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mccdreamys-writes · 11 months ago

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smiles for miles – 6. ain't like home

burn the bridges in our town till the point where we drown, as it all comes down. - Dotan, Home

S E P T E M B E R 1 7 T H 2 0 1 1

Coming back to Kansas City stirred up a storm of feelings inside me, pulling memories from the depths where they'd been hiding for so long. Walking down those streets again, it felt like a tug-of-war between wanting to be here and wishing I were anywhere else.

It had been ages since I'd been in this city, and part of me questioned if I even wanted to be back. But duty called, reminding me why I'd returned—Maile needed me, and that was reason enough.

"Alex."

The sound of my name, spoken with such gravity, cut through the air, snapping me back to reality. I turned to see my brother coming towards me, a reminder of the family ties that bind us, whether we liked it or not.

Inhaling deeply to steady my nerves, I acknowledged him with a nod, my greeting carrying a mix of composure and underlying tension. "Scott," I said, my tone carefully neutral, though hints of apprehension lingered beneath the surface.

Despite the warmth of the sun casting its golden glow over the city streets, an intangible chill seemed to permeate the air, casting a shadow over our interaction.

His question hung between us, weighted with skepticism and perhaps a touch of judgment. "What brings you back here?" he queried, his voice betraying a hint of doubt.

Meeting his gaze with unwavering resolve, I made my intentions clear. "I'm here for Maile," I asserted firmly, my words leaving no room for misinterpretation.

An incredulous scoff escaped him, accompanied by a dismissive roll of his eyes. "You're kidding, right?" he retorted, frustration lacing his voice. "I thought you were done with all of that, you finally moved on."

Though his words stung, I refused to let them shake my determination. "Maile's gone missing, Scott," I explained, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily in my tone. "I couldn't just ignore that."

His uncertainty was clear, etched in the lines of his face and the cautious tone in his voice. "I thought you and her weren't on speaking terms," he remarked, his curiosity evident.

I met his gaze squarely, my determination unwavering despite the skepticism in his eyes. "There's more to it than that," I replied, my voice steady.

His skepticism persisted as he leaned forward, pressing for more information. "How can you be so sure she's missing?" he probed further.

In response, I reached across the table, laying out the collection of poems in front of him. His brow furrowed as he examined the pages, his skepticism growing. "What's the deal with these?" he questioned, his tone tinged with suspicion.

"Poems," I stated plainly, my voice calm but resolute. Despite his doubts, I knew these verses held the key to understanding Maile's disappearance, and I was determined to make him understand their significance. "She wrote them."

He delicately lifted the first poem from the table, his fingers moving with a mix of caution and curiosity, as though each line held a hidden message waiting to be deciphered. With furrowed brows, he scanned the verses, his gaze lingering on certain words, perhaps searching for clues that eluded even the most discerning eye.

After a moment, he set the first poem down and reached for the second, his demeanor shifting to one of deeper concentration. His eyes darted across the page, absorbing each word with intent scrutiny, as if trying to unravel the secrets woven within the lines. Finally, with a thoughtful exhale, he placed the second poem beside the first, his expression a blend of contemplation and skepticism.

Turning his attention back to me, he voiced his doubts, his tone tinged with uncertainty. "What makes you so certain she wrote these?" he questioned, his skepticism challenging the notion that these poems were Maile's handiwork.

I felt a pang of frustration at my inability to provide concrete evidence, my conviction resting solely on intuition and the haunting familiarity of Maile's writing style. How could I convey the depth of my certainty when I lacked tangible proof?

Sensing my inner turmoil, Hotch interjected with a calm authority, his voice cutting through the tension in the room. "Let me point something out," he began, his tone measured yet authoritative. "In the first poem, the word 'Smiles' is capitalized and circled in what we believe to be her blood. And as you might know, your sister used to call her-"

My brother's expression softened slightly as Hotch's words sank in, a flicker of recognition crossing his features. "Smiles," he echoed, the word carrying a weight of memories and shared experiences. Yet, despite this moment of recognition, skepticism still lingered as he voiced his doubts. "You know, Alex, this is a stretch to say the least. We need more than just circumstantial evidence to make such claims."

With determination in my voice, I faced him squarely, my patience wearing thin like an old rug. "You don't need to help us, Scott," I shot back, frustration seeping into my tone. "We've been given a place on your turf. If you want to join our investigation, feel free to do so. If you don't, stay the hell out of my way."

Turning sharply on my heel, I exited the room, leaving behind a lingering cloud of tension thicker than molasses. Despite my departure, the echo of conversation between my brother and my team members still reached my ears.

Morgan's words hung in the air like a gentle breeze, a reminder of the seriousness of the situation. "This means a great deal to her," his voice carried, tinged with concern. "You might want to take it seriously."

But my brother's response sliced through the atmosphere like a sharp knife, his tone rigid and unwavering. "I can't," he snapped back tersely. "I can't take anything seriously that has to do with that Crane girl. Alex's always been crazy about that girl, something I never understood. That girl is insane, and makes Alex look like a pedophile. I... Alex can't think straight when it comes to that girl."

As his words sank into my thoughts, a mix of frustration and disbelief bubbled up within me. How could he casually dismiss the seriousness of our situation, shrugging off the urgency of our investigation like it was nothing? But it was clear that changing his mind wouldn't be easy.

"Is it really that hard to ease her mind?" Hotch's question hung in the air like a heavy fog, casting a palpable tension over the room as everyone waited for my brother's response. When he stayed quiet, Hotch pushed forward, his voice steady but firm.

"If you don't trust Blake," Hotch started, his words deliberate, "that's okay. But then help us by proving that Maile Crane has nothing to do with this. We need to know everything about her. And everything about her connection with your sister."

As I observed him from behind the partially open blinds of the office, I could sense the weight of his frustration in the way his hands grasped at his hair. His voice, tinged with a mix of nostalgia and unease, filled the room as he began to recount memories from our past.

"We used to live right across from the Crane family," he started, his voice taking on a reflective tone. "There was Everett Crane, Josephine, and Maile. They were always a bit peculiar." His words hung in the air, carrying a mix of uncertainty and intrigue.

"He was a friendly guy, everyone in the neighborhood loved him," he continued, a hint of fondness creeping into his voice. "Josephine kept to herself mostly, didn't socialize much. Alex, though, she really took a shine to her. I think Alex was probably the only person Josephine ever really talked to around here."

Listening to his memories, I couldn't help but reflect on my own experiences with our former neighbors. Josephine held a special place in my heart; she was like a second mother to me. Despite the description, I remembered her as gentle and nurturing, always there with a kind word or a story to share. She had taught me how to read, passing on a gift that I later shared with her daughter, Maile.

As he delved further into his memories, each word seemed to stir up a whirlwind of emotions inside me. His voice, lacking any emotion, cut through the air, yet his words sparked a fiery anger within me.

"I guess I never really got to know her," he continued, his tone distant. "But she... she was always just wandering around, observing everything. And whenever someone tried to talk to her, she'd bolt and run away." His words painted a picture of Maile, but it clashed with the lively, spirited girl I remembered.

"Nobody really got close to her, except for Alex," he added. At the mention of my name, a flood of memories rushed back—times spent with Maile, secrets shared under the moonlight.

"My sister was crazy about that girl, more than she was about her own family," he admitted, bitterness dripping from his words. "She'd make decisions, big ones, based on what would be good for Maile." His revelation filled the room, highlighting the sacrifices made for love.

"People in the neighborhood thought she was obsessed with that girl. They wondered if she'd had a 'thing' for Maile," he continued, his tone heavy with resentment. "They started to keep a distance. It really put a strain on our family." The weight of his confession lingered, casting a shadow over our past.

Leaving the building, weighed down by my brother's revelations, I sought refuge in the calmness of the precinct's benches outside. The breeze offered a soothing touch against my skin, a brief respite from the storm raging within.

Soon, my team joined me, their presence a welcome distraction from the turmoil in my mind. Morgan's question broke the silence, delving straight to the heart of the matter.

"Did Maile always have to watch out for people?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

I nodded, memories of the Crane household flooding back vividly. "Yeah, he beat that into her. Same with Josephine," I confessed, the gravity of my words hanging in the air. "They lived in constant fear of everyone."

Anxiety gripped me tightly as I spoke, a sense of urgency pushing my words forward. "I want to make something clear. I wasn't in love with Maile. I loved- still love her, but I promise..."

Hotch's hand gently rested on my shoulder, offering a momentary sense of reassurance. His eyes conveyed understanding as he spoke softly. "We know, Blake," he reassured me, his voice a comforting presence in the midst of my turmoil. "But we also recognize that circumstances change."

I turned to him, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within me. "What do you mean?" I inquired, my voice tinged with uncertainty and a hint of fear.

His expression softened, a mixture of sympathy and resolve evident in his gaze. "What I mean is, Maile holds a special place in your heart," he explained gently but firmly. "No matter how much time passes or how hard you try to deny it, she's deeply ingrained in your soul. The way you talk about her, the way you care for her—you have given her your heart and you're not gonna get it back. Blake. And that's something you can't change. She is the love of your life."

His words struck a chord deep inside me, reminding me of something I had tried to ignore. Thinking back on my life, I couldn't deny the strong feelings I always had for Maile. No matter what, she was the most important person to me.

I tried to find happiness with other people, getting into relationships and even getting married. But nothing compared to what I felt for Maile. Even when she wasn't around, I couldn't forget about her. She was always on my mind, guiding me like a bright light in the dark.

In my life story, Maile was like the string that held everything together. Even though I tried to move on, she was always there, shaping my decisions and influencing my path.

With a heavy heart, I accepted the undeniable truth: Maile was more than just a friend; she was the love of my life, the one who held the key to my heart, even when she was absent from it.

"So where are we going next?" Morgan asked.

Raising my gaze to meet Morgan's inquisitive eyes, I felt a surge of determination coursing through me, mingling with the memories that flooded my mind. "We're going to 'the house across the street'."

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waywardnajsepticeye · 1 year ago

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Spencer Reid my shining star

#criminal minds #spencer reid #agent spencer reid #ssa reid

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venusbyline · 3 months ago

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GUYS YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!! I NEED TO RIDE THIS MAN IMMEDIATELY

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reidfucker · 10 months ago

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Part of me will know deep down that I am pretty cool

The part of me that knows I never cared for being cool

#spencer reid #criminal minds #ssa spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #reidfucker

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aliteralsemicolon · 9 months ago

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We can't be friends, but I'd like to just pretend

Part 1 of We can't be friends (wait for your love) | See part 2 | See part 3

You and Spencer have convinced yourselves that you’re only meant to be friends despite the strong tension between you two. It only seems to intensify the longer you ignore it, eventually reaching its boiling point and forcing changes in the friendship.

Spencer Reid X Fem! Reader

(but no mentions of pronouns in this so it can be read as gn)

DISCLAIMER This story is SFW but it’s intended for mature audiences only. You are responsible for the content you consume. Make sure to read all necessary warnings. Please remember this is a work of fiction; if you don’t like it, don’t read.

WARNING Mentions of: Indirect peer pressure, alcohol/drinking/being drunk, very slight implicated SA (it doesn’t happen), serial killer, kidnapping, torture, murder, stalking, and threats. It’s all barely there and doesn’t really matter to the story tbh. Proceed at your own risk.

Word count: 9.3K See notes at end for authors note & spoilers.

Being in love is hard. Being in love with your best friend is harder. It’s a merciless form of torture really, devoting yourself entirely to the person you hold dearest to your heart, but they aren’t yours. It was almost masochistic, standing by to serve him in whatever way you thought he needed. Luckily, you weren’t a masochist.

Not entirely, at least.

You were there for him when he needed, offering whatever you had to give, but there were parts of you that you kept guarded. To protect yourself, but more importantly, to protect Spencer. It wasn’t uncommon for you to hear that you were ‘too much’ from passing lovers in your life. A certain level of detachment was necessary to ensure the safety of Spencer’s friendship. He was the most important person in your life.

Maybe it was the multitude of degrees as a result of his intelligence. He never let you feel stupid or any less intelligent.

Maybe it was the way his whole body lit up when he shared information he’d stored in that beautiful mind.

Maybe it was the charm in how goofily he carried himself. The way his hands would flail around when he spoke to keep up with the speed his brain moved at.

Or maybe it was how he made you feel seen.

How he always knew what to say, what to do. How he remembered little details about you, like how you preferred the window seat on the jet. And how he went out of his way to accommodate the details, like giving up the window seat just so you could sit in it. He was an unusually thoughtful man, with everybody he knew.

