Summary: The fire alarm in your apartment building goes off at 3AM after a pipe bursts in the middle of winter. You are soaked and you left your wallet in the apartment. You only (barely) know the FBI agent who lives in the building, but he offers to share his jacket, and eventually a hotel room, with you.
A/N: I’ve had this WIP for over two years and it is still just as funny as I thought it would be. I hope you enjoy this very late Winter Wonderland fic!
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+)
Content Warning: Strangers to lovers, only one bed trope, kissing, oral sex (female receiving), face-sitting, penetrative sex, protected sex (condom), implied weight for Reader (she wears his shirt/boxers)
Word Count: 8.1k
MASTERLIST
There was supposed to be something romantic about winter nights in the city. The poorly maintained lighting was supplemented with colorful bulbs that caught every snowflake. Each frozen lattice refracted the light and littered the air with rainbows. For a few hours, while Washington, D.C. slept, the prismatic powder would cut through the smog.
There was usually a purity, a serenity to the city soaked in snow. But that night, as I stood in three inches of snow in already drenched slippers, I only had one thought regarding the world around me.
“It’s fucking freezing out here!”
My voice didn’t echo back to me, and instead dissipated into distant honking of an insistent fire truck slowly fighting its way through construction gridlock at 3am.
I hadn’t expected anyone to answer my cry, which had been borne out of frustration and apathy for everything around me that moment.
But someone did answer. And oh boy, did he piss me off.
Prompt: Spencer and Reader see each other again after 14 months. Sexual tension is palpable, but there's a problem: Reader is dating someone.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Rating: mature (18+, minors DNI)
Warnings: infidelity (Reader is in a relationship even if it’s not official), vanilla sex, reunion sex, exes to lovers, open ending
Words: 10k
A.N.: I couldn’t stop listening to that song. The idea came to me while I was in the shower and, of course, I had to tell everything to @sassymoon ‘cause she’s my hype-woman. Also she helped me a lot with this idea, so... Thank you so much.
This was written for @imagining-in-the-margins’s Reunion Challenge.
Hope you enjoy this. x
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If he knew what I thought about you
It would break his heart
And I wish that I could
But I can’t make the fantasy stop
“I’m so happy you came here.”
“I couldn’t pretend like I’ve never worked here, Pen.” – you say, sitting down on the couch inside the break room – “I’ve spent too many years in this building, I had to come over and say hello.”
Penelope hands you a cup of coffee, taking a seat beside you. “How’s it going in Philadelphia?”
You hum, taking a sip of your first coffee of the day. “Everything’s perfect. It’s a completely different job than the one I had here, but it’s not bad. I’m still getting used to not having you briefing me on a jet while I’m enjoying a coffee and a poker game with JJ and David.”
“See? I told you we’re the best team ever.” – your ex colleague says with a wink – “We miss you. I know it’s only been fourteen months since you left, but we truly miss you.”
“I miss you all as well, Pen.” – you frown, bumping her shoulders with yours – “I couldn’t stay here, though. It was already difficult before, then...”
Penelope goes silent, feeling bad for silently inserting a topic that always hurts you.
You don’t blame her, you miss the whole team probably more than they miss you, but you couldn’t stay in Quantico. You couldn’t work for the BAU in Quantico any longer, or your job wouldn’t have been as efficient as it should have been.
It’s difficult to work with your boyfriend because you’re always on the edge, terrified that something might happen to him, but it’s even more difficult to work with your ex. The same fears you had for years are amplified, mixed with an amount of pain and sadness that suffocated you every single night you came home to an empty apartment.
You just couldn’t deal with him not being yours anymore and fighting with him every day without the others knowing about your break-up.
“He misses you, you know?”
You look up at your friend, sighing. “Oh, does he?”
You’re not surprised.
You’ve received many messages from him, asking you to come back. Spencer knows how much you loved this job and knowing that you quit it because of your situation with him, felt weird.
“We talked about you a couple of days ago. JJ was looking over some cases for the Philadelphia PD when she saw that you filed one of the papers and resolved the case.” – Penelope explains, taking a sip of her coffee with whipped cream – “We spent three hours reminiscing about our girls’ nights and all those lovey-dovey things you and Spencer used to do.”
The thought makes you smile.
You were so embarrassingly in love with that man.
Head over heels, completely whipped and lovesick for him that you didn’t even realize that your eyes turned into red shaped-hearts each time you dared to look at him.
“Don’t remind me. We were so...”
“In love.” – Penelope finishes the sentence for you, gently tapping your hand – “He started his part-time job as a Professor, you know?”
Again, you’re not surprised by the news.
One of the last conversations you had with him was about his interest in teaching at seminars. He had that experience when David asked him to attend a few of his lessons and Spencer had the time of his life. He has such a way with words and he can keep an audience on their toes for hours, if he picks the right topic – not like ‘dendrophilia’.
Smiling at the thought, you cross your legs. “Oh, how’s it going? I bet he loves it.”
Penelope claps her hands, nodding eagerly. “He does! After his first day, he came over to my place and he was so happy. He couldn’t stop smiling and telling me about how three students stopped at the end of the lesson to ask him questions about the topics he talked about. I’ve never seen Spencer so enthusiastic.”
Your heart aches at her words.
You were the person Spencer ran to whenever something exciting happened to him and now you’re not anymore. You’re extremely happy he found something else that he loves, but you would’ve loved to hear it from him and not from Penelope.
Spencer is made to be a Professor.
You wonder if you can sneak into one of his lessons and listen to him all over again, pretending like nothing happened between you two and just focus on the sound of his voice. The same voice that you’re starting to miss ever since you stepped inside of here, the same voice you were hoping to hear deep down in your heart once the elevator doors opened.
“I can imagine. He loved teaching with David.” – you say with a sad smile on your lips – “Is he here today?”
Penelope purses her lips. “No, he texted Emily today that he had something to do for his lessons. Apparently he’s working on something with his student.”
You try your best not to frown at her answer.
You weren’t really hoping to see Spencer for obvious reasons, but knowing that the possibility can’t even happen hurts your heart. Maybe seeing him would’ve made you feel a little better. After all, you came all the way from Philadelphia to Quantico just to spend a few days off work – nothing bad is happening, you just needed to get away.
Your almost-boyfriend took five days off just to be with you and follow you here, but still.
It felt like something was missing.
You thought it had something to do with Philadelphia and your stress levels being through the roof, but maybe it’s something else. Something that feels too weird to be said out loud, something that you’re not even sure if it’s true or not.
Maybe you’re just reading too much into your own sadness because of Penelope’s answer.
“Alright, alright. I’d like to go see Emily, it’s been so long since I’ve seen and talked to her.” – you ask, pushing the door of the break-room open – “I already saw JJ when I arrived but she was running out. She seemed stressed out.”
Penelope nods, collecting your mug and leaving it in the sink of the break-room. “Yes, apparently Henry is not feeling well and she had to take him home from school. Half of his class has the flu, I’m not surprised he got sick as well.”
It’s winter, it’s flu-season.
Poor Henry.
Maybe you can go over to JJ’s apartment and see him and his little brother as well. It’s been so long since you’ve seen those two kids, who are now probably taller than you.
God, you miss your family so much.
Following your ex-colleague out of the break-room, you head over to the main entrance.
It’s been so long since you’ve been there and it feels weird to walk right where you used to work, where you used to talk with everyone around you, where you used to read files for cases against the wall while waiting for the rest of the team to arrive, where you used to spend your nights at when something on a case doesn’t end well or kept you chained to your desk.
It’s not a bad thing, you loved this place and you loved this job.
It just brings back a lot of memories you weren’t really sure you wanted to remember.
The same memories that ate you alive a few weeks after you left. You hated how you felt and you hated to leave an incredible job that turned you into the woman you are today, but you truly couldn’t stay – and yes, it was also Spencer’s fault, but not completely.
Every case, every victim, every parent, every family chipped a piece of your heart away.
You were growing tired of feeling sad, of looking into the eyes of a parent and tell them that their kid passed, of holding a wife’s hand while telling her that her husband has been murdered, of being terrified each time Spencer put himself in front of you to talk an unsub down.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
And your break-up with him made everything explode.
The Philadelphia Field Office has a whole different atmosphere – you don’t have to tell people that their loved ones are dead, you just work hard to catch the criminals without dealing with the families. The chaos inside of that place is not that different from the chaos here: people are still running around, working hard on cases, making sure that they can catch criminals or whatever they’re working on, but your team is not exactly... welcoming.
You’ve been there for over fourteen months, but it feels like fifteen years.
You don’t hate your new colleagues, you just prefer your old ones for many different reasons. You had a different relationship with them: you used to go out for coffees or lunches with them, you used to hang out at home with them, you used to date one of them.
Your new team is just different.
They know you come from the BAU and they’re confused as to why you switched your old job for this one, less chaotic and less profitable. It’s a shame that they all focus about something so stupid like money, when someone’s mental health and personal life are way more important.
“Y/N? Is that you?”
Emily is the first one to see you standing in the middle of the main room.
You wave at her with a hand while Luke, David and Tara are inside the conference room to discuss a case that they’re working on. Penelope told you that half of the team was busy with
“How are you?” – Emily asks, pulling you into a tight hug – “It’s so good to see you! Back to your old roots, aren’t you?”
Giggling, you step away. “I decided to come here for a visit, I missed you.”
She gives you a smile, pulling away from you. “Ah, I missed you too. How are things in Philadelphia? Are they treating you well?”
“Yes, everything’s wonderful. Agent Lautner told me to remind you that you still haven’t offered him a coffee.” – you say, placing a hand over the desk behind you – “He told me you used to work with him when he was at Interpol.”
“Oh yeah, we were really close. He wasn’t in my team, but we worked close a few times.” – Emily chuckles, shaking her head – “Please, tell him that I’ll wait for him to come by. He owes me a tequila shot.”
While you’re having a nice conversation with the rest of the team – Emily insisted you go to the conference room and meet everyone else – you couldn’t stop thinking about the only person that’s not at the office right now. You can’t stop thinking about how you’d love to be in his arms right now, just for old time’s sake.
Would it be so wrong to see your ex boyfriend just once?
It’s been two years, you’re sure there’s nothing between you two any longer.
You’re in a happy relationship, you don’t need to go back to your old mistakes – however you feel like spending a brief moment in his arms, with his lips pressed to your forehead, wouldn’t be such a bad idea.
Tara and Luke seem so happy to see you, hugging you and asking you questions about your new job and you feel awful. You love to talk about your job and you love to spend some time with the people that were your whole family two years ago, but now you can’t think about it.
Your brain is focused on one person only.
And you hate it, because it’s been two years.
You knew that coming back to Quantico was going to bring back all of those memories, it’s obvious that it would’ve happened, but that’s why you begged your almost-boyfriend to come with you. You didn’t want to risk staying here and making another mistake by ignoring everyone else and going straight to Spencer’s place.
Your almost-boyfriend was there to keep you on your toes, focused on the real reason why you’re not in Philadelphia for the next two days: to relax, to enjoy seeing your old colleagues, to go out for a drink with them, to just spend some days with your old family.
Why does it feel so weird to be here without him?
Why do you keep looking for him, knowing that he’s not here?
Why are you waiting for him?
Penelope notices your distress and she’s tempted to get you out of the conversation with Luke, but he seems so happy to see you that he can’t stop hugging you or telling you that he’s excited. Luke was your best friend when you worked here, you are the one who actually pushed him to make a move on Garcia – but that didn’t go very well.
Or at least, that’s what she kept telling you after it happened.
You never believed her, you could see how happy she got each time Luke walked past her or talked to her. There’s something in someone’s eyes that starts to burn when the person they love is with them, something you’re sure you still have for a man that’s not even here right now.
Shrugging those thoughts off, you turn to the conversation with Luke.
“I heard you’re dating Agent Frazer.”
You raise your brows. “How do you know that?”
“A little birdie told me.” – Luke says, tilting his head towards Penelope – “I’m happy for you.”
Blushing, you look away from him. If Luke is aware of your relationship, it means that the voice has spread to Spencer as well – and that’s not exactly what you were hoping to find out. There’s a difference between realizing that someone is in a relationship and having this person actually telling you that – you wanted to have the second option.
You’re not even sure Spencer would care about your new relationship, but still.
Before Spencer was your boyfriend, he was your best friend and he cared about everything that revolved around you – or maybe that was because he was trying so hard to make you notice him. It didn’t work, because you were already whipped for that man – he could have shot you in the foot and you would’ve laughed and asked him to do it again because of how much you were in love with him.
You were so fucking embarrassingly in love.
“How long has it been going on?” Luke asks you with a sweet smile
You shrug, briefly glancing at Penelope on the other side of the room. “A few months. It’s not official yet, to be honest, but it’s almost there.”
The expression on Luke’s face leaves you puzzled, but his answer even more. “Ah, I see.”
The tone of his answer and the way his eyes scanned your face a little too long are telling you that he would’ve preferred to answer in another way, maybe saying something that would’ve changed the atmosphere in the room and especially between you two.
It felt as if he was trying to say: “I understand, it’s difficult to move on after such a long and intense relationship with someone”.
So what?
“What about you? Any changes with...?”
Luke shakes his head, biting his bottom lip. “Still nothing.”
“Oh come on, Alvez!” – you playfully slap his shoulder – “You can’t wait for too long. I didn’t!”
“Yeah, and look at you now.”
You widen your eyes, completely taken back by his answer. “You bitch.”
Luke lifts both his hands, holding back a laugh. “I’m sorry, too soon?”
“It’s been two years, I’d say it’s enough time.” – you reply to him, giving him a reassuring smile – “Seriously, Luke. Hurry up, you’re getting old and I need grandkids from you and your gamer girl.”
In the background, you spot Emily walking out of the conference room. The rest of the team is trying not to kick you out of there, but they need to get back to work – so you say your goodbyes and you close the door behind your back.
You don’t want to keep them away from their job, it’s not right.
“I’ll text you later, Pen.” – you say, following her to the elevator – “We need to hang out before I go back to Philadelphia.”
“Yes, please!” – she exclaims, still holding your hand – “I’m so happy you decided to spend your days off work to come here. I was planning on coming to visit you at the end of the month! I already bought the tickets.”
Smiling, you press the button for the elevator. “I’d love to have you there. I’m sure my almost-boyfriend would love to meet you.”
You’re not sure you’re going to bring him to the get-together you plan on having with the rest of your old team. After all, it might not be a good idea if Spencer decides to come as well – unless he’s too busy with his new part-time job.
Your almost-boyfriend is eager to meet the reason why you left your job here, which is exactly why you don’t want them to meet one another. You don’t need fights, you just need everything to be quiet and perfect the same way it has been for two years.
Penelope doesn’t say anything, waiting for the sliding doors of the elevator to open, when she turns her head to the side. Her smile grows bigger and bigger as the seconds go by, so you follow her gaze – and maybe, just maybe, you shouldn’t have.
“There he is! Our mighty Professor!” – Penelope exclaims, waving at him – “Hi Spencer! Look who came to visit!”
Penelope doesn’t know that you didn’t end on good terms with him, you decided to withdraw that detail and leave her happy as ever. He was the last person to know about your departure, which led to an awful fight in your car a few days before you left.
Spencer looks beautiful.
He didn’t change, he’s still gorgeous as he was when you left.
Walking towards you, he keeps his eyes on your face the whole time. You hope that the floor decides to open and swallow you whole, because you can’t take this. You really thought you’d be able to see him, face to face, and not react – but who were you kidding?
Spencer still makes your knees weak.
Spencer still makes you blush.
Spencer still makes your heart beat faster in your chest.
He was your first love, after all. And it’s difficult to forget the first person that has ever made you feel like you deserved to be loved, cherished, wanted, adored.
“Hey Penelope, hey Y/N. It’s good to see you.” Spencer says without breaking eye contact with you.
You forgot how good it feels to hear the sound of your name coming out of his lips.
“Hey.”
“I thought you were busy the whole morning!” Penelope says
Spencer shrugs, finally moving his eyes to look at Penelope. “I was, but then I finished everything earlier so I thought I could come down here and see if anybody needed any help.”
Always a gentleman.
You take a step back when the elevator doors open. Should you go? Should you stay a little longer? You’re really in the mood for another cup of coffee, maybe with something alcoholic in it to forget about the fact that you just saw your ex boyfriend, but still.
“Uh...”
“Are you already leaving?” Spencer asks
A short ring catches all three’s attention. “Oh, dammit. Okay, Emily is calling. I need to brief the rest of the team.”
Penelope gives you a loud kiss on the cheek and waves at you, reminding you to text her once you get to your Hotel. You were hoping she could save you from this moment, but unfortunately karma is not on your side today. You watch her as she walks away, and as the elevator doors close again with a loud thud.
Spencer is still standing there, now a step closer to you. “Are you already leaving, Y/N?”
You press the button again. “Yes. Wait...”
You notice that his jacket is humid, and so are his curls. Is it raining outside?
“Why are you all wet?”
Spencer shrugs, pointing to the window next to the elevator. “The train has been canceled, so I thought I could walk here but it started to rain and...”
“Oh dear.” – you cover your mouth, trying not to laugh – “Sorry, I...”
“No, it’s funny. I look like a wet rat.” Spencer chuckles
You shake your head, moving your hand forward but stopping before you could reach him. It’s been two years since you’ve done something like this and you don’t know if he wants to be touched by you again, so you decide not to do it – even though you’re dying to.
God, you just need to feel him again for one brief second.
“No, you look pretty as always.”
Spencer looks away, with his cheeks getting warmer. “Thank you.”
There are a few seconds of heavy silence between you two, then Spencer breaks the ice again.
“Listen, I was planning on going home but my place is a bit too far from here. I don’t want to call a cab and I don’t think I’d be able to walk all the way there.”
“Do you need a ride?”
He nods his head, biting his bottom lip. “Yes, if it’s not a problem.”
Your almost-boyfriend is probably still asleep in the Hotel room, so you don’t think he’d care if you stay out longer than you planned. After all, you want to catch up with Spencer. Spending time with him is the only way to do that, but it’s also an easy way to drown in those memories you cherished so deeply in your heart and stuffed inside your brain.
Either way, you find yourself telling Spencer to follow you.
He walks beside you in silence, waving at Anderson before opening the main door for you. He used to do this all the time when you were together, even if he had to wait by the door for a good minute before you arrived. He just wanted you to feel like a royal, if that makes sense.
Once you’re inside your car and Spencer has put his leather satchel on his thighs, you turn the engine on. You know Spencer still lives in his old apartment, the same apartment you’ve shared with him for weeks, so you don’t even need to type the address in your GPS. You know the road by heart now.
It’s not something you can forget.
You’ve spent more nights at his place than yours.
Spencer can feel the tension in the car as you start to drive and he hates it. He didn’t think he would see you again after 14 months and, honestly, it feels like time has stopped. You haven’t changed a bit: you’re still as beautiful as he remembered.
“How are things in Philadelphia?”
You shrug, keeping your eyes on the road. “Great, my team-mates hate me.”
Spencer widens his eyes in surprise. “What? How’s that possible?”
“They think I’m there to steal our Unit Chief’s job just because I come from the BAU.” – you reply with another shrug, stopping at a traffic light – “But things are great, I like the job and I like the city. The team-mates are just... collateral damage, I guess.”
“I’m sorry, though. I hope they’re treating you well anyway.”
“Oh, they are. It’s just... not like my old colleagues, you know?”
Your words put a smile on Spencer’s lips. “Ah, your old colleagues were the best team ever.”
Chuckling, you glance at him. “They surely were and probably still are. I’m so glad I came here to see all of you, I missed you.”
Spencer doesn’t know why, but something tells him that you’re not talking about the team. It feels like you’re talking directly to him and about him, as if you’re saying that you have missed him. He missed you, he truly did and he’s still shocked by the fact that he’s in your car after all this time.
He tries his best not to get his hopes up.
“I... We missed you too.” – he corrects himself, clearing his throat – “The team is not the same without you.”
Your heart aches. “Oh, that’s not true. I’m sure you...”
“Don’t get me wrong, Y/N, we’re still able to work without you but.. I don’t know, you were a part of our family. And when a family member goes away, their departure is painful every single day. You know what I mean?”
You frown at his words, biting your bottom lip. “Do you want to make me cry?”
“No, no. Sorry, I didn’t mean it.” – Spencer explains, placing a hand over your elbow for a split second – “I’m so sorry, I truly didn’t mean to make you cry. I just thought it would’ve been nice to know that we still care about you and we miss you a lot.”
Shaking your head, you look back at the road. “It’s okay, Spencer. I know what you mean, but... I miss you all so fucking much, you don’t even know.”
“Oh no, now I made you sad.” – he mumbles, pointing to the coffee shop closer to the next traffic light – “How about we get something chocolaty?”
A smile spreads over your lips.
“Chocolate contains a number of compounds associated with mood-lifting chemicals in the brain, like phenylethylamine.”
“A natural antidepressant and one of the chemicals that our brain produces as we fall in love.”
Spencer can’t help but smile at the rest of your sentence. “You remember.”
“And tryptophan, an amino acid present in small quantities in chocolate that is linked to the production of serotonin.” – you finish, driving towards the parking lot of the drive-in – “Of course I remember, that’s how you always tried to cheer me up after a bad day.”
“And it worked every single time!”
“Or maybe being with you was all that I needed to feel better.”
Spencer goes silent. He never thought about it that way, but it would make sense – it took you so long to make a move on him and when you did, you were exhausted from all the longing and waiting that you couldn’t stop begging him to be with you all the time.
When you were just friends, you loved to be closer to him and you would always ask him to come over, or you would go over to his place. And being with him always puts a smile on your face, so now... your words make sense.
“Chocolate was just a little kick, you know.” – you say with a smile, rolling down the window – “Do you want the usual?
“Do you still remember it?”
“Mocha cookie crumble Frappuccino?” – you ask again, smiling softly – “Of course I do. You couldn’t stop telling me about how good it is and how much I should try it. But each time I did, you planted my nose into the whipped cream.”
He crosses his arms to his chest. “And I licked it off!”
Scrunching your nose, you nod. “Yeah. You did. I remember pretty well. So do you still want that?”
“Yes, please.” – Spencer nods his head, glancing at the car in front of you – “Are you going to take the usual as well?”
“Lemonade and a double chocolate brownie?” – you raise your brows, rolling your eyes – “Of course, Doctor Reid. Who do you think I am?”
It doesn’t take long for you and Spencer to finally get your food. You see him taking a few sips of his Frappuccino and you’re tempted to ask him to give you something to drink as well, but you’re not sure if it’d be a good thing.
Your ex boyfriend that feeds you?
It’s weird.
Isn’t it?
“That’s what we ordered the first time we went out for a date.”
You park your car in front of Spencer’s apartment building, when you almost bump into the steering wheel with your face. Spencer really wants to stroll down memory lane without telling you first, but you did it too.
“And you dropped your drink because you tripped over a rock.” – you add, turning to look at him with a smile on your lips – “It was a weird first date.”
“It was Halloween night! What did you expect, Y/N?” – Spencer asks, unbuckling the seatbelt to sit facing you – “Also I did not trip on a rock. I tripped on my cape.”
You chuckle, shaking your head. “You were dressed up as a vampire.”
He shrugs, handing you your food and your drink. “And you were my victim. I’d say our outfits were the coolest, but the fake blood was just... horrible.”
“Listen, I couldn’t put real blood on my neck, could I?” – you take a bite of your brownie, handing it over to Spencer – “Do you want some?”
He doesn’t answer you, instead he leans forward and takes a bite of the chocolate dessert in your hand. You can feel the softness of his lips brushing against your fingers, but you don’t say anything – even though you would’ve screamed.
That felt... weird.
In a good way.
It’s like you were in the car with him five years ago, on Halloween night, with a brownie in your right hand and his face in the left one, with your lips covering his cheeks in kisses and his arms tightly wrapped around you.
Your heart aches at the memory.
“You ate a piece of my brownie and then you kissed me that night.”
You didn’t really want to say it out loud, but Spencer thinks it’s a good thing it happened because it proved to him that deep down you care about him. Knowing that you still think about your first date with him, that you still remember every detail of that night, makes him realize that you didn’t forget about him. You couldn’t even if you tried.
“It was an excuse to get closer to you.” – Spencer whispers, looking away from you – “I couldn’t ask you plain and simple if I could kiss you, I was too nervous.”
You smile at his words, playfully bumping his shoulder. “You seemed fine to me. You were the one who kept the conversation going the whole time!”
