#bau reader

[writersrkive]

Don't shut up | Spencer Reid

summary: Spencer is used to people who constantly tell him to shut up, but somehow, he feels even more embarrassed and sad when he thinks you want him to stop talking after looking at the tired and confused expression you have when he's trying to help you. The thing is you hate when people do that to Spence and would spend years just listening to his voice.

genre: fluff

pairing: Early seasons!Spencer Reid x bau!reader

warnings: mentions of the team shutting Spencer down. Derek and JJ being a little mean to him when he's spreading information. Spencer being a cutie potato. Mention of a stomachache and its causes (mention of miscarriage as one of the causes, but nothing happens). Reader not being a native english speaker, but just a slight mention.

a/n: Dr. Spencer Reid is a genius.... I am not. I literally had to search for information and copy-paste here in some parts, so if there's misinformation, it's Google's fault, lmao. I wrote this yesterday when I was about to sleep, so I'm sorry if something is wrong with the writing (even though I already edited). English isn't my first language, please be kind <3.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

Spencer and you arrived early that morning. He hated being late for anything. He couldn't afford to be late if he wanted to stick as closely as possible to his assigned schedule, especially because he took public transport. On the other hand, you had no choice but to arrive early when you woke up at four in the morning thanks to a severe stomachache and couldn't go back to sleep.

That's how your conversation started. Your genius workmate was surprised to see you, first hour in the morning, when he walked in the office, even before Hotch arrived.

“Are you feeling better?” He asked, furrowing his eyebrows. You couldn't deny that the expression was too cute for your own good.

“Yeah… I think so. It's not even the stomach ache that bothers me, it's the fact that even if I was sleepy, I couldn't fall asleep again. You know? That happens to me a lot. Once I open my eyes, I can't go back to sleep. I've also been feeling mildly unwell for a week, but even though the medication is controlling it, it doesn't stop."

At this point, he already set up his desk, leaving his briefcase on his own chair to walk over to you and sit at your desk, next to the chair you were sitting in, to listen to you attentively and answer.

“The brain works with different phases of sleep: light sleep, deep sleep, and REM sleep. The cycle usually restarts every eighty to one hundred minutes, and we typically have four to six cycles each night.”

Hotch came out of the elevator and walked upstairs after both of you waved at him, and he let out a soft “good morning”. Emily arrived a few seconds later. You greeted her too, as she took place on her desk, but that didn't stop your conversation.

“So, it's completely normal that we wake up in the middle of the night because of that process, but if it is frequent, for three months or more, it may be a symptom of insomnia.”

Your view went to the floor, and your head nodded in a semi-unconscious movement, because although you knew that your sleep cycle was ruined by work, you had not come to that conclusion, maybe that was it.

“Now, the stomachache…” He said, taking one pen from your pencil case to concentrate. He usually never took other people's belongings or shared his own stuff because of the germs, but somehow, after a few years of working together, he had come to have a good amount of closeness with you to borrow some stuff from you. Months ago, it hadn't gone unnoticed by Penelope that Spencer had a box full of pens reserved for you, in case you needed one, nor the fact that he denied JJ one of them once, when the blonde girl needed something to write with quickly.

“The causes can be the most common, such as gas, indigestion, a muscle injury, or stress. Although there are also more serious causes: gastrointestinal infections, inflammatory bowel disease, irritable bowel syndrome, ectopic pregnancy or miscarriage..."

“Wow, what are you trying to do? Scare her?” Derek's voice invaded the place and Emily smirked.

“What? No, I'm just saying the possibilities…” Spencer whispered, looking down, a little worried that he might actually scared the person he cared more, besides his mom.

“It's okay.” You answer loud enough so your friends and coworkers would hear. “Thanks, Spence. I already went to the doctor, so I have none of… those.” I gave him a little smile. “But about stress…” The sentence hung in the air, so Spencer looked up and continued speaking automatically.

“Stress can cause stomach pain because the autonomic nervous system of the gastrointestinal tract reacts to the same hormones and neurotransmitters as the brain. This is because the digestive system is connected to the nervous system, and the enteric nervous system, which is located in the digestive system, is able to send and receive impulses and assimilate emotions.” He started to talk faster.

Your focus on the genius boy and his explanation was sincere, but maybe it was the fact that you didn't rest well, plus the fact that he was speaking too fast and not vocalizing all the syllables, that for a moment your brain didn't process what he was saying.

It was weird. At some point you didn't even hear words, just sounds from his mouth. That didn't happen to you for a really long time because you already had experience with the native speakers, even if english wasn't your mother language. The exhausting feeling of not being able to sleep well was definitely to blame.

While your brain was coming to that conclusion, Spencer could only see your furrowed brow, tense jaw, tilted head, and dissociated look.

“You want me to shut up, right?” That whisper was enough for you to come back to reality. His cheeks were red and his eyes looked a little sad, not to mention the way his mouth formed a line like whenever he felt awkward.

“Yes, please!” Derek answered instead, leaning back in his seat and looking up with his arms outstretched as if he'd had to deal with seven unsubs in the five minutes he'd been there, listening from his place to the information Spencer was giving you.

“Little genius boy got excited… again.” JJ said, looking at some documents in front of her, opening her eyes wide in an expression of tiredness and disinterest.

The young profiler stood up from your desk thinking about returning to his chair, a little embarrassed, but you took his pinky with yours —that way you wouldn't make him feel uncomfortable in case he wasn't in the mood for physical touch, something he refused unless it was you. Again, another special treat—. “Wait. It wasn't like that.” Hazel eyes looked at you intently, still with a bit of doubt. “I'm sorry Spencer. Yes, you got excited, but that's not something bad.”

“It isn't?” He questioned.

“No, but you started to speak fast, and the fact that there are some words that I have a hard time processing in English and I couldn't quite catch what you were saying because I didn't sleep enough, well, that distracted me. Would you mind repeating it again, slower?” This time, you were the one with warm cheeks.

“Oh. Are you sure you don't want me to shut up?” The boy was actually intrigued and a little surprised.

“Why would I want that?” The fact that your teammates often shut Spencer up when he tried to share extra information, or information that he had been asked about, was something you had noticed from the moment you started working with the team. You thought that was rude. You understood that sometimes Spencer got excited, gave information that was perhaps better saved for another time since you were investigating a case, or people could be tired and want silence, but the team either silenced him or made fun of him most of the time. Plus, there weren't many other things you liked more than hearing his voice.

The sweet, soothing tone of his words helped you sleep on the jet after a long case, or made you want to hear more about whatever he was talking about. Feeling like he was sharing with you, a mere mortal, some of the vast knowledge he had was nice.

“I'm always happy to hear whatever you need to say, even if it's about something I don't understand. And, right now, you are helping me a lot, so, please, don't shut up.” The crimson color returned to the tall boy's face, this time not because he was uncomfortable. Your kind and somewhat complicit smile made his heart race, like almost every time he was with you. Spencer knew that no matter how tired he got, he would never shut up if you wanted him to keep talking.

[sweatervest-obsessed]

Y/n: see how Garcia brought the shots back to the table?

Prentiss: very thoughtful.

JJ: very demure.

Morgan: what the fuck—

*hotch arrives*

Garcia: see how Hotch was late?

Prentiss: not very mindful.

Reid: not demure.

[badathumanemotions]

hi can you write a fic about the team is at a bar ( spencer and the reader are “enemies” ) and the readers ex shows up so she makes spencer act like her bf (they kiss 😛) and it results in them getting freaky because they realise their real feelings for each other

Friction (Part 1)

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI MasterList Catergory: Smut CW: Enemies to Lovers, Petty Arguments, Fighting, Mean Break Up With Ex, Girl's Night, Background/Foreground Case, Usual Criminal Minds Warnings, Fake Dating, Smut, Sex Up Against The Wall, Oral, Dom/ Sub Undertones, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex. WC: 25,106 [Total Count 52,733] Part Two (AN: I got carried away with this one. It was too long for one post so I had to split it. I know it's not exactly what you asked for but I hope you don't mind. Not Proof Read) From the moment you joined the BAU, you and Spencer Reid had been at odds.

At first, you thought it was just an adjustment period. Everyone had warned you about his quirks—his brilliance, his social awkwardness, his resistance to change. It wasn’t personal, they assured you. He just needed time.

And you had no problem with that. You had seen how he interacted with the rest of the team, how he softened once he settled into a rhythm with someone. You figured it would be the same with you.

But it wasn’t.

Time passed, but Spencer didn’t warm up to you. If anything, he seemed to grow colder.

At first, it was subtle. You’d say something, and he’d respond in clipped, uninterested tones, like he couldn’t be bothered to engage. You’d offer a theory, and he’d shoot it down with a rapid-fire recitation of statistics before moving on without a second thought. It wasn’t just that he was socially awkward—it was that he was dismissive.

And then, as the weeks went on, it became something more.

You noticed the way his jaw would tense when you spoke, the way he interrupted you more than he did anyone else. His corrections became sharper, more pointed, like he was trying to undermine you. And when you gave him back the same energy, he only doubled down.

It made no sense.

You had been nothing but friendly to him in the beginning, even a little in awe of him. You liked him—or at least, you had wanted to. You had made an effort, asking him about his interests, trying to engage him in conversation. You wanted to be his friend.

And yet, from the start, Spencer had been intent on keeping you at arm’s length.

It irritated you more than it should have. Maybe it was because you had seen glimpses of the way he could be—laughing with JJ, bantering with Morgan, engaging in quiet conversations with Emily. He wasn’t incapable of warmth. He wasn’t incapable of connection.

So why was it so impossible with you?

You didn’t understand it.

It was one of your first weeks on the team. The case had wrapped up early, and back at Quantico, the team—minus Hotch and Gideon—had been lingering in the bullpen, half-working, half-making conversation.

“You know what sounds good?” Morgan had said, stretching in his chair. “A drink. A real drink. None of this coffee and jet pretzel diet we’ve been on for four days.”

JJ hummed in agreement. “Ooh, yeah. Emily?”

“I’m in,” Emily had said immediately, swivelling in her chair. “Reid?”

Spencer had hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

It wasn’t his usual scene, but the team had been encouraging him to get out more, and he figured one night wouldn’t hurt.

Then, almost without thinking, he glanced in your direction.

You were focused on something at your desk, jotting something down in a file, oblivious to the conversation happening around you. He knew you hadn’t heard Morgan’s suggestion.

And before he could think better of it, the idea formed.

Ask her to come too.

It shouldn’t have been such a big deal. It was a casual invitation, nothing more. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t even hesitate.

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was you.

Spencer shifted in his seat, pushing his hair behind his ear as he tried to work up the nerve to get your attention. His fingers tapped anxiously against his desk.

He ran through the words in his head. Something simple.

Hey, we’re going for drinks. You should come.

He swallowed hard. No, too eager.

The team is going out tonight. You’re coming, right?

Better. Casual. Not like he cared whether you came or not.

Spencer inhaled, finally ready to speak—

“Hey!”

Your name rang out across the room, bright and familiar.

Spencer’s mouth snapped shut.

You looked up, your face breaking into an easy smile as a man approached. He was tall, broad-shouldered, walking toward you with the kind of confidence that suggested he belonged there.

“Hey,” you greeted warmly as he reached you, and then, without hesitation, you introduced him to the team.

Spencer barely heard the words, but they echoed in his head regardless.

My boyfriend.

The realization had hit him like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know what he had been expecting—didn’t even know why he had been gathering the nerve to ask you to come out with them. But he knew, with startling clarity, that whatever fleeting thought had been in his head had been stupid.

Of course, you had a boyfriend.

Of course, you weren’t interested.

And from that moment on, Spencer had kept his distance.

Now, nearly a year later, you and Spencer Reid were still locked in a cold war of snide remarks, tense silence, and a mutual refusal to back down.

The team had learned to tolerate it, brushing past your constant clashes like background noise. Morgan smirked whenever you two were forced to sit together, JJ raised an eyebrow when one of you cut the other off in a briefing. Emily, ever entertained, had once called it weirdly impressive, the way you could turn even the most mundane conversation into a battlefield. Even Hotch had raised an eyebrow once, as if puzzled by how two otherwise competent agents turned every conversation into a sparring match.

And maybe it was.

Because for all the ways Spencer frustrated you, for all the ways you swore you hated him—there was something about your dynamic that you couldn’t ignore.

Something that made you fight back, instead of letting it go.

Something that made it matter.

And that was what irritated you the most.

Like the case in Detroit.

The house was eerily quiet. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting sharp slashes of light across the living room floor. It was the third crime scene in a week, and you were already exhausted.

Three women. All strangled. No signs of forced entry. No struggle. The only thing missing was their jewellery.

You and Spencer had been sent to the latest victim’s house to comb through the scene one more time. Just the two of you.

Fantastic.

“I don’t think the unsub is a stranger,” you said, scanning the room. “There’s no sign of forced entry. He’s either charming his way in or she already knows him.”

Spencer, crouched near the coffee table, didn’t even look up. “That’s not necessarily true. He could be posing as a maintenance worker or a delivery person. It’s common for serial offenders to gain access under false pretenses.”

You exhaled through your nose, forcing yourself to stay patient. “That’s possible. But if he were posing as a worker, wouldn’t the victims have mentioned expecting someone? None of them had appointments scheduled, no maintenance requests, nothing out of the ordinary on their call logs.” You gestured around. “And there’s no sign of a rush. No hesitation. He didn’t need to convince them. They let him in without question.”

Spencer finally stood, crossing his arms. “It’s still an assumption. People let in strangers all the time.”

You turned to him, incredulous. “So, you’re saying three women, in completely separate parts of the city, all just happened to let the same random guy inside?”

Spencer let out a sharp breath through his nose—the closest thing to a scoff you’d ever heard from him. “You’re conflating correlation with causation. Just because the method was the same doesn’t mean the victims knew him.”

You crossed your arms. “And you’re assuming you know everything just because you read a couple dozen studies on serial offenders with no forced entry.”

His eyes narrowed. “A couple dozen? Try over a hundred.”

You huffed a humourless laugh. “Wow. That explains so much.”

He tilted his head, gaze sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “It means, Dr. Reid, that maybe you should try thinking like a person instead of a goddamn textbook for once.”

His expression flickered—just for a second. A tiny crack in the mask. Then it was gone, and his voice was back to its usual, infuriatingly calm tone. “And maybe you should try thinking with logic instead of gut feelings.”

You stared at him, pulse thrumming.

God, he was insufferable.

It wasn’t just that he disagreed with you—it was the way he dismissed you. Like you were foolish for even suggesting a different perspective. Like your experience, your instincts, meant nothing next to his IQ and encyclopedic knowledge of criminal behaviour.

“Fine,” you said, stepping back. “You think I’m wrong? Prove it.”

Spencer blinked, clearly thrown by the challenge. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, crossing your arms. “If you’re so sure I’m wrong, prove it. Give me one solid piece of evidence that definitively rules out a personal connection.”

He hesitated.

Just for a second. But you caught it.

And that hesitation? That tiny, almost imperceptible pause?

It was a win.

Because for all his facts, all his stats, he couldn’t definitively prove you wrong. Not yet.

But instead of admitting that, he just clenched his jaw and turned away. “We should get back to the station,” he muttered, already moving toward the door.

You let him go, but the smug satisfaction in your chest was short-lived.

Because as much as you hated to admit it, as much as you wanted to believe that this was just a rivalry, just workplace tension, there was something else beneath the surface.

Something that made your heart race a little too fast whenever he challenged you.

Something that made it hard to ignore the way his eyes darkened when he was frustrated, or the way his voice got quieter when he was trying to prove a point.

Something that you both refused to acknowledge.

Because it was easier to fight.

Easier to pretend that this was just a clash of personalities and not something deeper.

So, as always, you buried it down, shoved it behind sharp words and colder stares.

And if Spencer Reid was doing the same? Well. That wasn’t your problem.

Monday came with the usual post-case lull, the team settling back into routine at the bullpen. The scent of Garcia’s latest flavoured coffee wafted through the air as she perched on your desk, legs swinging.

“You never told me how date night went,” she chirped, tapping at her keyboard with one hand while stirring sugar into her mug with the other.

You barely looked up from your paperwork. “Huh?”

“With the boyfriend,” she prompted, stretching out the word. “You two went out Friday, right? Fancy dinner? Wine? Come on, give me details, woman.”

There was a beat too long before you responded, your pen hesitating against the page. “Oh. Yeah. It was... fine.”

Garcia’s brows lifted at the lacklustre answer. “Fine? You usually get all dreamy-eyed when you talk about him.”

You forced a smile. “I guess I’m just tired. Case drained me.”

She didn’t push, but she noticed.

By Tuesday, the change in your demeanour had spread through the team like a quiet ripple in a pond. There was still no mention of your boyfriend. No lighthearted comments about your life outside of work. The usual sparks of your personality felt dimmed, and no one could deny the shift.

The day was long, and by the time you were all back in the bullpen, trying to catch up on case details, Morgan stretched his arms over his head with a loud groan.

“Man,” he muttered, “I can barely remember the last time I went to bed before midnight.” He dropped back into his chair and looked around. “Anybody else feel like they need a little work-life balance?”

Emily rolled her eyes but smiled. “For sure. We work in shifts, but we never really sleep at the same time.” She paused, glancing at you, and then back at Morgan. “I think we could all use a little more balance.”

JJ nodded in agreement, giving a slight chuckle. “Yeah, I hear you. We all need to find a way to make the job fit into our lives, not the other way around. That’s something I’d like to find in a relationship.”

You froze at her words, your fingers momentarily stilling on the case file in front of you. The word relationship hung in the air, and you could feel your walls instinctively rise. You hadn’t mentioned your boyfriend in weeks—not even to the girls, and now the topic of relationships felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

"Yeah, sure," you muttered, giving a tight smile as you kept your eyes on the case. “We’ll find a way to make it work.”

JJ caught the tightness in your tone, and she exchanged a quick, knowing glance with Emily. But they didn’t press you. Not yet.

By Wednesday, the rhythm of the bullpen had returned to its usual hum, but there was a subtle shift in the air. You were still going through the motions, keeping your focus on the case, but something about your presence was different. It wasn’t obvious, not to Spencer anyway. To him, it was the same as it always had been—just another day of your usual jabs and back-and-forth.

“Did you get those files for me, or do I have to send a reminder?” Spencer’s voice cut through the quiet, his usual tone of detached sarcasm filling the air as he stood next to your desk.

You didn’t even look up, your pen still scratching across the paper. “You’ll have to send a reminder, because clearly I don’t work on your schedule,” you said, your words sharp as ever.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Right, because we all know how important your time is.”

You met his gaze for a brief second, then rolled your eyes, going back to the case file. “I’m glad you remember,” you muttered.

Spencer gave a small sneer, and shook his head. “Guess I’ll just wait, then.”

Your response was quick, as expected, and just as biting. You didn’t miss a beat. Everything about your interaction with him seemed normal to him, no different from the usual back-and-forth. You responded in the same sarcastic manner, throwing out your usual jabs.

But the team had started noticing. It wasn’t that you were acting differently around Spencer, but that there was something off about you overall. A quiet distance that you had put between yourself and the others, even when you were still doing your job.

Garcia was the first to pick up on it. After your usual banter with Spencer, she dropped by your desk, leaning against it casually.

“Hey, you alright?” she asked gently, her eyes scanning your face. She didn’t push, but she could see that something was different. You were still going through the motions, still interacting with Spencer like everything was fine, but there was an emptiness to your energy.

You didn’t meet her gaze right away, keeping your focus on your work. “Yeah, just tired,” you muttered, pushing a stack of papers around.

Garcia wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t press it. “Uh-huh. You’re always tired,” she said, her voice laced with concern. “But I haven’t heard you mention your boyfriend in a while.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t that you hadn’t noticed the silence about him—it was just that hearing Garcia bring it up made it painfully real. You forced a tight smile, a fake one that didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. We’re fine,” you said, hoping it didn’t sound as hollow as it felt.

Garcia gave you a knowing look, but didn’t push any further. Not yet. She could see it in your eyes—you weren’t fine, and she knew the silence wasn’t a coincidence.

Meanwhile, Morgan and Emily exchanged a glance across the bullpen. They were both catching onto the shift, seeing how your energy had dimmed. It wasn’t a massive change, but it was there. You weren’t the same. They could tell something was off.

But to Spencer, everything was still as it had been.

By Thursday, the subtle changes in your behaviour had settled into a noticeable pattern. You weren’t sure if it was exhaustion from the week or the simple fact that you didn’t have it in you to keep up appearances anymore, but your usual efforts to deflect and keep things light were slipping. It wasn’t just Garcia who had picked up on the shift—Emily and JJ had started to notice, too.

You weren’t avoiding people, not exactly. You still engaged in conversations, still laughed when the moment called for it, still contributed to the team dynamic like always. But there were cracks in the performance. Little things, like the way you hesitated before answering when someone asked about your plans for the weekend. The way your phone stayed face-down on your desk, as if you were avoiding something—or someone.

It was nearing the end of the day when JJ stretched in her chair and sighed. “I feel like this week has been a month long,” she said, rubbing her temples.

“You and me both,” Emily muttered. “We need a reset before the next case.” She looked over at you and JJ. “Drinks?”

JJ hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah, I’m in.”

Emily turned to you next, eyebrows raised.

You considered it. The idea of being out with them, surrounded by the normalcy of your team, was tempting. But you also knew that too much proximity to them meant a higher risk of them prying, and you weren’t sure you were ready for that yet.

Before you could answer, Garcia’s voice cut in from across the room. “Ooh, actually, I was thinking—we haven’t had a proper girls’ night in forever. We should do one this weekend.”

Emily perked up at that. “That’s a good idea.”

JJ nodded in agreement before looking at you expectantly.

You hesitated. If there was ever a time they were going to corner you about what was going on, it would be then.

But you were also tired. Tired of holding it all in, tired of pretending like nothing had changed when everything had.

“…Yeah,” you finally said. “That sounds good.”

“Perfect,” Garcia beamed. “Saturday it is.”

You forced a small smile in return, but the weight in your chest remained. You had a feeling this weekend was going to be harder than you were ready for.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to this.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to spend time with them—you did. Garcia, Emily, and JJ were some of the best people you knew. But you also knew they had been watching you all week, waiting for the right moment to ask the questions you weren’t ready to answer.

And tonight? Tonight was the perfect setup for it.

Garcia’s apartment was warm and inviting, lit by a mix of fairy lights and flickering candles. The scent of vanilla and something floral lingered in the air, blending with the buttery smell of popcorn on the coffee table. The couch was crowded with throw pillows, and an impressive spread of snacks covered the table—chips, chocolate, and a cheese board that was far too fancy for a casual girls’ night.

Emily flopped onto the couch, popping a grape into her mouth. “You know, Pen, normal people don’t make charcuterie boards for a casual hang out.”

Garcia huffed, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “First of all, I don’t surround myself with ‘normal’ people. Second, I’ll have you know that a well-balanced snack selection is crucial to the experience.”

JJ laughed as she curled up on the other side of the couch, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m not complaining. This is way better than the sad bag of popcorn I would’ve made at home.”

You gave a small smile, settling into the cushions with your own drink in hand. It was nice—being here, being with them. The easy conversation, the laughter, the warmth of it all.

For the first hour, everything felt normal.

Garcia kept the energy light, regaling you with a dramatic retelling of some office gossip she had overheard, complete with hand gestures and exaggerated gasps. Emily and JJ threw in their own commentary, and for a while, it was easy to pretend that this was just like any other night.

But you weren’t oblivious.

You caught the way JJ glanced at you when she thought you wouldn’t notice, the way Emily’s usual sarcasm softened just a little, the way Garcia kept the conversation moving, giving you space to settle in.

They weren’t going to push. Not right away.

Still, you knew it was coming.

It started subtly. A shift in the conversation, the way the air in the room seemed to change.

JJ leaned back against the couch, swirling her wine in her glass. “It’s nice,” she mused, “just us girls. It’s been a while since we did something like this.”

Garcia nodded, nudging you playfully. “Yeah, sweetness, you’ve been kinda… MIA lately.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. “It’s just been a busy few weeks,” you said, keeping your tone light.

Emily gave you a look. Not pushing, not prying—just… waiting.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the rim of your glass. The words felt heavy, tangled in your throat. You had spent weeks keeping this locked up, pretending like everything was fine.

But they weren’t going to let you keep pretending.

So you said it.

“We broke up.”

The words felt strange, final in a way they hadn’t before. Like saying them out loud made them more real.

There was a beat of silence before JJ reached over, squeezing your hand. “I’m sorry.”

Garcia’s face crumpled in sympathy, and Emily didn’t say anything, just watching you carefully, waiting to see if you’d say more.

You swallowed hard, forcing a small shrug. “It was… coming for a while. I just didn’t want to see it.”

Garcia scooted closer, resting a hand on your knee. “Was it… bad?”

You hesitated. “Not in the way you’d think. But he had this way of making me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like no matter what I did, I was always… falling short.”

JJ frowned. “That’s not love.”

You let out a short, humourless laugh. “I know that. I do. But when you’re in it, when it’s happening… it doesn’t feel like that. It just feels like trying harder. Like maybe if I was a little less sensitive, a little less difficult, a little more—” You broke off, shaking your head.

Emily’s voice was quiet but firm. “More what?”

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples. “He used to say I was too much. That I was exhausting to deal with.” Your voice wavered slightly, and you forced a breath through your nose. “He made me feel like I had to tone myself down all the time. Like I had to be easier to handle.”

Garcia’s grip on your knee tightened. “That is—" She sucked in a breath. "That is absolute garbage.”

JJ’s eyes were shining, and she reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are not too much,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Emily leaned forward, her gaze steady. “You know that, right?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I want to.”

Garcia made a wounded noise and pulled you into a hug, wrapping you up so tightly you could barely breathe—but you didn’t mind. You clung to her, squeezing your eyes shut against the sting of tears.

“It wasn’t just that,” you admitted after a long moment, your voice muffled against Garcia’s shoulder. “It was the way he’d say things that just… got to me. Like he knew exactly where to hit, even when he wasn’t trying to be mean.”

JJ rubbed your back gently. “What did he say?”

You swallowed hard. “One time, during a fight, I told him I was tired of feeling like I was never enough for him. And he just… looked at me and said, ‘I don’t think you even know how to be easy to love.’”

The room went silent.

Garcia pulled back just enough to cup your face in her hands. “That is not true,” she said fiercely. “Not even a little bit.”

JJ’s eyes were wet. “That is a horrible thing to say to someone.”

Emily shook her head, her jaw tight. “That’s not about you. That’s about him.”

You blinked rapidly, staring at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. “I think the worst part is… I believed him.”

Garcia let out a wounded noise, and before you knew it, JJ was pulling you into another hug, Emily shifting closer, a solid, steady presence at your side.

“You are not hard to love,” JJ whispered. “You are kind, and funny, and strong, and you care so much. Anyone who made you feel like you weren’t enough didn’t deserve you.”

Emily rested a hand on your knee. “You never had to make yourself smaller for him. And you don’t have to make yourself smaller for anyone else, either.”

Garcia sniffled, squeezing your shoulders. “And if anyone ever makes you feel that way again, we will make them regret it.”

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head.

It still hurt. It would probably hurt for a while. But sitting here, wrapped in their warmth, their unwavering support—you didn’t feel quite so broken anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

Monday came too soon.

The sun hadn't even come up yet when your phone rang. The sound cut through the stillness, waking you up and the second you saw Hotch’s name on the screen, you knew it was urgent.

By the time you arrived at Quantico, the rest of the team was already trickling into the bullpen, some looking more awake than others. Spencer had his satchel slung over one shoulder, a book tucked under one arm. Emily cradled a travel mug of coffee like it was a lifeline, and Gideon stood near Hotch, arms crossed, already in work mode.

You adjusted the strap of your go-bag, exhaling slowly as you made your way towards them. The weight in your chest—the one you hadn’t fully acknowledged until the other night—felt a little lighter now.

Girls’ night had been good for you. It had been painful, but it had been necessary. JJ, Emily, and Garcia had given you space to lay it all out, to speak the words you had been holding in for too long. And in return, they had given you their warmth, their support, their unshakable certainty that you were worth more than what your ex had made you believe.

You weren’t magically healed—far from it. But for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t carrying it alone.

Unfortunately, self-reflection had to wait. Work never stopped.    The briefing room was heavy with tension, the kind that settled deep in your chest. The urgent call had come in barely an hour ago, pulling you all in earlier than usual with little time to process anything beyond getting here as fast as possible. Now, with the jet waiting, Hotch stood at the head of the table, his expression grim.

“We’ve got a spree killer in Louisville, Kentucky,” he said, his tone clipped. “Eight confirmed victims in the last thirty-six hours. The attacks have been spread out across the city—parking lots, convenience stores, even at traffic stops. No clear connection between the victims so far.”

JJ scanned the file in front of her. “Louisville PD is stretched thin. They’re struggling to keep up, and local news is already running with it. People are panicking.”

Emily leaned forward, tapping a finger against one of the locations on the map. “Spree killers usually burn out quickly, but this guy isn’t stopping. If anything, he’s escalating.”

Gideon nodded. “Which means either he’s building toward something or he’s completely out of control.”

You flipped through the reports, searching for a pattern. “He’s not staying in one area for long. No indication that he’s targeting specific people.”

“That’s what we need to figure out before he strikes again,” Hotch said. “Wheels up in twenty.”

By the time you touched down in Louisville, the city was already on edge. The latest victim had been killed barely an hour before your plane landed, and with no clear pattern to the attacks, it felt like you were already two steps behind.

The team split up immediately—Hotch and Gideon heading to the precinct to coordinate with Louisville PD, while the rest of you started canvassing the crime scenes. The killer had struck all over the city, never hitting the same kind of location twice. A gas station, a strip mall parking lot, a quiet suburban street. No connection between the victims. No clear timeline. Just chaos.

And the longer it took to find something solid, the worse it got.

Day one was spent chasing ghosts. Every lead fizzled out before you could get anywhere, every theory dismantled as soon as you thought you were onto something. Tensions in the precinct were high, exhaustion creeping into the edges of every conversation.

By day two, the frustration had settled into your bones.

“Nothing about this makes sense,” you muttered, rubbing your temples as you stared down at the whiteboard. “He’s not following a spree killer’s usual pattern. There’s no emotional trigger we can see, no connection between the locations—he’s just killing at random.”

Spencer, who had been pouring over geographic profiling data at the table, scoffed under his breath. “That’s what we’ve been saying for the last twenty-four hours.”

You shot him a sharp look. “I’m aware, Reid.”

The way he rolled his eyes set something off in you. Normally, you’d just snap back with something just as sharp, but with the exhaustion pressing in, patience was a luxury you didn’t have.

“Would you like to contribute something actually useful, or are you just going to sit there and be an ass?”

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “I am contributing. Maybe if you actually paid attention instead of complaining—”

“Okay,” Emily cut in, stepping between the two of you before it could escalate. “Let’s all take a breath, yeah?”

Your jaw was tight, fingers digging into the back of a chair as you forced yourself to look away from Spencer’s infuriating face. You could feel him doing the same.

It wasn’t just the case getting to you. It was him. It was always him.

And you were starting to get really sick of it.

Three days in Louisville, and the case was going nowhere. The spree killer was still out there, and you were all running on fumes, chasing leads that kept slipping through your fingers.

You stared at the whiteboard, scanning through the scattered crime scenes and victim profiles, trying to make sense of something that refused to fit together.

“This isn’t working,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “We need a new angle.”

Spencer, hunched over the geographic profile, barely glanced up. “That’s been obvious since yesterday.”

Your patience was already razor-thin, and his tone was the last thing you needed. “Wow, thanks for the insight, Reid. Maybe next time, say something useful instead of just being a condescending ass.”

Spencer sighed, finally looking at you. “I’m saying we’ve been through these patterns already. Multiple times.”

“And? You want to just sit here and wait for the guy to strike again?”

“No, but maybe you could stop acting like you’re the only one frustrated!” His voice sharpened. “We’re all exhausted, we all want answers, but snapping at me isn’t going to magically make one appear.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back. “I don’t expect you to magically solve it, genius or not.”

He scoffed. “Right, because you’d rather argue with me than actually get anywhere.”

“You are impossible to talk to.”

“Likewise.”

The tension between you was suffocating, neither of you willing to back down. Your pulse was hammering in your ears, your whole body wound tight.

Spencer exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “God, you’re just—” His voice was tight with frustration as he muttered, “You’re exhausting to deal with.”

It hit like a punch to the ribs.

For a moment, you just stood there, thrown off balance. The fight inside you flickered, then went out completely.

Spencer expected another snap back, another glare, another biting remark. Instead, all he got was silence.

You swallowed, your throat tight, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. But it wasn’t enough. Spencer saw it—the way something in your eyes dimmed, the way your grip on the edge of the table tightened just a fraction before you let go.

The weight in his stomach dropped.

This wasn’t like before.

The arguments, the back-and-forth, the push and pull—there was always an edge of exhilaration to it, something sharp but controlled. But this? This didn’t feel right. There was no rush, no victory, no satisfaction.

It just felt wrong.

You took a slow breath, keeping your voice steady. “Excuse me,” you said quietly.

Then you turned and walked out.

Not storming off. Not slamming doors. Just… leaving.

Spencer sat back, gripping his pen a little too tightly, his jaw clenched.

The silence left in your wake was heavy.

JJ let out a quiet breath, shaking her head. Emily was already pushing herself up to follow you.

Spencer stared at the table, trying to convince himself he didn’t care.

So why did it feel so wrong?

Emily found you in one of the empty offices, the dim light from the desk lamp casting long shadows along the walls. You sat in the chair closest to the window, arms crossed, staring blankly at the parking lot outside. The door creaked slightly as she leaned against the frame, but you didn’t look up.

She knocked lightly, just once. “Figured you’d be in here.”

You huffed, a weak attempt at a laugh. “Yeah, well. Needed a minute.”

Emily stepped inside, closing the door halfway but not shutting it completely. She wasn’t cornering you in, just giving you space. “I get it.”

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Emily knew better than to push. She leaned against the desk, hands bracing the edge, watching you carefully without making it feel like she was studying you.

You wanted to brush it off, to tell her you were fine. But the words felt too heavy, too hollow, and Emily wasn’t the kind of person you could lie to so easily.

She spoke first. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

But the words were already pushing at the edges of your teeth, restless and aching. Emily just nodded, like she knew you’d say more when you were ready.

Your fingers curled around the hem of your sleeve. “It shouldn’t have gotten to me.”

Emily tilted her head, considering. “Maybe. But it did.”

You let out a slow, frustrated breath, pressing your fingers into your temples. “It wasn’t the same as before, but it still—” You stopped, jaw tightening, shaking your head as if that would loosen the feeling lodged in your chest. “I don’t know. It still hit.”

Emily studied you for a moment before speaking, her voice quieter but sure. “Sometimes it doesn’t have to be the same to hurt the same.”

That shouldn’t have made your throat tighten, but it did. Your ex’s words had been cruel, calculated. Spencer’s had been careless, tossed out in frustration. But they had landed in the same place, re-opening something you hadn’t realized was still raw.

You inhaled sharply, blinking hard as you turned your gaze back to the window. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.”

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. “I should’ve just snapped back like usual. I don’t know why I—” You hesitated, trying to find the right words, trying to make sense of your own reaction.

Emily didn’t fill the silence for you. She let you sit in it, in the weight of it, before she finally said, “Because sometimes, it’s not just about the words.”

That hit too close. You swallowed. “I don’t even think he realized what he said.”

“He didn’t,” Emily agreed. “But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

The confirmation made your chest ache. You could deal with Spencer being an ass. You could deal with the usual biting remarks, the way you two pushed and pulled at each other like it was second nature. But this was different. And maybe that was the worst part—he hadn’t even known what he’d done.

You dragged a hand down your face. “I just—God, I hate feeling like this.”

Emily’s mouth quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but wasn’t pity either. “I know.”

Another moment of silence, but this time, it felt a little easier to breathe. Emily wasn’t pushing you to move past it, wasn’t telling you to toughen up or act like it didn’t matter. She was just here. A steady presence in the middle of a storm you hadn’t expected.

You let out a slow breath. “Thanks.”

Emily nodded. “Anytime.”

After a moment, you straightened in your chair and rubbed a hand over your face. “I think I just need a little time.”

Emily studied you for a beat before nodding. “Okay. I’ll let the team know you’re taking a minute.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile. She didn’t press for more, didn’t tell you to shake it off or come back before you were ready. She just squeezed your shoulder lightly before slipping out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sat there for a long time, staring out at the parking lot without really seeing it. The argument played on a loop in your head, over and over, like pressing on a bruise just to see if it still hurt.

It did.

Spencer’s words echoed, rattling around in the space between memory and old wounds, landing exactly where they shouldn’t have. You had taken hits before—verbal, emotional, professional. You had always given as good as you got, pushing back, meeting force with force.

But this?

This had made you fold in on yourself before you could stop it.

That’s what gnawed at you. Not just the hurt, but how easy it had been to slip back into it.

Eventually, you exhaled sharply and pushed yourself up. Hiding wouldn’t change anything.

When you stepped back into the main workspace, you caught the way the team registered your return.

Emily glanced your way but didn’t say anything, just subtly shifting to give you a spot near the table. Gideon and Hotch barely looked up from the geographic profile, their focus locked in on the case. JJ offered a quick, understanding smile before turning back to her notes.

And then there was Spencer.

You felt his gaze before you saw it.

He was watching you—not in the usual sharp, assessing way, but with something else flickering behind his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place.

You ignored it.

You sat, pulled the case files toward you, and focused.

It didn’t take long before Spencer tried to bait you.

“So, are you actually going to contribute this time, or just—”

JJ turned a page in her notebook with a little more force than necessary, but Spencer didn’t seem to notice.

He was still waiting for your usual sharp retort.

But you didn’t bite. You didn’t even look up.