That’s something you had to remind yourself of often.

He’s like that with everybody. He has an eidetic memory, of course he remembers the little details.

If only you knew how wrong you were. Spencer was a thoughtful man, there was no doubt about that. Sure he was gifted with an arguably incomparable memory, but unlike all the things he had no choice in remembering, he chose to remember the little details about you. To him you were the closest thing to a real life angel.

It was the way you were the only person he’d ever met, willing to sit there and listen to him talk for hours. You’d go out of your way to show interest in the things he’d share, even if you didn’t actually have any interest in it.

The way he could swear he saw stars in your eyes whenever he stole an opportunity to stare into them. They would burn brighter if accompanied with the sweet sound of your laughter.

He felt compelled to accommodate you. Especially when you light up the way you do from such minuscule actions on his part. Spencer loved being the person to bring out your smile, taking any excuse to try and coax one out of you. Even if he’d slightly inconvenience himself at times. His convenience mattered little to him because he knew how much you did for him too.

Every morning before work you’d make the trip to his favourite coffee shop, getting him scones and coffee exactly to his liking because you knew he had a tendency to skip breakfast. His favourite coffee shop was a fifteen minute drive from your apartment and an extra twenty from Headquarters. You went out of your way to deliver it to him, even reheating the coffee yourself before handing it over.

Spencer wasn’t alone in recognising your generosity. The entire sixth floor had noticed how both of you subconsciously performed acts of service for each other, even if nobody had brought it up to your faces.

“I know that look.” Rossi remarks, turning his head towards his raven haired co-worker, eyes on you and Spencer.

“Yea..I just wonder if they know.” Emily mirrors his actions as she gives her own comment on the sight just a few feet in front of her.

Neither of you realise you have spectators observing your conversation. You’re in your own little bubble at Spencer’s desk, the resident genius seated comfortably with his gaze on you as he speaks. Your focus is entirely on the man across from you, leaning in slightly, perched on the wooden surface.

“Because stomach acid in the human body is typically 1-2 on the PH scale, it’s capable of dissolving metals such as certain types of stainless steels. Razors for example! The Gastrointestinal Endoscopy journal shared that scientists found that the thickened back of a single-edged blade dissolved just two hours of immersion in stomach acid!” His voice went up a pitch as he spoke and you couldn’t help but smile.

“So theoretically, an unsub could use a razor blade as a murder weapon and potentially eat it to dispose of it?” It was a relatively dumb question, but you just wanted to keep him talking.

“Well, it’s possible, but realistically I don’t think a razor blade-”

“Sorry to interrupt my younglings,” A colourful Garcia appears in your bubble and cuts Spencer off, “but I am here to let you know that the team will be going out for drinks, on Rossi, tonight! No exceptions!!”

When your head swivels to Garcia, you also notice the gawking pair not far behind her, shuffling off when they realise they’ve been caught staring.

“I’ll come, but I won’t be drinking.” Spencer says with an awkward smile. They shift their sights on you for your response.

“Sorry guys…I already have plans for tonight.” You purse your lips together apologetically.

“What no! No, no, no! You know how rare these nights can be!” Garcia frowns and grabs your shoulders pleadingly.

“I knowwww…I’m sorry!!”

“Fine, fine, but at least share what’s keeping you busy tonight?” The blonde pokes.

You shift your eyes to Spencer, who’s just staring at you with a curious look and then back to Garcia.

“Well I have a date-” You begin, but are interrupted by a whispered squeal.

Garcia begins a response, but stops herself when she spots a nonchalant Derek Morgan heading towards the elevators. “We will discuss this in detail during Saturday’s girls night. For now I will accept your excuse and remind you to dress your sexiest! Now excuse me while I go and intercept my sweet chocolate thunder.”

She grips you in a tight hug and scurries off after Morgan. The atmosphere shifts slightly, as you meet Spencer’s eyes awkwardly.

“You have a date? Why didn’t you mention that” Spencer titters.

“I’m sorry, it just didn’t occur to me.” You try to lie, but Spencer’s expression gives away that he doesn’t believe you. “Okay, okay, I just didn’t wanna say anything because the last time I talked about one of my dates you got all weird and I didn’t want to upset you again.”

“Upset me? I was not upset.” He protests and folds his arms across his chest.

“Okay what would you call it then?”

“I wouldn’t call it anything.”

“Oh really? So you’re not upset that I’m going on a date?”

“Nope. Not at all. I’m interested actually, tell me about him.”

You eye him carefully, trying to figure out where his head is at. Spencer has a tendency to get sassy when he feels defensive.

“You’re interested? To hear about one of my dates?” You question with playful caution.

“Yes. I’m always interested in things about you.” He spills.

Your reaction to his words is immediate, a surprised jump in your features, but you manage to mask it almost just as fast. Spencer’s just as surprised as you.

“I-I just mean- you know? Because yo-you’re my best friend.” He tries to play it off.

There’s no way.

You think to yourself. Spencer definitely didn’t mean it in that way.

No he definitely didn’t. He just said so himself. You’re his best friend. Spencer Reid does not feel the same way about you.

It stings to admit to yourself, but it’s for the best. Spencer is a smart, handsome, wonderful man with so much to offer. You’re too much work, come with too much baggage, just too much.

“Yea, we’re best friends.” An affirmation more for yourself than him.

A silence looms as you stare at each other stiffly.

“Anyways, my date,” you decide not to linger on it for too long, “it’s with that guy I told you about, Nathan.”

“Nathan? Didn’t you go on a date with him last time?” A casual inquiry.

“Yea!” You squeak enthusiastically, grateful that he had reverted back to his light-hearted self.

This was something you deeply enjoyed about your friendship. The fact the two of you could flow back into casual conversation no matter what.

“So it’s a second date?”

“Yes! The first one went really well, so I thought why not agree to a second when he asked?”

“That’s good. I’m happy for you.”

His approval should feel better than it does. For some reason, it makes you uneasy. Almost as if you don’t want him to approve.

He has approved though, meaning he isn’t against you dating other people. He doesn’t want you the same way.

“Really?” You want to be sure, scared that you might put him off again.

“Yes! Really! If you’re happy then I’m happy for you.” A fib that you were unaware of.

In truth, Spencer would rather crawl on the office bathroom floor than see you with some other guy. Fortunately for him, he isn’t actually going to be there to see you with this ‘Nathan’. So he doesn’t need to submit to such an awful torture. Maybe he’s being dramatic, you aren’t his girlfriend. He has no right to feel such a heavy drop in his gut.

Part of him really is happy for you. He wanted you to feel loved, even if it wasn’t by him. God, how he wished it was by him. If friendship is what he has to settle for to be near you, then so be it. Though at times it feels like it might kill him, you being the closest person in his life, but not close enough to the point where he could call himself yours.

“REID!”

Spencer jumps at the sound of Morgan’s voice, finding it difficult to focus on his current surroundings. He missed half the team scattering around to different parts of the bar, Morgan now his only company.

“What’s up?” His expression shifts to a tight-lipped smile.

“Where’s your head at man?” Derek probes.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I have never seen you this zoned out before. You haven’t checked back in since you sat down.”

It wasn’t intentional, but since you walked out the doors of the BAU all Spencer’s been able to think about was your date. You probably went straight home to get ready, pulling out all the stops to feel as beautiful as you are. For somebody that can never truly appreciate it, not like he can.

“I guess I’m just not feeling well.” A pathetic excuse. One Spencer finds himself making whenever he’s pulled out of his thoughts about you.

Morgan doesn’t believe him. Hell, Spencer doesn’t even believe himself.

“Kid. You know you can always talk to me right? About anything.”

“I know. I’m really just tired. Actually- you know what, c-could- could you just tell the others that I’m just not feeling great, I’m- bye Derek.” Spencer stutters as he rushes out of his seat.

He doesn’t even give the man a chance to respond as he makes his exit out of the bar. He’s lacking the capability to force himself to socialise. The knowledge of you on a date with another man was something he’s been able to handle, but a second date with a man was harder to stomach. You must like him if you’re willing to see him again.

The ride home feels longer than it actually is. How far had the date gotten? Were you enjoying it? Did Nathan make you laugh the way he could? Spencer might lose his mind. He wondered if you had given Nathan the privilege of touching you. Your skin always looked so soft, his heart panged at the thought. He felt sick.

You were his best friend. You trusted him. He shouldn’t think this way about you, feel this way about you. Unreciprocated feelings were something Spencer was entirely used to. He’d perfected being able to put the person at the receiving end of his affections in the back of his mind. To ignore until it went away entirely.

Why was it so much harder this time? There is no universe in which you would ever return his love for you. Which is why he needs to force himself to love you from afar. It was a fact Spencer reminded himself of repeatedly. And he would’ve kept at it, if he wasn’t interrupted by the sight of you standing in front of his door as he stepped up his apartment stairs.

“Hi!” His voice alerts you softly.

“Hi!” You squeak back, turning on your heel to face him.

He can’t help but note how heavenly you look. It almost knocked the air out of his lungs, except he noticed the poorly wiped tears glistening on your face. He didn’t ask about it, immediately. Instead he just pulled you in for a hug, something he rarely did with others, and unlocked his door as he motioned for you to enter first. Another thing to love about Spencer Reid.

You step inside, more than familiar with the deep green walls surrounding you. If the stench of liquor wasn’t enough, then the way you stumbled on your way to his couch was all Spencer needed to deduce that you had been drinking. A lot. He walks past you towards his kitchen, returning with a glass of water and painkillers you would definitely need later.

“Have you eaten?” He asks softly, handing you the glass of water.

“Um..” you take a sip and pause as you sigh, “yeah.”

The two of you just sit there, silently, stealing small glances at each other and averting your gazes before the other can notice. You know he’s waiting for you to feel comfortable enough to speak first. Except you don’t know what to say. You feel so embarrassed. He probably had better plans for tonight, but here you are, pestering him again.

“How long were you waiting?” He speaks up once he realises that you aren’t going to.

“Not long, I had actually just gotten there, your timing was really good.” You mumble, forcing an awkward chuckle.

“Did Nathan drop you off?” Spencer hopes that bringing up your date might give you enough courage to vent.

“No. No, I walked.” A resigned smile creeps on your face, not wanting to talk about your journey here. “How was your night?”

“Walked?? Alone?? Drunk??” The words seep out of him before he can hold his tongue. “Why didn’t you call me?!”

“I’m sorry! I just didn’t want to bother you!” You defend.

But you are bothering him. You’re bothering him right now.

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to hold back tears. Guilt creeps inside him. He knows that he’s not the source of your tears, but he didn’t want to make you cry regardless.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he takes hold of your hand and squeezes ever so gently, “we don’t have to talk about it.”

“Why don’t we play chess? You’re getting better at it, you know?” He adds, thinking of a quick distraction.

Chess was a favourite pastime of yours with Spencer. You pull your hand out of his grip and use it to rub the opposing arm, his touch overwhelming you. He was too soft with you. You suppose it’s why you seek him out so often. Out of all the men you’ve ever known, Spencer was the only one who knew you. It felt so nice to be known.

“Y-yea..yes. Please. Let’s uh- let’s play chess.” You stumble on your words, eager to think about anything else.

Spencer retrieves his mini chess board from his satchel and prepares the board between the two of you. Neither of you utter a word as you play your moves. You appreciate the silence, because you know that you can’t say or do the wrong thing.

“You’re going easy on me.” You break the silence anyway, scared that the silence might bore him.

“You’re holding back.” He argues and you finally meet his eyes for the first time since you started the game.

“No, I’m just drunk.” You counter.

“I was the one at a bar but you’re the one who’s drunk.” It’s a stupid comment, slightly cringy even, but he earns a genuine laugh out of you.

His dorkiness was part of his charm. Your laughter makes him smile. A comfortable silence fills the atmosphere as your eyes meet again. Spencer’s eyes were so beautiful, you could drown in them. Spencer in general was so beautiful, in every way possible.

“It’s your move.” He has to remind you, worried that if he’s allowed to look at you for two long he might do something really stupid.

“I-uhm- I had a shitty date.” You owe him an explanation for ruining his night.

He doesn’t respond, not wanting to say anything that might make you close up again. He wanted to be the person you talked to about your problems. He wanted to be your solace.

“It started really well. I thought I could see something more, but it turns out he just wanted the same thing as all the others. Thought that maybe if he got me drunk enough..but it obviously didn’t work” You try to lighten the weight of your words by laughing with them. “It’s probably for the best, you know? I don’t think it would’ve worked out regardless, I couldn’t stop-”

Stop comparing him to you.

