#i have read too much Spencer Reid fanfiction not to do this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

darkmatilda · 1 month ago

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𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟𝐟 | 𝐬. 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: spencer struggles with a relapse in addiction after emily's death when he meets you, a person who wants to help everyone around.

𝐭𝐰: there's going to be a lot… all topics related to mental health issues, mentioning the death of a loved one, suicide, relapse into addiction, violence. stay safe guys 𝐚/𝐧: please, read before reading. this is the full, ridiculously long version of "with the light off" that I posted yesterday. i’ve never seen a fanfiction this long on tumblr, and i won’t lie, i'm fking insane.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 25k

Spencer Reid was a genius.

Everyone knew it; he knew it himself, though he didn’t always see himself that way. It’s not difficult to explain what a genius is. One defining trait was that his brain worked at an incredibly fast pace. Metaphorically speaking, of course. In any case, he had no trouble connecting facts and forming assumptions that later proved accurate. With the amount of knowledge he had about various situations and people, it wasn’t hard to predict the course of certain similar events. It was simply a matter of connecting the proverbial dots—that’s what the vast majority of his work entailed. The rest involved risking his own life, something he had recently experienced in a painful way.

Spencer knew hundreds of stories about people struggling with addiction. He had read just about every available resource on the subject, trying to help himself. He understood the topic from firsthand experience and was aware that relapses were entirely normal in the face of difficult life situations. Yet, once he had overcome his addiction, he never imagined— even in his darkest visions—that he would ever reach for Dilaudid again.

But that’s exactly what he did. Well, technically speaking, not yet. But it was only a matter of time—minutes, to be exact.

He was walking through the city with the drug in his coat pocket, as if it were an ordinary item, like a wallet or car keys. At the same time, he felt as though everyone was staring at him. A shiver ran through his body every time he accidentally made eye contact with someone. She knows what I’m about to do. He knows too. They all do.

He was acting like a complete paranoiac.

He had a substantial dose of Dilaudid on him and knew he’d take it the moment he was alone in his apartment. Yet, he hadn’t used it—he was still technically clean. Could he call it Schrödinger’s relapse?

He started to laugh, a bit hysterically, as he fumbled to open the door. Suddenly, the key seemed too large, or maybe the keyhole had somehow shrunk? Or perhaps his hands were simply shaking so much that he couldn’t line it up? The second option seemed far more likely, though admitting it was difficult for someone as devoted to logic as he was.

Spencer pressed his forehead against the door, taking a deep breath. He was ready to break down the damn thing…

“Everything alright, sweetheart?” came a voice behind him.

He turned around. One of his neighbors had poked her head out from the apartment across the hall—a sweet-faced elderly woman with an even kinder demeanor. Talkative and prone to asking questions. Knowing her love of sensation (she really did seem to have more energy and bravery than he, an FBI agent, did), it wasn’t all that surprising she’d stepped outside the moment she heard strange noises from the hallway.

Her question, the very presence of another person, somehow brought him back to reality.

"Just fine, Mrs. Schulz," he said, forcing a calm tone.

Standing with his back to her, he closed his eyes and took a deep, slower breath. His neighbor lingered for a moment in her doorway, and even without looking, he could imagine the suspicious look on her face. But finally, he heard the sound of her door closing—she’d let it go.

He slapped himself on the cheek, trying to snap out of it. He hadn’t been drinking—he was just coming back from a funeral—but he felt dazed, as if he were drunk. Slowly, he raised his hands again, and this time he slid the key into the lock without issue.

He didn’t even turn on the light or take off his coat; he went straight to the bedroom and tossed what could only be called a junkie’s kit onto the bed. In a plastic bag were a clean syringe and the main event.

Dilaudid.

He hadn’t wanted anything this badly in a shockingly long time. He’d promised he’d never touch it again. He’d made that promise to JJ and Gideon, but most importantly, to himself. Only when he pictured their faces and heard their voices in his mind did doubts start to creep in. He couldn’t get addicted again.

But on the other hand, did using it just this once, after all this time, really mean falling back into addiction? He knew people who had quit smoking years ago but occasionally had a cigarette—just to see if it still tasted the same. They’d end up thinking, Wow, was I really addicted to this? It’s disgusting!

It should be the same for him. He’d do it once, just this one time.

He recognized that particular thought. It was the voice of addiction.

He ran a hand over his face. He’d once gone to a support group for people struggling with addiction, sitting in the back, practically hiding, but he listened intently. That was what they talked about—how to separate his own thoughts from those of addiction. It all came down to the fact that addiction had no real power over him; it couldn’t physically force him to take the drug, only tempt and seduce him.

And he had to fight it.

He ran his hands through his hair, and then, on impulse, grabbed the bag on the bed and shoved it into the small safe in his nightstand. He kept his gun and badge there, along with his most valuable belongings. And now, also, the thing that could destroy him.

Breathing heavily, he backed out into the hallway. He couldn’t stay in the apartment. If he did, he’d give in. The problem was, he didn’t really have anywhere to go. He didn’t want to show up at JJ’s or any other team member’s door; he didn’t want to admit his moment of weakness. Besides, that day had been Emily’s funeral—everyone was too absorbed in their own grief to have to worry about him too.

The only place that came to mind was the library.

In his teenage years, it had been his only, truest friend. He’d spend hours there, loving the feeling of being surrounded by walls of books. He loved running his fingers over hardcovers, as if reading a message written in Braille. And above all, he loved to read. Was there any better escape from reality?

The next hours were spent immersed in the works of his favorite authors, pinching the back of his hand every time his thoughts wandered toward Dilaudid. A red mark appeared on his skin, and after another attempt, he began to bleed, though he didn’t even notice until he accidentally stained the page while turning it. He hurriedly set the book aside, feeling guilty for damaging it.

To make matters worse, someone appeared by his side.

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to disturb you, you were so engrossed in your reading, but I need to close now. It’s midnight," the librarian informed him, looking every bit like the most stereotypical library worker.

Spencer looked at him pleadingly, not even knowing what he was hoping for. That the librarian would let him stay until morning? In silence, he put on his coat and headed for the library’s exit. It wasn’t a standalone building. Upon stepping out, he found himself in what looked like a hallway, with stairs leading, as far as he knew, to the laundry room, and wide-open doors to another room.

He was about to head for the actual exit when something caught his attention. A sign, like the ones warning about slippery floors. However, instead of a typical message, it had an inscription written in a handwriting resembling that of a child, with a flower replacing the dot on the letter "i."

If you feel like you can’t handle it, come in. We’ll talk, or not, if you don’t want to. But know that you’re not alone :)

He stared at the message motionless. It sounded a bit like some social campaign he would have ignored in 80% of cases. Yet, something about the simplicity of the message kept his gaze fixed.

Let’s be honest, Spencer was fucking terrified of going back to his apartment. And probably because of that, he decided to walk through those doors.

"As if I didn't have enough cleaning to do every fucking day," you muttered under your breath, moving yet another chair so you could mop the floor with the poorly wrung-out mop. A puddle formed on the old brown panels. ” I’ll be a twenty-five-year-old with the spine of a life-worn retiree. Amazing”

Even though you had been complaining for over twenty minutes, deep down you were pleased with how things had turned out. You could use this room from midnight until six in the morning and even got your own set of keys. For free. Well, not entirely. In exchange, you had to clean at the end of each day. It hosted meetings for Alcoholics Anonymous and other support groups. And anonymous chip-aholics, you thought, noticing crushed crumbs under one of the chairs.

Your earnings as a bartender and occasional office cleaner didn’t allow you to rent any space for your... let’s call it a project. However, you believed you’d rather strain your back a little and perhaps save someone’s life than spend these already sleepless nights watching shows or partying.

You couldn’t quite remember how you came up with the idea. It probably happened while reading some sprawling discussion thread on a random forum online. Reading how people argue over the best cheesecake recipe on some website was one of your favorite late-night activities (don’t be fooled by the trivial topic—the discussion included a serious threat of arson and ended at a police station). Anyway, one night, while you were browsing a forum for parents of teenagers out of boredom, you came across advice from a woman who claimed that her communication problems with her daughter ended when she started talking to her late at night, rather than in the afternoon when she got home from school.

The thought wouldn’t leave you alone. You looked into it and found that, while most support groups met in the evening, it was usually early evening. Well, that made sense—few people could dedicate their whole night to it. But you could. You’d been struggling with insomnia since college, ever since your mother passed away. After finishing your evening bar shift at eleven, you’d rush to this place, put up your homemade sign on the door, and wait. You’d catch up on sleep in the mornings. And then, repeat.

Was it exhausting? A little. Had your social life nearly vanished, with the only people you saw being your equally nocturnal roommate and the neighbor’s kid you took to daycare in the morning for a few extra dollars? Absolutely. Did it bring you satisfaction? Only one person had shown up since you started, but yes, it brought you immense satisfaction.

It might sound a bit overdramatic, but helping others was your calling.

You continued cleaning, muttering a few more curses under your breath. One earbud dangled from your ear; listening to music went against your personal code. You knew that if some desperate person rushed in after reading the sign on the door, the sight of you—the person offering them a conversation—with earbuds in might be a bit discouraging. They might think better of bothering you and back out, and you wouldn’t even notice, absorbed in the music. But you couldn’t help it—you hated silence.

So, you bent your own rules, using only one earbud.

You swung the mop in a wide arc, in perfect sync with the rhythm of the song, and couldn’t resist doing a spin. Cleaning and dancing—was there a better combination?

When you turned around, you only then noticed that someone had been watching you the entire time. Which meant they’d heard every curse word that had come out of your mouth over the past twenty minutes. And there had been... a lot. You pulled the earbud from your ear, like a teenager caught watching something they shouldn’t.

Congratulations, you idiot. Whatever’s bothering him, he’ll definitely want to talk about it with someone like you...

“Hi!" you said, in the friendliest tone you could manage. You had to somehow get rid of all those curse words from your mouth. The man didn’t respond, but you noticed his chest move, as if he was taking a deep breath. Unfortunately for him, every time the other person stayed silent, you started babbling nonsense. "Sit down if you want, and don’t worry about the wet floor. I mean, maybe worry, if you care about your teeth. I slipped here yesterday too, but luckily on my back…I can’t afford a dentist visit, do you know how much they charge now?"

"I’ve read... I’ve read the note on the door," the man said shyly, pointing his thumb behind him. Only then did you take a closer look at him. A black coat with a piece of a black shirt peeking out, matching trousers, and elegant shoes...You straightened up, still holding the mop, realizing he must be coming back from a funeral. "Can I really stay here for a moment? If so, for how long?"

The desperation in his voice tightened your chest.

"Yes, of course," you said gently, much less chaotic than before. "You can stay as long as you need."

You held back the playful remark, At least until six in the morning, because after that I’m not welcome here anymore. Humor could ease tension in tough situations, but it wasn’t always appropriate, as you had learned many times. This man didn’t look like he’d be helped by your silly jokes…

He looked, above all, lost. He must have felt that way, since his feet had led him to this place. Despite your earlier words, he didn’t move, seeming unsure of how to act.

"I…I don't have to talk to you, right? That’s what the note says…"

His stuttering didn’t seem like the result of shyness. You got the impression that his lips were refusing to cooperate, too tired to express what his still sharp mind wanted to convey.

"If you don’t want to, I’m not going to force you. But sometimes, you know, it’s better to say what’s on your mind."

It seemed like he only heard the first sentence. Completely ignoring the second, he took a seat in one of the chairs in the last row. They were arranged like pews in a church, one behind the other. Surprising, considering it was a space for support group meetings. Usually, in such places, the chairs were set up in a circle—you knew that from experience.

For a moment, you kept staring at him, fighting the urge to speak again. His appearance moved you deeply—actually, the suffering of every living person touched you. And he was definitely suffering, moving stiffly as if in constant pain, with a vacant expression on his face. But since he had decided he needed silence, you couldn’t impose yourself on him. It could have the opposite effect, driving him away rather than encouraging him to open up.

You had no choice but to return to cleaning.

Moving around the room, you tried to take steps as light as a ghost. You tucked the earbuds into your pocket. You gathered all the lost trash and items, finishing mopping the floor. From time to time, your gaze would instinctively drift toward the man. Staring wasn’t in good taste, but you couldn’t help it. He looked... intriguing?

He was definitely young, around your age or maybe a little older, but still very, very young. His skin was unnaturally pale, contrasting sharply with his black clothes. Brown hair, short but longer than most of your male friends', a bit unruly. His eyes... so much was happening in them. While the rest of him seemed cold and unmoving, those eyes were a window to all the pain inside him.

You looked into his eyes just once and knew he wouldn’t say anything more to you. You’d spend a few hours in silence— you would finish your work and take a seat in the first row, far enough so you couldn’t hear each other’s breathing, but in a position where he could see your back, remember your presence, in case he decided to speak. But that won’t happen, you thought, and you were right.

At five in the morning, the mysterious, troubled man left the room.

You stared at the door, overwhelmed by your own thoughts. Maybe you had made a mistake by respecting his request? Maybe you should have sat right next to him, taken his hands, and begged him to tell you everything? You had no idea if those few hours of silence had soothed him, or if it had been the opposite. You were afraid he might have dangerous plans for himself, but that realization came too late. You couldn’t run out after him into the street; you wouldn’t find him in the cold, December night.

All you could do was sigh, certain that you’d never see him again.

Seeing him in the doorway the next night, you thought you had fallen asleep and that it was just a dream.

But you never slept at this time.

Spencer couldn’t reasonably explain why he went back there the following night.

Or why he was heading there for the third time.

He also didn’t know why he was so surprised that Hotch had given them a few days off. After all, he had long since learned that behind his cold exterior lay a genuinely caring and understanding nature.

Maybe he was simply hoping for the quickest possible return to work, something that would occupy his mind. He’d even be willing to stay late at the office, analyzing some old, unsolved cases, and only head home in the late hours, when he’d be longing to collapse into bed.

He’d be so exhausted that he wouldn’t even think about the Dilaudid hidden in the safe. He still hadn’t gotten rid of it, for a deeply humiliating reason. He feared that if he so much as tried to open the safe, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself.In the evenings, he was gripped by an anxiety so intense that his breathing would grow shallow to the point of causing severe dizziness. He couldn’t sleep either. An irrational fear haunted him—the fear that he might simply stop breathing in his sleep. That he’d never wake up again. In a few days, maybe a week, one of his friends, let’s say Derek, would decide to check why he wasn’t showing up to work. Derek would find him still lying in bed, his skin gray and cold, his limbs stiff.

His merciless mind seemed to be conjuring these images on purpose. Imagining Morgan over his lifeless body would send him back to Emily’s funeral, making him feel that same painful tightness in his chest.

These weren’t even flashbacks. He was almost certain he was sending himself back to that moment at the cemetery deliberately, purposefully crafting these visions. He wanted to amplify his suffering, to make a possible relapse feel more justified. It felt as though he was faking his tragic state, which made him dismiss any thought of asking anyone for help. Why would he, if he didn’t deserve it?

Besides, he didn’t want to intrude on anyone else’s grief. JJ couldn’t afford to break down; she had to stay strong for her family, for little Henry. Derek had nearly lost Emily in his arms, bearing an unbearable guilt and pain—it would be cruel to burden him with more. And Hotch was still reeling from his own tragedy; Hailey had died not so long ago, and Prentiss’s death could easily reopen those old wounds. They were the ones who truly deserved these few days off. Their struggles were real; he was just an addict—a boy supposedly intelligent.

Supposedly, because if he really were, would he keep something capable of destroying him in a safe by his bed, within reach at any moment.

Because of these thoughts, he feared the night more than anything. That’s when he became weak, vulnerable to the voice of his addiction. So, spending his nights away from home felt like the only solution.

He’d already developed a sort of routine. First, he’d head to the library, usually packed with students preparing for exams. As the hours wore on, they would disappear one by one, until by closing time, he was left alone with just the one librarian in square glasses.

He’d wander out to the hallway, glancing into the next room with the same curiosity he’d felt the first time. He wondered if that girl was still there. It seemed almost unbelievable that anyone would willingly spend entire nights sitting in silence with a gloomy stranger. Didn’t she have work to get up for? Or classes. She looked like a student—the kind who’d doze off in the front row without a shred of humility, doodle strange symbols in the margins, and engage professors in conversations on topics wildly unrelated to the lecture. And, somehow, they actually responded to her.

He stepped through the door, certain he’d find her there, yet…the room was empty. A chill ran through him at the thought that maybe he’d finally lost his mind and had only imagined her. In men, the first symptoms of schizophrenia usually appeared a bit earlier, but as everyone knew, every rule had its exceptions…

Something crashed forcefully into his back.

“Damn, sorry!” said the girl, her face obscured by the enormous box she was carrying.

She leaned it against her hip so she could see who she had just bumped into. Spencer was surprised to realize that he had been waiting for what she might say. The day before, when she saw him, she had said, "Oh, Mr. Mysterious. Good to see you, I was starting to think I made you up..." That had been their only interaction that night, and he wondered if she was going to greet him with a similar line.

But she simply smiled, adjusted the box in her arms, and walked past him. Did he really feel… disappointed?

He quickly shook his head. After all, he had asked her from the very beginning if they could not talk. He spent so much time there because it was the calmest place he could imagine, not because he was looking for new friends. He didn’t need them. New friends quickly turned into real friends, then old friends, and eventually, they only left wounds.He sat in the same spot as the previous and the one before that night. During those, he barely moved, spending those hours solely on thinking—about matters both important and trivial. This time, he brought something to occupy himself, specifically a pocket edition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. Even though he knew the book by heart and could recite any page from memory, he still found comfort in the story. Besides, this particular edition had been a birthday gift from Emily. He opened to the first page, but then his eyes fell on the inscription she had written by hand… As he began to read it, the words of her dedication blurred with the words spoken at her funeral. His head was filled with a ringing, and he immediately closed the book and placed it back in his pocket.

So, he was left with the escape into the depths of his own mind. He knew that most people wouldn’t be able to spend so many hours just thinking, but for him, it had never been a problem. He wasn’t sure whether it was a matter of his nature or simply a matter of habit, a skill he had mastered during his lonely teenage years.

Then, he glanced briefly at the girl still there. It occurred to him for the first time, what on earth she needed that huge box for. He found her standing on tiptoe on a chair, trying to reach the corkboard hanging on the wall. Attached to it were reminders about the benefits of belonging to a support group, etc., so people who got bored during meetings could constantly remind themselves why they were actually sitting there. The girl was trying to frame the board by pinning… Christmas lights to its edges?

Given her short stature, it was quite a challenge. Sensing that her fall was only a matter of time, he stood up from his seat. He didn’t even particularly wonder why she was hanging Christmas decorations in November.

“I’ll help,” he offered.

She looked at him, first a little surprised, then almost with relief.

“I’d like to, as any altruist would, refuse your help and say that you don’t have to…but for God’s sake, please, just do it,” she said, immediately jumping off the chair and onto the floor. “I think I’ve already told you that I can’t afford a dentist, so I’d rather not take the risk.

“You mentioned it,” Reid replied, not sure what else he could add. He stopped trying to come up with any elaborate responses. Once again, he reminded himself that he hadn’t come here to make new acquaintances; he didn’t need to present himself in the best possible light. He could afford a little blissful silence and grumpiness.

She watched his actions with her arms crossed. He reached the spot where she wanted to attach the lights without much trouble.

“I know it’s not very hygienic,” she muttered, cutting a piece of tape with her teeth. “But I don’t have scissors, and as they say, you have to make do somehow.” She handed him a transparent piece, which, though almost invisible from a distance, was meant to keep the lights from falling. He accepted it without a word.

“The owner requested that I decorate this place for Christmas,” she continued. “He mentioned something about how the atmosphere positively affects most people, so it’s best to start as early as possible. But for me, it’s a bit too soon. What do you think?”

Absorbed in the task, he hadn’t heard her question. She didn’t seem bothered by it. Leaning against the wall with one arm, she clapped her hands when he finished.

“Thanks a lot, stranger. Now that I’ve used you once, maybe we should finally introduce ourselves?”

Spencer prolonged the process of getting off the chair as much as he could. For some reason, he didn’t really want to reveal his name. In a way, he liked that, entering this room, he was just a shell without characteristics, data, or past experiences.

“We don’t have to, if you don’t want to,” she added, noticing his hesitation. “Actually, names don’t really matter. I can always just call you a stranger. You could suggest some adjectives. Think it over carefully; it’s an opportunity to be, for example, a handsome stranger…”

He couldn’t help himself and chuckled. The girl’s eyebrows raised slightly, as if she had just witnessed a miracle.

“Spencer,” he revealed, extending his hand.

She shook it, offering her own name in return. Her nails were of varying lengths, especially those on her thumbs, which didn’t even extend past the tip of her finger, as if she only bit those particular ones.

“Well, considering we’ve theoretically known each other for three days, it sounds a bit funny, but nice to meet you, Spencer. Thanks again for the help. So, let’s see if it works.”

He had planned to return immediately to his seat, but the girl spoke so quickly that he didn’t have time to pull back. Instead, he found himself standing in front of her, watching as she switched on the Christmas lights, her face showing the intensity of an inventor presenting their latest creation.

“No way,” she muttered when the lights didn’t turn on.

“Probably the batteries,” he replied.

She looked at him as if he had just said something groundbreaking.

“You know what kind we’ll need?”

“AA, the thin ones.”

“Alright, then let’s go,” she decided, moving forward with determination.

“What? Where to?”

For a moment, he wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or just referring to herself in the plural. It was... unexpected.

“To the store, across the street. I need to decorate this place if I want the owner to keep letting me do what I’m doing here. Since you’re a battery expert, you can tell me which ones to pick.”

“AA, the thinnest ones. I’m not an expert, it’s common knowledge. Haven’t you ever changed batteries on a remote?”

He hesitated a bit about leaving the room with her. However, she had already put on her jacket, a brown leather one, at least two sizes too big. Underneath, she wore a green, lace blouse with an asymmetrical cut and flared sleeves, giving it a slightly fairy-like style.

“I guess not, I don’t know. My mom was against television, and we watched it so rarely that we never had to change batteries. Or maybe she changed them herself, I don’t know. Doesn’t matter. I just want company so let’s go.

If she had phrased it as a suggestion, he would probably have replied that he’d prefer to stay inside alone, if that were possible. However, she used a command, delivered so quickly that his brain didn’t even have time to process what was happening before his body moved forward.

After a moment, they crossed the street, heading toward a small, 24-hour shop on the corner. Spencer figured he might have dropped by there once before or after a visit to the library; after all, it wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar neighborhood.

Almost immediately after stepping inside, they came face-to-face with the guy behind the counter, who looked like he was counting down the hours until closing, the way prisoners count down the years left on their sentences.

“What do we need, expert?” the girl muttered to him, as if they were about to buy a part for constructing a rocket launcher, not just a couple of ordinary batteries.

Spencer asked for batteries and, after a moment’s thought, a coffee, too—the kind served in those ridiculously inconvenient cups without any sleeves, making it easy to spill and burning hot to hold. The girl glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, so he added, asking for one for her as well.

As they waited for their order, an incredibly awkward silence settled over them. It was odd, considering they’d spent the last two nights practically without exchanging a word. She stood with her elbow casually resting on the counter, while he kept his hands in the pockets of his brown coat. The harsh, almost clinical lighting inside revealed details about her appearance that Spencer hadn’t noticed before. For instance, her light-blonde bangs fell in a heart shape on her forehead, her eyebrows were slightly asymmetrical, and her eyes were the coldest shade of blue he’d ever seen. Or maybe it was the effect of the black eyeliner on her waterline?

Noticing his stare, she tilted her head in question, assuming he had something to ask. Caught off guard, he mirrored her gesture without knowing why. They were spared further awkwardness by the arrival of two coffees on the counter in those unfortunate cups.

“Thanks for paying,” she said as they stepped back outside. As the door closed behind them, he felt like muttering no problem but she beat him to it. “I was counting on it. I don’t have any money on me. That’s my way of saving—just never carrying cash.

A comment about how it wasn’t the wisest method came to his lips—after all, accidents happened, and sometimes having a bit of cash on hand could actually save one’s life. He was surprised, though, by his own concern and sense of responsibility toward a stranger.

As they left, she locked the door, then handed him her coffee to hold so she could unlock it again to let them back in.

“If it turned out you didn’t have a cent in that fancy coat of yours, I would’ve just stolen it,” she admitted in the same casual tone one might use to comment on the weather. Her bluntness startled him every time. “I even considered it, but then you pulled out your wallet. Hey, you’re not a cop or something, are you?” she asked suddenly, raising an eyebrow suspiciously.

“I am,” he replied automatically. Damn, he shouldn’t have said that. He’d already given her his name, and now his profession. At this rate, his anonymity would burst like a soap bubble.

From her expression, he could tell she took it as a joke.

“Oh no. Are you going to arrest me now?”

He shrugged.

“If I did, I wouldn’t have anywhere to go.”

Saying this, he felt a twinge of inner humiliation. His slightly improved mood sank back to square one, as he was reminded that he wasn’t on a casual outing with a friend—he was on a forced exile from his own apartment.

She pushed open the door and stepped through first, walking backward, facing him as she went.

“I’ll take that as a no. Although, on second thought—do you have hot water in your place?” He nodded, answering her question, clueless about where she was headed. Her comments were too unpredictable. She clapped her hands together. “That’s great! They cut ours off in the building two days ago for some maintenance work, and honestly, I’ve missed nothing more than a hot shower. So, officer, maybe you should reconsider that arrest?”

She literally pushed her wrists right under his nose. For a moment, he regretted not having handcuffs with him. He imagined the shock and amusement on her face if he actually snapped them around her wrists. He shook his head, not understanding why he was picturing that—or why, suddenly, he felt so amused. Well, at least it was a relief compared to how he had felt an hour ago.

“Well, I don’t know the procedure for a cop taking an arrested person to his own home,” he replied.

“I’ve heard they do that with the worst criminals,” she said.

“Like battery thieves?”

“Every serial killer starts somewhere.”

“I don’t know of a single case where it started with stealing batteries.”

“Well, maybe you don’t know enough about criminology?” she asked, spreading her hands.

Spencer fell silent for a moment, then simply started laughing. Not mockingly, but genuinely, like he hadn’t in... a long, long time. After a moment, the girl joined him, though she couldn’t have known the true reason for his reaction. After a moment, the girl joined him, though she couldn’t know the true reason for his reaction. She tried to take the coffee from him, still holding it for her. As he was still overcome by some boyish chuckle, he flinched and accidentally brushed her pale hand. The girl didn’t even seem to notice the fleeting contact, grabbed the cup, and took a small sip of the still-hot drink. His fingers twitched, curling and stretching. He had never been a fan of physical contact, accepting it only from those closest to him. Whenever he tried to touch someone, he had an overwhelming feeling that it bothered them. Spencer considered it an incredible paradox that he worked by conducting in-depth psychological analyses of individuals, yet in his personal life, he struggled so much with understanding others' feelings.

Standing in the same spot, he watched as she approached the Christmas lights.

“Well, come on, techie. Time to change the batteries.”

She pulled him out of his thoughts. He joined her by the corkboard, this time offering her his coffee. It took him less than a minute, but when the lights blinked on, she patted him on the shoulder with such admiration, as if he had spent an entire day working on it.

It was a purely joking gesture, but somehow it still reminded him of all those pats on the back at the funeral—the last time anyone had touched him. He was really starting to hate his brain for dragging up memories like that every damn time he began to feel even a little bit better.

The girl must have noticed the slight withdrawal on his face after she touched him. He could almost see the invisible notebook in her mind, where the words never touch him again, he doesn’t want it seemed to appear. He suddenly wanted to open his mouth and explain that it had nothing to do with her, but he knew it would come out sounding pathetic.

That’s why he just sighed, like a beaten dog, wondering if taking Dilaudid that day would have allowed him to talk to her—and anyone else—with far more ease, without the heavy burden on his shoulders and the eternal tornado of painful memories storming through the depths of his mind.

“So…” the girl began after a longer pause. Her voice sounded different for a moment, stripped of its playful and cheerful tone, and Spencer almost felt as if she forced herself to bring it back. “Thanks again for your help and for unwittingly stopping me from committing theft. Oh, and for the coffee, though it’s one of the worst I’ve had in the past ten years of my life. Which is about as long as I’ve been drinking coffee at all. Anyway, if you’ve grown tired of my chatter, your lucky moment has arrived, because I need to get back to hanging the rest of the holiday decorations, cleaning the floors…”

"I can help you with all that," said Spencer’s lips—certainly not him, at least not so quickly or so confidently. That didn’t mean he disagreed, though.

She bit her lip, gently shaking her head.

“No… I don’t want you to feel obligated, like you have to help me with something. Or like you need to repay me for hanging out here. Since… let’s say I started this place, I’ve been managing everything on my own. This room is pretty small, there’s really not that much to clean. So just relax. Enjoy your book—I noticed you brought one.” She nodded toward his coat pocket, where it indeed rested. “Yeah, I stared at you for a second. Subtly, of course, so you wouldn’t notice. But don’t worry, you weren’t, like, picking your nose or anything. Not that I assumed you would. I mean, you don’t seem like the type.”

“Thank…you?”

One thing about Spencer—he often heard that he talked too much. That was just his nature. When a broad topic genuinely fascinated him, he couldn’t help diving into even the tiniest details. It always left him feeling a bit ashamed, worried that whoever he was talking to wasn’t remotely interested and was only rolling their eyes internally. For the first time in a long while, he’d met someone who made him seem like the quiet one, maybe even a bit grumpy.

The thought surprised him, but he regretted not meeting her at a different point in his life. Just a few stupid weeks ago, when Emily was still alive, and he wasn’t constantly battling the urge to soothe himself with Dilaudid. Maybe then he could have mustered more energy, started a truly engaging conversation. But now his throat was bone dry. He realized he was stuck in the belief that a part of him—the part everyone seemed to like the most—was gone, and the only way to get it back was locked in the safe by his bed.

His ears started ringing, and his own body felt like it no longer belonged to him. It was just an ordinary object with a delicate structure, cracking under the loud sound filling his ears.

The girl kept staring at him. God, he must have looked pathetic in her eyes. Was she talking to him because she wanted to, or because he came here every night and she had no other choice? He could have sworn he saw some disgust in her eyes. For the first time, he noticed that when they stood side by side in the store under such harsh lighting. It allowed her to examine him closely, and she noticed the bags under his eyes and the tired grayness of his skin. Furthermore, he spoke so little—she must have despised him.

He felt the urge to simply run out of the room, head straight back to his apartment, ignore the old neighbor on the stairs, and with trembling hands, open the safe... then it would all be over, the pain and the tension...

“Spencer?” A sound pierced the heavy dome surrounding him. His name. It was the first time she had used it, instead of some mocking label like stranger, officer, or techie “Spencer, is everything okay?”

He sank heavily into one of the chairs. It was the only way to stop himself from leaving. Not enough, he felt. Something kept urging him to stand up and go to his apartment. The apartment, the safe...

"Could you... could you say something to me?" he asked pitifully, in the voice of a beggar pleading for a piece of bread.

He had to distract himself somehow, get rid of these thoughts.

"Say something to you?" she repeated, confused.

"Anything, please. About inheritance and gene mutation, why you even come here every night, it doesn’t matter, just talk to me…"

"Okay," she said, a little feverishly, sitting down right next to him. He avoided her gaze, but briefly noticed she was looking at him with concern in her cold, blue eyes. "Okay... okay... so I'll tell you I have no clue about inheritance and genes, sorry...what was the other topic to choose? Why do I come here?"

He didn’t answer, not even realizing she had asked a question. Trembling, he listened only to her voice and her words, paying much less attention to the tone. He forced himself to listen. You’re not leaving this room, at least not until she finishes speaking. Listen. She has a nice voice, doesn't she?

"Spencer, you’ve gotten very, very pale."

"It’s okay, just talk to me. I need... to forget about something."

The girl suddenly nodded, with more readiness and understanding.

"Alright... Why do I come here? My friends, the ones who even know about this, slash one roommate and a guy from the bar, I'm not going to pretend I have a lot of friends...Anyway, they asked about it, and I told each of them a little bit of something different, but with the same general meaning. I didn’t go into details, I didn’t go into details, but I’ll tell you now, not just because you look like a dying man and I feel a bit like I’m fulfilling your last request before you drop dead on the floor. By the way, I wonder what I’d tell the police if that happened. Would you stand up for your old good friend, officer?"

His hands clenched around his knees, his head hung low, and for a long time, he had been hearing the beating of his own heart. His smile in response to the question was crooked and tired, but that didn’t change the fact that it was still a smile.

"How, when I'd be dead?"

"Oh, you like to nitpick words?"

"I just like logic. Usually."

"If I wanted to finish you off, I'd start telling you about my roommate's love life. That one's completely devoid of logic. You’d die listening to that.”

“So maybe another time? Besides, as much as I'd prefer not to die in an AA meeting room, I'd rather listen more about you."

"So listen. And breathe, deeply. You can take my hand if you want, or if it helps. Don’t you think I sound like I'm giving advice to a woman in labor? Breathe, hold my hand..."

Spencer exhaled again, followed by a burst of laughter. Her train of thought was simply exceptional, and he was genuinely curious about what would come out of her mouth next. He was beginning to forget about the Dilaudid hidden in the safe by his bed…

"Oh God, I forgot again what I was talking about, I’ll never finish telling this…" The girl groaned, pressing her hand to her forehead. "Ah, college. No, wait, something about friends. I know, why I started this place! Alright, so it all probably started in college. The need to help, not the idea. I came up with that through an internet forum and arguments about cheesecake. Anyway, at my college, we created this really small organization. It's hard to even call it that, it was just... at that time, we were all moved by a girl I shared a room with who had attempted suicide. After everything, she dropped out of college... nearly cut contact with us, and we felt the need to do something, to help someone. Young, ambitious psychology students, you know? I think it was even my idea. I was sober for the first time since the academic year began, longer than two days, and immediately started having flashes of brilliance. It was about this: late at night, when most people were contemplating suicide, we swarmed all the nearby bridges. "It sounds heroic, I know. But in reality, we intervened only two, maybe three times. I was really surprised by that, I thought it was one of the most popular methods."

"In the United States, the most common method is hanging. It accounts for 25 to 30% of cases. After that, there’s..." He felt the need to swallow. "Overdose. Especially among the young. Falls from heights or deliberate drownings are less common, but still present in the statistics."

"I'm a little concerned about your knowledge on this subject."

"I read a bit."

"Maybe I shouldn’t be saying this, as someone whose favorite book is Girl, Interrupted, but maybe it’s time for some... less... devastating reading?"

"Maybe I'll think about it. Anyway, what’s next with your... project?"

The girl rested her chin on the back of her chair, recalling where she had left off. Spencer finally straightened up, and as he became more engaged in the story she was telling, his hands stopped shaking as much.

"Well, as students go, we kind of lost our drive. They left one by one. The only thing I can say in their defense is that it was a damn cold winter, and you could have gotten hypothermia just from standing on that bridge at that hour. But I... somehow got more involved in it. My mom... passed away barely a month after I started college, completely unexpectedly. You know... or maybe you don't, I don't know what the beginning of a semester looks like in college. More parties than studying. My body had a full Mendeleev’s table inside at that time. Those nights spent on the bridges were the first sober and fully conscious ones in a long time. I liked standing there, thinking. To the drivers passing by, I might have looked like I wanted to jump myself, but I never considered it... not in that particular way. I had been dealing with insomnia for a long time, so I could come there very late. And one time... I really managed to save a man. I noticed him, and we talked for almost an hour. My heart nearly jumped out of my chest, but... after that time, he actually stepped down from the railing, hugged me, and walked away. I don’t remember what I said to him. I’m not even sure if it actually happened, maybe I made it all up?

She took a deep breath to calm herself. Spencer stared into her lost gaze, devoid of the false positivity that usually covered it. He wanted to... he couldn’t quite determine if he wanted to hug her. He wanted to do something, but he wanted it to be more than just a hollow gesture. Still, he flinched, holding himself back from wrapping his arm around her.

"I'm sure it really happened," he said, his voice quieter and hoarse. The girl was surprised by the certainty in his tone. "And that's because... maybe you don't realize it, but you're doing exactly the same thing now as you did on that bridge, just in a different place and with a different guy."

He saw her slowly blink, the weight of his words settling in. One of the most talkative women he had ever met was suddenly rendered speechless. They stared at each other in silence for a long time, her lips parting and closing a few times. He felt a strange tension, as if whatever she was about to say would determine something significant in his life.

"Is that... why you come here every night?" she asked finally. "To avoid standing on the bridge?"

Spencer hated metaphors, couldn’t stand when others used them, and struggled to create them himself. So he knew he had reached a truly strange point in his life when he found himself using one.

"I stand on it all the time, every moment."

Her fingers moved restlessly, her face momentarily expressionless. Then, she simply reached for his hand, the one farther from her.

"Nighttime is the hardest, isn't it?"

"Yes," he admitted. He kept the next sentence in his mouth for a long time, chewing on it repeatedly, questioning whether it tasted right and whether he should say it. He felt... that this request might be too much. Yet, at the same time, he was painfully desperate. For the first time, truly motivated to do it. He hesitated, licking his lips, and the girl followed the movement of his tongue, as if wondering what he was about to say. He finally decided to just say it. "I have something at home that I'm afraid I'll take. I know that when I try to get rid of it, I won’t be able to stop myself. I know I probably shouldn’t ask you this, but I can’t do it on my own... I don’t have anyone else who could do this for me..."

She looked at him with a cold seriousness.

"Are you trying to lure me to your apartment?"

"No!" he assured hastily, realizing it really did sound that way. He quickly shook his head. "You're right, you shouldn’t go to a stranger’s house, and I shouldn’t even ask you. We barely know each other..."

"I was joking," she interrupted, reaching for her jacket. "I want to help you, I really do."

"No, I’ve thought about it, and I think I can handle it on my own..."

"After what you just told me? Forget it. I’m not taking the risk that something might happen to you."

"But..."

Determination sparkled in her eyes.

"How far do you live from here?"

You were doing something incredibly stupid.

You were going to the apartment of a man you had met three days ago and knew nothing about except his name.

You were practically risking your life. You could have ended up subjected to excruciating tortures beyond anything you could imagine, then murdered and desecrated.

This was how Spencer lectured you the entire way, trying to convince you not to follow him, but it was already too late. You had made up your mind and tried not to think about the potential danger. It was incredibly difficult, thanks to the vividly detailed stories he kept sharing.

During the twenty-minute subway ride, he managed to summarize the biographies of six serial killers who targeted women just like you. He even called you someone in the highest risk group for assault and violence, to which you sarcastically muttered thank you and clamped a hand over his mouth—mainly because the woman sitting next to you looked like she was dialing emergency services.

“You know an unsettling amount about that topic too,” you remarked as the two of you covered the last stretch of the walk on foot. “You know, murderers and crimes.”

Of course, you had locked up your space, even though you’d never left it before sunrise. Night after night, you had stubbornly stayed until morning, even though, apart from Spencer, only one other person had ever shown up, and you’d spent most of the time bored out of your mind. Yet, you didn’t feel guilty about abandoning your post. After all, your intention from the start had been to help people in crisis—those who couldn’t or wouldn’t seek professional help, who needed more of a friendly, honest chat over a beer but without the beer.

Since the moment that man had first walked through your door, he had occupied your thoughts more than you wanted to admit. You had been incredibly afraid he’d spend every night silently sitting with you and then suddenly stop coming, leaving you with guilt and endless questions. Instead, he had opened up almost by accident.

Even though you knew far less about him than you wanted to, you felt a strange connection between the two of you. Mostly in the form of sleepless nights, the shared loss of someone dear (you guessed this from his attire during that first night), and likely a history with various substances.

Many people would look at him and refuse to believe he could be an addict. Well, aside from the state he was in after several sleepless nights in a row—exhausted eyes, a few days' worth of stubble, and a slouched posture—he looked quite respectable. But you had encountered enough people struggling with addiction to know that appearances were no indicator. Judging based on looks in such matters was simply harmful.

“As I mentioned, I read a bit,” he replied to your question.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah? What, The Silence of the Lambs as a bedtime story every night?”

He chuckled but didn't press the issue further as you both reached the building where he apparently lived. He stopped, signaling for you to do the same. Above you, a streetlamp cast the only light in the starless night. Spencer was wearing a brown coat that you really liked, and a light breeze ruffled his hair.

"Maybe you should text your roommate, let her know where you're headed?" he suggested. "You know, give her the address..."

"Oh my God, Spencer..."

"I just want you to feel comfortable," he said.

You sighed and grabbed your phone, wanting to ease his worry.

"It's just common sense to do this every time you're going somewhere with someone you don't know. Or when you're coming back alone. It's not just about women."

"Now I'm starting to think you're really a cop," you muttered.

You pulled up your friend and roommate Jude's number on your phone and began typing a message.

i'm going to some weird dude's place, here's his addy. if I'm not back by noon, just know my head's probably in his fridge xoxo

Jude worked nights cleaning office buildings. She must've been slacking off because she replied almost immediately:

you little slut.

After a moment she added:

don’t let him tie you down

if worse comes to worse bite his dick off

not as hard as it sounds

“She replied that I’m being a bit irresponsible and I should be careful. She’ll call me in an hour to make sure everything’s fine.”

Spencer seemed satisfied with the response.

“Sounds like a really good friend.”

“Yeah, the best. Let’s go in.

As soon as you were at his apartment door, he noticeably tensed up. And when he turned on the light, you saw his skin pale again, just like earlier when you had been worried about his state. You didn’t look around too much. The apartment was definitely nicer than the one you shared with Jude, but it had been kept in a style from a decade ago, which immediately impressed you since you weren’t a fan of modern architecture.

“Where is it?” you asked, referring to the mysterious thing you were supposed to take from him.

Uncertainly, he opened the door to the bedroom for you. If he really intended to kill you, it probably would have happened right then. You watched as he approached a cabinet near the double bed. He opened its doors, revealing a simple safe. He typed the code so quickly that even if you had wanted to, you wouldn’t have been able to memorize it. You held your breath as he came over to you, handing you some plastic bag. You shoved it into your pocket without even looking at it.

You didn’t want him to think for even a moment that you were judging him. Besides, the moment he handed it to you, that concern no longer mattered. He could finally breathe again in his own home.

“I haven’t taken anything for a long time,” he confessed in a quiet voice. “Actually, I thought I was completely clean. But something happened recently, and I couldn’t stop thinking about it. I couldn’t get rid of it.”

You stood in front of him, your head tilted up, the plastic bag weighing lightly in your jacket pocket, even though its contents were virtually weightless. The silence between you became intimate, and a smile of appreciation crept onto your lips.

“You’re incredibly strong.”

“I’d be strong if I hadn’t bought it.”

“Spencer, you kept it in that safe, what, for three days? You spent nights away from home so you wouldn’t think about it? You asked me to come and take it so you wouldn’t risk giving in. Think about it. So many people would’ve broken down in your place.”

You could see that he didn’t completely agree with you, but you didn’t want to push him to change his mind. You were just sharing your opinion. For a moment, you both stayed silent, his head leaning in your direction so you could hear each other clearly despite the softly spoken words. It was as if you were sharing secrets so big that even the walls couldn’t hear them.

"I hope that by taking this, you'll be able to sleep for a bit," you said, feeling a little like you were committing a sin by breaking the silence. Spencer stepped back to his usual distance.

You knew there was nothing left for you here, but somehow you couldn’t bring yourself to leave the room. You didn’t have even the slightest excuse to stay, so you sighed and glanced meaningfully at the door. His expression was unreadable, his shoulders hanging loosely by his sides.

"Well, I’m off. I’ll drop by the place for a few hours," you said. You were really about to walk out when you cursed in your mind and finally forced yourself to say what had been bothering you. "So... even though you’ve gotten rid of it, do you still plan on coming by? I mean..."

You didn’t know how to finish the sentence.

"We’ll see each other tomorrow," he assured you shortly, but firmly, which was enough for you.

You wanted to leave with a sense of mystery, but you couldn’t stop the wide smile that spread across your face. Spencer opened his mouth, probably to say something about safety and walking alone in the city late at night. You gave him a quick, caring look and disappeared through the door.

You’d been living a nocturnal life for years, aware of the dangers that the darkness held, but you’d also come to know the comforting feeling that it left behind in its embrace.

One might expect that after an entire afternoon at work and a sleepless night, you would collapse into bed exhausted by morning. But that never happened. Every day, you returned to your apartment in that dark green building with red fire escapes and spent two hours tackling your dreaded household chores—washing dishes or doing laundry.

You hated mornings, though you didn’t know why. Nights were loud and alive, and so were you during them. Mornings were quiet and seemed to trap you like wounded prey. They cornered you, gnawed at you, and forced you to confront... what exactly? Your own life? Your thoughts? Longing and emptiness?

One thing was certain: you wouldn’t trade your lifestyle for anything in the world.

Around eight in the morning, you would take your neighbor's son to preschool. She was a single mother, just two years older than you, earning a decent income but, as a result, constantly busy. Sometimes she left the boy with you, rewarding you generously afterward.

That was also when Jude came back from her night shift, usually dropping into bed without even greeting you. By then, you would often shut your eyes for a few hours, too—you weren’t a machine, after all, capable of functioning entirely without sleep.

And yet, you were always the first to wake up, spending an hour or two in bed with your laptop before your friend joined you, and the two of you would have breakfast. At two in the afternoon.

You spread homemade jam on your toast. Jude was obsessed with unprocessed food, and if she had the time, she’d probably bake her own bread—from flour she milled herself from grain she grew. You could easily picture her in some tiny, bygone village, growing vegetables with a scarf tied around her head—a funny image, considering she lived a thoroughly urban lifestyle and spent every weekend in a club.

“So?” she asked, walking into your small kitchen after her shower, wearing a black satin robe that revealed glimpses of her freshly pampered brown skin. Even the lack of hot water in the entire building didn’t stop her from sticking to her twenty-step skincare routine. She raised her eyebrows suggestively. “How was the night? Did you have to use your mouth?”