Spencer hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before shifting in his seat. “Because if you’re done sulking, we could use a second opinion on this.”

JJ tapped her pen against her notes—light, rhythmic, controlled. The kind of thing someone might do to keep themselves from interrupting.

You exhaled slowly through your nose and kept reading.

His brows knit together, irritation flashing across his face. That was usually all it took—a little push, a sharp edge, and you’d shove back just as hard. The rhythm was predictable, expected.

But you gave him nothing.

Something about your lack of response made him sit up a little straighter. He tried again later, dropping a pointed remark about one of your old theories, the kind of thing that would normally spark another round of arguing between you.

JJ cut in before you could even think about answering. “We should figure out how this changes our approach.” Her tone was casual, effortless—redirecting before anything could spiral.

All you did was give a clipped, neutral answer before moving on.

It wasn’t normal.

And Spencer felt it immediately.

The back-and-forth between you had always been sharp, but undeniably electric. It was how the two of you worked—pushing, challenging, throwing words like weapons but never really cutting too deep. It was infuriating, and yet…

Yet, without it, something felt off.

At first, he told himself it was fine.

You were being more professional. That was good, wasn’t it? It meant less wasted time, fewer distractions.

So why did the space between words feel so hollow?

By mid-afternoon, he felt it more keenly. He found himself waiting for something—for you to roll your eyes at him, for you to cut into one of his statistics with some half-formed anecdote, for you to press into a point just to see if you could make him slip.

But you didn’t.

You weren’t mad at him—not in the way he was used to. There was no sharp edge in your tone, no fire behind your eyes when you spoke to him. You were just… distant. Like you had already decided he wasn’t worth the energy.

The realization sat uneasily in his chest.

It wasn’t just that you weren’t arguing.

It was that, for the first time, he was starting to understand just how much he had come to rely on it.

And worse—just how much he missed it.

He tried again.

“Your profile from yesterday doesn’t hold up,” he pointed out, knowing full well that wasn’t true. It was a weak, low-hanging argument, the kind of thing you would normally jump on without hesitation.

JJ’s pen stilled for just a second before she wrote something down, her expression unreadable.

You barely spared Spencer a glance. “Noted.”

And that was it.

No scathing rebuttal. No pointed counterattack. Just two syllables and nothing more.

Spencer felt his stomach twist.

He should have been relieved. He should have been glad to be free of the back-and-forth, the constant tug-of-war.

Instead, it felt like missing a step on the stairs—like something fundamental had shifted beneath him.

He had spent almost a year convincing himself that you were nothing but a thorn in his side, an unnecessary complication. That your arguments were exhausting, that you were too much to deal with.

But now, without that sharp edge of friction, without the tug-of-war of words and challenges—without you pushing back—

It wasn’t the relief he had expected.

It was unsettling.

It was hollow.

And he didn’t like it.

But instead of sitting with that realization, instead of acknowledging it, Spencer pushed it aside.

He told himself it was temporary.

He told himself he didn’t care.

But deep down, in a part of his mind he wasn’t ready to examine, the truth settled in like a weight in his chest.

He missed it.

The case hadn’t broken yet, and frustration was starting to settle over the team like a heavy fog. The profile was solid, but nothing new had come up to push them forward. Eventually, Hotch checked his watch, then let out a slow breath before looking up at the team.

“We’ll pick this back up in the morning,” he said. “Get some rest while you can.”

There wasn’t much discussion after that—just the quiet shuffle of files being stacked, chairs scraping against the floor as everyone gathered their things. The exhaustion was evident in all of them, not just from the case but from the weight of the day itself.

Spencer barely glanced up when you left with Emily and JJ, keeping his focus on the files in front of him. He had tried multiple times throughout the day to provoke you, to get a reaction, but you had remained distant, detached. It wasn’t what he was used to. It wasn’t how things were supposed to go between you.

And it unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

By the time they made it back to the hotel, everyone was running on empty. Goodnights were murmured in the hallway before doors closed one by one, leaving the corridor quiet.

JJ lingered.

She had been watching Spencer all day, watching how he had pushed and pushed without realizing just how deep he had cut. And now, standing outside his door, she wondered if this was even a conversation worth having.

She sighed and knocked.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and Spencer blinked at her, clearly surprised. “JJ?”

“Can I come in?”

He hesitated for a beat, then stepped aside.

The room was neat—predictably so. His go-bag was partially unzipped on the dresser, a few books stacked beside it. The lamp on the nightstand cast a warm, dim glow over the space.

JJ took a breath, arms crossed. “We need to talk.”

Spencer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “If this is about earlier—”

“It is.”

His expression tightened. “I don’t understand why everyone’s so upset with me. I didn’t do anything different.”

JJ leaned against the desk, choosing her words carefully. “Spence… did you even notice how off she was today?”

Spencer frowned. “She was upset. I got that. But she was already upset before I said anything, so I don’t see how this is my fault.”

JJ exhaled slowly. “I never said it was your fault. I’m saying you made it worse.”

Spencer folded his arms, clearly bracing himself. “How?”

JJ hesitated. She really didn’t want to be the one to tell him this. It wasn’t her place, and she hated the thought of betraying your trust. But Spencer was stubborn, and without the full picture, he wasn’t going to understand.

She tried one more time to get him there on his own. “Spence, think about what you said to her today.”

“I was just trying to keep things normal,” he insisted. “She’s always throwing things at me, always pushing. I thought—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I thought. But I didn’t think it was any different than usual.”

JJ studied him for a long moment. He really didn’t get it.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “She and her boyfriend broke up.”

Spencer blinked. “Okay?”

JJ clenched her jaw. “Recently.”

There was a flicker of something in Spencer’s expression—maybe surprise, maybe something else—but it passed quickly. “I didn’t know that.”

“No, you didn’t,” JJ said, voice quiet but firm. “But the rest of us did.”

Spencer opened his mouth, but JJ wasn’t done. “She didn’t just break up with him, Spencer. It was messy. It was bad.”

She hesitated. Once she said it, there was no taking it back. But Spencer wasn’t getting it, and if she didn’t lay it out for him, he never would.

JJ took a slow breath and met his gaze. “Do you know what he said to her? The exact words?”

Spencer’s throat bobbed. He didn’t answer.

JJ held his gaze. “He told her she was exhausting to deal with.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, like the words had knocked the wind out of him.

JJ let the silence stretch, letting him sit with it.

His jaw tightened, fingers curling at his sides. “I didn’t know,” he finally said, voice quieter than before.

“I know,” JJ said, her own voice softer now. “But now you do.”

Spencer sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his mind clearly working through it in real time. JJ could see the moment the realization settled in, could see the way his breath went just a little shallower.

“She’s always thrown things at me,” he murmured, almost to himself. “We argue all the time. I didn’t think—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I was trying to keep things normal.”

JJ’s expression softened. “Maybe she didn’t need normal today.”

Spencer looked down, hands clasped together. His fingers twitched, restless.

JJ sighed. “Look, I know you didn’t mean it. I know you weren’t trying to hurt her.” She paused. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

Silence stretched between them again.

JJ stepped toward the door. “Just… think about it, Spence.”

She left him sitting there, alone with the weight of what he had done.

Spencer sat on the edge of the stiff hotel mattress, staring at the carpet as if it held the answer to everything that had gone wrong today.

He hadn’t meant what he said.

You’re exhausting to deal with.

It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t even true. It was just the first thing that had left his mouth, a careless response thrown out in frustration, the way someone might swat at an insect buzzing too close. And yet, it had landed with an impact he hadn’t expected, hadn’t anticipated.

He knew he had upset you. He wasn’t oblivious. But he had assumed—wrongly, as it turned out—that it would pass, that you would snap back at him, that the sharp-edged dynamic you two had built over the past year would continue as it always had. But instead, you had stopped. Just shut down entirely. And that was what confused him the most.

You didn’t do that.

Until now.

And then JJ had pulled him aside, her expression wavering between exasperation and reluctant sympathy.

"Do you know what he said to her?"

"He told her she was exhausting to deal with."

The words had lodged themselves into his brain like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit, and yet, the more he sat here, the more it sank in, settling into place in a way that made him feel almost sick. He didn’t know. He should have known. Everyone else had figured it out, after all. But he had been too caught up in his own frustrations, too caught up in you, to see it.

Spencer inhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. His mind was spinning, and no amount of logic, no statistical breakdown, could make sense of what was happening inside him.

It wasn’t irritation. It wasn’t exasperation.

It was never any of those things.

Because the truth was, you were gorgeous when you were fired up.

He thought of it now, and the image came so easily, so vividly, that it sent a fresh wave of something unnameable crashing over him. The way your eyes gleamed with challenge, how you lifted your chin ever so slightly when you stood your ground. How, in the heat of an argument, you would step closer, and closer, and closer, until he could feel the warmth of you in the space between them, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He had told himself it was adrenaline. That it was simply the thrill of the debate. But if that were true, why did he feel that same pull in moments of quiet?

Because he noticed you. Always. He noticed the way you walked into a room, how his eyes would flicker toward you before he could even stop himself. He noticed the way you took your coffee, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were focused, the way your lips pressed together when you were trying to suppress a reaction.

And worse—worse—was the way he needed you to notice him.

How if your attention was on someone else for too long, irritation curled in his chest before he even understood why. How he would find himself throwing out a fact, a statistic, an argument—anything—to drag your focus back to him.

And now, sitting here in the dim glow of the hotel room, he couldn’t deny it anymore. He couldn’t twist it into something else, something easier, something safer.

It was never about frustration.

It was never about annoyance.

It was never about proving a point.

He had fallen for you.

The next morning, the team gathered in the local police station, running through every last detail of the case.

They were close. They all knew it. But close wasn’t good enough.

Spencer sat at the edge of the table, hands folded, watching as the others debated their next move. He should have been adding to the conversation, throwing out statistics, challenging theories—but his mind kept drifting.

To you.

You weren’t avoiding him, not exactly. But you hadn’t spoken to him directly since yesterday. No sharp remarks, no challenging looks. And for the first time in months, Spencer had no idea where he stood with you.

Should he apologize? Would that even help? Maybe he should just acknowledge the breakup, offer his condolences, or—no, that didn’t feel right either. JJ had told him that in confidence. He wasn’t even supposed to know.

He didn’t know what to say, and the more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed to figure out.

So he said nothing.

He just kept glancing over at you, tracking your movements from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge if you were okay. You looked… normal. You were focused, leaning over the map spread across the table with Emily, lips slightly parted in concentration as you traced a path with your finger. No hesitation, no faltering. If he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought nothing had changed.

Except it had.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

"Alright," Hotch’s voice cut through the low murmur of conversation. "Let’s go over everything again. We’re missing something."

The table quieted as everyone focused in. They had been circling the same theories, re-examining the same evidence, and yet the unsub was still out there. It wasn’t enough to understand how he operated—they needed to know where he would strike next.

Spencer forced his thoughts into order, pushing away everything unrelated to the case. "The geographical profile suggests he’s moving in a pattern, but the locations aren’t random. Each site is within a specific radius of the last, but the distances vary slightly."

Morgan nodded. "Which means he’s picking locations based on something else. He’s comfortable in these areas. Familiar with them."

"But he’s not returning to the same place," Emily added. "He’s not risking going back to where he’s already been."

"Maybe not physically," you said, tilting your head slightly, "but what if he’s revisiting them in another way?"

Spencer glanced at you, waiting.

You tapped your fingers against the table, thinking out loud. "His attacks have been escalating, and he isn’t sticking to a cooling-off period anymore. If he’s a spree killer, that means he’s running out of time—he knows he can’t keep this up forever. But his locations aren’t random. He’s picking spots with security cameras, but ones that don’t give a clear line of sight to him. He isn’t avoiding surveillance—he’s using it."

Garcia’s eyebrows lifted. "Oh, I like where you’re going with this, sugar. If he’s keeping an eye on potential targets—checking security feeds, traffic cams, maybe even livestreaming footage—then that means there’s a digital footprint."

Garcia’s eyebrows lifted. "Oh, I like where you’re going with this, sugar. If he’s been scouting locations through security feeds, traffic cams, maybe even livestreams, then that means there’s a digital footprint."

"Can you check for any unusual access to local surveillance systems?" Hotch asked.

"My dear, I thought you’d never ask." Garcia’s fingers flew across her keyboard, her monitors flickering as she sifted through data. "Let’s see… ah-ha! Someone’s been remotely accessing surveillance feeds at irregular intervals over the past few weeks, and a lot of them line up with where he’s already struck."

Morgan leaned forward. "Can you trace where he’s accessing them from?"

Garcia’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "I can try, but he’s been careful—using different networks, bouncing signals. But…" She trailed off, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Then she gasped. "Oh. Ohhh. Oh, you arrogant little—gotcha!"

"Garcia?" Hotch prompted.

"He accessed a security feed less than an hour ago from an internet café downtown. And guess what? He didn’t even bother masking his location properly this time. I’ve got an address, sending it now!"

Hotch didn’t hesitate. "We’ll split up. Morgan, Prentiss, Reid—you’re heading to the internet café. The rest of us will head to the location of the security feed he accessed. Move out." Everyone was in motion within seconds, adrenaline cutting through any lingering fatigue. There was no telling how much time they had before the unsub struck again—but if they were fast enough, this could be the break they needed.

Morgan pushed open the glass door of the internet café, stepping inside first, with Reid and Prentiss close behind. The scent of burnt coffee and stale air filled the space, the hum of outdated computers blending with the occasional click of a keyboard. The lighting was dim, casting a dull yellow glow over the handful of patrons scattered throughout the small room. Most were hunched over their screens, headphones in, lost in whatever they were doing. A few sat with their arms crossed, scrolling lazily.

Prentiss took a slow, surveying glance around the space. “Not exactly a high-tech setup,” she muttered under her breath.

Morgan tapped his earpiece. “Garcia, tell me you’ve got something.”

“I wish, hot stuff, but this place is a technological ghost town,” Garcia replied, frustration creeping into her normally chipper voice. “No security cameras, no membership logins, and judging by the routers I’m picking up, this café is basically running on dial-up speeds. There’s no digital footprint I can track back to him. He picked a place designed to stay off the grid.”

Morgan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Of course he did.”

Reid stepped forward, scanning the room with meticulous detail. He wasn’t just looking at the patrons—he was analyzing them. Body language spoke louder than words, and if the unsub had been here recently, someone in this space should be reacting to it. Anxious glances, fidgeting hands, tense shoulders—signs of discomfort, of someone trying to bury a memory of something that unsettled them.

But as he moved through the café, his frown deepened.

“No one looks nervous,” he said finally, voice quieter, thoughtful. “No one’s agitated or distracted. If he was here recently, he likely didn’t draw attention to himself. He didn’t rush out. He finished what he was doing and left on his own terms.”

Morgan glanced at the empty stations, his jaw clenching. “So he’s already gone.”

Prentiss approached the counter and flashed her badge at the disinterested employee leaning against it. “FBI. We need to know if there’s any way to see who used which computer in the last hour.”

The man barely looked up from his magazine. “People pay in cash, sit wherever’s open. No reservations, no check-ins. They log in as guests, and once they leave, that’s it. No records.”

Reid’s fingers twitched at his side. The unsub had been here. Sat at one of these computers. Chosen this place specifically. But he was already gone, and they had nothing to track him with.

Morgan hit his earpiece again. “Hotch, we came up empty. He’s gone.”

A beat of silence. Then Hotch’s voice, steady and sharp. “Understood. Get to the next location. We’ll regroup there.”

Morgan’s frustration was evident in the hard set of his jaw, but he didn’t waste another second. “Let’s go.”

Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid stepped out of the SUV into the midday sun, the heat pressing against them as they scanned the busy city square. The crowd was dense—office workers on lunch breaks, tourists snapping pictures, street vendors calling out their deals. It was the perfect place for a spree killer to strike. Chaotic. Unpredictable. Too many people, too many obstacles.

Before stepping into the mass of bodies, the three of them discreetly stripped off their FBI vests and tucked them into their bags. The unsub couldn’t know they were there. If he got spooked too soon, he could vanish into the crowd—or worse, start firing.

Hotch’s voice crackled in their earpieces. “Stay sharp. We don’t know what he looks like, but he’s here for a reason.”

Gideon’s voice followed. “He’s not just wandering—he moves with purpose. Watch for someone scanning the crowd, someone looking for opportunity.”

From the other side of the square, you adjusted your stance, eyes sweeping over the mass of people. JJ stood nearby, appearing casual but doing the same—observing, waiting. Neither of you could afford to look like you were searching for a killer.

The team spread out, moving through the crowd as naturally as possible. Morgan weaved through street vendors, blending in as another pedestrian. Prentiss adjusted her posture, walking with purpose in the wave of foot traffic. Reid moved slower, his gaze analytical, picking apart every movement, every expression.

Minutes passed. Observations fed through the comms. “Man in a blue hoodie, but he’s just waiting for someone.” “Woman near the fountain keeps checking over her shoulder—just on a call.” Nothing solid.

Then, Reid saw him.

A man, mid-30s, walking against the flow of foot traffic. He wasn’t heading toward a food stand or looking for a place to sit. He wasn’t engaged with the environment—he was watching it. His gaze moved from person to person, lingering too long on individuals who had stepped away from the main crowd. Isolated people. Easy targets.

Reid’s stomach twisted.

“I’ve got him,” he murmured. “Moving east through the square. Black T-shirt, dark jeans. He’s watching people, not engaging. He’s not lost—he’s hunting.”

Hotch’s response was immediate. “Do not approach alone. Everyone converge.”

But the mass of people were too tightly packed.

From your position, you could see the problem immediately—there was no easy way to get to him. The city square was packed with bodies moving in all directions, some stopping to talk, others oblivious to the tension unfolding around them. If any of you ran outright, it could tip the unsub off. But if you didn’t move fast enough…

Prentiss pushed forward, murmuring, “Move, excuse me,” as she wedged past pedestrians. Morgan took a different approach, using his size to nudge through gaps. You manoeuvred in the opposite direction, trying to cut off the unsub’s escape route without drawing attention.

Then—

The unsub stopped.

His head tilted, scanning.

He knew.

Reid saw it first—the shift in posture, the tension in his shoulders. A second later, his hand moved, reaching into his waistband.

“Gun!” Reid shouted.

The square exploded into chaos.

Screams rang out. A stampede of bodies surged in every direction—people shoving past each other, knocking over chairs, sending tables crashing to the pavement. Vendors ducked behind their carts, tourists abandoned their bags, running blind in the panic.

You pushed forward, fighting against the wave of bodies. JJ did the same, one hand raised to flash her badge, but no one was looking—everyone was running.

Morgan broke through first.

The unsub’s gun cleared his waistband—he was going to shoot—

Morgan lunged.

The impact sent both men crashing to the pavement. The gun skidded across the ground, lost in the rush of feet. The unsub snarled, thrashing under Morgan, throwing wild elbows, twisting hard.

Prentiss dove in, grabbing his wrist as he reached for something else.

“No, you don’t,” she gritted out, shoving his arm down.

You finally reached them, helping Morgan keep the unsub pinned as he bucked wildly, nearly dislodging them both. Reid snatched the discarded gun, securing it, while JJ moved to control the thinning crowd.

The unsub thrashed once more before finally going slack, panting hard, his fingers clenched into shaking fists.

Hotch and Gideon arrived seconds later, weapons still drawn but lowered.

“Secure?” Hotch asked.

Morgan, breathing heavy, nodded. “Yeah. He’s done.”

Prentiss snapped the cuffs onto the unsub’s wrists, voice firm. “You’re under arrest.”

The tension didn’t ease right away—sirens wailed in the distance, and people were still running, voices frantic—but the worst of it was over.

They had him.

An hour later, back at the station, the energy had shifted.

The unsub was in custody, locked away in interrogation, and the team was wrapping up.

Morgan sat at the table, rolling his shoulder where he’d taken a hit during the fight. Prentiss dropped into a chair, exhaling as she pulled off her boots. Reid stood near the whiteboard, absently running over the information they’d mapped out.

Gideon leaned against the doorway, watching as the adrenaline finally started to fade.

Hotch surveyed the team. “Good work today.”

JJ, still coordinating with the press, gave a tired thumbs-up from her spot on the phone.

Garcia’s voice filtered through the speaker. “Please tell me you’re all intact, because watching that play out through traffic cams nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Morgan smirked. “We’re good, baby girl.”

Prentiss stretched, shaking her head. “One hell of a takedown.”

Hotch checked his watch. “Jet’s waiting. Wheels up in twenty.”

With that, the team packed up their case files, exhaustion settling in. The weight of the chase was lifting.

Another case closed. Another killer off the streets.

The team boarded the jet, the familiar hum of the engines filling the cabin as they settled in. The rush of the day had passed, but something else lingered—something you couldn’t quite shake.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftermath of the case or if it was him.

Spencer had barely spoken since they left the station, but he was there—close enough to notice, too far to say anything. You were hyper-aware of him in a way that hadn’t faded with the tension of the job. Every movement, every glance that lasted just a second too long before darting away, kept you on edge.

Across the cabin, Morgan stretched, groaning slightly as he leaned back in his seat. "I don’t know about you guys, but I need a drink after today."

Emily smirked. "Pretty sure that’s non-negotiable at this point."

JJ chuckled as she pulled her hair from its tight ponytail. "The question is: quiet drink or bad decisions drink?"

Morgan shot her a look. "What’s the fun in quiet?"

Emily shook her head. "Translation: We’re gonna regret this in the morning."

Laughter rippled through the space, the weight of the day lifting just enough. The idea of unwinding, even for a few hours, was tempting. A normal night out. Something separate from cases and killers.

But your mind was elsewhere.

Would he go?

Would you want him to?

Spencer hadn’t said anything, hadn’t joined in the conversation. But he was listening. You could feel it—how his presence never really left your periphery, how he seemed to shift slightly when Morgan mentioned the bar.

You weren’t sure if the hesitation you felt was about him or about yourself. Because if he went, if you went… then what?

Back at the BAU, the team moved through the office with the easy rhythm of routine. Files were dropped off, final reports checked over, and goodbyes exchanged with the late-night staff. The case was officially over.

You lingered near your desk, your thoughts still tangled. The bar. Spencer. The way he’d been watching you on the jet, the way neither of you had said a word to each other. You didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t know what you wanted it to mean.

Emily was sorting through some paperwork at her desk when you walked up. She glanced up as you stopped beside her.

“What’s up?” she asked.

You hesitated. “I don’t know if I should go tonight.”

Emily’s expression shifted slightly. “Because of Spencer?”

You exhaled. “I don’t know if I want to be around him right now.”

Emily set down her pen and leaned back in her chair. “That’s exactly why you should come.”

You frowned. “Emily—”

“Look,” she cut in, keeping her voice casual. “You’ve been stuck in your own head about this all day. Skipping out isn’t going to change anything.”

You crossed your arms, not totally convinced.

She gave you a knowing look. “Come out, have a drink, take a break from thinking about it. If you don’t want to talk to him, you don’t have to. But don’t sit at home just because he’s going to be there.”

You thought about it. She wasn’t wrong. Maybe getting out for a while was what you needed.

After a beat, you sighed. “Alright. I’ll come.”

Emily grinned. “Good. Let’s go before they leave without us.”

The bar was alive with energy, a steady pulse of music humming through the air as the team settled into their usual post-case routine—drinks, conversation, and letting go of the weight of the job for just a few hours. The booth they’d claimed in the corner was already cluttered with half-empty glasses, a testament to how easily they were falling into the night.

Garcia was in the middle of an animated story, hands gesturing wildly as she recounted something that had happened in the tech lab earlier that week. JJ was leaning into the table, laughing, while Prentiss smirked behind her glass. Morgan, already a drink in, was hanging onto every word with an amused grin.

Spencer was quieter, sipping his drink as he listened to the conversations, though his attention wasn’t fully on them. It kept flickering toward you.

You weren’t looking at him. Or, at least, you were doing a very good job of pretending not to. But he noticed the way you seemed hyperaware of his presence, how your fingers curled around your glass a little too tightly whenever he shifted in his seat.

Something was different between you two tonight. And you both knew it.

Garcia suddenly clapped her hands together, pulling everyone's attention. “Alright, my loves, this has been fun, but the dance floor is calling.”

Morgan smirked. “You lead the way, baby girl.”

“As if there was ever a question,” she said, grabbing his hand before her gaze zeroed in on you. “And you. No backing out. You’re coming.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? I didn’t—”

“Nope,” she cut in, already reaching for you. “We’re celebrating. And I refuse to let you sit in this booth all night pretending you don’t want to shake what your momma gave you.”

JJ laughed, nudging you as she stood up. “She’s not going to let you say no.”

Prentiss raised her glass. “Might as well accept your fate.”

You exhaled in surrender, setting your drink down. “Fine, fine.”

“That's the spirit!” Garcia cheered, leading the way toward the dance floor with Morgan at her side.

You followed, letting yourself get swept into the easy energy of the moment. The beat of the music was loud, the air warm with the press of moving bodies, but Garcia was electric, pulling you right into the centre of it. Morgan spun her with a laugh, and she threw her hands up, pulling you in with her.

For a moment, you let go.

Back at the booth, Spencer’s gaze never left you.

Prentiss arched a brow at him, sipping her drink. “You know, for two people who claim to hate each other, you stare at her a lot.”

Spencer tore his eyes away, clearing his throat. “I was just—”

Prentiss smirked. “Yeah. Sure.”

He huffed but didn’t argue. Because honestly, what was there to say?

After a few songs, you finally broke away from the dance floor, laughing as Garcia dramatically fanned herself. “That was necessary,” she declared. “Now go hydrate before I drag you back out here.”

You shook your head with a smile, turning toward the bar. But first—you needed the restroom.

You wove through the crowd, still feeling the lingering buzz of laughter and music as you made your way toward the hallway. But the light mood vanished the moment someone stepped into your path.

You had barely made it past the dance floor when someone stepped into your path.

Your stomach twisted.

Not him. Not now.

“Wow,” he drawled, looking you up and down with a smirk. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Your breath went shallow, but you forced your expression to remain neutral. “Didn’t think I’d see you either.”

Your ex let out a soft laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. “C’mon, don’t be like that. We don’t have to be weird, do we?”

"We." Like you were both responsible for the unease curling in your stomach.

“I’m actually just heading to the bathroom, so if you’ll excuse me—”

Before you could move, he reached out, his fingers grazing your cheek.

You froze.

It was casual. Familiar. The kind of touch that once would have made you lean in without thinking. But now?

Now, it made your skin crawl.

You took a step back, heart hammering, but before you could say a word, warmth enveloped you—an arm sliding around your waist, steady and certain.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Spencer.

His voice was smooth, easy, but there was something deliberate beneath it—something razor-sharp. His breath ghosted against your temple just before he pressed a kiss there, the barest brush of lips against your skin.

Your ex’s expression shifted from smug amusement to disbelief. “No way.”

Spencer didn’t acknowledge him. His fingers rested firmly at your side, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs—a grounding touch, steady and real.

Your ex let out a scoff. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Spencer tilted his head slightly. “Oh, you must be the ex-boyfriend.” He emphasized ex, and something in his voice was just polite enough to be cutting.

Your ex huffed. “I mean, you could just say my name.”

Spencer smiled. “I could.”

A beat of silence. You could feel the way Spencer held himself—calm, unshakable, like he’d already won whatever battle was unfolding here.

Your ex’s gaze flicked between you and Spencer. “You’re serious?”

Spencer turned to you, his eyes warm, questioning. “Are we serious?”

Your breath caught.

This was supposed to be pretend. Just a way out.

But the way he was looking at you—like the answer was already written in the way you leaned into him, in the way your fingers had instinctively curled around his forearm—made your pulse stutter.

“…Yeah,” you murmured. “We are.”

Your ex laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. There is no way you two are together.”

Spencer’s fingers flexed slightly against your waist, the heat of his palm pressing into your side. “And why’s that?” he asked, tone pleasant.

Your ex gestured vaguely between you. “Because you hate each other.” He looked directly at you now, his smirk widening. “I mean, come on. How many times have you gone off about him? You can’t stand the guy.”

Spencer exhaled a quiet laugh of his own, shaking his head. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong.” His fingers brushed against your hip again, slow and deliberate, just enough to make your breath hitch. “You mistook sexual tension for hatred.”

Your ex’s smirk faltered—just for a second.

You felt it.

Your pulse jumped, heat creeping up your spine. Spencer had said it so easily, so casually—like it was obvious. Like it was something he’d already figured out.

And maybe he had.

The thought sent a shiver through you, your fingers tensing slightly against the fabric of his shirt. You were too aware of his touch now, of the slow drag of his thumb tracing lazy circles along your side.

His stance had shifted closer, his body angled toward yours like it belonged there.

And, for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were just pretending anymore.

Because the truth was…

You liked this.

And from the way Spencer’s grip tightened ever so slightly at your waist, from the way his breath hitched just barely when you leaned in the slightest bit closer—maybe he did too.

Your ex’s smirk faltered—just for a second.

The shift in his expression was slight, barely there, but enough for you to recognize it. A flicker of doubt.

But then—he scoffed, shaking his head with a short, humourless laugh. “That’s cute.”

He said it like he didn’t believe it.

Like he refused to believe it.

His gaze flicked between you and Spencer, searching—like he was still waiting for the joke, for the moment one of you would break character. But Spencer didn’t waver, his fingers still resting against your hip, his body still angled toward yours like he had no intention of moving.

And neither did you.

Your ex’s jaw tightened just slightly, his smirk sharpening at the edges, like he was trying to convince himself he was still in control of the conversation. “Right. So you’re telling me that all that arguing, all that fighting, was really just foreplay?”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth curving up in something dangerously close to amusement. “You said it, not me.”

Your ex huffed out something that might have been a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

But you could see it now—the frustration creeping in, the way his fingers curled slightly against his drink, the way his confidence wasn’t quite as unwavering as before.

Because, for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was right about you anymore.

And that felt like a win.

“Right,” he said again, like he was resetting himself, regaining control. But then his smirk returned, sharper now, meaner. “So what, you got so desperate after two weeks that you climbed under the first guy who looked at you?”

The words were like ice water.

You felt Spencer react before you could even process it yourself.

His arm tightened around you, pulling you fully against him, but that wasn’t what made your breath catch. It was the shift in him—the sharp, immediate tension coiling beneath his carefully held exterior.

His voice, when he spoke, was nothing like before. The polite, measured tone was gone.

"That’s an awfully crude way of admitting you thought she’d be miserable without you."

The words were smooth, but there was an unmistakable bite beneath them, an edge that cut precisely where it needed to.

Your ex blinked, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying him with a faint curiosity, like he was solving a puzzle with a predictable outcome. "I’m sure it’s a hard concept to grasp, but she didn’t settle for me. She chose me." His fingers traced a slow, absentminded circle against your side before he added, "And I’d say she made the right choice."

Something hot and unsteady curled in your stomach.

Your ex’s jaw twitched. “Just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

Spencer hummed, tilting his head like he was studying something particularly unremarkable. “That’s interesting. Because from what I can tell, the only person thinking that here is you.”

Your ex let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms. “Come on, man. We both know she’s a lot to deal with. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”

The breath you took in was sharp, uneven.

Because those words weren’t new.

They weren’t just some cheap, offhanded insult—he had said them to you before. At the end. Before he walked away.

Spencer stilled. You felt the shift in his body, the way his fingers froze against your side for just a moment before resuming their slow, grounding motion.

Because he had said it, too.

Not with the same venom, not with the same intent. But it had still stung, had still settled in your chest like an ache you couldn’t shake. And now, here he was—his warmth pressed against you, his voice steady, unwavering, as he met your ex’s gaze head-on.

“I don’t find her exhausting,” Spencer said simply.

There was no hesitation, no preformative bravado. Just quiet certainty.

He turned his head just enough to catch your gaze. His fingers brushed against your hip again, deliberate, his touch light but steady. “If anything,” he continued, voice softer now, just for you, “I think she’s extraordinary.”

A slow, creeping warmth spread through your chest.

This wasn’t real. This was for show. But the way he was looking at you, the way his touch lingered, the way his voice dipped just enough to make your skin prickle—

God, it didn’t feel like an act.

Your ex let out a breathy laugh, his disbelief giving way to something tighter, something closer to frustration. “You two can fake it all you want,” he said, voice lower now, rougher, “but I know her. And I know that this. This is bullshit.”

You have no idea what you threw away, do you?" Spencer asks.

The question was quiet. Almost pitying.

Your ex scoffed, but there was something defensive in the way his jaw tensed.

Spencer didn’t even blink. "That’s fine. I don’t mind proving just how wrong you were."

And then—slow, deliberate—he turned to you.

Your breath stilled as his free hand came up, fingers skimming along your jaw, tilting your chin up just slightly. His touch was light, careful. Not possessive. Just there.

The air between you crackled.

Your body moved before your brain could catch up. Your hand slid higher, resting over Spencer’s chest, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

He exhaled, just a little shakier than before.

And then—loudly, bitterly—your ex laughed.

“Yeah. Okay.”

The sound was sharp, cutting through the moment like a blade.

Spencer didn’t turn. Didn’t react. But you felt the subtle shift in his body, the way his stance remained firm, like he was making sure there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Your ex let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Whatever, she's your problem now,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking away.

Spencer’s hand lingered for just a second longer before he dropped it, stepping back just enough to put space between you.

The space between you felt electric, every nerve attuned to where his fingers rested.

You swallowed, fingers still curled against his shirt, realizing only now that you were still touching him.

You should move.

But you didn’t.

His gaze flicked over your face, searching. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

You exhaled slowly. “I am now.”

But even as you said it, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye.

Your ex wasn’t gone.

Not really.

He had moved to the other side of the bar, but his attention kept drifting back to you and Spencer, his gaze sharp, suspicious.

Spencer followed your line of sight, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

“He’s watching us,” you murmured.

Spencer hummed. “Then I guess we better make it look good.”

His eyes met yours, a question lingering beneath them.

Your stomach flipped.

You nodded.

“Guess so.”

Spencer’s hand was still resting lightly on your back, his fingers a steady warmth against the fabric of your shirt. You could feel the weight of his touch even through the layers—grounding, solid, a quiet reminder that, for now, you weren’t alone.

The bar was still crowded, the energy still buzzing around you both, but the confrontation had left a thin charge in the air, something neither of you acknowledged outright. Your ex had slinked back into the crowd, but you could feel his gaze drifting toward you from across the room. Spencer must have noticed too, because he didn’t move away, didn’t shift back into his usual guarded distance. Instead, he leaned in just slightly, his voice low near your ear.

Spencer’s voice was low, teasing. “Think we should sell it a little harder?”

You let out a soft scoff, playing along. “What, you mean make heart eyes at you? Bat my lashes?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Might be a good start. I was thinking more along the lines of you looking at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, sure. That’s believable.”

Spencer smirked, fingers tracing a slow, absentminded pattern at your waist. “Guess I’ll just have to win you over.”

Spencer huffed a quiet laugh, a small, amused exhale against your skin. His fingers brushed the small of your back again, an absentminded motion that shouldn’t have sent heat curling through you—but it did.

The bartender stopped in front of you, and you took the opportunity to order another drink, something to keep your hands busy. Spencer did the same, sliding a bill onto the counter before you could even reach for your wallet. You shot him a look, raising a brow.

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Boyfriend duties.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, taking a slow sip from your glass. The moment settled into something quieter, less tense but still charged, like the flickering glow of a match before it fully catches flame.

Spencer shifted, glancing at you. “So. Are we supposed to look longingly into each other’s eyes now? Whisper sweet nothings?”

You snorted. “You’re assuming I’d have anything sweet to say about you.”

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t,” he said easily. “You’d insult me, but you’d make it sound affectionate so no one else would know the difference.”

You smirked over the rim of your glass. “Sounds like you know me pretty well.”

Spencer’s gaze flickered, something unreadable in it. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I guess I do.”

The moment stretched, something unsaid crackling between you. You cleared your throat, breaking the tension before it could settle too deeply. “We should talk about something. Make it look real.”

He nodded, considering. “Alright. Something neutral. A normal conversation between a couple who doesn’t allegedly hate each other.”

You smirked. “That’s asking a lot.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, then, after a beat, asked, “What’s the weirdest fact you know?”

You blinked. That was… not what you were expecting. “What?”

“The weirdest fact,” he repeated, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know you have to have one.”

You hesitated, watching him, but he only looked back at you expectantly, like this was a completely normal thing to ask.

You thought for a second, then shrugged. “Octopuses have three hearts.”

Spencer’s mouth curved up, just a little. “That’s a good one.”

“You?” you asked, tilting your head.

His eyes sparked, like he’d been waiting for the question. “Did you know that lobsters communicate by peeing at each other? Really sets the mood, doesn’t it?”

You stared at him, then let out a short laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

He grinned. “Right?”

The conversation flowed from there, effortless in a way that surprised you. Facts turned into stories, then into inside jokes. Minutes stretched on, blending into an hour, though neither of you seemed to notice. The bar’s once-lively crowd shifted and changed, people coming and going, conversations rising and fading, but you stayed rooted in place, caught up in the effortless back-and-forth. Time lost its meaning as one topic melted into another, each transition so seamless that you barely registered the shift. You weren’t paying attention to the time, weren’t keeping track of how long you had been standing there, wrapped up in each other’s words. What started as lighthearted teasing had deepened into something more, something neither of you rushed to escape. The way your fingers brushed against his when you gestured, the way you leaned in without thinking, just to hear him better, just to be closer—it all blurred together into something effortless.

You caught yourself mirroring his movements, tilting your head when he did, tracing the rim of your glass in tandem with his. It was subtle, unspoken, but undeniable—the shift between you settling into something that felt natural, something that neither of you seemed eager to pull away from. Your laughter came easier, softer, the kind that lingers in your chest even after the sound fades. His knuckles grazed your wrist when he gestured, your knee bumped against his once, twice, neither of you shifting away.

