#h0lym01y

[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 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.” And 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!!

[strawberrygirlthings]

moodboard for the fanfic 'headlock' by h0lym01y

@h0lym01y - the amazing author. chapter one, you should def read!!

synopsis (taken from the fic btw, not my own writing): 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.

@h0lym01y, i hope its not too much that i made a moodboard. ive really been enjoying this read and i like to make moodboards.. so this was born! I usually don't do so much, but this fic has consumed my brain and shoved itself in there alongside my criminal minds obsession.

[sweet-t33a]

TODAY IS THE BEST DAY

@h0lym01y liked my post

this is such a silly thing to be excited about but im so obsessed with her works,, she teased hyetto like the day after I wrote cmiah and I jumped up and down with glee

all sabrina songs are dedicated to spencer reid

[lincolndjarin]

so like i obvs don't write on here anymore (sorry) but i do post on ao3 as h0lym01y and i also post fics on tumblr as @h0lym01y

i made a new account cause i wanted to write a little darker and in a different fandom but i figured i'd post this here

[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. 

★

[h0lym01y]

have you ever tried this one?

chapter three : when did you get hot?

series masterlist ao3 notification blog

pairing : virgin!spencer reid x maneater!reader

summary : spencer pops his cherry! (aka the first half of your long weekend with spencer.)

wc : 10k

tags/warning : enemies to enemies with benefits, pornwithplot, coworkers, virgin!spencer, experienced!reader, virginity loss, premature ejaculation several times, p in v, unsafe sex, creampie, lots of talking during sex, lots of talking about sex, fingering, multiple orgasms, sex toys but they aren't used (yet), hand jobs, edging, teasing, dom/sub undertones, dom!reader, sub!spencer, like a little bit of bratty spencer omg, praise, and also condescension cause this is still an enemies to lovers even if they're playing nice rn

a/n : this took so long and i am deeply sorry, so much happened over the course of a few weeks but i'm so fond of this chapter and i hope you are too <3

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

“Is this okay?” He pulls away from you, a lock of his hair brushes against your cheek. 

You’re a little surprised by your own breathlessness.

“Absolutely.” 

“I umm… I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” 

“What we’re doing is fine,” You plant a kiss on the corner of his mouth, and another on his jaw. “do you want me to get on top?

“Yes, please.” He nods, letting you put your hands on his shoulders as you ease him down onto the bed next to you before swinging your leg over his lap. 

His face is already red, god you love that, hair askew as he stares up at you with pupils blown, his hands awkwardly twitching at his sides.

“You can touch me, start with my waist and see what feels right.” You take his wrists, guiding his hands to your hips. You’ve obviously seen his hands before, but now, while they’re against your skin you’re surprised by how massive they are. Prominent veins along the back, and long, agile fingers, gripping the fleece fabric of your pants for dear life. 

His back arches off the mattress as he lets out a breathy whine, gasping as you press him back down. A rather noticeable bulge presses against your thigh in the process. 

Out of breath and needy beneath you, you come to a nauseating realization that you can’t believe you didn’t see sooner. 

Reid is fucking hot. 

You’ve noticed things before, he doesn’t have a completely terrible face, and he’s tall. When he wears fitted shirts you’ve certainly noticed an appealing figure, even if he’s annoying, you aren’t blind. His hair is always a mess, and he has no idea what he’s doing with it but right now, the way it falls in a pretty halo against your pillow… you’re feeling a little mesmerized by the discovery that he isn’t just objectively attractive. 

He’s hot, like really hot. 

Maybe it’s just the atmosphere, or maybe it’s situational, but right now, you’re noticing some perplexing details about him that just don’t add up with the irritating nuisance you’ve always taken him for. 

Like the curve of his lips, and the sharp angular point of his nose, you’d like to feel it pressed against your skin. His jaw is honestly a little ridiculous now that you’re really, properly, staring at him, it’s absurdly sharp, and he’s got a fucking movie star chin. And he’s clean, which is the oddest detail to notice, but his nails are recently trimmed and tidy, and he smells good. He clearly takes care of himself in a way most of the men you meet out at bars don’t.  

The way his hands twitch against the fabric of your pants, gently drawing them lower so he can run his fingertips against your bare skin is hot. The way his hips are desperately grinding up against you as you try to pin him down, is hot. And his stupid glasses are stupidly hot. 

“Is everything okay?” His voice snaps you out of it. 

Shit. 

“Sorry, yes, everything’s fine.”

“Can- can we keep kissing please?” His grip on you tightens as you let out an airy laugh.

Leaning down you cup his face with both hands, pressing your lips to his again, he’s hungry. His teeth graze your bottom lip as his tongue pokes at your teeth until you open your mouth. 

He doesn’t kiss the way you’d think a virgin would. He isn’t timid as he shoves his tongue into your mouth, desperate and ravenous. All teeth and tongue, and in a rush. One of his hands rests on the side of your face, his ridiculously large hands that practically engulf half of your head. 

 Eventually his hands wander, clearly nervous as he lets one slide down your thigh, the other slips under your shirt but he doesn't seem to have the confidence to drift any higher than your stomach. He whines when you break away from the kiss, taking his wrist you guide his hand up until your tank tops riding up and his hand is placed over your chest. You’d think you were granting him the greatest pleasure imaginable based on the way he moans, his head falling back in the process.

“Do you own any sex toys?” His voice is high pitched and strained. He squirms, breathing heavy as he cautiously squeezes, whimpering as his fingers dig into your soft flesh. 

The question makes your brows furrow. It’s not exactly the dirty talk you’re used to. 

“Yes, obviously, but I don’t see how that’s relevant.” 

“I’m just trying to plan ahead, while there’s no specific statistic, almost all men experience premature ejaculation when having intercourse for the first time. I’d like to have options to assist me afterwards since I doubt you’re going to achieve climax from ten seconds of penetrative intercourse.” He rambles, in that way you’re used to, except now his eyes are tightly shut, his fingertips glide over your nipple making your breath hitch. 

You stare down at him, eyebrows drawn together as you try and make sense of what he just said. Both of his hands return to their place on your waist, his fingers dig in just a little too hard, not that you mind  

“That’s…” Kind of sweet, in an insane, ‘only Spencer would think of that’ kind of way. “not something I’m really worried about right now. Let’s just focus on you right now.”

He nods and you take the opportunity to tilt his head up so you can nip at his neck, grazing your teeth along the edge of his jaw before you bite his ear. 

“Fuck-” He whines as you run your tongue over his ear lobe. You hardly have to grind your hips against his, he’s busying himself with doing it himself. His hands hold you in place as he thrusts up against you. You brace your hands on his shoulders, sitting up so you can look at him. 

His eyes are still squeezed shut tightly as he whimpers. His teeth dig into his bottom lip so hard you’re worried he’s going to break the skin. 

So fucking pretty. 

Unfairly so. 

The flush on his face and neck, the hair falling into his face, the noises he’s making. He’s so fucking loud. You’re sure you’ll be getting some dirty looks from your neighbors after tonight. Whining and groaning as he humps you, you haven’t even taken your clothes off and he’s putty in your hands. 

“Oh my god.” He keens as his head pushes back against the pillow. You wrap your fingers around his throat gently, with the intention of getting his attention but the sound he makes when you do catches you completely off guard. A strangled cry as he goes rigid beneath you, groaning as he gasps. “Fuck, shit… fuck.” He spits out a slew of curses through his teeth until his head falls back, the veins in his neck prominent as he cries out. 

No fucking way. 

Just like that there’s a wet warmth between your legs and a stain on his pants as he cringes. 

“I’m sorry.” He buries his face in his hands, you take the opportunity to tangle your fingers in his hair, scratching his scalp. 

You couldn’t be more thrilled, your grin spreads from ear to ear. 

“For what?” You try to keep the teasing tone out of your voice but it slips through. 

He only groans in embarrassment. 

“Don’t be sorry, it’s extremely flattering.” You tug on his wrists, pulling his hands away from his face. You really do mean it, when was the last time you had this effect on a guy? Let alone a guy you hardly ever see in compromising positions? The most condescending, insufferable man you know just came in his pants before you so much as took your top off.  

This makes every correction, interruption, and outright rude comment he’s ever made, totally worth it. 

“Please don’t patronize me.” 

“I’m serious, don’t worry about it. How long does it normally take for you to recover? Do you need me to get you some water?” You start to lift off of him but he holds you in place, shifting his hips as he stares up at you. Face still hot with embarrassment.

“I’m all good.” 

“Are you sure?” His hips buck up against you, you have to brace yourself against the headboard so you don’t fall off of him but he gets his point across when you feel him already hardening again after just a few moments. 

Jesus. 

“Pretty sure.” He whimpers. 

“Why don’t you get on top for this part, I think if you control the pace you’ll last a little longer.” You climb off of him, laying back against the pillows. He watches, tongue poking out to wet his lips as you kick your pajama pants off, you wore a pair of pretty red panties for the occasion. He stares at you like it’s his first time seeing a woman, wide eyed and slack jawed. You can’t help but grin. “Take your pants off, Reid.” 

He nods frantically, he couldn’t move faster if he tried as he kicks his pants down to his ankles and off of the bed. There’s an obvious wet patch on his boxers and an impressive bulge you’re eager to set free. 

“Can you take those off too? And your shirt?” You point down and up, he simply continues to nod as he tosses his shirt aside, his fingers lingering at his waistband. You could ask him to do quite literally anything and in this moment he’d do it with a smile. 

You don’t even get to enjoy that fact because you continue to be faced by the horrifying truth of his hotness. 

Slender and scrawny Reid is hiding some fucking arms under those dress shirts and cardigans. He’s got a little blonde patch of chesthair, and his chest is about as toned as you’d imagine for a human encyclopedia. But his arms, you’re gawking at his biceps. It’s a subtle muscle, you get a really good look right as he’s pulling his shirt over his head as he flexes. 

You don’t get a lot of time to dwell on that as he shoves his boxers down, and there’s no going back. 

You watch as his cock slaps against his stomach and you can’t focus on anything else in the room. An asteroid could hit your apartment building and you’d still be staring at the monster between his legs.   

No fucking way.

“Jesus Reid, what the fuck?” You sit up straighter as he shoves his boxers down his legs until he’s kneeling in front of you completely naked. 

“What?” He’s quick to nervously cover himself with his hands but you kick his arms away as you stare, dumbfounded by the sight of him. 

“You’ve just been walking around with this thing? I’m surprised you don’t limp everywhere, you’ve got a third fucking leg.” 

“Shut up.” You didn’t think his face could get any redder but he proves you wrong, blush spreads down his neck, and across his chest. 

“Seriously, what the fuck?” 

“Was I supposed to announce it to everyone? It’s a slightly above average sized penis.” Maybe in the porn industry it’s slightly above average. 

Boy genius has the biggest cock you’ve ever seen, and you’ve seen plenty. 

“How is this fair?” Your eye is practically twitching.

“How is what fair?”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met and you’ve been blessed with this, and you don’t even use it.”