Normally, Spencer is the one with the tendency to ramble, but the alcohol wasn’t making it easy for you to shut up. You just hope he doesn’t realise where you were headed with that statement. You kept comparing your date to Spencer. Everything Nathan did today was a direct reminder of things Spencer would never do.

“Check.” You choose to stop making a fool of yourself there.

Spencer’s breath hitches. Not because he picked up on what you hoped he didn’t, rather because he was concerned by the possible implications of what you said.

“Did he..did he try to-”

“No. Oh my God, no!” You cut him off before he can finish the thought.

His shoulders relax and the silence resumes. For the first time since he met you, Spencer found himself speechless. He didn’t know whether to comfort you or give you advice. Part of him felt selfishly relieved, at least he didn’t have to worry about some other guy anymore. The other part, the part that felt disgusted with himself for even thinking about himself right now, felt a mixed range of hurt for you.

It started with resentment for the negligence Nathan displayed with you and ended with sorrow for how easily you brushed off your hurt. While he ran all the possibilities of the best thing to say, you ran all the possibilities of leaving his apartment in the least inconvenient way for him, interpreting his silence as irritation.

He should be irritated, you’re disrupting his night.

You need to leave before he can tell you to. Just as you’re about to mutter some bull-shit excuse, Spencer gently cups your hand with both of his hands and locks eyes with you. His voice is so painstakingly gentle, your breath gets stuck in your throat.

“Nathan and anyone else who has ever allowed themselves to be blinded by their shallow urges is an absolute fool. Idiot. Moron. There aren’t enough words in the English dictionary to describe how stupid they are for missing out on knowing you as you are. I’ve experienced a lot of good things in my life, none have ever brought me as much joy as you do. I can’t even begin to explain how deserving you are of love and it’s heartbreaking to see that you’ve convinced yourself of the opposite.”

It’s your turn to be speechless. Of the list of things you didn’t expect, this wasn’t even on the list. You should have expected it. It was in Spencer’s nature to prove you wrong for underestimating his tenderness. He felt perhaps he went too far. Said too much.

“I-I just mean-”

“Why are you so nice to me?” Your heart feels like it’s lacking space inside your chest, tears threaten to build.

“Because you’re my f-friend.” He struggles to utter the last word.

“Friend..” You nervously laugh.

The meaning behind his words don’t register in your drunken state. All your focus is diverted to the feeling of his calloused skin on yours. The liquor in your veins awakens dazed boldness. One you’d be too wary of displaying otherwise. You allow your fingers to dance against his, an act of intimacy not reserved for friends. He doesn’t stop you either.

“You know…”

it’s almost not even a whisper,

“...if I wasn’t who I am…”

but Spencer was an expert in tuning out everything else to focus solely on your voice,

“...maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

And the world, as Spencer knows it, stops. Your words ring in his ears and he’s sure his heartbeat has become audible.

“Y-you love me?” He repeats, unable to suppress his need to hear those words again.

The validity of your confession doesn’t bear any weight until you hear it from him, your motions against his hand coming to an immediate stop. You shift line of sight to his face faster than you can blink, waiting for his reaction so you can scramble to save your friendship.

Parroting your words wasn’t enough, Spencer couldn’t believe it. He had never considered it feasible for you to love him. He had spent so many sleepless nights tormenting himself over the fact. He wanted so badly to cup your face and tell you about all the thoughts of you that consumed his mind. To say those three words back.

“You can’t love me.” Instead he said four words that strained your hope for salvation. He’d shoot himself if he had any realisation of what he had just done.

“No, of-of c-course, I meant like an- a- amazing fr-friend. You k-know, like the kind of bes-best friend you only mean once in your lif-life.” And you unknowingly shattered that hope in him.

Silence has never been more deafening. Neither of you can look away from each other. There’s so much to say but how can it be said now?

“Right. No, yeah. Of course.” He forces out.

A fake understanding between you two. The expressions canvassing both of your faces display anything but understanding. Though you’re no longer physically touching, you’re still holding each other in your view. A few moments pass and Spencer is the first to look away.

“You must be tired-” He starts.

You were still disrupting his space.

“Right, I’ll go-” You stand, ready to rush out the door.

“No-no.” He sighs. “Stay please. It’s late and you’re drunk-”

“No I’ve alrea-” You try to protest, not wanting him to go out of his way for you any longer.

“Please. I’ll feel a lot better knowing you’re safe.” He begs, not just with his words but his eyes.

“Okay.” You murmur. “But I’m taking the couch.”

Under any other circumstances, Spencer would have resisted you taking the couch. Today? He was utterly drained.

“Alright. I’ll get you something comfortable to change into while I set up the couch. You know where the bathroom is.” He sports a weak smile, unable to meet your eyes again.

He watches you disappear into the bathroom after handing you some spare clothes. He sets the couch with the pillows and blankets he’d reserved for you. He bought them after you’d slept over a few times at the start of your friendship, wanting you to sleep as comfortably as possible so you would keep coming back.

You’d just broken his heart into a million pieces, so fine that he’d never be able to put it back together whole, but he still couldn’t not exert the utmost care when it came to you.

In the bathroom, you fight back tears again as you fumble into his clothes. You’d worn this particular sweatshirt before, because you didn’t anticipate staying the night. It was never planned, often you two just lost track of time because you spent too long engaged in conversations. After a while you started leaving things at his place so you had an excuse to keep coming back.

You can handle just being his friend, but you don’t think you can handle not being anything to him. Was there something you could do so you didn’t have to stop coming back?

When you came out and saw your makeshift bed for the night, you felt slightly fuzzy inside. Spencer had already gone to bed but he’d covered the cushions of the couch with a thick blanket and two fluffy pillows. A fresh glass of water was waiting for you on the coffee table with the pills from earlier.

Maybe things were okay after all? Surely he wouldn’t have put as much care into your comfort if they weren’t. So why couldn’t you shake this feeling of dread inside you? Why did the air feel so thick?

You spend most of what’s left of the night awake, curled into yourself on his couch, muffling your sobs. You’ve ruined another good thing. Pushed away probably the most important person in your life. You knew he was too good for you, he could never feel the same way. You got greedy.

Just a few feet away from you, Spencer’s in the exact same position as you on his bed. No rejection has ever hurt as much as when it came from you. He knew you were drunk, he knew you could never actually feel the same way. But aren’t drunk words sober thoughts? Statistics definitely agree they are.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is the pounding headache. Then the dry mouth. Spencer had left a glass of water, painkillers and a bagel on the coffee table. You reach for the pill first, hoping that the faster you take it, the faster it kicks in. As you practically pour the water down your throat, you see a little note next to the bagel.

“Paper work day at the office. Make sure to eat and drink lots of water. Will tell Hotch that you’ll be late/taking the day off. - Spencer”

Thoughtful as ever. The bagel was still warm so he must’ve left recently. It was strange that he’d left without waking you up like he normally does. Your first bite of the bread jolts the memories of the night before and it hits you harder than the headache. Your appetite faded and the remorse set in.

Shit.

You and Spencer have always been able to bounce back, but the damage you caused last night might be irreparable. Say Spencer does forget about it, can you? You always knew he couldn’t love you back, but you never imagined that he would forbid you to love him in the first place. As much as you didn’t want to face Spencer right now, work was the best place for you to be if you didn’t want to go mad thinking about last night.

You’d have to change into appropriate work attire first, so a trip back to your place was warranted. The whole uber ride back to your apartment you think of things to say when you see him. Things didn’t need to change. You had to apologise, obviously, but there had to be some way of apologising while maintaining normalcy. The best start was getting him his coffee and scones like you usually did.

Meanwhile at the office, Spencer was stuck on the same page of his file. It had never taken him more than a few seconds to turn a page, but he wasn’t actually reading the words. You took up every thought in his mind again. He wondered if you were awake yet, if you remembered the events of the night before.

“You know if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

When he initially heard you say it, all he heard was that you love him.

“You know if I wasn’t who I am, maybe you could love me the way I love you.”

When he said it out loud to himself all he wanted to do was tell you how much he does love you, but the chance was ripped away from him just as fast as it was given to him. Did you even care? Or was it just an insignificant event to you? It was a lot easier to accept that you could never love him the same way before he had a taste of what it would be like if you did.

There was this moment, when your fingers were fiddling with his and you said those words, just a second where he experienced what it could be like. He can’t go back to how it was, not now that he knows how it could’ve been. In order to protect himself from unravelling completely he has to let you go. An impossible task, considering you work together.

“I brought coffee.” Your expression is tentative.

Spencer looks up to see you standing above him, holding his daily coffee and scones in hand. There are no traces of the night before to be seen on you. Your makeup is fresh and you’d clearly changed clothes. You looked perfectly angelic, as always. If it were any other day, your gesture would’ve made him feel like the most special person in the world. Today, it felt like the cruellest thing in the world.

“Do you wanna come with me while I heat it up? Or should I just bring it back to you?” You prompt.

“No.” He rises from his seat and pries it out from your hand. “I can do it. Thank you.”

Before you comprehend what’s happened, Spencer’s walked away. You try to follow him to the kitchen, but when you get there he’s nowhere to be seen. This seems to be a trend for the next few days. You find some excuse to try for conversation and he shuts it down after about one sentence. That’s if you’re able to get close enough to him for that sentence. It’s becoming more and more obvious that he’s avoiding you.

You decide to give him space after about a week of it, wishing everyday that you could go back in time and change things. Around the two week mark, he starts giving you the cold shoulder, not even so much as looking at you. He couldn’t look at you. It was taking everything in him to force himself away from you, but it was easier than being near you. You weren’t the only one who could feel this change in your dynamic, the team was just as confused.

They’d all tried to investigate the root of this shift, individually directing casual questions to both of you in conversations. You’d both just brushed it off, not wanting to be the burden of the topic. Spencer had been doing so well in keeping his distance, but eventually, Hotch made the decision that enough is enough.

The BAU was in Chicago this week, hunting down another unsub who thought he was too smart to get caught. This was one of those cases that would stick with you for a while, so tensions were already high amongst everyone. Nobody was more on edge than Spencer and now he was forced in a car with you, driving around the city, chasing leads.

Rarely did he ever get behind the wheel, but he knew he would need any distraction he could get. Driving was supposed to mean he wouldn’t be stuck in the passenger seat, fighting the urge to stare at you. Now he was fighting the urge to stare at you from the driver's seat. He hated being in love. You were trying your best to stay silent and looking out the window at the passing buildings.

“Are you hungry?”

That’s the first time in a month that Spencer’s been the first one to speak. He tried not to. Like he tried not to pay attention to your routine. It wasn’t possible. No matter how hard he tried, there were just some things Spencer couldn’t not do in regards to you. The most important thing was that he couldn’t not care.

He knew you hadn't been eating properly. You had a tendency to forget about your well-being during hard cases. You were probably hungry. Somebody had to take care of you because you most definitely weren’t going to. He was right. The thought of food made your stomach growl. It was wicked timing.

“No, thank you.” You lie anyway, not wanting to inconvenience him further.

“Why won’t you stop lying to me?” He mutters in annoyance.

“Excuse me?” You scoff, turning to look at him.

He doesn’t look away from the road, pretending to not have heard you.

“Seriously?” You sputter. “You’re ignoring me now?”

You huff as you throw yourself back against your seat. He didn’t mean to ignore you, he just didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t understand why you’re being like this.” You mumble.

It was already daunting when he was barely acknowledging you, but refusing to acknowledge all together? When you were the only person next to him? That was just vicious. You knew you’d fucked up, but was this necessary? You had already spent so much of yourself trying to keep it together, being confined in this car with him would waste your efforts.

“Pull over.” You say in the kindest way possible, which was immensely harsh. “Spencer Reid pull this damn car over or I swear to fucking God I am going to jump out of it.”

That definitely caught his attention. In all your time together, you had never spoken to him in that way. You had definitely never addressed him by his full name. He brings the car to a halt on the side of the curb and finally turns to face you. You push the door open and hop out, slamming it behind you.

“What are yo-” Spencer starts, but you’re already walking away. He quickly gets out and follows behind you. It doesn’t take him long to catch up to you and he stops you by the arm when he realises saying your name won’t make you turn back around.

“Don’t touch me!” You yank your arm out of his grip and keep walking.

“Where are you going?!”

“Anywhere you’re not.”

He tries you by your name again, but when it fails again, he grabs you by the shoulders and spins you around. You hadn’t noticed that you’d walked into an alleyway.

“Get back in the car.” He demands.

“I am not getting in a car with you.” You have never been this upset with him before.

