#request

[inseobts]

Hello there, dear! I hope you're having a good day!

I absolutely love your "Accidental PDA" scenarios. Could I please request a part 2? Maybe with Shanks, Mihawk, and Crocodile?

I love those silly men~♡

(Accidental) PDA

characters: shanks, usopp, mihawk, crocodile, sabo

a/n: I tried to make them longer and added usopp and sabo, hope you don’t mind

words count: around 0.5k - 0.8k each

(zoro, sanji, law, ace, kid)

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Shanks:

The tavern is loud, filled with the usual rowdiness of the Red-Haired Pirates, and you’re just trying to enjoy your drink in peace. Shanks, however, has other plans.

Without thinking, he throws an arm around your shoulders, tugging you in closer as he laughs at something Benn said. It’s casual, effortless, like it’s second nature to him. You stiffen for a second, heat creeping up your neck, but Shanks doesn’t even seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care.

The crew does, though.

Lucky Roo is grinning into his plate, Yasopp gives a low whistle, and someone in the back yells, “Oi, Captain, didn’t know you were the handsy type!”

The teasing sets off a chain reaction. More whistles, some exaggerated winks, and a few dramatic “Get a room!” comments. Shanks finally glances around, noticing the way everyone is looking at you, at him, at the way his arm is still draped over you like you belong there.

And then, the bastard smirks.

“Jealous?” he asks, completely unfazed.

You, on the other hand, feel like sinking into the floor. You push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge, only chuckles as if this is the funniest thing in the world.

“You could let go…” you mutter, but your voice lacks conviction.

“Could,” he agrees, but his arm stays right where it is, fingers lazily tracing patterns on your shoulder “But I like this better.”

The crew erupts into laughter again, and you just know they’re never letting this go.

You groan, sinking deeper into Shanks’ side as the crew erupts into even more laughter and teasing. His arm is still draped lazily over your shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns on your sleeve like he has all the time in the world.

“Captain, you should at least buy ’em dinner first!” someone calls out, setting off another round of whistles.

Shanks just grins “Dinner? Please, I treat ’em well every day.”

You swat at his chest, finally pushing him off you, only for him to dramatically clutch his heart like you just mortally wounded him “Ow, sweetheart, that hurt.”

“Not as much as this embarrassment,” you mutter, crossing your arms “Do you have to be like this?”

He hums, tilting his head as if considering “Hmm… yeah, I think I do.”

The crew howls at that, and Yasopp slaps the table “Damn, you’re really done for, huh, Captain?”

Shanks just leans in again, closer this time, and you can feel his warmth even though he’s not touching you anymore. His voice drops, low and teasing “I mean… you don’t seem to mind that much.”

You open your mouth to protest but what can you even say? That your face isn’t burning? That your heart isn’t racing just a little? Because that would be a lie, and everyone here would see straight through it.

So instead, you huff and grab your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering.

Unfortunately, Shanks notices.

He chuckles, resting his chin in his palm as he watches you, utterly amused “Oh yeah,” he murmurs “You’re definitely cute when you’re flustered.”

The entire crew loses it.

── .✦ Usopp:

The two of you sit together on the deck of the Sunny, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun. The ship rocks gently on the waves as you both watch Luffy, Chopper, and Franky attempt to launch themselves out of a makeshift slingshot (which is absolutely going to end in disaster).

Usopp is so focused on their antics that, without thinking, he reaches out and takes your hand.

Not in a grand romantic way. Not with any intention at all. Just… naturally. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Your fingers are warm, your grip instinctively curling around his. And for a few blissful minutes, he doesn’t even notice what he’s done.

Then, of course, someone has to ruin it.

Zoro snorts from where he lounges with his sword resting against his shoulder “Oi, Usopp, holding hands now? When’s the wedding?”

Usopp nearly throws your hand away like it’s on fire. His face goes red so fast it could put a cherry to shame.

He waves his hands frantically “W-WHAT?! I—HOLDING HANDS? WHO? ME? NO WAY!”

Zoro looks unimpressed “You literally just were.”

Luffy grins wide “Ohhh! Are you guys dating? Why didn’t you tell us?!”

Usopp flails, looking at you for help, only to find you laughing.

You’re not embarrassed. You’re not panicking. You’re just sitting there, watching him combust, an amused glint in your eyes.

Oh, this is bad.

