#aaron hotchner/david rossi

[pillowprincess4logan]

" We're looking for a white male, approximately mid to late 30s, between 5"6 to 6"2 "

" wheels up in 30 "

[chithereader]

jealousy, jealousy / aaron hotchner

here’s my masterlist! pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader / shy!reader word count: 2.4k genre & cw: fluff, a little jealousy and pining angst if u squint, mentions of made-up case, different use of cm character a/n: thank u so much for all the support i've been getting on my fics!! hope you love this one as much as i do, i really enjoyed writing this one the most!

Today was a bad day. That much was clear. From the moment you woke up to the minute you arrived at the BAU– you’re convinced that the universe has simply gone the extra mile to make your life a little harder. 

You slept through your alarm and a few phone calls from Garcia, making your morning stressful and complete chaos. You didn’t have time to grab a cup of coffee or a snack, and apparently you also didn’t have time to remove the colorful pimple patches that adorned your face. 

Your blouse is buttoned asymmetrically, your hair resembling a bird's nest, and you left your ID at home, making your arrival more delayed as you had to employ Garcia’s help in presenting a copy of your ID to let you through. 

That too was not without stress given that your phone was on the verge of dying as you were in the call, but thankfully you could finally breathe in the elevator. Or so you thought. 

There were two things that immediately caught you off guard as you walked into the bullpen: one, almost all the desks were deserted and two, Reid and Morgan were watching you- as if waiting for your reaction, which led you to look around in anticipation. Is there a surprise? A prank? Did I miss a patch? I’m…wearing pants, right? 

Not wanting to prolong your search, you look at the two for any indication or clue. Tilting your head to the side as if to ask what? But to your surprise, they both nod their heads in one direction. Oh.

Strauss was in Hotch’s office, along with Rossi and a woman you don’t recognize. Hotch looked a bit tense, Strauss firm, Rossi is as relaxed as ever, and the woman… is looking directly at Hotch. Just Hotch. Huh. 

You were stood just shy of your desk when you shook thoughts out of your head, slowly approaching your desk to settle your things. Dozens of scenarios were running through your head, trying to make sense of new additions to an otherwise normal day. 

But the way she was studying him made your chest tight like someone was stepping on it.. and you couldn’t figure out why. 

You approach the two rascals only to lean on Derek’s desk as you whisper under your breath, “What’s happening there?” 

Morgan shrugs but his focused face remains, “I don’t know, kid. I tried Garcia but she doesn’t have a clue either.” Eyes studying the people in the room, noting anything that could tell them something. 

Mulling over more possibilities, you hum in response. Turning to Reid, you ask him- hoping that his eidetic memory can tell you anything about the woman even if they’d only met in passing. 

“Do you know anything, Spence?” But Reid only pouts at you, a sign that he’s thought about it hard but is coming up empty. 

Shaking his head, he soberly replies, “No..I don’t think so. I– I’ve never seen her before. Sorry.” 

Before any more thoughts could be voiced between the three of you, the door to Hotch’s office opens and all four of them file out- the woman walking a little too close to Hotch. 

-

You’re approaching your usual seat on the jet beside Morgan and across from Hotch when suddenly Agent Seaver overtakes you and sits on your seat. Caught by surprise, your eyes instinctively go to Hotch who’s already looking at you. 

He nods to himself, moving from the aisle seat to the one by the window. But it appears Agent Seaver misunderstood his gesture and moved beside him, “Oh! Thank you, sir.” Even going as far as touching his arm and leaning closely. 

Now, you’ve never been a violent person. Rage has just never overcome your senses like that but today.. of all days– you couldn’t help the image of spilling your hot chocolate all over her cream blouse. 

You don’t even notice that you’re frowning as you sit beside Morgan, somehow still unaware of how much their closeness really upsets you. You honestly thought you’ve maintained an expressionless face until Morgan looks up from his file and leans close to whisper in your ear, “You’ll need claws not paws, baby girl.” Winking at you as you separate. 

You steal a glance at Hotch only to see him watching you and Morgan with furrowed brows. He almost looks normal if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw that’s his tell of irritation. Moving your gaze to Seaver, in case you missed something that’s causing his new mood, you find her reading the case file. 

As you return your gaze on Hotch, you watch as Seaver touches his arm again and engages him in conversation about the case. It’s through the whole jet ride that you had to stomach the constant Agent Hotchner, Agent Hotchner! paired with a giggle or a slight touch. UGH!

If it weren’t for Strauss personally recommending Agent Seaver as a consultant for this case, you would have done– …still absolutely nothing. You had no claim whatsoever over Hotch. Morgan and Rossi may tease the two of you occasionally, forcing that he treats you specially or whatever but his behavior could simply be chalked off as him being a good and attentive boss. 

And yes, okay fine. You may have some moments here and there… but! they could honestly just be built up in your head because of the feelings you have for him. Like when he said he likes it when you stare? Come on, being stared at can be flattering and that’s just a universal truth. 

- 

After a whole day of coming up with theories, visiting crime scenes and M.E.’s, you’re all completely spent. Lounging in the makeshift discussion room, all of you are still working tirelessly on the case given that the unsub’s on a spree and his timeline is alarmingly short. 

Reid’s been silently staring at the board for 20 minutes while Morgan’s pretending to read files of potential suspects with his legs stretched out and feet on the table, “This is impossible. We just don’t have enough.” He exclaims as he tosses the file on the table with a thud. 

To the left of Morgan, you’re also silently mulling over files of potential suspects. Not wanting to admit that he’s right, you guys don’t have enough…bodies. You barely have anything on the guy, barely any clues- for a working profile. 

You sigh heavily, peeling your eyes off the paper and looking at the board. “Reid?” The boy genius shakes his head softly, confirming that the known dump sites don’t say much about the unsub’s comfort zones or hunting ground. 

You suddenly wonder where Seaver, Hotch and Rossi are. You and Morgan got back to the precinct at around 11PM, and you realize you haven’t seen any of them, “Where are the others?” 

Morgan, in an effort to lighten the mood, jumps at the chance to tease you, “Hmm. I think what you’re really asking is: Where’s Hotch and is he with Seaver?” He punches your arm lightly, making it obvious he’s only teasing. 

The smug, playful smile on his face makes you fight one of your own, desperately trying to not give yourself away, “Shut up,” hitting him in the head softly with the file in your hand. 

While you two were exchanging playful glares, Reid interjects, “Seaver wanted to turn in early since she’s also the one meeting with the families tomorrow so Hotch brought her to the hotel.” 

You instantly lift your gaze to him and watch as he removes the marker’s cap and scribbles rapidly on the board, quickly adding “And I’m pretty sure Rossi’s getting us coffee from the diner around the block.” 

You want to blame it on your exhaustion– your inability and ineffectiveness at hiding how you truly feel about what Reid just revealed to you, groaning loudly in pain and frustration. You put your head in your hands, muffling the sounds you’re making that are somehow a combination of a laugh and a sob. 

Morgan understands your reaction immediately and laughs out loud. 

“It’s not funny!” There was honestly no point in hiding it. As much as Morgan teased you, you knew he wouldn’t tell anyway, and Reid.. well, he was honestly an even better keeper of secrets than Morgan, Rossi and Garcia. 

He puts a hand on your shoulder to comfort you, “Baby girl, worry not. You know you hold a special place in boss man’s heart.” Then gripping both your wrists to pry your hands off your face. 

Pressing your face even further into your hands, you let out a muffled version of “That’s not true!” that came out more as “Daffs noft thwu!” 

When Morgan successfully pries your hands off your face, you’re surprised to see Reid’s moved from the board to behind Morgan, half leaning half sitting on the table, curiously watching you. 

Morgan turns around to look at the door behind you, making sure the coast is clear before he says, “Kid. Be real with me for a sec… are you blind?” That was not the question you were expecting. 

You must have looked so lost because he continues, “Hotch cares for you. Deeply. And not in the same way he does for us. You’ve gotta have felt that, kid.” Funny, you are starting to feel like a kid– the only thing missing are his hands on your shoulders to complete that huddle pep talk experience. 

“That’s just not–” you try to start. But Reid swiftly raises his hand, signing you to stop–

“Did you know that every morning Hotch makes sure all the pens and mug handles on your desk are pointing to the right– the way you need it to be– in case the night janitors move any out of place?”

“Or that he never really ate lunch in the office before but started bringing sandwiches and other food he could microwave, while timing his lunches with yours presumably so he could strike up a conversation with you during break?” 

“Or do you remember that one time the AC in the bullpen broke and we were all sweating badly, and I said the heat was making me too thirsty then he disappeared into his office and came back with a bottle of water and an orange juice box only to give it to you?” 

Morgan lets out a loud laugh at that one while Reid pouts playfully, “I mean I was genuinely dying then.” 

Not without his own input, Morgan smiles softly at you with a raised brow “Did you know he personally restocks your favorite hot chocolate in the pantry and on the jet? Including the marshmallows.” 

You breathe in deeply, the revelations sounding too good to be true but winding nonetheless. You crack a small joke, trying to play it off “And I thought the bureau was just feeling really generous.” 

The two, who have grown to be such brothers, give you the exact same look of Really? 

As Reid rounds the table to go back and stand by the board, Morgan catches your attention and holds your eye, “Look, there’s so much more, kid. But they all point to the same thing.” He says this as softly as possible, as if to not scare you away. 

You let out a soft, breathy laugh. Shaking your head, “That just can’t be true.” 

With all three of your backs to the door, you don’t notice Rossi nearing. You just suddenly hear his voice from behind, rounding the table and settling the coffee cups in front of all of you, “Coffee, anyone?” 

As if trapped in the null of the previous conversation, you’re still looking at Morgan as you lean back in your chair, slumping further to seek non-existent cover. Reid, who is now back in his own world with the board, is handed a cup by Rossi, who didn’t even turn to look- only stretching out an arm to receive it and mumbling a distracted “Thanks.”  

Rossi, who is simply too smart for his own good, impressively senses something hanging in the air, nonchalantly asking about the tailend of a conversation he was not supposed to hear, “So… what can’t be true?” 

Back to lounging excessively on a chair that is a tad too tiny for him, with legs outstretched and feet on the corner on the table– Morgan spouts, “That she’s Hotch’s girl, and has no reason to be jealous of Seaver– who by the way needs the HR orientation more than Penelope and I.” 

-

Now– all of your backs are to the door except Rossi’s. Not one of you tried to move due to fatigue, let alone look.

Unbeknownst to you, Morgan, and Reid, on the way back to the precinct from the hotel, Hotch had the genius thought of picking up Rossi so the latter wouldn’t have to walk a block with trays of coffee on hand.

Hotch and Rossi arrived together. And as Rossi went around the table to give you your cups of coffee, Hotch stayed behind– leaning on the doorframe with arms crossed, watching you and the team.

Imagine his surprise, hearing what Morgan just said. His heart skipped a beat, his stomach dropped. His entire being froze entirely.. What? Jealous? 

In his mind, he had two choices: Act like he didn’t hear it and save you from embarrassment or use it to his advantage and make his intentions clear..ish. 

-

You gasp loudly at his bluntness– and in front of Rossi! Straightening in your chair and pointing an accusatory finger at Morgan, “You little– I am NOT jealous! and I am NOT Hotch’s–” 

Cut off by someone loudly clearing their throat from behind all of you, you all freeze, including Reid who hasn’t been actively paying attention until now. 

The hair on your neck stands up as you hear the nearing footsteps, already envisioning digging your own grave in your head when finally, Hotch is standing right beside you. 

You’re all still pretty frozen, save from the slow movement which is your eyes slowly lifting its gaze to the man in question until they meet his hazel orbs. He holds your stare as he leans on the desk, arms straining in his shirt– 

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Rossi fighting a smile, and just as you’re about to mentally curse him in your head, you’re broken out of your thoughts by a deep voice, 

“You don’t think you’re my girl?” 

[seonghwadyke]

[girllblogging777]

IN WHICH spencer proudly shows off his wife at the BAU

౨ৎ⋆˚࿔ “that’s my girlfriend, suckers”/“my wife, even better”

the case was tiring. it was a long, exhausting day of sitting around the briefing room with the rest of the team. you were trying to stay awake, observing emily who was sitting at her usual spot next to you, and penelope on your left. frantically tapped on her keyboard.

all of you were racking your brains as you went over the documents for what felt like the hundredth time. but thanks to you, after a couple of hours and coffee refills, it was finally done.

you did it. you cracked the code. you saw the tiny detail no one did, causing everyone to finally let out a relieved breath when you explained your much plausible hypothesis.

“i don’t know what we’d do without you, pretty girl” said derek when you finished rambling, allowing himself to stretch out his arms to release the pent up tension.

you just smiled, and spencer’s eyes locked with yours from the other side of the room. he was grinning goofily, dimples showing. surprisingly, he wasn’t even slightly disappointed by the fact that he wasn’t the one to solve the case this time.

instead, he cheered happily, his hand fixing his tousled hair “that’s my girlfriend, suckers !”

but the thin silver band around your finger reflected the sunlight streaming in the room as you put the files down, like a reminder to him and everyone else.

the whole team rolled their eyes, and you didn’t miss their shared amused glances, aw well as the way rossi rolled his eyes. if noticing your sickeningly sweet behaviour had been fun when you two began dating, it was now a common occurrence for all your colleagues.

“your wife, spencer.”

he looked around, chuckling to himself at your correction, before a smile creeped up his face.

“my wife, even better !”

[guiltyc0nscience]

elle greenaway and spencer reid:

[scarlettjemily]

Gonna tell my kids this was One Direction

[i-get-obsessed-fast]

Under Watch

.・゜✭・. Spencer Reid x Hotch’s Daughter .・゜✭・.

Summary: A string of murders on your college campus brings your estranged father and his team to investigate. To keep you safe, he assigns Spencer Reid to watch over you.

A/N: this takes place in the season 6, I just wanted glasses Reid to be in the pics, also not proofread I will come back and correct it later :) xoxox

BYR(b4 u Reid): babysitter Reid, Strict Hotch, Murder, guns, knives, SA, semi-detailed murder description, cuss words, talks of alcohol, kidnappings, stalking, and detailed make out sesh. | hopefully I don’t forget anything!

“I’m free tonight. We can start working on the project.” You tell the guy walking beside you as you both step out of the lecture hall.