“If you’re referring to that advice you gave me yesterday—no, I didn’t have to.”

“Probably used it in another way,” she said with a smirk.

“Sometimes you’re as gross as teenage boys in high school.”

“Sorry,” she said, waving it off while making herself some coffee. “I’m just happy for you. Lately, you never go out, never see anyone. You spend your nights acting as a free therapist in an empty room, and when you’re not at work, you’re glued to your laptop. It’s not healthy, babe. Sometimes you’ve gotta have fun and blow off some steam. So, who’s the guy? You said he’s kind of a weirdo.”

“He kind of is,” you admitted. “But in a sweet way. We didn’t fucked by the way.”

Jude turned to you, looking utterly crushed.

“Then what the hell did you do? Play chess?”

“You immediately assumed it was a quick hookup. This is a guy I met while acting like a free therapist in an empty room,” you quoted her own words back at her, slightly sarcastic.

She was silent for a moment, arms crossed, staring at you. “Hot?”

“What does that have to do with anything—”

“Well, he must be, considering how quickly you agreed to go to his place. You know what, girl? Need any help with your ‘business’?”

You snorted with laughter, swallowing the last bite of your toast.

“Whore”

“Single young woman, I prefer”

You weren’t very talkative, your mind constantly drifting back to the events of that night. You regretted not getting Spencer’s phone number. You needed to know what happened after you left and how he was holding up, to the point that you couldn’t focus on anything else. You comforted yourself with the thought that you’d see him again that night. An intense need to learn more about him, to understand him, and a bit of concern for him lingered with you.

Jude was sipping her coffee when there was a knock at the door. You flinched, and she, stiff as a board, stopped you with a gesture of her hand.

“I have a bad feeling about this…” she muttered under her breath, nervously clutching her cup.

As if on cue, the light knock at the door turned into a loud pounding. “Jude!” a male voice shouted. “Jude, come on, let’s talk!”

Your friend hid her face in her hands as you sighed. Richard was her ex-boyfriend, and a complete psycho. They had broken up a year ago and had no contact since. Yet, every now and then, he would remember she existed and stalk her like some kind of obsessive. Then he would disappear again. You had almost gotten used to it, though you still insisted she should report it to the police. Jude, on the other hand, thought it wasn’t worth the trouble since nothing would come of it anyway.

“Pretend we’re not here,” she ordered.

You sighed again, looking at her gently. “I really think you should do something about it.”

“He’ll get bored in a week. We just have to wait. Maybe one day he’ll break his neck on those damn stairs, and we’ll be done with him.”

You couldn’t help but snort, despite the seriousness of the situation. The steepness of the stairs in your building was truly terrifying. So much so that when you went out to the club, instead of heading home in the early hours, you’d crash at some mutual friends’ place. Trying to climb those stairs drunk could end tragically.

Jude was right about one thing. Richard quickly lost interest, and after ten minutes the knocking stopped, but you didn’t leave, afraid he might be lurking somewhere in the hall. You both left the apartment together—she was heading to meet some friends, and you were off to work.

You liked the bar where you worked. The afternoon shift started quietly, mostly with a few guys stopping by on their way home from the office, chatting calmly and not causing any trouble. As night fell, the atmosphere picked up, becoming livelier. You always finished your shift just when the fun was starting to turn into chaos and arguments. As you left, you noticed the jealous looks from your coworkers, who, after months or even years, still watched some people with fear. Well, a drunk person is an unpredictable one.

You walked back to your rented room as if wings were carrying you. You were curious about what time Spencer would show up. You suspected he spent his evenings in the nearby library, which closed at midnight. You also hoped that besides him, others might show up as well.

Once inside, you started wondering if you should move the sign from the door to a more visible spot, so more people could learn about your initiative.

Spencer usually showed up right at midnight. Not waiting for him, you got to work on your usual chores. You were certain he’d appear in the doorway any moment, just like he always did—silently, like a ghost. As you scrubbed the floors, you kept turning over your shoulder, always convinced you’d see him there. But every time, there was no one. You glanced at the clock and went back to work, because what else was there to do?

You really regretted not exchanging phone numbers.

Sure, you had taken his Dilaudid, but that didn’t rule out the possibility that he might eventually crack and reach for it. That was the dark scenario that had formed in the pessimistic part of your brain, and it lingered there only for a moment. You remembered the determination and certainty in his eyes last night—he really didn’t want to return to addiction. Most likely, something had just come up. After all, not everyone can afford to stay up so many nights in a row. Work, studies, responsibilities... You realized you didn’t even know what he did for a living. There were so many questions.

Hours passed. You looked at the Christmas decorations you’d put up yesterday. Your mom had never liked Christmas, considering it an unnecessarily stressful time, but at your request, your home always drowned in lights and Santa hats. As an adult, you walked past such things in stores with your head down. Every association with your mom brought memories—positive ones, true, but sometimes the greatest joys also brought pain.

You sighed, catching yourself in those thoughts. This was exactly why you hated silence. It always led you down a path of sadness. You considered putting in your headphones when someone appeared at the door.

You straightened up with hope, but it wasn’t Spencer. Instead, it was a man in a burgundy sweater, glasses on his nose, and a touch of gray in his hair. You recognized him as the librarian, who sometimes left work when you were arriving. He greeted you in an extremely polite manner.

“I’ve noticed that sign on your door for a while now, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to come in. Do you work here?”

At first, you were disappointed it wasn’t Spencer, but that feeling was quickly replaced by a smile. Someone had finally taken an interest in your notice.

“It’s not really a job. More of a personal project. I sit here and listen to what’s weighing on people’s minds.”

The librarian turned out to be a kind, though very shy, man. You talked for a while; he made you laugh more than once, and the rest of the night didn’t seem as depressing. He unexpectedly confided in you that his retired wife was battling cancer. He must have felt the urge to get it off his chest as soon as he entered, maybe even as soon as he saw the sign. He tried to maintain composure, but inside, he was terrified of losing her. His aging hands trembled as he spoke about it, and you listened with a heavy heart.

When you returned to the apartment, you couldn’t bring yourself to do anything. You sat on the fire escape, your legs hanging into the dark space, until the sun rose. You heard the key turn in the lock and jumped to your feet, rushing to the door.

“Jude, Jude, Jude!” you called to your roommate. She stepped back, her exhausted mind unable to handle such an enthusiastic greeting. Without waiting for her questions, you said, “You need to find someone for me. Get their phone number, preferably. I don’t care how, I know you have your ways.”

Your roommate wiped her eyes.

“We’ll talk after I get some sleep. And after you make me breakfast. Eggs, just how I like them.”

You agreed to the arrangement. Jude had incredible stalker skills. Once, she found an online profile of a guy just by knowing what kind of watch he wore. You didn’t want to wait until the next night hoping Spencer would show up, so you decided to track him down yourself.

While Jude was sleeping, you wandered aimlessly around the apartment, eventually collapsing on the couch with the laptop on your stomach, reading through discussions on poaching forums. Why? God knows. You just couldn’t sleep.

A king’s breakfast appeared on the table: fried eggs on toast with avocado, freshly brewed coffee. Jude sighed at the sight.

“If only my future boyfriend treated me like this.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you warned, finishing off half an avocado raw. “I’m only doing this because I really need you to find someone for me.”

“Did you meet some handsome guy again?”

“It’s the same one.”

She laughed.

“You slept together and now there’s no trace of him? Sounds familiar…”

“Oh, just shut up with the toast. We didn't sleep with each other. How much longer you’re gonna eat that?

She rolled her eyes at your rushing and deliberately prolonged eating her breakfast, just to watch the vein on your forehead throb. When she finally finished, she pushed her plate aside and placed her laptop on the table instead. Cracking her knuckles like a piano virtuoso before a performance, she said:

“Alright, tell me everything about him. Every little detail—not just his name and address. Which metro line you took, what shoes he was wearing, what type of condoms he used, everything. That’s how I’ll find him.”

“Condoms?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Exactly. Give me thirty minutes.”

You started losing faith in the success of this plan, but when you shared the information with her—though not everything, to preserve at least some of his privacy—she actually went silent for half an hour, fully focused on her laptop screen. You waited, tapping your nails on the table.

“Ha! Got him!” she exclaimed, both amused and proud. “Oh, crap… did you know the guy’s a doctor?”

"What?"

Surprised, you shifted in your seat. Not that it was entirely implausible… actually, the more you thought about it, it kind of fit him. But his career path was the least of your concerns at the moment—you were looking for a way to get in touch and find out why he hadn’t shown up last night despite his promise.

“Doctor Spencer Reid,” Jude read out. “Sounds sexy. Were you two playing some kind of role-play game?”

“For heaven’s sake, Jude, I told you…”

Once again, you explained to her that you hadn’t spent the night together, but she just cackled through your entire speech.

“Fine. Whatever. You know what, you’re right—we had sex. BDSM, ropes, the whole deal. I’ll tell you all about it…”

“Okay, on second thought, I don’t want to hear this anymore.”

“So plug your ears and give me his phone number if, by some miracle, you managed to find that too.”

The first case they got right after Emily's death involved murders that had taken place... in another state.

They were supposed to have one more day off, but it turned out to be a child abduction case—something that simply couldn’t wait. They were called in and had to go. Unless, of course, they wanted a life on their conscience…

Spencer remained silent throughout the entire flight on the jet. He barely slept at night; after the girl left, he stared at the door for a long time, then at the empty safe where his old, despicable colleague had just been. He felt that with the disappearance of the threat, his motivation to leave the apartment or do anything had faded. He no longer viewed the place with such intense disgust, but now considered it... incredibly lonely. When she left, a silence of an unparalleled intensity settled in, causing a sharp headache. He lay down in bed, fearing it might worsen.

The news about returning to work simply terrified him. He was unable to think, at least not as intensely as usual, and after all, that had always been his role—the brain of the team. Without the ability to focus, he was useless.

In child abduction cases, the first twenty-four hours are always the most critical. Pressured by time, he stared at the case files, analyzing all the information gathered so far, and he was losing it. Inside, he was simply losing it. In the past few days, he had started to accept that due to grief and the return of his addiction's voice, he might not be as effective as usual. As a pure realist, unwilling to lean toward either extreme, he finally came to the conclusion that this state would pass. It would pass... he just had to wait.

But he couldn't afford to wait. Someone's life depended on him. A child's life.

This is how he justified it to himself. This one time, he would give in, not to satisfy some fleeting, selfish need. The reason was far more complex, morally justified, even sacred. One could say he was sacrificing himself for the greater good of the case.

"Spence," a voice pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned to see JJ with a gentle smile on her face, though it lacked much joy. "I can see you're feeling better."

He hesitated before answering. His mind was a jumble of intertwining conclusions, assumptions, and calculations related to the case he was investigating. Having been torn from his own world, he didn't quite grasp what she had said.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"I said that it’s clear you’re feeling better. You were really distant on the jet. I was worried."

He swallowed hard, overwhelmed by a wave of shame. If only she knew why he felt better...

Looking at her face, he felt the urge to cry, to fall to his knees and apologize to her. She shouldn’t even be worrying about him—he didn’t deserve it.

"Spencer?” she asked, worried, as he once again failed to respond.

Panic began to rise within him, the same paranoia he’d felt when returning from Emily’s funeral with Dilaudid in his pocket. Everyone knew what he’d done, they’d seen it, could read it on his face. He was as transparent as water, unable to hide anything.

And then, as if fate, weary of watching his pitiful behavior, decided to intervene, his phone rang, saving him from the situation.

"Oh, sorry JJ, this is something important," he said, even though he didn’t recognize the number.

His friend looked at him with suspicion.

Having received the call, he didn’t even have time to speak when someone on the other end beat him to it. That was enough for him to guess who was calling.

"Hello. Dr. Spencer Reid? This is the investigative department. We have a few questions for you regarding a missing woman who was last seen with you."

JJ noticed the change in his expression and surely registered how he took a few steps away so she wouldn’t hear his response.

"Very funny," he snapped. He was surprised at how pleased he felt hearing her voice. His muscles relaxed a little, like when she told him about herself at his request. "You know that the investigative department doesn’t contact suspects by phone?"

"Jerk, fool, and fun killer."

He let out a laugh so soft it sounded more like a sigh.

"You know why I’m calling, right?" she asked. He could hear her moving around the apartment, closing some doors, as if she were hiding. "I’m not going to yell at you now about why you ditched me, because it’s not exactly that you ditched me, but you kind of did. Are you keeping up?"

"Ditch me?" he repeated, surprised. "You mean... our late-night meetings?"

"No, I mean the book club where we meet every Monday."

"Something came up at work," he explained, ignoring her sarcasm. "Something really, really important, and it didn’t occur to me to let you know... Actually, I didn’t even think you’d be waiting for me."

He said it sincerely. Until now, he had thought that the girl's question during their last conversation about whether he would come was merely out of politeness, not because she actually wanted to see him.

"Of course I waited. And I was worried when you didn’t show up. You know how few people visit me, when someone finally came through that door, I dropped the mop because I thought it was you."

He fell silent, feeling a warmth in his chest. Lately, he had felt lonely, not just with his own problems but in other areas of life as well. The sadness made him think he was losing interest in things that had once brought him so much joy. Without all of that, he felt a little like a lighthouse in the sea, with nothing and no one within a few miles’ radius. On top of that, he had isolated himself a bit from his loved ones, he had to admit. It was only these late-night meetings and this phone call that made him realize he wasn’t completely alone.

By chance, he caught JJ's gaze. He wasn’t completely alone—he had friends around him—but that didn’t change the fact that he felt like he didn’t deserve them.

"Can you even talk right now, Doctor? If I’m interrupting something important, you can just say so."

"In literally one minute, I’ll have to get back to work…"

"Alright. Setting a timer for sixty seconds. Damn, I’ve already wasted like ten saying that. Never mind. Anyway, I get that something might have come up and you couldn’t make it. I’m not mad. But I’d really like to talk to you. If you get the chance, stop by. You know where."

"I’ll come by as soon as I’m back. Probably not today. I’ll call you then."

"No, don’t call," she asked. Surprised, he furrowed his brows. "Just show up. It’ll be romantic, don’t you think?"

"I hate to break it to you, but neither of us has what it takes to be a romantic," he replied gently, regretting that he was talking to her over the phone instead of face to face. It was always so hard for him to understand the intentions and meaning behind others’ words when he couldn’t see them.

"I do," she protested. "Maybe not you. You seem like the type who, when a woman asks for flowers, buys her a flycatcher."

"And what’s wrong with a flycatcher? It has an exotic and intriguing look, is a natural insecticide that helps reduce the use of chemical ones, and it’s very easy to care for. Besides, let me remind you that once you told me to take your hand and breathe, then asked if you didn’t sound like you were coaching a woman in labor. Is that your idea of romance?"

"That has nothing to do with my sense of romance. I just sometimes can’t keep my mouth shut. But honestly, flycatchers are freaking awesome. I’ve always wanted one. Still, my advice is, if you ever find yourself debating between buying a woman roses or a Venus flytrap, it’s safer to go with the roses."

"And what if I’m certain that the only woman I’d ever want to buy flowers for would prefer a Venus flytrap?"

"Deduce that yourself, Doctor."

He couldn’t help but smile. It felt strange—his cheek muscles had grown unaccustomed to that kind of effort.

"I know my sixty seconds are up," she said after a moment, her voice calmer and less chaotic. "But there’s one more thing I wanted to ask you."

"What is it?"

"How are you doing with, you know, the addiction? Was it easier for you after I took the Dilaudid from your apartment?"

The phone began to feel heavy in his hand, and the next breath was simply uncomfortable. He felt the same kind of shame as when JJ had asked if he was feeling better. The girl had been the only person he had confessed to about struggling again. His honesty on that front had made her quickly rise in the ranks of his closest people. It would have been easier to admit to her that he had relapsed. He even had a full explanation ready in his mind: he’s working on a missing child case, and had to do it to focus... He squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bring himself to say it.

"Sorry, I have to go," he lied instead. "We’ll... we’ll see each other soon."

"Alright," she replied, somewhat coldly, certainly with concern. "I understand. See you soon."

He noticed that JJ had started glancing in his direction again. He hesitated, wondering if he should approach her, but he felt so bad about himself that he needed to disappear from anyone’s sight. He needed to focus on something, like the case but wasn’t sure if the fog in his mind would even allow that.

Disappearing for a moment in the bathroom might help, and at that moment, it seemed like the only solution. And maybe it should have dawned on him much earlier, but only on his way did he start wondering, where the hell did she even get his number from?

That same night, you were calm. You were happy that Jude managed to get his number and that he could explain everything to you, which, in turn, made you stop worrying.

You felt the same on night number two and... night number three.

But when Spencer didn’t show up for the fourth time, you began to worry.

On the fifth and sixth nights, you called.

By the seventh, you were pissed as fuck.

On the eighth day, you decided that since he couldn’t be bothered to call back, you’d stop acting like some damn wife waiting for her husband to come home from war. He was probably cheating on you. Well, not literally. Just extending the metaphor.

You still spent every night in that room, but you no longer wondered whether he’d show up or not. You just did what was expected of you. As usual, you cleaned the floors. The owner of the hall called, asking you to clean the windows on both sides as well. You couldn’t help but greatly appreciate that you were on the ground floor. The cold air that made its way inside left pleasant kisses on your cheeks. The librarian came by to say goodbye. He did this every night exactly at midnight, when his shift ended and he was heading home. Sometimes he stayed to chat, but not always in the mood for it. Lately, he was feeling better and shared with you that the treatment for his wife’s cancer was showing positive results. Overjoyed, you almost fell out of the window and asked him to deliver good news to you next time when you’re actually standing on the ground.

You had always hated silence, but then it became unbearable. Through the open windows, the sounds of cars reached you, but not enough to drown out your thoughts. After a moment of hesitation, you shoved the headphones into both ears. When you felt particularly bad, you would return, body and soul, to equally painful moments. It usually happened in chronological order, without skipping even a single detail. There would be some minor inconvenience, and suddenly you were back in the dorm, banging on the bathroom door while your roommate was carving herself up in the tub. And a second later, you were at your mother's funeral, with no other family member around to hug you. You had never needed it so much before or after.

You closed your eyes. Usually, this happened in the morning, during those hated hours, not during the beloved nights. You opened them a moment later, and in the window, your face was reflected... along with someone behind you. Scared, you jumped out in a place.

"I'm sorry," Spencer said, looking guilty. "I really shouldn't have sneaked up on you when half of you was hanging out of the window."

At first, in shock, you pulled the headphones out of your ears. You stared at him... furious. There had been no contact with him for so long, and now he appeared as if nothing had happened, looking unbelievably good, and holding in his hands...

"Is that a flycatcher?"

He seemed surprised that you were the one to ask about it first. However, he smiled and lifted the plant higher.

"That's right."

"Shove it up your ass."

He opened his mouth, but no words came out, seemingly surprised at how quickly your calm tone shifted to anger. You took a moment to examine him more closely. He was dressed neatly and meticulously in a black cardigan, the collar of a white shirt peeking out from under it, and a red tie. Over that, he wore a black coat, not a single crease visible on any of his clothes. He was freshly shaved, his hair seemed a little shorter... but his face still carried that unhealthy expression, and his eyes looked exhausted. It also seemed to you that... he'd lost weight? As if he were trying to hide what was going on inside by his outward appearance.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, while his fingers tightened around the pot. "Look," he began, his voice a little unsteady. "I've been going through a really rough time. Actually, it's been like this for quite a while. On top of that, work's been stressful, and then I got sick..."

You interrupted him, your arms crossed firmly across your chest. "I called," you said, your voice sharp.

“I know,” he admitted. “I saw, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to call back because... I was ashamed...”

“Ashamed that you started taking Dilaudid again,” you stated more than asked, almost certain your guess was correct. You weren’t really angry anymore, just disappointed. Not in him, or in the fact that he hadn’t been able to fight the addiction. It hurt you how much he feared admitting it.

He didn’t answer, which was confirmation.

His gaze darted away from yours as fast as his legs could carry him. You sighed and moved closer, until the only thing separating you was the flycatcher he held. Your hands rested on the soft fabric of his coat, near his elbows. Due to the difference in height, he would have to lower his head to look at you. But he stubbornly kept it straight.

"Spencer, are you afraid I'll judge you?"

A long silence.

"I know you won't," he finally replied. "You're not the kind of person who judges someone for their struggles, I know that. But it's still so hard for me to talk about it."

"Hey, remember, you don't have to explain anything to me. Or say anything now. We can focus on something else first, and whenever you're ready to talk, I'll still be here. Like every night. Unless you just dropped by for a moment?"

Spencer finally looked at you, and as he lowered his head, a few stray strands of hair fell onto his forehead. You were still holding both of his shoulders, tightening your grip slightly to reassure him.

"I've got the whole night free. We finished working on the case, and I don't have to show up at work tomorrow."

You frowned slightly.

"A case?"

"A child abduction," he explained.

Something about this didn't add up.

"I thought you were... a doctor. You know, like, hospital stuff." You could see how much that amused him. "Don't laugh at me! That's what my friend told me. I asked her to find your number, and that's the information she came across."

"I have a doctorate," he clarified, glancing at you with a small, indulgent smile. "That's why 'doctor.' I don't work in a hospital."

"And here I was already picturing you in a lab coat with a stethoscope around your neck," you groaned. "More than once, actually. No offense, but you don't look particularly sexy in white. So, what do you do, then?"

He scratched his nose, hesitating slightly before answering.

"I'm an FBI agent."

For a moment, you stared at him silently, your lips slightly parted like an idiot.

"So, you really are a cop... I was joking about that the whole time we last saw each other! That’s why you were laughing so much." Finally connecting the dots, you crossed your hands on your hips, still surprised. You let out a short laugh."A doctorate. Impressive. Now I feel embarrassed around you for dropping out of college."

Spencer's eyebrows shot up.

"I didn’t know that. Psychology, right?"

"Last year. I rarely admit it to people, to be honest. I just don’t feel like hearing, 'How could you drop out when you were so close to finishing?'"

"I'm sure you had your reasons."

"Well, I like to tell myself that. But honestly, I was just in a really bad place mentally."

"That's a reason too."

For a moment, you fell silent. You’d never felt particularly ashamed of it, but you also didn’t like delving too much into the topic. Wanting to change the subject, you brought a smile to your face and pointed to the plant in his hands.

"Is that my apology gift?"

Spencer handed you a terracotta pot with a young, elongated flycatcher inside.

"Something like this. You're not mad at me for not reaching out, are you?" He tried to make sure.

You looked at him and shook your head.

"Not anymore. I'm very easy to bribe. Shouldn't I water this?"

For the next hour, at your request, he told you about this type of plant with such tiny details that you started to wonder if it was possible for an average person to have such an extensive knowledge… on any subject. But you listened intently. First of all, he had that way of talking about things that you always admired in others. It was captivating, filled with passion. Secondly, you were about to become the "mom" of a Venus flytrap. You had to know everything about your baby to take proper care of it.

"Am I boring you?" he asked during his talk.

You shook your head, encouraging him to continue his lecture. Then Spencer asked how your past few days had been, and the conversation flowed on. Easy and pleasant, sometimes abruptly shifting from one topic to another, but then slowly returning to it. Comparing it to your first longer conversation here… you were glad to see how much he had opened up.

Carefully choosing your words, you managed to find out that work had been the trigger that led him back to taking Dilaudid. When he finally said how terrified he was that his distraction might cost the child’s life, you simply didn’t know what to say. Sitting right next to him, you just melted into his side, resting your head on his jacket and wrapping your arm around his back.

"You lost someone recently, didn't you?" you risked asking. "That must have been some kind of trigger too."

A long silence fell, during which you could easily count his breaths. Two long ones.

"She was a member of our team. And to me, like a sister.”

You were surprised when Spencer gently laughed at those words.

"I still carry it with me," he said, reaching into his coat. He pulled out a small, pocket-sized edition of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. You’d seen him with that book before. "But I just can't manage to read a single page. I'd really like to, though. I loved that book as a kid."

"I hated reading as a child," You recalled. "My mom loved it. Mostly fantasy; for my sixth birthday, she gave me all of Tolkien’s books. But I preferred the adaptations. I felt like my imagination couldn’t grasp all those beautiful images, I preferred to have them in front of me, on screen. It wasn’t until college that my roommate gave me The Bell Jar. She was obsessed with Sylvia Plath, which, now that I think about it, was incredibly unsettling. Well, you know, considering what happened later. But maybe I’m adding things in. Anyway, that’s when I fell in love with books. The ones that don’t take place in distant, magical worlds, but in gray cities or sad suburbs. About people, happy or less so, with good hearts or complete bastards, as long as they’re realistic."

"Do you have any books left from your mom?" Spencer asked, intrigued. You realized you hadn’t talked about her with anyone in a long time, and certainly not in such detail. Until now, you had considered her an intimate memory, reserved almost exclusively for you.

"I donated them to the library near our place. They’d just gather dust at mine, I don’t know if I could bring myself to reach for them. It’s not even about my dislike for fantasy… I also have two boxes of her clothes hidden in my apartment, I don’t even look at them anymore, let alone wear them. She had a wonderful style. A bit like a fairy. She was a psychologist at my high school, and everyone, literally everyone, told me they envied me for having such a mom."

"You also dress like a fairy," he said, studying you more closely. His gaze slowly traveled over you, starting from the light, ruffled blouse and ending at the heavy martens. He snorted. "Okay, like a fairy who goes to rock concerts in her free time."

"Thank you, that’s the style I’m aiming for,"

"So what’s wrong with your mom’s clothes? From what you’re saying, I gather you had quite a similar taste."

You hesitated to respond, thinking about those unopened boxes in the tiny attic of your apartment. You couldn’t even remember exactly what pieces of clothing were in them. It was just… the thought of wearing any of them for an entire day, at work or in your free time, terrified you. Your brain couldn’t separate the good memories from the destructive ones; you simply couldn’t have anything that reminded you of your mom. All the time.

You noticed Spencer was watching you. His expression was gentle, yet painfully sad.

"It never gets easier, does it?"

You realized he was talking about grief and quickly shook your head. Your words might sound incredibly pessimistic to someone who had recently lost someone.

"No. It does get easier, really," you assured him. "God, that’s probably not what you want to hear right now..."

"I want you to be honest," he asked.

"It gets easier, but it will never get easy. At least not for me. Though maybe it’s because I just haven’t confronted it yet, you know?" You laughed bitterly. "I live in constant denial, and when it gets hard, I put headphones in my ears to stop thinking. And the more time passes, the harder it is to face it.”

"So is that your advice? To accept it as soon as possible?"

"I'm not sure you can give advice on grief, Spencer. It's such an individual thing."

You saw his chest move as he sighed. You both spent some time in silence, as it seemed like you both needed it. Spencer didn’t take his eyes off the cover of Alice in Wonderland. You didn’t take your eyes off him, but your gaze wasn’t fully present, so he didn’t even notice you were staring.

You continued your conversation, and the morning arrived at an incredibly fast pace.

There was some tension accompanying the moment of goodbye, for some reason.

"I just want you to know that now, with all the work I have... I won’t be able to come here. Sometimes, sure, but not every day, no chance," he said, standing in front of you as you both got ready to leave. You threw your leather jacket over your shoulders and froze, your hands clenched tightly around the fabric. You quickly corrected yourself. What did you expect, that every night would look like this?

"I totally understand," you assured him, pretending to sound casual. "But if you need this meeting, you know where to find me. No need to announce it."

He nodded, and for a moment, silence hung between you again. You grabbed the pot with the carnivorous plant and froze, not really wanting to head toward the apartment.

"Or maybe..." Spencer started, clearly unsure of himself. "Maybe we could meet somewhere else. You know, like any other... friends. For dinner or whatever you suggest."

You pressed your lips together, feeling an even tighter knot in your stomach.

"Maybe," you said, in a very weak voice. You knew where this was heading. "But... you’re aware of what my day looks like, right? I’m busy most of the afternoon with work, then I come here for the whole night. At the moment, I’m only available in the morning..."

You didn’t have many friends, nor did you enter into long-term relationships for that very reason. Sometimes you met a fellow night owl, someone with whom you spent some good moments... but it was never forever. You never came across someone for whom the nocturnal lifestyle was a permanent state. Usually, after months or years, they decided they’d had enough of that way of life and tried to cure their insomnia. But you planned to live that way until the grave.

"There are still weekends. Though sometimes I work then too, if a tough case comes up... But let’s not think about that. I’m sure we can figure out how to make it work." You had a strange feeling that Spencer didn’t believe his own words. He swallowed with a kind of desperation. "At least from time to time, because... I really like you."

You really liked him too. But despite the fact that you deeply hoped you could stay in touch, you were aware that it wasn’t a very realistic scenario. You shook your head to stop thinking about it. You grabbed the Venus fly-trap in such a way that you could hug him goodbye. He prolonged the moment, holding you tightly with both arms, and in that gesture, there was... gratitude?

"See you then," he said, barely nodding as he did.

"Soon, I hope," you replied.

He left as you turned to lock the door. You could still feel his strong embrace around your body, and it was as if your body itself was telling you that something was missing.

It was truly a tough morning return to the apartment.

"One more time, what’s the name of that bar?" asked Morgan, who was behind the wheel.

The other matter concerned the murderer targeting female students, with a recurring detail being that each victim had spent the night before their death at the same bar.

“The Tipsy Cow,” Spencer repeated, without a moment’s hesitation.

He was incredibly focused because he had taken Dilaudid. The first dose after a period of abstinence always put him in quite a pleasant state. The following doses, however, brought unwanted effects. After the first one, he didn’t even sweat. When they finished working on the search for that child, he was so stressed about meeting her that he deliberately delayed the moment in order to show up clean again, as if it had never happened. Later, he admitted everything to her anyway, so all the suffering was somewhat pointless when looked at from a broader perspective.

Though he desperately wanted to maintain their relationship... day by day, it became clearer to him that it probably wasn't possible. It was all about time. After a whole day at work, he simply couldn't afford to visit her late at night. Still, he tried to drop by even for an hour. Her mere presence gave him pleasure, the simplest pleasure in the world. He valued their conversations, loved her sometimes chaotic way of speaking, and how attentively she could listen to him. These meetings also motivated him to resist his addiction.

But in the last two weeks... something always came up. December, the end of the year, was always a bit intense.

It seemed to him that she was also drifting away from him a bit. Well, for the past fourteen days and six hours, she hadn’t sent him a single picture of how her flycatcher was growing. He didn’t know if he had done something wrong or if there was some other reason. In any case, the current case was so complicated and shocking that it looked like another week without contact was ahead…

“The Tipsy Cow,” Morgan muttered, shaking his head in disdain. “That’s gonna be the bar with the worst name I’ve ever set foot in. And there have been many.”

“A party animal, huh?”

“I used to be, yeah.”

In recent weeks, Derek had been throwing himself deeper and deeper into work, making it his top priority and always staying late. It was his way of coping with Emily's death. Spencer envied him a little for that. He, on the other hand, was so drained that sometimes, with no real plan... he would scroll through job offers he kept receiving. There were plenty to choose from. But for now, he felt he couldn’t bring himself to leave, even though the thought lingered in the back of his mind.

Together, they stepped into the small bar. The colorful, shifting lights gave the space a slightly club-like vibe, but the crowd inside wasn’t overwhelming. The music wasn’t too loud, and it was easy to move around. The noisiest spot was a small group of men playing pool in the corner, loudly cheering on a brunette in a black jumpsuit.

“We need to talk to the bartenders, find out who was on shift Friday night. Honestly, it’d be best to question everyone,” Morgan said as they approached the bar, where a burly man in a black polo shirt was busy mixing a drink.

"Hey, man. We need a word with you."

He didn’t even look up at them.

"Order something or don’t. I’m not here for chit-chat..." he trailed off, his expression shifting the moment he saw the badge. "Okayyy. That changes things."

Spencer stood sideways at the bar, arms crossed over his chest. He was more of an observer than an active participant in the conversation, but his focus was sharp, ready to catch any details crucial to the investigation.

“Were you here last Friday, around 9:30 to 11:00 PM?”

The guy leaned against the bar with one arm, chewing gum as he thought about it.

“Nah, on Fridays and weekends, I usually come in later.”

“We need to know who was tending the bar then. This is serious, dude.”

“Damn, someone died?”

Their looks said it all.

At that moment, a petite bartender with light hair emerged from the back, carrying two glass bottles in her hands. Initially, she didn’t look at any of them, seeming a bit detached from her surroundings… Spencer straightened up completely.

What a damn coincidence.

The bartender addressed her by name.

“You’re here Friday nights, right?” he asked.

The girl, caught off guard, nodded, only now noticing their presence. Her eyes shifted to Morgan, who was closer to her and holding his badge up. The muscles in her face tightened slightly with unease. Her eye makeup was heavier than usual—black with a touch of shimmer in the corners.

Only then did her gaze linger—suspiciously long—on him. Her lower lip parted slightly in surprise. Spencer had no idea if he should acknowledge her. He was keenly aware of how nosy Morgan could be when it came to his personal life, and he’d never mentioned his new acquaintance to anyone on the team—or in his life, for that matter.

Swallowing hard, he felt a slight panic rise, urging him to say something.

“We need to talk to you,” he told her, his tone carefully balanced between serious and gentle.

She seemed uneasy about the FBI’s presence; he could see the stress in her piercing eyes, which hadn’t left him for a second. He felt a sharp urge to reassure her, to tell her not to worry.

“But don’t stress—it’s just a few questions,” he added, his voice softening.

When he turned his head, he noticed Morgan watching him intently. He avoided his gaze at all costs, pretending to be at ease.

“Was anyone else working with you that night?” Morgan asked.

“Peter,” she replied. “But he’s on leave right now. His girlfriend just had a baby. A boy. Not that it’s any of your business,” she added quickly. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure I have his number somewhere if you need it…”

She began hurriedly searching her pockets, tugging at the fabric of her black jeans. She was also wearing a dark purple blouse tied at the waist, with a deep lace-trimmed neckline and wide, flared sleeves that didn’t seem particularly practical for bartending.

“You can give it to us later,” Derek reassured her. “What we really need are the details. I want you to try to remember everything that happened that evening. If you can’t, because it’s too loud here… Reid, maybe you two can head to the back?”

There was a faint, sly glint in his eyes. Did he… figure it out?

Derek shifted his gaze to the gum-chewing bartender. “And I’ll have a chat with you.”

Spencer let her lead him to the small back room. He turned to close the door and, when he faced her again, noticed her raised eyebrows and the faint smile playing on her lips.

“Coming to work today, this was the last thing I expected,” she chuckled.

Spencer smiled slightly as well. “It’s been a while. You look good—like you’re sleeping better. Does your partner know we know each other, or are we sneaking around like we’re in some kind of movie?”

“He doesn’t,” he replied, quickly adding, “But of course, it’s not a secret. And the fact that we know each other has no impact on the investigation. By the way… I really like your blouse.”

She raised her arms, showing off the flared sleeves, clearly pleased he’d noticed.

“Guess where I got it,” she said, and without waiting for his attempt, revealed, “It’s my mom’s”

He clearly remembered their conversation on the topic, so he tilted his head with a smile.

“I’m glad you finally pushed through,” he said quietly. He, too, had something to share. “As for me… a few days ago, I started reading Alice in Wonderland. I’m not sure if you remember…”

“The edition you got from your friend? Of course, I remember. That’s good news. Are you feeling better?”

He scratched his nose, unsure of what to say. It had been hard for him to identify his state lately; things were stable, maybe even better, if not for the fact that he had gone back to taking Dilaudid.

“And how’s Steven?” he asked, referring to the flycatcher they had named together some time ago.

“He’s good. The kid I sometimes look after stuck his fingers inside recently, and she bit him. I got a little scared that his mom might sue, but it turns out she doesn’t hurt people,” she said, but then straightened up suddenly. “Wait, here we are chatting, and I think you were supposed to be questioning me.”

Spencer immediately caught himself.

“Yeah, right. So, I’d like you to close your eyes, okay?”

She followed his instructions, responding to his quiet and focused tone. He needed her to recall everything that had happened that evening, to bring back any memories that could help them catch the unsub. As her eyelids lowered, she took a step closer. Suddenly, the room seemed even smaller than it was, as if the walls were trying to pull them together, closing in. Spencer lowered his voice further, causing her face to twitch slightly.

The last time they had been this close, they had accidentally found themselves too near. Her gaze had dropped to his lips, she sighed, and kissed him. He had been caught off guard, unsure of what to say, and she... acted like nothing had happened. He felt the gradual distance between them, and it bothered him more than he cared to admit. He didn't even allow himself to acknowledge how often he thought about that kiss. In fact, it had been the only thing on his mind since they entered this room and stood face-to-face once again. At the same time, her expression and behavior suggested as if nothing had ever happened. She always had a more relaxed attitude toward touch than he did, but the kiss must have meant something to her, especially since she had initiated it, right?

Not knowing what the hell he was doing, he brought his head closer to hers. He didn’t touch her, just froze in place, very close to her face. She had already said everything she knew, he’d gathered some valuable information, but still, she didn’t open her eyes. Was she aware of how close he’d gotten? Could she feel his presence right next to her?

He had no intention of getting closer to her; they were both at work. It was just… he’d been overcome by temptation and was curious about her reaction. But he quickly withdrew and cleared his throat quietly.

“That’s it. You can open your eyes,” he issued the final command. He knew it looked awkward, scratching the back of his neck, but he couldn’t help it. “Thanks a lot for your help. I think this could be important for the investigation.”

“I hope so,” she said, sadly. “They were… innocent girls. I can’t believe this man just comes here so casually now.”

“You never know what the other person is hiding,” he remarked, feeling a sudden tightening of concern in his chest. They had already left the back room and were approaching the bar where Morgan was still talking to the bartender. He slowed his pace. “Be careful when you walk alone at night, okay?”

“Am I in danger?” Worry flashed across her face.

“From this particular killer? Well… you’re not his type. But he’s not the only person with bad intentions in the world. Just be careful, please.”

She nodded, looking him in the eyes.

“For the first time, I’m glad I’m not anyone’s type,” she added after a moment, breaking the seriousness of the situation. Spencer held back a chuckle. Morgan glanced their way briefly. “Goodbye, agent.”

“Goodbye,” he replied with a short grunt. He wanted to ask if they would see each other again soon, but he knew it was highly unlikely, especially while they were focused on their work.

He never thought any relationship he had with a woman would be tested by something as mundane as differing daily rhythms. Still, he intended to hold on to the hope that it might work. Maybe something would change soon?

A sly grin tugged at Morgan’s lips as they walked back to the car.

“She caught your eye, didn’t she?” he teased.

Spencer looked at him, feigning pity.

“I’m a professional. I don’t get distracted at work.”

“Should I remind you how…”

The faint, really faint trace of a blush on Spencer's cheeks prompted Morgan to burst into laughter.

The owner of the room across from the library called, asking that you not come that night. Apparently, there was a meeting planned that would stretch into the early hours.

You had become so accustomed to your routine that, when you returned to your apartment from the bar, you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Jude was getting ready for work; you exchanged just a few words before she left. So, you laid down on the couch with your laptop on your stomach, unbuttoning your pants for comfort as you lazily read a book review online.

Your gaze kept drifting between the screen and the flycatcher sitting on the coffee table

Earlier, you had thought about Spencer a lot, but more out of concern or curiosity. Since your encounter at the bar, however, those thoughts had shifted in another direction. He was literally occupying more space in your mind. At random moments, you even found yourself catching his scent—the same one you had noticed when he was so close.

You kissed him because you wanted to. Simple explanation. If it were up to you, you would have gone even further. But you knew that wouldn’t be good for either of you. You were already starting to grow attached, and it hurt to realize how little future you could see in your potential relationship. Potential relationship. You were imagining too much.

You closed your laptop with a resigned sigh and got off the couch. Jude was at work, Spencer was probably either working or already in bed, and the rest of your friends might not appreciate you suddenly reaching out after months of silence. But just because you were alone didn’t mean you couldn’t have fun on your own, right? You hadn’t gone out in ages. You were in the mood to dance, to have some fun, to meet someone new—a wild girl or guy for just one night, then forget about them completely. You needed that. Lately, there had been so much tension inside you.

So, you spent an hour in front of the mirror, touching up your makeup and thinking about which shoes would go best with your black mini dress. It wasn’t just any black dress—that would be boring. This one had short sleeves, exposed shoulders, and a subtle, astronomical pattern with a delicate sheen.

You left the apartment barefoot, holding your heels in your hand. The stairs in your building were too steep to navigate in those shoes. On the way, you threw a jacket over your shoulders, heading to a club you and Jude had been to before, where you both loved the atmosphere. It was there that you met a group of five friends who pulled you into their circle even though they didn’t know you, and the whole night felt like it lasted only a minute. Jude still kept in touch with a few of them. You were hoping for a similar adventure.

You didn’t drink much when you went out alone for safety reasons. You quickly found yourself lost in the rhythm of the club’s music, dancing with strangers and clearing your mind in the midst of the chaos. Hours passed, and someone tried to kiss you, pulling you into a tight embrace, but you couldn’t feel it. It didn’t bring you any pleasure, yet you had a twisted feeling that it would’ve been different if it had been someone else…

You stepped outside to get some fresh air. Your cheeks were likely flushed from both the dancing and the stuffy atmosphere inside.

The phone rang. Jude?

"Hey, girl," she said, her voice clearly worried. "Are you home?"

"I went out to the city," you replied, feeling uneasy. "Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing... it's just that the neighbor called me saying Richard is hanging around our door again. Be careful, okay? You know, you never know what might go through his head. And we don't even know if he's sober. At this hour, probably not."

You clenched your lips. The December chill hurt like knives, it was almost three in the morning, and you hadn’t planned on staying out until dawn. From the start, you intended to head back early, maybe relax in front of the TV for a bit, and perhaps even try to sleep, since nothing else seemed more appealing. Of course, you weren’t angry at Jude; it wasn’t her fault that her ex turned out to be a psycho.

"Thanks for telling me. Don’t worry, I’m not going back to the apartment for now."

Your roommate hung up, as she had to return to work. You stood there facing a dilemma. Should you go back to the club? You felt too drained to dance, and sitting alone in a corner seemed incredibly boring.

Maybe it was that one drink you had, but your legs seemed to take you in a certain direction.

You weren’t sure if Spencer was even home. But if you had nothing else to do, why not check? A short walk. You were a little desperate, after all, you didn’t have anywhere else to go. That’s how you justified it. You were going to him because you had no other option.

He opened the door, dressed in a wrinkled shirt, trousers, and a tie loosely hanging around his neck. His hair was in disarray, and you felt an urge to run your fingers through it and style it the way you wanted, but it would’ve been awkward.

"Hey. Am I interrupting?"

Surprised, Spencer shook his head.

"No... Actually, I was asleep."

"In those clothes?"

"I fell asleep while reading..." he explained, trailing off when he noticed your appearance. To put it modestly, you looked incredibly hot. For a long moment, his gaze lingered on your dress, visible beneath the open jacket and ending high on your thigh. "Very... nice dress. Is it... is it your mom's too?"

You chuckled.

"Can you imagine my mom, a school psychologist, in a dress covering half her ass?"

Embarrassed, Spencer raised his hands in apology and also chuckled softly.

"Sorry, I'm still half-asleep. Anyway... is there something wrong that you're here?"

"My mentally unstable ex-boyfriend of my roommate is lurking under our apartment.” You confessed bluntly “I'm a little scared to go back, and... I didn't know where else I could go."

It seemed like he was suddenly waking up quickly. He swung the door wide open, letting you in.

"Of course, come in. Is he dangerous?"

"He shows up every now and then and then disappears. It's like a lottery. Jude doesn't want to ever see him again, so we just pretend we're not here when it happens."

The inside looked just as you remembered. The lights were off everywhere except the bedroom, where he was probably reading. You allowed yourself to take off your uncomfortable shoes and set them by the door.

"Why don't you report it to the police?" His forehead furrowed with concern.

"Jude doesn't want to. And I don't want to do anything against her will. But I swear, if this happens again, I'll convince her. Or I'll do it myself."

"You should," he said, and suddenly a silence fell between you.

You weren't sure how to act. You'd barged in on him in the middle of the night, pulling him from his sleep. Not to mention, you hadn't seen each other since that conversation at the bar.

"Let me take your jacket," he said after a moment, as if remembering how to behave when hosting a guest.

You slowly took it off, revealing the full dress. Spencer momentarily let his gaze linger on it, but then he caught himself and turned away to hang your jacket. The glance didn't embarrass you in the slightest; if anything, you expected to catch him looking.

"Sorry if I woke you," you said, realizing you should probably apologize. It was only then that you began to feel a little awkward about the situation.

"You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault. And I'm glad I can help," he said, and once again, silence settled between you. Spencer placed his hand on his forehead as he realized you were still standing in the hallway. "Sorry, it's been a long time since anyone's visited, and I don't even know how to act... Do you want something to drink, or need anything?"

"I’m fine," you assured him, walking behind him into the living room. "I don't want you to act like I'm some important guest, Spencer. Or like you need to serve me."

"But you are an important guest," he replied.

A warm, gentle smile appeared on your lips.

"What were you reading?" you asked, leaning your lower back against the kitchen island, the two rooms connected as one. You glanced around the cozy interior, in soft, almost warm hues, where the darkness of the night blended with the orange light of the lamp. "Let me guess, some spine-chilling thriller?"

"I have spine-chilling thrillers every day at work," he snorted. "I was reading... Emma. Jane Austen."

Your eyebrows shot up.

"You fell asleep reading classic literature on a Friday night? Spencer Reid, what kind of man are you?"

"In a good way or a bad way?"

He stood across from you, his arms loosely crossed over his chest. Your eyes lingered on the first few undone buttons of his shirt.

"Of course, in a good way. Why would I judge someone for reading?"

"I don’t know," he shrugged. "Some people think it’s boring. And weird, especially on a Friday night. And what about you? What were you doing before your roommate’s ex showed up?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes as he nodded meaningfully toward your outfit. "Were you reading too?"

