too fast in, not enough out.

Your fingers tap aimlessly against your thigh, unsure where to go, what to do with all this feeling and nothing to burn it on.

Spencer must notice, because a second later, his free hand finds yours, cold fusing with warm.

“I like the weight of it,” you whisper, barely trusting your voice. “Feels… assertive. In a good way.”

Spencer hums before leaning in, close enough for you to see where his lashes clump at the tips, impossibly dark. 

“Yeah, it probably does feel that way,” he says, thumb brushing under your ear. “Doesn’t mean I’m trying to take control. Just means I like knowing I have your attention.”

You almost laugh. He has your attention, your focus, your heart, and a few other things you probably shouldn’t name. But you just nod like he’s not entirely right.

“What now?”

“That depends on you,” he says. “We can take the next step, and I can apply gradual pressure to let you experience the sensation, monitor your response.” His eyes drag over your face. “Or we can pause. Talk it through. Or we can stop.” A squeeze to your hand. “There’s no wrong answer.”

“I want to take the next step,” you say, trying to hide the urgency. “But I might not react the way I’m supposed to.”

“There’s no supposed to,” he says, thumb sweeping over your wrist. “You don’t have to react in any particular way. We’re just exploring. No expectations.”

“Okay,” you nod. “Just… talk me through it?”

“Always.”

His fingers tighten. Just a little. Almost like a symphony getting louder, but one instrument, one beat at a time. You don’t breathe, just to feel it better.

“Let’s stay here a second. Let you get used to it.”

The size of his hand dwarfs your throat, fingers splayed wide directly over your jugular, encompassing delicate skin and fragile bone. 

You’re not blind to the strength of him. But what strikes you is the control he exercises over it. The ease with which he could hurt and instead chooses to draw out something else entirely. Every move angled towards pleasure, not power.

He’s studying you now. You know it without meeting his gaze. You can feel the scrutiny everywhere, razor-sharp eyes stripping back every layer you thought you were hiding. Measuring. Tracking. 

But you realize it’s more than just simple observation. It’s also craving, masked behind patience. 

“Still okay?”

You nod.

“Alright I’m gonna tighten a bit. Tell me if it’s too much.”

He thumb sweeps over your windpipe without closing off any air. Your thighs clamp together accordingly, locking around your joined hands.

Spencer laughs, not at you, never that, but with the same quiet pride he gets when one of his obscure theories turns out to be correct. 

Trust you to be another equation effortlessly solved by his clever fingers.

His hand slips from yours, redirecting to nudge your legs apart, stern enough that resistance doesn’t even cross your mind. 

As he nestles between your thighs, you wonder if maybe you were purpose-built for this. Shaped by fate into the perfect receptacle for Spencer. It’s not the most absurd thought you’ve had when it comes to him.

“You know why this works?” His voice dips into something possessive, fingers kneading into the plush give of your thighs, sliding upward, a constellation of goosebumps being left in their wake. “Because you like knowing I could keep you here, but also knowing I’d never have to.”

You’ll never understand it — how Spencer manages to reach into the depths of your mind, extracting the exact words there, murmuring them back to you as though they were born on his tongue.

Your hips shift restlessly beneath him, craving friction you hadn’t even consciously acknowledged, your skirt climbs higher, revealing inch by betraying inch of skin without an ounce of remorse. 

Spencer’s gaze falls instantly, eyes growing heavy, pupils expanding into endless darkness, mirroring the ache brewing inside you.

“I’m going to introduce something called intermittent restriction, okay?” he says. “That means I’ll apply pressure for just a few seconds, long enough for your brain to notice, but not long enough to make you light-headed. Then I’ll release. That cycle, restriction and releasing, triggers a rush of oxygen back into your system.”

His mouth finds your jaw, so softly that the rush of your pulse seems premature.

“Your nerve endings will become hypersensitive, responsive to even the slightest touch.” And just to prove a point, his fingertips slip between your thighs, tracing fire over already scorching skin. “This, for example,” he whispers, “will feel ten times as intense.”

The pressure on your throat fades as his hand shifts upward, finding a new home cradling the back of your neck, fingertips twining through your hair. 

You’re left staring at his mouth, every heartbeat a fervent prayer — kiss me, please, please, kiss me.

Then, slowly, he tilts your chin upward, sweetening your unspoken wish.

When he draws away, your breath trembles, coming in shattered fragments. Your vision dims slightly at the edges, leaving only Spencer in vivid clarity.

