#spencer reid x original character

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined------------------------

ch 1, ch 2

Aaron Hotchner x Original Character x Spencer Reid

in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest youngest member

Chapter One:

The bar was abuzz with the kind of infectious energy that only comes from a group of friends riding the high of a celebratory night out. In the center of it all was Evelyn Gideon, her laughter a melody that seemed to turn heads and draw smiles even from strangers. She was the embodiment of sunshine—her allure as undeniable as the curves she carried with effortless grace.

Evelyn raised her glass, her eyes sparkling with excitement and liquor. "To new beginnings and breaking ceilings," she toasted, her voice carrying over the crowded room.

Her friends echoed the sentiment, "To Evelyn, the FBI's newest and brightest!"

As they sipped their drinks, the conversation flowed easily, touching on memories, aspirations, and the occasional playful banter about the 'aesthetically pleasing' aspects of her new job.

Evelyn leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, "You know, I've had my fair share of late-night googling and let's just say the FBI isn't all work and no play. They've got some serious eye candy too."

Her friends giggled, urging her on, and she obliged, a little tipsy from the copious amounts of wine. "There's this one agent, my boss, Aaron Hotchner. Oh, and another, Spencer Reid. They're like the real-life versions of those FBI recruitment posters. So hot, it's criminal."

The group erupted into laughter, unaware that just a few tables away, two men had paused their conversation, a knowing look exchanged between them. They said nothing, just an awkward cough as they went back to their drinks.

Spencer's eyes met hers briefly before averting his gaze.

Aaron's expression was unreadable as he scoffed, "Interns."

The laughter from Evelyn's table continued to ripple through the bar, a stark contrast to the muted tones of conversation at the agents' table. Spencer's eyes flickered back to his drink, the ice clinking softly as he swirled the glass, a thoughtful expression on his face. Aaron, meanwhile, maintained his stoic facade, though the corners of his mouth twitched in a suppressed smile.

Evelyn, buoyed by the warmth of the wine and her company, leaned back in her chair, her gaze drifting across the room. She caught Spencer's eye again, realization drawing on her face, and this time he held her gaze, an unspoken challenge passing between them.

One of her friends nudged her, her eyebrows raised in amusement. "He's cute."

Evelyn's heart skipped a beat, her mind racing with the implications. "I think that's my new boss and colleague."

Evelyn, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol and her earlier comments, caught the agents' glance and felt a sudden wave of embarrassment wash over her. She fumbled with her purse, her laughter trailing off into a nervous giggle.

"Uh, I just remembered, I have an early meeting tomorrow, and I should really get going," Evelyn stammered, avoiding eye contact with the table of agents. Her friends, sensing her discomfort, offered her quick hugs and understanding nods as she made her hasty retreat.

As Evelyn vanished into the crowd, Aaron and Spencer's attention was momentarily captured by the bar's TV, where a breaking news segment flashed across the screen. They leaned in, their focus on a case they'd been following, the world around them fading into the background.

When they finally turned back, expecting to find the lively group still immersed in their celebration, they were met with the sight of an empty chair where Evelyn had been. A twinge of disappointment flickered across their faces, though neither would admit it aloud.

Spencer cleared his throat, "Well, interns are always full of surprises," he remarked, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Aaron nodded, his gaze lingering on the now quieter table. "Indeed. But let's not forget, we were all there once," he said, raising a glass in a silent salute to their beginning memories.

"Statistically speaking," Spencer began, his voice barely above the murmur of the bar, "the chances of us overhearing a conversation about ourselves in such a setting are quite slim."

Hotch couldn't help but chuckle at Spencer's comment. "And yet here we are," he added, the hint of a smirk betraying his amusement.

—

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across Evelyn's sleep softened face as she awoke to the chirping of birds and the distant hum of the city. She lay in bed for a moment, her mind a whirlwind of memories from the night before. The laughter, the wine, the unexpected encounter with Dr. Reid and Hotchner.

She was Jason Gideon's daughter, a fact that filled her with pride yet weighed heavily on her. At 23, she was young to be joining the FBI, especially the BAU, and she felt the pressure to prove herself as more than just a legacy hire.

Evelyn sat up, pushing back the covers as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Today was the day. Her first day at the BAU. A mix of excitement and nerves bubbled within her, but there was something else too—a hint of mortification. She couldn't shake the memory of calling her new boss and coworker hot within earshot. She hoped against hope that they hadn't overheard.

With a deep breath she rose and made her way to the mirror. She took pride in her appearance, and today was no exception. She chose her outfit with care, professional yet undeniably her.

As she applied her makeup, each brush was an attempt to paint away the embarrassment of last night. She styled her hair, letting it fall into soft waves around her shoulders. We one last glance in the mirror, she was ready.

Evelyn grabbed her gun and badge, the weight of them both a reminder of the responsibility she was about to undertake. She was a member of the FBI now, and she had a role to play.

—

Evelyn's heels clicked against the polished floors of the FBI building, a steady rhythm that matched her racing heart. She drew a deep breath, letting her bubbly personality shine through her nervous smile as she passed through the security checkpoint. She didn't spot Hotch or Dr. Reid, a small mercy that allowed her to collect herself without the weight of their gazes.

The first day formalities were a blur—ID photos, paperwork, and the endless maze of hallways. It was all so technical and impersonal, yet it was the gateway to her dream.

Then, a beacon of light, she spotted Penelope Garcia. They had connected over an online forum for crime fiction enthusiasts, bonding over plot theories and character developments. Garcia's vibrant attire and smile were just as welcoming in person.

"Penelope!" Evelyn greeted, her voice a mix of relief and excitement.

"Evelyn! Honey, you're even more stunning in person!" Garcia beamed, pulling her into a hug. "Welcome to the BAU family!"

As they chatted, Garcia led her to the bullpen, where Evelyn was introduced to the team. Emily Prentiss's firm handshake and measured smile spoke of strength and understanding. JJ's friendly nod and Derek Morgan's charming grin were disarming, making Evelyn's nerves ease slightly.

"So you're the prodigy Gideon was always bragging about," Morgan teased, his eyes twinkling with mirth.

Evelyn laughed, the sound light and genuine. "I hope to live up to at least half the hype," she replied, her tone playful yet sincere.

Prentiss leaned in, her voice low but encouraging. "We've all heard great things about you, Evelyn. We're glad to have you on board."

"And we'll make sure you find your footing," JJ added, her smile reassuring.

The warmth of the welcome eased the knots in her stomach. She was a part of the team, surrounded by legends, and yet, they made her feel like she was one of them—bright, capable.

"Gideon."

The newfound calm in Evelyn's stomach vanished as swiftly as it had arrived when she heard her last name echo across the bullpen. The authoritative tone of Aaron Hotchner snapped the easy atmosphere like a taut wire. She turned, her heart hitching as she met his gaze. For a fleeting moment, she saw the mask of his composure slip, a flicker of surprise that quickly schooled into neutrality. "A word, please?"

Derek couldn't resist the opportunity for a quip. "Don't keep the man waiting, he's not known for his patience," he said, eliciting a round of chuckles from the team.

Evelyn's heart pounded as she approached Hotchner's office, her mind racing with a thousand thoughts seeming to rest on one—he was going to confront me about what I said. She stepped inside, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

Hotchner's office was a stark contrast to the lively bullpen, its walls lined with commendations and case files. He gestured to a chair.

"Good morning, Evelyn," Hotchner began as he motioned her into his office. "Please, have a seat."

She moved past him, her senses heightened, astutely aware of the shift in his demeanor. As she settled into the chair, she caught him glancing at a file on his desk, his eyes momentarily distracted.

"I didn't expect you to be so..." he started, his gaze lifting to meet hers.

"Young?" Evelyn filled in, her voice a mix of confidence and self-deprecation, butterflies filling her stomach. "I get that a lot, but I assure you it won't affect my performance, sir."

In his mind, Hotchner corrected himself, Attractive, but he let the thought pass unspoken of course, cursing himself for even thinking it. "Of course," he said aloud. "Your age isn't a concern. Your qualifications speak for themselves."

He leaned back, interlacing his fingers as he regarded her. "As a new member of the BAU you'll be expected to undergo a period of observation. You'll accompany the team on cases, but your involvement will be limited until you've completed your training."

Evelyn nodded, absorbing every word.

"You'll be assigned a mentor," Hotch continued. "Dr. Reid will take on that role. He'll guide you through our protocols and procedures."

"I'm ready to learn and contribute, sir." Evelyn responded earnestly.

He had been called "sir" by many, but when the word left Evelyn's lips, it was as if he heard it for the first time. He caught himself staring at the lips at which the words came from, snapping his focus back to her eyes.

Hotchner's expression softened ever so slightly. "I believe you are. And remember, this team is a family. We rely on each other's strengths to face what most can't even imagine."

With a final nod, he stood, signaling the end of the meeting. "Welcome to the BAU, Agent."

next

[heartofmortis]

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. *. ⋆ hope ! 🪐 she/her. 20. english. bi ace.

fandoms i write for: star wars, asoiaf, criminal minds, 9-1-1. some of my fics contain mature content and are 16+, some fics will contain more explicit content and will be marked as 18+. send me an ask or rq & i'll try my best!

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[godsfavdarling]

Velvet & Veils pt.1

Spencer Reid x Original Character (chapter list) wc: 1.6k

I was on my way to the club, the streets of D.C. bustling with the usual morning rush. The city seemed alive with a pulse of its own, the buildings bathed in the scorching sun.

I wasn’t supposed to be here. I wasn’t supposed to go to the club for rehearsals today. Tuesdays were always my day off. The schedule was designed so the show varied each night, and on Tuesdays, I wasn’t in any of the group performances and had no solo numbers. It was my day off. Always.

But not today.

Not today, because Gina was missing. So was Naomi, another burlesque dancer from a different club. Naomi had been gone since last Monday, and they found her body on Saturday - the same day Gina was last seen. No body yet for Gina.

I didn’t know Gina very well. She had only started working at Velvet Nights about six months ago. She was quiet but talented, blending seamlessly into the family of performers that had become my second home. I had worked at Velvet Nights for two years now, ever since I moved to D.C. It was the only place I had ever worked in the city, and I considered myself lucky to have found it. The girls there were more than just colleagues; they were my family.

When I first arrived in D.C., everything felt daunting and unfamiliar. I had left behind everything I knew, driven by the hope of starting fresh in a city that promised excitement and opportunity. For a while, it seemed like I had found my place. I landed a steady job that felt like a dream come true, and I had a small but charming apartment. I was surrounded by friends who had become like family.

Life seemed perfect, a far cry from the uncertainty I had left behind. It’s strange, though, how quickly everything can change. In an instant, the sense of security and belonging I had built for myself felt fragile and uncertain.

Gina’s disappearance had cast a dark shadow over everyone. The easygoing atmosphere was replaced with palpable tension, and every day without news felt like an eternity. I couldn’t help but worry about her, about what might have happened.

And then there was Naomi. What if Gina ended up like her? The thought was too horrible to fully process. I, along with everyone else, just hoped that Gina had simply run away, as the police initially suggested. But two burlesque dancers disappearing in the same week? It was hard to believe it was just a coincidence.

The thought of rehearsing today, of trying to perform with the weight of fear and uncertainty hanging over me, felt almost unbearable. I couldn’t eat. I had barely slept. But the show had to go on. Ricky, my boss, had made that clear. The club couldn’t afford to close, not even for a night. The security was doubled, and I was promised I’d be safe. But promises felt thin in the face of such real and present danger.

As I approached the familiar entrance of Velvet Nights, the turned-off neon sign hanging above the door, a shiver ran down my spine. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, the usually vibrant and welcoming space now tinged with an unsettling quiet.

Ricky was pacing near the bar, his face etched with worry. As soon as he saw me, he made a beeline in my direction.

“Misty,” Ricky said, his voice low and urgent, “the FBI is here. They’re talking to the girls, and they want to speak with you too. They’re talking to everybody.”

“Did they talk to you already?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Yeah, first thing in the morning. They spoke with the security guys too. Now they’re talking to the girls.” He sighed and looked at me with worried eyes. Ricky was a good guy. He and Jane, his best friend and the manager, ran this place and took care of everyone, especially the girls.

“How are you holding up?” he asked softly.

“Could be better,” I admitted, my voice tinged with anxiety. “Are you sure we’re still opening tonight?”

Ricky nodded, though his expression remained strained. “We can’t afford to close, not even for one night. The security is doubled, and I promise you, you’ll be fine. But we need to keep the show going. I’ll drive every single one of you home myself if I have to.”

“Thanks… I just hope… it’s just a coincidence, you know?” My throat tightened as I spoke. “That she… that Gina is… just somewhere. Alive. You know? That she just ran away…”

“Me too, kiddo,” he said, but his eyes betrayed his lack of belief in that comforting thought.

“How’s the FBI? Are they okay?”

“Oh yeah, they just want to help. The police called them in for assistance. It didn’t make the news, but apparently, that girl’s body… Naomi… It was bad. Like, this is serious.”

“Oh God…” I couldn’t help but think of Gina’s body somewhere, rotting, beaten, unrecognizable, thrown out like trash. The horrific images started to overwhelm me.

Before my mind could spiral further, a voice came through from upstairs where the offices and dressing rooms were located. “We’ve finished speaking with Kelly. Who’s next?” It was a man in his mid-thirties, his tone professional yet gentle.

Ricky looked at me and nodded towards the stairs. “That’s your cue. You ready?”

I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” I replied, my voice wavering slightly.

I climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last. My phone started ringing, the sudden noise jolting my already frayed nerves. I quickly declined the call and averted my gaze to the FBI agent standing outside one of the small offices. His notepad was in hand, and as his eyes met mine, I saw a glimmer of understanding and kindness in them. It was a small comfort in the midst of this nightmare.

“What’s your name?” he asked, confirming my identity.

“Misty Morton,” I said, attempting a small smile, though it felt forced.

“Hello, Miss Morton. Thank you for speaking with us,” he said, gesturing for me to enter the office. “We know this is a difficult time for you. My name is Doctor Reid, and this is Agent Prentiss.” He gestured at a woman sitting in one of the chairs, who gave me a nod of acknowledgment.

I stepped inside the cramped space, filled with old props and dusty papers. The room felt like a relic from another era, a stark contrast to the urgent present. Doctor Reid followed and closed the door behind me, giving me a reassuring nod. I could feel the weight of his presence, a mix of professionalism and genuine concern.

“We just need to ask you a few questions about Gina and anything unusual you might have noticed recently,” he began, his tone calm and soothing.

My mind raced, trying to focus on the task at hand. I felt a pang of guilt for not knowing Gina better, for not being able to protect her. As I settled into the chair, I couldn’t help but think about the last time I saw her, the way she laughed and seemed so full of life. The thought that she could be in serious danger, or worse, was almost too much to bear.

Reid's eyes never left mine, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the questions to come. “I’ll do my best to help,” I said, my voice steadying despite the emotions swirling within me.

As I began to recount everything I could remember about Gina, her routines, and the people who frequented the club, I noticed the way Reid listened intently, his pen moving swiftly across his notebook. His focus never wavered, and it made me feel like, for the first time since this nightmare began, someone was truly trying to understand and help.

I realized that this wasn’t just an interrogation - it was a lifeline. And I clung to that, hoping that by answering their questions, I could bring Gina back and restore some semblance of safety to my world.

Doctor Reid sat across from me, his notepad already full. Agent Prentiss leaned forward slightly, her eyes sharp and focused, almost looking through me.

“Can you tell us anything you remember about Gina's behavior recently? Did she seem worried or mention anything unusual?” Reid asked.

I thought back, trying to recall any details that might help. “Gina was quiet, but she didn’t seem overly anxious. She was always professional and kept to herself mostly. She didn’t mention anything out of the ordinary.”

Reid nodded, jotting down notes. Then, he exchanged a glance with Prentiss before looking back at me.

“We also need to ask you about Naomi,” Agent Prentiss said. “Did you know her well?”

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t. I just saw her on the news recently. We work at different clubs. I heard about her disappearance and… what happened to her.” The thought of Naomi’s fate sent a shiver down my spine.

Reid and Prentiss exchanged another glance, this one more intense. I could feel their scrutiny, as if they were seeing something I couldn’t.

“What?” I asked, unable to bear their looks any longer. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Reid hesitated, then pulled a couple of photographs from a folder. He laid them out in front of me - one of Gina and one of Naomi. “Do you notice anything about these photos?”

I stared at the images, my heart pounding. At first, it was just Gina’s familiar face and Naomi’s less familiar one. But then it hit me. We all looked the same. 

[railingsofsorrow]

chapter I | catharsis

summary: “Is there— is there something you need?” He's kind. He's so kind and his voice is better than she had ever imagined. 

All of all the things she could have said, what came out is something else entirely.

“Your hair is shorter.”

w.c: 3.4K

warnings/content: mentions of mass food poisoning; implied unhealthy relationships (it will be explored later); germaphobia; fluff.

A/N: WE'RE FINISHED WITH THE LETTERS! I was too excited to start writing the longer chapters with a detailed narrative. I know it took too long but.... here it is, I hope you enjoy! annnd, they finally meet!

navi

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whoever wants to be tagged for this fic, fill this out or dm me.

LETTERS �� [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

CHAPTERS — [1] [2] [3] . . .

❝Catharsis❞

[n.] THE EXPERIENCE OF EXPRESSING STRONG EMOTIONS THAT PREVIOUSLY WERE BLOCKED.

━━━━━━━━━ ✉ ━━━━━━━━

“Don't even start, Reid.”

Spencer pursed his lips, shifting on the passenger seat. “I didn't say anything.”

Derek scoffed, “I can hear you thinking.”

“Thought broadcasting is a common phenomenon that happens when one thinks others can hear your thoughts. That is not physically possible. It actually might be a sign of paranoia—”

Derek groaned loudly, begging for the gods above that the traffic went easy on him for five minutes. He needed five minutes to get to the other Interstate. Five. Minutes. 

Spencer let out a snicker beside him, having too much fun in being correct as always. He had told Derek beforehand that the safest option would be to take the alternative route, even if that meant it was slightly longer than directly taking the I-95. They still would get to Norfolk University's Student Center faster. 

Derek didn't listen to him and here they were, stuck in traffic just as Spencer predicted. 

In some way, this was good. 

Spencer hated being late to anything, which was why he always double-checks the time so he can get to any place earlier, just to be sure. Just in case. That's him. A pragmatic guy. 

