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prentissluvr · 1 year ago

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cariño — luke alvez

pairing : luke alvez x gn!bau!reader ➖⟢ genre : hurt/comfort, fluff ➖⟢ cw : car crash, mentions of blood and injuries, concussion, pet names (honey, sweetheart, cariño, baby), swearing, only light editing ➖⟢ wc : 3.6K ➖⟢ listen to : cariño by the marías summary : you get injured while chasing after an unsub, and luke is there to take care of you.

also i think i was subconsciously inspired by one of my fav luke fics concussed at the end lol so check that one out, too!!

adrenaline pumps through your veins the way it always does during a car chase. this one is entirely chaotic as you weave the large black suv through other innocent cars, trying to keep up with the unsub. luke is in the passenger's seat, feeding you updates and directions from garcia as you step on the gas.

“left up ahead!” luke instructs, and your hands grip the wheel tight as you yank it to the side last minute to avoid hitting traffic. the tires squeal, but you make the turn and find yourself on an open road, houses and office buildings quickly fading into trees. you can see the unsub’s car just as it rounds a corner in front of you, and you increase your speed without the danger of hitting a civilian’s car. for a moment, you’re glad because this makes your capture easier, then that exact thought spikes confusion and worry in your mind.

“why the hell’d he turn here?” you question through gritted teeth, “it would be harder for us to get to him if he kept on the busier roads.”

“shit,” luke curses in agreement, “garcia, what’s past the corner we’re about to round?”

there’s a moment of silence as you continue speeding down the road. “nothing!” comes penelope’s voice through luke’s phone.

“nothing?” he repeats to confirm.

“no, nothing, is there supposed to be something?” garcia asks, worry quickly seeping into her tone.

“we need to slow down,” luke dictates as you’re already easing up on the gas and preparing to step on the brakes. but the speed of the car makes almost no difference as you round the corner, eyes peeled and body tensed to react quickly to anything the unsub might throw your way. maybe he’s stopped the car in attempts to surprise you into breaking or swerving dangerously, likely waiting with a gun in hand to try and shoot you down.

what you don’t expect, what none of you could have expected at all, is the new car that comes barelling into the road, hidden by a driveway to the left, right after the curve.

luke shouts your name in warning, and with a glimpse of the dark grey vehicle in the corner of your eye, you slam back on the gas and swerve further left in hopes that the car catch the tail end of the suv and send the it spinning down the road, rather than t-bone you and send you off the side of the road.

you’re not quick enough, just about no one could be. the grey car was ready for you, and it hits the driver’s side with a sickening crunch before running you right off the road. the airbags inflate almost right on impact and the car lurches to a halt when it bends to the will of a tall, thick tree.

it happens beyond fast, all of it a blur of sharp pain and the mixed voices of luke’s exclaimations and penelope’s worried voice calling your names until there’s nothing at all.

—

when luke wakes, he can still hear penelope’s voice. it takes a long, groggy and painful moment for it to come into focus. he groans as he forces his eyes open.

“luke! luke, oh my god! are you there? can you hear me? luke, answer me, please,” her voice is completely panicked, and oddly far away. luke realizes his phone must have fallen to the ground in the crash. then he remembers there’s been a crash.

“garcia?” he croaks out, trying to sit up from where he’s awoken against the door to turn his pained neck, because the most important thing he remembers then is that you were driving.

“luke! thank god. oh my god. there’s an ambulance on the way. luke, are you okay? i can’t hear you well and where’s y/n? are they okay?” garcia is practically begging for good news as she rambles out questions to him.

“i’m fine,” he calls to her, lying, “concussion, probably. i’m checking on y/n right now.” he’s trying to sound calm for her sake, but he’s silently panicking because he hasn’t heard a sound from your side of the car. you probably took the brunt of the hit, too. he’s terrified of what he’ll see when he finally can get a decent look at you.

there’s blood dripping down your face, reflecting the sunlight seeping in through the broken car windows as it seeps past your closed eyelids. you’re knocked out cold, far colder than he was, and your head slumps against the deflated airbag on the steering wheel. you’re facing him, and he thinks that seeing you like this is his worst nightmare. but his head is starting to clear up, probably only momentarily, and though his whole body aches, he can tell that nothing’s broken. with ample effort, he reaches over to you, calling your name softly, then urgently as he presses his fingers to your pulse point. when he feels the weak throb of blood pumping through your veins, he heaves a sigh of relief.

“they’re alive,” he calls to garcia, “still knocked out,” he explains, the strain in his voice evident. “i need to focus on them, okay garcia? have you called emily?”

“i patched her in while you were still out, she’s on the way with jj and spence. do you promise you’re okay?” she’s still talking like she’s barely breathing.

“garcia, i need you to breathe while i try to wake them up, okay?” it’s taking all of luke’s control to stay calm for garcia as he struggles to be closer to you. he checks for breathing, then for any obvious injuries other than your head. then, he’s stroking the side of your face, so gentle as he calls out your name.

“okay, okay, i can do that,” comes garcia’s muffled voice, but luke’s already practically tuned her out. all he’s worried about is you, the way your face looks calm now, even covered in blood, and the way it’ll inevitably twist in pain when you wake. he keeps calling your name, but there’s no response. he’s too afraid to move you for fear of making any unseen injuries worse.

“garcia, how long for the ambulence?” he calls, panic beginning to seep into his voice.

“it’s three minutes out,” she responds, and if he weren’t so preoccupied with you, he’d be able to picture the fear in her face, the severe furrow of her eyebrows, maybe tears on her cheeks as she prays you’ll be okay. but all he sees is the way you’re stuck in your seat, trapped between the front of the car that hit you, its driver long gone by now, and the front dashboard that’s been pushed forward by the strength of the tree and collision.

the way he says your name is like the pleading of a desperate prayer. his shaky hand is still on the side of your face, the pad of his thumb brushing against your cheek.

“c’mon, honey. you gotta wake up.”

with that comes the first sign of life outside of your shallow breaths and weak heartbeat. your brows furrow slightly and a quiet groan escapes the back of your throat.

“hey, hey. that’s it, cariño, c’mon. can you hear me?” he begs. he gets another pained whimper and slight flutter of your eyelids, but your eyes still don’t open. “you’re okay, i’ve got you. you’re alright. wake up, y/n. come on, you got this.”

when your eyes finally flit open, everything’s blurry. you blink once, twice, as you try to focus on the voice that you think might be calling your name. it’s familiar, but sounds far away. then you groan and your face contorts in pain. everything hurts, bad.

“don’t try to move, okay?” those are the first words you catch and can put the meaning together, “you’re alright, the ambulence will be here soon. cariño, can you hear me?”

you try to say yes, but all you can get out is a strangled, “hmm.” luke. you want to say his name as his face comes into focus and you register his gentle hand on your face. the soft brush of his thumb and the gentle sound of his voice are comforting, even as the pain grows with every waking moment.

“that’s good, you’re doing so good,” he reassures. he hates the way your cheek and forehead are shoved uncomfortably against the steering wheel, so as carefully as he can, he maneuvers his other hand to cup your head so you can rest against him instead of the hard, unorgiving surface of the wheel. your face pinches in pain when he does so, but you relax a little once your cheek settles against the soft skin of his palm.

“there you go, that’s a little better, huh? can you see me?”

this time your hum is a little more intelligible as a clear, “mhmm.” you try to keep your eyes and senses focused on luke and his pretty, worried face, but it’s difficult when the pain is so ever present, digging into your ribs and hips and chest and legs and god, your head is pounding, spinning, stabbing, throbbing in pain. luke wants to cry himself when he feels your tears mix with your blood on his hands.

“shhh, you’re gonna be okay. i know it hurts, but the ambulance is almost here, baby,” his words are comforting, and you don’t want him to stop, but it only gets worse.

“luke,” you groan, unable to say much else to express how much pain you’re in and how much you need him to keep saying sweet things and calling you pretty names.

“yeah, i know, i know. ‘m right here, i got you. we’re gonna get you fixed up so soon. just stay with me, okay? ambulance’s almost here.”

“okay,” you agree breathily, but your eyes want to close and try to shut the pain out.

“no, no, stay awake, honey. i need you to stay awake, okay?” he repeats. “you hear that? that’s the ambulance, it’s almost here,” he assures you. sure enough, if you focus, you can hear the sirens as they get closer.

“okay. ‘m awake,” you mumble, pinching your eyebrows together in concentration and squeezing your eyes shut for just a moment before focusing your eyes back on luke’s concerned face.

“that’s good, there you go. don’t worry about anything else, i got you. you stay awake, and i’ll take care of the rest, alright?” his gaze leaves you for just a moment as the ambulance pulls up and the emts run out of the vehicle to help.

“yeah,” you respond, and he can feel your jaw clenching against his palm every time you hold back a little cry of pain. he hates it because it’s often, because even now, you’re acting strong for the sake of someone else.

then there’s a paramedic opening the door to the passengers side, requesting for him to get out and to the ambulance.

“not until you get them out,” luke protests, not even bothering to look away from you, “i’m staying with them.”

“sir, i’m sorry, but we need you to get out so we can reach them. that door isn’t going to open until we can move the other car, and we need to stabilize your friend as soon as possible,” the medic explains. luke holds back a curse and clenches his jaw in anger because he knows he needs to leave you, but would rather do anything but that.

“cariño, i have to get out so the medics can help you, but i’ll be back with you the second i can, okay?” he explains to you gently, already slipping his hands away from your head with all the care in the world.

you whine in protest, and though what he’s saying makes sense, you don’t want him to be away from you for even a moment.

“i know. i’m so sorry, but i’ll be right back, okay honey?” his heart is practically breaking as he pulls away from you and stumbles out of the car with the help of a medic. within seconds, another medic has crawled into the car, speaking comfortingly as she assesses the situation up close. and while you appreciate her gentleness, it’s not nearly as comforting as having luke. it’s a task, but the other medic gets luke to sit down on the side of the road a few feet away before climbing into the car from the back seat to help stabilize your neck and get you sitting upright in your seat.

luke wants to throw something or cry, or maybe both, when he hears your pained sounds coming from the car. more than anything, he wants to be near you to hold your hand, but he knows there’s not enough room for him and the medics to do their jobs.

when there’s nothing left for them to do until they can move you, they allow luke to climb back into the car and hold your hand from the back seat after checking him for severe injuries.

“hey, there. i’m back, sweetheart, just like i promised,” he says as he reaches over the console to curl his fingers around yours.

“mhmm,” you hum in relief, unable to really speak with the brace around your neck.

only moments later, more emergency vehicles arrive, including a black suv that luke knows to contain emily, jj, and spencer.

“we’ll be able to get you out so soon, now. and emily, jj, and spence are here to help, too,” luke tells you, hoping to bring you a bit of good news. in your current state, he doesn’t expect you to answer aloud, but he smiles a bit when you squeeze his hand.

—

at the hospital, hours later, luke sits in your dark room, holding your hand and resting his head against your forearm. it was practically hell to him, being made to rest in a hospital bed himself for an hour or two before they let him sit in your room instead. his concussion is mild, much more so than yours. you’re sleeping soundly, a little frown on your face that luke both wishes would go away and can’t help but find it oddly adorable. matt reported to him that you woke up once before, dazed and confused from your injury before falling back asleep.

the darkness of your room helps him, but his head still pounds dully as he wishes you’d wake up so he can say something to you, so he can hear your voice and maybe feel just a little bit less worried about you.

with his head down, he doesn’t see your eyes drift slowly open, but he feels the twitch of your fingers inside his own hand. immediately, he raises his head to check on you, and his gaze softens infinitely when he sees you’re awake.

“hey,” he whispers, “how are you feeling?”

you take in a raspy breath before speaking, “um… i’m okay, i think. my head hurts,” you pout. “what… what happened?” the nurses had warned that you might suffer from some temporary retrograde amnesia.

“we were in a car crash,” honey, he wants to add.

you inhale sharply, “oh. are you okay?” you sound so worried and sweet that luke wants to soothe you with a kiss to your cheeks, your forehead, anywhere you’d let him. he settles for squeezing your hand comfortingly.

“i’m very okay,” he reassures, happily glossing over the fact that his head hurts, too. “that’s why i’m here, to take care of you, because you have a bad concussion.”

“oh,” you repeat, and from the way you’re talking and the tone of your voice, luke concludes that you’re still clearly affected by the concussion, “is everyone else okay? we’re on a case, right?”

“yeah, we’re on a case,” he has to hold back from the pet names again, “and everyone’s okay, just a little worried about you.”

your brow furrows at that, and he thinks your eyes grow a little shiny from tears. “don’t wan’ anybody to worry about me,” you fuss.

“oh, sweetheart,” it slips out so easy and natural that he can’t hold it back, “we just want to be sure that you’re okay,” he explains, so soft and sweet, “but since you’ll be just fine, we won’t worry too much, okay?”

“okay,” you sigh. the pout stays stuck to your lips, but you don’t protest anymore and he thinks tears are avoidable, now.

“i’m gonna grab a doctor to check on you,” luke tells you as he begins to stand and let his hand slip away from yours. your hand tightens around his and the tears spring right back into your eyes.

“don’t go,” you whine all sweet and simple.

“i promise i’ll be right back, but i need to get a doctor to make sure everything’s alright, okay?”

you shake your head, then squeeze your eyes shut in pain. that action sends a few tears out and rolling down the sides of your face. when your eyes open, a few more drops spill out as your breathing grows a little heavy and panicked.

luke settles right back down at your side and squeezes your hand with renewed urgency, “okay, okay. i got it, i’m here.” he brings his other hand to the side of your face, ever so gentle to avoid hurting you as he wipes at your tears, “i’m not going anywhere, don’t worry.”

he sighs, but his face softens when you relax into his touch. “will you tell me when it’s okay for me to get a doctor? i promise it’ll only take a second, and it’ll help me not to worry about you,” he adds.

this makes your expression turn conflicted. it’s plain to him that you’re mulling over the options carefully in that pretty little head of yours.

after long consideration, you relent, “okay. but you can’t be gone long, please.”

“i won’t, i promise. i’ll be right back, okay?”

“okay,” you agree, but your voice is so sad that luke would rather do anything than leave your side. your fingers chase after his as he gets up, even when your muscles are tired, pained, and weak.

luke flags down a nurse, who gets a doctor to show up within a few minutes. she comes and confirms that your status is the same as before, all you need is rest and to be extra careful goin forward. you sigh in relief when she says that you should be discharged tomorrow or the day after, and you’re cleared to fly soon after that as long as you’re continually resting. your memory from around the time before the crash might remain spotty, but should clear up at least a little with time and proper care.

“luke,” you mumble once the doctor’s gone.

“yeah? can i get you something? water?” he asks, all caring and concerned.

“no. well, water would be nice in a minute, but luke,” you implore, “i jus’ really like you, and i wish that you’d kiss me. i’m pretty sure i’ve wished that for a while. but i definitely wish it now.”

those words nearly knock the breath out of his lungs, but he has to recompose himself quickly to deal with the fact that you’re only saying so because you’re severely concussed.

“i also wish you were my boyfriend,” you continue.

“i really like you, too,” he says, beginning gentle and truthful to ease into the fact that he can’t kiss you right now.

“so you’ll kiss me?” you slur hopefully. he sighs because he knows his answer probably won’t come across well in your current state.

“i will if that’s what you still want when your head clears up a little more, okay?” he concedes. he means it, too. he really would like to kiss you.

“but not now?” you sound so disappointed that luke is having trouble holding back. your eyes are shiny again and he wants to kiss the tears away.

“i’m sorry, but not yet.” the pronounced pout on your lips does not help his case.

“do you not want to?” you ask helplessly, and there’s tears slipping down your face again.