“You’re being childish!” He snaps, rolling his eyes.

“Oh I’m being childish?! Spencer, believe me when I say I mean this is the nicest way I possibly can right now – FUCK OFF!” You push his hands off you and take a step back, but he just grabs your wrist.

“Listen to me,” he urges, “there is a serial killer that’s kidnapping women in broad daylight, torturing them and murdering them. And he’s threatened each of us individually during the course of this investigation. You cannot just be walking around alone, in a city you hardly know.”

“Don’t explain the details of this case to me, I’m well aware.” You snarl, your irritation increasing tenfold.

“Then why are you being so difficult?!” He screeches.

“Why are you–fucking hell, I cannot keep doing this. I’m not getting in the car when you won’t talk to me. Hell, you won’t even so much as look at me!”

“Fine! You wanna talk? We’ll talk! Just–get back in the car. Please.” He sighs in defeat. You still don’t budge, so he pleads softer. “Please.”

You take a deep breath and roll your eyes, stealing your wrist out of his grasp. Spencer doesn’t move until you do, both of you silently making your way to the car.

You’re both silent initially, not knowing where exactly to go from here. There’s one thing you know for sure, you won’t be the first to speak. Spencer catches on to that fast.

“What do you wanna talk about?” He snarls, shrugging his arms.

“Cut the shit, I won’t get back in this car if I get out for a second time.” You’re not in the mood. The two of you had avoided this conversation for long enough, it was now or never. Some part of you wished for never.

“Fine. Did you mean it?” He shoots, briskly.

“What?” You didn’t know which part he meant.

“That you love me specifically as an ‘amazing friend’, I believe was your wording.” His voice cracks and it causes a shift in his behaviour. He’s no longer hostile, just hurt.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”

In your rush to get him talking, you hadn’t actually realised that you weren’t ready to talk about this. You were stalling.

“Answering a question with a question.”

This doesn’t feel like a conversation. More like an interrogation, except you’re the unsub. He scoffs bitterly at your silence.

“Spencer, don’t–”

“No, you’re the one who wanted to talk! You were so insistent, in fact, that you would have rather made yourself a serial killer’s target then get in a car with me if I didn’t talk to you. And all of a sudden you’re speechless?” He snaps at you.

“Yes! I was the one who wanted to talk! I just– I can’t understand what I’ve done to make you hate me so much? Was it because I said I love you? Did it really upset you that much?” You were both shouting from frustration.

“You think I’m upset because you love me?!” Spencer scoffs in disbelief.

“Aren’t you?!” You bitterly laugh.

Spencer rubs his temples and squeezes his eyes shut, mumbling some under his breath. He’s genuinely never been this frustrated in his life.

“Are you being serious?” His voice strains in pitch, as he tries to keep himself a lot calmer than he feels. “Is this some sort of joke to you?”

“Some sort of joke–”

“Do not interrupt me again. You wanna run away from this? Fine. But you will listen because I will not have this conversation again.” His tone is sharp, like a blade being held against your throat. It definitely shuts you up.

“Talk. Okay, let’s talk about how I have spent the last four years watching you allow undeserving men to walk all over you, letting them treat you like you’re worth nothing. I damn near drove myself insane trying to figure out why. Why is it something you accept for yourself? And then I realised– that’s how you see yourself. You actually hate yourself so much that you’ve convinced yourself you deserve it! Do you realise how infuriating that is?!

Especially because it’s the furthest thing from the truth! Still, I watched you throw yourself into this vicious cycle over and over again. You gave yourself away to those idiots, knowing that they didn’t have good intentions, but you still hoped it would be different every time. I mean you’re a fucking profiler for God’s sake! How can you expect others to love you if you can’t even love yourself?

That’s not even the worst part! You’re so desperate for their acceptance that you continuously neglect the acceptance you already have from the people who love you. People like Emily, Penelope, Derek– the team– people like– people like me. I mean I’ve always known that you didn’t love me as anything more than a friend, but your constant reminders feel like a punch to the gut! Is it that embarrassing for you to love me as anything more?

I’ve survived way worse things, but this is the cruellest thing I’ve ever been through. Because it’s coming from you! I just never expected it’d be from you.” He’s practically hyperventilating for air by the time his speech comes to a stop, the vein in his forehead more prominent than usual.

Your jaw is tense and restless, twitching from anger. Some part of you still wants to keep this friendship. The louder part knows that there’s no going back from this. You’re not entirely sure you want to go back. Your entire body is shaking from rage. The first rule of your friendship was no profiling. Not only did he break that rule, he used the profile against you as if you actually were an unsub he was interrogating.

“That’s not fair”

His eye twitches at your response.

“Not? Fair?” Spencer grumbles in pauses.

“No, that's not fair!” You cry out. “It’s your turn to listen.”

It doesn’t feel like there’s any oxygen left to breathe in the car.

“Self loathing? Spencer, that's your projection! You love too hard and nobody’s ever loved you back the same way. But just because you lack things you want in your life doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me! And all this talk about love, but none of it makes any sense. You think I’m embarrassed of loving you? Is that how shallow you think I am?! You’re the one who told me that I can’t love you. God, you are the most duplicitous person I’ve ever met! I can’t believe I didn’t see it. You’ve been giving me the cold shoulder because I love you as an ‘amazing friend’? Because you love me and you think I’ve been neglecting you?!”

You had never spoken to anyone this way in your life. There was so much truth to Spencer’s words, but he had no right. He’d touched every nerve in your body without ever laying a hand on you. Up until roughly twenty minutes ago, being seen by Spencer was your favourite thing in the entire world. Now? You’d never hated the feeling more in your life.

Spencer squeezes his hand into a fist, knuckles going white and releases his fingers like if he were aggressively squishing a stress ball. If asked about a month ago, he would never in a million years think that your friendship would manage to dissipate in just a few seconds. He didn’t think he could associate the word love with you anymore.

“Let’s get one thing straight. I do not love you. I do not love anything about you. Actually, I hate you. I hate how sweet you pretend to be. I hate the stupid morning coffee you bring me, nothing tastes more bitter. I hate to admit this but you’re right; everything about you is a brutal reminder of all the good things I can never have and I despise you for it.” He spits his words out with extreme tension in his blood vessels.

“I can’t say I’ve known what it feels like to truly loathe someone before I met you.” You fire back, breathlessly, not having it in you to spare any more words for him.

You’re not exactly sure how long the two of you have been sitting there just glaring at each other. Only when Spencer’s phone rings do you two look away.

“Reid.” He answers the call. “Yea, she’s still here. We’re on our way back now.”

The ride back to the precinct was silent. Even as you regrouped with the rest of the team, you acknowledged everybody but each other. The team was instantly alert to the change, but no one mentioned it at the time because of the high stress of the case. You wrapped the case up a few days later and only then did the questions start making their way around.

“Is everything okay between you two?”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“What happened between you and Reid?”

“What’s up with Boy Wonder over there?”

You didn’t entertain any of them, Spencer had taken up enough time in your life. You refused to talk about him, look at him or acknowledge him at all. He shared that same incentive. Another three weeks passed as the team watched what was once the closest duo in the BAU, pretend that their counterpart didn’t exist.

If one of you was in a room and noticed the other enter, you’d walk out without drawing attention to the situation. When leaving the room was not an option, you either went as far in the opposite corner of the room as you could or you’d simply pretend the other wasn’t present just a few metres away. You wouldn’t discuss intel with each other about cases, sharing your findings with anybody else.

Since Chicago, Hotch only assigned you with Spencer once more, but quickly realised that wasn’t going to help when both of you begged to be assigned with someone else privately. If you were in a discussion with someone and they started talking about Spencer, you’d tune out entirely. After a while the hating game got exhausting.

Spencer hated pretending that he hated you. He felt an immense amount of guilt for the things he’d said, but it was too late to take it back. He thought it would be easier to deal with his feelings if he wasn’t around you all the time, but it was just as difficult as before. You still lit up the dull grey rooms of the building. The only difference was that now he had to watch you shine from afar.

In truth, you didn’t hate Spencer either. What you actually hated was that you didn’t hate Spencer. You still caught yourself staring at him for long periods of time. There were days when you’d go to his favourite coffee shop before work and buy his order, only to give it away to somebody on the street because you didn’t want to ruin Spencer’s day with the bitterness of your coffee.

By the fifth week since you had gotten back from Chicago, you and Spencer were no longer ignoring each other as much. You’d gotten into a routine of professionalism for the sake of the team, only talking to each other about cases when necessary. That didn’t stop you from subconsciously showing subtle gestures of love. These were a lot quieter than the gestures you showed when you were friends.

You’d make sure that there was always a fresh pot of coffee in the office kitchen, so Spencer would have it ready to drink whenever he needed. He’d make sure that the snack cupboard was always filled with your favourite snacks because he knew you liked having something to munch on when catching up on paperwork. You’d keep extra painkillers in Garcia’s lair knowing Spencer would retreat there when a migraine hit.

He’d ensure the aircon was always set to room temperature, you get uncomfortable if the room was too cold. Both of you were aware of the little gestures too, no one else knew your truly niche preferences. Neither of you was brave enough to actually go up to the other, though. It was all too much for you. No matter what was said, he was still your thoughtful Spencer deep down and it killed you.

You’d tried to talk to Spencer a few times, building up the courage for days in advance. As soon as he noticed you heading in his direction, he nearly bolted in the other direction. His avoidance didn’t end at the office. You recently became aware that Penelope had been scheduling rosters to invite you and Spencer to outings, trying to ensure you were present for equal amounts of time.

You were chilling at her desk in wait for her, when you noticed a little note with your name next to a date and time. Under that was Spencer’s name with a separate date and time.

“Hey! What are you doing here?” She greets you.

“I needed to talk to you…Penelope what is this?” You hold up the little pink sticky note.

Penelope sets her octopus mug down and takes the note from your hand.

“This? This is nothing.” She fumbles a bit as she speaks.

“Garcia?” You purposefully speak with warning.

“Okay! Okay! But you didn’t hear it from me! We’ve kinda been taking turns hanging out with you and Spencer sometimes. But it’s because we love you and don’t want to make either of you-” She starts a panicked tangent.

“Garcia!” You interrupt her before she sends herself into a spiral. “There’s no need to do all of this. Yes Spencer and I aren’t close anymore, but you guys don’t need to go out of your way for us.”

“Well..” She grits her teeth and tilts her head.

“What?”

“We didn’t really mean to. It’s just we noticed that Spencer would never come if you were going. And both of you just straight up refuse to talk about it, so this was the best we could come up with.”

“Oh. Penny, I’m sorry that you guys have had to do that.” That was all you could say, your head hanging in guilt.

“Can you at least tell me why you won’t talk about it? I mean it makes sense for Boy Wonder, he’s always been stubbornly private, but you’ve never not told me anything!”

You look towards Garcia again, thinking for a minute. You didn’t know exactly why you refused to talk about it.

“I don’t know, honestly. I just don’t want to talk about it, if that makes sense?” You pull your friend in for a hug as an apology.

You felt awful leaving her lair without giving her a proper answer or a resolution. It didn’t matter how professional you acted, this rift would always impact your friends and your work life.

Spencer would always impact everything in your life.

The guilt didn’t spare you that night, creeping its way to the forefront of your mind every few minutes. It had been four months since your last fight. It was the longest you’d gone without Spencer. This had to end for the sake of the team. That was how you found yourself standing at his door once again. After a few minutes you finally knock. You didn’t know what you were going to say, honestly you just wanted to run before he answered. You hear the locks being undone, but it’s not Spencer who answers when that door finally swings open.

“Yes?”

It’s a woman, one you've never seen before. You’re taken aback and look around to make sure you got the right apartment. This was definitely Spencer’s apartment, you’d been here a hundred times before. And some woman was answering his door for him. Some very beautiful woman.

“Can I help you?” She follows up, looking you up and down.

“Hi, yeah, sorry, is–um– is Spencer here?”

“Who’s asking?” She’s definitely not very friendly.

“We work together. Is he here or not?” You didn’t have the patience for this, annoyance seeping through your pores.

“Who’s at the door?” His voice emerges from behind her and he finally shows up. “Oh.”

“Hey.” You glance away as soon as you see him.

“Could you give me a minute?” He turns to the woman. She flashes a sickly sweet smile and kisses his cheek before disappearing inside. Spencer shuffles out to the corridor, closing the door behind him.

“That–uh–that was–” He stops himself, clearing his throat and switching to his professional voice. “What are you doing here?”

Cold.

“I was hoping we could talk.” You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to play off what you just saw.