“Yeah, that works. How’s seven?” He asks, holding the door open for you.

“That should be fine.” You say with a small smile

You don’t know him well, barely noticed him until today when he’d ask if you’d be his partner. But before the conversation could continue, a voice cuts through the noise of campus.

“Y/n!”

You turn, scanning the crowd until your eyes land on him. Your father stands in the middle of the quad, his team beside him. The weight of their stares settles over you.

Your brows furrow as you step toward them.

“Why are you here?” The words come out sharper than you intend, but you don’t back down.

Your father’s expression hardens. “You don’t know? Do you not stay informed on what happens around you?”

His tone makes you stiffen. “Mr. Hotchner.” The dean interjects carefully, stepping forward. “We’ve chosen to keep things as contained as possible. We don’t want to incite panic among the students.”

“Not warning them is more dangerous.” Rossi counters, unimpressed.

The dean exhales. “I understand your concerns but unless you’ve run a college campus, you don’t understand the position we’re in.”

You glance past your father at his team. Faces you recognize from home but haven’t seen since you left Virginia. They watch the exchange closely, some with sympathy, others with quiet apprehension.

“What’s going on?” You finally ask.

Your father doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for your arm, his grip firm but not forceful. “Come with us.”

You were led into the campus security building, where case files are scattered across tables. Your eyes flick to a white-board in the next room, crime scene photos pinned in a neat but unsettling arrangement.

“Shut that.” his voice is sharp, and when you glance back at him, his expression his unreadable.

“We were called here because there's been a series of murders on campus. Young woman.” he says, locking eyes with you.

For the first time, you see it, the fear beneath his controlled demeanor.

You don’t know how to respond, but when he lays down three photographs, fear settles in your chest.

“Sarah Johnston, Abigail Smith, Elizabeth Adam’s.” He lists “Do you see a pattern?”

Your stomach twists. Hair color, similar build. Even the way they smiled in their photos. You and these girls resembled each other.

“Could be a coincidence,” you murmur, though you don't believe it.

“It’s not, he has a type.” he firmly says “You can't be alone on this campus. Travel in groups, carry your pepper spray, and you are not to be alone with any male students.”

You exhale, shaking your head. “I have a project to do with a guy from my class-”

“Meet in a public space, surrounded by people.” Rossi interjects.

“The library is packed, and the study rooms are booked.”

“Cancel.” your father orders. “Tell him you're sick, do it now.”

Your eyes widen. “Are you serious?”

Your father stares. That look, the one that's ended entire arguments without him saying another word. You hesitate, but your fingers move, typing the message before holding up your phone for his approval.

“Good.” he nods, then turns to Reid. “Take her to her dorm, please.”

“I can walk myself.”

He exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “Why can't you just listen for once?” his voice rises, frustration creeping in.

Your mouth opens, then snaps shut.

“What about everyone else?” you challenge, voice tight. “The girls who aren't getting warnings? The ones who don't have an agent escorting them to their dorms? This isn't fair. I'm just a student like the rest of them. I don't need your protection.”

“You don't understand, and right now, I don't care if you do.” he says, his tone final. “My only concern is getting you to your room. And you're staying there for the rest of the night. Reid, take her.”

“If it helps.” Emily adds gently, resting a hand on your shoulder. “A statement is going out today. The school is setting up hotlines, resources, and people will be warned.”

You let out a slow breath. It doesn't make you feel better. Not really.

“Fine.” you turn on your heel, heading for the door. Spencer Reid following right behind you.

The walk back to your dorm is quiet, not awkward, just silent.

When you step inside, you toss your bag onto your bed and gesture toward the other one. “You can sit there. My roommate dropped out a while ago, so no one uses it.”

Reid hesitates before sitting. “Does your dad know?”

You glance at home, confused. “Why would he?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. I just thought that’s something a father would want to know.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our relationship is… complicated.”

“Yeah.” He says, nodding slightly. “I get that.”

You eye him for a second. “You and your dad close?”

Reid shifts in his seat, before you can take it back, he says. “He left my mom and me when I was a kid.”

You frown. “I’m sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t affect me anymore.”

There’s a moment of quiet before you decide to change the subject. “I have some games. Do you like Jenga?”

That earns a small chuckle from him. “Yeah.”

You kneel beside your bed, pulling out the game. There were probably better things you could be doing, like assignments or your project, but this seemed like a better way to pass the time.

As you both set up the blocks on the floor, you smirk. “Usually when I play, my friends and I have a rule. Whoever knocks it over takes two shots.”

Reid gives you an amused look. “Are you even legal to drink?” You raise an eyebrow. “What, are you gonna tell my dad?”

He tilts his head. “Should I?”

You laugh. “I don’t think it’ll surprise him, I’m pretty sure he expects worse.”

Reid’s expression shifts slightly. “You know, your dad talks about you a lot. He’s very proud of you.” You freeze for a second. “Really?”

“Yeah.” Reid nodded.

You swallow, shifting slightly. “Huh. Didn’t know that.”

He doesn’t say anything else, instead gestures to the game. “You go first.”

The game begins, each turn making the tower more unsteady. Eventually, Spencer study’s the blocks carefully, trying to find a safe one to pull.

“This is getting difficult.” He mutters, eyes narrowed.

You laugh, watching as he finally picks one and pushes it, only for the entire tower to collapse.

“Shit.” He murmurs under his breath causing your eyes to widen. “Did you just cuss?” You teased.

Reid shakes his head with a smirk, while you get up and dig through your closet. When you return, you hold up a bottle. “Two shots?”

His eyes practically pop out of their sockets. “I’m working.” You scrunch your face. “Is it really called working when you’re watching an adult?”

“I’m still on duty.” He argues. “Your dad would fire me.”

You roll your eyes. “My dad loves you. But fine Spencer, be lame.” Before he could reply, there’s a knock at the door. You both glance at each other.

“I got it, " you say, heading toward the door forgetting there was a killer on the loose and Spencer Reid wasn’t in your room to play games.

Spencer moves ahead of you. “I’ll get it.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument. You step back as he opens the door.

Standing there is Eli, the guy from your class.

“Oh, uh… is y/n here?” Eli asks, looking past Spencer. You step forward going to the door. “Eli? What are you doing here?”

“I saw your message. Just wanted to check on you.” He says, then glances at the bottle in your hand. His lips twitch into a smirk. “Having a party?”

You quickly lower the bottle. “No, I was just-no.” You stutter.

Eli raises an eyebrow. “You don’t look sick.”

You sigh. “Yeah…I’m not. I just can’t do the project tonight. I’m sorry.” Eli glances between you and Reid before nodding slowly. “Yeah, I get it.”

Silence lingers between the three of you. It’s awkward.

“Wait.” You ask suddenly. “How did you find my room?”

“Lisa.” He answers quickly. “I asked her.”

You nod, but something about it feels… off. You glance at Spencer, who’s watching Eli closely, brows drawn together like he’s analyzing something.

Eli clears his throat. “Well, I’ll let you guys be. Let me know when we can start the project.”

“Yeah, I will.” You say, before shutting the door.

You turn to Spencer. “That was awkward.” He nodded. “Is that your friend?”

“No. Barely know him. Just a project partner.” You say.

“Hmm.” Spencer’s eyes narrow slightly, his expression unreadable. You raise an eyebrow. “What?”

“Nothing.” He says, but there’s a trace of suspicion in his voice. “You just can’t be too sure about people.”

You nod. “Do you think the unsub will be caught tonight?” He exhales, his lips pressing together in thought. “I’m not sure. So far, he hasn’t left much evidence behind.”

“How does he do it?” You ask, curiosity outweighing your nerves. Spencer hesitates. “I don’t think your dad would appreciate me telling you.”

You cross your arms. “Well, I don’t think that’s my dad’s choice.”

He sighs, clearly understanding your frustration. After a moment, he finally gives in.

“He stalks them.” Spencer says, his voice lower now. “He waits until they’re alone, takes them somewhere secluded. He hurts them… bad. And then he.” His jaw tightens before finishing. “He assaults them. It’s brutal y/n. That’s why Hotch is so worried.”

Your breath catches. His gaze is firm, searching yours, waiting for a reaction. And for a second, you don’t know what to say. You had meant what you said to your dad about it not being fair, but hearing this… it makes you feel something else.

“If he stalks them, does that make his killings far apart?” You ask, your voice quieter now.

Spencer nods. “He’s projected to strike again in a few days, but we are trying to prevent that. He only keeps his victims for a few hours, but he takes his time choosing them. He studies them.”

Goosebumps rise along your arms, and suddenly, the walls of your dorm feel too close. “I need air.”

Spencer watches you for a moment before offering. “Well can walk around?”

You nod.

The two of you walk with no destination, the sky shifting into soft oranges and purples as the sun starts to set. The air is cooler now, and the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable.

“So.” Spencer finally says, breaking the quiet. “How are you liking college?”

You glance at him, appreciating his efforts. “It’s been good. A lot of people to meet, a lot of things to do.”

He nods. “When I was in college, I didn’t really… do much.” You let out a small laugh. “Weren’t you, like, fourteen?”

He smirks. “Yeah. That might have had something to do with it.” You tilt your head. “What’s it like? Being that smart?”

Spencer thinks for a moment before answering. “Uh- I don’t know. Sometimes it’s good. Other times it feels like… too much. Even for myself.”

“Must be exhausting.” You murmur

“Can be.” He admits.

The wind picks up slightly, and you shiver without meaning to. You mentally curse yourself for not bringing a jacket.

Spencer notices. without a word, he shrugs off his own. “Here. Take mine.”

You shake your head. “What? No, it’s cold. You need it.”

“I was starting to feel hot in it anyway.” He says, holding it out to you. You narrow your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar, Spencer.”

He doesn’t argue. Instead, he just steps closer and drapes the jacket over your shoulders himself, his hands brushing against you for just a second longer than necessary.

You blink up at him, caught off guard.

“Now you have to take it.�� He says simply.

You huff but pull it tighter around yourself, the fabric warm. “Fine.” Spencer smirks, satisfied.

You glance down, smiling softly. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He replied, giving you the same soft smile, and with that you both continued walking.

The conversation mostly consisting of Spencer throwing out random facts.

Just as he finished explaining why flamingoes stand on one leg, you glanced down and noticed your shoelace had come undone.

“Damn.” You muttered

Before you could react, Spencer crouched down without hesitation, his long fingers grabbing the laces. He tied them quickly, but his movements were gentle, careful.

You swallowed, feeling a rush of warmth crawl up your neck. It was a simple sweet gesture.

“Thanks.” You murmured.

He looked up at you, his eyes catching yours for just a second too long before he stood back up. You cleared your throat, motioning toward a nearby bench.

The two of you sat down, silence setting over for a brief moment before you turned toward him. “So, Spencer, do you have a girlfriend?”

The question clearly caught him off guard. His capture stiffened slightly, and he glanced at you, one eyebrow raised. “Uh-no. Why?”

You shrugged. “Because you do all these nice little things. Feels like there has to be a girl.”

He shook his head. “No girlfriend.”

“Hmm.” You tilted your head, studying him. “That’s surprising.” Spencer gave you a skeptical look. “Why?”

“Because.” You said simply, “You’re sweet. You’re smart.” Then, without much thought, you reached up and lightly brushed your fingers through his hair. “And you’re pretty good-looking.”

The reaction was instant. His whole face turned red, his lips parting slightly as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. Even his ears betrayed him, turning an adorable shade of pink.

“I-I just… I don’t know.” He stammered. “I’m busy, I guess.”

“Yeah.” You hummed, leaning back against the bench. Then, he smirked slightly, his confidence suddenly returning. “Why do you care?”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself, Spencer. I’m just nosey, must be genetic.”

“Right.” He said, nodding as if he didn’t believe you for a second. You narrowed your eyes at him, amused by his boldness. Before you could stop yourself, you turned the question back on him.

“Well, do you think I have a boyfriend?”

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment before shrugging. “I don’t know. Do you?”

“Yeah.” You answered casually, watching as his smirk faltered for just a second. His expression was unreadable, but you caught the small shift, the way his shoulders tensed, the way his fingers curled slightly against his lap.

“Oh. I didn’t know that.” He said

You let the silence hang for a bit too long before grinning. “I’m joking, Spencer. I don’t have one.”

He exhaled, shaking his head as he turned toward you, unimpressed. “Yeah, I think I can see why.”

You gasped, shoving his shoulder slightly. “Wow. Sassy.”

Spencer just laughed, and you found yourself staring at him a little too long, watching the way his smile softened his features.

Then, almost instinctively, the teasing faded. The space between you seemed smaller. His gaze flickering to your lips, so quick you almost thought you imagined it.

Your heart picked up speed.

“You know.” You said, your voice lower now. “For someone who’s never had a girlfriend, you sure don’t suck at flirting.”

Spencer’s eyes darkened with amusement. “Who says I’m flirting?” You arched a brow. “Oh, so you just tie everyone’s shoes for them, and hand out your coat?”

He smirked but didn’t answer. Instead, he shifted just slightly toward you.

Neither of you spoke, but something was different now, he was watching you in a way he hadn’t before, like he was debating something.

And then, before you could overthink it, you leaned in first. He met you halfway.

The kiss was slow at first, hesitant, like neither of you wanted to acknowledge it was happening. But then Spencer’s hand found your jaw, his touch delicate, and suddenly, it wasn’t hesitant anymore.

Your fingers curled around the fabric of his button up, pulling him just a little closer, feeling the warmth of him against you.

Spencer’s lips moved against yours with surprising confidence, his fingers firm against your jaw as he deepened the kiss. His tongue traced the seam of your lips, pleading for entrance, and you don’t hesitate to grant it.

A quiet sigh escaped you, your hands instinctively tightening around the fabric of his shirt.

“Spencer.” You breathed between kisses, your voice barely more than a whisper.

His lips left your mouth only to find the curve of your jaw, then lower, pressing hot, open mouthed kisses along your neck. The contrast was dizzying.

The Spencer you knew, the one who rattled off statistics and fidgeted when people stood too close felt miles away from the one currently leaving a trail of heat against your skin.

Had you really been gone that long?

Deep down, a part of you had always wondered about him.

You’d always thought he was cute. He was different from you in almost every way. Careful where you are reckless, and logical where you are impulsive.

Maybe that was why you found yourself so drawn to him.