“oh, hey, don’t cry. i do, i promise i do, but i can’t right now,” he explains without making any headway in calming you down. you don’t seem to believe him.

he stands to lean over you and lay both of his hands against your face to wipe the tears gently awake. from the pinch of your brows and tightness of your lips, he thinks you’re probably crying from the pain, too. he shushes you softly as he presses a whisper of a kiss to your forehead when he can’t hold back from doing so anymore.

“it’s okay. don’t cry,” he mumbles into the bandage wrapped around your head. for good measure, he kisses the skin of your forehead again, since the first one seemed to calm you down significantly. it appears that the contact of his lips to your skin, regardless of whether it was on your own lips or not, was enough to sedate and please you, because the tears have stopped and there’s a little smile on your face when he looks.

“can you hug me, too?” you ask sweetly.

“of course i can,” he confirms as he wraps his arms around you, as careful and soft as possible.

he holds you until your hand drops from his shoulder and you say plainly, “i’m tired.” he moves away slightly, brushing his thumb sweetly under your eye before he settles back down on the chair.

“alright. why don’t you go to sleep, then? i’ll be here when you wake up, cariño.”

your smile turns a little dopey at that word. “cariño,” you slur out. “i hope you’ll kiss me then, cariño.” with that, you send his heart into a flutter as your eyes drift closed and your breathing evens out.

he whispers, “i will, cariño, i will.”

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themarbledstudy · 23 days ago

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Spencer - The Outline

📃Masterlist || WC: 4249 || Unwritten Bloodlines Series

📚 Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader x BAU!Team

📚 Warnings: Angst.

📚 Context: Retelling of the Spencer Reid prison arc but now there's a lot more at stake.

📚 Author's Note: This is going to be a long series. I really wanted to rewrite the entire Prison!Reid arc with more at stake but all the while sticking somewhat closely to the original storyline. The story won't focus solely on Reid x BAU!Reader but also on the entire team and the effort to get him exonerated. There'll be small side stories and minor events, all in an effort to get Spencer out. There are a lot of twists and turns coming into play later in the series so I hope you enjoy this one! Also, I'm trying to gauge how long to make these stories. I'm not sure whether or not to keep it short (4k) or a little longer (10k). Anyways, this one kind of sets everything up for the rest of the series.

“What’s wrong?” JJ asked.

Prentiss responded. “Reid’s in jail.”

“Jail?” JJ repeated.

Prentiss continued. “In Mexico.”

Spencer was in jail. The weight of it all pressed down on your shoulders like a vice. Around you, everyone exchanged confused, unsettled glances. JJ’s eyes locked onto yours—pleading for answers, but also stricken, as if the news had hit her like a bullet.

This wasn’t just a team. This was family.

In the briefing room, the team sat in tense silence. You still didn’t know what to say—or even how to feel. None of it made sense. There had to be an explanation. This couldn’t be real. You knew Spencer. You’d known him long before the Bureau.

“It says here that Reid was involved in a high-speed chase,” Garcia read.

You and JJ sat together, puzzled.

“What? He hardly ever drives,” Emily said. “None of this sounds like him.”

You thought back to when Spence was learning to drive—he was terrible at it. Honestly, you were the better driver by a mile, which is why he rarely ever took the wheel during cases. It became an unspoken rule, a running joke. One of many small memories that now felt like a lifeline.

“Where are you with the searches?” somebody asked but you couldn’t focus on who was speaking.

Was Scratch behind this? Peter Lewis. The same guy who drove Hotch out of the bureau, not by choice but by force, in an effort to keep his son safe.

“Maybe he has a contact down there,” Stephen said.

That’s when it hit you. A memory surfaced—Spence had mentioned something about a doctor in Houston.

“It’s not in Mexico,” you said, your voice steadying with the thought. “But Spence did mention a doctor down in Houston.”

JJ’s hand found yours, a flicker of hope in her eyes. “Did he say who the doctor was?”

You shook your head. “No.”

She rested a comforting hand on your shoulder, her touch warm and grounding. She could see how hard this was for you—how deep it cut. And in that moment, words weren’t necessary.

Out of everyone on the team, she was the one who truly understood how personal this situation was for you. From the start, she’d treated you like a younger sister—always including you, always looking out for you. You’d known JJ even before Spencer met her. Funny how small the world felt, despite the millions of people in it.

She had confided in you about everything. It had been a surprise to you both when you ended up at the Bureau at the same time—new hires in the same department, though in very different roles. She’d been brought on for her exceptional skills. You, on the other hand, had been recruited quietly, bound by an NDA, your deep knowledge of sensitive government sectors—especially those involving biological weapons—deemed too valuable to ignore.

But more than any of that, she knew about you and Spencer. Or at least, as much as you were willing to share. She was the only one who knew about the quiet, careful relationship that had formed between you and him. So when the news broke—Spencer in jail—she was the only one who noticed the way your breath caught and your eyes faltered.

Her gaze flicked to yours first. Then to Emily.

“Okay, so I dug around his desk,” JJ said. “Found a bunch of medical journal articles—no big surprise. All about alternative medicinal treatments for fighting Alzheimer’s.”

Emily had already left with Rossi and Luke; they’d flown to Mexico to see Spencer.

You took a deep breath. “Well, he told me he was supplementing her meds with omega-3s and making sure she ate plenty of leafy greens. Since it takes years for the FDA to approve treatments, a lot of holistic medicine happens outside the States.”

Garcia and Tara quietly slipped out, heading to the FBI library, leaving you and JJ alone for the first time all day.

“You’re starting to sound a lot like him,” she said, trying to lift your spirits.

You let yourself soften a bit. “I guess that’s what I get for knowing him the longest.”

JJ handed you a small, leather-bound booklet—wallet-sized and worn at the edges. “I found this in his drawer. Thought you should have it now. Something to hold onto.”

“Thank you.” She gave you a brief, comforting hug.

Opening the booklet, you found just a few photos—mostly of the three of you with Spencer. The first was from the Redskins game, the one Spencer had tried to make a solo outing with JJ before she invited you and Garcia along. In the picture, he held a cap, barely interested in the game. You sat beside JJ, who squeezed both you and Garcia so tight it looked like she was trying to squeeze the love right out of you.

You laughed softly. “Remember the Redskins game?”

She smiled. “Yeah. How could I forget? You begged me not to make you go, but once I roped Garcia in, she wouldn’t let you sit it out.”

The next photo was just you and Spencer—one he’d taken himself. It was from his first trip to New York City, the city blanketed in snow.

“Where was this taken?” JJ asked gently, trying to distract you, though you weren’t ready to be distracted.

“My hometown,” you said. “At my childhood home in Manhattan. It was his first time in the city—and meeting my grandparents. Years before we joined the Bureau.”

The final photo was just of you—standing, looking toward the camera, holding your PhD diploma tightly to your chest.

JJ had already slipped out again, searching for more clues in Spencer’s desk, leaving you to yourself.

You flipped to the very last photo.

It was the two of you at your courthouse wedding in New York City—the one you kept buried deep in your personal records, sealed away from the world, from everyone. Only you, Spencer, and Gideon knew. You were both so young then—26, compared to the 34 and almost 35 you were now. Gideon had snapped the picture as the judge allowed you both to kiss, sealing your vows in the courtroom forever.

Nobody else knew. JJ only knew you were together—nothing about the marriage. Everyone else on the team thought you were just best friends, close for over a decade.

That’s why it stung. Your husband was in jail for a crime you knew that he did not commit.

It begged the question: Did you really know him at all? (Of course you did.) This wasn’t the Spencer you knew. You just didn’t know how you’d prove it.

“Hey, JJ” Luke said through the phone.

“Is he okay?” she asked.

You were sitting next to her, foot tapping against his chair, the one you were sitting in, searching through his desk again for answers.

She pressed something on her phone. “You’re on speaker by the way.”

“I’m not sure he recognizes us,” he continued.

Your heart sank.

Stephen chimed in. “It’s the drugs.”

The phone call ended. The silence that followed felt heavier than any words could.

“He worked so hard to get sober,” you said quietly, your voice cracking. “I just—I don’t understand. He knows we’re here for him. He tells me everything. So why didn’t he tell me about this?”

You were unraveling by the minute. Holding it together on the outside, but inside, everything was coming apart. The sharp pang in your chest kept returning, like clockwork—reminding you just how wrong this all felt.

Right now, none of that mattered. Not the pain, not the questions. The only thing that mattered was getting Spencer out of jail—or at the very least, back on U.S. soil, where he could be within reach. Within protection. Within reason.

Everyone had gathered in the briefing room again, the air thick with tension and unanswered questions. Garcia sat at her station, typing furiously, her screen casting a faint blue glow across her face.

“I didn’t even know he crossed the border once,” she murmured, disbelief curling in her voice. “Let alone three times. What was he doing down there?”

The words hit you harder than you expected.

You’d never thought to check where Spencer was going. Why would you? You trusted him—with everything. When he said he was visiting a clinic in Houston, you believed him. You’d offered to go with him, to stay behind and take care of his mother when he couldn’t. You never once thought he’d hide anything from you.

But now?

Now it all looked different.

You shifted in your seat, suddenly unsure. He was brilliant, yes—but so were you. Maybe you didn’t have his memory, but you had instinct, and your gut told you something had been off for a while. It puzzled you—not just what he was doing, but why he didn’t think you’d eventually discover it. Maybe that was the worst part. That he didn’t try to keep you in the loop.

That he didn’t think he needed to.

“He told me he was going to Houston,” you said softly, voice barely carrying across the room. “Said there was a clinic running an experimental Alzheimer’s treatment. I didn’t know he was crossing into Mexico.”

Emily spoke over the phone. “He’s being extradited back to the States. Our jurisdiction applies—Dr. Nadie Ramos is a dual citizen.”

Everyone exhaled—quiet, collective relief washing over the room like a low tide. It wasn’t over. Not even close. But he was coming home. Back where you could see him. Talk to him. Ask him the questions that had begun circling in your chest like storm clouds.

You clutched the little leather booklet JJ had given you earlier, the edges soft from wear. Your thumb brushed over the picture of you and Spencer in the snow outside your childhood home, his arms wrapped around you like he’d never let go.

He was your husband. No one else knew. Not JJ. Not Garcia. Not even Emily. It had been your secret—sacred and quiet, sealed in a courthouse years ago with Gideon as your witness. You loved him. You still did.

But now, sitting in that room, surrounded by people trying to unravel his actions, a small crack had formed inside you. And no matter how hard you tried to ignore it, one aching question kept rising to the surface:

What else didn’t I know?

You wanted to believe in him. You needed to believe this was all a misunderstanding. But for the first time, you weren’t sure if the man you’d married had trusted you enough to tell you everything.

And that, somehow, hurt more than the rest.

On the Jet

On the jet, the hum of the engines filled the quiet space between them. The calm after everything wasn’t peaceful—it was too still, too fragile.

“I’m glad you sound like your old self again,” Emily said gently, her voice carrying more meaning than the words alone.

Spencer offered a faint smile. “Me too.”

She watched him for a beat longer than necessary, then turned her eyes back to the folder in her hands. “We can stop by the BAU when we land,” she continued, tone shifting into something more procedural. “But after that, we’ll be taking you to the district. You’ll be processed at the federal jail.”

A heavy pause settled over the cabin.

Spencer sat motionless for a moment, then parted his lips—as if something needed to be said. But nothing came. The words caught in his throat, dissolving before they reached the air.

Does she know?

His gaze lingered on Emily. She hadn’t said anything… not about her. Not about them. But something in her tone, in the way she kept looking at him—like she was waiting for something—made his stomach turn.

The silence stretched, filled with unspoken truths. And for the first time since this nightmare began, Spencer wasn’t just worried about getting out.

He was terrified of what he might lose when he did.

At the BAU

You were still in the briefing room, eyes scanning over Spencer’s old personal records—files you'd read a hundred times before but suddenly felt like you’d never really seen. Everyone else had gathered near the elevators, waiting for his arrival. You couldn't bring yourself to leave the room yet. Not until you were ready to face him. Not until you understood something—anything.

Down the hall, JJ was the first to hug him. Garcia followed, then Tara. The moment was brief but heavy, each embrace carrying more than words could.

“Y/N?” Spencer asked quietly, glancing toward JJ, his voice unsure.

JJ gave him a small, sympathetic smile. “She’s in the briefing room. I’ll go get her.”

A gentle knock pulled you from your thoughts. You looked up to see JJ leaning in the doorway, her expression soft, careful—like a mother coaxing her child from behind a locked door.

“Spence is here,” she said. “He’s asking for you.”

Your legs moved before your heart caught up. You followed her silently through the hallway, your mind racing, your chest tightening with every step.

He stood by the elevator, flanked by agents, his hands still cuffed but draped in an FBI jacket—as if that could hide the reality. But it didn’t. Not even a little. That’s when it hit you—not like a blow to the chest, but a fracture through your whole life. Past, present, future—all cracked at the foundation.

His eyes found yours instantly. And in them, you saw the same thing reflected back: this isn’t just bad—it’s personal.

You stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. The room faded around you. Emily was already speaking with the team about legal protocols, the logistics of his protection. But none of it reached you.

Luke stood close—close enough to maintain control, far enough to give a sliver of privacy. Spencer leaned in just enough to whisper, voice low and urgent against your ear.

“You can’t get involved,” he said. “You have to go. Witsec.”

You pulled back slightly, trying not to make a scene. “Spencer, no. I’m not leaving. I need to be here—with the team. With you. I’m going to find out what’s going on. We’re going to fix this.”

He shook his head, locking eyes with you—his gaze desperate. “Y/N. Baby. I want you here when I get out. If Scratch is behind this... he’ll come after you next. He pushed Hotch out of the only place he ever felt in control. He’ll do the same to you. We can’t let that happen.”

Your eyes stung, but you didn’t let the tears fall. You held the line, even if it felt like it was breaking inside you.

“Don’t cry,” he said quietly. But there was something in his tone—firm, commanding. The same tone he used with unsubs when he couldn’t afford to lose control.

He leaned in and kissed your forehead, just once. Soft, grounding.

“You’re strong, baby,” he whispered. “Stay long enough to let things cool off… then go.”

You shook your head, the denial barely visible but full of meaning. “I can’t. I won’t.”

He looked at you—really looked at you. There was a plea in his eyes, something raw and afraid and protective all at once.

“Please.”

But still, you didn’t move. You just shook your head again, the smallest gesture that meant everything.

You weren’t going anywhere. Not yet. Not without a reason.

JJ stepped in, trying to ease the weight in the air, her voice light but laced with care.

“I took my boys to see your mom. Garcia made sure she’s been eating every night. Y/N handled the nurse situation—you know how she is. And she’s been keeping an eye on those early trial studies you were so interested in.”

Spencer offered a small, grateful smile. He meant it. He appreciated it all. The care, the loyalty. The way the team—his family—had stepped in. And especially you.

But his eyes never left yours.

Not for a second.

It was like the two of you were having an entirely different conversation—one without words, just looks exchanged with the weight of everything left unsaid. He was asking you to listen. To leave. To protect yourself. You were asking him to stop. Let you stay. Let you help. For better or for worse.

JJ’s House

JJ stepped quietly out of her sons’ rooms, the soft hum of a white noise machine trailing behind her. They were finally asleep. Will was still on duty for a few more hours, so she’d called in reinforcements—their boys’ favorite person outside of family: Aunt Y/N.

You’d come without hesitation. And being godmother to Henry? That had been one of the happiest surprises of your life.

Spencer had been a little more hesitant when JJ asked him to be godfather, unsure if he could live up to the role—but he said yes. Of course he did.

You smiled, remembering the moment at the hospital when Henry was born.

“You’re gonna go to Harvard,” you had whispered, brushing a finger over his tiny hand. “I’m sure of it.”

JJ laughed from the hospital bed, cradling him against her chest. “You hear that, little guy? Ivy League already.”