At some point, the topics shifted, the playfulness giving way to something softer. You weren’t sure who led it there, but suddenly you were talking about things you didn’t usually talk about. Favourite childhood books. Places you wanted to visit. The kind of hypothetical, wistful conversations that people had when they weren’t thinking too hard about what they were revealing.

You barely noticed when Spencer’s hand drifted to your waist again, fingers curling slightly at your hip. The touch wasn’t demanding or obvious—it was just… there. Natural. And maybe that was the problem.

It felt too natural.

Like you weren’t acting at all.

Like you didn’t want to be.

You met his gaze, and something unspoken passed between you. His eyes flickered, just briefly, down to your lips, and your breath caught.

This is dangerous, you thought distantly.

But you didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

The air between you felt charged, humming with an anticipation neither of you dared to acknowledge outright. Every second dragged out, heavy and expectant. His fingers flexed against your hip, and you knew—knew—that if you didn’t move, if you didn’t break the moment, something would happen.

Something irreversible.

Something you wanted.

Spencer exhaled, barely a breath, but you felt it ghost across your skin.

Then—slowly, like a question—he leaned in.

And you answered.

Your lips met his in a whisper of a kiss, soft and searching, like neither of you wanted to startle the other. The world didn’t stop, didn’t pause for your moment, but it felt like it did. The bar was still loud, people still moved around you, but it all faded into the background, nothing more than a distant hum against the sudden, overwhelming clarity of his mouth on yours.

Spencer made a quiet sound—something caught between surprise and something deeper—and then his fingers curled at your waist, pulling you just the slightest bit closer. Your free hand found its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding on to something solid.

The kiss wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slow, deliberate, like you were both savouring something you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for.

And maybe you had been waiting for it.

For a long, long time.

When you finally pulled away, it was only by an inch, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.

And then—softly, tentatively—you whispered, “Do you want to get out of here?”

The words hovered in the space between you, heavy with meaning. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, his thumb still making those small, steady circles against your skin.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice a little rough. “I think that’s a good idea.”

The drive to your place was a blur of city lights and racing thoughts. The tension was palpable in the car, a silent dance of anticipation and doubt. You didn’t talk—what was there to say that wouldn’t break the spell? The unspoken understanding that had settled between you was more potent than any words.

When you finally arrived, you didn’t even bother turning on the lights. The moon cast enough of a glow through the windows, painting Spencer’s face in stark, ethereal shadows as he followed you inside.

You hadn’t even fully closed the door when he pushed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either—there was an urgency to it, a hunger that had been building for months. Your heart was racing, the beat echoing in your ears as his hands found their way to your face, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw.

Your breathing was shallow, uneven, as you stared up at him, his eyes searching yours. You didn’t know what he was looking for, but you hoped he found it, because you didn’t have the words to explain. You just knew that you needed this—his touch, his closeness, the way his breath ghosted across your skin.

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his mouth crashing into yours. The kiss was hot, desperate, a year’s worth of pent-up tension and unspoken longing finally given a voice. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as you tried to get closer, to erase the space that had kept you apart for so long.

Spencer’s hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head, breaking the kiss only long enough to discard it on the floor. His mouth trailed down your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he kissed and nipped at the sensitive spots he had discovered in the brief moments you had allowed yourselves to touch before.

“I wasted all that time riling you up when I could’ve had you moaning for me instead,” he murmured against your neck, his voice a low, needy rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You gasped, your fingers curling into his shirt. “You’re insufferable.”

Spencer’s smile was all teeth, all arrogance. “But you like me for it, don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, but your breath caught as his mouth found yours again, his tongue slipping between your lips in a silent demand for more. And you gave it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your bodies fitting together in a way that was somehow both new and familiar. It was like a puzzle piece finally sliding into place, clicking with a certainty that sent heat flooding through your veins.

His hands roamed over your back, down to your hips, then back up again, as if he couldn’t decide where to touch first, as if every inch of you was a new discovery he needed to explore. You could feel his need, his desperation, and it mirrored yours. You hadn’t realized how much you had craved this—his touch, his attention, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

With trembling fingers, you worked at the buttons of his shirt, one by one, until you could push it open. His chest was pale in the moonlight, the planes of his body sharp and defined. You traced your fingers over the lines of his stomach, feeling the tension coiled within him, the rapid beat of his heart against your palm.

Spencer’s own hands were busy with your own shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. He stepped back just long enough to appreciate the sight of you, half-dressed and flushed, before his eyes drifted down to the swell of your chest, the rise and fall of your breasts with every rapid breath. The urge to touch was overwhelming, and he didn’t resist it. His palms brushed over your skin, the heat of his touch making you shiver, making you arch into him.

Your fingers found the button of his pants, tugging it open with an eagerness that had been simmering below the surface for too long. He stepped back again, allowing you to pull them down, his boxers following, and you took a moment to appreciate the sight of him—his erection straining upward, his thighs taut with restrained power. Your gaze lingered on his body, memorizing the lines and planes, the way the shadows danced across his skin.

Spencer’s gaze never left yours as he reached behind you, deftly unhooking your bra. It slipped down your arms, leaving you bare to him, and his gaze dropped, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of your breasts. He stepped closer, one hand cupping one, his thumb brushing over the hardened nipple, and you couldn’t help but gasp, the sensation shooting straight to your core. He leaned down, capturing the peak in his mouth, his tongue flicking against it. You felt your knees wobble, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. His other hand slid around to your back, holding you upright as he kissed and sucked, his teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper. Then he was dropping to his knees, his hands sliding down your stomach to the button of your jeans. You watched, half-dazed, as he unzipped them. He kissed his way down your stomach, his breath hot. You stepped out of your shoes, letting him tug the pants and your underwear down in one smooth motion, leaving you naked and trembling in the moonlit room. He didn’t miss a beat, his hands sliding back up to cup your ass, pulling you closer, his mouth pressing against your sex. You moaned, the sound echoing in the quiet room, and he groaned, his hands tightening on you as he kissed and lapped at you, his tongue tracing a wet line against your clit.

Your fingers tangled in his hair before you even realized you were reaching for him, gripping tight as his mouth finally met you where you needed him. The first stroke of his tongue sent a shudder rolling through your spine, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips before you could catch it. Spencer hummed at that, like he was pleased with himself, like he was committing the sound to memory.

He started slow, like he was savouring you, his tongue tracing soft, teasing circles that made you whine, your hips twitching forward instinctively. He tightened his grip on your thighs in response, pressing you more firmly against the wall, keeping you right where he wanted you. "Stay still," he murmured, his voice low with something dark and satisfied before he licked into you again, this time with more intent, more purpose.

The first few strokes were exploratory, unhurried, as though he was mapping out every reaction, every little sound that spilled from your lips. But the patience didn’t last. The moment he found what made you gasp the loudest, he focused in, his tongue pressing, flicking, teasing in an unbearable rhythm. Your fingers tightened in his hair, your breath coming in uneven, needy bursts.

Your head tipped back against the wall, your breath ragged, your body already trembling under his attention. Every deliberate flick of his tongue sent another spark of heat curling low in your stomach, winding tight. His hands slid up, fingers digging into your hips just enough to anchor you, to hold you there while he devoured you like he’d been waiting for this, like he’d imagined this a thousand times before and now that he had you, he wasn’t going to waste a single second.

"Spencer—" His name came out broken, half a gasp, half a plea, and the sound made him groan against you. The vibration of it sent a shock of pleasure through you, your legs threatening to give out. If not for his firm grip, you might have slid right to the floor.

He didn’t stop. If anything, your desperation seemed to spur him on, his tongue pressing deeper, his mouth working you over with a slow, devastating precision. Like he was unravelling you piece by piece, like he was determined to reduce you to nothing but gasps and shudders and the sharp, needy ache of wanting more.

Your nails scraped against his scalp, your hips bucking forward despite his earlier command to stay still. He let out a sharp breath through his nose, hands flexing against your skin before he pulled back just enough to murmur, "I said stay still."

The way he said it, rough and commanding, sent another jolt of heat through you, your breath hitching as you fought to obey, as you forced yourself to remain still while he resumed his slow, torturous pace. Every movement of his mouth was deliberate, every flick of his tongue calculated to push you further toward the edge. You were shaking, barely holding yourself up, your thighs threatening to clamp around his head with every overwhelming wave of pleasure.

"You should’ve been doing this instead of running your mouth all this time," you managed, your voice breathless, teasing despite the way your body trembled under his touch.

Spencer pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his lips glistening, his expression dark with something utterly wrecked and unbearably smug. "Oh, believe me, I’m making up for lost time."

He didn’t waste another second. His mouth was back on you, determined, insatiable, working you over with relentless focus. The pressure inside you was building unbearably, a coil winding tighter and tighter, and every sound that spilled from your lips seemed to drive him on. His grip on your thighs tightened, his nails pressing into your skin, anchoring you there against the wall like he wasn’t letting you go until he’d completely undone you.

It didn’t take long before you were trembling, your body tight with the effort of holding yourself together. But he wasn’t letting up, wasn’t giving you a second to breathe, his tongue relentless, his grip unyielding. The pressure built higher and higher, every muscle in your body locking up as pleasure coiled deep inside you, ready to snap.

And then he did something—something devastating, something perfect—and you shattered, your body arching, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as you came undone against him. He didn’t pull away, didn’t stop until you were shaking, until your fingers loosened in his hair and your gasps turned breathless and spent.

He didn’t let go of you right away. Instead, he kissed you through every aftershock, his lips brushing against sensitive skin, his tongue tracing soothing strokes where he had just driven you over the edge. Like he wanted to memorize the way you trembled, to savour the way you broke apart under him.

Only then did he ease up, his lips pressing soft, almost reverent kisses against your inner thigh as you struggled to catch your breath. His fingers trailed lightly over your skin, soothing, grounding, while he watched you, his gaze dark and unreadable.

When he finally looked up at you, his pupils were blown wide, his mouth wet and glistening, his expression dark with satisfaction. There was something else there, too—something deeper, something bordering on something almost tender.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, voice low, unsteady.

You let out a breathless laugh, still dazed, still trembling. "You’re ridiculous."

His lips quirked up, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he pressed one last kiss to your thigh before he rose to his feet, his hands still firm on your waist, steadying you as your legs threatened to give out beneath you.

"Can you stand?" he asked, his voice softer now, a flicker of concern beneath the teasing edge.

You swallowed, nodding, even as your knees felt weak. "Yeah. But you might have to give me a minute."

His smirk returned, slow and smug. "Take all the time you need. I’m not done with you yet."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat curling in your stomach, your breath catching as his hands skimmed over your sides, his touch still lazy, still teasing. He hadn’t let go of you yet. He wasn’t pulling away. And when you finally dared to meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes nearly undid you all over again.

"Spencer—"

His smirk deepened, his hands pressing just a little firmer against your waist, holding you in place. "I told you, I’m making up for lost time." You reached out to stroke him, your hand sliding down the length of his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. His skin was warm, smooth, and he sucked in a sharp breath when you brushed against his erection. He was already hard, a clear sign of his desire, and the knowledge sent a thrill through you. This was what you both needed—to finally break down the walls that had kept you apart.

You took your time, dragging your fingers along his length, teasing, feeling every twitch and pulse. Spencer let out a low groan, his hips jerking slightly into your touch as his hands tightened against your waist. "You're enjoying this," he murmured, voice rough, laced with restraint.

You smirked, leaning in to press your lips against the hollow of his throat, letting your teeth graze the sensitive skin before whispering, "I think you are too."

His response was immediate—a growl deep in his chest, a surge of movement as he spun you, pressing you up against the nearest surface. The cool wall met your heated skin, a stark contrast that sent a delicious shiver through you, the sensation amplifying the awareness of his body pressing into yours. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed himself flush against your back. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he breathed, his voice thick with need.

You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze over your shoulder, your lips curling. "Then stop talking and take it."

That was all the permission he needed.

He reached between you, guiding himself against your slick heat, teasing you with shallow, deliberate rolls of his hips. The anticipation built with every second, the frustration of years of tension finally boiling over into something raw, something uncontrollable. His fingers dug into your hips, the teasing, shallow rolls of his hips only increasing the frustration coiling inside you. Then, in one fluid motion, he thrust forward, stretching you, filling you completely. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your hands pressing hard against the wall for balance as the overwhelming sensation stole the breath from your lungs.

"Fuck," Spencer groaned, his forehead dropping to the curve of your shoulder for a brief moment before he pulled back and drove into you again, harder this time. "You feel better than I ever imagined."

You couldn't hold back the moan that tore from your throat, the pleasure sharp, overwhelming. "Didn't know you thought about it."

He let out a breathless laugh, one hand sliding up your body, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled your head back just enough to murmur against your ear, "Are you kidding? I’ve thought about fucking you senseless every time you opened that smart mouth of yours."

A shudder ran through you, your body clenching around him in response. "Is that why you were always such an asshole?" you shot back, panting, barely able to hold onto the thread of conversation between thrusts.

He groaned, his grip tightening on you, hips snapping forward at a brutal pace that made your legs tremble. "Maybe. Guess we’re finding a better way to work out our issues."

You laughed—though it was breathless, desperate—before another deep thrust stole the sound from your lips. He was relentless, fucking you with everything that had been left unsaid between you, with every argument, every lingering glance, every moment you’d spent pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

The wall was rough against your palms, each textured ridge imprinting against your skin as Spencer drove into you, his hips snapping forward with an unrelenting pace. Every thrust sent shudders rippling through you, your body caught between the steady press of the wall and the consuming heat of him. The slick sound of skin meeting skin filled the space between gasps, every movement pushing you closer to the edge, every deep stroke setting you ablaze.

His hands never stopped moving—gripping your waist, trailing up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing teasingly over your nipples before sliding back down  back down to spread you open for him. His name spilled from your lips in a broken moan, and he groaned in response, his breath hot against your shoulder.

"You like this," he rasped, his voice unsteady. "Being taken like this—rough, unrelenting."

You nodded, lips parting, but words failed you. How could you even begin to articulate the way he felt—the way his touch untraveled you, the way he filled you so perfectly it left you trembling? Every snap of his hips sent pleasure coiling tighter inside you, and the intensity of it all—of him—was almost too much. But god, you didn’t want him to stop. You never wanted him to stop.

His hand slid down between your legs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, teasing circles that had you arching back against him with a gasp. "Spencer—"

"I know," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your neck, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. “Cum for me. I want to feel every inch of you tighten around me while you fall apart.”

The words alone sent you spiralling. Your body tensed, pleasure coiling tight before breaking apart in waves that left you shaking. Your moan was swallowed by his lips as he turned your head and kissed you, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release, his body shuddering against yours.

When he finally stilled, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged, you both stayed like that for a moment—pressed against the wall, tangled together, bodies still thrumming with the aftershocks.

Spencer let out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine. “I think we just found a much more effective way to settle our disagreements.”

You laughed, breathless, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. "Yeah? So what now?"

His smirk was slow, lazy, utterly satisfied. "I think we might need to revisit this… for the sake of teamwork, of course."

You grinned, pushing back against him just enough to make his breath hitch. "Then we better get started." You smirked, adding, "All in the name of teamwork, of course."

He let out a breathless laugh, his hands still roaming lazily over your skin, grounding both of you in the moment. Neither of you moved right away, too caught up in the heat still buzzing between you. His lips brushed the back of your neck, a slow, lazy kiss that made you shiver. "You keep teasing me, and we’re not leaving this wall anytime soon."

Your smirk deepened as you reached back, your fingers trailing along his thigh. "Maybe that’s exactly what I want."

Spencer groaned, his grip tightening at your hips again, his breath coming in short, unsteady bursts. "You’re insatiable."

You laughed softly, tilting your head to the side as his lips found your jaw, then your pulse, then the shell of your ear. "And you love it."

His only response was another deep thrust, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He had you pinned against the wall, but you didn’t mind—you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Time blurred between kisses, between whispered taunts and shared breaths. Every inch of space between you had disappeared, every lingering frustration burned away in the fire you’d both finally let consume you. And when Spencer finally pulled back, his eyes dark with something that sent another rush of heat through you, he exhaled a slow, satisfied breath.

"Round two?" you teased.

Spencer smirked, his fingers brushing up your spine, igniting sparks along your skin. And with that, he pulled you back in, claiming your lips again, refusing to let the night end just yet.

You led him toward the bedroom with deliberate steps, your fingers laced with his, the heat between you still burning from the moments against the wall. The air was thick with anticipation, a silent challenge hanging between you—one that neither of you was willing to back down from. Spencer followed without hesitation, his pupils blown wide, his breath uneven, and his grip on your hand just tight enough to betray how much he wanted this, how much he wanted you.

As soon as you reached the edge of the bed, you pushed him. He fell back onto the mattress with a surprised breath, eyes flashing with something dark and eager. Before he could adjust, you were straddling him, pressing your hands against his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath your palms. You rocked against him, slow, teasing, watching the way his breath stuttered in response.

He let out a breathless chuckle, his fingers flexing against your hips. "You always have to be on top, don’t you?"

You smirked, pressing your hands more firmly against his chest, keeping him pinned. "That’s cute. You actually think you have a say in this?" Your fingers trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. "Tell me, Doctor, does it drive you crazy? Having to let go? Not being the one calling the shots?"

His breath hitched, but he didn’t back down, his hands flexing against your hips. "I think you like testing me."

"I think you like being tested," you countered, leaning down until your lips hovered over his. "And I think you’re going to let me win. Just this once."

His breath hitched as your hands trailed lower, nails lightly scraping down his torso, savouring the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. You kissed him—slow, teasing—before pulling back just as he tried to deepen it. He groaned in protest, his hands gripping your hips in an attempt to pull you down onto him, but you weren’t ready to give in just yet.

"Patience, Doctor," you murmured against his jaw, your lips grazing his skin as you made your way down his neck, leaving a path of kisses and nips that had him shuddering beneath you. "I want to take my time. Unless you can’t handle it?"

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into your hips as if grounding himself. "You're gonna regret taunting me."

You chuckled, rolling your hips against him in response, feeling the sharp inhale it pulled from him. "I hope so."

His head tipped back against the mattress, exposing more of his throat to you, and you took advantage, biting down just hard enough to make him gasp. His grip on your hips tightened, his entire body tense beneath you, desperate for more friction, more anything.

"You're enjoying this way too much," he said, breathless.

You grinned against his skin. "And you’re not?"

His only response was a low groan as you slid lower, kissing and biting your way down his chest, your fingers tracing every inch of exposed skin, committing him to memory. His body was lean, all long limbs and subtle definition, but the way he responded to your touch—the way he trembled, the way he gasped whenever you hit a sensitive spot—only made you want to push him further.

Your fingers trailed lower, tracing over his bare skin, feeling the warmth of him beneath your touch. His breath stuttered, his body already strung tight beneath you. "You gonna be good for me? Or are you going to put up a fight?"

His breath stuttered, his lips parting slightly, but there was something challenging in his gaze, something stubborn. "Wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t."

Your smirk deepened as you leaned in closer, letting your breath ghost over his skin, relishing the way he tensed at your touch.  Time blurred, the world outside this moment ceasing to exist as every nerve in your body focused on him, on this, on the way he trembled beneath your fingertips. He was already hard, aching, and the sight of him—so undone beneath you, so desperate despite the fight still lingering in his expression—made something hot and insatiable curl inside you.

"You're so damn cocky," you mused, dragging your nails up his thighs, watching as his hips jerked involuntarily at the sensation. "Wonder how long that’ll last."

Spencer opened his mouth, maybe to throw another challenge your way, but whatever retort he had died on his lips the moment you leaned down and wrapped your mouth around him. His sharp inhale, the way his hands flew to your hair, fingers tightening but not pushing, told you everything you needed to know.

You took your time, setting a slow, torturous pace, revelling in the way he fell apart beneath you, the way his cock twitched in your mouth every time you hollowed your cheeks, the way he bit down on his lip like he was trying to keep from begging. But you wanted to hear him. You wanted to break him down until he was nothing but gasps and moans and your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

"Fuck," he choked out, his fingers trembling as they brushed against your cheek, a silent plea. "Please—"

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, lips glistening, eyes dark with intent. "Please what? Say it."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his control slipping with every second. "Please, don’t stop."

You grinned, dragging your tongue along the length of him before taking him back in, deeper this time, until his head tipped back against the bed, a ragged moan escaping his lips. You hummed around him, satisfied, and his entire body tensed beneath you.

"God," he gasped, his fingers tightening in your hair, his hips twitching upward before he caught himself. "You're—fuck—you're gonna ruin me."

You let him feel the smirk on your lips before pulling off of him slowly, savouring the way his breath hitched, the way his hands fisted the sheets like he was barely holding himself together. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, climbing back up his body, letting your lips hover over his.

"That’s the plan. Unless you think you can stop me."

His response was immediate—his hands were on you in an instant, flipping you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His pupils were blown wide, his expression wrecked yet determined.

"My turn," he murmured, voice hoarse, before claiming your lips with a hunger that sent another bolt of heat straight through you.

His hands were relentless, sliding down your body, gripping your thighs as he spread them, as he settled between them. His lips traced a slow, torturous path down your torso, his breath hot against your skin. You shuddered as he kissed lower, dragging his tongue over sensitive flesh, marking his way down until you were trembling beneath him.

"Let’s see how patient you are now," he mused, voice laced with wicked amusement.

You smirked, your fingers threading through his hair. "Try me."

Neither of you had any plans of stopping now.

With a steady, commanding grip, you pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips before he could even think to regain control. His breath was uneven, hands skimming up your thighs, but you caught his wrists, pinning them down against the mattress. His eyes darkened, lips parting slightly, as if caught between resistance and surrender.

"You don’t get to take over that easily," you murmured, leaning down, your lips grazing against his jaw. "You wanted me in charge—so take it."

Spencer swallowed hard, his pulse pounding beneath your fingers. "You’re really not going to make this easy, are you?"

You smirked, rolling your hips against him, feeling the sharp inhale it pulled from him. "Not a chance. Now, be good for me, Doctor."

You guided him inside you with an unhurried confidence, revelling in the way his body shuddered beneath yours. His fingers twitched, desperate to move, to touch, to grasp at any control left to him, but you kept his wrists pinned, watching as he came apart under you. Every roll of your hips pulled another breathless sound from him, each movement deliberate, dragging out his pleasure until his composure cracked entirely.

"Fuck," he rasped, voice raw. "You’re going to be the death of me."

You laughed softly, leaning down, your lips brushing over his ear. "And yet, you wouldn’t have it any other way."

Spencer’s eyes followed the path of your breasts as you moved, the way they swayed and bounced above him, and it was all he could do to not reach out and touch. It was a dance of dominance and submission, one that had him utterly transfixed. The way you controlled the rhythm, the angle, the depth of every thrust, had him writhing beneath you, desperate for more, for any little piece of control you’d allow him. He could feel every inch of you around him, warm and slick, gripping him so perfectly it made his head spin.

With a smirk, you leaned down, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss, your movements never faltering. He moaned into you, the sound vibrating through your chest, setting your nerves alight. You felt his hands tense against the mattress, the muscles in his arms flexing, his whole body begging to touch, to hold onto something, anything. His knuckles were white against the sheets, his body trembling with the effort it took not to grab you, not to flip you over and claim you the way you knew he wanted to.

Breaking the kiss, you leaned back slightly, the shift in angle sending a fresh wave of pleasure through both of you. "You can look all you want," you murmured, dropping your hands to his chest, your nails digging in just enough to leave marks. "But you don’t get to touch."

Spencer's jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. Not yet. His eyes remained on you, watching every move, every shift of your body, the way your muscles flexed as you began to ride him slower but harder. Each time you slammed down onto him, his eyes rolled back, the sensation of you taking him in so completely, so deliberately, had him fighting for control. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, his restraint slipping further with every motion.

You could feel him getting closer, his body tightening beneath you, his hips jerking upward in a silent plea for more. So you gave it to him—faster, deeper, until he was nothing but a symphony of need and want, his breath coming in sharp pants. His fingers twitched, his muscles coiling beneath you, his body shaking with the sheer force of his pleasure.

Your combined juices flooded his pelvis, creating a deliciously raunchy sound with every slap of skin against skin, each movement echoing through the room. The wetness was a testament of desire, a slick reminder of how much power you had over him in this moment. And with each roll of your hips, each deep, deliberate thrust, the sound grew louder, more intense, a symphony of passion that had you both on edge. The smell of sweat and sex filled the air, intoxicating, adding to the hazy, feverish heat of the moment.

Spencer’s eyes were squeezed shut now, his teeth digging into his lower lip, his entire body taut with tension. You watched him, revelling in the way he trembled beneath you, the way his abs clenched with every movement, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath. You could feel him getting closer, the pulse in his cock growing stronger, the muscles in his thighs tensing. Every breath he took was shaky, every exhale laced with a low, desperate moan.

With a wicked smile, you leaned in, your breath hot against his ear. "You’re so close, aren’t you?"

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, his gaze locking on yours. "I’m right—fuck—right there." His voice was strained, the muscles in his neck standing out with the effort of holding back. His fingers curled into the sheets, his whole body trembling beneath you, the strain of resisting almost painful.

You grinned, feeling a thrill at his desperation. "Good," you murmured, your voice low, a purr of satisfaction. "Because this is a fight you’re going to lose, Doctor."

With that, you leaned in and bit down hard on his neck, feeling the muscles there jump beneath your teeth. You didn’t break the skin—not yet—but the pressure was enough to leave a bruise. A mark that would be yours alone. Spencer’s eyes went wide, a surprised gasp escaping him, his body arching up into you, and you felt the moment he lost it, his control shattering like glass beneath the weight of your dominance. He let out a strangled moan, his hands clenching into fists against the sheets, his entire body going taut before he spilled inside you, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him as he came undone beneath you. And when he came, it was with a roar, his hips jerking up into you, filling you so completely it took your breath away. The warmth of him, the pulsing of his cock inside you, it was almost too much. Your own orgasm was a surprise, a sudden explosion of sensation that had you crying out, your nails digging into his skin.

You pulled back just enough to watch him, your own eyes hooded with pleasure. His gaze was hazy, pupils blown wide with arousal. His hands, once fisted in the sheets, now reached for you, trying to find something to hold onto, trying to claim some semblance of power. But you didn’t let him. You kept his wrists pinned to the bed, keeping him beneath you, revelling in the aftershocks that had him trembling beneath your touch.

Spencer let out a long, shaky breath, his body sinking into the mattress, utterly spent, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. His flushed skin glistened with sweat, his lips parted, still trembling slightly from the force of his release. You smirked, pressing one last lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back and sitting upright, keeping him inside you just a little longer, just to revel in the sensation of still having him beneath you, completely at your mercy. He let out a soft, broken groan, and you grinned, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted him.

For once, he had no words. And that, more than anything, was the ultimate victory. You had spent so long locked in battles of wit with him, always feeling like you were a step behind, always scrambling to match his sharp mind and quick tongue. But now, with his breath stolen, his thoughts scattered, and nothing left in him but you—this was a triumph like no other. You traced your fingers over his heaving chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, knowing that you had reduced the brilliant, articulate Dr. Spencer Reid to nothing but a mess of pleasure beneath you. A victory, indeed.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable, warm. Your fingers trailed absentmindedly over his skin, mapping out the lines of his collarbone, the sharp edges of his ribs. His breath was steadying now, but his gaze remained unfocused, lost somewhere in the haze of what had just happened between you. Spencer let out a slow breath, finally gathering himself enough to meet your gaze. "That was..." he started, but trailed off, shaking his head with a soft, incredulous laugh. "I don't even have a word for it."

You smirked, tilting your head. "Speechless? That’s a first."

He let out a breathy chuckle, his hands finally finding your waist, thumbs rubbing soft, soothing circles against your skin. "You always did have a way of knocking me off balance."

Your smile softened at that, your teasing fading into something more genuine. The weight of everything that had led up to this moment pressed against your chest, making it difficult to speak. The echoes of sharp words exchanged, the nights spent simmering in unresolved tension, the way his gaze had always lingered a second too long before he forced himself to look away—all of it came together into this single, inescapable truth. The fight had never been about animosity. It had always been about everything they were too afraid to admit. "Spencer... about everything before tonight... I—"

He exhaled, his grip on you tightening slightly. "I was an asshole to you," he admitted, voice quieter now. "I didn’t handle things well when you joined the team. I—change has never been easy for me. And then, when I found out you had a boyfriend... I was jealous. I didn’t know how to deal with that, so I took it out on you. I shouldn't have."

You searched his face, taking in the sincerity in his eyes, the quiet regret there. "I gave as good as I got," you murmured, your fingers ghosting over his jawline.

His fingers traced your spine, his gaze never leaving yours. "So... what now?"

The weight of everything unsaid pressed between you, years of tension unravelling in a single moment. The walls you had built to keep him out were crumbling, and you knew, deep down, that neither of you wanted to rebuild them.

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to fight you anymore. I don't want to pretend I don’t feel this."

His breath hitched, and his hands tightened on your waist, anchoring you to him. "Neither do I."

A slow, nervous smile pulled at your lips. "Then let's stop running from it."

Spencer reached up, brushing his fingers along your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw like he was committing you to memory. His touch was delicate, reverent, as if he was afraid this moment might slip through his fingers. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, covering his hand with yours. "I've never been more sure of anything."

Relief flooded his features, and he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against yours. "Then we stop pretending."

The last of the barriers between you shattered as he captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss—one filled with every unspoken word, every lingering glance, every suppressed feeling that had simmered for far too long. This wasn’t an impulse or a fleeting moment of passion. This was real—the press of his lips against yours, slow and sure, the way his hands anchored you to him like he couldn’t bear to let go. It was in the heat of his breath against your skin, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers trembled slightly as they traced the curve of your spine. The weight of his gaze, filled with something deep and unshakable, sent warmth unfurling through you, settling deep in your bones. Every touch, every breath, every second of this moment cemented the truth—you weren’t pretending anymore. You never would again. And finally, neither of you had any reason to deny it.

As the kiss deepened, the world outside of this moment faded into irrelevance. His hands roamed your back, pressing you closer, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him down to you, needing him in a way that felt almost desperate. His breath was uneven against your lips, and you could feel the rapid thud of his heart beneath your fingertips.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, finding them darker, more intense than ever. "Spencer," you whispered, his name a plea, a promise, an invitation all at once. His thumb brushed against your cheekbone, reverent, awed.

He exhaled shakily, his fingers tracing over the curve of your cheek, his gaze searching yours like he was still trying to make sense of everything. "I don't want this to be just tonight," he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to wake up tomorrow and pretend like this didn’t happen. Like it doesn’t mean everything."

Your breath caught, a slow warmth unfurling in your chest, because that was exactly what you needed to hear. "Me neither," you admitted, the words feeling truer than anything you’d ever said. "I want this. I want you."

Something in his expression softened, like a tension he hadn't even realized he was holding had finally eased. He cupped the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you into another kiss—deeper this time, more certain, like he was memorizing the way you felt against him.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you. "Then we don't pretend," he murmured. "We stop fighting it."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, fingers curling around the nape of his neck. "No more running."

And as his lips found yours again, slow and lingering, you knew that neither of you ever would.

Neither of you spoke for a long time after that, simply holding each other, basking in the certainty that, for once, neither of you had to run anymore. This was real.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours—time had lost all meaning. The only thing that tethered you to the present was the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against yours, the way his fingers traced idle patterns along your skin. The silence wasn’t empty; it was full—of unspoken words, of lingering touches, of breaths that synced in the quiet. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm, all of it grounded you in the certainty of this moment, of him. Spencer traced patterns along your bare shoulder, his touch hypnotic, grounding. "I never thought I'd have this with you," he admitted. "I spent so much time trying to convince myself that it was easier to keep you at a distance. That if I pushed you away, maybe I wouldn't have to deal with wanting you this much."

Your chest ached at his words, at the thought of all the wasted time, the hurt you had both caused in your attempts to avoid the inevitable. "I think I did the same thing," you whispered. "You were pushing me away, so I pushed back. And maybe I didn't realize I enjoyed it—that arguing with you was just another way of being close to you."

He huffed out a quiet laugh, his fingers tightening around yours. "We’re kind of idiots, aren't we?"

"Yeah," you murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of his wrist. "But at least we figured it out eventually."

His lips quirked into a smile, but there was something deeper in his gaze now—something tender, something permanent. "And we’re not going to waste any more time."

You shook your head. "No more pretending. No more running."

Spencer exhaled, his hands framing your face as he kissed you again, slow and sure. "Good," he murmured against your lips. "Because I plan on spending a long time making up for all the time we lost."

And as you melted into his arms, you knew, without a doubt, that you had found exactly where you were meant to be.

The next morning, the sun had barely crested the horizon when you awoke to the sensation of warmth and weight beside you. Spencer’s arm was draped across your waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a moment, you lay still, basking in the unfamiliar comfort of his presence, his eyes on you, watching you sleep. There was something so tender in his gaze, something that sent a warmth spreading through your body, chasing away the last vestiges of the cold loneliness that had clung to you for so long.

You turned to face him, his eyes snapping to yours with a flicker of surprise before he schooled his features back to something more neutral. "Were you watching me?" you asked, the question a teasing lilt in your voice, a smirk playing on your lips.

Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly, his gaze dropping to your bare chest where his arm lay. "I was," he admitted, his voice laced with something that could only be described as adoration. "You looked so peaceful."

You reached up, your hand brushing against the softness of his cheek. "I am now," you murmured, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw, urging his gaze back to yours. The intensity of his stare made your pulse race, the memory of last night's passion still tangible between you.

Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or regret. Finding none, he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was both gentle and hungry. It was a declaration, a promise, a silent vow that this was just the beginning.

Your fingers danced across his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his skin against yours. The kiss grew more urgent as the morning light painted the room in soft hues of gold and pink. The weight of his body on yours was both comforting and exciting.

"I never knew you could be like this," he murmured when he finally pulled away, his voice thick with sleep and desire.

You chuckled softly, nuzzling closer. "What? That I could keep up with you? That I could challenge you?"

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, his nose brushing against yours as he shifted, his fingers skimming along your side. "No," he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "That you’d let yourself be this open with me."

Your smirk softened at his words, something unspoken passing between you. "Guess you bring it out of me," you admitted, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

His hand trailed down your back, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine as he hummed thoughtfully. "I like it," he said, almost as if confessing a secret. His lips ghosted over your jaw before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again. "I like… this."

Your stomach flipped at the way he said it—uncertain yet sure, like he was still processing the reality of waking up with you but already knew he wanted to do it again.

"I like this too," you said, your fingers threading through his hair, still tousled from sleep. The golden morning light caught in the strands, making him look softer, more at ease than you’d ever seen him.

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he ducked his head, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Good," he whispered against your skin, his arm tightening around you as if he wanted to make sure you stayed right there.

With a gentle nudge, Spencer shifted, rolling you onto your back before settling his weight over you. His kisses grew more urgent as he made his way down your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. His hands slid to your breasts, cupping them with a familiarity that sent a thrill of pleasure through you. His thumbs brushed over your already-hardened nipples, and you felt your back arch off the bed, a low moan escaping you.

He paused, looking up to meet your eyes, his own dark with desire. "Is this what you want?" he asked.

You nodded, your voice a breathless whisper. "More than anything."

Spencer's gaze held yours for a long moment, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. Finding none, he leaned in, capturing your nipple in his mouth and flicking his tongue over the sensitive peak. You moaned, your hips bucking against him, silently begging for more. He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending another shiver through you. His free hand slid down your stomach to the apex of your thighs, teasing the slick folds of your sex before he finally slid one long finger inside you. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut, your entire body tensing at the sudden intrusion.

He moved with purpose, his thumb circling your clit as he kissed a trail down your body, his tongue tracing the line of your collarbone before moving to capture your other nipple in his mouth. The feeling of his fingers moving inside you, his mouth worshipping your body, was almost too much to handle. You tangled your hands in his hair, holding him to you, needing more.

His movements grew more deliberate, his tongue teasing and taunting, his fingers curling and stroking in a way that had you panting and desperate. You could feel the beginnings of an orgasm coiling tight in your belly, and you knew it was going to be explosive.

"Spencer," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need—"

With a knowing smile, he added another finger, stretching you, filling you. The sensation was overwhelming, your body responding with a sharp intake of breath. His touch was confident, masterful, his movements a silent promise that he knew exactly what you needed.

He watched your face as he pushed you closer to the edge, reading the signs of your arousal with an intensity that made you feel both exposed and cherished. His eyes darkened, his own breath growing uneven as he watched you squirm beneath him, desperation lacing your voice with every whine. With one last, lingering kiss to your neck, Spencer pulled away, his gaze meeting yours as he slid another finger into you, stretching you even further. The sensation was exquisite, a delicious fullness that made you quiver.

Your eyes locked onto his, and you could see the hunger there—for you, for this moment, for the connection that had been building between you for so long. You could feel yourself getting closer, your body tightening around his fingers, your muscles clenching in anticipation. He swiped his thumb over your clit again, and you bit back a cry, your hips bucking up to meet his hand.

"Spencer, please," you breathed, the words barely coherent as you writhed beneath him.

He didn't need the words; he could read your body's language with the same ease he read the pages of a book. His fingers moved in perfect rhythm, each stroke building the tension higher and higher.

"Spencer," you begged, your voice a breathy moan. "Please, I need you."

He pulled back slightly, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Not yet," he murmured, his fingers continuing their relentless rhythm. "I want to feel you come apart on my fingers first."

You whimpered, the frustration building. "But—"

Spencer cut you off with a firm look, his eyes dark with hunger. "No," he insisted, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers didn't slow, the rhythm unrelenting, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

You struggled to keep your eyes open, to maintain that connection with him, but the pleasure was too intense, too all-consuming. Your hips began to rock against his hand, the friction building, the coil of need tightening deep within you. You could feel your orgasm approaching like a storm. "Spencer," you moaned, his name a plea as your body grew taut with anticipation.

"Cum for me," he whispered, his voice a seductive command that sent heat through you.