His hands moved from your jaw to your throat, his fingers grazing lower, trailing down your body until they landed on your waist. His touch was warm, grounding.

You weren’t sure if you were pulling him closer or if he was the one doing it, but the space between you two was practically nonexistent.

Then, suddenly, he stiffened.

Spencer pulled back so fast it left you breathless, his wide eyes darting around. “Did you hear that?”

You blinked, still dazed. “What?”

“I think I heard something.” His body tensed, one hand instinctively resting on his gun as he stood, scanning the area.

You quickly straightened, glancing around. The campus was quiet, the only sound being the distant hum of crickets and rustling leaves from the breeze.

“Maybe we should head back.” You suggested, still trying to catch your breath.

Spencer nodded, but not before his gaze flickered back to you, his lips slightly swollen from the kiss you’d just shared.

“Yeah.” He said, his voice quieter now. “It’s late.”

The both of you walk back in silence, both thinking about the actions that took place a moment ago.

As you finally reach your dorm, something on the floor catches your eye. A pink envelope.

Spencer notices it too, his sharp gaze narrowing. Without hesitation, he bends down to grab it. “It just has your name.” He says, his voice low. He hands it over, and you take it.

You open it without thinking much, assuming it’s some harmless note. But the moment you pull out what’s inside, a wave of fear washes over you.

“Oh my god.”

Your voice trembles as your fingers clutch the two Polaroid photos. The first is of you and Spencer kissing. His hand cupping your jaw, the image capturing the undeniable intimacy of the moment.

The second photo was when Spencer was scanning the area after hearing a strange noise, his hand on his gun. Someone had been watching. Someone had been right there.

You shove the photos toward Spencer. His expression hardens as he studies them, brows furrowing deeply. He looked furious.

“We have to give these to the team.” He says firmly.

“No, it’s probably just a prank.” You argue, though your voice is weak. You’re desperate to convince yourself, but even you don’t believe it.

Spencer shakes his head. “We can’t be too sure. I’m sorry.” He apologizes as he slides the photos back into the envelope.

You swallow hard, the weight of it all crashing down. “My dad’s going to be upset.”

Spencer steps toward you, his fingers brushing the strands of your hair behind your ear. “It’s going to be alright.” He assures you.

Your eyes scan him, and you can see guilt flashing across his face. You know he feels responsible, and you can’t help but feel the same.

Without another word, he pulls out his phone. “We have something that might be connected.” He says into the receiver, his voice clipped. “Alright. We’ll be on our way.”

The walk to campus security is silent, the dread growing heavier with every step. When you arrive, your father is already there, his signature stoic expression barely concealing his concern.

“What is it?” He asks, striding toward you both.

You and Spencer exchange a quick, uneasy glance. Spencer hands him the envelope.

Your father opens the envelope, his eyes flickering over the contents. The tension in the room is unbearable. You swear you can hear Spencer’s heartbeat.

“What is this?” Hotch’s voice is low, but the restrained anger is clear. His gaze shifts to you, demanding answers.

“They were taken of us… not too long ago.” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn't respond immediately. The weight of his silence is crushing.

“So, I send an agent to watch over you, and instead, you make him go against orders. You kiss him while a murderer is on the loose, on your campus, targeting girls.” his words cut through you.

“I-I know. I'm sorry.” you stammer, instinctively glancing at Spencer. “It was my fault.”

But Spencer immediately shakes his head. “No it wasn’t. I’m the one that didn’t follow orders, it’s not her fault.”

“I don’t care whose fault it is. You both had orders, and you failed to comply.” He looks directly at Spencer. “Reid, join JJ. Now.”

Spencer hesitates, clearly torn, but nods. He gives you one last glance before walking away.

“Y/n.” Your father’s voice lowers. “We need to talk.”

You follow him into an empty room, the door clicking shut behind you. The air is thick with unspoken words. You brace yourself, expecting the worst. But when your father finally speaks, it isn’t the scolding you anticipated.

“Do you think you might know who took these?” His tone is calm, but his eyes remain sharp.

You’re caught off guard. “No. I don’t.”

“Think y/n. Is there anyone - someone you’ve been seeing? Someone who might have been watching you?”

You rack your brain, the panic making it hard to focus. “There’s… Eli. The guy I’m working on a project with. He came by to check on me, but that’s really the only person I’ve talked to.”

Your father nods, processing. “And your roommate, do you think she seems like the type to give out your whereabouts? Does she seem untrustworthy?”

You shake your head. “I don’t have one.”

His jaw tightens. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

“I didn’t think it was important.” You admit, your voice small.

“You didn’t think it was important to tell me you were alone in your dorm? That was the one thing I take comfort in while you are away, knowing there was someone else there.”

“I’m sorry.” You whisper.

His expression softens just a fraction, but the frustration is still evident. “We’ll talk about this later. Right now, I need to question Eli. What class?”

“Psychology.” You say

He gives you a short nod and turns to leave. You follow him out, but the tension lingers.

“Garcia can you look through the schools files for an Eli, a class he takes is psychology with y/n.” He says on the phone.

“I don’t think it’s him.” You say quietly. “I’ve barely seen him around.”

“And that.” Derek interjects, stepping beside you, “Makes him even more suspicious.”

Emily nods in agreement. “If he’s the unsub, he could’ve been targeting you. Sudden appearances aren’t always coincidences.”

You sigh, and take a seat in one of the chairs, the weight of everything pressing down on you. Despite the hum of voices around you, exhaustion wins. Your eyes fluttered close, and before you realize it, sleep over takes you.

“Okay, Garcia gave me the location of Eli’s apartment.” Your dad’s stern voice snaps you awake. “Morgan and JJ, come with me. Prentiss and Rossi, stay here and keep an eye on them.”

Blinking the sleep from your eyes, you sit up. “What’s going on?”

Your father doesn’t answer, already halfway through to door. Emily steps closer, her expression a mixture of concern and relief. “They found Eli’s apartment. But, y/n … Eli was never enrolled in your class.”

Your stomach dropped. “What?”

“He’s been sneaking in.” She says softly. “Pretending to be a student. We think he’s been watching you for a while.”

You stare at her, the words sinking in. Your pulse races as the realization hits. “Oh my god.”

“It’s becoming clear that you were most likely one of his next victims.” Rossi joins in, their eyes both full of empathy.

“But he seemed so…” you trail off, struggling to find the right word. Normal doesn’t feel right. Not now.

“I know.” Emily says, nodding. “It’s difficult. But we’re close to figuring this out. You’re safe now.”

You swallow, the reassurance barely easing your nerves. Rossi lays a reassuring hand on your should giving it a gentle squeeze “It’s going to be okay kid.” He says you nodded and watched as he walked away.

You sit back down, gathering the information you’ve just been told.

Just as the heavy silence settles in, Emily tilts her head, smirking slightly. “That’s a nice sweater.”

Confused, you glance down. It’s only then you remember, Spencer’s sweater. The sleeves are a little long, the faint scent of his cologne lingering.

“Oh. Uh it’s not mine.” You mumble, tugging at the hem. Emily’s smirk deepens. “I know.”

Without another word, she stands and walks toward one of the other rooms, leaving you with your thoughts. You let out a long breath, rubbing your hands over your face. The stress is unbearable.

“Here.” Spencer’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. He holds out a cup of coffee, his fingers brushing yours as you take it.

“Thank you.” You murmur, the warmth of the cup grounding you, he gave you a soft warm smile. “I’m sorry Spencer.” You apologize.

His eyes scan your face. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

You blink at him. “You’re acting as if I didn’t kiss you back.” He says. Heat creeps up your neck. “I just feel like this is my fault.” You admit, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re stuck here instead of searching Eli’s apartment. Emily having to babysit now. And all because-”

“Because we went for a walk?” Spencer finishes, raising an eyebrow. “And kissed? You do realize that without that walk, and that kiss, we probably wouldn’t have gotten this close to catching him.”

His words sink in. The guilt that’s been gnawing at you lessens, just a little.

“So in some weird, messed-up way.” He continues, his voice softer. “It’s a good thing.”

You manage a small smile. “I guess.”

Spencer’s grin grows, and for a second, the tension in the air lightens. “Well, I should get out of here before Emily comes back.”

“Probably a good idea.”

With one last lingering look, he turns and heads out. The warmth of the moment fades as the waiting continues. Minutes pass, then thirty. You sip the last of your coffee, anxiety prickling beneath your skin.

The sudden sound of the door opening draws your attention. Your father and Morgan stride inside, and between them, handcuffed and smirking, is Eli.

“Prentiss, Reid.” Hotch says, his voice sharp. “Join JJ at Eli’s apartment. She’s going through it now.”

Spencer and Emily don’t waste a second, slipping out of the building. You barely register them leaving, your focus locked on Eli. He walks past you, and despite the restraints, his presence feels suffocating.

“It’s not over.” He evilly smiles as the words left his mouth, your blood runs cold.

“Don’t speak to her!” Your father snaps, his voice booming. In an instant, Hotch has Eli shoved against the wall, his face pressed hard against the surface.

You flinch, heart stammering. Eli only laughs. The sound sends a shiver down your spine.

“y/n.” Morgan’s voice is calm but firm as he steps closer. “If you need anything, we’re here. Don’t go anywhere alone. Got it?”

You nod, barely able to find your voice. “Got it.”

Morgan gives you a reassuring nod before following your father into the makeshift interrogation room. You’re left there, your mind racing. Emily’s words from earlier echo in your head.

“You’re safe now”

You want to believe that, but with Eli’s words burned into your memory, it’s hard to feel safe at all.

After what felt like hours, you made your way to the restroom, you splash cold water on your face, the droplets sliding down your skin as you brace your hands on the sink.

The reflection staring back at you is pale and exhausted, the weight of everything visible in your eyes. You close them for a moment, willing the lingering feeling to disappear.

But then, the sound of a lock clicking behind you jolts you awake.

Your heart leaps as you whip around. A man stands in the front of the door, his expression twisted with excitement. He’s holding a gun, the metallic glint catching the harsh bathroom light.

“We’re going to do this the easy way, okay Claire?” His voice is disturbingly calm, like he’s rehearsed these words a thousand times.

“Claire?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m not Claire.”

But he doesn’t listen. He steps forward, his grip tightening around the gun. You instinctively back away.

“It’s okay.” He soothes, though his eyes are wild. “I’m not going to hurt you. I just want you with me.”

He’s closing in now, his body looming. You can feel the panic rising, your chest tightening. Every part of you screams to run, but the barrel of the gun hovers dangerously close.

“Let’s go home, Claire.”

The words send a chill down your spine. You open your mouth to scream, but before you can make a sound, the gun is at your temple. The cold steel sends a shock through you.

“We’re going to be quiet, okay?” He growls, his lips brushing against your ear. “Don’t make me shoot you, I don’t want to hurt you.”

Your pulse pounds. You can feel his erratic breathing, the tension in the air thick and suffocating. Every instinct tells you to fight, to scream, but you don’t.

“Okay.” You force out, your voice trembling.

He grabs your arm, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you towards the door. Each step is slow, calculated. He cracks the door open, peering down the empty hallway. You silently pray that someone will come, your dad, Morgan, Rossi, anyone.

But the hall remains empty.

No one sees.

No one hears.

And then, he’s dragging you through the exit.

——

Back in the interrogation room, Eli sits slouched in the chair, a smug grin plastered across his face.

“You’re making a mistake.” He taunts, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

Rossi narrowed his eyes. “A mistake?”

Eli nods, chuckling to himself. “I knew you’d come. That’s why I was home. You’re too predictable. And while you’re all in here wasting time on me…” he leans forward, savoring every word. “No one’s watching your daughter.”

The room shifts in an instant. The air turns cold. Hotch’s face darkens, fear flashing through his eyes.

“Morgan, Rossi. Stay here.” Hotch orders, his voice sharp. Without another word, he storms out. His movements are frantic, searching every corner of the building. Empty chairs, empty hallways. The tension grows unbearable.

“Where the hell is she?” He demands, slamming his fists on the table when he returns. The sound echoes through the room.

Eli simply smirks. “I don’t know.”

——

The van jerks violently as the man speeds through the dark streets. Your wrists ache from the rope biting into your skin, and the duct tape over your mouth muffles your desperate pleads.

He’s erratic, mumbling to himself as he drives. You pray for the sight of flashing police lights, for anyone who might notice how reckless he’s being. But the roads remain empty.

After what feels like eternity, the van screeches to a stop.

“We’re here.” He announces, giddy like a child on Christmas morning.

He yanks open the back doors, his rough hands grabbing at you. You scream, the sound muffled and desperate. You kick, pounding your fists against his back as he hauls you over his shoulder. But it doesn’t faze him.

The air shifts as he carries you inside. The stench is unbearable, a rancid mixture of mildew, rot, and something metallic. The walls are stained, rust creeping across the cracked concrete. Water pools around the floor, dark and slick.

He dumps you onto the ground, the impact knocking the air from your lungs. Before you can react, he pulls a heavy chain from the corner, the rusted links clinking together.

“This is so you don’t try and leave like the others.” He sneers

The chain clamps around your neck, the padlock snapping shut. The weight is suffocating, restricting your movements to only a few feet. You twist and pull, but it’s useless.

He crouches in front of you, his grin wide with satisfaction. “We’re finally together, Claire. Just like I promised.”

Tears burn your eyes as you stare at him, your heart continues to pound violently. The panic threatens to consume you, but you fight it. You have to stay calm. You have to find a way out.

But as he watches you with twisted delight, the truth sinks in. No one knows where you are.

The tape rips from your mouth, the sting sharp against your skin. You gasp, your chest heaving, but before you can speak, the man crouches in front of you, his eyes wild and desperate.

“Before we continue, Claire.” He says, his voice low and deliberate “I need you to be truthful.”

Your glare sharpens, every nerve in your body screaming to fight. “I’m not Claire, you psycho! Let me go!”

The words barely leave your lips before his hands snap to your face, gripping your chin tightly. The veins in his neck bulge with fury.

“You are Claire!”

His trembling hand digs into his pocket, pulling out a worn photo. He shoves it into your view. “This is us, Claire! Before you decided to leave!”

The woman in the photo has your face, or almost. The same features, the same hair.

“That’s not me.” You whisper, shaking your head.

“You always like to lie!” He growls, his voice cracking. He finally lets go, pushing you back against the cold wall as he paces, running his free hand through his greasy hair.