“Is that something you’d like me to do?”

“Yes,” you breathe, everything in you reaching. “Yes, please.”

He nods slowly, pressing a kiss to your nose.

“Good. You know the safe word, but if you can’t talk and want me to stop, just tap my wrist twice.” He demonstrates against your neck. “The second it stops feeling good, we stop. No explanations needed.”

His hand settles again at the column of your throat, fingertips fitting into the tender hollow beneath your jawline. He tilts your head back, and for a second all you can think about is how exposed you are. The weird crease on your collarbone. That one spot that gets blotchy when you’re turned on.

You wonder if he sees all of it. If he likes all of it. 

He looks at you like none of it surprises you. Like he expected every detail and already decided it was his favorite part.

“What if I do it wrong? Like, should I be —?”

“Hey,” he soothes, thumb gently rubbing slow circles against the underside of your chin. Gentle kisses trail along the line of your jaw toward your ear. “You can’t do anything wrong.” He catches your earlobe between his teeth, tugging. “Just relax and let me do all the work, angel.”

“Oh,” you exhale quietly as every part of you goes warm and liquid.

“That’s it,” Spencer murmurs. “There’s my girl. You ready?”

“Yeah,” you mumble, “love you.”

His smile deepens, fondness glowing through him as he bumps your chin with his nose. “Love you.”

His breath is minty when it brushes yours again, tinged with that strange clove candy he orders from some European site. You’re still trying to place it when his hand moves — and just like that, you’re out of air.

It should set off alarms, should terrify you, but strangely all it does is strip away the noise, everything crystallizing. 

It’s exactly like the first morning after you fell asleep beside him, waking up in tangled limbs, realizing you’d never truly rested before him, the world realigning itself in high definition, as though you’d finally found the perfect pair of glasses after years of blurry half-truths.

Time seems to move in slow motion, each elongated second stretching into something much more infinite. When his fingers ease up, you feel the air whoosh back into your lungs, somehow sweeter than before.

“Good girl,” Spencer praises softly, lips curving into a smile you can feel even with half-closed eyes. “How did that feel for you?”

You pause. “I think I need a little more evidence before I can give a definitive answer.”

You conveniently omit just how much you liked it. How every cell in your body is quietly pleading for him to do it again, and soon. Immediately, if possible. Though judging by the look in his eyes, you’re not exactly fooling anyone.

“Ah,” he chuckles softly, thumb stamping over your bottom lip, “spoken like a true scientist.”

“Well,” you breathe, “there are worse traits I could’ve picked up from you.”

His fingers squeeze around your throat once more.

You’re dimly aware that his other hand has taken up occupancy on your thigh. How long had it been there? Five seconds? Five years? 

Both seem plausible, neither important. It’s there, and your lower half is already chasing the feeling, searching in desperate little movements. Anything — his palm, the couch cushion, a miracle — would suffice to ease the fever spreading through your hypoxic brain down to the sticky heat between your legs.

His fingers skim down to the edge of your panties just as his grip on your throat dissolves. One sensation gives way to the other, making it impossible to know where relief ends, and desire begins.

You, however, don’t take the opportunity to gasp for breath. Instead, you chase Spencer’s lips, gifting him your last lungful of air in a kiss that is decidedly messy and anything but falling under the category of graceful. He takes your clumsy devotion in stride, hands moving to haul you tighter against him, slotting your legs tighter around his waist.

You pull back only when your body calls for it, not your heart. And when you do, your head spins a little, most likely oxygen-related, but it feels more Reid-related. 

His mouth lingers barely an inch from yours. “Take a deep breath for me, angel.”

One shallow inhale, and then it’s gone. But it doesn’t matter, because his fingertips are dipping beneath your panties in the same motion, stroking through your folds, dragging pleasure through you so intensely, you’re scared you’ll break apart right then and there. 

He was right, you’re so unbearably sensitive, nerves bursting open beneath his touch, each one catching like a spark on dry glass, spreading before you can stop it.

He clicks his tongue softly, clearly pleased. “Look at you, making such a mess for me.”

There’s nothing rushed about the way he moves, but your body doesn't seem to know that. Frantic anyway, trembling anyway, gasping like he himself is a trap you’ve willingly walked into. 

He doles out air like it’s been earned, a mercy, always paired to the slow tease of his finger gliding up and down your folds, spreading you open, painting your clit with everything he’s pulled from you.

