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awordsmith · 7 hours ago

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french perfume 𝜗𝜚 s.r

when the ASIO–calls the FBI for reinforcements, y𝗼𝘂 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗦𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲𝗿 are chosen to go undercover as boarding school students to figure out why prestigious teenagers are mysteriously disappearing.

you only have each other on the inside, but interacting means the possibility of getting caught, and getting caught would blow the entire operation.

who? spencer reid x bau!reader when? s10 genre: angst (thriller) content warning: heavy mentions of mass SA on teenagers/disappearing teenagers/ Spencer identity crisis/sa(not too graphic) on reader, very much dark academia-gloomy castle aesthetic. . .reid with incredible care !! word count: 18.8k a/n: boarding school by lana del rey is all i have to say for this one... enjoy!!

The uniform fit just right…as if it had been altered to fit your particular body. Per further inspection, you noticed the gray blazer’s sleeves hitting your wrists just above your palms and the gray pleated skirt hitting the middle of your knees, you were inclined to believe this detail confidently.

Your frown held still, a blank expression registered to everyone around you that you were not the everyday school girl, though in America, uniforms always seemed to differentiate the poor from the wealthy, so perhaps it was that as well as the two men behind you, dressed in all black with earpieces slightly evident in their ear.

Earbuds in your ear connected to an iPod, playing one of your favorite albums. Though it was just for show, it was all for show. You were undercover and your name was no longer — —, but — —.

You’d been training your acting skills, away from the rest of the team. You needed to be her. This character that you’d made up the day you had gotten the case. You weren’t just playing the American Rich Girl, you were the American Rich Girl. You had to be or else everything everyone had been working for up until this point went to shit.

You ignored the man in brown and the woman in bright green. They were no one, the moment you stepped into the mini limousine outside your home in Atherton, they’d been lost to your memory.

Your black Mary Janes clicked past the line of people riding coach and business. You focussed on the silver iPod in your hand, heading toward first class. Four others were riding with you, you disregarded their presence as well. The bodyguards in black stayed behind, saying something into their earpieces. It caught the attention of the other first-class riders, one woman approached you. It’d be great for your first real interaction as her.

There were no cameras on board, so as you settled into one of the middle-row seats, you plucked an earbud out and settled your small backpack on the cushion, “sorry, could you repeat that one more time?” Your voice took on an airy tone, it didn’t sound foreign–you wondered–no. You forced that thought down and after the woman asked, “Where are you flying to?” you’d forgotten all about it.

“Australia,” you smiled, taking out the other earbud and wrapping the wiring around the iPod.

“For school?” She took her seat across from you.

“Boarding school,” you frowned, “Father says it’s better than anything in America.” Your eyes rolled as you settled into your own space.

“That’s a cute uniform.” You nodded to agree, “And your father is probably right, what school?”

Right. “That’s private information,” you reassessed her with a raised brow.

Her lips pressed together in a thin line, then she nodded. You had to hide the small smile the slid across your face. She was probably wondering who you were to be thinking of yourself so highly. You would be lying if you’d said you didn’t get a kick ut of making heads turn in such a way.

Two more bodyguards were waiting for you when you landed and a limousine–normal length this time–waiting for you outside the airport. When you stepped inside you were finally able to breathe. The windows were tinted, though you hadn’t begun moving.

“— —, I presume?” The blonde man dressed in a neatly pressed suit did not match the surfer accent he had.

“Depends on who you ask, I suppose.” A sly grin stretched across your mouth and you brushed a lock of hair behind your pierced ear, showing off the white pearls.

He chuckled, “You know who I am, then?”

“The Head of the ASIO?” You raised a brow, noting the largeness of the vehicle.

“Spot on,” he winked, “the uniform fits better than expected.” He motioned with a hand.

“So I’ve been told,” you tugged on the sleeves and feeling a bit childish, sat further upward to show your maturity, he noticed, but neglected to comment. “And my counterpart, do you think his fits just as well?”

“Ah, yes,” he glanced at the ceiling, “your partner in this investigation, he should have gotten off his flight from Russia right about now, he’ll be on his way to the school just as sufficiently.”

The agent checked his watch, a more serious expression taking over his features right before he pounded on the window separating the front from the back–and like that, the limousine began moving.

“You know your objective, I assume, but I’d like to go over it with you.” He crossed a leg over the other, his pants riding up his ankle, showing the cutoff of his finely polished shoes.

“We go in, collect evidence, and get out.”

“Without busting your cover.” He stated, leaning forward slightly, “Now…what about the other thing?”

“You mean the objective only I was assigned?”

“Precisely. It’d be,” he shook slightly, “discouraging if anyone else got wind out it–from my knowledge only you, I, and your boss know the details.”

You nodded, refining your face toward a colder version of what it once was, “I know exactly what I’m doing and I have given my full consent.”

“Do you remember his name?” The agent raised a blonde brow, his blue eyes piercing your gaze to the point of making you shift uncomfortably.

“I do.”

“Good,” he leaned back, pulling out a bottle of wine, “do you prefer white?”

“Red is fine,” you took the glass willingly, you wouldn’t have access for God knew how long. One last glass wouldn’t hurt.

The car came to a stop, “We’re here,” he sighed and glanced toward the large gate to outside the window closest him. You handed back your glass and reached for the door, but one of his hands shot out and stopped you, “remember we will not be with you on the inside. The only person you have is…him–and even then–”

“I know,” you waved your arm in font of yoru face after snatching it out of his, feeling your gaze harden–you could do this. “This isn’t about proving myself, Director. Trust me, I know what’s at stake.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, he looked pitiful. He couldn’t have been older than 40, barely a 12-year age gap, but you could tell he was worried if this was the right thing. The ASIO has been trying to crack down on this school for over a year–just one slip-up would send the entire operation overboard.

“The Australian government wants our help,” your eyebrows furrowed, “ why?” You were spinning in your chair before Penelope’s hands were firmly planted on either side of your shoulders, forcing the chair to come to a halt.

“Oh sweetie, you’re gonna want a coffee for this one.”

The Head of the ASIO helped you with your luggage, he was tall for an Australian, which was tall. He also looked pretty well for his age, you noted the slight red spot that circled high around his ring finger, though the ring in question was missing. He didn’t look the part of a recently divorced husband, so perhaps he took it off when he was on the job. He was smart.

“This is where I see you off,” he leaned against the car, hands tucked neatly into his pants pockets.

You pulled your suitcase toward you, finding it a struggle with the duffle bag on top. You pressed your lips together, saluting him–chills. The hair on your neck standing up. Someone was watching you. Your hand gripped the handle of the suitcase, trying your best to not look for the eyes that were surely on you.

“Good luck,” he said, opening the door the the limousine and slipping inside. It took off not long after, leaving you to spin around.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw a short, sallow man, his back bent in ways you didn’t think possible to mimic–and his skin pale–un-ordinarily pale for someone who looked once very tan. “You’re one of the new students, yes?” He had a croaky accent, maybe Old Romanian?

You shook your head, if ever there was a time you needed to focus this was it. “Yes, my name is — —.”

He sighed and averted his eyes, “…follow me.”

You rounded the corner of the gate, and the old man pulled a jangle of keys from around his belt that you only now noticed. “I’m the grounds keeper here, if you ever need anything, I’d advise not coming to me for it…I wouldn’t be able to do much.”

You swallowed, it was only now just hitting you–you were walking into a graveyard dressed up like a school, and you were doing it willingly.

The place looked like it had jumped out of a Renaissance painting, the muted-colored murals on the higher walls and ceilings were chipping and the dull white pillars you saw around almost every corner looked to be falling apart–but past that, you felt like Alice walking through the rabbit hole. “There is one more student supposed to be arriving today. Usually, we never get two new students on the same day–so excuse the abruptness. You’ll have to wait for him in the Headmaster’s Office.”

You kept quiet, unsure if you should respond. In the end, you didn’t, and the maintenance man, whose name you never received, left you in a small room with four chairs, a small, squared table in the middle of each chair, and two chairs sitting against each wall, facing each other.

There was no receptionist at the desk, the entire building seemed vacant. It was a Thursday. Weren’t there supposed to be classes? You folded in on yourself, the curvy, white concrete walls pulled you into a momentary depression. Your anxiety grew and as the minutes ticked by, you felt like you would die here, in this cold, concrete room–alone.

“Sorry, did I startle you?” Came a voice moments after you’d heard the creaking of a door.

Familiar notes had your ears twitching, your hands moved from your lap to your knees as you slowly lifted your gaze to meet his. The accent he’d been perfecting sounded like he’d always spoken that way. You ignored the way it sent a shiver down your spine. “Not at all,” you smiled and stood, dusting nonexistent dust off your newly pressed skirt. “You must be the other student, I’m — —,” you held out a hand, batting your eyelashes.

He was cute–the way his brown curls pulled attention to his big, puppy eyes. His hair looked recently cut, and though it gave him a somewhat boyish charm, the guy in front of you remained too serious for your liking.

He glanced at your hand briefly, ignoring it. Your eyes rolled and you planted a hand on your hip, “not the physical type, I suppose.”

“I apologize,” his voice was deep, it’d rear you into a wall if you weren’t careful.

You blinked, and took a second to breathe, “It’s alright, I suppose.”

“Have you seen anyone yet?”

You shrugged, “Just the grounds keeper, everyone must be in class.”

He nodded, pulling his luggage toward the side opposite of you, and took up the chair in front of yours. You huffed and sat back down. “You’re Russian?” The boy nodded, it irked you slightly, perhaps his social skills were not all there? “What’s your name?”

“Savino,” he murmured, raising a brow at you, “you’re American.” It was more of an observation than a question and it made your lips thin.

“Ah!” You startled, holding in your scream. Savino smiled slightly, which had you narrowing your eyes. A door creaked open–not the entrance, but one behind the receptionist's desk–and a young-old man filed into the room–if such a crossover were ever possible, it was in front of you.

He was different from the one you’d met at the gate, this one was tall, and a bit on the heavier side. “There you are, my beloved new students.” He held his hands out, you recoiled–as if you’d hug him willingly. He just looked like he smelled horridly.

“I suppose I should show you to your dorms first.” He lips pulled back in what you suppose was meant to be a smile. Yellow, cracked teeth could be noted and somehow, you found yourself wondering just how atrocious his breath must be.

Your eyes ran over the walls that seemed to twist throughout the school, doing your best to listen to Headmaster Bobefitz as he rambled on about the history of the school.

Originally it was a castle built for a small king centuries ago–about 40 years prior, the land was bought and turned into a private transnational boarding school, as it was secluded high up in the mountains and had multiple rooms, it seemed the ideal use. Up until the number of students disappearing began raising suspicion with the local police, that is.

Though, it was private property, and nothing much could be done without a warrant or great cause–and even then, the owners could challenge the police in court. This wasn’t America–yoou had to remember that.

You blinked, almost bumping into the back of Headmaster Bobefitz. He gave you an unnerving smile, “Watch it little mouse, you just might go stumbling into the wrong trap.”

You smiled, though it was awkward, and took a few more steps toward Savino. He noticed and tried to put himself between you and the headmaster, subtly, to be sure.

“This is the East Wing, where male students sleep, female students are not allowed on this side after 18:00 and the same goes for male students in the West Wing, where the female students reside. We will head there next.”

“Will I have a roommate?”

“Did your father not give you the details, Miss —?” He chuckled, and stretched across Savino to pat you on the shoulder, “That’s alright.” You shifted uncomfortably but didn’t move away. This must be a cakewalk to whatever else was going on inside this school.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” Savino stepped in front of you, stealing the Headmaster’s attention away, “where are the other students, it seems rather quiet for a school around this time.”

“Yes, well, we have more of a handle on the students here at Gentry Prep–we take the education we give our students very seriously, so to answer your question, your classmates are in class,” he lifted his wrist to his eyes, showing off a brown leather strapped watch. “They are in their second hour now.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you teetered on your heels, looking over the ledge of the hall.

Headmaster Bobefitz laughed, “Be careful now, you don’t want to go toppling over.” His jokes left a wretched taste in your mouth, but you managed a half-laugh.

“Where are they, then?” You eyed the still empty halls.

“At our school, students have one class assigned to them based on how well they did on their entry exam, you two are in the same class.” He eyed Savino with a slight frown, but smiled when his gaze met yours once more.

“I see…”

You did not join the rest of the students that day but rather walked around the premises with the headmaster as your guide. Savino kept his distance from you. As if he was afraid of getting close, though when the headmaster evidently had you feeling uneasy, Savino always said something to deter his attention, and you took that as his way of showing he cared.

It was odd, pretending you were strangers. You had to ignore the butterflies in your stomach as well–you had to remember this was a job, and you were an agent undercover–at the same time, youhad to maintain the Rich Girl facade. It hurt you brain every time those thoughts collided, a sickness overtook you and only a part of you had an inkling of an idea of why that was.

You met your roommate, Cairo. She was a petite and her hair was black on the verge of looking blue if it were any darker. The dorm held two beds pushed against opposite walls, Cairo slept on the right, so you ended up with the left.

Very soon on, you found she was deaf, and you–unable to speak sign language, suggested using paper.

𝙞𝙩'𝙨 𝙨𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨

You passed the open notebook toward Cairo. Her lips pressed into a thin line as her eyes passed over the two words. She looked up, her black eyes containing a weird sort of glow thanks to the lamps that dimly lit up the room.

Cairo scribbled something with the number two pencil she’d taken out of her pencil pouch.

Your eyes tracked over the room, locking on the dresser that had been given to you. Cairo had her own, closer to her bed across the lofty area. Each bed had white concrete railings at each corner, holding up a canopy. Cairo’s curtains were sage green, yours were blue, just a shade away from gray.

𝘪 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘪𝘵

read the line under your own handwriting.

Your head tilted and you frowned, “why not?–Oh, sorry,” you nearly smacked yourself before writing your words down and handing it back to her.

She audibly sighed and shook her head, taking the pencil from you.

𝘪𝘵'𝘴 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦, 𝘸𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘥

noting that you understood her message, Cairo took back the notebook and ripped the page out, walking toward the fireplace. Your eyebrows raised watching her drop the paper into the flames. Her body language seemed too relaxed for a teenage girl tossing papers into fires.

She grabbed a poker and moved the wood away, soon, the fire died out and all that was left were the lamps at your bedside tables. Though, with one final glance toward you, Cairo too, shut off her lamp. You could hear her rustling in the sheets, and ultimately, you flicked the last source of light off and submerged yourself under the sheets.

As your head hit the back of the one of pillows, you let your thoughts drift. He came to mind. He was so good at acting, it unnerved you. You wondered how detrimental this case would be after it was over.

During the day, you did not claim the name you grew up with, but rather the one that had been given to you four weeks ago. And at night, you weren’t sure what you claimed. Though, when you were secure in the confines of warmth and surrounded by nothing but darkness, you though perhaps you could let her out–just for a moment.

You were already starting to lose your grip on reality, moments when you allowed yourself to come back were the only thing saving you. You turned on your side, your eyes shutting hesitantly. Despite the day's events, you did not feel at all tired. You hadn't met any other students, though you’d seen a few girls milling about the West Wing. You hadn’t known what you were expecting, nor how well it matched with what you had seen.

They looked happy, for the most part, quiet to be sure, but a collective calm had settled over them and they had looked content. Other than the headmaster being a massive creep, you hadn’t seen anything noteworthy.

…that old guy, the maintenance worker, what was his name again? You couldn’t recall, had you gotten his name? It seemed rather important, but–a yawn escaped you and you nuzzled into the pillow, tugging the blankets tighter around you–that could wait until tomorrow.

The hall was gloomy as you Cairo led you toward your class. Bolted, you thought, glancing at the windows that popped up now and then, perhaps to keep the cold out? Cairo stopped and spun around, motioning toward the door with a few students piling in.

You jabbed a thumb at yourself; she nodded, smiled, and waved, heading toward her class. You knew everything the ASIO had gathered within their months of investigation, they had gathered–probably by illegal means–that the school had a hierarchy. Regardless of what year you were in, you were sorted into a class. Class 1A, 1B, 1C, and 1D for first years. The number altered depending on your year and the letter altered depending on how well you did on the entrance exam. A being the highest ranking.

You noted the swirled print on the plaque attached to the wall near the large lumber door and hid a smirk, wondering if he was already inside.

The room smelled of old things. Old books, old parchment, old walls, old everything. A few heads turned up when you walked in, but most ignored your presence. No one looked you in the eye, you stuck your hands into the pockets of your blazer, wondering if they could somehow sense you were different.

There was something wrong with the people here, they all acted strangely, Cairo was friendly, but you could tell she was keeping something from you–there wasn’t a need to say–or write–it, you knew just by watching her. Other than that, there was that weirdo headmaster–he’d been a little too touchy, your heart sank…was he? No, someone would’ve–but that’s not–

You fisted your hands, trying to freeze and clear your thoughts, if they were jumping at you all at once, you wouldn’t be able to make any sense of them a single one. An empty seat in the back caught your eye, and as you filed the assumptions creeping in into the cabinet at the back of your head, you steered for it and sat, better to observe this way.

You pulled a notebook from your bag, trying to pass the time, there wasn’t much talk, though it was early, you’d been expecting some burst of excitement, it was Friday, but the buzz in the room made it feel like Monday. You found your eyes drooping, they fe–

“Good morning class.” A firm voice took over the room. You fixated your attention on the woman before you. Mumbled replies were all that came from it, but she seemed to ignore them as she turned her back and began marking up the chalkboard.

There was that same tingling feeling on the back of your neck, subtly, you glanced around the room, and there you found him, second row nearest the door, third seat in the line. He seemed worlds away now, even as he scribbled into his notebook mere feet sepretaring you.

Chills.

Who was watching you? You felt your eyes narrow and your patience growing thinner by the second–but you had to keep your cool. You omitted to the fact that you were being monitored, There wasn’t much you could do about it now, you theorized while you jotted down bullet points on subjects you’d already been taught.

Lunch was the only time you were allowed outside of the classroom since first entering. He stayed close despite his previous actions, it was comforting to know he was always there, keeping an eye out for you should something go wrong.

You wondered if he had noticed anything strange since yesterday… He was better, he always had been–you and everyone else were counting on that now, but outside, people were betting their work on you as well. This is where your skill could come into usage, you wouldn’t call yourself mastered in the art of deception, but you’d never failed an assignment, so perhaps you didn’t need to speak for your psychological skills.

“Excuse me, do you think you could show me where the bathroom is?”

Blonde bangs swished back and forth as she looked up at you. “Me?” Her accent added to her beauty, it was french, though you couldn’t tell which country it was from, it didn’t sound Parisain, he’d know–you stopped the thought before it was complete and focussed back on the girl in front if you

“Yeah,” you smiled and swayed on your feet, “Who else?” You scoured the empty courtyard, catching Savino in the second floor window, sitting on the small ledge protruding out on the ther side. He gave you a quick once over, and you didn’t miss that raised brow–but rather than allowing the rest of his reaction to show, Savino twisted his body and leaned his back against the window, probably rereading the book evident in his hands.

You bit back a smile, moving closer the girl, “Sure, I don’t see why not,” she collected her things as quickly as she could, “sorry,” she kept her head down, her voice was quiet and incredibly soft, she was a bit shorter than you, an inch or maybe half. When she stood next to you, her scent hit you so vividly.

She painted a scenery with that fragrance: sitting at your kitchen table on a gloomy, rainy day, looking out the window as you drink vanilla coffee and eat cherries, spitting the pits into a glass bowl.

She spoke very timidly and mostly refused to meet your eyes, you tried to move away from the topic of what she smelled like, but it stuck with you, leaving an impression you were sure even he couldn’t explain away. “You’re very quiet.” You wanted to ask if she had any friends, but you thought you rather knew the answer already.

“Oh,” was all she said. You thought it queer and wondered perhaps if she knew something about what Cairo was keeping, perhaps she knew exactly what your roommate seemed to not want to talk about.

As this girl led you down a path made of stones, you let your eyes roam across the grassy area, “is this the closest bathroom?’

“Out here? Yeah.” She tucked a loose strand of hair behind a pale ear.

“Your earrings are cute, where’d you get them?”

“Oh,” she stumbled over the word, “uhm–they were a gift…”

You nodded, though her gaze was centered elsewhere. They looked pretty expensive, though you had to remind yourself that here–it was normal to be able to afford things like white-gold, dangled diamond earrings. You sighed–a bit depressed at the thought–and hummed, “So, do you come out here often?”

“Every day except–” she paused, “most of the time, yeah.”

You wanted to ask, but you knew it was too soon. You were still the new girl, everyone had yet to drop their guard. “What’s your name? Forgive me, I forgot to ask.”

“Avice,” she said, a bit louder this time and–he abruptly crossed your mind just then, you wondered how he was fairing, you were no longer in sight of the school, he must have noted your disappearance. If you weren’t back within half an hour, he’d probably make up some excuse to come to search for you–your heart swelled and you tried to shake off the hotness that had grown on your cheeks. “We’ve arrived.”

The day withered, growing dark and cold. Classes went on as usual, Avice smiled at you during two instances, and Savino glanced at you from time to time, but not long enough for anyone to notice–other than you, of course. He was keeping a safe distance, as you kept reminding yourself that was needed for this operation to end successfully. Your brain knew that and your body knew that, but your heart ached to talk to him again.

You wondered if it was as hard on him as it was on you, to be so close and yet so far. You were once inseparable, you hadn’t seen or spoken to him in over a month–he’d been in Russia obtaining his new identity because as soon as your team had gotten the case, you had both instantly taken on the roles assigned to you. Though a clean and neat infiltration took time, it was a priority and had been fast-tracked.