But when he heard where the next case was going to be, he backtracked a little. 

Spencer has been corresponding with Iris Valencia through letters for the entire month of October. It felt like more, maybe years. He knows that this feeling is quite common for people who had found some sort of connection. They have affinity. A bond, if you will. It explains the reason for your comfort after you've just met someone. You used to be strangers, but you realise they like blueberry muffins too and then you have a coffee date scheduled in the afternoon. It is that simple, sometimes. 

Spencer could never relate to that. Well, at least, not before Iris. Although he has never invited her over for coffee and they haven't spoken in person yet. 

Yet.

But it felt like it. It felt like he has known her for a long time.

The case was in Norfolk University, 165,7 miles from Quantico. The place Iris worked as a microbiology professor and which she described that her whole department fell sick because of a supposed food poisoning. 

That hasn't been the first time a university has had that kind of situation. As she mentioned in one of her letters, the Old Dominion University — another university located in Norfolk — was also on the news about food poisoning. The difference was that it had been only a small group of students that suffered the outcome. NSU had it worst, a large group of people had to be sent to the E.R. 

The BAU was called in because of recent deaths in the area. When they eventually connected it to the food poisoning cases happening in the universities, Hotch divided the team into pairs to cover more ground. The suspect list was narrowed down to three students from Norfolk State University. 

“What did you say?” 

“You and Morgan are off to the M.E's office.” Hotch repeated as they left the precinct. 

“You're going to Norfolk State University?” Spencer asked a little dumbfounded. Derek gave him a confused look. 

Hotch halted beside the car door, the crease between his brows deepening. “That's where our first victim lived... Reid, are you alright?”

That finally seemed to be the minute Spencer snapped out of it. “Yes,” he said, clearing his throat. “Yes, sorry. I was just making sure. We'll— we'll go now.”

He felt like a thirteen-year-old boy with his first crush. The accelerated heartbeat, the shaky limbs, the sweaty palms. The not knowing what to do and mostly, what Emily always teased him about and what he only recently noticed: his IQ is, in deed, slashed to half when he's attracted to someone. 

Spencer had not met Iris yet. But he felt all of those things. Through letters. For the first time in his life he couldn't find a scientific explanation for what he was currently feeling. He hadn’t met her, he hadn't seen her, let alone heard her voice. He's only seen her delicate handwriting with her t's curved at the base and her barely noticeable s's and he was quickly roped to her personality. What Iris shared with him so far, that is. 

Spencer studied people for a living. That's a quick way of putting his occupation. He investigated behavior and he entered minds that were just as twisted as the crimes they committed. Some cases stay glued on his brain more than others — it's not like he was able to forget anything, although sometimes he wished he could.

Iris had interested him more than any quantum physics book ever could. 

Spencer knows she likes birds. That's one of the first things she shared with him, actually. He also knows that her favorite author is Haruki Murakami and Spencer has read all of her recommendations, he even bought more books besides the ones she mentioned. He knows Iris hates loud noises, clowns and that she takes her coffee black and plain. He knows how much she cares about her students and that she probably loves what she does because of the way she writes about it. He knows that she doesn't believe in magic, but he's determined to change her mind. 

To Spencer, Iris was like a book. He had no idea what the cover was like and he had not read the synopsis, but from the first page and on, he decided he wanted to know everything there is to know about the story. He wanted to see if there were small notes at the edges of every page or if there were underlined quotes. He wanted to figure out the mystery before the next chapter arrived, even if the ending might be completely different. 

He had come to terms with the fact that he wants to meet her in person for a while now. But Spencer didn't plan when that would happen or if it would happen. He doesn't even know if she would want to meet him. 

Now, he was walking into the University she worked at with her letter tucked into his satchel bag as he forced his brain to focus on what was supposed to be focusing on: the case. 

"Finally." Emily raised a brow as they walked into the room. According to JJ's message an hour ago, they were talking to the Head of the Biology Department because of a lead on one of the suspects. Hotch and Rossi were speaking with Penelope through the speakerphone in a corner of the room. "Took you long enough." 

Spencer shrugged at her jab, pointing at Derek. "I told him, he didn't listen." He was softly shoved in response.

"Shut up, Reid." 

"We're waiting for Mark Dawson to come back with a professor who supposedly has some information on Meredith Fitz." JJ clarified before Spencer could question her why they were all reunited in a professor's office. "They're all in class, we don't want to raise too much attention." 

"Sorry to keep you all waiting." 

A blond man walked into the room with a brunette woman on his trail. He was dressed in a color-coordinated attire, a russet dress shirt with slightly darker khaki pants. A complete contrast with the woman beside him, she wore light blue jeans along with a maroon V-neck sweater vest and a white t-shirt below. Her hair was in a loose bun but some thick curls were falling off. She was tucking them behind her ear constantly. 

Spencer noticed she seemed annoyed. 

"This is Doctor Valencia, she's our microbiology professor. Meredith is one of her students." 

Valencia? As in—

"I can speak for myself." Dr. Valencia said through gritted teeth, shaking hands with every agent. Spencer was too busy sweating like crazy in nervousness to take notice of Emily's and JJ's pointed gaze exchange after the professor's harsh statement towards Professor Dawson. "It's good to meet you, Agents, but I spoke to the police last night, I already gave my formal statement regarding the occurrences of the last week." 

The last person to be introduced was him. 

He heard something that sounded distinctly like a choked-up sound. He didn't pay much attention until Hotch started conducting questions regarding the case. Because that was what he was focusing on, the case. His hands tingling as she drew hers back, barely giving him a look. 

"The FBI?" Iris blinked in surprise. Only now did she seem to really acknowledge everyone in the room. Her shoulders tensed up. "So that wasn't just accidental food poisoning." 

"We're investigating that," Hotch said, being vague on purpose. "It came to our knowledge that Meredith Fitz is one of your mentees?"

Iris nodded, running a hand through her face. "Yes, yes, she is. Meredith is, um, completing her master's degree in post-mortem microbiology."

"Does she have access to your lab?" 

"All of my students have," Iris said. "We have practical classes." She visibly stiffened. "Is she a suspect?"

“We're looking into it,” Hotch responded.

Iris stepped out of her frozen state, interrupting another question being thrown her away.

“This isn't— This isn't right.” She begun. “Meredith is one of my top students. She's a nice girl, she wouldn't do this.”

Emily nodded sympathetic, “as he said, we are still investigating that information. But we do need to speak with her so that can be clarified.” Before Iris could speak, Mark beat her to it.

“She didn't come to class today, so that won't be possible, will it?” Mark sent a look towards Iris that anyone in the room could read it as a pretty clear insinuation. Iris wasn't paying attention to him, she was lost in her thoughts, gaze focused on a corner of the room. 

Spencer was itching to say something, but he stood quiet.

“Neither did Fabian Helley. Another top student of Dr. Valencia here.” He added, leaning back on his desk. “You know, maybe you should investigate this particular pattern.”

Derek let out a sigh. He was done with Dawson's little game. It was clear that the guy was trying to antagonize Iris. 

“Sir—”

“Please stop.” 

Every eye in the room snapped towards her voice. Iris clutched the back of her arm as if she was trying to give herself some form of grounding. Spencer could see how much she cared for each one of her students. He's read about it, it's all in her letters, but even his coworkers who didn't have that bonus glimpse into her character could tell that. 

They could also tell she was greatly bothered by Mark Dawson. And Spencer himself was starting to get bothered by him as well.

“I'll answer your questions and anything else in my office. Is that okay with you?” 

Nobody protested against that and Mark stood by his desk, arms crossed much like a petulant child. They followed Iris towards her office while exchanging curious glances. She did answer all of their questions, hesitating slightly whenever the questions were directed towards Meredith Fitz and Fabian Helley, mostly because she did not believe they could have done such a monstrosity as mass poisoning.

“What happened to being a germaphobe, pretty Ricky?” Derek nudged his shoulder, earning a confused look from Spencer. “You shook the professor's hand. Not a single complaint as always.”

“I was being polite.” His cheeks were burning. Did he shake her hand? Thankfully she wasn’t close enough to listen to their conversation.

Derek disguised a chuckle by soft coughing and Spencer glared at him.

"I'd like to apologize about Professor Dawson. He's been on edge ever since all this started." Iris informed as Rossi and Hotch left the room to call Garcia. 

"We can see that," Emily smiled reassuringly at her. "If you don't mind me asking, is there a particular reason why he seemed displeased about Fabian Helley?" Iris shifted on her feet and everyone else in the room pretended they were not listening in on the conversation since Emily had approached her in a rather private manner.

Still, Iris did not relent. 

"Mark is always displeased by something or someone." It was the last thing she decided to share after pondering to herself. 

It wasn't until Hotch came back into the room to send each of them to interview a few other witnesses — except for Spencer, who he requested to start the geographical profile since they had enough cases as of now – that Iris seemed to glance in Spencer's direction.

Dr. Reid, who she shook hands with and didn't even properly notice until now. Iris was generally a perceptive person, she caught things quickly. Though she's having trouble focusing ever since this morning, perks of a bad night's sleep. She blamed that for not realising him sooner, that was the only possible explanation, really. His honey-brown eyes switched to his colleagues as soon as she caught him looking. 

Iris’ breath caught in her throat. The Behaviour Analysis Unit is here. Spencer mentioned in one of his letters that he works for the FBI... She truly was slow today, wasn't she? 

“Dr. Valencia?” 

She snaps out of her daze to stare at a pretty blonde woman in a dark blazer, she wore a blue t-shirt below. Agent Jareau. That's her name.

“Sorry,” Iris cleared her throat, feeling her cheeks heat up at being caught staring at him. She must look like such a creep. “I zoned out. Were you speaking to me?”

She offers her a sympathetic smile before saying, “we don't want to take much of your time. We know you have lectures to teach. Thank you for your patience.”

“No need to thank me, Agent. It's all good.” Just as each of them gave her their farewells, she was stuck in an inner argument about whether or not she should talk to him. It's not appropriate. He didn't even recognize you, wake up.

Not appropriate. Not appropriate. NOT APPROPRIATE.

“Uh, Dr. Reid?” It was barely above a whisper as if she had been scared of saying it too loud. His body turning around fast was the indication she needed that he had heard her. Thankfully, his team was a little further down the hall to notice the small exchange. “Sorry, I don't mean to get in your way—”

She's completely awkward all of a sudden. Iris couldn't grasp her mind that she's been talking to this man for over a month, flirting, trauma bonding and now she couldn’t utter a word without sounding like she didn’t know a word in the English language.

“Is there— is there something you need?” He's kind. He's so kind and his voice is better than she had ever imagined. 

All of all the things she could have said, what came out is something else entirely.

“Your hair is shorter.”

Well, fuck, Iris. Congratulations, you have officially made a fool out of yourself!

“I did not intend to say that out loud, I am so so sorry, Spenc— Dr. Reid. I just, I saw a picture of yours because of an article that I read and—”

“Iris.” 

“And I—” she froze, watching a smile grow on his lips, which immediately brought warmth to her chest. Somehow, it didn't feel as if he was laughing at her. If he was then it's a beautiful sight to uphold regardless. “Yes?”

“I thought you didn't recognize me.” Spencer bit the inside of his cheek, shifting on his feet. She observed the worn-out sneakers causing her lips to twitch in amusement. One of Iris's assumptions was that Spencer was the kind of guy to wear fancy shoes — it only made sense because of the way he dressed — but that surprised her. At least she’s not the profiler. “You know, we've only been corresponding through letters so I figured you wouldn't...”

Her lips parted in astonishment. “You recognized me?”

His brows furrowed slightly, “yes. Your name is literally on the case file.”

“Oh.”

His eyes softened at her widened eyes as she processed the information. And then his brain pinched him with the fact that that's not how we're supposed to meet. Not because of a case. I'm supposed to invite her for coffee just so I can certify if she actually takes her coffee plain black with barely any sugar on it. Or a library, so we can ramble together about our favourite authors and books. 

Not.in.the.middle.of.a.case.

“You probably have a whole file about me, huh?” Her tone was playful and Spencer remembered how he grinned whenever he read her sarcasm through paragraphs of her handwriting. He learned to find Iris's humor through her words. Seeing it displayed right in front of him, full of vivid colors and a voice he tried to imagine for so long what it was like... He's speechless and already addicted to it.

“Our technical analyst probably has.” Spencer croaked out, forcing himself to avert his gaze to his feet instead. 

Iris’s eyes acquired a spark of excitement. 

“Is that the one with the clingy hugs?”

Spencer let his mouth quirk up on the edges, “yes. That's Penelope.”

“So you know all of my dark secrets before we even share them to each other.” He could hear her playful tone that carried a bit of uncertainty in the end.

“I have no reason to read your file,” Spencer said. Because he didn't. Not unless she was an official suspect. “So no, I don't know about any of your dark secrets.”

“That's good. You won't run for the hills yet.”

“What makes you think I would ever run?”

Their gazes remain on each other for a brief moment until one of them eventually caved and looks away, necks reddening, heartbeat increasing.

“Call me Spencer.” He said, squeezing the strap of his work bag until his fingers turned white. His phone vibrating in his pocket alerted him he'd taken too much time talking and less time working. He didn't want to go. “I-uh, I've read your letter. Just in case you think I've been ignoring you... I haven't. I just haven't had the time to write you back properly.”

Iris tilted her head as she leaned against the wall. “Maybe you don't need to write me back.” What am I doing? She thinks.

He cast her a look of puzzlement before his disappointment could take over, Iris was quick to clarify what she meant. 

“Maybe we could talk instead of write.” She added carefully. Confidence wearing thin. “Over coffee? Not today, of course, you're working and I'm working and we wouldn't have time but... It's—It's a stupid idea, isn't it? I'm sorry. Pretend I didn't suggest—”

“I would love to talk instead of write.” Now that I can finally hear your voice, I can stop trying to image what you sounded like through your letters. I don't want to ever stop listening to you. 

Iris gave him a look of surprise as if she had been expecting rejection because that just might have been the most out-of-place idea she had. Asking Spencer Reid out on a date while he's in the middle of a case where she works? 

“You need to go.” She mused, giving a pointed look at the vibrating cell in his hands.

“As soon as the investigation is over.” He told her after they'd exchanged numbers through their phones. Iris nodded, smiling wildly as he took a few steps back to leave her office but still didn't quite leave.

“As soon as the investigation is over, Dr. Reid.”

Spencer halts, holding onto the doorway as if stopping himself from leaving  — or staying. She didn't know which.

“Call me Spencer.” He repeated, grabbing his phone to pick up the call. Slowly, a smile etched its way into her face and his mouth followed the same action. 

“Okay, Spencer.”

Spencer nodded, holding in a smile. “I have to go.” I don’t want to.

“Please do. I don't want the FBI locking me up because I held you against your will in my office.” A joke. He liked hearing her jokes instead of reading them. “Be careful.” She requested in a slightly more serious tone, just like she always wrote in her letters addressed to him. 

“You too,” he said, taking his time to look at her one last time before he had to sprint off to where Derek required him.

It was very nice seeing you, Iris.

━━━━━━━━━ ✉ ━━━━━━━━━

A/N: hey everyone, welcome to the next phase of SBPP. I'm excited. next chapter you'll have a deeper glimpse into iris' character and some things will come to light. i'd love to read what you guys are thinking of this fic!

taglist: @lilyviolets ; @chayceschultz ; @cultish-corner ; @lover-of-books-and-tea ; @theonecalledrue

[byersbootyshorts]

Revenge is Sweet - Masterlist

Spencer is tired of the endless trauma he’s had to endure because of his job. When he enlists the help of his wife to get some pay back on the FBI, they discover just how sweet revenge really is.

Prologue | Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Epilogue

I’m living up to my username with this series.

Series Info:

Unsub!Spencer Reid x OC (details below)

Takes place just after season 12 (And yes I’m aware there’s some parts of the show I’ve just completely ignored. I don’t care)

Specific warnings will be displayed at the start of each chapter but this series will include torture, injury detail, smut and language. Minors DNI!!

This is a work in progress. Updates every Sunday.

Meet my OC:

Name: Harley Kruger

Age: 36

Ethnicity: White

Hair: Strawberry blonde, wavy, shoulder length

Eyes: Brown

Height: 5'10

Occupation: Profiler in the BAU

Relationships:

Spencer Reid - Husband

[oceanmusings]

Treacherous

Pairing | Spencer Reid x Arwen Valentine

CW | Fluffy, tooth-rotting fluff, love confession, getting back together, death

Word Count | 1.6K

Arwen thought she would die alone. That was until she met Spencer. And now all she wants to do is tell him she loves him. But she's scared.

Early in Arwen’s life she accepted the fact she’ll forever be alone. With the trail of unsuccessful relationships following her, her parents' terrible marriage she grew up watching, and the chance of divorce being too high for her comfort. There was no way she’d have someone on her side her whole life that only a romantic partner could fill. Arwen has come to accept that and find comfort in the thought, like a pressure had lifted from her shoulders.

She had her brother, her niece and nephew, even some of the team members she considers as family. She was set and satisfied.

But Arwen has felt like she could never find that love for herself. Her heart was guarding itself so heavily from the possibility of heartbreak. Opening itself to be able to feel those things was a paralyzing thought.

Arwen broke the last heart that attempted at breaking through those walls. Despite how much she cared for Spencer and knew how he threw himself head first into anything back then, she took his heart and crushed it. It felt terrible. And she didn’t want to go through that again. Not to mention, it took so long for her to gain his trust and friendship again. She was afraid to lose it. But here she is. On the other side now, her heart longing for his own. And she’s pretty sure he wasn’t.

It was terrifying when Arwen realized she loved Spencer. Her heart ached so painfully from fear, it felt suffocating. Part of her wanted to back out of ever telling him and sit with these feelings for the rest of her life. Save herself from a potential heartbreak.

Penelope had a good point that the heartache from living with this would hurt more than a rejection. And had other pointers that Arwen struggled to believe in her fully about. “He’s been in love with you since the moment he laid eyes on you. I doubt he’ll reject you.”

Arwen was twisting a candy wrapper in her hands as she sat with Penelope in her bat cave. The room was comforting, but the conversation was not. “I highly doubt that.”

“Oh my God, he definitely has! You should’ve seen the way he has looked at you.”

“But would he really take another chance with me? After everything that happened.”

“Of course I do,” Penelope says, a more serious look on her face. “but the longer you wait, you will lose that chance, honey.”