You lifted your chin high.

"Exactly. I was reading my favorite Shakespearean drama in my favorite dress. And those incredibly comfortable shoes I left by your door."

"That goes without saying."

"I definitely wasn’t at any club."

"I wouldn’t even suspect you of that."

"I was doing what any God-fearing virgin would do," you said, bursting into laughter at the absurdity. "Alright, alright. I’m getting carried away. Now I actually feel like reading something. But nothing too classic—I don’t have the brainpower for it. Do you happen to have any romance novels?"

I'm afraid not."

"Really? You have more books in your home than the library in my hometown, and not a single romance? I’m not talking about dark erotica or anything—just something subtle. Friends to lovers, polite sex..."

Spencer choked on a laugh.

"Sorry, but are you drunk?"

You were just horny.

"Not a drop of alcohol has touched my lips. I'm just hyperactive. That’s what the night does to me."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"So? Aren't you hiding any sinful books in there?"

He rolled his eyes, clearly amused rather than annoyed by your persistence.

"You're welcome to look," he offered, gesturing toward one of the shelves. "But I’m not promising you’ll find anything like that."

"But if I do, you owe me a drink."

“And if it turns out I’m right, then what?”

You bit your lip, pondering.

“I’ll figure something out.”

“You know, I won’t enter a bet unless I know what I get in return.”

“And what do you want?”

“A dinner together,” he replied without hesitation. “Or breakfast, if you prefer.”

“Deal,” you answered just as quickly. You weren’t worried about regretting it—your blood was buzzing too much for that.

He extended his hand for you to shake on it, sealing the deal. Instead of letting go, you held onto his fingers firmly and tugged him toward the bookshelf. He stood so close as you examined the books one by one, taking some out to inspect their covers to see if they suggested any hint of romance. When they didn’t, he let out a short laugh, his breath brushing against your neck and sending a shiver down your spine. You didn’t let it show.

“Spencer…” you started after a while, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. “It counts if the book has a romantic subplot, right?”

“No, it doesn’t count! We agreed on a romance. A full-fledged, contemporary one.”

“We didn’t say contemporary.”

“I assumed it was implied since I mentioned owning Jane Austen books. Pride and Prejudice is a romance, among other things…”

“Ha! So you do have one. I won!” You raised your hands high in victory.

“…But it’s also a social and domestic novel. Doesn’t count.”

You poked him in the chest with your finger. “You don’t know how to lose.”

He glanced at the spot where you touched him, clearly trying not to smile.

“Maybe I just care a lot about that dinner,” he admitted boldly.

You didn’t know what to say. You tried to look at him confidently, but it was hard to think and maintain eye contact with him at the same time.

“Or breakfast,” you murmured.

“Or breakfast,” he agreed. Realizing how close he was standing, he instinctively stepped back half a pace. “So, are you ready to admit my victory?”

You shot him a defiant look.

“Not a chance. I haven’t even checked all the books yet. I’m only about three-quarters through. Who knows what kind of BDSM might be lurking in the last quarter?”

“Seriously?” he asked with a sigh. “Okay, just look at me. Do I seem like the kind of guy who reads stuff like that?”

“Honestly, you look like the kind of guy who reads encyclopedias. But the one thing I know about people is that appearances can be deceiving. Still waters run deep.”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“You’re as stubborn as they come.”

“Maybe I just really want that drink,” you teased.

“I can make you one,” he offered unexpectedly.

“Seriously?” The suggestion caught you off guard.

Spencer shrugged casually.

“I don’t drink much, but some friends gave me a few bottles for my birthday.”

You hesitated, considering.

“I’m not really in the mood,” you admitted. You felt good, even without alcohol. “But I do have another request… Do you happen to have something I could change into? I won’t lie, this isn’t the most comfortable dress… though it’s absolutely stunning.”

He smiled softly.

"You’re right. And yes, I’ll find something for you to change into. Just… it’ll be something of mine."

Following him into the bedroom, you let out a small chuckle.

"You know, I didn’t expect you to have a closet full of women’s clothes. Plus, in my size. Although, who knows what girls leave behind at your place. It’s a tactic, you know? You leave a sock at a guy’s place to have an excuse to come back. Unless you didn’t like it, then you have to accept losing the sock."

He didn’t say anything, opening the wardrobe to find something appropriate for you. You’d been in his bedroom before and didn’t feel the need to look around; nothing had changed inside.

"Do you do this often?" he asked, inspecting a t-shirt. "Use the sock strategy?"

"No," you replied, shrugging. "I’m too straightforward for that. If I like it, I just go back and say 'Let’s do it again' Or I don’t leave at all. I’m a bit of a parasite too."

He chuckled at the comparison and finally handed you some clothes. You didn’t really look at them; you just needed something looser, something you hadn’t danced in for hours at the club.

"You know where the bathroom is, right?"

You confirmed and were about to head in that direction when you stopped.

"Wait," you said, turning back toward him. But then, you turned again, facing him with your back. "The zipper on the dress," you explained, pulling your hair to the front. "I could manage it myself, but I don’t want to risk breaking it. Could you…?"

"Y-yeah," he agreed after a moment, stepping closer.

He stood just behind you, reaching for the top of your back. Before he pulled the zipper down, there was a moment where he simply paused, unmoving. Your knees suddenly trembled, almost impatiently. Then, he tugged at the zipper, unfastening the dress, and the coolness and freedom teased your skin.

You could have said thank you and headed to the bathroom, but you didn’t. Something kept your body rooted in place, right there next to him, feeling the pads of his fingers on the lower part of your dress.

Even his breath, louder and irregular.

When you began to, slightly disappointed, assume that he wouldn’t do anything more, his lips found a spot on your neck, kissing it slowly. You inhaled deeply, your head instinctively tilting back, giving him more access, as if you had been waiting for just that. He stopped for a longer time in this specific place, pressing on it harder, as you barely hold a groan.

Your breath was given a free rollercoaster ride.

You reached your hand back, wrapping it around his head and pulling him closer to you. You felt him sigh directly into your skin, leaving another two hungry kisses on an exposed skin on your shoulder. God, why were you still wearing that dress?

You abruptly stopped, turning around and almost hitting the top of your head against his jaw. You didn't care about it, and the thought of apologizing never crossed your mind, just simply pushed him, planting a strong kiss right on his lips.

The clothes he gave you slipped from your hand and fell to the floor, but neither of you were concerned about it, as you were both too absorbed to care. You pushed him again, this time onto the bed, on which he sat, surprised by your suddenness. You saw red marks creeping onto the parts of the neck exposed by the undone shirt.

"Spencer, Spencer, Spencer," you said, shaking your head in a mock reprimand. He tilted his head to the side, unsure of where you were going with this, his fingers impatiently brushing your waist on both sides. "You lied to me."

Your hands grabbed his face, positioning just under his jaw and lifting it upward so you could find his lips right against yours.

“I lied to you?”

"“That's right. You said you don't read romances. But tell me, how does someone who doesn't do that know such practices?”

“Practices?” he repeated again, surprised."

His gaze was focused solely on your lips to which he tried to get closer, but you hadn't allowed him to yet.

"This whole unbuttoning of the dress. And then, the neck”

With your index finger, you traced along the skin on his neck

“Did you like it?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit hoarse. He removed one hand from your waist and took your hand, the one you had been playing with.

“Did I like it?” you scoffed with a genuine laugh.“I’m like half naked now. Answer that for yourself”

Undressing was the element you hated the most. You became impatient and couldn't understand why your clothes couldn't just disappear from you, instead of threatening to burn your already overheated skin. Spencer didn't help, so slow in his movements. You had a feeling he was doing it on purpose. He probably enjoyed watching you struggle to untangle yourself from the dress. He waited a minute before helping you, effortlessly pulling it over your head.

Maybe slow wasn't the most accurate description.The way he touched his body wasn’t slow. It was like rationing a treat, breaking it into small pieces and savoring them one by one. Meanwhile, it gazed straight into your mouth, shouting, eat me!

It required incredible self-control and composure, but it resulted in something more than just pleasure. When he found himself right between your legs, his lips touching gently every single inch of your thigh and refusing to go further despite your pleas, you compared him to the previous guys you slept with. With them, on the other hand, you had to tell them to slow down, to do everything more carefully, and not to focus solely on their own needs.

“Does it feel right?” He asked, briefly lifting his gaze, his hands gripping your thighs.

Your back arched, probably enough of an answer, but you confirmed it with a soft moan.

"I'd rather you said it out loud. Does it feel right?"

"That's edging on sadism, do you realize that?" you whimpered, trying to release the tension by pulling at his hair.

He stopped again.

"Please, do it again."

It wasn't something he had to beg for.

The rest went similarly. You liked how his confidence and courage grew, but you also went wild when, at certain moments, the same gentle and sometimes awkward Spencer returned. It was a perfectly balanced mix.

"Can you talk to me more?" he asked over time, once he was already inside you. "I want to know how you feel about all of this." After those words, your forehead twitched slightly as you felt the onset of pain. "Does it hurt?"

"No," you whispered, accompanied by a faintly tired exhale.”A little. But it's normal I just didn't have sex for a while”

"No, it shouldn't hurt you. Do you want to stop?"

"Just... give me a moment."

He slowed down, almost stopping. You took a breath,pressing your forehead to his. You stayed like that for a moment, neither of you in a hurry. After all, where to? Outside, the night still reigned, long and patient, winter’s grip holding steady. You liked having his face so close to yours, joining them together and not speaking. For the first time, you could truly say that you enjoyed the silence.

You had always considered silence overwhelming, incapable of calming the chaos that arose in your mind. You preferred moments of wildness, loud sounds, and fast pace, but it was in that silence, which fell then, that you found a peace filled with intimacy.

You wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

"It's okay, I'm ready."

After everything, you simply lay facing each other, tangled in one another. Actually, you didn’t like that expression "after everything." After everything—after what exactly? Sex wasn’t just about the physical act; it also included the long moment before and the even more significant one after. It was precisely that moment after which revealed the true you both. How much you cared for each other and how much you meant to each other beyond the bed. That was often missing in one-night stands; the perspective of quickly disappearing from each other's lives and being forgotten somehow intensified selfishness in people.

Lying there, you played with the hair on his forehead.

"You know, they say this is the moment when people are the most honest with each other."

"Do you want to squeeze a few secrets out of me?" he asked.

"Just one," you said mysteriously, turning onto your back. Before that, you noticed his eyebrows furrow.

He propped himself up on his elbow to look at you again.

"Which one?"

You pretended to hesitate before answering. You tried with all your might to keep the smile from appearing on your face, betraying you.

"I'm afraid that even now, you won't be honest with me."

"I'm starting to get worried."

"I'll tell you, but you have to promise to tell the truth. Give me your pinky."

"What?"

"A pinky promise, you fool."

“O-okay”

Clearly surprised, he did what you asked.

"Now tell me the truth. You got any romance books at your place you're too embarrassed to admit to?"

He rolled his eyes.

"I'll find them," you teased. "I’ll get up right now and find them."

You pretended to get up, but he pulled you closer, preventing you from moving.

"You're not going anywhere."

You fell asleep.

Asleep. At night.

Completely normal for any other person, but for you...? The shock made your heart beat faster, painfully colliding with your chest. The blanket slid off your shoulders as you sat up.

Spencer sighed in his sleep, the kind of breath that often heralds waking, but not this time. He was still deep in slumber, lying on his stomach, his face turned toward you. Falling asleep next to each other after sex had always seemed a bit... cliché to you. Pulled straight from the movies. It looked pleasant on screen and spared the viewer the awkward scene of putting on clothes that had been scattered across the floor in a frenzy of passion just moments earlier. In reality, who had time for that?

For you, someone who had been struggling with sleep issues for years, it was usually just lying in bed next to a guy sleeping soundly, feeling bored. A sign it was time to get up and leave.

You’d planned to spend the night at Spencer’s place from the start. Well, maybe not specifically in the same bed, but as his... guest. Because of Richard, of course. So when he fell asleep mid-conversation, you didn’t have many options on where to go. Besides, you didn’t want to leave. It was nice lying next to him; his face looked so innocent in sleep. You had thought about quietly grabbing a book or reaching for one of the ones in the bedroom, but that would probably wake him up. So you rested your head back on the pillow and watched him. At some point, without realizing it, your eyelids grew heavy.

It was a very early hour, or so the clock on the nightstand claimed. It felt unreal to you. Usually, at this time, you were sitting in an empty room, waiting for some lonely soul desperate for a conversation to walk in.

For weeks, you had been the perfect example of a situationship. The kind where you both almost openly wanted each other, but something held you back from truly committing. For you, it was fear and doubts about your vastly different lifestyles. You could try and give it a chance, For weeks, you had been the perfect example of a situationship. The kind where you both almost openly wanted each other, but something held you back from truly committing. For you, it was fear and doubts about your vastly different lifestyles. You could try and give it a chance, but... it would hurt if it didn’t work out. You’d lose a friend and confidant. A man who had come to you at his lowest point and decided to trust you, making you feel special. Someone who understood you, made you laugh, and had even given you a Venus flytrap. On top of that, he had an excellent taste in books, an incredible intellect, and, to be completely fair, was very good in bed.

Well, running away wasn’t an option anymore. You knew that when Spencer woke up, you’d have two choices: pretend nothing happened again, or have a conversation. You were both adults, so it was only reasonable to expect you’d choose the latter

You knew you wouldn’t be able to fall asleep again. It was an anomaly, one that wouldn’t repeat itself. Still, you wanted to let him sleep peacefully, feeling guilty for disrupting his night by barging into his apartment. Before finding a comfortable position by his side, ready to lie there for an hour or two, you glanced one last time at the clock—and something caught your attention.

“Spencer,” you said softly, not wanting to wake him too abruptly. It didn’t work, so you gently shook his bare shoulder. “Spencer, your phone.”

It must have been silent, but you could clearly see an incoming call displayed on the screen.

At the word phone, he reacted as if it were a blaring alarm. He bolted upright, still half-asleep, and pressed the device to his ear.

“Hotch?” he asked, his voice rough and groggy, sounding almost like a cough. He listened to the person on the other end, rubbing his face with one hand to wake himself up, then sighing heavily as he ran that same hand through his hair.

"I’ll be there in an hour," he said, his tone laced with clear reluctance but also an undeniable sense of duty. When the call ended, he turned to you over his shoulder. The expression on his face softened.

"Hey," he said gently.

"A new case?" you guessed, trying not to let it show how much you didn’t want him to leave. After all, it was what it was—his work was far more needed by the world than by you in bed.

"We’ve been working on it for a while, and there’s been some kind of breakthrough... I’m really sorry. I feel bad, leaving like this,"

"Spencer, I understand. It must be something important. Go, and don’t worry about me. I’ll get myself together and head back home soon..."

"And what about your roommate’s ex?" he interrupted, giving a slight shake of his head. "You don’t know if he’s gone yet. You shouldn’t be going back alone."

"It’s Richard. He’s a very impatient motherfucker. He’s probably already gone," you replied.

"You don’t know that."

"So, what are you going to do?" you scoffed. "Take me there by the hand?"

Spencer was silent for a moment, looking at you as if the answer was obvious.

"Just stay here,"

His suggestion made you raise an eyebrow. Spencer shrugged.

“Well, what? It’s barely five in the morning. I don’t want to kick you out this early just because I got a call from work.”

"Kick me out?" you chuckled, causing him to look at you with a slightly puzzled expression. At the same time, he was heading toward the wardrobe, realizing he didn’t have much time and should start getting dressed. "If you call this kicking someone out, then I don’t even have a word for how other guys behave. By the way, could you hand me, I don’t know, a sweater or something?"

The apartment had a pleasant temperature, but you still had an overwhelming urge to wrap yourself in something warm and soft. The only piece of clothing you had with you was a short-sleeved dress. And a jacket, but that didn’t really count.

"In that case..." Spencer began, rummaging through the clothes in his wardrobe, his brow slightly furrowed as if he were seriously contemplating his choice. He didn’t seem amused by your earlier joke—in fact, he looked surprisingly focused.

His fingers finally stopped on one of the hangers. He pulled something out and turned toward you with a faint smile.

"I'm tremendously proud that I don't fall into the category of those other guys. You like purple, right?" he added, holding up a sweater in a deep plum shade.

"I meant just any piece of clothing. But yes, I do like purple," you said, stretching your hands out in front of you, encouraging him to toss you the sweater.

Instead of throwing it, he stepped closer to you. At first, you didn’t understand what he was doing, especially when he stopped right in front of you, still holding the sweater in his hands.

It dawned on you a moment later, and you burst into laughter, raising your arms up so he could slide it over your head. The sweater draped over your body, proving to be slightly oversized. The V-shaped neckline awkwardly settled on your shoulder, slipping down and leaving it exposed.

Spencer, almost mechanically and with focus, slid his hands under the fabric to free your hair that was tangled beneath it. After probably half the night in the club and the second half spent in bed, it probably resembled a huge mess of hay, but you weren’t particularly concerned about it. It only just occurred to you that he had to leave soon, and knowing his work and the constant impossibility of syncing your schedules, you might not see each other again until the next few days.

"I’d like to talk to you," Spencer suddenly said, almost as if he had to force the words out, quietly taking a breath. "About all of this. About us. We don’t really have time for it now, but as soon as I get back, I’ll make sure to meet you. No matter what time it is or how tired I am, okay?"

You wanted to comment on the last part of his words, the bit about being tired, assuring him that you weren’t asking for that from him, but something in his gaze stopped you. It was funny how his eyes were both sleepy and lively at the same time. His dark iris blended with his dilated pupil, the boundary between them fading, making them almost hypnotic.

"So, are you staying here?" he asked.

A delicate smile passed over your face.

"I see this means a lot to you. Aren’t you afraid I’ll start digging through your books?" "All of them are at your disposal," he reassured, also lifting the corners of his mouth slightly.

However, suddenly his expression darkened, as if some spell had been cast, taking away all his confidence. For a long moment, he stayed silent, and you tilted your head in confusion.

"Can... can I kiss you?" he finally asked.

"Do I need to remind you that we already slept together?"

"Well..."

Whatever he was about to say, you simply cupped his neck with your hand, pulling him closer. A sweet, shallow, slightly long —a typical farewell kiss.

He had already mostly dressed, with only the task of crouching down by the nightstand left, to open the safe inside. You knew he kept his gun and badge there. You tried not to look in his direction while he entered the code, just as common decency dictated looking away when someone unlocks their phone. But still, you noticed how his fingers trembled slightly.

When he left, you weren’t quite sure what to do with yourself. If you were anyone else, you would’ve hidden under the blanket, absorbing the scent of both of you, sinking into an incredibly peaceful sleep. However, you were aware that wouldn’t happen. You pulled a pillow under your head, lost in thought, haunted by some strange unease.

You spent a long time simply wandering around the apartment, unable to help the fact that you were one of those people who got bored quickly. Jude had just returned, you thought, as the clock struck eight. The main trait of her ex was unpredictability, but even he followed certain patterns and routines in life. He didn’t show up that early because he knew she was still asleep. He preferred to knock on the door at noon and bother her during her free time.

You started getting ready before you even made a decision. First, you made the bed, then undressed again to slip back into the dress. On top, you put Spencer’s sweater, for some unknown reason not wanting to part with it. Was this some sort of reversed sock strategy? Were you taking his clothes instead of leaving them behind?

An impulse shot through your body as you stood by the door. Not even knowing what you were doing, you simply returned to the bedroom, falling to your knees in front of the, as it turned out, unopened safe.

Spencer hadn’t emptied it completely. Inside was a dose of Dilaudid, the reason his hands had been trembling earlier.

An unexpected wave of guilt hit you with force. Recently, you hadn’t brought up the topic with him at all, assuming that if he needed to talk about it and was ready to, he would bring it up himself. But that’s not how people in addiction found themselves. They could deny it to the very end, doing anything to avoid seeking help.

You wiped your face with your hand. Should you even confront him about it when you saw him again? Well, the answer was probably yes, but the real question was how.

You came up with the idea of perhaps arranging a night in your room across from the library. That place had an oddly polite way of encouraging people to be honest, without making them feel like information was being extracted from them forcefully. You had been considering this on your way back. The heels were rubbing your feet, and after the night in the club, you had a few blisters. Before entering the building where you lived, you simply took them off, not wanting to risk your life on those steep stairs. Jude had sprained her wrist on them once, and thank God it was just her wrist.

Completely lost in your thoughts, in their aggressive waterfall, you didn’t even notice someone sitting right by the door to your apartment, leaning against it with their back. You jumped in surprise when Richard sprang to his feet.

Shit.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, clearly happy to see you. You cautiously stepped back a step, likely balancing on the edge of the stairs. You didn’t turn around, nervously glancing at the man. "Hey, do you remember me? You're Jude's roommate, right? You definitely remember me."

"I remember," you admitted uncertainty, holding yourself back from taking another step backward. Richard always had that dangerously unpredictable energy. One moment, he could circle around his girlfriend like an attention-hungry kitten, and the next, he’d be throwing plates in the kitchen. Although, theoretically, he had no reason to hurt you, you preferred to remain... cautious.

"That's great. Listen, could you let me in for just a second? I need to talk to her."

You didn’t know what to say, how to act. Of course, letting him in was out of the question; you wouldn’t do that to your friend. However, you knew that as soon as you opened the door, he’d take advantage of the opportunity and force his way inside. You could step back… the real question was whether he would let you.

"Come on..." he pleaded, trying to make a puppy-dog face, which looked downright comical on his stern face. "Please, she doesn’t want to see me. I just want to talk, to make things right. I’ve changed, really. I don’t know what she told you about me, but half of it probably wasn’t even true. Please."

Seeing that you still weren’t moving, his features suddenly hardened.

"Just open the door."

You didn’t respond.

"Where’s your key?"

He probably guessed it was in your jacket pocket, and suddenly reached for you.

"Move away, right now!" you hissed, pushing his hand away.

He grabbed your wrist so tightly that a strangled cry of pain escaped you.

You started struggling. You tried to push him away as he rummaged through your pockets one by one, still gripping your hand tightly, preventing you from escaping. A few times, you struck him with a clenched fist, shouting loudly, hoping to wake Jude or one of the neighbors.

Your attempts at defense were in vain. No one came. Richard finally found the key, and once he got what he wanted, he shoved you aside with a scoff.

You didn’t even have a chance to try to regain your balance.

It happened so quickly that you didn’t even manage to close your eyes, fooling yourself into thinking it might protect you from the pain to come. During the struggle with Richard, you dropped the shoes you were holding, your bare feet slipping off the edge of the step. Your body followed, limp, like a rag doll. In that moment, you wished you were one. Without bones, the sound of them cracking filling your ears.

Without limbs, vulnerable to breaks.

Without real eyes, still covered in the remnants of party makeup.

Beautiful, cold, and empty, as they started to fill with fog.

Forced to look in the direction your neck had twisted.

Dead.

tagging: @lillaberry @nightfullofparadox @issy25 @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @reidmarieprentiss @miriamnox @bloodredrubyrose

i'm so grateful for how many of you wanted to read it all <3

#criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x oc #aaron hotchner #criminal mind #derek morgan #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fic #criminal minds angst #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid angst #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid

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reiderwriter · 9 months ago

Note

Hello!I hope you are having a great day!I love LOVE your writing and I would like to request a fanfiction where the reader is Hotch's daughter who works at the bau and is in a secret relationship with spencer without her dad knowing.Spencer wants to tell the team but she is scared about how they'll react so they fight but during a case she gets kidnapped and the feelings are high,so spencer accidentally reveals the relationship.I would love if it ended in smut (possibly dom!spencer who is angry at her for being so reckless and risking her life like that) and maybe a lot of angst??Hotch could potentially be fuming but when they get her back he decides that he will let them be??I would like my emoji to be 🌼!Thank you in advance and if you write this I would absolutely LOVE to read it!🤍🤍

A/N: I love writing for a Hotchner Reader because the Hotch/Spencer parallels are so 😙👌 This was so fun to write!

Warnings: Smut/ Angst with a happy ending, Semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), dirty talk, case details, kidnapping, abuse, strangulation, mentions of child death/ allusions towards pedophilia etc, Hotch is a somewhat shitty/overprotective dad/boss.

Masterlist!

Falling back into a hotel bed that wasn't yours, you wrapped your legs around Spencer Reid as he furiously worked open the buttons of your shirt, his lips locked with yours in a furious exchange.

“Spencer, Spencer, we can't-” You moaned as his lips fell down to your ear, a small tap to your thigh signalling that he wanted tour legs spread for him. Despite your vocal protests, you complied.

“Need to feel you,” he groaned, nipping and sucking his way down your chest as his big hands began pushing your skirt up and your panties down.

“Spencer, someone will hear.”

“I don't care who hears,” he whispered, finally ridding you of the last piece of material covering your wet sex. “I just want to make you feel good.”

His lips fell to your cunt, falling on your cunt as he began his ministrations. You loved this, the feeling of him near, his lips on you, his tongue teasing out whimper, then moan, then a scream of his name as you came undone on his lips. But that wasn't a chance you could take today.

“He's in the next room, Spencer. Fuck, he's going to hear us.”

You wouldn't push him off, enjoying too much the feeling of your building pleasure, so appealing to your boyfriend to do the right thing was your last resort as your hips bucked into his face, chasing your orgasm.

He didn't stop, but held your hips down, thrusting his tongue in and out of you as his fingers came up to tease your clit.

“Spencer, fuck-” you slapped a hand over your mouth as you shuddered below him, finally reaching your climax.

Your hands fell limp as he worked you through the end of your orgasm before rising up to lay beside you on the bed.

“I wish you wouldn't push it, Spencer. You're a dead man if he catches us like this.”

“Hotch won't kill me just because I'm dating his daughter. I don't understand why you don't want to tell people.”

You ran your hands through your hair in frustration. It was a conversation you'd been back and forward on a lot in the past six months.

Dating a coworker was tricky, doubly so when your coworker’s boss - and your boss - was your overprotective father. Things only became more complicated when you factored in a ten year age gap and the fact that your father refused to view you as an adult, even when you were a fully qualified member of his own team.

You'd had to fight for acceptance into the FBI and go above him to get the job on his team, a decision that he still berated you for to this day. But you'd had enough of him shielding you from reality, and it was a step you needed to take.

Falling in love with Spencer Reid, though, that was just pure bad luck.

You weren't sure how it had taken you until joining the team to meet the man, but you sure were glad he hadn't been introduced earlier. You'd joined the team at 24, having been in grad school until your FBI Academy application was approved, and somehow in the 10 years before that Spencer had worked under your father, you'd never crossed paths.

Of course, you knew who he was before that from context and conversations with your father, and of course, he figured out who you were quickly based on the many arguments you'd had in Hotch’s office. But that hadn't stopped you from repeatedly falling into his bed month after month, and then falling in love with him.

Your relationship was more than the sex, but it was also a lot of sex. From the stories you'd heard, and from the look of him, you'd assumed that Spencer was a delicate little flower, an innocent in the bedroom as much as any 34 year old man could be.

And then you'd both been offered spiked drinks at a holiday party courtesy of Penelope Garcia, and he'd proved you deliriously wrong. He'd been hooked from then on, and after waking up awkwardly in his bed the next morning to two cups of coffee and a spread of breakfast pastries he'd gone out to specifically pick up for you, you'd been hooked on him as well.

The only problem was Hotch.

You certainly weren't winning any daughter of the year awards already with the stunt you pulled to get on the BAU, but you didn't want to be completely and totally disowned just yet.

“Hotch won't kill you for dating his daughter, you're right,” you mumbled back to Spencer rolling yourself back on top of him and pinning his arms down so his fingers couldn't tease you any further.

“Thank you, now if you trust me, I've ran like four different scenarios in my head so-”

“He'd definitely fire us both, though. And that's worse than death.”

“Y/N….”

“Tell me I'm wrong, please. Back up your findings with empirical evidence. He doesn't want me on the team, Spencer. He doesn't even want me in the FBI. I think he'd be happy enough to ship me out of the country, too, if that helped.”

Spencer sighed and tugged your hair behind your ear as he gestured for you to sit up.

“I know it's scary. But I love you. I don't care about the consequences because I'll still love you before and after telling him.”

“And during?”

“I might freak out a bit, but deep down, the love will be there still.”

You hit him with a pillow and climbed off the bed.

“Okay, get out now. I'll think about it but you really can't stay here tonight.” He nodded, grabbing his things and pulling his clothes back into place.

“So, like we're totally done for tonight? Nothing else.”

“Spencer! Out!” You whisper-shouted the words and watched him turn your door handle as slowly as possible before he waved his goodbye and left your room.

12 hours later, you were once again getting frustrated with Spencer Reid. And Aaron Hotchner. They may soon be enemies, but goddamn they were perfect for each other in some ways.

“Hotch, you can't just give me nothing to do. Send me to the morgue with Rossi, or let me interview family members with Tara. I'm a member of this team, too, so let me do my job.”

“You'll do well to remember that I'm your boss, Y/N.”

“You're acting more like my dad right now. A boss would utilize his team members.”

You'd been stuck in this stale mate since the morning, and Reid hadn't helped at all. When giving out assignments that morning, you'd not been notably left out of crime scene investigation, suspect interrogation, and anything helpful. Reid usually asked for your assistance at times like these, but he was finally putting his money where his mouth was and keeping distance from you in the office.

So far, you'd ran coffees back and forth between the kitchen and work room and had been communicating back and forth with JJ and Derek in the field and Garcia back at Quantico.

You'd been, for lack of better comparison, relegated to receptionist.

“At least let me work on the geographical profile with Reid-”

“Absolutely not.”

You stiffened at the reaction, wondering just exactly why he would react so strongly. Spencer had snuck in a few secret kisses here and there this morning, though you'd been sure that you'd had no witnesses.

“Why not?”

“I don't want you to distract him.”

Bile settled in the back of your throat as you tried your best to bite your tongue and keep the bitter words in.

“You know, sometimes, Dad, it feels like you love everyone on this team more than you love me.”

He locked eyes with you quickly, but he glance was dismissive and stern, almost as if he was asking you ‘seriously.’

You turned on your heels and began to walk out before he called out from behind you again.

“Y/N,” you stopped despite yourself.

“Leave the gun and badge on the desk. We'll discuss this after the case is closed.”

You almost laughed. You almost blurted out your relationship with Spencer just to spite him. You followed his order and took yourself out of the office for some fresh air, finally giving him what he wanted.

An hour of aimlessly wandering down the street, and you turned into a run-down park. 16 missed calls from Spencer and other members of the team, who'd no doubt watched you turn in your badge.

Garcia had even called a few times, and you felt guilty for not forwarding her calls somewhere else, knowing she'd probably have key case information for someone.

But you just couldn't handle it anymore, so you switched it off, pushed it back into your pocket, and kept walking.

It was two more blocks before the man following you pushed a soaked rag over your mouth and nose and pushed your unconscious body into the back of a waiting van.

×××××

Two hours of near constant complaining to Hotch had gotten Spencer nowhere in his demands to know just where you went.

He'd called you 36 times since Hotch had told him you'd left, and he hadn't stopped freaking out since.

“But where did she go?”

“I sent her back to the motel.”

“All of our cars, bar the one JJ and Morgan took to the crime scene, are outside and accounted for. The motel is a 34-minute drive away. It'll take her 5 hours on foot through our unsubs hunting grounds, and I'm not sure if you've noticed, but she matches the victim profile we just gave. Where is she?”

A muscle in Hotch's jaw twitched, but neither of them moved, eyes locked in battle to see who would back down first.

A call from Penelope ended whatever disaster was storming between them.

“Hotch hey, I can't get in contact with mini-Hotch, so here I am. Morgan called earlier from the crime scene. From the way they're posed, he said they could be possible stand-ins for a lost child a daughter or a sister, so I cross checked the ownership of the vehicles that run with the tires we found prints of at the scene, and I got a name. Like one.”

“Great work, Penelope, send it over.”

Hotch dropped the call and looked back up at Spencer, readying himself to give orders and push the issue.

Again, their standoff was interrupted.

“Hotch,” JJ rushed in, carrying a radio dispatcher, face white, and filled with worry. “You need to hear this.”

“Witness reported an abduction on East and 7th, patrol surveyed the scene and found a cellphone. Identifying information suggests it belongs to a Y/N Hotchner. We're bringing it into the stat-”

Hotch stood so fast his chair almost crashed to the floor. He stood so fast that he barely had time to dodge the lunge Spencer took in his direction, fist pulled back. It would connect, given the chance he knew it would. He'd been the one to teach Spencer to throw a punch in the first place.

Morgan insinuated himself between the two men before, and blood could be shed, quickly pulling Spencer back as Rossi, too, rushed into the room to diffuse the situation.

“One hour. I've been asking you for one hour where she went, and you wouldn't answer me. You made her leave her gun behind.”

It wasn't exactly a shout, but there was something broken in his voice, as of his mouth had filled with blood and he could only spit hate at a man who'd been a mentor to him until seconds before.

“If she's hurt- fuck, if even a hair on her head is out of place, I'll-”

“What, Spencer? What will you do? She's my daughter. What could you do that-”

“She's my girlfriend! She's my girlfriend, she's the love of my life. God, I want to marry her, I have the ring, I have the proposal planned, all that was left was telling you and then asking her, but you've been such a dick to her about this job, and about cases, and God knows what else, that she doesn't want to say anything to you, and now you've driven her away and she's fucking gone. And she could be hurt or in danger or d-de…”

He crumpled to the floor, Morgan still holding him as his legs gave way beneath him.

Nobody moved for what felt like hours, still in their grief, shock, some just nervous to see what would happen next.

“You've been in this situation before, Hotch. So have I. It's …. It hasn't ended well for us before.”

The words were so final, so defeated that they sucked the air out of the room.

“Morgan,” Hotch started quietly, eyes still locked with Reid's, still staring down the reflection of his own despair.

“Get Garcia back on the line, I want confirmation that the vehicle that picked Y/N up is the same one that our unsub has been using to set up crime scenes. See if she can lift a name and an address. Rossi, if he's skilled enough to pick up an FBI Agent unaware, we need a SWAT team, get one on standby.”

Slowly growing in volume, he continued, as the room started moving at his signal.

“JJ, Tara, take over where Reid left off with the geographical profile. Look at Y/N's last known location and how far a car could've gotten in the last 24 minutes.”

He paused again, staring Reid down.

“Reid, you're with me.”

xxxxx

It took you a few seconds to gain a sense of your surroundings when you came to. Partially because of the drug induced migraine splitting your head, and partially because of the mess of ribbons and stuffed toys you'd woken up in.

A change of clothes, and hands tied to what seemed to be a children's bed and you felt so grossly vulnerable your body shook with a few harsh sobs before you regained your composure and remembered your training.

The knots on the rope holding your hands were tight. There wasn't much room to move with them pinned above your head, but you recognised them as naval knots. Your unsub had experience at sea, recreational or professional you'd yet to determine.

Looking around again, you looked for entries and exits, wanting to know how the unsub would come in again and how you could get out.

There were no windows, but a set of stairs leading up towards a solid door told you that you'd been locked inside a basement. A basement decorated similarly to a child's bedroom.

Dimly lit by a mass of fairy lights, the room seemed covered head to toe in teddy bears, dolls, and children's books, a sturdy handmade doll’s house standing in the corner of the room.

Faintly, you heard the creaking of floorboards above you before the handle of the basement door rattled and more light poured in.

“I bought you breakfast, cupcake.”

There was no time to feign unconsciousness again as your captor finally came into view.

He was older than middle-aged, slightly wider around the midsection than you assumed he'd been in his youth. His hair was closely cropped and laid neatly, leading you to suspect he was former military.

“Oh, good, you're awake. What do you want to do today, cupcake? Daddy has some time off now, I can play with you all you want.”

You moved slowly, pushing yourself up to a seated position so you could bend your arms a bit. But you didn't look away, needing to keep him in your line of sight the entire time.

“Where am I?” You asked slowly, trying to keep your voice steady.

“Wow, you must've had a deep sleep cupcake. You're in your bedroom, silly!”

The man's sprightly tone was disconcerting, and you could see a muscle in his forehead twitch slightly as you spoke.

“O-of course. My mistake. Maybe I'm just still tired.”

He laid the tray on the bedside table and sat on the bed next to you. You tried your best not to shy from his touch as he stroked your hair, but every muscle in your body tensed and pulled from him reflexively.

A quick glance to the tray and you saw the food he'd brought you was a small cup of pills and a glass of water to rinse them down with.

If he noticed your flinch, he said nothing, grabbing a hairbrush from the nightstand and beginning to comb through your hair slowly and deliberately, taking care like one would a daughter.

“Daddy,” you took a chance, recalling the name he'd given himself earlier. “Can we play outside today? I want to go to the park.”

He stopped moving, and you held your breath as his smile dropped.

“No, sweetie. You know we don't go to parks.”

“Why not? I really want to play there, Daddy, please!”

In seconds, his hands wrapped around your throat as he pushed you back down into the bed, holding you there with his tight, suffocating grip.

“Shut the fuck up you little slut. I said we don't go to parks, you listen. I am your father, you are not being taken by one of those sick freaks again.”

He released you as quick as he grabbed you and stood up, pacing as he attempted to regain composure.

“You can draw or we can have a tea party but you know we can't go out. You know that cupcake, I've told you so many times.”

He grabbed at his hair, pulling it from its carefully styled arrangement into a mess, his fingers leaving red marks against his white skin as he pushed and pulled his head.

He breathed deeply, and you sat up, trying to regain your composure as you watched him lose his.

“What was her name?” You whispered, half hoping he would hear you, half praying that he'd ignore you for the sake of his fantasy.

“W-What?”

“Your daughter. What was her name?”

He focused on you again, but his hands - hands that you knew could and would choke the life out of you if you did something wrong again - his hands were shaking.

You heard the floorboards creaking upstairs and decided to push your questioning, hoping it meant what you thought it did.

“Why are you saying it like that, ‘was?’ Is. Her name is, your name is Laura, and you're my little cupcake.”

“What happened to her?” You filled your voice with as much sympathy and understanding as you could muster, one eye on the basement door that was being slowly pushed open. One look at Morgan at the top of the stairs had your heart rate slowing to a calmer speed. You locked eyes with him for a second, halting him, and he nodded, waiting for your signal.

“You, you're my cupcake, you look just like… She should look just like you.”

The man sat on the bed again, stroking a hair out of your eye as his filled with tears.

“Fifteen years. I looked for her for fifteen years, you know. If I hadn't taken her to that park-”

“That must have been hard.”

He nodded as he broke down in silent sobs.

“They said… they said she probably died a day or two after we lost her. When they found her, she was…” he rested his head on your shoulder, let him cling to you as he mourned his daughter.

“We couldn't identify her, but she had that teddy with her. The teddy with the cupcake in its hands. She never went anywhere without it. So we…we knew.

You looked at Morgan as he slowly made his descent into the room, closely followed by JJ.

The man looked up into your eyes again, wiping the tears from his face.

“She was only 8.” He looked defeated, and your heart broke for him, even as you wished to get as far away from him as you could physically muster.

Morgan pulled him up and away from you as he secured the man with handcuffs, but his eyes remained locked on you.

JJ untied you and guided you out, but you felt his gaze bite into you ever after you'd left the basement.

As soon as you were above ground, you let your body divest itself of adrenaline, your legs buckling as JJ tried to catch you. Another set of arms was quicker, though, and you didn't even register Spencer's arrival before burying your head in his chest and letting your sobs escape you.

He guided you to your feet and walked you out to the ambulance, his arms protectively wrapped around you, his lips peppering kisses along your hairline and forehead, anywhere he could reach. In moments, you were bundled into the ambulance, and three gentle voices were trying to calm you, to pry you away from your comfort doll.

You wondered if you'd die like the unsubs daughter had, if they'd find you clinging to Spencer the way she had to her teddy bear.

“Y/N,” your father's deep voice was clear and smooth, the only thing that was cutting through the wretched moment of pain you were enduring.

You remembered yourself again, relinquishing your grip on Spencer and wiping the tears from your face as you finally looked towards Aaron Hotchner.

The paramedics took their chance and began checking your vitals, working around you in a hurry.

“Dad, I'm sorry, I was walking and didn't notice that he was behind me, I should've been more careful-”

“Y/N, it’s okay. You're okay now.”

You nodded as he came closer. You ignored the tears in his eyes, trying not to break down again. It had been an age since you'd last witnessed him cry, at another crime scene with another family member and another unsub. You couldn't think about how close you'd come to making him relive his worst nightmare.

Spencer's hand was still firm in yours, and you held it like a lifeline, though you were sure your nails had to be cutting him by now. It took another moment to register that he was holding onto you just as hard, that he was unmoving, still where he was usually a series of compulsive moments, tapping, hand wringing, fists clenching and releasing.

You glanced between the men, who had now become quiet as they surveyed you, and noticed the tension. Before you could say anything, though, the paramedics took over.

“We're going to get you to the hospital now, Agent, one coworker can accompany you in the vehicle, preferably one with knowledge of your medical history.”

Both men immediately moved forward again, as if ready to jump into the van, before turning again to each other.

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself just as the buzzing in your head from the migraine grew louder.

“Y/N, it's your choice. Who do you want to come?” Spencer said gently, his body still stiff with worry.

“I'm her father. This isn't a question of who she likes better.”

“I have her medical records memorized, and I have more knowledge about the drugs the unsub gave her, but Y/N can choose for herself because she is a grown woman.”

You sighed and dropped the man's hand as the medics ushered you into the van fully, but the men were fully absorbed in their fight for dominance that they barely registered it.

“JJ. JJ is coming with me,” You could see both of them turn back to you to argue, but you continued before they could. “Because I am a grown adult who knows her own medical history, and I don't need my father and my… coworker having territory wars over my wellbeing.”

And possibly because she'd be the least awkward option to answer the questions about sexual activity and possibility of pregnancy around, but you really did not need to vocalize that.

“Right now, I'm just a victim you've saved. Go and do your jobs and meet me at the hospital later because I am not doing overtime completing paperwork while on suspension.”

JJ climbed up into the ambulance and the doors shut, letting you finally get a few moments peace as it began slowly making its way to whatever hospital was closest.

“He knows, right?” You asked, covering your eyes with your hands as you braved for the answer.

“Hotch? You could say that he figured it out.”

“That bad?”

“Spencer threw a punch at him. He tried to at least.”

“What?!” Your body shot up, but the paramedic gently forced you back into a laid position, giving you a warning look to stay put as she checked your blood pressure.

“Don't be too hard on him, Y/N. He thought he was going to lose you. They both did. I don't think either of them would survive it happening again.”

The guilt hit you right in the chest as you nodded and dropped the conversation.

“Maybe I should've let Spencer come with me.”

“Why?” JJ asked, not offended bit curious.

“Because I'm not entirely sure my father won't throw that punch back at him now he knows I'm okay. It's hard being in a relationship if one of you is dead.”

The older woman chuckled slightly, and you settled back down, letting the car movements rock you into sleep.

xxxxx

A few hours later and some quietly bickering voices pulled you from the rest you'd so sorely needed. Without even opening your eyes, you knew they'd both subtly scrambled to your bed to make sure you were comfortable.

“What are you talking about?” You asked, wiping your eyes carefully as you tried to sit up, arms still aching from being tied up.

“Oh shit-” you exclaimed after seeing your boyfriends freshly split lip.

“Dad, what the fuck?”

“Y/N, it's fine. It doesn't hurt.”

“Aaron Hotchner, do you have nothing to say for yourself?” You tried to put all of tour anger into the words as you said them, bit he looked at you again with his straight face, and you crumpled under the pressure.

“I won't…I'm not going to object. I just ask you to keep your private life separate from your work.”

“And you're going to punch my boyfriend while I'm unconscious, so I can't defend him.”

“I'm still your father, and he deserved it.”

You looked back over to Spencer, who was quite notably not meeting your eyes.

“Do I want to know?”

“I'm leaving now. Jack will be here soon. He wants to check on you now that school is over. We told him you were hurt trying to save a sick man.”

“Thank you, dad.”

He nodded at you and left you alone in your hospital room with Spencer.

“Why did you deserve it?” You whisper shouted the moment you assumed he was out of earshot.

“The doctor came in and asked about some old bruises on your upper thighs. And ass. And chest. I had to admit they weren't sustained during the kidnapping, and Hotch wasn't pleased.”

You huffed out a sound halfway between incredulous and a strangled moan of shame as you curcled yourself up into a ball and tried your best to die.

“Great. Wonderful.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he thought it was signs of domestic violence and not just rough...sex.”

“Yes, Spencer, that makes me feel entirely more comfortable with the situation.”

Registering the sarcasm in your voice, he quieted down again, settling into the chair by your bedside and grabbing your hand.

You sat silently together for a few minutes before either of you said anything.

“I'm sorry. I know you didn't want him to find out.”

“Spencer, you don't have to apologise. All things considered, this is possibly the best way he could've found out.”

“My busted lip suggests otherwise, I think.”

“And a whole lot more would've been busted if he caught us any other time. Besides, I already lost my job, so there's not much else at stake anymore.”

The words stung you as you said them, but you did still feel the weight of your dismissal in your chest, spreading miserably through your bones.

“Does your head still hurt?”

“Not really, why?”

“You're not as perceptive as you usually are.”

You shot him a confused look as he smiled softly down at you, offering a nod towards the small coffee table under the window of your hospital room.

There on your table sat your creds and your gun. The silent acknowledgement you'd been waiting for from your father.

Spencer sat by you as you did your best to hold off the tears. He let you pretend there was something in your eye, let you wonder if your eyes had become watery because of dust from the basement. He quietly held your hand as you grinned and grinned until you pulled him in for a kiss and held him close to you.

His lips were soft as you wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down on top of you even as he tried to hold himself up and off you so he didn't hurt you.

“You know,” you said, punctuating each word with another sweet kiss. “This means- that- you're- stuck- with- me.”

He laughed into your final kiss, finally pulling back for more air, studying your face as if he were trying to memorize it.

“That was never the issue.”

“Oh really, and what was?”