It would be a lie to say the school didn’t have its fair share of normalcy, but the odd-to-normal ratio was stark. Your second day at Gentry Prep was over, yet as you turned on your side under the sheets, you couldn’t help noting the moon peeking through the window’s curtains–it looked to be a waning crescent, reminding you that this was only the beginning.

The school bell rang its last warning, it had still been dark outside when you had walked down the halls with Cairo this morning, the shutters were now shut in the classroom, you could smell the rain that had stopped earlier this morning, it was much colder than the day before. You shivered and pressed your legs together.

Avice had waved to you on your way in, taking a whiff of that perfume she seemed oto exude from her skin. A deep blue headband pulled back her hair, and you noted the same earrings she’d worn yesterday adorning her. Something pulling you toward them, as if they were keeping a secret. She sat in the front–unexpected for someone so quiet. But perhaps that wasn’t who she really was.

You couldn’t be sure when it came to the students here, there was only one person you could trust, but he–you glanced toward him, a different book today. You wondered what he was reading, the cover didn’t match one from yesterday. You’d done your best to keep track of him, but that wasn’t your job–just an extra precaution because of your history. Were it anyone else, you wouldn’t have taken such an interest.

An hour went by, then came a knock on the door and a man walked in. He wore a white coat and held a clipboard. No one said anything when Avice stood. She kept her head down when she walked out, the professor went back to her lesson as soon as the briefly opened door was shut once more.

Savino glanced at you, eyes a bit wide, but he didn’t look like Savino. His face was schooled into a normal calm mere seconds later and Spencer switched his identity again, but he had been there. You focussed on the notebook below you, grinning from ear to ear, he was there. Any doubt that had resided within you was now gone. He was there.

Students weren’t allowed in the courtyard because of the rain. Savino had taken off as soon as you were released into the halls, thoughts of him floated around the back of your mind as you slipped your way toward the Hospital Wing, toward the south of the school. That was where Avice had to have been taken unless she was in the office across campus. You didn’t think she would have be taken all the way down there, but it wasn’t in your place to assume.

And then there was the other part of your objective. The one assigned especially for you. You had to find a man named J—. That was all the ASIO had given you because that was all J— had given them. He’d been feeding the police information, albeit slowly–but it was more than they ever could have hoped for.

He was cautious and never showed his face. He was your informant. Though he’d made it obvious he wouldn’t seek you out–and he hadn’t been given the specific details about whom he was meeting. It was your job to figure him out.

There was quiet chatter in the air as you passed other students, some gave you odd looks, the remainders didn’t acknowledge you at all.

The vibe, you noted, did not seem to shift, everyone had the same energy, and it freaked you out. Why were students sporadically disappearing? Why were there some students that cared to look at you and some that didn't? Why were the staff so weird and why did some of the students seem to know more than what they were letting on?

You couldn’t corner Cairo and force her to tell you, but you could snoop around and keep an open ear on any conversation that rang bells. Whatever was going on here had to be worse than what you’d initially expected. You wondered if he had been able to obtain anything out yet, so far it seemed he’d only been reading books, but you knew Spencer better than that.

The south side of the school was desolate, you’d left the quiet bustling of the rest of the students a few hallways ago. The gloominess didn’t escape you, hospitals weren’t your favorite place, but to have one in a school made from an old castle high up in the mountains where there was no one but the faculty and the students seemed rather…extra.

“What are you doing down here?” A voice halted you. It was loud and stern.

Your hands started sweating and you swallowed before turning around, it was the same man who’d taken Avice. Perhaps he’d know where she was, “just looking for my friend,” you rubbed your neck and smiled, “you took her out of class early…I thought she might be sick.”

“Avice doesn’t have any friends.” he quickly backtracked when he saw your frown, “What I mean to say–” he cleared his throat, “–no, she is not down here, run along now.” He motioned with his hands.

Your mouth pressed into a tight frown but regardless, you nodded and walked away. That was defensive.

You weren’t friends, per se, but you were familiar, weren’t you? You were more than strangers to be sure–you weren’t certain how long you were going to be in this place, but you knew you had until summer break, you just hoped it wouldn’t get to that point. Though your need to continue your search for Avice tugged at you, you knew it would be better to let it go…for now at least.

Perhaps she really did do something to get herself in trouble, perhaps she was back in her room, safe and sound and you had nothing to worry about. Yeah, right.

Avice has no friends, what did he mean by that? It was so…random.

You shook your head, pausing when you realized there were no students around you? Did you get lost? You turned around, trying to recall where you’d been coming from, but there were no signs on the walls. Okay, try to recall the building plan in your head. You pictured the fresh paper and the old fonts that swirled in black print. How many times had you looked at the school’s blueprints? You knew this, come on–

Chatter…hushed chatter.

You pressed yourself against the wall across from the windows and listened, there were no footsteps and the volume of the conversations stayed the same. The gray sky darkened in pigment and the clouds drew together, it looked like it might start thundering. Perhaps classes would be canceled early?

There was no 21th-century heating system, so being in the classroom at these temperatures could prove hurtful to the students–shut up. Gosh, you couldn’t stand your ramblings. You’d been away from him for too long, from the rest of your team members. You missed them–you weren’t made for things like this.

You felt the tears brimming in your eyes, but they stopped suddenly when a word caught your attention. You followed the sounds of the voices, there were two, maybe three. You rounded a corner and paused…that was the faculty room. You had gotten lost, but now you knew precisely where you were. You reached out your hand as if the blueprints were in front of you–as if you could feel your finger dragging across the old, worn map.

You moved a bit closer and listened. It was quiet and for a second you thought possibly someone had heard you. But a second later, “You know very well why we can’t.”

“This has gone on for long enough–”

“There’s too many of them–

“But if we–

“J— I said no.” You scrambled to hide behind the corner from which you had just come, and a woman–hold on that was your prefessor–Ms. Dowynger. What were they arguing about? You made yourself smaller on instinct when a man placed his hand on the door and stepped out, looking around the hall–he found no one, of course. He was tall–extremely tall. He wore thick black glasses and his hair was clean cut–just shaven, it was black, as he turned, you caught the sight of a nametag.

He was another professor–and not only that–he was your informant! Questions on top of questions piled up in your inventory, unfortunately, that was the first warning bell and class was starting up again, you were supposed to keep your head down, and your profile low–but you would get nowhere if you did that!

Tonight then, your expression grew serious as you found your way around the twisting halls of Genrty Prep, tonight you would make your first move. You rounded the final hall toward 4A, almost colliding with a guy. “Sorry about that,” you sighed. The guy–though he was in your class–took one look at you and walked into the classroom without saying anything.

You couldn’t tell if it was the weather or if there really were students who knew more about the disappearances of their fellow classmates than it seemed at a first glance, but if that were true, why stay quiet? Did their parents not have connections? Were they not the Elite of the Elite?

You wanted to scrub your brain of all the things that were not making sense–and then there was that oddity–you eyed Savino as he rounded the corner at the other end of the hall. He fixed his metal glasses, looking ever the Russian schoolboy, and nodded at you. What was he doing? Where had he been this whole time?

Dreadfully, you did not have the privilege of acquiring answers to those types of questions because there were more precedent matters that needed your concerning.

You did not make it to the library that night, nor the night after. Things just never seemed to go your way, and eventually, two days became a week and a half. Savino could always be found somewhere around you, but he too–at times–vanished.

A few things you’d gathered with mild conversation. A few nights, including the first night you’d arrived, you’d heard a noise, that sounded much like blacksmith melding weapons. At it turned out, the grounds keeper you’d met worked in one of the rooms on the first floor. He never seemed to sleep, it had creeped some of the girls out, though the ones that never spoke to you looked on with an unnerved amount of indifference.

Your body twitched and your eyes shut briefly as the sound of metal against metal found your ears. Your eyes snapped toward Cairo’s bed in brief envy. Darkness was the room and cold was the night, you sat up shivering and tiptoed across the large dorm, careful not to wake the ghosts of the castle.

The white night dress you wore billowed when you pulled the creaky old door open, small lanterns were hanging on the wall that lit a path, and every other one was blown out, creating a dimness to the already heavy atmosphere.

You had two obstacles, one being the dorm lady who circled back and forth throughout the night. You hadn’t seen her, but the girls talked in hushed whispers, and you were pretty well-versed in connecting dots. Reaching out, you felt the wall's eccentric carvings as you floated throughout the West Wing.

The building plans appeared before you in your head again, and as you slipped passed corner after corner, you were finally at the grand stairs. You hadsuccessfully missed the dorm lady! But now you had to get passed the that creepy old grounds keeper–or rather, not draw his attention. For somer reason, he seemed to be working on things all throughout the night every night.

You wondered if perhaps it was a coincidence, but it seemed to bug the girls who spoke to you immensely. No one had acquired a good rest in quite a while. He came to your mind then, as you hunched down, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Has he noticed? A frown fell to your lips, rather sad than curious, that she’s disappeared?

A cold wind rushed passed you when you reached the bottom, the noise was louder now, coming from the right, the library was on the left, so you were sure you wouldn’t have a problem getting in and out. Your silk slippers skated across the marble floor, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood up when you reached the library and the door was ajar.

You felt it again. That cold presnece that seemed to follow you everywhere. You felt like Mary and the gaze to which pressed up against your back was your lamb. You did a onceover of the hall behind you–no one. Your palms made fists and a repetition began.

A slight noise, perhaps the sound of a book falling to the floor or a person bumping into a shelf. Someone was inside. But who?

Your eyes fluttered shut and your chest tightened. Carefully you slipped between the crack created by the door and its frame. The glow of the moonlight on the books and every wooden surface reverberated through you–it was astonishing if you didn’t think about the underlying actions recurring within its walls.

There was no candlelight, but the curtains had been drawn. The wind, you realized. You paced forward and pulled the window shut. There was no sign of her, a sigh escaped you, and your gaze turned downward, where you caught sight of a few scattered papers on one of the large, rectangular tables litterd across the library.

Before approaching it, you scanned the room a second time, assuring yourself that you were alone. The papers were a few different colors, some creamy white, others beige, showing their old age, some in between, and some darker than that. Shaken as you were, your hands found a steady rhythm as they ran across the strewn out papers. A few writing utensils sat a little further down near a large manila folder.

You ignored it and took a seat, keeping your ears open for any sudden noise whilst your eyes passed over word by word as quickly as they could. Oh–this was–and then you found it, a photo, a school photo. It looked recent, it must have been taken, she looked so… there were no words to explain her expression.

Avice stared the camera down, one side of her hair tucked behind her ear–showing a very clean–very not pierced ear. Where was her earring? And why was she making that face? This wasn’t how you’d remembered her. She didn’t–that wasn’t–those weren’t–you didn’t recognize her, but that had to be her…right?

You found the student ID number, 590-882 below that showed her country of birth, Belgium, Liège–and below that, her full name. Avice Dierickx.

The paper fell from your hand, its texture bringing it down on the table slightly harder. You jumped out of the seat as the door to the library creaked open fully and murmuring broke through the silent fog. You twisted in the heavy chair and all but but ran into a wall, your first thought was to scream, your second was to stifle that scream, and your third was to fight off your attacker.

The library had gotten smaller somehow, there were two walls all around you and they both seemed within reach. A hand pressed firmly against your mouth and your fingers dug into the arms of the person in front of you, soon, you felt flesh break. A low hiss came from the man’s mouth and he let you go.

You pushed him back, though he caught himself before making a sound, and just as the door to wherever you’d been stolen off to came into view, he threw an arm out against the wall, blocking the way with his body, glaring down at you. “What are you doing?”

Your feet moved backward until you hit a window you hadn’t known was there. There were no curtains, but upon assessing the tapestry-made reality before you, you were glad there wasn’t. “Sorry,” you turned away, “I didn’t know it was you.”

“Well, that’s obvious.” He huffed, attempting to his mend wounds.

There were three bookshelves along the wall opposite you, but it wasn’t far. If you stuck your hand out and leaned a bit, you’d be able to reach them. The room was more of a long corridor, though it was skinny rather than the ideal wideness of one. Unlike a regular room, it fel like an American hallway. The concrete carvings continued around the visible parts of the wall.

It felt like a secret room to nowhere, you breathed in the air that slipped through the old rickety paned glass, glancing downward. There were trees, but they looked odd, almost slanted. Your eyes widened and you stumbled back again, away from the window.

“Yeah,” he stepped forward, his chest catching your back. You looked up, watching him look out at the cliff, “it scared me the first time too.”

You wondered who he was this time, the safest answer would be Savino. You loomed over the window again, moving closer toward the shelves of books rather than the carved wall. “What are you doing down here?”

“The same thing you’re doing.” He raised a brow as if it were as clear as the missing light from the sky. It was a new moon tonight, but you thought it looked to be closing in on a waxing crescent, you could see him come to the same conclusion.

Perhaps speaking about your names was too risky, you shouldn’t be anywhere near him, you knew that, but you–“Is your arm okay?” He let you tug his blood-stained sleeve upward to analyze his flesh. His eyes clouded over as he watched you, fighting the urge to yank you further into him and inhale your scent.

He missed everyone, but he missed her especially. He hated the fact that though she was right here, right here in front of him, he couldn’t do anything. This was the assignment they’d both agreed upon, right? Could he really just pretend he didn’t know her?

“Did you see the documents out on the table?” He recognized her face, but everything else seemed off about her. He was starting to lose himself with each passing day, but he knew–he just knew if he solved the mystery and collected enough evidence to prove it, he’d be free from the torment that was every day in this prison.

But they were alone, so why was she still acting this way?

A logical part of him knew it was her job, this was a job, only a job. He repeated the mantra over and over again. “Yeah, was able to get a few photos.” He waved the cellular device around, watching her mouth drop in a gape.

“They didn’t take it from you?”

“I was smart enough not to let it be seen.” Well, that would’ve been smart–but then again, wouldn’t have been believable enough for your persona.

“Whatever.” she dropped his arm, and spun around, pacing in the tiny space she had, “why would those papers just be on display like that?” She shook her head and clicked her tongue. “They’re way too cocky.”

He had to stay away from her if he wanted this to work. Though he knew a rendezvous would be necessary, he hadn’t expected it to happen this fast. Perhaps when they needed to put what had together and discuss whether or not it was enough, or when they found someone suspicious, though they knew the other was better suited to take them on.

“What are you thinking about?” Her voice trickled into his head like hot coffee. Oh, how he missed his sugary sweet addiction, he swore he used to drink it every day, now it felt like a foreign concept, but if he tried hard enough, he could almost taste the liquid.

He flexed his hands, he was Spencer. That was his name. But right now he had to pretend to be Savino, her classmate–wait! He grabbed her wrist as she tried pulling away, his eyes breaking the illusion he hadn’t realized he’d been creating, it felt like a innate thing now, he didn’t have to try anymore…

Savino was slowly gaining more power.

The stars shined down on her skin through the window, creating a translucent aura around her, he felt like he was leisurely falling into a grave, one he wouldn’t be able to climb out if he lingered there much longer.

“We can’t do this–” she hissed and it was her, not —, not the Spoiled American Rich Girl, but her, his teammate, his tether to reality. “Savino, it’s dangerous.”

His breath caught, that wasn’t his name. It had only been a month in Russia, but he’d taken on this identity with full transformation. No one had referred to him by his name–his real name–in over a month. It may have seemed like a short period, but in that house in Russia, there were baby photos of him and class photos, he had to walk past the murals of his parents who weren’t his parents, hear people his didn’t recognize tell stories of what he was like when he was younger. And he wasn’t allowed to speak English nor could he reference his old life–it was always Savino.

He wondered if that was how she was conditioned and if so, how she was still as sane as she was beautiful. — frowned, where had that come from? He trained his eyes on her, she did not move, nor did she show any signs of opposing him. He leaned forward, cupping her face into his hands, tears brimmed his eyes but refused to fall, “Say my name.”

Fingers brushed against your mouth–his fingers. Your eyes fluttered shut, trying to hold in all the emotions threatening to break free. That wasn’t how — would react, and you couldn’t be anyone but her. You pushed him against the wall, pulling his face up to yours, eyes still on his, glancing back and forth between brown irises. But it’s just us, right?

He waited for her lips, but they never pressed against his, rather tickled his left ear with more love and grace than any kiss could have shown him.

“……Spencer……”

You jumped away from him, but he caught your wrists and tugged you back, careful not to make a sound as footsteps passed the very door that was hiding you. You breathed a sigh of relief, gripping the loose parts of his silk button-up, your hands were shaking, he pulled them into his, squeezing them in a silent comfort.

The muffled voices grew a bit louder as they grew closer to the table with the papers, no doubt. “Is that…”

“Bobefitz.” He whispered, his warm breath a stark contrast to the cold surrounding draft.

“Someone’s with him.” You murmured.

He nodded and hesitantly let you go. You tiptoed toward the beginning of the hall, holding your breath as you did so. You felt your blood pumping throughout your body at a higher rate than normal, you felt for his arm–he was there, you kept still even as he turned his gaze on you, ignoring his small smile, unsure of what it was suppose to mean.

The sky was clearer today so you ate outside, where you first spoke to Avice. Though your lunch looked incredibly appetizing, you were unable to think about anything else since that night in the library four days ago. Those documents that you’d seen, what did they mean? Why were they spread across the table? So far you’d stolen a few essays from the students and had begun your evidence file.

Keeping it under your mattress would be stupid, it’d be the first place they’d look should they find out who you were. You kept it hidden behind a painting on Cairo’s side. Okay, yes, you knew it was wrong, but she would never know, and you were doing this for her more than for you–right?

You had to continuously cnvicne yourself this was all for the students sake. You were in a dangerous position–you were taking a very high risk, but then who wasn’t? This was the career you had chosen, you can’t deter from the path you knew you were meant to walk because you’re scared. An idiot wouldn’t be, you knew that–but at times it just felt so…substantial.

You’d take the fall if it were ever found, but you were sure that it never would be. Cairo wasn’t the type to go knocking things over, you rolled your neck–freezing up when you felt goosebumps run across your skin. There it was again. That same feeling of being watched.

Where the hell is it coming from? You felt like screaming–it seemed to always happen out of nowhere–you fisted your palms and stood, turning to clean your mess up while you got a good view of the court–there. What was–hey! Where did he think he was going?

You packed and tossed your things in the bin that sat near the fountain, rushing after the grounds keeper. He heard your footsteps through the grass–you could tell because you could hear the sound of your own footfalls. He didn’t turn around though, even when you called out to him.

“Hello?” You tapped his shoulders and jumped when he spun around, his face twisting into a nasty frown. He wore the same blue jumpsuit from the day you arrived, though now that you inspected it, there was no nametag.

“What do you want?” His accent was gruff but subtle, one might miss it if they weren’t listening hard enough, but you recognized it from your first day.

“You were watching me.” You crossed your arms, “I want to know why.”

He shook his head, an undesirable smirk claiming his frown. You hardened your face, feeling your eyes narrow. “It’s not funny. It’s creepy–”

“Look little miss,” he sighed, “I’m not watching you. I apologize if that’s what you thought.” He frowned again, genuine concern crossing his gaze as he held a hand to his heart. No, this wasn’t right. He was lying–but then– “And even if I were,” he said, having you pause and raise a questioning brow, “…it wouldn’t be for the reasons I’m sure your little brain is concocting.”

“Why do you say that?” He began to walk away again, but you chases after him.

He glanced over your shoulder and dropped his head, “You should get going now, little miss.”

“I’m not done talking to you!”

“–yeah, well I am, now leave me alone.” You huffed but stood by as he grabbed a dusty old bag of tools near his feat and walked off into the forest. How irritating.

You needed to talk to Savino, sooner rather than later, you hadn’t realized how difficult it would be to do your job with limited resources, you’d never been in this situation before, the multitude of mock simulations you’d gone through couldn’t even begin to be compared to real life.

Tapping your finger as you sat in class, you did your best to avoid staring at the back of his head. How. How could you communicate with him without–your thoughts came to a halt because Cairo couldn’t hear you, but she could read and write…but passing notes wouldn’t cut it, you had a better idea.

Cairo went to bed later than usual, studying for a quiz the next day; midterms were still a month away, though you were hoping to finish your job before you had to relive the worst anxiety of your life.

Rubbing your eyes, you sat up, threw the sheets off your legs, and stood, wincing when the door to the room creaked.

Footsteps, not loud, but not quiet sounded right down the hall, it must’ve been the Dorm Lady, damn why was your timing so bad!? Slipping back into your room would make too much noise, she was too close now–a few feet away from turning the corner. You heard the hum the girls in your class had mentioned.

You were cornered–there was nothing but a window on the back wall and the hall your dorm was on led to a dead end. You sped toward the window, looking to hide behind the large dresser below it when the wall to the side of you began moving–you held your breath, confusion wrapped itself around you when the grounds keeper appeared, “Well don’t just stand there!” His shout was hushed.

Less than three seconds later, you heard the Dorm Lady round the corner. Relief fled your system, but before you could rest, the grounds keeper grabbed your hand and attempted to pull you down–the inside of the hall? “What is this place?” You snatched your hand back–a flash of Spencer and the small room in the library appeared in your mind, the memory put you off balance for a moment–you couldn’t think about that now.

“Who are you?” The small lamp he was holding barely lit enough of the closed space to allow you to see each other. Behind him was pure emptiness.