“Only because you asked me a lot about Halloween and I explained everything to you!” – he exclaims, defending himself by grabbing your hand – “To be honest, I was nervous at the beginning of our date but then everything felt so natural. It was like... coming home, you know?”
When you look up at him, those honey coloured eyes are staring back at you.
You felt the same way that night, and every other day you spent beside him.
“I don’t know how you are so familiar to me, or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are.” you start to whisper
Spencer’s eyes brighten at your words, finishing the poem for you.“How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before. In another time, a different place, some other existence.”**
A smile settles on your lips as the familiar warmth spreads through your body, the same warmth that you felt in your belly after he kisses you for the first time, after he made love to you for the first time, after he said those three little words for the first time, after you had your first fight and your first make-up kiss.
It’s incredible how a person that you haven’t seen in over a year can still make you feel like you’re the only person in the world they’ll ever love.
“You’re smiling.”
You take a deep breath, staring at your half-empty drink in your hand. “Why wouldn’t I? These memories are some of the happiest of my life, Spencer.”
He seems surprised, but deep down you know he’s well aware that this is the truth. “Did I make you happy?”
“I was the happiest I’ve ever been when we were together.” – you admit, taking the last sip of your iced lemonade – “It’s a shame it didn’t work out between us, Spencer. We could’ve had...”
Before you could finish the sentence, Spencer leans forward and closes the distance between you.
It takes you a long time to process what’s happening, but you end up closing your eyes to focus on the moment – a moment you weren’t expecting to happen, because you weren’t planning for it to happen at all.
Why would you stop him from kissing you?
And why is your heart melting the same way you’re melting against him?
Spencer brings both hands on your cheeks, kissing you over and over again without caring about Penelope’s voice in his head. He doesn’t care that you have an almost boyfriend, he doesn’t care that you’re happy with someone else, he doesn’t care about anything but you right now.
And by the way you’re kissing him back, you don’t care either.
His lips taste like chocolate and you could spend hours worshiping them, kissing them over and over until you can’t feel your mouth again. You could bite his bottom lip, you could run your fingers through his hair and ruin it, you could waste the rest of your day there, kissing him and allowing the memories to hit you like a thunderstorm.
Kissing him feels like coming home.
It shouldn’t. No, it should feel horrible, wrong. Then, why does it feel so right?
However, you interrupt the kiss with a hum.
You pull away first, pressing a hand over Spencer’s chest, and you shake your head. “I’m sorry, that was...”
Spencer clears his throat, sitting back in his seat. “Inappropriate. Sorry.”
Why did he kiss you? He knows you’re almost in a relationship, you’re sure Luke must’ve told him something. Then, why did he kiss you? And why did you let him? Why couldn’t you stop him before? Why didn’t you plan for this to happen?
“Yes, it was. I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I’m not... I’m seeing someone.”
“I know.”
You give him a questioning look, but Spencer doesn’t seem to notice it. Or maybe he decided to ignore it and move on because kissing you is all he could think about ever since he got into your car – you don’t blame him, your lips are very kissable.
And his are too.
Maybe that’s why you couldn’t pull away. It was just the familiar warmth he radiated, it was also that sense of security and stability that only Spencer could give you. A feeling that you’re starting to miss now, even though you have someone waiting for you somewhere else.
“I, uh... I have to go now.” – you mumble, brushing the back of your hand – “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I took advantage of the moment when I shouldn’t have.” – Spencer says, keeping his voice calm and relaxed – “I’m sorry, Y/N.”
You give him a smile, even though you want to yell at him to kiss you again, to make you feel his. Would it be so wrong?
“This can’t happen, Spencer.”
Spencer opens the car door, holding his leather satchel with one hand. “I know.”
When he leaves you all alone inside your car, with the rain pouring all over him and your car, you feel as if your heart has been crushed. You didn’t want him to go, you didn’t want the moment to end, you didn’t want to be alone – and here you are, with your heart wide open and that scar still bleeding.
This can’t be possible, though. You refuse to believe that your heart still belongs to Spencer.
It’s been two years, you’ve moved on and you’re happy with someone else. But then... Why do you keep thinking about Spencer? Why can’t your mind separate him from the rest of your memories? Why can’t he stay in his own lane?
Closing the door of your hotel bedroom, each step you take feels like a stab in the heart.
You shouldn’t be out there now, you shouldn’t be running down the stairs to reach your car. You shouldn’t be crying your eyes out, with mascara stains on your cheeks and your hair sticking to your forehead as the rain pours down from the dark black sky.
So many questions are running through your brain and so many thoughts are poisoning your bloodstream, making it difficult for you to breathe. You’ve felt like this before the same day you left your heart on Spencer’s doorstep, the same doorstep you’re staring at right now.
A doorstep you should stay far away from, but you can’t.
You promised yourself not to go back to him, to move on and be happy with someone who truly deserves your time. Is that true, though? Does your almost-boyfriend deserve your time? Does he make you feel comfortable the same way someone else did?
What does he make you feel that Spencer couldn’t? Does he want the same things as you? Does he feel the same drive and passion for his job the way you and Spencer felt? Does he wake you up with a kiss on the forehead and whispers that he wants to read you a story? Does he help you undress before taking a shower, peppering your shoulders and your neck with kisses?
Does he send shivers down your spine the same way Spencer did when he touched you? Does he caress your body and worship every inch of you like Spencer used to do? Does he kiss you with the same desire that has driven Spencer to kiss you inside your car earlier?
The answer is simple, but you don’t want to admit it to yourself.
There’s a reason why you left Spencer behind, a reason why you’re not with him, but suddenly that reason seems stupid, pointless, not enough for you to leave.
“Y/N?”
You must look pathetic right now, with that flimsy sweater drenched in rain. You don’t care, because as soon as Spencer speaks to you, you feel like you’re home. You’re not cold anymore, you’re not freezing – you feel warm, you feel cozy, you feel perfect.
“I’m sorry, I...”
“What are you doing here? And why are you wet?” Spencer asks, worry filling his voice
You shrug, staring at the tip of your shoes. “I ran.”
“I saw you parking in front of the building.” – Spencer tells you, crossing his arms to his chest – “Why are you here? It’s three in the morning, you should be in bed.”
You can feel the anger inside his voice, but you don’t care. He has no right to be angry at you; you, on the other hand, should be fuming because of him. He’s making you doubt your happiness, he’s forcing you to retrace your steps back to him and you’re letting him.
You’re not rejecting him because you still want him.
You don’t want to admit it, you don’t want to drown in the bitterness that this moment will lead you to live in, but you can’t stop yourself from kissing him.
So when your lips meet in a kiss that leaves him breathless, you know you’re not coming back.
There is no turning back from this and honestly, you wouldn’t want it any other way.
Spencer leads you inside his apartment and his heart all over again, slamming the door shut without worrying about his neighbors hearing the commotion. He doesn’t care if you’re going to be loud, he doesn’t care if you’re going to scream out his name - all he craves right now is to feel the warmth of your naked, familiar body all over him.
And you want the same, allowing him to take off your sweater and leaving you bare in front of his honey coloured eyes.
Those eyes that, once again, are worshiping your body without a single touch.
The same eyes that send you into a spiral each time you look into them.
Closing your arms around his neck, you press your body against his. His kisses grow more desperate each step you take towards the bedroom, the tension getting tighter within you the more you think about what’s going to happen.
You weren’t planning any of this and honestly, you weren’t even looking for this.
You thought you were going to talk with him, but when he opened the door with those big doe eyes and that sleepy smile over his lips pushed you over the edge. That growing desire you felt for him ever since he kissed you first snapped and it led you here, in his arms again.
Spencer pulls you by the waist inside his bedroom, kissing your mouth and exploring it with the same passion you were fighting against with all your powers. You were trying to take it slow, to enjoy every second as much as you could before disappearing all over again in another city, but your eagerness and his overwhelming ache for you were too strong.
You fell victim to his touch, to his mouth, to his familiarity.
“I need you.” - you find yourself whispering against his lips - “Please, I need you.”
Spencer lifts his arms just enough to let you take off his shirt. Your hands run all over his chest, scratching his skin and begging him to get even closer to you - so desperate to feel him, to have his body closing around you, pressing against you, giving you what other people couldn’t for the past two years.
Your body’s reaction to Spencer is completely different to what happened earlier in the bedroom with your almost-boyfriend. You couldn’t relax, you couldn’t kiss him the way you’re doing now with Spencer, you just… didn’t want him that way.
You pictured Spencer there and if that wasn’t already enough, you couldn’t stop thinking about what Spencer would’ve done in that moment. He wouldn’t have touched you that way, he wouldn’t have grabbed you by the hair that way.
He would’ve been… different.
“Why?”
Such a simple question that requires a difficult answer.
An answer that’s going to tear your almost-boyfriend’s heart apart, but a truthful answer that will end this misery between you and the man you’ve loved for years.
“Because no one makes me feel like you do.”
Spencer’s smile grows bigger against your lips, while his hands slid the last item of clothing off your body.
“No one can make my skin burn with his touch, no one but you.” you say again, with more confidence than before
Spencer gently lays you back down on the bed, undressing himself right in front of you. You run your hands all over your chest, spreading your legs just enough to show him how much you want him, how much he knows your body and takes advantage of his power over you.
He’s moving too slow, probably basking in the gentleness of your voice and the sight of your body completely exposed to his hungry eyes.
You crook your finger to call him to bed and he reacts quickly, crawling between your legs and filling the empty space your body craved. With his chest flushed to yours, his mouth covers yours in another hungry kiss - this is exactly what you wanted.
This is the touch of a person that can read your body like a book, that knows your body better than anyone else - the same person that has kissed and licked every inch of your skin before finally showing you how much you deserved to be loved.
Tracing his lips with the tip of your index, you look at him. “It has always been you, Spencer.”
You can feel the steady rhythm of his heart picking up the pace at your words, as the blossoming desire takes over you. His lips crash against yours once more, with his tongue controlling the kiss and his hands pushing you down on the bed.
You close your legs around his waist, forcing him on top of you in order to stay as close as he can to you. There’s nothing better than this, you think, with your lover on top of you and kissing you like he has never done before.
Those three little words are on the tip of your tongue, but you don’t want to say them.
You don’t want to ruin the moment, you don’t want the atmosphere to change because of a mistake that you’re well aware you could make. And Spencer is of the same opinion, because his lips keep on kissing you and preventing you from talking.
Talk is overrated in a moment like this.
“I was hoping you would say this.” - Spencer says, his voice broken by the overwhelming desire to possess you again - “Say it again.”
You bring both your hands behind his neck. “It has always been you. Only you, Spencer.”
His right hand slides down between your bodies and his index dips inside of you, pushing in without resistance. There’s no need to resist, there’s no need to prevent this from happening because you want this, you’re dying to have this - and Spencer seems probably more eager than you.
A soft moan crashes against his lips as he kisses you again, while pushing another finger inside of you to prepare you like he used to. Your body welcomes him with ease as you roll your hips, matching the rhythm of his palm.
“You’ve always been so responsive to me.”
You nudge your nose against his. “Because I’m made for you, Spencer.”
Your words elicit a whimper from his lips, the most beautiful sound you’ve ever heard. You smile on his lips, pushing your hips against his to feel his growing erection pressing hard to your inner thigh.
You love having this effect as well on him.
“Let me prove it to you.” – you tangle your fingers through his curls – “Please, let me.”
Spencer knows what you mean by this.
He knows this is your way of begging him to take you and he’s not going to let this moment go to waste, because he was hoping to find you on his doorstep. He was hoping to be able to touch you all over again and prove to you that even after two years you’re still his.
And you probably have always been his, just like he has always been yours.
You left your heart in his hands, but he left his in yours.
Spreading your legs with the fingers that were inside of you, Spencer settles on top of your body and with his knees pressing to your thighs. Completely exposed under his stare, you feel your desire reaching the point of no return.
If before you could stop him, now you’re begging to never stop.
“Can I?”
“Please, yes.”
Spencer leans forward and kisses your mouth once again, pushing inside of you with a slow thrust. He knew that once he had you again, he wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about you for the rest of his days – and maybe that’s what you want, maybe that’s why you’re underneath his body, maybe that’s why you couldn’t make love to your almost-boyfriend the same way you’re doing it with Spencer.
“Fuck, wait.”
Spencer stops half-way, feeling your muscles clench hard around him and your whimpers against his mouth.
“Am I hurting you, doll?”
The pet-name makes your heart hurt.
You shake your head, breathing hard. “No, I... Go slow, please.”
Following your directions, Spencer pulls out of your body and kisses you again. He doesn’t know if you’re tensing up because you’re nervous or not convinced by what you’re doing, but he’s going to follow your lead and own you at your own pace.
There’s no one rushing you.
Spencer tries again, thrusting inside of you and finally filling you up all over again. Inch by inch, he stretches you with his mouth kissing yours with a passion that is burning every cell in your body with a fire that can only be extinguished by him.
Your body welcomes him, tightening around him and gripping him to the point he can’t retract.
You don’t want him to.
“Oh, Spence...”
Cradling his right hand up to your face, he brushes his thumb over your cheek. “Am I making you feel good?”
You give him a quick nod, whimpering when he pushes in again. “Yes. Always, you always feel so perfect.”
Spencer rolls his hips in a tentative motion, watching your body react with a whimper of pleasure followed by a soft huff that melts into his mouth. Your hot breath mixed with your whimpers and the softness of his name rolling off your tongue drives him to give you another thrust.
Your hands slide down his shoulders, scratching his skin and leaving red marks that will be the sign of your desire all over him. The same marks he loved to inspect the moment after, the day after and every single time he had a mirror in front of him in the privacy of his home.
Knowing that those marks are caused by your skilled fingers, scratching him because of the pleasure and the tension building within your body, drives him crazy.
You’re not surprised when he picks up the pace of his thrusts, but you’re surprised by his words.
“Did he feel good when he was inside of you?”
Opening your eyes, you find those honeyed irises staring into you. The devilish question is making your breath itch, because you know exactly what he wants to hear – but you’re surprised.
This possessiveness and jealousy over you even after two years is what tips you almost over the edge.
“No, he didn’t.” – you mumble, whimpering when Spencer gives you another hard thrust – “No, you’re the only one who can make me feel like this. The only one who can give me such pleasure.”
You have no idea how you’re able to speak with such confidence in a moment like this, completely submitted to his and your pleasure in a way that makes your head spin.
“He’s just a pathetic man who can’t even keep his girl in his bed.” – Spencer says with his mouth pressed down to your neck, kissing it and licking the soft skin he bit – “Does he know where you are, doll?”
You shake your head.
Of course he doesn’t, or you wouldn’t be here but on your way back to Philadelphia.
Your almost-boyfriend has no idea that you’ve spent the whole afternoon and evening thinking about what happened with Spencer right after lunch.
“Does your boyfriend know how you’re begging me to make love to you right now?”
His lips twitch into a smirk when you let out a loud gasp, grasping the wooden bars of the headboard.
“Answer me, doll. I need to hear your voice.”
But you can’t talk, not right now, not with him so deep inside of you.
Your mind is hazy, your throat is dry and your fingers are itching to scratch him again. So you do, bringing your hands on his hips and digging your fingers into the soft skin of his body – the same body that’s crushing you against the bed, owning you and taking control of everything he can the same way he used to.
Begging for more in your own way, Spencer gives in and forgets about your earlier pleas. The same pleas you don’t care about anymore, because this is what you are truly craving – passionate lovemaking with the only man who can satisfy you, who can give you what you need.
The only man you’ve ever loved – and that you will ever love.
“He doesn’t. He doesn’t know anything.” – you whisper with a broken sob – “Please, more. I need...”
Spencer doesn’t let you finish your sentence, silencing you with a bruising kiss on your lips. You gasp into his mouth, whining when his fingers dig into the soft skin of your waist and force you to stay down, to just take him until you can’t take it anymore. His tongue immediately slips against yours as your whole body rolls along with his, completely enthralled in a burning passion you’ve never felt before.
“More, harder.”
Giving to your demand, Spencer’s pace becomes ruthless and quick. The bed creaks with each one of his thrusts as your fingers leave red marks all over his back, reaching the soft skin right above his hip-bones.
“That’s my good girl, telling me exactly how she wants it.” – Spencer whispers, teasing your lips with a brief kiss before pulling away – “I’ve missed you so much, do you know that?”
You whine at his confession, finding yourself nodding at his question. “I’ve missed you too. I’ve missed this.”
You’re out of breath and you can feel Spencer starting to lose his own control because his rhythm slows down to follow the way your hips roll against him. You don’t blame him, it’s easy to lose yourself in the heat of the moment – especially if you’re doing something after waiting for over two years.
“Did you miss the way my body completes yours? Did you miss my arms holding you like this again and my lips owning you again?”
The tears are stinging in your eyes as the truth flows out from his chest in little ‘yes’.
The way your voice sounds, pushes Spencer to thrust slower into your body. He wants to talk to you, he wants to hear your voice, he wants to know how much you have missed him through these years – and he’s not going to stop taunting you until you give him the answer on the tip of your tongue.
“Did you miss me, doll?”
You whine at his question, struggling to keep your eyes on his face. The pleasure is getting almost overwhelming, messing up your thoughts and tangling them with your pleas.
“Yes. Yes, Spencer, please...”
You don’t know what you’re begging for.
“Did you miss being mine again?”
Sliding your right hand behind his head, you grab a fistful of his curls. “No, because I’ve always been yours even while I was with other people.”
Spencer looks down at you with a smirk on his lips as the pride takes over and his movements become erratic again, sending you closer and closer to that delicious edge you know you’re riding. His hands feel heavier on your body, his kisses feel like fire all over your neck and back to your lips which means you’re closer.
Closing your legs around his waist and pushing his body down impossibly closer to yours, you let out another long whine that soon gets muffled by his mouth kissing you over and over. You can’t breathe right, you can feel his heart beating louder in his chest against yours and that’s when it hits you.
You love Spencer.
You never stopped loving him.
And you probably never will.
“Please, Spencer.”
You keep begging him for something, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he hides his face in the crook of your neck and forces you down against the bed as he picks up the pace again – filling you up with his desire and his everlasting love for you feels incredible, because it’s like coming home.
It’s natural, it’s real, it’s familiar.
Even without speaking those three little words, you can feel the love overflowing from his lips and pouring right into your chest. His love wraps around your heart and holds it tightly, showing that this is exactly what you deserve, exactly what you need.
Spencer is your destiny.
“Fuck. I’m...” – Spencer whimpers, interrupting your thoughts – “I need... Where can I come?”
You don’t move, lifting your legs but keeping them closed around your waist. “Inside.”
His eyes meet yours and they’re telling you everything he can’t say due to the overwhelming pleasure. He’s asking you why, he’s asking you what happened between you, he’s asking why you couldn’t come back sooner, he’s asking why it took so long for him to realise he wants you.
All of those unspoken words vanish as soon as you speak again.
“Let me prove you I’m yours, please.”
When you bring his face closer to yours and you meet his lips, Spencer bottoms out inside of you and lets go of everything. His body, his soul, his love for you, his pain, his anger, his eagerness to have you and own you again – and his desire, that fills you up like you were begging to be.
“I’m yours, Spencer. I’m all yours, I’ve always been yours.”
That familiar warmth spreading through your body tips you over the edge as you follow him towards that state of euphoria that only Spencer has been able to give you. He drags you down with him, kissing your mouth and moaning your name over and over to express everything that you’ve made him feel right now.
Holding you tightly in his arms, Spencer collapses on top of you.
Your thighs are squirming around your waist and the weight of his body is deliciously warm over you, suffocating you with the love and the passion that burned deeply behind those eyes.
His hot breath hits the side of your neck and you close your eyes, immediately placing a hand behind his neck to play with the messy curls at the base of it.
“You used to do this all the time.”
Spencer is out of breath and you’re tempted to make fun of him, but when you try to talk, you realise that you can’t get a word out. So you just chuckle, pressing a kiss on his forehead while the man between your legs wiggles away from your grip.
Spencer stays on top of your body, caressing your hair with his right hand.
“I love your curls.”
“I know, I didn’t cut it because I knew they were going to seduce you.”
You chuckle, kissing his lips again. “Ah yes, I ended up in your bed because of your hair.”
Spencer hums, bumping his nose against yours. “Well... I was right then.”
“You’re always right, Doctor Reid.” – you release a soft sigh, looking down when he pulls out of you – “I need to go to the bathroom.”
He shakes his head, laying it on your chest. “No, not yet.”
“Spencer... your cum is sliding down my thighs. I need to clean myself up.”
Whining and mumbling something, he rolls off your body. “Be quick.”
“Yes, sir. As quick as I can.”
You head inside of his bathroom on your trembling legs while Spencer admires you from the bed, smiling to himself while pulling the blanket up to his body. He’s satisfied because of the sight and happy because he had the chance to have you again, to show you how much he still cares about you and how he hasn’t moved on.
No matter what, he’s still yours.
Just like you’re still his, always and forever.
When you come back to his bedroom, you lay beside him in silence. You know you have to talk about what happened between you two for many different reasons, but the silence inside his bedroom is too comfortable to be ruined.
Spencer opens his arms and you immediately cuddle up with your head on his chest, listening to the calming rhythm of his heart.
“We have to talk about this.”
Spencer is silent for a few seconds, stroking your hair and staring at the ceiling. “I know.”
“I...”
“No, not now.” – he whispers, forcing you to look up at him – “We can talk about it tomorrow. We have some time before you leave again.”
You know you can’t wait until tomorrow, you have to get back to the Hotel before the sun rises or you won’t be able to explain yourself to your almost-boyfriend.
Your heart aches for him.
“Okay. Tomorrow.”
Spencer nods his head and leans forward, giving you one last kiss before holding you tighter to his body. You melt against it and you fall silent, drowning in your thoughts and between the voices screaming at you that you made a mistake.
You shouldn’t be there, you shouldn’t be smiling.
You shouldn’t be happy, you shouldn’t be kissing him.
You shouldn’t be thinking about staying, you shouldn’t be thinking about quitting your job.
You shouldn’t be regretting your decision of leaving Spencer, because you weren’t meant to be.
Your relationship wasn’t meant to be.
If it wasn’t meant to be, why did you end up in his arms again?
** From the poem ‘Soulmates’ by Lang Leav
Please consider liking, reblogging, or commenting on the fic if you are on the taglist. Otherwise, you are essentially asking me to take an extra step to include you while offering me absolutely NOTHING in exchange, which is a pretty shitty feeling.
Summary: Lila’s wedding has Spencer thinking a lot about his future.
A/N: Welcome back, bunnies! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Only about four left of this series!
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+)
Content Warning: Weddings, discussions about pregnancy/children, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, mild breeding kink, nightmares, gun violence, death allusions, Greek Mythology references (Hades/Persephone)
Word Count: 7.7k
MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist
The next morning, I woke to a new world. With eyes tightly shut, I clung to the warm body beside me and refused to open my eyes. I was too afraid; terrified that I would open my eyes and find nothing but the remnants of a miracle I’d let slip through my fingers.
I could hardly believe it had happened. But it had happened. My Bunny told me that she loved me, and the universe allowed me to live another day. Against all odds, the sun had risen, and I eventually opened my eyes to find the dawn of something new. Something better and greater than myself.
The desert palette reflected throughout the clouds with a peach tinted hue blanketing the city of sin. My boyhood home, the place that made me, stared back with wide-eyed amazement at the fact we were all still standing despite the absurdity of it all.
Each flower in the city stood at attention to marvel at the creature at rest in my arms. When she woke, with fluttering eyelids and restless limbs stretching and winding their way around me, I shivered from the warmth of her voice that was still rough with sleep.
“G’morning, Professor,” she said as she welcomed the world.
“Good morning, Bunny.”
A small smile started to tug at her lips that was broken by a yawn, which then turned into a happy little giggle. The sound echoed in harmony with the rustling bed sheets and quickening breath. Her eyes came to life as the memories came crashing back to her the longer that she stared at my own smile.
It felt so permanent, so tangible, so real.
Pure. Pure as the nebulae with their centuries of condensed memories brought together to sustain a new universe. She was a whole nursery of stars, and I was just one man; an Icarus who tempted fate with wax wings.
She knew this, but nonetheless, she whispered, “Good morning. I love you.”
“I love you more,” I dared, but she was quick and firm in her reply.
“I love you the most.”
Seconds after the words parted from perfect pouted lips, she came closer. In an attempt to silence me before I could prove her wrong, she kissed me with a dastardly softness. So wicked was her tongue when it found something sweet in even the sleepiest moments. So cruel were her hands as they brushed through curls bothered by sleep.