“Harvard?” Spencer had scoffed, seated beside you with his usual edge of sarcasm. “I could get him into CalTech with one phone call.”

“Don’t worry, JJ,” you’d replied, shooting Spencer a mock glare. “I’ll make sure he goes to the better school.”

Spencer gave you a look—whatever written all over it—but you caught the twitch of a smirk at the corner of his mouth. He knew exactly what you were doing. The Harvard-CalTech banter was an old dance between you two.

Will had just laughed then, standing beside JJ with awe in his eyes. “Kid’s already got more love than he’ll know what to do with.”

And he was right.

Back in the present, JJ moved into the living room where you were curled up on the couch with a mug of tea. She smiled, soft and tired.

“Thanks for coming.”

“Always,” you said. “They’re angels.”

She nodded, sitting beside you. For a moment, the house was still. The kind of stillness that only came when kids were asleep and the grown-ups could breathe again. But beneath the quiet was something else—a subtle knowing in her eyes.

“You holdin’ up alright?” JJ asked, her voice low, careful.

Your fingers tightened around the mug. You didn’t look at her, not right away.

“Not really,” you admitted. “But I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

You tried to brush it off, but your voice cracked at the edges. The weight of everything—Spencer, the silence, the fear—hit you all at once. You dragged a hand over your face, as if wiping it away would help.

But it didn’t.

The first tear slipped down without permission. Then another. And another. Until you weren’t just holding back—you were falling apart, quietly and fully, for the first time that day.

JJ moved closer without hesitation, handing you a tissue and rubbing your back in slow, comforting circles. She didn’t speak at first. She didn’t need to. She knew the language of grief and pressure far too well.

You swallowed hard, voice barely above a whisper. “He wants kids, you know?”

She stilled, letting you continue.

“We talked about it one night… years ago. We were at a Target, of all places. Just wandering around. He was standing in front of the baby clothes, touching this little onesie with dinosaurs on it.” You laughed faintly, choked by tears. “He leaned down and whispered something about our future kids. We’d only been together officially for a couple of months. But he meant it. I felt it.”

JJ smiled softly, her own eyes glistening with emotion—not just for you, but for Spencer too.

“You’re all he thinks about, you know?”

You looked at her then, something searching in your eyes. Needing more.

She hesitated. Not because she didn’t want to tell you—but because the story in her mind was his. And yet… it was yours too.

“Emily and I once took him to an outlet mall in Virginia,” she said slowly, settling back into the couch. “You were in California on that expert witness thing with Hotch. We thought it’d be good to get him out of the office for a few hours. Big mistake—he was miserable in the sun, whining about exposure and bacteria on food court tables.”

You cracked a weak smile, letting her keep going.

“We stopped into a store—Emily wanted to look for baby clothes for Henry. Nothing serious. We were goofing off. But then we turned around, and there he was. Just... standing there. In front of a row of cribs. Reading every label like it was a bomb manual. Safety ratings, materials, recall notices—everything.”

You stared at her, stunned. You hadn’t heard this before.

“I asked him—jokingly—‘Thinking about having kids?’” JJ paused, her smile faltering a little. “He didn’t laugh. He just nodded. Said, ‘We both are. Just waiting for the right time.’”

Silence filled the space between you. Heavy, tender, real.

It was the kind of story that cracked your heart wide open—not just because he wanted a future, but because he was already planning for one.

With you.

And now, everything felt so uncertain.

JJ leaned forward slightly, her elbows resting on her knees as the soft hum of the living room settled around you both.

“You know,” she said, voice low and careful, “I’ve known for a long time.”

Your eyes flicked toward her. “Known what?”

There was no accusation in her tone—just understanding.

“You and Spencer.”

You tilted your head slightly, eyes softening. Of course she knew. Part of you had always known that she’d figured it out—years ago, even before you'd had the courage to call it what it was. But JJ had never said a word. Never pushed, never teased. She just… let it be.

Because she respected you. Respected him. Respected whatever it was the two of you were building behind quiet glances and unspoken promises.

JJ offered a small, knowing smile. “I don’t think you ever really meant to hide it from me. Not intentionally. But you never told me either.”

You sat in silence, heart picking up pace.

“I figured it out in Boston,” she continued, her gaze drifting like she was watching the memory play out in front of her. “That case with the museum director’s daughter. We were all running on fumes—late nights, freezing cold. The kind of case that lingers even after it's solved.”

You remembered. That bitter wind off the harbor. The endless hours in the field. And the final, quiet relief when it ended.

“Everyone was getting ready to pack up and head out. I was across the street grabbing coffee when I saw you two walking back to the precinct. Just the two of you. Laughing. He was carrying your bag for you, which wasn’t weird—Spencer’s always been thoughtful—but something about it was... different.”

JJ’s voice softened as her eyes returned to yours.

“He leaned in a little too close when he said something to you. You laughed, and then—he looked at you like you were the only person on the planet.”

You swallowed.

“And when you thought no one was watching,” she added, “he kissed you. Quick. Barely a second. You were behind a row of parked cars, and it was dark enough that I think you thought you were alone.”

Your chest tightened. You remembered that kiss. It had been spontaneous, a quiet moment in the dark—Spencer’s gloved fingers brushing your cheek, your lips meeting his just once before you both slipped back into your roles.

“I didn’t tell anyone,” JJ said. “Not because I didn’t care. But because I did. I knew what that moment meant. That kind of quiet love—it’s the kind you guard with your whole life.”

You blinked rapidly, throat tight.

“I saw it again, after that. Not always a kiss. Usually just… the way he looked at you when you weren’t looking. Or how your voice softened when you said his name. It was subtle. You two were good at keeping it quiet. But it was there.”

JJ leaned back slightly, exhaling.

“I didn’t need a label. I didn’t need the details. I just knew.”

You wiped your cheek with the side of your hand, voice barely audible. “I didn’t thought we hid it well.”

JJ gave a quiet laugh. “To most people? You did. But I’ve always paid attention. Especially to the people I love.”

There was a pause before you spoke again, your voice barely above a whisper. “I thought he told me everything.”

JJ’s expression shifted, more serious now. “He probably thought he was protecting you. That whatever he’s holding onto… maybe it felt safer for you not to carry it too.”

“But we’ve never—” your voice broke, and you tried again. “We never kept secrets from each other. At least not like this.”

JJ leaned in, brushing your hand gently. “I know. And I don’t think it’s about not trusting you. I think he’s scared. Of what it might cost. Of dragging you into something that could hurt you.”

You let out a long breath, eyes glassy. “He doesn’t get to choose what hurts me.”

“No,” JJ agreed softly. “But love makes people do irrational things. You and I both know that.”

She gave your hand a final squeeze.

“And no matter how far he tries to push you away, you know in your heart that you could never live– wouldn’t ever leave.”

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samsblades · 5 months ago

Text

✶ all the time — luke alvez

cw : gn!bau!reader, comfort, insecurity and self doubt, ft emily for two seconds <3, minimal editing, 1.5K words. requested !

summary : luke notices that you're feeling down and reassures you.

sometimes it’s hard to think of yourself as a capable member of the bau when everyone else feels so much more capable than you. part of you knows it’s not your fault that you’re new and still getting the hang of things. it’s natural for there to be an adjustment period, but you feel honest to god stupid today.

you’re on the way to a case in california, and after a long while of sharing theories and going over the files, there’s still over two hours left on the flight. you have retreated to the corner to be alone and wallow in self-doubt and insecurity. at the beginning of the flight, you’d floated a theory regarding possible causes of the unsub’s clear rage. that idea was considered for maybe a full second before tara countered it with a far more convincing and sensical thought. you’ve been pretty quiet since.

it’s a bit silly, because that sort of thing happens all the time. you’ve made your own counter points against other team members’ ideas plenty of times. in the early stages of an investigation, that’s basically how the whole profiling process goes. but things are digging their way past your defenses easily these days. you feel like shit nearly all the time.

luke sliding into the seat across from you with a careful look on his face makes you feel both better and worse. better, because you’re friends and he’s always so kind to you. also better because he has a very nice face to look at. you love his shoulders, too. and you feel worse only because you know that he’s going to ask you if something is wrong. he’s caring like that, making it easily known to everyone around him that he’s there to listen or even lend a shoulder to cry on.

“hey,” he starts with, voice low so as to not draw any attention. “you doin’ alright? you seem a little down these days.” he’s also honest and blunt, but not in any sort of way that feels insensitive. he just doesn’t beat around the bush, and proves that he’s observant and cares.

it’s a silly thing to tell a profiler that you’re fine when you aren’t, because you both know the truth. so you shrug, noncommittal and tired. you don’t really want to talk about it. not here, at least. others can hear you, and you feel stupid for feeling stupid. it’s a vicious and rather frustrating cycle that you can’t seem to break out of.

“just tired,” you tell him. you’re not lying, but you’re not exactly answering the question either.

“yeah,” he says, the one word full of more empathy than you thought it could. “it’s been a rough few weeks around here, huh?”

“tell me about it,” you huff. luke doesn’t say anything for a few moments, and the soft sounds around you come into a hazy sort of focus. reid flips the page of his book, and jj shifts in her seat. emily and rossi converse on the other end of the jet. then, luke speaks again and you almost physically wince at his words.

“is this about the case in salt lake?” he asks quietly. of course he’s figured it out. everyone probably has. you sigh and avoid looking him in the eye.

you shake your head. “i’m just tired,” you repeat, this time fully lying. yes, it’s about the case in utah from a few weeks ago. he gives you a look, the one that says ‘i know you’re not telling the truth’ and ‘you can tell me, it’s okay.’ it doesn’t feel very okay.

you take a deep breath, not finding it easy to say how you feel. the air escapes your lungs, and you still can’t look at him. “i just… i just feel stupid,” you whisper. “i’m embarrassed.”

luke feels his heart drop at that. he knows you’ve been feeling unsure, your confidence shaken since the incident. you were talking down an unsub, and slipped up a bit. you made him angrier and emily had to step in and fix it for you. since then, little things like your harmless theory today have been gnawing at you, like picking at the scabs of a fresh wound until it bleeds. what if you can’t think well enough on your feet? what if you’re not good enough for this job? maybe emily made a mistake in hiring you. and there’s the worst one; what if you get someone killed?

“hey,” he murmurs, voice soft and just a little bit admonishing. he doesn’t want you to feel that way. he reaches over the little table in the space between you and puts his hand over yours. “you are not stupid. trust me, i have done stupid shit before. you know, i’ve been suspended from the field and formally demoted to supervisory agent before. and i’m still here. slips-ups are okay.”

you raise an eyebrow. you hadn’t know that, actually, but you’ll ask for the story another day. “i’m still… embarrassed,” you mumble. ashamed, even. you hate to disappoint. “everyone heard. or saw. and everyone knew i messed up a beat before i did.”

“that just happens sometimes. and no one’s judging you. i promise. no one thinks that you can’t do this job, or anything like it. you deserve to be here, you just have to believe that,” he emphasizes, giving your hand a gentle squeeze before pulling away. he shouldn’t hold your hand for too long. “the rest of us do. we know it. you got that?”

you’re finally able to meet his eyes for more than a split second. he’s so sincere, and you know he’d never lie to you. plus, you’d see it if he was. you are a profiler, after all. so, you have to believe him. “yeah,” you breathe out. “got it. thank you, luke.”

he grins at you, and despite the truth that not everything is fixed—you still feel kind of shitty—it feels like everything will most certainly be alright. honestly, that smile of his is too lovely not to make you feel a whole lot lighter than you did moments ago. you smile back, a little more reserved than him. not so toothy, but no less sincere.

“of course,” he says, eyes earnest, “you’re a great profiler. seriously. being new to the bau isn’t always easy. but you belong here. this team is better with you, and it needs you.”

at that, you still feel a pinprick of doubt. ‘need’ feels like a strong word to you. that, and your heart stutters when he says you belong. it means everything to you. it all means everything to you, honestly, and it’s a bit overwhelming. he picks up on that all, of course, probably just by looking you in the eye. you’re not really trying to hide much, though. it’s easier to let the truth show on your face when you’re around him.

“i mean that,” he says wholeheartedly. then his tone turns a bit lighter. he’d love to be able to cheer you up, at least just a little bit. “you know, prentiss wouldn’t hire anyone we don’t need. she’s too smart for that. trust her judgement. she’s your boss.”

you crack another light smile. “yeah. she’s the boss.”

the timing is just right; emily catches your words as she walks down the aisle on her wait to the bathroom. “are you talking about me behind my back?” she accuses teasingly, stopping by your side with a casual grin on her face.

“yes, ma’am,” you answer just as playfully, your mood finally taking a turn for the better. “luke was being very nasty, you should probably put him in charge of coffee runs for the next month.”

emily laughs a bit. “oh, you bet i will.”

“hey!” luke puts his hands up, indignant. “i was not being nasty, i was saying how smart you are!” he protests. the team often gangs up on him, as deserved, so he can be a little defensive. he’s grinning, though. emily just shakes her head and makes some other teasing comment before excusing herself to the bathroom. luke’s big smile lingers, even as his gaze leaves her and returns to you. he’s practically elated that you’re teasing. he loves your smile and the fact that you’ll play along with his stupid bits or start even sillier ones. you always make him laugh, and things have been a little dreary since you’ve been so down.

“it’s good to see you smiling,” he says. he’s so genuine it almost hurts. and you’re not so sure how to respond to that, so you let your lips curve up a little bit more, just for him.

“thanks,” you murmur, and he knows that you’re saying thank you to him for being the one to make you smile.

“anytime,” he says, hoping you know how much he means it. he’d like to make you smile all the time.

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beelmons · 2 years ago

Note

Just want Luke Alvez to spell out his name with his tongue against me. I'm a simple woman, with simple needs. No hands, all mouth. my cunnilingus king

no cause this is what i call having taste !

i accidentally posted this without finishing and im going insane trying to speed write it skckwkckwkf DOMT LOOK UNDER READ MORE

Edit: Okay NOW you can look.

cw: oral sex fem receiving, fem!reader

Some people paid billions of dollars to reach space and experience the wonders of the universe, and yet, it only took a heavily underpaid FBI agent to get you to see stars.

Luke Alvez was not a man to eat women out, oh no, he was the one to straight up devour them. Like an avid critic ready to cater his next meal, he would time and again bury himself in between your legs; no further aid needed whatsoever, a dedicated mouth could take you to places you were sure mortals couldn't reach.

It made you suspicious, to be honest. How could a man be so good at pleasing a woman? The only way it made sense was if he had done it hundreds of times before, but taking his time while in deployment and current new schedule in consideration, he wouldn't only have to be dedicated to it, he would have had to straight up clone himself to take two women at a time on the little time he had to spare.

He could do it, to be fair, without the need of cloning himself, after all he had his charm. You don't just open your legs for anyone on the first date, let alone the first thirty minutes of meeting them. He was a witty gentleman, and not hard on the eye at all.

Soon you would find out that his sharp tongue wasn't only skillful on the streets. Something about the way he so passionately licked you thoroughly each time. Or how he moaned along everytime he hit a good spot. Or the weird combination of strokes he pulled at the end, the one that never failed to push you over the edge.

You had to find out what it was, because you were starting to think it was not human. And tonight, as your apartment was filled with lewd slurping sounds, you were set on finding it out.

One little problem, keeping your sanity as his tongue, somehow, reached your sweetest spots was no easy task. It took all of your energy and some holding back from straight up cumming into his mouth without warning. Your face was clenched in what seemed more like pain than pleasure. But your climax was reaching, you were so close, just as close as you were to figuring out what the hell he did at the end, so close, so close.

"Babe, are you alright?" he pulled away to ask.

"No!" you yelled in anger almost instinctively, and certainly without intention.