Then he stops.

“Who was that guy?” His voice drops, seething. “The scrawny agent. Why were you with him?”

You blink, confused. “What?”

His teeth clench. “Why did you let him touch you?” He snarls. “Why did you let him look at you like that?!”

He’s talking about Spencer.

“No, no.” You stammer, your pulse racing. “He’s no one. You don’t have to worry about him.”

But it’s too late. The idea is planted, festering in his mind. He shakes his head, a bitter grin twisting his lips.

“I need him here.” He says, his voice trembling with conviction. “I’m going to bring him here.”

“No!” You cry, panic lacing your voice. “You don’t need him! You have me!”

“You need to help me, Claire!” He pleads, crouching down once more. His eyes are wide, frantic. “You have to get him here.”

Tears burn your eyes as you shake your head. “I can't do that.”

He reaches forward, his rough thumb swiping a tear from your cheek. “Don’t cry, darling. It's going to be okay.”

But it won't be.

“Tell me the number.” his voice cracks, dangerous edge creeping in. “I wont.” you whisper.

His hand snaps to his belt, pulling out a small knife. The light catches the dull blade.

“Why are you making me do this?!” he roars, the knife flashing. Before you can move, the cold steel slices across your arm. The pain is immediate, searing. You scream, clutching at the bleeding wound.

——

“Y/n is missing.”

JJ’s words hit like a bullet. Spencer’s heart drops.

“What?” He breathes, his voice sharp. “How? Someone was supposed to be watching her.”

“We don’t know, but Hotch needs us.”

Without another thought, they leave Eli’s apartment and rush back to campus. Spencer’s mind races, his breath short. This can’t be happening.

Emily and JJ make their way into the building but before Spencer reaches the door behind them, his phone rings.

His hands fumble as he answers.

“Hello?”

“Spencer.” Your voice quivers on the other end. “It’s me.”

His chest tightens. “Y/n! Where are you? Hold on! Let me get Hotch.”

“No!” Your voice cracks. “Spencer, don’t. Please… just come. He wants you here, and he says he’ll hurt me if you bring the team.”

“Y/n.” Spencer runs a trembling hand through his hair, panic gripping him.

“Come unarmed.” You whisper. “The address is 3840 Cherry road.”

The line crackles. And then-

“Don’t come, Spencer! Please!”

A sickening thud enters through the phone, your muffled cries follow.

“y/n!” Spencer shouts, his voice breaking. But there’s no answer.

The line goes dead.

His hands shake as he scribbles the address onto a scrap of paper, dropping it where someone will find it. Without another word, he bolts for the SUV.

——

The building looms ahead, rotting, desolate. Spencer moves quickly, his steps silent. The walls are damp, stained with water and time. The stench of mold lingers.

Then he sees you. Sitting against a wall, your head hanging low.

“Y/n.” He gasps, rushing to your side. Blood stains your lips, your nose, and a fresh cut marks your cheek. You’re barely conscious, your head lolling.

“Spencer?” You murmur, your voice weak. But as your eyes adjust, terror flashes across your face.

“No.” You whisper, your hands weakly pushing him away. “Why did you come? I told you not to.”

Before Spencer can respond, a voice rings out.

“Stop touchin’ her.”

Spencer freezes. You both turn, dread pulling in your stomach. The man stands, his eyes blazing with fury.

He lunges, grabbing Spencer and shoving him to the ground, he then pulls out a gun.

“You don’t want to do this.” Spencer says, his hands raised. “We can talk.”

“Why were you with Claire?” The man’s voice booms, echoing through the building. “She doesn’t want you! She wants me!”

“Claire?” Spencer asks cautiously, trying to keep him talking. “Don’t say her name!”

“You want the truth?” Spencer’s voice is steady now, his eyes never leaving the gun. “She doesn’t want you. She never did.”

You stare at him in shock, wondering if he’s gone crazy.

“She wants me.” Spencer presses, his voice low “She doesn’t want you.”

“Do you want me to explain more of what we did?, what you didn’t get to see?” Spencer asked. “What is he talking about?” The unsub asked as he made his way towards you angrily. “You slut!” He spat in your face, but before he could strike you a gunshot echos.

The man in front of you crumbles, blood stains his chest. His eyes go wide, and the life drains from him.

You gasp, and look to see Spencer standing, his gun drawn, chest heaving.

He rushes to get the keys out of the pockets of the dead man, then to you unlocking the chain from your neck, and untying your wrists. The moment you’re free, you collapse into his arms.

“It’s okay.” He whispers, holding you tightly, his hand going up and down your back. “You’re safe now.”

You cling to him, sobbing. “I was so scared.”

“I know.” Spencer breathes, his voice breaking. “I’m sorry.”

The sound of footsteps echo. “They’re in here!” Morgan’s voice rings out.

Hotch bursts through the doors, his eyes locking onto you and Spencer. You let go of Spencer and make your way towards your dad, stumbling, but he needs you halfway and catches you in his arms, tightly pulling you against him.

He was scared to let you go, scared you’d disappear.

“I’m so sorry.” He whispers, his voice thick with guilt.

You shook your head not wanting to hear his apologies, you were just thankful to be able to see him again.

“I want to go home.” You whisper, your tears soaking into his shirt.

Hotch’s hand gently cups your face, his fingers tracing the cuts. He nods, his voice trembling.

“We’ll go home, baby.”

——

1 month later…

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and stepped into the familiar hum of the BAU office. Jacks small hand gripped yours tightly while the other held a plate of cookies, still warm from the oven. As you passed through the glass doors, a wave of familiar faces greeted you, their smiles wide with excitement.

“Y/n!” JJ’s voice rang out first, her arms already reaching for you. She pulled you into a tight hug, swaying you slightly before Emily joined in.

“I was wondering when we’d get a visit!” Emily grinned, her dark eyes bright.

“Yeah, I would’ve come sooner but-”

“But I told her to stay home and rest.” Your dad cut in, his voice warm as he appeared beside you. Jack immediately wiggled free to run into his arms.

“Makes sense, recovery is important.” Rossi added, his fatherly tone laced with relief.

“Yeah, but it could’ve been worse.” You said, shrugging. “I’m just glad I healed up so quickly.”

“We all are, kid.” Derek said, squeezing your shoulder. His easy grin was one you’d miss.

“And what do we have here?” Penelope asked, her bright eyes locked on the plate in your hands.

“Cookies.” You answered, holding the plate up. “I wanted to thank you all. For everything. For helping me.”

A chorus of “Aww’s” and “Yay’s” echoed through the bullpen, and you set the plate on the nearest desk as the team eagerly grabbed a treat. Your father’s arms wrapped around your shoulders, his grip, strong and steady.

“Thank you.” He said softly, his voice just for you.

you met his gaze, the tension that had once existed between you now barely a shadow. “Thank you, dad. I wouldn’t be here without you. I’m sorry for how things were before. But I’m glad we’re…better now.”

His eyes softened, and he kissed the top of your head, a rare display of affection that made your chest ache in the best possible way.

As the others laughed and chatted, you scanned the room instinctively. And there he was.

Through the glass walls of an office, Spencer Reid stood, his tall frame slightly hunched as he watched you. His eyes met yours, warm and hesitant. Without thinking, you smiled. He moved towards you, his steps quick.

“Y/n.” He said

“Spencer.” The way his name left your lips felt far too easy. “How are you feeling? Are you- are you okay?” His voice was careful, but the concern was evident.

“I’m good. Really good.” You reassured him, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Better than ever, actually.”

His smile mirrored yours, though his eyes lingered on you like he was still checking for any sign of pain. “That’s…that’s good. I’m happy to hear that.”

“You should grab a cookie before Morgan eats the whole plate.” You joked, tilting your head toward the group. “yeah, I probably should.” He laughed softly, but he didn’t move.

His gaze held yours, something unspoken passing between you.

“How about you? How’ve you been?” you asked, shifting slightly closer. “Oh, you know. Same old routine,” he said with a small shrug. “Books. Cases. A lot of facts no one asked for.”

You grinned. “Still no girlfriend then?”

His eyes widened, and he stammered. “Uh, no. No girlfriend.”

“Shame.” You teased. “I finally turn twenty-one tomorrow, you know. So if you’re free we can finally have that drink you denied me last time at my dorm.”

He blinked, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “You remember that?”

“Of course I do.” You grinned. “And now you don’t have an excuse.”

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I’d like that a lot.”

“Good.” You lingered on the word, savoring how his cheeks turned reddened.

“I could pick you up.” He offered quickly. “If you want.”

“Perfect.” You nodded. “I live with my dad now, so just come by.”

“You moved back to Virginia?”

“Yeah, I transferred. It’s… nice being here. I didn’t realize how much I missed it until I came back.”

“I’m glad you’re back.” Spencer said softly. “Maybe we can, uh, hang out more.”

You tilted your head, biting back a grin. “I’d like that. A lot.”

“Cool.” His voice cracked slightly, and the way his eyes flickered down to the floor only made him more endearing.

“Cool.” You echoed playfully, reaching for his hand. “But first, cookies!”

You tugged him gently, his hand gently squeezed yours, neither of you said anything, but the warmth lingered.

You and Jack stayed a bit longer, but the team eventually had to get back to work. With a few more laughs and lingering hugs, it was time to go.

“Well, it was nice seeing you guys,” you said, gripping Jack’s small hand. “Don’t be a stranger!” Penelope called with a wide grin.

“You’re always welcome,” Emily added. “And next time, bring cupcakes,” Rossi teased, flashing his signature smirk.

You laughed, the warmth of their affection lingering. “I will. Promise.”

After waving goodbye, you led Jack through the glass doors and out to the parking lot. Once you reached your car, you carefully buckled him into the backseat, ensuring he was comfortable.

“y/n.”

You froze, the sound of your name stirring something electric inside you. Turning, you saw Spencer walking toward you, his long strides closing the distance quickly. Before you could even process it, his hands cupped your jaw, fingers tracing the delicate lines of your face. And then, his lips were on yours.

It was sudden, desperate. His mouth moved against yours, soft and warm, but the urgency behind it set your skin on fire. The faint scent of his cologne mixed with the crisp air, and the world seemed to blur around you.

You pulled back, breathless, your wide eyes meeting his. “What was that?” you asked, though your lips still tingled from the kiss.

“I-I don’t know,” Spencer stammered, just as stunned as you were. His thumb brushed your cheek as if trying to memorize the moment. “I just felt like… I needed to do that.”

A slow smile spread across your face. “Well, I’m glad you did.”

And before he could respond, you pulled him back in. This time, it wasn’t rushed. Your hands slipped around his neck, fingertips tangling in his hair as his lips met yours once more. He responded instantly, his body pressing closer, the kiss deepening. Your tongue traced along his, and a soft, quiet groan escaped him, a sound that made warmth coil low in your stomach.

You could’ve stayed like that forever. The way he held you, the way his mouth tasted like coffee and something distinctly Spencer, it all felt intoxicating.

But then you remembered, the kid you’re responsible for in the back of your car.

“Spencer,” you murmured against his lips, reluctantly pulling away. “I have to go.”

He nodded, his forehead resting against yours. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” You smiled, brushing your fingers over his cheek. “If you’re free tonight… I’d love to come over. Maybe we can pick up where we left off.”

His eyes darkened just slightly, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “I’m free.”

“Good.”

He stepped back, but not without stealing one last lingering glance. Ever the gentleman, he opened the car door for you, waiting as you slipped inside.

“Drive safe,” he said softly, his hand still resting on the doorframe. You gave him a playful wink. “I will.”

As you pulled out of the parking lot, Jack’s voice piped up from the backseat.

“Eww.”

You caught his grin in the rearview mirror and brought a finger to your lips. “Shhh.”

He burst into laughter, and despite the embarrassment, a giddy warmth settled in your chest. . .

hope you guys love this, it took so long to write but I’m glad it’s finally finished! Lmk your thoughts<3

Thank you to everyone who reposts, and leave kind messages, you guys are the reason I continue writing! I appreciate it so much!

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@alastorssimp @sleepysongbirdsings

Check out my other works here<3

[mortalscience]

LIVE BAU REACTION:

[ddejavvu]

Could you do a criminal minds x reader where reader is viewed as super sweet and dresses brighter and stuff like Penelope but one day they have to come in like super late/by surprise so everyone is in their normal clothes and the bau sees that reader has a big ass, super cool tattoo? And they’re all surprised and stuff

You're looking less-than professional in your backless halter top when you take your seat at the round table, but no one bats an eye until you stand from the chair to leave. Hotch's call of 'Wheels up in 20' means that the room clears as everyone hunts for their gobags, and the second you turn your back to your coworkers a litany of reactions fill the space.

Of course, the most dramatic is from Garcia, but you hear enough to count all of your coworkers, except one. Hotch's brows are raised when you turn back to see them, though - apparently he's not above being startled.

"Woah, hot stuff," Prentiss calls, a grin spreading over her face, "You've got some nice ink back there!"

"I didn't know you had tattoos," JJ muses, staring at you with curious amusement like she's recalculating your image in her mind, "That's really intricate. I like it."

"Oh, it's-" You reach a hand up to stroke awkwardly over the inked skin, "I kind of forgot you'd never seen it before."

"Turn around again!" Garcia gushes, "I wanna look at it."

You spin on command, and Hotch and Rossi are kind enough not to gawp with the others, passing you on their way to the door.

"You've got guts, kid," Rossi grimaces, "I've been in a lot of pain before, but I don't know if I'd willingly sit there for all of that."

"I wouldn't," Hotch shakes his head with a good-natured smile, "Haley and I got small, matching ones in college, and I had a hard time with that one."

"Is that based off of Norse mythology?" Spencer pokes his head around your shoulder to stare bright-eyed at you, "Some of the symbols remind me of-"

"It's just a sick-ass tattoo, Reid." Morgan shoves at his shoulder. peering avidly at the art, "Don't ruin this for everyone."

Reid takes the shove like a champion, smiling kindly, albeit awkwardly at you as he moves for the door himself, "I like it."

"Thanks, Reid," You call, flinching slightly as a hand traces one of the symbols on your back.

"Ooh! Sorry, pumpkin," Garcia calls, the hand drawn away in a flash, "I got too grabby. I just think it's really cool," she takes your hand, leading you towards the door while the others follow to continue staring at your tattoo, "I'd show you my own body art, but it's not really in a spot that I can display in the workplace."