There was nothing about her that was bothered. Not even when I broke apart from her, because she knew it would only be long enough for me to issue my disagreement.
“Oh yeah? The most?”
“Yeah,” she answered before continuing to kiss me with a vengeance to exact. But the moment she’d started to find her place settled against me, I was ruining it again.
“You know I’m a genius, right?” I asked.
She did not take kindly to the challenge. With her lips still stuck in a pout, she froze. She waited there, opening her eyes and furrowing her brow before she slowly backed away from me.
“And yet… I’m right,” she gasped with the utmost incredulity, “and you’rewrong.”
I just smiled at her for a moment. I took in the sight of her false anger before it faded and was replaced with a smile bright enough to rival the sun itself. I reveled in the light of her love, fastidiously hoarding each detail in front of me before it was replaced with yet another thing for me to memorize.
I smiled at her until there was nothing but a green excitement in her eyes. I bathed in the warmth of her naiveté and realized for the first time that I, too, was experiencing something new.
And what wonderful uncharted territory it was to be loved.
“If I let you win, what do I get?” I offered in place of a complete concession of her brilliance.
She’d already known that I was helplessly, disgustingly smitten with her. She didn’t need yet another boost of her ego, no matter how grand it deserved to be.
Also, I would be lying if I said I hadn’t hoped for what came next. Although she didn’t offer me the pleasure of winning the bout of banter, she was more than happy to offer me a consolation prize in the form of her lips against mine once more.
That time, it was I who held her with a firm, desperate plea to be closer. One hand sneaked beneath her neck and cradled the back of her head with the delicateness she demanded. The other was more sinful, carefully smoothing over her lower back and feeling the gentle curves. I pressed finger pads into the soft flesh until her lips parted with a small gasp.
Only then did I accept her offer and allow my defeat.
“Deal,” I said, so she might kiss me again.
And she did. We stayed tangled together for what felt like hours. It still wasn’t enough, as I would never tire of her; I would never be satisfied with the time we had left. If I was not in her arms, the world felt so dreadfully cold.
But I persevered because I knew — or at least, hoped — that we would end every day the very same way that we’d begun that one.
From the moment I’d met her, I knew that I would love her forever. It seems strange to say it now, and perhaps these are all just the ramblings of any fool in love. But I couldn’t deny what felt so indisputable.
I couldn’t lie to anyone, especially not myself, and pretend like I hadn’t recognized her soul. I’d hardly even believed in such a thing before her, and I was convinced that her absence before then must’ve been why. Because once I felt that, that calling, that comfort of her hands and voice and smile, I couldn’t preach nihilism any longer.
There was something real; something beautiful.
Those thoughts only grew stronger as the day went on. Even when I saw the venue, absolutely covered in flowers and other beautiful, wonderful things, I could only see her. Still, I found myself bored by the trappings of wealth because they would never be quite good enough to serve as her background.
She’d rarely let go of my hand the entire time we’d been there. With anyone else, I would’ve found the extended contact excruciating. But instead, I wondered how I would ever let her go again.
As Lila walked down the aisle, my Bunny watched her with an expression I’d never seen before. A longing like she could almost see her dream come to life. I understood entirely how she’d felt, because as she watched Lila, I’d watched her.
I, too, could envision my Bunny in all white. I could see the gentle, subtle sparkle of the sunlight on her cheeks, and I was lost in the fantasy. I stared at her beside me, and I questioned how I’d ever deluded myself into believing I could be happy with anyone else.
When the vows were read, she’d leaned forward and pulled me with her. Her small hand squeezed mine so tightly that I couldn’t help but wince at her grip. She’d hardly seemed to notice, though. She almost seemed somewhere else entirely, and I saw her jaw and lips twitch as she half-mouthed words I so desperately wanted to hear.
I said nothing. I decided that it could wait, hoping that there would be a day where she’d said them directly to me. In front of an audience or alone, I wouldn’t mind.
Because I loved her. My god, did I love her. The world had finally started to make sense. Each poem of love, each story of an unfathomable loss; they all made sense when she looked at me.
Although we were both seated, I’d hoped she’d seen it when she turned to me before she’d started cheering for the newlyweds. I hoped that she saw the way I fell to my knees and prayed to each and every iteration of God that I could see her dressed in all white. That I could give her my name. That I could stand in front of everyone I’d ever loved and tell them that I’d finally attained happiness and I would never let it slip away again.
That day was perhaps the quietest I’d ever been. I could only guess that I had mistaken it all for a dream, and so I found no reason to disturb the world around me. I just followed her wherever she wanted to go. To the ends of the earth and beyond, I would follow her until she tired of me.
But, of course, the universe reminded me right then that there were some things she would have to do alone. Although this time it was pleasant, I was certain there would be worse. But this one… this one I could allow.
Because my Bunny seemed positively delighted as she nearly jumped from her seat and squeaked, “Oooh! Bouquet toss!”
“You should go,” I answered without waiting.
She turned to me with that same innocent sort of excitement. A fire lit inside of her, and I accepted the warmth it provided.
“Really? Why?” she snickered, “You want me to catch it?”
I laughed with her. I smiled even as I raised our hands to my lips and pressed a small kiss against her knuckles. I watched how it calmed the spark within her — not enough to suffocate, but enough for me to marvel at the flame from a comfortable distance.
“Of course I do,” I whispered. Then, before the moment passed us both by, I urged, “Now go.”
As soon as I’d said it, I missed her. Even before she left, I found myself squeezing her fingers in the hope that I’d have a second longer of her company.
But she was my hummingbird, and I knew I had to let her leave.
I watched her like I always did, smiling bigger each time she glanced over her shoulder to ensure that I hadn’t slipped away. As if I would ever dream of such a thing.
Even when the bride finally tossed her bouquet into the bounding crowd of eager romantics, I didn’t notice until it landed directly into the hands I had been holding. I saw it only as the background to her joy as she was immediately inundated with equally eager little girls who’d wanted to steal a couple extravagant petals.
I had no doubt that she would make sure none of them left empty handed. My heart ached with a love so confounding that it almost made me dizzy.
To see her like that, to see her so endlessly happy and emanating joy to strangers that never would’ve noticed her beyond what she could offer them. To see her offer each small, outstretched palm a flower.
When she finally looked up at me, though, her smile softened in response. It did not fall, it only changed in its ways. It was not excited nor proud, but serene in its glow. Even when her attention was pulled away, that tenderness remained in the space in between.
“She’s amazing,” a familiar voice said from beside me.
I turned to find Lila with a smile much the same as my Bunny. It was also like mine, which made sense when I’d realized we were both being rather shameless in our ogling.
I didn’t try to find shame, though. Instead, I just sighed as I replied, “God, do I know it.”
The gleam in her eyes only grew when she turned to get a better look at the lovesick fool beside her.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you this happy,” she told me.
“I don’t think I have, either,” I chuckled mostly to myself, “Sometimes I hardly recognize myself in the mirror.”
We both laughed then. We reflected on memories in the blink of an eye and then we let them go. We acknowledged freely and without regret that we had ended up exactly where we had been meant to. Together, as friends who’d finally found the happiness that we both recognized the other deserved.
I saw the words in her expression, but she offered them to me, anyway.
“I’m really happy for you, Spencer. I hope you know that you’ll always have friends in me and Parker.”
“Thanks, Lila.”
She could have left then, but she didn’t. She took another sip from her flute before she broke out in another bout of happy giggles.
Then, with a challenging seriousness, she whispered, “So, when you two get married, feel free to call me for venue recommendations.”
“Oh, she’d love that,” I answered without hesitation.
That time when she laughed, I swore I saw happiness sprouting in the form of tiny diamonds in the corner of her eyes. Like she’d seen some part of herself in my reaction that struck her to her core. She smiled, wide and knowing despite my confusion.
“What?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she assured me. But I could tell from her unwavering smile that it had been something.
And of course, Lila knew that I was an unrepentant idiot, so she took mercy on me and continued.
“You just… you didn’t find that hard to imagine at all, huh?”
I considered the question for approximately three seconds before I acknowledged its veracity. It hadn’t taken me that long to know, but I hadn’t wanted to appear as desperate as I was.
“Not even a little bit,” I told her.
She glanced back over at the girl who held her bouquet, now plenty of flowers less. She saw how my Bunny gave parts of herself to anyone who asked, and how she somehow never grew smaller. Instead, her mark proliferated until it filled the room with an unparalleled comfort.
“Ah, to be young and in love,” she whispered.
And I took the fullest pride in knowing that it was true, that I had fallen in love with someone who was able to love me in return.
I had touched the sun and retained wax wings. I stared into the face of my future as she frolicked among people that seemed nonexistent in comparison. As I’d done all day, I sat on the sidelines as I watched her blossom. When she’d finally joined me back at our table, I’d tried to be selfless and allow the others to enjoy her presence. She deserved the praise, and I was happy to serve as her audience.
That had been particularly true in that moment. Because my Bunny was sitting beside me, but she was not alone. Sat in her lap was a small child that had become mesmerized by her just like I had. Tiny hands reached out to her, and she was happy to hold them. With a tenderness that I knew all too well, she protected the vulnerability presented to her just like she had with me.
For the briefest moment, I lost myself in an indulgent fantasy. Very little about the vision before me changed because there was already so much that was perfect about it, about her. But in that world, the one that I’d longed for long before I met her, I could hold onto a tiny hand, too. I imagined a family that wasn’t broken. A heart that was no longer haphazard shards, but something soft. Scar tissue would be forgivable in the face of the purest, truest kind of love.
While I fantasized about a world in which she granted me all the things I’d never thought possible, I had lost awareness of everything else.
For instance, the fact that I’d been shamelessly staring at her for a bit too long.
“Remind you of home?” she asked as she brought the child against her chest.
I felt my heart stop, but I was somehow still able to whisper, “Yes.”
She didn’t understand, but I didn’t blame her.
“I bet Henry and Michael miss their favorite godfather,” she chuckled.
“I miss them, too. But that’s not what I meant.”
She hadn’t understood, and I longed to tell her, but it felt like something that should be whispered in private. Words murmured against flushed skin as I held her and offered her that safety that I’d never experienced before her.
I craved the ability to tell her then, That’s not my home.
My home is wherever you are.
And maybe it was cliche, but it was true. I had found a home in an innocent heart. I’d dipped sinful hands into something pure and somehow, neither of us were dirtied. Somehow, the crystalline water dripped from my fingertips the same as it had been. She had left, touched but pure, and I was the one who’d been changed.
I had changed for the better. She had remained, already perfect.
She looked at me in that moment and I was hit with an odd kind of clarity. Yet another realization that this was not a fantasy. She was there, smiling at me with universe-colored eyes, eyes that saw through me and were not afraid.
“Are you alright?” she asked.
Yes, I wanted to answer. Because it was true.
But to say no would be the truth, too.
So instead of getting into the complicated emotions raging through every inch of me, I simply answered, “What?”
My Bunny laughed and shook her head, like my confusion had been nothing more than absentmindedness. In a way, that had been true. After all, I had just spent an eternity crafting a narrative in which the child in her lap was ours. That she was mine, and I was allowed to have her.
But the longer my stunned silence continued, the more unnerved she became. If only she’d known what was actually on my mind, she might have laughed some more.
“You have that… contemplative look on your face. Is something bothering you? Do you want to leave?”
“No, everything is great.”
It had been true, too. But she was not so easily fooled by beautiful but convenient words.
“Then why are you looking at me like that?” she mumbled through a smirk that only grew wider when I chuckled back, “Nothing.”
My Bunny was too clever for her own good. She was perceptive, and over the past couple of months, she had learned my tells, whether she’d realized it or not.
She must have known, though. Because behind that chastity were mirrors. I could see the reflection of my desire in her eyes, and I tried to fight that intoxicating effect of her longing, if only for a moment.
Just long enough to say, “Actually, when her mom comes back, we should go.”
She took the request like an order, and perhaps she was more right to do so. Either way, that hunger in her eyes quickly turned to restlessness as she returned her attention to the child now half asleep against her chest.
“Yeah, sure!” she chirped. The jovial tone did nothing to hide her true feelings. I could’ve teased her for it, but there was something even more appealing about watching how she trembled.
The rabbit in my crosshairs could barely look at me without losing her breath all over again. She turned her attention back to the empty dessert plate in front of her.
“I got my cake and my bouquet. Everything I came here for,” she joked.
Funnily enough, I looked at her and thought much the same.
I had come for her, and soon I would have her, too.
I once likened myself to a flower. I saw myself as something simple and consumable, nothing but a collection of petals to be sacrificed to whoever went through the effort of finding me among untouched acres.
But as I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I saw something else. For possibly the first time, I saw myself the way that Spencer saw me. It was something subtle, something in the way that I stood comfortably in decadence without trying to make myself smaller.
I’d never believed that it was true that you had to love yourself before anyone else could ever love you. I had fallen in love with Spencer despite his self-hatred. And while my existence wasn’t quite so plagued with tragedy, he’d also chosen to love me despite my insecurity.
In fact, there was something to be said for the way he still treasured my inexperience. I had lost many petals since the first day he met me, but when he looked at me, it still felt like the first time. The first time that our fingers brushed, quiet and shy and witnessed only by the moonlight. The first time he held me, with soft but practiced hands that left their unique print on my soul. The first time that he kissed me breathless, and each time after that.
Spencer once likened me to a flower. I assumed he saw me as something simple and consumable. Something to be discarded once the last petal was torn from its sepal and the leaves were too wilted to withstand the wind.
But when I caressed the petals of the bouquet between my fingers, I finally understood what Spencer had meant.
He saw me as something soft; something fragile. Yet he still couldn’t stop himself from wanting me. Even if he’d known that the time would be fleeting, that my petals would soon return to the wind ever changed by his touch, he wanted me, nonetheless.
Maybe it was foolish for me to be flattered by such a possessive sort of lust, but I was. I craved the security of his hand resting against my throat. I wanted to feel his desire caress me like ivy chasing the sun. I wanted to be consumed by him until there was no part of me left untouched by his greed.
As I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw the way the lust had changed me. But even then, it was not enough. I wanted him to see it, too. I wanted the validation that was his lips pressed against my shoulder. Broken only by the name he’d chosen for me, muttered like a curse because he saw me as something worthy of blasphemy.
“Spencer?” I called.
Like always, he answered with a palpable longing, “Yes, Bunny?”
“Will you help me with my dress?”
Always astute, Spencer must’ve heard the hunger in my tone. Within seconds, he had joined me in front of the mirror.
“Of course,” he whispered from behind me.
The warmth of his breath lingered and provided a stark contrast to the chill of tile against my bare feet. Dutiful fingers made quick work of the zipper, and for a moment I closed my eyes to remember the way he’d done the opposite on Hallow’s Eve. I thought back to that moment. I thought about how everything had changed, yet it felt exactly the same.
He kissed me like he had the first night he lost himself in me. First, he was gentle as he began kissing the skin he exposed. Inch by inch, he cherished every part of me as he unveiled it. He tried to remain chaste, but once the dress fell to my hips, his hands found somewhere else to be.
In his excitement, he fumbled with the bra strap until that fell, too. Goosebumps rippled over my skin, but I didn’t remain exposed for long. Just as I gasped at the sensation, his hands cupped my breasts and pulled me back. He held me tightly against him while at the same time forcing my hips forward.
The marble countertop was so cold compared to his hands that I couldn’t stop myself from gasping again. Spencer heard the sound and became even more ravenous. He sunk his teeth into soft skin at the base of my neck, and I swore I felt him smile when I moaned.
“Spencer…”
“What is it, Bunny?” he asked, still wearing a wicked smile. He ran his tongue over skin now shaped in his honor, and then he continued with gentler kisses once more.
I wasn’t fooled by the reprieve, however. I knew that in a few minutes, or less, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from tearing the rest of the fabric barriers away and taking me with that animalistic ferocity.
And I wanted nothing more than that. I could feel my legs shaking even before he started to tuck a hand under the fabric still pooled at my waist. But I could also see the imprints he left on me. I could see the way he commanded my body so easily, and I wasn’t sure that I would survive if I didn’t try to stop him now.
“Shouldn’t we go lay down?” I asked.
I glanced up at his reflection in the mirror only to find him already staring back at me. He maintained that eye contact as he grabbed a fistful of styled hair and kept me steady.
Then, he growled directly into my ear, “No.”
My stomach tensed, and he felt it. That responsiveness only made him more eager to slip into the delicate lace of my underwear. I could hardly breathe, but I tried to maintain my composure. I didn’t want to look too pathetic as I begged him because I knew that would only excite him more.
Yet I stuttered when I whined, “I-I’m embarrassed.”
“Why?” he asked, but he didn’t wait for my answer. Instead, he insisted, “You look so beautiful when you’re like this.Watch.”
“Wait, I—I’m…” I tried.
He would have let me win, too, if I hadn’t stopped the moment he begged, “Let me have you right here. Just like this.”
Spencer loosened his grip on my hair and resorted back to treating me like dried petals. He became gentle so quickly that it almost felt like he was someone else entirely. His eyes fell away from the mirror, instead glancing down to watch as his free hand ran over my body. Almost as if he were trying to convince himself that I was really there in his arms.
When he looked back up, he found that same disbelief in our circumstances mirrored in my eyes.
Then, with a solemn smile, he croaked, “I want you to see what I see.”
And although I was certain I would never be able to accomplish such a feat, I trusted him enough to try.
As soon as he felt the resistance; the very second that he saw the slight nod of my head, he continued where he left off. His hand that was on my stomach dropped and tugged the fabric down until I was left almost bare.
I heard the way the breath hitched in his throat when he revealed the rest of me. I could feel his hunger growing in the way his body came closer still. There was something comforting in the way he held my trembling body.
I felt so safe in his arms that I’d almost forgotten what I’d managed to keep hidden from him the whole day.
But Spencer noticed it. How could he not? Any piece of fabric that kept him from me would be noticed — especially one as romantic as a garter.
Once again, his demeanor changed. That time, I kept my eyes on the mirror. I wanted to see the way his lips shook the same as his hands. I wanted to see him be overcome with emotions just like he had earlier at the ceremony.
But I would be foolish to assume that the sentimentality would last longer than it took him to release my hair. The very second that he hooked his finger around the garter, that tantalizing darkness tickled my ear.
“Oh? What’s this?”
“A-A surprise…” I whispered. The sound of the words was drowned out by the sound of the fabric snapping against my thigh. The subtle sting made me jump, which only encouraged him to move quickly to return to his previous ministrations.
The excitement was rising exponentially when he dropped to his knees behind me. Although I missed being able to see him, he made sure I could still feel him. Large, warm hands roamed over the expanse of my thighs before grabbing hold of the lace band of my underwear.
I closed my eyes despite his wish for me to watch my own undoing. I closed my eyes because it made his touch even more vivid. I searched for the feeling of rough scar tissue and a shiver ran down my spine. Seconds later, soft lips began to lay kisses down goosebump riddled skin.
“God, I hope you never get used to the way I touch you,” he sighed. He rested stubbled cheeks against smooth skin and stayed there until the fabric was low enough that he could help me step out of it. He moved the pile of expensive clothing to the side and let his fingers run up my body as he stood.
I could barely feel him, but it was enough. Enough for me to sway closer to him just in time for him to catch me. He always did.
As I fell back into his arms, I opened my eyes again to realize how poetic it all seemed. For me to be bare before him while he remained almost completely clothed. He held me, wracked with shivers from the cold that only he could protect me from.
His arms wrapped around me, possessive and kind at the same time.
“I want it to feel like this forever,” he whispered.
Somehow, I gathered enough breath to return, “Me too.”
He tore one hand away from me but kept the other pressed hard against my lower stomach to keep me from the cold of the marble. He couldn’t move fast enough to remove the buckles and buttons and free himself from the suit trousers. Once he had, though, his arm dropped until he cupped my heat in one strong hand.
His fingers slid easily between slick folds. I choked on a pleasured sob at the same time my hands gripped the edge of the counter. Spencer helped keep me steady by pressing himself harder against me. He helped lift me onto the tips of my toes until he could slide himself between my legs. He didn’t enter me yet, though. He teased me with what I wanted while his practiced fingers expertly worked to bring me to near-tears.
I clenched my eyes shut to stop the tears from gathering, but I was met with a quick and firm demand.
“Look at me.”
I couldn’t at first. I clenched my eyes tighter and the rest of my body followed suit. It wasn’t until he buried his fingers to the knuckle inside of me that I opened my eyes and gasped.
“Please!” I sobbed.
“I’ll do what you want when you do what I say.”
For all the urgency in his voice, though, Spencer showed me mercy. He waited patiently for me to take in a deep breath. He continued to work against the tension between my legs until I was ready. Until I opened my eyes to find him looking at me with enough love that I thought my own heart might burst.
“Good girl,” he said with a slight curve to his lips. But before I could fully bask in his praise, he issued another order that would prove much harder to complete.
“Now look at yourself.”
To my credit, I did follow the instruction. I glanced at myself before my eyes drifted back to him. I tried so hard to keep them on me longer, but I was drawn to him like a sunflower to the stars. Even when his fingers stilled inside of me, even when he removed them entirely, I couldn’t help but want to watch the frustration in his face.
Because he was so beautiful. Like a chiseled visage of the gods, his angles were strong and sharp enough that I could see the way his clenched jaw twitched.
I was so busy admiring the masterful, celestial craftsmanship of him that I’d failed to notice his hand until his fingers were pressed against my lips. They still parted for him, nonetheless. Even when he held them down against my tongue, filling my mouth with the heady taste of myself, he was careful to treat me like something fragile.
He continued sinking into my mouth until he felt me choke on the intrusion. Only then did he grip harder and force my face forward.
And although it was hard, I forced myself to look at myself instead of him.
I would do anything to hear his praise. To feel his body in mine, to experience his sinful indulgence. I wanted to feel him so deeply that I could never rid myself of the memory.
“I want every time to feel just like the first,” he rumbled into my ear. He hid his face even from my periphery, holding himself as close as he could while he lined up against my entrance.
Through hooded eyes, I watched the way my body relaxed when it felt the head of his cock press against me. My heavy breath grew quicker despite his fingers obscuring its path. I could feel him watching me, ensuring that I remained obedient even when he started to give me what I wanted more than anything.
I kept my eyes open even when they burned. Because the rest of me burned, too. I allowed myself to be embraced by his desire, by the fiery waters of the River Phlegethon carrying me down to Tartarus.
Spencer tried so hard to hide his own pleasure in my undoing, no matter how badly I wanted to hear it. His whimpers were quiet, and he tried to drown them out with rolling moans. But I felt the way his hands also shook when he finally let go of himself. I could hear the relief in his breath when he finally entered me fully in one swift motion.
“Let me love you forever,” he muttered under his breath. Although it was against my cheek, I still got the feeling he hadn’t wanted me to hear it. Perhaps that was why the next time he whispered, he made certain I wouldn’t understand the words.
“Всё чего я хочу чтобы ты стала моей женой (All I want is for you to be my wife).”
But I wished that I could. Because they were uttered with such longing that it made me whimper. I didn’t try to shy away from it or hide it. I boasted my vulnerability with my head thrown back against his shoulder.
Spencer dragged his fingers out of my mouth and chose to help support my hips, instead. The warmth from my mouth still felt cold compared to his palm. But any chill was quickly forgotten when he began to move inside of me.
He started slow and gentle, easing his way in and out to ensure that I was ready to take all of him. With each subtle movement, I felt closer to him. Even though he didn’t speak, I felt his soul reaching out to mine each time he kissed my cheek. Each time he reached my innermost point and stuttered, not yet ready to leave.
“Say it,” I blurted out before I’d even processed the thought.
He didn’t answer with words. He only drove into me harder and released a shaky breath.
I could feel him holding back. I saw him standing at the open gates of my rib cage, so certain that he wasn’t welcome, no matter how hard I tugged on the red string keeping us together.
But I wanted to hear the words he was still too afraid to tell me. I needed that vulnerability in order to protect the heart beneath it.
“Please, Spencer,” I pleaded. Then, without prompting, my lips moved and I keened, “I love you.”
Immediately, he answered. With words ground between a clenched jaw, he fought his own defenses to share that blasphemous thought he’d tried to shield me from.
“I said I want you to be my wife.”
Any reply caught in my throat. But the silence was not anything close to resembling rejection. Still, Spencer refused to look at me in the mirror. He buried his face in my hair once more, resorting to brutality before softness.
Even then, he remained delicate. He held me desperately, with teeth and claws, he refused to let me slip from his grasp.