Arwen thought she needed to make this a large grand gesture to Spencer. She hasn’t done this before - other than when she was a teenager and when she was in college. - She wanted to make the moment perfect for him.

But Spencer didn’t like attention and was a private person. This had to be quiet and intimate. And the longer she tried to think how to do this, the more time went by and she knew the chance of telling him was going to slip through her fingers. And it didn’t help anytime Penelope, or anyone else who knew, would send her a look.

She got it, she’s running out of time.

Anytime Arwen thought she might be able to do it, her whole body would freeze up and all words would disappear from her mind. Then she would beat herself up and scream into her pillow at home at the fact she didn’t say anything.

She needed to get over whatever was stopping her. Become determined that whatever was stopping her would not get in the way the next time she saw an opportunity.

That opportunity would show when it was pouring outside. Arwen knew Spencer took public transport, and she took this moment before he would leave to offer him a ride. “Yeah, thanks.” He had said, giving her that awkward smile Arwen loved, but she was making a plan in her head.

She walked with him towards her car in the garage, the only sound between them being the sound of their shoes meeting the pavement. Like all the other attempts before, Arwen's mind had become blank. No words were in her reach for her to grasp.

She didn’t realize she had stopped walking until she heard her name and she looked up to see Spencer a few steps in front of her, turned towards her with a confused expression. “Are you okay?” He asked her.

“Yeah,” Arwen rasped quietly. Nervousness was buzzing in Arwen’s veins as he waited for her to speak, but the words were dying in her throat. At this point it was painful. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” She had taken a much needed breath and began to twist the ring on her finger, not feeling prepared at all for the consequences that are in front of her.

“I thought I was going to die alone.” Spencer’s eyes widened at her choice of words, but she continued. Just going off any words that she could graze her fingertips with. “I was okay with this. In fact, I was comforted by this thought. Maybe ‘cause of how I grew up and saw just… terrible relationships around me. I told myself I wouldn’t be like that. I wouldn’t allow myself to have that. But then I got this job and joined this team, and you came into my life. Became this wonderful friend that I should’ve cherished more when I broke my rule on not dating coworkers - I’ll forever beat myself up for what I did to you. - but that’s beside the point!” Arwen tried to refocus what she was saying, thankful he wasn’t stopping her or walking away. Letting her ramble as much as she needed to say what she needed.

“I felt like I could only love myself and that would be enough. I thought it was safer to not connect to another person like that ever in my life. But I was so wrong. We have no control who our hearts feel drawn to and we deserve to feel that love in our lives. And that was so scary at the time I didn’t want to face it. But I’ve come to realize I do want it. I don’t want to die alone, I want to be with you.”

Arwen felt like she had run a mile when she finished. She tried to watch Spencer for any reaction to her confession, but all she could find was various emotions mixing together, - nervousness, anxiety, and confusion.

“I’m sorry- are you dying?”

“No, no.” Yeah, she wasn’t being direct enough. “I’m not.”

“I don’t think I understand.”

Arwen swears her heart wanted to burst out of her chest and wrap itself around his own. It was pounding against her ribcage so violently she actually worried it might happen. “Spencer Reid, what I’m trying to say is… I-... love you.”

For once in Arwen Valentine’s life, Spencer Reid had become speechless. She was pretty sure he was rebooting from the look of disbelief on his face. Slowly fear started to creep up the back of her neck, the silence from him was unbearable. “Spencer?” He gave a hum in reply. 

Okay, he can still hear me. Arwen thought. “Can you… please say something?”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes.”

“You… love me.”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

Some part of Arwen was offended he needed to ask. But when she thought about it, it made sense he needed assurance this was real. He was afraid. Whatever fear Arwen was feeling, Spencer was feeling his own. Especially after what happened to Maeve. He needed confirmation.

Arwen stopped twisting her ring and dropped her hands, stepping closer to him. She moved her hand close to his, but waited for him to show permission first. She didn’t wait for long as he made the final move of holding her hand. “Can I show you?”

He seemed to be trying to calculate what she was thinking before he gave a nod and a small verbal “yes” of consent. Arwen stood on her toes just so she could reach and pressed her lips against his. She waited for a heartbeat for him to pull away, but her heart bloomed excitedly when he kissed her back. Squeezing her hand, she returned the action.

Kissing Spencer felt like she was coming home. A wave of comfort and warmth enveloping around her, she felt light on her feet and weak to her knees. She felt his free hand hold her waist and pull her body closer to his own, she was pretty sure he was the one keeping her upright. her heart pressed against his, she wondered if he could feel it. It was so excited and happy she could feel the walls beginning to crack around it. It wasn’t gone all the way. But this time Arwen would work with Spencer on cracking the rest of it away.

Arwen was disappointed she needed to pull away, but if her lungs didn’t exist she would kiss him forever. She rest her forehead against his, keeping her eyes closed and focused on the feeling of his breath fanning across her face. It smelled like sugary coffee and mint.

She opened her eyes to see his own staring into her soul. It was so intense it sent a shiver down her spine.

“I love you, too.”

Arwen closed her eyes for a moment to bask in the moment at getting to hear those words. “I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.” She murmured.

Spencer let go of her hand and waist to raise both of his hands to caress her cheeks, brushing his thumbs lovingly against her skin. “It’s okay,” he pressed another kiss on her lips. Her skin buzzed at it. She almost felt high. “I’m happy you could say it now.”

[deunmiu-dessie]

he misses you. he misses you like a flower misses the sun. like the desert misses the rain. like you are the entirety of his being. as if you hold the key to his fierce, thumping bloody heart within the palm of your hands, like he is nothing without you— and perhaps he isn't. he doesn't feel like himself, no, in fact, he feels empty. like a shell of the man he used to be before you. he feels as though the world has lost its color, its meaning, and it makes him feel bare— it makes him feel.

he misses you. he misses the warmth of your perfume, a sweet and spicy blended aroma of saffron and sugared lavender. he misses your smile, all wide and pretty— genuine and charming, and always all for him. he misses the sound of your laughter, raw and boisterous, but sometimes soft and breathy, intimate. he misses your kisses, shy and cloying— yet fierce and angry at times as well. he misses the small things, like the scatter of moles across the expanse of your body that he finds himself counting when he can't fall asleep. or the way you fuss over him, mumbling curses and your love for him all in the same sentence.

he is nothing without you, and he knows it all too well.

the soft jangle of your keys in the lock makes him look up from his journal, the door swinging open. and despite himself, he finds that he's softened underneath your warm, loving gaze. ah, he also misses the sound of your voice, euphonious and soft, a tone you use for him specifically.

❝why are you looking at me like that?❞

he can feel his heart dance within his chest, pounding fiercely as you slant your hip to the side, the very same hips he adores holding onto when swaying with you to music. your eyes, which always seem to sweep him under with their intensity with no fail, are glittering with mirth, it knocks the breath from his chest. ❝ i adore you,❞ he utters— he sounds like a fool in love, and he doesn't particularly mind it. your cheeks flush with color and you playfully roll your eyes. that's alright, you don't need to say it back, he knows.

❝help me with the groceries?❞

he? ⸺ SIMON, gojo satoru, DAMON SALVATORE, soap, older!TANJIRO, scott mccall, GAZ, clark kent, EMMETT CULLEN, leon kennedy, STEVE HARRINGTON, giyu tomioka, JOHN PRICE, loran, ULYSSES, rick grimes, KÖNIG, dick grayson, SPENCER REID.

honestly it can be anyone you envision.

[wheelsupchb]

35th chapter preview

Começaria tudo outra vez / se preciso fosse, meu amor / a chama em meu peito / ainda queima, saiba / nada foi em vão / ... / Veja meu bem / a orquestra nos espera / p or favor! / mais uma vez, recomeçar

- Which song you want me to play? - he asked, and she didn’t even hesitate to answer:

- Which one you want me to listen to.

Spencer could play anything actually, some song he remembers was her favourite, even the jazz they used to dance to when they lived together. He reconsider, however, to something even more personal - something Amber didn’t listen to, something she didn’t know and that he could recall were one of the moments he so wished to have his best friend back to tell her the story of a little boy of Louisiana that communicate through music, how it broke his heart to watch how things ended for his family, and how everytime he sat on the piano he feel like himself, leaving for the melody to spell. As Spencer never learned the whole song, he decided to invent a little, put on some more notes it made sense for him, so as for the music that last no more than a minute has now more than three minutes long and he manage to tie an ending for it. He didn't glance at her when it ended, blinking as if he just woke up.

- You wrote that? - she asks, and he denied with a nod.

- Partially. The main notes - his fingers danced again with the keys forming the few notes the kid taught him - I learned from a little boy whose parents got kidnapped. He was the only witness, but he had severe autism, and so he didn't talk.

Amber leaned her head, studying his posture. She slide to his side, sitting on the bench, and her fingers imitate his by producing the same notes. Spencer looked at her hand for few moments before his own follows her, and so a duet repeated the same melody, connecting them on a peaceful song. But even a good one has to end, and when it did, she turned to say:

- I'm sorry.

- For what?

- The kid. I can't image what you have to witness too

[courtneyraeblogs1221]

Criminal Minds Recommendations

Main master list

* = Smut

Spencer Reid

Who Needs Time Management When I Have You?

The Waters Fine

Birthday Girl*

Obsessed

Okay?*

Crashing

Need You*

Library

Cuddles

The Final Draft*

Oblivious

Making A Move

Slow Hands*

Slip Up

You Again*

Sweater

Distraction*

Music Moods

And They Were Roommates

Home For Christmas*

Only Hands*

Sweet Talk

After Hours*

I Love You More*

Faint

Car Clean Up*

Happy Valentines Day, My Love

Teach Me?*

Not So Happy Hotch*

Boudoir

Fixation*

Hits Different Cause It’s You

His Picture In A Golden Locket

Lit By Love*

Hard On Top*

Here’s The Way I Feel

Friction*

Married

Cold Coffee*

Heatwave*

Coffee At Midnight

Stress Relief*

Page Turner*

Apple Slices

No Fun*

Christmas Feelings* (Part 2)

Attention

You Think I’m Delicious?

Hands On Learner*

Rough

If You Love Her

No It’s Not*

Cracked

Study Break*

Just 10 Minutes

Warmth*

Safe

Just Friends*

Good Little Helper*

Rumoured Nights*

In The Pouring Rain*

Everyone Looks Better In A Sun Dress* (Pt. 2*)

Nude Beach*

[thatgirlstrawberry]

How to Lie to a Behavior Analyst

Feb. Requests-4

In which Spencer and Y/N are dating and it’s great but the only problem is… she’s Rossi’s daughter

Warnings: semi-smutty scenes, dirty talkin… fluff, lying, horny!Spencer, spence being reckless and reader being scared 💀

Spencer Reid x fem!rossi!reader

All parts of this are up on my pinned masterlist!

“Ohmygod, Spencer!” Y/N giggled as she inspected his face. She sat on his lap, touching his skin where she had noticed a bruise.

“I know…” He groaned.

Y/N eyes flickered up to his. “And you didn’t think to tell me that the guy beat your ass before you knocked him out?” She said, talking about the unsub from the last case Spencer was on.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Okay baby, first of all, he did not beat my ass. He punched me once before I hit him with a crowbar. And second, can we stop talking about creepy psychopaths so I can fuck you?” He asked watching her face turn red.

Y/N kissed his lips and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His hands found her hips naturally and he kissed her back, rubbing his thumbs over the hip bones. Now, this process would have moved a lot slower had she still had pants on but the moment Spencer got to her apartment he took them off of her. Now she was just left in a pair of her underwear and a loose t-shirt.

She moaned as one hand slid from her hip and between her legs, rubbing softly. She pulled away from his lips and hid her face in his shoulder, breathing heavily.

His lips found her neck as he kept rubbing, chuckling at how wet she was and he had just started touching her. “You miss me while I was gone, baby?” He asked into her skin.

She nodded, a whine leaving her lips. “I missed you and those hands of yours.”

Spencer smirked and helped her sit back up so he could look at her face. “What about my di-“

His words were cut off by the sound of one of their phones ringing. He groaned and held onto her ass, not wanting to stop trying to make her feel good. Y/N kissed his lips and crawled off of him, smiling at the fact that his hand stayed on her ass as long as it could before she was out of reach.

She looked on her bedside table and groaned when she realized that her father was calling her. “It’s mine.”

Y/N cleared her throat and picked it up. “Hey, dad!” She smiled, glancing back at Spencer who pressed his lips together and widened his eyes.

“Good morning, Y/N/N my beautiful.” He spoke. He sounded extra cheery this morning.

Spencer climbed up next to her and placed his hand on her thigh. She glared at him with her eyes but smiled with her lips. “What’s up, dad?”

Somehow, Spencer ended up laying between her legs pressing soft kisses on the insides of her thighs. Y/N dropped her mouth open wanting to moan so badly.

“I’m having a dinner on Saturday night and I want you to be there.” Rossi said. “Uncle Hotch wants to see you. So does the rest of the team.”

Spencer looked up at her, smirking and nodding as he continued to tease her. She grabbed his hair and pulled it harshly trying to get him to stop with a smile on her face.

He did not stop. In fact, his lips turned into his tongue, licking and biting the insides of her thighs. His hands grabbed the outsides, squeezing roughly.

“Y-yeah! I would love to come.” She replied, her mouth falling open when his lips got closer.

Closer… closer… closer—

“Sweetie?”

Y/N snapped out of her thoughts. “Sorry, dad. Got a little uh… distracted. What did you say?”

Rossi chuckled on the other end. “Uh I know you’ve got this… crush on Reid but…”

“Sorry— what? You’re breaking up.” Y/N furrowed her brows.

“I said I don’t want you to have a crush on—“

“Whoa— sorry dad. I can’t hear you. I have something in the oven that’s gonna burn— gotta go. Bye, love you!”

She hung up the phone, tossed it somewhere and shut her eyes. Spencer propped himself up on his elbows and smiled at her. “You have a crush on me?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “I’m gonna kill you.”

Spencer chuckled and swiftly flipped them over so she was hovering over his face. “By sitting on my face?” He quirked an eyebrow. “I’m okay with that.”

.•.•.•.•.•.•.

It was Thursday morning and Y/N though she would stop by her dad’s office and bring everyone donuts.

She walked through with the box and smiled at the people who greeted her. She walked into the bullpen, Derek spotting her first.

“Hey, Rossi Junior!” He called out. “Good to see you, girl.” He smiled as he hugged her. “Even better to see you with food.” He kissed her cheek as the other started walking over to them. Derek took the box from her and set it down on one of the desks.

Rossi and Hotch walked up side by side and Spencer behind them with JJ and Garcia. “Hi, sweetie.”

“Hi, daddy.” She smiled as he kissed both of her cheeks.

Hotch gave her a hug and greeted her swiftly. Garcia squealed as she hugged Y/N and rocked her back and forth. “Ugh! I haven’t seen this beautiful baby face in so long!” She said squeezing the woman.

“Pen— can’t… breathe.” Penelope apologized and let her go, pinching her cheek and going to see what kind of donuts she brought.

JJ and Emily hugged her next and then it got to Spencer. She glanced at his sexy face before nodding at him, knowing that he doesn’t really like physical contact.

It was crazy because she was sitting on his face not too long ago.

“So what brings you by, Y/N/N?” Derek asked, chewing on a glazed donut.

Y/N walked over leaning against a desk next to her dad who wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Oh, I was just on my way to work and I realized how much I missed you all so I brought you donuts and myself.” She smiled, motioning to both things.

She could swear she felt Spencer’s eyes on her. They usually were.

“Aw that’s sweet.” Emily smiled.

Y/N nodded. “I should really get going now.” She kicked off of the desk. “But I’m gonna go use the bathroom first.” She added.

Rossi rubbed her arm. “We’ll be in the round table room briefing so we’ll see you Saturday.”

Y/N smiled, kissing her father’s cheek. “See you all Saturday.”

They all said their goodbyes and she walked towards the bathroom.

When she got in there she smiled and waited by the door. A few moments later there were three knocks and she opened the door, quickly pulling her boyfriend in.

Desperate lips met hers and she reached behind him to lock the door as she kissed him. “I missed you.” She said in between kisses.

Spencer chuckled. “You saw me yesterday.” He smiled as her kisses grew deeper.

She hummed. “I wanna see you all day, every day.” She spoke, pulling away from him with a small pout on her lips. “How’d you get away from them?” She asked.

“I told them my mom called.” He whispered, pecking her lips. He gasped in shock when she hit his shoulder.

“Don’t use your mom to lie, Spencer that’s not nice!” She shook her head.

Spencer tilted his head to the side. “Would you rather me have told them that I was coming to make out with you or…” Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Whatever, get back out there. I’ll see you tomorrow.” She giggled, pushing him away gently.

Spencer shook his head. “No, you’ll see me tonight.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “Yours or mine?”

The man caressed her cheek gently. “Mine. I’m gonna cook you dinner with all of the fun kitchen gadgets you made me buy.”

Y/N scoffed. “Spence, you didn’t even have a can opener!” She patted his chest and laughed.

He chuckled and kissed her once, twice, three times before she pushed him away. “Go before they get suspicious.” She whispered.

Spencer reluctantly pulled away and unlocked the bathroom door, slipping out discreetly and leaving Y/N to stand there with a warm smile on her face.

.•.•.•.•.•.

It was Saturday night and Spencer watched Y/N try on four different dresses from his spot in his bed.

They would leave from the same place but take different cars so it wasn’t suspicious. Spencer would take the longer way there and Y/N wold take the short cut.

“I don’t know, I think I like the blue one.” She said, turning so she could see the back in the mirror. She had on a blue satin dress that had a little bow on the back.

Spencer bit his lip. “Yeah… I definitely like the blue one too.” He said, looking at where the neckline swooped down.

“Stop looking at my boobs and come zip me up, please.” He rolled his eye with a smile and slid off the bed, walking up behind her and slowly lifting the zipper, stopping right before it was at the end.

“Are you sure I can’t unzip you?” He asked. “We’ve got thirty minutes and with the way you look, I only need five.” He dipped his head down, kissing her neck.

Y/N’s shoulders raised and she hummed. “You can take the dress off me when we get back here after dinner.” She said, planting her hand in his hair. “I can’t get all messed up. The they’ll know we’re together.”

Spencer groaned and wrapped an arm around the front of her, swiping his thumb across her red lips. “I can’t wait to see this pretty little makeup all smudged.” He said lowly into her ear. Her mouth dropped open and her chest heaved.