“I can’t be that annoying or we wouldn’t be here right now.” He mumbles under his breath, beet red at this point. 

You only scowl in response, laying back, you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“What do you want me to do now?” His voice is still tinged with a high pitched embarrassment. 

“What do you want to do?”

“I think it’s pretty obvious at this point.” It certainly is, his cock stands at attention, tip red and slick with his previous release. You can’t help but eye the thick vein running along the underside, from base to tip. Just like the rest of him, his cock is aggravatingly pretty. He shifts nervously. “Stop staring at it, you’re making me self conscious.” He grumbles.

“You have no reason to be self conscious, come here.” You pat the space between your legs, bending your knees so he can slot himself between them. “Take my panties off, Reid.” 

You don’t have to tell him twice. 

Nimble fingers wrap themselves around the fabric at your hips, lingering there and trembling softly as he runs the pad of his thumb across the lace band.

When he doesn’t make a move to pull them down you clear your throat. 

“So like… you know what to do, right?”

“Of course I know what to do.” He sounds a bit shrill.

“Would you like some guidance?”

“I just don’t want to mess up.” He sits back, fingers twitching against his palms. 

“You won’t, you’re too much of an overachiever for that.”

“I’ve seen a lot of videos, and I’ve read a lot of information, so I know there’s a few different things I can do to start. I just don’t want to do the wrong thing.”

“There is no wrong thing, Reid. It’s sex, it’s free flowing, it’s natural. Whatever you do is the right thing to do.” 

“But it’s you. And you’re staring at me with your eyes and touching me with your hands and talking to me with your mouth.”

He has such an endearing vulnerability about him. At work all you get is an argumentative, know-it-all, it’s a little jarring to see him so unsure. It makes you wonder if you should have done this at all. 

“Reid.” 

“What.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

“I want to.”

“Really? Cause you’re looking at me like a frightened deer. I’m not going to disappear, and I’m not going to make fun of you. But you need to relax, if you don’t want to do this that’s fine but-”

“I do.” You believe it, he sounds almost panicked at the thought of not. 

“Then you need to relax.”

“Can you- can you just keep telling me what to do?” His head falls forward, staring down as he mumbles. 

“Do you like it when I do that?”

You brush his hair out of his face as he nods. 

“You can start by taking my panties off, you’ll feel a lot better if you aren’t the only one with your clothes off.” 

He does exactly as he’s told, this time when his fingers grip the fabric he’s quick to tug them down your thighs. You lift your hips to help him, watching as he carefully brings them to your ankles before removing them completely. 

The look in his eyes as he stares between your legs is exactly why you decided to give him a chance in the first place. 

Devotion.

His eyes are more pupil than iris as he stares silently, tongue poking out to wet his lips before he chews on them, a habit you’re noticing more and more from him. 

“I’m gonna need you to warm me up before you stick that thing in me.” You take his hand, resting it on your inner thigh, his fingers fidget nervously against you. “Why don’t we start with fingers, or if you want I can do it myself.”

“I want to do it.” He answers quickly, gripping the soft flesh of your thigh.

“Okay, start with one, and I’ll tell you when to add another.”

“Okay.” His breathing is heavy as you take him by the wrist, leading him gently between your legs, your breath hitches as his fingers slide between your folds, his cock twitches against his belly the second he feels the wetness pooling there. You guide him to your entrance, letting your eyes flutter shut as he finally presses a finger into you. 

It’s definitely been a while. 

You don’t want to make a fool of yourself but it feels so good to have another person touch you, especially considering the last couple of months have been entirely your own hand and toys. 

“Is this okay?” His voice is hoarse as he slowly starts to withdraw. 

“Perfect.” You squeak out, taking a deep breath. “I can probably take another.” You aren’t ready for it yet but the burn is so good you can’t help yourself. 

He’s happy to oblige, two fingers slide through the slick of your folds before delving into your cunt. He’s slow and precise as he moves in and out, hesitating when you groan, before repeating the motion that pulled that reaction from you in an attempt to hear it again. 

“Curl your fingers.” You dig your nails into the sheets around you, struggling to keep your voice even as he does so, hitting that spongey spot inside of you that makes your back arch off the mattress. “Just like that.” You hiss through your teeth.  

Oh he’s good. 

Your expectations were low, even if you didn’t want to tell him that, but he’s good. He doesn’t just do what’s hard or fast, when you open your eyes he’s studying you. Any noise you make, you make twice, because he tests everything. Curling his fingers, scissoring them, angling them up against you. His free hand eventually comes to rest on your pelvis, applying pressure as he simultaneously crooks his fingers, grinning when you cover your mouth with your hand in a failed attempt to stifle a groan. So rarely do you see such an earnest smile from him directed at you. Your reaction leaves him smiling like an idiot as he does it again, and again, and again, until you sit up and gently push on his shoulders until he withdraws his fingers.

“Where’d you learn that one?” You try to keep your voice steady, your core is buzzing from the sudden withdrawal.

“The internet.”

“For someone who claims to hate all technology you seem to spend a lot of time on the internet.”

“Sure do.” He shrugs, thankfully much less nervous. 

You can’t take your eyes off of him as you lean back, resting your head against the pillows as he brings his fingers to his lips with zero hesitation, as if it’s second nature to him. Moaning against them as he sucks them clean. 

Jesus. 

“Are you ready?” His fingers are still in his mouth when you ask, he hums as he nods. His dick literally couldn’t be harder, it looks almost painful, the weeping red tip, begging for a release you’re happy to give him. “Go slow.” Mostly for your benefit, you’re certain it’s going to hurt at least a little trying to cram his absurd dick into you. 

He continues to nod, as he moves closer to you, bracing himself with his hands on either side of your head as his cock pokes at your thigh. 

“Are you ready?” He mumbles as you give him a half smile.

“Are you?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You let your hand drift to the space between you, when you take his cock in your hand he whimpers, his entire body goes still as you help to line him up at your entrance. You don’t dare close your eyes now, you don’t want to miss the look on his face. 

The sound he makes when he slides through your folds is pornagraphic. Actually, it’s better than pornographic, in porn the sounds are always exaggerated and fake. The sounds he’s making are raw and real. You stare wide eyed as the space between his eyebrows creases, his lips parting slightly as his face scrunches up, if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was in pain, but you know better. 

“Oh my god-” His head falls back, you watch as his adams apple bobs, and best of all, you feel the stretch of his cock as he pushes into you. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.” He whispers over and over again in an increasingly high pitched tone. Your headboard shifts as one of his hands moves to grip the wood.

He pushes inch by inch into you, the squiggly little vein on his temple looks like it might pop as he lets out a pitiful whine. You let out your own contented sigh as you bask in the feeling of being split open. It’s hard to believe you’ve been willingly denying yourself this feeling for so long. It’s even harder to believe you let Reid be the one to make you feel it. 

You thread your fingers through his hair as he bottoms out, his pelvis hitting yours. 

If you had known how good his cock would feel buried inside you, you would have unbuttoned his pants on your first day in the BAU and gotten on top of him right there at his desk. It feels like his dick was sculpted for you, thick and pretty, perfectly hitting every spot buried inside of you. 

“Oh my fucking god, oh my god-” He’s panting like a dog above you as he babbles on endlessly. “Holy fu- oh my god, fuck-” With a rather loud whine you can feel his hips twitching against yours, he continues to whimper, making little noises as his entire body tenses and your headboard creaks as he leans against it. 

Then there is a stillness. 

And a silence, in the dim light of your bedroom as he struggles to catch his breath. There’s a wet warmth between your legs as his cock slips out of you.

“I’m sorry.” He says sheepishly, when his head falls forward you can see that his smile is too genuine to convey any actual apologetic feelings. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” You run your hand from his wrist to his shoulder, simply touching him for the sake of touching him. “Do you feel okay?”

“I feel fucking fantastic.” What a shock it is to hear curses fall from his lips. “How do you feel?”

“Splendid.” You mean it, even if you aren’t necessarily satisfied, there is a pleasure in knowing that you’re the first person to see him like this. This version of Reid is so much more agreeable compared to what you’re used to. 

“Next time I’ll do better, I promise.” God, you’ll have to find a way to thank Emily without letting her know that this happened, he’s perfect. There’s nothing you love more than a man who’s eager to please. “Can I try to make you come?” The words sound foreign in his voice, like he’s unsure he’s using the right terminology. 

“Yeah of course, do you know what to do?”

“I think I can figure it out.” You can’t help but laugh at his confidence, he isn’t the first guy who’s told you he’ll ‘figure it out.’

“Have you watched a lot of videos?”

“Videos, forum posts, as many books as I could find on the subject, I read the book Sex for Dummies.” He’s lighter, and so much more at ease now when he speaks. 

“Is that a real thing?”

“It is, and it’s surprisingly helpful and informative.” 

“You’re unbelievable.” You sit up on your elbows as he sits back on his knees. “I’m sure you’re very well informed but I’m not the easiest girl to finish, I can do it myself first if you’d like.”

“I’d like to try and figure it out on my own first, if that’s alright with you. I would of course appreciate verbal cues from you if something feels good, or if it doesn’t” 

“I can certainly do that.” 

He bends your knees, reaching for a pillow he gently lifts your hips to slide it under you to give him a better view. He’s studying your cunt, eyes moving up and down as he sits back.

“Do you masturbate?” His eyes flit to your face as he asks, you can’t help but laugh.

“Everyone jerks off, Reid.” 

“Well I don’t know, I thought it might be different when you’re sexually active.”

“It is, sometimes I go a few weeks without doing it, sometimes I do it everyday, it depends more on my mood than my current partner.” 

“Hmm.” He nods, seemingly truly invested in the information you’re sharing with him. “How do you normally do it?” If you didn’t know any better you’d say his limp dick was starting to swell again. 

“I use toys, unfortunately these-” You hold your hand out in front of him, wiggling your fingers to show off your manicure. “prevent me from using my fingers most of the time. So I have tools to help.” While your arm is outstretched you take the opportunity to grab his hand, pulling him closer so his hand hovers just over your cunt. 

“Can I see them?”

“My toys?” You aren’t sure if you want him to, even if he’s been inside of you, it’s an oddly intimate thing to share. He nods, eyes so wide you can’t say no. “If you can make me come.”

He nods again, a determined look flickering in his eyes. 

With a surgical precision he separates your folds, examining your entrance with intense focus, with his other hand he pushes the come leaking out of you back in. Fingers scooping and pressing into you before pushing fully in, two digits sink into you, just as you’d instructed him to do previously, this time he curls them almost immediately. With a small gasp your eyes flutter shut. 

“What feels better, this-” He curls his fingers again, harshly. “or this?” He presses deeper before withdrawing swiftly and pressing deep again, holding his hand there the heel of his palm grinds against your clit, your head spins as you groan. 

“That, definitely that.” You grit your teeth as he repeats the motion, much slower this time as he finds his rhythm. Moving in and out ever so slowly as your fingers grip the sheets, an obscene wet sound accompanies his efforts. The hand that was parting your folds moves to your thigh to push your legs further apart as he crouches down, squinting as he looks you over, as if he can discern the secrets of the female orgasm by taking a closer look. 