“I want you,” he said with a trembling breath. Once the words started, he couldn’t stop them any longer. His hips increased force and speed with his voice that grew darker as he continued, “I want to see your legs tremble when you finally walk down that aisle. I want to feel you fall apart when I take you at the first possible opportunity. I want to have you, to never stop having you.”
When I started to moan, he spoke louder to make sure that I heard him. He pulled me back against him with each upstroke. I could hardly breathe through the onslaught of unadulterated pleasure. I tried to keep track of all the places he touched me, but I was lost among the flames.
I got the feeling he was, too. Because the next words he said were different from the rest. His voice was still unsteady, and the lust was damn near palpable.
But I felt the way his sanity itself wavered when he growled, “It feels impossible to wait for what I want to do to you.”
“What?” I urged him. I tried to keep my eyes because all I could feel was what I saw in the mirror.
His hand, running down my arm and lifting my hand off the counter. I held onto him for dear life, watching my body ripple each time that it was thrown against the marble. I let myself shake, I allowed myself the freedom of trusting him not to let me fall.
“You know,” he said, clearly and cryptically. If I hadn’t known already, he made it clear to me moments later.
With my hand in his, he pressed them hard against my lower stomach. He held it there, trembling from the pressure he exerted on both sides of my body until I felt it. Until I felt him inside of me — claiming this body and caring for it the only way he knew how, with wretched, depraved desire.
“You knowwhat I want,” he said, like a beg.
“Oh, God. I-I can feel…” I trailed off, my words replaced with a stream of whines and whimpers that drained the reserves of my lungs.
Spencer continued, nonetheless, unbothered by my attempts because he hadn’t quite finished pouring his heart out to me just yet. His hips also continued, driving into me with enough force that I could feel how my body made space for him. I could feel him against our joined hands, and I held him the only way I could.
“You have no idea the hold you have on me. You don’t understand,” he cried before burying his teeth against my shoulder. He released it moments later when he heard how I yelped in pain, but that violence turned inward, instead. His voice shredded his vocal cords as he tried to contain the longing in each word.
“I want you,” he said, “I want to ruinyou. I want everyone who looks at you to know. I need them to know you’re mine.”
“I’m yours,” I returned without hesitation.
But he still drove into me harder. Teeth and claws now ruthless in their insistence, Spencer bore down on me with his fullest strength like he could leave the word permanent on my skin and soul.
Mine, he said. Mine.
“Spencer, I’m…”
I could feel myself slipping into the abyss. I called out to him, praying that he would join me in that otherworld where we could be without fear. When he didn’t answer, I recalled his earlier instruction and I looked up at myself in the mirror.
In my periphery, I saw how it made him smile.
“Good girl. Beg me to come inside of you,” he teased first, then ordered, “Beg me.”
“Please,” I obeyed, “Please, Spencer, please!”
I couldn’t be sure, but it felt like he’d heard the meaning behind the pleading. The way that I had screamed with all my heart, I am already yours.
I have always been yours.
Although it had been his intention to break me to pieces betwixt his fingers, it was Spencer who fell apart first. Clinging to me like soaked petals, his fingers slipped on skin slick with sweat. He forced himself as deeply into me as he could, and he made sure that he never lost sight of the softness.
“I love you,” he whimpered as he came. As the warmth blossomed and spread within me, I heard him continue the words like a prayer. “I love you so much, Bunny.”
Even when he was blubbering and out of breath, he couldn’t stop himself from mumbling, “I love you”, until I answered, “I love you, too.”
We stayed there in the silence. We stayed there, holding each other although our limbs were all shaking. Spencer’s hips continued to rock despite our muscles going limp.
“You feel like home,” he said under his breath. Stubbornly continuing to move, holding me against him when he was afraid that we might slip apart from the exhaustion. Then, he clarified with the answer he’d meant to give me earlier, “You are my home.”
I could have returned the sentiment, but I knew that it wouldn’t be the same. Instead, I chose to offer him the greatest reassurance I could.
“I love you,” I said.
Coming to a stop, Spencer hugged me tightly. I looked at him in the mirror and watched as tears pooled in his eyes. That time, he didn’t shy away. He stared at himself, too, too afraid to look at me as a single tear slid down his cheek and landed on my shoulder.
“Say it again,” he whispered.
“I love you, Spencer.”
And I hoped to God that he understood that it meant, I am yours. Welcome home.
—————————————————
That night, I dreamed of the morning. I dreamed of waking with the world in my arms. I felt her stir awake and I held her tighter until it was time to let her go.
I smiled as my Bunny stayed near me, with kisses like fluttering hummingbird wings. I could hear my own laughter, a foreign yet exciting sound. It echoed across open valleys still painted peach, chasing her as she danced among wildflowers that would forever pale in comparison to her. The rising sun, like myself, was hypnotized by her purity. We followed after her and I watched as flowing white fabric chased her all the same.
As the distance grew, as her laughter grew fainter, I maintained the space between us until she felt worlds away. I did everything I could to keep her from danger — from the shadows, from me — to make sure that she remained, unharmed and unhurried.
But I was so distracted by the beauty among the despair. I was so captivated by the freedom and innocence in every small leap from rabbit’s feet that I didn’t realize the error of my ways.
Not until it was too late; until she stumbled upon the gates of Hades, my home, and the place she wasn’t meant to be.
Had I led her there? Was this the error of Hades told through yet another iteration of the same tired tale?
No, I thought. It couldn’t be. Because Persephone had something resembling a happy ending. But when the gods turned to me, there was no allowance for mercy.
I tried to call out to her, to warn her that she was treading too close to things that she should never see. But my throat felt like it was filled with smoke. And when I tried to run, the weight of my own miscalculations felt crippling. All at once, I became plagued with the fears I’d tried so hard to stymy.
The denial caught up to me and hit me like a bullet to the heart. At the very same time, I heard it, the sound of death and destruction ringing through what should have been her meadows. I heard the sound I’d heard a million times before.
Defilement among the asphodels, I would recognize it anywhere.
But when the gunshot echoed and I remained standing, I knew that it wasn’t right.
With shackles around my ankles, I crawled through the cavern of Tenarus. I was not fueled by love, but a pure and unending terror. Because in my heart, I knew. I knew what I would find when my eyes spotted white among the shadows.
I should have met my end then, but the sight was too gruesome for even my own mind, filled with the most despicable monsters and myself. Some God must have shown mercy on my soul and permitted me the respite of not seeing my Bunny the way that she ought to have been.
When I came upon her, it was not the body of the woman I’d come to love. It was a mere rabbit, small and helpless and so eternally pure. With a puddle of red bursting from its ribcage, the iron liquid slowly crept over each inch of white fur and replaced it with something darker.
I knew then what I’d always known. That I would be a fool to think that I was anything more than the King of the Damned. What a fool I had been to think that I was the one who would be punished for my own sin. To hurt me would be too easy, too simple, too rightfully earned.
But she was still worth something. To hurt her would be cruel. It would be exactly what I deserved.
At first, I only watched in horror as the embodiment of innocence began to disappear in front of me. But then I reached forward, dirtying my hands in the consequences of men like me. I clutched tainted fur tightly against my chest and I tried to convince myself that it hadn’t been my fault.
But how could it not be?
The rabbit was dead, and I remained.
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Summary: Reader is tired of Spencer purposefully pushing their buttons and demands an explanation.
Request: Reader and Reid have a disagreement about the pronunciation of “Appalachian.“ He purposely says it wrong because he likes to get them flustered and he’s afraid to tell them he likes them.
Couple: Spencer Reid/GN!Reader
Category: Fluff
Content Warning: None!
Word Count: 2.2k
MASTERLIST
Spencer Reid was a genius. It was an objective truth – a fact of life that I’d come to terms with on my first day at the bureau. For the most part, it was pointless to try to argue with him. You would lose, and probably be humiliated by just how well versed he was in whatever you were talking about.
Summary: Lila and Bunny meet, and Bunny confronts Spencer.
A/N: We're back, baby! My updates still won't be weekly, but I promise I'm still working away over here! Thank you everyone for your patience. I hope you enjoy!
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+)
Content Warning: Jealousy, arguing, some yelling, fear of sexual inadequacy, unprotected sex
Word Count: 11.8k
MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist
—————————————————
“Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned, nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned.”
William Congreve had no idea how bastardized his words would become when he wrote The Mourning Bride. The cautionary Buddhist tale about stepping back from one’s rage had been turned into a justification for women to seek revenge — the same as the jilted woman turned fire serpent whose favorite pastime was boiling men alive in a bell.
Bunny’s silence felt something like that.
That wasn’t to say that I wasn’t deserving of her fury. I wasn’t quite clueless enough that I couldn’t recognize the dreadful situation I’d forced her into. She had been forced to face what society had deemed the elite, all while knowing that her idiot boyfriend had withheld vital information from her until it was too late for her to bolt.
No one could be expected to keep it together in that situation. But, like the impossible thing that she was, she seemed perfectly content among the crowd of starlets. Of course, they were equally enthralled by her. I wondered if it was one of those strange social sixth senses that I always lacked, or if they just recognized her brilliance the same as I had.
Either way, I knew it couldn’t last. The beautiful little birdling fluttering about would tire from the invisible heavy winds, and I suspected that it’d be harder than normal to convince her to perch herself on my hands to rest.
I didn’t blame her. The pain she felt rang true in my chest, despite how loudly she laughed or how sweetly she smiled.
Perhaps it was a mistake to interrupt her convincing act. Maybe I should’ve left her to pretend that nothing odd had happened, and that we were as happily together as we’d ever been before I ruined everything.
It was probably a mistake. But I’d been making a lot of those lately, so what was one more?
As I approached her, I watched her body language shift from poised to precarious. I watched as her smile began to falter and her hands clenched tighter to glass. Despite those signs, though, she was quick to follow me when my hand pressed against the small of her back.
She hadn’t hesitated for even a second. I didn’t deserve that kind of trust.
Even when I’d backed her into a proverbial corner of an otherwise empty room, she maintained the forced, crooked smile. Her cheeks were trembling from the weight of it, and even if it had been against my best judgment, I reached out to hold her.
To my surprise, she didn’t move away. She stayed perfectly still except for lowering her eyelids and releasing a shaky breath. I ghosted my thumbs over cheeks painted with pearlescent powder and I tried to find some small part of me that deserved to even look at her.
“Are you okay?” I asked once I finally worked up the courage.
“I’m fine.”
That was all she said. It was a lie, but I wasn’t going to provoke her any further. Not when she had put so much effort into keeping her composure for me.
“I promise you that we can leave right now if you want,” I offered while pulling her closer. I sought out any sign of acceptance or rejection and I swore to her, “I will completely understand.”
“I said I’m fine, okay?” she stated more firmly. Still a lie, but a more convincing one.
I knew that I was making it harder, but I was selfish and stupid. I needed her to hear the truth. If only for my own validation, I needed to see and exploit that trust so I could make it through the rest of the night without hating myself as much as I did in that moment.
“I’m so sorry, Bunny,” I whispered, watching how each syllable made her lips quiver harder. “This was unfair for you on so many levels and you deserve better.”
That time when she let out a breath, she had to pause to bite down on her tongue. Her eyes opened again, now rimmed with red and looking anywhere but at me.
“I know, Spencer. It’s fine.”
It wasn’t a lie that time.
“We can talk later, okay? I’ll explain everything,” I offered, but she shook her head no.
“It was a long time ago, right?” she asked.
I nodded in response, but there was something about the way her lip twitched that told me she hadn’t believed my reply. She shrugged, nonetheless. Still, her shoulders stuck by her ears for a second longer before she let them fall. She wrapped her arms around herself and soothed herself in a way I wished I could.
“I want you to have fun with your friends,” she concluded. Her distant, averted stare told me that another offer of kindness would only make it worse.
But I was selfish and stupid. I couldn’t bear the sight of her trembling in her own arms, so I wrapped my arms around her, too. I pulled her close and I waited until her body started to relax. As she remembered that my touch had never meant to hurt her, she eventually settled back into a relative calm.
It was at that moment I placed a gentle kiss atop her head. My lips lingered, my head swimming with the memories associated with her perfume. I held her closer and prayed that she would feel them the same.
“You are all I will ever need. But thank you, Bunny,” I offered in place of an objection. “I should’ve told you. I just… I wanted them to meet you. I was being selfish.”
And stupid, but I didn’t want to make it about me any more than I already had.
At first, I took her firm hands pressing against my chest to be a rejection of the worst kind. But when she looked up at me again, there were no more signs of tears. There was just her smile, less forced but still saturnine, as she finally let her arms fall.
“Well, they won’t meet me if I stay over here, right?” she laughed. The sound felt like fire licking at my skin. I wanted to hear it longer, to bask in its radiance, but the sound was short lived.
Instead, she sighed one last time and admitted, “We can talk later. I’d… rather not think about it here.”
She turned to leave, with her back to me and her hands still shaking. I wasn’t ready to let her go just yet, so, I grabbed hold of her hand.
She stopped in her tracks, but she didn’t turn around.
Not until I begged, “Look at me, Bunny.”
And that beautiful little birdling had no qualms about it. She held her head high and her hand remained limp in my hold, but she looked at me.
“You are the only one for me. Do you believe me?” I asked.
That time, it was her who nodded.
She had gone back to lying. I tried to let myself be okay with that for now. But I failed and tried to convince her again.
“The past doesn’t matter. I don’t care about my first. Only my last. And that’s you.”
Perhaps it was instinct, pressure, or coincidence that made her small hand squeeze mine. Maybe it was all in my head — wishful thinking that she would forgive me so easily. But whatever it was, it brought a smile to my face that she’d quickly reflected.
Once again adorned with the false face, the eyes on the backs of Caligo moths, my Bunny opened the door and flashed me a familiar gesture.
With two bouncing fingers, she laughed, “Okay, let’s hop along.”
Just like that, with all the tenderness and love that I knew her to be capable of, she assured me that she would be fine with or without me, always. And she demanded that I be alright with either.
And I tried. I tried as hard as I could, but my god, did I prefer the former.
—————————————————
Spencer Reid was not the first man to liken me to an animal. Ever since I was a child, I’d heard it all. Bunnies, birds, and bugs alike. It was rare for someone to say I’d reminded them of anything that was not covered with fluffy fur or feathers.
While I enjoyed the metaphors and the admittedly adorable aesthetic, I had grown tired of the trembling. The people-pleasing fawn that Spencer found so charming wasn’t due to a moral failure by any means. I actually really liked the softer, patient parts of myself. I didn’t want to become a different person entirely. I just needed… to calibrate.
As I stood on the sidelines of a decadent celebration, I promised myself that I would start working on separating myself from woodland creatures.
I was exhausted, and the night had just begun. Of course, it hadn’t helped that Spencer had taken me into another room and made all sorts of pretty promises. The kind that sounded beautiful but tied my stomach into knots. The kind that made the anger turn to a lump in my throat because my heart hadn’t wanted him to hurt like I did.
Realistically, I knew he was already hurt. I saw the genuineness in his eyes, and I felt his remorse the same as I always did. But while my heart had forgiven him for only being human, my head was still reeling from the inopportune confession on Lila’s doorstep.
I never thought of myself as the jealous type. Or at least, I hadn’t wanted to. I wanted to have left it behind on the car ride to the conference, where Spencer assured me that no matter what happened in his past, his feelings for me were the same.
But in that moment, I realized something that I hadn’t wanted to notice back then.
‘Do you think the human heart is incapable of loving more than one thing?’ he’d asked. And when I had told him no, of course it wasn’t, Spencer had weaved a beautiful, confusing set of implications.
‘If you really believe that, then why do you think that the potential of me having loved anyone before I met you, somehow cheapens what I feel for you?’
But what did he feel for me? He had made a point of being evasive, and being the lovesick, hopeless fool that I was, I didn’t want to question it. I tried not to think too hard about it. Spencer had always assumed that I knew what he felt. It didn’t mean anything.
Everything was going to be fine. I just had to get through this party, and then I could curl up with him in bed and allow him to ramble until the words stopped making sense. I would turn back into the fawn that he’d fallen in love with, and I would be happy again.
Everything was going to be just fine. I was going to make it.
And then Lila appeared.
“So… Spencer, huh?”
For a solid ten seconds, I just stared at her, hoping that the rhetorical question hadn’t been directed at me. A less admirable part of me had even hoped she would just feel so uncomfortable she would leave.
But when she turned and met my eyes, I saw nothing hostile or worthy of my rage. She was a woman just like me, although much more impeccably dressed.
“Yeah, he’s…” I started, but my throat went dry the second we both glanced at him across the room.
She looked away first. I followed her lead the best I could.
“He’s… something, yeah?” Lila laughed.
I was so caught off-guard by the brilliance that was her smile that I had forgotten I was supposed to dislike her. So I laughed, too. I laughed and I took the chance to remind myself that I had done this once before already. I thought of another blonde woman with a rare but beautiful smile. I could see Max then, rolling her eyes to hide the fondness she felt for a man she used to love. I had done this before already with her, and everything had worked out just fine.
But this time it’d felt so different. I hated myself for feeling that way because I knew it was due in part to my own internalized shame for not having been his first. The jealousy I held for her was so much heavier and all-encompassing than Max, and I hated that Lila clearly saw it in the way I answered her with a curt, grumbled reply.
“Yeah, that’s one word for it.”
She hummed in the silence that followed. She brought a chilled champagne glass to her lively pink cheeks and sighed at the contrast. If she’d seen me staring from my peripherals, she said nothing. Lila just scanned the room until she fell naturally on him again. Like before, it took her almost no time to look away.
Back to me, the odd, much younger nobody standing at her side.
“I have to admit, I never imagined him being with someone younger,” she said like it was some kind of scandal. But when she saw how it made me bristle with fear, she placed a gentle hand on my forearm.
I looked down at the contact that felt like silk on sandpaper.
“But it makes sense,” she assured me. She called my attention back to her and she beamed, “He seems so… happy.”
Her voice took on a dreamy quality that made me feel almost invisible. There was an acknowledgement, a closure in the softness of that moment. As she looked at my boyfriend — who had managed to find someone willing to listen to a rant about god knows what — I saw her smile in so many different ways.
There was nothing combative or intimidating in the way she acted, but it scared me, nonetheless. Like if Spencer had looked over and seen the way she watched him, he might realize how much I paled in comparison to her.
So, I stole her attention away from him and tried not to let myself stutter.
“Yeah… I hope he’s happy, anyway!” I nearly shouted with an equally unsettling, self-defeated chuckle.
But she took the awkwardness in stride, and returned and equally enthused, “He is! I can tell he’s absolutely head over heels for you.”
If it had ended there, it might’ve been okay. She couldn’t be blamed for finding something poetic about a beautiful man from an obviously fond memory. I didn’t blame her, and in fact I was grateful that someone had felt something for Spencer Reid and walked away without scars.
But that fondness was so strong, so intoxicating that I found it hard to believe it had been a lifetime ago. I found it hard to believe someone could feel so deeply and then... Let it go.
I could never imagine letting him go.
“He’s changed a lot,” she sighed, “but those big ol’ puppy dog eyes sure didn’t.”
Then, the unbelievable happened. My walls came crashing down, overcome by the insecurity and anxiety that I’d tried to repress. I took that one fond look, that breathtaking nostalgia, and I let my curiosity get the best of me.
“Did… Did you…?”
The words stumbled off my tongue before I could even think about what I was asking. I had no end to the question, no words left to ask. There were too many, all inappropriate and none that I’d actually wanted the answer to.
Did you love him? Did you even want to leave him? Did you hate yourself for letting him go? Did you know if he loved you? Had he told you, the way he had never told me?
Thankfully, none of that came out. Instead, it was just a drawn-out squeak until that kind, unfairly stunning woman saved me once more.
“Hm? Oh, we didn’t date or anything,” she dismissed with a nonchalant wave of her hand. “No, we only saw each other a couple times. He was… very shy. Couldn’t make a move to save his life.”
Wait… what?
My mind summoned every image of him I could. Every time that he’d held me and assured me that it would be okay. I scoured through memories looking for anything that I could convince myself resembled what she spoke of.
Shy? I repeated as I pictured the man who slammed me against a door the first time that he’d kissed me. I could feel the world rocking the same as his car in the parking lot of a gun range. I heard his voice in my ear, low and gruff as he went into explicit detail about the ways he wanted to defile me until there was nothing left.
Even when I thought of him at his softest, I only saw a leader with a gentle fist. The kind that would guide my trembling hand.
Patient, loving, and tender, perhaps. But shy? That was not the Spencer Reid I knew.
Lila was clueless to the existential crisis she’d just caused. She didn’t realize that anything she’d said was shocking because, to her, he was the same Spencer she had known. One that I’d never met.
“I think we both realized we just weren’t right for one another. He deserved someone wonderful, who looks at him like...”
She contemplated the thought for a minute, trying to come up with the answer I desperately needed to hear. The one she’d settled on, however, was very underwhelming.
“Well, like you do!”
Whatever the hell that meant.
“Gosh. You’re a lot to live up to,” I laughed to cover the sound of oncoming tears. I tried to bury the sudden, newfound insecurity that I had somehow suffocated some part of him. “I hope I’m… good enough.”
There was a brief, albeit stunned silence. Lila turned to me with a quirked brow that quickly furrowed. Her eyes scanned my body with a scrutiny that made my skin crawl, but only made her laugh.
“Girl… have you looked in a mirror lately? Or possibly ever?” she sputtered with incredulity. She was so sure in her conclusion that even when I wished for sarcasm, there was none to be found when she insisted, “You don’t have a single thing to worry about. Especially not with him.”
That time, she didn’t even look at the man. She just nodded her head in his general direction. Her eyes stayed on me, growing familiar and fond the same way she had looked at him.
And I realized in that moment that I had been a fool for thinking that anything about her was molded by her experiences with him. Lila was not overly fond of Spencer because she was in love with him. She was just a woman who saw the best in people and wanted to help them see it, too.
But there was still something gnawing on my heart, something dark and unsure when I whispered, “Yeah. I guess you’re probably right. Thanks.”
She’d seen it the same as I had, although she couldn’t understand what was holding me back. So, she did the only thing she could think to do and said exactly what she’d seen since I appeared on her doorstep.
“Seriously,” she assured me, “He’s totally in love with you. Promise.”
Butterflies swarmed in my chest, filling my lungs that threatened to choke me on the overwhelming nature of it all.
Love is what she’d seen when she looked at us. But as much as I’d wanted to believe it, I couldn’t help but get the sinking feeling that her saying it might be the only chance I had to hear it anytime soon.
Don’t think too hard.
The age-old adage always sounded deceptively easy. As if it was possible to just flip the switch in my brain that told me that everything I loved was falling to pieces in my hands. But there was no forgetting, no running away from gut-wrenching fear of inadequacy through sheer force of will.
If I was going to stop thinking too hard, I had to do something to distract myself from the tension that had formed in every muscle.
Spencer hadn’t said much on the way back to the hotel. I think he’d known that speaking too soon would unleash the hellish contents of Pandora’s box, and the car was much too small to hold them all in. A hotel room would be better.
But the closer we got to the destination, the more I realized that I didn’t really want to talk to him about it at all. I didn’t want to hear his explanations because they would make me think again. Too hard.
He helped me out of the car and refused to let my hand go. He would’ve if I’d wanted him to, but I hadn’t. The truth was that his touch had always been the only thing that could soothe the anxiety. The warmth and comfort spread from interlocked fingers like wildfire.
That was all it took. Something so simple as frozen hands clinging so tightly that our bones rattled together.
In a brave and potentially stupid move, I released his hand so I could lock my arms around his instead. The sentiment caught his attention like a blaring siren of emergency responders - a sign of hope in bleak, iron scented darkness.
Spencer looked down at me the same second the automatic doors welcomed us into the lobby. The light draped over us and hung above him like a halo to tired, dry eyes.
He smiled, but I was still too busy wondering what he saw when he looked at me.
“Are you alright, Bunny?” he asked.
A subtle reminder for me to smile. I did.
“I’m cold,” I answered to justify the closeness in a way I’d never felt the need to do before.
The man beside me was also struggling to navigate unusually tumultuous waters. Things were somehow easier when he had been the one falling apart. It felt wrong to be jealous, though, considering his skill came from practice.
But Spencer Reid was nothing if not a quick learner. Sensing my discomfort, he pulled me closer and assured me, “We’re almost there. I’ll warm you up in no time at all.”