He kissed your again, slow and deep this time, taking his time working his hands down from your hair to your neck to cup your face so you were opened up to him, letting his lips and tongue explore everything he wanted to. He pulled away eventually and instinctively your lips tried to chase his, even as he pulled out of reach.

“Making sure you stayed by my side.”

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #mgg #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid criminal minds #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid angst #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n

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reidtina · 2 months ago

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Vodka Girl

Pairing: jack schlossberg x fem!reader

Content warnings: +18 MDI public sex (im only noticing now that thats kind of my thing now lol), vaginal fingering, petnames (vodka girl, pretty girl, whiskey guy), orgasm, alcohol, casual sex (:()

Word count: 3.8k

Summary: Before Jack Schlossberg was the president of the USA and dated Y/N, he was a recent Harvard graduate and she was a Vogue photographer covering an event at the White House.

a/n: this is kind of a prequel to the president!jack fanfictions on my profile, but can also be read independently. repost and like it if you like it, also requests open for jack and spencer reid! and sorry i disappeared, i was kinda unmotivated and didnt have ideas. its on ao3 too

It had been only a few months since you became a photographer for Vogue and you still hadn’t gotten totally used to the fanciness and all the famous and important people you had to photograph, but tonight was especially important, you were covering an event in the White House, which meant having to be around a few of the most important men and women in the whole country. It’s been hours and nothing had gone wrong so far, so you decided to reward yourself with a little drink, who could blame you? You’ve been working for hours and hadn’t eaten or drunken anything so far. So you make your way to the bar and sit down, but before you could order anything a man sat next to you with a beer on his hand and as much as you tried to stay professional, you couldn’t help but notice he was really hot, he had dark hair, was tall, was wearing a suit, well, every men there was, but he looked better than all of them in it. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t quite put a name to the face yet, but considering this was an event for high-classed people, it wasn’t surprising people here looked familiar.

You probably shouldn’t have stared so much at his hands, because he definitely noticed, as he said: “No ring”, which really confused you, and he could see it on your face because he felt the need to explain himself “I’m sorry, I thought you were checking my fingers for a wedding ring or something, my bad” He said and chuckled embarrassed, making you join him in the laughter.

“No, I was just impressed with how nice your hands are” the second the words came out of your mouth you wanted to die, why the fuck would anyone say that? Fuck. But somehow that didn’t freak him out or made him get up and leave, instead he laughed and said: “I’m Jack, by the way”

“Y/N.” You smiled politely

“Would you like to come with me, Y/N?” he said near to your ear “This party is so boring” he added. You didn’t know what to do, you were here for work, after all, but it’s been hours and you had taken more than enough photos already, maybe you could give yourself a half hour break. So you nod saying “Yeah, sure, why not?”

“Come on.” he softly laughed as he took you by the hand to the beautiful moonlit garden. He took a deep breath before stopping between a bench and a wall, looking around to check if anyone was looking. He then looked down at the bottle of beer and then at you, smiling before opening the bottle and taking a long sip, making a disgusted face as he pulled it away, “Ah, I hate this stuff.” He chuckled and passed you the bottle.

You take a sip from the bottle as well and agreed saying “Yeah, me too”

He laughed, grabbing the bottle from your hand, putting his lips where yours were just a few moments ago, before taking a sip again, wincing at the bad taste. “I'm more of a whiskey kind of man.” He said, looking at the bottle and then at you with the corner of his eye.

“I’m more of a vodka kind of woman.”

He chuckled again, taking another sip, “Vodka girl, uh?” he said, leaning against the wall and facing you, “Any particular reason why?”

“I like the way it goes down” you say with a smirk, trying to be sexy and funny to impress him. You weren’t usually like this, you tended to act natural around guys, but he’s just so hot you can’t risk being weird or boring.

He smirked too, crossing his arms on his chest and taking another sip before passing you the almost empty bottle. “No reason to be surprised you drink vodka, though, you have the look for it.” he teased, making an obvious look up and down on you.

You tilt your head to the side and raise your eyebrows before asking playfully, yet genuinely curious “What's that supposed to mean?”

He chuckled at your pose, taking the almost empty bottle from your hands before putting it on the bench next to you and taking a step closer. He looked at you up and down once again, a smirk on his lips.

“You look like you have a strong but soft personality, vodka is strong, and you make a soft impression. You also have a sharp gaze.” He said, looking deep into your eyes.

You chuckle, nervous with his sudden closeness “I'll take that”

He smiled, slowly stepping closer until you were pressed against the wall behind you, his hands on each side of you, against the wall, trapping you, but not making full contact with you yet. “So, vodka girl..." he said in a low tone. “What's the story? Here alone?”

“I’m a photographer for Vogue, I’m just covering the event. You?”

He chuckled, slowly resting the tip of his fingers on your hips, moving them slightly to the side, but still keeping a small distance between your bodies.

He looked into your eyes with a smirk on his lips, “I'm just here by myself, politics is a family business, you know?” When he said that, something clicked inside your brain and you realized who he was, he was Jack Schlossberg, JFK’s grandson. “I just graduated college, so now I’m being more active in these kind of events with my family.” His attractiveness was already making you nervous, but now there was his name to make things harder. A Kennedy? Is your dress pretty enough to be around someone like that? How do you even breath? You have to act cool, so you smile. He smiles back “So I see we are the same.” he said while softly caressing your sides up and down, “Both alone at this boring event, no one is wearing a ring, which means we are both single, right?”

You chuckle, you were so nervous, but he’s so nice, so it’s suddenly easier to breath and so you say “I think so, I am at least”

He smiled once again, tilting his head to the side, “I'm single too.” he said, his voice lower and his eyes never leaving yours. He slowly and softly moved his fingers to your hips, “So both single at a boring event, we came here alone and now we are alone in the garden...”

You smile and say “It looks like it, what do you think about it?”

“I think...” he whispered, his fingers digging into your sides on your hips, “I think a pretty girl like you shouldn't be spending the night alone.”

“Oh, yeah? And how are we going to fix this?” you ask, finally thinking you’re being cool enough. He chuckled and finally moved his body fully in contact with yours, pinning you against the wall by your hips, “I have an idea.” he said in a low tone by your ear, his hands slowly sliding up your sides. “Hm, tell me.” you said, knowing you should stop it, but unable to actually do it.

He smirked, his hands now fully touching your body and his lips close to your ear, “I think we should spend the end of the night together...” he whispered, slowly letting his teeth graze the skin on your neck. You smirk “Sounds good to me” no, it doesn’t, what the fuck are you doing, Y/N? You’re working here, for fuck’s sake, why did you say that it’s good?

He smiled and slowly left a trail of kisses on your neck, his body pressing against you even more. “I'm glad you agree, vodka girl.” This nickname made you feel things that you probably shouldn’t be feeling right here, right now, but it’s impossible to contain it when a man this hot is around you. He slowly began moving his lips up to your jawline, “So we have a plan for the night, hm?”

“Yeah, we do, whiskey guy” you hope the nickname does the same to him as it did to you. He chuckled against your skin, “I love that nickname.” he said before putting his hand under your chin and tilting your head slightly to the side, allowing access to more of your neck. He began leaving a few more kisses on the side of your neck, his hand leaving your chin and slowly moving down your body, his fingers tracing your shape.

He began moving back to your ear, his hot breath against your skin as he whispered, “I have one rule, vodka girl.” His fingers played with the hem of your dress, slowly pulling it up and exposing more skin, touching it ever so softly. This was so, so wrong but so hard to resist, so you can’t help the words “And what is it?” from coming out of your mouth. He slowly lifted your leg up with his free hand, his fingers digging into your skin while lifting it and pinning it against the wall between his body and yours. So, so wrong. He looked into your eyes as he leaned closer, his face millimeters from yours, almost touching your lip, “You have to be silent.”

Okay, it’s beyond wrong, but it’s so hot. “What? You’re going to do me here?” You ask, still a little nervous and surprised. He smirked, taking your earlobe between his teeth and slowly started moving his hand further up on your leg, his touch leaving you craving more. “Can you be quiet?” he whispered, his lips just above your neck. Fuck it, you only live once or whatever.

“That depends on how good you are” you finally gave in to your desires. He chuckled, moving his hand even further up your leg, the thin fabric of your dress the only thing stopping him from touching you. “Oh, pretty girl, you don't know the limits to my good time.” he said as he started slowly leaving a trail of kisses from your neck to your jaw. “Then I can't promise i can be quiet, I might have to bite you to keep my mouth shut” you smirked. He bit his lip, moving his hand to your hip and pressing his body against yours, the pressure almost making you gasp but you somehow managed to stay silent. “Bite whatever you want, vodka girl, but keep quiet, we're out in the open after all. We wouldn't want to get caught.” He leaned his face closer to you, his nose almost touching yours, “Unless...” he paused, his voice low and seductive, “Unless you don't mind being heard, hm?”

That question brought out a seductive chuckle from you and you asked him: “Does the idea of me being loud out here in public risking getting caught turn you on?” He groaned lowly as he heard the question, his eyes closing from the sound of your chuckle, “You have no idea...” he said, his voice shaky now. His body was fully pressed against yours, and you can feel exactly how it affected him, especially on the spot under his belt.

You fake innocence while playing with his tie. He swallowed hard, feeling you slowly toying with his tie as he tried to form words in his mind, the heat of your touch making it hard to think. He needed no further invitation, the look on your eyes was enough to know you wanted him as much as he wanted you, so he picked you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to a more secluded part of the garden, far away from any guests or cameras, making sure no one could see you.

“You asked for it, vodka girl.” He said as he gently sat you down on a soft patch of grass next to a wall, his body covering yours as he pinned you against the ground, his body pressed between your legs, and his lips just above your neck. He began attacking your neck with kisses, his tongue and teeth now on your skin. He whispered, his breath hot against your ear, “Now be quiet.”

You chuckle as you say “Whatever you say, boss”. He smirked as the sound of your words hit his ear, moving his lips to your ear, “That's a good girl.” He whispered into it. He started leaving a trail of kisses down your neck and across your collarbone while slowly moving his hands to the hem of your dress, slipping his hands underneath the thin fabric.

His touch was light and teasing, slowly moving up higher on your legs, “I want to hear those pretty little moans of yours, pretty girl.” he whispered against your neck, his fingers digging into the skin on your leg.

“Then touch me and make me cry out for you” you said, getting bolder and bolder as desire began taking over you, unable to contain yourself, even knowing the dangers of keeping it going, this was John Fucking Kennedy's grandson after all, your grandma probably had the hots for his grandpa and now he was here, about to fuck you.

“With pleasure.” he said as he began moving his hands higher, his fingers feeling your skin as they inched upward, slowly but getting closer to where you craved him. Thankfully you were wearing good underwear. He began sucking on your neck, leaving hickeys where your hair would cover later, thankfully, but still making sure he left his mark as he finally reached the edge of your underwear, “I want to hear you, vodka girl. I want to hear all the pretty noises you make when I touch you. But only I can hear it, got it?” You nod and beg: “Please.” He chuckled, his breath hot against your ear, "Please what, pretty girl?" he teased, his fingers tracing the edge of your underwear.

“Please, just touch me” you ask impatiently.

He smiled against your neck, enjoying the way you're melting under his touch. ”Say, please again and I'll give you exactly what you want.” he whispered, his fingers still tracing up and down the edge of your underwear. “Please, I need your fingers deep inside me” you begged, too horny to feel embarrassed. He smirked, his lips hovering over your ear, “That's a good girl.” He didn't make you wait any longer, his hands finally moving where you wanted him, a soft moan escaping your lips almost immediately as his fingers found your entrance and started moving in and out of you. He groaned as you let out a sound, his body still pressing against yours as much as it could “Careful, pretty girl. You don't want to be too loud.” He began slowly and gently caressing your clit with his thumb while still moving his fingers in and out of you, his touch soft but firm, making sure to build up the tension. His lips left your ear and you pull him in for a kiss to try and stay quiet.

He was caught off guard by your sudden pull but quickly melted into the kiss, his tongue slipping through your lips, tasting you, and exploring the inside of your mouth while his hand continued exploring your pussy. You moan softly through the kiss and he lets out a low growl, the sound of your moan only driving him further. He continued to kiss you, his tongue tangled with yours, while his free hand slowly moved up your body, touching and exploring every inch of you. He muttered between kisses, his voice low and ragged, “You taste so good, vodka girl. You made my night"

“Can you please fuck me?” You ask without thinking of the consequences, right now nothing else mattered, only having his dick deep inside you. He groaned at your question, his body reacting to your words and the sound of your panting. “What a polite woman asking ‘please’.” he said, his voice low and seductive, the sound of it sending a shiver through you. He whispered in your ear, “Do you wanna feel me, vodka girl?” to which you couldn't say anything other than “Yes, please.” He smirked, slowly moving his fingers away from your body, leaving you craving his touch.

He let out a deep-throated chuckle, his breath warm against your ear, “You're such a good girl, so I'm going to give you exactly what you want.” his words made your body build up with anticipation.

He began gently biting and sucking on your neck, but making sure not to leave marks where your hair wouldn't cover later, while his hands began to move down, slowly pushing up the fabric of your dress. “Do you have a condom?” you ask and he chuckled, slowly pulling away from your neck to look into your eyes. “I do." he said, his voice low and seductive, "I always come prepared.”

You roll your eyes playfully “To this kind of event? What a man whore.” as much as you were joking, you couldn't help but feel a bit of jealousy, you must be sick. He laughed, pinning you to the ground again, his body entirely covering yours, “I can't resist when I'm around a beautiful woman like you, vodka girl. You make me weak”

You pushed any jealousy away and asked “Then please fuck me already”

He moved closer to your ear, whispering, “When you ask like that, how can I say no, vodka girl?” and you take it as your sign to start unbuckling his belt, he lets out a sharp gasp at the feeling of your hands on his pants. “Eager, are we?” he said in a low tone, his breathing getting heavier with the way you were touching him. You roll your eyes and tease “Oh, shut up, we have to be quick, you know that” He chuckled “You're quite feisty, vodka girl. I like that.” He leaned in closer, his face hovering millimeters from yours, “But not that quick, though. I'm going to make sure you remember my name when we're done.” he said it as if you could forget him, but his words send shivers up your spine either way and you reply in a whisper “Just quick enough to make sure we don't get caught.”

”Don't worry, pretty girl. I'm used to multitasking. I'll make sure you're completely satisfied, and we won't be caught.” as he finishes that sentence he pulls out a condom from his pocket and pulls his pants just down enough to take his cock out, and fuck, what a dick, it was big and thick, and you knew it'd hit just the right spots. He smirked, his eyes fixed on you as he quickly rolls the condom onto himself, when he's ready he positions himself between your legs, his body pressing yours down, his eyes holding an intense look of hunger and desire, “Are you ready, vodka girl?”

You nod, not finding the words, but that was all the invitation he needed, as he slowly pushed your panties to the side and began pushing it inside you, when he felt how thigh your pussy was, he groaned, the sound deep and full of the need he had for you. Once he had already entered all his length in you, he started moving himself against you, his eyes locked on yours, “Say my name. I want to hear you.” You moan softly at his request “Jack, please”

His body shuddered from the sound of his name on your lips. ”That's a good girl” he said in a low voice. “Say it again.”

“Jack, we have to be quiet” you moan between thrusts.

He started moving a little faster, his body pressed against yours as he whispered, “You're just too sexy, I can't resist you.”

He wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you against him even closer, “You're unbelievable, vodka girl.”

He continued to move inside of you, his body pressing against yours, both your breathes heavy and ragged. “You feel so good. I can't get…” He couldn't find the words to speak as the pleasure continued to build up between you. He was close, and he knew you were close to the edge too. He groaned, his body shuddering, “You're so perfect. I can't hold back anymore. Say my name once again”

“Jack” you moan softly into his ear and the sound of your voice mixed with your hot breath into his ear make his body shudder with release, and he whispers your name back in your ear over and over as the waves of pleasure wash over him.

He collapses on top of you, panting and trying to catch his breath, “You're incredible, Y/N. I wasn't expecting anything like this tonight.” You try to catch your breath as you pull the hem of your dress down again and pull your panties back to their place. He gently rolls onto his back beside you, still catching his breath, and turns to look at you as he removes the condom and pulls his pants up. He smiles, his eyes still holding a hint of desire and satisfaction. “You're quite the troublemaker, vodka girl.” he teased, brushing a loose strand of hair out of your face with his free hand.

“I could same the same about you, whiskey guy.”

He chuckled, rolling onto his side to face you. “Me, a troublemaker? I'm innocent.” he says, giving you an mock innocent look before grinning and reaching out to trace a finger along your cheek, “You're the one who got me all worked up, pretty girl.”

As a little bit of reasoning thinking washes over you, you say: “Maybe we should get back to the party now, we can't risk someone seeing us lying down on the garden.” He sighs, reluctantly agreeing “You're right. We can't risk getting caught.”

He sits up, buckling his belt and straightening his hair, before making a knot on the used condom and putting it into his pocket. “Well, this is kinda gross” he laughs and offers you the other hand. “But let's head back in and try to look innocent.” You take his hand while laughing and get up.

He leads you back to the inside, his hand still holding yours. As you enter the room again, you both try to act nonchalant, like nothing happened, but nobody seems to have noticed your absence either way. He whispers to you, trying not to attract attention, “We gotta act natural, vodka girl. Don't want to raise suspicion.” The fact that he’s worrying now when he’s then one that initiated the whole thing makes you chuckle and you say “I think we’re in the clear now”

He chuckles too, the tension of getting caught slowly fading away. “You’re right, looks like we’re in the clear” he agreed after looking around the room. “So, I think I should try to get back to the boring conversations, but before I go, can I get your number?” he asked and after you gave it to him and got back to work, he spent the rest of the night thinking about you, looking around the room, hoping to get a glance of you.

#ao3 writer #jack schlossberg #my fics #fem!reader #smut #kennedy family #female writers #y/n

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it-was-summer · 4 months ago

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Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #4 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Y'all this chapter took so long to write. This is NOT proofread once again me and Grammarly were beefing because she doesn't understand fanfiction. Nonetheless, it is 12 am MST and here it is. Now for an overall warning, this chapter talks about so much that I was to let everyone know that I meant for this to be a dark series. That was my goal. I'm so sorry if some of these topics seem like they're too heavy for you. If you feel overwhelmed, disgusted, or just find it hard to read please remember that it is okay and you are loved. This chapter mentions miscarriages, eating disorders, gunshot wounds, suicide, etc. I love you all and stay healthy. I will try to post my 500 followers post soon! Not proofread because eepy. YOU'LL read my chapter unedited and you'll like it! (hopefully). Thanks for reading. -Love you all, Em.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #3 > Next Chapter: Coming Soon...

WARNING: miscarriage, eating disorder, catholic guilt, bisexuality mention??, period underwear, stalking, marital problem, divorce, sexual harassment, guns, knives, gunshot wound, This bitch shoots someone, suicide, mention of a skull, blood so much blood.

Tape Contents: We briefly dive into Heather's past. Adeline makes a call that gives the team a reason to visit the suburbs. Heather makes a decision. You see something other than pink for the first time in four days.

Word Count: 6,296

Seven to Four Years Prior- January 10, 20XX

Heather had to get out of Norfolk. She felt suffocated under her father’s watchful gaze and helicopter ways. He was a hard man to love and hard to be around in general. When he drank, she used to pray that he would forget about her, so she became quiet. She didn’t have many friends here anyway, so she took you out of the equation and knew no one else would know her name.

So, with a heavy heart, she moved her life away to Richmond. She changed her major to nursing and killed that quiet girl from Norfolk. She fabricated real lies that sometimes she couldn’t separate from reality. She stared at girls silently with longing and played it off as admiration if she was ever caught. Catholic guilt stopped it from growing into anything else.

She was slow to open up about her feelings and showed people an extroverted sorority girl nursing graduate who liked to go to bars on the weekend and let men’s hands pull at her hips desperately in dark corners.

Now, at twenty-four, she only thought about one thing: how good her stomach looked in this dress. She had thinned out tremendously since the move. At first, it started due to not having enough money to eat anywhere except the shitty university cafeteria. Then, it warped into something else. During its worst moments, she would log her calories or purge food moments after eating it. She could look into mirrors afterward and feel she was achieving something remarkable. Then, sometimes, she would also look at her face and think, ‘Is that what I look like’?

But tonight, she wanted to do something different, something fun. Having told her sorority sisters this, they all jumped on board quickly, agreeing to meet at the bar around 10 p.m. that Saturday. They were thirty minutes late.

Heather was gently fiddling with the hem of her short black dress, her eyes flickering towards the entrance every so often as she waited for them to walk in. This year, she wanted to be happier, less suffering in silence, and a little more smiley. So yes, she wanted to have fun with people she called friends. Despite all her efforts, she was sure they could see right through her sometimes. She swallowed nervously as she nursed a margarita.

The next time she looked at her phone, she saw texts from her former sisters saying that work had been hectic and that they needed to reschedule for another time. So now, Heather Alexander was right back at square one: alone. She glanced down at her dress and frowned slightly at its tight material. It was the kind of dress that made her uncomfortable but made men comfortable. Something always felt wrong with that. Heather always secretly knew that she felt an attraction to women and men, but she always felt guilty at the thought.

She sighed as she debated her next move when she saw him. He was the prettiest man she had ever seen. He had soft masculine features that almost looked slightly feminine, a uniform clad against his chest, and a charming boyish smile as their eyes met. Heather whispered a silent prayer that he would like her as he approached her and introduced himself as David Hernandez. How could she not fall for him instantly? Deep brown eyes, pink lips, dark skin, and a low rumble in his voice made her feel like giggling.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were getting married. They spent a few months together in domestic bliss. He got some time off from work, and she kept her last name, and they were… happy.

At least they were happy for six months, and then her world shattered around her as David was deployed to England. She cried herself to sleep the night she heard, and David stroked her back softly to calm her. Heather didn’t want him to leave her and see someone better overseas. She was sure that women would throw themselves at David’s feet, begging him to kiss them, touch them, fuck them, like whores in the street of Babylon. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching him, looking at him the way she looked at him, talking to him the way she did in his ear late at night. She begged him to try and find some way out of it, scared to lose what was rightfully hers, but he couldn’t. He left that week.

At first, it was just six months, but then it stretched out into a year of deployment—a year spent being faithful to a man across the Atlantic. She called him when she had time, wrote letters to him, sent him emails, and constantly contacted him in any way she could.

When he got home, it was clear that all her efforts had gone to waste. David was distant. He would sulk in corners of their home on his phone. He would lament on and on about how England felt like his home and how he missed it. She couldn’t stand it. This house they bought together was his home, and it always had been. Why was he struggling to see that?

The more he talked of his deployment, the more Heather became frustrated with him. Then he started to go out more. At first, it was just to speak with some Army friends on base a few spread-out weekends in the month. Then it was every weekend.

Heather found that the only thing that could keep him home was sex. So they had sex constantly, like animals in heat. Disgusting and rutting against each other any moment they could. However, the second that it was over, he would withdraw again. He would get dressed and say he had to get to the base.

Then he was coming late, drunk and slurring, as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and woke her up with sensual touches and dirty talk. She took this as a good sign he was coming home to his wife. He was fucking her and no one else. But slowly, he stopped coming home. He would call her late at night to tell her he would stay with a friend for the night. The following day, he would come home smelling sweet.

Heather felt lost, searching desperately for something to save her marriage. She was devoting all of her love to a man who no longer wanted it, and she could feel him falling out of love with her.

Her saving grace was the morning that she found out she was pregnant. She called David with tears in her eyes and told him softly over the phone, and she heard him laugh for the first time in months. And just like that, he was back.

His soft touches, kisses in the grocery store, and dancing with her in the living room were all back. Her devoted and dotting husband had returned home to her. She could feel the dark cloud of the past couple of months dissipate and the sun shining on her.

That light lasted a good three months. Heather sat up straight as pain coursed through her body, thundering in her abdomen as she shook David awake with tears streaming down her face. Something was wrong with the baby; she knew it. He drove her to the hospital as fast as he could, but it was too late. She had already miscarried.

Heather took a small sabbatical from work and took time to think about her life. She would stare out of their living room window blankly for hours. David was attentive at first, coming home after work and tending to Heather’s broken spirit. But he soon became bored of that routine.

When Heather returned to the pediatric oncology unit, David was notified that he was being deployed again to Okinawa, Japan. He was packed and ready by the end of that month. She didn’t see him off at the airport, picking up an extra shift at the hospital to distract her from the fact that he was leaving her again.

David called her two months into his leave to tell her he wasn’t happy. He wanted a divorce. Then he hung up before she could get a word in. That’s when it all started. Her obsession with consuming anything romantic was almost debilitating. She would visit bookstores and attend readings at the public library, sometimes calling off from work to sit at home with her romances. That’s when she saw you again. She thought that you would have stayed in Norfolk. You had once told her that you loved the water. You liked how it could look gloomy and promising on different days, with mist rolling off the surface.

She tried not to talk to you. She did. She didn’t want to scare you away like she scared David away. No, no, no, she was sure it would all work out this time. So she loved you from a comfortable distance, watching you from her car on the weekends at night, leaving you her gifts on your windshield—a silent courting.

She couldn’t help herself on Valentine’s Day. She had slipped into Nicole Smith’s room without Adeline recognizing her, and she gave the table with Adeline’s purse on it a gentle knock with her hip. Heather apologized quickly, telling her not to worry. She promptly dropped to the floor to gather the spilled contents from Adeline’s bag, and she slipped a labeled key connected to a keychain that read ‘or die’ into her pocket. Once she had copied the key, she quickly returned the original to its owner.

She felt electric when she entered your apartment on Valentine's Day in a dark outfit, a hood covering her face, and four dozen rose petals in a container. She breathed in your perfume as she perused through your bathroom. She traced the spine of every book she could touch on your shelves. She gently dove into your dirty hamper and quickly pulled out a pair of dirty underwear, blood on the inside of them as she shamelessly slipped them into her pocket. Then she got to work spreading the petals throughout your apartment. By the end, she stared at her work, panting lightly as she lay across on your rose-covered bed.

She had to have you.

Present Day- March 5, 20XX

Derek and Spencer managed to get to the public library an hour before closing. They pulled your coworker, Valerie, aside. She was a pretty brunette, glasses resting on her face delicately as she stared at the two men with a soft look of disappointment. She knew that if they were here, they had yet to find you, and the thought made her feel like breaking down in a fit of tears. She fought the urge to cry as Derek asked her a question, sliding a copy of the Polaroid you had received on your windshield. “Do you happen to remember anyone coming in with a Polaroid camera?”

Valerie stared at the Polaroid with a soft frown, trying to remember something helpful. Spencer spoke quickly, “Sometime around January fourteenth, maybe?”

Valerie chewed on her bottom lip before the memory washed over her, “Yes! Yes, oh gosh, she was blonde, I think. I remember telling her we didn’t like flash photography in the library. I only saw the back of her head, but I remember the back of her head and the flash of a camera.”

Spencer tilted his head slightly and nodded at Valerie’s words, processing the information silently.“Are you sure it was a woman?” Spencer asked softly before Valarie enthusiastically nodded.

“Yes, it was definitely a woman who took the picture.” She confirmed in a soft voice before she looked down at the Polaroid with a gentle tenderness in her eyes. “She baked me cookies last week, you know?” She looked up at the two men with a sad smile and tears in her eyes. “My cat is sick, and she made me cookies to make me feel better.” She laughed sadly as the tears started to fall.

Derek placed a soft hand over Valerie’s and gave her a tender look, “We’re looking for her,” The words caused a shaky sigh to escape Valarie’s lips as she pulled her hand away quickly and stood up.

Her cheeks were red as she cried out a soft “Excuse me.” before she turned on her heel and hurriedly left the room.

Spencer picked up the picture and stared at you in the photo. The way your hair shined in the fluorescent light, your eyes and smile trained directly on the person you were talking to. You were personable, and the thought made his stomach turn. He looked over at Derek as Spencer handed the photo back to him.

The two men walked out of the library silently, and Derek let out a soft sigh as he watched the sun starting to settle against the horizon. Spencer walked beside him with his hand stuffed in his pockets, and his head hung a little low in thought.

Derek broke the silence first, “We should get back to the station to see if JJ and Rossi have anything,”

And then they rode back in contemplative silence after that.

March 6, 20XX

You weren’t sure if it was day or night anymore. All you knew was that you were starting to feel uneven. Every creak of wood, settling of pipes, and rumble of the house had your back straightening against the bed. You were sure that Heather would fly in at any moment and touch you.

A million options weighed heavy in your mind at the scenario; you could fight back again, but that would get you sliced again or worse. You could go with it, zone out as much as possible, let her have her way with you. That option made your head spin with nausea. You had to find a way to get out.

You licked at the gash on your lip, gently exploring the cut with your tongue until you could feel the warmth of blood again. You pushed your tongue back into your mouth and looked over at your day-old apple on the nightstand, half-eaten and brown. You tenderly took a small bite that wouldn’t require you to move your lips too much.

You didn’t have much of the day-old meal left; a half-full water and this apple was all you had. You chewed softly, fighting off the nausea that threatened to creep in due to the morphine.

You tried to remember anything that could be helpful to you. It was hard to think of high doses of morphine. You had played with the knob often; when you were ready to sleep, it would go up, and when you were up, it would turn down. But lately, you just wanted it to be turned up.

You tried to think of when Heather came into the pink room. She always stuffed her keys into her pockets. A plan was in the making: Get her out of her clothes, and you could get the keys.

You nodded a little despite your discomfort with the idea of her touching you again. You just had to seduce her a little, which should be easy considering that she was ‘in love’ with you. The only problem with that plan was that you had a mangled ankle and a body running on morphine; she didn’t. Heather’s temper was quick when you talked back, and rage followed if you did something against her liking.

Maybe begging would work. No, you tried that already. Why would begging work? Perhaps you could hurt yourself just enough to force her to take you to the hospital. But that didn’t work either; she was a nurse. She wouldn’t incriminate herself like that, would she? Maybe total submission would be the key.

Convince her that you love her back and somehow ask to be let out with her supervision, but that could take forever.

You started to cry softly as you set down the core of the apple and laid down, wishing to pull your legs to your chest, but the pain of one ankle and the chain around the other made that physically impossible.

You cried until you felt your eyelids become heavy, tears still slipping out of your eyes as you fell into a morphine-induced sleep.

March 6, 20XX

JJ paced back and forth in front of the bulletin board, occasionally flicking her eyes over to the photos pinned to it as she tried to chase what was likely to be a loose end. The number that had called yours and left a message full of sobs had been a burner.

Spencer had tried to tell her to eat something this morning, but as the clock’s hands crept towards nine a.m., she still didn’t feel hungry enough to try. She sighed out another frustrated huff as Emily appeared in front of her. “If you sigh like that one more time, I think I might have to force a croissant down your throat.”

JJ gave her another dramatic sigh before she put her hands on her hips: “I’m sorry, I just feel like we have no leads. We know it's a woman, but Adeline isn’t likely to be the unsub, and all her coworkers have alibis. It just feels like we are running around with our heads cut off.”

Emily smiled and gave her a gentle nod of understanding, “I get it, but you pacing around like this isn’t helping anyone. Let’s get you a drink, coffee, or maybe something to eat.”

“People who eat breakfast consistently are twenty-five percent likely to be more productive at work,” Spencer spoke up from a desk not too far from the two women.

Emily pointed over at Spencer, “See? You’re making Spencer freak out.”

“I’m not freaked out,” Spencer frowned at the comment before looking back at a file on the desk.

JJ’s smile was slow as she let her hands fall to her side and let out a soft, “Fine.” She agreed as Emily walked over to the precinct's breakroom, JJ following her.

Derek was clicking a pen obnoxiously in an off-beat rhythm. He was about to say something when his phone started to ring on his desk. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it anyway. “Hello?”

“Hi, uhm, is this Special Agent Morgan?” Adeline’s voice was shaky through the phone.

Derek relaxed slightly as he set down his pen. “Yeah, Adeline. Did something happen?” He couldn’t think of another reason as to why she would call the number he had left with her if nothing happened. He was too focused on the case to think of any other reason anyway.

“Yeah, maybe? I was talking to one of the nurses about something today, and I recognized one of them. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner, but it was an old friend from college. She was more Y/N’s friend than mine, but I talked to her a little.” Adeline’s voice dropped to a whisper as she continued, “I mentioned that she was missing, and Heather had a weird reaction. She smiled for a second. I swear, she said she was sad to hear that, but she looked… well, for a second, it just seemed like maybe she was happy.”

Derek picked the pen back up again, ready to write down a name. It wasn’t much, but they could visit her. “What was her name again?”

“Gosh, it was Heather something… Heather, Heather, Heather,” She bit her lip as she tried to think back. “Alexander! Heather Alexander.”

Derek wrote it down and muttered quickly, “We'll look into it, thanks.” As a goodbye, he let Adeline quickly thank him over the phone before he hung up and called Penelope.

Penelope, quick as always, picked up on the first ring. “Center of divine intellect,” was her greeting.

“Good morning to you, too, baby girl. Listen, could you get Heather Alexander's address? Adeline Smith called saying that she had a strange reaction to hearing about our girl going missing.”

“Easy,” was her answer before Derek could hear the sounds of keys being tapped against and a soft humming sound emitting from Penelope’s lips as she pulled up the address: “4432 Lake Margaret Pl., Chesterfield, Virginia.”

“You are an angel, Garcia.”

“I always aim to please,”

“And you never fail, baby girl.”

JJ had begged Derek with her eyes to let her go with Spencer. It was just an interview, not even an interrogation, just to see if the connection between you and Heather went deeper than old college friends. So why shouldn’t she go?

Derek wasn’t one to put up a big fight, so he let her with Spencer. It was only thirty minutes away anyway, so if they needed the team it wouldn’t take too long for them to show up, right? He stayed behind on the phone with Garcia, who was doing her best to see if Heather had any criminal history on her record.

As the car rolled around the cul de sac, Spencer’s eyes struggled to look away from the plethora of plants in the fenced-in front yard. Pink anemones were scattered amongst daffodils, and what looked like daisies were blooming side by side. JJ rolled the car to a stop, parking it against the curb.

“Pretty yard,” She muttered as she took the keys out of the ignition. Spencer nodded a little; he had to admit that Spring came in a close second to Fall as the superior season in his mind. The flowers growing after frozen earth had kept them dormant, the welcomed feeling of the sun getting slightly warmer. It was still somewhat chilly at ten in the morning as he stepped out of the car with JJ, but he had to admit, it was shaping up to be a beautiful day weather-wise.

His head tilted back a little as he stole a glance at the blue sky above them and smiled before stuffing his hands into his pockets and tilting his head toward the house. JJ smiled and walked beside him, happy to be out of the precinct and in the early morning air.

Heather was washing the paring knife she had used on you in her kitchen sink, facing a large bay window in her living room. She swiped at the hardened blood and frowned a little at the memory. Why was she so upset with you? She could hardly remember herself when she got angry like that.

It was almost fitting, her flying off the handle over something so simple as you not being ready for her love. Was she no better than a man? Had she gotten so accustomed to men's vile and sharp ways that she had somehow forgotten how to be gentle?

She felt her hands shake as a voice came into her head, whispering her worst fear: She was worse than her father.

She let tears blur her vision at the thought as she rubbed the knife harder with a sponge, shaking her head quickly. No, no, no, no. She was not like that man. She was not cold like that man. She was lovable. She felt love. She felt overwhelming love for you. She had felt overwhelming love for David.

Her downward spiral was cut short as she lifted her weeping head and saw a black SUV parked in front of her yard. She quickly wiped away a stray tear with the back of her hand and sniffled lightly as she gently slid the knife into the dishwasher, watching two people get out of the van.

Heather’s eyes were glued to the blonde at first, pretty and fair in the morning sun before her eyes flickered to the man beside her. She recognized him immediately. She was sure it was the same man she almost ran into at the hospital yesterday.

She dried her hands as she walked around the kitchen island. As they got closer, her head arched to see how close they were. Panic was running through her veins. Her gun was in her room upstairs, loaded. She just had to get upstairs; her feet were quick to try and run upstairs and stash it somewhere close before they could ring the doorbell. Just as the idea seemed plausible enough, the bell rang through the house.

Heather let out a silent scream of panic as she smoothed out her shirt, fixed her hair, and caught a quick glance of her pretty face in the mirror near the front door before she swung it open with a pleasantly fake smile on her face. Her eyes quickly scanned both of their faces as she smiled. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, hi. My name is Jennifer Jareau. This is Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI, and we were just wondering if we could ask you some questions.” JJ spoke clearly as she flashed her badge at Heather, a slight smile on her lips as she looked into Heather’s eyes. Spencer recognized her, finding it strange that he had almost run directly into the beautiful woman at the hospital just the day before.

Heather laughed softly and nodded as she stepped aside, opening the door wider to let the two agents inside. “Of course,” Her hands were shaking, but she gripped the edge of the door tightly, half tempted to slam it directly in their faces and go upstairs to shoot Catherine and herself to freedom.

They weren’t on to her yet; she was sure of that– especially given their lack of people– just two against one. She was quick to shut the door behind them before leading the two of them into her living room. “Can I get you two any water? I have some juice.”

The two agents shook their heads in a polite ‘no, thank you’ way as they sat on the sofa across from Heather. Heather sat on a chair with a soft “Okay” as she eyed them carefully. “Am I in some kind of trouble here?”

“No, We just wanted to ask you a few questions regarding an old college friend of yours, Y/N L/N.”

“Well,” She smoothed out her long skirt slowly, remembering to breathe normally, “What about her?”

“Had you been in contact with her at all? Did she mention anything about someone following her?”

Heather let out a gentle laugh as she shook her head, “I haven’t really had the time to reach out to old friends lately,”

Spencer’s interest peaked as he joined the conversation, “How come?”

Heather’s gaze became a little pointed at the question. Of course, the man has to ask her, “I lost a baby recently, and my husband was deployed soon after, so forgive me for not becoming pen pals with someone I knew at eighteen.” The words were direct and vicious, but she couldn’t help herself. She blew out a soft sigh before she let out a gentle and timid, “I’m sorry,”

Spencer licked his lips nervously as he leaned back against the sofa slightly, trying to resist the urge to disappear into it. Self-isolation wasn’t uncommon for women who had recently suffered from a miscarriage. That feeling more than likely increased as her support system was ripped away from her.

JJ gently touched Spencer’s knee before she cut the tension. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Alexander. We’re just trying to piece some information together.”

Heather ran a hand through her hair before she gave JJ a tight-lipped smile. “I understand that; I’m sorry. Would it be alright if I ran upstairs for some medicine? I feel a headache coming on.” She spoke fast with a tense voice, trying her hardest to pass it off as pain with a rub of her temple. When JJ nodded, she stood up and headed upstairs as calmly as she could manage.

JJ looked over at Spencer, watching Heather walk away carefully. “She seems angrier with men than anything.” Her voice was slightly amused before Spencer frowned.

“Doesn’t mean she’s in the clear; stalking is often a form of intense infatuation, but it's also used as a way to control something. She’s struggling with two things that could be our stressors: she’s craving control or dependency. She-” The soft ringing of his phone cut off his whispered rant. He answered it, happy that at least it was just Garcia calling, hoping for a better lead than his ongoing hunch.

He stood and looked at JJ, who was mouthing for him to go outside, “Hey,” He answered as he slipped out of the front door.

“Hey, nothing is coming up anywhere on Heather’s record for criminal activity—sorority sister, wife, nurse, clean as a whistle. However, considering we don’t have much right now, I decided to see if she had any warnings at work.”

“Right,” Spencer looked over his shoulder at the front door as he walked away to stand in front of the garage.

“Well, last month, she got a write-up for stealing some morphine; her supervisor forced her to go see a therapist after Heather said that she was using it for some leftover pain she was experiencing after her miscarriage. But Heather never showed,”

Spencer was walking a little further down the driveway as he listened to Garcia talk on the phone, counting the number of windows in the house. His eyes narrowed slightly to try and block out the sun before he looked away. He licked his bottom lip gently before acting on his little hunch, “Could you check her credit report? See if there are any purchases that you can find that seem odd around March third?”

“Could I check her credit report,” Garcia repeated with a laugh, “Hold on, boy genius.”

Spencer could see the top of JJ’s head from the bay window, and he turned away slightly, finding ease in the fact that she was still there. Something felt off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. “She went to the store, but nothing crazy. Bought,” He could hear typing, “Bleach and rubbing alcohol.”

Spencer chewed on the inside of his cheek as he asked, “When was her husband deployed again? Did she buy anything from a florist around Valentine’s Day?”

“Husband was deployed December first and,” she hummed gently before she sighed, “Bought some flowers on Valentine’s day, rose petals.”

Spencer felt that feeling when something connected in his brain, a rush of adrenaline as he felt his hunch slowly turn into a plausible accusation. The roses were just that, roses. But the bleach and rubbing alcohol? That’s a recipe for chloroform right there. And finally, Heather’s husband was deployed at the beginning of December, stressor number two. It made him feel slightly hopeful about walking back into the house. “Thanks, Garcia.” He said as his feet reached the end of the driveway. He hung up the phone, walking back towards the house at a fast pace when the familiar and startling 'crack' of a gun reached his ears.

His hands drew his gun out of the holster, running back towards the house. He pushed the front door open with his foot as he heard the thumping of footsteps running on the stairs. He rounded the corner to the living room before lowering his gun as he saw JJ bleeding from a bullet wound in her thigh.

“JJ!” His voice panicked as he reached her groaning side, kneeling low to the ground next to her. “What happened?”

JJ shook her head quickly, “I’m calling for backup. She ran upstairs. She didn’t even try to,” her eyes squeezed shut tightly as a sharp pain rattled through her inner thigh, “Just go!” She urged him as she reached down for the phone in her back pocket, her free hand pressing on her gushing wound to try and slow the bleeding.

Spencer’s eyes were filled with uncertainty as he let out a soft, “No, I’ll stay here until everyone gets-”

“Spencer, go!”

Spencer felt his spine straighten at the second command. He gave her a grim nod as he stood up, readied his gun, and started for the stairs. His footsteps were soft and calculated as he ascended, pink light flooding the floor as he approached the top of the stairs. He could hear gentle begging in a voice too soft and thick to be Heather’s.

“Please, Heather, please, my love. Don’t, please don’t.” Repetitive cries for mercy made his legs move faster until he approached an opened door. The regular-looking bedroom door gave way to a steel one just behind it before revealing the scene of what looked like a demented love nest.

Spencer swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in the scene. Gun pointed carefully at Heather as he spoke, “Heather, put down the gun. You love her. You don’t want to hurt her. You know that.”

Heather jumped a little at the sound, her pistol clicking softly as her sweaty palms tightened their grip. She was quick to turn her body around to face him with the gun aimed directly at him as she spoke. “Don’t pretend like you know me or her. You don’t know our relationship. She wants this just as much as I do.”

“You know she doesn’t look at her. Look at what you’re doing to her.”

Heather’s eyes drifted to you, chained to the bed, watching as you hyperventilate softly. Heather felt her bottom lip quiver before she looked back at Spencer. “She’s just scared. You’re making me do this. She knows you’re making me do this.”

Spencer’s eyes drifted to your crying form on the bed, trying to keep your sobs quiet as you stared at him with wild eyes. He glanced over at the morphine drip next to your bed before his eyes settled back on Heather. His lips parted to say something more, but she cut him off quickly, “Put your gun down, and I won’t do it.”

Heather’s body language gives her away as she motions for him to put his gun down, her eyes crazed and large, her hands shaking and rigid against her pistol. “I’m not going to-”

“Put your fucking, gun down, or she dies,” Heather yells so loud that it elicits a soft sob from your lips, your arms coming up to protect your head, ready for the shot to be administered and for your brains to be blown out in front of Spencer in that very moment.

Spencer holds up both of his hands at that; he swears he can hear the soft sounds of sirens in the distance as he lowers his gun to the floor slowly, his foot gently kicking the gun away with a soft ‘clack.’

“Now you,” his calm voice says as he raises his hands, inching closer. Tears stream down Heather’s face now as she shakes her head gently.

“I have to,” Is her tear-soaked reply as she keeps the barrel pointed at Spencer’s head, her fingers twitching lightly as they move for the trigger. Your shaking voice cuts through the scene, and Spencer is pretty sure it’s the only thing that is stopping him from diving for his gun a few feet from him.

“Heather, baby,” Your voice betrays you as you speak the pet name, coming off a little too forced, but you continue anyway. “He can help. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. We can be happy, and we can get away. He can help, right?” Your arms relax around your head slowly as you look over at Spencer, who nods silently.

“I can, but you have got to put your gun down.”

Heather chokes out a strangled sob as she looks over at you, watching as you smile at her. You know it’s forced, but Heather can only view it as the prettiest thing she’s ever seen—a great parting gift.

She feels spit thick on her tongue as she evaluates her options: kill Spencer and go to jail. Kill you, and she might not have enough time to kill herself. Killing herself seems like the best plan out of the three, so she holds her gun steady at Spencer as she looks at your now bleeding smile.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, almost so human that you feel your heart clench in pity before that clenching feeling turns into pure anxiety as you see the movement of her arm. Spencer’s feet aren't quick enough for him to tackle her to the ground as Heather raises the gun to her temple and pulls the trigger.

Her body drops to the edge of the bed, sliding down it as you feel blood coat your legs. Your ears are ringing, and your mouth is wide open as you scream. At least you think you’re screaming. You can’t hear much but a pathetic muffle of the sound as the ringing in your ears increases.

Your hands are quick to try and wipe off chunks of what looks to be part of a skull off of your exposed stomach, and you can’t seem to stop staring at Heather’s limp body at the edge of the bed. The image of her mangled head oozing blood has you gagging softly, feeling yourself getting ready to be sick before you feel two hands cup your face.

You’re screaming or sobbing; you can’t tell anymore as Spencer Reid’s face blocks the view. He keeps your face steady in his hands as you try to read his lips, your breathing heavy as he strokes your hair gently. His voice creeps in through the ringing until you eventually hear the soft repetition of, “I got you, look at me. Just keep looking at me; you’re safe.”