Your mouth clamped shut, you glanced away and swallowed, “I’m a student–”

“–No–you’re not,” he shook his head and made a face.

He stared you down a moment longer, lips pressed together in thought.

Eventually, he sighed, “it doesn’t matter who you are. Why are you here?”

“I snuck out of my–

“Don’t crap on me kid. Whoever you are, if you’re sneaking out of your dorm at night you’re either stupid or up to something. Now which is it.”

Were you sure you could trust him? No. You couldn’t trust anyone. Those were the rules. You’d gone over them several times. It was the first thing you were told when you had received this mission. “I’m not stupid.” Was what you settled for.

He watched you, his chest heaving up and down five times before he nodded, “thought so. You a cop?”

You stood your ground, watching for any reaction that might indicate your cover had been blown. Another sigh, he pulled his hat off, and turned his gaze to the floor before nodding, “Alright.”

A little bit of your heart lifted, but you had to remember. The only person you could trust–other than yourself–was Spencer. “What’s your name?”

He shook his head, “that doesn’t matter.”

“What do I call you then?”

He was quiet for a moment, then a small smile slid across his mouth, “Nonno.”

Well, that was an odd name, but it didn’t make much of a difference. “You going to help me?” He went silent, eyes fixed on the ground he couldn’t possibly see. “Why?”

The whites of his eyes darkened, his gaze grew heavy, and his shadow seemed to enlarge. “It’s gone on long enough.”

He didn’t say more on the subject, but you had to ask. You had a sinking feeling it was worse than anything you could’ve imagined. But this was crazy–but then again, people do crazy things. He looked uncomfortable–he didn’t have to elaborate much, you both knew what he meant in the end.

A moment of silence passed as he led you through the hidden passages within the school, “Where’s Avice, the girl that disappeared from my class?” You still kept a safe distance. This was stupid. You shouldn’t have followed him without a weapon, he could turn on you at any moment. Perhaps he was leading you into a trap, you couldn’t be sure. But it was worth the risk, was it not?

These were the things you had to decide for yourself Hotch wasn’t here to tell you what the best course of action was–Rossi wasn’t here to school you the history of what, why, and how.

Nonno huffed and halted his walking. His ears perked up, when he heard nothing but the sound of shutters swinging back and forth, he continued. “The Hospital Wing.”

“But–I already–

“She wasn’t there before. She’s there now. She’s sedated.” He shifted the lamp to his other hand, coming to another stop. You kept silent, trying to control your breathing. He glanced back at you and locomoted to the side, “Look.”

Hesitantly, you stepped forward and peeped through the small hole. You swallowed a gasp, watching the doctor–the ghostly one from before–looming over a bed. Your view was crooked, you must’ve been in the wall nearest the door. You waited for him to move, but he didn’t–but you didn’t need him to because you caught a lock of blonde hair spilling over the side of the bed and you knew.

“Where was she before? When she wasn’t here?” You smelled her…the perfume was strong, even when you were feet away. Your eyes bagan watering at the smell, though you couldn’t understand why. It wasn’t unpleasant, it just…had you in tears.

“The dungeons,” came his gruss reply, “below the school.”

You slowed your breathing in an attempt to calm yourself. How–you didn’t want to even think about the possibilities. “How is it accessed?”

Nonno shifted uncomfortably, you spun around, eyes red-rimmed. His heart sunk knowing the things he’d been keeping–though he hand’t been apart of it, he’d done his fair share in ignoring the comings of goings throughout the years. He knew it was wrong, so he opened his mouth.

You accepted the information, gulping down the bile that had built up. You fixed your gaze back on the peephole, but made no move to look through it again. “They’re being drugged, but why?”

Nonno’s face contorted, but now was’t time for bullshitting. Where the hell were these kids going? Voices echoed throughout and filtered in through the little cracks of the wall. His face dropped, “It’s time to go.” He began pulling on your wrist, but you still had questions.

A glare passed over you face and you pulled back, “Why? What don’t you want me to see?”

He slapped a hand over your mouth, his eyes wild, but not like a predators. He looked almost…fearful…“Shhhh.”

Slowly, he released you, allowing you to head back to the peephole, there was a group of men you didn’t recognize–but one you did. Headmaster Bobefitz. “Oh my God.” your voice shuddered and you stumbled back, “They’re marketing them?”

His grim frown told you more than that. You didn’t question why he took so long to do something. You didn’t shame or lecture him. It wasn’t your place, to be sure you found it madness how a person could sit back and watch it happen to innocent children, but there was a part of you that feared his answer.

“What happens after it’s over?” A heavy sigh fell from the old mans lips; you were getting tired of hearing them. “What happens–”

“–I don’t know, I…I really don’t know. They take them down to the dungeons again and…”

You could conclude the end of his sentence on your own, you toppled over, holding a hand to your mouth, there was that french perfume–growing stronger somehow as it mixed with the scent of your vomit.

𝟷𝟻; 𝙲𝙳; 𝙻

You left the note in the machine before heading back to bed. Nonno had set up a typewriter in the hidden room Savino had found. He confirmed no one ever entered or left that room other than, “your friend”.

Telling Nonno about Savino was a higher risk than you’d ever intended on taking. But you were ready. You were ready to go home.

There was one more thing you had to check off your list. With Nonno’s testimony, the evidence from the essays the students had written–to which you could barely look at–you had to get to J—.

He had access to the faculty room–you needed to get inside that room, but more than that–you had to convince him to testify against the school. That was the incomplete part. If you could only get a second alone with him–if you could convince him–you could and you would. You had no doubt….

……but what if I can’t?

Your eyes squeezed shut and you smacked your hands against your cheeks–this was no time for hesitation. You had coworkers counting on you–mothers and fathers [even if they were oblivious]. These students too–God, they were just children, you couldn't even begin to imagine.

A tear slipped from you eyes. You wiped it with your bedsheet.

Nonno would be able to get you a moment alone with J—, but it would take a bit of time, you had to share with Spencer what you knew before then so he’d be on the same page. Nonno explained he had seen Savino slipping through the secret passages the day you’d arrived.

The old grounds keeper had his suspicions then, but had kept them to himself and avoided Savino the best he could. “He’s been in that room every day around noon, he spends a lot of time in there.” Was what he’d said as he had led you back to your room. You hoped that Savino would see the typewriter, know it wasn’t meant to be there, approach it, and understand the letter was from you.

You’d shoved it between Dostoyevsky and Wordsworth, which you knew would catch his attention as he had seemed to have organized the books back there by author, though you knew it had been Spencer, not Savino that had been compelled to sort them that way–you were anticipating the old philosophers would draw him out once more.

He’d be okay, you were sure…you had to be sure.

Nonno was stalking J—, learning his patterns in order to find the right time you could speak with him alone and unnoticed. You weren’t sure how long it would take, it’d only been last night that you’d found the secret looming over this boarding school. There’d been 12 students over the course of a decade. How did parents not notice? The townspeople? The staff? Who was all in on it?

That’s what you had to figure out. The lunch bell rang and you wondered if the rest of the day would be this agonizing. Avice was counting on you–every student seemed to have a target on their backs. You were sure there was more to the story, multiple students didn’t avoid your eyes because a student they barely knew disappeared–there was something deeper rotting within this place.

Sweating seemed impossible at the altitudes you were at, and yet even as the sky was a cold blue, here you were wiping sweat from your forehead. You had a sick feeling watching your professor. She knew something, it wouldn’t be a stretch to think they all did.

There was something about the uneasiness of the day. You wondered what happened. Just last night, you were exhilarated, you felt like the end was approaching. When this was all over, you could give everyone peace, you could give Avice peace. You hated the fact that you had to leave her, but Nonno had assured you they wouldn’t settle so easily.

Though it sounded horrible, Bobefitz being a money-hungry monster meant Avice had a few more days. That was all you needed. You would save her. You would.

Your eyes grew heavy and you shut them for a few seconds, inhaling the ghost of a scent. Your eyes opened, she was there and then she wasn’t. Your stomach dropped to your feet when the warning bell rang. How had an hour passed already? You felt like you were losing time, and maybe you were.

The clocks seemed to move differently in this place, where was the White Rabbit when you needed him?

Only when his hands touched her did he relax. He felt like he could breathe again. He didn’t want to admit it, but he was scared. Scared of his own mind, scared that his mind wouldn’t be his when he got out of here. He didn’t want to think about that. Nevertheless, when she was in front of him–and oh so tangible, he was safe.

“I have something to say,” she pulled away. She looked…Spencer couldn’t find the words. But he knew he was Spencer. Whenever he looked at her, he was taken back to that night–he felt the bristling of her voice tickle his ears, the way she whispered his name grounded him.

“You’ve found something?”

“More than something, I think you should see it for yourself.” She looked behind him, and when he heard the scraping he blocked her with his body. It was the grounds keeper. Shit was he in on it too? Of course. Of course, they’d be found out now. Spencer didn’t know how he’d proceed, but he knew it was them or this guy, and he wouldn’t let it be her. Not her.

“Spencer,” his body sagged at the way his name rolled off her tongue, it was soft and soothing; understanding. She tugged at his arm slightly and said, “It’s okay, he’s with me.”

Spencer wasn’t prepared for what he was about to see, nor for what he was about to be told. He’d successfully gathered the names of each staff member and had sorted them into three groups. The Oblivious, The Knowing, and The Disgusting Pieces of Trash That Committed. He hated knowing the oblivious had the least amount of names on it, at just three.

Spencer didn’t know how many students had been sexually assaulted and he didn’t know how many other students knew about the assaults. What he did know was that no amount of therapy would allow these kids to forget what happened here, no amount of therapy would give back the fours years they spent–and the worst part was that ther was more out there. Students from the past years–over ten years.

And now there was a sex trafficking ring on top of the sexual assault these students have had to edure becasue the adults that were suppose to be protecting them looked the other way. It was leading him to question if what he did at the BAU was really ever making a difference.

It was, to be sure it was. That was a stupid question, the logical part of him said, but it’s never dumb to ask that question, is it? The other part pressed. Jesus, what was becoming of his world?

A tremendous number of trauma. He was a grown adult and even he had trouble sleeping at night knowing everything he did, he couldn’t imagine going through puberty knowing everything and knowing there was nothing you could do–not to mention having absent parents that dropped a wad of cash in your bank account every week in turn for their presence.

No, Spencer could not imagine that at all. A shiver curled up his spine. He was cold, she was in her nightdress so she must be cold as well. But everything would be over soon. He believed that. He had to.

You had grown accustomed to walking down darkened hallways. You no longer waited for ghosts to jump out at you because ghosts were not the scariest thing that tormented this place, unfortunately, the terror showed itself in people that were very much alive.

“Stay quiet.”

“I will.”

“Watch yourself.”

“I will!” He hushed you even though you didn’t think you were that loud.

“And be careful.”

You huffed, but you knew he was only worried. He shouldn’t be though, this was your job, you wanted to be here–this is exactly what you were meant to be doing, and as the key passed between his hand to yours, you knew you wouldn’t have traded this life for anything else.

You stepped out from the hidden passage and swept toward the large wooden door. The key went it and upon slightly twisting it, clicked. Your heart almost jumped out of your chest with how loud the noise was. It bounced off the walls and you were sure someone who catch you–but the hall remained empty.

You knew Nonno was watching you and that you had nothing to worry about, but for some reason, his stare still sent a shiver up your spine. You pushed and the barrier gave way, though dark. You held up the lamp Nonno let you borrow, here it was. The faculty room.

And there in the corner, waiting in the dark, was J—.

You slowed the speed of the door shutting, allowing it a light thud before spinning around and acknowledging him. “Agent, I’ce been expecting you,” he pushed up his glasses, and shoved the papers he seemed to be grading away, “though to be honest…I wasn’t expecting it to be you.”

“Why?” You raised a brow.

“Just,” he waved a hand and shrugged, “I believe we have mor pressing matters to discuss.”

“Yes,” you licked your lips, noting the filing cabinets that stood against the back wall behind him. You moved forward and settled the lamp on a nearby table. “Would you like to begin?”

Your informant shifted, and his hand bended, almost like a twitch. “I want to be clear on something,” his voice was low and croaky, as if he hadn’t slept in days. “I want ful protectin. Before anything, I am a schoolteacher. I took on this job without knowing….it, and I’ve been doing my best to keep a low profile while simultaneously feeding the government information.” He crossed his hands, “I want to know when this is all over, I won’t be arrested.”

You bit the inside of your cheek and scoffed. This felt familiar. Very familiar. “I’m in no position to assure such a thing, but what I can tell you is that the head of the ASIO has no ill intent toward you–ysomeone should have told you this already, but,” you leaned for ward, glancing at the old candle hlder near him, he had little wax left, “so far, you have done everything the ASIO has asked of you–you’ll be in protective custody for a while when this is over”

“Good,” he pushed his glasses up again, though they would undoubtedly slide down the bridge of his nose continuously during your conversatin. “Then,” he slid his chair out and spun, running a hand up and dow the drawers until he found th eone he was looking for, “you should take a look at these.

You’d promised to keep this part of your mission a secret, but right now you were really wishing you had Spencer’s reading abilities. You sifted through each file, reading through the reports.

You wondered just many student complaints had been filed about it. “Huh,” your eyes scanned over names you both recognized and didn’t. “These have all been ignored, I assume?”

“These are all relatively old, to be honest. I think all the students know by now they’re useless.”

“How many do you think…would be willing to testify?” You leaned back.

J— sighed, and leaned agains this chair. His eyes, though flickering in the candle light, seemed dimmer than they did suring the day. Perhaps because this was the real J—, he was a narcissist, but he cared about his job. He chose this career for a reason, maybe something signofcant happened with a teacher in his childhood–you forced yoru mind to pause. Profiling him wasn’t something you could add into your evidence file.

“I don’t know,” he finally said. He was young, possible your age, but the bags under his eyes added more than a few years. You knew it’d be a big ask, but perhaps some of them would be willing–hold on, what a was that? You ran your fingers back through the list of names again–her name was pretty broad, and yes,this was an international boarding school, but something told you this was her. “What is it?” He leaned forward, eyeing the parchment in your hands.

You bit your lip–you wouldn’t put it past these animals–but would someone really…? It would explain that way she acted when you began to ask too personal questions. You felt the brimming of tears, you had to keep your cool, but as you tugged out the file, your chest shuddered. “I know this person.”

What did this mean? You read over the document again, Oh Cairo… your heart felt for her. You recognized the girl sh’de named; Hadee had been the 10th student to go missing, that was just last year. The being pulled out during classes lined up with what happened to Avice.

You gripped the form, you could use this as evidence. You set it down before you made a dent larger dent in the paper. You would be the one to explain to Cairo what happened. You would–you would–breath in. Breath out. Come on, you can do this.

Water streamed down your puffy cheeks. You wanted to be home. You wanted to go home. You needed–you needed arms. His arms. You needed someone–not just anyone–you needed him to hold you. Now more than anything you needed to keep it together.

Keep it together.

Your eyes closed for a moment. When they fluttered open again, you wiped the remaining water with your the sleeve of your nightdress and got back to work, ignoring J—’s stare as he pretended to continue grading papers.

Back and forth, you eyes ran up and down through the paper trail–it was amazing what you could do when your motivation was strong enough. You knew Spencer wanted to go home. You could see it in his tired eyes. Nonno’s too. You didn’t know his story, though there was this curiosity in you that wondered if there would come a time where you ever would. Regardless, you could see the burden of guilt weighing down on his shoulders, figuring it must have been a long since he’d smiled.

He didn’t need to go to prison, he was already in one. He had been for the last decade. You wouldn’t be the one to ask, but you knew he’d have to explain why he kept quiet all these years to someone.

You supposed it didn’t matter the age, anyone would lose their mind if they stayed in this gloom long enough. You knew you were tipping over the edge with every passing day. You couldn’t imagine a year living in this place let alone ten.

You couldn’t read through all of them, but you grabbed every single one and added it to the growing pile beside the lamp on the table. Soon, your sight grew weak and your yawns were no longer just an actions to pass the time.

You stood, stretched, and cleared the mess you’d made. Someone was bound to notice the number of missing reports sooner or later, but you were putting your faith in the ASIO that they’d storm the place before then. Your job was supposed to get out–not wait for their signal, but it was starting to feel like that would be harder. Only one of you could leave. That would keep suspicions low.

You slide the chair you’d been using back in and grabbed the lamp–the candle was almost completely gone, “done?” J— raised a brow.

“Will you testify?” The stack of papers you held in a death grip hit your chest as you pusehd your chair in.

“Do I have a choice?” It seemed like he ha tried ot make a joke, but you weren’t in the mood for jokes. J— cleared his throat, shifting under your piercing gaze,“yeah, yeah I’ll testify.”

“Then, yes, I am.” You walked to the door, pressed your ears against it, and listened.

When you deemed it safe, you held in a breath and pulled it open, wincing at the loud squeak. You held your cheeks between you teeth and forced yourself into the cloud of darkness.

“Nonno?” Your breath blew out like fire. The floors were ice-cold, you could feel it through your slippers. You scanned the hall, looking for him behind the walls. As the silence grew, so did the pace of your heartbeat.

Then, a slight shift in the concret wall and there Nonna stood. Relief hit you like a wave and you began breathing regularly again. “Come on,” he waved a hand.

A weary smile tugged your mouth up slightly as you moved forward. Your body went rigide, your eyes went wide, and you shivered. Slowly, you craned your neck, but there was no one. You turned back to Nonno. He was in front of you. He wasn’t hiding, you could see him as clear as the light in your lamp would allow you. So who? Who in the hell was watching you? If it wasn’t Nonno, then who?

Seconds later you found yourself once again hidden behind the walls of the school. “What took you so long?” You shouted in a whisper, your body jolted as if you had been shocked, the cold was getting to you.

“Nevermind that,” he waved a hand, “let’s get you back before anyone notices you’re gone.” He frowned at your disheveled frame, “let me see that.” He grabbed the lamp from you, and you–now free–ran your right hand up and down your left shoulder, trying to create some sort of friction.

Nonno led you through the halls, but you stopped him before he left you near your dorm. “There’s one last thing I have to ask you to do.”

He took a step back, evaluated you, and sighed, “What is it?”

A month and a half. A month and a half you had been in this school. You had learned the comings and goings of the staff, of the students, you had adapted–had become part of the system. You were in the clear–but just in case–just as a counter mesaasure–

No, you shouldn’t think about that because it only mattered if you were caught. And you weren’t. You hadn’t been, today was the day. Tonight you would call the number J— used and he would deliver the message. He was smart–smarter than you’d imagine. You’d seen the cryptic messages he’d elft the ASIO before leaving to begin your training. It was ovr–almsot–it was so close you could practically feel the sweet victory in the air.

Avice would be saved, Nonno had assured you she was still in the Hospital Wing, she was still there–she hadn’t been auctioned off yet. You thought had water brimming the corenrs of your eyes, but you blinked them back.

You thought of the countermeasure you had instilled last night. And the second favor you had asked of Nonno. At first it was just one, but as you were setting up the first favor, a thought occurred to you, and it was always better to be safe than sorry.

Spinning a black pen in your fingers, you bit the inside of you cheek and leaned on your right palm, glancing out the window to your left. Bolted, as always. You noted your reflection, it looked somehward warped, you shivereda nd leaned forward, analyzing the mirror just a bit harder.

The sun was a bit more noticeable today, but the air was just as cold. You blew a thin lock of hair out of your face and shifted in your seat. Was that? No, you must be seeing things. A sigh fell from your lips and you let you relaxed a bit more. Crossing one leg over the other and letting your eyes fall shut, everything almost felt like a dream. You couldn’t have asked for anything better last night. Nothing had gone wrong, it seemed almost too easy–though you were doing your best to act as casual as you could, it was hard. Because everything had gone so right, you felt a bit lighter.

It sounded wrong, knowing Avice was being drugged hourly and she must have gone through so much to get to that point–you were hoping she didn’t remember any of it when everything was over. You didn’t know if it’d be better to remember or to forget it all–so maybe you weren’t the best person to be suggesting or giving advice on the matter.

Your back straightened and your hands fell onto your desk when that guy in the white labcoat–the one who had whisked Avice away, appeared in the doorway of the classroom. Savino’s eyes found yours briefly, but before anyone else could notice, he diverted them. “Miss —,” the guy called–you hadn’t deduced whether or not he was an actual doctor, regardless, his licence would definitely be revoked withing the coming hours. His eyes landed on your professors, then yours, “please come with me.”

Fear.

You stomach dropped, you felt sick. Not a single student would look at you. Nonno hadn’t spoken much about what happened when the students were first taken, he’d actually neglected to say much at all. And you were partially thankful because you didn’t think you could handle knowing whilst mere probabilities away from being their next target.

You stood numbly, your chair scraping the floor extra loudly–or maybe that was all just in your head. Your hands grew clammy and your movements were rigid as you walked. “What is this for?” You forced out, though you knew it was better not to draw any more attention to yourself than already had been.

The doctor eyed your person, his thin, pink lips were cracked, they pursed together in a way that looked like it hurt. “The Headmaster has requested your presence.”

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, chilling the rest of your body. Every step forward took effort. Savino caught your gaze when you passed his desk, and almost instinctively, grabbed your hand. Squeeze squeeze Spencer squeeze squeeze I’m scared squeeze squeeze what do I do?

“Now, please.” The unnamed man called briskly, his voice wavering on annoyance.

He opened his mouth as if to say something, but before you could stop yourself, you shook your head and snatched your hand away, following the man out. This wasn’t his battle, and even if it were–you loved him too much to throw him under the bus. Underneath all that Russian coolness, he was still your nerdy, beloved coworker.