“What more is there to say?”

“About the team. I came over to, um, apologise and maybe move past things for the sake of the team.” You were looking everywhere but at him.

“Honestly?” His eyes are on you though. “I don’t care. And even if I did, I don’t want to hear it.”

He starts to walk away, but turns back and mentions your name like it’s the most vile word in the dictionary. “Please don’t come back here. It’s hard enough at work, I don’t want to see your face in my personal time too.”

With that he re-enters his apartment, leaving you standing in the hallway. It’s hard to imagine that this man was once your best friend. If you didn’t know about all the good times, you wouldn’t have believed it. Every tear that your body could ever produce streamed out of you for the rest of the night. Once you had made it back to your apartment, they broke out in sobs. In your line of work, you had survived being shot at, almost blown up and even a kidnapping once.

The man you loved with every fibre of your being looking at you like you were less than filth under a person's shoes was your breaking point. There was no way you were going to face him again. You needed to forget about Spencer Reid, which meant a fresh start. This city was a constant reminder of his essence, you couldn’t stay. You plopped down on your bed with your work bag, reaching into it for your work computer. Hands twitching as you type.

You remember being so proud when David Rossi recommended you for the FBI’s Behavioural Analysis Unit. You were even more ecstatic when Hotch actually requested your transfer there. You had worked your ass off for it. It was there that you met the infamous Doctor Reid. He was much different than how you had imagined him. He was so charming, friendly and so down to earth, not liking him wasn’t an option. The two of you had so much in common, despite being so different, it was the foundation for your friendship. His caring nature pulled you in further, you soon found yourself deeply in love with him.

Tears flooded your keyboard as all your memories with him flash through your brain. His friendship was a beautiful bonus of the job you once loved, you never thought that he would become the reason you’d leave it. Yet here you were, furiously drafting your resignation to Agent Hotchner. There were so many signals in your brain telling you to back off, to open a bottle of wine and drown your sorrows instead, but your heart didn’t feel like that would be enough. Your love for your job didn’t outweigh your desire to run.

Spencer Reid was your best friend and being in love with him is an excruciating torture. One that you can no longer endure. You had never been more sure of anything as you are at this moment and you weren’t going to give yourself time to change your mind. Your time with Spencer and, as a consequence, your time at the BAU had come to an end. Another memory flashes through your mind as you sign the letter off with your name. A case in Boston had gone wrong and you were really hung up on it. Spencer, in an attempt to help you move on, shared a quote with an author he had recently read. You bitterly chuckle to yourself at this recall and press send with no second thought.

“Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward.” - C.S. Lewis.

Spoilers: BAU! Reader, friends to enemies, mutual pining, hurt, angst no comfort, whump (maybe idk), Reader & Spencer are both idiots, they should probably consider therapy actually, Spencer is a sassy little shit, but really just needs a hug and a class on communication.

AN - You’ve heard of enemies to lovers/friends, now I present to you the exact same thing in reverse (been done time and time again, I’m not in any way original <3). You can blame Ariana Grande for this one. Sorry that I haven't posted, I've had insane writers block. I might be slightly incapable of shorter word counts, I’ll try to improve that. I apologise for grammar/anything that does not make sense, I am both an idiot and also was dealing with a bad case of the flu when I wrote this. I’d like to thank @reidmotif for curing my writer's block and inspiring me on the second half of this fic. Thank you @starstruckbambi for proof reading this.

Drop thoughts & feelings so I can ponder on them. Always remember that I’m in your walls.

Thank you for reading!

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raekensluver · 5 months ago

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i need to be his suspiciously young girlfriend....

#ssa spencer reid #spencer reid #dr spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #criminal minds

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l0v3-qu4rtz · 8 months ago

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I'm part Lover Girl

And part Daddy Issues

#spencer reid #i love mgg #mgg #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds #matthew gubler #matthew gray gubler #i heart mgg #i love matthew #thomas gibson #i heart thomas #arron hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner #hotch #Matthew and thomas #ssa aaron hotchner #i love thomas gibson #this post is kinda cringe #but i had an idea and i needed to get it out

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mrs-weasley-reid · 7 months ago

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MADE HIS MARK

Spencer Reid x bau!reader

Synopsis: a shivery trip to a liquor cellar turned into a steamy secret between friends and a not-so-subtle reveal between a small herd of colleagues. Word Count: 5k+ WARNING: SMUT. please, please, MDNI !!! penetration (piv). unprotected sex (but fr wrap it up!!!). fingering (a lil bit). obsessed!spencer (bc why not?). ex friends with benefits to lovers. a pinch of angst if you squint. cursing. troublemaker spencer reid and reader. not proofread!! A/N: heavily influenced by the song Dress by Taylor Swift. I love me a TS song. I'm obsessed, and I saw the opportunity. Also, this is my first Spencer Reid smut fic. Be nice, and tell me what you think!

The sharp brush of spring and little kisses from the evening air prompt you to savor the shivery feeling on your skin.

You take a deep breath before sliding your heels off, dangling them in your hand as you trail down the maze of a hallway in Rossi’s lavish home. Your dress is now a product of a shoddy decision.

All you knew was how presentable and wedding-appropriate it was, but you never realized why you would wear such a dress barely sewn for the crisp evening weather in May.

“Hiding from everyone?”

A smile instantly layers over your painted lips before you can even raise your gaze ahead. There’s this tickle of warmth that sparks inside of you the moment you hear his voice. Hands shaking in an intense subconscious buzz of excitement. Thrilling.

No other than Dr. Spencer Reid is ten feet away from you, standing lazily against the wall. His hair is messy from all the magic tricks he tore out to Jack and Henry and, funnily enough, Penelope, too.

Bright gleam shines on your face, flashing a saccharine smile you can only muster when the receiver is him. You shake your head.

"Are you?"

One hand in his pocket. Spencer shyly nods, “I ran out of magic tricks, and Jack figured out one of my tricks halfway through my little show.” He explains without persuasion, staring into space with playful horrid written all over his face.

You steal the half-full glass from his other hand, cringing at the taste of sparkling cider. “One sip won’t kill you, you know…” You say, shoving the glass back into his hand.

Spencer laughs, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” He quips, a sheepish smile growing with each syllable.

“Very much so,” You nod, making a beeline to the kitchen to find some kind of beverage that’ll knock you out ‘til the next day.

He follows you like a tail. Your senses feel his warmth, his breath fanning against your exposed back. The feeling of his tall presence behind leaves your breath hitching between inhales and exhales, and you’d love more than his figure on your trail. You ache for something more than the image of him in your wake. You need him merged with your soul, his body tightly pressed against yours. You crave something harsh.

It’s wishful thinking.

“What took you so long? Did you not notice I was gone?” He wonders.

Or is it?

“It’s cold out here, you know,” Spencer pouts in your peripheral.

You want your lips to wipe them off, then turn them into an O.

“Aww, does pretty boy genius feel lonely?” You tease over your shoulder, tapping his chest with the back of your hand. Your brows jump, twisting on your heels to face him. “I’ll be damned,” You exclaim, pushing your palm against his pec with more pressure.

It's been so long since you touched him with more than an accidental brush of your fingertips. His body stiffens under your light squeeze. And the thirst for more slowly dries the circumference of his throat.

“Reid, when’d you get this fit? No wonder women are all over you.” Genuine curiosity takes over, looking up at him with fluttering lashes.

Spencer scoffs, leaning down eye to eye with you, “I’ve always been hot.” He retorts with a straight face. The confidence radiates, and it does something in the pit of your stomach.

A brief silence whooshes between your bodies, and the next thing you know, both of you are laughing ‘til your cores cramp.

You gasp for air, head against his sternum, hand still placed over his pec. “Don’t ever say that in front of Morgan. He might get a stroke.” You begin walking once more, turning your back to him.

“I am! Don’t you agree?” You do. He banters a few feet away, keeping a safe distance—or so help the impulsive thoughts that are whirling around his mind. A playful grin works his facial muscles out, only hoping that you didn’t notice the way he takes in your scent like a bait set out for him.

Spencer didn’t even need to run to catch up with you. His strides are five times longer than yours.

You feel a soft fabric cover your shoulders, accompanied by a heavy arm that burns your skin in pure reflexive need. “I thought you were cold?” You ask, glancing to your left, where Spencer walks beside you.

Spencer shrugs, “Rather feeling cold than you getting a cold tomorrow morning. The chances of me getting sick from being cold tonight versus you sneezing on me like a troll is 15 to 85 percent.” He replies calmly, earning a light smack from your hand.

You roll your eyes, but your smile never travels far. It only happened once. And you both swore once was enough.

The two of you became friends during your time in the Academy. You’ll never forget the first time you met him. The urge to shove a sock inside his yapping mouth over the repercussions of shaking someone’s hand. Most people say the two of you are best friends. Somehow, his intelligence didn’t set you apart. You tolerated his constant rambles, and he tolerated your random bursts of sass.

It's more than that though. The entanglement was more than two friends. More than innocent study sessions. More than a trip to the nearest shooting range.

As two twenty-one-year-olds who's never felt the most sensual touch before, one minute of forced proximity and all hell broke loose. What seemed so platonic was sexually intimate behind closed doors.

However, in lieu of staying attached to the hip, the two of you went your separate ways after graduation. You went to pursue each respective interest. You both said no hard feelings. And both believed things would never work anyway, because no one was willing to put in the work.

The two of you reconnected when you joined the BAU team almost a year ago. Meeting him once again was nerve-wracking. With unresolved fallout and nonexistent communication, it scared you a bit. But you should’ve known Spencer Reid has always been different—good, different. The bond you had didn’t seem too damaged. If anything, it was merely locked in a vault and became stronger than ever before. You managed to be civil��become friends.

And since then, you never ran out of ways to be in each other’s vicinity. Or he just always succeeded in keeping you interested in his antics. Or you’re just addicted to him more than you’d like to admit.

But friends don't shake from mere self-control. Friends don't choke on breaths when the other touches them. Friends don't—

“What percentage of alcohol will you get from Rossi’s cellar?” He curiously asks, his warmth keeping you from shivering.

The damned dress.

And his damned loose tie.

You chuckle shakily, “You’d love to see me drunk, don’t you?” You mimic, throwing back the same antic he used not a few minutes ago. He rolls his eyes, and you open the door to the cellar. “I was tasked to choose the best whiskey ever made.” You announce, sinking deeper into confinement.

“So you lost a bet.” Spencer laughs, following behind. He shakes his head when you nod yours. “You don’t even drink whiskey.” He smirks.

“Go back out there, then,” You shoo him away, waving your hands. “I didn’t ask you to join me on my quest.” You add in a giggle, tying your hair up in a messy ponytail after setting your shoes on the table in the middle of the room.

You don’t see the way he swallows at the sight of your nape. The same way you hadn't notice his self-restraint for the past year, for the entire evening, dipping his hands in his pockets to hide his clenched fists. Because if he doesn't, they just might crave the feeling of your skin against the texture of his palm.

“And what if you can’t reach the best whiskey?”

“I’m a federal agent, too, Reid. I’m smart enough to figure that out.”

“Doesn’t change the fact that you’re similar to a hobbit.”

The brows on your face lift over your forehead. "Excuse me?" Your mouth fall agape in disbelief, scoffing.

Spencer shrugs, "You're excused."

Amusement twitch the ends of your lips. "You sure you're not drunk?" Your eyes narrow, scanning him from head to toe.

"I'm not." He defends. Scarlet skin glows underneath the soft light. Spencer averts his eyes, stealing a mouthful of a sigh from the chilly air. Okay, maybe he stole one glass of scotch from the unit chief, took a sip, and felt his body on fire, so now he's settled down for ciders the entire evening.

You smirk, "Then, why are you being so clingy?" Arms cross over your chest. You raise a brow in question.

Spencer rolls his eyes, silently clearing his throat. "Why not? There's no harm in hanging out with you." His tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek.

"There is when said friend is acting like a clingy boyfriend." You say, skimming through the shelves of liquor adorning the walls from ceiling to floor.

“Right,” Spencer states blandly, finding himself a seat. “I’m just a friend. I can’t act any other way. I can’t even give you any affection, huh?” He deadpans, tracing the wood patterns on the table.

Your eyebrows crease in the middle of reaching for a bottle. You slowly go up behind him and smack the back of his head without warning.

“Ow!” He hisses. “What was that for?” Spencer complains, face scrunching in temporary pain.

“For being weirder than usual.” You say, hitting his shoulder. “Stop it.” You scold, finger-pointing over his chest.