You feel your breathing slow, your arms reaching up to grab him before your eyes roll back as your body slumps against Spencer’s, and everything is engulfed in black.

Tag List: @dollykisses4reid @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333 @mmmunson

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babymetaldoll · 1 month ago

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Are you mine? - Chapter twelve: "People need to know they are important."

Summary: Let's add more trauma to the Reid's life. How will they deal with Mr. Scratch and Hotch leaving the team? Plus! Diana's health is getting worse and Spencer has to deal with the guilt of not having a clue how to help her. Word count: 14.210 Warning: Hurt and angst, Criminal Minds spoilers. Sad Spencer, sad reader, sad chapter. A/N: Yes, this whole fanfiction has been hard to write because to give my babies a happy ending, I have to put them through so much, it's sad and angsty even for me.

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(Y/N)’s point of view

In the following months after Morgan’s departure, Spencer kept trying his best to cope with the loss of his best friend. We would often stare at his empty chair in the jet and get lost in his head. Morgan wasn’t far, just a phone call away, and we would try to see him as often as possible. Well, as often as work and our lives let us. Morgan and Savannah were dealing with a newborn, after all. And we kept catching serial killers all over the country.

Meanwhile, I felt the void between JJ and me growing every day. Without Em, it felt like we didn’t share much in common during cases, but work. She would always talk to Spencer. But for some reason or another, we seemed to be falling apart.

The one thing that made me happy those days was planning our trip: Spencer and I were taking Diana and the kids to France for ten days. We needed to get away from work and create some good memories with our family. Spencer told me his mom had always dreamed about making a trip there, and considering she was doing great with her medication, it was the right time to plan a getaway and take a few days off.

Traveling with two kids was as challenging as we imagined. But we made it work. Diana still hated flying, but she hated boats even more. So the thought (most likely the threat) of taking a cruise was enough to help her deal with the nearly eight-hour trip from Washington to the Charles de Gaulle Airport, in Paris.

I lost count of all the museums we visited, and of all the macarons, opera cakes, and pan au chocolate we ate. Spencer had the entire trip scheduled and nearly timed, which didn’t really work with two babies. After only two hours after landing, my dear husband realized all his plans were going down the drain. And yet, he kept his spirits up.

- “The babies are jetlagged, you are jetlagged. Just nap a little!”

- “Ma cherie, we are finally in the right place to call you cherie, I don’t think I can close an eye.”

Spencer was incredibly excited to be in France. We had traveled through Europe for our honeymoon, but we didn’t include France in our itinerary because one day my husband wanted to take his mother.

- “Relax.”- I whispered and kissed his lips sweetly as Raven and Vinny napped on our bed.

On our first day, we visited Le Louvre and between Spencer and Diana, I got a basically private and very exclusive tour of the place, with the history of most pieces. My husband carried Raven most of the time on his shoulders, while Vinny was in his stroller, napping most of the time.

- “I mean, you read about it your entire life, and then suddenly, you are standing right in front of it.”- Diana whispered as we stood in front of The Venus de Milo.

- “Where are her arms?”- Raven asked and turned to me with the most concerned look on her face.

- “Well Birdy, this statue is very old.”- I started explaining- “And when they found her, she had lost her arms already.”

- “So it’s broken.”- she summed up simply.

- “She hasn’t been well preserved, darling.”- Diana added and held her hand as Raven frowned and looked at her grandma.

- “Some of my toys are not well preserved too.”

I had to bite my lips not to start laughing right there.

We visited the Eiffel towel with Diana and the babies, took a million pictures, and had a picnic in a park right in front, with the most amazing view. But by far, one of the most romantic things we did during our trip was having a date there just the two of us. We left the kids with Diana at the hotel and Spencer took me for dinner at a very exclusive restaurant in the Eiffel Towel, called Julio Verne. It felt very appropriate considering how much my husband loves his books.

- “Wow.”- that was the best I could do at the moment, ‘cos I was speechless. It was by far the most expensive place we had ever been at. I felt guilty for even thinking about eating there, I don’t know why. Like I wasn’t worth it or something.

- “Our first time in a Michelin winner restaurant.”- Spencer whispered as we both looked around the room. We sat by the window, with an incredible view of Paris lightened outside.

- “I’m wearing the best dress I’ve got and I still feel underdressed for the occasion.”- my words made my husband chuckle as he shook his head and stared into my eyes.

- “You look lovely, ma cherie.”- Spencer held my hand and kissed my fingers as he kept looking at me. I know I blushed. He could still make me feel nervous when he did those things.

- “Thank you.”- I had to look away because I was feeling like a teenager on her first date. - “So… did you look at the menu?”

- “Yes. Very French.”- he chuckled as I grabbed one menu and stared at it. - “I already booked us the five courses menu for tonight.”- I remember how I stopped breathing when Spencer announced that and the only thing I could ask was:

- “So our kids are not going to college then.”- and he just laughed.

- “Maybe one. I’m rooting for Raven.”

- “Spencer, why are we spending so much money over dinner? I would have been happy with some saint honoré sitting on the grass down there.”

- “Ma cherie, I’ve waited for this date for years. I’ve dreamed of giving you exactly what you deserve. And this is what you deserve, and if I can give you more, I would!”- I opened my mouth to argue, but I couldn’t. Not because I felt like I deserved all that, but because Spencer’s eyes were so honest, so enamored, and so sweet, I just couldn’t argue with him.

- “You deserve the word.”- I managed to answer, feeling tears coming to my eyes as I stared at my husband.

- “You’ve given me the world. You made me a husband. A father. You gave me our babies.”

- “I could give you a hundred more.”- I confessed underneath and he just raised an eyebrow, raising an eyebrow charmingly.

- “Don’t put ideas in my head.”

- “I’m just saying…-” I chuckled and shook my head.- “I just want to make you happy, honey.”

- “Trust me, ma cherie. You are very good at that.”

I wish I could frame that memory and stare at it whenever I feel sad or doubtful of everything. Sometimes I feel I need an anchor to keep me from drifting to dark places. Which I often did. I blame the nature of our jobs, which could show us daily how mean people could be. How much we can hurt each other.

When we came back after our vacations, things at the BAU kept changing nonstop. Luke Alvez joined the team, which was a great addition. We needed help, and he was good at his job. Besides, it added some drama to the team ‘cos, of course, Luke didn’t want to replace Morgan, he had no idea what had happened with our friend, why he had left, and how important he was to us. And yet, Garcia hated him. No. That’s not enough: Garcia loathed the poor guy before he did anything.

Let’s be honest, it was fun. They had a growing sexual tension that entertained us all the way I can only imagine our own slow burn with Spencer entertained the team in the past. And for once, it was fun staring at the whole show from a safe distance.

But. Of course, there was a “but.”

Hotch wasn’t there. They told us he had been called for a special investigation and from one day to the other, he was gone.

The last time we had a case with him was messy. In the worst way possible. It’s always hard for the team when kids are involved, and when one of them dies… let’s say none of us left that case unharmed. We were coming back home from Seattle. It hadn’t been a long case, a spree killer with an assault rifle. We caught him in less than 16 hours. But when we were on our way back home, the plane turned and took us to Los Angeles.

Hoch had been consulting on cases related to missing kids in the area, and the bodies of two children had just appeared in an empty building. There was still no proof, but Hotch had a hunch. And if he trusted it was related, we were not gonna a argue.

I wish I had known that was our last case together. It feels so much personal now that I know what I know. It also makes everything look more clear: life kept throwing us left curves so we could move and leave our work. But we were too blind to see.

Spencer’s point of view

I don’t think I will ever forget the last case we shared with Hotch. God, just thinking about it makes me mad. I am so tired of not getting to say goodbye to people who mean something to me. Of people who changed my life. I could forget about my own father abandoning me and my mother when I was a kid. But not about Gideon turning his back on the team, Alex leaving without even saying goodbye, or Morgan quitting the team. And I don’t think I could ever deal healthily with the whole idea of Hotch leaving the BAU. I could understand why he did it, but at the same time, it hurt me professionally and personally.

It came to a point where I was in deep paranoia everyone I cared for was going to turn their backs on me. My own wife included.

When we reached Los Angeles, me, Alvez, and JJ went straight to the crime scene. We had a suspect, there had been a similar case two years earlier in San Diego. Two kids, same M.O. but their bodies were found months apart. It fitted the profile. At the crime scene, we found the same chains and locks he had used in the previous crime. Same cots, same woods. It was clearly him.

But other than that, we didn’t really have much. (Y/N), Tara, and JJ talked with the family of the victims, trying to gather more info, something that could help us find a path, a pattern, anything. But we were in the dark. Hotch talked with the press, ‘cos we were getting desperate, the fire in the crime scene had destroyed any print or clue we could have gotten. We needed something, and I hate when all the hope we have is based on the unsub committing a crime again. Which he did: after 46 hours, he had caught 16-year-old girl Francesca Morales.

- “We are referring to him as a sadistic pyromaniac, which is a rare and dangerous combination because there's a strong compulsive element to his psychopathy.”- I said as we delivered the profile in front of the police department.

- “It's not just about watching the fires he sets. It's also the mental pain and anguish he inflicts.”- (Y/N) added and turned to Hotch.

- “We believe that he's driving a truck, van, or an RV. He needs space to abduct and transport his victims. We know that he's extremely mobile. We've notified law enforcement in surrounding counties. We just want to make sure he doesn't leave the city limits.”- our unit chief described.

And that was the last time we delivered a profile with Hotch.

Sometimes I hate how good my memory is. It can turn into a curse when I can recall so many details of moments I wish I could forget. But like my wife said on April 16th, 2008: I remember everything.

My wife wasn’t taking the case well at all. As I’ve said several times, whenever there are kids involved, you can’t help but think of your own. Considering this unsub was taking a girl and a boy, it was easy to project our babies in every crime scene and victim we saw. She called her mom at least four times during the afternoon we talked with Mrs. Morales, the kidnapped girl’s mother. JJ was very afflicted as well and came over to talk to me while I made my wife a cup of fresh coffee.

- “How are you holding up?”- she asked and stood next to me as I filled two mugs with coffee.

- “Just tired. You?”

- “Talking with Mrs. Morales gave us some more information about her daughter. Apparently, they were very close, and Francesca was aware she had to take care while alone on the streets. That means if he tried to use a ruse on her, it wouldn't work on her.”

- “So he probably resorted to some kind of blitz attack to get her.”- I thought out loud as I added sugar to my cup. JJ nodded and sighed.

- “It’s the part of our job I hate the most.”

- “It’s always hard when there are kids involved.”- I whispered stirring my coffee.- “Makes you wonder if you are doing enough, or if anything you do is even helping at all.”

Those last words were meant to stay in my mind, but I couldn’t control myself. I was tired, and though we had some clues, I still felt we were going nowhere.

- “What we do makes a difference, Spence.”- JJ placed a hand on mine and smiled.

- “It’s hard to feel that way when your friends keep leaving, and you spend a week away from your kids.”- I just spat the words and my friend stared at me, astonished.

- “Spence, Morgan left for a reason.”

- “I know, and I understand his reasons.”- I shouldn't have said that in front of JJ, I understood that second, she wasn’t going to let my comment go. - “I’m gonna get this to my wife.”

- “Wait, Spence. I know we haven’t talked much lately, things have been crazy at home with Henry and Michael, but… we could have coffee sometime, get to talk.”- JJ stood in front of me with pleading eyes, like she felt sorry for not talking to me. Did she feel I had no one to tell my feelings to? I still wonder if I did right when I shook my head and simply cut her a short smile.

- “Thanks. I know we can talk. I just… things have been crazy back home too, with Raven and Vincent.”

- “You know you can count on me whenever you need anything.”- JJ’s hand caressed my arms and for once, I didn’t really like her touching me. Still, I didn’t say anything. I just nodded and smiled.

- “Thank you. You can count on me too.”

I made my way back to the conference room, where my wife was sitting next to Tara and Hotch. They were going through everything we knew about the case over and over again, in case we had missed anything. I gave her her cup of coffee and watched her smile at me, making me feel things were right for a second.

- “Thank you hon.”- (Y/N) whispered and sipped her mug.

- “Sorry guys, I didn’t know if you had coffee.”- I apologized but Tara just shook her head and smiled.

- “Rossi is getting us some caffeine, he should be on his way back. Thank you, Spencer.”

I nodded and turned to the board in silence. It was hard to focus, but if I wanted to go home soon, I had to find something that could help us catch that killer and bring those kids back home safely as soon as possible.

- “He won't leave the city”- I mumbled staring at the map in front of me

- “You say something?”- Lewis asked me from the table. I kept my eyes on the image in front of me for a second or two, trying to rearrange my thoughts, and then I turned to look at her the second Rossi walked into the room with coffee.

- “I don't think he'll leave the city.”- I explained. - “Look, if you track his activity from the start, his first two victims were found near the Mexican border. But they were discovered 6 months apart and in locations 52 miles apart. Unfortunately, because they were runaways, it's impossible to track when or where they were taken, but his next two victims, Hannah Robertson and Max Wasserman, only lived 14 miles apart, and they were taken within days of each other.”

- “Ok.”- Tara stared at me, waiting for a big revelation, ‘cos so far I was just spitting facts we knew.

- “But he took them both 39 miles all the way here to Los Angeles to finish the job.”- I simply added.

- “We profiled that that could be about availability.”- Rossi commented from the other side of the table.- “A lot of abandoned space here.”

- “And don’t forget about the high police presence around the abduction sites.”- my wife mumbled before taking a long sip of the coffee I made for her.

- “Exactly, it makes sense he'd keep moving to avoid being caught.”- Tara commented as he turned to me and shrugged.

- “But he didn't keep moving, and he didn't go dormant. He stayed right here and accelerated.”- I analyzed and stared at (Y/N), who raised an eyebrow reading my mind.

- “So Los Angeles is where he wants to be.”- she suggested and I nodded, drawing lines on the map.

- “Yes, I think he's been converging on the city.”

- “If that's true, his next victim probably lives in Los Angeles, too.”- Hotch stared at the map, doing his analysis as he dialed the phone and Garcia’s voice filled the whole room.

- “Sir, yes, sir.”

- “Garcia, how many boys live within a 15-mile radius of Francesca Morales?”- Aaron asked her. The answer was impossible.

- “Uh, thousands, Sir, like literally.”

- “All right, narrow your search by hair color. We're only interested in boys with brown hair.”- and we all heard her typing as fast as possible as she hyperventilated.

- “Right. Uh, this is gonna take me a while because kids that age don't usually have photo IDs. They have passports, maybe, but it's all about the parents' social media. I'm gonna handle this. I'll hit you back when I have something.”

- “All right, thanks.”- Hotch hung up and (Y/N) looked at him shaking her head.

- “You love pushing her to the limits, don’t you?”

- “I never ask something unless I know you all can answer.”- Hotch replied and my wife just nodded. And suddenly, something hit her ‘cos she wide opened her eyes and turned to me.

- “Ok, call me crazy ‘cos I might be projecting our babies in this whole case, but Francesca Morales has a brother that age. If the unsub is converging, he could be a target.”

- “Yeah, but Hannah Robertson had an 11-year-old brother and a 9-year-old brother, and Max Wasserman has a 15-year-old sister.”- Tara argued but my wife insisted.

- “I mean he is not just after an older girl and a younger boy…”

- “It’s older sister, younger brother.”- I finished my wife’s sentence and she nodded. Now I was projecting our babies in the case as well. And it made it a thousand times worse.

- “We should bring in this Morales kid just to be safe.”- Rossi suggested. But we were too late. The unsub already had that poor kid. When JJ and Alvez got there, Berto had been taken and Mrs. Morales was unconscious. They called an ambulance and then drove back to the station.

An hour late, we had a suspect: John David Bates. He was from Nevada, currently living in Los Angeles. He had tried to burn the family house with his sister in it twice before his parents relinquished his custody and he ended up in a foster home.

This kill was his endgame. He wanted to kill an older sister with her little brother. Hotch didn’t let me or my wife on the field that night. I think he knew it had gotten too personal for us. But he failed to notice how personal it had turned for JJ as well. She ended up hurt that night, and Francesca sadly died. Only her brother Berto was saved from the fire the unsub had created.

It felt wrong. Like nothing we did was ever enough. We tried our best and yet failed. I refused to even talk about it. I just wanted to be home, at peace, with my babies and my wife, in our own bubble.

On the plane back, I made (Y/N) a cup of tea and covered her with a blanket. She cut me a short smile and rested her head on my shoulder, snuggling closer. A few minutes later, not even half into her cup of tea, she was sound asleep. Hotch looked at us from his seat and the ghost of a smile hunted his face for a fragment of a second. I caught him staring at us when I looked at him from my book and felt my lips twitch into a shy grin.

- “Years might pass, but I will always feel happy to watch you two so in love.”- he murmured from his chair and sipped his whiskey.

- “We would have never gotten here if it wasn’t for you.”

- “I would disagree, but at your pace, you would still be considering confessing your feelings to her.”- Hotch grinned and I nodded.

- “You are right about that. So thank you for pushing us to deal with our feelings.”

- “I regret many decisions from the last ten years. That will never be on that list.”-Aaron assured me and I knew he meant it.

That will always be the last conversation we shared. After that day, I never saw him again.

How can you not resent your work when people you consider your own family disappear from your life like that? At first, they told us he was on a special mission, but after a month or so, the truth was out: he was in the witness protection program after he discovered Mr. Scratch was stalking his son Jack.

Of course, I understand the deep anger and desperation you feel when you even just imagine something - anything bad - happening to your kids. That means I can’t really blame Hotch for leaving. I don’t. I could never. But if you ask me, I blame our work. The nature of what we do. Serial killer, the constant danger.

There was a time when the mere thought of leaving the BAU seemed impossible. But at that time, it started looking real.

But before we could even start thinking about leaving, we had to catch Mr. Scratch.

Right. We haven’t talked in deep of Mr. Scratch just yet. Let me give you the facts: I hate that mother fucker. He has been one of the few unsubs that has gotten under my skin. One of the few I would have killed before even trying to question. Before we knew Hotch was gone for real, Prentiss came back for a few weeks, to cover for him. That was great, and fun and a nice change from missing Emily. Having her around made the transition a little more bearable, I think.

We first met Mr. Scratch back when Kate was still in the BAU over a year earlier. He was drugging people and turning them into murderers. Why? ‘Cos back in the days, one of them had pointed out his father as a pedophile while he was a kid and his parents ran a foster home in Florida, which led to the death of his father in the hands of other prisoners while he was doing his time.

We managed to catch the guy that one time. He tried to get into Hotch’s head, drugged him, and even persuaded him to kill us. I guess that’s why he got obsessed with Aaron. He couldn’t crack his head and make a puppet out of him. So he plotted his revenge.

Right before we went to Paris, Hotch was ambushed and accused of plotting an attack against the BAU. Crazy? Yes. The fact the Department of Justice actually believed the accusations were true made it even worse. And considering Jack, his son, had to witness the moment a SWAT team stormed into their apartment to get him… honestly, why were we still with the FBI?

Scratch’s revenge was a long shot. He helped an anarchist plan a prison break and used an unsub autistic son to frame our Unit Chief. The result was multiple serial killers on the loose. Including Mr. Scratch himself.

Eventually, National Security realized they were being played and released Hotch. I will never forget that case ‘cos - a side from the eidetic memory issue - it all happened less than two months after Vincent was born, and it was one of the first cases I was back for. It was local, and for a split of a second, while I was in that prison, in the middle of a shooting, I thought that was it. That my kids would have to grow up without their father. That I was never gonna leave that place alive. It wasn’t any better when a helicopter exploded right in front of us.

Sure, Rossi planned a nice dinner afterward, and we all got to share a beautiful evening together with the kids, and our loved ones. But… we weren’t even done eating when Hotch’s cell phone rang. Thirteen serial killers, along with Mr. Scratch were on the loose. Years of work, wasted.

- “Why do we even bother?”- (Y/N) asked crossing her arms on her chest as we all stood in Rossi’s library, trying to understand what was happening. - “We fight serial killers, we hunt them down, and mother fuckers get on the loose again! No one will ever actually be safe.”

Back then I told her it was our work to make sure those killers wouldn’t hurt anyone else. But now, I know it was our job. Now we have a bigger task. We have to find our own happiness.

(Y/N)’s point of view

The first few weeks after Prentiss came back were fun. Well, as fun as our job can be. She brought donuts for breakfast and tried to make Luke feel more welcome (making it awkward in the process, as it should be, considering he was, as Garcia liked to call him: the newbie). She also organized a few ladies' nights out to catch up. Maybe she realized JJ and I were not as close as we used to be. Or maybe she was just trying to make up for all the time she had spent away.

Meanwhile, at home, Spencer had been obsessing with getting his mother into a groundbreaking study that, according to all the investigation and papers he had read, could in fact reverse the effects of Alzheimer's.

I didn’t have the heart to tell him it was too good to be true, and I knew it was something Spencer needed to do for his mother. Diana had been ok, she was incredibly present and healthy during our trip. If we didn’t know she had schizophrenia and Alzheimer's, she would have passed by a very volatile and fun grandmother. She had fully embraced her new title of grandma, or Memaw, as she likes to be called. Memaw read to Raven for hours, all of their favorite stories. And she held baby Vincet and hummed sweet lullabies for him, filling our hearts with love every time we were together.

But Spencer was afraid. He didn’t want to lose his mother and with every passing day, a little piece of her disappeared. So of course I supported him through the entire application process and hoped for the best.

- “It’s been three weeks, they should know by now.”- Spencer whispered in the middle of the dark. We were cuddled on our bed, our kids sound asleep on the very same bed, after feeding Vincent and calming Raven from a bad dream.

- “These things take time, hun. You know it. They told you it could take from three to five weeks.”- I replied and caressed his arm slowly, feeling him roll on the bed, Raven sleeping in between us. I looked at him and cut him a short smile in the dark.

- “I know. It’s just… I’m anxious, I need this to work.”

- “It will work. No matter what, we are never going to stop trying to help your mom feel better. You know that, right?”- I heard him sigh and then, Spencer got quiet. I didn’t want to continue talking, afraid I could push him too hard. I knew Diana was a sensitive subject for Spencer, and no matter how long we had been together, I still felt around eggshells when it came to her health.

- “Thank you, chipmunk.”- that was all Spencer whispered after a few seconds, and held my hand in the dark.

That’s why I understood exactly why he was so excited when he finally got the call from the director of the assisted care home Diana lived at back in Las Vegas. She was in. I was at my desk in the bullpen, trying to finish some of the paperwork I had behind when I saw him spinning on his chair. That could only mean something good had happened.

- “She’s in! She is in!”- Spencer ran to me and lifted me from my chair, nearly jumping.

- “Wh…”- but before I could even ask, Rossi stood next to us, raising an eyebrow.

- “Am I interrupting a private moment?”- and after a short pause, David wide opened his eyes. - “You are not pregnant again, are you?”

- “Wh.. no!”- I chuckled as I replied, thinking it was fun that was the very first thing that came to Rossi’s mind.

- “I was just talking with the director of the assisted care home where my mother lives.”- Spencer explained, still smiling- “We kept quiet because we didn't want to jinx it, but there's a groundbreaking clinical study on Alzheimer's at Johns Hopkins next month, and I just found out that my mom's gonna be one of the participants. She got in.”

Rossi smiled and hugged my husband, tapping his back a few times.

- “That's great news, Spencer.”

- “It's huge. The program's called metabolic enhancement for neuro-degeneration, and results from earlier tests are hopeful, not just to slow the disease but to actually reverse it!”- after that sentence, Spencer actually started jumping, making me and Rossi chuckle at the sight. The last time I saw Spencer that happy had been the day we discovered we were having Vinny.

- “Ok, it's customary that the lottery winner shares that mega-payout with the rest of the office.”- Garcia said, walking toward us, surprised by my husband’s excitement.

- “Well, Reid's news is even better than that.”- Rossi explained, but we didn’t have time to tell her the whole story: we had a case.

- “Told you things were gonna work out”- I whispered as I kissed my husband’s hand, walking hand in hand to the briefing room. And the way he smiled at me, so full of excitement and hope, I can’t believe all the shit that came next.

As far as we knew, Hotch was still on TDY, but available for consultation in case we needed him. Which sadly we didn’t. Maybe that was the sign he needed to simply let go: the team was going to be ok without him. Work would get done, even if he wasn’t there to supervise it. I need to write that down and repeat it as a mantra.

My husband’s excitement lasted exactly six and a half hours. That very same afternoon, while we were in the middle of the investigation on the Appalachian trail, not really far from Quantico. We were outside the abduction site of the latest victim of our unsub. Spencer had commented last case we had there was the time I had gotten lost in the woods, six years ago, and that had been the reason behind my nickname: “Chipmunk.” He was happy, you could tell, even when we were trying to catch a serial killer, my husband was excited.

That, until he got a phone call.

- “The victim's name is Howard Walker.”- JJ announced as she walked from the convenience store the victim had seen last. - “He was picking up pizza and beer for the family dinner.”

- “We're a half mile or more from where Lewis and Alvez apprehended the unsub.”- Spencer commented as I took a look around, trying to picture the whole scene happening in front of me. What weren’t we seeing?

- “The guy must have needed a car or a truck if he was moving the victim away from here. I don’t think Todd has the skills to drive.”- I said and Spencer nodded. But he didn’t say anything ‘cos he got a call and without saying another word, he walked away from us to pick up.

I stared at him and noticed his face changing as Rossi and JJ kept talking about the case. They had lost my entire concentration, I knew there was something wrong by the way Spencer started pacing as he talked.

- “Lab results.”- Rossi announced as he took a look at his phone. He touched my shoulder and forced me to focus on work again.- “DNA in that muzzle we found matches one of the original five victims.”

- “That means the unsub is probably making them wear it for his fantasies.”- I said as Rossi nodded.

- “Dehumanize them.”- he added - “It's easier to kill an animal than a human.”

Spencer ended his call and turned to look at us. He seemed defeated and shocked. I took a few steps closer to him and rubbed his arm carefully. But before I could actually ask my husband what was happening, I heard JJ’s voice.

- “Everything ok, Spence?”- I couldn’t control my own face as I deadpanned her.

- “Yeah…”- he nodded and sighed. Of course, he was lying.

- “What is it?”- I whispered and held his hand.

- “That was the Las Vegas police. I guess they found my mom wandering around a casino near her living facility. She didn't know who she was or how she got there.”

- “How is she?”- I asked right away

- “She is ok. They put her on the phone. She sounded normal, just obviously embarrassed, you know, by all the fuss.”

- “You have to go be with her.”- the words left my lips before I even processed it.

- “I can't do that. We're right in the middle… and the kids are at home. I can’t leave you alone now.”

- “Investigation will be fine.”- Rossi explained to him right away.

- “And I will manage. I can ask Mom for help. Or Frank, or Mikey, or Garcia.”

- “I just… can’t…”- Spencer looked at me and I could see the struggle within him.

- “We'll be fine here. We’ll help with the kids.”- Rossi assured him and I nodded, still holding onto his hand.

- “Your mom is a priority.”- JJ added and I looked at Spencer with a short smile.

- “Go, honey. Please.”

- “Are you sure?”- he whispered and caressed my cheek sweetly. I nodded one more time and let go of his hand.

- “I am sure, you have to do it.”

- “Ok. I'm gonna go to the M.E.'s office and grab something for Prentiss, but I'll leave first thing in the morning and spend a day or two. No more than that.”

- “Take all the time you need.”- Rossi said as my husband waved and walked to the SUV.- “Aren’t you going with him?”- David asked and turned to me. - “Come on! Like I’m the one who is tearing you two apart.”

- “Thank you.”- I whispered and hurried to catch my husband before he got to the car.

Things didn’t get better for him, though. And that very same day, later in the afternoon, Spencer got another phone call. We were ready to go, mom had called to tell me she had taken the babies to our apartment so Spencer got to spend extra time with them before his trip. He had tickets to Las Vegas at 7am, and I knew he didn’t really want to go, but he had to.

- “Yes, this is him”- Spencer said as he picked up the phone on his desk and stayed sat, staring blankly in front of him.

- “What are you still doing here?”- Rossi asked and stood next to me as I stared at Spencer, still on the phone. One more time, it was clear he wasn’t getting good news. - “I thought you were home, packing a bag.”

- “We are almost out”- I said and Spencer hung up.- “What happened?”

- “That was the director of the Johns Hopkins clinical trial. Turns out my mom wasn't chosen.”

- “What? Why? What happened?”- I moved closer to him and rested my hands on his shoulders as he just sat there, in shock.

- “Budget restraints. The study had to randomly reduce the number of participants and my mom's name was drawn.”

- “I’m so sorry honey”- he just shook his head and sighed, defeated.

- “Well, you can still go to Vegas.”- Rossi suggested and I agreed with him.

- “That’s true. Your mom still had that episode this morning, and I’m sure she’ll be glad to see you.”

- “No. It's important that I stay here and try and find something else.”- Spencer shook his head and turned to me and Rossi, giving all the explanations he thought we needed. - “There's a study coming up with Paul Stanfield at the Anderson Clinic in Houston...

- “Hon… no. She needs you now.”

- “I have to find another way to help her.”- my husband was determined, and I knew it was going to be hard to change his mind.

- “Spencer, I understand you want to help. But don't lose sight of the bigger picture.”- Rossi sat on Reid’s desk as he spoke and my husband looked at him, lost in the conversation.

- “What do you mean?”

- “You have a finite amount of time left with your mother. I know it's a hard thing to say, but I speak from experience. Don't squander the time you have left by being overly focused on fixes.”

That was exactly what I wanted to tell him, but never found the right words. I loved Rossi that minute.

- “But I want her to get better.”- Spencer argued, probably not getting the real concept of “limited time.” He knew his mom was losing her mind every day a little more, but he still thought he had more time than he actually had to help her.

- “Then get on that phone. Buy your ticket to Las Vegas. Being with you, seeing you, hearing your voice, that's the best medicine you could give your mother. That you can give each other.”

- “Papa pasta is right, hon. Your mom needs her son more than anything right now. That’s all that matters right now.”

Spencer nodded and stayed in silence, probably trying to process everything that had just happened. Rossi hugged him as we all stood up and walked out of the bullpen. My husband didn’t want to talk much on the drive back home, and I didn’t push him. I knew he was miserable.

- “Daddy!!!””- Raven ran to his arms as soon as we opened the front door and my mom stared at us from the kitchen, holding baby Vinny in her arms.

- “Someone was eager to see you two.”- she said with a warm smile.

- “We were eager to see you too, birdy. How was your day? Hey Sofia!”- Spencer kissed our daughter’s cheeks many times as he held her in his arms and she started telling him every single detail of her day. I was glad to stare at that scene because it put a smile on Spencer’s face and that was enough to make me feel happy.

- “Today the teacher read us a story, but you had read it to me already, but everybody liked it, so I told them there was a second part, and the teacher said she was gonna read that tomorrow.”- Raven kept rambling as I walked toward mom and held baby Vinny.

- “Thank you for picking them up from daycare”

- “Anytime you need, peanut. Vinny already ate, but Raven wanted to have dinner with you two.”

- “And then my friend said I had to jump, and I did, and they said I had to do it again…”- Raven was on fire talking with Spencer, so I walked to the kitchen with my mom and whispered.

- “Diana didn’t make it to the study after all.”

- “What? Why?”

- “They cut the budget and Diana didn’t make the cut.”

- “That’s so bad, how is he?”

- “I don’t think he wants to go anymore.”- I whispered and turned to look at Spencer laughing at something Raven had told him.

- “Why not? His mother needs him.”

- “That’s what I told him, Mom. But it’s still hard for him to face her episodes and the fact she is forgetting so much. One thing is schizophrenia, another thing is dementia, and I don’t think he can handle both their effects on his mother.”

- “Poor thing.”- my mom whispered and sighed. - “It’s so sad what’s happening to Diana. She is such a nice and sweet woman.”

- “I know… Spencer doesn’t deserve all this pain.”-I murmured and kissed my baby’s cheek several times.

- “Have you considered bringing her here? Keep her close?”- mom muttered

- “I’ve told him that so many times… but he keeps saying it’s too much to deal with considering we have the kids…”- but I couldn’t continue talking, because Spencer walked over and stood next to me. Raven kept her little arms around his neck and smiled at me as I stared at her thinking my daughter was the biggest daddy’s girl I had ever met.

- “ How was your day, Sofia?”

- “I was just telling (Y/N), I had a very nice day today. I had lunch with my friend Rebecca, she is so fun! She just came back from Canada, she was visiting her daughter.”

Remember when I told you I was the best liar in the entire FBI? I got that from my mom.

Later that night, we put the kids to bed. Raven asked Spencer to read her a story while I walked Vinny across his room until he was fast asleep. I sang to him under my breath and watched him asleep for a few minutes, enjoying the entire moment ‘cos I knew how short those moments were. My little baby was going to be running up and down the house in no time.

After I put him down in his crib, I put an eye on Raven, who was sound asleep already. I covered her and tiptoed outside her room, ready to get into my bed and get some decent sleep for once. That was when I heard my husband on the phone.

- “Dr. Stanfield, hi, my name is Spencer Reid, and I was wondering if you were available tomorrow to talk about my mother.”

And that’s when I knew he wasn’t going to Las Vegas the following day. He was gonna focus on getting her into another experimental treatment instead of spending decent time with her while he still could. And it really broke my heart to think how traumatized and helpless he must have felt.

Spencer’s point of view

I knew my wife was worried about me. But all I could think of at that minute was how to help my mother. And hanging out with her was not going to stop the dementia from taking her from me. I had to find a way to treat her, a place where they could actually help her.

So I let the days pass, we got a few more cases, and life continued as it had always been, and that gave me some sort of comfort. I got my mother into another experimental study group in Houston. (Y/N) and I talked about it and we had an agreement. I was going to give that study a chance, but if it didn’t work, we were bringing my mother to Washington so we could take care of her and help her as much as we could.

It didn’t feel right putting my wife under so much pressure, but she kept telling me what happened to my mother wasn’t just my problem, but ours ‘cos we were a family. And if I have to be honest, I loved the sound of that.

And life left a little more in place after that. Until it finally happened. After over a month without Hotch, we arrived at the bullpen and Garcia intercepted us before we could even have our first coffee at the office.

- “Thank God you guys are here. What do you know?”- and we all stared at her not getting what she was talking about.

- “Nothing.”- JJ replied and frowned, as lost as we were. So Garcia started explaining:

- “Ok. Rossi got here crazy early, and then right when Prentiss came in he pulled her in there.”- and we all stared at his office the minute he and Prentiss walked out and stared back at us with the most serious expression.

- “We need to talk.”- David said as he and Emily walked to the briefing room.

- “That never leads to anything good.”- I whispered and didn’t even stop to leave my purse on my desk as I followed the team to the room. Spencer held my hand and looked at me, clearly worried about what was going to happen. Was someone leaving? What other changes could we face as a team?

- “What's going on?”- Garcia asked as soon as we were all together behind a closed door.

- “It's Hotch.”- Rossi announced and our hearts stopped at the idea of anything happening to our Unit Chief.

- “Oh, my God. Is he ok?”- Penelope’s voice was hyperventilated as she spoke.

- “He's ok. But he has not been away on special assignment.”- David started explaining- “That's something we had to say as a cover for the investigation.”

- “I’m sorry, what are you talking about? What investigation?”- (Y/N) shouted the questions, a little exasperated Rossi was taking his sweet time explaining what was happening.

- “Hotch saw Peter Lewis watching one of Jack's soccer games.”- and we all gasped at David’s words, ‘cos it meant Mr. Scratch was stalking our team.

- “By the time Hotch reacted, Lewis had taken off. The Bureau searched the area, but he disappeared.”- Prentiss added, sounding very secure and calmed, knowing she had to give us at least the false sensation of security.

- “When was this?”- JJ asked, her voice and expression as stern as I had ever seen.

- “Days after Mr. Scratch resurfaced in Arizona.”- I nodded at Rossi’s words and Tara commented

- “One of the victims was chanting his name when we found her. She had "Hotch" carved into her forehead. It really got to him.”

- “Why didn't he tell us? We could have focused on finding Mr. Scratch!”- I questioned right away. It was upsetting knowing our Unit Chief had been through that hell on his own when we could have all helped him find that psycho and keep his family safe.

- “He knows we can't drop everything. Also, he didn't want to worry everyone.”- Rossi explained like it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. It meant we had failed to keep each other safe.

- “So now what? They have around-the-clock surveillance?”- Luke asked what we all wanted to know but couldn’t ask, ‘cos I get at a certain level, we were all in shock.

- “Initially, yes.”- Rossi started, and it didn’t sound good.- “Agents were assigned to watch Jack 24/7. But when we were all in L.A, on the John David Bates case, Scratch surfaced again, this time at Jack's school.”

- “Going after Jack takes this to a whole new level.”- JJ mumbled looking scared, and I could absolutely relate to her. When you realize your own kids could be the next ones chased by a serial killer, things start looking very dark.

- “Peter Lewis is not going to stop. Which is why Hotch and Jack have now entered the program.”- Rossi finished explaining, and for a moment it felt unreal. It was also a deja vu. I couldn’t stop thinking it was the same thing that happened with Haley. Hotch must have been going through hell all those weeks alone with Jack.

- “But now that this happened, we can drop everything and focus on catching Mr. Scratch, and then Hotch can come back, right?”- Garcia’s voice was filled with hope, but somehow I knew the answer was going to be a no. (Y/N) held my hand tight and I moved closer to her, feeling her body next to me.

- “He went away believing that could happen. But things have changed. He's now decided that he can't put himself and Jack in danger again.”

It was official. Hotch was gone for good. And it didn’t matter if we caught Mr. Scratch or not. He had made his choice. And it was his family, his real family, not his “work family”.

- “He just sent in his resignation.”- Rossi confirmed. - “I know this is a lot to process.”

- “I mean, yeah, he's a great dad, and this is an impossible job, and we know how much tragedy he's had. He's had enough tragedy. But… does this mean we're never going to be able to talk to him again?”

It was Garcia’s question that left us all speechless. It wasn’t just that Hotch had entered the witness protection program. It was the fact he had left us. Just like that. Like we didn’t matter. Not even saying goodbye. Turning his back to everything we had done together all the years we were at the BAU. It was… shocking to say the least.

- “We don't have a choice.”- Rossi assured us- “It's not ideal, obviously. But as his friends, we have to support his decision.”

- “The only way for Hotch to guarantee Jack's safety is if they both stay off the grid.”- Emily commented with such sorry eyes you could tell she didn’t want to give us that news. No one would. It was heartbreaking for the team.

- “And one more thing.”- Rossi added, but my wife interrupted him.

- “Come on papa! We can’t deal with any more news today. It’s too early to drink, too soon to retire. What do you want from us?”

- “Trust me, ragazza, you are gonna like this”- Rossi cut her a short smile and explained. “Hotch spoke to the director as to who should replace him. Don't worry, it won't be me. You know I'm allergic to paperwork.”

- “Aren’t we all?”- (Y/N) whispered and made me chuckle as David finally announced.

- “But Hotch's final request was that Emily Prentiss becomes the BAU's new bureau chief.”

- “Thank the universe for silver linings.”- Garcia mumbled as we all nearly clapped in excitement. That was actually good news.

- “Ok, I just heard about all of this myself a few minutes ago.”- Prentiss was almost apologizing for her new position.

- “But you are gonna say yes, aren’t you Em?”- (Y/N) asked her immediately, and Prentiss just stared at her not knowing what to answer.- “I mean, we all miss you, you miss us. This place is finally feeling a little like home with you around…”

- “Thank you, Reid.”- Em replied with a silly grin, enjoying calling my wife by her new last name, though it wasn’t new at all at that point.

- “Congratulations, Emily.”- Luke said and smiled at her.

- “This'll be good, right?”- I asked, trying to stay positive at that major change.

- “You kidding me? This'll be great.”- JJ was nearly beaming with the announcement.

- “I am really happy for you.”- Tara added with a warm smile. But Prentiss shook her head as she stared at us.

- “Thank you, guys, but I haven't exactly signed on yet.”

- “What is there to analyze? We are dying without you, we need you, you are our family.”- (Y/N) nearly glared at Em as she excused herself and Rossi continued talking before my wife said anything else.

- “Everyone knows you have a lot to consider, but the brass needs an answer by tomorrow.”

- “Understood.”- Prentiss just nodded as Garcias’s phone beeped.

- “I hate to interrupt the bad news/good news with bad news/bad news, but we've got three missing kids in Delaware.”

And just like that, life continued. I hated it. I needed time to process what was happening. To think about what was Hotch doing, and how it would affect us all. But no, I didn’t have time at all. It was all changing again, and I hate change so much it’s hard to even describe how I felt.

Pointless. That’s the word. It all started feeling pointless.

- “Can we please have a quiet weekend at home?”- (Y/N) whispered as we all gathered our things after briefing the next case. We had to be in the jet in a few minutes.

- “Sure chipmunk. Anything in mind?”

- “Pajamas, our babies, movies and books. Maybe some home-baked cookies.”

- “Sounds like the best plan.”- I kissed the top of her head and she sighed.

- “Can you imagine being Hotch?”- she whispered as I stayed close to her.- “I mean, Jack was being followed by a serial killer. If anything like that happened to Raven or Vinny, I’d…”- I couldn’t let her follow that rabbit hole, so I tried to stop her before she continued spiraling down.

- “They are safe. We are safe.”- I whispered and kissed her forehead.- “And I will never let anything happen to any of you, chipmunk. Never.”

- “I’m sure that’s what Hotch said to himself every day while he worked here.”- (Y/N) seemed lost in her head as she mumbled those words. I held her close to me and sighed knowing what was happening was as hard for me as it was for her.

- “And he stayed true to his word. Nothing will happen to Jack.”- I assured her, trying to make her feel calm.

- “Not after what happened to Hailey.”- my wife whispered and her voice sounded brokenhearted. - “Sometimes I wonder which will be the drop that breaks the camel’s back for us at the BAU.”

I stared at (Y/N) not knowing what to say. So I kept my mouth shut as her eyes begged me for an answer.

- “Come on, Reids.”- Luke interrupted us as he passed by my desk. - “They are waiting for us in the jet.”

- “Yeah, we’ll be right there.”- (Y/N) replied and took a step back from me slowly. I held her hand and looked into her eyes, trying to show her how serious I was.

- “I will never let anything hurt you, or our babies.”

- “I know, hon. Me neither.”

The mood on the plane was weird. (Y/N) sat next to Prentiss and Rossi and kept asking questions about Hotch the first minutes we were there, while I walked to the kitchenette to pour us some coffee.

- “There's a lot to process before my first cup.”- JJ said as we stood there, both of us craving caffeine. She handed me a cup for myself and poured one for herself.

- “Thank you.”- I replied and grabbed another mug for my wife as she just kept talking.

- “I can't believe he's been dealing with this for weeks and we never knew.”

- “That part really doesn't surprise me. He's always kept things to himself. I guess it was just his way of protecting us.”- I said in a lower voice, ‘cos I really didn’t want to talk much more about the subject if we were supposed to be focusing on the case.

- “If anyone targeted my boys, I'd do anything to keep them safe.”- JJ whispered and looked at me wanting to open up about how she felt about the entire situation. But we didn’t have time.

- “I know how you feel”- and before she could continue talking, I grabbed the two mugs and walked back to my wife.

- “Thank you, batsy.”- she smiled and grabbed the cup from my hands as Rossi asked Emily if she was ready to test drive leading the team. No one was ready for that change. But change doesn’t wait for anyone.

(Y/N)’s point of view

I hated everything. Hotch was gone. Out of the blue. My unit chief. My friend. Out of the blue, just gone. Forever. And why? ‘Cos work had gotten too much of a threat for his family. That was my biggest fear and it happened to the strongest man in the BAU. It meant it could happen to any of us. Including my family. I just didn’t know how to deal with that fear at the moment. So I tried to push it aside and focus on work. We had to find three missing kids.

Yeah, kids. ‘Cos life was not going to make things easier for me.

The town was small, the kind of place where everybody knew each other. We were at the police station talking with the chief, Coop. Spencer was trying to find a connection between the three missing kids and the ghost story in town. Apparently, way back, a local mental institution burned down and inmates escaped, town legend has it that those who were never found moved into abandoned houses around town. And considering the kids were into horror movies, they might have tried to get into one of those houses and god knows what was waiting in there.

Sadly, there was a history of missing kids in town. Back in 1993, the Henson twins had disappeared at thirteen and their bodies were never found. We didn’t know if we were trying to find the same unsub or not, but it was the only lead we had. Rossi asked me to stay with him and Tara at the station, talking with the parents, as Spencer, Luke, and JJ went to the area where the Hensen kids were last seen, to try to find any clues.

It wasn’t easy talking with the parents. It never is. But that day was especially hard. There I was, playing my BAU SSA part, all together, when deep down, I was as scared as those poor parents, wondering if my kids were in fact safe. Not just at that minute, but ever. Was I helping make the world a better place or just exposing my family to the rage of any random serial killer?

- “Bella donna…”- Rossi announced his entrance to the room where I stood in front of the board, not really staring at the pictures of the missing kids, but trying to find a sense of everything that happened around us.

- “Coronel Cannelloni.”- I replied with a tiny smile.- “How did it go with Jimmy Ridley?”

- “Penelope got nothing.”- I hummed and kept staring at the board.- “Anything else on the parents?”

- “No, they are just desperate. And I totally understand.”- Rossi walked until he was standing next to me, staring at the same board, and kept quiet for a moment. - “Are you going to ask how I’m holding up?”

- “More like trying to find the right words to ask you how you are doing without sounding condescending”- I nodded and sighed.

- “You just nailed it. I’m…”

- “Mad”- Rossi took the words from my lips as I nodded.

- “Yeah, and terrified.”

- “Your kids are going to be ok, you can trust me on that. I don’t think Spencer would ever leave anything to hurt you or those bambinos.”