He was clearly taken aback by your reaction, and the second you noticed his clear confusion, you spoke up again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." you said, reaching to have your hand land on his hair, not wanting him to be too far from your cunt "I was just so close."

"Sorry, you looked like you were in pain, so..." he tried to explain before you cut him off.

"I was focused." you clarified.

"Focused?" his brows furrowed "Listen, if you have to focus to cum... I'd rather you tell me what I'm doing wrong."

"No. What? Come on Luke, you can't be serious." you complained "I was focused on figuring out what the hell it is that you always do, that it makes my brain be reduced to a pulp!"

You certainly didn't mean it as a praise, but he still found a way to interpret it as such. He broke into a shy chuckle as he shook his head.

"I can tell you" he said "But you have to promise not to laugh."

"Why would I-" you were about to inquire, but he cut you off.

"I spell my name with my tongue." he finally admitted.

"You are kidding." your eyes opened in genuine surprise. It sounded so stupid right off the bat, even more so when you considered the possibility of being true.

Your free hand reached down to have your middle digit trail over your own clit, you were moist enough thanks to him, so nothing else was needed. You began making an experiment of your own.

L U K E A L-

Sure, it felt good, but nothing out of the ordinary.

"Not like that!" he quickly grabbed at your wrist to pull it away "It's not the same if you use fingers, and I'm afraid there is one more secret to it."

You were attentively looking at him talk, so you were able to see his face disappear between your legs. You thought after the break you wouldn't be so sensitive, but boy were you wrong. The second the tip of his tongue landed on your bundle of nerves again, your legs began to shake. Like no time had passed.

You tried your best to pay attention, you really did.

Luke Alvez

But you lost track after the 'K'.

Next thing you knew, you were dripping down in your own release, and he was doing his best to have nothing go to waste.

Your chest was raising up and down from the pants. Legs limb and tired against his shoulders. Once he was satisfied with the clean up, he raised his head yet again. His characteristic, slightly annoying, cheeky grin clear on his face.

"I do it in cursive."

#luke alvez #luke alvez x reader #luke alvez x reader smut #blurb: luke #blurb: smut #blurb: mine

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gublernatural · 2 years ago

Text

Fearless ❆ Luke Alvez

☃︎SUMMARY: luke is so so so smitten for his girl.

☃︎WARNINGS: this is tooth-rotting fluff and i am not sorry about it

☃︎NOTE: i love writing for luke <3 that is my bf fr pls send requests for him when they are open again!

☃︎swiftmas masterlist!

.｡❅⋆⍋∞｡∞⍋⋆❅｡.

There’s something ‘bout the way the street looks when it’s just rained. There’s a glow off the pavement, you walk me to the car.

Luke’s hand was protectively around your waist as you stepped out of the restaurant. He was laughing at something Emily said, looking away from you but holding you close. You felt bad, keeping the waitress there just until close. Everyone had gotten wrapped up in the conversation, not realizing the team and their partners had been sitting there for almost three hours.

Luke’s attention turns back to you as you start to step off the curb. “Woah,” he smiles, stopping you from pressing your pretty high heels into the puddle that had accumulated. He stepped down, comfortably placing one hand on each side of your waist. He lifts you, just briefly, to get you over the puddle. Then, he gently places you back on the asphalt.

Your feet plant on the ground and you let out a giggle, reaching down to hold his hand. “I didn’t even realize it had rained.” He declares, before waving a final goodbye to where Emily and JJ are heading to their cars.

The parking lot was empty besides the team’s cars and the few employees that hadn’t left yet. “Thank you,” You smile at him again, moving your hand to his muscular bicep, and pulling him closer to you. “Of course,” he had a wide smile on his face, one that showed his dimples. His brown eyes were full of fondness as he looked at you.

“Whatcha looking at?” He asked, walking around to your side of the car. His hand reached to open the passenger side door for you when you answered. “The way the streetlights reflect off of the puddles.” Luke’s gaze followed your eyes, seeing the way the lights looked like little diamonds in the water.

And you know I wanna ask you to dance right there, in the middle of the parking lot.

You’re about to sit in the passenger seat when you get an idea. “Hey, Luke,” you call for his attention. He watched as you looked around the parking lot. The rest of the team had pulled off, leaving just you guys there. “You wanna dance?”

Even though Luke had been up since six o’clock this morning and his muscles still hurt from the case they had wrapped up, there was nothing he wanted more than to dance with you in this deserted parking lot.

He let out a chuckle, reopening the door all the way for you, and said, “Absolutely.” Luke didn’t think he’d ever seen you smile as wide as you were right now. You placed your feet back on the ground, reached for Luke’s hand, and pulled him to behind the car, where there was plenty of open space for you to dance.

You went to turn around and pull him close so you could begin swaying with him, but he was gone when you reached for him. Luke made his way to the driver’s seat, reaching in and turning on the car, He, then, turned back to look at you. “What do you wanna dance to?” he asked, holding his phone up. You let out another giggle, “Play Taylor Swift!” You called. Luke knew that was going to be your answer.

Lover quickly began playing through the car’s speakers. He left the door open and turned the volume all the way up. You would’ve been embarrassed if the moment wasn’t so sweet. Luke sauntered his way back towards, emphasizing the swing of his hips.

He reached out for you, pulling you close and swaying your bodies together. “I love you, princesa.” He whispered into the crown of your head as the song reached the bridge. You didn't answer, but the way you leaned your head onto his shoulder told him all he needed to know.

You two danced the entire song, he even sang the words into your ear. When it ended and you pulled away, you flashed him the biggest smile you could muster. Luke laughed, “Another?” Before you could answer, the sound of the crew from the restaurant interrupted you.

You shook your head no because of this, not wanting to be embarrassed by the people around you two. “Let’s go home,” you smiled at him, excited to crawl into bed and enjoy his body heat. Luke nodded, once again going to open the passenger side for you.

Once you both settled in, you started to sing along to one of your favorite Taylor Swift songs:

“We’re driving down the road, I wonder if you know, I’m trying so hard not to get caught up now…”

#luke alvez imagine #luke alvez x reader #luke alvez #luke alvez fanfiction #luke alvez blurb #luke alvez fic #luke alvez smut #criminal minds drabble #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds #luke alvez drabble #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x you #luke alvez x you #luke alvez x y/n #criminal minds blurb #swiftmas 2023!

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bambinafangirls · 2 months ago

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"I don't know Rossi, its against my nature. I'm from the Bronx!" Luke says from the opposing patio chair.

"Luke Alvez from the block!" Stella calls out, pointing at him from the other side of the lawn, where she was talking to Henry.

Luke shakes his head, Rossi and Tara chuckle. God, does he regret ever playing her that song.

#criminal minds blurb #criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #luke alvez #dad!luke alvez #david rossi #tara lewis #blurbs are my sweet spot #i constantly have little scenes in my head and i never know how to expand on them #thats why i love incorrect quotes too #luke alvez and fiona gallagher are on the same wavelength rn #don't be fooled by the rocks that i got or whatever #personally i'm a 'love don't cost a thing' girlie #bambinablurbs #bambinawrites

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hornyhornyhimbos · 2 years ago

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"Heaven or Hell?" ~ L. Alvez

Summary: When Luke and Reader get picked for Seven Minutes in Heaven, the couple truly can't decide if it's heaven or hell being locked in that closet together.

Pairing: Luke Alvez x AFAB!BAU!Reader

Word Count: 1,435

Content Warning: MINORS DNI (18+ content) oral both!receiving, fingering f!receiving, cum swallowing, explicit language, lmk if i missed anything!

Extra Notes: i apologize for ruining the image of Rapunzel and Flynn Rider…

Originally Written: 10/27/2023 through 10/28/2023

criminal minds masterlist can be found here!

halloweek masterlist can be found here!

"Well, this just got interesting," Penelope smirked from her seat.

No one was really sure who started the game of Seven Minutes in Heaven, but you'd been praying all night that you nor Luke would get picked, or at the very least, you'd get picked for the same round. Based on the look Penelope was sporting as she looked over the pieces of paper in her hand, you could only assume the worst.

She smugly held up the papers, one reading off your name and the other reading Luke's. A small sense of relief washed over you at the prospect of not having to hang out in a closet with one of your other colleagues.

"Interesting," Tara commented, sipping her glass of wine.

You narrowed your eyes at both of them. "You guys are terrible."

Still, you stood from your seat, Luke's hand meeting yours as he led you down the hall to the closet that was currently being used for this middle school esque game.

"Have fun, you two," Penelope giggled. You could hear her propping a chair up against the outside of the door before walking off, her high heels clicking across the tiled floor.

Luke chuckled, presumably at the whole situation. You could barely make out his form in the tiny sliver of light shining through the slats in the door, but you could see his goofy smile as he laughed to himself, clearly amused about something.

"What's so funny?" The words came out clearly peeved.

"I avoided this game throughout the entirety of middle and high school, and now, mid-thirties is when it's catching up to me."

A smirk settled on your lips, hands meeting his body. "Well, since it's your first time, should I make it memorable for you?"

The sliver of light shined through just enough to show the deepening color of his eyes, lust swirling heavily in those dark brown irises. "I'm down for that."

To say you and Luke were in the honeymoon phase of your relationship was an understatement. Any chance you got, you were climbing him like a damn jungle gym, and any chance he got, he was bending you over the nearest surface possible.

His lips were on yours in a second as his hands worked to bunch up your dress out of the way. You'd dressed as Rapunzel and Flynn Rider, and he'd never been happier that you'd picked to wear a dress.

One of his legs slotted between yours, thigh flexing against you as your hips rutted against him. A desperate breath left your lips as you registered his hard-on growing against you, your hands desperate to find the fastening of his pants in the dark closet.

"I want," he started to say between kisses, "to taste you."

"We only," another kiss, "have so much," kiss, "time in here."

"I know," he said, as if it was a done deal. Hands were entangled as you were both desperate to uncover one another, but Luke had still made up his mind. "Please, baby. I've wanted my head between your legs all fucking night."

When he was practically begging for you, how could you deny him? In an instant, he was on his knees, lips trailing kisses and bites up the expanse of your thighs.

"Pretty sure we only have six minutes left," you said through heavy breaths. "Better not waste it."

"I'm not," he simply replied, hands meeting your soaked underwear. "God, baby, you don't know how bad I wanna keep these for myself."

Before you had a chance to reply, he was pulling the fabric aside and meeting your center with kitten licks. His tongue effectively shut you up, the only sound coming from your lips being his name in whispered moans.

Luke groaned into your sensitive core, the vibrations absolutely heavenly. Hands met curly raven hair, pulling him ever so close to the spot you needed him.

Alternating between your entrance and your clit, his ministrations already had you nearly coming apart. This has to be some kind of record, you reckoned, the thought fleeting almost immediately when a finger prodded at your dripping entrance.

"Fuck, baby, please," you begged, grasping his hair for any purchase you could find. Your wish was his command, the digit easily slipping inside you and curling just the way you needed.

Luke, being ever the gentleman, only broke away from your pussy long enough to hand out compliments of praise, doing so well's and tastes so good's and just like that's filling the tiny space.

He held you close with the hand that wasn't buried inside you, fingers gripping your ass like you were made just for him to hold. Between his tongue swirling around your swollen clit in delicious figure eights and his finger crooking into that intoxicating spot inside you, your release was washing over you. Luke's name fell from your lips like a prayer, hands holding his face close as possible as you rode out your high.

You'd barely finished coming down before pulling him up for a kiss, tongue dipping inside his mouth and savoring the taste of yourself on his lips. He'd had barely enough time to reciprocate before you were dropping to your own knees, working hard at the fastening of his pants.

"Baby, what are you doing? We only have a little bit of time left," he reminded you, though he was cut off by a moan as you reached into his boxers.

"Then I better make it count."

In one swift motion, you were pulling him out of his boxers, mouth nearly watering at the sight of his pretty cock. Your eyes went glassy as you took him into your mouth, moaning around his length.

"Shit, you're gonna make me cum in two seconds," he whined, beginning to slide his cock further into your throat.

Quiet moans sounded throughout the space as you began to slide up and down his shaft, taking in the taste of his pre-cum. You steadied yourself with one hand, wrapping it around his thick thigh, while the other cupped his balls, rolling them at the speed he loved. He was already twitching in your mouth, you knew he wouldn't last long.

Your cheeks hollowed as you took him impossibly further, eliciting a string of profanities from the man above you. "Fuck, baby. The game's supposed to be Seven Minutes in Heaven," a desperate mewl tumbled between his lips, "but the way you're fucking torturing me, it feels more like hell."

You repeated the action, nearly choking around his length. Your pussy fluttered at the noises coming from Luke's mouth, already wishing you could have more of him.

His hands moved to your cheeks, effectively fucking himself with your face. His belly was tightening as his orgasm neared, cock twitching in the warmth of your mouth. Your tongue swirled around the tip, a movement sure to have him coming undone.

With one last hard thrust of his hips, he was spilling into your throat, the salty taste of him one you simply couldn't get enough of. He was moaning and panting and cursing above you, fucking your face in unsteady ruts as he rode out his own high.

Luke pulled you up with what little strength he had left, his lips connected to yours while his hands worked to fix clothes. Your wetness mixed with his seed as your tongues roamed in the expanse of each other's mouths, and you wished once again that you could have more.

"We gotta hurry," he said against your lips, his hands working to pull down your dress. "They'll be back any-"

Voices sounded from the other side of the door before his sentence was even finished. "I hope you guys are decent!" Emily laughed from the other side of the door.

Just as Luke situated his pants, fixing the fastenings, the door was flying open. "Seven minutes is up!" Tara stated. The women on the other side took a moment to look over the two of you, no doubt taking in the sight of disheveled hair and the scent of sex that wafted from the confined space. "What did you two get up to in there?" Penelope asked, feigning obliviousness.

"Hey, what happens in the closet stays in the closet," Luke said simply, putting his arm around your shoulders.

The two of you waltzed back into the party as if nothing had happened. His lips lingered by your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. What happened in that closet definitely wasn't staying in that closet later, and you couldn't say the idea didn't excite you.

Not that it's owed to anyone lol but I just wanted to leave a quick lil apology here for not having this posted earlier in the day! I feel like I have lived 8 lifetimes in the span of about 6 hours lol but I wanted y'all to know that I am still very much planning on posting these every day that I had set aside lol! Hope you guys are well and enjoying the fics! 🫶🏻

-> taglist: @reidsbookclub @dungeons-are-too-cold @lukeclvez

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reidsaurora · 2 years ago

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hellohello i'd like to order a confetti cupcake with luke alvez and a hint of a "oh shit are we really doing this" kind of relationship/date whatever thank youuu

this is the cutest ever, i'm so happy with how it turned out! hope you enjoy 🫶🏻

"The Mistletoe Mishap" ~ L. Alvez

pairing: luke alvez x gn!reader

summary: "you'd be surprised just how seriously the bau took their christmas in july celebrations."

word count: 922

warnings: a couple swear words, mentions of food, a lil splash of sexual humor at the end, i think that's it!

genre: festive fluff ❤️✨️

extra notes: the icon in the collage is by @delicatejareau (edited to fit the theme of the collage a lil better) and the dividers below are by @anlian-aishang!

beta read by: @dungeons-are-too-cold (thank you, love!)

birthday bash | masterlist | ask box

🧁 Confetti Cupcakes - send me a character + concept/trope/au and i'll write you a blurb!

You'd be surprised just how seriously the BAU took their Christmas in July celebrations.

What started as Penelope bringing Christmas cookies to the office one day turned into watching Elf during their lunch hour, Secret Santa exchanges, and weekly contests to see who could show up in the ugliest Christmas sweater (Spencer was winning so far with his sweater made completely out of tinsel).

However, the one unfortunate part of Christmas in July was the mistletoe hanging over every. single. doorframe.