The pad of his thumb swipes across your clit making you squeak as your hips buck involuntarily. 

Your eyes fly open when you hear the hiss of air and a sharp, wet sound, feeling a wetness dripping between your legs.

“Did you just spit on me?” 

“Proper lubrication can help to reduce friction, it’s for your comfort and pleasure.” He explains it like he’s presenting evidence, but you can see his cock swelling against his stomach again.

“Really?” You cock an eyebrow at him, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Really…” He rubs an experimental circle against your clit, spreading his spit across the bundle of nerves as your breath catches in your throat. “I also saw it in a video once and thought it would feel good to do, and I was right, it felt amazing.” He mumbles that last bit as his concentration drifts back between your legs, all of his focus on you as he finds a solid pace between both of his hands. 

You alternate between arching backwards, with your head leaning back, and shifting forward when you can, watching him closely. 

His tongue pokes out between his teeth, his focus is almost comedically intense, but there’s nothing funny about the way he’s working his fingers. He continues to try different things, moving his thumb a certain way, applying different amounts of pressure. Shifting his fingers to be angled a certain way until he finds the perfect position to brush up against all your most sensitive nerves. 

He’s relentless once he finds a way to make your eyes roll back and your legs shake, robotic in nature as he repeats the motion perfectly, again and again.

“Fuck, Reid-” You mumble, trying to stop yourself as the words tumble out. The last thing you need is for him to get an ego about this after you just told him it wouldn’t be an easy task. 

“Does it feel good?” His voice is hoarse, coming out as a strained whisper.

“Mhmm.” You hum as your hips lift off the mattress an inch as he crooks his fingers a bit. Your head is spinning as you suck in another breath. He carries on like it comes naturally to him, as the knot forms low in your stomach. “Like that-” 

The instinct of most men when something feels good is to do that thing harder and faster, which never really works out for them. Reid seems to have better intuition than most men though, instead he maintains that delicious pace. Fingers buried deep within you as you cover your mouth with your hand to stifle the cry threatening to burst from your throat. 

Until the knot in your stomach tightens, until it pulls taut, and threatens to snap. 

Your toes curl, digging your heels down into the mattress as you lift your hips. Despite the way your hips twist around wildly he manages to keep it up, burying his fingers deeper until the knot snaps and you come, hard. 

Clamping down on his fingers as you let out a series of moans. You open your eyes just long enough to see the satisfied smirk on his face. His own eyes are hungry, never leaving your cunt.

The pressure in your head releases as you let go of the breath you didn’t realize you were holding in, your body going limp as you reach down and shove his hand away, the overstimulation buzzing through your body as he continues to try and play with your clit. You don’t get a lot of time to recover because he’s back between your legs, hard cock in hand as he guides himself back against your entrance.

“Again already?” You raise an eyebrow but he’s too hyper focused on what he’s doing to answer. You’re wet enough that there’s no resistance as he slams back into you. The stretching feeling returns full force as he forces himself into your already overstimulated cunt. “Jesus, Reid!” 

The feeling of fullness is overwhelming. You manage to yelp as he thrusts into you a few times, the head of his cock hitting your cervix with every sloppy thrust until his head falls back and you see the now familiar sight of his eyes fluttering shut as he comes, immediately melting into a whimpering mess. His face and neck are bright red as he falls over beside you. 

As he sucks in a harsh breath his hand wanders back between your legs. You instinctively swat his hand away, too sore for whatever he’s trying to do.

“Are you done already?” There’s a tinge of disappointment in his voice that makes you laugh.

“For now, there’s no reason to wear yourself out on night one, Reid.” You’re still fighting to catch your breath.

“It’s gonna take a lot more than that to wear me out.” 

“Oh, I intend to find out exactly what it takes.” You sit up on your elbows, eying him. 

“Yeah?” You watch as he licks his fingers clean again. You could watch him do that for hours.

“This is just training for what I have planned for you, think of this as the academy, pretty boy. I plan on having you ready for field work in record time.” The nickname isn’t one you’ve used before, typically only Derek calls him that but it feels appropriate considering just how pretty he looks right now. 

He moves to lay beside you, a sheen of sweat coats his skin, he smells musky in a good way, a mix of earthy and sweet. The heat of his body has made the ends of his hair curl.

“I graduated top of my class, and I completed all of the courses in a tenth of the time it took the rest of my class. It would have been less time but they didn’t believe me when I told them I’d finished all of the course content.” He traces his fingers up and down your arm as he beams at you like the sun. It genuinely looks like he’s lost ten years worth of stress in the last hour, the constant tension he carries in his shoulders has melted away, and his eye bags almost seem less dark. You can’t help but put a hand on his shoulder, lightly scratching your nails against his pale skin.

“How’d you do on the physical assessment?"

“Worst in the group.” He grins, flashing his teeth at you.

“Poor thing.”

“I got over it, being the youngest person ever recruited for the BAU was a nice consolation prize.”

“I hope your stamina has gotten better since then, I intend to put you through some endurance training.” You dig your nails into his shoulder. 

He frowns as he theatrically groans. 

“Oh you’ll be fine. It’s clear to me based on how you act that you’ve never once denied yourself anything. You need to be told no every once in a while or you’ll get spoiled.”

“Can I see your toys now?”

You pull the blankets up and over yourself, an exhaustion muddling your thoughts as you yawn.

“In the morning, get some sleep, we can talk about it in the morning.” You roll over onto your side, facing him. He shifts awkwardly as he pulls his boxers back on.

“Should I… go sleep on the couch? Or I could go home and come back tomorrow.” He starts to get up but you gently grab his arm. 

You should send him home. That’s what you’d typically do after a night like this, but this isn’t a typical night. If this is going to be an ongoing thing between the two of you then it doesn’t hurt to let him spend the night. 

“Lay down, Reid.” He does as he’s told, shuffling underneath the sheets with you, laying on his side so you’re face to face. 

You try to ignore him and close your eyes but he makes it hard with the intensity of his stare. 

“Goodnight, Reid.” You mumble, eventually rolling over to escape his severe gaze. 

“Goodnight.” He whispers back. 

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

He might be in love with you. 

His feelings towards you have been confusing and complicated for quite some time. He’s never been able to properly put it into words before. There was resentment there, but now he knows that was likely because he couldn’t have you. And now he does, and he’s pretty sure this whole time those confusing emotions might have just been love all twisted up. 

He hasn’t ever been in love but this has to be the closest thing he’s ever felt to it. He has no interest in so much as looking at another woman ever again, why would he? He doesn’t need anyone else, not with you laying next to him. 

You’re so sweet, even when you’re being mean. It confuses him and it confuses his penis even more. 

He didn’t know you could be so sweet, that must be why everyone at work loves you. He can certainly see the appeal. You didn’t tease him, at least not while he was vulnerable, and you didn’t pull the rug out from under him at the last minute. Instead you made pretty noises, smiled, and touched his hair. 

He didn’t want to sleep, he would have much preferred to stare at you as you snored softly beside him but the exhaustion of the evening caught up with him quickly and before he knew it he was out. 

He woke up first in the morning, light filtering in through the blinds against his face. He didn’t open his eyes at first, there was a very real possibility that he had dreamed everything and you would be gone when he opened his eyes. He wanted to live in that fantasy for a little while longer. 

Yet when he opened his eyes there you were. 

Drool on your pillow, lips parted with each quiet snore, your tanktop straps slid down your shoulders. You look like an angel. 

He’s tempted to get out of bed and raid your bookshelf, you have so many titles he hasn’t ever heard of, he doesn’t care about the contents so much as he wants to feel closer to you. But he’s worried he’ll wake you if he moves so he doesn’t. He just enjoys the steady rise and fall of your chest with each breath.

When you do finally wake, a wave of unease crashes over him as he waits for you to furrow your brow and glare at him before kicking him out. Instead you smile, and his heart feels like it’s beating so fast it may burst. 

“Morning.” You rubbed your eyes and reached for him, he’s more than happy to wrap himself around you. 

“Good morning.” He murmurs, burying himself in your arms as he twists his arms around you, resting his head on your chest. 

“What do you want to do today?” 

“This.”

“There’s too much time in the day to only do this.”

“Well, what do you want to do?” 

“You mentioned a chess tournament at some point, it’s today right?”

“You actually want to watch that?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“It might be boring for you.” 

“I know how to play chess, Reid.”

“You know all sorts of things.”

“I do, in some cases I’d say I probably know more than you.” Your nails scrape against his scalp as you comb through his hair. He’d always thought your long nails were impractical, another way for you to draw attention to yourself. He won’t be raising any more complaints about them going forward, not when they feel so good against his skin. 

“What else will we do today?” He tries not to sound too hopeful when he asks. 

“We can do whatever you’d like.” 

He would like to touch you more, he feels like he’s only scratched the surface of your body. He’d like you to give him permission first and foremost, or preferably, you’d ask him for it. He’d like this version of you, the one that lets him into your bed and says sweet, mean, things to him, to be the only version of you. 

“Can I see your sex toys now?” You roll over, hiding your face in the pillow and groaning as he sits up. “You promised.”

Turning your head you peek up at him. 

“I suppose I did.” You just lay there for a moment until you sigh and lean off the bed, reaching underneath before throwing a shoe box down onto the bed in front of him. “If you tell anybody about this I’ll-”

“Kill me, deny it, never let me touch you again. I think we can just assume at this point that I don’t intend on telling anyone about any of this.” You roll your eyes at him as he reaches for the box. 

You lay back down beside him as he flips the lid up, eyes widening as he stares down at the contents. Immediately with a grin he picks up the silicone cock, holding it out towards you. 

“Really?” He can’t help the sarcastic tone that seeps into his voice.

“What? Most women have one, if you’re gonna be a dick about it I’m gonna put them away.”

“Do most women have one so pink and sparkly?” You yank it out of his hands, throwing it back into the box. 

“It doesn’t matter what color it is if it gets the job done.” When you cross your arms in front of your chest he picks it up again.

“And this little toy gets the job done?” He thinks about how your jaw dropped when you saw his dick for the first time. You stared with wide eyes and told him he was big, just thinking about it makes his face feel hot. He’s certainly bigger than this tiny thing.

“Big talk from someone who came immediately." Low blow, you always resort to those when you don’t have a better response.

“You promised not to tease me about that.”

“And I didn’t, I’m just stating a fact.”

He sets the dildo back in the box, lifting the next thing to demand his attention, a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs up. 

“Theres a lot to address in this box but these are certainly eye catching.”

“Don’t get too excited. I got those as a gag gift, Emily gave them to me for my birthday.”

“Have you ever used them?”

“No, I prefer real cuffs.”

His mind races at the thought, any witty retort he might have formed fizzles out. You, handcuffed to the headboard, with your arms behind your back, to an interrogation table. All the blood in his head rushes out of his brain straight down to his dick as he flits through the possibilities, you, on top of him, pinning his wrists above his head, doing whatever you want to him. 