She wrapped her lips around his thumb and shut her eyes, her tongue swirling around it. He groaned. “I honestly don’t think I could ever get it up for anyone else.”

Y/N smirked and popped his thumb out of her mouth. “Change your tie. It’s the same color as my dress. We’re gonna look like we’re going to freakin’ prom together.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and stalked over to his closet.

.•.•.•.•.•.

Spencer arrived at Rossi’s 20 minutes after Y/N. She was chatting with Garcia and JJ over a glass of wine. She looked so pretty laughing and smiling.

“Hey, kid!” Rossi greeted, snapping him out of his trance. He smiled at the man. “There’s wine in the dining room, dinner will be done soon.”

“Great.” He smiled.

He was about to make his way to the dining room but Garcia called his name. “Boy Wonder! Over here!”

He stopped and sighed before turning to them with a smile. Y/N smiled at him, crossing her arms and sipping her wine.

“Soooooo, what are you doing for your birthday this year?” The blonde asked, grinning.

Hopefully getting my dick sucked. “Uh…” He shrugged. “I think I’m just gonna take my mom out to dinner and go buy some more books.” He nodded.

Derek came up behind him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Uh, no.” He shook his head. “You can do the mom thing just no books, you nerd.” He spoke. “I’m taking you to a strip club.”

Y/N’s breath hitched and she slid her tongue across her teeth. Spencer glanced at Garcia before looking at his girlfriend. Hotch and Rossi joined their circle.

“Uh… I’m okay, actually. I’d rather just stay home.” He nodded, sticking his hands in his pockets.

Derek scoffed. “Why? You got a girl or something?” Spencer tired and successfully avoided glancing at Y/N and shook his head shrugging.

“No, I just… don’t really wanna go see a bunch of naked girls.” I only wanna see one naked girl.

Emily snorted. “What planet are you from? What man doesn’t want to see a bunch of naked girls dancing around, swinging their hoo-has in your face?”

“Swinging?” Y/N grimaced. “What strip clubs have you been to?” She laughed.

Emily scoffed. “The good kind.”

Garcia shook her head. “Okay— anyway, I think Reid has a girlfriend, who’s with me?” She raised her hand.

Everyone including Y/N raised their hands. She pressed her tongue to the bottom of her mouth to keep from laughing.

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Guys I don’t have a girlfriend.” He said, pulling his hand out of his pocket.

“Why is your thumb red?” JJ asked, nodding at his hand.

Y/N pressed her lips together and looked at the ground.

Spencer opened his mouth but shut it again. “I was making Kool-Aid earlier and that stuff stains like a bitch.”

Y/N sighed and shook her head slightly. Literally everyone on this room knows I live off of Kool-Aid. Literally had a Kool-Aid man themed birthday part, I am so obsessed.

She looked back up to meet her father’s stare. Y/N/N, Can you help me with the Carbonara?” He asked, nodding his head to the kitchen.

She swallowed and nodded, putting a smile on her face. She glanced at Spencer before following her father into the kitchen.

“Ooh, It smells good, dad.” She hummed, hoping that he wouldn’t try and talk to her about what all the awkwardness with Spencer was about.

“I remember when you were a little girl and you first learned how to make it with me.” He smiled, leaning against the counter on his palms.

Her phone buzzed in her bag and she took it out quickly.

Dick Dealer💘

How to lie to a behavior analyst: Don’t maintain excessive eye contact, keep your voice even, say my name if you refer to me, don’t fidget— I love you

She inhaled deeply and slid her phone back in her bag, setting it on the counter. “I love cooking with you, dad.” She smiled.

Rossi nodded towards his spice organizer and she walked over grabbing the black pepper and garlic powder.

“Can you be honest with me for a moment, sweetie?” He asked as she sprinkled the seasonings in. She glanced at him.

“Yeah, always.” She shrugged, smiling.

He walked around the kitchen island and sighed. “Are you… involved with Spencer Reid?”

Y/N furrowed her eyebrows and looked at him, her lips quirking up. “What? No, of course not.”

Rossi nodded. “I just… I just noticed some weird stuff back in there. The way you got… jealous when Derek mentioned taking Spencer to a— his birthday plans.” He grimaced.

Y/N laughed a little, trying to keep her voice even. She looked at her dad, making eye contact with him. “Well, like you said you did figure out that I have a crush on Spencer. I was just jealous about that.” She shrugged.

Rossi nodded. “A-and I’ve noticed how weird it is that you seemingly ignore him when we’re all together. What’s up with that?”

Y/N scoffed. “God, dad. Do I need a lawyer or something? Why are you grilling me?”

The father sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry, I’m just a little protective.”

His daughter smiled and looked back down at the pot she was stirring. “No, it’s okay. I get it but there’s nothing going on between Spencer and I.”

He smiled and kissed her head. “I’ve got it from here if you wanna go back out with your friends.”

Y/N bit her lip. “I think I’ll stay here with you. We need to catch up. How’s Crystal?”

.•.•.•.•.•.

At dinner, Spencer sat across the way from his girlfriend. He was sitting beside Rossi so there was no way he could see the looks that he was giving Y/N.

He was mostly giving her worried looks because she wasn’t making eye contact with him at all.

Once dinner was done, she stuck around to help clean up. Spencer bit his lip as he left the Rossi household, glancing at Y/N through the window before getting in his car and driving home where he would meet Y/N.

.•.•.•.

“Fuck!” Y/N panted and rolled off of him. Spencer gripped her hips even as she collapsed on the bed beside him, squeezing his eyes shut.

She shut her eyes and bit her lip, scooting forward to wrap her legs around his waist and laying her head on his chest. “M’sleepy, Spence.” She mumbled.

“So what did you and your dad talk about?” He asked, rubbing her skin.

Y/N popped her eyes back open. “Are you really asking me about my dad not even thirty seconds after I rode your dick?” She grimaced.

Spencer chuckled. “M’sorry, baby.” He kissed her head. “I just— you got all weird during dinner. You weren’t even looking at me.”

Y/N sighed. “He just asked me if I was ‘involved’ with you. I denied it, of course but I’m still not sure that he fully believes me.” She shrugged. “Did he say something to you?”

Spencer shook her head. “Nope.”

Y/N bit her lip. “Good.” She pressed her forehead into Spencer’s chest again and kissed it. “I’m going to sleep unless you wanna go again?” She smirked.

“You horn dog. Go to sleep.” He chuckled. “I love you.”

Y/N hummed and giggled sleepily. “I love you.”

An hour later Spencer was still awake, running his fingertips across the bare skin of Y/N’s back gently as she slept. His phone buzzed on the bedside table and he sighed, pausing his movements and reached over to grab it.

Rossi

I know she thinks you two are hiding it well. I’ll let you get away with it for now. You hurt my daughter, I shoot you in the face.

Spencer’s eyes widened and he almost groaned loudly had Y/N not been asleep on his chest.

He gulped and put his phone down deciding that he wouldn’t tell Y/N that her dad knew about them until it was a problem.

Which even when it was, he would still do everything to make sure she never got hurt.

.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.•.

I ABSOLUTELY LOVED WRITING THIS OMGGG

AND I LOVE YOU READER (WHO ASKED NOT TO BE TAGGED) If it’s not how you’d hoped, I will happily rewrite it:)

Spence and Y/N really we’re just horny this entire time💀 also Derek is an asshole 😭

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (3)

She never thought she would be involved in a murder investigation. She also never thought she’d encounter her one-night-stand again—the awkward stranger who isn’t exactly that good in bed… Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong. But the more he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, the more he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: she gets involved in a murder case she least expected as a familiar face greets her. wc: 3,7k

Warnings: 18+, explicit sexual content, blood, graphic details of murder

A/n: this part is kind of slow but it’s very important for the plot

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

Y/N WAS GOING TO QUIT. She was sure of it. Her mind was constantly trying to plan how she would execute the idea without making a scene because she considered slamming her resignation letter on Jamison's desk, dramatically claiming him as a disgusting, chauvinistic bitter old man who only got laid because his wife took pity on him.

She was walking back to her desk after bearing another one of his, "I don't think you can do the job, L/n. Let the men go out to the field and cover the story."

She was also a journalist, for god's sake. And a good one at that. What made that old man think she wasn't as capable as any other male peers around her? Was she too much of a woman to go out on the field and cover stories that were judged as too dangerous for her?

She let out a scoff. The Jamison Lynch worried about her safety? That sounded even more absurd.

"He did it again, didn't he?" Y/n found Sandy, the closest friend she had in this male-dominated agency, peering over her cubicle. She was from the finance department and would often come to entertain her whenever she needed an ear to cry out her frustration. "What is it this time?"

She cleared her throat and made an attempt of lowering her voice into a deeper pitch. "L/n, I don't think you understand how dangerous it is for you to be out there. Let the men do the job."

Sandy laughed. "That's actually a good impression. What work was he talking about?"

"Kevin Marshall's case." Y/n sat back in her chair and frowned. "The ironic thing is, I was the one who found out about this case. I told him about doing a story of it before he snitched this opportunity and gave it to Eric."

"So Eric's covering the story now?"

"Yeah." She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "They're still talking about it in his office."

Sandy blew a low whistle. "That sucks."

She felt beyond frustrated. It seemed so unfair how she always got the bad end of the stick just because she wasn't born with a penis. She told Sandy exactly that which she cackled in return.

"On a serious note," Sandy muttered after her fits of laughter died down and leaned closer. "What happened to Mr. Marshall was terrible."

"You didn't hear this from me, but the police found him stabbed to death and..." she looked around their surroundings, motioning her friend to inch closer. "...there was some writing carved on his body."

Sandy's eyes went wide. "No way."

She nodded. "A friend of a friend of a friend of mine heard it from the forensic team."

"What were the words?"

"Well, if I were to be the one assigned to this case, we would've found out." She shook her head and let out another frustrated cry. "I'm going to quit this job."

"You said that last month," Sandy reminded her. "And the month before that, also, the month before that. Oh, did I mention you also said that several months ago—"

She held out her hand. "Alright, I got it." She glanced over the closed door at the end of the hallway, her mind drifting towards the two men discussing her supposedly case behind it. "I really mean it this time."

"Sure," Sandy absentmindedly agreed. "Wait, didn't you know Mr. Marshall?"

"Not really. I only met him once for work." She winced as her thought traveled to the time she encountered the man who was brutally murdered two days ago. "Let's just say he wasn’t exactly the greatest person to interview."

"No kidding."

She dismissed the topic by waving her hand. "It happened a long time ago, let's not bring that up. I'd feel terrible bad-mouthing him after what happened." She then let out a sigh. "It would be quite a story to cover though."

"Yeah, well, screw Jamison for taking it away for you." Sandy's eyes suddenly gleamed as they narrowed towards the automatic door at the corner of the room. "At least your boyfriend is here."

Y/n spotted the young man walking their way and laughed. "He's not my boyfriend."

"I don't think he got the memo," Sandy whispered before straightening herself, giving the man a huge grin as he stopped at her desk. "Hey, Oliver."

"Hi, Sandy." He greeted slowly. "How are you?"

"Better now that I've seen your pretty face."

Oliver Walsh was indeed an absolutely stunning man. He was tall and lean with broad shoulders and a very defined face. He was a little mysterious and reserved, but underneath that veneer was someone who was kind and caring.

He might not be the most outgoing person, but he had a genuine sweetness that made him attractive and likable. He also happened to have the hugest crush on Y/n the moment he first stepped foot inside this building.

Oliver gave Sandy a smile. "You look beautiful yourself."

Sandy rolled her eyes playfully. "We know I'm not the one you should be sweeping off her feet." She then gave Y/n a pointed look. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"What? You're going home already?"

"Got a hot date tonight!" Sandy overly shared before sauntering out of their sight. Y/n shook her head at her friend's antics before glancing up to see Oliver staring at her with the same look he had been giving her ever since the moment he had introduced himself.

His clear affection didn't go unnoticed. It somehow managed to be a public assumption that he was head over heels for her, something that was often discussed between their peers. As much as she wanted to reciprocate his feelings because she understood how difficult it was to be on the other side of unrequited love, she merely saw him as a guy she often worked with.

"Can I help you, Oliver?" She asked, already weary of the grin plastered on his face.

"No, I just wanted to see how you were doing."

Her face fell at his words. "How I'm doing?"

"I heard Jamison snatched a very important job from you."

"Wow," she gasped, not understanding how he knew this information already. But then again, people had the tendency to share things they overheard. "News really does travel fast around here."

"There's no such thing as secrets in this place. But seriously, how are you holding up?"

She simply shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. Angry? Frustrated? Like I want to strangle Jamison myself?"

"Y/n, there's no such thing as a bad bone in your body."

"What? You don't think I'm capable of hurting him?"

"Nope. You're the sweetest person I know."

She snorted. "That's because you keep seeing me through rose-tinted glass."

"Maybe." Oliver crossed his arms and leaned his hips over her desk. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She shook her head. He raised his brows. "Really? You can't think of anything?" She shook her head again. "Perhaps something to appease your frustration? Chocolate? You do love chocolate."

"I do, but I don't think anything sweet can even calm me down."

"Then how about a drink? Coffee? Beer? You and me? Together? Tonight?"

She let out a disbelief laugh as she stood up, making an attempt to gather her things. "Don't be so sly, Oliver."

He merely gave her a bashful smile. "Can't blame a guy for trying."

"It's never going to work between us." She paused dramatically. "Do you want to know why?"

He slowly nodded, eying her with earnest interest.

"Because you see, Oliver," she drawled as she closed the distance between them. She peered up at him through her lashes and threw him a grin. "I never mix business with pleasure."

She gave him a playful wink before turning around, leaving him dumbfounded and speechless as he stood there where she had left him. He let out an amused laugh before calling out, "I'm going to make you change your mind!”

She lifted her hand and waved at him without looking back. "Goodnight, Walsh."

His laughter was the last thing she heard before she turned around the corner, heading towards the parking area.

Turning him down was the right thing to do. She was not in the right place to be emotionally involved with other people right now. After going through so many heartbreaks and disappointments in the past, she couldn't take any more of the dating scene. It was just a bunch of awkward interactions and unmet expectations while feeling worn down by the whole process. She couldn't even remember the last time she was involved with a man.

A sudden mock laughter rang at the back of her head. You were involved with a complete stranger two nights ago!

Romantically, she corrected. She couldn't remember the last time she was involved with a man romantically.

Oh, great. Now she was fighting with herself upon what had happened that night. That... overwhelming and embarrassing night which she did not want to speak of. Overwhelming because of how much she wanted to see him again, embarrassing because she knew he did not feel the same.

She groaned as her mind somehow drifted to memory, her mind reminiscing that intoxicating feeling of his tongue inside her mouth for the first time. Or that moment before he settled above her, sinking between her legs as the tip of his hard, throbbing length squeezed into her warm entrance—

No! Don't even go there!

She stopped her pace and stood by the entryway of the parking lot, trying to calm her erratic heartbeat. She needed a moment to breathe. Between her frustration toward her boss, the constant interest from her fellow colleague, and the rush of sexual heat at that core memory, her head was starting to spin.

It wasn't until a sudden weight shoved her from the back that she woke from her trance. She jolted forward from the impact before her bag fell onto the ground, the remnants of her things spilling out, and scattered along her feet. "What the hell?"

She looked up to see the back side of a man moving forward in a hurry, not even sparing her a glance.

"Hey!" She shouted, clearly annoyed by the fact an unidentified man wearing a dark hoodie covering his face didn't have the decency to apologize. When he turned around the corner and escaped her line of vision, she realized she wasn't going to get the apology she desired.

She picked up her belongings while muttering curses under her breath. Her phone which lay a few inches away from her feet suddenly vibrated, the loud sound of an incoming call echoing throughout the open space of the lot. She peered over towards the screen and groaned.

She shoved the phone inside her bag and went on her way as she spotted her car. "Now's not the time, Jamison," she mumbled to herself, already irritated by how the night had turned out.

Her phone went silent again. It wasn't until she was a few feet away from her car that it began its chime a second time. The sound felt heavy in her ears and she finally got to her car, leaned against it, and reluctantly dug into her bag to retrieve the device.

She clutched onto it with disdain because Jamison was known to be persistent while also being inconsiderate and thoughtless. If she ignored him he would find another way to get under her skin. She slumped against the cool material of her car and slowly took a deep, aggravating breath before receiving the call. "Yes, Jamison—"

There was heavy breathing at the end of the line. A static sound greeted her before a loud crash echoed in the background. She looked over her phone screen before pressing it back against her ear. "Jamison?"

"...help..."

His croaked voice shot shivers down her spine. She straightened herself as panic washed over her body. Her boss was known for being very loud as he loved being the center of attention. But his voice sounded so quiet now. It didn't have that hint of self-centered confidence he liked to portray. It even sounded as if he were... in pain?

"Jamison?" She gulped and without thinking of her actions, her feet somehow moved on their own, navigating her back to where she had left. "Jamison, what's wrong? Are you hurt? Can you hear me?"

"...Y/n..." Crash. Cough. Gasp. "...help—"

The line went dead.

Y/n wasn't exactly a fit person. Her only form of physical activity would be the number of stairs she climbed up and down in her apartment building. But her feet were moving very fast on its own right now. She didn't care how running in a pair of flats wasn't the best idea, the mortification of something awful happening to someone asking for her assistance was gnawing into her consciousness.

The moment she was on her office floor, she took notice of how nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. The place was exactly how she had left minus all the people hanging by their respective desks. Because it was very, very quiet and the silence felt oddly eerie to her. Half of the lights were off and her steps halted for a moment as she entered her cubicle space, suddenly self-aware of the possibility of how something dangerous might occur.

Then she heard a scream. A deep, dreadful scream followed by a train of curses came from what she assumed was Jamison's office. Her feet moved again and her frightened demeanor was replaced by concern as she increased her pace, turning to the hallway towards his office.

Her movement faltered when she realized she wasn't alone. A very frightened-looking Eric Adler stood by Jamison's door before he turned around at the sound of her footsteps.

"Eric?"

His voice was etched with panic and horror as he rushed forward and held her by the arms. "No, Y/n."

"...what?" Her eyes shot behind him, noticing Jamison's door jarred open. She tried to escape his grip. "You don't understand. He called me—"

"No. Please. You don't want to see him in there—"

"Let go of me! He called—"

"Y/n." His grip tightened. "He's—he's... gone."