Spencer is not one to be petty. Never petty over the boys you mingle with for a short period. Never be petty over your tendencies to somehow land on the worst species of men. Since the two of you reconnected as colleagues, he's minded his business. Why now? And why the hell is your heart pounding obnoxiously?

He theatrically rolls his eyes, “Am I wrong? Aren’t I just your friend?” There is something in his tone that you can't distinguish. His face is awkward and reserved, as always, but something is different.

You know. You just love lying to yourself.

“What else are you going to be?!” Even you are surprised at the volume of your voice.

The creak of the small open window fills the room. None of you dares to say a word. No one dares to breathe within each other's personal bubble.

You break eye contact first, stepping away, but Spencer has other plans. His hands land on your waist, gripping the flesh to keep you between his legs.

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself,” The luminescence of his eyes turns a shade darker. Chocolate hazel eyes gradients to deep earthy irises. Or it may have been the dim lighting in the room and the glass of wine in your system.

You swallow—roughly like a ball of sandpaper rows down your throat. Fingers lace above his textured ones, wrapping over the long digits to get their bruises off your skin.

“It’s a simple question. There’s no reason to dread it.” You almost stumble on your words, taking well-needed pauses to huff a small breath. You try to break his grip on you, but they don’t budge one bit.

The more you attempt to remove his hold, the more they tighten against the little fabric over your skin.

Your brows knit. A sigh of defeat escapes your lips as your gaze travels back to him. “Spencer, stop—” Your spine shivers when he starts to lazily move his thumbs in slow, firm strokes.

Spencer stands in silence, staring at you like you are a doe he preyed on. His eyes start to make your legs melt, and your heart races wildly.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

His gaze flickers over your lips, “Why don’t you answer the question for me? Since you’re so smart, it seems.” A tone of clear mockery spills from his lips. Spencer smirks under his signature smile—smug and utterly amused by the sound of your small, hitched breaths.

“Can you stop kidding around?” You prattle. A peel of awkward laughter shoots straight down your bones. It was all you could do to relieve the growing tension between your thighs. Or else you’d jump on him like a desperate psychopath.

"Who says I'm kidding around?" Spencer narrows his eyes. "I never kid around." He squeezes your sides once more and grins when a soft gasp rattles out of you. He hasn't done that in so long, and the nostalgia and buzz spark something in his chest.

Thick, airy gulp forces itself down your throat. You know why he does it. The same pattern of movements you knew so well in your younger days. The days you spent with him.

"We can't." It is almost inaudible, but he catches it. You lightly shake your head, backing away, "I-it's not— We can't."

Spencer raises his brows. "What are you so afraid of?" He reads your features for a moment. The gentle touch of his gaze along your searing skin is electrifying.

You nibble at the corner of your lip, "Let go of me, Reid." And it seems you love lying to him, too. Because you don't want him to let go. Desperate for his touch. The soft trail of his thumb. The primal clutch of his fingers, like they were claws. It was all too intoxicating to ever want him to let go.

“Answer the question first.” He flashes the smirk he’s been trying to hide like a villain, exposing his true colors. “I dare you.” Spencer challenges.

“You know the answer.” Your chest feels like exploding.

“Say it out loud, then.”

“Why should I?”

“Because we’re not leaving this position until you do.” His voice sparks fire in your core. Spencer doesn’t let his eyes stray from your moving lips. If anything, he makes a point that he is, in fact, staring at them like a starving lion, ready to pounce at any given moment.

Oh.

Well, isn't he such a sweetheart to feed you just what you crave? You don't know where it comes from, nor do you care, but there's at least four liquid cubic centimeters of boldness that flows through your veins.

Your laughter echoes in the cellar. “Please, or what?” You relax in his hold, convinced that he's just the same lanky guy you've always known. “You going to fuck me like a slut? Not exactly your M.O., pretty boy.” You tease, playfully tapping on his shoulders.

A low, hoarse chuckle vibrates across his chest. With lust-filled gaze and a thin, mischievous smile, Spencer shifts his eyes to look straight into yours.

“Exactly.”

Your eyes grow the widest they have ever been your entire life. “What—” Before you can stop him, his lips are already clashing against yours.

Spencer holds onto you as if he is falling off a cliff, and you are a branch about to snap any second. He kisses you aggressively, pulling you so tight, like he needs you glued to him.

You try to push him, but it doesn't take long until you give in. Until you kissed back.

You kissed him back.

You fucking kissed Spencer back.

The hands that recently danced on his shoulders begin to tug on the soft curls over his nape. The weight of his lips is starting to make your legs wobble.

Every scrape of his teeth against your stinging lips feels new. It isn't what you're familiar with. Your mind recalls his gentle touches and gentle words as if you'd break if he held you too tight. But the one kissing you isn't. The slice of his tongue over your lips is primal. He's not the Spencer you once knew. He's the Spencer you've been craving, so much so that the mere thought of bruises caused by his grip has been contaminating your mind since you started in the BAU.

His kisses deepened, warmth enveloping the two of you despite the chilly breeze inside the cellar. With breathless and plump lips, a new strike of desire courses throughout your body the longer you kiss.

Spencer breathes you in like oxygen, starving for more, never satisfied with just one gentle breath. It's new. And you love it.

Heaving, you and Spencer pull away, lips detaching and reattaching like magnets ’til distance is too far to push back. His lips are a darker shade of pink, swollen, and adorned with smeared lipstick. You don’t doubt the effect of making out with him gives you any more leverage, imagining your lipstick thickly outlines all over the rims of your mouth.

Judging by how Spencer stares at you like a satisfied drunken man, you presume he's loving every second more than he's prepared to admit. Most will wonder if his eagerness is merely a product of lost inhibitions. But a simple educated guess tells you that none of his actions are driven by alcohol. He's as sober as an ice cold water splashed over one's face.

Spencer lifts you on the table, standing between your thighs. The fabric of his pants scrapes against your skin, and your aching cunt throbs at the feeling. He cups your face into his large hands, reattaching your lips once more like it’s an unforgivable sin to keep them apart.

He pulls away after air fails him, resting his forehead over yours. “I want to be the only one who gets to fuck you like a slut, or so God help me—” Spencer closes his eyes agonizingly slow, “—No man near you will ever see daylight again.”

Your heart pounds against your chest, and you mentally beg Spencer to do so too—pound against your hips like you’re banned from ever walking again. The pressure of his voice and hot breath fanning against the land of your skin is ecstatically satisfying.

Spencer's hand drives up the slit of your dress, and at that moment, you know exactly why you chose to wear such an article of unfriendly clothing amidst your intolerance to the cold wind.

You wanted him to take it off of you.

You needed Spencer to take the dress off of you and fuck you hard.

The tickle of his lips trailing from your jaw to the spot underneath your earlobe has your back arching almost a hundred and eighty degrees. Ever the opportunist, Spencer takes it as his chance to pull you closer, squeezing your thigh with his palm.

You throw your head back, giving him access to more eager-to-be-touched skin. Legs wrap around his middle in utter pleasure, “Spencer…” You whine breathily, eyes fluttering close at the way he holds your flesh with both hunger and caress.

His mouth falls agape. Your voice. His name. It’s addicting. His world stops in a millisecond, reveling in the joy of your mouth, uttering his name with the intense pleasure he provides.

“We’re barely starting,” Spencer whispers against your clavicle, snaking his hand under your dress to the lining of your underwear. He swipes over your clothed clit.

You twitch under his touch. A total puppet wrapped around his finger while his literal thumb begins to toy with your clit. The pace makes you painfully and deliciously squirm.

Spencer loves the image before him, especially the rise of your chest as he plunges a finger, then two, inside your needy cunt. It’s the first time he’s ever heard your moans so... needy and begging and desperate and sweet and hot and something he knows you’ve never reached the volume before with other men, and he’s hooked—addicted.

“You have no idea what your dress did to me the whole night.” He muffles on your neck. Wet kisses echo at the touch of his lips. Spencer buries himself in your scent, one hand unzipping your dress. “No idea how much I wanted to take it off of you.” He whispers next to your ear.

A hum spills at the ring of his words. His kisses start to sting, and burning hues form on your skin. Spencer marks you with his tongue and teeth.

It's euphoric. His hunger. His need. And you want nothing else but to give him whatever he wants, the same way he gives you everything you need.

The sound of his fly distorting in the air makes your skin tingle, nipples perk, and cunt quiver. You whine when he pulls away, already missing his heat.

Spencer’s eyes soften, “Are you sure you want this to continue? When we were friends with benefits things didn't work—”

“Shut up, take my dress off, and fuck me, Spencer.” You heave, or beg, or whichever fits the way you eagerly undo his tie and unbutton his shirt while kissing the soft spot on his neck, marking him yours.

The vibration of his chuckles sent delicious throbs down to your cunt, drooling to be filled by him.

“Aren't you needy—” Spencer lifts his arms in defense, “—alright, shutting up now.”

The cold is nowhere else but the back of your mind. You feel wetness on the peak of his boxers. Spencer's hard erection suffocates him, and you're eager to relieve him in every possible way.

He immediately sighs when your dress droops down your waist. Spencer takes you in as if you're the most prized art in a museum. He takes every line, scars, birthmarks, or as simple as the crease of your breast into memory.

“So, so beautiful…” Spencer murmurs in sheer adoration and awe. He looks up as if God has listened to his prayers as if he’s a passionate believer. Thankful to have you within his reach.

Warmth coats you with every sweep of his hand on every curve and slope of your body. He’s memorizing each soft plush and perfect flaw. The sentiment alone heightens your arousal like you’ve been touch-starved for years.

A yelp comes out of you when he unexpectedly spreads the wetness on your folds, touching where you need him most. “Spencer, please…” It’s a plea. A begging need.

He circles on your clit with more pressure than the first. “You ready for me?” A vigorous nod responds to him while you bite your moans to keep them at bay.

Spencer pulls you closer by the small of your back. Your ass is almost falling off the edge of the table. The lacey cloth stretched on the side of your entrance. He aligns his slobbering tip with your equally desperate cunt.

Unsatisfied by your response, Spencer grabs your chin with so much force your bitten lips set free. “I need a verbal answer, sweetheart. I need to hear your voice say the words.” He’s begging, too, aching to slam just about all of him in one push.

The anticipation is frustrating. "I wa—" With a mere echo jumping out of your throat, Spencer takes it enough confirmation and thrusts his hips to meet yours.

Temporary pain and electrifying pleasure cause your body to shake, followed by a pornographic moan that Spencer muffles with his hand over half of your face.

Your mind spins around in endless bliss as his cock throbs at the pressure of your hold. Spencer doesn't move an inch, waiting for your signal.

“Please… move. Now.” Your voice is caught in the middle of your throat, dragging into a lovely gasp when he pulls back slowly.

With the tip of his cock the sole filler inside your cunt, Spencer thrusts back so fast, so good. He keeps a steady pace that leaves both of you a moaning mess.

Spencer pins your hips on the table, making sure he satisfies you with every force. He sucks a breath in, dizzy at the sight of your breast bouncing on his beat.

Can he surpass the knowledge that other guys have seen you undone like this? Never. Will he clash heaven and hell for the sake of pleasing you? The almighty and the merciless needn’t make yet another bet because they know Spencer will drag anything, anyone, to kneel before you.

Because Spencer needs you undone like you have never been before. He craves to be the first to fuck you like it's the last thing you’ll ever do.

You're addicting. An influence he freely lets himself get sucked in. Spencer wishes he could brand himself with your name, eager to be yours. He's desperate to be called yours.

Spencer adorns your skin with red and purple hues, beaming at the sight of his marks with every echo of his lips popping yet another possessive tattoo.

The pleasure he gives sends you beyond time and space. Euphoric daze fogs up your brain. Vision locked inside your skull, eyes permanently rolled into sensual darkness.

“Spence…”

Fuck. The nickname drips perfectly off your lips. You and only you can make his cock even harder just by saying his name. He doesn’t try to keep his head from spiraling into desires, desperately imagining all the ways he can own you.

You gasp shakily, feeling the knot in your abdomen begin to tighten. One, two—five more strokes and you enter a void filled with sparkling stars and mind-numbing pleasure.

Spencer doesn't stop, just as you wish, through broken moans and nails digging into the thin layer of his skin. Not a single pace slower or faster. And it is fucking blissful.

Your moans drool off your lips, clenching around his cock. He rides your high like a limited experience that he will never get to try again. Though, you're sure there’ll be more clandestine rendezvous than you both are willing to admit. You both know this isn't the last you’ll ever get a taste of him. And it is not the last time he’ll crave you like oxygen.