Gone. Gone. She was gone. She was gone and he had let her go. He should have done something. Why did he just watch? Why didn’t he stand? Why? Why? Why?

He had to get out. Spencer bit the fingernail attached to his thumb. He had to escape. He had to alert everyone on the outside. He had to do it now.

They knew. They knew! Spencer wasn’t dumb. By standing up–by doing anything other than letting her go, he too would have been caught. The operation would be compromised and perhaps neither him nor her made it out of this alive. It was as clear as to why he had stayed silent. That didn’t make it any less bearable. If he lost her. If he lost her–Spencer would–he would……what would he do?

Nothing. He couldn’t possibly know what he’d do because he couldn’t imagine ever possibly losing her. She was him teamate, his literal partner in crime–or rather in fighting crime. That sounded studpid. Why couldn’t a single coherent though come form him?

He needed to focus on getting her back. Right? He was useless without her because she had information the Australian government needed. She had evidence he didn’t, half assed evidence whouldn’t fly in court, would it? He stopped, his eyes tracing over the type writer, there was another note. Another letter. He’d burned the previous one in his dormroom’s built in fireplace.

He followd the words with his eyes as he stepped closer. The page ripped neatly, making a crisp sound Savino in that moment couldn’t find it in himself to enjoy.

𝙸𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝟻𝟶/𝟻𝟶 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚞𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚞𝚝, 𝙸 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝙽𝚘𝚗𝚗𝚘 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚖𝚢 𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚔𝚎𝚙𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜. 𝙾𝚋𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜𝚕𝚢, 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛’𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚝’𝚜 𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚑𝚘’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚝. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛. 𝙸 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚝𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗. 𝙵𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚎𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚖𝚎. 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚗. 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚍? 𝙸 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚖𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝚏𝚊𝚟𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚒𝚍𝚜. 𝚁𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚎𝚛, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚍. 𝙳𝚛. 𝚂𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚛 𝚁𝚎𝚒𝚍.

It wasn’t written. But he felt like she wanted to write more, to say more. And if he was right, then she was more selfless than he could ever be.

He allowed himself a few seconds, when the warning bell rang, he took a breath, wiped his tears, and folded the piece of stock paper, tucking it into the pocket on his blazer.

You stepped into the school’s office. It felt like decades had past since the last you’d been here. The room was as sullen as you had remembered it. The man in the white labcoat stood with you in the suffocating room until the doors behind the desk opened and Headmaster Bobefitz came into view.

His name tasted sour even in to the voice in your mind, you held in the urge to make a cross face. His smile was shuddersome, you wanted to run–to hide–to be as far away from this man as possible. The man in the labcoat began to walk away and you turned, almost as if to ask him to stay.

You didn’t and when you face Bobefitz again, he had his eyebrows raised in mockery. They seemed to say, go ahead. You found your eyes narrowing and though sweaty, your palms compacted into fists. “Don’t make that face,” his voice trickled through the closed area, low and haughty.

It was disgusting.

“Follow me, let’s talk.”

You quivered, held your breath, and put one foot in front of the other. It didn’t matter that you were trapped. Spencer had everything he needed to call, and that was enough for you. If it had to come down to you or them, well, you had chosen the second option the instant you had taken on this operation–you couldn’t walk away now, just because you were afraid. He would understand, wouldn’t he?

A large desktop computer sat on a desk in the dark corner of the tight room. It was smaller that the one outside, he was closer now, but he took his seat across from you and motioned for you to sit. The room was decorated with flags of over 30 countries, a picute frame sat facing away from you.

You held your arms and hunched your shoulders, “you wanted to see me?”

You jerked at the way he stared at you. Pure evilness. His balding head might have been shiny in another sort of light, his black eyes peirced you. There was nothing there. No soul. It wasn’t human–whatever sat across from you. “I want to show you something.” His voice sounded sticky, dirty, and cruel.

His clammy, pale skin seemed to seep into the wall behind him, he melted in his chair, hands on his beer belly as he watched you analyze the screen. Horror dawned on you–image after image. In your room, in the halls, in the classroom, in the hospital wing and the faculty office–a close up of you leaning toward the camera unknowing–oh my God…this picture had been taken just moments prior.

Panic hit you from every angle as one photo in particular caught your eye. Your fingers flexed open and closed several times while your eyes ran through every detail.

There you were–talking to Nonno outside of the gates. The date read 02/16/07. It hadn’t been Nonno watching you, it had been Bobefitz. He had cameras all over the school…

He’d been watching you since the very beginning.

His hand connected with a line of books. A few of them came off the shelves. His angry eyes darkened at the sight of the files tucked safely behind Notes from Underground, the book that had led him to this secret room. He didn’t have time to wait until tonight. He had no idea what they were doing to her and even if he did, he was useless. God, why did he have to be so weak?

The grounds keeper–whose name he still didn’t know–appeared on the other end of the hall near the door. “We need to get a message to your friends.”

“You think I don’t know that?” His eyes narrowed as he came face to face with the old man. His average height gave Spencer somewhat of an advantage, and as he towered over the old man–a thought occurred to him– “If I find out you had anything to do with–

“I didn’t.” The man held up a hand, “you need to calm down.”

“Calm down? Don’t tell me to…fucking calm down!” His voice cracked–Spencer never cursed–but what if he wasn’t Spencer? What if he was Savino? With her, he knew who he was–he knew what was real and what wasn’t. But she wasn’t here, and he couldn’t remember what he had to do again–

Savino’s back hit the shelves behind him, he’d been shoved– “You need to get yourself together. You want to save these kids? You want to save the little miss?” His accent sounded slavic–no that was Savino’s own accent. Spencer held his head, a grimace colliding with his face as he moved to a crouch.

“I know who I am,” he whispered, “I know who I am.”

The grounds keeper sighed–Savino looked up, his brain was splitting in two. It was safer to default back to Savino. It was more comfortable to not fight back–but he had a mission. He couldn’t just let hismelf go–he couldn’t because he had a job to do–and Savino didn’t care about those things–that wasn’t in his conscience.

—

The name reverberated in his head. But was it her name or the fake name she had been given? They were the same person, right? He didn’t know–he didn’t–

—

That was Savino’s priority. He didn’t care about anyone or anything else. But she would never forgive him if–dangerous. This was a dangerous situation–a dangerous game of reality.

“Get me ug–” He pushed himself onto his feet. It hurt–it hurt mentally. He wanted to sleep; he didn’t.

“A phone?” His head tilted upward, standing behind the old grounds keeper was the frame of a short man pushing up glasses too thick for his face.

The unnamed man stepped further into the room, sliding out a mobile, and clicking a few buttons on the device. It rang through the small hall-made room,a nd eventually a click. The other line had picked up. The man nodded, a grim expression floating across his face, “one’s been taken, the other looks like he’s losing his shit You shouldn’t have sent them if they weren’t ready.”

“We didn’t have that privilege.” He stood, not knowing who the man in front of him was, only knowing he didn’t like him enough to fully trust him. The final bell for classes rang. He didn’t care, all that mattered was getting the evidence into safe hands. He had multiple battles ahead of him and he’d have to fight them all while simultaneously not knowing who the real him was.

The halls of Genry looked odd. Everything was blurring–or perhaps that was just your vision–the windows were bolted as usual–but something else caught your eyes. You took pause at the chains hanging from each lock. Those weren’t there before–if they had been you would have no doubt noticed them.

“Where are you taking me?” These weren’t the normall halls–they were replicas. “Get off of me!” You shook whomever held your hands behind your back.

Your jaw mentally hit the floor and you stumbled backward, “d…dad?”

“Hello, sweety,” tears pooled in your eyes, what was going on? Why–

“Oh, dad…” he opened his arms and motioned you forward with is hands. You felt his hug before you took your first step.

You took another and another–halting just before his hands wrapped around you. A flash of dark brown down the halls–but behind your father weren’t the halls you’d just been walking down–it was a large, floor to ceiling mirror that extended the entire space behind him like an icicle made from magic.

Your body jerked to the side–though when you turned around no one was there, you gazed around once more, but your father was gone. You were alone–you were all alone. The sky outside the bolted and chain-linked windows grew dark, clouding your vision once more. You stumbled and grabbed onto the chains to keep yourself from falling.

You were falling–the building was falling, it was slanted it–where were you?

“Ah, you’re awake.”

You blinked and everything returned to you. Your father was dead–had been for about six years now. You were dreaming–you had been dreaming. None of it was real. Then what is. You felt tears spring to your face. This was madness–you were delving into it every second you were here.

None of it is real.

You hoped Spencer had gotten your letter. You hoped he was out of here, perhaps the ASIO were deploying their teams now–readying to take the school.

“Well, you’re a bit older than the usual ones.”

“Can we sell her?”

“Oh, I think you’ll be alright.” The beady eyed doctor in his stupid white lab coat fixed his only working eye that hid behind a monocle on you, “there’s bound to be a buyer for everything–though you could probably pass her off as younger, if you wanted.”

“You bastards,” you seethed, snatching your wrist to your stomach–you head turned–it was chained. The space around you was dark–darker than normal, there were no white carvings in the walls–no it was all–it was gray–deep, ugly grays filled your vision.

A cynical laugh echoaed throughout the room–a few followed. You tried to get a good look them all, you might have to identity them later. You better enjoy this. You’ll rot in prison for the rest of your lives when the system is through with you. You jerked the handcuffs and beared your teeth, I’ll make sure of it.

An hour before classes ended, Savino heard the sirens. The moutains were an hour drive from the closest town–the school was about 30 minutes up hill–frankly he was surprised they had gotten here so quickly. Surprised–and grateful.

“So, how does this work?” The old man asked gruffly, “I’ve heard them through the walls, they’re looking for a missing student.”

“Yeah,” he wasn’t dumb. He knew he should have gone back to class to keep from drawing attention to himself, but Savino didn’t need to care about suck things. Some part–maybe both of them–knew that if he went back to class he wouldn’t have lasted as long as he had holed up in this room.

But then, that would mean Savino and Spencer both knew that Spencer was the real him, right? Because why else would they both know that it was better to stay hidden? “Are you crying?”

“No,” but his voice wavered and he felt hot despite the weather.

He felt he should have someone–someone other than her–someone on the outside. Someone he could turn to–but he couldn’t–“Ugh,” he groaned.

“Are you sick, what–what’s wrong with you?” Old Man leaned over him and helped him sit upwards. “Oh, Son…that’s not good…” he shook his head and he didn’t know what the old man was referring to.

“Wait,” Savino turned his head to the right, toward the door, “do you hear that?”

“Is it them? Is it safe?”

He stumbled toward the door, “let’s go through the walls just to be sure…”

Old Man hesitated for just a second, then with tight lips, nodded, “come on then.”

The grimy walls were of no concern to Savino–though he’d been in much nicer conditions, they served a more significant purpose now–they hid him.

Footsteps–several sets of them–then a voice–a voice he thought he recognized. “Stop–” he whispered, holding out a hand.

“What–what is it, do you know them?”

“I don’t know…” he pressed his ear against the the wall, then, slowly, lifted a piece of concrete that had seemed to have been cracked ages ago.

Black gelled hair, a menacing frown, and set eyes–where did he knew that face from? What ws his name? A woman walked beside him, she looked familiar. Short cropped hair, ghostly pale skin, and high cheekbones–he knew these people.

Or did Spencer know these people?

Who was the real version of himself? Savino. He always resorted back to Savino because that was the safest option…right?

“Do you knw them?” Came the question again, but he didn’t know how to respond to that. Did he know these people? Or did he only think he knew these people. He needed–he needed her. He needed to find her. She would know–she could tell him. He wasn’t confused when he was with her…

But who was she again? A schoolmate? When did he first meet her? She had two names. Two names…why… Why could he not figure this out on his own? His mind was playing tricks on him, why couldn’t he trust his own mind?

“Spencer…”

Savino glanced up–catching Old Man’s eyes, “how do you know that name?”

“She…she told me. Last night–before everything…she asked me…for two favors…” Savino felt worlds pass through him.

“I’m Spencer… Spencer.” he whispered to himself. His hands pushed off the concrete and he held out his hands, “give them to me.” This wasn’t how it was suppose to go, but neither of them were suppose to get caught either. That wasn’t the plan and neither was this, but fuck the plan.

Spencer stepped out from a secret passage down the hall of the main wing near the office, he turned back to the unknown man and waved. The walls casted over him and he was gone just like that.

He stepped into the office, it was quiet at first, but then all three people turned their heads to look at him, he only looked at two, “do it now.”

The man glacned at the stack in his hands, the woman radioed someone, turned around, and handcuffed the baffled man–who was evidently not the headmaster. Where was that son of a bitch?

“Spencer,” the serious man stepped in front of him, but Spencer didn’t care. He shoved the stack of files into his bosses hand and stopped Emily.

“Where is she?”

“I–I don’t–

“I’m going to ask you one more time–

“Reid–”

“Hotch–” Spencer glanced back at his boss, he didn’t know what he looked like, but he assumed a bit messy; he was sure there were bags under his eyes, and even so he didn’t know how deep they went. “Where is she?”

The doctor that had taken her out of class earlier–Spencer had seen around the halls and he he knew by his nametage–this man had been sorted under The Scumbags Involved–or whatever he’d labled it. The doctor lowered his head, “they had her takne to the dungeon–”

“That’s where they keep them before the bidding,” he said, more to himself now–his mind was running at a million miles per second, a small smile fell to his face. He wass starting to feel just a bit like his old self–though he knew he’d been altered in some way.

Spencer he spun around, “REID!” Hotch called after him, but Hotch could go fuck himslef if he thought he’d leave her alone any longer.

Without a gun. Without a knife or any other sort of weapon, Spencer booked it throughout the school; the old Spencer never would have though tot do something so stupid, but times changed a person, so perhaps he now would under the right circumstances.

The ogling you could handle, the messing with your head wasn’t ideal, but you were still okay. You knew who you were–where you were–and that a rescue team would burst through those door in any moment now.

But the not knowing was killing you. You had smelled her perfume. You could just make it out–and then a second later you had seen a flash of blonde hair–all wrinkled, like it had been in the same position for days–it was dry, but a brush would fix it–that’s what you hoped.

Your first concern was why was she down here? To be sure, your deduction was spot on–you were in the dungeons beneath this wreck of a school.

The second was where she’d vanished off to. Where had they taken her? She was there and then she wasn’t– gone, just like that. That’s when your crying began. You couldn’t stop it. Where–was she? You couldn’t have been too late. You couldn’t have been–

That pig sat at your bedside any chance he got. When the doctor wasn’t around making sure your blood preassure was stable and the right amount of doses of whatever drug they were giving you were keeping you in your bed. You were sure it was diazepam, otherwise known as valium–a date rape drug.

Though you were afraid it could be something much more worse like flunitrazepam–being motionless left you with nothing to do but think–you felt like your mind had been running for ages. The thoughts that coerced through your mind weren’t pretty, paired with the only smell being rot and Bobefitz–you wanted nothing more than to breathe in Avice perfume. You didn’t have the mental capacity in the state you were in to think of something happy–to take yourself somewhere else. But more than that, you had to remember her.

They would need to find her…wherever they’d taken her.

You didn’t know how long ago you’d seen her, but you couldn’t smell her fragernece anymore and the day was sure to be getting later and later. It was fire to your skin, like you snorted chili sauce. Your mouth watered–when was the last time you’d had a drink of water–God you were starting to lose it.

You closed your eyes-but only for a second, you assured yourself. Cold fingertips padded across you collarbone. You shuddered, your eyes fluttered open to a nightmare. Bobefitz’ face hovered above yours, his breath had your breakfast receding and his beady black eyes had that same souless suggestion that felt like there were bugs beneath your skin, itching at your flesh to get out.

“I suppose they wouldn’t really know anything if I were to–” he cut himself off, laughing. A sinister thing you wantes no part in. Your chest huffed as his eyes landed back on yours, “I mean, when he’s done with you, you’ll join the others anyway.” He leaned forward, his belly folding in roles you couldn’t wince away from, “tell me, my dear, did you know those missing studnets you were investigating never actually left the premises?”

Whimpers fell through the cell they’d placed you in right as his thick, stubby fingers slid over the buttons on your shirt. A noise sounded somehwere down the hall–someone apparated in the entrance of the chamber and Bobefitz’ head snapped upward.

You couldn’t see who it was, but sooner rather than later the tubes attaching to you were ripped out and the cell was overtaken. Someone lifted you up from the bedyour eyes scanned the room, though slow and docile [you were still incapicated].

There was no one else–Avice wasn’t–“Youhaveto–”you wheezed, “–gettohershe–” another wheeze.

“Whoah whoah–slow down,” his breath coated your neck as he move you into his arms. Your words were sloppy–almost like you were drunk.

“Find…her–”

Spencer’s eyes never left yours as he carried you up the stairwells and through the halls of the castle. There were men in black, guns pulled out in front of them. Further down the hall you started to gain movement in lower your joints, it wasn’t anything like a miracle–but it was something. You could hear the comotion of classes being stopped, you tried to remember everything in order to put things in order for yourself–but it was so…hard.

Everything was just–

Smoke in the air had your eyes watering, a medic was adjusting the mask around your head–your mouth. Your pupils dilated and you tried to sit up, but it hurt–you felt around, realzing you were on a gurney. “It’s okay–you're alright.” Another medic was getting the ambulance open and ready behind you.

Burnt ash–oh that’s foul! You coughed, heaving in breaths, “just calm down, it’ll be alright.” A third medic rubbed your arm, you twitched–feeling uncomfortable. Eventually, she stepped away when you seemed to have settled down.

What was that? What the hell–where was he? Spencer you had to find–Avice, was she okay? Did they find her?

Your vision was clouded by the vapor and the graying sky–it was late and you were high up in the mountains. You could hear people milling about–a swarm of people were in front of you, there were cars, there was a gate, there–oh my gosh.

Groups of people–mostly students and police–surrounded the outside of the school. It was burning–the school was on fire–the entire thing, it was burning down–and you smelled it–the little oxygen you had access to caught in your throat.

Her perfume. The fregernce was so strong you turned your head because she must have been beside you. There–a lock of blonde hair…disspearing behind the walls of the school, toward the…the courtyard. You jerked away from the medics, why were there tubes in you? You’d had enoug of that–you sat up, holding your head.

“Hey, you can’t–you have to sit so we can help you.” Her gentle voice wasn’t soothing any part of your headache. What happened?

“Get off me,” you pushed and rolled yourself off the gurney, hitting the floor with a thud. There waere shouting, more people circling you–God why couldn’t they just give you a moment? You ignored the blood trickling from the sleeve of your button up.

You shivered–though you didn’t know why. You had to get to her, people watched you go around them–probably wondering where you were headed and why you would want to go back into that wretched sinful.

A hand caught your arm and though your first instinct was to jerk it back–you hated being touched, though you didn’t think to question why that was in the moment–you kept your cool when you noted who it was.

She held up a piece of paper, blocking line of sight, you caught the black ink scribbled down–the smoke grew stronger, filling the space between you and the paper. You pulled it out of her hold and help it closer to your face.

𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺'𝘭𝘭 𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘤𝘦...𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺?

Cairo’s thick hair appeared in you peripheral secons afterward. You gripped the pen she extended toward you and clicked the top.

𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝘀𝗲𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺 𝘁𝗼𝗼

You smelled it. Her scent mixed with the smoke–adn she wasn’t here. You’re heart fell to your feet and cupped your mouth to keep the bile down as the memory of what that things had last said resurfaced …those missing studnets you were investigating never actually left the premise…

You slide to the floor near the gate and screamed–it was deafening to you–and though she couldn’t hear you, you could tell Cairo understood. She held you for a moment which was weird because you were the adult. You were the one who should be comforting her.

She walked you toward the gurneys again, doing her best to conceal you from the media that somehow found there way up here even though you were sure the roads were being blocked off.

She handed you back the paper after a moment–it was dirty, you now noticed–and wrinkled. You read over the paper, and her frown turned into somewhat of a griamce as she tried to smile–though it only seemed to deepen her expression.

𝘪 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘪'𝘮 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘨𝘰 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘦

Though everything hurt and you felt dirty in your own skin, you did took the pen and paper back.

𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗽𝗿𝗼𝗯𝗮𝗯𝗹𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝘀𝘁

You thought that would be the end of it, Cairo had turned, seemingly ready to walk away–but she hesitated. A second later, she was sliding another piece of paper into your hands–you felt something between the folds. Your hands gripped the paper, though they began shaking uncontrollably, so you had to set it down.

Cairo was lost in the crowds when you gazed up again.

It was a bit of a struggle, but ultimately the corners of the pages were flattened on your lap. You felt another wave of tears spring into your eyes when you took in the object. A single earring you could never dream to afford captured your attention–and the words on the page behind it,

𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶

your head jerked up, you eyes searching through the crowd for any sign of the girl. She was there and then she wasn’t–just like….you couldn’t bring yourself to even think her name.

And then, almost fundamentally, your eyes caught tussles of brown…when his face came into view, a new kind of sadness came over you–it hit hard and heavy. He smiled, already making his way toward you–and you knew then–that you were safe. Though abruptly, you smelled that fragrance and you knew this was only the end of the beginning.

a/n: genuinely so proud of this fic–i was very excited to write this, i also tried something different with Cairo's report–please let me know if you liked that or not and stay updated for part two !!