She looked up to see her coworker, the same man who simply stood in silence this evening as he took the job she had wanted. The confused look in his eyes from the sudden responsibility he had to take on that particular moment was now replaced by terror; a look of sheer horror, one which conveyed utter fear and panic. It was a look of complete devastation and utter helplessness, a look that made his soul seem to have been just sucked out of his body. It was the kind of look that conveyed the deepest despair one could possibly feel.

He's gone.

Gone could mean a lot of things. It could mean disappearance. It could mean an emotional state of feeling disconnected from the world. But this gone... she understood what it meant. She understood the weight of the word the moment her eyes spotted the surge of blood coming from Jamison's office.

There was so much blood that she should've felt disgusted by the amount of it, but her mind was too busy trying to convince herself that it was real. It wasn't until her eyes spotted a hand sprawled lifelessly across the floor that her stomach started to churn. The stone rings circling around the fingers were the exact rings she often saw on her boss.

The realization on her face had Eric pulling her away. But before he could drag her, she saw a glimpse of the lifeless body, and what she caught had her completely stunned. More than feeling mortified by the scene, a sense of bewilderment settled in. The disbelief of such a coincidence happening etched her mind as she peered over the body one last time.

Because something was carved along his arm.

There was a lot of waiting. Feeling impatient was one of the most frustrating things to ever exist, it made her feel anxious and restless about the lack of progress after Eric had called the authorities. He had guided her to the front area of the receptionist, given her a blanket he had found somewhere in the office—which she wasn't sure who it even belonged to—and given her a cup of warm tea as he made some calls.

She sat there, watching her coworker pace back and forth along the marble floor. She could tell Eric's mind was secretly all over the place with his disheveled hair and dark circles underneath his eyes, but somehow he managed to keep his calm.

He was steady, still a little fazed with the whole ordeal, but managed to keep checking up on her every five minutes. He even had the time to apologize for taking her job before she merely shook it off. It wasn't his decision to snatch away the opportunity. Though it felt inappropriate to point fingers at the person who actually did decide on the matter when he was lying in the other room covered in his own blood.

She shuddered again. There were so many questions running through her mind. What kind of person would do a terrible, gruesome thing to another human being? It was always the same question she had whenever she encountered such devastating news. She once read in an article that there were roughly 300,000 people who were killed by murder each year worldwide, and to think that one of them happened to somebody she knew felt so surreal.

The authorities finally came an hour later followed by a group of people wearing protective suits. The waiting for their arrival was very long, but everything happened so fast the moment they introduced themselves. A detective in an oversized suit talked to her and Eric separately, asking what happened prior to finding the body.

She suddenly felt nauseous as she recalled Jamison's phone call, how pained and desperate his voice sounded. It wasn't until she heard herself say it out loud that she realized the possibility of the killer being in the same room on that phone call. Or even in the same room as her as she entered the vicinity of their office.

"Ms. L/n?" Y/n looked up to see the detective watching her with worry. "Are you alright?"

No, she wasn't. But she merely nodded and gave him a smile. "I will be."

He returned the smile with a genuine one of his own and glanced at his watch. "You should get some sleep, Ms. L/n. If you have any more information please don't hesitate to contact us."

Then he left her standing there alone, watching people bustling around her with different equipment. She could hear the faint sound of the ambulance from the distance, smell the intoxicating scent of chemicals coming from the medics, and sense her fatigue creeping along her body as her eyes noted the time showed on the massive clock plastered on the wall.

"Ms. L/n?"

Y/n turned to see a man standing close, his dark eyes watching her cautiously. There was a sense of confidence in his posture that she couldn't help but notice. "Yes?"

"Mr. Adler told me where to find you." She frowned at the mention of Eric before her confusion deepened at the badge presented in front of her. "I'm SSA Derek Morgan from the FBI."

"FBI?"

"Yes," he confirmed, shoving his badge back into his pocket. "I'd like to ask you a few questions regarding this past event."

She crossed her arms. "I don't think my boss being brutally killed should be called an event." She steadied her gaze on him. "And I've already talked to the detective."

"My apologies, and I'm terribly sorry for your loss." He gave her an apologetic smile. "Although I would appreciate it if you can spare a few minutes of your time."

She observed him, watching him hesitantly before letting out a heavy sigh. "I guess so."

"Is there anywhere private we can talk?"

His attempt at keeping their conversation confidential from all the people swarming by had her quirking an eyebrow. She nodded and guided him toward the closest space that could provide them some privacy. "Sure... We can use the conference room down here."

"Thank you. My partner will also be present with us if you don't mind."

She looked him up and down. "There's two of you?"

"There's two of us," Agent Morgan confirmed, slightly smiling at the condescending tone of her voice. "Dr. Reid will shortly join us."

The silence after that statement was very, very palpable. The sudden stillness was one that typically left her feeling completely baffled, a state of total shock and disbelief over a familiar name unexpectedly mentioned. The uncertainty of her ability to hear left her frozen in her tracks, waiting for her brain to catch up with the sudden information. "Doctor... Reid?"

"Dr. Spencer Reid. He was talking to Mr. Adler a while ago—wait, there he is." Agent Morgan's voice grew louder as his eyes focused on the man behind them. "Reid! Over here!"

He surely couldn't be...?

She shook her head. The world wasn't that small, was it? Even though she was very bad at remembering names, how could she forget the exact same one she wrongly called as a result of her pettiness? And besides, there must be a lot of people possessing the same name, surely it was a different person.

Though the deafening lack of sound was jarring as if every other sound had been sucked out of the room. It almost felt like everything was frozen in time as her eyes settled on the man standing a few feet away from her. Because there he was, the same man who awkwardly flirted with her two days ago.

The same man who grabbed her by the waist the moment she looked up at him with need. The same man who leaned in closer, the tension charged with anticipation and desire before it lead to an explosion of passion that couldn't be quelled.

But the desperate longing in his eyes from that night was changed into mortification, and when she thought her night couldn’t go more terrible than it already was, it had gotten even worse.

>> NEXT PART

[mariasont]

Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9, ch 10, ch 11, ch 12

MDNI-----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, youngest member

warnings: mentions of wet dream, fantasying of 2 guys, oral f receiving, praise, probably more im not sure

A/N: hope you beautiful humans enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it <3

also requests are still open for aaron hotchner and spencer reid & i would love love to write more so shoot me something :)

haappppy readingggg!

chapter eleven:

With a weary slump of her shoulders, Evelyn followed in Hotch's wake, her feet dragging the ground as though shacked by invisible weights. Her eyelids were heavy, drooping in a slow cadence, fighting the lull of sleep that beckoned with each laboring blink. Her lips parted in a slow, drawn-out motion that mirrored the sluggishness of her body. The latte sat in her hand, a supposed ally against the drowsiness, but her yawns betrayed its ineffectiveness as her eyes grew heavier still. The trip had been a marathon of activity--packing, the airport, the plane--all leading to a touchdown in Somerville just as the sun began to rise.

On the way over, Hotch had briefed her on the details of the case. A couple weeks ago, a polyamorous couple--two older men, and their shared partner, a younger woman--were found dead. Then, two days ago another household with the same victimology were killed. The coincidence wasn't lost on Evelyn as her mind wandered to that god forsaken dream that had haunted her since.

And on top of that, throughout the trip, Hotch's silence was a wall between them, broken only by the case details. Despite herself, Evelyn tried to profile him knowing it was wrong. Evelyn replayed the hot tub scene in her mind, a pang of guilt twisting in her gut. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd crossed a line, even if it was unintentional... right? Her head was a battlefield of jumbled thoughts and creeping doubts, all clamoring for attention. She blamed the fog in her brain on the lack of sleep.

 Evelyn, under the weight of Hotch's intent gaze, gave way to a yawn so extravagantly drawn out it seemed less a sign of fatigue and more a playful challenge to his enduring patience.

"Stop staring; it's too early for judgment," Evelyn murmured, her eyes slits of defiance as she ambled after him towards the station. "This is just my face before the caffeine kicks in. It gets better, I promise."

Hotch offered no reply, merely casting a glance over his shoulder at her. The warmth of their close encounter in the hot tub enveloped his thoughts, an unwelcome yet intoxicating recollection. He wrestled with the memory, a guilty pleasure, even as he held the door open for her. Yet, he steeled himself, shoving those dangerous reflections to the back of his mind, all too conscious of the professional boundaries that he dared not to cross.

"Okay, Hotch, I get it, we can't all be as chatty as me with zero sleep. But come on, give me a smile, or at least a grunt," Evelyn coaxed, her laughter not quite reaching her eyes. "Anything to show you're still with us."

There was a pause, a look from Hotch that cut through her words, heavy with unvoiced thoughts, before he turned and walked away, his back a silent command to keep up. Evelyn's expression dimmed, her lips curving into a faint frown as she trailed behind him. The team's warm welcomes echoed around them as they entered the conference room. Evelyn's smile spread across her face, skillfully painted on to mask the twinge of disappointment that Hotch had left.

The moment Spencer's eyes found Evelyn, a soft blush bloomed across her face, and she offered him a smile tinged with complicity, which he mirrored back, a small but significant lift to her mood. The brief contact of Spencer's hand grazing her shoulder as she passed was enough to deepen the shade on her cheeks as she fought to maintain composure. 

"How was Miami hot stuff?" Morgan questioned, as his arm sling around her shoulder with a teasing squeeze.

"Hot," Evelyn declared, her hand theatrically waving in front of her face in a mock fan, while her elbow lightly collided with Morgan's side. "Nearly had me seeing stars. Poor Hotch was this close to performing CPR," she said, her words a deliberate prod as her eyes sought out Hotch's, hoping for any form of reaction.

"I'd say it was less about the heat and more about you neglecting to eat properly," Hotch commented dryly, his words carrying a hint of reprimand, but hey at least he was talking.

"Well, we really shouldn't dwell on the past," Evelyn said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Speaking of meals," JJ added, sliding a blueberry muffin towards her with a knowing smile. 

"You're a saint, JJ," Evelyn said, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the food. "I'm this close to giving you a thank-you kiss."

"As tempting as that sounds, you can actually thank Hotch for this one," JJ laughed as she nudged her. "He made it clear--no breakfast for you means a mountain of paperwork duties for us."

Evelyn's tension eased a fraction as she shot Hotch a teasing smile, her heart fluttering at the gesture. "Well, sir, rest assured, I strictly adhere to the 'no kissing the boss' clause. It's somewhere in the fine print, right?"

Evelyn's cheeks took a shade of pink at her own words, hanging in the air, laden with the what-ifs she couldn't quite push aside. Hotch's eyes, sharp and discerning, momentarily betrayed him, darting to her lips before he caught himself.

"Agent," he cautioned, his voice low but clear. Evelyn quickly raised her hands, a silent truce, as Hotch redirected his attention to the team. "What do we have?"

"At this rate, they'll be naming the next HR workshop after you," Morgan murmured, barely containing his amusement. 

"What if the unsub is part of a group like this themselves and feels wronged by it?" Rossi muses out loud, his fingers tracing thoughtful patterns against the stubble of his chin as he stands, back pressed against the brick wall.

Reid paced slowly around the table, his fingertips grazing a file as he passed. "It's possible," he began, his voice a soft murmur, eyes narrowing slightly. "The specific targeting and overkill suggest a perceived slight or trauma associated with such relationships."

Prentiss gave a firm nod. "Let's not rule out the possibility of the unsub viewing these groups as a threat to their moral or social beliefs."

"The female-centric dynamic could be important too," Evelyn tossed out, her steps halting beside the pictures of the victims.

As she pondered aloud Spencer found himself focuses intently on her face, her nose scrunching ever so slightly in thought--a gesture that drew a fleeting smile from him as he cast his gaze downwards in hopes no one else noticed how he looked at her. 

"Maybe the unsub feels wronged by the idea of a woman being the main focus? Or it could be jealously. Someone who wanted into a group like this but was rejected," Evelyn continued. 

"Or the opposite," Hotch contemplates, his brow furrowed in thought. "Someone who was in a group and cast out." He pauses, hands clasped as he leaned forward. "Let's dig into the background of the victims and see if there's a common thread."

The conference room was steeped in the day's fatigue, the air heavy with the tang of frustration and the stale scent of coffee. The team had returned from their respective tasks--interviews, crime scenes, and calls--all roads leading to dead ends. 

The room's stillness is shattered by Garcia's voice emanating from the screen. "I've got something," she declares, the pixelated glow casting an ethereal light in the dim room. "Both triads belonged to an ultra-elite society known as 'The Labyrinth.' It's like Fort Knox meets Fight club--no one talks about it, and no one gets in without an invite. I mean, you don't even want to know the lengths I went to find this in the first place."

"I mean, if the society is as exclusive as P says," Evelyn begins, her hand sweeping through her hair in a fluid motion. "Then the unsub is likely also part of it or they have resources that could get them information on it."

Garcia's voice bursts through the speaker. "Prepare to be dazzled," she trills, the clatter of her keystrokes punctuating her excitement. "The Labyrinth is rolling out the red carpet for a gala tomorrow night at the old Whitmore Estate. And you, my darlings, are virtually invited to the ball."

Morgan hunches over the table. "So, we need a cover," he states, "We can't just show up at the doorstep and demand to look around; it'll spook the unsub."

"Evelyn and Reid could blend in," Prentiss nods. "They fit the profile of two of the victims. Maybe they can draw the unsub out." Evelyn's eyes widen as she glances towards Spencer.

JJ chimes in, "And maybe Morgan could--"

But Rossi interrupts, shaking his head. "No, the second male victim's profile is different--older, more experienced. It's more Hotch's profile."

A crease forms between Hotch's eyes, a shadow of concern etching his features as his protective instincts surge to the forefront, coupling with a deep-seated unease about the unfolding plan. A delicate warmth crept up Evelyn's cheeks, her pulse quickening at the thought. The idea of going undercover with Hotch and Reid, a scenario plucked straight from her wet dream, sends a shiver down her spine and her thoughts into a tailspin. She opens her mouth, to joke it off, but it dissolves into a muddled string of half-formed words, leaving her with a bashful silence.

Hotch's words falter, a rare hesitation flickering across his usually impassive features. "I'm not sure if this is the best course of action--," 

Emily interjected swiftly, her words slicing through Hotch's protest. "Hotch, we may not get another shot at this. Using you three as bait isn't ideal, but it might be the only way to corner our unsub."

Hotch's eyes settle on Spencer, who gives a firm nod. His gaze than shifts to Evelyn, and though he resists the urge to analyze, the rosy flush of her skin and the accelerated pace of her breath betray her feelings. It's a jarring contrast to the professional distance he's been striving for. Hotch's nod was there, almost imperceptible, but the frown that follows is deeply etched, a clear sign of his disapproval despite his acceptable. 

The room hums with a focused energy as the team pores over digital and paper archives alike, each article detailed events like this and of the couples who frequent. Garcia curates a comprehensive collection of profiles detailing the Labyrinth and its attendees, while JJ and Morgan sift through social media for the gala's guest list. In a corner, Spencer and Rossi huddled over a cluttered desk examining the blueprint of the Whitmore Estate.

Meanwhile, in a makeshift office provided by the local police chief, Hotch and Evelyn are deep in study. The walls, now a gallery of whiteboards, are dense with the scribbled complexities of polyamorous relationships and the backgrounds of the victims.

"I've come across open relationships in case studies, but an entire society? That's a statistical outlier if I ever heard one--Spence would have a field day with those odds." Evelyn says with a soft shake of her head.

A faint arch forms in Hotch's brow, a muted signal of surprise to the informal reference of Reid. Catching the lift of Hotch's brow, Evelyn quickly adds, "You know, Hotch, the silent treatment isn't going to work when we're undercover," she started with a tilt of her head. "You've going to have to convince everyone we're together soon, remember? So, you might want to start practicing liking me now."

"I'm not giving you the silent treatment, Evelyn." Hotch remarks, his countenance flat, eyes reflecting any readability. 

"Sure, if you say so," Evelyn replied, her eyes thin slits of skepticism. "But if you're not up for this, Rossi could step in. We need to be believable, or people could get hurt."

"That's not going to happen," Hotch assets, his gaze unwavering, the firm set of his jaw sending a flutter to Evelyn's core. "I've played the part before; I can do it again."

"Then what are you so worried about?"

"I just want you to remember boundaries, Evelyn." Hotch reminds. "The seriousness of this cannot be understated, and I need to know your focus will be on the right aspects of the plan."

Hotch could see the subtle crumble of her face, the faint twitch of hurt that flickered across her features. She masked it swiftly, her voice laced with feigned indifference. "Understood. I'll try to keep my inevitable swooning over your pretend affections to a minimum, sir." The lightness of her words contrasted sharply with the hurt in her eyes, and Hotch felt an immediate ache in his stomach for causing it.

"Evelyn, that's not--" Hotch's voice trailed off, the hardness in his eyes giving way to a rare vulnerability. His fingers twitched with the need to reach out, to smooth away the creases of pain from her expression, but the opportunity slipped away as Rossi emerged at the door.

"Hotch, can I see you for a second?" he asked, gesturing subtly with his head.

Hotch offered a silent nod, his gaze holding Evelyn's for a moment longer than necessary, his eyes etching a mental image of her--the tilt of her head, the unresolved tension in her shoulders, before he reluctantly turned to follow Rossi. Spencer, shadowing Rossi's steps, pauses at the threshold, his gaze fixed on the departing figures. With a soft click of the door closing, he turns, the hush of the room settling around him as he turns to Evelyn.

He steps behind her, his hands coming to rest gently upon her shoulders. Evelyn tips her head back, her eyes lifting to meet his. "You okay?" he asks, his voice low and soothing.

Evelyn's laughter bubbled up, slicing through the heavy air. "Had a moment with Hotch. Pretty sure he was subtly hinting that I keep my feelings in check as if I'm incapable of that."

Spencer's lips curled into a half-smile, amusement flickering in his eyes. "Hotch tends to get a bit tense with these high-stakes operations," he reasoned, his thumbs tracing soothing circles on her shoulders, easing the knots. 

Evelyn melts into the warmth of his hands. "That feels good," she sighs, her head gently reclining in contentment. "And tell me about. I'm the one who's going to be all up on my boss and coworker. Talk about awkward."

The thought of sharing Evelyn with Hotch sent an unbidden rush of blood straight to his cock, a visceral response that caught him off caught. He clears his throat, a subtle cover for the fleeting thought that, perhaps, the idea isn't as disconcerting as it should be.

"At least with you I don't have to pretend."