A hand reaches out for his nape, carding your nails at the tangles of his hair. You begin to comb between his curly strands, massaging the scalp beneath. Spencer spits out a tasteful curse dedicated to the pleasure the sensation of your touch has given him.

“I keep up with my pill. I’m on a good window.” You assure him, breath hitching. “Fill me up, Spence.” You implore greedily, wanting nothing but all traces of him engraved inside and outside of you.

His mouth slacks open, burying his cock in the deepest part of you. “Fuck, you’re too good to me,” He hisses in utter bliss. Spencer jolts at the ecstasy that vibrates out of him, emptying himself through the depths of your walls.

Spencer rests his forehead against yours, whispering praises like you suddenly became his goddess. His senses tingle. And he doesn’t want time to continue.

Your ragged breaths sync with his and soon turn even. Years of yearning are fulfilled in one evening. The prick of his bites floods your senses.

“What was the question again?” You giggle out, still, a bit out of breath, breaking the silence.

Spencer playfully rolls his eyes, zipping up the back of your dress with a kiss on your shoulder. “I basically asked, ‘What are we’ like a typical chick in a movie.”

“I can’t believe you just said that.” Your sweet laughter follows while Spencer covers you once more with his jacket despite the clear indication of sweat glistening over your forehead that you’re not nearly as cold anymore. "That many?"

Pride surges across his chest, beaming. "Like a canvas drenched with paint." He softly bites his lower lip, satisfied by the work he has done.

You glance down, gasping at the sheath of love bites. "More like a slab of beaten up flesh." Your head lifts up to look at him in disbelief. Spencer painted every inch of your skin, no space left untouched. You don't even recognize your skin anymore.

"Maybe this will help," He reaches on the back of your head, tugging on the band. Your hair drapes over your neck.

"No, Reid. It does not help at all." Blinking, you slap his arm lightly, earning a shrug and a peck on your lips. He simply fastens the buttons of his jacket on you, covering everything the fabric can.

He hunches down to pick up the tie you discarded on the floor. When he stands back up, he says, “We can keep this between us for now while we figure things out if you’d like. But we have to agree on one thing.” He tucks in a wild strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m yours, and you don’t have a choice. Sounds good?”

You giddily smile, nodding as you dangle your weak legs over the table. “What about me? Can’t I be yours?” You coax, fixing his tie.

"Do you want to be? Because I'm content with just pleasing you every chance I get. I'm not in a rush."

"Spencer," You take his face in your hands. "Do you really want to just be friends with benefits?"

He swipes his tongue over his lower lip. "No..." Spencer squeaks under his breath.

You nod, humming. "Good, because I don't want you like a best friend either." You flatten the crease on his shoulders.

"So?" Spencer chases your eyes, hoping he can read your mind.

"So, you're mine, and I'm yours. Sounds better, don't you think?"

"Sounds great." He simpers, helping you get back on your feet.

The two of you come back to the others with the worst whiskey in the cellar. Your hair is neat, and your lipstick is replenished. His tie sits presentably on his chest and hides the smallest purple mark on the base of his neck. Intricate measures for intricate people.

Derek complains. Penelope agrees. Rossi objects. Hotch sips his drink with no care. Emily laughs hysterically. JJ shrugs.

No one knows. Or no one cares. But the secret remain as is.

Perks of being seen as the most platonic friends. More so than the great Derek Morgan and Penelope Garcia. What they know nothing about won’t hurt them, right? And it’s not like it’ll be any worse if they did.

Yet the absence of suspicion brews boredom and discontent. How come the others are suspicious enough, but not you and him? What's so dull in the air between you and Spencer that no one dares to wonder if romance ever crossed your minds?

Spencer drags his fingers on your thigh under the table. And no one suspects why you never take off his jacket despite dancing the night away.

And as the night deepens, like any other gathering, the group disperses into different areas and smaller groups.

“So?” JJ starts, wiggling her eyebrows.

“What?” You chuckle into the wine in your glass.

JJ rolls her eyes, “Did you give the photographer your number?”

Oh, yeah. You’d forgotten about the entire thing, glancing at the photographer who happens to have his lens on you. He smiles shyly, but you swear in your life that your shy boy is a lot more charming.

“Because if not, I think Will’s cousin has his eye on you, too,” JJ adds with a mischievous smile. The most supportive friend you’ll have. How will she react when she finds out?

You smile, looking far ahead at the pair of brown eyes.

Spencer returns the smile, Hotch’s voice muffling in the background.

“Like I said, it’s quite a little paperwork, but if you want to try things out and date, I have no problem with helping you out,” Hotch advises between sips of warm whiskey, talking about that one agent who approached Spencer at the bullpen thrice. What will he think when he finds out two of his agents are participating in fraternization?

They have no idea. Not an inkling of doubt whatsoever.

The naivete. It bores you and Spencer. It’s prosaic. It’s unglamorous.

From one end to another, the same words echo.

“I’ll have another drink.”

The two of you stand from each end, meeting over the table with vast choices of alcohol. You pick up a glass as Spencer stands next to you.

“Take it off?”

“Take it off.”

And you went separate ways.

JJ’s eyes widen at the small hint of marks on your chest, jacket slightly drooping over your shoulder.

Hotch doesn’t say a word when he notices the hickey on Spencer’s neck when the younger agent loosens his tie and undoes one button—and Hotch quotes—because of the heat. His peripheral catches JJ, Emily, and Penelope hovering around you like a group of crows scavenging for some sort of fleshy information he thinks he knows what’s about.

“A simple no would’ve suffice,” Hotch says evenly. “But you’re still filling out paperwork. Am I clear?”

Spencer stifles a smug smirk, looking down on his drink. “Clear.”

reid masterlist | masterlist

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sarcasm-and-stiles · 7 months ago

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spncrscasey · 8 months ago

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watching criminal minds and realizing how much shit hotch has to explain in his reports😭😭 morgan kicking down doors, rossi insulting local pd, garcia hacking sites she’s not supposed to, the reason gideon insulted unsubs- like give this man a break .

this is excluding all the times reid gets kidnapped, shot, injured, taken hostage, sent to jail etc like that’s a whole other hassle LOL

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reidsworld · 7 months ago

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Unveiled Secrets

Summary: The BAU team has a sneaking suspicion that their stoic leader, Aaron Hotchner, is in a relationship, but they don't know the extent of it.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Content Warnings: Jack and Haley do not exist in this, kissing, cuddling, allusions to sex, light teasing, use of Y/N, pet names (my love, baby), that’s it I think, lmk if I missed any! Oh and pure fluff!

Word Count: 1.8k

Mars speaks… hi my loves, I was motivated to write so I am using this to figure out my writing style a bit and how I want to format my works! I’ve been going through a bit of a Hotch phase lately so I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Masterlist

The BAU office was slowly quieting down as the day turned to dusk, the last rays of sunlight casting long shadows across the desks. Aaron Hotchner, head of the Behavioral Analysis Unit, stood in his office, the soft light of his desk lamp highlighting the stress lines that had deepened over the years. He checked his watch—almost time to go home. A rare, soft smile touched his lips, a sight reserved for only one person.

He closed the case file on his desk, slipping it neatly into his briefcase before reaching for his jacket. His phone buzzed just as he picked it up, and he glanced at the screen to see a text from you, Can’t wait to see you. Should I pick up dinner?

That smile of his deepened as he quickly typed a reply, I’ll pick it up on my way home. See you soon, my love.

He hadn’t planned on keeping his relationship with you a secret, nor did he have any grand strategy for revealing it. He assumed that given time, his team would figure it out on their own. After all, they were profilers—eventually, they would notice the subtle shifts in his behaviour, the unexplained absences, the slightly more relaxed demeanour after particularly stressful cases. He hadn’t intended to hide it forever, just until they pieced it together.

As he opened the door to his office, however, he nearly collided with Spencer Reid, who was walking by, engrossed in a file. Reid looked up, startled, his eyes wide with surprise.

"Sorry, Hotch! I didn’t see you there."

"It’s alright, Reid," Hotch replied, a calmness in his voice that belied the momentary flicker of surprise in his eyes. He wasn’t often caught off-guard, especially not in the safety of his own office.

Reid, however, had a habit of noticing things others missed. His eyes flickered to the phone still in Hotch’s hand, the screen just dimming from inactivity. Before Hotch could slip it into his pocket, Reid’s sharp eyes caught your name on the screen. His brow furrowed in confusion as he processed the information.

“Y/N, as in the academy’s Y/N?” Reid asked, the question out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Hotch froze for a fraction of a second, but it was enough for Reid’s sharp mind to pick up on the anomaly. Reid’s brain worked at lightning speed, connecting dots that others might have missed. He knew Hotch was fiercely private, but this reaction was new.

“Goodnight Reid” Aaron replied, quickly, shutting down any further questioning that may have come from the young genius.

Reid blinked, taken aback, but his curiosity was now piqued. However, years of working with Hotch had taught him when to push and when to back off. “Have a good evening, Hotch.”

As Reid walked away, Hotch let out a slow breath. This wasn’t how he wanted the team to find out, though he couldn’t say he was surprised. He had always assumed it would be Reid who would notice first; the young profiler missed nothing. Still, he had hoped for a bit more time. But the cat was out of the bag now, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before the rest of the team found out.

The next morning, the BAU office was abuzz with more than the usual activity. Reid’s brief encounter with Hotch had set off a flurry of curiosity and speculation among the team. They were profilers, after all, and even the smallest clues could ignite their imaginations.

“I’m telling you, something’s definitely going on with Hotch,” Reid said as the team gathered in the bullpen before their morning briefing. He couldn't shake the image of your name on Hotch's phone from his mind.

JJ, trying to keep things under control, said, “Come on, guys, it could just be a friend. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, a knowing grin on his face. “Reid’s onto something. Hotch has been acting a bit differently lately. He’s not staying late like he used to.”

“And he’s been smiling more often,” Garcia added, her excitement barely contained. “The man’s practically glowing sometimes.”

Rossi, with a teasing tone, suggested, “Maybe he’s just getting better sleep. But I have to admit, there’s definitely something different.”

Garcia’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “Don’t you want to know? If Hotch is seeing someone, that’s huge!”

Rossi shrugged, still smirking. “Of course, I’m curious. But let’s give him some space. If he wants us to know, he’ll tell us. And if we’re lucky, we might even get to meet her.”

Prentiss grinned, "Do you think it’s serious? Like, she’s ‘the one’?”

“I think,” Rossi said thoughtfully, “if Aaron is keeping this under wraps, it’s because it’s important to him. He wouldn’t be so secretive if it wasn’t serious.”

Just then, Hotch entered the bullpen, and the conversation quickly shifted to a quieter, more focused buzz. The team members turned to their desks, but the air was charged with unspoken questions and speculative glances. Hotch, sensing the change in atmosphere, gave a brief nod before heading to his office.

As the day dragged on with paperwork and case briefings, the undercurrent of curiosity remained. The team exchanged looks, clearly eager to discuss Hotch’s secret, but they were careful to avoid bringing it up directly. The excitement about Hotch’s personal life was palpable, and everyone was waiting for the right moment to address the topic.

Later that evening, Aaron finally headed home after a long day. As he walked through the front door, he found you curled up on the couch, a blanket draped over your legs, and a glass of wine in your hand. You looked up from the book you were reading, a smile spreading across your face when you saw him.

“Hi, baby, how was your day?” you asked, setting the book aside as he walked over to you.

“Tiring,” he admitted, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. “And eventful. Reid saw a text from you last night.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. “Oh no. What did he say?”

“He asked if it was from you,” Aaron said, sitting down beside you. “I shut him down, but I think I gave myself away. The team’s been acting strange all day.”

You chuckled, leaning your head on his shoulder. “So, they’re onto us?”

He nodded, slipping an arm around you and pulling you closer. “It was bound to happen eventually. I just didn’t expect it to be now.”

“I’m surprised they didn’t figure it out sooner,” you said, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. “They are profilers, after all.”

He smiled down at you, his expression softening. “I never planned on keeping it a secret forever. I just figured they’d figure it out on their own time.”

“So, what’s the plan?” you asked with a playful grin.

He sighed, his thumb rubbing gentle circles on your shoulder. “I suppose it’s time to tell them. They’re already curious, and I’d rather they hear it from me than through rumours.”

“You know they’ll be happy for you,” you said, squeezing his hand. “For us.”

“I know,” he agreed. “But there’s a part of me that’s nervous. I’ve always kept my personal life separate from work, but with you… it’s different.”

You leaned up and kissed him softly, the warmth of the moment lingering between you. “We’ll do it together, then. When you’re ready.”