“Earth to Spencer.” You're snapping your pretty manicured fingers at him as he blinks at you. 

“Sorry, I must have zoned out.” He drops the cuffs, pulling one of your throw pillows into his lap. “What’s this?” He holds up a silver pill shaped thing with a wire attached to it, leading to a small plastic remote with a wheel.

“That would be my vibrator.” He’s never seen a vibrator that looks like this and the confusion must be apparent on his face. You take it from him, when you spin the wheel and the silver pill buzzes to life on the bed. “Most women don’t own the big hitachi wands you see in porn. Those things are expensive.” You seemingly read his mind, he had in fact been picturing the larger wands he’s seen in countless videos. He does recognize the last thing in the box, another flash of silver. A very small silver plug with a pink gem at the base, in the videos he’s watched they were usually a lot bigger. He can tell by the way you’re raising your eyebrows at him that you’re waiting for him to ask about it, he decides against it. 

“I thought there would be more.” He tucks everything back into the box, sliding it back over to you.

“I think that’s a perfectly normal amount for a person to have.”

“You always make it sound like you’re hiding chains and whips in your closet.”

“Do you want me to invest in chains and whips?”

“You lie a lot at work.”

“You listen in on too many of my conversations.”

“You talk loudly, why make things up? I’m sure you have plenty of stories that are true.”

“Because I like to tell a good story, besides, most guys aren’t into that kind of thing.”

“Are you into that kind of thing?”

“I’m into everything.”

His dick is so hard it hurts. 

“And you would like a guy who is also into everything.”

“There’s that big brain of yours putting in the work.”

“So you would want a long term thing with that kind of guy?”

“Don’t be weird about it, Reid. I have no desire to put a label on this.” Of course you don’t, you have an avoidant personality and you’re terrified of the thought of someone getting close enough to see behind the strict facade you put on. “But yes, I think we’re in agreement to enjoy each other's company outside of work. It’ll help me relieve stress and hopefully you won’t be so uptight if you’re regularly getting laid.” 

He wants more than getting laid regularly. He wants you, now more than ever. But until he figures out how to get that this will have to do.

“So we agree that this is a long term thing?” He does his best to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.

“It’s a long-ish term thing. If you must have something akin to a label you could call this a friends with benefits situation.”

“So we’re friends now?”

You frown at him.

“Coworkers with benefits, BAU with benefits, enemies with benefits, whatever you want to call it.” He has lots of things he wants to call it, but he knows that if he does that you’ll run far away from whatever this is. 

Long-ish term thing.

He hates that. 

Now that he knows what it feels like to have you moaning underneath him he’s not sure he can handle life without it. 

It’s fine. 

It’s going to be fine.

He’s solved harder cases than this. 

When he gets a chance to focus on something other than how beautiful you look right now glaring at him he’s going to figure out exactly what it’s gonna take to get rid of the ish in long-ish term thing. 

  ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

You spend most of the day on your back. 

On the couch, on the bed, on your bedroom rug at one point. 

Spencer acts like he’s found some kind of groundbreaking discovery in your vagina. And if he doesn’t check on it often enough it might disappear or change. 

You get up to make breakfast and he offers to make coffee. When he hands you a cup you’re almost irritated at how good it is, he knows exactly how much creamer you like and he’s seemingly brewed better coffee than you’ve ever made with your shitty french press. 

When you moan at the taste and set the mug down he seemingly can’t help himself. That sound is like a dog whistle to him. He leans against the fridge, staring at you with a tent in his pants until you roll your eyes and smile at him.

“Do you want to do it?”

He doesn’t even answer you, you're simply dragged to the couch and he’s on top of you. 

The eggs end up burning but you’re happy to make more. 

When you tell him you’re going to try and finish the book you’re reading he follows behind you like a dog on a leash. He doesn’t bother you, letting you sit against the headboard he finds his own book from your shelf. It’s one you have read, Bride. 

The sight of him with a romance novel in his hands with his brows furrowed makes you burst into a fit of laughter. 

“What?” He already sounds offended.

“Nothing, I just don’t think that’s the type of book you usually read.”

“I read all types of books.” He seems insistent so you let him flip his way through it. You don’t get through more than a page of your own book because you’re too focused on him. The way his eyes get wide when he clearly gets to a sex scene, or how his eyes flit up towards you when he gets to a page you dogeared on your own read through. It only takes him a few minutes before he’s closing it and staring at you with a mix of horror and awe. “You read that kind of thing at your desk at work?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s porn! It’s extremely inappropriate! Can you imagine if I started reading a dirty magazine at my desk?” His face is red as he throws the book down onto your end table. 

“It isn’t all porn, there’s plenty of plot and story.”

“I’ve seen you reading this exact book at work before, I can’t believe you’ve been reading this type of thing on the clock.” He seems genuinely frazzled by the thought. You can’t stop laughing as his voice gets higher and higher. “I can’t believe you read this around other people!”

“Relax, Reid, all the women in the office read books like that at work. We actually have a little book club.” He puts his head in his hands as he groans. You’re sure he’s mentally recalling every book he’s ever seen J.J, Penelope, and Emily reading at work, trying to piece together the contents based on the titles he can remember. You put your hand on his leg as he runs his fingers through his hair nervously. “Isn’t it kinda hot though? To read something like that in public?”

That’s all you have to say to get him back on top of you, it’s almost too easy. 

After that sort of thing happens about five more times you tell him you have to shower. He stays in your bed, reading more of your books with a horrified look on his face. When you return in a towel he’s on his feet immediately, hands on your waist as he tries to guide you to the bed.

“I don’t want to get the sheets wet, let me dry off first.” You laugh but he’s quick to get you on the floor instead. Even if you know it’s only going to be a few seconds it feels too good to pass up on any opportunity to get his dick inside of you. 

Around 6:00 p.m. he orders dinner for you both, picking through the takeout menus on your fridge you don’t have to so much as lift a finger. One of the perks of his stalker tendencies is that he knows exactly what you want from the chinese place down the street. 

You set up the chess tournament stream on your television while he does that. Waiting on the couch until he joins you, even after he’s been inside of you he still sits on the other side of the couch, legs pressed together with his hands on his lap like he’s afraid of taking up too much space. 

“How long is the average chess game?” You slide closer to him, until your legs are touching. 

“You can’t really put a number on it, there’s blitz games, rapid games, standard games, tournaments are normally the longest.” He always relaxes when he’s explaining something he knows a lot about. 

Which is most things.

“How long is this tournament?”

“It’s a longer one, but the time will depend on how the match goes, it could be as quick as a few minutes, though I seriously doubt it, it’s much more likely to be between three to six hours.”

“That long?” 

“We don’t have to watch the whole thing if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to.” 

Thankfully it’s only the first match he’s interested in watching. Over the course of the next three hours you’re surprisingly entertained. He explains everything to you in a way that is shockingly not condescending. 

After half an hour the food arrives, and of course he’s ordered you your favorite dinner combo, you swallow a comment about how he’s a creep.

It’s kind of nice to have someone care so much about things like that.

He spends the rest of the match explaining the players origins and significance to the chess community. 

When he isn’t correcting you about something you said, his ramblings are surprisingly interesting. You don’t play a lot of chess but he explains every move made in great detail to you, it almost makes you feel smarter. An hour and a half into the match he tells you who the winner is going to be, and after another hour and a half, he’s proven right. 

He reaches for the remote when the match is over but you grab his wrist to stop him.

“Let’s watch one more.” You give him a reassuring smile, who knew the know-it-all was going to need so much encouragement after the day he’s had. 

“Are you sure? It could be another long match, we can watch something else if you’d like.” You’re sure, you’ve got plans to keep yourself entertained during this next game. 

“No, I want to watch this.” You move close to him, resting your head on his shoulder. He balls his hands up into fists in his lap when you do.

For someone who's come inside you multiple times today he sure is nervous. He isn’t typically. Awkward, sure, but nervous? You’ve found him to be overconfidant most of the time at work. 

You start with a hand on his thigh, ignoring whatever might be happening on the T.V. as you scratch your nails against the cotton of his sweatpants. 

“Take your pants off.” That’s all you have to say to have him lifting his hips up off the couch, he unceremoniously shoves his pants and boxers down to his ankles before he starts to get on top of you. “Sit down, Reid.” You keep your voice even as you click your tongue. 

It’s so refreshing to have him comply without argument. Anytime you’ve ever told him what to do at work you’ve always been met with a whine or a “you’re not my superior agent.” He has no problems with compliance now, as he sits back, staring at you with those doe eyes of his as his cock strains against his stomach. 

“You like when I tell you what to do, right Reid?” You’re pleased as punch when he nods hastily. Good, you like telling him what to do. “Then watch the game.” 

“What?” He squeaks. 

“Watch the chess match.” You say it a bit sterner this time, frowning at him until he does. His eyes dart back and forth from the screen to you until they settle on the screen. His teeth are digging into his bottom lip as he stares, unfocused at the game. 

When you’re certain he’s watching you reach forward, he hisses through his teeth when you wrap your fingers around the base of his shaft. When he starts to look towards you you grab his chin with your free hand, gently guiding his attention back to the screen as you move at a snail's pace with your first stroke up and down his length. 

“Watch the game Reid. And tell me when you’re about to come, if you don’t I’m not going to be happy.” You whisper as you let go of his face. Watching the way his throat bobs as he nods. “I’d like you to tell me what you’re going to do.” You settle your hand back at the base of his cock, unmoving as he lets out a whine. 

“I’m going to watch the game and tell you before I come.”

You make a tsking sound at him, tightening your grip just enough to be noticeable. 

“Not before you come, when you’re about to.”

“What’s the difference?” His voice edges towards a whine as you slide your hand up his length, letting your thumb brush up against the pretty pink tip of his cock. 

“You tell me when it’s about to happen, that doesn’t mean it’s going to. Before implies an after, there isn’t going to be an after because you aren’t going to come until I give you permission.” He gives you a skeptical look the entire time you speak, there’s a moment of silence before he opens his mouth. 

“But what if I-” You swipe your thumb over his tip, and then trace a little circle over it as his words turn into a whimper. 

“You aren’t going to come until I give you permission.” You repeat yourself, still in a whisper. 

And he fucking pouts. 

Bottom lip jutting forward, brows furrowed and wide eyes filled with a dramatic sadness. 

Poor Spencer.

You’re a little embarrassed at how wet you are. Thank god you don’t have a penis that would give you away every time he does something stupid that arouses you. 

“Don’t you want to make me feel good?” You match his pout, batting your eyelashes at him theatrically, his frown deepens as he nods. “Then you’re going to need to build up your stamina. We’ll both be happier that way.” 

“But-”

“No, but.” You shake your head, at him, faux pity coating your words. “You’re going to tell me, or I’m going to be very cross with you.” 

He nods as he continues to pout. 

You continue to move slowly, up and down the length of him, keeping your grip tight and controlled. It doesn’t take much to get him there, almost immediately his legs tremble, his fingers dig into your throw pillows. His cheeks are bright red as he takes a shaky breath. You drag the pad of your thumb in lazy circles against his leaking tip until he gasps. 