Then, realizing how provocative that had sounded when it clearly hadn’t been his intention, Spencer continued, “With blankets… and pillows. And every other fluffy thing in the immediate vicinity.”
I laughed. Not an empty sound, but still tired. We both pretended like he wasn’t disappointed. He cleared his throat at the same time the elevator announced its arrival. The mechanical whirring drowned out my thoughts for just a few seconds. Long enough for me to look up at my boyfriend without him noticing.
The sight shook me to my core. Regret was painted in every aspect of his expression. His eyes, half lidded, seemed somewhere else entirely. It reminded me so much of that rainy day in front of the prison that I could almost hear the ruckus on an old roof. His lips were flattened in a line that trembled from the pressure he was under. I lingered on them and willed them to speak happy, beautiful words again. But he remained as he was.
We were both thinking too hard, I thought.
I wanted it to stop.
My hands sought him out without instruction. Unwinding from his side, they were quick to find their place on the edges of a tense jaw. I didn’t give him any time to think about what was happening before I pulled him forward and closed the remaining gap between tired, trembling lips.
I kissed him — hard. Hard enough that our teeth pinched skin with nowhere left to go. I poured my soul into him without worry about whether I could ever get it back. I kissed him because I wanted to remind him the way it felt when we came together. I wanted him to remember all the times he’d promised me forever, lest he find some reason to doubt it.
Spencer didn’t move. He stayed exactly where he was, still shaking from the excitement and shock of it all. But then the spell over him broke and finally allowed him to do what we did best. His arms wrapped around me, and his mouth breathed life into me despite our mutual breathlessness. His hands were clumsy but always perfectly placed, forever touching some rare, hidden part of my soul, and leaving goosebumps like sprouts in his wake.
For one pure, simple moment, we returned to what we once were. Spencer would call it the innocent and the damned, but he would never be a wicked thing to me.
The knot in my stomach returned the second the thought had occurred to me. Because Spencer was not damned. He deserved the softness, the freedom and the patience that he provided me. That catharsis, that relief found in a lover’s arms.
I could no longer convince myself that our dynamic was as it was because he’d wanted it to be that way. Albeit unwittingly, Lila had forever robbed me of the feeling that Spencer and I had been made for each other.
Because I couldn’t be made for someone like him. He was someone who deserved to not be in charge for once, and no matter how hard my fingers wrapped around mousy brown curls, I couldn’t turn them to fists. I couldn’t bring myself to command him to do anything other than rest.
Was it selfish of me to not want to wield the power? Was I nothing but another pebble atop Atlas’s back? Another mask he was forced to wear? Another burden to bear?
Even then, with sadness bleeding through our mouths, he was the one to press my back gently against vibrating walls. He took charge because someone had to, and I was too scared. I wondered how his fists never hurt. I had seen the darkness consume him once before only for him to emerge unscathed.
Spencer’s hands kept me grounded — to him and the earth. In a contradictory fashion, his lips took me elsewhere. To that somewhere else where it was just the two of us. Where I could raise trembling hands and not overthink the way his pink skin of his cheeks blanched under my fingertips.
The call of the elevator was ignored for a second, but we eventually had to respond. I saw the reluctance to part in every aspect of his expression, but he left, nonetheless. We left the tiny box and ventured back into reality, just for a moment. Long enough for us to start to catch our breaths and realize that something had changed.
But his hand was still in mine, and it was still warm despite the cold.
Don’t overthink it, I reminded myself.
He opened the door for me like he always did. His hand in mine hesitated as he tried to decide whether it was worth it to remove his coat if it meant that we might not come back together again for the night.
I let go, instead. But our eyes remained locked with a tension that turned once coherent thoughts into a chaotic mess that demanded to be felt. The kind that caused tightly wound fingers to flex with anticipation. Spencer recognized my desire before I did. Perhaps that’s why he knew to move faster, too. Because the second his jacket crumpled to the floor, I found him in the dim golden light.
I threw myself at him in an entirely different way. I lunged forward without anticipation that he would catch me. I grabbed hold of hands that reached out to me and forced them back against the wall, just as he’d done to me so many times before. I pressed my body against him with more force than I thought I possessed.
I looked into his eyes from that position, and I saw my name forming on his tongue.
“Bun—"
But I didn’t want to hear it, so I kissed him, instead. Our lips met with enough force that his hands tried to resist despite the sting of manicured nails.
We both knew that I wasn’t strong enough to keep him back, but he didn’t fight it any harder. He simply chased my lips the few inches he could when I’d pulled away.
“I don’t want to talk,” I whispered. It was less convincing than I’d planned for it to be. I could hardly meet his eyes, but I saw the doubt, nonetheless.
Of course, it also didn’t help that he’d vocalized it.
“What’s all this for? I was sure you would unleash all your rage the second you had me alone, but this… isn’t what I pictured.”
It wasn’t just what he’d said, but also how he’d said it that chipped away at the little confidence I’d developed. Everything about him demanded softness. I tried to force myself to see him otherwise, but the longer I stared into sweet honey eyes, the harder it was to escape that feeling that I was nothing but a flower to be consumed and thrown aside.
I was desperate to be recognized for something more than the innocent forest creature. Because no matter how tantalizing the lamb might be, its innocence was limited. Its first, pure softness would one day be cut and turned to wool. I had to be something more before I lost enough of myself that I was no longer enough.
I wanted to be something more. I wanted to be everything he would ever need, no matter how unhealthy I knew that thought to be.
So, with a trembling lip, I gave an order that begged not to be followed.
“Take off your clothes.”
Spencer’s confusion turned to concern. He saw how close I was to breaking down in his arms and refused to stand down.
“Bunny…” he pressed with enough compassion to turn sparks to unwieldy forest fires in my chest, “are you sure you don’t want to talk?”
For the first time, he fought my grip on his hands. With just as much tenderness as ever, he tried to reassert himself to the position I’d failed to fill in record time.
Do something, I screamed at myself as I saw a million painful possibilities flash through my mind.
Just do something!
“No!”
The sound shot through the both of us the same as the vibrations when I’d slammed his wrists back against the wall. With tensed arms and a tightness in my throat, I raised my voice for the first time since that bitter snowy night. I filled the sound not with pain, but with a demand to be seen as something, anything else.
“I don’t want to talk! Y-You’re gonna do what Isay!”
And for the first time, I felt it. The weight of his hands fell into my grip the same as his eyelids lowered and his jaw released any remaining tension. That mask of feigned masculinity, the jester’s mask of confidence and apathy burned and turned to ash so quickly that I nearly dropped him.
I witnessed Spencer’s submission with wide eyes and a broken heart.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like that. It wasn’t meant to be scary when his skin flushed and his voice went soft. But that weight had dropped so hard and heavy that I felt crushed under the pressure. That pesky fear that I wouldn’t be enough to fill the darkness and it would swallow us both whole.
But Spencer had always thought more of me than I thought possible. I saw the unwavering trust cut through the shadows with ease.
“Anything,” he whispered with a new kind of urgency, “I’m yours.”
Even in his haze, he saw the signs of impending dread. He tried to reassure me best that he could with pupils blown wide and an obvious desire pressed against my leg.
“I’d do anything for you,” he said so simply it hurt. “Just tell me what to do.”
It wasn’t enough to curb the panic. I tried to stave off the thoughts telling me that it was me that was flawed. That it was a lack of trying that made my chest collapse as the fire inside starved me of oxygen. That the resulting smoke billowing from my mouth wouldn’t burn my eyes if I’d just been better somehow.
“Bunny,” he called clearer now.
It wasn’t enough.
“I can’t do it,” I whispered, somehow hoping that he wouldn’t hear. As if my silence could hide the failure.
I tore my hands away from him, but he didn’t fall. He hadn’t even faltered, almost like he was waiting for the inevitable where I couldn’t follow through. My hands clutched my chest as I tried to fill my lungs with enough air to dilute the polluted storm still brewing.
“Bunny, breathe.”
Although my eyes were stuck on a spinning floor, I saw his light in the peripheral.
“It’s okay,” he tried to reassure me.
But when his hands reached out to me, I smacked them away on instinct. I stepped back on clumsy legs and forced warbling words through the drought in my throat.
“No, it’s not!” I cried, “It’s not okay, Spencer! Why can’t I just do it?!”
He tried to hold me, but I couldn’t let him. I knew that as soon as he touched me, I would forgive him just like I always did. I had been there so many times before, and I was dedicated to not repeating the same tired history. I didn’t want to be the flower weeping in his arms. I wanted to be fire, iron, and teeth like he had to be.
Still, I caved the moment he begged, “Please talk to me.”
“I just wish I could be… more,” I mumbled between rage filled sobs.
“What do you mean more?”
“Just… more!” I cried, hoping that he might understand but knowing that he couldn’t. Even when I continued, I was only met with an equally frustrated stare. “I want to be more. More deserving, more experienced, more mature, more… exciting!”
But for all his genius, Spencer couldn’t read my mind. Through the panic, he had missed the underlying fear.
That I didn’t just want to be more. I wanted to be more like her.
When he spoke, he didn’t know not to do so through a smile.
“I’m perfectly happy with our current dynamic,” he chuckled, like this bout of insecurity was not months in the making. Like he could just will it away with a wave of his hand and a shrug. He had no reason to think I wouldn’t believe it when he reassured me, because I had always done so before.
“You have always been enough for me.”
But things had changed, and I didn’t know how to handle it. The thrill of the earth opening beneath my feet had quickly faded. Now I was terrified and stranded in the Asphodel Meadows. It was exactly that terror that made me answer without thinking.
“Yeah but with Lila, you—!”
With both hands in the air and a scowl sprouting over his face in a manner of seconds, Spencer issued an order that was also unlike the others.
A firm, painful, “Stop.”
My body, already well accustomed to that word on his tongue, followed the direction no matter how much I wished it hadn’t. One simple word had robbed me of my voice and further demonstrated the difference between us. He took a deep breath and I found the resentment building. Because it was so easy to brush off the panic that had consumed my thoughts for hours.
Because it sounded so nice when he swore, “I’m not with Lila. I’m with you. Happily.”
This time when I reminded myself not to overthink it, it wasn’t to swallow my fears. It was to rid myself of their weight, even if it meant that he might have to carry them. It was my choice to be selfish despite my attempts to do the opposite.
“Yeah, but when you were with her, she said you were totally different! And apparently, you still are! You have this whole side of you that you’ve kept from me because we both know that I…”
I watched the events all begin to align. I saw the regret and grief wash over him as he witnessed his own secrets come back to haunt him. The same ones that he had undoubtedly kept to protect me.
There was no more hiding from it, however. There was only a broken woman standing in front of him with arms wrapped around herself as she told him the truth he’d never wanted to hear.
“I’m not like her, Spencer. And I’m really scared that one day you’re going to want that again, and I’m not going to be the one to give it to you.”
Spencer ran heavy hands over his face. He hid behind clenched fists like he could find something helpful in the abyss. When they fell away, though, he was still just a man without all the answers.
“First of all, I’m not thrilled with you two discussing my sexual history, but I understand I can’t control you and you deserve to hear from a less biased source, but…”
He paused. He tried to formulate the perfect words, to infuse them with enough emotion that I would believe him like I always did. But there were so many memories of his that I’d gathered without him knowing. That tedious, analytical mind of mine that he’d so appreciated was now a weapon in the worst way.
“Bunny, I am not interested in recreating my sexual experiences with her, alright? I was… awkward, and uncomfortable. I didn’t know what I was doing.”
He begged me to hear him, but all I heard were the things he’d failed to tell me. There would be no way for him to understand the extent of my fear until the playing field was leveled. Until I dug the bones from his closet with bloodied fingernails and demanded answers for their ghosts.
“Is she the girl you cheated on Max with?”
Silence filled the room. A suffocating, ear-ringing nothingness as Spencer’s face lost all color before becoming filled with an abject rage.
“What?”
I didn’t know how to respond to the anger, so I went with a factual clarification, instead.
“Max told me she was executed, but I think she was just trying to make me feel better.”
Spencer clung to that unrelenting anger.
“When was this?!” he shouted, unable to recognize how contagious that feeling was.
He failed to realize that setting his sights on me wouldn’t make me cower. I had been too close to Tartarus to allow myself to feel threatened any longer. If he wanted to be angry, then so would I.
“When you were on a date with— with fucking Professor Cavity!” I spat, pushing past the uncomfortable reality that was our past and forcing him back to the present day. Demanding the acknowledgement of what I already knew to be true. “Was Max lying or not?!”
The regret was immediate. I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed his pride and tried to calm down. His flawless memory, I’m sure, was not a comfort in times like this. We had only fought twice before, and neither of us wanted a miscommunication like the first time, nor a disaster like the second.
But there was something so… flippant in the way he sighed.
“Bunny,” he started. I didn’t let him finish.
“Did you cheat on her or was she lying?!” I demanded again.
“She wasn’t!” he shouted back with a shocking lack of defensiveness. Any suggestion of remorse quickly vanished, however, when he clarified, “But it wasn’t Lila, I didn’t even sleep with that woman—!”
“That’s your defense?!” I balked.
Spencer raised his hands in a desperate plea for me to listen— to let him finish explaining why he was digging his own grave.
“—and it was a very complicated situation, and in any event, it’s irrelevant to our relationship. They’re completely different!”
But each word made my heart ache harder. My lungs were pumping too fast to talk, but I made them anyway. With all the breath I had left in me I begged him to give me something to hold on to before I drowned in the dreaded river Styx. I needed him to tell me before the hatred and fear consumed all else.
“How are they different?!” I asked.
He answered. With red-rimmed eyes to match angry cheeks and bulging veins, his reply echoed through the strange room with a startling clarity for the power it held.
“Because I wasn’t in love with any of them!”
The silence returned. In its careful way, it cut through the noise of broken hearts pounding in our ears. It forced heaving lungs to still and hair to stand at attention.
Spencer looked at me with something potent and real for what felt like the first in a long time. There was no facade, no attempt to cushion or sugar-coat the bittersweet. No hiding. There was only him, only me- only us and the stillness.
And although it felt wrong to break it, I knew I had to. I did so gently, cautiously inching forward with my hand extended and palm visible like I was approaching a caged animal who’d finally been granted freedom. He winced all the same.
“… What did you just say?” I asked when I couldn’t bear the quiet any longer.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you just… say, or imply, or… whatever —Did you just say that you’re in love with me?”
But for all the preceding hubbub, his answer was remarkably simple.
“Yeah,” he said, “Of course.”
And just like that, the world returned to a new normal. Broken hearts didn’t mend, but they grew quiet, comforted by the knowing that they weren’t quite as alone as they feared they had been.
My tongue stumbled over the unfamiliar phrase as I repeated, “You… love me?”
A gentle curve appeared in the corner of his quivering lips. Spencer even laughed despite the vulnerability. His face was just as red as before, but this time there was nothing painful behind the color. It was a simple shyness blooming through already full capillaries. It broke through time and space until we were transported back to the two idiots spilling morning coffee and stacks of books. The fools that only barely escaped being locked in the library only to call each other and stay on the line later to promise each other hugs.
Living through the same memories, Spencer whispered through an exhausted chuckle, “I’m sorry, I thought it was obvious.”
I laughed, too. That time not from shock, but from the obliviousness that was the two of us. It was the same ridiculousness that had flustered me on the way to the conference when he’d informed me that he had meant a lot more than I’d thought when he called himself mine.
My mind raced through each memory of each time that he touched me. I felt his hands from months and miles away. The phantom friction grew and spread like wildfire over drought-ridden skin until every inch of me burned the same as he did.
It was only then that our eyes met well enough to soften. In the golden hue of passionate flames reborn, his hazel eyes remained vulnerable but honest when he answered, “Of course I love you, Bunny. More than anything.”
While Spencer stepped forward with arms open and palms up, I remained still and stunned, only barely able to squeak out yet another clarifying question.
“… me? You love me?”
Just to hear him laugh again. Just for him to say it one more time.
“Yes, Bunny,” he said when familiar hands cradled my burning cheeks, “I love you.”
“Oh,” I laughed back. Wiping tears from my eyes before they dared to touch his thumbs, I glanced up to see that he was still waiting for some semblance of a response. But with all the shock and excitement, my mouth couldn’t form the words I’d wanted to say.
So, instead, I told a different kind of truth.
“Sorry, I’m suddenly realizing that I don’t really care about any of that stuff I just said.”
It all meant the same, anyway. Because the love we shared was so much more than three little words. It was the way that I felt life return the longer he held me. The way my body swayed closer to fill a nonexistent space between us, trying to break through bones so that our hearts could be closer together somehow.
It was the breathlessness when he came almost close enough to kiss me. But he stopped, sensing the words when they were still nothing but the beginnings of vibrations deep in my chest.
“And you’re sure? That you love m—?”
But he couldn’t wait. Spencer robbed me of the little breath I had left by filling the spaces between our lips with one another’s. Our mouths open just enough that we could hear the tension break with a forceful exhale. One last breath before the dam broke, until there was no holding back the tumultuous waves of repressed passion.
His hands that had been so tender turned ruthless when they tangled in my hair. He pulled me closer, while the rest of him pushed me back. We sought out an anchor among the blissful reckoning borne from our doubt. Punishment in the form of laughter spilling between kisses. The sounds quickly morphed into moans. We abandoned desperate clutching for clumsy disrobing the second that I’d felt the bed behind me.
Spencer was as gentle as he always was when he guided silky fabric until gravity could do the rest. He watched with rapt fascination as it fell away. With a blasphemous, unadulterated pleasure, he took in the sight he’d once promised to abstain from.
I climbed onto the bed without letting him go. My hands rested on his shoulders while he used his to help hoist me up onto the plush surface. But he didn’t follow me, and his hands were different then. They were slow, almost cautious when they smoothed over the imperfections embedded in my skin. I could feel him studying what he had already perfected, trying to instill yet another memory without disturbing all those that came before it.
Not because I had changed — there was nothing noteworthy about stuffy noses and red-rimmed eyes — but because he had wanted to remember exactly how I’d looked in that quiet, nearly still moment.
He wanted to remember when it happened. That uniquely human, absurdly wonderful, mathematical impossibility that was loving someone and having them love you back.
The moment where I admitted what I’d always known.
“I love you, too.”
—————————————————
I’d never been a lucky man. Even my most useful and miraculous trait was more often a sword than a shield. My memory, flawless in so many ways, captured the truly horrible, vile moments with far greater clarity than the beautiful ones.
I’d never been a lucky man, but I got a chance that night. A rare, fleeting moment where everything that was, was good. Where the woman I loved was staring up at me with tears in her eyes that contained nothing even resembling fear.
Her cheeks were warm under my palm, and her eyes were bright and soft at the same time. She was beautiful, effortlessly radiant. Invigorating new growth while soothing scorched roots that began finding home wound around her.
In that moment, where I professed my intention to place my final claim — her heart — she did not cower. She merely smiled as she said the unimaginable. The words that brought an end to forty years untouched by fortune of any magnitude.
I love you, too.
And the world had stopped. Every ever-present particle took pause to honor the blasphemy that was her loving me. The sinful, indulgent impossibility spilling from puckered, quivering lips with ease despite the weight of the words.
“I love you, Spencer.”
The words struck even harder, then. My heart was not prepared for such decadence, as it was not used to kindness of that kind. It’s response, then, was not a returned tenderness. It was a need.
I tried to be gentle in taking her, but it would be a fruitless effort. My Bunny had no intention of finding softness in the wreckage. She sought out sharp diamonds formed under the pressure; she dug her nails into my skin and forced me to kiss her through the panting. Still, a few words bled through to find her.
“God, do I love you.”
The simple admission had calmed her just enough for her to giggle for the first time in what felt like forever. The sound allowed enough air to enter my lungs that I was able to sigh, releasing the tension that had been weighing on me all day.
Then all that was left was her squirming with anticipation below me. Her, with bitten lip and soft curves that called to me. For a moment, I just stared at everything that had come together to make such a magnificent creature, albeit flawed enough to find me worthwhile.
“Are you gonna tell me what to do?” she grumbled begrudgingly, but playfully.
My reply, however, was very serious.
“Is that what you want?”
She lit up in seconds, reaching forward and grabbing fistfuls of my hair in a strange display of gratitude.
“Oh my god, yes, please,” she begged, “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
But in strong contrast to her words, she pulled me down to kiss her. She kept my lips against hers longer than I would have done without her guidance. And I silently wondered while I waited. I wondered if she had realized how often she had been the one to lead.
I knew any attempt to point it out to her would backfire, so I decided on a different approach. The same way I’d done many times before, I took her smaller wrists in my hands and guided them back down to soft linens.
My weight kept her steady despite the way her body writhed and rocked against me. Not that she’d needed to be able to touch me to beg me to touch her; her eyes alone were capable of that.
But I forced myself to withstand their call for a few minutes longer. It was for her sake, although I knew she wouldn’t see it as such.
“I have a few easy instructions. Does that sound okay?”
How quickly she’d withered at the thought. She was cleverer than many gave her credit for, and she knew what I was going to ask. Still, she was brave in her shyness, and she managed to make herself nod.
“All you need to do is lie here and enjoy yourself. That’s all that I expect of you,” I reassured her first. Despite squirming just a little, she seemed to accept the truth. It was the next part that was more difficult for her to come to terms with. “But if you start to feel something… an urge to do something more… I want you to do it.”
As expected, she cried, “But—!”
“Bunny,” I warned.
She pouted, but acquiesced, nonetheless. Her temptation was so practiced and perfected that I failed to avoid it entirely. Our lips met in short bursts until she couldn’t hold her jaw up anymore.
In that comfortable contentedness, I continued, “You don’t have to do anything. I can’t even begin to explain to you how even the chance to touch you is a privilege. If I could only look at you for the rest of my life, it would be enough for me.”
Recalling what I’d literally just witnessed, I couldn’t help but laugh.
“But I’ve seen that fire in your eyes before… and all I ask is that you give it a chance to breathe. Can you do that for me, Bunny?”
That sweet, unassuming girl considered the request. Her confidence still wavered, as evidenced by her back rolling like petals on the wind and her eyes averting mine. She sought out the shade, finding home in the space between my arms and pulling me closer still.
When I was close enough to bump her nose and feel how her breath shook, she whispered back a timid offer, “I can do it.”
“Good girl. I’m so proud of you,” I said because it was true. I’d wanted to reassure her of so many things, to reinforce that my words had not now nor ever been empty. I displayed my desire for her in what little ways I could without letting it hurt. I pressed my hips against hers and tried to breathe in the smell of her champagne tainted breath.
“Now relax for me,” I humbly requested, “I want to show you how much I meant every word.”
Sooner than I’d expected, though, before our lips even touched, I heard her call my name.
“Spencer?”
“Yes, Bunny?” I mumbled against her neck.
She didn’t let the sensation distract her from her goal. Craning her fingers down to tickle the backs of my hands around her wrists, she whispered a simple request.
“I want… to be on top.” Then, in case that was too strong, she added, “Please.”
But of course, it had been anything but too much. I welcomed her desire with the utmost enthusiasm. The two of us did that thing only lovers could do, shifting our combined weight to effortlessly roll across the expanse of a king-sized bed. The extra space was wasted, with our bodies never straying far enough to justify the size. Continuing the trend of closeness, my Bunny began collecting pillows and shoving them under my head until I was close enough for her comfort.
It would never be close enough for me, though. Open palms traversed the familiar skin of her back as if it were the first time. I dragged rough fingertips over soft skin and groaned when I felt her shiver from the pressure. Still so young, still so innocent to sinful touch.
I wondered if she would ever grow tired of my touch. I prayed she would not grow impatient with my worship, because I knew I would never cease wanting her with every bit of stardust that I was made of.
So when she cried, “Touch me,” I was quick to follow her instruction.
I knew what she wanted. I could feel the vibration of excited quantum particles, the friction induced heat of our bodies grinding hard against one another. Still, despite her urgency, she was happy to lift her hips to make room for my hand between her legs.
A sated sigh fell from her lips the second that my finger slid between tight muscles. The heady wetness caused a visceral reaction in me, too. My mouth fell open, not unlike moments before when my Bunny had backed me against the wall. I thought back to that feeling, that power she possessed without even knowing.
I held onto it, held onto her with my free hand and whole heart. I pulled her forward a bit more forcefully than I’d anticipated, but she hadn’t seemed to mind. In fact, she gasped, followed with a coquettish little moan when my lips closed over her collarbone. But that sound was the least of her lust.