"Well this I've gotta see," Morgan teases, "Let's all huddle in the bathroom on the jet, babygirl, and see what you're hiding."

"It is not for your eyes, Derek Morgan," She huffs, though she's grinning at his attempt. The look in her eyes suggests that the tattoo is not for his eyes because it's something to do with him, and you're eager to giggle over whatever part of her body she's tatted 'babygirl' over later.

For now, though, you rifle through your gobag and shrug on a cardigan, effectively covering your back and its ink.

"It is a crying shame to cover up that artwork," Prentiss laments, "I bet it looks awesome peeking over tank tops."

"You'll see it again at the hotel," You laugh, "I have plans to use the jacuzzi before we leave."

"A jacuzzi sounds fantastic," JJ sighs, "But let's all of us agree that Morgan isn't invited - I wanna see Garcia's tattoo."

[baubaby-hotchnerholic]

[starchaser45]

Emily only allowing herself to cry when she's in Spencer's arms cause she's sure he's safe is my Roman Empire

[violetrainbow412-blog]

Intoxication [S. R]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

wc: 9.2k

Summary: when Spencer and reader accidentally consume aphrodisiacs, it seems impossible to maintain control of themselves. It all comes down to who will lose their mind first.

warnings: +18, mdni!! alcohol consumption, mentions of weed, unintentional use of aphrodisiacs, explicit descriptions, oral (f receiving) fingering, kissing, porn with plot, p in v, protected sex, no y/n!

It had been just over half an hour since I entered the fraternity building, fully aware that within the first second, I’d feel the need to leave. Attending any gathering wasn’t a regular thing for me. The noise, the crowds, and the multitude of germs everywhere were reason enough to avoid them.

However, that time, I thought, why not? I had never been to one of those university parties and wanted to experience it. However, I never considered the fact that, to enjoy one, you either: a) went with a group of friends or b) drank until you forgot your name and the discomfort you felt about yourself. I didn’t have the first option, nor did I want to do the second. So, after a few minutes of reflection, I decided I would walk back to my apartment and go straight to bed.

The place was huge, and since my postgraduate program didn’t include the benefit of dormitories, I rarely found myself in places like that. I was about to leave when a hand grabbed my forearm to stop me. In front of me, smiling widely, was her. The moment I saw her, I could swear my face lit up.

“Hi”

“Spencer! I didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Without letting go of my arm, she came closer, wrapping me in a hug and planting a kiss on my cheek before I could react.

I quickly glanced at her, and in the dim light, I noticed her wearing a fitted, spaghetti-strap dress in a deep burgundy red with delicate floral embroidery that looked hand-drawn on the sheer fabric. The material, likely chiffon or tulle, clung to her figure as if custom-made. I tried to focus on her leather jacket instead because the last thing I wanted was to make her uncomfortable by staring too long.

“I was just about to leave, actually.”

“Why?” she asked, noticing my sigh.

“It’s just... I don’t know anyone here.”

“Well, that problem is now solved,” she kindly murmured.

I didn’t even get the chance to respond when she had already walked over to another girl, whispering something in her ear, probably to let her know she’d be away for a while.

Even though I wanted to decline to stay, the truth was that I genuinely enjoyed her company. Rejecting her would have been too rude. We had met some time ago thanks to the advanced classes she took, which overlapped with mine. She was younger than me, of course, but only by one or two years.

She had always been kind to me, attentive, and one could say she was a friend. After all, I trusted her enough to let her hold my hand and guide me through the crowd, despite my aversion to physical contact… and people.

“It’d be a crime to let you leave so early after finally coming to a party,” she breathed once we were both seated on a tiny couch where the noise was slightly muffled. At least she had been considerate in that regard.

“I don’t even know why I came,” I said, shifting uncomfortably. She was leaning against one side, legs crossed, looking at me with a smile. “I don’t like parties.”

“Do you like drinking?” she asked. I shook my head “Maybe that’s the root of the problem.”

“Getting drunk to the point of losing control isn’t my thing,” I replied.

“That’s not what it’s about,” she murmured almost compassionately “It’s more like… fuel for your social battery, you know? You don’t have to deal with these people. I don’t even know half of them, but the guys in this fraternity are disgustingly rich and just want to get as many girls drunk as possible to sleep with whoever they can. They won’t mind if you drink a little. Enough to have fun, but not so much you end up in some stranger’s bed.”

I thought about it for a second and silently nodded. I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of her by saying I didn’t want to drink because, come on, what kind of university student doesn’t drink?

“I understand your point, and I don’t mean to be a buzzkill, but alcohol has a more complex impact than it seems. It’s not just something that ‘fuels your social battery’; it’s a central nervous system depressant, which means it slows down brain and motor functions. That initial feeling of euphoria or relaxation happens because it inhibits the prefrontal cortex—the part of your brain that regulates judgment and self-awareness. So, technically, drinking a little might make you feel more uninhibited or confident, but it can also impair your ability to make rational decisions if you overdo it, even if you don’t notice right away.”

I paused, gauging how much more I should say before losing her interest. Hearing no objections, I continued:

“Additionally, strong liquors, which have high ethanol concentrations, can hit your system faster than diluted drinks. And if you drink too quickly, you could easily exceed your liver’s ability to metabolize the alcohol. The excess ethanol stays in your bloodstream, raising your blood alcohol levels and increasing the risk of intoxication.”

I avoided looking directly at her, partly because I didn’t want to get distracted by her gaze and partly because I was nervous around her.

“It’s not that I want to ruin your fun, but if you’re going to drink, you should do it slowly, alternating with water, and never on an empty stomach. Not to seem smarter than everyone else, but because staying in control can be the difference between a fun night and a situation you don’t want to be in.”

I expected her to look bored, confused, or even indifferent, assuming she’d left halfway through my rambling. But when I looked at her, I was surprised by the admiration shining in her eyes, accompanied by an amused smile.

“All right, genius boy, if you know all that and basically have the perfect recipe for not making stupid mistakes while drinking, why do you still refuse?” she teased playfully. I didn’t know what to say, but luckily, she answered for me “Listen, I drove here. How about we make a deal? We can drink a little, have a good time, maybe dance if you want, and if either of us starts doing something embarrassing, the soberest one will make sure to drag the other to the car and drive them home. Deal?”

She handed me her car keys, and I wasn’t sure if the brush of her hand against mine was intentional or if she had decided to linger a little longer.

I agreed to her proposal, and a second later, she was already off her seat, walking toward where I assumed the kitchen was. No one noticed us entering, too absorbed in their own business to care if we were strangers.

There was every type of alcohol scattered around, and she took the liberty of pouring me a shot of a clear liquid, which I guessed was vodka. She warned me to drink it in one gulp, and when the warmth hit my throat, I barely managed to avoid coughing. If she noticed, she didn’t say anything.

“Tastes like… strawberry.”

“It’s good, right?” she laughed, giving my shoulder a playful nudge.

Our previous seat was already taken, so she opted for us to stand in a quiet corner. I have to admit that, although I still felt slightly awkward, the vodka was having the desired effect; making me feel more animated to talk.

Talking to her was almost hypnotic. Maybe it was the rhythmic movement of her lips, still stained with traces of what had once been red lipstick, or perhaps it was her tone, but it made me feel like I had to watch her. She never faltered when she spoke, always exuding confidence and calm, no matter the topic.

On the other hand, whenever I responded, I completely lost focus. No matter what I said, she kept looking at me with a wide smile, nodding, and even leaning closer when something made her laugh. But her laugh wasn’t mocking—no, it was as if she genuinely found my intellectual jokes or nonsensical remarks funny.

Gradually, my glass emptied, and she guided me back to the kitchen, serving us moderately but consistently. After an hour, all my nerves had vanished, leaving only a normal guy enjoying the terrible background music, unconcerned about how dirty the place was, and utterly captivated by the woman next to him.

“It’s strange, you know? I didn’t think I’d enjoy something like this. Parties always seemed so… chaotic,”

She looked around with a slight smile.

“That’s true. They’re not exactly calm, but in a way, the chaos has its charm. It lets you leave everything else behind for a while.”

“I suppose you’re right. Sometimes, you just need to disconnect.”

“You seem less tense now, huh? Are you sure it’s not the vodka helping with that?”

She moved closer, almost leaning against my chest in a friendly way, and seeing her looking up at me made my face feel hot.

“Maybe. But it’s also largely due to the company.”

She seemed surprised by my sudden boldness and let out a laugh that I interpreted as a sign of approval. We continued drinking, laughing, and soon my stomach demanded food. Even in my slightly tipsy state, I still remembered that eating would help lessen the effects of the alcohol.

I have to admit that the way I held her waist to guide her to the kitchen was entirely intentional. However, she didn’t seem bothered by the contact. By this point, I’d realized that no one really cared about what we took or didn’t take, so we felt free to rummage through the pantry.

“There are chips, pretzels, Cheetos, some cookies...” she began listing, handing me each package she found.

I grabbed a stray cookie, and suddenly, she let out a sigh of admiration.

“What is it?”

“Chocolate,” she murmured happily. It was a half-eaten, luxurious-looking golden package with no label “Do you want some?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Chocolate has properties that can slightly boost energy and mood. Both alcohol and chocolate can be hard for the body to handle, especially with a combination of high sugar and alcohol content. This can lead to stomach discomfort, dizziness, or a stronger hangover the next day.”

But she wasn’t listening. She had already popped a sizeable piece of chocolate into her mouth. Immediately, she offered me a piece, slightly bigger than hers.

“You have to try it,” she moaned.

I resisted, but I have to admit that the fact she grabbed my shirt and pulled me closer caught me off guard enough to let her slip the chocolate into my mouth.

“Hey!”

“You’ll thank me later.”

It was delicious, that’s for sure. Like a pair of sneaky raccoons, we kept scavenging for snacks in the kitchen until we were satisfied. She grabbed a bag of chips, and I took the bag of pretzels.

After our little break, she poured us another round of drinks, and something inside me told me it was time to stop. I decided that would be my last glass for the night.

Let’s dance she suddenly whispered, and once again, I let her lead me toward the crowd.

I didn’t know how to dance; I think that was pretty obvious. But the situation managed to make me forget that fact.

She was patient with me and laughed every time I made a mistake. Even though there was smoke around me, probably from weed, that didn't stop me from staring intently, and even somewhat intimidated, at my friend. Beautiful, statuesque, and drunk friend.

We danced for a long time until something in her swaying movements, in the way she smiled at me, began to make my head spin. It was as if the atmosphere was charged with something more—something I couldn’t identify at first.

She leaned closer, and my pulse began to quicken slightly. Her hands rose to tangle in my neck, bringing a warm sensation that followed: my thoughts seemed clearer, sharper. I wondered if it was the alcohol, but then something different began to course through my skin.

The warmth intensified, not just in my body but in my mind as well. I felt more alert, more awake, yet the calmness of the vodka lingered, balancing the sensation. My skin felt more sensitive, as if every little touch sent vibrations through me in a more intense way.

My eyes focused more on her movements, her voice, and the way the air filled with her perfume. I wanted to get closer, as if there were an invisible force pulling me toward her. And though my body responded with a soft yearning, my mind remained present, conscious of every second.

By the way she was looking at me, I imagined I wasn’t the only one experiencing these kinds of emotions.

“Sweetheart.”

“Hmm?”

“Can we sit down for a moment? I’m completely sweaty, and the smell of weed is starting to bother me.”

“Of course.”

My hands rested on her waist, unsure of where else to go, and we stumbled out of the crowd, finding a couch to collapse onto.

I was sweaty too, and we were both breathing heavily. When I saw her lean her head back against the seat, leaving her neck exposed, something stirred inside me.

“You move well, Reid.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I mean it. You just need a little confidence,” she smiled. Perhaps the alcohol dulled her sense of personal space, which is why she leaned so close to me. “You’re so smart that, with a bit of practice, you’d be the most skilled at a lot of physical activities.”

Did she know how nervous she was making me? My face was already flushed from the alcohol, the effort, and now from the way she was looking at me while twirling a strand of her hair around her finger.

I wanted to say something else, but a voice interrupted mine: a tall, burly guy accompanied by two others who seemed to be flanking him. Probably a member of the fraternity hosting the party.

He specifically addressed her, asking how she was enjoying the party and throwing in a compliment, clearly with ulterior motives. For a moment, I felt disheartened. Of course, she could have gone with him and I would have understood. I was far too used to rejection.

“I’m having a great time—with my friend. Thanks,” she exclaimed, cordial but curt.

“Want a drink?”

“Honestly, no.”

By the uncomfortable smile she gave the men, I assumed she was politely ending the conversation. With some reluctance, the guys walked away.

Suddenly, my breath caught when I felt her hand rest on my thigh, sliding painfully slowly down to my knee. I couldn’t even hear her words over the heat of her fingers on my pants.

“Sorry?”

“I thought you were going to say something, earlier.”

“No,” I quickly replied, smiling like an idiot because of the way she had leaned toward me. “Nothing.”

“I like listening to you. You know so many things, and you don’t make me feel dumb when you explain them. That’s very sexy.”

“Sexy?”

“Yeah,” she smiled, because I’d replied in a voice an octave higher than normal. “You are very sexy.”

Her compliment was followed by a soft, distracted kiss on the line of my jaw, which sent my brain into overdrive.

“Uhm… you… you’re beautiful. Very beautiful.”

My clumsy compliment seemed to please her, and I felt one of her nails, long and painted black, tracing circles on the skin of my knee. Each small movement felt deliberate, as if she knew exactly what she was doing.

“Did you know fireflies don’t just glow to communicate but also to… attract?”

Her voice broke the silence between us, soft but layered with a double meaning that made me lift my eyes to her.

“Yes, I know,” I responded automatically, my brain switching to autopilot. “Bioluminescent signals are a form of courtship. The light patterns vary by species and can be very specific.”

She turned her head toward me, her lips curving into a lazy smile.

“Of course you’d know that. But tell me something—do you think it actually works? Making someone notice you just by glowing?”

My throat went dry. There was something about the way she was looking at me, like she was expecting a more personal answer than a scientific one.

“I guess it depends on who you’re trying to attract,” I murmured, feeling ridiculously exposed under her gaze.

“That makes sense.”

Her hand slid slightly—barely noticeable—toward the edge of my knee. After tapping her fingers on my pants, she withdrew it.