“I’m gonna-”

“No, you’re not.” You slide your hand down his shaft, tightly squeezing him around the base of his cock, still and firm.

His head falls back as he lets out a pathetic whine. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he makes a pained sound. 

“Oh come on, Reid.” You can’t help it as you smirk at him as he continues staring at the ceiling. “You can’t already be whining, that’s only the first one.” 

“First?” He groans as he sits up straighter. “How many times do we have to do this?” You almost laugh at how frantic he sounds, instead you give him a knowing smile. 

“Until the game is done, silly.” He practically jumps out of his seat when you squeeze his cock again. 

“I can’t do that!” His voice hitches up, it’s the argumentative tone you’re used to from him. But instead of irritating you, it only serves to egg you on.

“You can, and you will.”

“We don’t even know how long this match will be, it could be hours!” His voice just gets higher and higher. 

You only shrug in response. 

He starts to sputter but stops, instead he scowls. 

“I could just do it myself if you won’t let me.” There’s that attitude you know all too well. 

“You won’t.”

“Why not?” He raises his eyebrows at you, pretty bold for someone whose cock is still in your hand. 

“Because you want to make me happy.” He opens his mouth but any response dies in his throat as he starts to chew on his lip, clearly thinking. “You want to make me happy, and you want to make me feel good. And you know that if you can control your dick for more than twenty seconds you might be able to feel really good. And you want me to feel really good, don’t you Reid?” With another gentle squeeze of his dick he’s putty in your hands.

“Yes-” He hisses as you trail a finger along the vein on the underside of his cock. “Yes, I- I want to make you feel really good.” He manages to stutter the words out as his dick twitches against your hand.   

“I thought so.” You nod, your expression is one of mock sympathy as you start to stroke him again, you don’t bother trying to get him to pay attention to the match. He can hardly keep his eyes open.

Luckily for him it doesn’t actually end up being that long of a game compared to the last one.

Over the course of an hour you bring him to that edge probably a dozen times, until his forehead is slick with sweat and he can barely longer speak. He simply whimpers and chews on his lip with his head thrown back, and like the good boy you knew he could be, he tells you each time he’s about to come. 

Not once does he beg you to let him finish. 

He really does want to please you. You’re reminded again and again that he’s perfect. 

You know it’s going to end in a forfeit when he manages to pay attention long enough to look over the board and sigh in relief. Not even ten minutes later one of the men knocks his king over and Spencer’s practically in tears at the sight. 

“You did so good.” You can’t help but smile, even if he can’t seem to stop his eyes from squeezing shut. 

“Mhmm.” He hums, quietly as you pick up the pace, the tip of his cock weeps, red and desperate for the release he’s earned.

“You know the best part about having to wait for it?” You rest your head on his shoulder once more, he’s sweating profusely but it doesn’t bother you one bit. 

“I- umm- no I don’t think- I-” His words come out half formed and slurred. 

“It feels so good when it finally happens.” He’s making a conscious effort not to finish in your hand as you continue to jerk him off, you’re actually impressed. He’s certainly earned his release. “I want you to come, Reid.” Halfway through your sentence his hand grips your wrist as his cock spasm against your palm, you continue to stroke him through his orgasm. 

His mouth falls open, lips wet and swollen from where he’s been chewing on them. You’re never going to be able to face your neighbors after thing, he’s so loud. Crying out as he repeats your name over and over again. 

You figured with how many times he’s come today he wouldn’t make too much of a mess. You thought wrong, his stomach is covered in his release as you rest your hand on his thigh. You give him a coy smile as he struggles to catch his breath. While he’s still out of it you hop up off the couch, quickly making your way to the kitchen to get him some paper towels and a glass of water. When you return his cheeks are flushed, and he’s staring at you with wide, dark eyes.

There’s too much behind those eyes. Too much beyond lust, an appreciation, a devotion. 

That’s what you wanted? Isn’t it? You wanted someone devoted to you without any string attached. You wanted someone who liked to have fun, someone who would enjoy it as much as you do. And that’s all this is.

You shake off the thought, focusing on the mess he’s made instead.  

He protests when you start to clean him up but you just shush him. Wiping up the mess and handing him the glass. He eagerly gulps it down in between hitched breaths. He pulls his pants up as you turn the television off. 

“Ready for bed?” You’re still smiling broadly as you say it.

And he returns your smile tenfold. You’ve never seen someone so happy because of an orgasm. 

He follows you to the bedroom, you flick the lights off in the apartment. When he joins you in your bed he lays beside you, resting his head on your chest. 

It’s the kind of thing that’s too intimate for what this is. Too personal. But you don’t have the heart to tell him that, not when he wraps his arms around you so tightly. Not when he did such a good job.

You feel… weird. 

Obviously you feel good, that was unbelievably hot. And he feels good, you nearly put him to sleep. His chest rises and falls slowly beside you, if he isn’t already asleep he’s about to be. You just feel weird. There’s an unfamiliar fluttering in your chest.  

“You’re right.” He mumbles against you. 

“About?” You whisper back to him, you can’t stop yourself from tangling your fingers in his hair, without thinking about it you lightly scratch his scalp.  

“About having to wait for it.” His voice sounds a thousand miles away when he says it, it’s the same tone he uses when you’ve been at a case for days and he finally finds some missing piece. He sounds so far away, it makes whatever is happening in your chest stir. Like you’ve got a bunch of butterflies loose in your ribcage. “It really does feel so good when it finally happens.”

  ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

i don't have a tag list but you can follow @holymolynotifications for updates!!

if you wish to further support me i have a kofi! ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

[h0lym01y]

HEADLOCK MASTERLIST

[COMPLETED FIC]

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.

extras :

spencer moodboard

reader moodboard

[h0lym01y]

have you ever tried this one?

chapter one : nasty dog

series masterlist ao3 notification blog

pairing : virgin!spencer reid x maneater!reader

summary : spencer makes a series of bad decisions that lead to an unfortunate confrontation out at a bar. you make a series of bad decisions that lead to a late night phone call with him.

wc : 8k

tags/warning : enemies to enemies with benefits, pornwithplot, coworkers, fast burn?, virgin!spencer, experienced!reader, male masturbation, alcohol consumption, pervy!spencer, lots of talking about sex, stalking if you squint, premature ejaculation if you squint even harder, EXTREMELY fast burn

a/n : this is lowkey the opposite of a slow burn, this is me moving the plot as quickly as humanly possible to get to the freaked out part

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

Between the ages of sixteen and twenty, 50% of Americans lose their virginity. 

By the age of twenty-two it’s 90% of Americans.

If you haven’t lost your virginity by thirty, the likelihood that you ever will falls off dramatically. 

At twenty-five Spencer isn’t feeling too great about those odds. With every year that passes he can feel the agonizing tick of the proverbial clock. 

He keeps waiting for it to stop. Eventually the clock has to stop ticking, right? 

He’s a literal genius after all. (Of course there isn’t actually a medical definition or anything like that but at this point they might as well just put a photo of him under the word in every dictionary.) He should be able to solve this problem just like any other. 

Yet he can’t.

God, and he was so close. Elle would have let him, he was sure of it.

She was way out of his league, but who wasn’t? He had been laying the groundwork, he was going to ask her on a date, she was always so serious and understanding, she was the perfect choice. They would go on a few dates, he would lose his virginity to someone who understood him and then they could go back to being friends.

And he would finally be free from this torment. 

That wasn’t the case of course, thanks to you. 

He loathed you for that. Even if it was his own damn fault for never asking her out, he’s sure if he’d had more time he would have gotten there… eventually.

Logically he understood why it happened, and that you had no control over it, but subconsciously he still blamed you. One day Elle was gone and instead you were there. Pretty and unattainable, a painful reminder of his still intact virginity. At least he felt like he stood a chance with Elle, she liked him as a person, whether she was attracted to him or not, she was kind to him. You were something else entirely. You were unapologetic and loud in every sense of the word. You were constant. And impatient, and unpredictable. It made him miss her. 

You were nothing like Elle, you made yourself impossible to ignore. 

You wore your hair up in a different way everyday, always something big and flowy that bounced with your every move. Your nails were always too long, the polish was always multicolored and catching his eye whenever he was trying to get his work done. And all of your outfits barely stayed within the office dress codes. You served as a bright, sparkling, constantly giggling reminder of what could have been.

Worst of all, no one else had a problem with you. No one else seemed to understand that you were a succubus sent undercover to the BAU, designed to make his life miserable. 

When Gideon retired he was left completely alone. Emily Prentiss stepped in and of course you buddied right up to her. And because you seemingly couldn’t stand him, neither could she. In the blink of an eye the team he had come to know and love was gone, now he felt like he was back in high school, surrounded by mean girls. Except this was worse than high school, because here he had to be involved in every conversation. Whether it was the bullpen, or the conference table, or the jet, he was stuck sitting and listening to every word. And sure, maybe he’s extra sensitive at this point but seemingly, all anyone talks about anymore is sex.  

The second Hotch dismisses the group or leaves the room Derek starts talking about his weekend with “a blonde goddess.” or “a redhead goddess.” or “a brunette goddess.” 

Emily had a seemingly endless supply of girlfriends and boyfriends in her rotation, something that Spencer found to be extremely unfair. 

J.J. and Penelope never shared explicit details but they made enough suggestive comments to make it clear that they were just as busy. 

Even strict, stoic Hotch was rubbing it in his face every Thursday when he rushed out of the office early, he’d never admit it but the whole team knew Thursday was the day he scheduled his “date nights” with Haley. 

But none of that held a candle to you. 

They called you maneater. 

And your stories were so… animated. 

Morgan, Emily, Penelope, and J.J. would gather around your desk on Monday mornings, you rolled your eyes back, parting your lips as you would sigh dramatically before recounting your tales from the weekends. 

You reveled in the laughter of your peers, it sustained your bright, bubbly demeanor. From what he observed you adored positive attention, and it didn’t matter what you had to do to get it. He had pointed that out once during a rather heated argument, it was one of the only times he was truly worried you might hit him. 

Mondays were always torture. 

You were explicit enough to get him worked up and vague enough to leave him wondering, he wouldn’t dare ask follow up questions like the rest of the team. 

He wasn’t a part of the conversation. He was just the guy stuck in your desk clump. 

You mentioned men who were tall, and strong, with pretty hair and striking eyes. You would lean back in your chair, making lewd comparisons to coke cans, garden hoses and beer bottles. Biting your lip and letting out ridiculous faux moans, your tongue poking out between your teeth whenever you laughed. 

He hardly got anything done on Mondays. 

At least not until he got home, with his pants pooled around his ankles the second he stepped into his living room. He could always think clearer after relieving himself. The problem was that you would still be there when he gets to work in the morning and he risks it happening all over again. 

Sometimes he wished you’d just sink your claws into him. Devouring him like all your other prey, putting him out of his misery. But that wasn’t going to happen so instead he was stuck, all alone. 

Marooned on a sexless island.