@darkmatilda @theylovemelody@kennedy-brooke @maisyyyyyy

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spencer-reids-posts · 1 day ago

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#spencer reid #bau #criminal minds #bau team #criminal minds gif #spencer #spencer reid gifs #mgg #so hot 🔥🔥🔥#smart

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spicyschemmenti · 1 day ago

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EMILY PRENTISS ⋆. 𐙚 ̊ MASTERLIST

ONE SHOTS

NOT SO INNOCENT - MDNI : synopsis: you surprise emily by taking care of her after a long day at work

JUST US TWO - MDNI : synopsis: you wake up before emily for a change and decide to give her a helping hand in waking up

VIRTUAL OBSESSION - MDNI : synopsis: you and emily don’t do labels. no titles, no expectations, just casual, intense, no-strings-attached encounters that leave you both craving more. late one night, after a long day, she facetimes you from a hotel room across the country wanting to watch you unravel through the screen

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cherrywaves333 · 2 days ago

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hi!! this is my first ever tumbr post, i'm super excited and super nervous for how it's gonna be received since i've been a fly on the wall in s o o o o many communities for years. i hope you enjoy!!

warnings/tags: abuse, drugs/alcohol, the normal cm stuff, hospitals, emetophobia at the end (very slight mentions of vomiting), reader is a stripper, use of y/n, slight age gap if you squint, black!reader, spencer is a bit of a perv if you squint.

“oh, fuck,” she thought as she looked at the team’s destination.

she read the name over two or three times on the jet, Charlie’s Devils. it was the same unclever name of the same dingy strip joint she used to work at to pay her way through college and the academy. she bit her lip in silence as the team went over the case. she didn’t flip any further than the first page so as to not potentially see any of her old friends in a state she couldn’t unsee.

Spencer was the first to notice her uncharacteristic silence. he was going to question her about it, but he didn’t want to mention her unease in front of everyone. he knew what it was like to be the youngest and newest on the team and he didn’t want to put her in a position where she felt she had to defend her spot on the team. but, he did observe her and the cogs turning in her brain as she stared at the picture of the epicenter of the murders. it looked as though she wasn’t breathing, she was so still. then, she spoke.

“okay, i feel like i’ve been here long enough that i can trust you all and i know i’ve proven myself more than capable and professional on this team,” she began to ramble before stopping herself to breathe, “i used to work here.”

the team fell silent, especially Spencer who was now left in her old position. he stiffened up, his breath caught in his throat at the thought. he had tried his best not to imagine her in any light other than his best friend as he knew they could never happen. he knew he was too old for her. JJ was the first to crack a smile, followed by Emily who couldn’t help but laugh.

“but you can’t walk in heels!” Emily laughed a little harder.

“shut up! i so can!” y/n defended herself, ears hot with embarrassment but also relief.

“no, you can’t. you look like a deer!” Morgan added on.

Hotch observed y/n for a minute and her gaze shifted to his, causing her to shrink into her seat a little further. everyone fell quiet, both hoping that Hotch wasn’t mad at her and that they hadn’t embarrassed her.

“do you want to sit this case out?” Hotch questioned, raising an eyebrow.

“no! actually, i thought i could be more helpful,” she reasoned, hoping he wouldn’t take her off the case, “none of them know i joined the FBI except my cousin, i could be an informant, i could go undercover, wherever you need me.”

“we’ll see how it goes when we touch down. for now, i want you as far away from the club as possible. stay in the police station. Prentiss, Morgan, go to the club and ask questions. Reid, L/N, stay at the precinct, go over the files and work on the profile. Rossi, go down to the morgue and see the MD. JJ will come with me to talk to the victims' families.”

everyone closed their case files and waited on the flight to Los Angeles. y/n had moved over to the couch by herself and busied herself with music and a book, but she had been on the same page for the last 5 minutes. not that spencer was counting or anything. he moved to sit next to her to make sure she was alright with working this case.

“you okay, y/n?” he asked, softly.

she didn’t answer for a moment before answering with a question of her own, “who were the victims?”

as spencer went down the list of 5 victims from the same club, she didn’t recognize any of them, they were all new girls. she let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. she felt guilty for the relief that she felt, but she needed to know that none of them were her girls in order to work the case.

“i don’t know any of them,” she breathed out.

he felt his heart throb with sympathy for her as she was willing to work her friends’ case earlier, knowing what she would have to see. she gave spencer a small smile before speaking again.

“you don’t see me any different?”

spencer furrowed his eyebrows, “of course not, being an exotic dancer isn’t anything to be ashamed of.”

she laughed a little at the title, “this club is not nice enough for us to be called exotic dancers.”

once they arrived at the precinct, spencer and y/n immediately got to work setting up the profile. she thought back to everything she knew about this club, overthinking and overanalyzing every aspect, every dynamic.

“were these girls working the streets as well as the club?” she asked, looking at their outfits.

“there’s nothing in their files, why do you ask?” spencer looked up in confusion.

“the girls who just work the club show up in warm ups, sweatsuits, pajamas, hair and makeup not done, and they leave that way. the girls who work the street get cute before coming,” she explained, pointing to each girl looking done up.

“i’ll let everyone know we might be working with potential street workers,” spencer nodded at her observation.

she bit her finger as she stared at the board, unmoving as she analyzed every single detail. the method of murder on each victim was strangulation. each victim had alcohol and drugs in their system, namely MDMA and high levels of THC. most of the girls at the club partook in a party drug every once in a while, especially during an off day. y/n tried to stay away from harder drugs, sticking to weed during her college years and only dabbling outside of that for two years. each victim was in their early 20’s, but they were all different physiologically. none of them were the same race or body type. one girl was 5’8 while another was only 4’11.

hours later, the team met up to discuss the details of the case. the killings were sporadic, there was no pattern to the space in between killings. the victims all worked in the same club, but other than that there were no obvious links. there was no DNA left at the crime scenes. Rossi had found that the bodies were scrubbed clean before they were dumped.

y/n couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach, this whole case felt familiar to her. she kept shaking it off as being the club she used to work at and the feeling that this could’ve been her or her friends. she knew deep down that wasn’t it.

“L/N, i want you to go down to the club tomorrow. dress casual, show face, let people know you’re back in town,” Hotch stated casually.

all eyes fell on her and spencer was the first to speak, “are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“i’ll do it,” she nodded at Hotch, “am i going undercover?”

“if we don’t catch this guy by day after tomorrow, you’ll be going undercover that night,” Hotch confirmed.

she nodded before excusing herself to get some water with spencer hot on her tail.

“kid’s got it bad for her,” morgan nodded.

“he’s just looking out for her,” JJ shot down the idea, “it’s sweet seeing spence stepping up.”

“20 bucks says they start dating before the end of the month,” emily wagered after Hotch left the room.

“you’re on,” morgan took the deal.

“100 bucks says they start dating before the end of the case,” rossi remarked before leaving the room as well.

“you don’t have to go undercover if you don’t want to. none of us will think any less of you,” spencer started as soon as they were alone.

“i can handle a sting, spencer,” she chuckled, a little sarcastically.

“are you sure? you’ve been anxious all day,” he shot back.

“are you seriously profiling me?” she scoffed, “you know what, i think you do think less of me. i’m not a child, spencer, i can handle my job.”

she stormed out of the office, pausing to ask Hotch if she was good to leave. she left the precinct to go get into character for her upcoming operation.

the next day, she walked into the club, donning a new nail set and done up hair. her outfit was much less than anything she would ever wear to work, trading her usual blouse and jeans for a mini skirt and a cute top. as soon as she opened the doors, she was taken back 4 years to the last time she was here.

“y/n? is that you, baby?” she heard a familiar voice call to her.

“did ya miss me?” she let her personality shine through her voice with a huge smile on her face.

Laticia wrapped her arms around the girl, squeezing her tightly and whispering, “i told that fine ass man yesterday that you needed to be here with us until they catch the bastard that’s killing my girls.”

“let’s go to the back,” y/n nodded with a smile.

“look who’s back!” Laticia announced to the girls, “just in time to get me in this corset. let’s go, show’s in 2 hours!”

she got dragged to Laticia’s private room before any of the girls could even get up and swarm her. she took in the room that used to be theirs. the two vanity mirrors, one decorated and one abandoned with a lone vase of orchids atop it. the pink carpet with questionable crunchy parts. the posters on the walls. Laticia took her sweatshirt off and slipped on the corset.

“lace me up while we talk,” she said, playing music over her speakers loudly so no one could hear them.

“what’s new here?” y/n said in detective mode.

“King’s running shit now,” she whispered, “he’s got almost every girl in his grip, time’s are real bad over here.”

y/n fell quiet at the mention of her ex, “are you working for him? is sadie?”

“no, no. but, you have to stop him, y/n/n. i feel like he’s at the center of all this, i know it.”

“i know, we can’t link him to anything, though, tish. there’s nothing i can do.”

she got her laced in and Laticia wiped her face, letting y/n speak again, “i can convince my boss to let me go undercover and work here again.”

“king wants you back, he never let you breaking up with him and leaving the club go. he’s gonna come after you,” Laticia shook her head at the suggestion.

“and my team will take him down, babe, i got this,” she hugged her cousin and walked out to be swarmed by the old girls welcoming her back.

after a bit of convincing, she was allowed to get on the pole the next night. she sat in the dressing room, putting makeup on by herself. she had told the team it was best she showed up just as she would when she worked here before.

“heard you were back,” a voice said from the doorway.

her blood ran cold as she looked up through the mirror, “what do you want, king?”

“so it’s king now? what happened to auggie?” he questioned, condescendingly.

“you choked me,” she stated, coldly, going back to her eyeliner.

“you know i didn’t mean it, baby,” he dropped down to her side, “i missed you, you left in the middle of the night.”

“you choked me,” she repeated, finishing her second wing.

the two sat in silence for a beat before he grabbed her thigh and looked up at her, “smoke with me. just like old times.”

she tensed, knowing refusal would make her look suspicious but she couldn’t smoke because of her job. she looked at him, trying to look as sad as she could. his grip tightened the longer she hesitated.

“i don’t smoke weed anymore,” she tried to shake him off.

she sat and stared at him and he pulled something out of his pocket, “or do you think you need something stronger to take the edge off?”

she shook her head and he nodded, “then smoke with me.”

she sighed and gave in, feeling his grip getting tighter and tighter, “fine, but let go.”

she didn’t have a wire, nobody was going to knock on her door. they had cameras set up all over the club and people undercover set up around the perimeter with Spencer, Morgan and Prentiss inside the club as patrons. there was nobody except one of the girls who could interrupt this interaction and keep it casual.

he lit the end of the joint, releasing his grip on her. she relaxed ever so slightly being free from his grip, but still shaky about smoking. she inhaled the weed, body fully tensed as she thought about her career going down the drain. she felt herself getting higher the longer he kept her in the room, her tolerance dropping significantly in the 5 years since her last hit.

“let me put your glitter on you,” he whispered to her.

she complied, trying to keep him happy and maintain the personality he knew of her, “don’t mess it up.”

he pulled her robe off of her as soon as she stood up. the air was so thick she couldn’t breathe, she knew in her heart that he had killed those girls as soon as he spoke to her. he grabbed the glitter gel and rubbed it over every inch of exposed skin. she looked modest given the circumstances; cheeky high waisted champagne bottoms paired with a matching glittery bra with chains hanging off of the bottom. she donned rhinestone fishnets, a wine red garter, and high stilettos. she lost her balance when he gripped her hips to glitter up her stomach.

“you’ve stayed in shape,” he flirted.

“wish i could say the same for you,” she shot down.

he let the comment slide, finishing up her glitter and looking her over, “you walking around like this all night?”

“the robe is a part of the set, don’t you remember, king?” she taunted him with his street name.

she sauntered out of the room, head in a fog from the weed. she walked up to behind the main stage, waiting for Laticia, now candy, to finish her routine. she watched from the velvet curtain as her cousin picked up the money from the stage and strutted towards y/n.

“you got this, cinny,” she smiled at the girl, squeezing her arm.

Prentiss was sitting at the bar, sipping a rum n coke all coke. she watched the stage intently, using her peripherals to scout out potential criminals.

“how yall doing tonight?” she heard the owner of the club announce over the microphone, much to the disdain of the patrons, “i know you came here to see these beautiful girls dance, but i want to welcome back a very special guest to our regs of years. our girl cinnamon will be taking the stage for the first time in 4 years.”

y/n shook out all her nerves and told herself to remember her pole routine, trusting that she can work the stage just fine. she put on her stage face and sauntered on stage on beat as wine pon you started playing. she flipped her hair to the side as she got to the front of the stage, curled hair framing her face beautifully.

i ain’t got my eyes on you

she bent over slowly before quickly squatting down, ass to the audience. Spencer stiffened in his seat.

ain't been hypnotized by you yet

she slowly stood up, pushing out her ass. spencer tried to picture the girl in the navy blue cardigan, speed running a puzzle with him on the jet.

ain't in here tryna find my dude

he could see the body glitter on her chest as she rolled her body.

i take it you just like the way i wine pon you

her hips whined their way down to the floor on beat. his hand gripped his glass tighter as his loose button down seemed to strangle him.

she worked the stage, and spencer little to her knowledge. her mind was in such a fog, she knew she was working on muscle memory and personality alone. no logic to her movements, no calculation between her position and king. she felt all her training leave her brain, becoming a vessel to the mission, returning entirely to the club in that moment. she felt hunted.

after some polework, she noticed king’s attention slip away from her onto a girl serving drinks and she was desperate to get it back. she climbed off the stage, sitting on his lap and lip syncing the lyrics to him, “be like a museum, got you lookin’ but you can’t touch.”

she climbed off of him and dropped to her knees, maintaining eye contact with him. spencer’s eyes tracked her every move like a hawk, both in shock and intrigue at the provocative nature that she had hidden so well. he tried to figure out if any part of this was her or if it was all for the case. before she stood, she tossed her head back, making a pornographic face as she locked eyes with spencer across the club. she could see something in his gaze, a hunger she was unfamiliar with.

she sauntered back to the stage from the club floor to finish her routine. from then on, she was juggling spencer and king’s attention, doing everything to keep the gaze on her. her every move was to make sure the light hit the detailing on her bra, the glitter on her skin was popping, that they could see her every curve. she made sure her lines were clean and that she was drawing them deeper and deeper into her.

when her set was over, she returned to her dressing room. she had hoped deep down that spencer would come in to talk to her about the moment of eye contact they had shared. she hoped he would come in and tell her that she wasn’t delusional and that there was something there. but she knew they were working a case, she knew he wasn’t coming.

her door opened and in came king, “why’d you leave the club again?”

she turned around and giggled, “i had better opportunities.”

he grabbed her hips, “like what?”

she giggled even more, leaning back against him, “college.”

“why don’t we get outta here and you can tell me all about it?” he leaned down to her face, pressing their noses together.

she smiled, even though his grip was tightening and it was hurting her, “okay, king.”

he draped his arm across her waist, keeping his hand on her hip. he guided her out of her dressing room after she slipped on her long robe and her sweats. she was tying it closed as she walked through the club, catching the attention of spencer and morgan.

“i can’t change first, baby?” she asked, stumbling to keep up with him in her heels.

“i like you like this,” he stated, not looking in her direction.

“i look like a hooker,” she grumbled as she covered up.

he ignored her, squeezing her closer to him to keep her from wandering away. spencer had half the mind to start following them out because of his aggression toward his friend, but he waited for her signal. it also seemed like they were going out to his car, which was in his usual spot right next to the team’s stakeout van in the alley.

the rest of the team waited in the van, watching as y/n stumbled to the car. they couldn’t tell if she was actually under the influence or if she was struggling to keep up with the man’s pace because of her shoes. they watched as she climbed into his tinted car and waited for any sign of a struggle or signal to move in.

y/n anxiously shook her leg in the passenger’s seat, feeling any high she had going slipping away from her with the intensity of the situation. she was sitting in the car where dozens of women had likely been abused or killed, she couldn’t breathe. king climbed into the driver’s seat a second later and just watched the girl.

“you good?” he questioned.

she couldn’t get anything out, thinking about the last time she was in this car, “i’m fine.”

“nah, you’re tense,” he tried, pushing her buttons.

she shook her head and tried her hardest to relax, but she was angry at him. she was mad for herself, she was mad for the other girls, she was boiling over with hatred. she couldn’t stand the idea of him thinking he had all this power over not just her but women in general. she was so wrapped in her hatred, she didn’t see it.

“come on, baby,” he held a powdery tablet in the shape of a playboy bunny.

“what?” she questioned, knocked out of her gaze.

“it’s e, baby, you used to do it all the time, remember?” he held out the suspiciously printed drug.

she tried to shake her head, but realized he wasn’t asking her. the moment she got in the car, she was in his domain, under his influence, at his beck and call. she couldn’t say no.

so, she took it. and the next 15 minutes were a blur.

“get off me!” she screamed, kicking at him and the driver’s side window as he knocked her head back against the passenger’s door.

he was trying to force her into the backseat as she kicked and screamed, clawing at his neck and face. she managed to flip them, so they were fighting in the driver’s seat and her butt slammed on the horn multiple times. the team took this as her signal and moved in as he threw her into the backseat. they fought as the window broke all over them and the door flung open.

he was pulled off of her as she crawled out of the other door. spencer was waiting on her side of the car and she immediately backed into him.

“i need to go get my stomach pumped,” she gasped, putting all her body weight against him as the adrenaline wore off and the exhaustion hit.

spencer had waited in the emergency waiting area, his leg anxiously shaking as he waited for the girl to wake up. he thought over the situation and couldn’t believe she would be so careless with her life. what if he had laced the drugs? did she even know what she took? he couldn’t fathom how she ended up in that position and why he didn’t push back against her going undercover harder.

“she’s awake,” garcia informed the team as she waited in the room with her.

spencer stood up first, “can i go see her?”

the team decided to let spencer go up first while garcia let them know how she was doing.

y/n looked over at the lanky man in her doorway and a smile graced her cracked, chapped lips. she looked almost gray, but spencer could see her heart was beating strong and her lungs were full of air on the monitor, giving him comfort. she was a little embarrassed, her teeth were covered in charcoal and she had very clearly just vomited.

“hi,” her voice raspy from throwing up.

“i’m so glad you’re okay,” he said awkwardly, not moving from his spot.

“me too,” she giggled, trying to make a joke. she grabbed her water taking a sip, “i’m sorry i scared you.”

“what were you thinking?” he sat down, next to her.

“it was me or someone else, at least the team was there for me,” she shrugged.

“no, taking the drugs. you could’ve died, you don’t know what he put in that,” he pushed, starting to get annoyed by her lack of care.

“i had to do something, spence. i wasn’t getting out of that car without taking something with him.”

spencer twiddle his fingers before tossing his hands, obviously getting frustrated, “that’s not the point!”

“why are you so upset?” she furrowed her eyebrows, expecting this from hotch but not spencer.

“because i just realized i like you and then you almost die!” spencer snapped at the girl, word vomiting his thoughts.

the room falls quiet, minus the beeping of the monitors connected to y/n. she looked at spencer with tight lips, deciding to lighten the mood once again.

“can you say that again when i don’t have a black smile and bruises?”

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magewritesstories · 10 months ago

Text

just gonna leave this here

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #bau team #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #dr spencer reid #HANDS #hands #im just a girl #pls #have mercy #he looks so good #this man #who allowed this

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moonstruckme · 26 days ago

Note

hiiii mae if you’re up for it would you pretty please write spencer and intern reader when she gets hurt? holding her hand while she gets patched up or comforting her when she’s concussed or something of the like. i love your writing so much xoxoxo

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: blood, concussion, vague mention of a murder case but it's really just background

Spencer Reid x intern!reader ♡ 946 words

“Look this way, please.”

When you don’t move, Spencer gives your shoulder a kind squeeze. “Hey. Can you look over there?”

You turn your face from Spencer’s jacket, and the paramedic offers you a smile. She knows you weren’t ignoring her; you only hadn’t been paying attention. “Follow my finger,” she tells you.

Spencer watches as you do, her pen light gliding over your bloody face. There are tear tracks diluting the red.

Staying with witnesses is supposed to be a safe part of the job. That’s why Hotch assigned it to you. But when Morgan walked the handcuffed unsub through the station, one victim’s husband lost it completely, and when you got into his warpath he shoved you so hard Spencer heard your head knock against the precinct’s tile floor. Blood puddled around your left temple before anyone could even make it to you.

You started crying nearly as soon as you woke up. It was more than understandable, given the blood all around you and the confusion you must have been feeling after a head injury like that, but what scared the team was when you wouldn’t stop. JJ tried talking to you, even Morgan softened his teasing and offered you a hug, but to everyone’s surprise all you wanted was Spencer. You calmed some once he sat down in front of you. Tears still dribbled from your chin, but you didn’t seem quite so distraught, and you let the paramedics look at you so long as Spencer stayed. Eventually he wound up in the back of an ambulance, an arm around your shoulders while you sniffled miserably into his windbreaker and a paramedic applied butterfly bandages to the cut on your head.

Your eyes water as the paramedic clicks off her pen light and begins asking you questions. It takes a few moments for your gaze to settle on her.

“It’s…it’s Wednesday.” You turn to Spencer. “Is it Wednesday?”

His heart throbs at the vulnerability in your tone. “Focus on her,” he says, softening the directive with a stroke of his thumb over your shoulder.

You turn back to the paramedic, answering her questions with varying degrees of uncertainty. Your fingers curl in the material of Spencer’s jacket. He has the urge to tuck your head underneath his chin.