My Bunny’s fingers raked through my hair, unbothered by how the curls tangled in the space in between. She’d wanted to get stuck. She’d wanted to trap me in her hold because she had no intention of letting me go as easily as she had before. Tugging with her tight fists, she was more than happy to lead already bruised lips where she’d wanted them most.
Her lungs were working so hard, pumping hot air and lifting her chest to meet my lips with a complete lack of grace. There was no precision, no fear for what I might think of her clumsiness. She merely dragged her body against my stubbly cheek like she was trying to leave marks in my wake.
When that sting wasn’t enough anymore, she turned my head to better allow me to kiss it better. And although I still harbored the fear that my lips would never be able to heal, I tried for her. I tasted the sweetened saline of her skin and savored every second of it.
I tried to focus only on the jagged rhythm of my fingers between her legs. Using both my fingers and my tongue, I beckoned her closer without ever leaving her. I sunk my teeth into soft flesh at the same time I buried my fingers to the knuckle.
“Professor,” she groaned, her voice lower and harder than I’d ever heard before. The vibration in her chest shot through me like lightning, and before I knew it, I was returning her cries with whimpers.
I fought against her grip on my hair not to disobey her, but because I was greedy and wanted more. I wanted to smother myself against her chest, to suckle at her breast like the animal that I was.
So, I did. With her assistance, I took as much of her into my mouth as I could while never ceasing that constant petting between tense, quivering walls. Our bodies communicated in a way that our mouths couldn’t, and like I’d always done, I toyed with her. I tested every theory I could with each twirl of a hot tongue and slick fingers. I memorized her responses and sought to repeat them until she couldn’t take it any longer.
Until she was begging, “Kiss me harder.”
I tried, switching my attention from one breast to the other at her urgent request. She was no longer satisfied with just holding onto hair and chose to press manicured fingers into my scalp to show her relative displeasure at my attempts to obey her command.
Because no matter how hard I loved her, she was not satisfied.
“Harder,” she growled while grinding against my fingers.
I’d wanted so badly to please her, but it was all so overwhelming. There was no coherent thought that remained, nothing that was not fully composed of her — of the sweet sting of my Bunny’s claws and her desperate, frustrated groans.
I returned them without thinking, calling her name against her breast. Knowing that it was incomprehensible, but that she would recognize it, nonetheless.
She did. She heard the man who loved her more than himself panting her name pathetically against her skin, and she smiled. I could hear it in the way she taunted me.
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she drawled.
I had never seen anything so beautiful as my Bunny in that moment. Selfishly taking; claiming me the same way I had done to her so many times. She began rocking against my hand, and the slickness that had gathered on my fingers was practically dripping down my palm. That heat, that wetness was so close to my cock that it had begun to ache.
It would be so easy, so effortless to slip inside her, I thought. But I couldn’t — not yet. The heady scent of her was more intoxicating than any drug, but still not enough for me to give up on her. So, I carried on, encouraged by every soft sound that would slip between the darker moans and orders.
I knew in my heart that she was capable of so much, but that never stopped her from surprising me. She’d made a habit of exceeding every expectation I had formed. Like a sprout turned into a redwood, she took root in my soul in a permanent fashion.
Conversely, her fists loosened. Running gentle hands over my head, I heard her breath begin to peak. I could feel her walls closing around my fingers with an increasing intensity as all her energy began to shift until it flowed from her coquettish tongue in the form of two simple words.
“Good boy.”
The words were so simple, so pure in their utterance that I couldn’t stand to be apart from her any longer. I couldn’t wait, I couldn’t contain that inner animal, that ungodly lust from forcing its way through. Without even thinking, I’d withdrawn my soaked fingers and sank dull nails hard enough into her hips that she yelped from the pain.
I didn’t stop. I didn’t even hesitate. I channeled all the frustration and longing into lifting her hips. Somehow, by the hands of fate and the instinctual recognition of one soul torn in two parts, she knew how to move. She tilted her hips forward just in time for me to pull her down onto my aching cock.
Her body eagerly welcomed me home. There was no doubt, no trace of the fear of inadequacy left. There was no breath left to call my name, either, so she captured my mouth with hers, instead. We recalibrated, then, with her hands on my heated cheeks instead of wrapped in curls.
My Bunny looked at me with tears sprouting in her eyes again, but I kissed her cheeks until the saltwater was smeared between my lips. When that was not enough to satisfy parched lips, her tongue offered itself, instead. Her walls pulsed around me the harder that I kissed her, so I couldn’t help but to give her everything. But the moment I thrust up into her, she gasped and sobbed from the mutual ache for more.
“Tell me what you want,” I begged, too.
She was quick and sure in her reply.
“Take care of me,” she whispered with the confidence of an order but the tenderness of the most vulnerable type of request, “Please. Take care of me.”
Our bodies moved without waiting for our permission. We held onto each other as our skin rippled from the force of our bodies colliding with each movement. We rode out the storm, safe within each other’s arms.
“You are the most precious thing I have, Bunny,” I said. The warbling sound of my own voice was the first indication of the tears falling down my cheeks, but I didn’t shy away from it. I pressed a flushed cheek against her to remind myself that she was there when I promised, “I will love you forever. Until the day I die, I will protect you.”
She couldn’t answer me with words, but we’d never needed them, anyway. She spelled out I love you with her arms around my neck and her trembling legs each time that she fell into my lap.
I could feel her approaching the end at the same rate as I was. We raced there together, exhausted but still wanting with everything we had. I forced my eyes to stay open to witness her. I gazed up at her and ignored the bruises in my peripheral. Still, I polluted my thoughts with each instance that she had let me carve my name into her capillaries.
I held off; I ground my teeth together and stubbornly insisted that she finished first. I wanted to watch how she collapsed in on me the moment I said it.
Forcing my way to the hilt inside of her, I held her down against me and I growled, “You’re mine, Bunny. Mine.”
Then, to prove my point and to ease that ache inside of her, I let go. We both let go, holding onto each other harder all the while. I felt each wave of tension flow between our bodies while I filled her with the most precious thing I had to offer. I gave her the power to make life from nothing, even though I knew that it wouldn’t happen.
That didn’t stop me from hoping that I might know that feeling one day. The fantasies overcame logic and reality, and I couldn’t have cared less about the irrationality.
“Good girl,” I whispered while imagining her ultimate submission. I held her softly both because I’d wanted to and because all energy had been drained into a fruitless, but still euphoric effort. Even in that depleted state, my hips thrust into her again. I kept fucking her because she kept smiling, and I’d wanted nothing more than to please her.
But eventually, we both were too tired to continue. I welcomed her without hesitation. I wrapped my arms around her and did exactly what I’d promised I would do.
I took care of her. I offered her a place to rest her hummingbird heart. I protected her from the threat of the cold winds that whistled past the window. And when she was ready, I let her go, too. I watched her walk with unsteady, trembling legs and smiled because I trusted her to return in a way that had never been guaranteed for me before.
For once, there was no need for dramatic self-pity. In fact, the dopey, lovesick smile on my face felt permanent. Even when she poked her head out from around the corner of the bathroom, I didn’t doubt either of our feelings.
But I feared that my arrogance would come off as a bit rude in the very least, so I still made sure to ask, “How are you feeling, Bunny?”
“This wasn’t a trick, right?”
Thoroughly baffled by the question, I sought clarification in the simplest way, rather than trying to assume the answer.
“What do you mean?”
“Like, you didn’t just say you love me to win the argument and have sex, right?”
I hadn’t wanted to mock the poor girl, but I couldn’t contain the laughter. The question seemed so downright ridiculous that my incredulity couldn’t be explained with words alone.
“Why would you think that?” I asked, anyway.
Luckily for me, her response to the question was much more interesting than anything my mind could have come up with. Stumbling forward towards the bed, she struggled to form the words quick and clearly enough to be understood.
But I understood them. I heard them loud and clear.
“I don’t know! My knowledge of sex and love comes from modern media and poorly written erotica!”
“… does it?” I returned with a wicked smirk.
I watched as the regret overwhelmed her features and left her trembling for an entirely different reason. I savored the sight of her tugging at her pajamas and avoiding my eyes while she tried to find a way out of the hole she’d just dug herself.
The lack of an answer was confirmation enough, though.
“Fascinating. I will be bringing that up again later,” I promised before deciding to put the poor thing out of her misery. I reached forward until I could grab her hands and I thanked her young, spry body for being able to crawl to me with little assistance from myself.
“But no, Bunny. It wasn’t a trick. I meant it,” I reassured her when she was close enough to memorize. I brushed stray strands of hair from her face and I felt my own lip tremble under the weight of the admission. Then, through a nervous chuckle, I whispered, “… and… I still do.”
Her eyes wrinkled as she bit her tongue to stop herself from crying the same way I had. She took her spot beside me but kept her eyes on mine while she waited to hear it again, even though I was confident we’d both known for some time.
“I love you so much, Bunny. I’ll take care of you as long as you’ll let me.”
“I love you, too,” she admitted softly. The words were still not practiced, still new and green in a way I hoped they would always be. That alone would have been enough, more than anything I could have ever dreamed of receiving from something as pure as her. But then she continued with an ever-increasing tenderness, “And when you need it, I’ll take care of you, too.”
And to stop myself from breaking down in tears in her arms, I offered a playful jeer instead of the gratitude burning at my eyes.
“Deal.”
Her acceptance came with a kiss to seal the set of promises I never could have imagined her returning. Of course, I would have done them no matter what — I could not have avoided my desire to protect her even if I’d tried. I knew because I had.
But there we were. Tangled together in the center of a king-sized bed. We paid no mind to the feet of empty space. We stuck together like a twining vine that had finally found shelter and shade. Fully blossomed, we shared our happiness through petal soft lips that seemed to never stop wanting more.
Eventually, though, we succumbed to the sleepiness. I pulled the small flower tight against my chest and I waited to feel her breath begin to even out again.
Then — and only then — did I remind her of the far more entertaining confession of the night.
“… How poorly written was this erotica?”
“We’re not talking about this,” she answered immediately.
I did not relent.
“Did you write it? Or just want to?”
“Goodnight, Professor!” she shouted.
I hummed in surrender first, but the sound quickly broke out into laughter as I decided it was too good of an opportunity to pass it up. She should have known better than to give me that ammunition. Her eagerness to end the topic only confirmed my suspicions and solidified my next future project.
“Better hope you’ve hidden it well,” I warned.
“I hate you,” she deadpanned in the cutest possible manner.
Again, I did not relent. I nuzzled closer to her until I was settled in the crook of her neck. I stayed there until she smoothed over messy curls with a tenderness that I was certain I would never grow tired of. A softness that I had never experienced before, only to become intimately familiar with now.
“And I adore you,” I sighed against the soft skin of her shoulder. Then, upon remembering that I was, and always would be, safe and sound in the only home I’d ever known, I corrected myself.
“I love you, in fact.”
I wasn’t expecting to hear it back, but I did. Shy, innocent, and unassuming as ever, my Bunny offered me the impossible that I was finally starting to accept.
“I love you, too,” she whispered.
And I decided that I was happy to be wrong if it meant that I would get to hear it forever.
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Summary: Spencer and Bunny take a trip to Vegas.
A/N: I BARELY finished this on time. Next chapter is just as long, so don't be surprised if I update in 3 weeks instead of 2! I'll try to keep you up to date :)
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+)
Content Warning: Gambling, casinos, references to sex workers, semi-public sex, unprotected sex, penetrative sex, mild fighting, brief jealousy
Word Count: 11k
MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist
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Most days, the sun followed my Bunny. Like the pantheon of sun gods and goddesses, the dedication and persistence of her daily travels across the sky were unwavering. Each day I was left wondering how she’d managed to do it. How she could so easily give away so much of herself while remaining whole. She had singlehandedly provided comfort, life, and warmth that had sustained me through a harsh and unrelenting winter.
It only made sense, then, why it rained the first day we’d arrived in Las Vegas.
We viewed rain differently there. It was not a symbol of darkness, not an omen of danger. The torrential downpour was probably the most refreshing thing the universe could offer the desert. A reprieve from the otherwise scorching heat.
The girl still half asleep in my bed seemed soothed by the rain, too. Like a true desert flower, she curled into herself as though she could catch the water pooling between her limbs.
It was the smell of carefully planned coffee that woke her. Or perhaps it was my absence. Either way, she was unusually quick to abandon the comfort of our shared bed in favor of food and caffeine.
The hour passed with remarkably little chitchat, and I found myself resisting the fantasy I wanted to throw myself into. The domesticity of it all left me breathless and unable to focus on the crossword puzzle that would normally take me less than five minutes to solve. It had been 15, and I’d barely touched it. I didn’t mind, either. Watching her was such a better way to pass the time.
I’d promised her an interesting day but left all the details vague. I’d divulged enough, however, for her to know that she definitely needed to preen herself into oblivion.
Again, I hadn’t minded waiting. Watching her struggle to apply various colored paints and somehow shove an entire package of bobby pins and hair clips onto her head was the highlight of my day thus far. The efforts she’d gone to just to stand beside me while I probably made a fool of myself were… flattering, to say the least.
Of course, I’d predicted she would do as much. I had sort of planned on it happening, really. Although I would have been happy to take her anywhere no matter what she’d looked like, I knew she would have a much better time if she’d looked the part.
A high stakes casino was a strange place to stand out - especially as a beautiful young woman.
That was why I’d done my own preparations. While she continued to perfect what was already flawless, I located the box that I’d somehow managed to keep hidden from her until then. I removed the bundle of carefully crafted fabric, inspecting the color and already coming undone at the thought of it on her.
As I laid the dress down on the bed, I forced myself to abandon one of a million daydreams. Because she was there. I didn’t need to wonder or worry. I just had to call her name.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Within seconds, my Bunny popped her head around the corner of the bathroom. While she said nothing at first due to the makeup brush perched precariously between her lips, it didn’t take her much longer before it clattered to the floor with a gasp.
“Oh my god! Is that for me?” she shouted before disappearing back into the bathroom to put down the rest of the stuff she’d been juggling.
“I’m certainly not going to wear it,” I joked just as I saw her little hand stick out to collect the brush she’d dropped. Once everything was where it ought to be, she’d practically tripped over her own feet to find me.
She came to a stop in front of the dress, staring down at the extravagance with a dropped jaw that was starting to worry me. I had considered whether she would consider the gesture, or the dress, to be gaudy or in otherwise poor taste. Granted, I had checked with the few women I knew before purchasing it, but it didn’t silence that voice in the back of my head that swore I would never get it totally right.
“I can get you something else if you’d rather.”
“No!” she squeaked. Her arms shot down, snatching the fabric as carefully as she could in her haste. She pressed it against her chest and looked down at the way it looked against her skin. My darling Bunny looked back up at me, and it was only then that her shock faded into a smile.
“I love it,” she said, quiet but true, “Thank you, Spencer.”
She leaned forward at the same time I did, meeting me in the middle so that my lips would meet her forehead and hopefully not ruin any of the work she’d done so far. She was too excited to linger, though. Even in the little bit of space between us, she had started to undress herself so she could don the dress, instead.
I had no qualms about it. It just meant I got to ogle her for a little while longer before I had to muster up some semblance of civility. Really, though, no matter how the dress fit — although it did fit as perfectly as I imagined — that was hardly what made her beautiful.
It was the way it made her smile. That soft, appreciative look that assured me I’d done at least one thing right. It was knowing that she wanted to be here, and that I still had some vague ability to read her correctly.
There was the other thing, too. The one I hadn’t told her about yet.
Taking the young woman into my arms before she managed to wrangle herself into the dress, I held her against me and took comfort in the warmth her bare skin offered.
“There’s something else after you change,” I whispered into her ear.
“How ominous,” she giggled.
As soon as she wriggled away from me again, she handed me the garment. I understood the instruction and was more than happy to help her into it. She slipped into it with relative ease, and I think that alone shocked her more than the surprise waiting for her in my pocket.
“How did you know my size?” she asked carefully.
There was an explanation, of course. I could explain the exact equations and estimations to her, but I figured that would be a terribly boring way to spend such a wonderful day. So, instead, I answered as simply as I could.
“Math.”
It succeeded in making her laugh, and so I was happy with my choices.
“Okay, weirdo,” she snorted.
“Let’s just say I look at you often and with the utmost care,” I noted in my own defense. And although she rolled her eyes at the praise, I couldn’t help but notice how she’d bit down on her tongue at the same time.
I allowed the feigned displeasure and took solace in the bashfulness hidden beneath it. Because it was all just an indicator of growth. The small flower that had once shied away at mere eye contact was now in full bloom, and I was more than happy to stay in the shade of her brilliance.
But when my hands ran down her arms, I couldn’t help but to hold her softly. The greedy, reckless hands of my youth calmed in her presence. When I pulled her closer, I fought the urge to dig fingernails into flawless skin. I did not need to leave my mark on her; she was already perfect just the way she was.
She existed before me, and she would continue to be beautiful when the day finally came for me to leave her. Although that thought also seemed silly, because while the two of us swayed to nothing but the beat of the rain, I realized that I would always be some part of her so long as she was willing to have me.
Where would I go otherwise? I didn’t care. I would simply lose myself in memories, instead. Morbid thoughts like that once frightened me. Other times the nightmares were almost dreams. Fantasies of an existence where I couldn’t disappoint the ones who relied on me.
But when I was with her, death was nothing but a vow worth breaking.
Till death do us part, I laughed to myself.
As if something so simple could ever keep me from her.
My thumb brushed over her left hand ring finger, painfully bare but still as beautiful as the rest of her. I closed my eyes, resting my head against her so that I could force my brain to stop memorizing everything. Because it wasn’t right just yet, but I needed it to happen, anyway.
Because I wanted to feel her and hear her without distraction when I asked her.
“Be my wife for the night.”
As expected, my Bunny froze in place. She returned to her prey instincts immediately. But I could handle the shock and the spike of anxiety in the silence, because when she did move, she only fell further into my arms.
Her fingers remained under their calloused counterparts, and they did not shake.
I felt as though I owed her some explanation, lest she think that I was truly insane. Part of me was worried it would cheapen the request, but I pressed forward, nonetheless.
“I don’t want the other men to have any ideas about whisking you away from me.”
With a slight waver in her voice, she answered, “I wouldn’t go with them even if they tried.”
The both of us laughed, if only to break the tension that had quickly formed and dissipated with the rain still thrumming against the windows. I took the time to slowly spin her around to face me. I soaked in the sight of her. I looked at her, drew my knuckles gently down her jaw as I tried to convince myself that this was all some elaborate dream from a damaged psyche.
But then she laughed because it tickled, and I remembered that my dreams of her were not nearly as beautiful as her company.
“They will try,” I promised her.
My Bunny answered with a peculiar offer. She held her hand up to me without any tension or tremors. Her eyes locked onto mine and filled with the wonder of an infinite number of stars. Her gaze burned into me with all the daring and temptation of the rays on Icarus’s back.
“Go ahead, then,” she whispered. “Show me the ring.”
I laughed at just how confident she’d appeared, because the giddiness was still hidden behind a bitten lip and a bounce in her step. It finally bled through the second I looked down to fish the rings from my pocket.
I thought to reassure her that it wouldn’t be the same ring I offered her when the offer was permanent, but I didn’t want to risk ruining this moment. Because regardless of the temporary nature of it all, it was wonderful, nonetheless.
I didn’t tell her that it was my mother’s ring, nor that it was a bad omen to use a ring from a doomed marriage. I never much liked to put stock into myths and fairytales, anyway. Even now that my most deluded dreams had come true, I decided that those people who wrote of romance still hadn’t experienced true love like we had.
There were no words of any language to describe the feeling that filled me the second the ring slid onto her finger. No metaphors, no artistic renditions, nothing that could ever represent even a fraction of the pure, unadulterated bliss that overtook my everything.
She was the one to kiss me. One of her hands knotted in my hair and pulled me to her, while the other sneaked into my shaking, clumsy fingers to take the matching band from me. Then she returned it, somehow managing to find me and coordinate weary but wired muscles.
She placed my father’s wedding band onto my finger, and I promised myself that I would use it as a reminder of how far I’d gotten without him. How I would be a better husband when she finally said forever.
As soon as it was settled, my hands returned to her. I couldn’t hold myself back any longer — my soul forced its way forward into our mouths. I let it taste her sweetness and reminded myself that she had found something worth sharing in my bitterness. I thought about everything that had led up to this moment, and how one day I would look back on the first time I called her my wife, no matter how small and silly it seemed in comparison.
Reluctantly, we parted. Our lips stuck together like honey drenched petals, and I savored the taste of her still lingering on my skin. I released all the breath that remained and replaced it with whatever oxygen remained from her spent lungs.
Drunk on carbon dioxide and love, I barely even blinked. I was too scared I would wake up.
“I’ll never understand why you chose me,” I whispered. “But God, am I so grateful that you did.”
But my Bunny must have been intoxicated on me, too. Albeit in a… different, more sinful way.
“There are some perks,” she snickered.
I heard the warning her playfulness carried with it, but I was still caught off guard by a firm hand pressed against the bulge in my pants. I was so shocked by the promiscuity that I actually moaned against her cheek. I hadn’t regretted it, though, because it made her laugh. And her laughter would always be my favorite sound.
Alas, I had other plans for the day. Hers would have to wait.
“Not now young lady, you need to reserve your strength,” I said through strained cords and with my hand in an almost-too-tight grip around her wrist.
“But—” she started to whine. I cut her off with a much more chaste kiss, followed by an explanation that was anything but.
“Because whether I win or lose, although I will definitely do the former, I will need you after to take out my frustrations or… the more likely… celebrate.”
All her disappointment fell aside immediately, replaced with an enthusiasm and unbridled joy that I wished I could bottle. I got the feeling the rain clouds felt the same, because shortly after she’d smiled, the rain finally started to wane. The setting sun peeked from behind the clouds to light our way to the next den of sin I would guide her through.
“What kind of casino are you taking me to, anyway? I thought you weren’t allowed to gamble?” she teased. Her attention to the most embarrassing of details was mostly charming. It also gave me the opportunity to make everything sound even more exciting.
I searched for goosebumps on her skin as I whispered back, “The only one that was willing to let me back in.”
And with my hand wrapped around the back of her neck, I found them.
“Let’s hop along, little Bunny,” I continued until her entire body trembled, “I want to show you what I can do.”
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I’d never been in a casino, but I was surprised to find that the movies had depicted them rather well. Despite the moderate crowd and the constant barrage of lights and sounds we’d walked through, the room where Spencer led me was noticeably quiet. The only sounds there were the ones whispered by men who stunk like cigars and the lingering scent of alcohol coated skin.
I didn’t say a word as we sat down, exactly as instructed. Spencer assured me that he wasn’t embarrassed by me, but he explained that I could quickly get myself into one of many predicaments with just a few poorly worded thoughts. I didn’t ask him to clarify.
My seat was close enough to him that my arm could still fit neatly within his, and so I grabbed hold quickly and rarely let go. Spencer was smart enough to keep his cards out of my sight, although I’m not sure what good it would have done to the others if I had seen them. Heaven knows I was not as good of a poker player as the others at the table.
There were a million questions running through my mind, but I also hadn’t really wanted the answers. Questions like, ‘How did you meet these men in the first place? How much money have you made gambling? What kind of people are you willing to take advantage of?’
On another day, under other circumstances, the last question might’ve bothered me more. But in that moment, sitting in a room filled with smoke and overindulgent, sinful splendor, I knew that the only people available to be taken advantage of were exactly the kind of people that would have done the same if the roles were reversed.
Of course, it was all a rather cocky train of thought, considering he hadn’t won anything yet. It was hard to imagine him losing. Spencer excelled at damn near everything he tried (although Derek assured me there are many things that he is bad at).
One thing was for certain: Spencer was in his element. The only place I’d ever seen him so at home was alone in his office late at night, breathing in the scent of freshly brewed coffee and contemplating something I couldn’t dream of ever understanding.
The laws of light seemed to bend within the battle of willpower that surrounded the table. The white overhead lighting somehow appeared dim in its still blinding scrutiny. I felt as though I could see every imperfection etched on the skin of each person at the table, and yet I knew nothing of what they meant.
Considering that fact, I turned to the man next to me and sought an answer to the impossible question of what he couldn’t do. I searched sculpted cheekbones and chiseled jaw — I dipped into oceans of honeyed irises and found no errant honeycomb among the flecks. Each freckle, each stray curl was painted with such care that I wondered how anyone could ever doubt some kind of intelligent design.
Just as the thought occurred to me, Spencer turned to me. He smiled, more reserved than what I was used to, but probably more expressive than he’d meant to be. I was grateful for it, nonetheless.