You moaned, your body responding instinctively to the words, the promise of what was to come. Spencer's fingers continued their relentless dance, the pressure building until you were sure you couldn’t hold on any longer. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you clutched at the bed sheets, the fabric bunched in your fists as you tried to find purchase in the world that was rapidly spinning out of control.

With a final, desperate whine, you shattered, your body arching off the bed as an orgasm ripped through you with the force of a tempest. You cried out his name, the sound echoing through the room, the waves of pleasure so intense they were almost painful. He watched you cum, his own desire clear in the way his eyes darkened, his pupils dilating to swallow the blue of his irises.

And then, with a slow, deliberate movement that had your heart racing even faster, Spencer removed his fingers from your body, his eyes never leaving yours. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean, his gaze locked on yours as if daring you to look away. The sight was obscene, erotic, and you couldn't tear your eyes away as he tasted you.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth again, sharing the intimate flavour of your pleasure with you. You moaned into his kiss, the sensation of his tongue against your own making your core clench with aftershocks.

And then, with a deliberate slowness that made you ache, Spencer took hold of his cock, swiping the tip through your wetness, coating himself in your desire. The contact was electric, a promise of what was to come, and you could feel the tremble in his hand as he positioned himself at your entrance.

You watched as he pushed in, the sensation of him filling you up making you gasp against his mouth. He took his time, inch by torturous inch until he was fully seated. You felt stretched to the brink, but it was a sweet agony, a feeling you never wanted to lose.

His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of pain or discomfort. Finding none, he began to move, his hips rocking against yours in a rhythm that matched your racing heartbeat. You wrapped your legs around him, urging him deeper, your nails digging into his back as you matched his movements. The friction was exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you with every stroke.

Spencer groaned, his forehead dropping to yours as he began to move faster, his breathing growing ragged. You felt the tension coiling in his body, the way his muscles tightened and his grip grew more possessive. "Look at me," he whispered, his voice strained with need.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze with a hazy sort of wonder. The way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world—was intoxicating.

Spencer’s strokes grew deeper, more urgent. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the desperate sounds you were making. Each thrust sent a fresh wave of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but clench around him, urging him closer.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice low and raw. His eyes were closed now, his brow furrowed in concentration as he moved inside you. You could feel the tension in his body, the effort it took to maintain control.

The sound of your muffled cries filled the room, the sweet symphony of passion echoing off the walls. His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit, his thumb circling it in time with his thrusts. You bucked against him, the dual sensations pushing you closer to the edge once more.

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, the intensity of his gaze searing into yours. "I want to watch you cum," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Again."

And with that, he changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting your g-spot making your eyes roll back and your toes curl. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through you, building on the remnants of your last orgasm. You couldn’t believe how close you already were, how desperate you felt for the release that you knew was just within reach.

Your breath grew ragged, your chest heaving as you met his eyes. He watched you, his own eyes dark with need, his thumb working you with a precision that had your back bowing off the bed, your cries growing louder. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the sensation of his cock filling you, his thumb on your clit, the sound of his breath in your ear—it was all too much.

And then you were there, falling over the precipice into the abyss of pleasure. You screamed his name, your body tightening around him as the orgasm swept through you like a wave, crashing over you and leaving you trembling in its wake.

Spencer's eyes remained locked on your face, a look of awe and adoration on his face. "God, you're so beautiful when you cum," he groans out. His thumb didn’t stop moving, keeping the pleasure pulsing through you.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he followed you over the edge, his own orgasm ripping through him. His body went rigid, his eyes squeezing shut as he buried himself deep inside you, his release hot and intense. You felt your inner muscles clench around him, milking every last drop of pleasure from him.

When it was over, he collapsed on top of you, his breaths hot and erratic against your neck. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, your hearts beating in sync. The aftermath was a mess of sticky skin and tangled limbs, but it was the most alive you’d felt in what felt like an eternity.

You stroked his hair, your breathing gradually slowing, the sound of your heartbeats the only music in the quiet room. The sun had fully risen now, casting a warm glow across the rumpled bed.

Spencer's head was nestled in the crook of your neck, his breathing evening out as he held onto you. The intimacy of the moment washed over you, a stark contrast to the chaos of the past few days.

You didn’t know how to navigate this new territory between you. But as his weight settled, as his arms tightened around you, you felt something unfurling within you—a warmth that had been missing for a long time.

You laid there, his breathing even and steady, his heartbeat a comforting thump against your chest. The sun had fully risen now, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. Your fingers traced idle patterns on his back, feeling the contours of his chest.

You sighed, tightening your arms around him for a brief moment before murmuring, "We should probably get up."

"Mhm," he mumbled, though he made no effort to move. He nuzzled against your neck for a lingering moment before finally pushing himself up onto his elbows. His hair was a mess, and his eyes, still heavy with sleep, met yours with something unreadable flickering in them.

Neither of you spoke as you got out of bed, dressing in the nearest clothes you could find. The air between you wasn’t awkward, but it was charged with something unspoken. The weight of what had just happened, what it meant, hung between you like an unfinished sentence.

You padded out of the bedroom, Spencer trailing behind you. The apartment was still and quiet, the only sound the soft creaking of the wooden floor beneath your feet. As you made your way into the living room, your eyes caught sight of the scattered remnants of last night—discarded clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor.

You bent down, sifting through the pile in search of your phone, and Spencer did the same. The moment your fingers closed around the device, your stomach twisted at the sight of the screen lighting up—multiple missed calls and a slew of unread messages.

"Shit," you muttered, unlocking your phone.

"Oh no," Spencer said at the same time, his brows furrowing as he scrolled through his own notifications.

The texts were from the team.

Part Two

[guiltyasreid]

high heels ll spencer reid x reader

warnings/tags: non, fluff, total fluff, fem reader, prince charming spencer reid word count: 1226 a/n: this is so not me I can run in heels so have fun with this one.

You were used to wearing boots, booted heels, platforms, and trainers. Never in your life had you thought you'd wear stiletto heels. It was fine, you could walk perfectly fine if you were on a flat surface, the pain wasn't even that bad.

Stairs?

No. Stairs were your biggest enemy in them. Up or down, you were like a new born deer.

"Are you sure you don't want to just wear another pair of shoes?" Spencer asked as he watched you wobble down the stairs of your apartment building.

You gave him a stink eye.

"Fine, but don't ask for my shoes later on." He gave you a look, and you smiled, taking his arm.

"Wouldn't dream of it, Doc." You giggled as you walked to the car.

Both of you were dressed formally, Spencer in his nicest black tux and you in a black satin dress that fell to your midcalf. The FBI had a dinner every couple of years just to celebrate. Spencer and you both knew it was just an excuse for an open bar. 

The drive there was easy enough. It was not far, the two steps into the hotel, you held Spencer's arm for dear life.

"Just up the stairs."

Your heart dropped at the sentence that came out of the receptionist's mouth. You looked towards the grand staircase that was heading up, in that moment, you were sure you'd end up falling down them. Spencer was clearly enjoying your sense of dread, its as if he was waiting to say 'I told you so.' 

"Come on." Spencer tugged you along, and you tried not to trip over your feet.

You started delicately taking steps up the stairs, again holding Spencer's arm. He looked amused at your struggles, but when they got to the 10th step, he sighed. It had taken you 3 minuets to climb them.

You let out a shout as he scooped you into his arms, carrying you up the stairs bridal style. Your arms automatically wrapped around his neck as you went red.

"I couldn't watch you struggle any longer, it was hurting me deeply." He spoke. You tried to hide your smile in his suit. "You definitely are liking this."

You smacked his chest with one of your hands. "Shut up."

You did enjoy every moment of it. He gave you another cheeky smile as you hit the top of the stairs. Delicately, setting you down. You brushed off your dress and gave him a bright smile.

"Thank you." You whispered, already feeling eyes on you both. You fiddled with his tie for a moment.

"Anything for you." He kissed the side of your head before allowing you to take his arm again.

The night went usually. Greeting people you knew, moments where you were on the small room for dancing. Spencer had wandered off somewhere with Derek while you stood with JJ and Will. "How are the shoes?" JJ asked, staring down at her feet. She was the one who'd gifted you them.

"They're nice, but I think most of the time I'm trying not to fall to my death." You let out a chuckle.

JJ gave you a sympathetic look. "You get used to it, I promise."

A tap on your shoulder made you turn around. Spencer stood with his arms behind his back and a cheeky smile on his face. You narrowed your eyes, wondering what he was up to.

He held out his hand dramatically, bowing slightly. "May I have this dance, my lady?"

Your cheeks heated, and you grinned. "Why, of course." You mock curtsied at him as he pulled you onto the makeshift dance floor, where a few people were swaying together.

JJ and Will were joined by the rest of the team, and they all watched them dance together with soft expressions. You giggling at his dramatic flairs to the dance. Him making sure you were only focused on him, it wasn't hard, he was the only one for you. His hair was pushed back slightly, his face had its usual light stubble, he looked like rugged prince charming.  

"Another side to him comes out with her." Derek spoke, a chuckle coming out as he sipped his drink.

Your squeal was audible when he twirled you out quickly, pulling you back in and dipping you low. "You're going to make me fall." You shook your head amused. 

"I'd never let you fall." He smiled back, kissing the side of your mouth. "If I did, I'd always be there to catch you."

"You're so cheesy." You giggled in his arms.

"I'm lactose intolerance." He quipped back, you snorted and pressed your head to his shoulder.

Will smiled at the pair and their antics. "I'll be surprised if they're not married by the end of the year." He spoke out loud.

"It's November." JJ reminded.

Will shrugged. "Like they'd ever have a traditional wedding, they'd probably get married by an Elvis impersonator, with ring pops." JJ laughed leaning back into Will.

"You look wonderful." Spencer whispered as you swayed together.

"And you look magical." You whispered back, he hummed leaning his head on yours.

The night dwindled down, You and Spencer didn't let go of each others hands for the rest of the evening. You said your goodbyes to everyone, making sure to remind the rest of the team about your Christmas party.

As soon as you started making your way out. Spencer scooped you into his arms again, everyone's eyes turned to the pair of you as he rushed out with you in his arms.

Will nudged JJ to look at what Spencer was doing. JJ raised her eyebrows. "Okay, maybe you'll be right." She muttered.

"You like doing this more than me." You laughed as he made his way down the stairs. One arm under your knees, the other under your arms.

"I admit nothing." He replied, kissing your cheek. You hid your face in his neck as he continued.

As soon as they hit the last step. You were sure he'd let you down, instead he kept walking towards the door. "What are you doing?"

"Taking you home, my lady." He replied, giving you another cheeky smile. His eyes were bright staring at you with love in his eyes.

The doorman opened the door with a smile on his face. You wiggled to be let down and he let you down softly laughing at your scowl. You shivered at the cold. He took of his blazer, quickly wrapping you up.

"You don't have to do that." You replied, about to start taking the blazer off. Instead, he just scooped you up again, not caring about the looks he was getting. "Spencer!" You laughed smacking his chest.

"Just enjoy it, I am." He grinned down at you. You rolled your eyes leaning into his shoulder.

Will was right. Three weeks later. Spencer and you announced you two were married at your Christmas party.

Pictures of you with a Elvis impersonator, two red ring pop rings on your left hands. There was pictures of you kissing while dipped. Him holding you bridal style with a bright red lipstick stain on his cheek, and a bright smile on both of your faces. One where you were holding Spencer bridal style, your face red and Spencer trying to hide his face with one hand. Then another where you both had your foreheads together just cheesing at each other. 

[marvelwitchergilmore]

First Name Basis

Summary: Aaron Hotchner x Fe!Reader -> You and Hotch have never been on First Name Basis, but as the years go on, thing begin to change.

Disclaimer: Mentions and descriptions of blood, bombs, life being in danger, slight spoilers for S4-Ep3 (Minimal Loss - Reader takes Emily's place) (But that isn't the whole fic). BAU found-family fluff, romantic fluff, soft fluff, happy ending. Not Proof Read.

You were on a first name basis with everyone. Everyone save from Hotch. 

Of course, he would introduce you with your first name when it came to meeting police departments or official personnel but to anyone else, specifically yourself, he always used your last name. 

And you did the same with him. Like the rest of them. 

It was always “Sir,” or “Hotch,”. 

Never Aaron. 

However, this all changed after a case in Colorado. 

Yourself and Reid had gone undercover as Child Protection Agents. And it wasn’t long until things went wrong. An unknown police raid meant everyone was taken underground. And a media segment revealed that someone was FBI. 

Between yourself and Spencer, you took the rapt. You weren’t willing to watch him get shot and die. 

On the other side of the planted bug, the team could hear everything. 

And it was killing Hotch.

And Rossi could see it. 

They all could. 

His own mind was fighting against listening because he had to, and not because you were being beaten. 

A small grunt left you as you were thrown into something, and then a crash came. A mirror most likely. More grunts and one scream before…nothing. 

It was the first time in a long time his emotions had started pushing to the surface. 

Every day, he had to become an emotionless yet empathetic profiler. But at that moment…he didn’t know what he was. He was a profiler, a friend, a…he didn’t know what he was. 

“Y/n…”

His voice was barely audible. A hair above a whisper. 

But Rossi saw it. 

Even if Aaron didn’t know it yet, Rossi knew. 

Then you spoke. 

“I can take it.”

There were more sounds of fighting before another. 

“I can take it.”

“She’s antagonising him!” Derek shouted. 

“No, she’s not.”

“She’s talking to us.” Hotch told them both. “She’s telling us not to come in.”

And he didn’t. 

It was killing him not to do so, but he didn’t. 

But the moment he got a chance, writing the time of “3 am” on the takeaway box, he wouldn’t be turning back. 

When he finally saw you, a wave of relief washed over him. And the same happened for you, too. 

Once you both caught clear sight of one another, you ran towards him. 

He could see the dried blood on your face, partly washed away. And your eye was bruised. And your arms were cut up, most likely from the mirror that had broken. 

But you were alive. 

Finally reaching him, you hugged him. And he hugged you. 

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, “I will be. Where’s Morgan and Reid?”

“They’re inside-”

The place blew up. 

Hotch covered you a little, both of you feeling the aftershock of the bomb. The hand you kept on his shoulder pulled him down a little with you. But after you made sure the other was alive, you both turned back to the building. And you started walking closer to it. 

“Morgan! Reid!”

They stood up. 

“Oh, thank god.”

Making your way up the stairs, you met a coughing Morgan and Reid before Reid finally stood tall and you hugged him. 

After that case, everything seemingly went back to normal. 

Until another case came, only a few months later. 

A bomb had been planted in a building. And, when tracking the Unsub into another one, yourself and Hotch had found yourselves stuck. 

The Unsub held a trigger, and by the looks of it, he was wearing one. 

But you couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling in your stomach. 

Something wasn’t right. 

“So, what happens next? You blow yourself up? What happened to “getting all the glory”? That’s what you said, isn’t it? In your message. It was all about the glory.”

Yourself and Hotch took another step forward, but then he unzipped his jacket. 

“Another step and I take my finger off the trigger.” He warned. 

Neither of you moved, but your gaze did switch. 

The bomb the Unsub was wearing wasn’t one you recognised. It wasn’t his type. 

By the time SWAT and Bomb Disposal met you at the top of the building, it wasn’t long before he just…gave up. 

“He took hostages from the last site.”

“But we found them all.” 

Hotch nodded in agreement. “I still want to do a sweep just in case.”

“I’ll come with you.”

By the time you both reached the fourth floor, you still couldn’t shake the feeling. 

And just as Hotch reached a small storage unit, it clicked. 

“It was a fake.”

“What?”

“The bomb, around his chest. It’s a fake.”

“Why fake a bomb and then give yourself up?”

Then it clicked with the both of you. 

“How many agents are in this building?”

“Enough to keep this case in the news for the next fifty years.”

“We need to clear the building now.”

By the time you both reached the floor, calling for every agent to clear the building, someone came and found Hotch. 

“We found his briefcase. You’re gonna want to see this.”

Walking over, both yourself and Aaron peered inside. There were plans, memos, and enough cash to give him a whole new life in any country he could possibly want. 

“Get all of this processed as soon as you can.”

And Hotch walked away. 

But you stayed. 

However, the longer you stayed, the bigger that gnawing feeling in your stomach grew again. 

And once you finally lifted a pile of cash, you saw it. 

A watch with a timer. 

“Morgan! Clear the area, now!”

People started running but when you did so, Hotch was still in his place. 

“Aaron!”

Grabbing his arm on your way past, you both started running. And whether it was luck, or fate or…whatever it was. Yourself and Aaron managed to clear the site fast enough so as to not die from the explosion. 

You both were propelled forward, and landed, rolling onto the ground. And for a few moments, were stunned from the blast. 

“Are you okay?”

You nodded, managing to catch your breath. “I’m fine. Are you?”

“I think so.”

Once you were able to open your eyes, you sat back on your heels and took a look at Hotch. He was sitting in a similar position to you, except he was bleeding. 

You pushed yourself closer to him, “Jesus, Hotch. You’re bleeding.”

Once you touched it, he seemed to feel it and tried to move his head away from your hand, but you pulled him back. 

“Don’t move.”

Through your wire, you called for a medic. 

“Y/l/n, I’m fine.”

“Hotch, you’re bleeding. You’re not fine.”

“So are you.”

You shook your head and turned away for a moment, pulling out your pocket knife and cutting the torn piece of your t-shirt. 

“Wait.”

Hotch took the cloth from your hands before tearing it into two and handing you a piece back, but keeping one for himself. 

Just as you pressed the cloth to his head, he did the same for your cut. There wasn’t much blood coming from your head, so once he knew that had slowed at least, he dabbed at the wound on your arm before tying the piece tight around your arm. 

Once the medics finally reached you both, you told them what injuries Hotch had and might have. 

“Check her over, too. She’s got a cut on her head. She could have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion.”

The medic had helped you up from the floor and when they did so, you felt a little dizzy. 

Hotch didn’t even have to say anything. 

“Shut up.”

Thankfully, the next time either of you talked on a first name basis was when on a short vacation. 

Considering the fact that no-one of the team was due to go on holiday or drive out of state for at least three more days, Penelope Garcia took it upon herself to plan a small getaway for the entire team that meant even if they got called back (as you all usually would), you would have, at least, a break away. 

So, on a random Friday morning, you all drove to the beach. 

And it was fun, to say the least. 

By the time you arrived, you parked next to Will’s car. Both himself and JJ were getting Henry ready along with the beach bags and diaper bags. From what you could tell, everyone else was already on the beach. 

“Need some help?”

JJ nodded. “That would be great.”

“Hi, Henry. Is this his first trip to the beach?”

JJ smiled and nodded. “It is.”

“We did try and take him a few weeks ago but then he got a fever.” Will told you. 

“Well, it’ll all be worth it.”

Will handed you a couple of the bags whilst he carried the rest and JJ carried Henry, along with her beach bag, onto the beach. 

The minute you spotted Morgan flirting with a group of women a few feet from the water, you spotted Jack playing in the sand with Emily and Penelope. Spencer was trying to avoid the sun and Hotch was finishing setting up the area with a couple of windbreakers and chairs, with Rossi. 

And once you, JJ and Will arrived; the two dads continued setting up with the addition of sun parasols. 

It wasn’t long before Jack had come running up to get his dad and yourself to join him. JJ handed you Henry for a moment whilst she dug through the diaper bag to find the fruit pouches she had brought with her. 

From behind you, Aaron set up another parasol giving both yourself and Henry shade.

“I’ve put Henry’s fruit pouches in the cooler. Ready to go?”

Lifting her son from your arms, JJ carried Henry down to the water whilst Will grabbed his camera. And yourself and Aaron joined Jack, Emily and Penelope. 

By the end of the day, you had all swam in the water, built sandcastles, sunbathed, read and even been chased by Morgan when he realised yourself. Reid and Hotch had been hustling him in a game of football. 

And at some point after all of that, you must have fallen asleep because you woke up to someone lightly shaking your shoulder. 

“Y/n, hey, y/n…”

As you slowly came around, you realised it was Hotch. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, everything is fine.” 

It was odd. 

His voice was soft. It was rare, if slightly unbelievable, that Hotch showed this side of him. The one he had for Jack. The one he had for those he held close to his heart. 

“The others went for some food, they should be back soon. Garcia said she knew your order. Pizza with fries and a side of pickles.”

“That’s my girl.” You said with a sleepy smile. 

“Pickles? With Pizza? Really?”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it.”

Then he laughed. “Okay, I won’t.”

You smiled at his laughter. And then you thought. In all the years you knew him, you couldn’t think of a time where you had heard him laugh. Sure, you’d seen him smile a little over the years. But before The Beach…you had never heard him laugh. 

And it was like music to your ears. 

Unknown, at first, but then very quickly became your favourite song. 

By the time the others got back, Jack was excited you were awake and ran over to you, jumping towards you and you fell back with him in your arms. 

Aaron laughed again, “Jack, let Y/n breathe.”

“Penelope got you pickles.”

“Extra pickles.” She said as she handed you the pizza box and takeaway tub with fries and pickles. 

“Have I ever told you you’re a saint?”

“Yes,” she smiled. “But I don’t mind hearing it again.”

“Well you are a Saint, Penelope Garcia.”

“She has to be, for buying you pickles with pizza.” Morgan added. 

The rest of the evening passed with stories, smiles and even more laughter. 

It was also after that day you noticed when Hotch called you by your name. It hadn’t clicked with you right away, when he woke you up. But when you fell asleep in the round table room after more than 30 hours of work, you noticed it more. 

Usually, whenever you fell asleep when case hours ran over, you would be jolted awake by someone (typically Hotch) calling your last name. 

But since The Beach, you were woken up with a soft touch to your arm, shaking you lightly, before he said your first name. 

“Go home, get some rest.”

“No, it’s fine.”

“No, it’s not.”

You grumbled, sitting up. “By the time I get home, I’ll be on my way back.”

Hotch sighed. “Fine. But you can use the sofa in my office. It’s better than your desk.”

“Thanks, Hotch.”

However, a few months later, something else changed. 

A case had been brought into the roundtable room, and everyone was there. Except for you. 

“Not like Y/l/n to be late.” Rossi said, pulling out his chair. 

“Try her again.” Hotch told Garcia. 

“Yes, Sir.”

“Maybe she’s just catching up on sleep.” JJ offered. 

“Why would she be catching up on sleep? We all landed back here two nights ago.”

“Is she dating?” Morgan asked. 

Hotch looked up. 

“No, but her neighbours are.” JJ told them. 

“Ooh, that’s gotta be tough.” Prentiss said. “Back in college, I had a roommate the same. Many sleepless nights. That was when I bought my first pair of noise cancelling headphones.”

Garcia called you three more times. 

“We’ll continue with the case,” Hotch told everyone. “We can catch her up when she wakes up.”

Except two hours later, you still hadn’t picked up. 

And then Hotch got a phone call.

“Is everything okay?”

“I’m going to find Y/n,” Hotch told Rossi as he passed him. 

“Do you know where she is?”

“A good idea.”

“I’ll come with you.”

After thirty minutes, and eventually passing the turn for your apartment complex, Rossi spoke up. 

“Her apartment-”

“I know, but she won’t be there.”

“Then where is she?”

“She has a second home.”

Rossi didn’t say anything but he couldn’t help but notice that Aaron knew the way, without having to put anything into the GPS. 

“Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Hotch sighed a little. Part of him didn’t want to, because he didn’t know if you would want anyone to know. But he’d gone this long without telling Rossi. 

“There was a crash this morning. Don’t worry, she wasn’t hurt. But one of her friends was. They’re okay, too. They’re being kept in the hospital for a few days but were more worried about Y/n’s reaction.” 

“How did she react?”

“She didn’t.”

“Well, that’s not good.”

Pulling up outside of your home, Aaron stepped out and rushed towards the door, finding the spare key and letting himself in. The doorbell camera would have let you know they were there. 

And then he called your name.

Rossi took in the structure and the decoration of your home. He didn’t know you owned a property outside of your apartment, but by the looks of it, you spent more time outside of work here than you did at your apartment. 

There were photos of yourself with your friends, as well as the team. It was tidy, and the place smelt of blueberries and cinnamon. 

Turning around the bottom of the stairs, Aaron took them two at a time before reaching the top and when he did, Rossi could see him standing on the landing, as well as stall when you called back. 

“Aaron?”

Coming from out of your room, you walked down the hall and Rossi watched as Aaron’s demeanour changed. In the car, he had been tense. In fact, he had been tense since you hadn’t walked into the office. 

But standing at the top of the stairs, hearing your voice as well as seeing you, he relaxed. 

And his voice became softer. 

“Hey,”

You walked towards him and he hugged you instantly. 

“How did you find me?”

“The hospital called. The nurse said Abby was worried about you. Are you okay?”

Aaron moved back a little to examine your face. You had been crying. Your eyes were a little puffy and your cheeks were tear-stained. 

With his thumb, he wiped away the streaks and you melted into his touch for a second. 

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Are you?” 

You nodded, “I just…it scared me, you know?”

Aaron nodded. “What do you need?”

“A hug?”

A light smile graced his lips for a moment. “I can do that.”

And he embraced you, tightly. Securely. 

Rossi smiled for a moment before quietly walking away to snoop through your house. And by the time you both walked downstairs, you hand in Aaron’s, Rossi was in the kitchen. 

“Next time Penelope tries to arrange a dinner party, we’re holding it here.”

“So long as you cook.”

“But I don’t see any-”

You and Aaron gave each other a knowing look before you moved and opened up two cabinet doors. It contained three different spice racks, a selection of dry herbs and all standard ingredients to make any one of Rossi’s signature sauces. 

He’d given you enough recipes over the years (not that you didn’t have to work to get them – there had been so many coffee runs) that you made sure you always had the main ingredients needed, and you could always pick up fresh ones on your way home. 

“You’re not the best snooper.”

“I’m a profiler. Not a detective.”

“You’re still an FBI Agent.” Aaron added, backing you up. 

“So, sue me.”

After that case, nothing else changed. 

Both yourself and Aaron remained on a first name basis. Especially considering that two years later, you and Aaron started to share the same last name. 

[waywardxrhea]

Heart's Desire - Spencer Reid

part 2 | part 3

pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!fem!reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 9.58k

When working a serial killer case in Tennessee, you become the bait for a violent unsub whose victims all match your description. When going after the man you collapse and are rushed to the hospital for medical treatment.

a/n: so yes, this is a Reader one shot, but it is super niche so...whoops? this honestly was just a super self-indulgent fic for me to write because i can't say i have ever seen the heart condition i had presented in the media and i really wanted to explore how Spencer may interact with it, so here we are! this is my first time writing for the criminal minds fandom, so shout out to my bestie who helped me out with coming up with case details and smaller plot points that have been incorporated into this little one shot!

content: fluff (oh how i adore the fluff in this one!), multilingual Reader, secret relationship, implied smut (if you squint lol), insecure Reader, Reader fits the victimology, graphic description of canon level violence, Reader is bait for the unsub, protective Spencer, mentions of jealous and possessive Spencer, language, medical emergencies, small medical inaccuracies (no AED on the scene - i had to do it for the drama don't judge), crying Spencer.

(not my gif), CM dividers by @firefly-graphics , EKG dividers by me

“Good morning, beautiful,” you heard Spencer’s sleep ridden voice mumble from behind you as you began to stir awake with the sun that was filtering in through the curtains of Spencer’s bedroom. The two of you had just gotten back from a case the day before and you were utterly exhausted. All you wanted to do was sleep in, and although he had bought blackout curtains for this exact reason, the sun still somehow managed to slip through, which you cursed the manufacturer for every time…

You flipped around in his arms to face him and sent a sleepy smile at him before mumbling, “Bonjour mon amour.” 

“Oh, so it’s a French morning?” Spencer asked with a quiet chuckle as he took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles.

“I was debating between that and Italian, but… French usually gets us to where I would love to spend this free day with you,” you replied with a smirk before leaning up to kiss him.

After a few slow and loving kisses, Spencer pulled away for a brief moment to rest his forehead on yours and say, “You know, since we just got back from a case out of state that took so long to solve, the odds of the team getting called back out are significantly lower than if-”

And then your phones started ringing. 

“What were you saying about the odds being low?” you muttered with a sigh as you turned back over in the bed and grabbed your phone off of the nightstand. You heard the automated voice on the other side tell you that there was a case the BAU was requested to work and that your presence was requested as soon as possible. 

As you sighed and closed your eyes briefly while you tried to sink back into the pillow, Spencer noted, “Well I did say the odds were low, not zero…” You couldn’t help the smile that slipped onto your lips at the comment as you laughed and lightly hit him in the bare chest with a throw pillow. 

“‘Never tell me the odds,’” you told him as you reluctantly began getting out of bed, sitting up on the edge and stretching to wake up your tired muscles. 

Spencer positioned himself to where his legs were on either side of you and wrapped his arms around your torso before kissing your neck and mumbling, “No matter how many times you quote Han Solo at me, it’s not gonna stop me from telling you the odds of things, you know that right?”

“I know, I know…” you told him with a giggle as you toyed with his hands that were clasped in front of your stomach. “How far apart do we have to leave again so they aren’t suspicious?” 

“Well, your apartment is about a thirty minute commute from the office while mine is twenty depending on traffic, so you'll leave ten minutes after me,” he reminded you as you both began to get up and untangle yourselves from each other. “I have an extra go-bag packed for you in the closet as well as a few outfits so you aren’t wearing the same clothes you came home in yesterday.”

“You’re the best, Spence,” you told him quietly as you both made your way into the bathroom to get ready for the day. 

As you jumped into the shower to take advantage of your extra ten minutes, you thought about your relationship with Spencer. You two had started dating about a year after you joined the BAU and out of fear of getting in trouble, like two teenagers you hid the relationship from your teammates. Your transfer from Homeland Security was prompted when your interrogation and hostage negotiation tactics landed you on the BAU’s radar, and you very quickly became fast friends with the whole team. So with the guise of being your usual friendly self, it truthfully hadn’t been too hard to hide the relationship from your friends. And while Spencer was hesitant about hiding a relationship from a group of people like the BAU team, your fear of being let go as the “more inferior” member out of the two of you was what convinced him to keep it a secret. It also prompted him to lecture you on your clear inferiority complex, but that was neither here nor there. 

“I’ll see you there, drive safe,” Spencer told you before kissing your cheek as you wrapped yourself in your towel to dry off while finishing your routine. 

“You too,” you replied, giving him a peck on the lips before he began walking out of the restroom and apartment to head to headquarters. 

When you got to HQ, you yawned as you made a beeline for the kitchenette for some much needed caffeine. When you got inside, you cordially told Spencer and Derek, “Good morning you two,” as you poured your coffee, creamer, and sugar into the mug you always had on your desk. It was your parting gift from your Homeland team that was in the shape of the sun and what prompted your nickname from Derek. 

He laughed as he watched you and Spencer prepare your coffees, telling you, “You know, Sunshine, I think with how much creamer you put in that, you may have Pretty Boy beat on sugar consumption.”

“Ha ha very funny,” you told him with a playful roll of your eyes as you turned to walk into the bullpen. 

As the three of you ambled into the area, Hotch emerged from his office and announced, “Sorry to call you all in so soon after getting back from a case, but this one is something we aren’t taking lightly and needs to be stopped because the unsub is escalating quickly.” So, after a quick briefing on what he knew of the case, Hotch told you all to be prepared for wheels up in thirty. 

When the plane landed in Tennessee later that afternoon and you stood up from your perch, you stumbled a bit when you felt your heart give an irregular stutter in your chest. “You okay, kid?” David asked you with concern in his eyes after seeing the brief moment of panic flit across your features. 

“Yeah, fine, just feeling a bit off after that flight, I guess,” you replied, taking a deep breath and straightening up which seemed to do the trick as your heart began beating in a regular rhythm once more. 

“You know, I wouldn’t say I blame you if you were a bit anxious,” he told you as you both exited the jet and started making your way to the black SUVs awaiting your arrival. “It isn’t every day we get cases as violent as this one, especially when the victims…”

“All look like me?” you supplied quietly when he trailed off at the end of his sentence. It was true that when you began going over the pertinent files on the flight that all of the unsub’s victims shared many of your physical features, and while that did alarm you, you knew that your team would have your back during this case no matter what. You placed a small smile on your lips as you told him, “I’ll rest easier when this guy’s behind bars.”

“That’s the spirit,” he told you with a warm smile as you loaded into the SUV, your bag at your feet and your case file in your lap as you continued to read over what all the unsub had been up to in the last couple of months. 

After you all got to the local police precinct and got settled in and assigned tasks, you made your way to their break room for another cup of coffee, only to be followed in by Spencer a few moments later. As you both made your drinks, you casually turned so you were leaning on the counter and watching over the office as Spencer asked, “Are you okay?”

“You know, Dave asked me the same thing, I’m starting to think you guys are more worried about me than I am,” you told him, your lips covered by your cup in case anyone you couldn't see was watching. 

“I always worry about you,” Spencer told you softly as he stirred his sugary drink. 

“And I, you, but for now we need to work on getting this guy in cuffs, and it won’t happen if either of us get distracted,” you said with a sort of finality in your tone, determined to make sure you conveyed a sense of confidence or else you too may fall victim to worrying about yourself instead of working the case. 

As you walked out to the desk where you were allowed to set up, Penelope ran past you, almost toppling you over as she shouted, “Hotch, I found out how he’s luring the victims!” 

“How?” your unit chief asked as she made his company. The team had barely been here a couple hours and the locals' work was already being combed through and missing clues were being found. 

“Dating apps! On every victim’s phone was a dating app and she had planned a date with a man from there. None of the men’s accounts were the same and none of them had common pictures, but the unsub always used the same lines when chatting the women up!” she told him in a rush as she showed him pages she had printed out while doing her dive into the womens' phones. 

Spencer emerged from the break room with his coffee in hand, saying, “Well, based on that knowledge we can assume that dating apps have a significant meaning to him.” 

From her place nearby, JJ spoke up, saying, “Every victim had her left ring finger severed off, maybe his wife cheated on him using one?”

As Derek walked into the room with David hot on his heels, he added, “And turns out they also had their ovaries taken out by the unsub.”

“As well as their cervix glued shut with industrial sealant before their genitals were mutilated,” David supplied, his head shaking as he handed Hotch the ME reports. 

A scoff huffed out of your chest before you mused, “So he feels slighted by his ex wife and has decided that in order to pacify that anger he does what he wishes he could to her to the victims…” 

“Do we know if any of the victims was the ex wife?” Derek asked. 

“Nope, all the victims are single women who have been on dating apps for quite some time and none of them have an active or otherwise marriage license under their name,” Penelope replied. 

“Good work everyone, let’s get to work finding this guy,” Hotch said. “Find out all you can, I want to give this brief before nightfall.”

“Yes sir,” you all replied before once again splitting off into your assigned tasks. 

Right as the sun began to set that evening, Hotch called everyone together and the team began giving the locals the brief on the unsub. Hotch of course began the brief, informing the locals, “The unsub is a caucasian male in his mid thirties to early forties who we believe to have a medical background in surgery and likely just went through a rough divorce." 

You were the next to speak, announcing, “We believe he was cheated on by his ex wife, which is what triggered the break and the murders. The victims all share common features which we assume are also shared by the ex wife.” As you said this, you clicked the remote in your hand and on the board behind you popped up the faces of the victims. 

With the slightest tremor in his voice, Spencer was the next to piggyback, saying, “The victims have all been found with mutilated genitals as well as their left ring finger cut off. The unsub also took the time to use industrial glue to seal the victim’s cervix shut and to cut out her ovaries.”

Derek was next to speak, adding to Spencer’s statement, “The cause of death in all the victims was prolonged blood loss. This tells us that he's performing these rituals while the victim is still alive.”

“He’s tech savvy, enough so that he is able to create difficult to trace profiles on dating apps on which he seduces victims before murdering them,” Penelope said sadly. 

JJ was next, telling the team, “The only evidence that he’s left behind are the bodies in secluded dump locations and as of right now we do not know where the victims are being killed.”

David was the last to speak, rounding out the brief with, “All of this combined leads us to believe that he is a very calculated and dangerous individual who needs to be found before he strikes again.” When he was done, Hotch dismissed everyone to begin their search with this new information. 

“Hey, chief?” came a voice from the front of the office a few minutes later. Both the local police chief and Hotch looked up at the young man expectantly before he replied, “There’s been another victim…”

“He’s escalating again…” Hotch mumbled as he ran a hand over his chin. “There was a lot less time between victims. We need to work faster.”

“Yes sir,” everyone replied before attempting to double down on their work. 

As they all began working, the gears in your mind began to spin, and when you finally formulated a plan, you approached Hotch and said, “Sir, I think I may have an idea on how to catch him.”

“How?”

“We do a sting. Penelope makes a dating profile for me on one of those apps and we use me as bait,” you told him, never breaking eye contact to convey that you were serious about the idea. “If we can get someone inside then we get our guy as well as possible evidence for half a dozen murders.”

Hotch sighed before saying your name warily. “You know how risky that is.”

“And that risk is something I’m willing to take in order to stop this guy. If we don’t do this then there may be another victim tomorrow, maybe two,” you said. Squaring your shoulders, you added, “I agreed to take this job in order to help people. I fit the victimology. This is how I can help.”

A few moments of silence passed as Hotch seemed to weigh his options before he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he said, “Fine. I’ll think through the details. I want everyone well rested tonight before we start planning tomorrow. You and Garcia share a room at the hotel so she can start making that profile for you.”

“Yes sir,” you replied with a small smile and a nod before heading off to find Penelope so you two could head to the hotel and begin. 

“So, are you on one of these apps normally?” Penelope asked as the two of you sat beside each other on one of the hotel beds, laptop and phones in hand to create this fake profile for yourself. 

“Me? No, I don’t trust them for this exact reason,” you replied, shuddering as you thought about the poor women who thought they were simply going to meet a new man but paid with their lives and dignity. 