"I don't know, I think additional practice might be beneficial." Reid says, his fingers edging closer to the delicate skin of Evelyn's neck, prompting an involuntary hitch in her breath. "My room tonight? Purely for preparation purposes, of course."

"Dr. Reid, w-what are you suggesting?" Evelyn managed to tease out, despite the gentle pressure of his hand on her pulse point making her senses swim and her focus waver.

He leaned in, his head tilting to plant a gentle kiss in the hollow of her neck. "You're smart enough to deduce it," he murmured softly against her skin, the words almost a sigh, "missed you."

A giggle escaped Evelyn, and she nimbly evaded his grasp. "Spencer, we're practically inviting an audience at this rate."

"Which is precisely why I'm saving it for later, just wanted you to give you a preview, sweetheart."

The remainder of the day unfolded without incident, with Evelyn buried under a towering pile of research papers, its weight causing a dull throb behind her eyes. Every detail was meticulously arranged for tomorrow--the tickets secured, the outfits chose, the escape routes mapped. However, no degree of preparation could quell the fluttering feeling in the pit of her stomach. This is precisely what led Evelyn to Spencer's hotel door, perched anxiously, her knocks rapid and insistent, her gaze sweeping the corridor for onlookers.

The door finally creaked open, and Evelyn breezed inside, her voice a soft tease, "Took you long enough." Spencer, with a quick glance over his shoulder, closed the door with a silent snap.

Spencer's laughter echoed through the room, a carefree sound that made Evelyn pause. "Sorry, I was in the shower," he said, a sheepish grin on his face. 

It was then that Evelyn really looked at him--his hair damp and tousled, clinging to his forehead, chest bare, skin dotted with water beads that caught the light, the soft material of his pajama pants hanging from his hips. Her eyes lingered, almost hypnotized by the sight, and rendered mute. 

Evelyn's lips parted, ready to unleash a clever comeback, yet only a soft, airy giggle escaped. Without thinking, her arms encircled him, her heart thudding erratically from the sheer nearness of him.

His fingers tenderly framed her face, his laughter a comforting hum. "Evelyn, you're going to get all wet," he teased, thumb softly grazing her cheek.

"That's what I'm counting on," Evelyn replies, a coy smile on her lips as she lets her hands wander down his chest, her fingers flirting with the edge of his pants. "I believe I was promise there would be a rehearsal on the agenda this evening."

"Mmm, is that what you want baby?" He questioned teasingly, his hand guiding her gaze to his with a soft tug at her locks. "Be the good girl I know you are, get undressed, and get on the bed."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with anticipation, her feet barely touching the ground as she hurried to the bed. Her gaze locked with his and with deliberate care, she pinched the hem of her shirt, swiftly gathering the fabric and sending is flying across the room in a fluid motion before she attended to her pants. His eyes followed her every move as he inhaled a sharp breath, his thumb brushing against his bottom lip. Her gaze followed down to his pajama pants and the tent that was growing within them, excitement growing in her chest. 

She carefully turned her back towards him as she hooked her thumbs around her pants and underwear letting them drop to the floor. She crawled on to the bed, arching her back in an exaggerated motion, giving Spencer a full glance at her glistening pussy. She turned quickly, resting on her elbows as she smiled sweetly at Spence who was all but drooling at the sight.

"You're so good sweetheart," Spencer exhaled, each step towards the bed measured, the corners of his mouth lifting at her eagerness, "so pretty."

Evelyn's legs instinctively clasped together in a silent plea for relief as a wave of warmth surged through her cheeks and pussy.

"Take this off, baby," Spencer commanded, the sound of his tongue clicking in disapproval as his fingers drummed a soft rhythm against the material of her bra, "Wanna see all of my beautiful girl."

She quickly complied, sitting up just enough to unclasp the pesky thing. His large hands splayed over the expanse of her thighs, coaxing them open as he settled between them, his gaze penetrating as her tits bounced out of the cups of the bra. "God, you're so pretty sweetheart."

A soft moan escaped Evelyn's lips as she squirmed on the mattress, "Spencer, need you."

Spencer let out a soft chuckle, his hand moving closer to her heat, fingers tracing back and forth in a tantalizing motion. "Gonna take such good care of you baby."

His thumb began to rub slow circles on her swollen clit, Evelyn's breath hitched, her hands frantically searching for something to grasp on to, landing on his wet curls. He teased her slowly, his fingers moving across her soaked folds. Evelyn felt as though she could see stars as she watched Spencer begin to plant soft kisses up her thighs, getting closer and closer to where she wanted him. 

She jutted her hips off the mattress, her fingers curling around his hair as if to move him towards her throbbing cunt. "Evelyn, patience teaches us to regulate our emotions. Neurologically speaking, it's linked to serotonin levels in the brain, did you know that pretty girl?"

"Spencer, please, baby put that good mouth to use."

Spencer let out a soft laugh before placing his mouth to her clit, sucking as if it were his full-time job. The moan that released from her was loud and unrestrained, her body thrusting against his mouth. His tongue curled into her, eating her out like it was his last meal on earth.

"Need you to be quiet, baby. Hotch is on the other side of this wall, don't want him hearing you, do you?" Spencer asked, his voice muffled. "Or maybe you do? Is that what you want? You want Hotch to know how I treat this pussy?"

Evelyn's body trembled with pleasure, her hands grasping against the cool sheets as if to steady herself. His hands wrapped around her thighs, pulling her closer as if to suffocate himself between them. "I-I,"

His tongue lapped greedily through Evelyn's folds, her cunt trembling against the pressure as broken moans escaped her lips. He met her eyes, peering up from his position devouring her aching pussy. 

"Spencer I-oh, fuck, I'm so close," Evelyn moaned out, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she humped against his face, his nose brushing against her clit every so often. "I can't, I'm gonna-"

A knock at the door caused Spencer's motion to freeze, a panicked gasp releasing from Evelyn's lips as her orgasm dissipated into thin air.

"Reid, are you up?" Hotch's voice, firm and unexpected, pierced the silence. Evelyn's mind was a whirlwind of foggy thoughts, her body reacting before her brain could catch up. Beside her, Spencer's limbs flailed in a hasty attempt to feign alertness, both like deer caught in headlights.

"Oh my god," Evelyn hissed, her hands flying to shield herself. She leaped from the bed, her eyes darting desperately around the room for her scattered clothes.

"Just a second!" Spencer called to Hotch. Meanwhile, Evelyn snatched the nearest shirt, one of Spencer's and yanked it over her head. It was a clumsy dance, one that nearly ended with her sprawled on the floor, tripping over the bulky obstacle of his go-bag. "Get under the bed."

"Under the bed?" Evelyn's voice was a hushed blend of disbelief and urgency. Spencer returned her gaze with an unwavering stare. "God, you're lucky you're so good with that scholarly mouth of yours."

"Radio waves... they're the longest wavelengths in the electromagnetic spectrum," Spencer began, his voice a low hum as he paced the confines of the room. "First predicted by Maxwell in 1864," he continued, more to himself than to Evelyn. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "And they--"

He was cut off as Evelyn interjected. "Spencer, why are you giving me a physics lesson right now?"

"I'm trying to, uh... calm down."

Evelyn's gaze traced the path of Spencer's, her eyes light up at the sight of the tent still evident in his pants. A soft giggle escaped her lips, a delicate sound in the quiet room. Their eyes met once more, and she exhaled a prolonged, "Oh," the syllable stretching out as brought a hand to her mouth.

"Just get under the bed."

Evelyn's laughter was a soft echo, quickly muffled as she deftly maneuvered herself under the bed. Her breath caught in her throat, the only sound the creak of the door swinging open.

Spencer was met by Hotch, his figure framed by the hallway's dim light. "Reid, can I come in?"

With a subtle clearing of his throat, Spencer managed a casual tone, "Uh, yeah, sure, of course."

He swung the door fully open, his expression carefully schooled into one of practiced composure. Hotch stepped over the threshold, his eyes sweeping over the room. Spencer's gaze flitted after his, a silent prayer of gratitude that the room bore no trace of Evelyn's clothes. 

"I just wanted to talk to you about tomorrow," Hotch stated, his voice betraying none of the scrutiny his eyes had just performed. 

"Sure, what's up?" Spencer asked, the words slightly pinched at the edges, his voice climbing a register.

Hotch's arms locked across his chest like a barrier. "This undercover operation is delicate, and we can't afford any... complications."

Spencer swallows hard, his eyes darting to the bed for a fleeting second. "Of course, I understand."

With a casual lean against the desk, Hotch's features relaxed just perceptibly. "I know you understand, but it's not just about the operation. It's about perception too. Evelyn's already under a bit of scrutiny."

An awkward cough escaped Spencer, a clumsy veil over the tension he felt, knowing well that Evelyn hung on every word. "Right," he responded, an unspoken understanding that they were discussing her father.

"Gideon set a high bar, and it's clear Evelyn is rising to meet it," Hotch begins, his voice steady, a tinge of pride in his tone. "She's carved out her own space on this team, a fact we all recognize. But rumors don't always favor the truth, and any suggestion of her involvement with another agent could be damaging..."

"There's nothing unprofessional going on, Hotch," Spencer quickly countered, his voice a swift defense. 

Hotch raised a hand, a gesture of pause and consideration. "I'm not accusing you of anything," he clarified, his voice firm yet fair. "I'm just asking you to exercise caution," he articulated. "For her sake. She has a bright future, and it shouldn't be jeopardized by baseless chatter."

Under the bed, Evelyn's brain was in overdrive, dissecting every word, her mouth suddenly dry. 

"I understand."

"Good," Hotch affirmed with a supportive squeeze on Spencer's shoulder. "Goodnight, Reid."

"Yeah, you too."

next

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[wrenreid]

Hands-on Learning

synopsis: Spencer Reid’s best friend pays him a visit in DC. She meets his coworkers and they spend quality time together while she’s in town. But their friendly dynamic changes with he asks her a question she was not expecting. (season 2 glasses reid)

word count: 4k

content: 18+ MDNI, oral (f receive), penetration

Spencer has been begging me to come visit him again since the last time I was in D.C. six months ago. And I won't admit it to him, but I've been dying to see him again so much it physically pains me. Going six months without seeing your best friend is the worst feeling in the world, but I'd take the emotional turmoil any day because it's for him.

And I suppose he's worth sitting on this plane, lodged between a sleeping old woman and a man who has gotten up to pee ten times since take off. I must really love him because I'm only an hour into this five hour flight.

Spencer and I met when we were 18. I'd just started my freshman year at CalTech and was in an advanced class with a bunch of 22 year olds. My eye caught his immediately. He was the only person my age in the lecture hall.

I sat next to him and told him my name. I knew I had to make him my friend because he was the only other freshman in the class.

Or so I thought. I didn't know until a month into our friendship that he was indeed not a freshman, and he was taking the class for fun while he worked on his second PhD. A small part of me hated him that instant, but I had already fallen into the Spencer Reid charm. I couldn't get rid of him, no matter how hard I tried (which was not very hard at all.)

We became close pretty fast. Almost every moment we weren't in separate classes, we were together. I was pretty much his only friend and he was the first person I met in uni, and probably the only one to accept me a hundred percent as I was. Being so far from home was hard, and he made it worth it.

Usually we'd do homework or watch scary movies in his single dorm room, which I totally took advantage of. I'd spend the night with him instead of my over-sharing roommate who thought I needed to know every detail about her and her long relationship with her boyfriend Kyle, specifically the phone sex. TMI.

My other friends would joke about how we were in love, but the truth is, we weren't. Not in that way at least. He was my best friend, and I was his. We were there for every big moment in each other's lives.

Well, not every big moment. Spencer was not invited when I finally lost my virginity during spring break of freshman year. But he was there when the guy I'd hooked up with broke my heart. And he bought me ice cream and told me stupid facts until my lips broke into a smile.

I was there when he got his second and third PhDs far quicker than any graduate student should. And he was there when I graduated with my masters in psychology and cognitive science.

"You're a nerd too," Spencer said, his voice teasing as he bumped my shoulder. "You can admit it now that we're done with this place."

I told him to shut up, but a wide grin was plastered on my face. We'd made it through the highs and lows of college together.

However, that grin was soon replaced with tears. Spencer had gotten a job offer with the Behavioral Analysis Unit at the FBI headquarters in Quantico, Virginia. He was going to the academy, and I was starting my research job. He was going to the east coast, and I was staying in California.

"You're leaving me," I said through tears, knowing me guilt tripping him was wrong. But I needed him to stay.

"I'm leaving California, not you," he said, his eyebrows knit together with worry. I could tell it was eating up at him, but I couldn't stop hating the situation. Losing my best friend was the absolute last thing I wanted.

The day he left, I drove him to the Las Vegas airport after he said goodbye to his mom. I didn't help him get his bags, instead I stood there moping. As I watched my best friend walk away, I realized I needed to be happy for him. He was excited about this opportunity, and my bitchiness was ruining that for him.

It wasn't romantic movie-esk the way I ran after him. It was more of an anxiety filled scene where snot ran down my face as I chased him down. Honestly, I probably looked like a stalker.

"Spencer," I breathed out, looking up at him.

He smiled softly. "I knew you wouldn't let me leave without giving me a proper goodbye," he teased.

I shouldn't have taught him teasing and sarcasm. It's bitten me in the ass so many times.

I wrapped my arms around him, ignoring his comment. My face pressed against his chest as his arms held me close. My eyes were closed and I steadied my breathing. Even though he was going what seemed like a million miles away, he'd always be my best friend.

And that's stayed true even three years later. We've kicked this long distance shit in the ass. Of course, we don't talk as much as we'd like, but we still talk. And whenever he can, he visits me in LA after seeing his mom, or I take a visit to the nation's capital just to see my favorite FBI agent.

——

"Every time I see you, you look different," I say with a chuckle as Spencer helps me get my bags into his guest room.

"Is that a bad thing?" He questions, eyebrows furrowed.

"Take it as you will," I say, plopping down on his couch.

He joins me shortly after. He really does look different. He's gained some weight, changed his style up just a little, his hair is parted at the side almost neatly, and he's finally wearing glasses again. Except these ones are far different from the ones he wore in college. These ones are kind of hot, but I won't tell him that because I can't feed the genius's ego any more.

"So," I say, wiggling my eyebrows. "Tell me about your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," Spencer says, his cheeks already turning pink.

I roll my eyes. "Tomato, tomahto."

"Y/n," he warns.

"Fine, fine. Topic for another time. Don't forget, I'm here all week, Dr. Reid," I flash him a grin.

He sighs dramatically, rolling his eyes.

"You know you've missed me," I say, leaning my head on his shoulder.

He shakes his head, but a small smile creeps up onto his lips. He's missed me. But rather than admitting that he asks, "What would you like to do tonight?"

"Food. What's the best restaurant in the city?"

"The best or my favorite?" He asks. "Because they're different."

"Your favorite," I request, a soft smile on my face.

Spencer nods. "Alright. I'll let you nap off the plane drowsiness, then we'll have dinner."

The smile on my face grows wider. He knows me so well.

After my way-longer-than-I-intended nap, we get ready for dinner. I don't dress up fancy because Spencer has seen me at my worst, drunk, crying, and throwing up.

That was the one time I've ever seen him drink. I drug him to a party that we both ended up hating. We left early and instead bought our own liquor. He'd just turned 21, and I used that to my advantage.

Spencer and I ended up drunk in his dorm room. Surprisingly, he handled his alcohol much better than I did. I got wasted and threw up in his sink before making it to his toilet to repeat the action. He held my hair back as tears streamed down my face from the burning in my throat. Then, he threw up from the sight of me vomiting. It was not our finest moment.

"Ready to go?" Spencer asks, coming into the restroom where I'm touching up my makeup.

"Sure am, doc."

The dinner is amazing. He catches me up on all things BAU cases before asking me how my promotion has been, which is, in simple words, pretty damn great.

——

"Oh you're not Spencer," says a way too handsome black man as I open the apartment door.

"Nope. I'd like to think I'm prettier," I joke.

"Yes, you are," he flashes me a smile.

The footsteps behind me halt. "Don't even think about it, Morgan," Spencer says, a warning tone present in his voice.

The man in front of me holds his hands up in defense, the charming smile still on his face.

"This is Morgan? You did not describe him this hot," I turn to my best friend.

He glares at me. "You also don't even think about it."

I laugh softly and offer my hand out to Derek.

"Y/n. Nice to finally meet you."

His firm grip shakes my hand. "So you're the competition I have as Reid's best friend."

"In the flesh," I grin. "And it's no competition. I've got years on you."

"Ooh she's bold. I like her," he says.

I haven't had the opportunity to meet all of Spencer's coworkers because of both of our busy schedules and us making sure to spend every second together while I visit. I've met his boss one time and friend JJ. I liked them. I know enough about everyone from Spencer's stories to know that he's in good hands.

"Did you need something?" Spencer asks his friend.

"Oh right. Yeah I was just going to see if you wanted to come out with us, but I see you are occupied," Morgan says, looking to me.

"Go out where?" I ask, not letting Spencer respond.

"Bar. To drink and play games."

"That sounds fun! We'll be there," I say.

Spencer fake coughs behind me, and I turn to my best friend. He gives me a look.

"C'mon, Spence. It'll be fun. I want to get to know your team."

He can't say no to me. "Fine. But let's not stay out too long, okay? You know you can't handle your alcohol."

"Hey, I've grown up since college," I chuckle.

——

“Have you two ever...?" Spencer's gorgeous dark haired friend asks me as she takes a swig from her glass. She cuts her eyes to Spencer, then back to me.

He's currently at the bar with Morgan who's attempting to flirt with the pretty bartender.

"What? No! God no," I laugh, shaking my head.

"Hm," Emily hums. "I just thought I sensed something."

"Nope. He's my best friend. Why mess with that?" I smile softly.

"So you've thought about it?" She's nosy. I can't blame her, I am too.

"No," I answer.

That's the first lie I've told to Spencer's friends. Of course I've thought about it. I don't think anyone has been friends with an attractive person without thinking about what would happen if the relationship dynamic changed. My best friend's kind of hot. I know that. Before we were close, I debated on asking him out. But we're just friends. We're best friends. And nothing is going to change that.

I get to know Spencer's friends a little more, get slightly tipsy, and start a game of darts with Morgan.

After he beats me, not by much I'd like to add, we're just about to start a rematch, but a hand touches my back lightly. I turn around to face Spencer, and a soft smile creeps up onto my lips.

"What's up?" I ask.