She didn’t move from the couch, and neither did I. There was something about her posture that held me captive—the way she leaned back against the seat, relaxed yet naturally elegant. Her dress had ridden up slightly along her thighs, revealing more skin than I felt prepared to handle at that moment. I tried to look elsewhere, but it was as if my eyes had a will of their own, always returning to the same place.

“Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but laced with a hint of amusement.

“Yes, of course,” I replied quickly, turning my head in the other direction. Perhaps too quickly, because my neck cracked slightly in the process.

She didn’t say anything, but her suppressed laughter made me feel even more awkward. In the silence that followed, I forced myself to focus on something safer: the empty glass on the table, the flickering lights through the window, anything but the curve of her leg or the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” she commented suddenly, with almost theatrical casualness. Then, without warning, she leaned forward as if to adjust her shoe, causing the neckline of her dress to dip even further.

“Do you think so?” I muttered, my voice raspier than I intended.

She smiled, a gesture somewhere between innocence and knowing.

“Yes, definitely. Though maybe it’s because we’re sitting so close,” she said, glancing around as if she had only just noticed the temperature.

Her words felt like both a slap and a caress at the same time. I tried to keep my gaze fixed on her face, but it didn’t help that her eyes shone with a kind of mischievous intent. Then she lifted one leg, bending it to get more comfortable on the couch, and her knee accidentally brushed against my thigh.

“Did you know you have a very particular way of distracting yourself?” she remarked while toying with the hem of her dress, as if unaware of the chaos she was causing in my head.

“Do I?” my voice sounded weak, almost a whisper.

She nodded slowly, leaning in a bit closer until I could feel the warmth of her proximity.

“Yes. It’s like you’re trying to avoid something but… you can’t.”

My throat went dry. I wanted to say something clever, to steer the conversation away, anything to regain some ground. But instead, all that came out was a nervous, forced laugh.

She didn’t stop looking at me. Then, with exasperating slowness, she smoothed the fabric of her dress over her thigh—a casual gesture.

“You know, sometimes you seem so self-aware. It’s something that can be endearing, but also… well, how do I put it?” she paused for a moment, bringing a finger to her lips as if she were reflecting. “It makes you seem easier to impress.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s nothing, Reid. It’s just me rambling” her voice softened, and I felt the lightest touch on my nose as her finger grazed it. I tried to ignore the fact that her gaze had lingered on my lips “Scattered thoughts I have in my head.”

Without warning, she let out a loud exhale and leaned back into the couch, arching her back as if trying to relieve some muscle tension. I know she probably wasn’t aware of the movement, but it was what finally made me lose the little composure I had left.

“I need to use the restroom. Can you give me a moment?”

I escaped. Cowardly, completely, I got up and practically bolted toward the bathroom, desperate for a moment of peace. As soon as I entered, I realized I had an obvious problem in my pants—I was hard as a rock, and that wasn’t good. I looked at myself in the mirror, surprised at how flushed my face was. My pupils were dilated, my lips dry… What the hell was happening to me?

It quickly became clear that she was the reason for my situation.

The alcohol prevented me from feeling the embarrassment I surely deserved, and instead, I felt like my head was spinning. I placed a hand over the fabric of my pants, letting out a frustrated, pained groan.

I stayed there for a while, trying to think of something that would make my erection go away, but nothing worked. A couple of knocks on the door startled me, and that forced me to leave. Once in the hallway, I walked for a bit until I bumped into someone.

“Spencer! I’ve been looking for you. Are you okay?”

“No! I mean, yes… it’s just…”

I needed to think of something quickly—something believable, but not catastrophic. However, it was hard to concentrate with her body so close to mine, mere inches away from her noticing my situation.

“Did you throw up?”

“No, no, it’s not that. It’s nothing. I think the vodka didn’t sit well with me, uh, maybe I got dizzy from dancing, I don’t know. I think it’s best if I leave.”

“Poor thing,” she murmured, pouting “I’ll take you home right now.”

“I can take a cab.”

“Nonsense. That was our agreement, remember? If one of us was in bad shape, the other would take care of them. Plus, I was the one who encouraged you to drink. I’d feel bad if something happened to you.”

She was already putting on her jacket—she’d been holding it, probably suspecting the situation—and tried to find the keys in her pocket. My outstretched hand reminded her that she’d already given them to me earlier.

When she placed her hand on the small of my back to guide me out, my breathing deepened. The sensation of excitement coursed through me in a way I couldn’t ignore. I realized that something in me desperately wanted her. Too much.

It wasn’t an impulsive desire but a subtle one that had been building throughout the night—with every glance, every gesture. Perhaps the vodka had intensified my evident attraction to her, but whatever the reason, it had turned into something far more palpable.

It was almost as if my body was begging me to stop her right then and there, to kiss her recklessly, and maybe, just maybe, ease the relentless ache inside me.

The cool night air made me feel better, and as the noise faded behind us, I began to calm down. I fervently tried to hide the bulge in my pants, but the truth was she didn’t even seem to notice. Then again, it would’ve been strange to catch her staring at my crotch, right?

“Are you sure you’re in a condition to drive?”

“I’ve driven home in far worse states of drunkenness. Don’t worry,” she smiled.

She looked more lucid now, as if her intoxication had vanished in an instant. I decided to trust her abilities.

The drive home was silent, and I kept shifting in my seat, trying to find strategic positions to avoid embarrassment. I guess she attributed my silence to the supposed discomfort I was feeling, as she didn’t try to start a conversation.

She didn’t say anything when she caught me looking at her through the rearview mirror. It was an innocent glance, at least on my part, simply admiring her. Her lips were driving me crazy, her eyes, slightly narrowed from the lack of light and smudged with mascara, seemed the most beautiful to me. I didn’t know what she saw in me, but I think—no, I feel—that it was something she liked.

“Thank you so much for bringing me home… and for everything.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Quite a lot, actually.”

“We should do this more often.”

“Go to university parties?”

“Just go out in general. To a bar, grab some drinks, a coffee, the library if you’d prefer,” she laughed “The place doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re there.”

Was she implying she wanted a date with me? I swallowed hard and looked at her, trying to decipher what she wanted me to do. I couldn’t figure it out.

“I’d like that, yes. We can talk about that later. Thanks again for the ride.”

A kiss on my cheek marked her goodbye, and I rushed out, eager to get inside my apartment. I was about to unlock the building’s door when the sound of a car horn made me turn around.

“Hey, would you mind if I use your bathroom? I’ll be quick,” she promised.

I needed to get to the shower and turn on the cold water, but I didn’t protest when she turned off the car engine.

Almost no one visited me in the apartment, so I kept the space however I pleased. It wasn’t really messy, but there were plenty of things on the desk and several books scattered around.

She entered, as she had said, rushing to the bathroom. It was only then that I dared to put a hand over my pants, swallowing a moan that was about to escape from my throat.

In my limited sexual experiences, nothing like this had ever happened to me, and I wondered what the cause might have been. Alcohol couldn’t be blamed, of course, but it was responsible for ruining my ability to react enough to find another explanation.

The shirt began to feel heavy on me, and almost out of necessity, I undid the first buttons to let myself breathe. I tried to ventilate my skin by tugging at the fabric with the tips of my fingers, but it was useless. I sighed.

I glanced around the room, just wanting to make sure nothing was embarrassing in view, and at that moment, she came out of the bathroom. She looked flushed and had some wet hair, as if she had washed her face.

“You okay?”

“Yes, just… suddenly felt a bit feverish”

“Let me check”

My intentions were purely medical when I cupped her face with one hand, putting the back of the other against her forehead to confirm or deny my suspicions. Of course, I hadn’t considered how close we would be. Or maybe I had, subconsciously, and that’s why I moved forward.

My choice of words wasn't the best either.

“You’re hot,”

“I don’t think it’s as much as you.”

A daring smile slid across her lips, and I held my breath as her fingers traced up to the line of my collarbone, exposed by my shirt.

“Why are you saying that?”

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s just… I don’t understand it.”

A soft laugh echoed in my ears.

“Well, I think you’re very handsome. Would there be any other reason for that?”

I swallowed deeply. She noticed the movement of my Adam’s apple.

“No… I think… I think not. It’s the most logical thing.”

“Don’t they tell you that often?” she murmured, genuinely confused. I shook my head “That’s a shame.”

Her hand, which had been tentatively caressing my skin, moved up to my neck and pulled me just a few inches closer to her.

“Hey, Spencer.”

“Yes?”

“Could I kiss you?”

A chill ran down my spine. And without thinking, I answered yes.

Her mouth found mine with a softness that contrasted with the whirlwind of sensations inside me. It was a heady contrast: the sweetness of her lips against the intensity of the desire that had been building up in every fiber of my being.

My hands instinctively moved to her waist, hesitating for a moment, as if fearing that this might just be a product of my imagination. But she didn’t hesitate. Her body leaned into me, closing any distance that remained.

Her lips were insistent, demanding, and before I could process what was happening, her hand slid down to my chest, pushing me gently back until my back collided with the wall.

“I’m sorry…” I managed to murmur between kisses, pulling my face slightly away. My voice came out more trembly than I wanted.

She raised an eyebrow, tilting her face toward mine, her fingers now brushing my jawline.

“Why are you apologizing?”

“For this” my gaze dropped quickly before returning to her eyes. “No… I didn’t want you to feel it. It’s embarrassing.”

For a moment, I thought she would pull away, that the spell of the moment would break. But instead, her lips curved into a mischievous smile.

“Embarrassing? I thought I was the only one feeling all this tension,” her tone was low, almost a whisper, but filled with a certainty that made my breath grow even more erratic.

Before I could respond, her lips captured mine again, this time with more intensity. The kiss was everything I didn’t know I needed: desperate, intoxicating, completely consumed by the connection between us. I felt her body press against mine, her curves fitting perfectly as if they were made to be there. And then, all my doubts, all my attempts to hold back, vanished.

My mind was a whirlwind. Every touch of her lips, every time her tongue sought mine, was like a fire I couldn’t put out. My face was hot, yes, but now not because of the alcohol, not even from the effort of holding myself back. It was her closeness, her touch, her condescending voice still echoing in my head.

She knows what she’s doing. And she’s slowly killing me.

“Hey, wait…”

“What’s wrong?”

“Do you feel okay with this?”

“A lot. Do you want to stop?”

“No. It’s just that… you’ve been drinking. I don’t want you to think I took advantage of you” my voice came out hoarse, full of doubt and repressed desire.

Her eyes met mine, firm and warm at the same time, as if her gaze could completely disarm me.

“Relax. You’ve been drinking too, pretty, and I think if anyone could make that accusation, it would be you. Do you feel like I’m taking advantage of you?”

“No”

“I’m fully aware of everything. I don’t even feel drunk anymore. The only thing that’s making me dizzy right now is you, Spencer…”

I shivered when I heard my name on her lips like that. She continued:

“I’m just as anxious as you are. I’ve been holding back all night, trying not to make this too obvious, but I can’t anymore. Please, don’t doubt me. Don’t doubt what I want. I want you”

Her confession hit my heart like a blow and ignited a spark that set my entire body on fire. My hand moved up her back until it tangled in her hair, while the other rested on her hip. The pull was gentle but enough for her to understand that my inner struggle had ended. I wasn’t resisting this anymore.

I wanted her too. I wanted her now.

“I never imagined…”

My words were barely audible as our lips brushed in a kiss that was both an explosion of emotions and a long-awaited relief. Her mouth was soft, and so perfectly synchronized with mine that I felt like the world stopped at that moment.

Her hands gripped my shoulders, anchoring the connection between us, while my thumb traced a slow path along her jawline, savoring every detail of her skin. It was more than a kiss. It was the confirmation of something that had been lingering all evening.

When we parted just a centimeter to breathe, our foreheads stayed pressed together.

“Did that clear your doubts?”

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say all that,” I replied with a weak smile, the only one my pounding heart allowed me to form.

“Then stop overthinking”

The space between us disappeared again as we kissed with desperation we had both been suppressing. Her low laugh vibrated against my lips, and I couldn’t help but smile. How did she do it? How did she drive me crazy with so little effort?

But now wasn’t the time for questions. It was time to feel.

The whole world had reduced itself to him: his warm breath, his lips that wavered between soft and desperate, and the hands that roamed my waist with a mix of reverence and clumsiness, making me want him even more. Spencer had always been an enigma to me, a balance between restraint and passion that I didn't know how to decipher... until now.

I had waited for this moment more than I would ever admit. Maybe it had been the way he looked at me when he thought I didn't notice, or the warmth in his voice when he said my name, as if it were something sacred. But now, with his body pressed against mine and his doubts finally gone, I knew I hadn't imagined anything.

It was as if the pieces of a puzzle I had been trying to put together in the dark finally clicked into place, and the resulting image was more beautiful than I had ever dreamed.

Wanting to reverse the roles, it was now him who gently pushed me against the wall, and I felt the control he always seemed to have begin to crack. His breath was heavy, his body trembling slightly, a sign that this was as new and overwhelming for him as it was for me.

"Spencer..." I murmured his name again, feeling it resonate in my chest at the same time his lips moved more intensely against mine. "Can I ask you something?"

I received an affirmative exhalation, and to let me speak, his lips moved to the hollow of my neck. Although my mouth was free, the soft and wet kisses I was receiving blurred my judgment a bit.

"Tell me”

"Did you really feel bad at the party? Or was it just..."

"I didn't want you to notice what you were doing to me. Although I think at this point it doesn't matter much, right?"

Contrary to what I expected, Spencer pushed his hips against mine, as if he wanted to prove that it was true. I could even call it a claim, something that said: look what you did to me. And I wanted him to know just how much my body was begging for him.

Carefully, I moved one of his hands from my waist, and before he could protest, I guided it to one of my thighs, dangerously close to my core. I was glad I had thought of lingerie as a great complement to my dress, maybe in an attempt to feel sexy even if no one saw it. But now, he was going to see it.

Spencer understood my silent request. Those long, slender fingers, which seemed made for more than just flipping through the pages of a book or scribbling frantic notes on paper, slid across my smooth skin. I sighed as I remembered the veins tracing a map under his fair skin, like rivers of contained energy.

Until they finally reached where I needed them. And his touch... God, his touch was something else. They were hands made for discovery, for holding, for exploring, but in those moments, they seemed to be made only for me.