I was also grateful for the fact I wouldn’t need to be so apathetic. Lord knows I couldn’t if I’d tried. I pulled myself closer, resting my head on his shoulder just in time for him to press a gentle kiss to the top of my head.
That small act of affection, however unfortunate for his game strategy, was appreciated beyond words. It reminded me of all the other little ways we could communicate. The subtle displays of our feelings in those moments where we had to remain composed.
I glanced down at my hand wrapped around his arm and I smiled. The diamond, like the light above, paid no mind to the smoke-filled air or the pompous energy of the men surrounding it. It simply shone as beautifully as it was meant to. Exactly as I was meant to do for him.
Normally I was the last person to consider myself anything remotely close to an object, but I couldn’t ignore the way it felt to be attached to someone with such notoriety. The kind of person who could carry a bag full of betting chips probably worth a full semester or more in my program for fun. The kind of person that made other people nod their heads when they passed, regardless of stature or sentiment.
My eyes strained to look up at him from his shadow, and I wondered what it must feel like to be the one taking the brunt of the blinding light just so I could exist in relative peace.
I wondered if I had gotten it wrong. Perhaps I wasn’t the diamond in this scenario.
“New ring?”
My head perked up at the question. My eyes shot around the room to find the man who’d just spoken. When I located him, I was only somewhat surprised to find him staring hard enough to burn. His grin was unsettling, too. Like he had stolen some piece of my mind that I hadn’t wanted to give him.
I hated men like that.
“What?” I asked, breaking the cardinal rule Spencer had given me because I was angry at the breach of my peace.
My boyfriend, or husband if anyone were to ask, was less bothered than I. Without even looking up from his cards, he ordered in a somewhat bored manner, “Ignore him.”
“I just can’t help but notice how much she’s messing with it,” the other man announced from the other side of the table, “Usually that means one of a few things. Either you two are recently engaged, you’re having marital problems, or she’s not used to wearing a ring at all.”
The other men at the table chuckled at the last explanation, and it took me a moment to understand why. It wasn’t until I turned to one of the other women, a girl about my age who wore a smile so fake I might mistake it for a jester’s mask, that I understood what they’d meant.
If you want to call me a whore, just say it! was on the tip of my tongue once more, but I swallowed it the best I could. I didn’t turn to Spencer, either, because I was afraid that he would take one look at my puffed cheeks and pursed lips and lose his ability to lie.
Then again, when he did speak, nothing he said was a lie.
“You’re forgetting quite a few explanations,” he observed coolly, as if there was nothing to worry about. Like he was absolutely certain that our marriage — which, mind you, was a sham — was perfectly intact. He kept his eyes off me, but I knew he could feel my nails digging into him as I tried to bite my tongue. I kept going until he chuckled, placing a hand over mine on his arm and attempting to soothe the anger away with his thumb.
He looked back up at the man who’d made the taunt, and he said through a smile, “Regardless, I don’t appreciate the implication.”
“Which one?” he pushed further.
Spencer, who had managed to seem unbothered by it all up until that point, snapped. His arm between us shot up, and I let go to stop myself from falling forward onto the table with him.
“Spencer—!“ I started, but I was cut off by his stare.
He said nothing to me, just looked at me. He looked at me, and I felt something stir awake inside of me that I hadn’t ever felt before. This odd, almost creepy feeling in the pit of my stomach that I needed to sit down and shut up. That he knew what he was doing.
The look couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but it didn't need to go on any longer. Spencer’s hands on the table moved forward slowly, but with enough force that the top of the small stack of chips behind his fingers toppled over into the pot.
“All in,” he said with an undercurrent of rage that almost sounded… wrong.
Instead of looking at him, knowing that I wouldn’t get my answer, I turned to each individual player still in the game. I watched as they tried to analyze him with what they perceived to be varying levels of success.
I turned back to Spencer, and saw that his smile, unlike his voice, was perfectly in tune.
“If you’re so convinced that you are a real profiler, then by all means, go ahead,” he laughed before his voice fell to a whisper that shared none of the prior amusement.
“Call my bluff,” he seethed.
That was when I realized what was wrong.
Spencer was lying.
He wasn’t lying in the traditional sense. His words were all straightforward. His confidence in his skill shone through to me, but the others seemed rocked by his displays of jealousy and rage. But it was those feelings that were a lie.
Spencer was no more bothered by the implication than he was by the attempts of many men to solicit me in the main room. He wasn’t worried by how they perceived me because he knew the true value of my company. There was a brief moment where I wanted to scold him for using me as a tool in his game, especially when I actually had been bothered by those nasty men’s implications.
But then he turned over his cards, and I decided I wasn’t mad anymore.
He had won. Of course, he had won.
The small gasp that left me was the only noise he let slip through. Under the table, Spencer grabbed my hand tightly as a warning to hold it in just a little while longer. So, instead of screaming about the massive influx of money headed our way for us to spend in whatever ridiculous ways we’d wanted, I turned to him. I basked in the sight of him at his peak, thanking everyone for playing the game he’d warned them he would win at. As I stared at him, I heard a familiar voice from the other side of the table.
“Lesson learned,” said the only man at the table watching me instead of Spencer.
There was a knowing glint in his eyes that I had missed before. An almost apology for having used me to get ahead, although I think he was mostly upset it hadn’t worked. Either way, I was too happy to hold a grudge at the moment. So, my answer to his stare was holding my husband closer to remind him that he had been, above all else, wrong about what he’d meant to me.
I didn’t look at the money, nor did I thrust myself forward into the spotlight. I remained where I was meant to be — beside him as an equal, but still waiting for my instruction. After all, he was the expert. I was just along for the ride.
As we gathered our things to go, the other man returned one final time. He placed a heavy hand on Spencer’s shoulder, but once again kept his eyes on me.
“Enjoy your celebration,” he conceded with a chuckle before adding more to me than to Spencer, “Whatever it might be for.”
To my surprise, Spencer took the surrender well. Turning to me with all the love that he was unable to display while on display, he let out a shaky breath that betrayed the still calm exterior. The icy charade slowly chipped away with each inch closer we came until there was nothing left but the normal warmth that he carried with him.
“We will, thank you,” he answered when he finally convinced himself to look away again.
The loss wouldn’t last long, however. The same second that we’d walked out of the room, Spencer had practically lifted me off the ground in his excitement. We broke into smiles that quickly devolved into raucous laughter that remained drowned out among the sounds of luck and misfortune surrounding us.
“Oh my gosh! That was so cool!” I beamed with a bounce in my step.
Per usual, Spencer somehow remained composed. Instead of meeting my energy, he released a dreamy sigh and brushed his hand over my cheeks that were practically burning from the adrenaline rush.
“Thank you for your help, Bunny.”
I figured it was his way of apologizing for what I’d already forgiven him for. But little did I know, Spencer was far from over with his amends.
His hands were the first warning. Inch by inch they fell down my back until it came to rest on the zipper on my side. He toyed with the piece of metal with skilled fingers that threatened to expose me to hungry eyes in a matter of seconds. His other hand didn’t fare much better. It rested lower, with the pad of his thumb digging into the skin like he was trying to etch his existence into my hip bone.
“Come with me,” he spoke with hot breath against my ear, “I want to show you something.”
There was no space in my mind for questions, no worries about what exciting new dangers he might be leading me to. I followed him without reservation, and with each hurried step I found myself recalling the first time he led me somewhere with this kind of enthusiasm.
Do you feel like a woman now? he had asked me that night.
I still pondered the question often, sometimes as a serious reflection upon my answer, more often as… something else. An attempt to relive that thrill and satisfaction derived from something as simple as a kiss in a janitor’s closet. A reminder of just how deeply rooted his desire was, and how easy it had been for us to decide when it was just the two of us alone.
When he shut the door behind me in that moment, though, we were far from a janitor’s closet. I couldn’t hear what he’d said to the man outside of the room, but I figured it would have meant little to me, anyway. The extravagant room was small, and mostly bare bones, but the pole in the middle of the room surrounded by a few chairs told me just about everything I needed to know about where he had taken me.
Before I could plead my case and swear that I had never touched a stripper pole and certainly wouldn’t be able to help him in that manner, Spencer cut me off with a kiss that possessed so much strength I would’ve fallen over if it hadn’t of been for his hands still clutching me like his favorite toy.
“Professor,” I tried to vocalize, although it sounded nothing like the word.
He didn’t let the sound distract him, either. He continued to kiss me hard and fast and unforgiving until I returned it with a similar passion. It hadn’t taken very long, anyway.
Still, Spencer wasn’t satisfied until I was trembling. He pawed at my body like he wanted to shred the luxurious fabrics he’d only just dressed me in. Even his teeth claimed the exposed skin of my collarbone like he was dedicated to ensuring that I did not leave the room until I was completely and utterly wrecked by him.
Defiled was a word he’d used before. Desecrated and displayed to the others as evidence of his power that he so rarely showed. The ability to bring me to my knees despite no one having ever taught me how to.
It was intoxicating how he managed to touch every part of me at once. It only made sense that I had barely noticed his hand bundling the fabric at my hips so he could touch the soft, damp spot forming in my underwear.
With an obvious mockery and an even more apparent amount of desire, Spencer growled something into my ear that I wouldn’t soon forget.
“Tell me what you want, Mrs. Reid.”
The sound of the title made dreamy giggles erupt from my throat. His hands that had felt suffocating suddenly felt like feathers, as if the warmth pouring from my chest had made him fuse to my skin and create something new. I was addicted, lost in the way he commanded my body so easily with a mere suggestion from his hand stroking my inner thighs.
“I like that,” I purred, much to his delight.
He came closer, taunting me with his lips just far enough away they only ghosted against my cheek while his hand remained everywhere but where I needed it most.
“Oh, do you?” he chuckled lowly, “You like being my wife?”
Fighting every urge to submit inside of me, I forced myself to correct him so that I wouldn’t lose myself too far in the fantasy and do something embarrassing.
“Pretend wife. We aren’t married yet.”
But for all my self-preservation, Spencer displayed none. His words, tone, and body language carried nothing but hubris and a staunch disrespect for the traditional romance I’d come to know him capable of.
“We can be,” he said like it was all some grand joke. “We’re in Vegas. I’ll take you right now.”
“Stop that!” I said through now-awkward chuckles. I tried to play it off, but his hands were starting to feel less arousing and more unnerving. A mere distraction from the frustration quickly mounting as I started to push him away from me. “You haven’t even asked me!”
“Sure I have, in so many words,” he hummed against my neck.
While his hands had returned to the outside of my dress, I knew it was less due to my apprehension and more so he could lead me the last few steps over to the seating.
I went with him, albeit not as happy as when we’d first arrived in the room. Spencer had finally started to notice, as evidenced by his slowing movements. His hands, still trembling from the win, cupped my face instead of my body. When he tried to turn me towards him, he stopped at the first sign of resistance.
“You need me to ask? Fine,” he laughed. A dark, foreboding sound like the one I’d heard the first time he touched me, the villainous timbre of him taking me in the backseat of his car after showing me just how powerful he could be.
Like a dare I was meant to disobey, Spencer whispered against my lips, “Be my wife.”
It was not a question, but I said no, anyway.
My hands made contact with his chest so quickly, I’d barely thought about it before I shoved him. He only stumbled back a few steps, still bursting at the seams with laughter at what he’d perceived to be an overreaction. While it was all in good fun for him, however, I was significantly less enthused by his antics.
“Spencer Walter Reid, if you are joking, this is not a very funny joke!” I shouted, crossing my arms that had just hit him and trying to stop all the blood from rushing to my face still scorching hot from his kisses. “I take wedding proposals very seriously, and I am a woman who deserves… romance! I mean rose petals, wine, happy memories —"
His laughter faded along with the adrenaline. Each word seemed to bring him closer and closer to the earth, and therefore back to me. He kept his distance, didn’t dare move forward while I let the anger and anxiety spill from my lips even when I knew that I was acting like a child. I continued, nonetheless.
“—and you’d better believe that if you propose to me in a… a casino stripper room ever again, I’ll…! Well, I-I’ll say no! Again!”
Spencer tried not to smile, to his credit. The composure he’d kept during the game returned momentarily but was quickly fused with enough adoration to give away his true feelings. The amused chuckle didn’t help, either.
“You are so goddamn adorable when you’re mad,” he said.
“I’m not joking!” I whined, pouted, and stomped, not unlike a toddler during a tantrum, “It’s not funny!”
The red filling my vision started to fade the second that he touched me again. His fingers brushed against my elbow so gently that I’d almost missed it. If I hadn’t been staring at him, trying to analyze the unreadable in his eyes, perhaps I would have.
But he was calling to me, with his chest open and his mouth curved in a more sympathetic smile. His hand slid down my arm until my fingers uncurled to make space for his. Although perfectly capable of pulling me forward, he didn’t. He waited for me to decide, albeit with a little bit of a nudge in the right direction.
“Oh, Bunny,” he said like an apology, “Come here, sweetheart. Come sit with me.”
And I did. I took my sweet time shuffling over to the chair. He took a seat on a couch that was certainly big enough for the both of us to sit side by side, but his hands and eyes made it clear that wasn’t where he wanted me.
Spencer led me onto his lap like royalty to the throne. His hands that had been quick to claim were suddenly bashful. He only held me where he needed to secure me, and in doing so he reminded me why it had been ridiculous to ever question his ability to make even the filthiest of places feel like home. My body recognized his almost immediately. Like instinct of something akin to soulmates, we fell into place perfectly.
My dress was once again bundled at my hips to allow me to straddle him, but nothing about it felt sexual… yet. Not until his voice hit my ears from mere inches away, low and spoken through an ungodly amount of restraint.
“When I ask you… I promise you that there will be no doubt.”
Holding a handful of my hair away from my neck, he drew sloppy kisses against the skin just below my ear until I had started to squirm again. The stark contrast of his breath against saliva covered skin in an otherwise frigid room made goosebumps erupt over every exposed inch. And I swore that if I’d given him enough time, he would’ve counted each of them with nothing but his tongue.
I tried to redirect him, tried to bring him back so that I could look into his eyes and possibly find something nearly half as beautiful to say in response. I wanted to frolic in the golden wheat and clover fields of his eyes and see if it reminded me of Persephone’s first home.
But then he spoke again.
“I’ll make you a queen,” he promised, and I felt the excitement of my first chance of freedom after a millennium of waiting. I felt the earth split below me and I leapt with fullest confidence into the crevice bursting with nothing but promises of hellfire.
I craved the warmth that only he could provide. The power and security I would find at his side. The knowing that although he was the first, he was destined to be the last. That I would never need to search for anything more than what I found in his hands.
I was not a bird frozen in the nectar pooled in his palms. I was the phoenix, reborn into the woman I’d always wanted to be. The one that could easily choose independence but decided that it was more fun with his company.
With his left hand locked in mine, Spencer squeezed harder and harder until I was woken from my reverie and returned to the ecstasy of his lips on mine. Through the open-mouthed kiss, he groaned, “I want to dress you in diamonds.”
I decided then and there those formalities, technicalities, and crystallized carbon be damned. For that moment, in that small pocket universe where there was nothing but the unbridled lust of a young goddess finally freed to feel whatever she wished, I was his wife.
And I wanted him. I wanted him so badly it hurt.
“Spencer…”
“What is it, sweetheart?” he dared me to speak it into existence. His hands were already working just as mine were to pull our clothes aside as much as we needed to in order to come together again.
“I-I want you to…” I slurred, my voice failing the second he pulled aside the flimsy cotton and dipped his fingers into my heat. The contact only lasted a few seconds, just long enough for him to see that there was no preparation needed at all.
That realization emboldened him to continue more playfully, “Say it, Bunny. Use your words.”
“I want you to…” I tried only to feel the words get caught in my throat. Something about his stare and the order made me feel bashful in the best way. Like it was the first time all over again. I channeled that feeling, the pure bliss of him sharing my body and existing within me both figuratively and literally, and I whispered just loud enough for him to hear, “Fuck me. Please.”
“That’s my girl,” he said with a smile that made my heart melt, “I’m so proud of you.”
Spencer pulled me forward into his arms at the same time he lifted me to position himself at my entrance. I buried my mouth against his neck and waited for him to release my body weight, only to be surprised when he slowly lowered me down a few inches before helping lift me again. Each torturous motion would give me a taste of him before I was forced to be empty once more. Eventually, though, his willpower and restraint failed him the same as shaking arms.
With one final push of his hands on my hips, I dropped onto him in one fluid motion. A desperate cry tore from my throat that Spencer made no attempt to stop. In fact, as soon as it was over, he thrust up into me again, harder, and harder until my voice broke and became nothing.
I lifted my hips, overjoyed by the ability to control my own pace once more. I closed my eyes for just one second to focus on the lewd sounds of sex coming from between our bodies. When I opened them again, I found honeyed irises engulfed in a similar desire.
“Someone got excited watching the men fight over her,” he teased with an undeniable admiration for my newly found confidence. Or, rather, how quickly I’d abandoned it when he touched me.
“That is not why!” I tried to plead my case but there was too much to focus on.
He predicted each time I was meant to speak and would punctuate the silence with his mouth attached to the crook of my neck until blood vessels rioted and broke in their fight to come closer to him. It wasn’t until my nails dug into his nape and my fingers tugged hard enough on the hair to elicit a moan from the man that he was able to speak.
And speak he did.
“Tell me what it is, then, Bunny,” he said through lips still wet from painting my skin with his tongue, “Tell me what got you so excited that you’re already dripping when I’ve barely even touched you.”
Fighting against my grip, Spencer's eyes met mine dead on. He challenged me with his everything, holding me down with a firm grip on my hips while he bucked into me to remind me of how deeply he permeated every part of my existence in this fantasy we created each time we were alone.
“I-I…”
I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to thank him for the way my skin felt like delicious fire and I wanted to burn forever. All I could do was return each of his efforts with sounds that only barely resembled his name. All I wanted to do was praise him until he took mercy on the both of us.
“Speak up, sweetheart,” he whispered with no mercy at all, “I want to hear that pretty voice while I fuck you.”
“But…” I started, only to be swiftly cut off with reassurance that almost sounded like a warning.
“You can do it, sweetheart. Tell me.”
Just as he’d said it, his grip on my hips loosened and allowed me to move freely again. But that embarrassment and insecurity crept back between us. It filled my throat and made my eyes burn, but I wanted to do it for him.
Spencer touched me softly and with nothing but kindness and patience. His lips were no longer haphazard or wanting, and instead only chose chaste places to call home. Places like my cheeks and my nose and eventually pouted lips. He kissed away the anxiety and eased tense muscles with his thumb on my back.
“Please, Bunny?” he asked so sweetly that the words came to me without even thinking.
“I like them thinking I’m your wife.”
From his position still inside of me, I felt his cock twitch at the thought. His hands also betrayed his patience and began to urge me to move.
But his eyes, those beautiful, evocative things, remained filled with reverence and wonder. They filled me with such admiration and pride that it spilled from my lips without regard to what effect they might have on him.
I simply said it because it was true.
“I… I’m proud of you, too."
The effect, however intended, was instantaneous. That fire that Spencer could control so easily flared all at once. Any restraint was thrown to the wind along with my fears that I might do something wrong. There was no space for regret or mistake in our embrace.
Slowly, we built up to our previous rhythm before he had to go and remind me that he would always find me flawless. Soon enough, I was crying out his name like a prayer in one of the devil’s homes. I etched my lust onto his pressed suit and reminded myself that he could just buy another one now, anyway.
“Fuck,” he laughed at the same time as me. That beautiful, blissful sound was all that I could hear for a few seconds longer. It ended to make sure for another promise from the man that I was proud to call my husband if only for a day. “I’m going to take care of you no matter what, Bunny. You know that, right?”
I didn’t trust myself not to say ‘I love you,’ so instead I nodded my head with my bottom lip firmly between my teeth. I rocked my hips in the same motion until I couldn’t hold my mouth closed any longer. I sought out the friction to end the encounter not because I was tired of him, but because I wanted to witness his undoing, too.
“That’s it, Bunny. Keep going just like that,” he begged for both of our benefits, “Use me to get yourself off. You deserve to feel so good, sweetheart.”
As wonderful as the sentiment was, as much as he wanted to feel useful the same way I always got to, I couldn’t bring myself to allow it. I couldn’t make him small enough to consume. I couldn’t convince myself that he was anything but the other half of my soul. I didn’t want to use him, I only wanted to feel his love in the only way I knew how.
“I want you to take care of me,” I requested softly and sweetly so that he might understand just how much I wanted to please him. I nuzzled my cheek against his and hoped that he would feel the way I felt about him in the plea. “Please, Professor.”
There were no further complaints or requests. His arms shook the same as my legs, but he persisted through the ache and exhaustion. He held me as tightly as he could while he fucked me. All the while he littered my face with kisses, affirmation, and praise.
“I’ve got you,” he whispered just before the stars inside of me burst.
“I’ve got you,” he repeated when my walls started to flutter around him. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down as I held onto him. He pushed through the resistance until he could find his own release at the deepest point of me.
I tried to call his name, tried to sing his praise, but all that came out was a series of whimpers that he would take that way, anyway. Spencer didn’t ask me for anything; he just held me with gentle hands that eased the tension from my trembling body before he ever stopped to worry about the tremors wrecking his own.
“Good girl,” he said with a sated sigh. Then, under his breath and with static in each syllable, he muttered, “Я не могу жить без тебя (I can’t live without you).”
“Happy words?” I asked.
“Always,” he answered.
I didn’t ask him to clarify.
We stayed together for as long as we reasonably could, but it would never be enough. But perhaps that was the magical thing about love. Maybe that was why it always felt like the first time.
I decided that I didn’t care about being enough anymore. I just wanted to be. To be free and to be with him.
Unfortunately, we were still in public, so the awkward dance of trying to appear presentable after the throes of passion and with very little tools at our disposal was challenging to say the least. It wasn’t until we’d made it back onto the main floor that I finally let out the breath I’d been holding. I let the relief set in that we’d managed to escape the scene of the crime without being caught in a less than sophisticated position.
Spencer heard my sigh of relief and turned to me with a smile. It wasn’t necessarily a question — more an observation of my many idiosyncrasies — but I felt obligated to answer, anyway.
“That was lucky.”
Surprisingly, though, my boyfriend didn’t seem to follow what I’d thought to be an obvious train of thought. Instead, he just scrunched up his face in confusion and asked, “What do you mean?”
“No one came in…?” I explained cautiously, as if there was something else that I must’ve been missing.
Then, in his typical way, Spencer assured me that there was, in fact, something I hadn’t noticed.
“Oh, it’s because I paid one of the workers $2,000 to keep everyone away.”
“What?! Spencer!” I balked, but he didn’t relent in his nonchalant dramatics.
“It was worth it, if you ask me,” he decided with a shrug.
“I can’t believe you,” I scoffed with a playful bump of our shoulders. When he pretended like the gentle touch had actually wounded him and not just his pride, I explained rather loudly, “That’s more than my rent!”
Without skipping a beat, Spencer asked, “You want me to pay for that, too?”
Unable to find anything intelligent or witty to say to the dare, I simply made garbled noise until I could vocalize at least one syllable: “Hush!”
Although Spencer smiled and somewhat accept defeat, there was something about the look in his eyes that couldn’t be chocked up to the normal happy hormone rush after sex or the sudden dramatic jump in his income.
“I would,” he assured me without the usual mocking tone or quiet coo. In plain English he stated, “Or we can skip the middleman altogether and you can just move in with me.”
Spencer looked too calm, too vulnerable for me to be certain that he was joking. But his words still strained credulity, and I knew it would be too dangerous to assume he wasn’t just teasing me in a very cruel manner.
So, I answered his offer with a bitter, sarcastic drone, “Ha-ha. I get it. I was being a bit of a wet blanket. Very funny.”
“No, I mean it,” he insisted, but I was too scared to believe it just yet.
“Yeah… whatever,” I sighed.
Spencer let it go but took my hand in his with a sneaky smile that I swore was hiding something I desperately wanted to know. Something that sounded like an unspoken dare of, Just wait, you’ll see.
You are already mine to me.
—————————————————
Growing up in the desert shaped me more than I’d ever like to admit. Something about the way we desert people are taught to treasure the night and the flowers that bloom within it; the sweet serenity of silence when the oasis finally faded from your rear view.
There are few things in my life that I treasured as much as the rain, but she was one of them. I had likened her to night-blooming cereus on many occasions. A spectacle for the masses to crowd around so that they could be blessed with the miracle of the cactus that only blooms one night of the year.