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

“It’s basically a sex island. That’s like it’s only purpose.” Morgan’s voice is ringing in your ears as he continues to brag about his plans for the long weekend ahead. 

Another one of Hotch’s mandatory vacations. 

After Gideon retired he got so scared of the team burning out he made some changes to the schedule. Every three months you’re faced with what is essentially your only break from the relentless call of your chosen career. A long weekend, sometimes even a full week where you’re forced away from work. 

“Are you absolutely sure I can’t convince you to come? My offer still stands.” His smile is as bright as the fucking sun. You can’t be trusted around that smile, especially on a sex island.

“As much as I would love to join you on your sexcapades I can’t. My landlord’s doing some stupid construction thing at my apartment and I have a thing about people being in my space when I’m not around.” You really would love to go, you’re going through a painfully long dry spell and if you don’t get laid soon you’re seriously worried your virginity might grow back. 

“Your loss.” He gives you a theatrical wave goodbye before he turns off his monitor as he leaves. 

It really is your loss, you helped Garcia pick out a few new swimsuits for this particular trip and you’d give anything to lay back on the beach and see Derek’s reaction to some of the tiny bikinis she bought. 

“I’m surprised you aren’t going with him, that sort of thing seems right up your alley.” Spencer is mumbling from his desk, he’s always mumbling from his desk. He never speaks plainly, he wants to make snarky comments because he just can’t help himself, but he doesn’t want to deal with the conflict afterwards. 

How does anyone here tolerate him?

“Are you saying that sexcapades are right up my alley?” You say it loud enough for him to immediately start looking around to make sure no one overheard. He might not like conflict, but you do. 

“Are you worried they might find something in your apartment? Do you think they’d go through your stuff while you’re not home?” Typical of Spencer fucking Reid to not only change the subject immediately, but also pick at you anxieties to try and get the upperhand.

“It’s normal to be worried about that kind of thing. I know it might be hard for you to understand that since you’ve never been able to get someone to come over to your apartment.” He sets down whatever it was he was working on as he looks up at you as you speak, that stupid look of mock concern on his face. 

“Would you even notice if someone went through your drawers? If I were you I’d try and memorize where everything is so you’ll know if something goes missing.” He looks so smug, he always does halfway into these conversations, then you deliver the killing blow and he shuts right up. 

“Unfortunately I don’t have that big brain of yours, maybe you could come over and put that eidetic memory to good use. If you help make sure all my panties are in the right place I might just let you take a pair home.” He makes it too easy. Just like that, his mouth snaps shut and he puts his head down. 

“You’re disgusting.” Right back to mumbling Spencer. 

“I’m sure you’d be more than willing to accept that offer. Especially considering that you haven’t gotten any action since Lila Archer.” 

“You weren’t even here for that, why are you always bringing that up?” He whines, he’s so fucking predictable. 

“Because you always get red in the face when I do.”

He doesn’t bother responding, he never does when he gets all flustered like that. You have a theory that it short circuits his brain if he thinks about sex for too long, so you make a deliberate effort to talk about it as often as you can. 

Even after a weekend spent alone in your bed you make sure to make up some rowdy story about how you raised hell.

You have to take out your frustrations somewhere and he makes himself such an easy target. He’s always there, wherever you are. You know it’s a part of the job, with you in forensics and him being… well a walking encyclopedia, you’re often left alone to work in whatever conference room you’re shoved into by the local police while the rest of the team’s out in the field. 

Derek likes to say that the two of you are ornamental members of the team. Too pretty to be in the field, so you have to be tucked away somewhere safe. 

You usually respond to that by punching him in the arm, hard enough to remind him that you went through the same training he did. 

You tried to be nice to Spencer when you started, you really did. You offered to bring him coffee, you engaged in his interests, you played chess with him even though no one else would because he always won. 

But he was still a brat. 

It’s an odd word to use to describe a grown man but that’s exactly what Spencer is. He’s a brat, he pouts, he whines when he doesn’t get his way, and he runs to Hotch every time he has a problem with you.

So you don’t feel too bad about teasing him. 

You spend the next two hours ignoring him as you transfer the last of your case notes over to the digital files. You aren’t in a rush to finish your work, your weekend plans can wait. 

“Are you still going to Betty’s tonight?” Emily sidles up to your desk, her bag’s slung over her shoulder, she’s probably on her way to the airport, is it six thirty already?

“Unless a guy offers to take me home in the parking lot then I think so.” 

“Have a drink for me, the wellness retreat my mother booked doesn’t serve any alcohol.”

“It’s a wellness retreat, did you think they were going to?” You can’t help but laugh as you spin your chair to face her.

“She told me it was a vacation, vacations have booze.”

“Yikes.”

“So, what’s the game plan tonight, maneater?” She leans in like you’re sharing a secret, as if there’s anyone left in the bull pen but the two of you and Spencer.

“I’m thinking heels, jeans, and the tightest shirt I can find.” That’s always been your go to and it hasn’t failed you yet.

“Now you’re making me want to stay.” She tilts her head to the side, brushing her bangs to the side. 

“You know the black one that’s cut down to here?” You motion towards your chest, she was with you when she bought it so she knows just how low it is.

She throws her head back as she groans. 

“I’m gonna miss the debut of the perfect tits top?” It’s a good thing everyone’s gone home because she is loud. 

“Paired with the perfect tits red push up bra. I’m still trying to figure out if I want to do my makeup like-.” 

Your sentence is abruptly cut off when he clears his throat. 

You turn to glare at him but he isn’t looking at you.

“Well, you better get out of here before the fun police start reciting the HR policy. Tell your mom I said hi.” You stand up to hug her, planting a kiss on her cheek and wishing her well as she disappears out the elevator, leaving you alone with your favorite coworker.

“I should start reciting the HR policy, it isn’t appropriate to talk like that in the bullpen.” You should install a microphone on his desk with the way that he mumbles everything.

“Oh no, I didn’t realize, should we ask everyone if they were offended by my comments?” You gesture around the empty bull pen. 

“Extremely inappropriate.” He mumbles to himself, returning his focus to the report he’s been filling out for the last hour. 

You spend more time with Spencer then anyone else on the team, at least during work hours. Thanks to your chosen field of expertise, you’ve begged Hotch to move your desk somewhere else but he says you’ll be a distraction if he puts you with Emily or Morgan. Like you’re a rowdy student in class who has to sit next to the teacher's pet so he can keep an eye on you. 

“You know Hotch wants us out of here by seven at the latest.” He manages to speak clearly this time. 

“I’m aware.”

“It’s six forty five, we should get going.” He turns his monitor off, closing the file in front of him.

“I’m almost done.” You need to look over everything you just filled out, it shouldn’t take more than five minutes. 

“Hotch is really serious about these breaks, burn out effects over fifty percent of the American work force, it often results in-”

“Are you gonna tell on me if I don’t?”

“I won’t have to, Hotch will see your timecard on Monday.”

“If I’m being honest, I don’t really want to deal with an elevator ride with you. I’ve been waiting for you to leave so I can go home.” You give him a tight lipped irritated smile as he shoves his book into his satchel. 

He turns on his heel, knuckles white as he clutches the strap of his bag. 

“Have a good weekend.” You call over your shoulder in a sickly sweet tone. 

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

You’re the devil. 

You must know what you do to him, otherwise why would you do it? You know how cruel it is, that’s the only explanation. 

He tried to take care of it at home. Picturing your tits in a push up bra, wrapped in tight black fabric with your cleavage pouring out. He didn’t even get past unbuttoning his pants before he came, whining as he ruined another pair of boxers. 

And it wasn’t enough. 

He has an eidetic memory, he remembers every lowcut, flowy shirt you’ve ever worn. He’s carefully filed away every slip of your bra strap, every time you’ve ever worn a hoodie without a bra on the jet ride home. He has it all tucked away for later use in the seemingly infinite expanse of his mental library. But you’d never wear what you were describing to work, even if you don’t always act like it, you do have your limits. You maintain a very precarious sense of professionalism.

You put the thought of this mysterious black blouse into his mind and now he can’t think about anything else. 

Opening his laptop he throws himself onto his bed, shoving his pants the rest of the way down and unbuttoning his shirt before kicking both onto the floor. He stares at the search bar, sifting through his brain in an attempt to recall the stores you mentioned going to with Emily. 

He opens up the directory of the mall you typically frequent, scrolling through the store list, clicking open all the generic clothing stores. 

Old Navy, Kohls, JCPenny. 

He sorts through the filter bar, clicking the options available in your size in black. 

If his dick wasn’t so painfully hard right now he’d probably feel like a creep right now, but he’s done worse. 

He scrolls, imagining you in each top, how the fabric would cling to your body, how each neckline would hug your clavicle… With a groan he slams the laptop shut. 

This isn’t working.

The models in the pictures don’t look like you, they don’t do anything for him. He needs to see it. 

All he needs is one look, then he’ll remember it forever.

His mind wanders to the top you wore today. 

A loose fitting maroon button up, it didn’t cling to you, instead it flowed seamlessly with your every move. Teasing him with the thought of what might be underneath. You always left too many buttons undone, today it was three. Three was enough for the fabric to slip down one of your shoulders a few times, showing off a thick dark green bra strap. 

His cock is demanding his attention now. 

With a sigh he reaches across his bed to his nightstand, using muscle memory to yank the drawer open, grabbing the bottle of lube without so much as a glance in that direction. 

Popping the cap open he coats his palm before tossing the bottle back in the drawer, hissing as the cold liquid hits his skin as his fingers wrap around the base of his cock.

He pictures you in your maroon top and only that top, opening the door of your apartment to let him in. You’d give him that harsh, thin lipped, mean smile, you were always so mean to him. 

“Ah-” He lets out a small whine, his hips rocking up and off the mattress. 

You would call him gross, and disgusting, and he wouldn’t object like he usually does. He is, he’s abhorrent, you deserve to say all of that and more. 

His grip tightens as he picks up the pace, he never lasts that long anyway so why bother trying to take it slow. 

You would bring him into your room, he’s never seen the inside of your apartment but he has ideas of what it might look like. Based on your descriptions it’s some kind of cave of debauchery. But that’s not his focus right now.

You would bat your eyelashes at him like you do when you’re trying to get a reaction out of him.. 

“I might just let you take a pair home.”

Your voice rings out clear as day in his mind. Who cares if you were trying to be mean when you said it? In his mind, now, he can use his unyielding ability to recall things to use your words for whatever he wants. 

He knows what pair he’d want if your offer was anything more than a sick joke. You’ve got a pair of pink panties that he’d kill to have.

They're your favorites, he’s sure of it. You wear them on Monday’s, your laundry day is Sunday so everything’s clean Sunday night, when you’ve got everything available you always choose the simple pink pair. Even if he doesn’t get much work done thanks to you on Monday’s he’s still got enough brain function to keep an eye out for them. They aren’t lace or anything fancy, as far as he can tell they’re just cotton. They sit higher than your others, if he’s lucky you’ll walk in on Monday morning in a shirt that doesn’t fully cover your waist line and he’ll get a little glimpse. 