“Oh, I see,” Penelope said before instructing you to find a specific type of photo in your camera roll that the unsub may find attractive. “Are you dating at all?”

“Oh, uh, not really,” you said, trying to pace your words so they didn’t seem panicky. “This job takes up a lot of my time and all, so it would be hard to find time for a relationship between cases.”

“You have an excellent point, but you can’t let something like that hold you back! You deserve all the happiness in the world!” she told you cheerfully as she continued typing away at the laptop. “What are your interests?”

Smiling inwardly at how the subject turned from your dating life you told her, “Reading, rom coms, coffee, patisseries, art, the occasional drink.” As you thought for a moment, you added, “Ooh, make sure you put ‘not looking for anything serious.’ I think that’s something that may trigger the unsub into choosing my profile.”

“Smart!” she replied before selecting that option on the profile. “We should do this more often! Maybe when this is all said and done we can make you a real one and I can just do a background check of the person before you go on a date!”

You laughed lightly as you told her, “Let’s make sure I survive this case first then we’ll go from there.”

The next morning came and went as the team tried to track the guy to no avail, so right before lunch, Hotch gathered everyone around and announced, “Okay, this unsub is proving hard to find by other methods, so we’ve decided to pull a sting. We can’t just sit around waiting for our surprisingly extensive list of divorced surgeons to make a move.” He motioned to you and Penelope and said, “These two worked on creating a fake dating profile that the unsub may fall for. The plan is to get him alone and our resident interrogator will pull a confession out of him.”

“Wait, what?” Spencer asked immediately, his eyes wide. “Is it a good idea to send her in when we know the unsub is escalating?”

“It’s the only lead we can get right now,” Hotch told him. “If we don’t do this tonight, then we may risk another woman dying at his hands.”

“Yeah, and it may be her,” Derek said sharply, the idea of sending you into the belly of the beast not sitting right with him either. 

“Not if we’re all on our A-games when it goes down,” David said in an attempt to calm the younger men down. “If you’re so concerned, we can send you into wherever he asks to meet her so we can have eyes on her the entire time." He chuckled before adding, "Derek, not you Spencer, no offense but you do tend to stick out like a sore thumb in certain environments."

“But-” Spencer tried, but was cut off by Hotch. 

“No buts, we’re doing this. Tonight. Garcia, activate the profile.”

“Yes sir,” she replied quietly before opening up her phone and clicking a few buttons. “It’s done.”

“Good.” He turned to you and said your name to get your attention. “Just make sure you reply to any account that may fit the profile. Garcia will run a trace on it to see when it was created since we knew he makes a new account for every victim.”

“Yes sir,” you replied, nodding your head as you pulled out your phone and got to work. While you scrolled through the app and took a seat in one of the secluded offices to eat your lunch, you were startled by another presence entering the room without knocking. “Geez Spence, you scared me!” you scolded him, clutching your chest in a vain attempt to slow your racing heart. 

“And you’re scaring me,” he told you as he shuttered the blinds to prevent any passersby from seeing the two of you in there together. As you sat your phone down on the table, he covered your hand with his and asked sincerely, “Are you okay with this plan?”

You nodded. “It was my idea. We need to get this guy before another innocent woman dies.”

Echoing Derek, he asked, “And what if that turns out to be you?”

You scoffed humorously before deadpanning, “And you really think you’d let that happen?” After he floundered with his words for a few seconds, you kissed him gently before saying, “I trust that if anything goes sideways, you’ll be there to save me. You always are. I just need you to trust me and my judgment on this one. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, it’s just-” he tried, but you cut him off with another kiss. 

“Just trust me, love,” you told him once you pulled away again. 

After you said this, your phone pinged with a notification that caught your attention. You picked it up and saw that there was a new message in your dating app’s inbox. “‘Hey beautiful, you look like you are in need of some company. How about you meet me at Monroe’s tonight and we see where this goes,’” Spencer read with disdain in his voice. He cringed before saying, “Please say that’s not what I sounded like flirting with you…”

You laughed, telling him, “No, the poetry you quoted at me was much more romantic than that line.” You placed one more quick kiss to his lips before telling him, “I’m gonna have Penny run this profile and we’ll see if it could be our guy.”

Turns out there was a high chance of it being your guy, seeing as the profile was created just hours before and yours was the only account that he interacted with. So after a chat with Hotch about the plan to get this guy to confess, you got dressed in a little black number and silver heels, finishing your look with the most effortful hair and makeup you had done in a while. When you emerged into the precinct, you saw that Spencer was the only one in the immediate area. “Where is everyone?” you asked. 

“Getting the gear ready and briefing the police. I got the distinct honor of greeting you,” he told you with a warm smile as he drank in your appearance. His eyes darted around the room to ensure the two of you were alone before he wrapped you in his arms and kissed the top of your head, mumbling into your hair, “Tu es magnifique.”

“Merci beaucoup,” you replied, feeling a heat rush up your neck and into your cheeks at his words. No matter how long you and Spencer had been together, whenever he flirted with you, especially in any of the different languages you spoke, you still got flustered. 

When Spencer’s arms quickly untangled themselves from your embrace, you rightly assumed that the team was emerging into the offices once more. Hotch called out your name before asking, “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied with a nod, smoothing out your dress before joining the team near the door. 

On the way to the bar in the taxi you were assigned to take, Hotch went over the plan once more, detailing to you that Derek was already at the bar to keep an eye on you in case things went sideways, that you are to attempt to get any sort of confession out of the unsub, and if you could get information on where the killings were happening that would be even better. You had a plan in mind to attempt to get inside his head and get him to confess without even realizing it, so as you walked into the bar, you feigned confidence as you walked up and sat on a barstool to wait for the unsub to approach you. 

Derek sat across the room behind you and to your left, near the door, and his soothing voice came through the in-ear you had, saying, “All right, Sunshine, if things go sideways you just say the word and I’m all over this guy.”

“Just trust me,” you told him quietly as you took your first drink from the water glass that the bartender handed you with your drink. 

“I believe I’m supposed to be meeting you here?” came a voice from beside you a few minutes later. 

You turned toward the voice and smiled in greeting. He did fit the profile, strikingly actually. You noticed a tan line on his left ring finger and how his hands were slightly cracked and dry, perhaps from surgical scrubbing at his job. You offered out your hand for him to kiss as well as your name before telling him, “I believe so. And you’re already nearly half a drink behind, so why don’t you catch up, handsome?”

“I think we can make that arrangement,” he said after kissing your knuckles.

"That was smooth, remind me why you're single again?" JJ asked with a quiet laugh through the in-ear.

You kept your facial expression in response to the comment neutral as the unsub ordered his drink from the bartender. When the two of you began talking, the team kept their ends of the coms silent as you worked to get what information you needed from the unsub. 

During the conversation, you almost dragged out what you wanted from him, but he always skirted around it. You knew he was your man though, that was plain as day when he spoke about his ex wife who he told you moved off to California to be with the man she cheated on him with. During the conversation, Penelope informed you quietly that she had found record of the woman as well as IDing the man sitting across from you as Doctor Samuel Costner, who specialized in abdominal surgery.

After another paced drink from you and a couple more for him, he stood behind you and wrapped his arms around you, his hands splaying out over the tops of your thighs as he asked, “How about I take you back to my place and show you a good time?”

Bingo. His place. One of the things the team couldn’t figure out was where the unsub lived, otherwise it would have been much easier to locate him and the possible murder site. With this information in mind, you leaned back into his embrace and told him, “I like the sound of that.”

The silence from the team was broken as Spencer’s voice asked, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“As long as we tail them it should be fine,” you heard JJ tell him. 

“We have his name now though, can’t we just have Garcia dig into where he lives and go from there?” Spencer countered.

“And go in with what suspicion? We need evidence that he’s killing there in order to step onto the property,” JJ replied.

“But this is a controlled scene, if she gets in the car with him, we can’t control what happens in there. What if we lose the truck on the backroads? This is too risky, I’m-”

“Reid, sit down and trust her,” you heard Hotch scold him. “What we need is a location and she’s getting us exactly that. Now sit back and let her work or else I’m pulling you from this case.”

“Yes sir…” Spencer eventually said. 

“Remember the signal,” Derek mumbled as you and the man made your way out of the bar and to his truck. 

A nearly thirty minute drive took you to a farm that had vast amounts of pastures and trails hidden within the woods as well as a large picturesque barn that looked just like they all did in the movies. “So this is where you live huh? It’s beautiful…” you breathed as you looked around, trying to take in any specific details you may need to relay to the team in case they weren’t able to tail you. 

He nodded as he pulled up in front of the barn, putting his hand on your thigh as he said, “Family owned and operated since the 1800s. And while I don’t do much of the labor around here because of work, I am still the proud owner. Maybe you could be too one day.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked in your most alluring voice as you slightly widened the space between your thighs, the gesture making you feel filthy, but if this was how you caught the unsub then so be it. 

The kisses that he gave you started off innocently enough, but soon turned aggressive and you cringed inwardly at the fact that you knew the team was listening to everything from their end of the coms. You didn't even want to think about what was going through Spencer's mind - the man had a reputation of being jealous and possessive sometimes when you two went out and guys flirted with you.

Before you knew it, the unsub was coming over to your side of the truck and opening the door. He pulled you into his arms and asked, “How about we go for a roll in the hay?” You giggled innocently before agreeing, subtly eyeing the black SUVs that had begun to creep onto the outskirts of the property line with their headlights out. They followed you. Good.

So, as he took you deeper into the barn and to an area that was lined with tarps that had seen better days, your eyes began scrutinizing every little thing that could be evidence that he had killed those women here. And you found it as you eyed a corner of another tarp that seemed to have dried blood on it. 

Right as you were about to sneak in your code word to the team to signal you had what you needed, you heard Spencer’s distinct voice shouting, “FBI, hands where I can see them!”

“Shit!” the man shouted before jumping off of you and darting away, the large knife you had somehow not noticed before dropping to the ground as he sprinted off. 

“We’ve got a rabbit!” you shouted, tossing off your heels and beginning to run after him. “I’m taking the back exit, someone go around the side!”

“On it!” JJ called as she began running around the other side of the barn to cut him off. 

When you ran out of the door you saw him leave out of, you were met with a wooden fence that he had jammed in the few moments you were distracted. Not wanting to waste any time, you opted to climb the fence, jumping over and landing awkwardly on your feet. When you did, you felt your heart give an irregular stutter in your chest before starting to beat rapidly. As you stood up, you began to get light headed and it felt like cotton filled your ears as you faintly heard a commotion around the corner of the barn. Heat seemed to fill every part of your body and your vision started to tunnel as you gasped for air, stumbling around to try and steady yourself on the side of the barn before your body gave in and collapsed. 

“Stay down!” JJ sternly told the man as she pinned him to the ground and cuffed him. “Samuel Costner, you’re under arrest for the murder of six women.” 

As JJ recited his rights and escorted him to one of the police cruisers that had emerged on the scene, Spencer looked around and asked where you were. “Didn’t she say she was going out the back?” Derek asked. “I didn’t see her come back around…” 

Panic filled Spencer’s body immediately and he began quickly making his way around the barn with Derek hot on his heels. What if Costner got to you in desperation before JJ arrested him? What if you were bleeding out behind the barn? He had to get to you quickly. 

When he rounded the corner and saw you collapsed on the ground, he shouted your name before sprinting over and feeling for a pulse. After a few seconds and some quick math, he said, “Her heart rate is 238 and she feels clammy… She’s not bleeding that I can see, but she’s hardly breathing. Derek!”

“On it!” he shouted, pulling out his walkie to dispatch an ambulance to the location. “They said it’ll take about twenty minutes to get here.”

“She might not have twenty minutes!” Spencer snapped as he watched your now frail body and how you were losing color quickly. With a strength that Derek didn’t know he had, Spencer lifted you into his arms and began carrying you to one of the SUVs, telling him, “Get one of the officers to give us an escort, we’re taking her!”

“Oh, got it!” Derek stuttered out before barking orders at an officer and getting into the driver’s seat of the SUV. 

“What’s going on?” JJ asked as she quickly jumped into the passenger seat while Spencer got you and himself into the back seat. 

They took off at a rapid speed, Derek intending on cutting the ride to the hospital in half at least as he pushed the pedal into the floor as far as it would go. 

“I don’t know, her heart is racing though, and we found her collapsed,” Spencer told her, his own breath beginning to come in rapidly as he began to panic. 

“Spence, look at me,” JJ told him gently which prompted him to look up at her. “We’re gonna figure it out. She’ll be okay. What do we know?”

As he ran his thumb over your jaw as a way of soothing himself, Spencer rattled off to JJ, “Well, obviously she was in a state of stress during the sting, but even a panic attack wouldn’t cause her heart to beat this fast, panic attacks top out at about 200 beats per minute. She’s usually good at controlling her anxiety anyway, especially under pressure like this… He couldn’t have drugged her at the bar because she got all her drinks directly from the bartender and she was cognizant of what she was doing and saying the whole time. As far as I know, at her last doctor’s appointment she was given a clean bill of health…”

“Well, not being drugged is good, we can work with that,” JJ reassured him. She checked the map on her phone and said, “We’re almost there, just hang in there.”

When you arrived at the hospital, Spencer carried you in and placed you on the stretcher that was waiting at the triage door. “What happened?” a nurse asked as a doctor walked up while the team began placing EKG leads all over your chest. 

“We’re FBI. We were working a case and she was chasing down a perp. I didn’t see her come back from where she said she was going and I found her like this,” Spencer replied as he began following them while they pushed you into a room, JJ and Derek hot on his heels. 

“Any significant medical history?” she asked as they began plugging the wires into machines which immediately began blaring with alarms. 

As Spencer began rattling off your medical history, two of the nurses escorted JJ and Derek into the hall to clear some space for the medical team. After two nurses got IVs started in your left arm, another came running in with some syringes, vials of medication, and a cart. As they began preparing the medication, the doctor looked toward Spencer and told him, “We’re about to give her a medication that’s going to stop her heart.”

“What?!” he shouted, his eyes wide. 

Calmly the doctor continued, saying, “It’s got a super short half-life so it’ll only be for a few moments and then her heart should go back into a normal rhythm. It’s a very routine drug. She may feel sore afterward but that is to be expected.”

And so a pair of nurses worked together to quickly administer the medication. When it hit your system, sure enough, for a few moments he watched the monitor as your heart stopped and Spencer could practically feel his own stop too. The tension in his shoulders eased up slightly as your heart returned to a normal 88 beats per minute, but then alarms started blaring again within seconds as the EKG suddenly looked like a toddler was scribbling on the monitor. Spencer knew that rhythm from a book he read one time and knew that it was deadly if not treated quickly. In a blind rage, he shouted at the doctor, “You said that medication would help! Look what happened! I want a different doctor on her case right now and-”

“Get him out of here! Geneva, get the defibrillation pads on her and deliver 200 joules. If that doesn’t work start CPR!” the doctor called before calling more orders to the rest of the team, two of which began trying to escort Spencer from the room. 

“You can’t just-!” he shouted in frustration before he felt a hand on his shoulder that squeezed gently. 

“Let them work,” came Derek’s voice from behind him. 

When Spencer wrestled himself out of the nurses’ hold and watched them go back into the room, closing the door that now had a blue light above it, both JJ and Derek saw the dangerous look in his eyes. JJ though was the one brave enough to ask, “What the hell was that about Spence? You can’t just yell at the doctor like that! He was trying to help!”

“Him trying to help sent her into v-fib and now her heart isn’t working!” he retaliated, running a hand through his messy hair. He tried to hide the tears in his eyes as he turned away and stalked off down the hall, unsure of what to do with himself at the moment. 

“Spence!” JJ called after him, about to follow him, but was stopped when a gentle hand grabbed her forearm. 

“Let him go,” said David as he too watched Spencer’s retreating form. 

JJ sighed in frustration and said, “I just don’t know what’s gotten into him! Why would he yell at them? Yeah, I’m worried too, but that was a whole other level. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him that mad.”

“Just think about it from his perspective,” David told her vaguely before encouraging the two of them to meet the rest of the team in the waiting room. 

Once the pair of them parted ways, David sighed and took off in the direction he saw Spencer going. When he found him a few hallways over staring out a window into nothingness, David cleared his throat and asked, “How long has this been going on?”

“From the time I found her with her heart beating that fast, it’s been twenty-eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds give maybe three minutes from the moment she took off after Costner. It’s been two minutes and forty-eight seconds since that doctor sent her into v-fib and effectively made her heart useless as a pump,” Spencer mumbled.

“That’s not what I meant, kid,” David told him, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips. He leaned his back against the window and said, “I know love when I see it.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer said, his back straightening as it clicked in his mind what he was saying. 

Now David chuckled as he said, “Don’t lie to me, kid. I see the way you two look at each other. The way you joke around together. You’re relaxed around her.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And between you and me, I’ve seen you two sneak off together when you thought no one was looking.”

Spencer cringed at the last bit, but couldn’t help the small smile that graced his lips at the thought of you. “We’ve been together for just over a year,” he said softly, the smile growing wider as he remembered your anniversary a few weeks prior. That smile quickly faltered though when he remembered what was happening in that hospital room a few halls down. 

“She’s going to pull through,” David said gently, his hand landing on Spencer’s back, giving him a gentle pat. 

When he said that, Spencer’s phone started ringing with a call from Hotch, who told him, “She’s stable and resting, they gave her a sedative so she doesn’t overwork herself again. The rest of us need to finish up at the scene. I trust you can get your paperwork done on the jet later. Call with updates, please.”

“Yes sir,” Spencer replied, a tinge of hope in his voice at the words. 

“Well?” David asked expectantly when Spencer hung up.

“She’s stable!” he told him, the tension in his shoulders leaving as he exhaled deeply. 

“Then go to her!” David said, a smile on his face. 

“I-I will!” Spencer said, turning to take off toward the room he left you in. Before he could leave the older gentleman’s presence though, he asked, “David?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t tell Hotch.”

“It’s not my secret to tell,” he replied with a nod before he answered his cell, presumably with his own call from their unit chief.

The wait for you to wake up took longer than Spencer would have liked, and by then they already had to move you out of the emergency department and to a cardiac monitoring floor to make room for more emergencies. When your eyes finally fluttered open in the early hours of the morning, you cringed at the bright light coming from the window before orienting yourself to your surroundings. You were in a hospital room that much was clear, and beside you was Spencer, with one hand in yours and the other holding up what looked like a map that you assumed was a medication insert. Only Spencer would be reading up on whatever medications they may have given you for whatever you ended up in here for…

“Spence?” you whispered to get his attention. When his hazel eyes flicked away from the pamphlet and met yours, you could see how they instantly flooded with tears as a smile made its way onto his face. As he gently threw his arms around you, you asked, “What happened?”

“When you ran after the unsub you collapsed and your heart was beating extremely fast. I got you into the SUV and Derek drove you here to get treated,” he replied, his voice muffled by your hair. You could hear this disdain in this voice as he added, “They gave you this medication that stopped your heart and was supposed to put you back into a normal rhythm, but it ended up making things worse. You went into an even deadlier heart rhythm and they had to shock you. No CPR thankfully, but the nurses said that if that first shock didn’t get you back they would have had to…” He pulled you impossibly closer as he whispered, “I was so scared. I thought I lost you…”

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m right here,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you attempted to comfort him by rubbing soothing circles into his back. That was a lot to take in, but you hated seeing Spencer so upset and that was your biggest concern at the moment. 

You cleared your throat, but before you could ask what was on your mind, there was a knock at the door and two people came in: a nurse and a doctor of cardiology. The doctor sent you a warm smile and said, “It’s good to see you awake Miss, you gave the ED team a real scare last night!” 

“It was the doctor down there that caused such a fuss…” Spencer muttered, which earned a squeeze of your hand that warned him to be cordial. 

“Yes, that’s actually what I came up here to talk to you two about, er, you Miss.” He glanced down to your hands and didn’t notice a ring, so he asked, “And what’s your relation may I ask? Are you okay with him being here for this?”

“He’s my boyfriend and yes he’s allowed to be here. If I don’t remember something that big brain in there will,” you said, a quiet laugh leaving your lips. 

“Okay, great!” the doctor said as he clapped his hands together. “So, when you came in, you were in what we call SVT which they treated with a medication called adenosine since you were unresponsive. It’s a fairly routine drug for emergent SVT conversion. When they gave it to you though, it threw your heart into V-fib, which essentially caused your heart muscles to quiver instead of contract. In my years of experience, I’ve only ever seen one condition that would cause that medication to make your heart react like that.” He motioned for the nurse to hand the two of you a piece of paper as he continued, “What I think may be going on is called Wolff Parkinson White Syndrome. It’s a condition in which the conduction system in your heart misfires and sends you into SVT. Luckily enough, it’s easily treated with a heart ablation surgery, but you will have to go through the steps of a formal diagnosis before going through with that as this is just a guess. Do you have any questions for me?”

You looked at the doctor for a moment, your eyes wide as you shook your head no, unsure why you did it, but in your state of shock you didn’t know what else to do. You were sure whatever research Spencer does on the condition would answer any of your later questions anyway. Through the ringing in your ears, you of course heard Spencer’s muffled voice asking the doctor as many questions as he could think of after reading through the education packet, but you paid no attention as you thought of the implications this might have on your job and life as a whole…

What felt like only a few moments passed in the fog of noise and chaos in your brain before you were gently pulled back to reality by Spencer’s soothing voice as he called out your name to get your attention. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asked when your eyes finally met with his concerned ones. 

“Too much… I don’t wanna think about it right now…” you whispered, a tear slipping from your eye as an array of emotions blasted through your body. He pulled you into a hug and rubbed your back, not pushing the topic further for the moment. 

Wanting a change in subject, you cleared your throat and focused on work, asking, “Did we get him? The unsub?”

As Spencer pulled away and tried to discreetly wipe a tear from his cheek, he laughed incredulously before saying, “All thanks to you.”

“Good. At least he’s put away now,” you said, relaxing as much as you could into the stiff hospital bed. 

Spencer looked at you and shook his head in disbelief as he said, “Only you could be told your heart stopped practically twice and that you may need surgery to fix it, and you’re still more concerned about if we caught the unsub or not.” 

“What can I say, I was passionate about putting that one away,” you said, forcing a small smile on your lips. 

Spencer, for the first time in a while, was at a loss of words for what else to say on the subject, so instead he simply whispered, “I love you,” before leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to your lips. 

The two of you quickly broke away from each other when you heard a squeal and something hitting the floor behind Spencer. When you both looked over to identify the sound, you saw your team standing in the room holding various gifts as well as your go-bag and some palatable food for breakfast. “You two! I- We- You-!” Penelope stuttered out as her eyes darted from your face to Spencer’s and back. She quickly crouched down and picked up what turned out to be a pack of makeup removing wipes before asking, “When did this happen?!”

“My man!” Derek said with a sly smile on his face as he went over to clap Spencer on the back.

“I- We can explain!” Spencer said, a bit of desperation in his voice as he watched Hotch place his get well balloon down on the table before walking out of the room. 

Spencer took one look at the returning terrified look on your face before starting to stand up to go after Hotch, but stopped when David placed a hand on his shoulder to stop his movement. “I’ll deal with it in a minute, kid. You stay with her.”

After a few moments of tense silence, you managed to say, “Surprise?” as Spencer once again resumed holding your hand. 

JJ laughed quietly as she sat down on the couch in the room, asking, “Like Garcia said, when did this happen?”

“Just over a year ago,” Spencer replied, squeezing your hand as his smile once again appeared. 

“A year?!” Penelope and JJ asked at the same time, their eyes wide in shock. 

David laughed and shook his head before asking, “And how did anyone else not notice?”

“In my defense, I thought it was an unspoken rule not to profile each other,” JJ mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“It’s not profiling if it’s obvious,” David said with a chuckle. He leaned over and placed a kiss to the top of your head before telling you, “Rest up and get to feeling better, you scared us all.”

“Yes sir,” you replied, huffing out a laugh as you watched him exit the room followed soon after by the rest of the team who gave you their well wishes too. “Well, I guess that cat’s out of the bag now…” you whispered, pulling your blanket closer to your body as your anxiety began to creep in. 

“Hey, we’ll figure it out,” Spencer reassured you, his eyes flicking up to the heart monitor and noticing that your rate was beginning to climb. He squeezed your hand as he said, “Right now we just need to focus on figuring out if you have that condition the cardiologist mentioned. Dave is talking with Hotch and I’ll talk with him soon too, okay?” 

He gently lifted your chin and mumbled, “Deep breaths, sweetheart…” You simply nodded in response as you closed your eyes and tried to breathe in time with him to calm your racing heart and mind. 

After a few moments, Spencer reached over you and grabbed the pack of makeup wipes and took one out, starting to bring it to your face, which prompted you to ask, “What’re you doing, Spence?”

“I’m helping you take your makeup off,” he replied simply as he began to gently run the wipe over your jawline. “I know you hate when you get acne from your makeup when we're busy with cases…”

“I can do it, love, I’m sure you’ve been up all night and you need rest too,” you told him, gently grabbing his wrist to stop his movement. 

“I don’t mind,” he told you with a small smile on his lips. “This gives me an excuse to admire your beautiful features…”

You could feel yourself blushing as you mumbled, “You’ve had my features memorized intimately since around two months into our relationship.”

“And I’ll never tire of your beauty,” he told you as he coaxed your hand off of his wrist and began gently working the makeup off your face. 

“Je t’aime, Doctor Reid. You always know how to make me feel better,” you whispered a few minutes later when the last makeup wipe was discarded. 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied, placing a gentle kiss on your lips once more. 

When you were cleared to discharge the next morning, the rest of the BAU had already flown back home. Hotch offered to send the jet back to get the two of you, but knowing that they could be called out on a case, Spencer declined, also citing to him, “People with unstable heart disease and arrhythmias have the risk of deadly episodes while in the air due to the pressure changes within the cabin as well as the lower oxygen levels and higher risk of dehydration, not to mention the added stress both physically and emotionally.”

“Is that your way of telling me you’re just renting a car to get back?” Hotch asked, and the pair of you could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose as he asked this. 

“Yes sir,” Spencer replied shortly. “If anything comes up feel free to call. We’ll both get our paperwork done before coming back to the office.”

“Thank you,” he said simply before hanging up. 

Since he hadn’t wanted to leave your side, Spencer hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with Hotch about your relationship, and over the phone it was hard to tell what the annoyance in his tone was over… As you began to think about those implications, Spencer glanced over at you before taking your hand in his and saying, “You’re working yourself up again…”

“I’m just scared is all…” you mumbled as the pair of you followed the rental car agent to the car you would be taking back to Virginia. 

Once you were both in the car after Spencer inspected it for cleanliness, he took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles, reiterating to you, ���We’re going to figure it out. David said he thinks Hotch will come around, and if you’re worried about your heart, we’ve already got your appointment scheduled for when we get back home. Whatever happens we’ll take it on together like we always do.”

“Thank you, Spence,” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes once more. You felt like you had done more than enough crying in the past few days, even though there had been more than one occasion when Spencer had rattled off some facts about crying being a great form of stress relief. 

Walking into headquarters a few days later, you tugged at your shirt uncomfortably as you and Spencer stepped into the elevator together. You had been to the doctor the day before and they had attached you to a 24-hour heart monitor that they would use to aid in your diagnosis. You’d be lying if you said all the wires didn’t cause you to be filled with an overwhelming feeling of insecurity. 

Taking note of your shifting, Spencer asked quietly, “Would you like to wear my jacket?”

“And give Hotch another reason to let me go?” you rebutted, your voice breaking at the end. 

“That’s not going to happen,” Spencer reassured you as the doors to the elevator opened and you two walked out and toward the BAU offices. 

It definitely felt that way though when the first thing you heard when emerging into the bullpen was Hotch calling both of your last names and saying, “You two, my office.”

Feeling like two teenagers caught in the act, when Spencer closed the door behind him, he immediately started rambling. “Hotch, please I can explain, we-”

“I don’t need an explanation, I need you to sign these forms,” your unit chief said, handing the both of you a packet of papers that you began reading even though the papers shook with the tremors in your hands. 

“If you just give me a second to-” Spencer tried again as he took the packet but didn’t so much as glance at it. 

“Sign the papers,” Hotch said, ignoring Spencer’s pleas for him to listen. 

“But-”

“Spence, read it,” you said a few moments later after you had read the summary of the form on the front page of the packet. 

At your words, Spencer finally looked down at the packet in his hands and within moments had it read, his mouth opening a little in shock as he asked Hotch, “Wait…you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad. I’m mad that you two would keep such a secret from us, not only because I thought we functioned as a family here, but also because of how much your relationship played a role in that Tennessee case," Hotch told him sternly. "Seeing as even I never noticed before now, and up until that case, it has never interfered with your work, I came up with some forms that should appease the higher-ups if for some reason this relationship were to get out to other teams.”

“So, if we sign these forms then we’re both allowed to stay on the team as long as it doesn’t interfere with our work?” Spencer asked, slightly breathlessly. 

“Correct,” Hotch replied, the corners of his mouth almost tugging up into a smile. “We can’t afford to lose either one of you from this team.”

“Well, that’s a relief…” you mumbled as you grabbed a pen out of the cup sitting on his desk and signed the paper in the appropriate places. 

“No more secrets, okay?” Hotch asked sternly as he eyed the two of you, pointing his own pen at each of you in turn. 

“No more secrets,” you both agreed, giggles flying out of both of your mouths as you looked at each other after saying the same phrase. 

“So, when’s the wedding?” Derek asked with a chuckle as the two of you emerged from the office once everything was filed away. 

“Once we get her heart situation figured out because I know she’ll want to go to Europe for the honeymoon,” Spencer replied as he pulled you close and placed a kiss on your forehead. The statement made your heart leap in your chest and you began to think of excuses to tell the cardiologist about what caused that reading on the monitor. 

So, with your job at the BAU still secure, you took a seat at your desk across from Spencer’s and sipped at the decaf coffee JJ had bought for the kitchenette, completely grateful for the team, but even more so for Spencer. You weren’t sure how you would navigate this crazy and unpredictable life without him.

[hotchscoffeecup]

“Power Struggle”

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner/Reader

Rating: M

Category: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 7.2k

Summary: For months, you and SSA Aaron Hotchner have been toeing the boundary between romance and your careers. When the unsub that's been killing women in Michigan by way of replicating Zeus' punishments from Greek mythology takes you as his next victim, it's up to Hotch and the rest of the BAU team to find you before it's too late. Hurt/comfort and angst with happy ending.

Tags: graphic depictions of violence, reader kidnapped by unsub, blood, implied SA, nudity, electrocution, scarring, hospitals

“You’re telling me someone is out here killing people to recreate, what? Greek legends?” Sheriff McCullen’s brow pinches as he shakes his head.

“Legends are stories often loosely based on a real person or event to teach us a lesson. Mythology is based on supernatural or sacred lore and explains why things came to be. It’s a common mistake.” Reid speaks quickly and methodically, as if reciting from a textbook. “It’s straight out of the mythos,” he explains, his voice tinged with something akin to excitement as he approaches the whiteboard where photos of the victims had been pinned up for review. Using a ballpoint pen as a pointer, he taps the first image of the first victim. “Regina Manford, she was found tied to a boulder in Craig Lake State Park with her liver removed. Animal predation showed birds had pecked at her while she was still alive. In Greek mythology, Zeus did this to Prometheus to exact revenge on him after he stole fire to give to man.”

Reid moves on to the next victim, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he did so. “Sarah Walters was found bound to an old water wheel that had been set on fire. Greek Mythology suggests this is a copy of Zeus’ punishment for Ixion.”

“And what did he do to deserve that?” asks the sheriff.

Reid’s lips form a tight line. “He was invited into Zeus’ home on Olympus. After attempting to seduce his wife, Hera, Zeus punished him by binding him to a wheel of fire cursed to spin forever toward the underworld. She might’ve smiled or even looked at him, and in his delusion believed she was a seductress deserving of punishment.”

“So, what? This guy sees himself as some sort of god?”

“We believe that is his delusion, yes,” answers Emily. “Each victim also bore signs of sexual trauma, this is something Zeus is also renowned for in the mythology. Our unsub thinks he’s infallible and that these women’s lives and deciding when and how these women live and die is his divine right.”

“Do we know if there will be more victims?” asks one of the detectives.

You step forward from your place between Morgan and Hotchner. “Given the number of victims Zeus punished within the mythology, we can assume he is not finished. These kills are two weeks apart. It’s been twelve days since the last body was found. We can only assume he’s currently hunting for his next victim. And when he finds one, he convinces her to go to a second location. It's once they leave the primary location that he attacks. In each case, the victim suffered a blow to the head, leaving a uniquely shaped gash in her forehead. This suggests that he strikes them with a distinct blunt object or even a ring that’s on his hand.”

“We need every man out on the streets,” Hotch states, his eyes hard as he scans the group of law enforcement gathered to receive the profile. “He stalks his victims in the city, often on the weekends when night life is busiest. He’s charming. He has no problem approaching women because he views himself as a deity and carries himself with the arrogance and confidence of one. He’s white, in his early to mid 30s, good looking, charming, and likely has a career that would’ve provided him with medical training.”

A female detective with short blonde hair sticks her pencil in the air. “How do we know that?”

“The incisions made on Regina’s body were clean, precise, and showed no signs of hesitation,” explains Rossi. “The M.E. also informed us that the hepatic artery was clamped off, meaning,” Rossi hesitates before continuing on, “meaning Regina Mansford was alive as her liver was being cut from her body.”

An uncomfortable murmuring breaks out. Hotch raises a hand, silencing them. Your mouth goes dry and you swallow, hoping your team doesn’t notice the way your eyes dilate when you look at him and the silent way in which he can command a room.

“This is why we need every available officer on the streets. Increase units in the downtown area. Have plain clothes officers on the streets. That’s where we’ll be. Thank you.” Hotch tucks his head and sweeps out of the bullpen, the rest of the team trailing after him into the conference room.

“Where do you want us?” asks Morgan as you shut the door to the conference room.

“Reid, I want you here working the geographical profile. See if there’s anything we missed that could bring us closer to a precise location where he’s kidnapping his victims. Rossi and JJ, I want you to go back to Sarah’s apartment and see if we missed anything that tells us where she was exactly on the night she was kidnapped. Derek and Emily take the north side of downtown.” He inclines his head toward you. “You and I will take the south side.”

His eyes linger on yours a moment longer than they ought to have. You dip your head and swiftly exit the room, jacket in hand as you prepare to brave not only the frigid Michigan cold but working one one-on-one with Hotch. This had been going on for months; subtle looks, brief touches where his fingers would slide over yours while passing off a case file…yet a part of you still wasn’t sure if it would ever go any further than that. You spend so much of your time with the team, it would be so easy to mistake one gesture for something that it wasn’t. Yet you knew that wasn’t true. You know behavior. You’re trained to recognize the subtlest of shifts in demeanor and body language and you know exactly what is going on.

You jump as someone pushes through the front door of the precinct. Emily’s gentle laugh disrupts your rumination. “Sorry,” she says, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

She moves to stand closer to you as she zips her jacket. “The guys went to grab the cars.”

You nod and shove your hands in your pockets.

Emily arches a perfectly manicured brow. “What’s up?”

You school your expression and feign nonchalance. “Nothing, I just want to catch this guy before he hurts anyone else.”

Emily’s brow furrows and then straightens, a glimmer of knowing in her eye. “Something tells me there’s a different guy on your mind.”

Your heart skips a beat and you nearly choke on the crisp winter air. “What? I don’t—“ Your words falter as Derek and Hotch arrive, the SUVs humming to a gentle stop at the curb.

Emily eyes you, a sly smile curving one side of her red lips. “We’ll talk later.” She winks and steps forward to open the passenger side door, sliding inside and disappearing into the dark interior.

As you turn to move toward the SUV, Hotch is there, opening the door for you. The gesture surprises you, but it shouldn’t. He’d been doing little things like this for weeks now. You nod your head in thanks and as you turn your body to slide past him, his hand catches your hip. Your breath hitches in your throat as his fingers glide against the small of your back, guiding your movement into the vehicle.

His hard eyes meet yours as he shuts the door and you’re grateful for the shadows inside the car as you feel your face flush bright red. Hotch slides into the driver’s seat with ease. He shifts the car into gear and pulls onto the road, heading in the direction of downtown.

After a few minutes, you open your mouth to disrupt the silence, but his cell rings. Hotch answers and places it on speaker as JJ’s voice floats through the receiver, “Hotch, we think we’ve got something at Sarah Walters apartment.”

“What’s that?” you ask.

“There’s a sticky note in her trash can,” a garbled sound echoes through the speaker as she shifts the phone. The sound of paper crinkles as she reads, “Tony’s at 9, does that mean anything? Has Garcia come across a Tony in any of her research into the victims’ lives? Maybe an Anthony?”

An image of a neon sign flashes across your mind’s eye. “It’s a bar,” you say matter-of-factly.

“A bar?”

“I remember seeing the sign on our drive-in. It’s a bar on the south side of downtown. That could be where he’s meeting these women.”

“We’re only a few blocks away, we’ll head there now. Thank you, JJ.” He hangs up and slips the phone into his jacket pocket.

“How do you want to play this?” you ask.

“We go in, make observations, see if we can identify anyone that matches the profile.”

You smirk and a small laugh escapes your lips.

“Something funny?” Hotch asks, his voice low in his throat.

You purse your lips, pausing before you proceed. “If we go in looking like feds, we’ll scare this guy away.” You tilt your head, considering. “Well, one of us anyway.”

A slight twitch in his brow is the only indication your words have just barely gotten under his skin. “Touched a nerve, sir?”

As the traffic light ahead blinks red, he eases the car to a stop. He breathes out slowly, the amber glow of the stoplight reflecting in his eyes. In less than two heartbeats, he thrusts the car into park and with both hands clasps your face, drawing you in to kiss you with such fervor white spots dot your vision. It takes a moment to process the heat of his mouth on yours and the way his tongue slides between your lips, and before you can truly reciprocate the light turns green and he pulls back, his breathing ragged against your mouth as his forehead touches yours. “Be careful when and how you choose to call me sir.”