But as we laid together on silk sheets, with every part of her glowing from the expensive bottle of champagne that still wasn’t good enough to kiss her lips, I think it was her night.
The moon peeked through city splendor to find her, still. To hopefully get a chance to touch some small part of her skin, to share in the sweet scent of vanilla unlike the others. To witness the way that she unfurled her petals to make room for my fingers to trace soft, fragile filaments with whatever parts of me I could make gentle.
My lips caressed the sensitive skin of her neck, not stopping when she giggled because I was waiting for her to wrap around me again. And she did, like always, clinging to the only warmth she could find in the biting night air.
With her hands in my hair and her leg hooked around me, the small flower beneath me brought my lips to hers, but she didn’t kiss me. Instead, she whispered playfully, “Professor, I have a confession.”
“What’s that?”
“I think… I’ve had too much wine to be trusted to share a bed with you,” she explained through snickers and her best attempt at a straight face.
I returned a hum and a feigned contemplation but dropped my body closer as I fell onto my forearms above her.
“Is that right?” I returned slowly, to be sure that she heard the plea for her to come closer somehow, instead. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I mean, I would hate for something scandalous to happen,” she quipped with a healthy dose of sarcasm, “Let’s not forget what happened the last time you let a drunk girl into your bed.”
“You mean you?” I laughed. I clarified it only on the off chance that it had been a genuine attempt to trick me, although I should’ve known better to think she wouldn’t have simply asked.
She always trusted me. Even when I didn’t.
Even when she shouldn’t.
The thought was interrupted by the incessant, charming attempts of the girl beneath me to pull me closer. I relented but refused to collapse entirely onto her. I struggled to keep my weight off her, no matter how hard she tried to pull me closer. The voice reminding me of my every mistake remained, shouting my fears from the safety of my own mind.
I don’t want to watch you get crushed under the badness.
“Kiss me,” my Bunny called when I began to drift away.
I was still lost in a memory, reliving that one moment where I somehow had the restraint to protect her from me a little while longer. I clung to that feeling the same way she held onto me. I reminded myself that I could still be a good man, even if I made mistakes along the way.
She had never been anything close to a mistake.
“God, I don’t think you understand how hard it was to say no to you,” I groaned before dropping my forehead against her own.
She must have anticipated a ‘no’ to follow because the poor girl became even more insistent.
“So don’t say no again,” she begged, quiet and shy and everything I could ever dream of.
My demure little darling, a dream in and of herself. The only thing that could never compare to a fantasy, the one who haunted my dreams by not being close enough to reality.
My lips found hers, claimed hers with renewed vigor that was returned in earnest. I reveled in the way that she was still clumsy and unpracticed in her movements, and I hoped that she would never perfect them. I wanted her to remain as untouched as when I found her. I wanted to make her mine, but I wanted each and every part of her to remain pure.
I wanted to take nothing from her. I wanted to take everything from her.
I wanted her to give it all to me and not come to regret it.
When we broke apart, she whimpered at the loss. Lips still sweet despite the bitterness of the wine remained puckered long after her eyes opened to reveal the glassy, lustful stare that permeated through all my most treasured memories.
“Oh, I would give you anything you asked for, sweetheart,” I promised her.
“Then kiss me more,” she begged.
I dragged my lips over hers, but she seemed unsatisfied.
“Here?” I asked between chaste pecks.
But as soon as I had them, they were gone again. My Bunny threw her head back, baring her neck to me with its lazy pulse. Then, with enough hunger to starve me, she growled, “Everywhere.”
She squirmed and scratched at the back of my neck until I did as she instructed. It wasn’t until my face was buried in her neck that she began to come to rest. I poured my soul into each loving touch. I tried to assure her through lips and hands alone that I would stay true to my promise to take care of her, to nurture and love her until there was nothing left of me to give.
As I felt her body start to go limp, I couldn’t help but think of the small but beautiful creatures that shared her name.
Rabbits are born naked, blind and deaf. They won’t open their eyes until around the tenth day of their existence. Until then, they trust the only world they know — the one where they are safe, warm, and cared for.
I looked down at the now sleeping girl, with her arms open and breasts exposed. I saw the vulnerability that I’d craved my whole existence. I watched her chest rise and fall, her eyes remaining closed even when my knuckles dragged over the sensitive skin of her chest. My Bunny trusted me. A deep, unconditional trust. The kind that I had never been able to return for anyone.
But I wanted to give that to her. I wanted to be able to display the darkest parts of me always. I wanted her to know every misstep, every mistake, and every regret I had ever made and that will ever come to be. I wanted to share it all with her.
Seconds after that sturdy wall around my heart had begun to crack, the pain followed. My insecurities and imperfections threatened to bring everything down into a chaotic pile of wreckage. It threatened to take her down with it, and I was afraid that she might finally walk away for good.
My hands started to shake. The warmth of her skin suddenly felt like fire, and I began to panic at the idea of leaving behind scorched feathers and wax. I had seen how easily someone like me could sink into skin and leave it stained forever.
I wanted to be vulnerable with her, but I had brought her here under the guise of a lie.
I tried to convince myself that it hadn’t been a lie — it was a failure to disclose. A half-truth, a misunderstanding. But she had looked at me with innocent eyes and asked me what Lila meant to me, and I had failed to tell her the truth.
Really, though, truly, the truth wasn’t that far off from the relative apathy I’d expressed. If you’d asked me 18 years earlier, or perhaps even 15, I might’ve had more to say about Lila Archer. But so much had changed that she had become not much more than a memory. Assuring myself of that did little to help the pit in my stomach, however.
I barely slept that night. It felt selfish and cruel, to rest soundly next to her when I had essentially guided her straight into the lion’s den. Although I’d hoped that Lila wouldn’t make a big deal out of the nothing we’d shared, I couldn’t blame her if she’d mentioned it.
After all, what kind of lunatic wouldn’t tell his girlfriend that the bride invited him to her wedding because he was her ex-boyfriend?
An idiot, I decided. That’s who.
I was a fucking idiot.
—————————————————
I was no profiler, but I liked to think that I knew my boyfriend well enough to know when he wasn’t doing well. Although, that was a significantly less impressive skill when he was behaving like he had been for the entire day leading up to our trip to Lila’s house.
Aside from the general antsy rambling, Spencer had barely said a word to me about the plans for the day. Of course, I knew that I’d be meeting his friends, all of whom were both famous and significantly older than me. I supposed that he figured that was enough to know. He would probably be right to assume that any more information would just lead to unnecessary anxiety and overthinking.
But as the taxi pulled up outside a mansion that was much too big, I couldn’t help but think that Spencer was the one stuck in a rut of restless thoughts. It was bad enough, in fact, that he had almost forgotten to open my door for me. Granted, I had opened it long before he would have made it to my side of the car, but this time I also managed to get out without his hand to help me.
That was when I noticed that the relentless rocking of the car had not just been Nevada roads — everything about him was filled with energy in the worst way.
“Spencer, are you alright? You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” he answered quickly enough that I didn’t trust him one bit.
“Do we need to go back to the hotel? You look like you’re really freaking out.”
“I said I’m fine. It’s fine. Everything is fine,” he grumbled, taking three steps towards the door just to stop and turn on his feet. We were already on the steps, but he looked ready to bolt into the night never to be seen again.
“You definitely look fine,” I responded with enough sarcasm to finally knock enough sense into him for him to admit, “Okay, you’re right. I’m freaking out, yes.”
“What’s wrong?”
Spencer’s hands balled into fists that he brought to his eyes. He pressed hard enough against his face that I watched red skin turn white. His chest was moving quicker, too, until I was honestly worried that he might pass out before the door even opened.
“Just breathe, Spencer. Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s fine.”
Spencer was not convinced at all by my assurances, and if anything, my relative calmness seemed to send him further into a spiral. Just before I felt like I might lose him to a much more troubling train of thought, he burst into a rant that hit me like a slap in the face.
“Okay, listen, this is terrible timing and I deeply regret it, and if I could go back and tell you at a different, better time, trust and believe me when I say that I would—”
“What are you talking about?!” I returned, albeit more hushed and somehow even more rushed than him.
“I wasn’t just Lila’s bodyguard,” he said, as if that had meant anything to me.
“…Okay?!”
And then he said something else. Something that definitely, absolutely meant something to me.
“We slept together… Twice.”
The cloud nine I’d been sailing on for the past few days collapsed all at once.
“She was…” he said breathlessly, “She was my first.”
Every good thought and bit of confidence I’d had when we arrived had been shattered like porcelain that I swore I could feel filling my stomach. The stabbing pain of a million sharpened points of a once beautiful creation shredded my insides until it all came out in a few frantic, devastated words.
“You’re telling me this now?!”
Spencer, who was obviously freaking out at an equal level as me despite having no justification for it, considering it was his fault for not telling me before, spared me no mercy when he answered, “What did I just say about timing—?!“
Somehow, I managed to not smack him upside his stupid, beautiful head. I kept myself as together as I could with tears threatening to spill at any possible second. I swallowed the insecurities and anger, but it came out, anyway.
“I’m going to kick your ass!” I screeched.
My boyfriend, who knew me well enough to know that my threat was empty and only came from a place of profound pain, returned an exhausted groan. I could see the next sentence on his tongue; I could feel the apology and explanation that he had probably spent all day planning.
Unfortunately, the very same second that his mouth opened again, so, too, did the door.
“Hey, Spencer,” Lila said through a smile that made my skin crawl from just how warm it was. “I’m so happy that you made it.”
And when she reached forward to hug him, I found myself stepping away to make room for her on the patio. I stood on the sidelines as his arms opened for her and his eyes lit up again without having to look at me.
Do you think you’re the first girl to make this mistake? You’re not.
Good luck with that.
Trust me, you’ll need it.
—————————————————
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Request: Spencer/Fem!Reader. Reader is watching Spencer with kiddos and gets baby fever (JJ jokes "i know that look"). When they get home Spencer is like "you are not subtle, you know that?" & smut ensues (with a dash of fluff).
A/N: Literally just Spencer and his wife being so in love it's cavity inducing. That's the whole fic. Bon appetit.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+)
Content Warning: Breeding kink, established relationship (married), unprotected sex, pregnancy
Word Count: 3k
MASTERLIST
——————————————————
When people think of my husband, a few distinct scenarios come to mind.
There was the fastidious, frantic man pacing through libraries with a book in hand and many more at his feet. The one that smelled like sickly sweetened coffee and whose hair frayed in fifty different directions. It was that Spencer — the SSA Dr. Spencer Reid — that people thought was the truest expression of himself.
But anyone who thought that was wrong. Unlucky, too. Because there was nothing more beautiful or more wholly him than the Spencer that I saw surrounded by kids in JJ’s living room. With his face shifting between dozens of exaggerated expressions and his lips always spilling with laughter or something close enough. His hair was still a mess, but this time it was from the stickiness of candy still clung to the children’s hands.
Uncle Spencer was, by far, the happiest version of him I’d ever seen. His happiness only increased with each new child. As the BAU playdates grew, so would his smile until it was practically stuck stretched across his cheeks.
That wasn’t to say that he was unhappy when there weren’t kids around. The two of us had happily enjoyed our first two years of marriage. We never ran out of ways to spend the long nights or weekends together. We were happy as could be, just the two of us.
But there was no denying that feeling that had been slowly growing below my belly button. That tickling warmth and glow each time I imagined a future where the sight in front of me was not only ever-present, but also shared with a child of our own.
“I know that look.”
“Hm? What?” I jumped, shaken from my fantasizing by JJ’s subtle giggle that I quickly shared. “Sorry, my mind is sort of… somewhere else.”
With that simple, vague explanation, the mother at my side reached several astute conclusions very quickly. We both turned to the sounds of shrieking kids currently yanking and tossing the never-ending rainbow scarf from my husband’s hands.
“Have you two talked about it?” she asked when she finally turned back to me.
Heat rushed to my face that I tried and failed to hide from the eyes of one of the BAU’s most observant veterans. After a few moments, I’d also failed to come up with any believable white lie or twisted version of the truth.
Instead, I answered honestly and with a sheepish tone, “Um... I’m not sure if I’m supposed to say if he hasn’t told you already.”
“Good answer,” she assured me with a subtle thumbs up.
But no matter how small the gesture was, it didn’t go unnoticed. Fate had made sure that the second she’d done it would be the same moment Spencer glanced up at us.
It wasn’t long — just long enough for me to notice him. My body immediately shook at the sensation of his eyes burning into me with an ungodly lust. Every hair stood on edge, and I only barely was able to tear myself away from him long enough to respond to JJ, who spoke again with an unavoidable fondness for the sight before us.
“He’s gonna be a great dad,” she said softly.
“Yeah,” I sighed happily, “He is.”
——————————————————
If I were to ask someone to describe Spencer’s general tone, I knew exactly what would come to their mind. That excitable, almost naive joy spilling from a clumsy tongue that couldn’t move quick enough. It was the words cut in half by weary vocal cords, the sudden break in his pitch when he hadn’t taken a breath in nearly a minute.
And again, although I knew that part of my husband well, it was so remarkably different than the Spencer I knew him to be behind closed doors.
That day was no exception. If anything, his voice had dropped even lower from the exhaustion. There was no screeching, no stumbling over his words. Each one was drawled slowly but with a careful precision to match his hands slowly snaking around my waist.
“You and JJ seemed to be having a nice conversation,” he whispered into my ear just to feel me shiver from the heat.
“We usually do,” I hummed back as nonchalantly as I could. I tried to ignore the way his hands started to roam my body with purpose. I said nothing when his hand found the hem of my dress and began hiking it up. Instead, I stayed dutifully on the topic he’d chosen and pretended like his touch wasn’t burning me alive with desire.
“She’s easy to talk to,” I barely choked out.
“Care to tell me what you two were discussing?” he replied without skipping a beat.
“A little bit of you,” I answered, only for my voice to be cut off by the sharp sound of my underwear tearing and snapping against my hip.
Unfazed, Spencer pressed me to continue, “Is that right?”
His hands were still busy, now carefully undoing each button on the front of my dress and slowly revealing the heated skin of my chest.
Before I forgot, I nodded to confirm his suspicion. That implicit beg behind his stare earlier, and my immediate, elated submission the second we’d walked into our room.
Even when the last button was undone, he paused before he exposed the rest of me. Instead of letting the garment drop from my shoulders just like that, Spencer spun me around on my heels and pulled my chest against his.
Once again, I felt the scorching weight of his gaze. I threw myself into hazel honeycomb and gorged myself on the sweetness. I tried to taste him, too, but he tilted his head to dare me to finish the painfully incomplete answer.
“Anything else?”
I giggled at my own ingenuity, not bothered at all by the fact he’d anticipated my joke before I’d even finished it.
“Maybe a little bit of me, too,” I mumbled against his lips.
Spencer didn’t bother wasting the opportunity. He pulled me impossibly closer just before he tugged the dress off my shoulders. As it crumpled at our feet, he tangled us in the mess of fabric until I toppled back onto the bed.
We were both filled with an elated laughter that sounded so much sweeter when it echoed back to us. As he started to remove his own clothes, I managed to remove the last remaining piece of my own with a similar haste.
We didn’t want to be apart for one second longer, so we weren’t. As he climbed atop me, he seemed to revel in the way my body was already squirming. Every limb was seeking him out and wrapping around to pull him closer. But it wasn’t until my hips unceremoniously bucked at his touch that he couldn’t hold back his teasing any longer.
“You are not subtle, you know that?”
But for as wicked as his smirk was, we both knew that I wasn’t the only one who wore their heart on their sleeves. I could feel the lust when his lips crashed against mine, that longing to be one as his tongue met mine in the middle. We stayed connected for as long as we could before we were forced apart.
Just a little gasp, a sharp inhale as lithe fingers drifted up my inner thigh. That little noise quickly shifted when his nails dug into the pillowy flesh and forced my legs to part further. Then he filled that emptiness with lithe fingers slipping between slick, scorching folds.
“Tell me what you want,” he begged.
“Please, fuck me,” I answered. My heart was racing and my lungs could hardly keep up. The world around me was rocking and my husband was both the reason for my undoing and the only thing keeping me sane.
It was impossible to know how long it had been, but I knew I never wanted it to end. His fingers gently massaged tense muscles, coaxing sweet sounds from my chest and coating his fingers in the sticky nectar smeared between my thighs.
He was too happy to watch me come apart. Too pleased to watch how he could unravel me with something so simple. So I reached for him, too, gripping his erection and gently working my fingers over the heated skin.
“Please,” I whispered again, “I want you to fuck me.”
But I had been so distracted by my own euphoria that I hadn’t seen the way the frustration had grown over his brow. In my rush towards the finish line, I hadn’t noticed the remarkable self-restraint in loving eyes.
Our hands stayed where they were, but everything grew gentler when he rested his forehead against mine. In that soft space filled with small whimpers and heavy breath, Spencer found the strength to speak the truth he’d been holding back.
“I want to do it,” he pleaded, pausing to bite his bottom lip lest the rest spill out. Then, still working up the courage he repeated louder, “I want to…”
Again, my body knew him better. Goosebumps rippled, reaching for him in the darkness and only relenting when he pressed his cock against my thigh.
That time it was me who whispered, “Tell me what you want.”
That was all it took. That one small, implicit beg broke his resolve and left him practically sobbing with need.
“I want to get you pregnant,” he admitted. His throat shook with the power with which he’d said it, and he only grew hoarser as he clarified, “Right now.”
I’d needed no convincing.
“Do it,” I returned with just as much urgency, with just as much force behind the words. Even when he pulled away and rooted his hand in my hair, I never once stopped begging with everything I had.
“I want you to do it,” I repeated between whimpers when his fingers slipped out of me to make room for something better. His hand joined mine, wrapping around it as we both guided him to my entrance.
I let go because I had to. My hands dug into his shoulder, trying to brace myself for the sensation I knew would follow. But once again, my husband took pleasure in watching how I writhed.
He pulled my leg up around his hip to still the rhythmic rolling of my hips, but it hardly stopped me. The energy reverted to praise that spilled from my lips in the form of moans when he finally started to fill me inch by inch.
I closed my eyes for just a moment, savoring the feeling of filling the space between my legs. I clung to my husband, burying my face into the crook of his neck and shivering when the feeling made him chuckle. He continued to share those simple pleasures of silence by peppering the top of my head with kisses.
He’d continued until innocence wasn’t enough. With his hand in my hair, he pulled me back to flash another wicked smile.
“You’re practically dripping, sweetheart,” he teased. He’d punctuated the taunt with a rough thrust into me that forced the words out from my throat.
“Please. I need it.” My voice shook, my nails digging into the skin on the back of his neck as my fingers raked through his hair. Our hooded gazes met, each carrying with it a visceral animalistic instinct that was suffocating.
“Say it,” he ordered as he drew back his hips at a tortuously slow pace. “Tell me what you want.”
“Make me a mother,” I cried with a desperation so potent it bled into a moan.
Spencer’s whole body tensed as he slammed into me in one brutal stroke. My body shook against his, but he didn’t slow down. He only became harder and more insistent in his movements. He was dedicated to hearing the harmony of our voices as we tried to call each other's names. So focused on the sound of our bodies meeting over and over again.
Spencer reached up and grabbed hold of the headboard, propping himself up further so he could watch as he disappeared inside of me. Slowly moving in and out, he let out a deep, rolling groan when he watched my body rock in tandem with his movements.
“You were made for this,” he reminded breathlessly. Then, he shifted his attention back to my face. He looked into watery eyes and plumped lips before he thrust into me again. It was then, buried between trembling thighs that he said through a smile, “You were made for me.”
His free hand reached for mine. We found each other like we always did. But he didn’t just hold me; he guided my hand to my stomach that moved with each thrust. He pressed hard against the surface, basking in the knowledge that he was the one who was given refuge in my body. That he could share and occupy that space with me.
Then, with a sillier, more joyful smile, he reminded himself of the reality — the possibility that soon there could be a more permanent representation of our souls coming back together again.
“God, I can’t fucking wait to see you carrying my child,” he ground out. His hips picked up their pace, and so did his words. His voice growing into that frantic, trembling excitement as the love took over. “Everyone will know how well I treat you. How spoiled you are.”
I giggled back, but otherwise stayed silent. I wanted to hear each syllable uttered, unbroken and filled with confidence. I held his hand tighter, pressed harder against my stomach while tilting my hips forward until I heard him gasp.
“I’ll give you both the world,” he whispered, still speaking quickly but barely able to hold himself up. “I swear, I’ll take care of you forever.”
To prove his point, his body collapsed the second I’d even suggested he hold me. His lips joined mine while his forearms caged me in and he held me closer than ever before. Until our bodies could barely move apart from each other and resorted to grinding against one another, instead.
“I’ll do anything for you,” he mumbled against my lips.
I believed him. That was precisely why I issued the one demand I couldn’t hold back any longer.
“Give me a baby, Spencer.”
We sealed the deal with a kiss, gentle at first but quickly growing hungry. Our mouths and chins coated with enthusiasm and moans still slipping between bruised lips. My nails drew angry red welts across his back, and he returned the fervor with rough thrusts that left me crying out in the sweet mixture of pain and pleasure.
“I don’t know how I’ll ever come back from this,” he gasped when he felt my body begging him to do what came natural to us both.
“Now that I know what it feels like…” he continued, his words slurring as he let himself be positively drunk on me. He dropped more of his weight on me, savoring the feel and friction that made the tension between my legs almost unbearable. “Now that I know how badly you want it.”
“Please, Spencer,” I whispered. I could barely breathe, barely see through the haze of our combined lust, but when he kissed me, I’d never failed to kiss him back.
Especially not then, when our lips met just before his thrusts became brutal and disjointed. He fucked me deeper and harder until there was nothing left untouched.
“You want me to make you a mother?” he dared one last time.
“Yes, please, God!” I cried, repeating the plea over and over until my voice gave away with the last of his self-restraint.
“Good.”
With one more thrust, he bottomed out inside of me and refused to stop even when there was nowhere left.
“Take it all for me, sweetheart. You’re doing so good,” he reassured me with the little air he still possessed.
As he filled me with a blistering warmth, the bruising force bled through to his mouth. He kissed me hard enough that I saw stars, biting down on my lip just enough to taste the bittersweet iron.
We couldn’t call out to each other from the heights of euphoria, but we hadn’t needed to. Our bodies would always meet in the middle. Our souls intertwined in that impossible cosmic space that only contained the two of us.
For now, I reminded myself with a smile.
“I love you,” were the first words I’d said when I regained my speech.
“I love you,” he overlapped. He was unsatisfied by how tired his voice sounded, though, so he tried again. “I love you so, so much. More than should ever be possible, I love you.”
And just as we’d begun, we descended into sickly saccharine kisses broken with hopelessly happy laughter. We somehow managed to find peace in the sweaty mess of desire coated skin.
Spencer stared at me, brushing hair away from my face and memorizing the way I looked in that moment so he might never forget it again. Despite being certain that I was in a state of pure disarray, I felt nothing negative in his scrutiny. Only love.
“You’re so beautiful,” he praised in sync with my thoughts. “I am so lucky that you love me.”
“You say that now, but just you wait…” I teased with narrowed eyes and his contagious smile spreading over my cheeks. “If our child takes after me, you might regret it.”
“Never,” he promised me with a voice both broken and confident, soaked in the unparalleled affection we shared in every conceivable way, “I am ready.”
“Me too,” I answered, the love in my voice mirroring his.
There were many versions of my husband that people thought about when they thought of him, but I knew then that the version of him I saw in that moment, brimming with pride and overflowing with love, was the one that I would treasure forever.
I sometimes have to pay for water, but with a phone and some wifi, I get to read whole novels about my favorite characters for exactly zero additional dollars
Summary: Spencer and Bunny visit the gun range.
A/N: For those who missed it, this series will now be updated every OTHER Thursday. I want to be able to start writing oneshots regularly. I don’t want to force this fic! Thanks eveyrone!
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Slow Burn (NSFW, 18+)
Content Warning: Penetrative sex, unprotected sex, mild allusions to breeding kink, guns (no danger), public sex, teasing/very mild degradation, mentions of age gap
Word Count: 6.2k
MASTERLIST | Series Masterlist
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White rabbits oft relate to lovers. Their meanings in dreams range from virility to imminent disaster, but among all meanings is a recurring theme of innocence. A peacefulness, coming or going, but always fleeting in its duration. The easily frighted little lagomorph carries the messages to the end and then disappears back through the tunnels whence they came.
I found it odd, then, when their transient nature was so established, but my Bunny always stayed.
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