- “I know. Or at least, I want to think I do. I just…”- I made a pause and turned to look at him, trying to really find the right words to explain how I felt.- “It’s just pointless, you know? Everyone leaves. Why are we staying? Why am I missing my baby’s first words or first steps to save a world that feels like it doesn't even deserve to be saved?”

David Rossi opened my mouth, but no word came from him. He just stared at me for a moment, and then opened his arms, and just hugged me tight, as I kept fighting the tears back.

- “He was my friend. And now he is gone.”

- “I know.”

- “Like Morgan, like Blake, like Callahan, like Elle…”

- “It’s ok to feel like nothing makes sense.”- Rossi whispered and just kept trying to keep me together.

- “How do I do this job when I am questioning the entire time if it’s actually worthy of everything I am missing?”

- “Just keep in mind everyone we are helping here.”- Rossi kissed the top of my head. - “And that we all love you. You are like my kid, I’ve watched you grow and become an amazing young woman, who is raising the most incredible kids with the man she loves. You are doing everything right. Never doubt that.”

I nodded and sighed as Rossi kept his eyes on me. Tara Lewis walked into the room and stared at us, confused.

- “Just a little pep talk.”- I explained and waved as David chuckled.

- “Seems today is the right day to get or give one of those to the team.”- Tara cut me a smile and added.- “We have footage of the cornfield last night. The rest of the team are on their way back.”

- “Great. Hopefully, there’s something on the kids in it.”- I said and felt my phone humming. It was a text from my husband.

- “Miss you. Be there in ten.”- and those six words automatically made me feel better.

To be completely honest, I was miserable the entire time. Prentiss asked me to stay with the parents, which didn’t help my mood at all. Just being with those couples who felt guilty that anything bad could happen to their kids was too easy for me to relate to. Spencer kept texting me, with updates from the field, info on Jimmy Ridley’s house, and asking if I needed anything.

- “Just come back safe.”- I replied. They had to bring Ridley back for interrogation ‘cos they found some of the kids’ belongings at his house. My guts kept telling me he wasn’t the unsub, but there was something weird happening in that town. All small towns creep me out. There are usually too many secrets for so few people living in them.

Less than fifteen minutes later, my husband stood in front of me and hugged me quickly.

- “How are you, chipmunk?”

- “As tired as I was when you left, honey bunny.”- I replied and felt his lips on my cheek, as Prentiss stood by our side arguing.

- “I’m not even sure I’ll accept this job and you are forcing me to give you a warning for PDA at work.”

- “Sorry”- Spencer and I said at the same time as we moved from each other, but our friend just laughed and kept walking.

- “Shit, I missed making fun of you.”

- “You are lucky I love you.”- I replied and followed her- “How did the interview go?”

- “Luke talked to him. Your guts were right. He is most likely not our guy.” - the team got together and we analyzed what we had, which to be honest, still wasn’t much.

- “His house is a puzzle, but other than the bicycle helmet, we couldn't find any sign of the kids.”- Em explained and Alvez agreed

- “ I think this guy's too simple to be who we're looking for.”

- “The kids were tracing the steps of the Henson’s missing kids. Maybe we should put an eye on that investigation.”- I looked at Prentiss, and she nodded.

- “Who called it in back then?”- JJ asked and my husband replied.

- “Their mom did, but she died a few years ago. Their older brother Deeley was with them that night.”- Spencer added and showed a picture of the three brothers together.

- “Yeah, we met him on the roadside.”- Prentiss explained. - “According to Coop, he lives across town and he went out of his way to find us on Route 7.

- “Sounds like he's trying to insert himself into our investigation.”- Rossi pointed out

- “Except when we asked him to talk, he refused.”- Spencer refuted the theory and looked at me.

- “Maybe he just needs someone who listens. I’m sure it was hard for him, investigation in small towns can turn into hell.”- I was rambling out loud, but by the look on my husband’s face, he was on board.

- “Maybe it's time to give talking to him another try.”- Prentiss suggested.

- “You want to take a ride?”- Alvez asked Spencer

- “Sure.”

- “Don’t flirt with my husband!”- I warned him, joking obviously. Luke chuckled and Spencer frowned confused.- “Watch out, Alvez!”

- “I would never even think about getting in between you two, Mrs Reid.”

- “It’s Doctor Reid, for you.”- I teased Luke and he just chuckled.

- “See you later, chipmunk.”- Spencer held my hand for a moment and squeezed it, sweetly.

- “Take care, honey.”

- “If Jimmy really isn't our unsub, we're back to one.”- JJ said the second Luke and Spencer left the room.

- “Let's go dig up the Henson files.”- Rossi suggested and she agreed. - “I'll buy you a cup of coffee on the way.”

And just like that, it was just Tara, Em, and I in the room. I hadn’t been alone with Prentiss after what had happened that morning. Mostly along with the team. And I didn’t really know what to say or how to ask her what was going on in her head.

- “What are you thinking?”- luckily, Tara did it for me.

- “A lot of circumstantial evidence against Jimmy Ridley, but I wanted to go over…”- Prentiss started ranting about the case, but Lewis quickly corrected her

- “I was actually wondering what you were thinking about staying.”

- “Oh. Right. Well, uh, more pros than cons.”- Emily explained and looked at me with a sweet smile. - “I love this group and the job, but…”

- “But you've got a life back in London”- Tarah finished her sentence nodding

- “And don’t forget she also has a boyfriend on the other side of the pond.”- I added with my worst British accent.

- “Yeah….”- Prentiss was almost holding her breath as she answered, probably ‘cos she didn’t really want to deal with any of that at the moment.

- “Have you told him yet?- but clearly, Tara wasn’t going to let it go.

- “I haven't had the chance. We jumped on the jet.”- I knew it was the logical answer, we really didn’t have much time for any personal problem. But this was a big deal, and it sounded like Em was making up excuses to delay facing the situation.

- “You should call him.”- Tara simply replied and stared at her. Em nodded immediately.

- “I will.”- but neither of us moved. Instead, the two of us just stared at her, waiting for her reaction.- “You mean right this second.”

- “Yeah.”- I chuckled along with Tara as we both started walking out of the room Emily grabbed her cell phone and dialed.- “Hey!”- we heard her saying as we left the room.

- “Thank you for that.”- I whispered and looked at Lewis.- “She needed a boost to start dealing with the facts.

- “I can recognize a fellow woman with issues dealing with hard topics.”

- “If that’s your superpower, I am not jealous.”- I joked and Tara chuckled.

- “It’s more like my natural reaction. I blame all the years I worked as a psychologist. My brain is wired to start treating anyone around me, even when I am not supposed to.”

- “Remind me to never stay alone with you in a room for more than a minute.”

- “Come on, (Y/N). I would never profile a team member… especially one with a profiler husband, who can track me and make me pay.”- I chuckled at the thought of Spencer avenging me, not ‘cos I didn’t think it was possible, but because it was exactly what would happen. And it was one of the reasons why I loved him so much.

A search party was organized to cover the whole area where the kids might have been taken. By nighttime, we were desperate, because we were running out of time to get the kids back safely. Spencer and Luke never came back to the station after talking with Henson, they stayed helping with the search. Emily left to meet them as soon as they found a bag pack that belonged to one of the kids, so I never got the chance to ask her what had happened with her boyfriend.

It wasn’t the right time either, we had to save those kids.

We didn’t have much news until Rossi, Tara and I got a call from Luke and the rest of the team. We finally had a name.

- “This Clements guy used to hunt out here and someone still using his traps.”- Alvez explained to us what they knew about the suspect after finding a trap with fresh bait in the middle of the woods.

- “I'll patch in Garcia.”- Rossi dialed her number and her voice made me smile for a moment.

- “I was feeling forgotten.”

- “Not on my watch.”- I replied immediately- “We need all your intel. What do you have on a local man named Reginald Clements?”

- “Reginald Clements.”- we could all hear her typing as fast as possible and a few seconds later, we heard an avalanche of information.- “Uh... He's lived there all his life. He, uh, appears to be, I think the words for it are "off his rocker." Lot of bats in the belfry. B-a-n-a-n-a-s.”

- “Tell me more, tell me more, like does he have a car?”- I recited the lyrics of the Grease song and Tara bit her lips next to me, trying not to laugh.

- “I am going to send you what I find as I find it so you can follow along at home. He's from one of the founding families, but this Reginald has quite the past. He did time at that mental hospital that burned down, but he was there before the fire.

- “For what?”- JJ asked from the other side of the line.

- “Assault with a deadly weapon. But it was the bodily harm he did to himself that put him away. He claimed he needed protection from aliens. His delusions ranged from the world ending to major conspiracies, cag him to live entirely off the grid. And, you know, I'm all for solar panels and making your own kombucha, but this guy took it to the extreme. When he was 18, he got in trouble for abduction of a minor. And get this. His defense was loneliness.”

- “When was he released?”- I heard my husband asking

- “Winter of 1982.”- Pen replied in a second.

- “So if it was him, he was out for a year before the Hensons disappeared. It could have been for a dual purpose… Survival and companionship.”- Emily suggested, and it made all the sense in the world.

- “If he got the Henson’s kids he might have never gotten to abduct anyone else for the rest of his life.”- I commented on that train of thought. - “He already got what he wanted, there was no need to put himself in danger again.”

- “Is Clements dead, Garcia?”- Rossi asked the elemental question

- “I don't have a death certificate, but if he's alive, he'd be 82.”

- “Could he have been strong enough to hold the boys and set hunting traps? ”- Luke asked, though it sounded like he was rambling on his own to settle his own head.

- “Doubtful.”- David answered his question, but I knew there was something more.

- “What’s your theory, homewrecker?”- I asked him

- “I'm thinking the next logical step. If he didn't kill the Hensons, he's had them this whole time.”

- “But how would he maintain control, especially once they were strong enough to escape?”- Tara questioned

- “If you think about it, it wouldn’t be that hard.”- I replied, picturing the whole scene in my head clearly.- “He's already got them isolated, and their home life wasn't great. They were young and naive enough to buy all the conspiracy theories he fed them. It might have worked.”

- “Exactly!”- Luke supported me. - “He believes that the world is coming to an end. He could have convinced them of his own delusions.”

- “So one paranoid survivalist bred two more.”- JJ concluded and I nodded, though no one but Tara and David could see me.

- “And if the Henson twins have taken our 3 boys, who knows what they're gonna do with them.” - Spencer’s words gave me chills. Not of the good kind. They meant those poor kids had been raised by a psychopath who brainwashed them and ruined their future.

- “We need an address, Garcia.”- it was the only thing I could think of at the moment.

- “On your phones.”

The team got there on time and saved the three kids. Plus, the Henson kids, reunite them with their older brother. We don’t usually get happy endings, but that day, we did. I finally had the pleasure of telling the families their kids were coming back home safe. And it was a heartwarming moment when my husband opened the front door of the station and the three kids ran to their parent’s arms. It was hard not to cry as I watched them all hugging and kissing their kid’s cheeks.

Spencer held my hand as he stood by my side, and I leaned onto his shoulder, feeling my heart filled with love and contentment. For the first time in what seemed to be forever.

- “Moments like this make everything worth it.”- Spencer whispered as we kept staring at the emotive family reunion going on in front of us.

- “Yeah…”- I mumbled and rested my head on his shoulder.- “Having Prentiss here is also very nice.”

- “Do you think she might want to stay?”- my husband made sure to whisper those words in my ear, so no one else from the team could hear us. I shrugged and didn’t move my eyes from the kids. One mother took a bag with snacks from her purse and gave it to her son. She probably made it as soon as she heard her son was missing, scared he could be starving. It was one of the sweetest gestures I’ve ever seen. Something only a mother can understand, I guess.

- “We could just ask her. This team will be miserable if she decides to leave. Can you imagine? Getting a new guy for the job? Having to meet a random agent?”-

- “Like Alvez?”- I could almost hear the smile on Spencer’s words.

- “He is fine. Garcia still hates him, though.”

- “Of course, she does…”- my phone dinged and a picture of our babies playing on the carpet, watching Paw Patrol warmed our hearts. Mom had taken them to our place.

- “Ready to go home?”- I asked my husband and he nodded, still holding my hand tight.

The flight back home was very short. But we still found a moment to talk to Emily. We knew it was too soon, but we had to ask her what she was going to do, ‘cos honestly, what had happened had been too hard. We needed some silver lining.

- “You ok?” - JJ asked Em as the three of us walked toward her on the jet. Emily was sitting on her own, lost in thought, looking over the window.

- “Yeah. I'm just glad we found those kids.”

- “Oh, yeah, me, too. But, uh, I was talking about that other thing.”- JJ sat in front of Prentiss as me and Spencer stood by our friend, waiting for her reaction. And what did she do? She asked how we felt about the entire situation, ‘cos of course she was worried about us.

- “I haven't had a chance to talk to you guys. What do you think?”

- “I think we've been through a lot of changes and we always figure it out, you know?”- Spencer started the most rational speech of his life.- “Morgan left, and now Hotch, but if you stay, it'll be ok.”

- “If you ask me, honestly, you being here is the only thing keeping me sane right now”- I said from my guts, not my brain.- “How did it go with your boyfriend?”

- “I talked to Mark, and he is gonna be here next week for a visit.”- Prentiss announced, absolutely not sure if that was good or bad news. So I did the only thing I knew how to do: I started making plans.

- “We could show him around the tourist places, maybe have brunch…”

- “Let’s see how it goes when he gets her first, (Y/N).”- Em smiled at me and stopped my planning in a second.

- “Roger that.”

- “They need an answer in the morning, right?”- JJ’s words came close to a whisper, ‘cos I’m guessing neither of us wanted to push her, but we also needed answers.

- “I know.”- Prentiss sighed and looked outside the window. I turned to Spencer and bit my lips, as he stated the facts, crouching down next to Em’s seat.

- “Here's the truth. If you don't take the position, they're gonna bring in some stranger to be the Unit chief. And I don't know how that'll turn out, but the learning curve could be brutal.”

- “Yeah, I mean, one thing is bringing a new SSA to the team, which is always a curveball. But a new Unit Chief, that’s a completely different thing.”- I pointed out and cut Prentiss a short smile.- “And you know how I act with authorities… I am not good at random people telling me what to do.”

- “It'll probably stink for us, but…”- JJ was trying to be rational. - “Look, we're your friends and we'll support you no matter what you decide.”

There was a silence between the four of us. Prentiss took a deep breath and made eye contact with us all.

- “I'm gonna stay.

- “Oh, thank God!”- JJ nearly yelled, relieved. I opened my arms and hugged Prentiss in a second.

- “Best news ever!!”

- “Are you serious?”- Spencer asked nearly in shock.

- “Yes!”- Em replied as soon as I let her go.- “I love being here, and I've really missed you guys.”

- “We have missed you, too.”- JJ kept smiling as I giggled and my husband stared at Emily, still not believing what she had just said.

- “Honestly, you have no idea how much.”

Spencer’s point of view

Later that night, when we were nearly ready to go back home, Garcia got us all together in the conference room for a toast. We had to celebrate something good had happened after all: Emily was staying. And no matter how much Hotch’s departure was hurting us, there was some silver lining to treasure. We were all holding our glasses when Rossi started a very touching speech.

- “Well, let me just say something to everyone. I've been in and out of here since 1978, but I know this is where I belong. I've seen a lot of great agents pass through those doors, and a lot of them have moved on. Now, most of this team has been together for over a decade. Some of you have actually started a family together. I promise you, that doesn't happen often.”- Rossi smiled at me and winked- “Now, I've heard the rumblings about how lucky we are, and it's true, but the truth is, it's what happens… When we're not on a case that has defined who we are. We stand beside one another, through good, through bad, because we're family. So… To Aaron and Jack, I don't know who's luckier, but it warms my heart to know that they'll be together every day and safe. And to Emily, our friend, and new Unit Chief. Welcome home.”

We toasted and smiled. Yes, we were happy and lucky to be together again. The team was facing two major changes in less than six months. Derek left, Hotch left, and we had a new Unit Chief. It felt like things were changing too much too fast.

That very same night, after putting our babies to sleep, I sat at the kitchen table with my wife and two cups of herbal tea and just held hands as neither of us knew how to start that conversation.

- “So…”- she finally whispered after eleven minutes of silence.- “What are we going to do?”

- “I honestly don’t know.”- that was my best answer because I really didn’t know where to go after what was happening.- “I mean, at least we have Emily back. That’s a good thing.”

- “Yeah… but, I’m scared.”- (Y/N) murmured, probably ashamed of dealing with how she felt. - “If Aaron couldn’t keep Jack safe from serial killers…”

- “We could do it, you know”- I replied knowing where her train of thought was going.- “We are not Unit Chiefs, we are not…”

- “We are dealing with psychopaths daily, Spencer. You know that.”- she paused and looked into my eyes with honest concern.- “Mr. Scratch is still out there…”

- “But he doesn't want us. He wanted Hotch.”

- “Ok, so what if Cat Addams escapes from prison.”- my wife suggested and the mere thought of it gave me chills.- “She swore she wanted to avenge what you did to get. What if she does? What if she hurts you? or your mom, or us? What then?”- her voice trembled and I quickly stood up and wrapped my arms around her. She did the same, holding onto me, nearly shaking.- “I had never been so afraid before, Spencer. Suddenly, I no longer feel like I can keep our family safe.”

- “We can do it, chipmunk.”- I kissed the top of her head and looked at her, holding her face with both hands.- “We will be safe. We are safe. Nothing bad will happen to us.”

- “But…”- tears blurred her eyes and fell down her cheeks.- “Promise me, Spencer. Swear to me if anyone threatens us, we’ll leave. We are not putting our family in danger. If someone is trying to hurt us, we will join the program and vanish. No playing heroes. Not putting anyone on the line. If there is a threat, we leave.”

- “I swear.”- I replied immediately, running my thumbs across her cheeks, and wiping off her tears.

And that was the day I lied to my wife.

I held her in my arms and kissed her cheeks and lips until she calmed down. Then we got into bed and cuddled until she fell asleep. I wasn’t as lucky, and stayed up staring at the ceiling, thinking I had a lot to plan. I needed to make my wife feel secure and keep my babies safe, no matter what. And my mother had to get better. I needed a way to fix everything. Make us happy, and healthy. There had to be a way to do it. I just needed to find it.

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#criminal minds #spencer reid #babymetaldoll writes #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #Criminal Minds fixit #Spencer Reid deserved better

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godsiero · 4 months ago

Text

promises

spencer reid x oc (that you can pretend is bau!fem!reader)

warnings: general cm details, not canon compliant at all (but is written with post-season 14 reid in mind, like, all of his trauma has happened (and also everybody who has worked at the bau, has worked at the bau, and hotch and morgan are back ur welcome)), not a warning but slowest slow burn ever

wc 5073

this is my spencer reid fanfiction debut, please be nice. it is also a self-insert because this is what i daydream about when real life sucks however comma i hate y/n and/or saying my own name when it says y/n so i come up with a fake name, in this case that is "claudia jessup," and you can replace her name with yours for your reading pleasure idc.

chapter 1 of ??? i actually really enjoyed just spewing my stream of consciousness, so sorry if the ramblings seem unnecessary, but they're there for DETAIL!! i have sooooo many ideas for this, so i sure hope i stick with it.

plz provide feedback i love attention (any title rec would be appreciated)

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“Is Hotch talking to the new agent?” JJ had just got in and asked Emily, who was staring intently into Hotch’s closed blinds.

She turned to face JJ, “Has to be. They’ve been in there since before I arrived.”

“Any idea who they could be?” Derek entered the conversation after wrapping up his phone call.

“No clue, but if they’ve been in there for over an hour and a half, there’s no telling how vital they could be. Hotch rarely spends that much time with one candidate if they don’t mean something.”

“Could also mean they didn’t get the position and have been begging him to reconsider,” Derek chuckled, knowing that’s absolutely a possibility, after all of the candidates they’ve seen since Kate left.

“Funny, but they’d probably be shouting, by now,” JJ countered.

“No shouting detected. In fact, I’ve heard some laughter,” Rossi emerged from his office, wanting to know what everybody was gossiping about, drama queen that he is.

“Really? Wow, if they can manage a lighthearted conversation with Hotch, they’ve gotta be a keeper,” said JJ.

“Keeper they must be, look,” Rossi lifted his chin in the direction of Hotch’s office, where he was opening the door for the new agent to come out.

They all turned to watch as Hotch shook her hand, thanking her for her time, and welcoming her to the team before noticing the audience that had accumulated.

Garcia had caught the very end of this congregation and was the first to congratulate her from afar, “Oh! Is she the new team member, please tell me this is the new team member, I am dying to end this manhunt for a new best friend to go to O’Keefe’s with, and if she’s into Doctor Who and aliens and unicorns, I call dibs on bestest friend number one.”

Hotch had come down the stairs to formally introduce the team to their newest addition, “Everyone, I would like you to meet Dr. Claudia Jessup, who just finished her time at the academy and was instantly recommended by the director to join the BAU. Welcome to the team.”

Emily beamed at her, shaking her hand, “Let me be the first to say congratulations on such a high honor and praise, I’m Emily Prentiss.

JJ was next, “We’re happy to have you here, I’m JJ.”

Penelope was too eager to wait any longer, “Welcome to the BAU, we will be your friends, your family, and your confidants. I would also like to note that the estrogen finally adds up to the testosterone on this team, which is filling me with an enormous amount of serotonin and dopamine that I don’t think will ever be replicated.” She hugged Claudia, who smiled and accepted it. She knew the BAU was a prestigious, close-knit team and already felt the love radiating through the air while meeting everybody.

After being released, Rossi picked up where Penelope left off, “She’s Penelope, by the way, and she doesn’t know a thing about manners, but I do. David Rossi, pasta and wine afficionado, at your service.”

Finally, Derek took his turn to shake her hand, “Doctor, huh? Looks like pretty boy has got some competition, when he gets back. Nice to meet you, name’s Derek, but you can call me whenever you like.”

He shot a wink with his last statement, which forced Emily to chime in, “He does that to everyone, ignore him,” she rolled her eyes and playfully hit his arm while Claudia let out a breathy chuckle.

After she realized everyone was done with their introductions, she took that moment to look at all of them and thank them for welcoming her so ardently. She had an air of professionalism about her that was balanced out with a girlish charm that everybody was instantly drawn to. The entire group was enamored with how young, spritely, and energetic she seemed. Penelope especially liked her style; how it was colorful, yet suitable to be out in the field, but there was something else about her that wasn’t so obviously worn on her sleeve that Penelope couldn’t quite place at the moment.

Hotch had walked away during the meet and greet and came back to interrupt the niceties with the news of a new case, which forced everybody to make their way into the roundtable room.

Since Hotch got the call straight from the director, everybody instantly knew it was high-priority and trumped any and all other cases that could’ve potentially taken their time. Burnt bodies were turning up in random places all over Las Vegas. All of victims had been drowned prior to being burnt. There had been three bodies in the span of three weeks, but what had made it such a dire case in the directors eyes, was that it seemed there were messages being left for a new member of BAU with each new body that was discovered. The M.E. had found pieces of paper in the slit throats of each body, which had been put there after they had been burnt. Seemingly, the unsub had dumped the bodies and then did this last step. The first had said “E.P.” which had been nondescript enough to not garner any worry (besides the fact that a person was dead), but the next had said “J.J.” Yet again, not enough cause to explicitly state this was a targeted message, but it turned some heads. It was when the third body had said “A.H.” the director decided to bite the bullet and come straight to the BAU with the case.

With only that information to go on, they’d all made their way to the jet.

“Should we tell Spence, he could be in trouble,” JJ seemed worked up about that in a way nobody else particularly was.

“No. He has enough to worry about right now with his mother. If the case escalates, we’ll inform him, but everybody should avoid communicating with Reid about this, for now,” Hotch was dead set in this deduction, which nobody argued with, but JJ still seemed anxious about it.

Hotch seemed to sense it, too, because he followed up with, “I’m serious, JJ. If anybody informs Reid about this before I give the okay, I will not be happy about it.”

With that, JJ shook off her anxiety and focused back in on the case, though Claudia could still see something behind her eyes.

The journey on the jet was full of silence. There was no possible way to trace prints or any DNA linked to the unsub, so Garcia had no way of coming up with any new information for the team.

However, it was clear to everyone that this seemed religiously charged.

Genesis 6:17 I am going to bring floodwaters on the earth to destroy all life under the heavens.

2 Peter 3:10 The heavens will disappear with a roar; the elements will be destroyed by fire, and the earth and everything done in it will be laid here.

Enforcing Occam’s razor, the team concluded that there seemed to be no other explanation, especially when it came to something so particular as this unsub’s MO. Until they landed, nothing else was to be discussed.

Claudia had had her headphones in for a while. She’d looked through the file an immeasurable amount of times, trying to memorize it all as best as she could before the jet landed. She was brought out of her trance when she was tapped on the shoulder by Derek.

She looked up at him and saw his mouth move, but didn’t hear what he had said. She took out one headphone while responding with a smile and, “Hey.”

“What are you listening to?”

“Just a podcast,” she lied.

“Are those noise canceling? Because last time I checked, podcasts aren’t loud enough to drown out people talking to me.”

Claudia had picked up on Morgan’s sarcastic way of speaking to people before he even opened his mouth for the first time. She found it reassuring that not everything had to be so serious, even though it was. Two can play at this game.

“They’re not. Sometimes I just don’t feel like talking.”

“Oh! She’s feisty, I like that. Hate to break it to you, but you’re gonna have to talk to some people when you don’t want to.”

She realized he’d taken her statement the wrong way and felt the need to overexplain herself. She couldn’t determine if that was a good or bad idea in the short amount of time she needed to respond to him in, so she settled with a respectfully and equally sarcastic comeback.

“I only have to talk to people when I find it absolutely necessary. Requirement or not,” she quirked her mouth in to a sly, half-smile when Morgan opened his mouth and raised his eyebrows in shock at how quickly she slipped into the energy and nature of this conversation.

“You’re gonna fit right in,” he chuckled and put his own headphones back on his head and went to scroll on his phone.

Claudia went back to rereading the file and placed the headphone she’d taken out back into her ear. She’d never turned the music off.

______________________________________________________________

The case was nearly impossible to solve without reacting to the unsub in real time. Everyone was upset by the very real truth that they wouldn’t be able to act until another body had been found. This unsub truly left no stone unturned when covering their tracks. No paper trail, no electronic footprint, no evidence of where they were coming from or where they were going. Worst of all nobody could think of why they were targeting the BAU, besides the obvious, of course.

The one clue that the team had been given was the fact that the victim’s dental records helped uncover their identities, which gave you one single answer to the unsubs victimology.

Each victim that had been found with an agent's initials in their throat may as well have been that agent’s dopplegänger.

While this obviously helped you figure out who to protect, it did not make it any easier, seeing as the unsub wasn’t going in any obvious order.

It was Friday. The bodies had consistently turned up Saturday morning at six in the morning, but the location changed every time. There was no way of knowing where they would go next. The entire team was at a loss.

For her first case, Claudia felt a little discouraged, but she could sense that everybody else felt the same. This wasn’t normal for them, being so dumbfounded and sitting so idly.

Nobody slept that night, just waiting for the call that a body had been found somewhere in the middle of nowhere, in an alleyway, in a dumpster, quite literally anywhere.

Then, it came. Everybody hopped in the SUV’s and went straight to the scene. Everything was exactly the same here as it was with the last three. They wouldn’t know whose initials were in the throat until the M.E. report came back, which wouldn’t be for hours.

Since they were all here for this body to be examined, and knowing Claudia’s background, Hotch instructed her to come with him to oversee the body pre and post examination. Having an agent with a BS in forensic science and extensive (albeit, sometimes, unapproved) time in the field with the CSI in Philadelphia, was new, useful, and vital and he would like her to be at most if not all of these in the future.

Taking the lead, she asked, “What were the initials found in this body?”

The M.E. pulled out the evidence bag and handed it over. What Claudia saw made no sense to her.

“E.G.? None of our agent’s initials are E.G., does this mean anything to you?” she handed the bag to Hotch and saw how the realization hit him like a truck.

“Greenaway,” he handed the bag back to the examiner, “Elle Greenaway. She was an agent back in 2005. If this unsub is sending a message including past agents, our job just got a lot harder.”

After that discovery, it felt like everything picked up for a few days. There was a media junket, led by Hotch, informing people if they looked like anybody on the screen to be hyper-vigilant, including images of past agents that had since left the team. It felt surreal to warn people that looked like the team to be aware of their surroundings because it was such a subjective judgment to make, but it was the best bet they had of keeping people safe.

Taking it to the news, inevitably, meant Reid found out about it and blew up everybody’s phone. Nobody had answered him, too afraid to unless Hotch did it first.

When he finally gave in and called Hotch, he answered instantly and stepped away from the group.

“Before you say anything, you were on requested leave, in which I am not permitted nor required to inform you of a case,” Hotch began.

“You are absolutely permitted to inform me of a case, if you see fit, which you should’ve, considering this is taking place in the same town where my mother lives and I am visiting,” Reid countered. He was fuming, Hotch could practically feel his phone lighting on fire.

“Reid, it was my call for nobody to contact you, unless the case picked up, which it hasn’t-” he was cut off by Reid.

“What do you mean it hasn’t? If it hasn’t advanced, why are you still here, and why are you holding press conferences about it? Is my mother at risk? Am I at risk?”

“Reid, if your mother was at risk, you would’ve been notified immediately, you know that.”

“Do I? Since you’re not permitted or required to tell me while on requested leave, how do I know when and what you will tell me, if at all?”

“You’re being irrational and you need to calm down.”

“I’ll calm down by the time I get there.”

“Reid, no,” but before he could finish what he was going to say, Reid had hung up the phone. Hotch walked back into the room where the team had been set up for the past week.

“Reid is on his way.”

“Is he okay?” JJ asked.

“He’s upset. Not with any of you. If he shows any hostility, don’t take it personally, it’s all meant for me. I’ll deal with him later.”

Claudia had done copious amounts of research on the team before she officially considered joining the BAU. She’d known for a long time she wanted to pursue something like this, but was never certain how big she wanted to go. Once she got her PhD in forensic psychology, she had made up her mind that the FBI was where she needed to be and set to work on figuring out what department to shoot for. After stumbling upon the BAU and reading all she possibly could about the current team, she knew this was the answer to her lifelong question of where she was going to end up. She read any article she could find about any cases they had solved. She read up on Prentiss’ time at INTERPOL, Garcia’s history as a hacker, Morgan’s time in the military with the bomb diffusion unit, all of Rossi’s books, all of Hotch’s closed cases he’d won in court, JJ’s government reviews from the Pentagon, and all of Reid’s clinical essays ranging from god-knows-what to god-knows-what. She’d taken a particular interest in Dr. Spencer Reid. She didn’t know what she had seen in all of his essays, all of his reports that were accessible (via a database Claudia would never admit to having access to, thanks Roy), all of the TedTalks and seminars he’d given that she’d watched, but there was something about him that begged her to pick his brain as soon as she possibly could, doctor to doctor.

With that, she worked her ass off to be the top performer in her time at the academy and, luckily, her academic credentials preceded her when she met with the director by special request. She needed to be a part of this team. She needed to know all of them on a personal level. Knowing they were profilers, she knew they would see right through her with a glance, so leading up to her time at the academy, she learned to mask her sincerity in a way she’d never been able to. She was used to disguising her real personality for the sake of the people she was around, but she wasn’t used to straight up hiding her genuine emotions from her peers, let alone profilers. She assumed she was doing a good job, considering nobody had given her sideways glances or confused looks, and she was especially proud of the lie she got past Morgan. She wasn’t particularly proud that she was lying to them about how much she knew or what she was really like, but she knew she would let them know, one day. First, she needed them to like her, then she would let them in, once she could trust they wouldn’t judge her.

She was more than disappointed to see that Spencer was not in the bullpen when Hotch introduced her to everyone, but she knew she’d meet him eventually. Unfortunately, the circumstances in which they were meeting under were not what she had been expecting, she was excited to meet him regardless.

She was, truthfully, disgusted with what little restraint she felt inside of her when she first saw him storming through the door. She was riddled with excitement that she hoped nobody caught onto. She calmed herself down because she knew he wouldn’t even glance in her direction, much less introduce himself, right now. She just pretended like she had always been on the team, like they’d met a million times before, like she was just seeing her friend who’s been gone for a few weeks.

Before Spencer even made it into the meeting room, Hotch stopped him in his tracks.

“You need to take a breath before you go in there and take your anger at me out on somebody else.”

“Hotch, I am calm. You know that isn’t how I behave,” he pushed past Hotch and into the room where only you and Morgan were, “Brief me.”

Morgan hesitated because of Spencer’s hostile behavior, but Claudia jumped right into briefing him on the entire case thus far with that same confidence and ease she showed back in the bullpen, leaving Morgan with his eyebrows raised at how naturally and casually she fit right into the missing piece of the BAU’s puzzle. Hotch just crossed his arms because he knew this is exactly what was going to happen once everybody got to see her in action the same way he had in the academy and in his office that morning.

Once she had finished getting Spencer up to speed, he nodded his head and said, “Okay. We need to head back to the coroner’s office, I think I know of something we might’ve missed.”

Instead of taking this as an insult, Claudia took it as an ignorance of her education, since he didn’t know who she was. In reality, he did know about her background, but he also knew if anybody had sent the handwriting to be analyzed, she would’ve said that in her brief.

Not missing a beat, she started heading out of the building and to the SUV, following closely behind Spencer, who was handing his theory over to her, and she was still pretending like they had done this for years. Silently thinking to herself she should’ve been an actor.

As they got into the SUV, with Claudia behind the wheel, Spencer began to ramble, “I think we could find something based on the handwriting. We’ll need to take the evidence and make an analysis. It seems this person is comfortable here in Vegas, so they either have to be a local or somebody who moved here a long time ago. Judging by how random the places they’ve been dumping the bodies are and how much foot traffic those locations get both during the day and at night, this person has to have a keen awareness of when, if ever, these locations are barren and lacking people. Point is, this person could’ve attended school or certainly worked in the city, which would mean there could be handwriting samples anywhere in the city, if we know where to look, which we do, thanks to Garcia.” During his last sentence, he had taken out his phone and called Garcia.

“Garcia, I’m heading back to the coroner’s office with Claudia. I think we may be able to run a handwriting analysis that I’ll need you to run through the entire city of Las Vegas as far back as you possibly can.”

Hearing him say her name and know who she was was a shock she certainly wasn’t expecting. Had somebody told him about her already? That wasn’t farfetched at all. Did he know anything else about her? If he did, he didn’t show it, hell, she didn’t even know he had known who she was. Maybe she wasn’t as good at this as she thought. Granted the game he was possibly playing with her was the same game she was definitely playing with everybody else. She pretended it was completely normal that he knew her name without introducing herself.

“I know it’s a high ask, but you can do it. I’ll send it over the second I get it,” he hung up the phone and continued to ramble, “If that ends up being a dead end, we may just have to follow a paper trail, which won’t be impossible, but I’d have to do it alone while everybody else waits around for me, but I guess that’s all that’s been happening anyway, considering this unsub is not making our jobs any easier, but I suppose that’s part of whatever this insane plan is that they’ve got going on. Has anybody thought about going to the churches? That would also be a dead end, but it’s something we could try. We can’t even come up with a profile to give to these people so it would seem unfair and useless to tell every person in the city to watch their back.”

She sat there in silence, not wanting to interrupt in case he started again. When she said nothing, he looked over at her, confused.

“You didn’t interrupt me. Or tell me to stop.”

Trying to control herself, without looking over at him, she said “Why would I do that?”

“That’s the general reaction people have when I don’t stop talking,” he seemed shy and bashful, now that he was explaining this to her.

“Well, I don’t particularly enjoy when people interrupt me, so I’m not too keen on doing it to others.”

He continued to look at her. Trying to figure out where she was coming from. He noticed she hadn’t reacted when he knew her name, despite having not formally introduced each other, which he found intriguing, to say the least. Truthfully, Morgan had texted him the second after she was introduced to the team, teasing Spencer, saying he had some young, brainiac competition now. Spencer ignored that and had Garcia send over her file. He may or may not have done some of his own research as well. He’d found her dissertation, her four theses, and her handwritten files she made for cases she’d participated on during her time as a CSI agent (thank you, Garcia), and he was certainly very close to admitting that Morgan might have been correct. He had read everything he could possibly find about her right after Morgan told him who she was. He had only meant to read her dissertation, but then he knew she must’ve had a thesis, and upon looking for one, he had stumbled upon four. Each one was even better than the last, but none so eloquent and intuitive as her dissertation. “The effectiveness of integrating forensic psychology to enhance criminal therapy rehabilitation success rates.” He had already committed it to memory and had a laundry list of questions to ask her about it, as well as her theses, which, if you looked close enough, foreshadowed her dissertation beautifully, like they were all apart of a book series, as if she had been planning them from the beginning of her academic career, like she hadn’t needed the degrees, and she just got them for the sole purpose of knowing that getting them would get her ideas published in a dignified way.

He chuckled at the thought, which prompted her to ask, “What? Is that funny?”

He realized he had never responded to her initial statement, so he responded now, “No, no, not funny at all. Respectable, actually. No, I was just thinking that we haven’t formally met. I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.”

It was her turn to chuckle, “Thank you for the formality, but I already knew that, and it seems you already know who I am as well, but…Dr. Claudia Jessup.” This time, she did glance over at him and gave a tight-lipped smile.

He smiled and looked down at his hands that he was fidgeting with, “You would be right. Morgan told me about you the morning you were added to the team…and I…might’ve asked Garcia for your file.”

“Oh, really? Got a head start on me, then,” she lied to her teammate for the second time since joining the team, and it didn’t feel any better this time.

There was a long, comfortable silence after she spoke. Neither of them knew what to say, but both of them desperately wanted to ask the other about the papers they’d written, the research they’d done to write those papers, how they came up with the ideas for those papers, what led them to choose those degrees that required them to write those papers, obsessively wanting to ask every single question they had under the sun about their academic influence and passion, but just as they both got the courage to finally ask a single question they were thinking of, they’d arrived back at the hospital.

_____________________________________________________________

The handwriting analysis turned out to be a dead end, as each note had a different type of handwriting that seemed intentional. Garcia found no trace of the handwriting used in any of the fonts in any Las Vegas directory and Spencer found nothing when it came to a paper trail, even considering every style. Fast as he was, it took him a whole two weeks to get through everything that was sent to him, and in that time one more body had been found after E.G. This one had said K.C. Kate Callahan. The agent who had just left the team. A week after that no body had been discovered. SWAT, CSI, bloodhounds, and local police searched everywhere, but found no trace of any victims matching this unsubs MO on Saturday or the week following. Just like that, the case went cold, and they headed home. Not reassured in the slightest. The fact that two bodies showed up while the team was there and no unsub was found was not going to bode well with the director, but there was nothing that could’ve been done.

Spencer said goodbye to his mom and got on the plane home with everybody. It was secretly an opportunity to pick a certain doctor’s brain, but he’d never let anybody know that was the real reason he didn’t stay a little longer. His requested leave was over anyway.

Everyone had settled in on the jet except for Claudia. Hotch stopped her on her way to the couch.

“Hey, have a seat.”

Having got to know Hotch a little before all of this started, she felt truly comfortable speaking with him. No anxiety, no fear of lying to him, she felt like for the first time in three and a half weeks she could just be herself.

“Oh no, do you want me to hand in my resignation letter now?” she joked, earning a small breath out of Hotch, acknowledging that he did find that funny.

“No. I want to talk to you about your performance your first time out in the field.”

The aforementioned nervousness was back, and not hidden at all.

“You don’t need to be worried. You did a great job. I need you to know that wasn’t how our cases usually go. There’s never so much waiting around, and we’re normally led in a certain direction rather than stuck at a standstill for so long. Cases don’t usually go cold for us. I don’t want you to think it’ll be like this every time.”

She nodded her head, knowing already that that was not how their cases went (she’d read every case file this team had ever submitted to the database, again, thanks Roy), “Don’t worry, I know. The director wouldn’t have directly sent the team there if he had known it was so…hopeless. Forgive my pessimism, but there’s not another word I could think of.”

“You’re right. Some cases end poorly, but at least they end. We may or may not have to come back to this later on. I know that you can accept that this might stay open for a while and it might never be solved. I just wanted to reassure you that most of our other cases won’t be like this.”

“Thank you. Not to say I look forward to it, but…”

“I understand. Now go get some rest, you’ve earned it.”

Claudia got up and continued walking toward the couch, putting her headphones in and starting her music before she even sat down. As she got up, Spencer saw that Hotch was finished speaking to her, and got up from his own spot to follow her to the couch, but Hotch had stopped him in his pursuit.

“Reid.”

He halted his forward motion and Hotch gestured for him to sit down.

“I’m not mad at you and I would like to apologize for not telling you sooner. The case seemed like it could’ve been solved sooner and without your input. My intention was to not bother you while you were spending time with your mother, since I know this time is especially important for you to spend with her.”

Spencer wasn’t shocked that Hotch was apologizing, persay, but he was expecting to be given a stern talking-to. His eyebrows rose at the admission, but he thanked Hotch for the apology, anyway. He would know a thing or two about loss. Spencer knew that.

Hotch let him go and he set back to his initial mission: speaking to Claudia.

Had he seen that she had headphones in, he would’ve left her alone, but they were so discreet that he couldn’t tell she had any in underneath her hair. He’d never admit this, but he did, in fact, want to tuck it behind her ears. For no reason besides the ability to know if she had headphones in or not. Obviously.

She’d pulled out a book in the time it took Hotch to speak to him, but he sat down next to her anyway. She noticed this and looked up from the book and took out one headphone, not stopping the music the same way she’d done with Derek.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were listening to something,” he’d started to get up.

“No, it’s fine. Do you need something?” this time, she did pause what she was listening to.

“Not exactly…” he had no idea how to go about telling her she’d written the most glorious dissertation he’d ever seen and needed to know everything about it starting with how she thought of it and ending with her research.

Meanwhile, Claudia had been thinking, relatively, the same thing. She’d had no intention of asking Spencer about his writings on the way home, but since he approached her, now seemed like the perfect time. Enough time had passed that it would seem reasonable for her to have done research on the team now that she’d been on it for three weeks. It wouldn’t seem weird that she had read his journals, now.

At the exact same time, they both said:

“I want to talk to you about your dissertation.”

The two just looked at each other, shocked at what had just happened. Both had grins slowly growing on their faces before they both just started laughing.

With that, they both knew they were going to like “the other doctor.”

chapter two

#Spencer Reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x oc #doctor spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #bau team #bau family #incorrect criminal minds #criminal minds #slow burn #writing #creative writing

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sometimes-i-write-4-you · 8 months ago

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Heartless - a criminal minds episode\\part 4

part 1, part 2, part 3, masterlist

- english is not my first language please exuse any spelling or grammer mistakes.

- this case is made up

- it happens around the.. 6th season, i think? so the team is Hotch, dave, Morgan, Prentiss, JJ and reid

- it will end up being Reidxreader kinda, tho my main focous is to create a plot line for an episode with a (y\n) charecter.

- lmk what you think - i try to make the charectes as in charecter i can :)

"hey, spence, how are you with reading lips?" (y\n) asks, slighly ashamed they called him by his nickname without even realising. they weren't sure they are close enough for nicknames. "well, it's actually an easy skill to perfact-" Spence starts, but they don't let him finish. "good, i need you to try and understand what is Diane talking about with the suit guy" they explain, and re-position themselves and Spencer so he is facing them but has a view on Diane if he's looking behind (y\n)s shoulder. "we're too far, i don't think i can do it from here-" Spencer says, but (y\n) has a solution in mind.

(y\n) takes his hand , "let's dance". The music in the backround is great for a slow dance, and that's what a couple would do, right? "o…kay..?" Spencer replies in confusion, but takes their hand and let's them place his hand correctly. As they moved around, not perfactly on the beat, (y\n) brought them closer. "ohhhh" spencer smiles at the realasation of (y\n)s plan. "well, she is saying…" he starts, whispering in (y\n)s ear so no one would hear, and his low voice sends shivers down their spine. his breath against their skin, and the wormth of his body almost got them sweating. why were they so nervous?

…

"did you find out why the footage from that day is missing? the FBI is snooping around and i can not have them know about it. if they find out, it would immidiatly make us seem suspicius. the last thing we need is for the people of this god forsaken town to think that visiting our venues would get them killed" Diana says, her tone cleary angry with the guy across from her. "i am trying my best-" he trys, but she is not listening. "well than, your best is not enough!" Dianes voice gets louder, and some people turn their eyes but she smiles and says, "nothing to worry about".

"Diane, the only people who have access to this footage is you, me, and the big boss. no one is supposed to get through unless he has one of our passwords" the guy trys once again to explain himself, but Diane sighs. "just… try harded".

…

A buzzing in their pants forces them to stop the dancing, tho they both secretly enjoyed it. (y\n) pulls put their phone before Spencer. "it's prentiss… shit" they say, the last word more under their breath. "what?" Spencer asked, since (y\n) seemed stressed. And yeah, their job was stressful and (y\n) sorta had a resting stressed face, but something about their deminor made Spencer suspect something is wrong.

Before they get the chance to fill Spencer in, the Zayn gets back with their wine glasses. "Thank you" they both says together and smile at him and than at eachother. "Spence, did i tell today how much i love you?" (y\n) smiles at him, knowing they need to look as in love as possible now. Spencer was confused but didn't miss a bit. "did i tell you today that i love you more?" he smiled down at them, and then he did what (y\n) never expected he'd do. He lowered his head to theirs and placed a soft kiss right on their lips. they returned the favor almost on auto pilot, closing their eyes and leaning into this moment right out of fanfiction. fake dating trope, they thought to themselves, trying to remember what it was called. Not that they thought the kiss meant anything for Spencer, but they knew they hoped it does. the magical moment broke when Spencer pulled away and pulled (y\n) into a hug, almost making them drop the wine glass in their hand. "Le'haim" they smiled at him and cliged their glass to his. they brought the glass to their lips. Zayn looked at them, his eyes studing them, but than he left them. "now, care to explain?" Spencer says. "this was our unsub" They reply, and Spencer dosn't need father explanation.