He gives you just the tip of his index, barely inside, and then pulls back like he's punishing you for wanting more than he offered.

You’re soaked now. Slick enough that it’s starting to drip where your pelvis meets his thighs, a growing mess that’s probably already bled through to the couch.

“Tell me what you’re feeling,” he murmurs. “I wanna hear everything running through that beautiful head.”

“I’m not — there’s not much going on up there,” you confess. “Just need your fingers. ”

“You have them,” he says.

“Inside,” you whimper. “Need you inside.”

He releases your throat just as his finger slides in.

“That’s what you needed, huh?” He smirks. “You sound so pretty when you beg for it.”

And your body answers for you, clenching around the intrusion, like it’s trying to hold onto him, pull him closer, keep him.

You used to watch his fingers like a secret obsession. Long before he’d ever touched you. The slope of his knuckle, the faint ridge of old scars, the exact spacing between his middle and index finger — you’d count it, like maybe the detail meant something.

Now one of them is buried inside you, barely, and it’s already too much.

When the second slides in, it feels like being opened from the inside out. Again. Like every other time he’s had his fingers in you. Or his tongue. Or his cock. You’d think your body would be used to this by now. It never is.

A moan punches out of your chest unfiltered. Your hands reach up for something to hold, finding purchase at the overgrown curls at the nape of his neck, fingers tightening there.

He leans in, eyes half-lidded, voice hushed. “Always so tight for me.”

“Spencer…” You reach, fingers closing around his wrist, moving his hand back to your throat. Your voice comes out pleading, every bit as vulnerable as you feel. “Please?”

He stops. Breathes. Absorbs it like a gift he hadn’t expected to be given twice. But he doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t need to.

“So polite, baby.” 

Your next inhale gets caught beneath his palm. Your lungs stay empty, but your body lights up in its place. Pulsing. Drenched. Stretched open around his fingers. The sound of it is filthy, wet and messy and loud enough to drown out whatever noise you just tried to make.

You’re grinding down on him now, mindless, rutting against the heel of his palm like shame doesn't even exist anymore.

Your head is light, skin buzzing, orgasm barreling toward you like a tsunami you can’t outrun.

“I wish you could see yourself like this,” he murmurs, breath warm against your cheek.  “You’re so beautiful. Every single time.”

You want to answer. Maybe cry. Maybe laugh. Maybe beg. But your core answers first — vision goes spotty, thighs twitching uncontrollably.

And then everything clenches, cracks open and takes you with it.

There’s a second of silence, brain fogged with nothing but static. Heat, stars, white noise. You only notice his absence when your body jerks, still chasing pressure that’s no longer there.

Your hands find him clumsily, clutching at his wrist, trying to pull him back without a word.

“I’m here. You’re okay. Come here, angel,” Spencer says, already folding you into his chest.

Your face stays pressed to his shirt, breath still shaky where it escapes in uneven puffs. Spencer’s hands stay steady on your back, but you can feel his heart beating a little too fast under your cheek.

“Not gonna ask yet,” he says lightly, “but my brain is running a post-scene checklist at full speed. So just… squeeze my hand if anything feels wrong. Please.”

“What counts as feeling wrong?” You ask. His heart skips a beat beneath you, and you wince. “Not that I feel that way. I definitely don’t. I promise. I’m just curious.” 

He strokes your hair once, twice.

“You’re sure?”

You nod, eyes fluttering closed as you nuzzle closer, lips brushing his jaw. “Mm. Yeah. Just a little floaty. And in love with you. But that’s normal.”

“Floaty and in love,” he repeats, pretending to consider. “Dangerous combination. Might have to keep you under observation.” He kisses your temple, voice gentling, “But seriously, if you feel off in any way. Dizziness, fingertips tingling, even a little headache, I need to know right away, okay?”

“Okay, okay,” you say, squeezing his shirt. “And, um… totally unrelated… how long is the average recovery time before we can do that again?”

“Realistically,” he starts, “we should wait a while. Especially since it was your first time experimenting with that.” Your lower lip starts to just slightly. He grins. “But… if you were interested in cutting off my oxygen, I might have a few ideas.”

You don’t even get the chance to react. One second, you’re in his lap, and the next — you’re airborne, guided up, forward, and set down over his face like he’s been planning this all night.

You let him take your breath. Now he gives you his in return.

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[let-me-be-your-computergirl]

i need this so bad i am NOT fucking kiddinggggggggg