Before you can exhale, his eyes are on the road again and you’re driving deeper into downtown.

“Understood,” and then you add, almost imperceptibly, “sir.”

A small smile quirks at the corner of his lips, but he says nothing more as you approach your destination.

It's nearing 9:30pm when you pull up on the street parallel to Tony’s. People trickle in and out of the bar in groups of twos and threes; most are young, in their mid to late twenties.

“Right,” you say as you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn to exit the vehicle. “Stay here.”

“Excuse me?” Hotch asks, reaching over your lap and grabbing your wrist to stay your hand from popping the door open. Your breathing stills and he just barely turns his face toward yours. “Since when do you give me orders?”

Unsure where the confidence to challenge him comes from, you lean in near his ear. You swallow once before speaking. “I think you like taking them.” Feeling incredibly brazen, you nip at his ear once and as the unexpected gesture disarms him; flick your wrist out of his grasp and pop the door open. You slide out of the car and are immediately greeted by the frigid January air eliciting goosebumps up and down your arms. Extending an arm overhead to hang on to the frame of the SUV; you lean down into the cab of the vehicle. “I’ve got you right here,” you say as you tap the hidden earpiece. “Let me know if you see anyone from the outside that fits the profile.”

Hotch eyes you and there’s a fierceness in his gaze. You wonder if he’s thinking of how he’ll ultimately retaliate for your little role reversal now that he’s gone and upped the ante in this little game of cat and mouse. “See you soon,” you wink and slam the door shut.

As you approach the bar, you make sure your coat is buttoned in a way that hides your sidearm and credentials from sight. The bouncer doesn’t even pretend to ask for an ID as you approach and move through the front door with ease. As you cross through the threshold, your senses are assaulted by the smell of beer on tap, the sharp tang of liquor, grease, and an amalgamation of perfumes and colognes.

Immediately you begin scanning the room. You note the layout of the bar: three exits for patrons, the one you just came in through, one near the bathrooms for cigarette smokers, and an emergency exit on the far right wall near to the kitchen. There are three pool tables all of which are occupied as well as three dart boards along the far wall. Groups of friends engage one another and dates carry on without a hitch. You approach the bar, which is centered along the far wall. Stools line the high countertop and behind the bar, two women work to fulfill the never-ending drink orders. You approach the bar and slide into one of the empty seats, relaxing your shoulders as you do so, and order a rum and coke that you don’t plan on drinking.

After a moment the bartender drops a cocktail napkin in front of you and places the drink on top. You thank her and stir the contents of the drink with the swizzle stick popped inside.

“Is this seat taken?” an unfamiliar voice causes the hair on the back of your neck to prickle and you know immediately that it’s him.

Painting on a saccharine sweet smile, you turn toward the voice. A white man, standing at about 6’2”, is smiling down at you. The neon lights behind the bar reflect in his blue-gray eyes and his honey blonde hair falls in soft waves to his shoulders. “Please,” you say demurely and gesture toward the seat. You tell him your name and continue smiling.

“Ronan Carlson,” he introduces himself as he slides in beside you and adjusts the lapels on his leather jacket, a fake Rolex peeking out from his sleeve. He’s preening, you think to yourself. The bartender approaches from behind the bar and he smiles, the curve of his lips the opening act of his charming performance. “I’ll have what she’s having, thank you.” He pulls a roll of cash from the inner pocket of his jacket, flips through several bills, and pulls a $100 bill free before sliding it across the counter to her.

The bartender’s eyes widen in surprise and he winks at her. She nods her thanks and turns to make his drink.

“That was very kind of you,” I say, stirring my drink for the thirteenth time.

He shrugs and tips the baseball cap he’s wearing down over his eyes and you know it’s to obstruct the view the cameras have of him. “It’s only money, and I think I may have made her night.” He inclines his head toward the bartender whose head is bent close to the other woman’s. She’s smiling wide and shows her the $100 bill.

Internally, you roll your eyes hard, but externally you smile and look at him from beneath your lashes. “You must have a great job, what do you do for work?”

His hand flexes as he sets his drink down on the counter and you note the two chunky platinum rings he wears on his right hand. There are symbols etched into them offset by different colored stones, but you don’t want him to catch you staring as he answers, “I’m in business for myself these days,” he says with no further explanation. “Though I used to be in the military.”

You feign surprise, though you were hopeful he’d continue to divulge information. “The military, wow. Let me guess,” you pause and allow your eyes to slowly scan him from head to toe. You remember the profile. “Army…medic.”

“Reign it in,” you hear Hotchner’s voice through the earpiece. “Be mindful of how much you reveal to him. Don’t let him know you know more about him than he’s letting on.”

You watch him assess you and your read into him. One blonde brow creeps up toward his hairline and that wicked smile curves his lips again. “Excellent guess, how do you figure?”

Leaning on to your forearms, you push your drink aside and slide your hand over his and you don’t miss the way his fingers tense at your touch.

“It’s the hands,” you say coyly. “You look like you know how to handle yourself.” He relaxes under your touch and a heat ignites in his eyes that makes your stomach churn, but you don’t let it show on your face. “You look like you know how to handle a lot of things.”

He licks his lips and turns the ring on his finger. “Tell you what,” he says as he picks up his drink. He places the glass to his lips and downs its contents. “Why don’t we get out of here?” He looks down at you from beneath dark lashes. “And I’ll show you just how much I can handle.”

You stand up and flash him a grin. “Let me quickly freshen up and I’ll meet you out front.”

His lips quirk into a smirk, “I’ll meet you in the parking lot.”

You smile as you slip away toward the bathroom. As you push through the crowd you inform Hotch that the unsub is on his way out.

“There’s a line growing out the door,” he answers over the earpiece. “Does the description match the profile?”

“To a T,” you answer as you push past a couple with their tongues in each other's mouths. The amount of patrons has increased dramatically over the last hour. The volume of the music makes it hard to hear through the earpiece. You push your way into the restroom and are surprised to find it empty. Fortunately, the outside noise is muffled. You begin to describe Ronan’s appearance and note the jacket and hat he’s wearing. “He’s wearing two oddly shaped rings,” you add. “I think it’s what’s caused the unusual injury to the victims’ faces.”

“I’ve got him. He’s cutting through the line toward the parking lot.” You hear the car door open and slam.

“Got it, I’ll be right there.”

“Good work,” Hotch says over the open line.

You smile to yourself as you unbutton your jacket, glad to be on the receiving end of his praise. For a split second you wonder what else you could be on the receiving end of if you continue to play this game with him. After the case, you remind yourself. Priorities. Priority number one is getting this sick bastard off the street, and he’s right here within your grasp. You shoulder the door as you reach for your gun, positioning your thumb over the rotating hood to dislodge your weapon from its holster.

Over the speakers, an employee is calling to celebrate someone’s birthday. The crowd is distracted and pushing toward the source of celebration. The bar erupts into an off key rendition of Happy Birthday but you don’t hear it as 30,000 volts of electricity course through your veins. Your muscles spasm and lock up as you fall forward. Pain radiates from your abdomen in waves that crash over you again and again. You try to tell your body what to do as strong arms catch you and pull you into a chest that smells like cigarette smoke, but your limbs don’t cooperate. You feel his nose root into your hair as his lips find your ear. “How’s that for capable?”

As he shoulders your weight and steers you out through the emergency exit you hear Hotch’s voice in your ear. “It’s not him!” There’s an edge of panic in his voice as he says your name. “Do you copy? It’s not him. He gave another man $500 to wear his hat and jacket into the parking lot. It’s not him. Do you have eyes on him?”

Dark spots the edges of your vision as he drags your dead body weight. You try to focus all of your ability on getting out any words that can signal to Hotchner what’s happening, any at all but your mouth feels like it’s filled with cotton.”

You hear the tinkling of keys and a door slide open. Pain rattles through your skull as he throws you into the back of whatever vehicle he’s operating. Pain slices through your wrists as zip ties slice through the skin there. Through tunnel vision you see him leering at you. He’s backlit by the streetlights.

As his fist flies toward you, you finally manage one word.

“Aaron.”

•

When you come to, the first thing you feel before the splitting pain in your head threatens to cleave your mind in two, is cold.

Your mouth is dry, but as you move to lick your lips you realize you can’t because there’s a gag in your mouth. You try to move your hands, but they’re bound too. Zip ties cut into each wrist, securing them at your sides on the legs of a wooden chair. When you try to shift the chair, you learn that it’s bolted to the floor and your legs are spread open; zip ties at your knees and ankles keep them apart. Except for your bra and underwear, you’re naked. He undressed you. You feel the wound from the stun gun before you glance down at your stomach and see the two bloody pinpricks in your abdomen. You feel your heart rate increase as panic begins to set in. Do not panic , you tell yourself as you take a steadying breath. The minute you start to panic, you’re dead. You close your eyes and piece together the last dredges of your memory.

Tony’s. Sitting at the bar. The unsub. Ronan. Hotch was in pursuit. And then there was just pain.

Hotch.

The pain in your skull is overwhelming and you’re not sure if you can feel the earpiece anymore.

“Hotch,” you attempt to say through the gag. “Hotch, do you read me?”

You close your eyes as hot tears brim along your lash line when there’s no response. The signal is out of range or the unsub found the earpiece and removed it.

A door creaks open on squeaky hinges and your eyes dart toward the source of the sound. Ronan walks through the door with a sick smile on his face. As he saunters toward you, he rolls the sleeves of his flannel up to his elbows. Without looking away from you, his arm drops to his side and he scoops a folding metal chair with one hand, carrying it with him as he edges closer to you.

You flinch as he cracks the chair down in front of you, forcing it open. He chuckles as he takes a seat. His eyes skirt the length of your body and you wish any limb were free to deliver a blow to his smug face.

He reaches into his back pocket and withdraws your badge. He flips it open and holds it up to your face, the way his eyes flit between you and your credentials makes your lip curl.

“An FBI agent,” he says slowly. He slaps your credentials shut against his denim-clad thighs. “Hot damn!” he shouts and whoops. He throws your badge to the wayside and it clatters against the cement floor. “I’m going to take my time with you.”

It could’ve been hours. It could’ve been minutes. The torture is unrelenting and the pain is unending. Your chest heaves as you brace yourself for the next surge of electricity. Ronan, if that’s even his real name, twists the knob on the amplifier and taps the jumper cable clamps in his hands together. He smiles when he hears the buzz of electricity between them. As he presses them into your thighs, you cry out in pain as the shockwaves paralyze your body and mind and the pain overwhelms you.

“YES!” he roars as he pulls them away from you. He’d taken his flannel off, but now he peels off his t-shirt, balls it up, and uses it to wipe the sweat off of his face.

With the voltage no longer coursing through your veins, you slump forward, chest heaving as your scrambled brain fights to stay alert.

He drops the cables and clasps your face in his hand, forcing your chin up to meet his wild eyes. “You just don’t quit, do you? You're special.” He strokes your cheeks with his thumbs as if he cherishes what he’s doing to you. “You are worthy of a god.”

When you come to Ronan is watching you. He’s leaning forward, elbows on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands.

“She wakes,” he muses.

You glare at him and his brow pinches. He purses his lips together like he’s been stung, but his eyes are alight with amusement.

“You,” he says, gesturing up and down your body, “look beautiful.”

You don’t need to look down to know the number of bloodied burn wounds spanning the lengths of your legs. If you couldn’t keep track of any other thought, the count was all that kept you grounded. There were ten. Five on each leg. Your wrists and ankles bled from the way you’d pulled against them with every shock he delivered.

He reaches forward and this time you don’t flinch. He hooks two fingers into the gag and pulls it down over your chin, his fingers trailing your lips as he does so.

“Here,” he says, bringing a bottle of water to your lips. “Drink.”

You clamp your lips shut and turn your face away. He laughs and shakes his head. “Come on now, don’t refuse me. That’s not how you show gratitude when a god shows you mercy.”

You muster as much hatred into your stare as you focus your attention back on him. “Mercy?” you hiss, and your voice is hoarse from screaming against the gag. It hurts to speak. You pull against your restraints. “This is what you call mercy?”

“I’m only testing you to see if you’re worthy,” he says by way of explanation. "You've lasted longer than the others."

“Worthy of what?” you ask, but you already know the answer.

“To be my Hera.”

“How is what you’re doing to me, what you did to those other women, going to help you find her?”

“They weren’t worthy,” he answered. “They couldn’t take my power like you could, my lightning. They were false. They needed to be punished.”

He leans in, his lips close enough to yours that you can feel his smoky breath on your skin. “But you, you deserve to be rewarded.” Your skin bristles at his words. His lips find your jawline and you grimace as he drags them up the side of your face. When he pulls away, dried blood flakes onto his skin.

“Don’t be afraid,” he soothes as he smoothes your sweat-drenched hair away from your face. “You’ll enjoy it.”

Unable to suffer any more of his poisonous bullshit, you rear your head back and slam it forward. Pain explodes behind your forehead, but it’s worth it to hear the satisfying crunch of his nose breaking. He roars in pain and clutches his bleeding nose. White light blinds you as he backhands you and curses your name. His ring splits the skin of your cheek open. The force of the blow causes you to bite your lip and you feel your teeth cut into the chapped skin there. You spit blood at him, angering him further.

“You are false!” he screams, spittle flying from his mouth as he shoves the gag back into your mouth. “You are not her!” He moves to pick up the jumper cables, twisting the knob of the amplifier all the way up causing the bulbs overhead to flicker. You know this is it. If he touches you with those, it will kill you.

Bracing yourself for the killing blow, you go to the grave knowing you did not give in to this bastard.

It never lands.

Instead, three shots ring out and he’s falling to the floor dead at your feet. As the unsub’s body falls, Hotchner’s frame comes into view and a choked sob escapes your lips. He holsters his weapon and runs to you. Emily and Morgan are right behind him. Morgan passes Hotch a Swiss Army knife from his pocket and he makes quick work of the zip ties binding you to the chair. From the corner of your eye, you see Emily turn off the amplifier and check Ronan’s pulse.

Unable to hold yourself up, you fall forward into his ready arms, letting yours fall over his shoulders. Hotch drops to his knee to support your weight. “You’re okay,” he says as he pulls the gag free from your mouth and you sob into his chest. He smooths your hair back from your face, his eyes assessing the damage done to you. Blood stains his shirt, your blood.

“Morgan, your jacket.” Hotch orders.

Without hesitation, Morgan unfastens his bulletproof vest and unzips his jacket. He passes it to Hotch who drapes it around your shoulders in an attempt to preserve some of your modesty.

“I need a medic!” he shouts before directing his attention back to you.

Your eyes waver as you try to keep them open. You lock in on the depths of his warm brown eyes. “You’re going to be fine,” he says but his voice sounds far away.

“He wanted someone to be his Hera,” you say weakly.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Hotch soothes.

You swallow and it hurts your throat to do so. Your lips crack open, “You found me.”

Hotch cradles your head against his chest. “Of course I did.”

You wince as the sound of a gurney crashes into the room, the metal wheels squealing as it draws near. Your head swims as you’re swept into the air and laid out on its cushiony bed. A light shines in your eyes and voices are overlapping. Blindly, you use what strength you have left to drop your hand off the side. Unable to focus your attention on where he is, you know he’ll hear you. “Don’t leave me.”

And as you lose consciousness, you feel his hand slip into yours.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

•

A steady beeping fills your ears as you slowly come to. Your eyes feel bruised and you don’t think you have it in you to open them, but you feel something around your wrists and bolt upright. Pain crashes over you in a wave. It was a dream. You’re still bound in that basement. The beeping increases, growing louder and faster. Someone says your name and you feel hands on your shoulders. You try to swing your fist and are surprised when your arm follows through and makes contact with flesh. Did you break through the zip ties? You hear your name again, clearer this time. A man. He’s asking you to stop, to relax.

“It’s me,” he repeats and says your name again. “You’re safe. You’re in the hospital.” He says your name again. “It’s me, it’s Aaron.”

You stop fighting and blink hard. Hotchner’s stern face comes into view, except there’s concern wavering in the depths of his brown eyes. His brow softens as you relax. A small smile turns the corners of his lips. “Hey there,” he says. A nurse rushes into the room and he raises a hand, “We’re fine, here. Thank you.”

The nurse looks at you and you nod. She looks unsure about leaving but ultimately relents. “I’ll let the doctor know you’re awake.”

Aaron cups the back of your head in one of his hands and gently begins to lower you back down onto the pillows behind you. You allow him to guide you and feel the tension ease from your muscles as your back sinks into the surprisingly plush hospital pillow.

As the adrenaline wears off, you’re finally able to take stock of your injuries as the pain quickly makes itself known. You feel your pulse beating in your skull, pounding at your temples, eyebrow, and cheekbone. With shaky fingers, you touch the places where you remember the unsub striking you. You feel a thick bandage taped over your right eyebrow and steri-strips over your cheek. Your lip is swollen from where you bit it.

Bandages encircle your wrists and there’s an IV stuck in your hand. You’ve been dressed in a hospital gown and the sheets are drawn up to your waist covering the burn wounds. You don't have to see them to know how bad they look. The pain is telling enough.

“Is he dead?” you ask, lowering your hand back down to the bed.

Hotch’s lips form a tight line. “Yes.”

You blink back tears as that information sinks in. “Good,” you whisper in a choked voice. You blink and allow your head to loll to the side. A colorful bouquet of roses and carnations dotted with plastic ladybugs and butterflies sits in a clear vase on the side table.

You smile, “Garcia?”

Hotch smiles in turn. “It was tough to convince her to go home and get some sleep, but I promised her I wouldn’t leave you alone. Even then, it was still a hard-fought battle.”

You chuckle and wince as the movement irritates your injuries.

Hotch telegraphs his next move, and you know it’s to avoid startling you. He cups his hand over your uninjured cheek and strokes the skin there with his thumb.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there,” he says, and his voice sounds tired and pained. “I should’ve gone inside with you.”

“Hotch, don’t.” You reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist. “Don’t do that to yourself. He didn’t know I was with the FBI until after he took me. If you’d been there, he might’ve pegged us as law enforcement and taken off. He might still be out there and we’d be finding another dead woman in a matter of days. You know I’m right.”

Hotch closes his eyes and heaves a heavy sigh. “I could hear you.”

“What?” you whisper. You try to sit up and wince as the movement stings the wounds in your legs and abdomen. Hotch stands and helps adjust the pillows behind your back before sitting back down in the chair at your bedside.

“Not for very long. He drove out of range, but I heard him speaking to you. I heard the blows land. I heard your head smack against the floor when he threw you in the van.” He stops and shakes his head. “I felt so helpless. I was afraid. I couldn’t get to you, just like,” his voice catches in his throat. “just like I couldn’t get to Haley.”

Your heart breaks for him as he speaks. You reach for his hand and take it, squeezing it. “Aaron, you did get to me. You saved my life.”

He clears his throat and swallows. “Yes, but we were almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” you state, your tone firm. “Aaron, look at me.”

He hesitates and inhales deeply before lifting his gaze to yours. The corners of his eyes soften as he meets yours and you smile. You gently tug his hand, “Come here.”

Hotch glances toward the door and then back at you, “The doctor—“

“Isn’t going to do shit,” you finish. “I’m the one that endured hours of torture. Pretty sure I’m allowed some close comfort.”

He lets out a shallow laugh. “Yes, I suppose you’re right.” Standing, he shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. With one hand he loosens his tie until he’s able to pull it up and over his head. He tosses it onto the chair and circumnavigates the bed, assessing the best way to join you on the small mattress.

You groan as you slide over. Hotch reaches out to stop you but you silence him with a pointed look. “Mind the IV,” you say as you pat the space beside you.

Hotch acquiesces, using the tips of his fingers to raise the IV drip enough for him to slide into bed beside you. He slips an arm around you and drops the feed. It falls across his torso. The feel of his arm around you is comforting, like a security blanket, like safety. You relax into him, and rest your head on his chest. His lips brush against your bandaged brow.

“Not quite how I imagined we’d first be sharing a bed,” you joke softly as you nuzzle in deeper against the wide plane of his chest.

You feel him smile against your hair. “Only you could joke at a time like this.”

“If I can’t laugh at what’s happened, I’ll never be able to close my eyes at night.”

“Well, if that’s the case.” He rubs the bare skin of your arm in small circles. “I’ll be there until you can.”

You turn your head to look at him then, your heart full. This is happening. His eyes are on yours and you push yourself toward him ever so slightly. He closes the small gap between you and presses his lips to yours. It wasn’t hungry and primal like the kiss in the car. There would be plenty of time for that later. This kiss was light, tender…healing.

“Sir, I’m sorry. I tried to go home, I really did but as soon as I got there I—” Garcia’s voice abruptly cuts off. You look up and her initial look of surprise turns to one of abject joy.

You feel your cheeks flush as Emily and Morgan appear in the doorway behind her. Morgan’s eyes widen and Emily’s brow arches as a smile curves her lips.

“I, uh, brought backup.” Penelope giggles. She remembers she’s holding something. “And cookies! I couldn’t sleep, so I baked. I figured I could bribe you into going home and getting some sleep.” Her words leave her mouth at a mile a minute. “I thought you’d fight me on it, so I brought some muscle.” She gestures with a tilt of her head. “They’re the muscle.”

Morgan exhales and points a finger at you and Hotch. “Can someone explain to me what’s going on here?”

Emily elbows him and he drops his arm. She takes the tray from Garcia and walks it over to the side table where she places it next to the flowers. She winks at you as she turns back to Garcia and Morgan. “It’s about time,” she says.

Penelope laughs as she hooks her arm in Emily’s. “What's it been? Two, three months?”

Morgan guffaws. “Months?”

Penelope pats his face with a ring-adorned hand. “My sweet oblivious profiler. Come on, hot stuff.” She takes him by the hand and leads him from the room. Emily shakes her head and laughs. “Men.”

“Safe to say the team knows.”

Hotch releases a breathy laugh and kisses your forehead again. “I know what will be the first thing on the agenda at tomorrow’s debriefing.”

•

6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks since you’d pressed the elevator button that would bring you back to the office. The weight of your gun feels right where it sits upon your hip, your gait more familiar to you now than when it wasn’t holstered to your side. You nervously adjust the grip on your go bag. You’d packed and repacked it the night before.

This morning as you were getting out of the shower, you stared at yourself in the mirror. Your cheek had healed nicely though the skin on your brow that had been split by the unsub’s ring had scarred, severing the tail end of your eyebrow from the rest of it. The ligature marks around your wrists and ankles had healed and the skin was smooth once more. The stun gun had scarred your abdomen, but all that remained were two purple pinpricks of scar tissue no bigger than the size of an infant’s thumbnail.

Your legs are a different story. The front of your thighs are an array of mottled scar tissue. One burn had gone so deep that they’d needed to graft skin from your calf to salvage it. The wounds no longer hurt physically, but you’d woken up from nightmares on more than one occasion.

You were never alone though. Garcia worked remotely on secure laptops with VPNs as often as she was able. Rossi brought you home-cooked Italian at least twice a week and talked with you over numerous glasses of red wine. Reid brought black-and-white foreign existentialist films that you didn’t understand, but his enthusiasm as he watched made you happy all the same. Emily and Morgan brought coffee and donuts as often as they could and Hotch…if he wasn’t at the office or visiting Jack, he was with you. On several occasions, he brought Jack. Jack would sit on the bed beside you, playing with his toys, narrating the adventures of his action figures as Aaron stood in the doorway, smiling. At night, when you had woken in a cold sweat, Aaron was there with a washcloth to wipe it away. When the bandages had stuck to your burn wounds and it felt like your skin was being peeled apart, he got your pain medicine and helped change the dressings, holding you until the pain had passed.

You blink as the elevator dings, signaling you’ve reached your destination. You take a deep breath and smooth down the front of your blouse as the door opens wide. Everything looks the same, yet everything feels like it's changed as you approach the desk you occupy perpendicular to Emily’s. A smile crosses your lips as you see the Welcome Bac k card on your desk. Two vases of flowers sit behind the card. One is almost exactly like the one from the hospital so you know it’s from Garcia. The other, a bouquet of purple tulips, has a note attached to it. You open the note and read it.

Glad to have you back. Things haven’t been the same around here without you. -AH

Hotch. You should’ve known. You smile and tuck the note into your purse.

“Hey, hey, look who’s finally decided to get her ass back to work.” Morgan’s charming laugh is followed by Emily chastising him.

“Ignore him,” she says as she places a steaming mug of coffee on your desk.

“You’re a godsend,” you say by way of thanks and take a long drink. Two sugars, no milk, just the way you like. “Wow, Emily, that’s perfect. I needed this.”

“How come you don’t remember how I take my coffee?” Morgan asks pointedly.

She shrugs, “Chicks before dicks, Derek.”

You sputter and choke on your coffee.

“Look,” he says as he pats you on the back. “Her first day back and you’re gonna kill her.”

At that moment JJ passes by with a file in hand. She raises it in the air and gestures to the conference room. “We got a case.” She smiles at you warmly. “It’s good to have you back.”

Together, you, Morgan, and Emily enter the conference room where Reid, Hotch, and Rossi have already gathered. Once you’re all sat, JJ begins presenting the case. You review current victims and why the Sacramento Police Department has invited you onto the case

“Sacramento PD is expecting us this afternoon. We’ve got a long flight ahead of us. Wheels up in thirty, understood?”

A chorus of ‘yes sirs’ echo throughout the room. As the team gathers their belongings and moves to leave, you wait for Hotch to catch your eye. You wink at him before mouthing, “Yes, sir.”

[bringmeanangel]

A Quiet Moment

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x reader

Tags/warning: mentions of crime scenes. Aaron Hotchner in gloves. BAU reader. Mutual feelings for each other. Reader cuts hand on broken cup. Mentions of Jack. Gentle Aaron.

Synopsis: Reader think she's being subtle whenever Hotchner is wearing gloves... she's not.

A/N: So... as you may have guessed I go a bit wild for Hotchner and Spencer in gloves. Here's some gentle Aaron

Semi proof read

You had a crush on your boss. You hoped it would pass, everyone has a crush now and then, but this one wasn't passing.

You walked into the crime scene, something you do all the time. Another thing you do all the time is try not to stare at Hotchner's hands when he pulls on the gloves.

Yet, there you were, blue gloves on, looking around the room and when you looked up, Aaron was pulling on the same light blue gloves. You were so fixated on this, that you didn't notice the glance he gave.

Blushing when you realized you had been looking too long, you went back to work. You made your way to the bedroom and of course Hotch followed you.

The room had been tossed, clearly they were looking for something. Aaron crouched down, picking up a picture frame.

"I don't know. This looks like they were searching for something. The unsub walked in and-" you said turning to face Aaron and stopped talking.

"And?" he prompted not flinching.

" Uh- right. Sorry."

You took a deep breath and continued. Thankful that your boss didn't notice.

But of course he notice. You work for the BAU, some of the best minds out there. He watched the way your eyes would linger on his hands. He even noticed which color you liked better.

You somehow relaxed whenever he wore the periwinkle color. You had no idea why, especially when you're at the morgue.

As the medical examiner was talking, Aaron pulled on a pair of the periwinkle to examine the body. You opted not to wear some.

"Come look at this" his deep tone echoed through the room.

You walked over to him and watched as he lifted up the victim's arm. He flipped the arm and you saw the track marks and the bruises on the wrist.

"Those weren't made by rope" you said.

You took a breath, trying not to focus on the way he traced the marks with his fingers. You missed the glance he gave you.

He watched you as you followed his hands. Aaron didn't miss how oddly calm you seemed considering where you were. He looked back at the body on the table focusing on the case.

Aaron always had a soft spot for you and as much as he wanted to deny it, he started to develop feelings for you too.

You were at the office, staying late, finishing up the paper work. You made your way to the kitchen and you weren't paying attention and you dropped a mug.

"Oh shoot" you murmured.

You bent down to pick it up and cut your hand. You placed the pieces and turned the water on.

"Ow!" You winced.

"What happened?" You jumped when you heard your boss's voice.

"I broke a cup and-" you trailed off when he reached for the first aid kit.

He grabbed a paper towel and handed it to you, pressing it against your cut. You took over pressing down.

Aaron rolled up his shirt sleeves to his elbows. He opened the first aid kit and grabbed the white medical gloves. Your favorite.

Aaron pulled them on, intent on taking care of you. This time you knew you weren't being subtle. You were full on staring as he finished pulling on the left glove.

He smiled to himself, adjusting the gloves. Gently he took your hand, you lightly gasped at the touch. You moved your hand with the paper towel.

Aaron inspected the wound, brow furrowed a bit.

"Sit. You won't need stitches and it doesn't look like there's glass, but I'm going to clean and bandage it."

"Oh. Sir, it's okay-"

"Nonsense. Sit" his voice was gentle and caring.

You pulled a chair out and sat down. Aaron opened the antiseptic and grabbed a cotton ball, pouring some on.

His gloved hand wrapped around your wrist. He started to clean and you sucked in a breath, wanting to pull your hand away, but he kept a firm grip.

"Almost done. I know it stings. You're doing such a good job for me."

You pulled your gaze away from his hands to look over at him. He was blushing. You let out a soft laugh

"Sorry" he lightly chuckled. "I'm used to Jack."

"It's okay" it almost came out like a whisper.

You looked down again at your hand... His hands. He glanced at you, noting the blush that was making its way across your face.

"There we go." Aaron placed the cotton ball down.

He examined the wound again. His thumbs on either side of the palm, pressing around the wound. His pinky brushed against your wrist.

You gritted your teeth, trying to suppress a whine. His hand wrapped around your wrist. He stroked his thumb against your pulse point.

Neither of you said anything or dare look up. It was a nice quiet moment.

You felt like you were holding your breath. Finally, Aaron let go of your hand and grabbed some gauze, applying it to the cut and then wrapping your hand to hold the gauze in place.

His hands lingered and then he pulled away and looked at you. You blushed, smiling a bit.

"Thanks. Sorry for breaking the mug"

"Don't worry about it." His smile was so reassuring.

You were still sitting down as Aaron stood up. He snapped off the gloves and threw them and the used cotton ball away.

He started to clean up and you looked at your hand and then snapped out your daze. You stood up abruptly, startling him and yourself.

"Are you alright?"

"Uh- yeah. Yeah. Sorry. I just uh. Thank you... Again."

"Are you sure?" The concern in his voice was not helping how you felt.

"Yes. Sorry."

Aaron took a step towards you and reached up, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. He rubbed his thumb on your collarbone. You two locked eyes.

You saw it. The spark in his eyes.

He cleared his throat and dropped his hand.

"Clean it again before bed and wrap it up. Then come find me tomorrow morning and I'll clean it for you."

"Thank you, sir."

He nodded and left. You stood there unsure that just happened.

Aaron headed back to his office and closed the door, taking a breath.

[hotchsnation]

all I can think of, all that's been on my mind is bau!fem! reader who's out to make hotch's life miserable from the day that she joined the team.

It starts out small, testing the waters to see what he would let slide. You learn pretty quickly that as long as you don't go against his word, you won't get in trouble. So you always listen to what he says, admiring his commanding presence in ways that are rather...interesting.

Hotch swallows thickly as his eyes find yours as he delivers the profile, looking away quickly when he sees the same dark look in your eyes. He must be imagining things, he has to be--this had to be the way you stared at everyone else, right?

But it wasn't and he knows that, he's seen it with his own two eyes--you giggle at Spencer and Derek, your eyes beam when you talk to any of the women that you work with and your expression softens whenever Rossi praises you or makes a funny joke.

With him though, it was an entirely different story.

"Agent," he approaches you as soon as the team is done delivering the profile, his voice quiet yet commanding. "A word please."

"Oh, of course." You feign innocence as you step outside with your unit chief, crossing your arms over your chest the moment he makes sure that the door is closed.

"Agent, I would like to remind you that this team operates in a unique manner."

"Of course, sir." You tilt your head as you nod, staring up at him from behind your lashes. "Which is why I love being on this team."

"So you must be aware of the importance of maintaining the same dynamic within the team."

"Why of course, sir." You put more emphasis on the last word, eyebrows furrowed in faux confusion. "Did something happen? Did I do something?"

You happened, he wants to say. But instead, he maintains his composure and continues.

"Are you aware of the fraternization rules, agent?" 

You suppress a smirk, nodding. "Indeed, I am."

Hotch's breath hitches slightly before he continues. "Then you must be aware that flirting with anyone on the team is...off the table."

You hum, staring deeply into his dark eyes.

"Hotch," you finally respond, stepping just a little closer to the taller man. Your fingers grasp the end of his tie, pulling him just a tiny bit closer to you. "I know what the rules are."

And you know how to play around them and make him absolutely lose his fucking mind.

Staring up at him, you find the man already looking at you with a clenched jaw and darkened eyes. Something flutters in your stomach but you push it.

You can drag this a bit longer.

"Let's go back inside, sir. "

[springtyme]

𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞 ♡

Emily Prentiss x BAU!Reader || Main masterlist || Spotify

summary: You and Emily takes a break from the case you're working on together.

word count: 875

𝐎𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞: 𝐃𝐚𝐲 𝟓) 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐞

The leaves crunched under the tires of the SUV as you drive down the winding road, the vibrant oranges and yellows of fall foliage creating a picturesque backdrop that contrasted with the weight of the case you were working on. It is one of those crisp autumn mornings where the air feels electric, vibrant leaves swirling like confetti in the wind, the windows rolled down and crisp autumn air is swirling through the car.

Emily sits in the passenger seat beside you, her focus directed at her notebook, scribbling down notes. Every once in a while, she will look up, scanning the tree line as if the answer to the case might materialize from the colorful landscape.

You can’t help but steal a glance at her, your heart fluttering. Something about her is just so captivating—the way she focuses with such intensity, the slight furrow in her brow as she brainstorms, and the way her dark hair falls around her face, framing her features in the golden morning light. It would probably all be easier if you weren’t colleagues, you wouldn’t feel as bad or as complicated about your attraction. 

The conversation had been light so far, but a lull has settled in the cabin of the car. When you had told the others that you would go for a little drive to clear your head and contemplate the next steps in the case, you hadn’t expected for Emily to ask if she could come. As you navigate the road, you think about what to say to bridge the silence.

“Hey, Em,” you finally break the quiet, keeping your voice casual. “A penny for your thoughts?”

She tilts her head slightly, pulling her focus from the notebook to meet your gaze. The sunlight catches in her dark hair, creating a halo effect that amplifies your stirring emotions. It takes a second for her to respond, her brow relaxing as she launches into her thoughts.

“I was just going over the timeline of the events,” she says, tapping her pen against the side of her notebook. “There’s still something off about the alibis we were given. I can’t shake the feeling that someone’s hiding something.”

She looks away, eyes drawn to the swirling leaves outside. “I just wish we could find a way to crack this, you know? It feels like we’re chasing shadows.” 

“Right, and there’s still so much we don’t know about our suspect.”

She nods, her eyes narrowing as she considers the situation. “I feel like we’ve overlooked something crucial. Maybe it’s in the way the incidents are connected? We should  try and see if we can get an overview over everything and see if we can find a common thread.”

You lean back in your seat, contemplating her words as you keep your eyes on the winding road ahead. Emily's passion for detail and her determination to solve the case only deepen your admiration for her. “A detailed overview is a good idea,” you reply, trying to channel your thoughts into a structured response.“Let’s map it out when we get back,” you suggest. “If we can visualize everything—the timeline, the suspects, the alibis—it might give us a clearer picture. 

You nod thoughtfully, but as you shift your gaze back toward the winding road, a sudden gust of wind sweeps through the open windows. The vibrant leaves from the trees dance gracefully into the air, swirling around the SUV like golden butterflies. As one particularly daring leaf flutters in through the window, it makes a delicate spin before settling on Emily’s notebook.

Startled, she looks down, her eyes widening in surprise before breaking into a radiant smile as she picks up the leaf up between her fingers. The light filters through it, revealing an intricate pattern of veins that almost resembles a work of art. 

You can’t help but grin at her delight. “Well, if that isn’t a sign of inspiration, I don’t know what is,” you joke lightly, grateful for the moment of levity amidst the weight of the case. 

Emily holds the leaf up to the sunlight, allowing its golden hues to shimmer in the light, her expression a mix of wonder and thoughtfulness. “Maybe it’s the universe telling us to take a break,” she suggests, her tone playful yet earnest. “I don’t know about you, but I could use some coffee and a pastry right about now,my treat.”

You chuckle, unable to suppress the warmth blooming in your chest at her offer. “I’m always down for coffee and pastries,” you respond, glancing at her with a playful smirk. “Especially when you’re the one treating.”

Emily laughs, a sound that mingles with the rustling leaves outside, bright and infectious. It feels good to share this lightness with her, especially in contrast to the heaviness of your work.

As you navigate the road that leads to the quaint little coffee shop you have in mind, the vibrant landscape outside only adds to the cozy atmosphere you’re creating in your head, intermingling with the scents of pine and damp earth that waft through the open windows. The trees close in, their leaves glowing under the sun, and for a moment, all the weight of the case seems to fade into the background.

[luwritesstuff]

Breaking Point

Spencer Reid x reader

notes: angst/arguing followed by fluff/comfort, gn!reader, no use of y/n

wc: 884

Every relationship had their weakness, the one thing that tested how strong two people really were together. You and Spencer found out months into dating that your relationship's pressure point was exhaustion. It hit you both after two back to back cases across the country in one week, a friend’s wedding on Saturday, and a dinner with your parents on Sunday. By the next week, the two of you were stretched thin.

For you, the exhaustion made you irritable. Things you usually had patience for were getting under your skin and turning you into, quite frankly, an asshole. Spencer somehow had the most patience in the world and this only pissed you off more. Why wasn't he annoyed that your neighbors kept taking up two parking spots? Why was he so calm when you lost power for 12 hours?