Sure, mistletoe in the workplace was awkward enough as it was, but it certainly didn't help that there was one person you absolutely couldn't get caught under it with.

You and Luke had been dating for a few months by this point and, thus far, you'd successfully kept it under wraps. But every time one of you stopped in a doorway, your heart began to beat so hard, you thought it would bang its way out of your chest.

Usually, you two found a way to keep enough distance that it would be almost impossible to pass under the mistletoe at the same time. But today? The last day of your Christmas in July celebration? Of course it would be the day you didn't.

You and Luke were the last two to show up at the round table room for lunch and a movie, which you'd gathered was Frosty the Snowman when you heard the familiar theme song upon walking in.

Your shoulder brushed something hard as you entered the room, and for some reason, you just knew it wasn't going to end well when you looked up and made eye contact with whoever else was under the mistletoe with you.

You attempted to make a run for your seat, but a familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. "Now, Y/N, you know the rules of mistletoe," Penelope reminded you from her seat. You should've known there wasn't a way out of this, not when Penelope Garcia, self-proclaimed President of the 'Christmas In July Club', was around.

The rules of mistletoe varied a little in the workplace, at least. Some people went for high-fives while others went for hugs. Emily had even gone as far as kissing Tara on the cheek one day, but no one dared to kiss anyone on the mouth yet. So, really, there was no reason to panic, right?

Still, you froze in place, your fight or flight mode clearly not having kicked in yet. Instead, your eyes met Luke's with a look that said, 'please save me,' your hands gripping your lunch bag for some form of stability.

Your chest rose and fell in a rapid rhythm, your heart beating hard against your sternum. "Are we really gonna do this?" you silently mouthed up at him, your whole body on the verge of something close to a panic attack.

"Come on, you guys," Rossi teased, "If Boy Genius can high-five people under the mistletoe, you can too."

Chuckles erupted from your coworkers, but not from you nor Luke. Instead, Luke looked down at you, his tongue jutting out to wet his lips, and somehow, as simple a gesture as it was, the soft eye contact was enough to bring you out of your state of panic. You knew that whatever happened, whether he kissed you or not, and whether or not this kiss led to your secret being exposed, Luke had this, had you.

In one swift motion, he had both his hands planted on either side of your face. "Fuck it," he whispered, barely giving you a second to process the words before his lips were on yours.

His familiar scent fell around you like your own protective bubble as he kissed you, his hold on your face absolutely intoxicating. The taste of his morning coffee burned through you, your stomach doing a loop-de-loop at the sensation.

You knew as soon as he pulled away that all eyes would be on the both of you, but you didn't expect half of their jaws to be on the floor.

"Damn," Emily said, flabbergasted. "Is everyone around here getting laid except for me?"

Penelope was the next to speak, which was quite surprising, considering it looked as though her jaw was out of commission not three seconds prior. "Who knew Newbie could canoodle like that?"

Your face flushed as crimson as the sweater your colleague wore. "Penelope," you scolded her, your hands bringing your lunch bag in front of your face, covering the blush that had taken over.

Luke was having none of that, pulling the lunch bag away from your cheeks. "Y/N sure knows," he smirked before leaving a soft kiss on your forehead.

The blonde all but jumped out of her chair. "Is this a thing? How come no one told me about the thing? Why am I always the last to know about a thing?"

Luke tossed an arm around your shoulders, providing you with a sense of calm and comfort as you thought about your next words. "Technically," you started, "you're all the first to find out about the thing."

"Except Roxy," Luke corrected. "She pretty much knew it was a thing before it actually was a thing."

Next thing you knew, the girls were pulling you over to one side of the room, practically begging for details. Out of the corner of your eye, you caught Spencer sharing a fist bump with Luke, a smile overtaking your face.

Oh, how they got on your nerves, but oh how, you loved the BAU.

-> taglist: @1234-angelika @drayshadow @alexxavicry @nomajdetective @cordyandbilliehavemyheart @darkloverfox @sammyrenae68 @cherrycandle @asgardprincess97 @gh0stgurl @randomwriter1021 @eddieharrington @danielle143 @esposadomd @reidselle @dungeons-are-too-cold @louderfortheback @reidsbookclub @cwritesforfun @cynbx @juismissing @captainchris-pike @lukeclvez

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violentdelightsandviolentends · 1 year ago

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You wanted thoughts??? No thoughts, only luke alvez. How about an inexperienced reader getting fingered in his lap? And it's just soft and he's so reassuring.

omg… I miss this man so much. can’t wait to see him on my screen again soon.

smut warning!!

“Relax, princesa.”

You can’t breathe.

Luke’s hands are everywhere.

Your thighs, your hips, your knees, your waist. Rough fingertips trail across any skin he can find, pinching and squeezing and tracing as he goes. You’re so overwhelmed, you’re worried you might just pass out.

“It’s gonna feel real good if you calm down a little. I promise.”

You believe him. Taking a deep breath, you exhale into his body, melting back into him. He’s got your legs spread wide over his, both of you watching your face in the mirror. He looks so broad sat behind you, you feel lightheaded again.

He dances his fingers up your thigh, running them through your soaked core. The groan he releases is the hottest sound you’ve ever heard.

“Oh, carinõ. You’re more than ready for me.”

Any other day, you’d probably feel embarrassed. But right now, all you can focus on is Luke.

“I am,” you whine. “Please.”

“Take a deep breath in. That’s it, atta girl. Now, exhale.”

He slips his finger in as you breathe out, and all you feel is bliss.

“You’re doing so good. Fuck, you look so pretty like this.”

“More.”

“More? Already?”

You nod frantically, hands grabbing at his forearms.

“Whatever you want, baby. This is all about you. It’s always all about you.”

#luke alvez x reader smut #luke alvez smut #luke alvez x reader #luke alvez x y/n #luke alvez blurb #luke alvez fic #luke alvez x you #luke alvez fanfiction #luke alvez imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x reader smut #murph writes blurbs

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prentissluvr · 1 year ago

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anything for you — luke alvez

pairing : luke alvez x gn!bau!reader ➖⟢ genre : hurt/comfort, fluff ➖⟢ cw : crying, kissing, only light editing ➖⟢ wc : 2.5K summary : luke admits he'd do anything for you after you open up about a hard case

crying in a public bathroom is the worst. and yet, for most, it is unavoidable at some point or another. this evening, it’s your turn to cry in a public bathroom. sloped pathetically against the stall door, you thank the lord that you’ve mastered the art of crying silently, because the last thing you want is a coworker to walk in and hear you.

however, you do curse the fact that you couldn’t just wait to cry until you got home. of course, that’s what you had planned to do, but the volatility of human emotions wholly foiled said plans when your tired feet found their way to your desk in the half empty bullpen. you had collapsed into your chair, dropping your go-bag to the floor without a second thought when the inevitable sting of tears that come with a rough case decided to show up early. swallowing hard, you realized the tears weren’t going to go anywhere but your cheeks to drip off your chin and land on your white dress shirt.

that’s why you’re crying in the public bathroom of a federal building, hoping you aren’t gone long enough to arouse suspicion among any fellow bau agents who haven’t yet gone home.

with a final deep breath, you wipe your fingers over your eyes and straighten up your shirt before walking out of the stall. at the sink, you dab some cold water right under your eyes to reduce the puffiness just long enough for you to get past your far too intuitive coworkers and head home. gently drying away any remaining wetness or glaringly obvious signs of your bathroom activities from your face, you take in your appearance in the mirror and decide that this is the best that you’ll get. your eyes are still red, but not too much that they can’t be explained away with excuses of a long flight, or maybe early-spring allergies.

the issue is that you assumed you’d have a good minute to pull yourself together a bit more if you walk a little slow. as you exit the bathroom with a loud, defeated huff of breath leaving your lips, you look up to see luke alvez headed in your direction, seemingly on the way to the bathrooms himself.

you curse to yourself because you can tell that he saw you first, which means he caught you uncomposed.

“hey, luke,” you greet him as normal, throwing him a casual smile and praying he doesn’t think anything of your slightly disheveled state. “see you tomorrow!” you plan to brush past him as he heads your way, but he stops in front of you, rather than proceeding to the restroom.

“actually, i was looking for you,” he says, his own voice casual.

“mm, aren’t you always,” you tease, easily slipping into your normal mode of conversation with him despite your slightly unstable emotional state.

“i just can’t help myself,” he grins at you, shrugging and raising his eyebrows like he can’t deny it before his expression turns a bit more serious, earnest in the way it gets when he really means something. “i wanted to check up on you though, you seemed really exhausted on the jet.” it’s easy for you to tell that your tiredness on the way back home is not the only thing that he’s noticed, but you try to play along like it is.

“i appreciate that, and yeah, i’m honestly exhausted, but that’s nothing new, is it? it was a long case,” you try to word it like you’re conceding a bit, rather than full on denying him so you don’t come across as defensive.

“right, of course,” he smiles kindly, and you know he’s only saying that because he’s respecting the fact that you don’t want to talk about it. he doesn’t really believe you. “well either way, even if you’re just tired, you’ll tell me if there’s anything i can do for you, yeah? i just wanted to remind you that i’m always willing to lend an ear, treat you to takeout or a movie, or really anything at all. i don’t want you to feel like you can’t open up to me about a hard case, or anything like that.” he drops plenty of obvious hints, but his voice is sweet through and through, without a hint of accusation or prying. he makes it so easy to tell that he means what he says, that he wants to help, and that he cares about you. the way he looks at you has you craving to cave for him, his eyes all soft and earnest and full of respect.

“thank you, luke,” you smile half-heartedly, voice softer and more truthful than before. you wonder if your not-so-little crush on him makes it dangerous for you to take him up on any of those offers, but you also think maybe you just don’t care. why pass up a perfect opportunity to spend time with just him and his sweet self. “maybe… maybe we can just talk a little on the way to my car if you’re ready to go home?” the smile he gives you has your knees feeling just a bit weak. does he have to look at you like he’d do anything for you?

“i’d love that,” he says, all soft in a way that makes you crazy. he walks with you, side by side on the way to grab your things from the bullpen, and you wonder what it’d feel like if he were to sling his arm over your shoulders and pull you in close. not that you haven’t felt his arms around you before, but something about him makes you crave after any sort of casual intimacy with him. but instead, he grabs your bag for you, and you have to walk even farther apart from him. you thank him, of course, for carrying it for you, and you wonder how to tell him that he has a beautiful smile. as you wait for the elevator, he asks what you wanted to talk about.

clearing your throat, you feel awkward and unsure how to start. you haven’t even decided if you want to tell him just how bad this case was, if you want to gloss over it, or if you want to talk about something else entirely to take your mind off of things.

“i, um–” the ding of the elevator interrupts you before you can really begin. inside, you press the button to the garage floor and lean against the cool metal of the back wall. he settles next to you for the short ride. you sigh deeply, and you can feel luke’s eyes on you, likely curious and concerned, but not so much that it reads as pity.

in the small time frame of a moment, you think about the way luke has always jumped to take care of you, even when you first started out. sometimes it’s as subtle as a small smile when he’s passing you by, a genuine, casual praise when you contribute something to the profile, or a cup of coffee or tea just the way you like it. other times it’s a hug he needs just as much as you after a close call in the field, or a steady hand, gentle touch, and furrowed brow when you get even slightly injured. he always has the right words for you and he always makes it known that he is as fiercely loyal to you as he is to the rest of the team.

“i know you know it already,” you finally start, “but this case was hard for me.” he nods, understanding and compassion filling up his features in an instant. “honestly not sure if i really want to get into it right now, but– but maybe later. it just…hit a sore spot and i’m still grappling with the aftermath of that. you know this, but when the case is active it’s kind of hard to deal with anything else. so when we got back it kind of really hit me, y’know, the fact that i haven’t been able to process it yet. now i just want to go to bed,” you chuckle half-heartedly, feeling a new level of exhaustion sinking in.

“believe me, i get that,” he mirrors your tired laugh, always so observant to the way you want a conversation to go. this time, he knows you don’t want it to be heavy or highly emotional. “i’m sorry this case struck close to home like that, that always sucks,” he says empathetically. “nights like this i always fall asleep to one of my favorite movies,” he keeps talking as the elevator doors open and you walk out and towards the parking garage, “don’t have to think about what’s bothering you yet and you don’t have to worry about missing something when you fall asleep. not sure if that’s your kind of thing, but it might not hurt to give it a try.”

you smile at his genuine advice. “it certainly wouldn’t,” you agree, infinitely grateful for the way luke treats you almost too good. the two of you stall at the edge of the parking garage before heading in, not quite sure where the other has parked their car. an idea sparks in your mind, and you think it’s the exhaustion that makes you say it out loud. “listen, uh, not sure if this is too much to ask for tonight, but… any chance i can take you up on that offer for take out and a movie? not sure if a movie all by myself would do the trick.”

the bright smile on luke’s face might be a bit inappropriate for the context, but you couldn’t care less, because your own thoughts about how handsome he looks like this aren’t any better.

“of course, you could never ask for anything that would be too much. anything to help, anything for you,” he drops that bomb like it’s so easy to say, so easy to feel that way about you. earlier you had cursed the look in his eyes that seemed to say that, and now you have no idea what to do once he’s said those words aloud, confirmed them without a single doubt. “we’ll take my car, c’mon.” he gestures with his head in the general direction, casually leading you along as if he hadn’t just made your heart race so fast you begin to forget that you cried today at all. “plus, there’s nothing better than roxy to make you feel better. she’ll be excited to see you.”

you try to regain any semblance of your composure as you follow him along. “i’m excited to see her, too,” you smile, “thank you, luke,” you say once again.

“it’s my pleasure, seriously.” he uses that same voice he always uses for you, full of conviction and with at least the hint of a smile. he’s always smiling around you, and you wonder if it could be because it makes you smile back. he told you last week after work one day, casual and soft, that he likes your smile.

once you reach his car, he tosses your bags in the back seat before turning to open the passenger side door for you. but you’re already there, hand on the handle and his fingers curl right over yours.

“sorry,” he laughs out quietly, but he doesn’t move away. you’re far more relaxed than you were earlier than night, but with you so close, he can still see the hurt swimming around in your pink-rimmed eyes. you see his features soften into something akin to maybe love, and his voice is quiet with care. “can i hug you?” he asks, like this time it would be different, because he’s certainly hugged you before. you take in the sweet gaze of his eyes, and you nod readily.

“of course,” you whisper back, and you mean that. he can hug you whenever he likes.

it takes less than an instant for you to be folded up into his arms, his hands reaching around you like he’s been waiting to do this all night, one hand coming to rest securely on the back of your head and the other on your back. your own arms curl around his middle and you just melt into his embrace. you hadn’t even realized just how much you needed this, and now you have it, perfect and warm against the nighttime breeze that’s begun to filter into the open air of the lot.

he rubs up and down your back until the gentle silence of it all is broken up by the sounds of someone backing their car up to head home. luke pulls away slowly, soft as the feel of his arms around you and lingers there, looking at you under the flickering garage lights like you’re an angel.

you feel a little bashful under his gaze, torn between making a teasing quip about how he can’t get enough of you or kissing him right on the lips. instead, you pull him back to you without warning, smushing your face into his shoulder and sighing happily when you pull a surprised laugh from him. he returns the hug with equal force, squeezing you close before pressing a solid kiss to your hairline. you pull back just a bit to take him in, unable to control the smile spreading across your face. his arms don’t leave their place wrapped around you.

“you sure know how to turn someone’s night around,” you grin.

“i bet i could come up with one more thing that might help you out,” he says cheekily.

you raise your eyebrows. “oh, really? and what might that be, luke alvez?” god, he loves the way you say his name, the way you run your hands up to loop around his neck.