One time, while you were on a case in California you tried to reach for something on the top shelf in the file room. You never asked him for help, even when he could reach it easily. 

You were wearing a tank top that rode up and he got a clear view of your navel and the sweetest surprise ever when he learned that your pink pair of panties have a little bow on the front, resting just below your belly button. 

In his fantasy you lay back on your bed, pulling your shirt up so he can see the pink fabric and the little bow. Wrapped up like a pretty present. His teeth dig into his bottom lip as he tries to stifle the groan that’s building in his throat.

Those manicured nails, every nail a different color, drag across the front of your blouse, pulling open another button, and another, and another. 

His dick twitches in his hand, before he can get any further into his fantasy the muscles in his thighs spasm and his grip tightens as his hips jerk upwards one last time. 

He slurs out a mess of whimpers and something that almost sounds like your name as he comes.

It’s the only time he gets a break from the insistent demands of his brain. For once he isn’t trying to keep up with his own train of thought as his mind goes blank. 

Laying in his mess he takes a moment to catch his breath, using his clean hand to shove his hair out of his face. Trying not to feel as pathetic as he does after that. 

He doesn’t even get to touch you in his fantasies. 

He should see a therapist. 

Instead he opens his laptop again, looking up Betty’s bar. It’s a good hour and ten minutes away, all he has to do is glance over the map before he knows exactly how to get there. 

He shouldn’t have done that. 

Because now he knows how to get there, and he can’t forget it if he tries. 

He’s on auto pilot as he slides out of bed and into the bathroom, rinsing his hand off in the sink as he cleans his stomach with a washcloth. 

Normally after fucking his hand he feels better. All the traces of you typically wash off of him, leaving him to have a brief moment of respite where you do not plague his thoughts. 

Not this time though.

This time he feels even worse, knowing that somewhere out there, you’re wearing a top that reveals more of your chest then he’s seen. Unmapped territory waiting to be explored. 

The though has his body crossing the room, he puts on a clean pair of boxers and slacks. Before he knows it he’s tightening a tie and he’s fully dressed. 

And then he’s locking the door behind him.

And then he’s walking to his car.

And then he’s driving. 

He just couldn’t help himself. How would he ever forgive himself if he didn’t at least try and get a look at the ‘perfect tits top.’ He can go home once he sees you and harmlessly enjoy the memory in the safety of his own room. 

Easier said than done. 

Especially now that he’s here, self-loathing creeping in as he scans the crowd for you. He checks his watch, worrying that it might be too early, it’s only ten, what time are people normally out at bars?

He felt sleazy, and out of place. He had expected a dive bar would be the chosen hunting grounds of the prolific maneater. Instead he finds himself standing in a pretty classy establishment. 

Full of girls that are too pretty for him and guys that make him feel small. 

He’s about to leave, no harm done, he can go home and pretend this never happened while he still has a shred of his pride. He gives the room one last scan as he takes a step towards the exit.

And there you are. 

All alone, standing against the wall, doing your own search about the room.

“Perfect tits top” is an understatement. It should be called the “perfect hips, tits, shoulders, little bit of exposed midriff and he can almost see your nipples through that bra top.” 

Great, he’s seen it, he loves it, he wants to marry that top, he wants to burn all the clothes you own so you have to wear that top every day. Now he can go because he’s gotten exactly what he wanted to get out of this. 

But his legs don’t move. 

Probably because all the blood has rushed out of his brain and into his penis. 

He’s stuck in place, staring, and hoping that it’s dark enough in here for him to remain unnoticed. 

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

The bar is full and somehow there isn’t a single guy worth your time here. 

The curse of being a profiler is knowing immediately the type of people you’re dealing with. At one point you were approached by a rather handsome and well spoken blonde guy in his thirties. You were pretty sure you'd struck gold until an hour into your conversation when you saw the tan line on his ring finger and the small circular indent in his wallet as he paid for your drink.

You kindly excused yourself before trying to find some place far away from him. Eventually putting yourself against a wall so you can scan the crowd for your next mark. 

The glint of someone's watch catches your eye in a painfully familiar way. The same little flicker of light you see in your peripherals on a daily basis. 

Surely not. There’s no reason for him to be here. You tell yourself not even entertain the possibility by looking but on instinct you seek out the source and of course, there he is. 

Even in a place like this he manages to suck the fun out of the air around him. He looks like he would on any other day in the office and it makes him stick out like a sore thumb. He’s out on the town, you think he could unbutton just one button on his shirt. He went home and changed, and he still chose to wear a short sleeve button up with a tie. 

You’re about to just get up and leave, there’s no reason to spend your day off dealing with his shitty attitude. There are plenty of other bars in town and it’ll be best to just get out of here before he sees you.

Except he has. It becomes extremely apparent that he’s staring at you, he doesn’t even try to hide it. 

Scratch that, he isn’t staring at you. He’s staring at your chest. 

If he just looked up ten inches he’d find himself making direct eye contact with you but you’re pretty sure a gun could go off in the bar right now and he still wouldn’t look away. 

This can’t be happening. 

He couldn’t be more obvious, standing twenty feet from you with his eyes wide, he literally gulps like a cartoon character, he might as well have hearts in his eyes with his tongue rolled out of his mouth. 

When you start walking towards him he finally manages to look up at your face, where he’s currently receiving the most severe glare he’s ever been faced with. In return you’re met with an absolutely terrified Spencer. 

“So you just… look like this all the time, huh.” You poke at the top button of his shirt. 

“It’s a nice shirt.”

“Sure it is. Why are you here?” You arch an eyebrow at him, cocking your head to the side. Oftentimes when you’re trying to pick a fight with him you start off with the same opening move. A question with an obvious answer while you bat your eyelashes at him. Usually, in return you’re met with frustrated Reid, or exasperated Reid, or whiney-go-and-tell-Hotch Reid. 

Never once have you been met with slackjawed, silent, bright-red-in-the-face Reid. Until now that is. 

“Reid, did you follow me here?” His adams apple bobs as he swallows, his eyes are everywhere but your face right now. “Hello? Earth to Spencer?”

“Sorry, what?” He just can’t help himself, even now his eyes dart down to your chest before blinking back to your face. 

Oh my god. 

You grab him by the end of his tie. Yanking him down to your level so he has no choice but to look you in the eye, you wouldn’t dare pull this kind of move when you’re at work but this is a different playing field.  

“I said, did you follow me here, you absolute creep?” You typically just ignore it when you catch him sneaking a glance down your shirt but this is unbelievable, there is absolutely no way you can ignore this. 

“I- I am not- no. I did not- I’m just stopping in to see-“ Boy genius seems to have realized you're speaking to him but he has nothing of importance to say. 

“Who? What? What are you stopping in to see? I know you didn’t come all this way just to stare at my chest, because that would be extremely inappropriate.” The second the words leave your mouth his eyes stop darting around the room and actually meet your gaze. 

“I- I should go.” He manages to pull his tie free as he does his best to maneuver through the crowd; it immediately becomes apparent that he’s never been here before. He avoids the exit entirely and ends up tucked into the dark quiet alcove by the bathrooms. 

You aren’t sure what’s motivating you, at this point in the night it might be your sexual frustration that fuels your angry stomping after him. When you catch up with him he’s turning around, realizing he’s ended up at a dead end. 

You plant your hands on his shoulders and shove him back against the wall. You really shouldn’t but you aren’t on FBI property and what’s he gonna do about it? Tell Hotch you shoved him because he stalked you outside of work hours so he could gawk at you?

“I- I just-” He’s red in the face. 

“Just what? Spit it out already.”

“I- I knew Emily was out of town, and I was worried about you drinking and being alone. You- you’re a federal agent it just doesn’t seem safe.” His voice falls off into a whisper as you squint at him. 

“Really? That’s the best you could come up with?”

“I’m just a concerned coworker.”

“Reid, you wouldn’t spit on me if I was on fire. I seriously doubt you had concerns about me.”

“It’s extremely irresponsible to drink when you’re all alone and dressed like… that.” For a second he starts to sound a little firm but he shrinks right back down by the end of his thought.

“Dressed like what, Reid? You seem to be rather fond of the way I’m dressed.” 

“You’re clearly very drunk, I should just go-” He tries to sneak past you once more but you just shove him again. 

“I haven’t had a drop of alcohol, I’m not dumb enough to drink when I’m here alone.” It’s true, you’d never drink while out alone, you aren’t an idiot. 

“I- I need to go.” He steps to the side but you do the same thing. 

“Isn’t this place like an hour away from your apartment?” Tilting your head you gauge his reaction, the guilt that falls over his face is obvious. 

“Yes, so I really should get going, I’ve got a long drive home.”

“You just got here, sit, let’s have a drink.” 

“I- I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Aww, but who’s gonna protect me if I drink too much? Clearly I’m not capable of doing it myself.” You jut your bottom lip out at him as he finally manages to get past you, taking a step back towards the crowd. 

“Can we just forget this ever happened?” He’s holding his hands up in front of him as if you’re holding him at gun point. 

“Oh, definitely not, I will be calling Emily the second I get home. And then maybe I’ll call Hotch and let him know I ran into you.”

“I’m allowed to be out at a bar after work hours, I didn’t do anything wrong.” His voice does that thing where it flips from being in control of his emotions to that breathy whine that makes your spine straighten. 

“I never said that you did, all I’ll be telling them is the truth of my experience.”

“I’m not scared of you.” He sure looks like he is. 

“And I’m not trying to scare you. I’m simply letting my coworker know what my busy weekend plans are.”

“I’m sure you’re gonna be really busy, there are some real winners here tonight. Are you planning on taking home the guy over there with the Family Guy face tattoo or the very obviously married guy trying to cheat on his wife?” He points around the room, and it seems like he finally found his voice. “I think there are also a couple of guys who look drunk enough to take home the next thing that talks to them if you want to enjoy what I’m sure will be a thrilling thirty seconds of love making.” 

You hate that he’s right.

“Love making? Are you twelve?” You lean forward to shove him again but he anticipates it this time, stepping backwards. 

“Goodbye. I’ll see you on Monday.” He turns and before you can stop him he manages to disappear into the crowd effectively this time. 

What the fuck just happened?

˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

You pour yourself another generous glass of wine as you check your phone at the sound of an alert.

Debrief?

You open Emily’s contact, hitting the call button, you’re surprised she’s even still awake, it’s almost one in the morning.

When she picks up she’s already giggling, she doesn’t manage to get a word out as she laughs to herself for a good thirty seconds. 

“How are you drunk? You told me just a few hours ago that they didn’t serve alcohol there.” You can’t help but laugh along with her, her joy is always infectious. 

“I brought my own stuff.” She hiccups. 

“Of course you did. Are you having fun so far?” You’re careful not to spill any of your wine as you slip under your blankets, situating yourself against your pillows. 

“It’s been surprisingly enjoyable so far. Lots of spa music and I got a massage an hour after I landed.”

“God, that sounds incredible.” Anything sounds better than the night you had. 

“My night was boring, I’m more interested in yours. How’d it go?”

Terrible. You left five minutes after Spencer did.