The paramedic informs you (or informs Spencer, really, you’re not paying much attention) that they’re going to take you to the hospital for a CT scan. They’ll let him ride there with you if he wants to. Spencer says yes without a thought.

While she goes to pack up her supplies, he takes your fingers and unbunches them, warming your palm between his.

“How are you feeling?” he asks you.

You make a soft, stymied sound, bringing the unhurt side of your head to Spencer’s shoulder for a rest. “I don’t like this.”

Spencer doesn’t need to ask which part you mean. He imagines none of it is pleasant. The light and sound of an ambulance in general has to be torment for your head.

“Try closing your eyes,” he suggests.

“I’m worried that will make me dizzier.”

“Do you feel sick?”

“Not really.”

“Just try. It helped last time.”

You sigh but do. You turn your head so your forehead is pressing into the bump of his shoulder, and Spencer reaches up to stop you before you can get close to rubbing against the bandages keeping your cut closed.

Your voice is a watery consistency. “I really don’t feel right.”

Spencer feels a painful tug in his middle. “I know. I’m sure it’s scary, but it won’t be forever. We’re going to the hospital, and the doctors are going to make sure you’re okay.”

“I just don’t like this.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

“I really feel like I messed things up.”

He has to remind himself not to move. In his surprise, his instinct is to pull back, to search your face for answers, but you’re pointed where he can’t see you with your voice trailing down his arm.

“You didn’t. What makes you think that?”

“It just…it feels like…”

The words take a while to come. Spencer forces himself to set aside his curiosity.

“It’s okay,” he says gently. “You don’t have to think about that right now. Just rest. You didn’t mess anything up.”

“It feels like I’m…” you forge on, determined. “I’m always either not helping or in the way.”

Again, Spencer’s first thought is to ask what you mean by that. But he doesn’t want to force you to overexercise your injured brain, so he tries to go along without elaboration. He fills in the gaps.

“You’ve never been in the way,” he assures you, meaning it. “And you help us a lot. We wouldn’t be nearly as efficient without you, especially on this last case.”

“I’m just an intern.”

“Exactly. So it’s even more impressive how valuable you’ve been to our team.”

You’re quiet for a few moments. Spencer starts rubbing slow circles into your shoulder with his thumb. Your forehead warms his arm through the jacket.

“Thank you for staying with me. You’re always so nice.”

“It’s no problem. I like hanging out with you.”

“I don’t feel very well.”

“Are your eyes still closed?”

A pause. “Were they supposed to be closed?”

Spencer smiles at the top of your head. Even confused as you are, there’s a familiar note of inquisitiveness to your tone. Like all you ever really want is to be sure you’re doing the right thing. Spencer is warmed that you trust him to tell you what that is.

“Try closing them.”

“Oh. This is better, thank you.”

“It’s no problem.”

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i-get-obsessed-fast · 22 days ago

Text

Oh baby | Criminal Minds

.・゜✭・. Spencer Reid x F!Reader .・゜✭・.

Summary: you and Spencer unexpectedly become parents despite not being together officially

A/N: This is probs my fav fic I’ve written, so far. Hope you guys love it<3 lmk your thots:D also not proof-read I just wanted to get something posted.

BYR(b4 u Reid): Kind of a situationship?, nervous and scared Reid | kissing lol <- [warnings]

You woke up feeling absolutely miserable, maybe even worse than a hangover. A wave of nausea hit you hard, sending you rushing to your bathroom.

Dropping to your knees in front of your toilet, you barely had a second to catch your breath before you started throwing up, your stomach twisting with each heave “gross” you muttered

Flushing the toilet, and brushing your teeth you run to your alarm reading the time 7:30 am

Thirty minutes before you had to be at your desk

You throw on something work-appropriate but comfortable, not having energy to put much effort into your appearance after the rough start to your morning

As you walk towards the door, your eyes flicker to your calendar. Something makes you pause, and you decide to check it

A sinking feeling settles into your stomach when you see it’s around the time you’re supposed to start your cycle, but you quickly brush it off not wanting to stress yourself out even more

Cycles change all the time you convinced yourself it was just happening to you

As soon as the elevator doors opened, you hurried out, making a beeline for your desk.

“Just in time.” Spencer noted as you arrived

“I was worried I was going to be late.”

“You had exactly one minute to spare.” He held up a cup of coffee “I picked it up on the way.”

You took the cup but eyed him skeptically before grabbing his wrist and pulling him towards a quieter corner, his brows furrowed in confusion

“It’s a nice gesture, really,” you said as you lifted up the cup “But this looks a little suspicious.”

“Getting you coffee is suspicious?” He questioned

You sighed “I just don’t want the team in our business. They’re already catching on, and I’d rather keep this between us.”

He considered that for a moment before nodding “If it helps, I’ll buy Derek coffee tomorrow to throw them off.” He suggested

You couldn’t help but smile “you’re annoying.”

Spencer chuckled, then, to your surprise, laced his fingers with yours “you know.” He said matter of factly “If anything looks suspicious, it’s you pulling me somewhere private for a conversation.”

You nodded agreeing with him “You’re right.” and with that you let go of his hand “I’ll talk to you later.” you say as you walk away from the tall gorgeous man

You’d be lying if you said you didn't miss the way your fingers felt together or the sounds that leave his mouth when he laughs

It was like music to your ears

You know you shouldn't feel that way since what you guys have isn’t official, and you didn’t want to get hurt.

A few days have passed and it was like each day was worser than the last, now it was headaches, fatigue, nausea all creeping in at the worst moments

But you're convinced its just a bug, between the stress of the last case you and your team did and the lack of sleep it makes sense that your body is shutting down

Except, your girl friends at the BAU don't believe that one bit

“Geez, you look pale.” JJ says as she leans against your desk, arms crossed “And she’s been running to the bathroom a lot.” Emily joins in

You wave them off “I'm just coming down with something”

“Yeah that's what you said yesterday, and the day before.” Penelope recalls “What is this an intervention?” you question

“Nope, just your friends worried about you.” JJ says as she shared a knowing look with Emily and Pen

“It’s nothing.” you assured them

“Hey, I brought you some tea.” Spencer says as he joins the group, setting a cup down in front of you. His eyes scan your face with concern “you look sick.”

Your stomach twists at his comment “Do I really look that bad?” you ask feeling a bit insecure

Spencer's eyes widen slightly, he stumbles on his words “No-no, not bad. I just meant… you seem unwell. That's all.”

Emily smirks, shaking her head “Way to go, Dr. Reid.” she grabs her files and walks off

JJ gives you a sympathetic look as she stands “And that's our cue to leave. Come on, Penelope.” Garcia leans in as she follows JJ “Feel better sunshine.” she says before disappearing down the hall

Spencer shifts on his feet “I’m sorry. I shouldn't of had said it like that.”

You sigh, feeling guilty for your reaction “It’s okay. I’m just feeling extra sensitive today. I know you didn’t mean anything by it.”

He studies you for a moment, then lowers his voice “Have you thought about seeing a doctor? You've been sick for awhile now.”

You shake your head quickly “It’s not that serious.” but Spencer doesn't look convinced “Well…If you need anything, I'm right here.

You offer him a smile “Thanks, Spence.”

As he walks away, you stare at the tea he left behind. The more you think about it, the more unease settles in your chest. What if this isn’t just a stomach bug? What if it’s something worse.

And worse than that, what if you’re right?

As soon as lunch rolled around, you grabbed JJ, Emily, and Penelope by the arms “Come with me. Now.”

“Where are we going?” Garcia asked, eyeing you curiously “A store.” You hesitated, lowering your voice “I need a test.”

All three of them stopped in their tracks, wide eyed “Like a test test?” JJ asked, eyebrows raised, you nodded the fear in your eyes answering for you

“Okay.” Emily said already walking “Let’s go.”

“Wouldn’t you want to do this with…you know, whoever might’ve done this?”

“Uh, no. He’s busy.” You said quickly, leading them toward the exit, but just as you reached the door, Morgan and Spencer appeared

“Hey, where are you guys headed?” Morgan asked “Yeah, I thought we were all getting lunch at Caesars.” Spencer added, Rossi standing beside him

JJ reacted fast “We’re getting medicine for y/n” Spencer frowned “Oh I can come. I know which one will work best.”

“No, no, no, we got it.” Garcia said quickly waving him off Spencer narrowed his eyes, clearly sensing something was off, but eventually nodded “Alright. See you later.”

The four of you bolted out the door.

Inside the store, you stood frozen in front of all the pregnancy test selections, overwhelmed.

“Why are there so many?” You groaned, scanning the shelves “These are easy to read.” JJ said, grabbing a Clear Blue and handing it to you

You grimaced “Do I have to put it on the register?”

Emily snorted “You literally profile murderers for a living, but you’re scared to purchase a pregnancy test?”

“No wonder you might be pregnant” Garcia teased “Were you too scared to buy condoms too?”

You shot them a glare “Hilarious.”

JJ rolled her eyes and grabbed the test from your hand “I’ll put it down.” you sighed in relief “Thank you.”

At the register, you all smiled stiffly at the cashier as he rang it up. He barely acknowledged you guys, but that didn't stop you from feeling widely judged.

Back at the BAU, the four of you rushed to the restroom.

“Pee on the stick, wait five minutes, and we’ll either celebrate or cry.” JJ instructed “Your call.”

You exhaled, feeling like you were preparing for battle “Alright.” Stepping into the stall, you did what you had to do, then set the rest down on the counter, turning it away from you

“Timer is set.” Garcia announced, your heart pounded, you knew what the results was going to be, and that terrified you more than anything

The four of you sat in silence on the restroom floor, gross, but none of you cared right now. The weight of the situation hung heavy in the air

“Time’s up.” Garcia finally said glancing at you with concern, you swallowed hard “I can't look.”

“Want us to?” Emily offered you nodded “Please”

JJ picked it up first. The three of them leaned in, their expressions unreadable. Then, without a word JJ handed it to you

Your hands trembled as you looked down

Pregnant

Your heart dropped, and a lump formed in your throat, but you refused to break. Not here, not now. Instead, you slowly nodded, forcing out a breath “okay”

“So…is this good or bad?” Garcia asked, studying your face, you opened your mouth, then closed it “I don't know.” you admit

“Are you going to tell him?” JJ asked gently, you nodded “eventually.”

Emily places a reassuring hand on your shoulder giving it a gentle squeeze “We’ll give you time to process, when you're ready, we’re here.”

Each of them gives you a small, comforting smile before slipping out of the restroom, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling

“Why? Why? Why?” you whispered to yourself

This wasn't just about you.

This was about Spencer.

Your coworker.

A man you weren't even in a relationship with.

How the hell were you going to tell him?

You stepped out the restroom, exhausted and ready to be anywhere but here. Your body felt heavy, your mind even more so. All you wanted was to crawl into bed and shut the world out.

“Hey! We’re still on for tonight?”

The familiar voice made you stop in your tracks. Of course it was Spencer.

“Tonight?” You frowned, genuinely confused

He gave you a puzzled look “Movie night? At my place? Like it has been every Friday for the past six months?”

“Oh…right.” You let out an awkward laugh, and rubbed the back of your neck “Sorry, I’m just- are you sure you want me there? I don’t want to get you sick.” You say even though you knew what you had wasn’t contagious

“I’ll be fine.” He said with a small smile “I can disinfect everything.”

You hesitated before nodding “then, I’ll be there.” “Great.”

Silence settled between you two, he looked at you like he knew something was off, and part of you wanted to just say it right then and there.

“Well, I should get back to my files.” You said quickly making an excuse to leave.

Before you could slip away, he gently grabbed your hand “Are you sure you’re alright?” His voice was quieter now, more concerned.

“Yes, Spencer, I’m fine.” You forced a reassuring smile, but his eyes searched yours unconvinced

“Did I…do something?”

“What? No!” Your stomach knotted at the thought of him blaming himself “why would you think that?”

He hesitated “Just how you’ve been acting recently, I want to know if it’s because of me.”

You sighed, squeezing his hand before pulling away “It’s not you, I promise.”

He nodded but the uncertainty was still there “Okay.”

With that, you turned and walked back to your desk, diving into your files, forcing yourself to focus. For a couple hours, it worked. You got lost in the work, grateful for the temporary escape— until a voice whispered right into your ear

“So… who’s the father?”

You jumped, nearly knocking over your coffee “Jesus Garcia.” She grinned unapologetically “Sorry, did I scare the baby?”

You glared at her “No, you scared me.” She leaned in closer “Can I take a guess?”

You gave her a warning look “You don’t know him.”

Garcia scoffed “Sweetie, I know this guy. Anyone with a pair of eyes can tell just by the way you two interact. You guys are getting it on.”

Your face burned “Penelope.”

She wiggled her eyebrows “So, it is who I think it is.” You sighed, lowering your voice “You have to keep this a secret. Please.”

She immediately sobered, nodding “Of course, but you are telling him, right?”

You swallowed hard, glancing over at Spencer who was talking to Hotch across the room “Yeah.”

“I’m happy for you guys, no matter what you choose to do.” Garcia said warmly you gave her a small grateful smile

“Thank you. I just- I don’t know what to do. I know my options, obviously, but I don’t think I can go through with that. But at the same time, I don’t want to do this if Spencer isn’t ready. I don’t want to hold him back.”

Garcia shook her head “Look, he loves you. It’s so obvious the little things he does for you, the way he talks about you when you aren’t around. He is going to be ready.”

You let out a deep sigh, looking down at your hands “we’re not even together.” The admission felt embarrassing, like it somehow made everything worse

“Honey, you know Spencer. It takes him awhile, but he’ll come around to making it official. He’s just scared.” You exhaled leaning back into your chair

“Yeah…maybe.”

“not maybe— definitely” she corrected “Just give him time.”

The work day ended, and you had finally returned home, you threw yourself on your bed still in your work clothes but too lazy to change

You laid there deep in your thoughts until you drifted off to sleep

You weren’t sure how long you had been out but there was knocking at your door that woke you

You looked through the hole and seen it was Spencer, he looked worried “Spencer?” You question as you open the door allowing him to enter

“I was calling, you never answered. I got worried.” He tells you as he looks at you scanning to make sure you were alright “I fell asleep, I’m so sorry.” You apologize “no it’s okay. I’m just happy you’re safe.”

“Today was exhausting.” You admitted. He gave you a look of understanding “Can I do anything to help?”

Your cheeks warmed at the sincerity in his voice. He was always quick to offer whatever he could “No, it’s alright.”

“Are you sure? I give great massages.” He teased, a small smirk playing on his lips, you let out a small laugh “I’m sure, Spencer. How about we just watch a movie?”

He nodded, clearly liking the idea “what are you in the mood for?”

You thought for a moment. After everything today, you just wanted something comforting, something that reminded you of simpler times

“The Fox and the Hound.”

Spencer’s face lit up with a soft smile “That’s a good one.”

“Can you set it up while I change?” You asked “of course.” Spencer replied without hesitation

You stepped into your room, closing the door behind you. As you emptied your pockets your fingers brushed against the pregnancy test. You sighed, staring at it for a moment before tucking it away in your nightstand drawer

Once you had changed into something more comfortable, you walked back out, expecting to see Spencer in the living room but he wasn’t there. You glanced around and spotted him in the kitchen.

“I decided we needed popcorn.” He casually said as he poured some into a bowl “That’s a good idea.” You smiled

Settling on the couch, you grabbed the remote as Spencer joined you, sitting down beside you with the bowl in hand.

You pressed play and it didn’t take long for you to immersive yourself in the familiar comfort of the movie

The movie held your full attention, so much so that you barely noticed every time your hand brushed against Spencer's in the popcorn bowl.

It had always been your favorite movie as a kid, but now watching it while being pregnant, it felt different.

Then came the scene, the scene that always broke your heart as a child and even now as an adult

The little old lady drives off in her car, away from the Fox leaving him in the woods to be free. It felt like it hit you harder then ever before, and suddenly you couldn’t hold back the tears

Spencer turned his head, noticing the way your shoulders shook “Are you crying?” He asked softly “no.” You lied even as you wiped at your cheeks

You let out a small, embarrassed laugh, trying to play it off. Spencer shook his head, shifting to face you. Without a word, he reached out, gently brushing away a stray tear “Hey, it’s alright. It’s a sad scene.” he agreed

Your eyes met his “I think I could use that massage now.” a small smile played on his lips “I think you could too.”

You turned around, away from his gaze, and pulled your hair to the side giving him full access to your back. His hands found your shoulders, pressing in firmly. The tension in your muscles melted under his touch.

“You’re tense.” He murmured. You sighed, eyes fluttering shut “that feels good.”

“So, what’s been on your mind?” He asked your eyes snapped open “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been really stressed lately, today especially. You told me it’s not me, so… what is it?”

You hesitated, knowing this was the moment. You couldn’t keep avoiding it.

“Spencer.” You said, your voice barely above a whisper, his hands stilled “yeah?”

You turned to face him, fresh tears slipping down your cheeks. His stomach dropped, he didn’t know what you were about to say.

“Hold on.” You murmured, quickly getting up. You rushed to your room, grabbing the test from your nightstand. When you returned, Spencer was watching you carefully, his brows furrowed in concern

You sat down, heart pounding “I have something to show you.” You say as you hold out the test to him, Spencer took it hesitantly, his eyes scanning the results

His lips parted slightly “oh.”

That single word terrified you

You weren’t sure what he was thinking.

Spencer on the other hand, his mind was racing so fast he couldn’t form a single coherent thought. His fingers tightened around the plastic stick.

“Say something.” You say as you watch him intently, his head snapped up, eyes wide, searching yours as if trying to piece together a puzzle with missing pieces “You’re…pregnant.” He said

You nodded “yeah.”

Spencer swallowed hard, looking back down at the test, then back to you “it’s mines..right?” He questioned hopeful that you wouldn’t have been with anyone else “of course it’s yours.” You said quickly, feeling a strange mix of emotions, offense, anxiety, fear.

“Right. No, I-i didn’t mean it like that, I just-” he exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he tried to process “This is…a lot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

Spencer went quiet again, his mind clearly catching up to reality.

And then, finally, he looked at you “How are you feeling?” He softly asked “I don’t know. Scared, overwhelmed.” You admitted

Spencer nodded and reached for your hand, taking it in his, it felt warm and grounding.

Spencer hesitated for a moment before taking his hand away and reaching into his pocket, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper. He held it up between you.

“I’ve been carrying this around for a while.” He admitted “It’s a list… of all the reasons I think we’re perfect for each other.”

Your breath caught “Spence-”

“I’m not finished.” He said quickly, his eyes pleading with you to let him get it all out “I’ve been planning to tell you for so long. Too long. I should’ve said something the moment I realized it was you.”

You just stared at him, heart pounding, and he cleared his throat “I even calculated the probability of a successful relationship based on compatibility factors and shared interests.” He let out a small, nervous laugh

That made you smile. Without thinking, you reached for his hand, giving it a soft squeeze

“I want to be with you.” He said, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable “But don’t say yes because of the baby. Say yes because you want me the way I want you.”

His eyes searched yours “say something?” He whispered, you swallowed hard, then nodded towards the paper “Can I read it?”

Relief washed over his face as he handed it to you without hesitation “You just carry it around?”

He nodded, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips “It reminds me of you. So even when you’re not with me, it still feels like you are.”

Your chest ached, and you smiled at him with tears in your eyes “I want to be with you.” You say

Spencer had never felt anything like this before, it was overwhelming in the best way, pure happiness, the kind he never thought he’d get to have.

Despite the fear of the unknown, he knew one thing for certain, he was happy it was you he was going to experience this with.

He pulled you into him, the embrace feeling both familiar and new. This time, there was no more unspoken words, no more uncertainty. Just the two of you, together, exactly as you were meant to be

“So…do the girls know?” He asked, remembering how strangely they all had been acting at lunch, you nodded “They were with me when I found out.”

Spencer exhaled, his eyes softening “I wish I had been there.”

“I know.” You murmured guilt tugging at your chest “I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head “I just, I don’t want to miss anything. Not with you, not with this baby. Every doctors visit, every sick day, every moment, I want to be there.”

His sincerity made your heart ache in the best way “I want you to be there too.”

His fingers gently tilted your chin before he leaned in, pressing his lips to yours. It was soft, and lingering.

When his tongue traced along your bottom lip, asking for more, you gave in without hesitation.

After he pulled away, he smiled, his eyes full of wonder “I can’t wait to see you grow.” You brushed a hand over his cheek, returning his smile “I can’t wait to see you become the best dad.”

Should I make this into a mini series ? Where the next part can be them telling the team? 🤭 next chapter -> Family | Criminal Minds

check out my other works<3 here

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baubaby-hotchnerholic · 3 days ago

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#criminal minds #bau team #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #david rossi #penelope garcia

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glorifiedagents · 1 month ago

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A Distracting Fixation — spencer reid

"LOOK AT YOU — on your knees, drooling for it. You need this, don’t you? Need to keep that pretty mouth busy. So take it — deep, messy, just like that. Fuck, you're perfect."

SUMMARY: spencer notices the way you have to keep your mouth occupied.. and offers a better alternative to help your oral fixation PAIRING: spencer reid & fem!reader CAUTION: swearing, oral fixation, unprotected, blowjob, swallowing cum, creampie, aftercare WORD COUNT: 4.7K AUTHOR'S NOTE: not proof read - i love spencer sm

Spencer has been watching you for months, noticing things about you that even you haven’t picked up on. He notices everything.