As much as you ranted, Spencer listened. He made it a point to be a good boyfriend even on your worst days. This didn't mean that the exhaustion didn't get to him too. Spencer’s lack of sleep brought out his insecurities. The more irritable you got, the more worried Spencer became that he was the one annoying you.

On a normal week, you had more control over your emotions. You were thoughtful about how you spoke to Spencer and you were able to let the small stuff roll off your back. But this week wasn't a normal week and you couldn't stop the anger that kept slipping out of you around every corner. Spencer’s solution was to give you space, but deep down, you didn't want to be alone. Not even on your worst day did you want Spencer not to be curled up on your couch with you.

And how could Spencer say no to you? He wasn't evil, if you asked him to stay, he'd stay. Even if you had a permanent scowl on your face and didn't offer any conversation.

“Spencer!” You groaned, fighting the urge to stomp your foot like a child. “Why do you keep putting your wet towel on top of mine? There's another hook behind the door and every time I go to use my towel, it's wet!” You brought the towel out to Spencer and threw it onto the couch. Before he could finish his apology, you were continuing, “It just drives me crazy, honey. It makes me cold getting out of the shower and-”

“If you hate having me around so much, then why am I even here?” Spencer cut you off, raising his voice in a way you'd never heard directed at you before. Anyone who didn't know Spencer well would see his words as anger, but you knew Spencer well and you could feel the hurt and insecurity seeping out through his voice.

You both froze, staring at each other in silence while you replayed his words in your head. After a beat, your shoulders sagged and you moved to sit on the opposite end of the couch from him. “Shit,” you sighed and grabbed the towel to start folding it, “I'm being mean, I'm sorry. I do want you here,” you promised and looked over to find Spencer staring at his lap.

“It's fine if you don't, just… tell me that. I don't want to keep pissing you off and making things worse,” his voice was calmer now and your heart ached. Spencer, the light of your life, felt unappreciated and unloved, because of you.

You reached out to take both of Spencer’s hands into your own and gave them a squeeze. “Hey, I want you here. I love you,” you emphasized, “having you here helps and I'm sorry I haven't been showing it. This week was just… you know how it was. And my parents just get under my skin, but I shouldn't have taken that out on you. I'm sorry, sweetheart.” Spencer couldn't hold any anger towards you if he tried and the thought made you want to cry. Your Spencer, that you were cold and bitter to, still held your hands tightly and pulled you to his chest after your apology.

“I'm sorry I put my wet towel on top of yours. I know you like having a warm towel after your shower,” he said softly and kissed the top of your head, “and I'm sorry I raised my voice at you.”

You sniffled and shook your head against Spencer’s chest. “No, don't apologize for that. You should've raised your voice at me sooner, I was being a brat,” your voice was muffled by Spencer’s shirt but he took every word in, rubbing your back as you spoke.

After you'd both calmed down, Spencer took you to bed where you both slept a solid three hours. You woke up feeling lighter than you had all week and Spencer felt relieved to have you back to your usual self. “There you are, my beautiful love,” he whispered and brushed your hair from your face.

“You're one of a kind, Spence. Let's not overdo ourselves like that anymore. Next weekend, we’re taking both days off and we’re not seeing anyone but each other,” you promised and rolled over until you were straddling Spencer’s hips. His thumbs traced shapes into your hips and he agreed eagerly by pulling you down into a kiss.

[writersrkive]

Warmth | Aaron Hotchner

summary: Your period arrived, and you are feeling like shit, but that doesn't mean you won't go to work. Your body is pleading to rest, but you are stubborn, so you act like you are fine. However, Hotch is there to take care of you.

genre: comfort pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader warnings: cramps and physical discomfort caused by menstruation, fainting.

a/n: maybe is not a good one, but I'm on my period, so let me be delulu. English is not my first language, please be kind <3.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

When your lower back started to hurt, days prior, you knew what day of the month was getting closer. You prepare yourself, however that morning your body felt heavy, almost numb.

Walking out of bed, going to the bathroom, showering and dressing up were difficult tasks. The morning didn't go any better. You had problems with your car, the traffic was hell, and when you arrived at Quantico, fifteen minutes late, your ID wasn't in your wallet. You had to walk back to your car and go up to the floor where you worked five minutes later.

“Did you have cardio yesterday? Is that the reason why you are so late?” Derek asked, teasing, but you were not in the mood to joke with your best friend.

"Maybe I just took too long to hide the body of the rat that was bothering me last night, do you want me to show you what I did with it?" I asked, finally sitting on the chair to rest my lower back. My belly was hurting a lot.

“Uh.” Emily said and chuckled when she saw Derek's surprised expression.

“Maybe not the time.” The dark skinned whisper.

“Definitely not.” I answered. “Did Hotch…” I started, turning to JJ.

“Don't worry. He has been inside his office since we arrived. I don't think he noticed."

A few minutes later, I was leaning towards the files I had on my desk, not because I couldn't see, but because I needed to feel something warm towards my belly. My hands weren't enough, but it was all I had.

“Take this.” Spencer said, handing me some pain killers.

“Thanks, but last time I tried, they didn't work."

“Try again.” Emily said softly, understanding what was happening. “If you don't feel good, tell us.”

“Thanks, but seriously, I'm fine.”

That wasn't true though. Thank God we had just file day, because I wouldn't be able to fly in that condition. But at least I would have the opportunity to sleep a little thereby.

I needed something warm. So I stood up and walked to the mini cafeteria, where there was a coffee machine, with tea bags on the side and snacks. My tea was already prepared, I only wanted to grab a chocolate bar, but the cramps hit me, making the cup of tea almost fall from my hands.

“Hey, hey. Easy there.” That calm and velvety voice made me realise the man who I liked was now next to me, helping me by taking the cup and steadying myself with his other hand.

“Sorry, boss.” I whispered.

“What happened? Are you sick?”

“Kinda… I'm just not feeling good. You know, that day of the month.” I answered, still trying to breathe, feeling a tear of cold sweat slide down my back.

“It's okay. You need to rest. Go home.” He said with a firm, yet soft tone of voice. The team was always saying he only used that tone with me.

“I'm fine, seriously.”

I could see in his eyes that he was not convinced. “Okay, but let me know if you need something. Don't think I didn't notice that you arrived late.”

“I'm really sorry. That won't happen again.” My cheeks were probably burning, and I didn't know if it was because of my period, or the embarrassment.

“What I'm trying to say is that I know that you are not feeling good, and I will understand if you need to go back home.” He reassured me, lightly caressing the arm that still held me.

“Thanks.” I whisper.

“Here. Take this.” He handed me a warm compress that he took out of the microwave after heating it for a few minutes.

The tea and compress helped a lot, however, the painkiller didn't work. I felt like I was about to faint. The noises of our workmates, the weather, and even poor JJ's breathing was stressing me out. A break was what I needed, but I wouldn't be able to take one, so instead, I went to the bathroom. I didn't know Hotch was observing me from his seat, through the office window.

In the bathroom things weren't better. My forehead was covered in sweat, my throat felt dry and my legs and arm were about to give up. All of that was reflected on the mirror in front of me.

Someone knocked.

I opened the door and then my vision turned black. Next I remember strong arms embracing me on the floor. “That's it. I'm taking you home.” He said.

“I'm…” I tried to talk.

“No, you are not fine. Sometimes you need to hear your body and rest.” He explained gently, moving my hair out of my face. “You are going to drink water. I'm going to get your stuff and I'll take you home.” It was obvious there was no room for discussion.

“Got it, boss.” I whispered, letting myself smile on his chest. It wasn't a surprise how excited I was because he was taking care of me, even if I was feeling like shit. He was the warmth I needed.

[l0v3-qu4rtz]

Cat and Mouse

Summary: you've been chasing Spencer for months and finally caught him.

Pairing: Unsub!Reid x BAU!Reader

Warning: One use of Y/N, mention of serial murder, heavy cursing, weapons and use of them, blood, kissing, small make out session, heavy romantic tension, dark romance, UNSUB REID !!! Proofread with love by me, my best friend, and boyfriend <3

Word Count: 3.7K (holy moly)

A/N: This took a whole month and a half to write. It was mainly just procrastination and my lack of commitment to things. Anyway, I hope you guys like this, it took a lot of work <3

Spencer Reid is a criminal, a serial one at that. The FBI has been investigating him for months but everytime he surprises them and goes completely against the profile. He kills dead-beat fathers who abandoned their families. He thinks they're nothing but pigs who are cowards, abandoning their families when they really need them. He's been able to outsmart the FBI for months but not this time. You were completely obsessed with the Reid case, investigating every piece of evidence to the smallest atom. Hunting him every chance you got, every tip, every body, every city, you were there to try and catch him. Unfortunately, every time you failed but not this time. You were on a case in Columbus, Ohio when the police station received a call about a suspicious man in a motel. The description matching the Spencer Reid, you jumped in excitement and rushed to your Federal car. You instructed the police to park across the road and wait for a signal to come in. You waited in an empty motel next to his room, waiting for any sign of movement. Once you heard footsteps, you quietly snuck out and stopped the door before it shut fully. Your footsteps were soft despite your racing heart beat, you finally saw the curly hair you've been longing to see for what felt like ages. 

The sound of your gun cocking and fills the room, the air instantly becoming heavy and tense. He lets out a single chuckle. "Finally, Agent L/N." He says with a smirk, his back still facing you. "I was beginning to wonder if you were ever gonna catch me." He teases, he was sort of expecting you. 

"Spencer Reid, put your hands where I can see them and turn around" You command before adding, "Slowly." You said slowly, your eyes glued to his every movement with a firm grip on your gun.

He lifts his hands in the air and begins slowly turning towards you, your heart beating out of your chest as you finally make eye contact with the killer you've been engrossed in. He has a wide smirk on his face as he finally gets a good look at you, "Is that any way to greet an old friend ?" He teases as he slowly takes a step towards you, not even remotely threatened by you holding a gun right towards his chest. "I'm actually quite glad you're here, but-" He glances down at your gun and the firm grip you have on it, "we both know that wont do you any good here." He looks back up to make eye contact with you.

You take a step back as he takes a step forward, your whole body tense and your grip only growing tighter on the gun, "Shut up, and don't take another step or I'll shoot !" You threaten, the smirk on his face only growing wider and wider til he becomes a cheshire cat like smile. 

He chuckles at your response, amused by your empty threats and tense posture. He takes another step forward as your back hits the wall. "You and I both know you won't shoot me, darling" He mocks you and slowly lets his arms collapse to his sides, "You had so many opportunities and you never seized them." He looks down at you, amused by the height difference. You were like a little puppy to him.

You lunge forward and push the barrel into the bottom of his chin, effectively putting distance between you and him from fully pinning you to the wall. "This time is different." You say, quietly and bitterly.

Spencer pushes and leans forward, his face only inches away from yours. "Oh, is it now ?'' His voice is low and teasing. "you've been saying that for years and look where we are" He chuckles before leaning in closer to your ear "You can't bring yourself to do it. You love this little game we play." 

Your gun is pressed firmly against the bottom of his chin as he leans closer, "you're nothing but a big pile of unfinished work." You spit out, your voice is bitter and callous. 

Spencer gasps and puts his hand on his chest, fauxing offense. "Oh, how you wound me" He mocks and puts his hands in his pockets, still leaning in. "And here I thought our game actually meant something to you" He chuckles and adds "We both know the truth, princess. You can deny it all you want, but I know you love our game" 

You quickly bring your leg up and give him one kick to his stomach, causing him to back up from you. You aim your gun and shoot a warning shot near him on the ground. "The only game i'm interested in playing is the one where you're behind bars" You aim your gun at his head. Your voice matches your face, stern and serious. Spencer's cheshire smile turns into a look of amusual at the sharp boom of your bullets.

He raises an eyebrow and looks around, putting his hand out in mock surrender. "Come on, darling, there's no need for the violence" His voice is dripping with sarcasm as his gaze returns to you. "You can never put me behind bars. All your other attempts have been futile." He laughs bitterly and shoves his hands in his pockets again.

You scoff at his almost narcissistic confidence, "I'll do anything I can to make sure you rot in prison like the piece of trash you are." Your voice radiating venom as you speak, poison dripping out of your lips. 

Spencer smiles and laughs at your threat, taking a small step towards you. "Wow ! You've got a fire in you today !" He teases "I always knew you were feisty, but this is a new record" He laughs as his eyes focus from your gun to your face. He smirks at the determined look in your eyes. 

You take a side step so you aren't up against the wall anymore. Your gun is still aimed and your grip is still firm. "You're a pig." You throw insults to try and shatter his ego.

He turns his body and smiles at the insult, his demeanor still nonchalant and relaxed. "A pig ? Wow how original, princess." He chuckles darkly, taking small slow strides towards you. "You can call me whatever you want, baby" he pauses and looks down at the floor for a second. "But you can't hide the fact that you're attracted to me." He finally says what's been on his mind the whole time he's known you.

You scrunch your face and shoot off another warning shot, this one blasting right past Spencer's face and grazing his ear. Burning at the flesh of his earlobes, making his crimson red blossom. "You're so full of yourself, classic narcissist" You say and laugh sarcastically as he brings his hand up and lightly touches his bloody earlobe.

His face twitches as the bullet burns his ear. He smiles, assumed by the sudden blood. He rolls his eyes at your comment and continues walking his long lanky legs over to you. His grin widening with each step. "Your confidence is bullshit. You think killing fathers who do wrong makes you so righteous, when in reality you're just as bad as they are." You spit angrily at him.

He raises his eyebrows and laughs darkly. "Oh now you're tryna lecture me on morality ? That's quite rich coming from a federal agent who's been hunting me for months." He retorts and steps even closer "Your hands are just as dirty as mine" he smirks, pulling his hands out and making sarcastic jazz hands.

You flash him a fake smile, "at least I can wash mine by saving people and putting pieces of shit like you in prison." Your voice slowly raises as you continue to spit insults at him. You snarl, scrunching your face in disgust as he leans closer and closer.

He snorts slightly, ”Your typical hero complex” He steps closer, the height difference making him tower over you more and more with every step closer. “Let's be real, here darling. You love chasing me around like a lost little puppy. You don't actually want to see me in prison because that means you lose your favorite game”  He mocks you and laughs darkly.

You push your barrel into his chest, your grip tightens as he gets closer and closer. Your breath is shallow and rough. “Self projection, much ?” You respond, your tone sarcastic and disgusted, “Me putting you in prison means I win. It's not your place to get rid of bad people '' Your tone is firm as if you're getting on to a child who did something wrong.

Spencer laughs, amused by the banter filling the lone apartment. “Winning ?” He asks rhetorically “You really think you're going to win ? That you can just lock me up and put me in the past ?” He leans in and smiles, looking deep in your eyes. The gun pushed itself deeper in his chest. “You're forgetting the most important part, lovely. You've been trying to catch me for years and you've failed. What makes you think this time is any different ?” He asks, teasingly.

You gulp and try to calm your nerves by reminding yourself that a whole police squad is outside. “I've never had a gun pointed directly at your heart until now” You threaten.

“Ah yes, the almighty gun” Spencer chuckles at your mention of the gun. “You really think that's gonna stop me ? You can point a thousand guns up to my head and yet-” He raises his arms up, “Id still be alive and well.” He mocks the way your confidence hinges on a single weapon. “You don't have the guts to pull that trigger” He challenges.

“I have twice now, nothing is stopping me from doing it” You say with confidence, referring back to the warning shots.

Spencers entertained by your confidence and laughs. “ Act tough all you want, baby. We both know that deep down in that burning center of yours...” he softly points in between your breasts and laughs at your flinch. “You don't actually want to see me dead, baby. You're addicted to this little game we play” He leans closer to you, his face mere inches away from yours “You're addicted to me” He whispers softly.

You breathe hitches at his closeness. “I hate scumbags like you” You seethe.

Spencer smiles calmly, unphased by your hard head demeanor. “There it is, your usual insults. Ya know that gets tiring after a while, baby” He smiles at the way your ears flush at the contrast of his name calling versus yours. “You're just in denial about your true feelings.” 

With one swift swipe, you bring your gun up and pistol whip him. He grunts in pain as the butt of your gun makes contact with his forehead and he stumbles backward. You quickly back up more and aim your gun back at him. Spencer lays his head on the wound, blood trickling down and filling his palm. Even with a gash in his head, he still looks up at you with a mischievous smirk. 

“You could've asked nicely if you wanted to hit me, darling” He wipes away the blood and puts his hands in the air again. His cockness and nonchalant behavior only makes you more pissed off.

“The only reason I haven't killed you is because I wanna be able to watch as you age in prison and become a sad shell of a person.” You spit, hoping to crack his pride even just a little bit.

Yet, somehow all your threats only succeed to make him even more cocky. He chuckles for the millionth time. “Ah, of course...” He begins, his tone sprinkles with fondness. “The classic watch your enemy rot in prison tactics.” He takes a sharp breath in through his teeth. “It's not exactly original but i'll give you points for effort” He shrugs as he mocks all your attempts to break his image.

“You're a bitch” You spit through gritted teeth as a weak attempt to break him down as much as you possibly can. 

He only laughs at your poor attempt, not in the slightest deterred by your repeated jabs. “Such harsh language, lovely” He takes a step forward, frankly you're amazed how determined he is to get so close to you. After pushing him away countless times, he still yearns to be close to you. You find this slightly enduring but you quickly push that feeling away. “But let me ask you something” He begins, never looking away from your eyes.”Why do you keep pushing your love for me to the side ?” If you didn't know any better, you would've guessed he was hurt. 

You scoff slightly, backing away again “I'm not in love with you” You clarify plainly.

Spencer continues to get closer to you, you're like a magnet to him. A drug he has to have on hand at all times. “Oh yea ?” He responds sarcastically, raising an eyebrow at your denial. “Deny, deny, deny it all you want” He says as if it's some matra, or a sick lullaby. “But actions speak louder than words.” He says lowly, his signature smirk falling off his face. His body is now close to yours, he lightly rests his hands on your hips and his fingers hide a spot in your pant belt hoops.``Your body language, your flushed ears, the way your breath hitches as I get close” He reads you like a book before reaching up and tilting your chin up with his pointer finger. “Admit it, You're already mine” He teases softly, his smirk slowly coming back to his face.

You quickly raise your hand to strike him across the face but he blocks it by grabbing your wrist. He shoves it against the wall above your head, grinning. “Ah ah ah, Naughty darling” He softly scolds you. “You need to learn how to play nice” His voice is teasing. He moves his body flush against yours and smiles. “We both know you like this no matter how much you struggle”

You reach your hand that's holding the gun to aim it at the bottom of his chin, but he also grabs that wrist. He slams that wrist against the wall next to you, knocking the gun of your hand. Your heart drops as you hear the gun fall on the carpet floor, leaving you helpless under his grip.

“That's better, lovely” His voice is low and smooth. “Now we can talk without you waving that gun all over me” 

You struggle against the grip, your panting and your hair falls in your face. “Let me go !” You grunt.

Spencer chuckles at your feeble attempts, his grip tightening and earring a slight wince. “Don't struggle, lovely” He says, his tone bordering on mocking and reassuring. He pushes his body more against yours, pinning your whole body to the wall. “Relax, I won't hurt you… unless you ask me too” He winks.

Your breathing is labored and shallow. You met his eyes with hate. “Youre sick” You spit lowly.

Spencer continues to be amused by your attempts to defy him. He leans in closer, his face so close to yours. “Look at you. All worked up and out of breath. Your body is betraying your words” He teases as his eyes trail up and down your face. He smiles as he watches your face contorted with anger and stubbornness.

You jerk your neck and spit in his face. Your salvia landing under his left eyes and he narrows his eyes. His confidence mixes with anger but he doesnt let your wrist go, instead his grip tightens and pushes you harder into the wall.You yelp and whimper at the tight grip, sure it'll leave bruises. “You really know how to get under my skin, don't you ?” He growls as you try to push yourself into the wall to get as far as you can away from his touch.

“Let go !” You scream and try your best to wiggle out of his grip.

Spencer simply ignores your cries and pleads. He tightens his grip even further, causing you to wince. You feel your hands go numb as the blood stops circulating. You raise your gaze, your hands and see your hands have gone pale. “Ah ah ah, you're not going anywhere” His voice is smooth and authoritative. “I have you exactly where I want you” He chuckles, leaning close to your ear and his breath grazes your neck “And you're enjoying every second of this, aren't you ?” He teases.

“Fuck you” Your snarl through quick, exhausted breathes. You try to jut your foot and legs out to kick him but he quickly pins them to the wall with his knees. Keeping you completely trapped. 

Spencer smirks at your defiant language and coos. “Such dirty profanity coming from those pretty lips of yours''. He pulls away from your ear and looks between your eyes down to your lips. “That hot-headed attitude of yours won't do you any good, and I bet you know that. You know you're all mine, whether you like it or not '' He says, his breath filling your nose with coffee and subtle mint.

“You don't own me” You softly claim, feeling as if your hands have been cut off and it's making you slightly dizzy.

Spencer laughs darkly as he notices how faint you are becoming. “But I do.” He counteracts your claim. “Even your body agrees with me. You're all mine” He smirks and leans closer. His eyes flicker to your lips then back your eyes.

You inhale sharply through your nose, trying to regain your composure as much as you can. You slam your forehead against his, instantly regretting it as it makes you feel even dizzier. The center of your forehead throbs with pain. He winces but he doesn't let go, much to your disappointment. He grunts, feeling the pang in his forehead then he smirks. “There's my feisty girl, the one that I love. You really know how to keep me on my toes, angel” He presses his body impossibly close to yours, pinning you tightly against the wall.”But you know what they say about playing with fire…” He leans in close to your ear, dropping his voice to a deep whisper “It's only a matter of time before you get burned’

The side of your cheek is pressed against the wall, your head turned to avoid being too close to him. Your breath is quick and shallow, feeling completely defenseless and at the complete mercy of this serial killer who was responsible for the death of several men. You dig your top teeth into the skin just below your bottom lip as your brain searches for any possible way to regain control. “Okay ! Okay..” You begin, your voice is full of defeat as you surrender. “Maybe I like investigating you and chasing you down” You admit, still very angry and annoyed.

Spencer grins at your admission, his pupils filled with mirth. “That's better, angel. It's about time you admit it. You enjoy the chase as much as I do. You love tracking me down and constantly failing.” He chuckles and you turn your head to face him head on. Your brows are furrowed and every muscle of your face is filled with animosity. “But you know what I love most about our game ?” He asks rhetorically “Is the fact that you're just as obsessed with me as I am with you” He leans in closer and his nose lightly brushes against yours. 

“You're a creep” You insult him softly, almost as if your breath is being pulled out of you as he gets closer and closer to you.

Spencer lets out a small puff of air, amused by your half-assed insult. He can sense the fact that your walls are beginning to crumble and fall. The change in your voice and the way you're out of breath fills him with amusement and a weird sense of hope. “Just give in, darling. Stop fighting it.” His voice is almost pleading and beckoning.

Without a second thought or a second to waste, you suddenly slam your lips onto his with searing passion. He's taken aback but quickly recovers, returning the action with just as much intensity. He finally releases your wrists, leaving a red and slightly purple band in its wake and moves his hands down to your sides. His fingers softly grip the just below your vest. He tilts his head to deepen the kiss and you feel the tip of his nose lightly caress your cheek. He feels your heart beating just below your chest just before he pulls away. “I knew you couldn't resist me” He mutters against your lips.

You wrap your arms around his neck and slip your tongue inside his mouth. He moans at the feeling of your tastebuds against his own. His hands roam your body passionately, then he pulls away. He's slightly out of breath and he looks deep into your eyes with animalistic desire. “You have no idea how long I've been waiting for this, love” He admits softly and wickedly.

Your lips stretch into a smile “And you have no idea how long i've waited for this.” You reach into your belt holster and pull out a taser. You push the taser into his abdomen, your finger gripping the button, sending several volts of electricity into his nerves. Spencer groans and his body convulses as he falls to the ground. You pull the collar of your shirt towards your mouth, finally giving the command for the officers to move in. You move down to your knees, placing one on his back. He doesn't struggle as you handcuff him, grunting more than resisting. “You really know how to spoil the moment, darling”

“Glad you think so.” You reply plainly through labored breathing. You secure the cuffs and stand up, watching cops take him away. He takes one last look at you, almost as if he was taking a mental picture of you in your current state. Messy hair, Smudged lipstick, disheveled clothes all make him wanna break free and tear you up. He smirks and lets out a single chuckle.

“This isn't over, love. Not by a long shot”

[badathumanemotions]

Hey, would you be able to write a nsfw fic with spencer but maybe where a few of the team members decide to play poker at Rossi’s and it turns into strip poker with like a bit of truth or dare and you end up sat on Spencer’s lap with like barely any clothes on or smt. And then like later they end up having to share a room at rossi’s and then yk..

High Stakes

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI Master List Category: Smut CW: Strip Poker, Half Naked Lap Sitting, Grinding, Dry Humping, Oral Sex, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Creampie, Face Fucking, Dirty Talk. WC: 5,799 I have no idea how to play poker. (Not Proof Read)

"Alright, who's up for a round of poker?" Derek Morgan announced, his eyes scanning the table.

You looked around at the weary but smiling faces of your teammates. After a long, successful case, dinner at Rossi's had been the perfect way to unwind. The aroma of his homemade lasagna still lingered in the air, mingling with the sweetness of their dessert.

"I think I'll pass," Aaron said, pushing back his chair with a stretch. "It's been a long day. I'd love to join you all, but I better get home to Haley and Jack." His eyes crinkled at the mention of his wife and son.

Rossi nodded, understanding. "Alright, I'll walk you out." They disappeared into the hallway, leaving the rest of the team to rearrange the furniture in the den.

You felt a hand on your shoulder. "You in?" Emily Prentiss asked, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

You nodded, trying to hide your nerves. "Sure, I'm in. It's been a while since I played, but I'll give it a shot."

The table was soon set up with cards, chips, and drinks. You took a seat next to Spencer, who was already shuffling the deck with a focused intensity that was a little unnerving.

"Okay, everyone," Rossi called out as he re-entered the room. "Let's get this game started." He took his place at the table, his eyes showing a hint of fatigue. "But remember, I'm only playing a couple of hands. It's been a long day and I need my beauty sleep." His comment was met with laughter from the others.

The first hand of poker began, with Spencer dealing the cards with a swiftness that spoke of his years of experience playing the game. His eyes darted around the table, reading the subtle tells of his teammates. You took a deep breath and picked up your cards, feeling the smooth edges against your fingertips.

As the hand unfolded, the banter grew more playful, the stakes rising with each round of betting. You watched as Derek Morgan's face remained unreadable, his poker face firmly in place. Meanwhile, JJ's occasional glances at her cards betrayed her excitement, while Garcia's fidgeting with her chips was a clear sign she was bluffing.

Spencer's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied his cards, his mind racing through probabilities and possible outcomes. When it came down to the showdown, he laid out a full house with a smug smile. "Well, well, well," he said, collecting his winnings. "It seems like Lady Luck is on my side tonight."

The room buzzed with good-natured groans and teasing. "How does he do it?" JJ jokes, shaking her head.

A couple more rounds went by, the tension rising as the pot grew. Each of you played strategically, the air filled with anticipation and the clinking of chips. Prentiss leaned back in her chair, her arms folded as she studied the table.

Finally, after one particularly intense round, Rossi rubbed his eyes and yawned. "Alright, I think I've had enough fun for one night. I'm going to call it quits and head upstairs." He glanced around the table. "If anyone wants to crash here tonight, the guest rooms are all yours. No need to drive home if you're feeling too tired."

The team bid him good night, their eyes lingering on the chips and cards as they continued to play. With Rossi's departure, the atmosphere grew slightly more competitive. You felt a thrill as the game went on, the camaraderie of the team mixing with the cutthroat nature of poker.

Morgan leaned back in his chair, a devilish grin spread across his face. "You know what would make this night even better?" he suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"What's that?" Prentiss asked, her interest piqued.

Morgan's grin widened. "How about we spice things up a bit?" He suggested, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "Strip poker, anyone?"

The room fell silent for a beat before bursting into laughter. You felt your cheeks heat up, surprised by the proposal. Prentiss's smile grew wicked. "Now that's a twist," she said, her gaze flickering to JJ.

JJ caught your eye and noticed your hesitance. She leaned forward, placing a reassuring hand on the table. "You know, we can always play truth or dare instead," she suggested, her voice low and soothing. "It's less… risky."

Morgan's smile grew. "How about both?" he proposed, raising the stakes. "You can opt to either take a piece of clothing off or complete a truth or dare from the group." The room buzzed with excitement and a little trepidation. You swallowed hard, trying to decide if you were ready for this.

Garcia squealed with delight. "I'm in!" she exclaimed, her cheeks already pink.

You took a deep breath, the adrenaline starting to pump through your veins. The thought of playing strip poker was a bit intimidating, but the alternative rule of truth or dare had its own thrill. You found yourself nodding in agreement. "Alright, why not? Strip poker with a twist it is."

The game continued, the stakes now higher in more ways than one. Garcia was the first to go, losing a shoe to a bad bluff. She giggled, tossing it aside and taking a shot of tequila.

JJ's eyes widened slightly as she had to remove her sweater, revealing a tight tank top underneath. The room was getting warmer, and not just from the heat of the game. The tension grew palpable as each player weighed their options: fold and risk embarrassment, or push on and hope for the win.

You felt your heart race as the game continued. With each round, the pile of clothing on the floor grew. Before you knew it, you were down to your last few pieces of clothing.

The next hand was dealt, and you picked up your cards with trembling hands. You had a good hand, but the idea of losing was now more than just about the game. You studied the faces around the table, looking for signs of who might be bluffing.

Morgan leaned in, his gaze intense. "You're looking a little flushed, Y/N," he teased. "Is it the game or the thought of what's next?"

You couldn't help but laugh nervously, feeling the heat in your cheeks spread down your neck. The game had indeed taken a turn, and you found yourself in a situation you never would have imagined when you accepted the dinner invitation. You had continued playing, the excitement and the thrill of the game keeping you in your seat until you were down to just your bra, skirt, and panties.

The hand began, and you focused on your cards. You had a decent hand, but not a sure win. The betting went around the table, each person raising the stakes. You looked around, trying to read their faces, their body language, looking for any hint of what they might be hiding.

As the final round of bets were placed, you felt the weight of the moment. If you won this hand, you could keep your skirt on. If not, well, the thought sent a shiver down your spine. You placed your bet, trying to keep your voice steady.

Morgan called, his smile never wavering. Prentiss folded, a knowing look in her eye. Spencer studied you closely, his cards held tight to his chest. Garcia bobbed in her chair, her curiosity and excitement palpable.

As the tension grew, so did the distraction of your state of undress. You noticed Spencer's eyes darting to your chest every few seconds, the effort he was making not to stare becoming more and more obvious. You couldn't help but feel a thrill of power at the sight of him so flustered. The others had also caught on. They knew Spencer's intense focus was split, and they hoped to use his distraction to their advantage.

The final card was flipped, and you watched in horror as Morgan revealed his winning hand. The room erupted in cheers and whistles, your heart sinking as you realized you had lost your last piece of lower body clothing. With a dramatic flourish, you stood and dropped your skirt to the floor.

Spencer's eyes traced down your legs, his cheeks reddening when he realized he'd been caught staring. He quickly looked away. The room fell silent for a moment before the laughter and clapping began again.

Others had invoked the truth or dare clause here and there, but you hadn't yet. Each time someone chose dare, it seemed to push the boundaries a little further. Garcia had to sing a karaoke song, JJ had to do a sexy dance, and Prentiss had to tell a steamy secret from her past. Each moment had been met with laughter and cheers, but you couldn't shake the feeling that the real fun was just getting started.

The next hand was dealt, and your heart pounded in your chest as you realized you had nothing. You didn't want to remove your bra, so you knew what you had to do. You took a deep breath and announced, "Dare." The room grew quiet, all eyes on you.

Morgan's grin grew wicked. "I dare Y/N to sit on Spencer's lap for the rest of the night." A chorus of laughter and cheers erupted around the table. Spencer's eyes widened in shock, his cheeks burning.

You felt your own cheeks rouge at the suggestion, your heart skipping a beat. Being that close to Spencer, especially in your current state of half-dress, was both thrilling and terrifying. But the excitement of the game and the desire to keep playing overrode your nerves. You nodded, trying to appear nonchalant. "Fine."

Spencer's body moved back before he even had time to process the words. His chair scraped against the wooden floor, creating a sharp sound that echoed in the tension-filled room. He looked up at you, his eyes wide, his expression a mix of surprise and something else that you couldn't quite decipher.

You took a deep breath and slid onto his lap with more confidence than you felt. His body was tense beneath you, his muscles rigid as he held himself perfectly still. You could feel the heat from his body, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt and into you. Your heart was racing so fast it felt like it might leap out of your chest.

The others smirked as they shuffled the cards for the next round. They could see the electric tension between you and Spencer, and it only added to the excitement of the game. Prentiss began to deal, her eyes glinting with amusement as she took in the situation.

The next few rounds, Spencer's focus was undeniably scattered. His usual poker face was nowhere to be seen, replaced by a constant battle to not look at you sitting on his lap. His hands fumbled with his cards, and his bets were erratic. It didn't take long before the team noticed and capitalized on his distraction.

"Looks like someone's lost their mojo," Prentiss teased, placing her cards on the table with a smirk. You tried to ignore the smug looks from the others, focusing instead on the way Spencer's breath hitched every time you shifted slightly.

The next hand was dealt, and you could see the determination in Spencer's eyes as he picked up his cards. This time, you noticed the way his thumb brushed against your bare skin as he held his cards, and the electricity that shot through you was anything but calming.

You tried to keep your focus on the cards in your hand, but Spencer's proximity was making it near impossible. His breath was warm against your neck, and you could feel his heart beating rapidly beneath you. You thought you had been careful hiding your cards, but apparently, not that careful.

"You're holding your cards too tight," he whispered into your ear, his voice low and gentle. "It's giving you away." You felt a shiver run down your spine, and you couldn't help but lean into him slightly. His scent filled your nose and it made your head swim.

You took a deep breath and tried to loosen your grip, his words sinking in. The whispers continued, his breath warm against your neck as he pointed out small tells from the others at the table. His voice was a comforting rumble, guiding you through the game.

Slowly, the closeness didn't feel so awkward. In fact, there was a strange sense of comfort in having him so near. You found yourself leaning into him slightly, his arm wrapping around your waist in a protective embrace.

As the game went on, Spencer's whispers grew more frequent. He noticed every little detail about the others' playing styles, sharing his insights with you in hushed tones. "Look at how Garcia's thumb is pressing down on her chips," he murmured. "She's bluffing." His voice was low and calming, his words of advice a secret shared between the two of you.

You followed his lead, and slowly, you saw your luck begin to change. You won a couple hands, the pile of chips in front of you growing. The warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart, and the gentle guidance of his whispers had a surprising effect on you. You felt more relaxed, more confident. The daring glances and smiles you exchanged with him grew more frequent, hinting at the thrill you both felt.

Then it happened. As you readjusted yourself higher on his lap for better comfort, you felt it. The unmistakable pressure of Spencer's erection against your backside. A blush crept up your neck, and you froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. His breath hitched, and you knew he was just as aware of it as you were. The room's temperature seemed to rise a few degrees.

You wondered how long he had been like that and how you hadn't noticed it before. His arm tightened around your waist, and you felt a low groan in his chest. You felt yourself start to get wet, the heat and the thrill of the moment making your body react despite the situation. You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself.

Without realizing it, your hips had begun to slightly rock against him, the friction sending waves of pleasure through your body. You could feel his cock growing harder with every movement. The others at the table were too engrossed in the game to notice, but you were acutely aware of every little sound and sensation.

Spencer's breathing grew shallower. His hips made the tiniest of movements, pushing back into you in a silent bid for more. You bit your lip, trying to keep your breathing steady, but it was getting harder by the second.

The game continued around you, but the world had narrowed down to just the two of you. Each time his hips rocked against yours, it sent a jolt of desire through your body. You could feel your own breath quickening, your chest rising and falling more noticeably with every shallow breath.

You tried to keep your poker face, focusing on the cards in your hand, but it was difficult when you could feel his hardness pressing into you. Spencer's whispers grew softer, his voice a gentle rumble that made your skin tingle.

Suddenly, Garcia broke the spell, standing up from the table with a dramatic yawn. "Alright, I think I've had enough for tonight," she announced, her cheeks still flushed from the alcohol. "I'm going to crash in one of the guest rooms."

Her declaration created a domino effect. One by one, the others began to nod in agreement. The energy of the game dissipated as they all started to collect their scattered clothing. You felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment as Spencer's arm loosened around your waist.

Reluctantly, you slid off Spencer's lap and began to gather your clothes from the floor. The fabric felt cold against your skin, which was now sensitive from his warmth. You couldn't help but feel the loss of his touch as you dressed, the excitement of the moment fading into a confusing mix of arousal and awkwardness.

"Thank you for a… memorable game," Spencer said, his voice strained as he stood up. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding yours.

You tried to ignore the wetness between your legs as you helped the others clean up, focusing on the mundane task of gathering the cards and chips. Your body was still humming with the tension that had built up during the daring rounds of poker. The room felt too small, too hot, as you tried to act like nothing had changed.

The group chattered about who would take which guest room, the conversation light and easy. Yet, you couldn't help but feel the weight of the moment lingering in the air. The way Spencer's arm had felt around your waist, his erection pressing into you, was etched into your mind.

"Dibs on Morgan!" Garcia exclaimed, slapping a hand on Derek's arm playfully.

You laughed along with everyone else, trying to shake off the lingering tension.

"Alright, let's all head upstairs," Prentiss suggested, breaking the spell. "Three guest rooms, and we're all adults here."

You nodded, eager to escape the charged atmosphere, and followed the group up the stairs. You felt Spencer's gaze on you, and you couldn't help but wonder if he was thinking the same things you were.