Aaron’s gaze softened, but a playful glint sparkled in his eyes as he pulled you closer. “Right now, I want to do anything but think about the team,” his voice dropped to a low murmur.

You felt the heat of his words and smiled, leaning in closer. “Sounds perfect,” you whispered, as he nuzzled against you, his lips brushing yours with a grin.

A few days later, Rossi had decided to host a dinner party for the team. The team was eager to catch up and enjoy the evening. Aaron knew it was the perfect opportunity to introduce you to the team as his girlfriend.

As the doorbell rang, Rossi answered the door to find Hotch standing beside you. As you both entered the living room, the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly as Hotch introduced you with a genuine smile.

“I’d like you to meet Y/N, my girlfriend,” Hotch said, his voice steady but warm.

The room fell into a stunned silence before erupting into excitement. Garcia’s face lit up with recognition and delight. “Oh my God! It’s Y/N! I knew it was someone! This is incredible!”

Morgan’s grin widened as he approached. “So, this is the elusive woman behind Hotch’s new smile! You’ve been keeping us in the dark for too long, Hotch.”

JJ smiled warmly as she extended her hand. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you, Y/N, we’re really happy for both of you.”

Reid, ever the profiler, couldn’t resist asking, “How long have you two been together?”

Hotch laughed softly, putting an arm around you and smiling fondly. “Almost five months now. Y/N works as the unit chief for the BSU in the academy. I met her when she invited me to guest lecture.”

Garcia’s eyes sparkled with excitement. “I knew it! You two have that perfect power couple vibe. We have to plan another get-together so we can hang out more!”

Rossi, enjoying the moment, gave Hotch a friendly pat on the back. “Well, I guess this means you won’t be around for poker nights as often.”

Hotch chuckled. “I’ll still make time for poker nights, don’t worry.”

As the evening continued, the team enjoyed getting to know you better. The atmosphere was filled with laughter, light-hearted teasing, and genuine happiness for Hotch and you.

“So, when do we get to do this again?” Garcia asked eagerly.

Hotch smiled, feeling content. “Soon. We’ve been talking about having you all over for dinner. Now seems like the perfect time.”

As the team chatted and enjoyed the evening, Aaron felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Introducing you to his team had been a significant step, but their warmth and support made it all worthwhile. The thought of merging his work family with his personal life filled him with quiet joy.

As the party wound down and the team began to leave, Morgan gave Hotch a sly grin. “You know, Hotch, we’re happy for you, but don’t think we won’t give you a hard time about keeping this a secret for so long.”

Hotch chuckled, appreciating the camaraderie. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

With that, the team said their goodbyes and headed home, their spirits high. Hotch followed them, feeling grateful for the support of his team and looking forward to the future with you.

Mars speaks... (again) Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed it! Also, would anyone be interested if I wrote for other fandoms such as F1 and Marvel? Any feedback is greatly appreciated🫶

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mccdreamys-writes · 11 months ago

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smiles for miles – 26. silence is never silent

take me back to understand, we deep inside our hearts know, we don't make the wind blow. - The Common Linnets, We Don't Make The Wind Blow

N O V E M B E R 1 8 T H 2 0 1 1

Last week, I found myself back in the lecture hall, a place I hadn't visited in a while. I had skipped teaching last semester because work had consumed all my time. With cases piling up, there was no room for academic pursuits. But now, with things settling down a bit, I felt drawn back to the world of academia.

Work felt strangely quiet this week, an eerie calm hanging over everything. It was the kind of silence that made you feel like something big was about to happen. In law enforcement, calm moments like these often signaled that a storm was brewing, something significant waiting just around the corner.

It reminded me of a superstition in emergency rooms—the belief that saying "It's a quiet night" could jinx things and bring chaos. It was as if acknowledging the peace invited trouble. Similarly, the quietness at work hinted at trouble ahead, a reminder that in our line of work, calm moments were often followed by chaos.

As I neared the end of my lecture, ready to dive into the details of next week's lesson, my phone buzzed on the desk, snapping me out of my academic focus. A message from JJ popped up, short and ominous: "We have a case and it's a bad one."

Letting out a sigh, I wrapped up the class, hastily ending my presentation as I headed for the door. The weight of responsibility settled over me like a thick blanket as I hurried to my car. The urgency of the situation pushed me forward, a grim determination driving me towards the office.

As we gathered in the conference room, there was a palpable sense of shock and determination hanging in the air. The images on the screen painted a horrifying picture: three bodies hanging from tree branches, their mutilated torsos, hearts torn from their chests, and their dignity stripped away with their genitals exposed for all to see. The chilling inscription above the macabre images simply read, 'Washington D.C.'

Garcia's voice broke through the solemn silence, her tone tinged with a sense of urgency and concern. "We're staying home today," she announced firmly, her words carrying a weight that left no room for doubt.

With a solemn expression, Garcia introduced each victim: Elijah Benedict, Alan Damon, and Philip DeJong. Their names echoed in the room, a reminder of the lives lost in this brutal act of violence. Ranging in age from forty-three to fifty, they were now reduced to mere statistics in a tragic tableau.

Morgan's words broke the tension, voicing what everyone was thinking. "Someone's got a grudge," he stated firmly, the seriousness of the situation evident in his tone. "This feels personal."

Rossi cut through the silence with a question that hung heavily in the air. "When did these attacks happen?" he inquired urgently, his concern palpable.

Hotch, as authoritative as ever, provided a grim timeline. "The first victim, a week ago," he began, each word weighed down by the severity of the situation, "the second, three days ago, and the last one, this morning." His words lingered in the room, a stark reminder of the swift and methodical nature of the assaults.

Garcia, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she accessed the chilling details, added to the grim narrative. "They were all held captive for at least a day," she concluded, her voice trembling slightly as she relayed the extent of the victims' suffering. "But no more than two, because in all three cases we have colleagues who can confirm they were at work at least two days prior."

"Do we have any connections between them?" JJ's question drew everyone's attention to Garcia, the team's digital expert.

"They all had more than just a thing for women," Garcia replied, her fingers flying over the keyboard as she dug deeper into the digital archives. "I'm still combing through their backgrounds for more connections or useful info. I'll keep you posted if I find anything important."

Despite the heaviness of the case weighing on us, the day wore on without any major breakthroughs. We'd spoken with the victims' families and colleagues, but hadn't uncovered much. Still, the urgency of the situation hung in the air, reminding us that time was ticking and another abduction could happen at any moment.

As I stepped into the familiar embrace of our home, weariness clung to my every step, burdening my shoulders with its weight. But the sight that greeted me at the table instantly lifted my spirits—a home-cooked meal, lovingly prepared by Maile, awaited me. It was a silent testament to her thoughtfulness and understanding, a gesture made all the more special by the fact that I had given her a heads-up about my return time.

The delicious aroma that filled the air hinted that Maile hadn't been the chef behind tonight's dinner—a fact that both amused and touched me deeply. Cooking wasn't her forte, something she freely admitted and often joked about. Despite her occasional forays into the kitchen, she knew her limitations well.

I couldn't suppress a chuckle at the thought of her valiant attempts, knowing the likely outcome. There had been times when I couldn't resist sneaking a taste of her creations while her back was turned. Yet, the results always reaffirmed her self-awareness; her dishes consistently fell short of culinary excellence, sparing me from any further taste-testing adventures.

But even in her culinary missteps, there was a certain charm—a willingness to try, despite knowing the odds were against her. It was just another endearing aspect of her personality, one that I cherished dearly and wouldn't trade for anything in the world.

"Hey," she greeted me with a radiant smile as I trudged wearily through the doorway, my exhaustion palpable in every step. Without a moment's hesitation, she gracefully relieved me of my burdens, gently setting aside my bag, and enveloping me in a comforting embrace. In the sanctuary of her arms, I felt the weight of the day slowly lift, soothed by the rhythmic beat of her heart that seemed to echo my own.

"Thank you," I whispered gratefully, my voice a mere breath as I leaned into her embrace. "I needed that."

Her response was simple yet profound, spoken with genuine sincerity. "Anytime."

With a gentle nudge, she guided me toward the table, her touch a comforting caress against my weary frame. "Now, let's eat," she urged softly, her voice carrying a warmth that seeped into my bones. "Tell me all about your day, and then let's just relax together tonight. No agenda, no worries—just us, unwinding and being together."

Her words, infused with a sense of tranquility, promised an evening of solace away from the chaos of the outside world. As I settled into my seat, the enticing aroma of the meal she had prepared enveloped me, coaxing forth a sense of contentment and gratitude. It was in these simple moments, shared within the comforting embrace of our home, that I found sanctuary and peace amidst life's trials.

She made every hardship of the day worthwhile.

As evening draped its comforting embrace around us, we settled snugly onto the couch, cocooned in its warmth. My fingers wove delicate patterns through her hair, offering a gentle caress that sought to soothe her troubled mind. In the hush of the moment, I broached a question, my voice a mix of curiosity and care.

"Are you starting to remember things?" I asked softly, my words hanging in the air, stirring up a sense of unease within her.

"It's coming back in flashes," she confessed in a quiet voice, the weight of her inner conflict heavy in her words. "But I don't want to, Alex." Tears welled up in her eyes, reflecting the turmoil raging inside her, a silent testament to the overwhelming emotions threatening to overwhelm her.

With gentle care, I wiped away the tears from her cheeks, hoping for my touch to bring comfort to her raw emotions. Pulling her closer, I wrapped her in my embrace, our legs intertwined, my chest against her back, and my chin nestled in the curve of her neck.

My words flowed softly, like a soothing breeze in the night. "It's a good thing, Smiles," I murmured, my voice a gentle caress against her ear. "You need to process, and why not now? You're not alone. I am here."

"I am scared," she admitted, feeling the weight of her vulnerability in her words. "I don't want to be. I mean, I don't even have the right to. Look at what you're facing at work every day-"

Before she could finish her self-deprecating thoughts, I interrupted, my voice firm but kind. "Don't go there. Don't belittle your pain because you feel like someone else's is worse," I urged, my gaze locking with hers, unwavering in its intensity. "You can't feel their pain, and they can't feel yours. You have every right to be in pain."

I planted a gentle kiss on the back of her neck, my touch offering solace to the swirling turmoil in her mind. With a deep breath, she found the courage to open up about the memories that had started to come back to her.

"I remember hearing more voices," she admitted softly, squeezing her eyes shut as if trying to transport herself back to that time. "Not just James and Ira. Other voices, but I can't place them. At first, I thought they might be part of your team, but they're not. I can't remember how many there were, or if I even saw them. I just knew they were there."

I held her close, my warmth surrounding her like a shield, as I pressed another kiss to her temple, offering comfort and reassurance. Feeling my support, she continued, "There were at least two other men," her voice trembling with uncertainty and unease. Each word dredged up memories she'd buried deep down.

"That's good", I said with genuine admiration, a soft smile gracing my lips as I gazed at her. "You did good, baby."

N O V E M B E R 1 9 T H 2 0 1 1

As I stepped into the bustling bullpen, the familiar symphony of activity surrounded me—the rhythmic tapping of keyboards, the rustle of papers, and the murmur of voices blending into a harmonious cacophony. In the midst of this organized chaos, Hotch emerged like a captain navigating through turbulent waters, his purposeful stride signaling an imminent discussion. "Alex," he called out, his voice authoritative yet welcoming. "Can I have a word?"

His unexpected request sent a shiver of apprehension down my spine as I followed him to his office, my mind swirling with questions about the nature of our impending conversation. Despite my uncertainty, I complied, trailing behind him as we entered the sanctum of his private workspace. The soft click of the door closing behind us added a weight of seriousness to the atmosphere, intensifying the gravity of what was to come.

Seated across from each other, Hotch's usually composed demeanor was tinged with an unusual solemnity as he retrieved a file from his desk. A sense of foreboding settled over me, a knot tightening in the pit of my stomach. "We've identified the DNA found at the crime scene," he began, his words hanging heavy in the air like a dark cloud.

My exhaustion seemed to deepen as I struggled to comprehend the significance of his revelation. "And why are we discussing this privately?" I inquired cautiously, my mind racing to grasp the implications. "Why just you and me?"

Hotch's expression remained unreadable as he delivered the bombshell that left me reeling. "Because," he began, his voice steady, "it matches Maile's DNA."

A wave of disbelief washed over me, threatening to drown out all rational thought. Panic surged through me as the weight of his words settled in. "I should never have uttered those words," I berated myself silently, the casual remark I made earlier now haunting me with its unforeseen consequences.

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