The way your lips always seem to be occupied with something — a pen cap, your fingertips, the straw of your iced coffee that you absentmindedly swirl between your lips. The way your tongue flicks out to wet your bottom lip when you’re deep in thought, how you drag your teeth over the soft skin like you don’t even realize you’re doing it.

He’s caught you sucking on the tip of your thumb absentmindedly while reading through case files, your brow furrowed, lips pursed around the pad of your finger. You only do it when you’re lost in concentration, not even aware of how utterly distracting it is.

Then there’s the gum. The way you roll it between your teeth, lazily pressing it against the roof of your mouth before sucking on it like you're teasing yourself with something you can’t have. He sees the way your jaw moves, the way your tongue works behind your lips, and it makes his cock twitch in his slacks every goddamn time.

But the worst?

The absolute worst is when you’re chewing on something — a pen cap, the arm of your glasses, even just tapping your fingernails against your lower lip, like you’re waiting for something to be put there. And when you’re really not thinking about it, when you’re fully lost in whatever you’re working on, you’ll let out these little sounds. Soft hums, barely-there whimpers, like you’re trying to satisfy some need that’s not being met.

And it drives Spencer fucking insane.

Because he knows exactly how to fix it.

The weight of the case pressed down on you, thick and suffocating, curling around your shoulders like an iron shroud. It had been another dead end, another frustrating attempt at deciphering a pattern that refused to reveal itself. The victims — three so far — had been taken with terrifying precision, their bodies left posed with meticulous care. The UnSub was careful, methodical, deliberate. Just like Spencer.

The thought flickered through your mind unbidden as you sat at his desk, your fingers idly tracing the edge of a case file, your bottom lip caught between your teeth. The dim glow of his desk lamp bathed the room in golden light, casting deep shadows across the scattered notes and open books surrounding you. The air smelled faintly of old paper and coffee, the scent of late nights and restless minds.

Across from you, Spencer sat hunched over a file, his gaze scanning each page with the kind of intensity that made it seem as though he was reading something the rest of the world couldn’t see. His fingers moved in that absentminded way they did when he was thinking —drumming lightly against the wood, tapping patterns only he understood. His lips were slightly parted, his jaw tight, his focus absolute.

But you weren’t focused.

You were chewing on the end of your pen, rolling it between your teeth, letting it press against your lips in slow, absent motions. It was a habit, something to keep your mouth occupied while your brain worked, though tonight, your mind wasn’t working at all. Instead, it was wandering — lingering on the way Spencer’s hands flexed when he turned a page, the way his mouth pursed slightly in concentration, the way his eyes flickered when something caught his attention.

You bit down a little harder on the pen cap.

A soft sigh slipped from Spencer’s lips. At first, you thought it was just another noise of frustration — another sign of how little progress you’d made. But then he shifted in his chair, straightening slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp.

“You’re doing it again.”

The words sent a jolt through you, grounding you back into the present moment. Your gaze snapped up to meet his, heart stumbling slightly when you realized he wasn’t even looking at the files anymore. His attention was on you.

You let the pen drop from your lips, blinking. “Doing what?”

His jaw clenched.

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at you, his gaze slow, deliberate and assessing. The air between you thickened, tension creeping into the space that had once been filled with quiet concentration. You could feel the weight of his stare, the way it lingered, dragging over your lips, down to your throat, before flicking back up to meet your eyes.

Then, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his voice dropping into something quieter.

“You have an oral fixation.”

Your breath caught.

A slow, pulsing heat curled low in your stomach, coiling tightly at the casual certainty in his voice.

“I—”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying you. His face was unreadable, but his eyes… His eyes held something deeper, something unreadable and entirely dangerous.

“You chew on pens,” he continued, his tone impossibly steady. “You sip drinks even when you’re not thirsty. You touch your lips when you’re thinking. I’ve watched you do it for months.”

Your stomach twisted.

It wasn’t the observation itself that sent warmth rushing through your veins — it was the way he said it. Like he wasn’t just stating a fact. Like he had spent far too much time noticing, cataloging, analyzing every movement, every unconscious habit.

“You notice that?” Your voice was softer now, breathier than before.

Spencer exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “I notice everything about you.”

A shiver rippled through you, your fingers curling against your thighs.

He leaned in a fraction more, closing the space between you just enough for the warmth of his breath to ghost over your skin. “Do you even realize how often you do it?” His voice was lower now, more controlled, each syllable measured and deliberate. “Or how distracting it is?”

Your pulse thrummed wildly.

Distracting.

The word settled deep inside you, igniting something restless and needy.

You swallowed hard, your tongue darting out to wet your lips—another unconscious habit, but this time, you did it under the full weight of his stare. His eyes darkened.

“Spencer…”

The name came out softer than you intended, like a quiet plea.

His fingers twitched.

And then ever so slowly, he reached forward, his fingertips brushing the curve of your jaw. The touch was featherlight, but it sent a sharp jolt of electricity through you, your breath stuttering at the unexpected intimacy.

“I think,” he murmured, his thumb tracing the corner of your mouth, “you need something to keep your mouth occupied.”

The words sink into your skin, lighting a fire deep in your belly. Your thighs press together instinctively, your lips parting slightly as warmth floods through your veins.

He notices. Of course, he notices.

Spencer is a profiler before anything else. He sees the way your body responds, cataloging every flicker of arousal like a scientist analyzing an experiment.

His thumb drags lower, skimming your chin before tilting your face up ever so slightly. His touch is featherlight, teasing.

“If I were to give you something,” he continues, as if he’s simply musing over a hypothesis, “would you take it? Would you let me fill that pretty mouth of yours?”

Heat floods through you so quickly it’s dizzying.

“Spencer,” you breathe, the sound of his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His eyes darken. “That’s not an answer.”

You swallow hard, your throat tightening under the weight of his stare. Every inch of your body is humming, aching, the slow burn of tension winding so tight inside you that it’s almost unbearable.

“Yes,” you whisper, barely able to get the word out. “I would.”

His lips part slightly, his breath faltering for just a fraction of a second before he recovers, his hand tightening just a little against your jaw. He shifts in his chair, spreading his legs slightly, and you don’t miss the way his pants have grown tighter, the clear evidence of his arousal straining against the fabric.

“You’re so good at running that mouth of yours,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing over your cheek, down the curve of your neck. “Always teasing, always distracting. But I think we can put it to better use.”

The words send a sharp jolt of arousal straight to your core. Your nails dig into your thighs, desperate for some kind of relief, but Spencer doesn’t give you a chance to focus on anything but him.

His hand slides into your hair, gripping just firmly enough to make you gasp. He watches your reaction, his eyes flickering with something dark and knowing before he tugs gently, guiding you forward.

“On your knees.”

Spencer is already hard by the time you slide off your chair and sink onto your knees between his spread legs, his cock pressing thick and heavy against the fabric of his slacks. He’s aching, barely keeping himself together, and you haven’t even touched him yet.

You press your palms to his thighs, feeling the heat radiating through his clothes, your fingertips digging in slightly as anticipation coils tight in your stomach. The air between you is charged, every second stretching longer, the weight of his gaze burning into your skin like it could set you aflame.

Spencer exhales sharply, his fingers sliding into your hair, gentle but possessive, pupils blown wide, jaw tight with restraint.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he can’t believe this is happening, like the sight of you there between his legs is more than he can take.

But you’re not hesitating.

Your hands move to his belt, undoing the buckle with slow, deliberate movements, dragging it out just to watch him squirm. His breath stutters, his fingers twitching in your hair, grip tightening ever so slightly as you free the leather and let it drop to the floor with a soft thud.

The tease has you buzzing, tension coiling low in your belly as you toy with the zipper of his slacks, letting the moments stretch, watching the way his chest rises and falls faster, lips parting just slightly when you finally drag his pants down, exposing him.

And Jesus fucking Christ...

Spencer is big.

Thick, flushed, his cock already leaking at the tip, veins prominent along the length, pulsing with every ragged breath he takes. He’s achingly hard, the sight of it stirring something hot and primal inside you, making your mouth water.

“You’re already drooling,” he mutters, voice wrecked with desire, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. He drags it down slightly, just enough to make your mouth part, the tension between you thick enough to cut. “You want it that bad?”

You hum, a low sound of affirmation, nodding as your lips part wider, the heat of him brushing against your cheek, teasing the both of you with the softest contact.

Spencer hisses, his grip in your hair tightening just enough to make your scalp tingle. “Fucking tease.”

A flicker of mischief sparks in your eyes as you glance up at him, and then — finally — you press a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the tip of his cock, your tongue flicking out to catch the salty taste of his precum.

Spencer shudders, thighs tensing beneath your hands, his whole body wound tight with need.

You start slow, dragging your tongue lazily along the underside, tracing the thick vein from base to tip, savoring the way his breath hitches, the way his fingers curl into your scalp. Every reaction is a reward, and you want to drag it out as long as possible.

Then, you wrap your lips around the head, sucking lightly, teasing him with shallow strokes of your tongue, flicking against the sensitive slit, tasting him, moaning softly at the weight of him on your tongue.

Spencer groans, the sound rough and low, his hips twitching slightly forward, like he’s holding back, like he’s trying not to lose himself completely.

“Quit fucking around,” he mutters, voice strained, his hand tightening at the base of your skull. “Take it. Now.”

A rush of heat surges between your legs, your stomach clenching at the command, and you obey.

You sink down, letting his cock stretch your mouth, your jaw already aching as you take him deeper. Your tongue presses flat against the underside, tracing along every ridge and curve, feeling every pulse.

Spencer curses under his breath, his chest rising and falling faster, his fingers tightening in your hair as you take him all the way to the back of your throat, your nose almost brushing his stomach.

You pause there, letting your throat relax, your eyes flicking up to meet his. His chest heaves, his eyes dark and half-lidded, his lips parted as he watches you with barely restrained hunger.

“Jesus fucking—” He cuts off, breath catching when you swallow around him, your throat constricting, your tongue lapping against the underside as you hollow your cheeks and start to suck.

His reaction is instant - his hips jerk slightly forward, a groan spilling from his lips as his body trembles under your hands. His control is slipping, and you can feel it in the way he grips your hair, in the ragged edge of his breathing.

“Fuck, that’s—” His voice breaks, shaking as you bob your head, setting a rhythm that has his cock sliding slick and wet between your lips.

You make it messy, sloppy, saliva pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down onto his thighs as you take him deeper, the sensation overwhelming as your throat constricts around him with every pass.

Spencer’s breathing turns erratic, hips starting to move of their own accord, a raw need taking over. He’s close, and you know it.

“You’re so—” He hisses, cock twitching in your mouth, thighs tensing like he’s trying so fucking hard not to lose himself completely, not to just fuck your throat like he’s aching to.

But you want him to.

You press your hands against his thighs, urging him on, and Spencer groans, his hips snapping forward just slightly, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat.

You gag, throat tightening around him, a desperate, choked sound spilling from your lips as his fingers dig into your scalp, his entire body trembling with the effort to hold back.

“Fuck, I’m—” His voice cracks, breath coming in short, shallow gasps, cock twitching violently against your tongue. “I’m gonna—”

You don’t pull away.

Spencer’s groan is guttural, his entire body seizing up as he comes, hot and thick, spilling over your tongue in deep, pulsing spurts. His thighs shake, his breath coming in ragged, broken gasps as you swallow every drop, your throat working around him until he’s whimpering from the overstimulation.

When you finally release him, Spencer slumps back against the couch, his chest heaving, a dazed look in his eyes.

“Holy fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked, his fingers brushing against your cheek, tilting your chin up so he can look at you, still catching his breath.

His eyes are dark, but there's still something hungry lingering behind them.

“You,” he murmurs, voice hoarse, “are going to be the death of me.”

Spencer’s chest is still rising and falling in quick, uneven breaths, his fingers tangled in your hair as he studies you, a flicker of something darker lurking behind his half-lidded gaze. You can see it—the shift from restrained control to raw, unfiltered hunger. He’s not done with you. Not even close.

“Get up,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse, rough around the edges with the weight of his own arousal. His fingers tighten in your hair, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you listen. “Now.”

A shiver runs through you at the quiet authority laced in his voice. You obey, your legs unsteady as you rise, the heat between your thighs unbearable.

The moment you’re standing, Spencer surges forward, one hand gripping the back of your neck as his lips crash into yours. It’s messy— hot, desperate, his tongue sweeping into your mouth without hesitation. You can taste him, the faintest traces of salt and heat still lingering. His other hand grips your waist, tugging you flush against his body, and you gasp at the hardness pressing into your stomach.

Already.

Already, he’s hard again.

You whimper into the kiss, your fingers fisting into his shirt, nails scraping against the fabric as his mouth moves hungrily against yours. He groans at the way you melt into him, his fingers digging into your waist before sliding under the hem of your shirt, dragging rough fingertips up your spine.

“Take this off,” he demands, voice breathless as he tugs at the fabric.

You don’t hesitate. You strip your shirt off in one swift motion, and before it even hits the floor, his hands are on you — palming your breasts through your bra, squeezing just enough to make you arch into him. His mouth leaves yours, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his tongue flicking against your pulse before sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

He doesn’t stop there. His hands slide behind you, finding the clasp of your bra, and with one deft motion, he unhooks it. Before you can even shrug the straps from your shoulders, he’s already peeling the fabric away, exposing your breasts to the cool air.

You barely have time to register the sensation before his mouth is on you — hot, wet lips wrapping around a nipple, sucking hard enough to make you arch into him with a sharp gasp.

“Spencer,” you whimper, threading your fingers into his hair as he groans against your skin, his tongue flicking against the hardened peak before switching to the other, giving it just as much attention.

His hands are everywhere, roaming over your bare skin, gripping your waist, kneading your hips before sliding lower, curling around the backs of your thighs as he presses you against the desk.

Your hands move with frantic desperation, tugging at his tie, unbuttoning his shirt with clumsy, eager fingers. You need to feel him— his skin, his heat, the steady thrum of his pulse under your fingertips.

As soon as his shirt is gone, you push it off his shoulders, letting it drop to the floor. Your palms splay across his chest, nails raking lightly over his skin, and he shudders under your touch. His lips find yours again, his kiss even rougher this time, all teeth and tongue and sheer, unrestrained need.

Then his hands are at your jeans, undoing the button in one swift motion, shoving the denim down your hips. You kick them off, standing before him in just your panties, and his breath stutters.

“Fuck,” he mutters, his gaze dropping to the soaked fabric between your thighs. He drags a finger over the damp material, pressing just enough to make you whimper.

“Already this wet?” His voice is almost mocking, but his pupils are blown wide, his own need barely contained. His fingers toy with the lace of your panties before slipping beneath them, and when he drags his fingers through your slick folds, he groans. “You’re drenched.”

Your legs tremble as he teases you, his fingers moving torturously slow, spreading your wetness before pulling back completely. You make a noise of protest, but it dies in your throat when you see him.

Spencer is watching you with dark, ravenous eyes as he unzips his slacks completely, shoving them and his boxers down in one swift motion. He steps out of them, kicking them aside as he stands before you, completely bare.

He wraps a hand around his cock, stroking himself slowly, lazily, the head already flushed and leaking. The sight of him — so unabashedly aroused, so shameless in his hunger for you — sends another rush of heat straight to your core.

“Get on the desk,” he orders, voice steady but firm, leaving no room for argument.

You hesitate for half a second, and then he’s gripping your hips, turning you and guiding you backward until your ass bumps against the wood.

“Up,” he says again, stroking himself as he watches you. “Spread those pretty legs for me.”

The heat between your thighs is unbearable, need pooling low in your stomach as you do as he says, lifting yourself onto the desk, spreading your legs wide, letting him see everything.

Spencer’s breath shudders as he watches, his jaw clenching, his grip tightening on his cock. He steps closer, positioning himself between your thighs, his free hand sliding up your inner thigh, teasing the sensitive skin, dragging his fingertips closer and closer to where you need him most.

Then he grips the base of his cock and drags the tip against your slick folds, teasing you, coating himself in your wetness. You shudder, hips bucking slightly, but he just smirks.

He slaps his cock against your clit once, twice, the sharp sting sending jolts of pleasure through you. You gasp, hands fisting against the desk, body twitching with each stinging slap.

“Spencer,” you plead, your voice breaking.

He groans at the desperation in your tone, gripping your hips to hold you still as he teases you again, dragging his cock over your entrance, pressing just enough to stretch you open — but not pushing in.

Then he leans in, his breath warm against your ear as he whispers,

“Hold on tight, sweetheart.”

And then he thrusts inside you.

Spencer’s cock sinks into you in one smooth, unrelenting thrust, stretching you open, filling you so completely that your head tilts back with a strangled gasp. Your fingers scramble for purchase on the desk, nails digging into the wood as your thighs squeeze around his waist.

“Fuck,” he hisses through clenched teeth, his hands gripping your hips so tightly you know there’ll be marks tomorrow. “You’re so goddamn tight.”

He pulls back just enough to drag the thick length of him against your walls before slamming forward again, knocking a breathless moan from your lips. Your body jolts from the force of it, the desk creaking beneath you, but Spencer doesn’t care. If anything, the sound spurs him on.

His rhythm is ruthless - deep, hard thrusts that send pleasure rippling through your entire body, forcing your back to arch, your mouth falling open in a silent cry. Every inch of you is hypersensitive, nerves alight with overwhelming heat, and then...

A sharp slap lands against your breast.

You yelp, eyes snapping open in shock, only to find Spencer watching you with dark, calculating eyes, his palm still hovering in the air. The sting blossoms across your skin, warmth spreading from the impact, and before you can fully process it, he does it again.

The second slap makes your cunt clench around him, a ragged moan spilling from your lips as the sharp sting melts into something heady and intoxicating.

Spencer groans, his hips snapping forward harder, deeper. “You like that, don’t you?” His voice is breathless, edged with something dangerous.

You can’t form words, can’t think past the pleasure consuming you, so you just nod frantically, gasping when he delivers another slap, this one harder than the last.

His free hand grips your jaw, tilting your face up so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Say it.”

“Yes,” you choke out, your voice wrecked, needy. “Fuck, Spencer—yes, I love it.”

A smug smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. “Good.”

Then he gives you no warning before he picks up his pace, thrusting into you with a force that leaves you breathless, your legs wrapping tighter around him as he fucks you into the desk.

The wet, obscene sounds of your slick cunt taking him over and over again fill the room, mixing with your ragged breaths, your whimpers, the sharp crack of his palm against your breasts. He alternates between squeezing them roughly and slapping them, watching the way your body reacts, the way you tighten around him every time he does it.

You’re close, so unbearably close, your stomach tightening, your muscles trembling with the buildup of pleasure. Spencer knows it too.

His grip shifts, one hand sliding down your stomach, his fingers finding your clit. The moment he touches you, your whole body jerks, a strangled moan ripping from your throat.

“That’s it,” he breathes, circling your clit with quick, precise motions. “Come for me. I want to feel you squeeze my cock.”

That’s all it takes.

Your orgasm slams into you like a tidal wave, white-hot pleasure exploding behind your eyes as you cry out his name, your walls spasming around him. Your entire body shakes, thighs trembling as aftershocks wrack through you, pleasure so intense it borders on overwhelming.

Spencer groans, his pace stuttering, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic. He grips your hips hard, driving into you one last time before burying himself to the hilt, his cock twitching as he spills deep inside you.

A ragged moan rips from his throat, his head dropping forward as his release pulses through him, hot and thick, filling you completely. His fingers dig into your flesh, holding you still as he empties himself inside you, his breath shuddering against your skin.

For a moment, neither of you move, the only sounds in the room your shared panting, the quiet hum of the desk lamp casting light over your flushed skin.

Then Spencer pulls back slightly, lifting his head to look at you, his dark eyes clouded with satisfaction. A lazy smirk tugs at his lips as he drags his thumb along your cheek, his voice a husky murmur.

“Messy girl,” he muses, his tone dripping with amusement as he watches his cum drip from your still-throbbing cunt. “I guess I’ll just have to clean you up.”

The look in his eyes tells you he means every word.

He’s careful as he adjusts, lowering himself down to kneel beside you, his eyes studying you with an intensity that’s no longer sharp and commanding but tender, attentive. His thumb brushes along your cheek, wiping away a bead of sweat, and his gaze softens as he watches you blink up at him, slowly coming back to earth.

"Hey," he says softly, voice still rough but full of warmth, "you okay?"

You nod, your chest rising and falling with each breath as the tension in your body gradually unwinds. Spencer’s hand moves to your shoulder, gently massaging the muscles there, as though he can feel the strain of the night’s intensity. His fingers press into your skin, not with the same urgency they had before, but with careful, deliberate motions meant to soothe.

“Let me get you cleaned up,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring. He stands for a moment, disappearing into the bathroom, and you hear the sound of water running before he’s back with a damp cloth. He’s gentle as he wipes you down, making sure to be soft around your sensitive spots, taking his time.

Once he’s finished, Spencer grabs a blanket from the couch, wrapping it around your shoulders like a cocoon. He settles next to you, pulling you close, his arms enveloping you in warmth as he presses a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I’m proud of you,” he whispers, his voice full of sincerity. "You did amazing."

Your head rests against his chest, and you can hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The weight of the night settles into something quieter, more intimate—this quiet aftercare, where words aren’t necessary, but the tenderness in his touch speaks volumes.

Spencer lets you relax against him, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on your skin as you both catch your breath. He doesn’t rush you. He just holds you. When you finally speak, it’s soft and a little hoarse from the intensity of the night.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer simply nods, kissing your forehead in response. “Always.”