“Well I wouldn’t be talking to you right now if it went well.” You let out a small sigh. 

“You’ve gotten too picky.” She’s quick to throw that out there, she must be a few drinks in to be this blunt. 

“It’s not even that it’s just…”

“Just?” It sounds like she’s leaning closer to her phone. 

You got distracted because he was there?

You’d be lying if you blamed tonight on him entirely. You’ve been going home alone for a while now.

“I’m gonna sound crazy.” There’s a reason you haven’t brought this up yet, it’s embarrassing. 

“You always sound crazy.”

“I just- I’ve been having this problem for the last few weeks.”

“Oh I’ve noticed. You’re grumpy.” She lowers her voice an octave as she says it, forcing another fit of tipsy giggles out of you. 

“It’s been a little while since I’ve had a successful night out.” You pick at your nails, thankful for the liquid courage that you’re finally getting this off your chest. 

“How long?”

“A month and a half? Maybe two months.” She gasps the second you say it. 

“Oh wow. That’s like two years in maneater time.”

“Shut up.” You groan.

“Well what’s the problem? I’ve been out with you, you’ve got plenty of options.” It’s true, she’s out with you every weekend and there’s no shortage of potential suitors for either of you. 

“Promise you won’t laugh?” All you’ve done on this call is laugh, you’re asking her to promise the impossible. 

“Scouts honor.” She’s already stifling a laugh but you don’t let that stop you. 

You take a deep breath. 

“None of them want me enough.”

There’s a pause and for a moment you’re worried you got disconnected until she bursts into laughter.

“I’m sorry, but I promise you, all of the guys that you talked to tonight wanted you.” She manages to get out between snickers. 

“Sure whatever, the problem is that they don’t want it enough.” 

“I don’t understand.” Her laughter fizzles out. 

“Of course you don’t, you have consistent partners, people who understand you and your body and want you.” You set your phone down on the sheets, clicking on speaker phone. “I’m just a vessel to make them have an orgasm, they aren’t even grateful enough to go down on me. All I want is a guy who’s obsessed with me but isn’t clingy.”

“I think you’ve had too much to drink.” She giggles, on cue she takes a long sip of her own drink. 

“Just- just let me explain.”

“I’m listening.”

“You’re right, every guy who I talked to at the bar wanted to have sex, but you can take me out of the equation and they still just want to have sex. It doesn’t matter if it’s with me, all they care about is finishing as fast as possible. They don’t care about me, they care about having a hole to fuck. It’s- it’s too easy.” You swirl your whine around in gentle circles, you’re already nearly done with the glass. 

“Okay…”

“One night stands don’t put any feeling behind it, they don’t… want to try new things, or have fun. They don’t even want to take the time to cuff me to the headboard. They're always in such a rush to get their rocks off, they forget that the act itself is supposed to be fun. They think the whole goal is just to shoot their load and leave before they have to make small talk.” Your head spins a little as you take a deep breath.

“It sounds to me like you want a boyfriend.” 

“That’s the last thing I want. I want… a consistent partner who wants to do more than four minutes of missionary with the lights off. I want ropes and chains, and gags, and- and I want someone to be mean to me, like really mean, not some stranger who’s worried that I’m gonna break or cry if he spanks me too hard.” Your cheeks are getting hot. You really need to get a handle on yourself. “I want someone to make me cry and I want them to want me to cry, for the love of god I need someone to manhandle me. I need someone to manhandle.” 

You’re a lot drunker than you realized. 

“Wait, don’t kill me.” She hiccups, you can practically hear the smile on her face.

“Oh my god, what?” 

“I think I know who would be perfect for you.” She drags the words out. 

Perfect. 

“Aww, Em, are you gonna offer me one of your boyfriends?” 

“You wish, I’m just thinking, I know someone who’s obsessed with you, and I bet he would do anything you wanted if you just asked.” 

Sounds too good to be true, if this man is out there you would have sniffed him out by now. 

“Have you been holding out on me? Hiding some secret perfect man?”

She’s a mess of giggles as she takes a deep breath like she’s bracing herself. 

“What about Spencer?”

You’re waiting for more laughter, something to indicate that she’s joking. 

“That’s not funny.” Your voice is flat now. 

“I’m not trying to be funny, I’m serious.”

“Gross, Em. He’s gross, oh my god.” You want to kill her for even putting the thought into your head. 

“Exactly! All he does is stare at your tits, and your ass, and your mouth, just you in general. You won’t find someone more ready and willing.”

“He stares at everyone, he’s got a staring problem.”

“Yeah but he stares at you way more than the rest of us. We get passing glances but you get straight ogling.” She says it like that makes it okay.

“Ew. Exactly.”

“Give the kid a break, how's he supposed to get anything done with you walking around in your tiny skirts and your low cut shirts?”

“He’s- no- he is so gross, he’s literally a pervert Emily.”

“And you are…?”

Woof.

“Low blow.” You exhale harshly. 

“Besides, you must not hate the attention. I’ve seen you yell at him for breathing too loudly but you’ve never commented on the staring.”

“Well that’s not- that has nothing to do with-”

“Look, all I’m saying is that he would do anything you wanted, happily. Like an eager little puppy. Whether he’d admit it or not, all he wants is your attention.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. He might like to stare but he hates me, he makes a conscious effort to irritate me on a daily basis.” 

“That’s just because he makes a conscious effort to insert himself into every situation you’re in. Yes, he’s annoying, but you get the worst of it because he never leaves you alone. You want someone obsessed with you, right?”

This feels like a trap.

“…Right.”

“There is no one more obsessed with you than Dr. Spencer Reid. It’s insane to me that neither of you have realized this, I clocked it two days after I started working with you.”

“He hasn’t realized it either?”

“Of course not. Just like you, he thinks that he hates you. He just hates that he feels bad for leering at you.” 

He must not hate that feeling too much because he drove forty miles from his apartment to leer.

“You’re wasted.” It’s all you can say because for some reason she’s making sense. 

“Yeah, and barely keeping my eyes open.”

“Go to sleep.” You murmur, picking your phone back up.

“Mhmm.” She sounds like she might already be snoring. 

“Love you, I’ll see you Monday.”

“Love you too.” She mumbles. “Good luck with the rest of your weekend, maneater.”

In the dark of your room all you can see now is the glow of your phone screen.

There is no one more obsessed with you than Dr. Spencer Reid. 

What a joke. 

You scroll back up through your contacts, clicking on the all caps name just below Aaron Hotchner, labeled ASSHOLE, you have no message history. Why would you? Texting is for joking around, making plans, and casual conversation, you don’t do any of that with Spencer. 

His contact photo is a blurry photo you took of him as he tried to shove your phone out of his face. You took it after he begged you for your number. Claiming you needed to have everyone on the team’s contact information in case of an emergency. 

You’ve shared maybe two phone calls in that time. Both while on a case, both when Hotch made you call him. 

You shouldn’t call him, it’s late, nothing good can come of it. 

He’s disgusting, you shouldn’t even be entertaining the idea. 

She just made it sound so appealing. And for the first time in the year you’ve been working at the BAU, you consider for a moment that Spencer might actually be good for something other than pissing you off and reciting facts that you can find with a quick Google search. 

Like an eager little puppy. 

Huh. 

Are you really this desperate?

You click the call button without thinking about it. 

Fuck you’re so drunk. 

You’re about to cancel the call but he picks up. 

On the first ring. 

“Hello?” Why is he out of breath? It’s the middle of the night. 

“Whatcha doing?” You try to sound casual, taking another sip of your drink. 

“What?” His voice is a mix of sleepy and guilty, it’s hard for you to place. 

“You sound… sweaty.” You giggle, high pitched and bubbly. Yikes, you’re a lot more out of it than you realized, you definitely shouldn’t have called him.  

“Are you still at Betty’s? Do you need me to come get you?” It catches you off guard how normal he sounds, like he might really be worried about you.

“No- no, I’m home.”

“Are you okay?”

“No, Doctor Reid. I’m not.” You over enunciate his name. 

“Do you need help?” Is he actually worried about you? You didn’t know he was capable of that, considering all you’ve seen from him before is disdain and poorly concealed lewdness. 

“I’m fine.”

“Okay…?”

“Okay.” You repeat it back to him in the same tone.

“You’re drunk.” Boy genius solves another case. 

“Don’t worry Doctor, I waited until I was safe at home to indulge.”

There’s a long silence, similar to when you spoke with Emily you wonder if he hung up until he finally speaks again

“Are you alone?”

Code for: did you bring someone home from the bar?

“All alone.” You swear he sighs in relief when you say it. It makes you laugh even harder, this entire situation is unbelievable.  “What are your plans for the rest of the weekend? We’ve got four more days to get through.”

“There’s a chess tournament livestreaming Friday night that I was hoping to catch.” You’re waiting for him to list anything else but he’s seemingly done.

“That’s it?”

“Not all of us are on the prowl at bars every night."

“You’re so judgemental, and- and rude.” You sneer, as if he can see your expression.

“Why exactly did you call me?”

Because you want to know if he’s really obsessed with you.

Because you’re so horny right now you hardly know what to do with yourself and you’ve run out of options.

Because for the first time in weeks you actually feel something happening between your legs as you listen to him struggling to catch his breath over the phone.

That last one’s probably the wine talking. 

“Do you want to get breakfast tomorrow?” You say it like you aren’t throwing a live grenade out into this conversation. 

“Why?” He sounds suspicious, as if you’re luring him into a trap, and he’s right, you are. 

“Maybe we can sit and talk for a few minutes, and really get to the root of our problems.”

“Really?” He sounds unconvinced. 

“No, not really. But I’ll make it worth your while.” You really do mean that part. If you can prove that he really is obsessed with you then you might be able to make this work. 

“Why would I want to spend my day off being berated by you?” 

“I told you, I’ll make it worth your while.” 

“Goodnight.”

“Spencer.” You whine, his breath hitches loud enough for you to hear it over the phone. 

“Fine, how will you make it worth my while? Contrary to what you believe, I don't enjoy your constant verbal abuse.”

“I’ll wear the shirt again, the one I wore tonight.”

You’re left in a full sixty seconds of silence again before you hear him let out a breath. 

“What time are we meeting?” He sounds defeated. Good, you need to have the upperhand if you’re going to do this. 

“You choose, text me a place and a time and I’ll see you there.” You have to stop yourself from smiling. 

“What? Why do I have to-”

“Goodnight Doctor Reid.” You click the little red button, effectively ending your call. 

Your palms are sweating. God this is so stupid, you shouldn’t have done that. 

You receive a message immediately.

White Rabbit Diner, 10:30 a.m. 

It’s twenty minutes from your place, perfect. You set an alarm before you toss your phone onto your nightstand. 

You’re already regretting your decision now that you’re alone in the silent darkness. It’s Spencer. 

Whatever. 

You don’t have to do anything, if you wake up sober and regret your decision you can just have breakfast with him, it’s fine. You just need to know if Emily’s right. You don’t have to do anything with the information, it’s just nice to have options.  

After all, a maneaters gotta eat. 

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