“well,” he copies you by saying your full name back. you love the way he says it, too. “i could kiss you, if you wouldn’t mind.” you practically swoon at the way he always remains unfailingly respectful, even when he has that playful lilt to his voice.

you make an overexaggerated expression of contemplation as he shifts his hands to settle on your waist. “hmm, i might have to think about that.” in response, he tugs you even closer to him, that teasing smile you’ve come to seek out pulling at his pretty lips.

“do you? and how long will that take? because i’m not sure if i can wait for long,” he teases back.

“i guess it’d be alright if you kissed me now,” you concede, still with that playful tone.

“just alright?” he questions, eyebrows raised.

deciding you’re done teasing, with that smile he finds to be just irresistible, you tell him, “luke, if you don’t kiss me right now, i swe–” then, without a second to spare, his lips are on yours, and every last worry of yours melts away to make way for his soft lips, his steady hands, and the fact that he’d do anything for you.

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themarbledstudy · 21 days ago

Text

Collision Course

📃Masterlist || WC: 9770 || Unwritten Bloodlines Series (Part II)

Previous: Spencer - The Outline

📚 Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader x BAU!Team

📚 Warnings: Angst. Flashbacks

📚 Context: Retelling of the Spencer Reid prison arc but now there's a lot more at stake. Filled with lots of flashbacks to their past.

We’re all hiding something, but the truth always comes out one way or another.

The visitation room was dark, its air thick with moisture, yet strangely dry, as though the atmosphere itself was suffocating under an unseen weight. Emily pushed open the door with a sharp creak, Fiona stepping in behind her. The room was cramped, heavy with silence. Spencer Reid sat at the far end of the table, a broken man, his posture hunched, as if the walls themselves were pressing in on him.

When his eyes flickered up to meet Emily’s, something stirred—recognition. She was a familiar face, the one he could trust to pull him out of this nightmare. For the first time in days, his expression shifted, just slightly.

Emily wasted no time. She stepped forward, her voice direct and cutting through the tension. “The blood and prints on the weapon are yours.”

The words hit him like a punch. Spencer’s body stiffened, but he didn’t flinch. He sat frozen, not moving, not speaking, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d just heard.

Fiona broke the silence with a soft exhale, her voice clinical. “That means the two-to-five-year deal you didn’t want earlier? Gone. The new offer’s five to ten years.”

Spencer’s face contorted, frustration and panic clawing at him. Fiona paused, letting the weight of her words sink in. “And it’s an exploding offer. You have until the arraignment to take it. If you don’t, there’s nothing left. You’ll go to trial.”

The air in the room grew heavier, more oppressive. Emily watched him closely, his lips tight, his fingers twitching.

They’d been through the same conversation countless times before, but this felt different. It was getting to him.

She could see it.

Fiona asked about the cut on his hand, her voice soft, as though trying to coax a memory from him. “Spencer, do you remember how you got this cut?”

Spencer’s eyes dropped to the injury, his hand flexing, fingers tight. His jaw clenched, his frustration clear. “I don’t remember,” he muttered, voice thin, as if the words were a struggle.

Emily exhaled slowly, fighting the frustration bubbling inside her. Impossible. Spencer Reid never forgot a single thing. But there was no point in pressing him further on the cut. Not yet. She switched gears, her voice lowering, softer now, but still sharp. “Do you think they’ll convict you?”

Spencer didn’t answer immediately. His gaze dropped, his eyes dull, tired. The question seemed to wear him down further. Finally, he shook his head, his voice raw. “I don’t know.”

Emily leaned forward slightly, her tone steady. “If they do… five years is doable. You’re young. You can still have a life after that.”

Spencer’s eyes flickered up to hers, defiant. “Not as an FBI agent.”

The words hung in the air, thick and final. Emily didn’t respond, letting him sit with it. But after a moment,

Spencer’s voice broke the silence again.

“Can I have a moment alone with Emily?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.

Fiona hesitated, then nodded. She stepped out, leaving them alone in the dim room. Emily sat across from Spencer, but the distance between them had grown in ways she hadn’t anticipated. This wasn’t the same Spencer Reid who had once feared not being enough, not being able to fix things. Now, the man before her was someone else—someone who wasn’t sure if he’d ever get the chance to live again.

Emily didn’t wait long. She could feel the tension radiating off him. “What aren’t you telling me, Spence?”

His eyes flickered away, refusing to meet hers. He stood abruptly, pacing the small space between them. His movements were erratic, like he couldn’t sit still, like the room was closing in on him.

“I’ve told you everything I remember,” he said, his voice tight, defensive.

Emily wasn’t buying it. “You’re lying.”

Spencer’s face darkened, and he turned toward her, his voice suddenly harsher. “Emily—don’t.”

But she didn’t back down. She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “Did you do it, Reid?”

The question was blunt, aimed straight for the heart of it all. Spencer froze, a visible shudder running through him.

For a long moment, he didn’t respond. His eyes closed, his jaw tight, as if he were trying to block her out.

“Stop,” he whispered, almost inaudible, but the plea in his voice was unmistakable.

Emily didn’t relent. “Is that why you have that cut on your hand?” she pressed, her voice quieter now, like she was peeling away the layers. “Tell me, Spencer. Is that why?”

“I said stop,” he repeated, louder now, almost pleading.

The silence that followed was thick and uncomfortable. Emily could see the cracks starting to form, the walls he had built around himself beginning to crumble. She took a breath, then pushed once more.

“So what is it, Spencer?” Her voice was soft, coaxing now, like she knew he was close to breaking. “What are you hiding?”

His shoulders sagged, defeated. He slowly sank back into his chair, his gaze dropping to the table. He didn’t look at her when he spoke next, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m married.”

The words were simple, but they hit her like a blow. She sat there for a moment, processing what he’d just said, unsure if she’d heard him correctly.

“To who?” she asked, her voice laced with confusion. She tilted her head, her brow furrowing.

Spencer’s eyes flicked to hers for the first time since he’d confessed, a fleeting moment of vulnerability crossing his face. “You can’t tell anyone,” he warned, his voice tense. “This job… it demands everything from us. Every day. It’s the only thing I have left for myself.”

Emily’s stomach twisted. A wife? It didn’t fit. But she nodded slowly, trying to make sense of it. “Then I need to know who. Because whoever is framing you for this is targeting everything in your life. Your mother. Your wife. You. Who am I looking for?”

He shook his head slightly, his expression darkening. “You don’t need to look for anyone,” he said, his voice strained. “You don’t have to.”

“But who is it, Spencer?” Emily pressed, desperate for answers. “What do you mean?”

He looked up at her then, his eyes filled with uncertainty, like he was questioning whether he had made a mistake in telling her anything at all. “Y/N,” he said, the name barely audible but still sharp with finality.

A cold shock ran through Emily. She’d spoken to you this morning. A casual conversation that no profiler would ever make the connection to, but now, it made perfect sense.

“I’ll go to London and try to pull some strings with my buddies from Interpol,” you had told her, the words unassuming, wrapped in the kind of confidence that made it sound like a simple favor.

"Thanks, Y/N," Emily had said. "This will definitely help."

But now, it all clicked. And Spencer, looking at her with wide eyes, seemed almost desperate.

“She’s going to try to go off-grid,” he said, his voice frantic. “She’s gonna try to go to Mexico.”

Spencer’s gaze hardened, his voice dropping to a whisper. “This whole thing… our entire relationship... it was a secret. A pact. We’d live in our own world, no one else allowed in.”

Emily leaned forward, her voice firm, but understanding. “How long?”

He didn’t answer. The weight of the question resting on his shoulders. The last years pressing on his chest. The weight of his confession hung between them, the truth finally out in the open. But the question now was what came next—and whether they could protect the people who meant the most to him.

INT. Courthouse

The courthouse felt suffocating, the heavy air laden with the weight of unspoken words and the clinking sound of legal papers. The room hummed with a kind of oppressive stillness, as if even the walls were holding their breath. The judge sat elevated behind the bench, a quiet sentinel, his gavel an unspoken reminder of what was to come. The courtroom was packed with familiar faces—Garcia, Luke, Emily, Rossi, JJ, Tara, Stephen. And you.

You sat in the back, feeling the sting of every moment as it passed. Spencer’s fate hung in the balance, but so did yours. He wasn’t alone in this anymore. It wasn’t just his future at stake—it was all of yours.

The proceedings began with the sharp authority of the judge’s voice. “U.S. versus Reid.” His words were clipped, precise, as if every syllable carried the weight of everything that had led up to this moment. Fiona stood beside Spencer, defending him with a steady professionalism, her voice a calm but measured counterpoint to the storm of accusations surrounding them. The words from the opposing counsel came fast, each one a blow, their rhythm more like a drumbeat of inevitability.

“And how do you plead, Agent Reid?” the judge asked, his gaze unwavering.

Spencer’s response was swift, and you could hear the edge in his voice. It was the only thing that remained under his control.

“Not guilty.”

The words landed, final and unyielding. A collective exhale passed between you and the others seated behind him. JJ whispered to you, the relief almost audible in her voice. “Thank god.” You wanted to feel that relief too, but the storm of uncertainty refused to let you.

The prosecutor wasted no time, his voice rising in volume, each word an indictment that seemed to echo off the stone walls. Then came the sentence that sent a shockwave through the room.

“The people oppose bail.”

Rossi’s face tightened as though he’d been struck. His eyes never left the prosecutor, but you could see the strain, the momentary flicker of helplessness. No bail. Not even a chance to buy his way out. The finality of it punched you in the stomach, and you could feel Spencer’s shoulders tighten beneath the weight of the news. His face, usually so controlled, betrayed a flicker of something you couldn’t quite place—frustration, confusion, or maybe resignation.

The courtroom swirled around you, the legal arguments falling into a dull hum in your ears. The motions, the objections, the counterpoints—they were all just background noise. What mattered was Spencer, standing there in front of them all, a man caught in a world that didn’t seem to make sense anymore.

You tried to stay anchored, to focus, but your mind wandered, unbidden, to a time before this, before the legal nightmare had descended on them all.

Words flew out of the prosecutor’s mouth, provoking memories: Unsanctioned Travel. Personal Passport. Character Witness.

Unsanctioned Travel.

The memory came unbidden—one of those small moments that felt almost trivial in hindsight, yet now it seemed as though it held some kind of prophecy.

Spencer had been leaving. Just a quick trip down to Houston for a couple of days. The idea seemed so normal, so unremarkable, the kind of thing you’d never give a second thought to if it weren’t for how everything had spiraled since.

“I’ll be down in Houston for a couple of days,” Spencer had said, his voice soft over the phone.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” you had teased, the words light, filled with that familiar rhythm of your easy conversations.

He had chuckled, a sound that always seemed to ease the tension in your chest. “I hope so.”

Personal Passport

It had been almost a month since Gideon left the BAU. The team was still reeling, each member wrapped in their own quiet kind of grief — Hotch’s stoic silence felt colder, Morgan’s usual banter had dulled, and JJ tried hard to keep the warmth alive but it was a thin flame. At the office, the light felt dimmer, the air heavier, like a storm cloud hanging low overhead.

But here — in this small townhouse nestled quietly in D.C., only blocks from Spencer’s old apartment — it was different.

You and Spencer had just moved in, boxes half-unpacked, the faint scent of fresh paint mingling with the soft hum of the heater. It was your first night here, just the two of you, still 26 and a little awkward—not out of discomfort, but in the way new beginnings always carry a quiet, tentative hope.

The walls echoed faintly with the sounds of settling—creaks and sighs of a house becoming home.

It was the easiest decision either of you had ever made. A choice that felt inevitable, though the path to it had been anything but simple. Six years of stolen glances, late-night conversations, and half-whispered dreams had brought you here.

The moment it was decided still made you smile: a random night during a case in Boston. You were both wound tight from the day, hiding out in your hotel room, sharing a pack of pretzels and playing an aggressive game of Go Fish.

Spencer had been quiet for a while, thumb idly rubbing the corner of a playing card, before he looked up at you and said — like he was asking what you wanted for lunch — “We should move in together.”

You hadn’t even looked up from your hand at first. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious,” he said, totally unfazed. “It makes sense. I mean, between our schedules, the overlapping time spent at each other’s places, the financial practicality alone is—well, actually, if I had my laptop, I could show you a table—”

You had stared at him, somewhere between confused and endeared. “Spence.”

He’d paused. Blinked.

Then softened.

“I want to come home to you,” he said. “I don’t mean just at the end of the day. I mean… you are home. You’ve been home. For a while. I’ve just been waiting for the right moment to say it.”

You’d stayed quiet. Not because you were unsure — you weren’t. But because sometimes the most real things are also the most terrifying.

He must’ve seen it in your face. He always did.

“I don’t just want to split bills and share closet space,” he’d added, a little awkward, his voice starting to do that fast-paced, low-register thing he did when he got nervous. “I want to live a life with you. Grocery lists and library runs and fighting over who left the towel on the floor — although statistically it will probably be me. I want this to be permanent. Not just convenient. Not just... efficient.”

He’d cleared his throat. “Although I do think it’ll be extremely efficient.”

You’d laughed then — because of course he couldn’t not say that — and that laugh cracked something open.

You nodded, slow but sure, and said, “Okay. Yeah. Let’s do it.”

And now… here you were.

Your knees brushed his hip as you shifted back to the present, glancing down at him. He had your mail spread out across the floor like he was about to profile it.

“You’re alphabetizing the junk coupons again, aren’t you?” you said.

Spencer looked up with a deadpan face. “You say that like it’s not a valuable system.”

“You’re an unstoppable force.”

He smiled without lifting his head, the corner of his mouth curling as he reached out to adjust a stack of paperwork — his hand brushing yours as he did.

Now here you both were.

The living room was dim, lit only by a crooked lamp casting lazy shadows across the pale walls. You sat cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by unopened boxes, your back resting against a cool, unyielding wall. Spencer lounged beside you on a threadbare throw rug, his hoodie sleeves rolled up to reveal lean forearms, his bare feet flexing against the smooth wood floor. Every now and then, his knee brushed yours — light, accidental touches that felt like the whole universe shrinking into that one small, warm space between you.

Amid the quiet, your fingers brushed against something familiar — his passport, buried under a pile of documents marked IMPORTANT. You pulled it out with a grin, holding it up like a secret treasure.

“Oh no,” you said softly.

Spencer’s head popped up, eyes already crinkling with amusement. “Please don’t.”

You flipped it open and laughed quietly, the sound light and almost childlike in the stillness.

There he was: younger, hair flatter, eyes wide and a little too serious, as if he’d just been asked to solve a math problem on the spot.

“Spence,” you teased, voice playful, “you look like you just argued with airport security about the existential meaning of carry-on liquids… and lost.”

His cheeks warmed to a soft rose, and he shifted closer, the faint heat of his body pressing against your calf.

“I’m supposed to be offended, right?” he asked shyly.

You smirked and nudged his knee with yours. “You’re ridiculous. But hey—”

He cut you off with a mock groan. “You’re making fun of me, but you’re the one who’s about to marry that guy.” He pointed at his own passport photo with a grin.

You laughed, shaking your head, feeling the tension dissolve between you.

Then, suddenly, Spencer sat up straighter, eyes brightening with mischief. He reached over and snatched your passport from the pile like a prize.

“Your turn,” he said.

You reached for it, cheeks flushing, but he pulled it just out of reach with a sly smile.

“Hey! Give it back!” you protested, fingers twitching to grab it.

“Not until I finish,” he teased, eyes gleaming.

He studied your photo, then raised an eyebrow. “You look like you’ve already memorized every airport security rule twice over and are silently judging anyone who forgets to take off their belt.”

You swatted his arm playfully, laughing. “Okay, okay, you win. Now give it back.”

He handed it over—but then, with perfect timing, added in a low, teasing voice, “You know… we’re not married yet, so technically, I can still change my mind.”

You froze for a moment, then threw your head back, laughing. The silly tension between you was a balm for everything outside these walls.