Spencer wasn't an overly bold guy, so it didn't surprise me that he just traced shapes above my panties, as if he wanted to diagnose my anatomy before making any move. My sighs at his ear seemed to please him.

Suddenly, he stopped kissing me, and I huffed, since I liked the attention he was giving my shoulder, until I felt his lips drop just slightly. A loud, pathetic moan escaped me when he squeezed my tits while burying his face to leave an experimental kiss.

I was barely processing that when he knelt in front of me and, carefully, took the edge of my dress and lifted it.

My legs trembled with anticipation at the thought of what he was going to do next, and then I felt his lips brush my thigh. He started gentle, kind, but soon he began sucking every bit of skin he could, and in the end, he made sure to leave bites strong enough to make me whimper.

Who would have thought that this man, seemingly so inexperienced, turned out to offer the best foreplay a woman could desire?

I squealed as I felt his kisses trail down to the fabric of my panties, pausing for a moment to lick the length of my still-clothed pussy.

“You’re dripping wet,” he observed. I was too focused on not giving in right then and there to say anything "Is oral something you're into?"

“I don’t know,” I exclaimed honestly. I didn’t care how vulnerable I looked as I confessed that no man had ever dared to give me head “You?”

“It’s an idea that piques my curiosity, yes.”

Gently he slid some of the fabric aside to clear the way for his tongue, and I felt as if my entire body was only aware of the parts he was probing, kissing, sucking. When he raised my thigh to shoulder height, deepening his thrusts, I felt like I was going to pass out.

I lowered my hand to his thick head and tried, in vain, to push him away from me. I honestly didn’t have the strength or desire to do so, much less when he had picked up the pace.

I moaned a sweet nickname out loud and then Spencer pulled away, looking up at me with glossy, swollen lips.

“Take me to bed, please.”

He didn’t need me to say it twice as he immediately stood up and took me by the waist to guide me to said spot. I was able to taste myself on his lips and for some reason that only turned me on.

Once we hit the mattress the way he laid me down was gentle and I sighed at that. How could he be so sweet all the time? I wondered. And worse yet, how much would this little adventure affect my future expectations?

Because if it was about standards, I was finding out that Spencer Reid was the standard.

Seemingly more enthralled now by my lips than my pussy, he continued with the make-out session we were having. With each touch we had, my excitement was increasing more and more. In the midst of it all I managed to unbutton his shirt and take it off to leave it somewhere on the bed; the semi-darkness of the room shielded any insecurities he might be feeling, as well as my own.

“You are painfully stunning, did you know?”

My tone was one of reproach, and he laughed at that, looking down almost embarrassed. Maybe he wasn't used to compliments, but something told me he was definitely enjoying it.

I heard him murmur something under his breath about me, while he took down the straps of my dress. My hands almost instinctively went to unbuckle his belt, and before I could do anything, he pulled away from me. Needless to say, this left me confused.

"Sorry, I..."

“You don't want to?” I murmured understandingly. I thought maybe he wasn't a big fan of these situations, and I understood, but somehow I felt hurt.

"No! Sure I want to. I want it a lot, but..." he tried not to look at me, as if avoiding confrontation "It's just that I don't have any protection here”

A laugh escaped my lips, and I feared he might interpret it as mockery, so I stretched my neck to steal another kiss.

"One would think there are many girls who pass through these sheets."

"Don't make fun of me."

"I'm not making fun of you. It's cute, actually. It even makes me feel guilty," I murmured, smiling "For a second, I was afraid something had made you uncomfortable."

"No, it's not that."

I hesitated for a second whether I should suggest what was on my mind.

"We could do it like this. It doesn't bother me."

"It's not just about avoiding an unwanted pregnancy..." he began. At that moment, I saw him return to his usual nerdy mode. "Although, of course, that counts. But there are things like sexually transmitted infections, some of which don't even show symptoms at first and could complicate things if not detected on time. I know this doesn't sound very attractive, but believe me, protection isn't just for avoiding future problems; it's also to take care of you now, so you don't have issues later: because sometimes men can transmit diseases we're asymptomatic for, and to be honest, I've never done those kinds of tests. A lot of people don't think about it, but the risks are real. And don't get me wrong, I trust you, but even though you trust me, diseases don't discriminate. And I'd like us both to have that peace of mind. Prevention is never too much."

“You conflict me deeply. On the one hand, I admire how responsible you are; it's very cute. But on the other hand, I just urgently need you to fuck me deep and cum inside me”

Spencer was surprised by my desperate whining and tensed when I placed one of my legs around his waist, trying to persuade him. But I was even more surprised when I felt him pull completely away to stand beside the bed.

"Where are you going?"

"To the pharmacy," he announced, putting a jacket over his bare torso.

"Are you serious?" I laughed widely, sitting on the bed now that my companion had moved away.

"Definitely. I feel like I can't handle it any longer, it’s physically painful, and when you talk to me like that, it just drives me crazy” he groaned, joining in the fun. It was the first time something like this happened, and I honestly thought it was absolutely hilarious “I'll be back in a minute, I swear! Please, don't go...”

"I couldn't," I murmured sweetly. He came closer, and I took the opportunity to kiss him again "Be quick. I'll be waiting anxiously for you."

Something in my tone of voice affected the man, or maybe it was the wink I gave him, but I saw him bolt out the door. I flopped back onto the bed, taking a moment to digest what was happening.

I have to admit that my classmate had always been attractive to me, but I never thought he could feel the same way. Not even in my wildest dreams did I imagine that I would be waiting for him in his bed so that, with any luck, he could ravish me without holding back.

As I reached out my arms, I could feel the fabric of the shirt I had previously removed from him, and then I brought it up to my nose, inhaling without thinking. A familiar scent hit me immediately: the mix of sweet cocktails he had drank during the party and a subtle trace of cannabis, as if the night was still impregnated in him. I could distinguish a hint of wood, perhaps from the furniture in the place, combined with a light scent of sweat that was not bothersome, but rather natural. And then, among all that, there was his perfume: a citrus and spicy aroma that evoked something fresh, but also deep, sensual, as if every molecule of his being was waiting for something more. I breathed harder, feeling that this aroma, this moment, defined him.

I didn't know why that particular night my whole body was screaming for his closeness. I was crazy about him and it wasn't the alcohol's fault, because I'd had too many drinks to know. Neither of us had ever done drugs and for a moment I was terrified by the idea that I could want to be with someone like that, with such fervor that it was worrying.

Still dizzy from the excitement of the moment, I lowered one of my hands to my crotch to get rid of my panties. I thought about him, wondering how skilled he was. Not that I doubted his abilities, but just like I’d told him that night, he might need some practice.

I started to fantasize about helping him through this situation, maybe guiding him or pampering him by just asking him to lay back so I could do all the work. Spencer was the kind of man who invited you to please him, the kind of man you wanted to satisfy because he never pressured you into it.

Playing with myself, I sniffed his shirt again, desperately wishing I could have the source of said scent with me, until my brain was filled only with daydreams in which he was the protagonist and my fingers were replaced by his. That's why I didn't notice when he opened the apartment. And that's why I didn't know he was watching me from the door frame until I heard him let out a ragged sigh.

Being caught in that position made me feel embarrassed at first, but the way he practically lunged at me and kissed me more decisively than before, I figured he liked seeing me like that.

"Busy?"

I was caught off guard by his sassiness and I knew he was proud of it by the smile I felt on my neck.

“I guess you found what we need, right?”

“Uh-huh”

“Have you read any books on female anatomy?”

“Quite a few”

“So I guess you know a lot about sexuality, don’t you?”

“In theory, yes. Unfortunately, I haven’t had many opportunities to put it into practice.”

A smile spread across my face, which luckily he couldn't see because he was too busy leaving a trail of kisses along the top of my torso.

“How unfortunate, considering you’re a scientist. I wouldn’t mind becoming an object of your study, though, you know?”

He subtly slid the straps of my dress and revealed my bra, from which a considerable part of my boobs protruded, which he happily kissed.

At the same time his hand came down to caress me, making me shiver with anticipation, resting on just the right spots. It was the least I could expect from such an intellectual man, one who definitely knew about the thousands of nerve endings concentrated in my clitoris, which he was definitely tapping into to satisfy me.

“May I?” he whispered, looking at the little underwear he still had on.

I nodded immediately and arched my back to make it easier for him to unbutton it, which didn't take too long. He was practically worshipping every inch of my skin, which, combined with his gentle yet firm fingers rubbing me, was driving me crazy.

We both moaned in unison as he pushed a finger into me. It felt just as good as I had imagined.

I had read somewhere that, physiologically, women need more time to achieve an orgasm and although none of my exes had cared about that, this one seemed to know that fact. Maybe that was why he was giving me such attention, which I was undoubtedly grateful for.

“Honey…” I choked out “you’re doing great, really, really good, but would you mind if we replaced those fingers? I want to feel you inside me,” I practically begged.

I never begged, I felt like a fool doing it, but if that got me the intensity of the kiss he gave me, I wouldn't mind starting to do it.

Spencer pulled away from me, searching for the packet of condoms he'd run off to get, and while he unbuttoned his pants I got rid of my dress, which by this point was just a mass of fabric around my waist.

My body wasn't perfect, but I figured that wouldn't matter to him. Besides, I doubt he'd be rude enough to mention it.

“Need a hand?” I joked playfully, noticing that he was struggling to open the silver package.

“I’m sorry, I’m just a little nervous,” he said to himself, hoping I wouldn’t mind too much.

I wanted to reward him for treating me so well a few moments ago and I took the package from his hands, placing my palm on his chest until I laid him down against the mattress. Once in that position it wasn't difficult to get rid of the wrapping to place the piece of latex on him, thinking that I didn't have a single complaint about his body.

My hands on him made him nervous and I watched him turn into a mess as I began pumping his cock up and down to make sure he had the condom on properly.

“You don’t have to hold back. I like the sounds you make,” I exclaimed in a velvety tone, trying to sound as genuine as possible “That way I know you’re enjoying it.”

“I don’t think I’ll be able to hold out for much longer,” he confessed, as my hand continued to move along his length. Although I wished I could take better care of him, I understood the situation.

“Your wish is my command”

He didn't complain when I put each leg on his sides and he bravely hardened as I teased him for a moment before sinking my pussy onto his dick. I started slow, trying to make him last as long as possible, but with each second it was getting harder to keep up a pace.

I tried my best to ride him, trying to give him the best experience as a thank you for all his hospitality. And from the whimpers coming out of his throat I assume I was doing my job well.

At some point his hands ended up on my hips, guiding me as he pleased. Sometimes he pushed me down, as if he wanted to get to the bottom of me, and other times he manipulated me so that the thrusts were fast.

He wasn't lying when he said he would cum in no time, as the repressed desire added to the previous sexual actions had him on the edge of the abyss. I knew he had reached orgasm when he closed his eyes and his hips slammed against me, in erratic movements.

I kept riding him a little longer, chasing my own climax, and when I got it I put my hands against his chest, arching in pleasure. Spencer, breathing heavily, grabbed my wrists in his hands and then pulled me so that I was against his torso, my lips too close to his.

He placed his palm on my cheek and pulled me in his direction, seemingly asking for a kiss. I granted it.

“Are you satisfied?”

“I am,” I sighed wryly. It was cute that he didn’t know that sometimes girls don’t even make it. “How was it for you?”

“I'm speechless.”

I laughed and, to a certain extent, felt flattered that I had left a man who knew a million ways to express himself in that state.

We enjoyed the high we had just had for a few minutes and waited for our breathing to slow down; when our sighs took the same rhythm, he spoke again.

“You should go to the bathroom. It’s, uh… healthy for you to do it after every encounter.”

I reached for the garment he had been wearing and, trying to protect myself from the cold air, I put it on over myself.

“Do you mind lending it to me?”

“Nu-huh,” he hummed, eyeing me as if I were a cupcake. I would later learn how affected he was to see me using his clothes to slide out of bed.

When I came out of the bathroom he already had his boxers on, probably wanting to maintain modesty, and when he went to attend to his needs I also looked for my panties. It wasn't long before he returned to keep me company.

“Do you want to cuddle? I’d feel like a whore if I just left”

“Yes, of course I want”

He made sure to throw anything that was on the bed onto the floor and patted the pillows to make them more comfortable. I settled into the space next to him, leaning against his chest, right at heart level.

One of his arms was holding me from behind and in some strange way that made me feel safe; protected.

“Your feet are frozen, are you cold?”

"Not much"

“Do you want me to get you some socks?”

“I’m fine, Spencer,” I laughed softly. I brushed my cheek against his skin and tried to snuggle closer to him. “It’ll just get colder if you leave.”

“Did you know that the human body is incredibly efficient at maintaining its temperature? When two bodies are nearby, like… now,” he paused, settling a little closer to me, “heat transfer occurs due to thermal radiation and direct conduction. Essentially, each body generates heat that helps the other maintain a stable core temperature.”

“So you’re like a human blanket”

“That’s right. In fact, in situations of severe hypothermia, sharing body heat in this way can literally save lives.”

I raised my head to look at him and noticed an excited gleam in his eyes, the one he always had when he shared something from his vast knowledge.

“I’ve been thinking quite a bit about what you said earlier, about female anatomy,” seeing him frown, I continued, “No field of study considers one experimentation enough, right? Everything needs to be replicated two, three, four times. Ten times if necessary.”

“Your guess is quite accurate.”

“Say no more. We must give everything if it is in the name of science”

From the smile on his face, I knew that my joke had pleased him and that my proposal seemed to please him. To seal the deal I reached up and kissed him softly. We remained silent for a while, him caressing me over his own shirt and me enjoying the closeness.

“I like you a lot”

“I had a feeling,” I teased, earning a soft laugh from him “I really like you, too."

He pressed a kiss to my forehead and for some stupid reason a blush crept up my cheeks, even though we had just had sex. I carefully placed myself on top of his body and buried my face in his neck, feeling him hug me around the waist.

It didn't take long for him to fall asleep, I could tell by how calm his breathing was becoming, and I tried to enjoy the peace he emanated a little longer, until, eventually, Morpheus picked me up in his arms too.