He grabs their hand and takes them to "have a look around", casually following Zayn from afar, making sure he atays put so they can catch him once backup arrives. "so what footage do you think is missing?" (y\n) asks. "well, my best guess is that it's from the day James and Layla were here, maybe our unsub saw Jake's profile and recognised him, which is how he knew… his heaet wasn't really in it" Spencer said, amiling proudly at his pun. (y\n) nuged him with their shoulder, softly smiling at him. Their eyes met for a split second, but than the awkwarness took over and they both looked away.

"so, ugh, as i was saying, maybe he got mad, made a scene… we know he has some hacking skill, he could have been the one to delete the footage" Spencer continues sharing his theory. "well, yeah, but would'nt Layla mention that when we interviewd her?" (y\n) debates. "you'd think so, but he was just a random guy, she probably thought he was crazy and ignored him, not thinking much about it, eventually forgetting about it" Spencer says. "someone makung a fuss claiming your fiance is a cheater is not something you just forget" they reply, and Spencer shrugs, but (y\n) is very willing to leave it for now. "well, let's change the subject before someone hears" they say. and so they do.

"i am very sorry if that kiss made you uncomfterble, by the way. you seem-" Spencer starts. "oh, no, it was fine, even nice. a nice touch, i mean" they say back, smiling at him. He recognised his own words, and smiled back, letting put a small laught, "maybe we should stop apoligising for kissing each other" he jokes, making (y\n) blush. since they were looking at the ground, they didn't notice their fake fiance was also starting to look like a strawberry. They shared a moment of silence, and it wasn't awkward. "This Garden is indid beautiful, Garden Of Eden is a very fitting name" Spencer says, "did you know that in jewish culture theres a belife that if you set up three couples, you go to heaven? it is based on a quete from a a book of virtues, in page 230 Rabbai Haim Kanivinski says he heard that those who match 3 couples would go to a special place in the agterlife. Since one of the 10 Commandments is procreation-"

"spencer, not that i am not thrilled about this bible study session, but where is Zayn?" (y\n) cuts him off, and as if he was wating for his que, he shows up behind tham and smacks their heads with a bat.

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #emily prentiss #jennifer jareau #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner #dave rossi #derek morgan

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wifeyreid · 2 years ago

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Together forever.

loosely based on a prompt from @shywhumpauthor

Haven’t written fanfiction in a few months so, I’m quite rusty! Also, this hasn’t been proof read, so if there’s any errors in it, ignore them I guess? I think this could be classified as a whump? it’s angst with no happy ending atleast! which is my least favourite to read, but most favourite to write hehe. anyway, enjoy!

Word count: 629

warnings: Use of Y/N, unsub!Spencer, death, kidnapping, and guns.

You liked it, when he held the gun right to your forehead. The cold tip of the barrel, pressed flush. You knew he would do it eventually. That soon enough you would become a burden. He only kept you around because you were useful. And sure the sex was nice, but he’s a wanted man. You were delirious if you thought he would keep you with him, let alone keep you alive. You had too much on him. Sure, he could get a few months head start, but they would find him eventually. His team, that is. You didn’t know who he was anymore. Who he had become was miles different to who you married. Or maybe he was always like this, just hid it for everyone else? At this point you didn’t really care. You knew this was your only way out.

Dr Spencer Reid and his wife Y/N Reid had gone ‘missing’ two years ago. Really, Spencer and his wife had gone off the grid. Technically Spencer kidnapped his wife, but, he like to think she agreed. Even if she had no other option but to. He had been planning this for years. Felt he was never enacting any real change. Sure, the unsubs were being put into prison. But Spencer knew they could always escape again, or be bailed out. Plead not guilty and win, somehow. He wished he could just kill them. Point blank, quick and cold. So that’s what he did. Only, he didn’t expect it to last this long. Spencer felt disgusted with himself. He could scrub the blood behind his nails but what he saw, will never leave his head. He knows he can’t trust you not to tell, so here he is, gun pointed at his wife’s head. Right between the eyes. He tells himself it’s for her own good. That he’s doing it to save her. Rid her of the horrible memories. Like he will soon do himself. It was a long time coming really, he thinks. Should’ve done this a lot sooner.

You aren’t tied to anything. Just sitting on the bed of the motel you’d rented. He knows you could run out the door and scream bloody murder if you wanted to. But you don’t, that he’s sure of. You don’t even know the door is unlocked. It was silent for about half an hour. Spencer thinking about his options. Sure he could shoot you. Right now he could shoot you and kill you. But, what would he do with himself. What kind of a man would he be without his wife? Sure, they could probably go back to the life they led before. Spencer could return to the BAU, maybe retire, and live out his days at home with his loving wife. He knows it wouldn’t be exactly the same, but his team doesn’t suspect him of the murders. They were erratic, in differing states, and none had the same MO. They never killed the same way twice. He could go back to them today and they’d be glad they were okay. He might have to think up a story of where they were. What happened to them.

Spencer didn’t want life to go back to the way it was. That’s why he was here in the first place. It’s funny how quickly he did it. How little he hesitated. Pulled the trigger same way he did every time. Same emotionless expressions on his face. She fell back, dead. Before he could have time to talk himself out of it, he turned the gun around. He leaned forward, presumed the same positioning of the gun, except toward himself, and shot. His lifeless body fell right on top of his wife.

Together forever.

That’s how they found them.

#spencer x reader #use of y/n #unsub!reid #spencer reid #criminal minds #x reader #y/n reid #fanfiction

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reidsvest · 1 year ago

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(gif is not mine,credits to @hotch-girl )

Hello!I'm completely new to this so first things first.My name is Avra,my pronouns are she/her and I am 21 years old.I'm currently on my third year of college, studying away from my home which sadly means traveling a lot, so i'm not sure how much or often i will be able to upload fics but I will be trying my best.Also my native language is not english and while I will be proofreading my fics before posting,I apologize in advance for any mistakes.I have a really big rambling problem as it has already become evident.That will probably be showing in my fanfictions and in the actual rambles i wish to post about whatever episode of criminal minds I'm watching so I feel like I want to apologize in advance for that too and I hope that it's not too boring/annoying.I promise my thoughts follow a logical order😂

Like I mentioned in my description I love everything spencer reid (and cm in general), jay halstead (same for cpd) and charles leclerc (you guessed it roughly the same applies to f1).Honestly what I'm trying to say is that I love most characters on chicago pd,criminal minds and many many drivers from formula 1 but the ones I mentioned are my top favorites.I have watched almost every single film that matthew gray gubler has acted in,i pride myself for making it through some really weird scenes but at the end of the day it was worth it for more mgg content to feed the obsessive monster.I also absolutely adore elizabeth olsen/wanda maximoff but i will not be writing for her.This is also a great moment to state how much i love Taylor Swift and her music!I am tho completely open and would love to talk with anyone about wanda or any of these topics.

My fanfictions for starters will be of the above mentioned characters (mostly spencer reid as he is my current biggest obsession) and will be female reader x character fics.I will be writing angst and nswf content (probably a mix of both) so minors please do not interact but I will also be writing fluff too. I'll try to post my first fanfiction soon-ish but I just wanted to write a quick introduction to my blog and say hello!If you read this whole essay,thank you so much!I cant wait to start!🧡🌼

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spencerspecifics · 2 years ago

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Hi! I just read your pride fanfiction and it's so cool! I was wondering if you maybe would like to write Moreid Penemily fanfic where Morgan and Prentiss go to the florist to buy flowers for their significant ones, but they obivously had no idea about flowers while Penelope and Spencer care about it a lot.

Have a great day!

This is the sweetest ask I’ve ever received omg of course you can get that!! I love getting requests thank you so much for asking❤️

Sort of TW /// there's flashbacks to a child abduction case the team was working, also Garcia is mad at Prentiss (and Morgan is just worried about picking the wrong flowers lol)

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Flowers

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Morgan and Prentiss were similar, almost too similar- they were both leaders within the team, strong willed, and not scared of saying what they thought.

They were driving forces in the team, they did their jobs and they did them damn well. They were both confident in their jobs, but sadly, that’s where both of their confident aspects ended.

When it came to relationships, Emily and Derek were also too similar- they were nervous disasters. They didn’t know how to act, what to do or say- they practically had to dare each other to get themselves to ask out their respective crushes. They couldn’t bring themselves to do it without the other pushing them along, urging them to do it.

So, it should have been no shock when Derek pulled open the door to the small flower shop Spencer raved about so much- and saw Prentiss standing awkwardly to the side, scanning the example flowers splayed out on the small table next to her like she actually understood anything about floristry.

Morgan couldn’t help but shake his head; of course, Spencer was always telling Garcia about his favorite things- she probably fell in love with this flower shop, too.

“Well, well, look who we have here.” Derek joked as he walked towards Prentiss, she barely looked up at him, instead still scanning the flowers as she spoke; “I don’t wanna hear it. This is Penelope’s new favorite place, and I’m doing my girlfriend duties.”

“Funny, I’m doing the same thing myself.” Derek replied, “You’re doing girlfriend duties?” Prentiss shot back, Derek ignored her, instead turning back around, towards the front of the shop to look at the flowers they had displayed up front.

He was still standing next to her, however, so he spoke up again; “What’re you getting Garcia flowers for?” “I can’t just get her flowers?” Prentiss sniped, clearly something was putting her on edge, and now Derek had to know what.

“Pump the brakes, Em.” He told her, she looked down towards her feet, then looking at the small table, before looking back towards him.

“She’s mad at me.” Was all Emily said, before turning her back towards him, looking at the displays hanging nearby on the wall. Derek decided to leave her at that, at least for now. He knew why Garcia was mad.

“How long are you going to stay here for?” Reid asked Garcia curiously, sat next to her in her den of computers and fun little figurines surrounding her. Spencer had ended up burning the midnight oil yet again, and decided it was better to spend that time with Garcia, rather than be alone in the dark emptiness of the bullpen.

Penelope had finished her work hours ago, but was refusing to go back home- back to her shared apartment with Emily, because she was mad, she was fuming, she was frustrated, and she was close to being heart broken, even if that was dramatic to say; that’s how she felt.

“I don’t know.” Garcia said simply, clicking on another youtube video of kittens being adorable. She needed to focus on something simple right now, something sweet, something that didn’t make her feel like she was going to cry and hyperventilate at the same time.

Spencer stayed quiet, sitting in the desk chair next to her as he flipped through the manilla file folders in his lap. Boring case work, it could be done by anyone on the team- and it didn’t need to be done that exact day, it wasn’t due to be turned into Hotch for a while. So Spencer left it on his lap, shutting the folder as quick as he had opened.

“You know, everyone does stuff like what Emily did-“ he started up again, trying his best to reason with Penelope about the events that had transpired that day, but she wasn’t going to hear it, she was deciding to tune him out; turning the volume up on the youtube video, watching kittens chase fake mice and play with feathers on strings. It was cute, it was sweet, it wasn’t upsetting.

Reid took that as his cue to be quiet, at least for now.

Derek had left Prentiss to her own devices within the small flower shop, going to the other side of the store to give her some distance, and to peruse the many kinds of flowers and small knick knacks they had for sale.

It made sense why Spencer loved this shop, why he raved about it; firstly, it was small, it was quiet, it was simple. It wasn’t flashy in decor, rather letting the flowers for sale be the decorations to fill up the store. Not to mention the soft classical radio station that was playing through the small speakers by the cashiers desk- which also doubled as a bouquet making table.

It was small, it was a small slice of art that Derek could picture Spencer walking down, looking at the beautiful flowers lining the shop on small tables and hanging on the walls. Spencer loved beautiful things, and he was the most beautiful person Morgan knew.

Which is why Derek was struggling on what to get Reid, he wanted to get his boyfriend something as beautiful as him, something he would love. Morgan knew realistically that Spencer would be happy with almost any kind of gift, but Morgan wasn’t listening to his painfully boring realistic side. He was listening to his romantic side, the side that wanted to buy Reid the Smithsonian Museum, the side of himself that wanted to build his boyfriend a greenhouse; so they could finally start on that home garden Spencer wanted so badly.

Derek wanted to do something to make Spencer happy, because the case they had dealt with today ended badly- worse than normal. It had taken a toll on everyone, Garcia, Prentiss, Reid, himself, Hotch, and even J.J. and Rossi.

It was rare a case hurt them as much as this one had, but every once and a while, there needs to be a fresh cut alongside the healing and fading scars. Something to bring them back to the painful reality of life.

It was a child abduction case, those always hit the team the worst. Whether there was a personal connection to the team members or not, it was hard when an innocent soul gets taken away.

Thankfully, the team was able to recover the missing child, a seven year old girl named Savannah Rogers. The team was quick to figure out this was the abductors first, so there were errors, there were mistakes. There were holes in the plotline the team could poke through and reach into, to find the necessary answers.

It came at a price, though, it always did.

"She likes colorful things." Derek spoke under his breath as he passed by Prentiss, she didn't turn around (though she clearly heard him as her eyes darted his way for a moment), still staring at the racks of freshly made bouquets and wreaths that had yet to be bought. Derek didn't say anymore past that, instead just standing next to her, staring at the same floral arrangements.

He needed something as pretty as his boy, would Reid like roses? Or would he think that's too cliché? Derek wasn't totally sure. It had to be just right for Spencer. Maybe a mix of roses with something leafy would be best.

"You know what you're getting Reid?" Emily asked him, her voice quieter than normal. It was clear the stress of the situation was getting to her, it hurt Derek's heart to see her like that.

He shook his head simply, "Nah, I'm not sure. What about you?" Emily drew a breath in, "I don't think any amount of flowers will make her forgive me." She said, a shaky laugh coming out after, as if the humor was to make the situation normal. But none of this was normal.

"Em, you did what you had to do. She needed our help. Garcia knows that, she's just upset because she was worried sick."

Emily just nodded, a signal that meant ‘I hope you’re right’. Derek knew he was, it was just going to take Penelope a second to breathe, to calm down; to understand why Prentiss put herself in harms way. To understand why Prentiss almost got shot just a few hours earlier.

The specifics of a child abduction case always boil down into two ways; either the child is taken from a place of safety (school, home, etc.), or is taken while in transportation from one place to the next (walking home from school, taking the bus).

For the case of Savannah Rogers, it was the former. She was playing in her front yard with her barbies when she was seemingly snatched.

Her mother was inside on a phone call, she had just stepped away from watching Savannah for a minute to answer the phone- and when she looked back, her daughter was nowhere to be seen.

The team figured out quickly who could’ve done it, the school nurse from Savannah’s elementary school- the nurse had recently been fired due to allegations of verbal abuse from the students themselves. The fact the feds weren’t involved sooner was the most surprising thing, the nurse was a walking poster boy for someone who shouldn’t be working in a school. But somehow, he had the job for some time.

The nurses name was Daniel Blake, he was an unsub with narcissistic personality disorder- he was raised off grid by his mother who had a narcissistic personality as well, and a belief that society was doomed from the start. So, he was raised with the belief life was better away from everyone- he was raised in a cabin, then escaped away for his college career.

He was seemingly normal, until his mother died a few weeks earlier. It was common to see an unsub stable, normal- not exhibiting any terrible ideology. But then, there’s always that trigger- something that shoves them over that edge they’ve been precariously balancing on for far too long.

His mothers death reminded him of the way he was raised, he was convinced he needed to take a child and raise them the same. Savannah Rogers just happened to be the closest to where he was.

Spencer and Garcia were sat in silence yet again, Reid had no reason to leave and Garcia simply refused to. She didn’t want to see Emily.

“I almost lost her, Spencer.” Was all Garcia mustered up to say, before looking down from her computer monitor- instead just staring directly at her keyboard.

Spencer didn’t react right away, he wasn’t sure what to say. He took a deep breath in before speaking, “Morgan and I argue about this too.”

Garcia looked up from her keyboard to shoot Reid a sideways glance, her way of saying ‘go on’. So, he did.

“We don’t argue about you and Emily,” he stuttered over that obvious clarification, “but we argue when the other shoves themselves in the way of danger. Him and I have almost died too many times, every time we go out into the field I do have a part of myself that asks; ‘what if this is the last time I’ll see him?’. And it scares me.” Spencer paused, swallowing some of his rambling down, not all of what he was feeling and sharing was helpful. He was just vocalizing his fear.

He continued on after a second, “I don’t want to lose him- he’s my everything you know, he’s-“ Spencer’s voice started to crack in the way that only cracks when you’re close to expelling your emotions way too publicly. He took a breath again, deciding to redirect where his story was going.

“But I also know that, he’ll always be okay. I trust him to do his job, and that’s the difference between being boyfriends and co-workers. I have to trust my co-worker, Derek, to do his job right. And I have to trust my boyfriend, Derek, to come home every night like he promised he would. And he trusts me to do the same.”

Reid stopped talking after that, going back down to staring at the manilla file folders on his lap.

The team had cornered Daniel Blake in a warehouse set to be demolished towards the outskirts of town, Savannah was with him, locked in a giant crate meant for a large dog. His whole plan wasn’t well thought out, was he going to raise this little girl in a warehouse? It didn’t matter in the end.

The team got to him, like they always did with unsubs. The one thing the team wasn’t aware of was that he had a pistol in his inner jacket pocket- and while Prentiss moved towards the dog crate to get Savannah out, Daniel made a move.

He grabbed out his pistol and was trying to aim at the dog crate that Savannah was in- if he couldn’t have her, he didn’t want anyone to. The only thing stopping Savannah Rogers from being dead right then and there was the fact J.J. had shouted out at Emily to cover the crate, which she did instinctively.

The bullet missed the crate, but it hit Prentiss in the bullet proof vest, right in between her shoulder blades. If she wasn’t wearing the vest, she’d be dead.

After that, Derek tackled him to the ground and made sure he had no other weapons. Savannah was then returned to her family, and the team made their way back to the police station. Case closed, almost.

Penelope was in the teams ear, monitoring the whole ordeal when she heard J.J. yell at Emily to cover, and the gunfire going off. Then she couldn’t hear anything, her heartbeat was drowning out any words that were being said. She was petrified.

EMTs checked out Savannah and Prentiss, Savannah was in shock and had a few minor injuries, but nothing too stressful. Thankfully the same could also be said for Emily, she felt the bullet push through the fabric of the vest when she was shot, the bullet barely stopped before slowly pushing up against the more inner layers of the vest.

It was a sharp pain, it would leave a bruise, it knocked the wind out of her for a second. But she was alive, she was okay.

That’s what Morgan told Garcia through the earpiece as soon as he got Daniel Blake in the back of a cop car. He just kept saying it, “Garcia, she’s okay. EMTs are looking at her now, she’s okay.”

Whether Penelope fully heard him by that point, he wasn’t sure.

“It’s just hard. I feel like I’m the odd one out, I’m not at the scene with you guys. I’m a million miles away.” Garcia spoke through a shaky breath to Spencer.

“I can’t see what happens, unless you strap a camera to your face and send me live feed. I’m scared every time you guys go out there, that something bad is gonna happen. And I’ll be the only one left.” She said, her voice hushed and shaky still.

Spencer stayed quiet for a moment, the only thing heard in the office was the kitten videos still playing on Garcia’s monitor, and the distant clicking of the clock on the wall.

“You’re never going to be alone. I know our line of work is a lot, and it is. But we can handle it. We’re as prepared as can be, and the truth is we could get hurt just the same walking down the road. We could get hit by a tornado, or a drive by-“ Reid kept going on, Garcia looked down at her keyboard before looking at Reid.

“Bad things can happen to us anywhere.” Spencer stated simply, watching Garcia’s tired, bloodshot, and teary eyes staring at him. “But we’re never alone out there. We protect each other. And you- you protect us!” Spencer spoke with a tone of energy. He had a strong point coming and he knew it, but Garcia didn’t. She scoffed, blinked, and didn’t say anything more. A cue that Spencer can continue.

“You protect us just as much as we protect each other, you get us the information we need, you contact everyone we can possibly need for a case. We’re nothing without you. It doesn’t matter how far away you are, you have our backs, too.”

Penelope sniffled, a small smile tugging on her lips.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice cracking. Spencer nodded, he could tell she was tired, as was he.

The shop was closing soon, Prentiss knew it, Morgan knew it, and the old woman sat up behind the counter, reading a thick old dusty book knew it too.

“Are you two stuck on what to get?” The old woman asked, looking over the top of her book to give Morgan and Prentiss a glance.

“Just a bit,” Derek admitted suavely to her, he knew Emily wasn’t really in the mood to talk so he took lead on this conversation. “I’m getting a gift for my boyfriend.” boyfriend, boyfriend, Spencer was his boyfriend. No matter how many times Derek got to call him his, he still never got over it. He never got over the excitement, the happiness, the rush of ‘oh my god, I get to date him?’. It was an amazing feeling every time.

The old woman nodded, “Do you know what kind of flowers he likes?” She asked, setting her thick book down on the table in front of her. Derek thought back for a moment, every time he’s seen Spencer bring flowers home from the shop they weren’t big bouquets. There was a lot of greenery, a lot of whites and yellows, natural earthy tones. Nothing flashy or bright.

“He always has a lot of green in the bouquets he gets,” the woman nodded as she listened, hopping off of her stool and going around the cashier counter to Morgan to show him the collection of flowers she thought would match that.

“I’m also thinking roses, though. Is that cliche?” He asked her, she smiled happily, “Not at all, dear. Roses symbolize love. Are you thinking the standard red, or would you like to look at our other colors?”

Derek nodded yes, excitedly, he felt like he was finally figuring out what to get his pretty boy, and it was going to be just as pretty as him. The woman whisked off to the back room to get the freshest roses they had, assuring him and Emily that she’d be right back.

Emily had stayed silent through the entire interaction, staring at the wreaths lining the wall. Derek noticed, it was his job to notice.

“Prentiss, I know you’re dealing with a lot. But one thing at a time, alright? Slow your mind down, all you can do right now is get her flowers.” Emily nodded, she understood that. She knew that was true, she was just nervous and tired and frustrated. She wanted to do the right thing, and she had. It just came at a price.

“I know,” she nodded again, “I know.” “So, what flowers are you thinking for Penelope?” Derek asked her, trying to move her forward.

“I might have to follow your lead and see about the roses.” Emily replied, a small (not entirely truthful) smile forming on her face. She decided to follow Morgan’s lead. Flowers first, everything else later.

Spencer and Garcia left the bureau building together, “You want a ride home?” Spencer asked her as he dug his car keys out of his messenger bag, Penelope nodded. “I’d like that.”

So, they drove in amicable silence, the radio in Reid’s car was switched to a pop station for Garcia, and she appreciated that. She hummed lowly to the songs playing through. But past that, no words were said.

Spencer rolled his vehicle to a stop outside of Garcia and Emily’s shared apartment, “Do you want me to walk you up?” He asked her, already reaching to undo his seatbelt. Penelope shook her head, causing Reid to stop.

“No, thank you though. What you said meant a lot. I love ya, Spencer.” She said, reaching forward over the center console to embrace him in a hug, Spencer smiled and did the same, hugging her back tightly.

“Of course. It’s gonna be okay. You just have to talk to her.” Spencer told her, they were still in a tight embrace, and Garcia nodded. “I know. I won’t be scared.” She mumbled, pulling back from the hug after a moment.

Spencer smiled, “That’s good, you shouldn’t be. You love her, that’s all that matters.” Penelope smiled softly back, thinking back to Prentiss, how much she loved her- how much she loved being with her, kissing her, talking to her. Just being with her. She loved it. She knew Spencer was right.

All Garcia did was say a final ‘thank you’ before unbuckling, grabbing her purse and exiting the car, shutting the passenger door behind her. Reid waited until she disappeared into her apartment building to drive away, and then he started his journey home.

Spencer hadn’t thought much of the day, other than the obligatory obvious that the child abduction case had put everyone on edge- Garcia and Prentiss especially, and for good reason.

Spencer was a bit foggy in his mind as he pulled into the drive way of Derek and his’ home. The fog in his mind was for a few factors, the post stress feeling of finishing a high stakes case, and also that it was just late and he was so, utterly exhausted. He let out a small yawn as he put the car in park, he noted that Derek’s car was already parked in his usual spot- hopefully his boyfriend hadn’t been waiting up for him, he’d feel terrible depriving him of his sleep. He knew Morgan was just as tired as him.

Spencer exited his car, locking it quickly and walking up the front stoop, fumbling with his keys to get the right one to unlock the front door. He got the right key after a moment, slid it into the lock, and opened the door. He pushed it open, shutting it quickly behind him. He tried to shut the door as quietly as he could, but the hinges squeaked at a volume a bit too loud for Reid’s taste. Spencer cringed at the noise, hoping it wouldn’t wake Derek up.

The hallway lights were on in their home, not an uncommon occurrence, as their work schedules were always so bizarre that they usually ended up working late nights; at home or in a hotel somewhere across the nation.

Spencer made his way inside, setting his messenger bag down on the kitchen table, and stood in a moment of silence. God, today was a lot. And Penelope being so worried about Emily, it reminded him of his anxieties, his fears, his worries about himself and Derek. He knew they couldn’t catch every unsub always. He knew some unsubs would shoot their way out of dealing with cops. He knew people got hurt in their line of work.

He was terrified that it would catch up to him and his boyfriend one day. And that the happiness and love and hope they shared would be smashed. Spencer let out a deep sigh, he couldn’t keep thinking about this all and run his mind in circles. Spencer walked over to the cupboard where their glasses were stored, opening it and grabbing a glass, then going to the tap and filling it with water.

It was then that he heard footsteps, coming from down the hall to the kitchen.

“Pretty boy?” Derek’s voice called out, before he turned into the kitchen. He was still in his work clothes, and smiling excitedly as he had his hands behind his back, as if he was hiding something.

Spencer smiled softly at him, taking a sip of his water, “Hey,” he took note of Derek’s preppy demeanor this late in the evening, he immediately knew his boyfriend had been up to something. “What’s going on?” He asked curiously.

“Close your eyes.” Derek said, his grin somehow splitting even wider as he spoke. Seeing his boyfriend somehow so full of joy, this late in the day, after all the bad they had seen; it made Spencer smile. So Spencer nodded, setting his glass down next to him on the counter, putting his hands over his eyes.

Reid heard his boyfriend stepping closer, and some kind of rustling he couldn’t correctly identify.

“Open your eyes, baby.” Derek said, Reid put his hands down, blinking his eyes open to see what was in front of him.

It was Derek holding a bouquet out in front of him, it had daisy’s, white and yellow roses, a bit of baby’s breath, as well as lots of greenery and leaves.

“Derek, is- is this for me?” Reid asked, he already knew the answer as Derek wordlessly handed him the bouquet, and Spencer started examining it further.

“I wanted to get you something special,” Derek started explaining bashfully, “you mentioned that flower shop around the corner, so I checked it out and I got some help from the old lady behind the counter. I wasn’t sure what to get you, do you like it?”

Spencer couldn’t stop smiling, he mentioned that flower shop in passing to his boyfriend once or twice, and Morgan remembered. And it was a perfect bouquet, some people would’ve disliked the amount of leaves or usage of daisy’s or whatever the hell else- but to Spencer, it was perfect. It was beautiful.

“I-“ Reid’s voice cracked in a way he hadn’t meant it to. He was feeling overwhelmed, overemotional. “I love it. I love you.” He said, he felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes as he looked up to meet Derek’s gaze.

“Baby, are you alright?” Morgan asked him carefully, stepping forward. Reid nodded, “I was just with Garcia- she was so nervous about Emily. It just got me thinking, about us and our work.” Derek nodded wordlessly, taking the bouquet from Spencer and setting it down on the counter, before pulling his boyfriend into a soft embrace. Spencer melted into the feeling.

“It’s never going to be easy. But it’s worth it to me, I love you and our work, baby. I love you so much.” Morgan said, emphasizing his words by giving Reid a small squeeze. Spencer smiled softly, pulling back to make eye contact with Morgan again before leaning forward, giving him a small kiss on the lips.

Spencer stepped back out of the hug, picking the bouquet off the counter. He couldn’t stop staring at it.

“This is beautiful.” Spencer said absentmindedly as he looked around for a vase to put the flowers into.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Morgan complimented, Spencer felt the heat rush to his cheeks as he smiled. He located a vase in a nearby cupboard, moving back over to the sink to fill it up with some water.

“I was sat in that flower shop for, like, an hour. Baby I kept running around in circles.” Derek continued on, “I knew you’d like anything I got you, but-“ he smiled awkwardly. Spencer had this way of getting Derek stupidly romantic, he just wanted to do everything he could to make Reid as happy as possible. He couldn’t get over how damn lucky he was to have this genius in his life.

Spencer eyed him as he unwrapped the flowers from the wrapping, setting them up in the vase. Derek continued; “I wanted to get something as pretty and as perfect as you, Spencer.”

Spencer melted at that, he knew Morgan was usually so confident in his choices. The thought of his boyfriend confusedly wandering around the flower shop, looking for just the right flowers for him, to express his love; it made Spencer feel blessed.

“Just knowing you went out of your way to do this, it’s…” Spencer smiled softly, looking back and forth between the bouquet and his incredible partner.

“It’s amazing.”

Penelope had gotten up to her apartment, entering quickly and locking the door behind her. A majority of the lights in the apartment were still off, indicating that Prentiss was still out, wherever she was.

Garcia went through the apartment, turning on their lamps and lighting a few candles to help her de-stress from the days events. She decided to clear her mind by taking a shower, heading into the shared bedroom and grabbing clothes out of her dresser, before heading down the hall to the bathroom.

She shut the door softly, turning on the shower and undressing slowly as she waited for it to heat up.

After she showered, she was going to wait for Emily to get home so they could talk.

Prentiss entered their apartment not long after Penelope had, Emily had stopped from the flower shop to get a box of chocolates for her girlfriend before finally heading home. Prentiss heard the water running in the bathroom, and figured Garcia was in there showering.

She decided to wait in their bedroom, chocolates and flowers sitting in her lap as she waited, sitting on the edge of the bed eagerly. She felt terrible, she hadn’t meant to worry her girlfriend so much, but she knew she hadn’t had the foresight to think of Penelope when she made her choice to stand in between the little girl and the bullet.

It was noble, sure. But it was incredibly stupid.

Garcia finished showering quickly, she stepped out of the shower and changed into the clothes she had brought with her into the bathroom.

It was a matching pajama set, that ironically enough was a gift from Emily. It was covered in small hearts with arrows through them. It was a Valentine’s Day surprise, and the other part of the surprise was that Prentiss had an identical set. Emily usually wasn’t one for showy displays of affection, she was a private and simple person. She would joke and tease to show her love, but she knew Garcia wasn’t like that and enjoyed honest, sentimental gifts.

Penelope smiled at the pajamas, thinking back to the gift and how much it meant to her- how much it still means to her.

Penelope stepped out of the bathroom, towel still wrapped around her hair to help it dry as she made her way back to the bedroom.

The bedroom door opened, Prentiss watched as Garcia entered- but Garcia didn’t see Emily right away, instead making her way to the small closet and putting the clothes she was wearing into her hamper.

Garcia then turned around, and that’s when she saw Emily, and it was a surprise, as Garcia almost practically jumped.

“You- Oh! Emily! God.” she sighed, clearly taken off guard.

“Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you, I,” Emily started, taking the chocolates and flowers out of her lap and setting them down on the bed next to her as she got up to be closer to Garcia.

“I’m sorry love, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She repeated, Garcia huffed and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, you did.” She said with a small pout on her face.

“Can we- can we talk?” Emily asked carefully. Last she had seen Garcia, she was mad, couldn’t even look at her. She didn’t want to end up sleeping on the couch tonight, she wanted to work this out. To her surprise, Penelope nodded slowly.

“I’m sorry, Pen..” Garcia said nothing as she stood and listened to Emily, Prentiss gestured for her to take a seat on the bed next to her. Garcia obliged and sat down.

“I know it’s scary when we go into the field, because anything can happen. And I hate myself for not thinking ahead and my actions hurting you, that’s the last thing I want to do. You matter so, so much to me.”

Silence sat over them both for a moment. Emily wanted to reach forward and hold Penelope’s hand, but she didn’t want to push it. Garcia sniffed, the sound breaking through the silence.

“I know you didn’t intend to hurt me, Em. I know a little girl’s life was on the line. I just- it is scary, it just is!” She said, exasperatedly. Not sure what else to say or how else to phrase her thoughts.

Emily decided to push it, reaching forward to hold her girlfriends hand between her own. “This job is hard. It’s bad at times. But it’s where I met you, and it’s where we fell in love. It’s the one job we know we’re good at.” Prentiss spoke softly.

Garcia nodded as she look down, putting her other hand on top of Emily’s. She smiled softly. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad, I get scared is all… you know with my family, they just were gone one day and-“

Garcia’s voice cracked a little, the emotions were still incredibly raw. “I just don’t want to lose you.” Emily nodded. She didn’t want to lose her either.

“I will always come back to you, in this life- in the next. I will fight anyone who stands between us, I love you, and I hope you know that. I would do anything to see you and be with you.” Prentiss said as she squeezed Penelope’s hands tightly. Garcia knew she wasn’t messing around with what she said. Emily was fiercely loyal, she stood by every word she ever spoke.

Penelope smiled, “You saved a little girl’s life today,” she looked up to meet Emily’s gaze.

“I’m really proud of you.”

The chocolates and flowers quickly became an afterthought for Emily, as her and Garcia relieved each other of their anxieties and reminded the other how much they loved each other. It was only when Penelope stood up from the bed to take the towel off of her hair that she saw them on the other side of the bed.

“Oh- are those, are those for me?” Emily looked back, remembering the gifts and grabbing them.

“Yes! They are! I- I know that flower shop you like so much… I had some help getting these, I wasn’t sure what you’d like.” Prentiss explained, offering the flowers to Garcia first so she could look them over.

Penelope smiled excitedly as she took them from her, looking them over, there were white and red roses, baby’s breath, and some blue bells. It was gorgeous.

“Do you… like it?” Emily asked apprehensively as she stood up. She knew it was dumb, but her and Morgan really were out of their elements in that flower shop. And as much as the kind older woman helping them reassured them that their partners would love it, she was scared. This gift had to be perfect for Penelope. And she knew Derek shared a similar thought for Spencer.

Penelope couldn’t stop her beaming smile, “Love, they’re perfect.” She set them down on the dresser next to her and leaned in to give Emily a sweet kiss on the lips. Emily smiled, grateful that she was able to help mend this wound between her and Garcia. She couldn’t survive if she didn’t have her in her life, Penelope was everything.

Prentiss wrapped her arms around Garcia, holding her in a loose hug for a while. Penelope didn’t mind as she rested her head on Emily’s shoulder, sighing contently.

“Thank you.”

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chaotic-adriary · 2 years ago

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Part 2 of the best fanfiction I have read in 2022. (Honorable mentions)

So this was THE MOST memorable fics that I read in 2022. I say memorable cause lots of fics are just interesting but if you read too much of something it all looks like a blur. But each of these next fics has a special place in my fanfiction-addicted brain.

Star trek fandom:

"Linguistic Ambiguities in Vulcan Ethical Codes" is another fandom legend. What if vulcans raised Kirk? I don't really know how to characterize this amazing stuff. It's one of what if's that you read and then reread because it's just that good. And also I have a soft spot for linguistics

BNHA and Criminal minds crossover

"To profile a traitor". Before this fic I didn't know how much I need Spencer Reid and Izuku interactions. Here lots of people in UA think that Izuku is a traitor (some good portion of angst here). Toshinori, Nedzu, Vlad are assholes (yep. that's in tags), and Inko acts here not well. So be prepared. And Criminal minds team is amazing like always. Love them.

BNHA fandom:

"Who said the only green thing about him was his hair?". So this fic is about a runaway Izuku who tries to survive in the forest on his own(occasionally going into town). If you like gardening, foraging, and reading, how someone tries to survive in a hard situation maybe you would like it as much as I did. In this fic, I have read that you can actually eat acorns if you prepare them right. When fics are not only interesting but even educational it makes me even happier. And also you can find here some really nice moments with dadzawa and dadmic. remembers a beautiful scene in a library

"A little luck from a black cat vigilante". I have read lots of vigilante Izuku fanfiction and this one was the most memorable and interesting. Also, Izuku here is not only vigilante but also a very skillful hacker. I really needed an inspiration being mentally stronger this year and fics like that help me. (oh, and inspire to learn new things. My shinobi silent walk needs to be perfected)

Sherlock fandom:

"Time and Tribulations" I was really intrigued by the discription. Even when I don't usually read romance fics(especially explicit) this one just caught my attention. Like Regency romance? With Watson from our time turned into a woman in the past? What the heck?? immediately goes reading.

Twists and turns, Pride and Prejudice and Jane Eyre vibes and sex scenes that just were so loving and soft that I couldn't just skip them like I usually do?? This fic is just crazy. Once I tried to retell it to my friend and it sounded like some kind of stand-up story BUT IT'S REALLY DRAMATIC believe me- drops mic

Naruto fandom:

...aaaand the last one. THE angsty one.

"It Wasn't A Kindness" feels like a scream. It's full of ache and hurt and rough emotions. So Sasuke kills Itachi and then kills himself. Instead of dying he lands in the past where his clan and family are still alive. The fic is fairly new and I wait patiently for new chapters. I really like to read about well-written hurt, you see? I just fell in love with the first chapters.

So what do you think? Have you read something from this list? You just like write me anything (please tell me what i can improve)

#fanfiction #favorite fanfiction 2022 #fanfiction wrapped #fic recs #bnha #sherlock #star trek #criminal minds #naruto #sherlock fic #bnha fic #star trek fic #naruto fic #ao3 fanfic #ao3 stuff #fanfic #fanfic rec

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reidsbookclub · 3 years ago

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I just want to hug Spencer and bombard him with gifts and love now.

They've Seen It All

Couple - Spencer x Fem!reader

Warnings - Language, sexual allusions, anxiety, typical case violence, insecurities, self-hatred

Summary - Self-loathing had been an obstacle for Spencer in the many years that he had worked at the BAU, his signature converse seeing him through it all. Reader helps bring back his sense of self-worth, reminding him of the shiny boy he used to be by surprising him with a new pair… or several.

Category - hurt/comfort

Word Count - 3.5k

A/N - this is not good at all but i haven’t written anything in forever so plz sit back, relax, and enjoy the shitty fic. :)

masterlist

join my taglist here!

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You wiped the little drops of sweat from your forehead, sitting down on the floor with your mess of a closet splayed out before you. As you were cleaning it out, you found an interesting little box hidden in the corner.

You probably weren’t supposed to find it if he had buried it that deep in his closet, but you were cleaning it out to make space for your clothes-- might as well check that he wasn’t hiding something weird.

You opened the dusty shoebox, met with a worn pair of converse and fun, colorful socks rolled up in their respective pairs that were stuffed around the shoes.

Spencer was always a complicated man, you knew what you were getting yourself into when you asked him out on the date after you noticed him watching you from across the coffee shop every single day.

He was hurt and broken and troubled with the cruelties life had thrown at him from every which way.

But he was also kind and caring and afraid.

He saw himself as a burden that no one wanted to deal with, a burden that would give his friends and family the dark feelings he went through alone. He walked into the BAU for the first time as a shiny, beaming boy and walked out as a tired, destroyed man— torn up from the inside out.

On his feet were a pair of brand new converse coupled with mismatched socks, a superstition that his mother had instilled in him since his childhood. It was his good luck charm.

After the traumatic events that had happened in his first few years at the FBI, the pure and innocent angel was tarnished and stained with tar from the scum of the earth— and so were his shoes.

The rims and laces were no longer white, dirtied and corrupted with mud and everything bad that he had managed to wade through in the river of every horrifying case that he and his team faced.

He replaced them with dress shoes. They were simple and barren and hid away his personality that he refused to let through.

His self-image wasn’t safe either, crumbling soon after his struggle with the many unsubs he pitied— especially Tobias Hankel. It was almost as if Hankel had dragged the minimal love he had for himself with him to the depths of hell, never to be seen again.

There was a slow and steady decline of his self-perception, only increasing in speed after every case that struck his heart in a particular way.

It wasn’t uncommon for him to avert his gaze whenever there was a mirror, casting his eyes down to his feet to avoid looking at the very broken man in front of him. His reflection only served as another device to torment him with the failures and shortcomings of who he used to be.

They say there are 6 signs of self-loathing, and all 6 were nothing new to Spencer.

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Inability to Say ‘No’

Spencer always had a habit of putting others before him, refusing to decline any call for help even when it affected him negatively. He was a giving man in the worst ways.

“Boy Genius!” Penelope’s kitten heels clicked on the ground as she tried her best to catch up with him.

“Garcia?”

“You know the party I’m having this Saturday?”

He nodded. “Good. Can you help me set up my apartment?”

“Of course, I’ll be there.”

“Fantastic!” She gave him a loving peck on the cheek before rushing away to set up a list of all the things that she needed to purchase before the big day.

He walked away, a hole burning through his chest as a dizzying feeling set in. He was supposed to visit his mom on Saturday, he hadn’t seen her in a while and her lucidity was deteriorating like his self-image. He had a finite amount of time with her but he couldn’t let Penelope down, it was his job to make everyone happy— at least that’s what he thought.

…

“Come in! Come in!”

“Hey, Penelope.”

She ushered him in, handing him a drink and spitting out a list of things that the both of them had to do. He was in a solemn mood, missing his mother and time to himself, but he knew he had to help to make her happy.

Once they finished, she immediately began filling him up with food.

“So,” she munched her taquito and took a sip of her water, “Did you have any plans this weekend besides being here?”

He scratched the back of his neck, awkwardly pressing his lips together. “Oh. I um, I was going to visit my mom today since Saturday is the only day on the weekend that the facility allows visitors.”

“What?”

“M- my mom, you know. She’s in a mental facility and I-”

“You skipped visiting your mom to help me?”

“W- well you said you needed help so I-”

She dropped her food on the plate, wiping her hand and walked up to the man across from her. Penelope placed her hands on his cheeks and squished them together to grab his attention.

“My sweet Spencer, why did you waste something as precious as time with your mother for something as trivial as this?”

“You said you needed help?”

“You could have said no.”

He looked away, a warming feeling in his heart. “I- I didn’t want to let you down, Penelope. You’ve been there for me and I wanted to be there for you.”

She took him in her arms and rubbed his back comfortingly, hearing small hiccups coming from someone she considered to be family, her little brother.

“You could never let me down, Spencer. I would have understood why you couldn’t help, saying no is okay to do. You’re not disappointing me at all, that could never happen. Understand?”

His mop of curls entangled in her blonde hair as he nodded, tears dripping down from his face. She let go of him, packing up her purse and grabbing her keys.

“W- wait, where are you going?” He wiped the tears from his eyes.

“The facility closes at 7:30, correct?�� He nodded.

“I’m taking you to see your mom.”

“B- but what about the party?”

“Screw the party. You are much more important than some silly event that I can always reschedule. Now, come on.”

Suppressing Emotion

Emily looked around, a smile wide on her face as she looked around for Spencer. The team had just solved a case at record time and they were about to celebrate before their genius had completely disappeared.

She opened the doors to different offices while on her search for him. She was stopped by sounds of hyperventilation coming from an empty office down the hall.

Emily walked towards the source of the and poked her head in, finding the one and only Spencer Reid breathing into a paper bag underneath the table.

His legs were curled up in an uncomfortable position as his tears stained the brown paper.

“Spencer?” She kept her voice quiet, afraid that she’d overload his senses.

He looked up at her with glassy eyes, completely terrified that his colleague had to see him in such an unprofessional state.

“C- can I sit with you?”

He waited a moment before nodding slowly. She crawled under the table and sat with him as he continued to cry and try to steady his breathing.

He leaned onto her shoulder as she opened her arms out for him. He snuggled into her shoulder and cried away the pent-up emotion.

“I- I don’t want to go out today.”

“That’s alright, Spence. You don’t have to.”

“Th- they reminded me of Tobias, and I know I should be mad at them but I- I can’t. I can’t help but feel anything but pity, I- I pity a serial killer.”

“Spenc-”

“They remind me of myself, Emily. I could’ve been them if I didn’t have my mom and sh- she’s slowly forgetting me. Sh- she won’t be able to remember me in the next few years, what will I do without her?”

She looked over at the sniffling man beside her. “What’s going on with your mom if you don’t mind me asking?”

“The doctors told me that she’s becoming less and less lucid. At some point, her memory is going to deteriorate and she won’t even be able to recall her own name, let alone me.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone, Spencer? I- we could’ve helped.”

He fiddled with the paper bag, the tightness in his chest dissipating as soon as he confided in his friend. “I didn’t want to burden you.”

“You are never a burden,” she lifted his face so he could look at her eyes and realize that she meant it genuinely, “Do you hear me?”

He nodded. “Good.”

He laid back down on her shoulder, her arms wrapping around the person who no longer felt worthy of support.

Incessant Apologies

“Sorry.”

Luke looked up from his paperwork. “For what?”

Spencer met his eyes, biting his lip. “I- I must be boring you.”

“By talking?”

“Rambling. People don’t like it when I ramble.”

Luke could see the small boy inside him excited to share everything he learned with the people around him, only to be shut down by every single person.

“I don’t know who the people you’re talking about are, but if I did I’d smack ‘em senseless.”

“N- no. I understand what they mean. I know it’s not very fun to have someone constantly talking, I’m sure if I was normal I’d feel the same way.”

Luke got up from his chair, startling the man sitting across from his desk. He plopped onto the corner of his desk and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“No one is normal. Normal is a social construct. You have nothing to feel sorry for.”

“B- but I know that me talking all the time is a hassle and I do other weird things like reading fast and-”

“That’s not weird, that’s you being you. Don’t apologize for being yourself… ever.”

He nodded, giving Luke a smile as he ruffled Spencer’s hair.

Stuck in the Past

“What’re you thinking about, Reid?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing important really.” Tara handed him a coffee, he thanked her and took a sip.