"Can we head back? It's getting late," he asks, checking his watch.

I nod, brushing my hair behind my face. "Sure, but tell Morgan I totally could've beaten him in a rematch."

Spencer laughs softly. "She could've," he says to Derek behind me who rolls his dark brown eyes.

"Getting old, doc?" I ask Spencer as we walk to his car. He's 99% sober, so he drives us back to his apartment.

I sit in the passenger's seat, hands folded in my lap. My eyes are on him.

"Hm?"

"Why'd we leave so early?"

"10:30 is when the guys in the bar start getting drunker and handsy. I didn't want you to get dragged into some asshole's grasp while dancing," he explains.

"Oh," I nod. "I can handle myself, you know that right? Just because you're a big federal agent now doesn't mean I need you to protect me." My voice is thorough, but a small smile is on my lips anyway.

"Just returning the favor, Y/n," Spencer says. He knows I protected him all throughout our shared college days.

My cute going-out clothes have begun to get uncomfortable. I unclasp my bra, keeping my somewhat sexy shirt on and slip it off from underneath the blouse, letting it fall to Spencer's floorboard.

"Much better," I breathe out an exasperated sigh.

He's silent in his seat, eyes on the road. I see his hands grip the steering wheel a little harder.

"I missed you a lot," I say honestly. Usually I'm not one to say what I'm feeling or be mushy gushy, but the two shots of tequila have opened me up.

His eyes flick to me, his lips formed in a soft smile. His face is being lit up by the passing cars' headlights. I can see how sharp his cheekbones are, his jawline.  "I thought you were heartless."

"I take back my previous statement."

"I missed you too," Spencer says.

"Of course you did, I'm a delight," I gloat.

The sound of his soft laughter fills the air. It pulls on the strings in my chest.

"How is it possible that I leave in three days already?"

"Shh," he shakes his head, eyes still on the road ahead of him. "Don't mention that right now." Spencer's hand pats my knee before squeezing it comfortingly.

——

"I have a question," Spencer says, coming into his room where I'm currently laying on his bed, reading a book I grabbed off one of his many shelves.

I look up from the page I'm on. He looks nervous, cheeks red, his hands fiddling with themselves.

"Hit me," I say.

He sits down at the edge of the bed. "I don't really know how to ask this... It's a weird question. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, and..."

"Spit it out, Spencer,” I eye him.

"Could you... would you tell me how to please someone. Specifically a woman. During sex."

A huffed laugh releases from me, and his cheeks burn redder. I think I'm blushing too. "What?"

"I'm sorry. That was weird. Forget I said-" he starts softly.

"Have you never...?"

Spencer shakes his head.

I didn't really think he had, but I didn't ever expect him to tell me when or if he lost his virginity anyway. He's reserved, even with me with some things.

"Wait," I sit up straighter. "Is this about your girlfriend?"

"Not my girlfriend," Spencer corrects me. "But yeah. We have a date the night you leave, and I think she's going to expect it. I mean, this is our fourth date."

"Well, if you don't want to have sex, don't have sex," I say sternly.

"It's not that I don't. It's just that I've never done it. I don't know what to do. I've read, and I'm good at anatomy. But what if I'm bad at the physicality of it all?" He presses his lips together, his teeth gnawing on the inside of his bottom lip.

"I don't really know how to explain it," I chuckle nervously. The blood is rushed to my cheeks, they're probably scarlet. "It just kind of happens."

"I shouldn't have asked," Spencer says.

"No, it's just that... like with anything, practice helps people get good sex," I tell him.

He looks up at me, his eyes asking what his lips won't. I feel my heart pounding against my chest, faster than usual.

"Do you want me to... show you?" I ask. He has always preferred hands-on learning.

"Would you?"

I nod slowly, hesitantly.

He moves toward me slowly, hesitantly.

"Kiss me," I tell him, hoping this won't get too weird.

Spencer and I have been best friends for years, we're extremely close, but this may bring us too close. This could ruin everything, but for some reason, I can't stop it.

He presses his lips to mine gently, his hand cupping my face. My eyes flutter closed. I reciprocate the kiss, and it's a lot easier than I imagined. Not that I've entirely imagined it.

My hands trail up his arms slowly. He's gained muscle. I guess that's a part of his FBI agent glow up. His tongue roams my mouth, and I'm pleasantly surprised by how good of a kisser he is.

He pulls away after a few minutes. He's breathing heavy. "Are you sure this is okay?"

I nod, then lean in to kiss him again but he leans back.

"Say it."

"It's okay, Spencer," I tell him. This time he lets me kiss him again.

I lay down, my back against his bed. He hovers above me, his hand on my waist now as he kisses me. He's good at this, and that thought comes to my mind again as his lips suck on my neck.

"Keep doing that," I whine softly.

He obliges and nibbles my skin gently. "Is this okay?" He whispers.

"Mhm," I noise.

I let him take the lead for now, do what he's comfortable with so far. His hand trails up a little further. I tell him he can touch me, and he does, though hesitantly at first. His fingertips graze against my breast before he finally gets comfortable enough to take hold of it through my shirt. He squeezes then pinches my nipple. He knows more than he lead on.

A soft moan releases from my mouth, my back arches just a little. His hand slips beneath my shirt, his warm touch on my belly. Spencer takes ahold of my shirt then lifts it up. I help him take it off me. I'm completely bare hips and above since I wasn't wearing a bra anyway. His eyes widen a little, and he smiles softly.

"Stop staring at me," I laugh a little.

"We're about to have sex and I can't look at you?"

I roll my eyes. "Let's just continue."

Spencer nods. "What do you want me to do?”

"Well, most women like to do other stuff before actually getting into the sex. Penetration alone doesn't do it for most of us," I tell him.

"You included?"

"Me included."

"What do you like?" He asks.

"What are you comfortable with? Do you have any ideas?"

Spencer thinks for a moment. "I want to learn how to-I want to give you... oral."

I burst into a laugh. "Spence, never say oral to a woman. Just say head."

"Head. Noted," he nods.

He's adorable when he's nervous and nerdy. Which is pretty much always.

"Kiss me first. Anywhere," I tell him.

He chooses the soft flesh of my stomach. I smile down at him. I reach down, pushing down my shorts, my underwear too. I'm growing needy.

Spencer slips them the rest of the way down and tosses them down to the ground. After slipping off his glasses, he kisses the inside of my thigh. God, I need him to do something right now.

His big hands push my thighs apart. Then he pauses. The clocks in his brain turn.

I feel like he's just about to call this whole thing off, but then I'm hit with a shock of pleasure. His tongue licks in between my folds.

“You’re really wet,” he says, more like an observation that a tease. Then he attacks my clit with his lips after taking a second to find it. Fuck. He definitely knows more about sex than I was led to believe.

Spencer's fingers leave marks on the inside of my thighs as he grips onto them. His lips suck on my clit, tongue flicking back and forth often too.

Soft moans spill from my lips. I'm trying to be quiet. I shouldn't be enjoying this as much as I am.

The sudden shock of Spencer's mouth removing from my clit makes me whine in protest, but his fingers sliding inside me make up for it.

I groan, my head leaning back into the pillows.

“Do you like this?”

I bite my lip, “Mhm. Curl your fingers.”

He does as he’s told.

When Spencer both fingers my cunt and sucks on my clit, I'm a moaning mess. "Holy fuck, Spencer," I whine. My legs are shaking within minutes, and even though he's still sloppy and new at this, my body loves it. My hands grip into his hair.

"Just like that, Spencer. So good."

A loud moan rings out from me as I finish. I couldn't even warn Spencer before my release pours from me.

My breaths are heavy and loud. Spencer pulls away, looking up at my eyes.

"Was that okay?" His breathing is heavy too.

"No," I say. "Spencer that was fucking amazing. You've seriously never done that before?"

He shakes his head.

"Wow."

"Told you, I'm good at anatomy," he smiles bashfully.

"Take your pants off," I command. "I want you inside of me."

I find a condom in my purse as he shrugs his clothes off. I sit up and find myself staring at his bulge with wide eyes. He's bigger than I expected. Not like huge to where it's unnatural, but big enough that I will probably need a minute to adjust once he's in me.

I tell him to lay down, and he does. He's a good boy. I like it.

I help him get the condom on, then swing a leg over his lap so that I'm straddling him. "Are you ready?" I ask him, my hand holding his face gently.

He takes a second, processing that he’s about to lose his virginity. Probably freaking out a lottle that it’s to me. “Yes ma'am," Spencer nods.

"Just a gentlemen," I grin.

I lower myself onto him, and once he's inside me, I do need a minute to adjust. Moans come from both of us, and I love the sounds we make together.

"Fuck," he groans, his voice raspy. He repeats my name over and over as I start to roll my hips.

"Oh my god." My eyes shut, and I bite my lip to keep me quiet.

"Don't do that," Spencer tells me. "I want to hear it."

I give him what he wants. I bounce up and down on him, his length hitting me in the right spot every time.

Both of our sounds fill the room. Spencer holds my hips down, stopping me.

"Wha-?"

"I want to do it," he says softly. "Please."

"Do what you want with me, doctor," I tell him, nodding.

He flips our positions, and he's on top of me. Spencer's lips crash into mine as he enters me again.

I bite his lip, causing both of us to moan into each other's mouths.

Spencer doesn't last much longer since it's his first time, but I don't even mind. He rubs my clit until I come again, and I feel I'm floating.

We lay on his bed, heavy breaths morphing together. "I think you're going to blow her mind, doctor Reid," I chuckle softly.

"Who's?"

"You're girlfriend that's not your girlfriend," I say, eyebrows furrowed.

"Oh, right. I don't think I'm going on that date. Okay, actually I canceled that date when you got here."

"What?" I chuckle, confused.

"There's no date,” he says, point blank.

"Did you just trick me into sleeping with you?" My eyebrows are still furrowed, but I'm smiling.

He presses his lips together. "Well, if you put it that way... I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"No, no. I admire the hustle, doc," I laugh softly, my fingertips circling on his bare chest.

Men and women can be purely platonic friends, no romantic feelings involved. But maybe Spencer and I aren’t that type of friends after all.

tags: @shakespear-picaso-lovechild @kylakins88 @jazzerbelle14 @cynbx @yazzyu @regulus-black-223048 @virginmusicloverr36 @sebs-oxygen @jolotta @booktvmoviefangirl @nevielei @pauline5525mgg @necromaniackat @r3idsp3ncer

[godsfavdarling]

Velvet & Veils pt.2

Spencer Reid x Original Character (chapter list) wc: 3,8k

From a distance, we could be mistaken for sisters. The same striking eyes, the same dark, cascading hair, round face and pointed nose, although mine seemed a bit more turned up.

"Oh my God..." I breathed, the realization crashing over me like a tidal wave. 

We all looked the same. 

I had always known that Gina and I had similarities, but Naomi too? I hadn’t really looked at her properly before. This was a pattern. And I fit it.

Reid and Prentiss remained silent, their expressions somber as they stared at the photos. Part of me was waiting for them to explain it to me, to rationalize the growing dread, but they just waited, allowing the weight of the realization to settle. 

Finally, I tore my gaze away from the photos and met Agent Reid’s eyes. His face was etched with worry as he looked at mine - a face that could very well be the next victim.

Reid nodded solemnly. "It’s possible there’s a reason why these women share such striking similarities. We need to understand if there’s even more connections."

I nodded, a chill running down my spine as the implications settled over me. This wasn’t just about a missing girl - it was about a disturbing pattern that I was a part of.

"Serial killers often have a type," Reid continued, his voice steady but grave. "It's not unusual for the victims to share similarities. Thankfully, your looks and occupation are quite obvious. Sometimes, the similarities aren’t obvious at all, and we have to dig deeper."

My mind spiraled into a vortex of fear and uncertainty. Had anything strange happened to me recently? Had someone been staring too intently at work or on the metro? Had I always locked my apartment door? What if he was already there, waiting for me? Where did he grab Gina? On her way home? At some bar? Where did he find Naomi? 

It must have been at the club. We were all burlesque dancers. That couldn’t be a coincidence. He was a client. I had seen him. I must have. 

I tried to piece together faces from the club, sifting through the fog of stage lights and music. My heart pounded as I realized the danger wasn't some abstract threat - it was real, it was near, and it was targeting me.

My breath started to quicken, the room closing in around me. I could feel the panic building, each heartbeat louder and faster, thundering in my ears. My vision blurred, and the photographs of Gina and Naomi seemed to swim in front of me. They weren’t just pictures - they were reflections. 

Mirrors of what could happen to me.

The edges of my vision darkened as my chest tightened. My mind raced, thoughts crashing into each other like waves in a storm. 

I couldn’t breathe. 

I couldn’t think. 

What if he was out there right now? Watching me? Waiting for me? 

A faint ringing sound cut through the chaos, but it felt distant, almost unreal. 

My phone. 

It was my phone, but I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t move. The sound grew louder, insistent, but I was paralyzed by the fear gripping me.

“Hey, look at me. Look at me,” Agent Reid's voice broke through, steady and calm. He moved closer, his presence a grounding force. I forced myself to look up, my vision clearing just enough to see him. 

His hair was a fluffy, endearing mess, tousled in a way that suggested he ran his fingers through it often, perhaps in deep thought. It framed his face, softening the intensity of his expression. His eyes - brown like mine but softer, lighter - seemed like they held a depth of understanding and kindness. They were like warm pools of melted milk chocolate, inviting and comforting, a stark contrast to the stormy darkness of my own eyes.

His eyes matched his hair in a harmonious blend, both a gentle brown that seemed to catch and reflect the light in a way that was almost calming. If my eyes were dark chocolate, intense and almost bitter with fear and anxiety, his were the milky counterpart, smooth and soothing, promising safety and reassurance.

As I focused on them, I could feel the warmth emanating from his gaze, a silent promise that he was here to help, that I wasn’t alone in this.

“Breathe,” he said gently, his voice a lifeline. “Just breathe. In and out, slowly.”

I tried to follow his instructions, focusing on his eyes. They were kind, filled with a concern that anchored me. My breaths came in ragged gasps at first, but gradually, they slowed, matching the rhythm of his calm, measured breathing.

“That’s it,” Reid encouraged softly, his voice soothing the raw edges of my panic. “You’re okay. You’re safe here.”

As I regained control, the room came back into focus. The photographs, the files, the sound of my phone still ringing. But most of all, Reid’s steady presence, his calm demeanor helping me piece myself back together. 

He gave me a reassuring smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Better?”

I nodded, swallowing hard. “Yes. Thank you.”

Reid’s expression was serious but kind. “We’ll figure this out. We’re here to help. You’re not alone in this.”

I didn't even notice when the phone stopped ringing, the insistent sound fading into the background of my panic. 

“Who was that?” Prentiss asked, her voice breaking through the silence. I didn’t have to check.

“My boyfriend,” I replied, my voice shaky but certain.

“How do you know?” she pressed gently.

“He already called a few times,” I said, my fingers twitching towards the phone. “I’ll call back.”

“Do you live together?” Prentiss asked, her tone probing but not unkind.

I wanted to say yes immediately, to cling to that semblance of normalcy and safety. But the truth was heavier, more complicated.

“No,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “No, we don’t.” Not anymore.

Reid and Prentiss exchanged a brief, meaningful glance before Reid spoke up, his tone measured and calming.

“We’re going to give you some phone numbers,” he said, pulling out a small notepad and a pen. “You’ll have our direct lines, and the main FBI contact number as well. If you notice anything unusual, or if you remember more details, call us immediately. No matter how small or insignificant it might seem, it could be important.”

Prentiss nodded in agreement, her expression serious yet reassuring. “We’re here to help you. You’re not alone in this.”

Reid handed me a piece of paper with their numbers neatly written on it. His handwriting was precise and clear, just like his demeanor. “Here’s my number,” he said, pointing to it. “And here’s Prentiss’. Below that is the FBI contact number. Don’t hesitate to use it.”

I took the paper, the texture of it grounding me a little. “Thank you,” I murmured, feeling a bit more secure with these tangible connections to safety.

Prentiss placed a gentle hand on my shoulder. “We’re going to do everything we can to find out what’s going on and keep you safe. Remember, you can reach out at any time.”

I nodded, clutching the paper tightly as if it were a lifeline. “I will,” I promised, my voice steadier now. 

Reid gave me a reassuring smile. “Take care of yourself. We’ll be in touch, and we’ll keep you updated on any progress.”

After Reid and Prentiss left, I took a moment to steady myself before heading downstairs. The air felt heavier as I descended, each step echoing in the silence of my thoughts. When I reached the bottom, I paused to take in the familiar sight of the club.

The room was bathed in dim, ambient light, casting shadows that danced along the walls. Velvet couches and armchairs were arranged in intimate clusters, their deep burgundy fabric inviting yet slightly worn from years of use. Dark mahogany tables were scattered throughout, their surfaces polished to a gleam, each one a silent witness to countless conversations and secrets.

My gaze shifted to the stage, the focal point of the room. The heavy velvet curtains were drawn back, revealing the expanse of the platform. It was where I’d performed countless times, where I’d felt the thrill of the spotlight and the rush of the audience’s attention. But tonight, the stage felt different. 

I had to go up there today. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. The show must go on, as they say, but now the stage felt like a battleground. Each step I would take, every move, every glance from the audience would be tinged with a new, unsettling awareness. 

I walked slowly towards the stage, my fingers trailing along the edge of one of the tables. Memories of past performances flickered in my mind. My heart pounded as I reached the steps leading up to the stage. 

Tonight, the performance would be more than just a dance. It would be a mission. He might be here tonight, hidden among the familiar faces in the audience. Watching. Waiting. But I would be watching too. 

----------------------------

The club was packed that night, the usual hum of chatter and clinking glasses filling the air. The ambient lighting created an intimate, almost seductive atmosphere, perfect for a night of burlesque. I stood backstage, adjusting the last details of my costume, my mind a whirlwind of nerves and determination.

The music started, a sultry beat that signaled the beginning of my performance. I took a deep breath and stepped out onto the stage, the bright lights immediately enveloping me. The audience’s applause was loud, enthusiastic, but I barely registered it. My focus was sharper than ever, my senses heightened.

As I moved to the rhythm, my eyes scanned the crowd, searching for any sign of him. I saw the usual patrons, faces I recognized, regulars who came for the show and the ambiance. 

But tonight, everyone was a suspect. Every lingering gaze, every too-intense stare sent a jolt of suspicion through me.