“Oh, is that a threat or a promise, Reid?”

“Depends,” he said, eyes twinkling, “can you handle a lifetime of math lectures and bad puns?”

“I think I’m ready to negotiate,” you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder.

His arm slid around your waist, pulling you closer, the soft heat of his body a steady anchor in the quiet room.

Boxes remained unopened around you, a half-packed life waiting to be sorted, but right now, in this little haven, the world outside—the grief, the missing Gideon, the weight of the BAU—felt a little farther away.

“So,” you whispered, the glow from the lamp wrapping around you like a soft blanket, “ready to find Gideon in Harlem and finally get this thing started?”

Spencer’s smile softened, but there was a spark of his usual wit behind it. “I’m bracing myself. Gideon will probably demand we recite Nietzsche and lecture us on the absurdity of marriage.”

You chuckled, nudging him gently. “Well, we’re young. Innocent. What’s the worst that could happen?”

He bumped your knee lightly, eyes warm. “Besides getting grilled by our former boss about how we’re handling life beyond the BAU? Nothing at all.”

You both laughed softly, wrapped in the quiet comfort of the moment.

And for the first time in weeks, with Gideon gone and the team still picking up the pieces, you were reminded that this was your life too — messy, uncertain, but yours.

Together.

Character Witness

Another memory hit, one that was sharper, more vivid. The day you both found Gideon again.

The search for Gideon had become a quiet obsession for Spencer. It had been months since he’d left the BAU, and the letter he’d left behind, the one that had claimed he needed to disappear, had left a gaping hole in Spencer's chest. No one knew where he had gone, no one knew why he'd left so abruptly. But Spencer refused to believe Gideon was truly gone from their lives. The man who had once been like a mentor, a father figure, couldn’t just vanish without a trace. Spencer didn’t believe in that kind of disappearance.

You had helped, of course. You had sifted through every scrap of information with him—looking through his old files, the notes Gideon had left behind, things Spencer had never shown anyone else. Together, you’d pulled at the threads of his past, but it wasn’t until Spencer started putting the puzzle pieces together, slowly, methodically, that something clicked.

“I think I know where he is,” Spencer said one evening, his voice low, eyes distant. He wasn’t just theorizing, he wasn’t just throwing out possibilities. This was different. This was a gut feeling, one that told you Spencer was right. He had always been able to see patterns no one else could, and now it was happening again.

You glanced over at him, sitting beside him at the table, papers scattered around you both. The dim light from the lamp above cast shadows across his face, making him look even more worn than he had the past few weeks. He had been burning the candle at both ends, and it was beginning to show. His eyes were tired.

“Where, Spence?” you asked softly, leaning toward him.

“New York,” he said, almost like he was trying the words on for size. “Gideon wouldn’t want to be found, not easily. Not after everything. But New York—it’s big enough to lose yourself, to disappear. And it’s not just anywhere in the city. He’s in Harlem. He’s trying to blend in.”

You stared at him for a long moment. New York? It didn’t make sense. Gideon—someone who thrived on solitude, on quiet—in New York? But the more you thought about it, the more you realized how much it made sense. Gideon had never been one for attention, for being known. He could hide among a million strangers, anonymous in a sea of faces.

And just like that, you knew you had to go. You’d never question Spencer’s instincts—he had that rare ability to sense the things no one else could. He’d already made up his mind. The plan was set.

You didn’t speak much as you made the long journey to the city. The anticipation was thick in the air, heavy as the falling snow that began to drift down from the sky as soon as you arrived. October 6th, and New York was already wearing its winter cloak. The rare early snow was a sight to see, soft and delicate against the harshness of the city’s skyline. Snowflakes swirled in the air like a dream, landing on the shoulders of passing strangers, slipping between the gaps of towering buildings.

The snow was still falling in soft, swirling flurries, a surreal layer of white settling over the city’s chaos. New York, a city known for its bustling, never-sleeping nature, seemed to slow beneath the quiet blanket of October snow. The air was crisp, biting, but the chill didn’t quite reach you as you stood with Spencer on the narrow sidewalk, both of you staring up at the door in front of you.

It was old, weathered, tucked into a forgotten corner of a building that seemed like it had been waiting for someone to knock for years. You had been searching for this door for days, driven by the quiet hope that Gideon—your mentor, your guide, and a man who had always seen beyond the surface—would answer it. You had found him. But now that you stood here, the reality of what this moment meant hit you hard. The hesitation settled between you both like the snow at your feet, so thick that it clouded the certainty you once had.

“I’m not sure about this, Spence,” you said quietly, trying to keep your voice steady. You shifted from foot to foot, the cold creeping up your legs as if it could match the growing discomfort in your chest. “What if he doesn’t want to do this? What if he’s not—what if he’s moved on?”

Spencer glanced at you, his eyes soft but full of that quiet resolve that he always carried. “We’ve been through this. He’s not going to shut us out. We’re not the ones who left him, Y/N.” He reached over, his hand brushing yours, grounding you. “He’s just… hard to find, that’s all. But we did find him.”

You sighed, frustration mixing with the nerves that bubbled under your skin. “I just don’t want to make it awkward. We’re asking him for something big. What if he doesn't want to—”

“Y/N…” Spencer’s voice cut through your worries like a calm breath on a stormy night. He stepped closer, his hand now resting gently on your arm. “I know. I get it. But he’s not going to say no. And... we need him to help us with this. We trust him more than anyone else in the world. And we need this wedding to be ours. Just ours.”

You glanced at him, searching his face, the warmth in his eyes as familiar as the shape of your own hands. There was a quiet determination there, but also a hint of the same uncertainty you felt. He was just as hesitant as you were, but it didn’t stop him from pushing forward. It never did.

“I know,” you whispered, swallowing hard. “It’s just… we’re so young, Spence. I don’t want to lose you, ever. What if we’re rushing into something we can’t undo? ”

Spencer’s lips pressed together in that familiar thoughtful way. “I think it’s too late for that. We’ve been building this… us… for years. And now we’re at a place where I’m ready to make it real. And that’s not something I take lightly. And neither should you.” He paused, taking a breath. “We’ve been through so much together already, Y/N. You’re not just my partner, you’re my home. And I don’t think you or I have ever really noticed it, but we’ve built everything we’ve wanted together. We’ve built this life.”

You felt your chest tighten. You could feel it—the weight of what you had with him, how every memory, every moment, had become woven into the tapestry of your shared existence. From the first day you met, from the awkward late-night talks after work, to the quiet dinners, to the way Spencer always knew what you needed even before you did. You had created a world together. It was subtle, yet noticeable and loud.

“But this… this marriage, Spence,” you said, a little exasperated, a little amused. “We’re asking Gideon to help us keep it secret. Do you even realize that?”

Spencer gave a soft, slightly rueful smile. “I think we’re asking him to give us his wisdom. And yeah, it’s to keep our marriage records sealed. But it’s not because we’re hiding. It’s because we want something we can protect. Something that’s ours.” He nodded toward the door, then at you. “We’ve always kept each other safe. This is no different.”

You looked at him, then at the door, your fingers nervously twisting in front of you. “You’re right,” you said, your voice growing quieter as you let go of the fear, just a little. “It’s not like we can’t come back another time.”

Spencer let out a short breath, his voice lowering to almost a whisper. “I don’t think we will. Not with Gideon. This… this moment, Y/N. It’s a chapter we’ll never get to open again. We need to make it count. We need his wisdom. He’s the one person who’s always told us to keep things like this close to our hearts, to protect it with everything we have.” Spencer’s eyes softened, but his voice remained steady. “He’s been a part of this, whether he knows it or not.”

The air around you felt a little less heavy, the tension in your chest easing as you took in his words. Spencer wasn’t just talking about the wedding. He was talking about you—about both of you. About how you had, without knowing it, woven your lives into something far greater than what anyone could see on the surface.

A light dusting of snow settled on Spencer’s dark hair, making him look younger than he already was. You couldn’t help but smile. “You’re right.” You reached for his hand, your fingers lacing together naturally, the fit so perfect that it felt like you were made to hold on to each other.

Spencer’s gaze softened. “We’ve waited long enough, don’t you think?”

You nodded, the hesitation finally melting away as you stepped closer to the door. The moment stretched between you, an unspoken agreement passing between the two of you.

“Alright,” you said, feeling the knot in your stomach loosen for the first time. “But you knock.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “I knock?”

“Yeah,” you said with a half-smile, “because you found him. You found the door. You found us.” You placed your hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart under your fingertips. “This is your thing.”

Spencer laughed, the sound light and genuine, but he didn’t hesitate. “Fine. I’ll knock. But we’re both doing this together.”

With that, his hand reached for the doorknob. There was no more hesitation now, no more second-guessing. This was it. You were doing this together. Not just as partners in the field, not just as colleagues who had seen too much darkness to count, but as two people who had quietly built a life that was now ready to be sealed with a promise.

Spencer knocked. And as the sound echoed softly against the door, you knew that whatever came next, you would always have each other.

The door opened slowly. A tired-looking man stood before you. For a second, you weren’t sure if you had the right place, but when his eyes locked onto Spencer’s, something shifted.

“You two lost?” The voice was rough but somehow familiar, even if it had changed a little since the last time you’d heard it.

“Gideon?” Spencer asked, the question barely a whisper, but it carried everything—relief, disbelief, fear. It was the sound of someone who had been lost.

The door creaked open, and there he was.

“What are you kids doing here?” Gideon snarked, his voice carrying that familiar dry humor that made you feel like you were in trouble even though you knew better. For a second, you thought you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have—like you were back in school, caught sneaking out past curfew, although neither you or Spencer would have ever done that.

“Come in,” he said, stepping aside and motioning for you both to enter.

The warmth inside hit you like a soft, gentle wave—so different from the bitter cold outside, where the snow had begun to blanket the streets. But inside, it was cozy. The smell of coffee, thick and comforting, filled the space, a scent that seemed to settle into your bones.

“Coffee?” Gideon asked, but it wasn’t really directed at you. You hadn’t been much of a coffee drinker, not in the way Spencer was.

Spencer shook his head.

Gideon’s brows lifted in disbelief. “Well, I’ll be damned. Spencer doesn’t want coffee.”

You stifled a laugh at his surprise.

Gideon gestured for you both to sit. The kitchen was small, but the kind of small that felt lived-in. Familiar. There were old chairs that looked like they’d been there for years, mismatched but comfortable, like this was a space for people who didn’t need to impress anyone—just to be themselves.

As you settled in, Spencer seemed almost hesitant. His usual confidence was tempered with something quieter, more vulnerable. And Gideon, in his quiet, observant way, caught it almost immediately.

He leaned against the sink, studying you both. His eyes flickered back and forth between you and Spencer, taking in the way Spencer’s hand rested on the table, close enough for your fingers to brush, but not quite touching. His gaze softened when he noticed the way you both looked at each other—like there was more between you than just this moment. Like there had always been more.

Spencer shifted, his gaze darting to you, then back to Gideon. You elbowed him lightly, a gentle nudge to coax him into speaking. But instead, Spencer hesitated again, his words stuck somewhere between his throat and the air.

Gideon’s lips curled into a half-smile, the kind he rarely allowed himself, but you could see it in his eyes—recognition.

“You’re getting married” he said, his voice carrying that quiet certainty of someone who’d seen it all before, someone who knew things before the rest of the world could catch on. He didn’t phrase it as a question. It wasn’t a guess—it was more like he was seeing something you hadn’t even fully acknowledged in yourselves.

Spencer’s eyes softened. The moment you locked eyes, you saw it—this was real. You were getting married. And Gideon had known it before you’d even walked in the door.

“Yeah,” Spencer said, his voice quiet but filled with an overwhelming joy that made you smile. “We are.”

Gideon’s lips twitched again. “Congratulations, you two,” he said, his words warm, but there was a distance in his tone that you understood—something between him and the rest of the world that wasn’t so easy to bridge.

There was a pause, thick with the weight of what he was beginning to piece together. Then, after a long, deliberate silence, Gideon’s eyes dropped to your left hand, where the ring rested—familiar, shiny, a quiet symbol of everything you and Spencer had been building together.

His gaze flickered back up to Spencer’s. He didn’t say a word at first, just took a slow breath, almost like he was processing everything, like he could see the road you both had traveled to get to this point. His next words were deliberate, heavy with something you couldn’t quite place.

“You want me to witness the wedding, don’t you?”

It wasn’t a question anymore. It was the recognition of something deep, something Gideon had known all along. He had seen you both. He had always seen it.

You and Spencer nodded, unable to put into words the depth of what you were feeling.

“Of course,” you said softly. “We couldn’t think of anyone else.”

“You’re family,” Spencer added, his voice full of affection, of gratitude. There was no hesitation in his words.

Gideon’s eyes softened at the sincerity in Spencer’s voice, and for a moment, you saw a side of him that was rare, almost vulnerable. He looked down at his coffee, his hand tightening around the mug. Then, slowly, he lifted his gaze to meet yours.

“Well,” he began, his voice laced with a dry humor you hadn’t expected, “I guess I’ll put on my best shirt then.” He gave a small smirk, the first real smile you’d seen from him since you’d arrived. “And we’ll head down to City Hall.”

You and Spencer both exhaled, a mix of relief and warmth flooding through you. Without a word, you both stood and embraced him, the awkwardness of the moment slowly melting away. The three of you stood there for a heartbeat, together again in a way that felt like it was meant to be.

“Thank you, Jason,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

“May you both hold each other close, for the world will test you. But if you have each other, you’ll always find your way back,” he said, his voice rich with quiet reverence, like a father trying to guard his children from the harshness of life.

You pulled away from the hug, and as you and Spencer moved toward the door, you could feel something shift between the three of you—a kind of unspoken understanding that this moment, this life, would be something to protect fiercely.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, the city streets now blanketed in white. It was as if the world had decided to pause, to make space for something sacred, something new. The rare October storm was the first sign of a season that was beginning. And with that, you realized that what you had with Spencer—what you were building—was something that would last beyond all the snowstorms, beyond the chaos of the world outside.

INT. Courtroom

You had been a frequent visitor of the countroom.

Long before the word guilty ever pierced your world like a blade, you'd wandered these halls as if your bones remembered them from another life. The marble was always too cold, the silence too loud. You had learned young that justice didn’t raise its voice—it whispered. And when it turned its back, it didn’t hesitate.

You knew the shape of a life before it unraveled. You had sat across the table from broken people—some who deserved mercy, others who deserved to be stopped. You had made peace with how little peace there was in the law. And still, you stayed. Because the world didn’t need more mercy. It needed memory.

By nineteen, your name was already in the Bureau’s mouth. You had a law degree and a mind they didn’t quite know what to do with. Too young, too fast. Too full of words like weaponized anthrax and neurological disruption protocols. You weren't recruited. You were acquired.

Hotch had taken you under his wing—quietly, methodically. He was not a man who took chances on many. But you were precise, unshakable, and already burdened with a kind of internal stillness that most people didn’t reach until after they’d been broken. You weren’t broken. You just knew how close the world lived to disaster.

Spencer had been just down the hall.

He was Gideon’s protégé, still wearing suits that didn’t quite fit, still unsure of his own hands when he wasn’t holding a book. He spoke in paragraphs and paced when he thought, like the ideas might fall out of him if he stood still too long. He was twenty, too. Brilliant in a way that didn’t feel performative. Just haunted. Like he carried the ghosts of every fact he knew.

Hotch and Gideon’s work had always overlapped, and so, eventually, so did yours and Spencer’s. You didn’t meet through a case or by chance, but through pattern. Every time your mentors converged, you found yourselves sharing space—conference rooms, trainings, early-morning briefings where you’d both arrive too early and leave too late. At first, you barely spoke. You were too focused, too wary of being seen as young. You knew you had to be better, sharper, quieter.