“Would this have something to do with the unsub?”

He shook his head. “No.”

“It’s not your fault that he killed them.” She leaned back, assessing his body language. He was doing his usual tics, lip biting and pulling at his fingers— nervous.

“It is.”

“It’s no one’s fault, except for the unsub. There’s nothing you could have done.”

“I could’ve persuaded him more, been more convincing when talking him down. There are a million possibilities of the things I could have done to save her. I’ve just left a mother and father childless.”

She reached her hand over to calm his shakiness. “You’re right, there are a plethora of possibilities but neither of us will ever know. What’s done is done, at the end of the day— you did your best.”

“I don’t think so. This has happened before, Tara. You haven’t been here as long as I have so you don’t know how many times I failed to save them. All their names, I remember them. I wasn’t even convincing enough to save my girlfr-... friend.”

“Were you intentionally slacking, were you trying to get them killed?”

“No.”

“Then there was nothing you could’ve done for this case and all the other ones.”

“I could have tried harder, I could have taken off my kevlar to show them I wasn’t a threat, I could’ve dropped my gun, I could have-”

“Stop, Spencer. Don’t get caught up in the little things. You can’t change your past or your mistakes, just learn from them.”

Denying Praise

“Damn, man. We couldn’t have done it without you.” Luke wrapped an arm around Spencer’s shoulder as JJ walked up to him and patted his arm.

“We really wouldn’t have been able to solve that if it weren’t for you, Spence.”

“Really, we all helped. I- it’s not a big deal.”

“You figured the whole thing out by yourself, take the win.”

He nodded, but he couldn’t help but feel that he was given too much credit for what he considered a minimal contribution on his part. He said his goodbyes and walked away, rubbing his arms and slinking down into the leather seat of his car.

He shook his head, telling himself that he didn’t deserve the words of pride from his colleagues. A menial insight wasn’t worth anything but a small pat on the back, especially since he had the help of the entire team.

It was unfair to attribute their whole ‘win’ to him.

The denial was nothing new, it had started to manifest himself as his deteriorating self-image began. He’d brush off the comments that congratulated him on new achievements or anything notable he had done.

Spencer never thought the praise was justifiable for a man like him, a darkened image of the person he used to be in his youth. The shiny, naive demeanor was long gone as time passed, a cynical view of the world settling over him as he aged.

He wasn’t worthy of praise, he never thought he’d be.

Assuming the Worst

You first noticed him watching you from afar the fourth time you entered the shop. He sat in the corner, sipping his coffee and nonchalantly watching you with his eyes distracted from the book he opened in front of him.

You smiled in his direction once or twice but they were never returned which discouraged you. He continued looking at you and you continued catching him in the act.

His glances didn’t go unnoticed every time you stopped in front of the register right next to his usual table. You intentionally bit your lip or looked his way quickly to elicit a reaction from him, but it never worked.

Your frustration got the better of you as you discontinued your frequent trips to your favorite place to get coffee. You were craving their drinks and couldn’t help but return after a two and a half month break from visiting.

You swung the door open, the bell on the door ringing as a familiar pair of eyes flicked up to look at you. He was still there, still as handsome and stunning as he was before, and still frustratingly silent.

He had never been to the little café before he saw you and made it a habit to visit every day in the morning to catch a glimpse of you before heading to work. You eventually stopped coming but he always made a stop at the same place just in case you did. He held out hope for you.

He smiled to himself, wondering why you left and debating if he should approach you. He decided against it, he couldn’t rope you into his messy life.

A waitress came over and handed him a blueberry muffin, his favorite.

“I- I’m sorry. Excuse me? I um, I didn’t order this.”

She smiled and handed him a piece of paper. “That woman from earlier did.”

He thanked her and unfolded it revealing a note that he had never experienced in real life, a note that he only imagined in the cheesy teen rom coms he and his mother watched to pass the time.

Do you like me?

☐ yes ☐ no

If you checked yes, see you tomorrow! ;)

He did see you the next day, gathering enough courage that he found scattered in little niches inside him. He began talking to you, testing the waters before handing you the piece of paper you had sent him yesterday with the first box checked.

You giggled and asked him out on a date, knowing full well the obstacles ahead of you.

Every single day for Spencer was a struggle, contradicting himself and questioning everything he did when it came to you. He would always second-guess himself, spending well over an hour picking the ‘perfect’ flowers or dinner or movie or gift or book.

You eased his worries and slowly healed the wounds that he was left to deal with alone.

He’d fall apart over the littlest things, repeating a negative mantra that replayed on an endless loop in his mind: ‘she’s going to leave me’.

It took time for you to work past all the trauma he had, discovering new scars and old fractures in his heart. You loved him, but he never thought he was worthy of something so special as your affection.

His self-loathing was mended with your help, the two of you taping and gluing him back together into one piece to the best of your abilities. Spencer still had times of struggle but he knew you’d always be there for him.

—————————————-

Over the years, his love for the simple things diminished. His pair of converse metaphorically symbolized his life before the trauma was buried beneath the self-hatred.

His childish ways and youthful innocence were swept away by the bubbling anxiety inside him. He deserved to know that he had the right to be that bright and shiny boy again, the boy that knew he was going to conquer whatever life threw at him… with a pair of converse and mismatched socks on his feet.

Plain old brown dress shoes were his go-to, his feet wrapped in plain black socks. He thought they were mundane but fitting for the sanitized life he lived.

Spencer opened the door and sighed, placing his bag on the ground.

“Y/N? What’s this?”

You waved him over and patted the seat right next to you. He settled on the couch and leaned his head onto yours, yawning. You opened your arms to him and kissed his cheek gently as he scrunched his nose at the affection.

“I thought I’d get you some gifts to kinda celebrate our milestone of moving in together.”

“Mmm. I can think of something much better than opening gifts to celebrate,” he whispered into your ear.

“Hint: it happens in the bedroom.” You pushed him off as his breath tickled your ear.

“Spencer,” you giggled.

“No, no, scratch that. We could christen every room here, that is a much better idea.”

You smiled as he bombarded you with little kisses to your face. “Alright, alright. We can do that after you open these.”

You shove the wrapped boxes into his hands and waited eagerly for him to open it anxiously. He smiled and unwrapped each one, revealing a plethora of converse boxes each with a different colored pair of high-tops inside.

He opened the bag and pulled out his mismatched socks that were stuffed away in his closet along with a few new pairs.

“I found this,” you opened the dusty shoebox, “And I thought that you needed a new pair… or a couple.”

“Y/N. I-”

“I kind of went overboard and just bought one of every color and these really cool dinosaur ones too. Your socks had holes in them so I thought I’d sew them back up and make them all brand new for you. I picked these out for you, some new ones that you could add to your collection with the old ones you had.”

You fidgeted with your fingers. “D- do you like them?”

“I-” he looked up at you as tears stung his eyes, “I love them.”

“Spencer-”

He flung himself onto you and wrapped his arms around you tightly. “I love you.”

A content smile settled onto your face. “I love you too.” A comfortable silence loomed over the both of you as you relished in each other’s warm embrace.

You teased him, ruffling his hair with your hands, “Still wanna christen every room in our apartment?”

“I think all the crying and snotty stuff I left on your shirt ruined the mood.”

“You never ruin the mood, love.”

“Well, now I have some new lucky mismatched socks to make sure I never do.”

“Mhm,” you rubbed his back soothingly.

“Are you really going to wear these to work? I didn’t know if you’d like them since all you wear are dress shoes now.”

“I will wear them every second of every minute of every hour of every day.”

You giggled, “Not every second, Spence. You’re not bringing those to bed.”

He wiggled his eyebrows at you, lifting you up and grabbing a pair of shoes with him. “I absolutely will.”

“They’ve seen it all, might as well see this too.” He threw you on the bed and attacked you with kisses as the two of your laughs reverberated through the rooms of your home, marking another occasion where Spencer found himself again.

—————————————-

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#okay but your description of Spencer #I love it #they way you portrayed the insecurities is just amazing #what do I have to do to give Spence a hug?#like is that too much to ask for?#anyways y’all need to read this fic #it’s simply beautiful #rbc recs #rbc recommends #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid self insert #spencer x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction

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sinfulspencer · 3 years ago

Text

The Black Dahlia

Prompt: Spencer is desperate to find Reader after her escape from prison, but there’s a problem: his team is also hunting her down.

Read part one and two before this.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Rating: mature (18+, minors DNI)

Warnings: murder, death, blood, violence, the Black Dahlia case

Words: 8.1k

A.N.: I fell in love with Daisy and her character, so I decided to let her live a little longer and create another short series for her and Spencer. I felt like their story wasn’t finished.

Reminder: Reader is a serial killer. There’s nothing romantic in what she’s doing, so please, do not romanticize her character or defend her from her actions. She needs to be held accountable for her manipulative and murderous behaviour, end of the story.

Keep in mind that this is a fanfiction: I do not condone the actions of the characters, nor I support them – and I certainly do not encourage such actions.

Stay safe! x

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“Spencer, we have a problem.”

Jennifer’s distress is obvious: she’s biting one side of her bottom lip, she’s fidgeting with her hands and she’s walking a little too quickly than usual. Spencer already knows what’s going to happen and what Emily is going to talk about to the rest of the team, but he has to appear calm.

Spencer can’t let them know that he already knows what has happened.

“What’s going on?”

Luke’s alarmed voice brings Spencer back to Earth.

Penelope leaves her octopus mug on Tara’s desk, as the whole team heads to the conference room. Spencer is not sure if he should follow his colleagues because he doesn’t want them to understand what’s wrong with him, but he knows he can’t stay behind.

He has to be with them, he has to act surprised – or scared.

David closes the door, silencing every other sound coming from the floor.

“Y/N Y/L/N escaped.”

Penelope gasps, covering her mouth. Jennifer runs her fingers through her hair. Luke almost drops his jacket on the floor and Tara looks distressed, just like Emily.

Spencer knows they’re all worried because you might target the team, but he knows you. They’re not your target, you don’t want to hurt federal agents – it would be stupid, because then your prison sentence would last for the rest of your life and even more. Spencer knows you just want to get back to your job, you want to clear the streets of the US from criminals, but...

Ethically, the FBI can’t let you do that. They have to bring you to justice, they need to lock you up so you don’t hurt any other person – as disgusting as a criminal they might be, you’re not the law. You’re just someone who pretends to be the law.

“How is that possible? She was in a maximum security prison.” Luke says

Spencer sits down on one of the chairs, watching Penelope pull a picture of you up on the screen behind Emily. It’s your mugshot and you look incredibly beautiful, with that usual cocky smirk on your pretty lips and those adorable bright eyes staring back at the camera. The same eyes that were looking at Spencer with hope, with love, with devotion. The same eyes that told him how much you cared for him while you were using him to get off, pulling his hair and pushing his face down between your legs.

If Spencer focuses hard enough, he can still feel your taste on his tongue. He can still feel your hands tearing his shirt, scratching his shoulders and his chest. He can still feel your breasts brushing against his torso, your mouth all over his neck, your tight wetness clenching hard around him and dragging him with you down to that pleasure he can’t forget.

Even though his team doesn’t really know what happened between you and Spencer, they had a feeling that something made him a little more resistant during his task. Jennifer and Emily had long conversations about you and him the same night Spencer arrested you. They knew that look in his eyes, that sparkle that almost brought him to the point of not wanting to arrest you.

But then he did, brushing all of their doubts away.

Spencer Reid is a good agent. He couldn’t let his team down.

No matter how much he cared for you, no matter how hard he loved you in those moments, he’s not a psychopath like you. He was just a man attracted to a very dangerous woman that deserved to be locked up, to receive a sentence that would’ve forced her into a prison.

“How did she escape?” Penelope asks, her voice groggy

David’s gaze is fixed on Spencer, trying to detect a sign of him lying about this situation. He knows that Spencer couldn’t have helped her escape from that prison, the guards would’ve ratted him out before even thinking about doing anything else, but David is convinced Spencer knows something.

“We have no idea. Agent Tyler hasn’t given us a full explanation yet. We’re waiting for the footage from three days ago, when an inmate saw Y/N talk to one of the guards and touch him.” - Emily explains, shaking her head - “We have our theory.”

Tara leans back on her chair, staring at your picture behind Penelope. “She seduces and manipulates men into giving her what she wants. I wouldn't be surprised if she slept with all the guards inside that prison.”

Spencer feels something at the pit of his stomach and a hard tug on his heart. The idea of you sleeping with someone else after allowing Spencer to take you, to own you, to mark you so deeply and so intimately, drives him crazy with jealousy and anger.

Spencer knows he has no right to be jealous. He’s not your boyfriend. He was just a pawn for your schemes, but he felt like he was something more for you. In those last moments with you, he could feel your heart beating faster, your eyes telling him something that you could never say out loud.

Maybe he was wrong, but his profiling skills are not rusty.

You would never sleep with other men, unless it’s for your own safety, your own agenda, which is why it’s likely possible you slept with them. You didn’t want them the same way you wanted Spencer, but it was clear you must’ve used your body to your own advantage again.

Spencer and his team know exactly how desperate you are to act like God, to let people know how invincible and powerful you are. And escaping from a maximum security prison is definitely the kick of adrenaline you were looking for, another one of your goals to reach before someone stops you for good.

“Spencer, has she tried to contact you?” Emily asks

Shaking his head with no hesitation, Spencer looks at JJ then at Emily. He knows that the two of them have talked and discussed for a long time before deciding he was the one to complete the task. They knew he was going to be perfect for the job and he was, but they didn’t think he might have gotten a little too attached to you.

They didn’t plan that well.

Another one of your virtues. You plan ahead.

“No, she hasn’t. I wanted to book a meeting with her a few months ago, but Agent Parker told me I wasn’t on her list of visitors.” - Spencer explains, crossing his arms to his chest - “Luke knows that.”

Luke nods his head, glancing at his colleague and then at his Unit Chief.

Spencer can see JJ is surprised by his words, but he was as well. He wasn’t expecting you not asking for him, not wanting to see him, but at the same time he understood the reason behind your annoyance.

The pain of someone betraying you and the anger were too high in your body. Maybe it was better for Spencer not to see you and be with you at the time, because he didn’t know what you were thinking.

What if you had planned to hurt him?

Spencer would’ve understood, he even would’ve let you destroy him.

After all, it’s his fault you got locked up for eight months in a facility that forced you into solitary confinement. You weren’t allowed to have contact with anybody outside your list of visitors - a list that was completely empty, because you didn’t want to see anyone. You wanted to be alone, probably to plan all of this.

Spencer remembers what you told him after your little escapade with him in the van.

“Remember, Agent Reid: it’s always better to work alone rather than with a bunch of incompetent idiots who think they’re better than you or treat you like you’re made of glass.”

That sentence was one of his many awakenings during his four days with you. Those words sparked something in his heart: his team has always tried to protect him ever since Emily’s departure years ago, ever since Maeve died, ever since prison, ever since Cat Adams.

And now that he has spent a long time - only four days - with a serial killer, they always keep an eye on him. They’re observing him, studying each one of his moves because they want to be ready for when Spencer is going to break down - but he won’t, he knows he won’t.

You are everything he wants, no matter how dangerous and sick you are.

“Has she ever sent you a letter? Something?”

Annoyed by JJ’s implication, Spencer turns to look at her. He keeps his body language calm, he doesn’t want anybody to see that her question bothered him and alarmed him at the same time. Why did JJ ask him if you’ve ever sent him a letter? Does she know about the note?

“No. I was waiting for her to contact me after her initial sentence, to threaten me after what I’ve done, but she didn’t.” - Spencer replies, turning to look at your picture and melting inside - “She’ll definitely do something to me if she finds out where I live or where I work. I don’t think she’ll target you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Emily exchanges glances with Penelope, then Tara.

“Well, she already knows who you work for and with. I wouldn’t be surprised if one day we find her right here, sitting on your desk with your coat on her shoulders.”

Spencer is affected by those words, but he doesn’t let the others see that.

“I think it’s better if you moved here for a few days, Spencer, or until we gather enough information on her and how she escaped.” – Emily announces, crossing her arms to her chest – “JJ, Luke, we’ll make sure to send protection to both your apartments and your loved ones. We can’t risk her wanting revenge on either of you.”

Spencer doesn’t know if it’s a good thing for him to stay here. If your little hands reached inside his apartment, he knows you’d be able to get inside this building in the blink of an eye. Would he be more safe at home or here? He can’t be safe when you’re around.

He knows that.

However, Spencer needs to see you. He’s desperate to touch you again, to have you in his arms again, but the rest of his team can’t know about it.

Luke, Emily and JJ already suspect something.

If he begs you to find him, you will – and how is he going to keep it a secret? His colleagues and his friends would notice that, they’re not stupid. They’re good profilers, they’d figure out something’s wrong.

“Spencer?”

The young doctor shakes his head, fixing his jacket. “I’m fine, Jennifer. I’m just..”

“Worried? I understand.” – she whispers, watching the rest of his colleagues head out of the conference room – “We’ll get to her before she can find you. I promise you that.”

Spencer wants to laugh because you already found him. You’re not going to let him go so easily. The spring has come and Spencer feels this intense pull towards you. It’s inevitable, you’ve cast a spell on him and his heart without the others knowing, and now he’s trapped in this web you’ve created.

You wanted to scare him with those flowers and you did.

But what are your plans now? Are you going to taunt him? Are you going to show up and beg him to help you find a way to get out of the US? Are you going to ask Spencer to run away with you again?

He has no idea.

He got into your head when he caught you, but now he doesn’t know what to do. He has lost the advantage of getting into your head when you've gotten into his heart.

He thought it would’ve been enough to kill your father, but it wasn’t.

Emily sends Spencer home right after that discussion. He needs to clear his head, gather all of his stuff and then get back to the Headquarters, his new apartment for at least a few days. Spencer knows it’s probably going to be his place for more than that, he knows that you can reach into his home whenever you want – because you found him again.

Spencer is not surprised. And he thinks he might be already caught in your web all over again.

“Do you need some help?” Luke asks

Spencer opens the door of his apartment, shaking his head. “No. I can do it on my own, just wait here.”

His colleague remains quiet, standing in the hallway with his back pressed to the wall behind him while Spencer gets inside his apartment to grab all the necessities. Luke has noticed how stiff Spencer has been since this morning and there’s something bothering him.

At first he thought it was the news of you escaping prison. It’s not the first time a serial killer targets the BAU, or Spencer in particular, and escapes prison, but it’s definitely the first time that a serial killer Spencer spent four days with has gotten away. A serial killer that did something to the young doctor, something that Spencer doesn’t want to tell anyone.

Luke doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not.

Either way, he’s going to help Spencer get away from you – he’s determined to put you behind bars, no matter what it takes. You were supposed to spend the rest of your existence behind bars, stuck in a prison where you don’t get many privileges – and it’s absurd that somehow, you managed to escape.

Escape how?

When Tara assumed you slept with all the guards inside that prison, Spencer seemed annoyed – almost angry at her sentence, but he quickly recovered. He twitched his nose and put on the calmest expression on his face, but that change in behaviour didn’t escape Luke and Jennifer’s attention.

That’s how they knew something was up with Spencer.

They didn’t have any proof though. Spencer was silent, he looked like a salt statue – and nothing was going to come out of his mouth, unless he was forced to speak. Which is why JJ begged Luke to follow Spencer home and see if something happens, if Spencer gives in and talks.

He’s the key to finding you.

Spencer closes the door of his apartment behind his back, walking into the living room and grabbing a backpack already filled with toiletries, a few change of clothes for the next few days and books to read. He doesn’t know if he’ll be able to get back to reading, because he hasn’t read a single book ever since you taunted him with those flowers in his living room. His mind is too busy thinking about you to focus on anything else.

He doesn’t know what’s going to happen and a part of him is terrified, because you’re unpredictable and terribly dangerous. Are you going to hurt Jennifer because of how she treated you? Are you going to hurt Luke because he pulled Spencer away from you when you got arrested? Are you going to hurt Spencer, despite what happened between you two?

Sighing, Spencer glances out of the window to look at the dark sky. The morning started with a clear blue sky with no clouds in sight, and now everything has turned black – just like his mood. This is your fault, Spencer knows it, but he can’t be mad at you.

You just want him close to you.

Spencer furrows his brows when a strong scent of flowers hits him. His eyes scan the windowsill right in front of him and when Spencer sees it, his heart drops down in his chest.

Again.

After a week, you’re back.

There’s a black dahlia on his windowsill.

“Daisy...” – Spencer whispers, grabbing the delicate burgundy flower and lifting it up to his nose to breathe in the soft scent – “Where are you?”

Another week later, Luke is grabbing a coffee with JJ. They’re in the break-room of the BAU, waiting for the rest of the team to come in and start their day.

They don’t have leads on where you could possibly be and Spencer, each day more scared than the other, can’t seem to be able to focus on anything for more than four seconds. Emily and Penelope are worried about him, always asking him if he wants to go home and stay there for a few days just to see if he can feel better, but he always rejects them.

He has to, or they might find those burgundy flowers all over the floor of his place.

Spencer can’t let them know you’ve found him so quickly, that he knew about your escape even before it made it to the FBI. It’d be dangerous for them and for you, especially because he doesn’t have a clue how you would react if he tells the team you tried to contact him.

They’d get mad at him for not telling them sooner about the threat, but you’d react even worse because this is all about you and him. Just you and him, no one else. No one else matters.

They’d probably think you want to hurt him, when you clearly don’t.

Or at least, that’s what Spencer assumes.

If you want someone dead, you kill them yourself.

“There’s something wrong with Spencer.”

JJ fills her navy blue cup with coffee, sighing at Luke’s insinuation. “I know, he hasn’t talked to me in days. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I think he’s scared of what could happen if Y/N finds him.” – Luke explains, unsure of his own words – “I would be too, that woman is dangerous.”

“Do you think she wants to kill him?”

The young man shakes his head, sitting down on the couch with his coffee. “No. She would have contacted him or threatened him in some way, but she hasn’t. Maybe she doesn’t care about him or us, maybe she has her own agenda.”

“That’s for sure, Luke.” – JJ says, sitting beside him – “Do you remember when we arrested her? The way she looked at Spencer?”

Luke scoffs, lowering his eyes. “Do you remember how he looked at her?”

JJ leans back against the couch, taking a sip of her coffee.

There’s something bugging her but she can’t pinpoint what it is, unless she talks to Spencer – but he has made it clear that he’s not in the mood for that. Working on a case is stressful enough for him and even though he’s the key to understanding everything, Spencer doesn’t have anything else to say about you – or at least, he pretends not to.

Spencer distanced himself from JJ, but not from Luke. However, Luke tried to talk to him about you but Spencer shut him out, explaining that he’s not ready to talk about you outside of work. It seemed weird to Luke that Spencer Reid, considered a ‘workaholic’, didn’t want to complete another task, another case.

A case that involved him in the first place, a case that was quite personal to him – since he ended up being kidnapped by you and forced to stay with you, to watch you kill a man that was supposed to be safe and protected by the guards in that prison.

“Something must’ve happened during those four days they were together.”

“What are you thinking?”

Luke shrugs, tapping his finger over the edge of his mug. “I don’t know, but I can’t stop thinking about how they looked at each other before SWAT took her away. He was... sad.”

JJ is surprised. She was so focused on you that she barely looked at her best friend. “Sad?”

“I thought he regretted calling us or even taking the job, but then he switched completely and he seemed relieved. It was weird, JJ.” – he mumbles, lowering his voice when he notices Spencer walking past the break room – “I think we should talk to him again, he must know something.”

Agent Jareau goes quiet, taking another sip of coffee before placing the mug on the small table beside the couch. Luke’s words stroked something in her heart, some kind of memory she can’t quite recall from your and Spencer’s first meeting: you looked at him like he was a prey or worse, a prize; on the other hand, Spencer was scared of talking to you at first, but then he begged JJ to let him go, to leave him alone with you inside that room.

You were smarter than them, and kept your voice low enough so that JJ couldn’t hear you through the door. You didn’t want her to know what you and Spencer were talking about, how you were probably manipulating him into giving you what you wanted.

JJ believes in Spencer. She knows he’s a good agent and he would never ever make a deal with a serial killer without talking to Emily or one of the team members first.

“Maybe we’re speculating on nothing.” – JJ says, standing up from the couch – “Spencer would never allow a serial killer to escape.”

“Were you thinking he’s the one that helped her get out of prison?” – Luke asks, surprised by his colleague’s words – “He was never alone in the past two weeks. He has been here or with me the whole time.”

JJ shrugs, biting her bottom lip and grabbing her mug. “I’m trying to think about all the possibilities, Luke. We can’t underestimate Y/N, she can go to great lengths to get what she wants.”

“Yes, but we shouldn’t underestimate Spencer. It’s not easy to manipulate an FBI agent, especially a man like Spencer. He’s used to this, he knows psychopaths better than they know themselves.”

JJ knows what Luke is trying to say and she hates even suspecting of her best friend having a tie with a serial killer, but right now they have no leads, no suspects, no sightings of you ever since you escaped. It’s a difficult situation, a situation that makes her doubt her best friend and the rest of her colleagues.

Were she and Luke the only ones who noticed Spencer’s odd behaviour?

Emily warned JJ to let it go, that she was just worried about her treating him like a child. JJ knows that Emily isn’t completely wrong, but that didn’t stop her from worrying and babying him until he begged her to stop, to leave him alone and to only talk to him if she had found a lead or something.

That hurt her heart, but she didn’t let it show.

“I know Spencer has dealt with psychopaths before and he put them in their place, but he has lost himself in the process. We can’t deny that Cat left her mark on him, you know that, but at the same time we can’t be sure he hasn’t done anything with Y/N.” - JJ says, crossing her arms to her chest - “I don’t want to think he might be in love with her, but by the way he’s acting… I feel like something has happened. Something he doesn’t want to tell us.”

“They were in the car when we got to them.”

JJ furrows her brows. “Yes, I remember.”

“They looked dishevelled. His hair was a mess, he had marks on his neck and..”

“No.”

Luke releases a sigh. “I don’t want to assume they had sex, but...”

Agent Jareau shakes her head, covering her face. “They looked like they had. I forgot about those details, now you just made me remember them. Do you think they did?”

“I have no idea, honestly.” – Luke mumbles, tapping his thumb over the edge of his mug – “Look, what I’m saying is, she could’ve manipulated him. Or he did it to keep her quiet, to make her not suspect anything. Spencer had to pretend to be interested in her, or she would’ve killed him.”

“Or maybe they were running outside the prison. Y/N couldn’t stay in there that long or the guards would’ve noticed her bloody clothes.”

The other agent leaves his mug on the coffee table. “She had his jacket on.”

“That doesn’t mean anything, Luke.” – JJ says, her voice filled with agitation – “Maybe he gave it to her in order to hide her clothes. She had blood all over them, she couldn’t risk being seen like that or people would’ve suspected her.”

Luke knows JJ’s hypothesis makes better sense than the actual one roaming in his mind, but he can’t stop thinking that there might have been things that Spencer is hiding on purpose. What if he had sex with her? What if Spencer teamed up with her during those four days together?

“I don’t like where this is going.”

JJ releases a frustrated sigh, glancing at the door when Spencer walks past the break-room again with Penelope beside him, and turns back to Luke.

“I don’t like it either, but we need to keep an eye on him.”

For the rest of the day, JJ and Luke keep exchanging glances with each other. Luke has his desk right in front of Spencer and sometimes he would look at him, trying to understand what he’s doing - and how he’s doing, but Spencer seemed calm.

Incredibly calm for a man who has a serial killer on the run and looking for him.

Luke knows that Spencer is the kind of person that doesn’t really talk about his feelings and it’s okay, Luke respects that, but now it’s different. Spencer is the key to a whole investigation that could potentially put lots of lives at risk - including his own, Luke’s and JJ’s.

Should they really push Spencer to talk? What if they get the opposite reaction from him? What if he disappears or he does something drastic?

They can’t allow it. They certainly can’t allow you to kidnap Spencer again either; they know it can happen, because it already happened once.

“Luke?”

Luke presses the button for the elevator. “Hey Reid. Are you going home for the night?”

The young doctor nods, fixing his tie. “Yes, I can’t handle being here for another night. Penelope will stay with me for the evening, she wants to keep me company.”

“That’s good, it’s been quite some time since you hung out with her.” - Luke says, stepping inside the elevator - “If you want my company, just give me a call.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it.” - Spencer tells his colleague, tightening his grip on the leather satchel - “I know I’ve been difficult to deal with in the last few days and I apologize, but… I really don’t know how to feel.”

Surprised by Spencer’s sudden wanting to open up, Luke turns around and looks at him. He’s tempted to stop the elevator for a few minutes, just to talk things out, but after Spencer’s experience with Derek years before, maybe it’s better if the elevator keeps going.

“Do you want to go out for a drink? Before Penelope arrives?”

Spencer shrugs. “No, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I’m free right now.” - Luke insists, not wanting to let go of this moment - “I really want to help you, brother. It pains me to see you like this, because I can’t even imagine how scary and frustrating it is.”

Scary?

This situation is not scary. Spencer is not afraid of you, he trusts you. He’s just frustrated because you keep taunting him with those fucking flowers instead of just showing up, in flesh and bones.

Spencer is desperate to see you. He wants to have a conversation with you and apologize for what he has done to you, but he can’t. He doesn’t know where you are, he doesn’t know if you are okay - you must be, since you’re on the run and not locked up, but.

“This is not the first time I have to deal with a psychopath obsessed with me, but it's a completely different situation from Cat’s.” – Spencer says, surprising Luke once again – “I hope someone can give us a lead on how to find her, or at least understand where to look for her.”

“Do you think she’s here in Quantico?”

Spencer shrugs, lowering his eyes. “It’s unlikely. If she was here, she would’ve tried to get me.”

She did, but Luke doesn’t know that – and he won’t know about it until Spencer, or Daisy, decide to reveal it.

The elevator’s doors open and the two agents walk out, heading for the parking lot. Spencer is silent and follows Luke with his head down low, not wanting to talk about you with him – he hates lying to Luke, his closest friend in the team now, but Luke would never understand Spencer’s feelings for you.

It’s already difficult to deal with them on his own.

“What happened in those four days with her, Spencer?”

Luke’s question forces Spencer to stop walking.

“Why do you want to know?”

‘He’s defensive’, Luke thinks.

“Maybe that could be a start.” – Luke continues, hoping not to have bothered the young doctor – “I know it’s painful to remember and you might want to stuff all those memories in the back of your head, but it could really help us. I understand if you don’t want to tell me anything, but if you feel like there’s something helpful... Please. Let me know.”

Spencer stays silent for a few seconds, meditating whether to speak or not.

Should he tell Luke that he had sex with you? Should he tell Luke that you put him on his knees and called him a slut while he ate you out? Should he tell Luke how hard you kissed him while your father was dying on the other side of the interrogation room?

Should he tell Luke that you slept in the same bed as him, with his arms tightly wrapped around your body? How you clung to him at night and whispered how much you liked being with him, with a person worthy of your time?

Luke wouldn’t understand.

“She didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“She didn’t?”

“No, I’m not one of her targets.” – Spencer replies, proceeding to walk towards his car – “She had to keep me alive so she could rent a car and have someone cover for her whenever she had to go out to run her errands.”

Luke widens his eyes, following him. “Out? Where did she go?”

“Daisy didn’t tell me.” – Spencer mumbles, quickly clearing his throat and correcting himself – “Sorry, I meant Y/N. Y/N left me alone for hours in that house, but she never told me anything. She probably didn’t want me to rat her out like Richard did.”

Spencer hopes that Luke didn’t hear him calling you ‘Daisy’, but unfortunately for him, Luke did.

It was too obvious, Spencer didn’t think before talking. He made the first mistake.

“Were you tied somewhere?”

The young doctor pulls his keys from his pocket, opening the car door. “No, but she locked me inside the room each time she had to leave. I didn’t question her, I didn’t want her to get mad. She gets scary when she’s mad. I’m sure you saw her father’s body.”

Luke crosses his arms to his chest. “Yes. I don’t know how he managed to survive.”

Silence falls between them.

“Wait. What?”

“You don’t know? I thought JJ told you months ago.”

Spencer shakes his head, leaving his leather satchel in the backseats. “We haven’t talked in a while, she probably forgot to mention it or I forgot. How could he still be alive? She was...”

“I know, but that could be the reason why she escaped.” – Luke says, keeping his eyes on his colleague’s face the whole time – “I don’t think she’s after you, Spencer. I think she’s still after her father.”

The young doctor is not convinced. He will ask Emily once he’s home or talk to Penelope.

He truly didn’t know your father was still alive. Now your escape makes more sense. At the same time, it makes Spencer sad. If you’re out there just to get to your father, it means you don’t care about him – you don’t want to be with him, you want to use him again.

That’s not fair.

That’s sad.

And it breaks Spencer’s heart.

“You just made me feel better.” – Spencer says, lying through his teeth – “Thank you, Luke.”

Luke friendly taps him on the shoulder, giving him a smile. “Don’t mention it, Reid.”

The black Dahlia stares at him.

Spencer knows that flowers don’t have eyes, but it feels like this one has them. He knows it’s just a thought that you put in his brain, because those flowers mean that you’re following him or at least spying on him, but he hates them.

They’re beautiful flowers, with their dark burgundy petals and that peculiar annoying scent.

Their meaning due to the colour is negative.

Betrayal, murder, mourning, death.

Spencer knows that he betrayed you. He had to do it because he promised his team he would get you to confess - and he did, but he lost you in the process. Or maybe not, maybe he actually got you wrapped so tightly around his finger that you would’ve found your way out of prison even without knowing that your father is still alive.

How is that possible? How is he still breathing?

Spencer saw him heaving, gasping for air. How did the guards find him before he could take his last breath? How were they so quick, but couldn’t get to you or Spencer?

His team must have had something to do with all of this.

Why did they lie to him? Why didn’t they tell him sooner?

Spencer puts the new flower in the colourful vase on the windowsill with all the others. There are seven black Dahlias there now. Spencer wonders how many more flowers he’ll receive before he gets to see you again, or if the flower will change once you’ve found your path back to him.

Sighing, Spencer heads to his bedroom and turns on the lights. He strips off all his clothes and lays on the bed, staring at the ceiling with his hands behind his head. He can’t stop thinking about you, how you’re taunting him without even making him see you - is this your way of torturing him?

You know Spencer wants to see you, so why are you hiding?

Are you scared that he might rat you out again? Are you scared that the team might find out where you are before Spencer? Are you waiting for him to give you another sign? What are you doing in the dark?

There’s no point in hiding, Spencer knows that. He wishes you could know it too. If you only give him one more chance, if you only let him see you all over again… Spencer doesn’t mind if he gets just a quick glance, that’ll be enough for him.

He just needs to see his delicate Daisy and make sure you’re okay.

Spencer falls asleep at the thought of you, with the longing to see you not only in his dreams, but in reality as well.

“He bought it? Really?”

Luke nods, following JJ out of the elevator. “Yes. He seemed happy at first, but then he switched again and he seemed sad. There’s seriously something wrong with him.”

JJ clutches her bag. “Listen... This whole situation is weird. I don’t like lying to Spencer, this is not going to end well if he finds out.”

“It won’t end well for him either if he withholds information that could be essential for us and the case, Jennifer. You know it.” – her colleague says, looking around and making sure Spencer is not there yet – “We’re doing this because we care about him and we don’t want him to get hurt again.”

She remains quiet, entering the BAU floor with her head tilted upward. She knows Luke is right and she knows he hates lying to Spencer as much as her, but this is the only option they have for now – an option they can’t back away from, because Emily ordered them to push Spencer.

To lie to him and see his reaction, profile him.

It goes against every rule they set between friends.

Spencer has never profiled his team-mates because it was an unspoken rule between all of them, and now Luke and JJ both are betraying that trust.

But honestly, they’d do anything to keep you away from Spencer.

“If Spence thinks her father is alive, he’ll stop thinking about Y/N.” – JJ mumbles, placing her bag on her own desk before sitting down on the chair – “He needs to stop obsessing over her. He needs to believe she is not thinking about him.”

“Do you think he feels bad for ratting her out?”

JJ raises her brow at the question. “I don’t think so. He knew what he had to do, what was our original plan and he stuck to it.”

Luke hums, scratching his chin. “I know, but maybe he regretted everything in the end. I keep replaying in my head the way he looked at her at that moment. I can’t get it out.”

“Emily can’t know about this. She’d kick Spencer out of the team.”

“Don’t you think I don’t know that?” – Luke asks, huffing loudly at her insinuation – “Let’s just hope this case will take our minds off the whole situation. We need something else to focus on.”

The rest of the team joins Luke and JJ a few moments later. Spencer is the last one to arrive, with a satisfied expression on his face and a cup of coffee in his hands. He greets his colleagues with a huge smile, acting like he had slept for more than a few spare hours – JJ is happy to see him so relaxed, and she hopes it’s because of what Luke told him.

Easing Spencer’s mind off you is exactly what he needed.

Everyone notices Spencer’s chirpiness this morning, but they’re kind enough not to comment on it. They don’t want to make him uncomfortable or tease him for being happy, because that might turn against them – and they can’t have that, not when there’s a case that’s going to take them away from DC for a few days, or a few weeks.

“Where are we going this time?”

“Arlington, this case is a little too close to home for my tastes.” – Penelope announces, turning the computer screen behind her on – “Three women have been found for now: their names are Elizabeth Gregory, Beatrice Carpenter and Zoe Vaughn. Their bodies were mutilated, severed at the waist and drained of blood.”

Penelope doesn’t even look at the crime scene photos as she pulls them up so the rest of the team can look at them, trying to at least get a glimpse of how chaotic and messy they are.

Spencer leans forward, furrowing his brows and waiting for his colleague to continue.

“They were found in three separate parks. Their body parts were left on wooden benches inside those parks, on display for everyone to see.” – Penelope mutters, struggling to keep a straight face – “All three women were abducted in the early morning, right before they went to work.”

Emily proceeds for her. “They all worked as teachers: Zoe was a high school teacher; Beatrice worked at a kindergarten while Elizabeth was an elementary school teacher.”

“They all work with kids.” David intervenes

Spencer opens the file on the table, scrolling through the pages in silence.

“Wait, is there a scar around the victims’ mouths?” Luke chimes in

“I wish you didn’t say that, newbie.” – Penelope huffs, pulling up more photos from the crime scene – “The Glasgow smile, or whatever it is called.”

Spencer leans back against his chair. “Their faces have been slashed from the corners of their mouths to their ears, but there are cuts and bruises all over their bodies. This is definitely an overkill.”

Tara tilts her head, tapping her fingers on the table. “And they’re all displayed in the same way: with their hands over their heads, their elbows bent at right angles and their legs spread apart.”

As the rest of the team discusses how to proceed when they arrive in Arlington, Spencer is lost in his thoughts. He has seen that kind of overkill before in his life, or at least he has read about it before – but he can’t pinpoint when or where.

He has the answer on the tip of his tongue. His brain is turning its rods around as he grabs his go-bag, jumping into the black van with Luke and Emily. They’re driving while discussing the possible motives behind these murders, what the victims have in common besides their jobs – and if they are connected to each to her somehow.

Spencer feels like this case won’t take too much time, which means he’ll get to be home in time to find at least two flowers.

That’s when it hits him.

Mutilated body.

Young woman.

Glasgow smile.

What connects all of these aspects in a murder?

“The Black Dahlia.”

Emily looks at him through the rear view mirror. “The Black Dahlia?”

“Elizabeth Short, nicknamed ‘The Black Dahlia’. She was an aspiring actress who was murdered in Los Angeles back in 1947.” – Spencer explains, closing the file in his hands – “Her body was cut in half, her mouth was slashed up to her ears and she was positioned exactly in the same way as our victims.”

Luke finishes for him. “The murderer has never been found.”

“No, but there were many suspects.” – Spencer tells him, shaking his head and moving his fingers – “There wasn’t an official suspect, but the police are still working on the accusation moved by Steven Hodel against his own father, George Hill Hodel Junior. He was never formally charged with the crime, but his son found a lot of proof against his father. He was accused of another murder, but never charged with it. It’s likely that he was the murderer behind those two homicides.”

JJ can be heard through the phone. “Okay, but what has the Black Dahlia do with our murders? Do we think it’s the son recreating these crimes or a copycat?”

Spencer’s nose twitches at her question, finding it quite stupid.

You would’ve never asked something like that. You're smarter than her.

“Definitely a copycat. His son lives in Los Angeles with his partner. I don’t think he moved all the way from California to Washington just to carry his father’s legacy.”

Emily interrupts the conversation. “We’ll start building the profile from the victimology. Let’s hope Garcia finds a connection between these victims besides their jobs.”

It’s almost eight in the evening when the team heads back to the Hotel they’re staying for the night in. They’re all exhausted and ready to jump into bed to get some rest.

It wasn’t a productive day.

There’s no connection between the victims or anyone in their families. The crime scenes are immaculate because the killer didn’t murder those women in those parks. There’s no skin underneath the victims’ fingers, there are no particular signs on their bodies besides the cuts and the slashes a knife has created.

It feels like the team has been thrown back to 1947.

Emily doesn’t want to leave Arlington without catching the killer first.

“Get some rest, guys.” – Tara says, sliding the card of the room next to the locker – “I’ll see you all in the morning.”

“Goodnight Tara, goodnight Luke.”

Spencer twists the handle of his door and gets inside his bedroom, kicking his shoes off and unbuttoning his shirt. He’s incredibly tired and his feet are sore due to all the walking on those crime scenes.

He had to go to each one of those three parks with Luke and David to examine the crime scenes, making sure that the CSI hadn't missed anything.

All three women have been left next to trash cans. That's the only detail that struck something in the three men. Women left next to trash? It’s not such a difficult association to make and it was an association that twisted their stomachs in disgust, especially Spencer’s.

When he realised the crimes looked like The Black Dahlia murder he thought it was you. He was scared that you might have switched to other kinds of targets, maybe with a different agenda in your mind, but then he shook his head and moved on.

You’re a psychopath, you’re a black widow and you have a strong, deep, hatred for men similar to your father. Why would you start killing women, after your father survived your attack?

You stick to your patterns, you’re predictable in that sense.

But why does Spencer feel like you have something to do with this? He has no idea why if not for those flowers you keep leaving in his living room – on his desk, on his couch, on his table, on top of his telescope, on the windowsill.

It’s creepily adorable, your persistence in being a constant presence in his life.

But why that flower? Why that specific flower? What other meanings does it have?

Betrayal, mourning, death, murder.

Murder?

Are you trying to tell Spencer you’ve killed someone? If so, why are you not coming forward? Why are you staying in the dark if you need help?

Mourning?

Are you sad about being away from him? Are you scared to come closer because you know you will lose Spencer again? Are you mourning your inability to kill your father? Is that why you’re sad? Because your father is not dead by your own hands?

Death?

Spencer doesn’t know what to think, but he hopes to find out soon. Maybe when he comes back to DC he’ll find another flower with a note, or maybe he’ll find you sitting in his apartment – he’d love that.

Spencer misses you so much.

It’s been almost a month since you left the first black Dahlia in his apartment. It’s getting more and more difficult to hide those flowers from the rest of the team and he can’t keep them away from his place any longer, especially not now that he’s back at home.

Spencer turns the lights of the bedroom on, drops his phone on the floor and steps back from his bed in the middle of the room with fear booming through his exhausted body.

A black Dahlia lays on the mattress.

This time, it has a note attached to the stem.

You’re here. Again.

Are you following him? How did you know he was here?

What are you trying to tell him?

Spencer’s back hits the bedroom door as he stares in disbelief at the flower.

Should he call the others and tell them the truth? Should he be honest about everything that has been happening?

He brings both his hands to his head, massaging his temples with the tip of his fingers as he tries to understand what’s happening. Either you’re the one behind all of this, or you’re trying to send him a message without anyone knowing.

Spencer grabs the note and brings it up to his nose, inhaling the scent of paper. No garlic odour, which means the note is not tainted with poison. He always checks it, terrified that he might be your target.

He knows he’s not, but.

Unfolding the note, the black words catch his attention.

‘Bee, this is your chance to catch the killer and finish him.’

For me, is implied. You don’t have to tell him, Spencer knows what to do.

‘Catch him before he gets to me again. With undying love, your Dahlia.’

Again?

What do you mean by that? Has this man tried to hurt you before? Have you had any contact with him ever since you escaped prison? Why can’t you kill him yourself if he has hurt you?

Is this another test for him to prove to you his loyalty? It probably is.

You named yourself Dahlia. That’s another change he wasn’t expecting.

Spencer folds the note after re-reading your words for at least ten more times; then, he carefully picks up the flower, placing it on the nightstand next to the bed along with the note.

How is he going to explain to the team that you are connected to this murder without revealing that you've contacted him? How is he going to tell Emily that he lied about you not talking to him without her kicking him out of the team?

It’s tricky.

“Daisy…” - Spencer whispers, opening the window - “If you hear me, just know I’ll do anything to catch him. And if I can’t now, I’ll spend the rest of my life hunting him down.”

Please consider liking, reblogging, or commenting on the fic if you are on the taglist. Otherwise, you are essentially asking me to take an extra step to include you while offering me absolutely NOTHING in exchange, which is a pretty shitty feeling.

General Tag list: @getyoutmoon @bookishspencer @calm-and-doctor @nazifa94 @srhxpci @eevee0722 @reichelhache @aperrywilliams @escapingrealities @beepbooptoop @alfonsais @lil-stark @muffin-cup @allexthakatt @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @gyllord @winterwhore @sweetandsunny @sykesgublerboy @peterpanouat @softreidx @limerenze @gbaabyyyy @nomajdetective @doctorspenceryeet @hotchandspencearedilfs @matthewgraygublerwife @avocadopenguins @reidsmilf @bohemianrhapsody86 @joy-soul-gallery @floraltearsfalling @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @sweetandsunny @starrylang @void-m-stilinski @alexxavicry @addievermore @safespacespence

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut imagine #spencer reid fluff imagine #spencer reid angst imagine #the black dahlia

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