I twirled, the sequins on my costume catching the light, sending sparkles into the dim room. My movements were fluid, practiced, but my mind was elsewhere. 

I saw groups of friends laughing, couples whispering to each other, individuals watching with fascination. I tried to catch every detail, every flicker of recognition, every hint of something out of place.

A man at the back caught my eye - he was alone, his posture slightly tense, his eyes not leaving me for a second. Was it him? I felt a chill, but forced myself to stay composed. I couldn’t jump to conclusions.

Another man, closer to the stage, seemed overly interested, leaning forward, his eyes following my every move. My heart pounded as I danced, my body moving on autopilot while my mind analyzed every face, every reaction. 

Who among them was the one who had hurt Gina and Naomi?

My first routine neared its climax, and I pushed myself to perform with all the grace and allure expected of me. The audience cheered, but my eyes remained vigilant, my gaze sweeping the room one last time. 

As the final notes played and I struck my last pose, I saw him. 

A man near the exit, slipping out quietly, his face half-hidden in shadows. There was something about his demeanor, something that made my instincts scream. I held my pose, a smile plastered on my face, but my mind was racing.

The applause thundered, but all I could think about was that fleeting glimpse, the potential lead.

My heart skipped a beat as he turned briefly, the light catching his features. I knew him. He was one of the regulars. It wasn’t him. He’s been coming to Velvet Nights for years.

Was I losing my mind? 

-----------------------------

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, still catching my breath from the performance. My face was flushed, a mix of exhilaration and the heat of the stage lights. 

But as I looked closer, it wasn't just my face staring back at me. 

All day, every time I'd caught a glimpse of myself, I'd seen Naomi and Gina. 

And my mom.

The resemblance was uncanny. The same cheekbones, the same full lips. My mom and I had always been mistaken for sisters, especially as I grew older and started to look more like a woman. We were each other's constant comparison that neither of us could escape, even in my own reflection.

I sighed, reaching up to touch my hair, a cascade of dark curls that had been carefully styled before the show. My mom had always joked that my hair was my crown, a fitting complement to her own mane of curls. Gina, with her hair a bit more straight and sleek due to overusing a flat iron, had envied me for it.

Now, looking at myself, I couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. Naomi and Gina were gone, but they haunted me, their faces merging with mine every time I looked in the mirror.

I leaned closer, my breath fogging up the glass. The women’s eyes stared back at me, dark and brown, filled with the same fire and determination that had driven probably all of them all their lives. 

I reached for the makeup remover, the cool cotton pad a welcome relief against my heated skin. 

Julia, another dancer, was in her own mirror, brushing out her long, blonde hair. She glanced over at me, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern. 

“That was quite a performance tonight,” she said, her voice warm but tinged with exhaustion. “But you seemed a bit off. Everything okay?”

I sighed, setting down the makeup remover and turning to face her. “Yeah, it’s just… been a rough night. Rough day… days.” I sighed again, running a hand through my hair, feeling the tangles that had formed from hours of performing.

She nodded, leaning against the counter. Her eyes were soft, but there was a glimmer of fatigue. “I know. It’s been kind of crazy lately. But... They are gonna catch him. Or her. Who knows?” She shrugged nonchalantly.

Julia was sweet but... quite unserious. She had this light-hearted demeanor that made her seem almost detached from the grim reality we were living in. People were getting killed, but she acted like it was gossip, like something happening far away that had nothing to do with us. It had everything to do with us. With all of us.

“Besides,” she added, her lips curling into a sly smile, “the FBI got involved, and I'm sure that cute Mr. Agent Doctor is gonna get that psycho.”

“Who?” I asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to follow her train of thought.

“The guy. The cute one who talked to all of us today. There was also this woman. Honestly, I couldn't stop staring at both of them.” Her eyes twinkled as she spoke.

“You mean Agent Reid?” I said, trying to sound disinterested, but the name brought a faint warmth to my cheeks.

“Yes, Misty. Whatever his name is. The cute one. Don’t you think he’s cute? Seems like a nerd. Not your type, I guess.” She grinned, clearly enjoying this.

“I don’t have a type,” I replied, feeling a bit exasperated. I could feel a blush creeping up my neck.

“Yeah, sure.” She rolled her eyes playfully.

“I don’t. Besides, you only know Jimmy. That’s the only guy I dated here. And speaking of Jimmy, he’s here to pick me up so I don’t get murdered the second I take a step outside.” My voice dropped slightly, the humor in the statement dark but real.

“I thought you guys broke up,” she said, tilting her head in confusion.

“We did. Bye.” I gave a curt wave, ending the conversation.

I gathered my things, throwing my jacket over my shoulders and slinging my bag over my arm. The back doors creaked as I pushed them open, stepping into the dimly lit alley. 

The cool night air hit my face, a stark contrast to the bright, stuffy dressing room. Jimmy was there, thankfully, leaning against the car door, his familiar silhouette a somewhat comforting sight.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said, his voice soft and almost sensual. His eyes devoured me.

“Hey, Jimmy,” I replied, feeling a wave of relief wash over me as I approached him. His presence was appreciated but I’d rather not be accompanied by him. I’d rather not be at all at this point. Not with my mind only focused on one thing - am I next?

But at least he was here and I couldn’t help but smile, even if just a little, even if we were over, even if he still didn’t wanna let me go.

“How was the show?” Jimmy asked, his voice gentle as he pushed off from the car door.

“It was… fine. Just a bit overwhelming, I guess. Long day.”

He moved to hug me, concern etched on his face. “I’m okay,” I said quickly, raising a hand to stop him, but he still stepped in front of me to open the car door. He was often a bit much, but he was a good guy.

“Thanks,” I murmured, sliding into the passenger seat. He closed the door behind me and walked around to the driver’s side.

As he settled in, he glanced over at me, his eyes searching mine. “You sure you’re alright?”

I nodded, giving him a small smile despite the weight on my chest. “Yeah, just tired. Let’s get out of here. Thanks for picking me up. It’s just… you know.” I trailed off, unsure if I should confide in him.

I wondered if I should tell him what I found out today. He probably didn’t notice. He had a talent for not noticing things. He didn’t know how much danger I could actually be in. But if I told him, he probably wouldn’t leave me tonight, and he’d stay the night, and that’s the last thing I wanted.

“I know. They’re gonna catch him, though. Don’t worry. I’ll pick you up every day,” he said, his voice filled with an earnest promise.

“Thanks.” I looked out the window, the neon lights reflecting off the glass, casting fleeting shadows across our faces.

We drove in silence for a while. The hum of the engine and the distant sounds of the city filled the car. The city lights flashed by in a blur, creating a kaleidoscope of colors that made my head spin. 

Suddenly, we were in front of my building. I had to get out onto the pavement and walk up to the third floor. 

He could be there. 

Waiting.

“Well… we’re here,” Jimmy said, his voice pulling me from my thoughts as I sat, paralyzed by fear and uncertainty.

“Could you… maybe... walk me upstairs? Just in case?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Oh, sure! No problem!” he said, his face lighting up with a smile.

“Thanks.” I tried to muster a smile, but it felt forced.

He walked beside me with a smile from ear to ear, his optimism almost frustrating. Did he think I invited him to stay? 

No. 

Maybe. 

He is such an idiot.

“Wait, I’ll get the mail,” I said, detouring to the mailboxes in the lobby. Among the usual bills and flyers, there was a postcard from my grandma. The familiar handwriting made me smile, a small comfort in the midst of all the chaos.

“What’s that?” Jimmy asked, peering over my shoulder with genuine curiosity.

“Postcard. Granny Lucy went to Lake Michigan for a few days.”

“Nice! We always wanted to go! Maybe we should get away from here for a few days,” he said, his eyes lighting up with the idea.

“No. You always wanted to go because you want to do kayaking and some other water sports stuff,” I replied, my tone a bit sharper than intended.

“Yeah! We could get on water! Go into nature! Leave DC while this psycho is on the loose!” he said enthusiastically, missing my point.

“Jimmy, I am not getting in the water. And why are we even talking about this? I'm not going anywhere.” I sighed, feeling the tension rise again.

“Well... if you change your mind, let me know,” he said, still smiling as we walked up the stairs, his optimism almost maddening.

We reached the third floor, and I paused outside my door, fumbling with my keys. The hallway was eerily quiet, every creak of the floorboards magnified in the stillness. 

Jimmy stood close, his presence both comforting and slightly annoying.

“Thanks for walking me up,” I said, finally unlocking the door and glancing back at him.

“No problem. You sure you’re gonna be okay?” he asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Goodnight, Jimmy.” I tried to sound reassuring, even though my heart was racing.

“Goodnight, Misty,” he replied, lingering for a moment as if wanting to say more. Then he turned and headed back down the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway.

I watched him go, feeling a mixture of relief and apprehension. I stepped inside, locking the door behind me, and leaned against it, exhaling slowly. The apartment was dark and quiet, the only sound my own breathing. I walked over to the window and peeked through the curtains, watching Jimmy drive away until his taillights disappeared around the corner. 

Finally, I allowed myself to breathe, the tension of the day beginning to melt away.

Then I remembered the postcard still in my hand. I walked over to the small lamp on the side table and switched it on, the warm light illuminating the room. 

The front of the postcard showed a serene view of Lake Michigan, the water a brilliant blue under a cloudless sky. I traced my fingers over the image, longing for that sense of peace. 

Not in a sense of being on or in the water. 

But maybe the water. The lake kind of water. Calmer. Not the ocean I was in right now.

I sat down on the couch, the familiar creak of the old leather offering a small comfort, and turned the postcard over to read it.

On the back, Granny Lucy’s handwriting was a welcome sight, neat and elegant despite her age.

Dear Misty,

Lake Michigan is as beautiful as ever. The water is so clear, you can see straight to the bottom. I wish you could be here with me to enjoy it!

I’ve been thinking about your mama lately. Usually, after the anniversary passes, I let the memory of her rest, but this year I can’t stop thinking about her. Your dad also misses her greatly. He’s been going to church all the time! You should talk to him! He’d be very glad to hear from you!

Love, Granny Lucy

I read the words again, trying to find comfort in her familiar tone. Granny Lucy always had a way of infusing her letters with hope and affection. 

A bitter laugh escaped my lips. 

No, he wouldn’t be glad to hear from me. 

Granny Lucy’s endless optimism was both touching and frustrating. It was cute how she always seemed to think that my decision to distance myself from the family was just a phase, a youthful rebellion that would eventually pass. 

She’d always said the same thing - “It’s just a phase, Misty. You’ll come around.” 

Why would this time be any different?

[entrop-y]

i know it was almost certainly unintentional, but watching season eleven, it really seems like reid just has devastatingly hopeless, unrequited feelings for morgan

the online discussion of ‘queer coding’ in criminal minds often leaves a lot to be desired (and often fundamentally misunderstands what queer coding is) so i am not even arguing that—especially by season eleven—reid is an explicitly/intentionally queer coded character, but the dynamic of their relationship (the specific dialogue, the body language, and how reid handles morgan’s departure) just accidentally, but so clearly, frame it that way

[byersbootyshorts]

Revenge is Sweet - Chapter Three

Spencer and Harley claim their next victims and the team become even more confused by the unsubs’ motives.

Word Count: 1,567

Warnings for this chapter: murder, blood, guns, shooting, drugs, language

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Spencer and Harley had been scoping out their next targets. They knew they needed two people who worked for the FBI. But this time they didn’t need someone as important as the Assistant Director. They’d already made their statement with Hernandez. They considered security guards, medical examiners, even janitors. As long as they were employed by the FBI they were a target.

Four days after their first kill, they finally decided on their next two targets. A forensic accountant who lived down a quiet lane in the middle of nowhere, and a tech analyst who had to walk down a dark alley in order to reach his apartment building. Both of whom saw numerous crime scene photos every day, but never had to get up from their desk to experience that horror first hand.

They went for the tech analyst first. It was a blitz attack. He walked down the alley, absentmindedly looking at his phone, when all of a sudden Spencer jumped out from around a corner and clocked him right on the head with a baseball bat. Then, when the man was knocked out on the floor, Harley stuck a needle in his arm and poisoned his blood with Dilaudid. Spencer grabbed the man’s wrist, waiting for his pulse to fade away. Harley anxiously tapped her foot.

“Hurry up and shoot him,” she said, aware of the sound of cars driving by at the end of the alley.

“I’m just making sure he’s dead,” Spencer replied, dropping the man’s arm now that he could no longer feel the blood pumping through his veins.

Spencer aimed the gun at the tech analyst’s knee and pulled the trigger. As he heard the gun shot he thought back to the pain he felt when a bullet had pierced his knee. He wished this man could feel the pain he had felt. But no, that wasn’t part of the MO. He needed to die from a Dilaudid overdose. The gunshot wound was just for show. Just a hint as to who the killers really were.

Spencer was so caught up in his thoughts that he almost forgot to run away after the gunshot. It was loud and people were sure to hear it. He snapped back to reality when he felt Harley tugging on his shirt. “Come on, Spence,” she urged him. And they both ran down the alley, away from the lifeless body.

Next was the forensic account. Harley had worked out what time she got home every day so her and Spencer could get their early. They parked the unregistered car they’d stolen behind some hedges and carefully picked the lock of the house. They didn’t have to lay in wait for long before they heard the forensic accountant’s car pull up in the driveway. They hid in the bathroom while she entered her home. They heard her turn on the TV and make coffee. After a while they stopped hearing her move around so Spencer peeked his head out the door.

Perfect. She was sitting on the couch watching TV, facing the opposite direction to the bathroom door. Spencer turned around and nodded at Harley and they pulled on their ski masks. They quietly exited the bathroom and walked slowly behind the forensic accountant. She had no idea there were other people in her house until Harley grabbed her head and placed her hand over her mouth.

The woman screamed into Harley’s hand and tried to jump up from the couch. But Spencer was already standing in front of her. He placed his hands on her thighs to hold her down.

“Hey, it’s ok,” he said with phony kindness. “I’m just going to make you sleep for a little while.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out the bottle of Dilaudid. He filled the needle with the fatal drug, cursing himself that he was so familiar with the process after doing it to himself for so long.

Tears poured from the woman eyes as Spencer watched the needle disappear into her arm. Her eyes rolled back in her head and, for just a second, Spencer wanted to feel the rush that she was feeling. But then she started to convulse. Sweat started to seep down her forehead and Spencer was reminded of why he stopped taking the drug.

And then, just like the tech analyst, she was dead. Her heart stopped beating as the toxin shut down her body and left her an empty shell, devoid of life.

“I want to do it this time,” Harley said when Spencer pulled the gun from his holster. He obliged, handing the weapon to her. She moved around to the front of the body and pointed the barrel at the dead woman’s neck. She looked at Spencer’s scar, trying to line up the gunshot wound so it matched Spencer’s. When she pulled the trigger, blood spattered over both of them.

“Shit,” Harley swore, trying to wipe some of the blood off her clothes. “This was a new jacket.”

They left the house with no worry of anyone seeing them since the neighbouring house was a mile down the road. Now, all they had to do was wait for the bodies to be found.

“Zack Hodgins, a twenty-nine year old tech analyst,” Garcia said, bringing images of the dead man in the alley onto the screen. “And Angela Brennan, a forty-two year old forensic accountant.” She clicked another button and the woman’s dead body also appeared on the screen. “They both worked here at Quantico.”

The team looked between the screen and the case files in front of them.

“How do we know this is connected to the last murder other than the fact that they all work for the FBI?” Matt asked.

“Because of the cause of death,” Harley explained, a thrill rushing through her body as she inserted herself into the investigation.

Everyone’s faces contorted with confusion when they saw that the cause of death for both of the victims wasn’t a fatal gunshot wound, but the same drug that killed Assistant Director Hernandez.

“Wait, so, Angela Brennan’s cause of death wasn’t a gunshot to the jugular?” Luke said, shaking his head in disbelief. “How can someone get shot in the neck and not die?”

“Reid managed it, somehow,” Rossi pointed out. “I guess you were one of the lucky ones.”

Spencer smiled but his blood boiled. Lucky? How was it lucky to get shot in the neck and be in critical condition? To go through hours of surgery and recovery. He took a deep breath in an attempt to control the anger that bubbled inside him, threatening to be unleashed.

“That’s the thing you see,” Emily continued. “Neither of them were shot before they died. They were shot post mortem.”

Somehow the confusion on the teams faces intensified. Harley was filled with glee at how much her and Spencer’s plan was confusing them.

“Ok, so if these are the same unsubs who killed Assistant Director Hernandez, what’s their deal?” Matt questioned. “We thought they were sadists but this time there’s no evidence of torture.”

“Something about these unsubs seems off to me. I just can’t put my finger on what,” Rossi said, leaning back in his chair. “What do we know about them so far.”

“There’s one male and one female,” Garcia began.

“Their MO is killing people with Dilaudid,” Emily said. “And it’s like they want revenge for something. In the video they mentioned something about ‘payback.’”

“Maybe they’re victims of a kidnapping or a shooting and they’re mad at the FBI for letting it happen,” Spencer said with a hint of anger.

“I heard her call him ‘darling’ in the video. I’d safely say they’re in a relationship,” Tara continued.

“The male is probably the dominant partner,” Luke guessed.

Harley rolled her eyes. “Dominant, my ass,” she thought, remembering what she’d done to Spencer a few nights before.

“You don’t agree?” Luke asked, noticing her look of annoyance.

“People always assume the male is the dominant one. But there was something about the female that gave me the impression that she was in charge,” Harley explained.

“But the male seemed to be the planner. He was level headed and calm. The female was erratic. She wouldn’t be able to pull something like that off by herself,” JJ chipped in.

“Ok, whatever you think,” Harley gave in, throwing her hands in the air. It didn’t matter what they thought. She knew the truth.

The room was silent for a beat, other than the occasional rustling of pages.

“What was the point in shooting the victims after they were already dead?” Tara asked. “Are they trying to make some kind of statement? Shooting someone in the neck seems normal. But the knee? That’s odd.”

Spencer wanted to scream, “Hello?! I was shot in the neck and the knee! How are you not making these connections?” He observed everyone’s expressions. Matt and Luke looked bewildered. Tara was busy rifling through more case files. Rossi just looked bored. Either they couldn’t even comprehend Spencer doing these crimes, so they didn’t even consider him, or they were too ignorant to remember what he’d been through. But then he met JJ’s eyes. He averted his gaze quickly, but not before he noted the look of suspicion in her narrowed eyes and with a chill of panic he thought, “She knows.”