But Spencer… he noticed things. Small things. Like the way you clenched your jaw when someone said something about your age. Like the way you tilted your head to listen, really listen, when someone spoke about grief. He noticed you the way only someone like him could—someone who had never quite belonged either.

It wasn’t romantic at first. It wasn’t even personal. It was proximity. Familiarity. You grew used to each other’s presence the way people grow used to morning light—quietly, without permission.

The First Time He Asked

The first time Spencer tried to ask you out, it was at an outlet mall in Seattle—of all places.

You were exhausted, both physically and emotionally, after wrapping a case that had twisted something sharp in your gut. The kind of case where the air doesn’t feel clean, even after a shower. Neither of you wanted to be alone, not yet, so you ended up wandering together through the muted lights and piped-in music of a half-empty mall on a rainy night. He hated malls. Hated crowds, fluorescent lights, consumerism. But he hated the idea of leaving your side even more.

“I don’t even like malls,” he muttered beside you, eyeing a storefront window like it had personally offended him.

You smiled, teasing. “No? I thought you were a big fan of commercialism and poorly lit fitting rooms.”

Spencer huffed through his nose but didn’t leave. That should’ve been your first sign.

You ended up at the food court, sharing a plate of lukewarm fries and a milkshake he swore he didn’t want, but kept sipping from anyway. It was quiet—one of those rare, comfortable silences that felt like something living between you. You were both so young then. Twenty-three and twenty-four. Still figuring out how to hold a badge and carry the weight of what it cost.

He started fiddling with a napkin, folding and unfolding it as he cleared his throat. You turned to look at him, only half-aware that something was shifting in the air.

“I, um,” he began, avoiding your eyes, “I was reading a study recently. It talked about dopamine production increasing in proximity to someone you're… emotionally attached to. It explained how elevated heart rates and obsessive thought patterns can mimic the chemical structure of love. Which, in turn, makes it difficult to maintain objectivity, especially in high-stress environments like—well—ours.”

You blinked at him. “Are you telling me you’re in love with me or that you think you’re having a stroke?”

He finally met your eyes then, a crooked smile ghosting his lips. “I’m saying that I… I want to date you. If you’re open to that. I mean—I think about you a lot. More than I should. In ways that aren’t strictly… professional.”

For a moment, the world narrowed—just you, him, and the weight of the air between your bodies.

And then you said, quietly, carefully, “Spencer… I’m flattered. I really am. But you and I both know what this job does to people. We’re barely holding it together as it is, and we’re the youngest on the team. I don’t think I can carry more weight. Not right now.”

His face didn’t fall, not exactly—but the light in his eyes dimmed just enough to make your heart twist.

“Right,” he said quickly. “No, totally. Makes sense. I get it.”

And then—because he was Spencer—he offered you a high-five.

You stared at it for a second, like it was a foreign object, then forced a smile and gave him one. The slap of palms was too loud, too bright against the quiet, and both of you looked away after.

You walked into a candle store next, pretending nothing had happened.

But it did. And it lived in your chest like a small, silent ache for weeks.

He looked away, forcing a smile. “So, uh, want to keep looking around the mall?”

You both walked on, but the air between you was fragile now—like glass stretched too thin. For weeks afterward, it gnawed at you—his face when you said no, the quiet way he folded inward like he’d rehearsed the confession a thousand times only to rewrite it into silence. You didn’t reject him because you didn’t feel the same. You said no because you did—too much. Because the thought of losing him someday, of watching him disappear behind crime scene tape or an ER curtain, was enough to make your chest cave in.

Spencer was hurting too, probably more. You knew he’d spent weeks rehearsing how to say those words perfectly, only to have them fall flat. He tried to distract himself, even asking JJ out at one point, only to be gently rejected.

Spencer tried to move on. You saw him try. He asked JJ out once—not in a big way, just a shy suggestion that maybe they go watch a football game sometime. You didn’t hear it, but you heard about it, because JJ pulled you into the bullpen later that week, linking her arm with yours and steering you into a conversation like she was handing over a live grenade.

“Y/N,” she said, too casually, “Spence was thinking we could all go to a Redskins game this weekend. You should come.”

You looked at her. She looked at you.

Your eyes begged. Please don’t make me do this. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. Then why aren’t you doing something about it?

You turned to Spencer, who stood beside her looking anywhere but at you. “Uh,” you said, voice light, “a football game sounds loud.”

“Exactly,” JJ chirped. “That’s why we need you there to keep me sane.”

He didn’t ask you out again for a long time. Not after that. But you started noticing the things he did do—the way he always chose the seat next to yours on the jet, the way he brought you tea when you looked tired, the way he smiled when he thought you weren’t looking.

And slowly, slowly, you started to breathe easier. The job didn’t stop being hard. But you stopped being afraid of what it meant to let someone in.

When he finally asked again, it wasn’t really a question.

And when he finally asked you again, it was no longer a question that needed words—because the both of you knew. You knew that you were meant to be bound together, forever.

The Second Time

It was months later, after a string of cases that wore you down, after you learned how to breathe again without bracing for loss. You’d found a steadier rhythm in this line of work.

The city outside still hummed quietly, a faint pulse beneath the late night’s fragile calm. But inside the small diner, at this hour—12:30 am—time seemed to fold softly around the two of you. The case in NYC wrapped up.

The glow from the neon sign outside bled through the windows, casting gentle colors onto the worn vinyl booths and scratched Formica tables. The air smelled faintly of coffee and syrup—comforting in its simplicity, away from the chaos of the case just closed.

You sat across from Spencer, your hands wrapped around a steaming mug, the warmth a quiet anchor. He watched you with those eyes—bright, searching, full of something unspoken that had been building between you both for months.

“This city,” he said softly, voice careful like he was stepping into unknown territory, “it never really sleeps, does it?”

You smiled, tired but peaceful. “It tries.”

He shifted, hands clasped loosely on the table. “Y/N…”

The sound of your name on his lips was gentle but carried weight—like a confession waiting patiently for its moment.

He took a breath. “I’ve been thinking about us… about how I feel.”

You looked up, heart skipping, a flutter of hope and fear mingling.

“I know it’s complicated—this job, the things we see.” His fingers traced idle patterns on the table. “But every time I’m with you, even when everything else is falling apart, it feels –.”

You blinked, the quiet noise of the city fading into nothing but his voice.

“I don’t have a grand speech or a perfect plan. I don’t want to solve this like a case.”

He reached across the table, his hand brushing yours—light, but enough.

“I want to be with you. If you want to be with me.”

The simplicity of the words caught you off guard—so pure, so honest. It wasn’t a question that needed an answer; it was a truth, tender and unshakable, like two stars always destined to find each other, no matter the distance between lifetimes.

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Spencer…”

He leaned forward, voice barely above a whisper, “We don’t have to figure out the rest right now. I just needed you to know.”

The diner was silent but for the distant hum of the city, a quiet witness to this fragile moment suspended in time.

You reached out, entwining your fingers with his, the touch soft and sure.

And there, beneath the flickering diner light, with the world outside still awake and unaware, you knew—this was the beginning of everything.

You held his hand a little tighter, your breath steadying as the weight of everything settled inside you.

For so long, the fear had been a quiet shadow—the danger of the job, the risk of losing him, of losing everything that mattered. But now, here, in this fragile quiet, the fear shifted.

You realized you were more afraid of never having him at all.

“Spence,” you said softly, voice steady, “I’ve been scared. Scared that this job would take you away from me.”

He shook his head gently, eyes never leaving yours.

“But I’m more scared of a life without you in it.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips, relief and something like hope blooming there.

“Then don’t let me go,” he whispered.

You smiled back, the last walls crumbling quietly. “I won’t.”

Later, outside the hotel where the team was staying, the city lights flickering like distant stars, you stood close.

Spencer looked at you—his expression open and full of something unspoken—and leaned in slowly, his hands resting gently on your waist.

The kiss was soft at first, tentative and tender, as if testing the new world you were stepping into together.

Then it deepened—full of promise, of relief, of the kind of love that waits patiently to be claimed.

When you finally pulled apart, the night air wrapped around you both, carrying the quiet certainty that this was only the beginning.

He smiled, voice low. “Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Spencer.”

And with that, you turned toward the door, heart full, knowing you’d never be the same.

Then it became intentional. You’d run into each other on purpose. At the library. In the archives. At the old diner three blocks from Quantico that served coffee like sludge and pie like forgiveness. You stopped being strangers.

You shared long nights and longer silences. Pages of research passed back and forth between fingers that sometimes touched and didn’t flinch. You saw him at his most unguarded—not when he was scared, but when he was safe.

And slowly, without ever needing to say it, you started finding each other in every room.

You fell in love the way people like you do—not in fireworks, but in increments. A pencil slid across a desk. A glance that lingered a second too long. A moment where his voice softened and slowed only for you.

Now, you sat in the courtroom behind him, and it all felt impossibly far away.

Everything you’d fought for, everything you’d become—it had all started in these same halls. And now, it was being twisted into something that could take him from you. Your knowledge, your law, your brilliance—none of it could stop what was happening.

You weren’t afraid of death. You’d seen it too many times to fear it.

But this?

This was worse.

This was the slow death. The hollowing. The turning of justice into punishment without purpose. The system you once believed in now swallowing the man you could not live without.

The judge’s voice sliced through the room. “Actions speak louder than words, I always say.”

The gavel fell. And in that one crushing motion, everything you’d fought for, everything you believed in, was silenced. It was over.

The guards stepped forward, their boots on the floor like a slow, unyielding drumbeat—each echo marking the distance between the man you loved and the freedom he was about to lose.

They gripped his arms, firm and unrelenting. His body stiffened, a fragile frame caught beneath the weight of inevitability. The cold metal cuffs—clinking, clicking—rung through the quiet courtroom like a death knell, loud and cruel in your ears.

You couldn’t look away.

It was happening.

Right here. Right now.

And you could not stop it.

The careful veneer you wore—the training, the poise, the steel you’d forged through years of cold realities—shattered. The guard’s hand on Spencer’s shoulder burned like fire, branding him as theirs, as lost. You caught his eyes, wide and searching, a silent scream without sound. Fear. Regret. An apology you could not answer.

He was scared.

So terribly scared.

Your body shook—not from the cold, but from a terror so raw it twisted your insides. The room shrank, the air thickened, suffocating and indifferent. You clung to JJ’s shoulder as your knees threatened to give out. The world tilted, spun like a ship caught in a storm you could not navigate.

No. You couldn’t breathe.

Your chest tightened. You swallowed hard. Your throat dried to dust. Vision blurred.

Around you, chaos roared—words flying, shouts, desperation—but inside you, a frozen silence swallowed every sound.

Step by agonizing step, they pulled Spencer away. His final glance burned into you—a promise, a prayer, a plea for something unspoken.

You wanted to shout. To scream. To rip the room apart with your voice. To run to him, to plead, to beg.

But you were paralyzed.

Your mind screamed for action, for a miracle, for anything.

But your body would not move.

The room spun—spun—spun—trapping you in a vortex you could not escape.

Emily’s voice rose, trembling and sharp, pleading with the judge. Rossi stood firm beside her, weaving words, searching for loopholes, cracks in the ironclad verdict. But the law had spoken. The judge had spoken. None of it mattered.

Luke’s anger thundered through the space—a storm that should have moved mountains—but it was thunder that could not reach you, not when your world was crumbling in slow motion.

Garcia’s breaths came short, shallow, as she crumbled beside you, the weight of what was happening pressing down on all of you.

And you— You couldn’t move. You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t do a damn thing.

When Spencer turned for that last time, the world stilled.

The look in his eyes—the fear, the uncertainty—mirrored your own.

His silent question hung between you: What now?

And all you could give him was the same look.

A look filled with a cold, unshakable fear that settled deep in your bones.

The team had all gone home after the arraignment. Not home in the metaphorical sense—no, they returned to their safe spaces, their families, their familiar quiet. But not you.

You returned to a house, not a home. A building with your name on the lease and Spencer’s favorite coffee mug still drying on the dish rack, but it didn’t feel like anything at all without him in it.

It had been a long day, longer still without his voice weaving through the chaos, grounding you like it always did.

The next morning, you’d gone to see Diana. Spencer’s mother had been staying at his old apartment temporarily, and Nurse Cassie was keeping watch over her. JJ had insisted on coming with you. Said you shouldn’t go alone, that it might help to have someone there. Maybe it did, maybe it didn’t. Either way, she left after a little while, squeezing your hand one last time before disappearing into the corridor. You didn’t blame her—she had her family to go home to.

Back at your townhouse, nestled in the quiet heart of D.C., close enough to Spencer’s old place that it still got the same morning light, you moved like someone on autopilot. Spencer had technically lived here with you for years—only keeping the apartment as a backup, an old habit—but it never felt more like your house than it did now, in his absence.

In the bedroom, you pulled out a backpack—just your ordinary, worn-in one that had seen too many crime scenes and too many plane rides. From the closet, you retrieved the safe. Inside it were your essentials: your firearm, your government and civilian passports. One by one, you placed them into your pack with mechanical precision. You were catching a flight—not to London like the Bureau expected—but to Mexico.

You needed answers. And you didn’t trust anyone else to find them.

Before leaving, you returned your credit and debit cards to the safe and resealed it in the closet. You weren’t going to be traced.

The rest of the house you left in darkness. All except the small lamp on Spencer’s side of the bed. You left it glowing, soft and warm, in case he came home before you did. Just in case.

You locked the door behind you and left both your cars in the driveway to avoid suspicion. The bus was slow, the kind that shook too much and smelled faintly of old metal and city grime. You paid in cash, eyes forward, and rode quietly to the airport.

It was already night—the kind of night that swallowed everything, even sound. You moved through the terminal with your hoodie pulled up, head low, posture small. Civilian passport clutched in your hand, just another shadow blending into the sea of travelers catching red-eyes to nowhere.

Still, something didn’t sit right.

By the window wall, you stared out into the nothingness beyond the glass. The tarmac glowed in patches, planes blinking silently in the dark. Then—a shift in the air. Movement. A presence stepping closer, a breath too long, a footfall too deliberate.

A voice broke the quiet.

“Where’re you going, Y/N?”

You didn’t flinch.

“If I said London, would you believe me?”

The laugh that came back was familiar—dry, warm, wiser than you ever gave it credit for.

“No, Y/N. I would not.”

You turned and met Rossi’s eyes. Kind, concerned, but sharp—sharp enough to catch everything. Funny how, after years working side by side, you hadn’t noticed the gray sneaking into his sideburns.

“Let’s take a walk,” he said softly, a hand settling on your shoulder like a steady anchor.

You followed him wordlessly. Back through the hum of the terminal, past the gate you weren’t boarding. Into a dim airport café with lukewarm coffee and a flickering light overhead.

He didn’t ask why you were here. He already knew.

“I know you want to move. To do something. Sitting still when he’s locked up, and we’re out here—it’s impossible. But Reid needs us to play by the rules. He needs us steady, not reckless.”

Your fingers curled around the paper cup. “I know. But every hour we wait—every moment we’re not at the crime scene, not looking closer—Mexico is whispering secrets no one hears.”

“I get it, kid.” His voice softened. “We all want to save him. But if another BAU agent makes an unauthorized run down there, it won’t just look bad. It’ll hurt him. Especially if you come back empty-handed.”

You nodded, jaw tight. He was right. Of course he was. But still—it felt like he didn’t really understand.

You don’t know, you wanted to scream. He’s my home.

But you stayed quiet. The ache in your chest was loud enough for both of you.

“Let’s go back,” Rossi said gently. “Come have dinner at my place. Tomorrow, we get back to work. Together.”

You exhaled, the weight of the night settling into your bones. “Okay.”

You didn’t say you wouldn’t still look. You didn’t promise to stop.

Because no one would fight for Spencer like you would.

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