And for the rest of the night, he stays close, making sure you feel safe, cared for, and cherished. The outside world feels miles away, the two of you cocooned in your own quiet intimacy, where aftercare doesn’t just mean physical, but emotional tenderness that leaves you feeling loved, even after everything.

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drewswife · 26 days ago

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summary: when everyone on the plane falls asleep, now you can finally cuddle up with your boyfriend Spencer

pairings: spencer reid x bau!fem reader

warnings: fluff

wc: 950

The rhythmic drone of the plane's engines filled the cabin, a lullaby that had successfully coaxed the rest of the BAU team into slumber. You, however, were wide awake. Spencer, your boyfriend, was fast asleep on the opposite side of the aisle, his long legs stretched out awkwardly, his head lolled to the side.He looked so peaceful, so completely unaware of the plan you were about to execute. You'd been longing for a moment of quiet intimacy ever since the grueling case had wrapped up. The long hours, the emotional strain, it had taken its toll on both of you. Now, with the rest of the team blissfully unaware, you saw your chance.

Carefully, you unbuckled your seatbelt and stood up, glancing around to make sure no one was stirring. The cabin was dimly lit, the only sound the gentle hum of the plane and the soft snores of your sleeping colleagues. You tiptoed across the aisle, a smile spreading across your face as you reached Spencer's seat.

He was curled slightly, his glasses slipping down his nose. You gently pushed them back up, tucking a stray curl behind his ear. He stirred slightly, a soft sigh escaping his lips.

"Spence," you whispered, gently shaking his shoulder.

His eyes fluttered open, a sleepy smile spreading across his face as he recognized you. "hm" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

"Hi," you whispered back, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his forehead. "Mind if I join you?"

He blinked, his eyes widening slightly before a warm smile spread across his face. "Of course," he murmured, shifting to make room for you.

You slipped into the seat beside him, snuggling close. He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer until your head was resting on his chest. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat was a soothing lullaby, a comforting reminder of his presence.

"Tired?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Exhausted," you admitted, closing your eyes. "But I couldn't sleep without you."

He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to your hair. "Me neither," he murmured.

For a while, you simply lay there, enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment. The plane continued its steady journey, the gentle rumble a soothing backdrop to your shared silence. You thought about the case, the lives you had helped save, and the bond you shared with Spencer. He was your best friend, your partner, the person you could always count on.

"I love you, Spence," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"I love you too," he replied, tightening his arm around you.

You snuggled closer, the warmth of his body a comforting presence against your side. The exhaustion from the case finally catching up to you, you felt yourself drifting off to sleep. The last thing you felt was the soft press of his lips against your hair.

taglist

#dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid criminal minds #doctor spencer reid #bau team #dr reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fanfiction

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pencil-n-pen · 2 months ago

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I’M STILL TRYING EVERYTHING

⋆° 𐙚 ₊🧦☕🧸₊°⋆ ೀ₊°⋆

previous | kofi | masterlist

post prison!spencer reid x fem!reader

₊ ⊹

I'm still trying everything to keep you looking at me.

-mirrorball, taylor swift

₊ ⊹

summary: you’ve never had a date or a relationship that either didn’t work out or end in disaster. now that you have spencer, you’re determined not to let it happen again

cw: referenced bad past relationships, very very vaguely referenced past domestic abuse that honestly could be taken a different way, referenced child abuse (readers parents are STILL not it) again this is a criminal minds fic so references to graphic violence

tags/tropes: hurt/comfort (do i even need to say this? you all know who i am) insecurity, like one line of misogyny and it’s in the past and not brought up again, spencer being soft n worried, HEALTHY COMMUNICATION, spencer is just as gone for reader as she is for him honestly he's just a sap

a/n: back by popular demand !! seriously guys, you have no idea how much the support and comments and reblogs and asks means to me 🥹 the overwhelming amount of love for the first fic made me so happy when people started asking about a sequel i knew i had to !!

read the crossword on the collage for a surprise :)

this one goes out to all my girlies who’ve ever felt like they needed to be less in order to get a boyfriend or keep one. we’ll have our soft love just the way it was meant to be

⋆⭒˚.⋆

Spencer is a really good boyfriend.

Like… a really good boyfriend. You’re not sure if this is how having a real boyfriend is or if Spencer is just like this.

He’s so good to you. He’s just so- so him. You can’t explain it. Can’t put it into words.

He’s very patient with you. You’ve never explicitly stated it, but he’s picked up on your previous relationship experience- or more accurately, your lack thereof. The morning after you’d gone home with him, night consisting of nothing but easy sleep and warmth, he’d asked you out for real. Asked you if you’d go on a date with him, and you’d agreed, a giddy smile fixed firmly on your face.

But you still worry.

All it takes it one conversation with your parents to push things over the edge.

“Yes, dad. He’s very good to me.”

A laugh crackles over the line. “I tell you, your mother and I never thought we’d see the day.”

The words twinge uncomfortably in your chest. “Hey, I’m not that bad. I’ve just been focused.”

“More like uptight.”

“Dad—“

“You know, you still haven’t come out to visit your poor old parents since getting this so-called cushy job. And now you’ve got this boyfriend. You’re too young to settle down. Don’t you think we should meet him?”

Sometimes conversations turn so quickly they leave you stranded— scrambling to pick up pieces of what you thought was going to happen and piece them together to make something new. Something for the new route the conversation has taken.

You couldn’t hold back your sigh if you tried. “We haven’t been dating for that long dad, I don’t want to spring this on him—“

“Sweetie, if we don’t meet him now, why might never meet him. Who knows how long he’s gonna stick around?”

(Sometimes, in moments like these, for just a split second, you wonder how a father could say something like that, to his daughter. You wonder why, wonder what you did wrong. And then, you imagine Hotch saying those same things, and you can’t, and it almost makes you feel a little better.)

Your blood runs cold. “What could you possibly mean by that?”

“Well, you know how things have ended in the past. I’m just saying I’d like to meet him before he’s gone."

You don't dignify his words with a response.

"Come on, honey. I'm just joking with you."

"It's not funny."

"Don't be like that--"

"Goodbye."

You hang up, snapping the phone shut with a sigh.

The older you've gotten, the more conversations with your parents end up like this. You suppose it's the way you 'wasted your potential' or 'never made something of yourself.' They've always held resentment ever since you decided to become an agent. So you know not to take what they say to heart, because their words only come from a place of disappointment and displeasure. It's not a reflection of who you really are or what you've really accomplished.

Or at least, that's what Hotch told you when he'd overheard one of your phone calls. It meant more than you'd let on.

But your Dad's words linger in your head. They're irritating and sharp where they claw around in your head because they're true.

You can count on one hand the amount of romantic endeavors you've had. And from those, they all ended horribly. Your parents lost sympathy towards the end of your attempts, muttered words of needing to try harder to keep them, that you should be satisfied that somebody wanted you at all, that you should try to be less... you.

Try to be less... you, dear. The books and the facts- nobody wants those. Put some more effort into your appearance. Otherwise you'll end up all alone.

You'd tried to take their advice, of course. But the relationships that were fathered your parents direction were not loving. There was nothing soft or gentle or warm about them. You'd never felt more unlovable.

So when the incident with the shooter happened and you were lying on the lecture hall floor, blood coloring the carpet deep scarlet, you'd vowed to never let it happen again. That you were going to use your intellect and wit and passion for what you wanted to do- you'd promised yourself that if you survived, you would try to make your life your own, one step at a time.

This, of course, is easier said than done.

It's easy enough to refuse to let yourself get involved with men who are clearly only interested in your for your badge or your body --though the latter happens so rarely you really don't have to worry about it-- because you don't care about them. They're blips on your radar.

But Spencer? Sweet, sweet Spencer who makes you hot-cocoa and binge watches Doctor Who with you, even the later seasons, which you know he doesn't like as much but you love. Spencer who always has a grounding touch to offer, or a quiet command when you need him. Spencer who puts you first.

But there's a limit to these things, right? As far as you've seen, romantic relationship's are transactional, or conditional. Sometimes both. He can't just... keep doing this forever. It's too kind. Too sweet. It'll come to an end soon. Like, like the honeymoon era in early relationships. That's all it is. Plus, he's older than you, and you have no illusions about your unavoidable impulsiveness and naivety.

You've been told that your standards are too high before. "Struck by the hopeless romantic's arrow," your brother had said once, back when you were still in school, crying over a boy who'd told you that he didn't want to date you because you were too smart for a girl.

"That's not being hopeless romantic. There's no such thing as being too smart for a girl."

"There isn't," He'd amended, "But you're not going to have an easy time finding a guy. You of all people can't really afford to be picky."

He'd been right, in the end. So you're just... having a hard time figuring out how genuine Spencer's actions are. Guy's don't really act all romantic in the context of you. You've been told your whole life to be happy with what you get, and what you've had in the past is decidedly not lining up with how Spencer treats you.

It's a nasty little thing in your ear. Is it real? Does it matter as much to him?

When is it all going to end?

Rossi make's an offhand comment during a mission that you talk a lot when you're excited about the subject at hand.

JJ agrees. "It's a little unnerving when the subject is the bruising patterns of strangulation."

That little voice comes back.

Too much too much too much too much too much--

"It's useful," You protest, mouth dry.

JJ snorts, "I'm not sure about that. We need to know that the victim was strangled, not what happens to the body during blunt-force asphyxiation."

You'd grown quiet then, let the chatter and musings of the rest of the team wash over you.

Is that something Spencer finds annoying? You have always found things other's view morbid and disturbing fascinating. But JJ is right. No one wants to hear about that.

You brush the comment off, square your shoulders, get back on with the case.

Be better. Try harder.

You don't seen the furrow of Spencer's brows from where he's been watching you, or the quick look he shares with Hotch.

You'd never really thought about how clingy you can be before Emily makes an offhand comment about it while the two of you wait in line at a coffee shop. There's a couple in front of you, the girl all over her partner, kissing and giggling and hugging them close.

"Ugh," Emily groans once the two get their coffee and move on. "I could never understand the appeal of all that. I mean doesn't it feel stifling?"

A little stab of ice in your stomach.

"I don't know. I think it's nice."

"No, thank you. If I were her partner, I'd feel smothered."

You think about that conversation every time you take Spencer's hand or lean into his simple touches. They're invasive little things, the thoughts. It's not hard to pull back on all the touching. You never really ask for them in the first place- always too nervous to come off clingy. But you suppose just taking, taking, taking is just the same.

A quick shake of your head, not leaning in, a quiet "I'm fine." and that little nagging fear of smothering begins to quiet. It doesn't leave, but it does get quieter. For a little while, at least.

The hard part is trying to be less without noticeably being less. Spencer's smart- and he's a profiler. If you pull back too much too quickly, he'll notice, and you don't want to talk about this yet. You just need to make sure he'll stay. That things won't—

That you won't find out too late that you don't mean as much to him as he does to you.

That's the kind of thing that can't happen again. But ascertaining his true feelings and desires is difficult, because this is all kind's of new territory for you. You want to believe it's real. You really, really want to believe it's real.

But it's never been real before, so why would it be real now?

You've asked around (subtly and carefully, of course) about the type of girl Spencer's dated or drifted towards in the past. You know he said he wanted something soft and sweet, but you can't help but think that you're not really either, nor are you in line with his type. All things considered, you're a mess. Something tired-eyed and hollow is how you feel most days. Some sort of creature perhaps? You're honestly not sure what you are. You've spent your entire life being singled out or otherwise othered- always too smart or too different or too weird or too much or too loud or too quiet or too shy or too, too, too. Always too something. You have never been called soft or sweet. In a demeaning way, sure, but never with the quiet reverence that Spencer said it with that night.

It feels like a balancing act, a bit. Holding all those too much parts so close to your chest with one hand and shoving the ones you think Spencer wants with the other hand.

You could probably drop the one hand. The one holding the bad parts. But you're just not convinced he'll stay. You're not sure that he won't look at them with some form of disgust or pity or something else terrible.

You know the balancing act isn't sustainable— you'll fall eventually, and everything will come crashing down, but until then, you just keep trying. Trying to see if he'll stay, trying to see what to do if he won't. How to ensure he will, if that's something that's possible.

The act does not hold up for as long as you hoped it would. It comes crashing down with a glass. Literally.

You and Spencer are in the kitchen on a rare weekend off, cooking and drinking wine and swaying to some little old love song.

It should be perfect, except you're worrying that you look ugly while you're dancing, and you're probably singing off-key, and he maybe wants you to shut up so he can hear the song or dance in peace.

He reaches towards you and you just— your brain shrieks for a moment, all senses going into overdrive and you jerk backward, and your elbow knocks into your wine glass, and it falls, shattering behind you with a deafening crash.

Your entire body tenses, waiting for yelling or sighing or something, because you broke the glass, there's crystalline shards everywhere, the wine red and it looks like blood, maybe it is, maybe you're bleeding because the glass was really close to your foot when it fell but you're not sure because you can't really feel your feet or your fingers or—

"Don't move," Spencer says, voice serious, and tears well in your eyes, because this is when it all ends isn't it? "I don't want you to— honey?"

"Yes?" You croak.

His eyes are swimming with concern as he takes in your hunched shoulders, shallow breaths, and scared expression.

Understanding flickers in his features, and you resist the urge to hold your breath.

"Nothing is going to happen to you because of the glass, okay? Everything is fine. We're fine. I'm not mad. See? I'm not mad. I just don't want you to cut your feet on the glass. I'm going to clean this up and get your slippers, okay?"

"Okay." You breathe, voice hoarse. You wring your hands nervously as he leaves to retrieve the necessary supplies to clean the mess, heart beating so fast and so hard you're shocked you can't see it through your shirt.

He's not mad. He's not mad. You're not in trouble. Your parents aren't here. You're not grounded. You're not in trouble. He's not mad.

You're silent while he cleans, focused on getting your breathing under control while he babbles quietly about the history of glass making and the significance of types of wine glasses. The facts and history wash over you in steady waves, easing the tension in your shoulders bit by bit.

"I didn't think you were going to hit me, Spencer."

He continues cleaning. "It's okay if you did. I would never blame you for that."

"But I don't," You say, suddenly desperate, "I know you wouldn't, I've never been hit, not like that."

He's quiet for a few minutes. "Does this have something to do with how you've been acting recently?"

You freeze. "What do you mean?"

He looks up, leaning back on his knees. Making himself smaller, you realize. He's trying not to scare you again.

"You're dating a profiler. Also, I speak fluent you, and you've been chewing all your hangnails again. You only do that when you're stressed and pretending like you're not."

Your finger's twitch at your sides.

His hands come up slowly, and he rubs the length of your waist and hips. "We don't have to talk about it right now, but I think we should soon. I don't want you hurting all by yourself. You've had enough of that. That's what I'm here for."

He finishes cleaning up the glass, and finishes cooking dinner- he'd assured you he'd turned off all burners when the glass hit the floor, so nothing's burnt.

Once you've both eaten, he steers you towards the couch and wordlessly puts on Doctor Who.

The Pandorica is just about to open when you finally decide that if you don't start talking, you never will.

"My parents think you're going to leave me."

Spencer makes a wounded noise in his throat. "Why do they think that?"

"Because it's happened before. I'm, um. I'm not very good at getting into relationships. Or keeping them."

"But that's not your fault."

You sniff hard, rubbing your face with your sleeve. "It is though, isn't it? At least a little. I know I can be a lot. I know I'm not easy to—"

You cut yourself off, but the words hang in the air anyway; unsaid.

I'm not easy to love.

"Anyway," You say, pushing through the lump in your throat. "I just thought. I don't know. I was worried that you'd get fed up with me."

"No," He whispers, voice raw and full of something a lot heavier than fond. "No, no baby. I like that you're clingy and you ramble when you get excited, because it means that we get to talk about something together."

He shifts on the couch, sitting criss-crossed, ducking his head down to catch your gaze. "You know what else I like?"

You scoot over, mirroring his position. "What?"

"I like that you always know when I need you. Even when I don't think I do, you're there. Because I do need you. This isn't a one-way street."

His words hit you straight in your chest. "Oh."

He smiles, brows a little scrunched, brown eyes a deep pool of fondness and a splash of concern. "Yeah. And I'm thinking you need me a little more than you want to let on."

The seam of your pajama pants suddenly becomes the most interesting thing in the world. Amazing, the wonders of a sewing machine.

"Maybe."

"Mmm," He hums, "So if I need you, don't you think that you're allowed to need me?"

Your fingers pick and twirl a loose thread around. "...Yes?"

A large, firm hand covers your thigh, giving it a quick squeeze. "Yes. Not only are you allowed to need me, I want you to need me. Cause you know how you're always worried about being the best girlfriend? Well, I'm always worried about being the best boyfriend."

That makes you look up. "Really?"

He chuckles again, a little puff of air fanning your face. "Yes, really. I assure you, contrary to your past experiences, this is one of those bare minimum things in a relationship."

"That does not," He continues, immediately catching the brief flicker of doubt and shame on your face, "Mean that it is your fault at all for how you were treated in the past. You wouldn't expect me to suddenly become an expert in veterinary medicine just because I've been to the vet's office a few times, right?"

"When did you go to the vet's—"

"Shh, I'm being a good boyfriend," He holds up a hand, lips quirking up when you can't suppress a tiny giggle, "But seriously. You had no frame of reference, right? And you were being told it was your fault. But it wasn't. You didn't deserve that."

He lets his words hang in the air for a little while and allows you time to process this new information.

"What do I do now?"

"Well," He leans in, brushing his nose against yours, curls tickling your forehead, "You've got a pretty sweet deal here. Just three things. You have to keep letting me need you, let yourself need me, and one last little thing."

"What?"

You're so close your breaths are mingling.

"Let me show you what this is supposed to look like. How a man is supposed to treat a pretty girl. His pretty girl."

"Oh, well," Heat rushes to your cheeks, your stomach doing flip-flops, "That sounds pretty hard. I don't know how I'll hold up."

His hand comes up to hold the side of your face, his thumb sweeping strokes under your eye.

"You say that now, but I know what happens to you when I get romantic. You swoon."

You laugh. "I do not swoon."

"You will."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft, gentle kiss. It isn't a kiss-kiss. He's kissing you just to kiss you; just to let you know that he's here, that you have him.

It's sweet and perfect and exactly what you need.

Letting yourself need Spencer is marginally easier now that you know he needs you. Now that you know you're not going all in for someone who isn't.

He also starts needing you a bit... louder.

It's late evening, and most people have gone home except you and a couple other members of the team, all still working on paperwork.

Except Spencer, who's decided to drape himself over your shoulders like a cat, his chin resting on your head.

"Don't you have work to do?"

"Either finished it or it can be done later."

You shift your shoulders, smiling at how his grumbles vibrate against your back.

He moves his head, pressing his cheek to your head instead of his chin, heaving a deep sigh.

"Your hair smells good."

"Like what?"

"You're shampoo. Yours always smell better than mine."

You continue to work through your paperwork, Spencer a continuous and solid weight against your back.

"Is this even comfortable for your back at all?"

"Doesn't matter. Need girlfriend time."

He can't see it, but you're sure he knows how hard you blush.

Spencer's cooking the two of you a late breakfast in the kitchen of his apartment, hair still all mussed from sleep. He's quite the sight. You can't stop staring.

You're sitting on the counter, still dressed in your pajamas, legs swinging.

"You wanna know something cool?"

"You know it,"

"Butterflies and moths can drink blood and tears. There's nutrients in them. Purple Emperor butterflies are especially known for this. It's called mud-puddling."

"So you're telling me I should make sure I bandage any open wounds before I go to a butterfly house?"

"I guess. I can't imagine they'd be able to drink enough blood to actually cause any damage."

"Maybe we'll have to go to a butterfly house. For research."

"Should we get dinner afterwards?"

"We'll deserve it, you know, for all the hard research we'll have done."

"Hmm. Yes, I suppose so."

Spencer's bed is infinitely more comfortable than your bed. You're pretty sure it's a combination of the fact that it's the only thing in the entire world that smells so much like him and the fact that he spent part of his large FBI paycheck on a fancy mattress. Back support is very important to him.

You're doing a little reading before bed, shamelessly sprawled all over him while he does his own reading. You've got a leg hooked over his hips, the other tangled with his legs, and your arms and head pillowed on his chest. You move a little every time he takes a breath, and more than once you've paused in your reading, mesmerized by the feeling.

He shifts under you, setting his book down on his night stand and making himself more comfortable.

"Should I move?"

"No," he says, voice deep and gravelly with sleep. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you flush to him, face pressed to the crook of your neck. He breathes deep, scruffy stubble scratching against your skin. "Like you close. Good for sleep."

Even with the lamp on, and your book in your hand, you fall asleep soon after him.

It's an ordinary evening for the two of you. Discarded dishes sit on the coffee table in front of the t.v, neither of you paying them any attention, wrapped up in each other and eyes glued to the screen.

You look up at Spencer who's watching Doctor Who with the focus of a man who's never seen it, even though you know for a fact he's seen it before, several times in fact.

"I want to know the things you like," He'd said simply, the one time you'd asked why he takes your nightly Doctor Who watching so seriously.

And tonight's no different. Tonight, he looks... well, he looks like Spencer. His face illuminated by the TV screen, his hair all mussed from you running your hands through it earlier.

And it just kind of all hits you at once. You know.

"I love you."

He looks down at you, his expression soft and surprised. When your words register, his expression is so sickeningly fond and happy you can't help but lean in, burying your face in his chest. He rubs your back consolingly, then presses a little kiss to the crown of your head.

"I love you too."

⋆⭒˚.⋆

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