Without a word, Emily and JJ claimed the first room they saw. Garcia and Morgan didn't waste any time either, disappearing into the room across the hall. That left you and Spencer, the silence between you heavy with unspoken tension as you both stared at the last guest room at the end of the hallway.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. Spencer's eyes darted to the room before meeting yours. "Looks like we're sharing," he murmured, his voice low and filled with a hint of something that was definitely not disappointment.

With a sudden burst of courage, you grabbed his hand, your pulse quickening. He looked surprised but didn't resist as you led him to the last open guest room.

Once you closed the door, you pushed Spencer to sit at the edge of the bed, his eyes widening as you straddled his lap. His arms instinctively wrapped around your waist, holding you in place.

"Do you want this?" you whispered, your breath hot against his ear. His eyes searched yours for any sign of hesitation or doubt, but all he saw was the same hunger reflected in his own.

"God yes," he replied, crashing his lips against yours with a fervour that stole your breath. The heat between you was undeniable as your bodies collided, his hands gripping your hips tightly. The kiss was deep and hungry, his tongue delving into your mouth as if he could devour you whole.

You grind against his lap, happy to feel that he was still semi-hard. His grip on you tightened, and you could feel his cock growing harder with every movement of your hips. The feeling was intoxicating, and you couldn't help but moan into his mouth.

Breaking the kiss, you leaned back, panting heavily. Spencer's eyes followed your every move as you stood up and began to strip away your clothing, until you were left in your underwear.

You sat back down onto his lap, this time with a sense of purpose, your legs straddling his. He groaned into your neck, his hands roaming over your bare skin as you kissed along his jawline. His touch was gentle yet firm, leaving a trail of heat wherever he went.

Spencer's fingers slid up the outside of your thighs, his touch feather-light, sending shivers of anticipation through you. His grip tightened as they reached your ass, cupping you firmly. He pulled you closer, aligning your hips with his, and you gasped as his erection pressed against you.

You rocked back and forth, the friction building between your bodies. His breath was hot against your neck, his kisses leaving a trail of fire along your collarbone. You wrapped your arms around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as the pressure grew.

Suddenly, the angle was just right. Your clit rubbed against his erection with just the right amount of friction, and you felt yourself teetering on the edge. The sensation was intense, your eyes rolling back in your head as you bit back a moan.

With every grind, you grew closer to the edge, your breath coming in short gasps. Your nails dug into his shoulders, your body trembling with the effort to stay in control. Then, with a final, desperate thrust, you climaxed, your body shuddering in his embrace.

Spencer watched you, his eyes hooded with lust. He could feel your wetness soaking through the fabric of your panties, and it was all he could do to keep from tearing them off.

With a surprising show of strength, Spencer picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. You gasped as he laid you gently on the bed, his body hovering over yours. He paused for a moment, his gaze searching yours for any sign of hesitation, but all he found was desire mirrored back at him.

His hands traced the line of your underwear, his thumbs hooking under the waistband. Slowly, so painfully slow, he began to lower your panties. You watched as he pulled them down, revealing your wetness to the cool air of the room. Instead of tossing them aside, he folded the damp fabric and tucked it into his back pocket with a smirk.

He spread your legs wide, taking in the sight of you with a hunger that made you blush even deeper. His eyes roamed over your bare skin, lingering on your most sensitive spots. He leaned in, his breath hot against your folds, and you shivered.

Without further teasing, Spencer's tongue darted out, licking a slow path up your slit. You gasped, your hips bucking involuntarily. He took his time, savouring the taste of you. His tongue was soft and insistent, lapping at your clit and dipping into your entrance.

You grabbed fistfuls of the bed sheets, your back arching off the mattress as he worked you into a frenzy. The feeling of his mouth on you was heavenly, his skilled tongue flicking and pressing in just the right places. You were so close, your body tightening in anticipation of another orgasm.

But just as you were about to tip over the edge again, Spencer paused, leaving you panting and desperate. He slid a finger into your wetness, and you could feel him smiling against your skin as he found your g-spot with ease. The addition of his fingers sent a new wave of pleasure crashing through you, making your legs quiver.

As his tongue danced over your clit, his fingers began to move inside you in a rhythm that was both torturous and heavenly. He knew exactly how to hit that spot, his movements measured and precise, as if he had studied your body's every response. You moaned, your body begging for more as he continued to explore you with his mouth.

Spencer's mouth grew more urgent, his tongue lapping and sucking on your clit messily. He was too desperate to care about the wet sounds he was making, too lost in the taste of you to be self-conscious. His teeth grazed your sensitive flesh, and you gasped, your nails digging into his scalp as you held him in place.

He could feel your orgasm building, the way your muscles tightened around his fingers. With one final, deliberate thrust, he pushed you over the edge, his tongue never leaving your clit as you came hard against his mouth.

As your body trembled with the aftershocks of pleasure, you felt a surge of energy rather than exhaustion. The orgasm had been so intense that it seemed to have recharged you. Without warning, you sprang up from the bed, a mischievous grin playing on your lips as you turned to face Spencer.

You reached behind your back and unhooked your bra, letting it fall to the floor. Spencer's eyes widened, his gaze drinking in the sight of your breasts. Your nipples harden in the cool air.

Standing before him, you began to strip Spencer of his clothes. Once down to his last article of clothing you knelt before Spencer, your eyes never leaving his as you gripped the waistband of his boxers. His eyes darkened with anticipation as you began to pull them down his legs, revealing his cock, which stood at full attention. Your heart raced as you took in the sight of him, the anticipation of what was to come making your own body respond in kind.

You reached out and gently touched his cock, feeling the heat and hardness of it. Spencer's breath hitched, his eyes fluttering shut as you explored his length with curious fingers. The tip was wet with pre-cum, and you couldn't resist leaning in to taste him. Your tongue flicked out, a soft and tentative touch that made him jerk in surprise.

Encouraged, you took him fully into your mouth, his length stretching your lips wide. You could feel his hands tighten in your hair as you began to suck, your mouth moving in a steady rhythm. Spencer moaned, his hips forward to meet your eager mouth. You took him deeper, the tip of his cock hitting the back of your throat, making you gag slightly.

You paused for a moment to adjust, then took him as far as you could, holding yourself there and swallowing around his tip. The sensation was overwhelming for Spencer, his eyes rolling back in his head. His hips bucked slightly, pushing himself deeper into your mouth, and you could feel his muscles tightening beneath your fingertips.

Finally, you pulled off of him, licking your lips to catch the last drops of his arousal. Looking him in the eye, you whispered, "Use me." It was a simple request, but it held a world of meaning. You wanted him to take control, to show you the full extent of his power over you.

Without hesitation, Spencer grabbed the hair at the back of your head and guided his cock back into your mouth. You moaned around him. He began to move his hips, fucking into your mouth with a gentle rhythm that grew more urgent with every passing stroke. His grip on your hair tightened.

Your eyes peered up at him, watering slightly from the effort to keep up with his pace. You could see the desire in his gaze, the way his pupils had blown wide with lust. It was a heady feeling, knowing you had this powerful, intelligent man at your mercy, reduced to a trembling mess by your touch.

But Spencer had other plans. He pulled out of your mouth with a soft groan, his hand still tangled in your hair. "Not yet," he murmured, his voice husky. "I want to feel you first."

With surprising strength, he offered you a hand and pulled you up from the floor. Your legs were shaky, but he held you steady. You climbed onto the bed, feeling the cool sheets beneath your knees. You positioned yourself on all fours, the soft mattress sinking slightly with your weight.

You dropped from your hands to your elbows, arching your back and sticking your ass up in the air. You couldn't help but wiggle your hips back and forth, a silent invitation to Spencer.

He moaned at the sight, his eyes glazed over with desire. He scrambled onto the bed behind you. His hand reached out to cup your ass cheeks, the heat of his palms searing into your skin.

Spencer spread your pussy lips apart with his thumbs, revealing the glistening wetness that leaked from your swollen entrance. His groan was low and guttural, a sound that sent a thrill of pleasure through your body. His thumbs traced slow circles around your opening, teasing your sensitive flesh.

With agonizing slowness, you felt the tip of his cock nudge against you. He pushed in gently, the head of his erection parting your folds. You gasped, your muscles clenching around the unyielding intrusion. Spencer waited, giving you a moment to adjust.

Inch by inch, he filled you up, his cock stretching you deliciously. You could feel every ridge and vein, his length sliding deep within you until you were fully impaled. He didn't move for a moment, letting you get used to the feeling of being so completely filled.

Then, once he felt you relax, Spencer set a punishing rhythm, his hips slamming against your ass. The room was filled with the sound of skin on skin, the rhythmic slapping echoing off the walls.

You whimpered, your eyes squeezed shut as you tried to process the sensation. It was intense, overwhelming, but you didn't want it to stop. Spencer's hands gripped your hips tightly, guiding you back onto him with each thrust.

The scent of sex and desire filled the room as he claimed you, the sound of skin slapping against skin mixing with the wetness of your pussy. Each time he pushed into you, your nipples scraped against the soft cotton of the bed sheets. The friction was maddening, making your already sensitive breasts feel like they were on fire.

Spencer's hands moved to your waist, his fingers digging into your flesh as he adjusted his angle. He threw his weight into each thrust, the force of his hips pushing you further into the bed with every movement.

Then he slid one hand down your body, his fingertips skimming over your stomach and pausing when they reached the apex of your thighs. He found your clit, swollen and sensitive from his earlier attention, and began to rub it in gentle circles.

The combination of his deep strokes and the pressure on your clit was too much. You felt yourself climbing again, the pleasure building to a crescendo. You began to moan, the sound muffled by the pillow you had buried your face in.

Spencer leaned over, his breath hot against your ear. "Do you like that?" he whispered. "Do you like it when I fuck you like this?" He grunts out.

You nodded, too lost in the haze of pleasure to form coherent words. His whispers grew more explicit, describing every little sensation he felt, every way your body was responding to his. "You're so tight, so wet for me," he continues. "Your pussy is squeezing my cock so tight."

With each thrust, he whispered about his desire for you, how long he had fantasized about this moment. "I've wanted to fuck you like this for so long," he groaned. "To feel you this way, to hear you like this." His words were like a drug, leaving you craving more.

"Remember when you were on my lap downstairs?" Spencer panted, his hips never slowing. "How badly I wanted to rip your panties off and bury my cock inside you?"

You moaned, his words painting a vivid picture in your mind. The thought of him wanting you that badly, of him fighting his urges while everyone else played the game, was an aphrodisiac.

As Spencer whispered about how he had imagined watching you bounce on his cock in the middle of the poker game, your orgasm crashed over you. You couldn't hold back the moan that tore from your throat as your pussy clenched around him, the muscles spasming with pleasure.

It was wet and messy, your juices coating his cock with each withdrawal, only to be pushed back in with a slick sound on his next thrust. Your thighs were sticky with your arousal, and the scent of sex grew stronger.

You felt your body tightening around him, your pussy pulsing with each stroke. Your orgasm was still fresh, but the relentless pace Spencer had set had you spiraling towards another peak. His breath was hot and ragged against your ear, his whispers of filthy confessions only fuelling the fire within you.

As Spencer spoke of his fantasies, his hand never ceased its torment of your clit. The pleasure grew unbearable, your body a live wire. Then, as if on cue, another orgasm washes over you, making your legs shake uncontrollably. You cry out, your voice a high-pitched whine.

His thrusts grew erratic, his own need for release becoming apparent. You felt your pussy flutter around his cock, the walls tightening and releasing in time with your racing heartbeat. It was this feeling, the tightness and the warmth of you, that pushed Spencer over the edge.

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself as deep inside you as he could go. You felt his cock twitching, and then the warm flood of his cum filled your pussy. He groaned your name, his hips jerking as he emptied himself into you, his orgasm intense and uncontrollable. The sensation was intoxicating.

Panting, you both collapsed onto the bed, your bodies entangled in a mess of limbs. You clung to him, your chest rising and falling in time with his, your breaths mingling in the quiet room. Spencer's arms wrapped around your waist, holding you close as if afraid to let go. You felt his heart racing beneath your cheek. You were both thoroughly exhausted, the passionate frenzy leaving you drained yet content.

After a moment, you lifted your head and met his gaze. His eyes searched yours, seeking reassurance, a silent question hanging in the air. You offered a soft smile, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. The tension dissipated, replaced by a gentle warmth.

As your breathing evened out, you leaned in to capture his mouth in a slow, sensual kiss. The taste of yourself still lingered on his lips. Spencer's arms tightened around you, pulling you closer as he deepened the kiss.

Your hands roamed his body, tracing the contours of his chest and shoulders, the feel of his skin smooth and warm beneath your fingertips. He mirrored your movements, his touch gentle and exploratory, as if committing every inch of you to memory.

Spencer's lips trailed down your neck, peppering kisses that sent shivers down your spine. You nuzzled closer to him, your breathing slowing as the weight of sleep began to claim you. "With how loud we were, we're definitely sneaking out before the others wake up, right?" you whispered against his skin.

He chuckled, the vibration running through you. "Right," he murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. You could feel his smile against your shoulder. His hand traced lazy circles on your back, the gentle pressure lulling you closer to slumber.

[guiltyasreid]

so high school l spencer reid x fem!reader

warnings/tags: non, fluff, fem!reader, there's one use of 'lady' but other than that its gn, bau!reader (kinda) qord count: 1625 a/n: i legit cannot stop listening to so high school by ts so this is what my brain has pooped out, i've written two based on ttpd but I'm not happy with the other one yet. lmk what you think :))))

Sometimes when you looked at Spencer Reid, you thought how did this man ever look twice at you. How did he ask you of all people out on a date? Everytime he looked at you, you felt as though you were in some k drama and the blossom trees were going to start shedding their petals, as you wandered down the street hand in hand, music would start playing as he gazed at you with those honey brown eyes.

Of course that never happened, it didn't stop you from going red every time he looked at you. He made you feel like you had a schoolgirl crush on him. Blushing, giggling, kicking your feet and talking to your friends about him. Making up code names so he'd never know you were talking about him. Letting them know every small thing he did because he made your heart stop.

It could be him holding the door for you as you walked into the bullpen, or holding out a hand for you as you both stepped off the jet, or how he'd let you lean on his shoulder on the jet while you slept, his hands running through your hair, not caring if anyone was watching him or seeing the interaction, it always made them smile.

He felt like Prince Charming to your Cinderella.

You weren't always so infatuated by him that it caused your brain to break. Most of the time, being with him felt like a breath of fresh air. A calm would come over you where you both could sit in each others arms while doing your own thing.

Then there were times like these.

It was a small abrupt gathering, JJ had already walked down the aisle. Everyone was mingling, drinks were pouring. Penelope had caught your arm before you could make your way inside. "I want a dance."

Who were you to ever deny Penelope?

You both span in obnoxious circles, laughing with your head thrown back as you twirled her out and pulled her back in. Both of you swayed to the lighter music together. "187 is looking at you as if you placed the moon in the sky." She whispered.

Your head turned to look in Spencer's direction. His eyes were soft trailing up you as you swayed. He was in a conversation with Derek but his eyes weren't moving from you. Finally, he landed on your eyes and you looked away red, hiding your face from him.

"You both make me jealous." Penelope giggled. "Why are you blushing? He's already your boyfriend."

"I don't know." You whispered back as if you were telling her a secret. She shook her head smiling. "He's so handsome, I can't help it."

"And you are gorgeous, don't you forget it." She raised an eyebrow at you, you nodded. "Now I won't apologise. Just letting you know." Your eyebrows scrunched in confusion.

Suddenly, the women twirled you out, letting go of your hand, and causing you to stumble into familiar arms. "Caught you." He whispered causing you to let out a laugh.

"Thank you." You weren't meeting his eyes as you both swayed. His right hand was placed at your waist, pulling you flush against him. You placed your forehead against his shoulder, giggling under the twinkling lights.

"What's so funny?" He asked, tilting his head down to nudge yours. You shook your head, not wanting to meet his eye.

His hand slid from the side of your waist to your back, causing you to squeak. His hand that was holding yours, started entwining your fingers together. "You look beautiful." He mumbled into your hair.

"You do too." You whispered back, your arm pulling him closer, you looked up at him, seeing him staring down at you. "Dr Reid, don't look at me like that." You laughed, leaning back down to hide your face as it grew warm.

"How could I not? You're my pretty lady" He kissed the side of your head. "And that dress looks magnificent on you." He whispered. You roll your eyes, laughing as he twirls you out and pulls you flush again.

Finally, you were looking at him, wide smiled at his antics. "You've bewitched me, every time I look at you, I turn to mush."

"You do?" He asked raising an eyebrow. "What do you think you do to me? I've never felt speechless before I met you. My brain stops running, you're my kryptonite." You kissed his cheek at the comment. "Would you like to go home?"

You looked around the room, the party seemed to be finally dying down, Henry was already asleep over two chairs. Hotch was holding a sleeping Jack in his arms, he was saying his goodbyes. You nodded at Spencer who smiled.

Goodbyes didn't take long. Spencer didn't hesitate to grab your hand as you walked towards his car. You shivered at the cold. He opened the car door for you before rushing around to the driver's seat. You blushed again at the small gesture. He smiled at your flushed face as he entered the car.

Spencer Reid was the epitome of a walking daydream.

You'd lay your head in his lap as you watched an episode of Doctor Who, he played with your hair absently. "What you thinking about?" He'd ask.

"About how we met." You replied.

"And how did we meet?" He asked with a small smile.

"Mr Eidetic memory doesn't remember?" You asked sarcastically and he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

"Jog my memory." He whispered.

"Well it was my first day-"

"Thursday June 6th 2007" He added. You scowled at him.

"Am I telling the story or you?" You asked huffing and he chuckled before becoming quiet to continue. "Anyway, it was my first day...

You stood outside the lift, biting your lip anxiously. The BAU, it was a bigger promotion than you were imagining when they said you'd be promoted. Of course, you had the qualifications for it, you knew you deserved it but there was still the small part of your brain that was telling you that you were in the wrong place.

As you entered the lift and clicked 6 the doors started shutting only for an arm to stop them before they fully shut. It caused a slight bang, in entered Dr Spencer Reid who was red-faced, hair nearly up to his shoulders. He saw your face going more red.

He was dressed in a white button up shirt, a brown vest, and a tie to match. Black slacks that when he turned you forced yourself not to check him out.

"You definitely checked me out." He cut off your story. "No way you didn't take a peak at my ass." You rolled your eyes smacking his arm. "Okay go on."

You definitely took a peak but you forced yourself to stare at the back of his head instead. His hair was curly and honey coloured as if he'd gotten highlights, but you could tell it was natural.

Hotch introduced you to everyone quickly. Spencer continued to pretend you did not exist throughout the entire case, you were 100% sure he hated you for some reason, maybe it was the cheeky peak at his ass. Maybe, he had eyes at the back of his head in that lift and saw you being a pervert.

"Okay, let me tell you what actually happened, because you are definitely telling it wrong." You laughed at his offence at what you were saying.

Spencer stopped the lift before it could close fully, he was red in the face from the embarrassing noise the lift made. It only got worse when he saw you in the lift. You looked like you'd just witnessed a comedy show.

"I did not, I'm pretty sure I was too anxious to laugh at you." You scoffed at his lies. He shushed you to continue.

He only caught a glimpse of you as he turned into the lift, he could tell you were beautiful, his heart was raising from that little interaction and it was as if he could feel your gaze on him which made the entire interaction even more embarrassing.

Hotch introduced you into the team. He knew if he tried to speak to you it would probably sound like a bunch of word vomit. You were magnificent, it was as if every time you looked at him every cell in his body stood in anticipation waiting for your next move. The subconscious part of his mind thought you were thinking about how embarrassing it was in the lift.

You were brilliant, smart, talented, a mean shot with a gun, they had their own sniper if needed, and you thought in ways no one did. You were a breath of fresh air onto the team, not to mention your smiles and silly jokes you'd make to try to get a reaction out of him. Derek would flirt with you and you always insulted him back which made him extremely nervous to even try.

Then, you started complimenting his outfits, listening to him intensely, never telling him to stop talking. You'd find his jokes funny, throwing your head back as if they were the funniest thing you'd ever heard. You even brought him of coffee just how he liked it. He knew if he asked, it could ruin everything. You could destroy him in one word. But, you didn't, you jumped at the opportunity to go on a date with him.

"You know I waited for months." You rolled your eyes. he was looking down at you with fond eyes. "Took your sweet time."

"Well I've got you now, and I'm not letting you go." He smiled, leaning down to kiss your lips.

"Neither am I." You giggled, leaning up to deepen the kiss.

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Together

Summary: Aaron Hotchner x Fe!Reader -> The team knows something is up between yourself and Hotch, except Rossi seems to be the only one to put the pieces together.

Disclaimer: Descriptions of sick. Fluff. Jack and Haley don't exist in this fic. Happy ending. Not Proof Read.

The whole team knew something was up. They just didn’t know what. 

Usually, you were normal with everyone. Chatty. Smiley. Professional. Maybe a little blunt every now and again. 

But not this time. 

For the last week you had been…cold. Well, not with them, at least. 

But with Hotch? You had been as cold as ice. 

But no-one could pin why. 

Even if it had just been small things, like the feeling in the meeting room in the morning when it just seemed to be the two of you, or the small looks you both gave each other – which had started out as awkward, but then quickly turned to shame and clear annoyance, the latter being much more clear on your end. It was definitely clear now. 

From the beginning of the case, you had been quick to change subjects. Always staying on the case, which was normal. But not your abruptness to do so. And when Hotch tried to pull you aside as the others made their way to the main doors, you brushed him off. 

Hotch was someone you never brushed off. Not until recently. 

And when you all landed in Seattle, Hotch was assigning teams for who was driving. But before he could place you with himself, JJ and Morgan, you pushed past him. 

“I’m going with Rossi.”

And Hotch didn’t say a word. 

Instead, he watched you walk away with your go bag, throwing it into the trunk with Dave. He gave his orders to Prentiss on what would happen and she updated you in the car. 

However, forty five minutes into a ninety minute drive, Emily’s voice started to make you feel dizzy. Then the heat in the car felt like it was blasting. So you rolled down the window. But that didn’t help. 

“Garcia said she’s already sent over some case files- Hey, you okay?”

From the backseat, Emily leaned forward to get a better look at you. 

“I’m fine.”

But five minutes later, you changed your mind. 

“Pull over.”

“What?”

“Pull over, I think I’m gonna be sick.”

“Okay, okay. Just hold on.”

The car had barely been put into park by the time you threw the door open, tore your seatbelt away and ran out. 

Less than ten feet from the open car door, the last three drinks and meal you ate came straight back up and soaked into the dry grass. 

You heard a second car pull up behind and then heard Morgan and Hotch’s voice. Dave had already reached you, placing a hand on your back before pulling your hair back. 

“Okay, take it easy. Are you okay?”

You could only hum before throwing up once more. He rubbed circles on your back for a moment before you finally finished throwing up and wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. 

“Is she okay? Y/n, are you-”

“I’m fine!” You called out, a little harsher than you had intended. 

Holding out a hand, Rossi signalled for Hotch to stop and stay where he was with the others. 

“She’s okay, she just needs a minute. Emily, do we have water in the car?”

“Yep, here.”

Making her way over, Emily poured some water onto a tissue before handing it to you. You wiped down your mouth and your hand before being handed the bottle by Dave. 

“Small sips, okay? Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nodded, your back still to the rest of the team. “I just need a minute.”

“Aaron, we’ll meet you there.”

It took him a minute before he moved back to the car, but Hotch eventually nodded, calling out they’d see them at the precinct. 

“Do you know what it could be?” Emily asked. 

“Probably just some bad sushi.”

Emily nodded before getting back into the car. 

“Are you sure that’s all it is?” Rossi asked once she was out of earshot. 

And for a moment, you paused. 

“Let’s just get going.”

Things only seemed to get worse from there. 

You managed to hide it as best as you could from the rest of the team, but every hour you had spent a good ten minutes in the bathroom throwing your guts up. 

A couple of officers did question where you had been when they couldn’t find you but hadn’t seen you leave the building. One mention of Aunt Flow and they didn’t ask again. 

Your coldness with Hotch didn’t ease, either. It just seemed to become more frigid. And everyone saw it. 

By the third day in Seattle, Prentiss and Morgan had questioned you on it in the break room. 

“Yeah, what do you have against Hotch all of a sudden? What, one week away from us and you’ve suddenly made an agenda against him?”

“Because I love you, I’m going to ask this only once. Please don’t ask about Hotch.”

Morgan and Prentiss looked between each other, slightly worriedly, but both silently agreed to drop it. 

“But you will sort it out?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. “I don’t know.”

A few hours later, you were coming back out of the bathroom when Rossi seemed to jump out at you. 

“Jeez. Rossi. Give a girl some warning next time.”

Dave smiled. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Have we caught a break?”

“No, but I need to talk to you.”

“What about?”

“About the fact you’re running to the bathroom every hour to throw up.”

“Like I said, it was probably just some bad food. I’ll be okay.”

Only, as you started walking away, Rossi asked you a question. 

“What happened between you and Hotch?”

“Nothing.” You answered, your back still to him. 

“Really? Because I wouldn’t call it nothing. I’d call it strange.”

“Rossi, I’ve asked Morgan and Prentiss-”

“I know, and I heard. But, to be frank, I think you’re lying and you’re too scared to tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?”

But rather than voice it, Rossi just gave you a look. It took you a moment before you cracked a little. 

“Rossi…”

“You don’t have to tell me how or what happened, but I’m asking, just find out the truth. You don’t have to tell anyone. But I think the sooner you do it, the better it will be.”

“We’re in the middle of a case.”

Rossi shrugged, “Morgan and JJ are on their way back. Reid’s got it handled here. We’ll pick up some coffee on the way back as a cover. Let’s just go now.”

You seemed to hesitate, and Rossi could see it. 

“Please, for my sanity's sake?”

“Okay.”

Twenty minutes later, you found a pharmacy and picked up a box. 

“Can you wait outside the door for me?”

“Of course.”

And he did. 

Once you paid for the box, the cashier directed you to a bathroom in the back. Except, long after the two minutes were up, you still hadn’t come out. So, Rossi knocked on the door. 

You swung it open and he jumped back a little. 

“I can’t look at it.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to at some point.”

“I’ve wiped it down and it’s got a cap but…can you look? I’m too scared.”

Rossi could see the fear in your eyes. Oh, how two little lines could instil so much fear into people who dealt with crime every day. 

Handing the package to Rossi, he turned it around and pulled it out of the packet. 

“I believe congratulations are in order.”

Turning it around so you could see, you took it back into your grasp as you pushed one hand through your hair. 

“Oh, my god.”

“I think you and Hotch need to have a conversation.”

“Please don’t tell anyone.”

Rossi smiled, holding your hand which he could feel shaking. “You have my word.”

Somehow, back in the precinct, you managed to keep your cool. You’d brought back coffee for the team and, despite the fact you caught Hotch watching you from his seat, noticing your shaking hand, you pulled it back and found a spare pen from JJ’s notepad and spun it over and over in your fingers. 

Thankfully, due to the “food poisoning”, you had been kept out of the field when it came to finding the unsub. However, this just gave you a very large sense of dread. You watched them all run out of the door, Rossi placing a hand on your arm talking directly to you. 

“I’ll look out for him.” He told you before the others could hear him. 

“Thank you.”

Possibly carrying Hotch’s child made watching him and the team run out of the door, without you, made that sense of dread practically triple. Especially considering no-one other than Rossi knew the truth, or at least a part of it, about yourself and Aaron. 

Thankfully, no-one got hurt and the unsub was apprehended in time before he could hurt anyone else. They all came back with looks of relief and tiredness when you saw them, but there was a barely visible look of confusion and perhaps, hopefulness, on Hotch’s face when your scowl at him didn’t seem so cold. 

On the plane ride back, you were quiet. Everyone was, but there was just an air about you that told those paying attention to you that you were in your own world. 

Of course, Rossi knew why. 

But it was tearing at Hotch why he didn’t. 

Pulling back into the office, Penelope greeted you all by the elevator, hugging you all. And handing you some dry crackers and a bottle of water. 

“Thanks, Garcia.”

As everyone said their goodnights, you watched as Hotch walked directly through the bullpen and towards his office. 

“I think there are a couple of things you and he need to talk about.”

You nodded, with a light smile. “You’re right.”

Rossi kissed you cheek before saying goodnight and saluting you before the elevator doors closed. You did a small one back before turning your gaze back to the dim lights coming from Hotch’s office. 

However, first, you ran to the bathroom. 

Sitting at his desk, Hotch was halfway finished with the last of his reports when a knock came to his door. 

Looking up from his desk, there was a slight look on his face that told you he wasn’t expecting you. And you couldn’t be surprised. You’d barely been able to look him in the eye for the last month and a half, and you’d been nothing but cold and if a little harsh with him for the last couple of weeks. 

“Is everything okay?”

“Can we talk?”

Hotch nodded. “Come on in.”

You nodded back, entering, but closing the door behind you. Which made Hotch stand. 

“Is everything-”

“I’m pregnant.”

A silence settled over the room that you were expecting, but still shocked you. And every possible emotion, some you couldn’t even name, passed over his face before he was forced to sit down. 

“Oh.”

“Can I sit?”

He nodded, quickly signalling for you to do so. And so you did. 

“What did…How- When did you find out?”

“Sometime in the last twenty four hours.” You answered which confused Hotch, which you could understand. It was a vague explanation. “It’s all been kind of a blur.”

He nodded, understanding what you meant. 

“Does anyone…know?”

You nodded. “Rossi.”

“Dave knows?”

“He seemed to know before I did…kinda.”

“What does that mean?”

“I guess I had a feeling when I got carsick, but denial carried me through.”

“Does anyone else know?”

You shook your head. “No. Oh, and, um, I-I took another test to be sure. H-here.”

With a lot of nerves and a lot of awkward courage, you passed the second test across the desk to Hotch who took it in his hands and looked at it. 

Two bright pink lines. 

Positive test. 

“Just so I’m…clear. You are telling me because I’m…”

“The father?” you questioned. “Yes. There wasn’t anyone before or after you for it to be someone else.”

Hotch nodded. “Okay.”

You both sat in silence for a while, taking in what had just happened. 

“I, well, I haven’t been to see a doctor yet so I can’t know for certain but these tests are usually pretty accurate.”

Hotch could only nod. 

“You’re free to make any decision you wish,” Hotch assured you. “I’ll support you either way.”

You nodded in a small thank you. “Honestly, I don’t know what I’m going to do. With our line of work, it gives you the handbook over why you shouldn’t have children. But, if I do decide to do this…I’m prepared to do this on my own. If I am going to do it, I’d prefer to have you in their life.” 

Your hand absentmindedly touched your stomach and you looked down to it for a moment. 

“But, I’m prepared to do it on my own.”

Hotch took in everything you said and nodded. “Like I said, I’ll support any decision you make but if you do decide to have our child…” 

Those two words settled over the both of you. 

Our Child. 

Our Child. 

Our Child.

“One thing you don’t have to worry about is doing it alone. I want to be a part of their life. And whatever support you need, I’ll try and help with.”

You nodded before looking back down to your stomach. 

Once again, a silence settled over the both of you and it was like he could hear your brain going into overload with information and feelings. But just as he was about to call your name, you looked up. 

Tears were being held tight behind your eyes, but a few words and they were ready to fall free. 

“I’m…I’m scared, Aaron.”

It didn’t take him a second thought before he stood up and met you where you were sitting. As he got around his desk, you stood and he embraced you tightly. 

He swallowed thickly, nodding and placing a quick kiss to your hair. “It’ll be okay.”

A week later, the team had taken notice of the change between yourself and Hotch. It was no longer cold, but it wasn’t what it was. It was something…uneasy. You had both clearly had a tough talk and were on rocky shores, but you were both finding a way to make it work. 

It was also a week later that you had made your decision. 

You were going to have a baby. 

A lot of different scenarios passed through your mind when you thought about what you were going to do. It would be hard, of course. It would be difficult to work the cases you do and not feel a little more emotionally involved. But you also couldn’t help but think that maybe this was a blessing in disguise. 

A part of you had wanted children for a long time, but the thought of actually having them was slipping further and further away the more you worked. 

And, despite you feeling selfish, you wanted a baby. You wanted to see a child, your child,  grow up and have a life of their own. You wanted to make the memories you had as a kid, but with them. 

You knew it would be difficult to do so when you joined the Academy, but part of you always wanted a home filled with the sound of laughter and joy. 

And maybe this was your only chance. 

And in all honesty, Aaron had similar feelings. 

It would be hard, sure. But he also wanted this in his life. He wanted a child. He wanted you in his life, however that would be. 

Of course, neither of you had seen this coming when you had run into each other at the Inn you had found. A halfway stop to your actual destination. Only, rather than continuing on your separate journeys for your week’s vacation time, you both found yourselves unable to leave the small town and the safe walls of the local Inn. 

It was that part of the story the team would forever speculate on once they found out you were pregnant and it was, in fact, Hotch’s baby. 

That was a piece of information they clued together themselves when Hotch called them in for an early meeting, but had confirmation on just a few moments later.

“So, what’s happening here?”

“Are you together?”

“We’re…still figuring that out.” Hotch answered, looking at you.

Neither of you had exactly had the conversation over what you were. Were you a couple? Were you friends? Were you co-workers? Were you just co-workers having a baby together?

HR weren’t exactly happy about the get-together but so long as the relationship wasn’t going to break any codes of conduct within the field, you were both still free to keep working. And more importantly, working together. 

However, over the next nine months, certain things seemed to blur. 

Aaron came with you to every doctor’s appointment, never missing one. When you had both first heard your baby’s heartbeat, you had clutched onto his hand and not let go. And when the sound got clearer, he pulled you a little closer, rubbing your arm and kissing your hand. 

It was a little odd, feeling the baby kick for the first time whilst being stood outside of a crime scene. 

Morgan had been with you at the time, quickly calling for Hotch when your posture and face changed from quizzical to concerned. Only, by the time Aaron had reached you both, you laughed and told them what was happening. 

Morgan then called JJ over as you guided Aaron’s hand to your stomach. And you both shared an intimate moment, just looking at one another, feeling your unborn baby kick at your stomach for the first time. 

JJ was able to confirm what was going on and both herself and Morgan congratulated you before you all remembered where you were and got back to work.

The cold glares you had given Hotch in the weeks leading up to you finding out had disappeared completely after the hug you shared in his office when you told him. And by the time you were entering your second trimester, they had turned into something similar to what they were before everything had changed. 

You had both become friends. 

He had also relaxed a little more around you, which allowed him space to take in what was actually happening. So, when your cravings started kicking in, he would hand you snacks throughout the days. You wouldn’t even know what you wanted at the time and he just…seemed to know. 

And at some point between him attending doctors appointments, helping you with your pregnancy cravings and reading to your belly, you had both begun to live together. 

It made sense, at least for the first couple of weeks after the birth and partly during the pregnancy. If you went into labour, it would be safer if someone was with you. And, it meant he was there when, in the middle of the night, you woke up with braxton hicks and panicked a little before getting checked out at the hospital, just in case. 

Also, small touches began. 

From you holding his hand against your stomach when your baby kicked, to his fingers tracing yours whilst they held that position. Then, in break rooms. They were quick, but light kisses would be pressed to your head or cheek whenever he handed you something. He was always close to you, barely leaving your side when in the field. His hand, always at the small of your back when leading you somewhere. And in the early hours of the morning, his arms would be across you as you both lay in bed, holding you close against his chest. 

Until, finally, one night whilst lay in bed, you asked a question. 

Both facing each other, despite your eyes being closed, Aaron traced repeated patterns from pushing your hair back to trailing his fingers down your arm to find your hand, rubbing soft circles with his thumb. 

Both of you should be fast asleep, yet you weren’t. 

“Aaron?”

“Hmm?”

“What are we doing?”

“Sleeping.”

You laughed a little. “No we’re not.”

“I’m sleep talking.”

“Aaron, I’m being serious.”

With a small laugh, Aaron sighed. “Okay, what is it?”

He finally opened his eyes and so did you.

“What are we doing? About us, I mean. We’re having a baby together, but we’re not together together. We work together, but we also live together. What happens after the first couple of months? Do we…what do we do?”

“I suppose we just have to take each day as it comes and see what happens.”

“I can live with that.”

“Or…”

“Oh, no.” 

Aaron laughed a little and shook his head, bringing his hand back to your face and brushing the hair from it. 

“Or,” he repeated, “we treat this for what it really is.”

“I don’t…” you shook your head. 

“I know I don’t regret what happened that week away. Even more so now, but before…before we both found out. I still didn’t regret it. I don’t. We say we live together out of convenience, but I know, at least for me, it’s something more. Now, if for you it’s still out of convenience and bonding for our child, then we can have this conversation when the time comes. But, you should know my feelings for you run deeper than just you being my co-worker and the mother of our child. Do you…could you see yourself…feeling the same?”

The silence that came over both of you for a moment made Aaron worry. Maybe he had gotten it wrong in his head. Maybe you didn’t feel the same. Maybe you were just caught up in the emotions of carrying his child and, since you were in it together, some form of feelings, similar to that of his, were getting blurry. 

But then you blinked. 

And a light smile graced across your face. 

“I do.”

Your voice was barely above a whisper. But still, your words echoed louder and louder around his head. 

“You…you do?”

You nodded. “I do.”

Aaron took a moment, before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your lips. It was like your first, all over again. Except, this time, rather than a little fear being behind it, considering at the time you were both still co-workers just on vacation, there was nothing but…

Relief. 

More specifically, relief for love. 

For months you’d both been avoiding the biggest barrier between both of you. Too scared and too fearful that the answer to each question would be some variant of “No.” 

And now…

Finally the answer was yes. 

Yes to love. 

Together.

Yes to a life.

Together. 

Yes to a family. 

Together.