@spoolsofgreenspoolsofblack @shuichiakainx @gghostwriter @cafters @weallhaveadestiny @your-left-sock @jaeminsmilk @tmrs-basilisk @kristennotstewart @lostinwonderland314 @f4tpo3s @lortheswiftie @dark-unicorn222 @samsienichole @blackholegladiator @gretaandthatsit @cherrysprlte @halfbloodwriter @piercethefic @reidingandallthat @ariel-23-19 @zorrasucia @ihatethecrowdsyouknowthat @juluina @kylakins88 @tinainaction @sadroses98 @dumbbunnys-safes @bowerfeithwk @freyafriggafrey

Thank you very much for your interest! I hope you liked it, if you feel like it, let me know what you think :)

[chithereader]

first impressions / aaron hotchner

pairing: aaron hotchner x f!reader

word count: 2.6k

genre: fluff

cw: shy!reader / naive!reader, hotch has a crush!! a bit of mutual pining

a/n: i feel like this is a little all over the place but i love a pining hotch too much so i just had to post it!!!

Anderson has been doing his case reports in the pantry for the past four hours. Perhaps it does have its perks– one, he’s closer to the coffee machine and two, he’s farther away from all the chatter that is coming from the place he should actually be working in– at his desk. 

That’s because for the past four hours, the whole BAU team or what’s left of it– being Derek, Rossi, Garcia, and Reid– have been crowding the rows of desks directly across Hotch’s office. Occupying desks and chairs that are definitely not theirs. 

The rowdy bunch has been debating, gossiping, and most importantly, profiling their unit chief for the past four hours. Figuring out which applicants impress him, disappoint him, or straight-up irritate him– all through his office window. 

They’ve seen a total of seven applicants walk out of his office without a handshake, which is Hotch’s tell on whether he would consider that candidate or not. Out of those seven, two were way prettier than they were smart, three way too confident than they were competent, and two solely able to step foot in Quantico because of their last names. 

As for those that did walk out with a handshake were… well.. non-existent. If anyone were to ask someone from the team, they’d insist that they don’t need a new member. They don’t need anyone new to replace the beloved ones that have left. 

However, remembering the previous cases from the past two weeks– the truth is, they all felt a little like they were drowning. It felt like the more days that went by, the more cases there were to filter, solve, and close. The more killers there were to profile, hunt, and stop. The more reports there were to fill out, file, and submit; 

Each member of the team was doing double the workload of what they usually handle which had started to take its toll on their health, both physical and mental. And Hotch being the responsible leader that he is, recognized what had to be done. Especially after Reid fainted while running and Morgan’s strength notably faltering while in a tussle with an unsub. 

Now, the team didn’t know if it was perhaps because Hotch was measuring all these potential agents against Emily and JJ but none of them appeared up to his standard. Although accepting applications was his idea, judging by the way his brows had furrowed permanently they could tell Hotch was starting to regret it. Rossi, who knows Hotch a little better than everyone, could tell that he was about to give up. 

He could tell by the way he had his lips pressed in a thin line for the past forty minutes unwaveringly. 

He could tell by the way his shoulders were more obviously rising and falling, his breaths deeper- like he was calming himself. 

He could tell by the way Hotch would stand with clenched fists, unclenching them slowly on his sides. 

He could tell by the way Hotch was staring at the files, not reading. 

But just as Rossi was about to go up to Hotch’s office so they could all call it a night. To give his friend a pep talk about being there for each other and how tomorrow’s another day. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone entering the BAU walking briskly. 

The profiler in him skims over the figure quickly: 5 foot 3. Tiny. Mid-20s to early 30s. Young. Cardigan, jeans, sneakers, and a messenger bag. Is this kid Reid’s twin or what. Soulful round eyes, cute nose, pink lips. Pretty. 

“Uhm, hi.. I’m here for an interview? with uhm.. Mr– Agent Hotchner, sorry. Could someone point me to his office? Please?” Interesting. 

For some reason, none of the members of the team spoke, mainly surprised by the sudden addition of this stranger’s presence. One by one, like falling dominos, they slowly pointed to Hotch’s door. Simultaneously taking their precious time assessing whatever they can from what they’re seeing. 

Their observations didn’t stray far from what Rossi had seen. You’re pretty. That’s the first thing one can deduce. The incredibly-adorable kind of pretty, Garcia thinks. You seem smart, the same way anyone knows boy genius is smart– darting eyes like you’re thinking at a thousand miles per minute. Like you’re studying your surroundings, assessing threats, friendlies, and potential threats. 

You’re shy. You speak softly as if scared to intrude. Your movements are precise as if scared to impose. You stand still as if scared to take up more space than necessary. But your posture says otherwise. You may be introverted but your intelligence reeks in your diction and the way your head is held high, a part of you you’re sure of. Literally a lot like Reid, it’s creepy. 

You’re young. Young enough to steal pretty boy’s title as the baby of the team if you were to be accepted. To be honest, you look like a college student. Like a straight A, extra credit, shy and quiet type of student– and they weren’t wrong. 

You didn’t find anything weird about their behavior, the silence with which they responded to you. Probably because you were too nervous about your interview. Everyone knows the BAU is the team that’s the most difficult to get into, and that their unit chief’s the most intimidating man in the FBI that the Director himself avoids running into him altogether. 

So it was definitely a surprise when you were called in by Erin Strauss. A fresh graduate from the academy, you had no field experience at all. You’d only been working as a forensic scientist for the Organized Crime Division for a little less than a year, and more often than not you were in laboratories and morgues. Mainly there as a junior consultant than anything, having the more seasoned agents out in the field, on active crime scenes. 

Your gaze followed where they were pointing to, nerves permeating through your body. As you make your way up the stairs to get to his door, you’re trying to even your breathing- desperately. You don’t want to seem incompetent and inexperienced, pathetic even. 

Raising your hand to knock, you take in one last deep breath. Suddenly aware of all the people watching you from behind, possibly profiling you– you knock. Loudly. Like you were trying to prove something, show false strength and confidence. 

Maybe a little too loud, you realized. Shit. 

You’re in your own head when the door whips open and you see him. You knew he was good looking. You’ve seen him on TV and in pictures but god they did not do him justice. Just as you were processing how good-looking he was and how it would be a crime to embarrass yourself in front of him, your body decides it’s time to let out that big breath you inhaled before knocking. 

Now it appears you’re just blowing cool air into his chest, frozen while he stands there towering over you, most likely curious about why you knocked on his door so hard, why you are blowing cool air into his chest and more importantly, who the heck were you? 

“Hi, I’m, uh, here for the interview. For, uhm, the vacant position at the BAU team, Sir– Agent!” clearing your throat you scramble to make a good impression, or at least salvage what’s been established. 

Swallowing your pride, you bow your head in embarrassment, softening your voice as you say “Sorry, Agent Hotchner. What I meant to say is that I’m applying to be on your team. I’m here for the interview.” Looking up at him eye-to-eye, to hopefully convey your sincerity, you held his stare and his breathing stuttered. 

Let’s be honest. Hotch just went through four hours of his personal hell, getting to know people he doesn’t want to get to know. Asking questions, engaging in small talk, studying mannerisms and language– all to assess whether that person could be the much needed addition to his team. And the last thing he wants right now, as it nears the end of the work day, is another applicant to entertain. 

So Hotch, along with the rest of the team, becomes quite surprised when he moves his body out of the way to let you in his office when seconds ago he looked like he was about to give a very tempered advice at whoever just banged on his door. 

While he gestures for you to sit walking around his desk to sit on his own chair, he convinces himself that it’s because he is a good person and because he would do anything to help his team even if it meant enduring another painful interview. 

Definitely not because of your eyes. Or pouting lips. Or the adorable way blood rushed to your cheeks in embarrassment. Or your soft, soft voice that said his name in such a way that he’s dying to hear it again. 

Nope. It is simply his duty to lead and care for his team, and that means interviewing you. Somehow. 

-

It was quiet. You were nervous. It was obvious. He was waiting for you to talk but you’ve been staring at his tie instead of his face. You’re fiddling with your rings, wiping your palms on your jeans. And you were still very obviously trying to even your breaths. 

Observing these were enough to make him soften his voice slightly as he spoke, “Could you tell me about yourself?” He said slowly and softly– soft enough that if the air conditioning was a little louder you probably wouldn’t have heard him at all. 

Hotch became extremely conscious about coming across as demanding. He simply didn’t want to intimidate you further. He knew that if he wanted you to talk, open up, and present yourself justifiably, he would have to tread lightly. 

Now, he didn’t know when exactly he had started to care about whether he came off as intimidating or not, nor does he know why he’s the one adjusting for someone applying to be on his team– but apparently the times have changed. 

He’s brought out of his thoughts by your faint reply, “Well I, uh, have a bachelor in Psychology and in World Literature. Uhm, and.. I also have a Masters in Criminal Psychology but pursued Forensic Psychology for my doctorate.” You sounded almost hesitant to list all your achievements, which made him think you’ve probably been told once or twice that it is impolite to talk about such achievements to one’s face. 

The thought of someone invalidating your achievements, your brilliance infuriates him. You’ve achieved so much so early in your life, you deserve to be celebrated. There’s a subdued smile on his face, hopefully one you interpret as encouragement to continue. 

With a small smile gracing your face at his kind reaction, you added, “I only recently finished actually– I did it simultaneously with the academy’s progr–”

He cut you off, “Congratulations– sorry.” Too eager. Since when am I the one doing the impressing? “You like studying,” he observed. The smile on your face, although small, seemed genuine. Your face and your posture increasingly relaxed the more you talked.

You breathe out a laugh, “A little.. A little too much maybe.” Looking at your hands, rearranging the rings that adorn your nimble fingers. 

Hotch’s face has softened. He didn’t notice by how much, but it has relaxed a lot more the longer he observes you, everything about you. He commits your every movement to his memory, every mannerism, chalking it up to some part of his assessment. Words that describe you flashing in his head: introverted, intelligent, beautiful, accomplished– He hasn’t read your file. He gave up on reading files three candidates ago and has been relying on his profiling skills to get him through. 

But there’s something about you. Something that he can’t figure out, can’t name or explain. He felt it the very first time your eyes met, which isn’t even an hour ago but feels damn near to ages ago. He’s feeling it deep in his bones– a tingling feeling, an electric current, a rush of excitement. His heart has been beating slower yet louder. He feels it strongly in his chest. 

It had made him silent for a minute, so you look up from your hands subtly to check if he’s alright. For a second you were worried that he had said something that you just didn’t pick up on, and he’s been waiting for you to respond. 

But as your eyes meet again, he feels he’s suddenly in unfamiliar territory, treading powerful waters, and he can do nothing but go along with it. 

You’re surprised by the look in his eyes, but the sudden silence is at the forefront of your mind and you try to diffuse it, “Uhm–”

He cuts you off again, “Tell me something about yourself that I won’t read on your file.” He had the same idea- to talk. But for you, it was to diffuse the silence you thought was a dead giveaway of how disastrous your interview’s turning out to be. To him, it was to get somewhere, anywhere.

He’s got this weird feeling– a desire to get you talking more, even though soon enough there will be an awakened part of him that is certain there will be more talking in store for you two in the future. 

“What?” You don’t know why you said that. You understood what he said. Now you probably helped him affirm in his head that you’re ditzy and possibly the least reliable candidate to make agent. 

But..you just caught him looking at you like he was in love with you. Now you’re officially crazy. Dark, compelling eyes calling to you– it threw you off. It wasn’t even the usual sickening look of love, it was more of this serious, earnest yearning- almost pained.

- 

Now while the two of you were battling awkwardness and inexplicable feelings, the team was watching the whole thing unfold through his office window like a silent film. In fact, Garcia and Derek were already sharing a bowl of popcorn he ran to microwave the second they all saw Hotch’s entire existence falter at your presence. 

“What– what is happening? They’re barely talking!” Garcia worries. You’re tiny and adorable, and you look so kind and so incredibly soft and fragile. She just wants to protect you regardless of having met you less than briefly, minutes ago. 

“Baby girl, look closely. Both are just nervous, blushing idiots. They’ve just gotta push through this. Aren’t I right?” Derek’s smart mouth smugly adds. Looking to Rossi for any confirmation that he had guessed right: Hotch has a crush. 

Ever the skilled lip-reader, Reid comments “It’s been six whole minutes and Hotch has only asked her to tell him about herself.” He ponders for a moment, tilting his head “And judging by his relaxed jaw movements, gestures, and the decreased amount of strain his neck shows, I’d say he’s speaking softer than his usual volume.” 

Essentially Hotch’s best friend, every member looks to Rossi for his reaction. If they need any sort of confirmation that they’re reading their boss man right, they only ever have to read his right hand man Rossi who wears how he feels and what he thinks like Garcia wears her individuality. 

But Rossi’s only looking back at Reid with twinkling eyes and a smug smile growing bigger by the second. He lets out a quiet laugh, turning back to see Hotch smiling at the girl who is unaware of the fool grinning at her, “Addition to the team my ass– he'll be adding her to his life."

[bobadiin]

last day of autism awareness month please be aware of him

[girllblogging777]

THINKING ABOUT girl dad!spencer reid

girl dad!spencer who called himself “the happiest man in the world” when you gave birth to your first daughter, his eyes practically glinting with joy.

girl dad!spencer who didn’t just want a wife and a kid, but wanted to be a husband and a father. and that’s what made you want to marry him in the first place.

girl dad!spencer who was so scared to reproduce his own father’s mistakes, that he spent your entire pregnancy reading books on parenthood.

girl dad!spencer who doesn’t sing your daughter to sleep like you do, because he’s got a terrible singing voice. instead, he whispers random facts and stories to her, even though she doesn’t understand half of it.

girl dad!spencer who gets up early on saturday mornings to make pancakes for both of you, and never raises his voice when the little girl spills maple syrup everywhere.

girl dad!spencer who lets your daughter do glam on him, even if his colleagues laugh when he presents cases with pink nails.

girl dad!spencer who never ever treats her like a baby, having regular talks with her about life and her favourite books, to make her feel important.

girl dad!spencer who comes back from week long cases and wants to make it up, so he makes her skip school and takes her to the park, never without getting ice cream.

girl dad!spencer who regularly acknowledges the fact that you’re an amazing mother. in his mind, he’s not even half a great as you are, and he never takes you for granted.

girl dad!spencer who almost tears up when his two favourite girls wake him up on father’s day, practically crushing him when you attack him with cuddles

girl dad!spencer who is SUCH A DILF

[brainisrotted]

guys, fanfiction isn't enough anymore, i need to be IN criminal minds.