Sanji smirks as he lights a cigarette “My, my, Usopp. Didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

Usopp’s hands are everywhere, gesturing wildly as he tries to dig himself out of this nightmare “I—I wasn’t—I mean, I was, but I wasn’t—”

Robin chuckles behind her book “Don’t worry. It was cute.”

Usopp makes a strangled noise that is somewhere between a squawk and a plea to be thrown into the ocean. His heart is about to explode. He can’t even look at you now.

And then you—still so infuriatingly calm—just shrug and say “Well, I don’t mind.”

Usopp forgets how to breathe.

Chopper gasps “So you are dating?!”

Usopp immediately short-circuits “THAT’S NOT WHAT THEY MEANT—WAIT, WHAT DID YOU MEAN?!”

You just laugh again, standing up and stretching like this is the most casual thing in the world “I’ll let you figure that out.”

Then you walk away, leaving a completely fried Usopp sitting there, hands in his hair, while the rest of the crew loses their minds.

Luffy grins “I think you just got confessed to.”

Usopp screams.

He stares after you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Sanji exhales a puff of smoke, looking far too entertained “Well? You gonna sit there like an idiot or go after them?”

Usopp smacks his hands against his face “G-go after them? WHAT FOR?!”

Luffy tilts his head “Because they just confessed?”

“THEY DID NOT CONFESS!” Usopp shrieks, pointing wildly in the direction you disappeared. “THAT WAS VAGUE! THAT COULD MEAN ANYTHING!”

Franky crosses his arms “Could mean they like you.”

Chopper nods “Or that they wouldn’t mind if you liked them.”

Robin smiles behind her book “Or that they’re waiting for you to make the next move.”

Usopp is malfunctioning. His brain is overheating. This is worse than any battle, worse than any enemy encounter—this is romantic ambiguity, and it is killing him.

Zoro sighs, clearly losing patience “Look, either go ask them what they meant or sit here and keep yelling about it. Either way, shut up.”

Usopp grabs his head “This is too much. This is a nightmare. I need—I need time to process—”

Nami rolls her eyes “If you take too long, they might think you don’t care.”

Usopp bolts upright.

He cares. Oh, he cares. The thought of you thinking otherwise makes his stomach twist into knots.

He groans dramatically “UGH—FINE! I’LL GO!”

The crew cheers. He glares at them “If I die of embarrassment, I’m haunting you all.”

Luffy beams “Can ghosts hold hands?”

Usopp sprints before he can get sucked into another round of teasing.

── .✦ Mihawk:

The castle is quiet, save for the clinking of cutlery against fine china. You, Mihawk, and Perona are seated at the grand dining table, enjoying, or rather, trying to enjoy, dinner.

Everything is peaceful until your fork slips, clattering against your plate before tumbling off the table’s edge. Without thinking, Mihawk moves.

In one smooth motion, he catches the utensil mid-air, his fingers brushing against yours as he hands it back. It’s nothing, barely even a touch, but the air shifts immediately.

Perona, halfway through taking a bite, freezes.

Her wide eyes flick between you and Mihawk, and a slow, knowing smirk spreads across her face “Oh?” she sings, resting her chin in her hands “That was… interesting.”

You blink, confused “What?”

She grins “Didn’t know Hawky was the touchy type.”

Mihawk sighs, unimpressed “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But Perona isn’t letting this go “Ohhh, don’t try to act all cool—I saw that.” She points her fork at him accusingly “You totally just pulled a ‘casually affectionate, but I won’t admit it’ move.”

You scoff, shaking your head “It was just a fork—”

“It was not just a fork!” Perona interrupts dramatically “He caught it! He touched your hand! He lingered!”

Mihawk pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every life decision that led to this moment “This is absurd.”

Perona leans in with a wicked grin “Admit it. You like them.”

Mihawk finally meets your gaze, and for just a second, so brief you might have imagined it, you see something flicker in his eyes. Something unreadable. Something dangerous.

Then, as if nothing happened, he looks away “You’re being insufferable” he mutters to Perona, taking a slow sip of his wine.

She cackles, delighted “And you’re avoiding the question!”

You, caught between amusement and second-hand embarrassment, shake your head “Alright, that’s enough. Can we just eat in peace?”

Mihawk exhales through his nose, giving you the faintest nod. But as you pick up your fork again, you feel his gaze lingering just a second too long.

And this time, you are the one avoiding eye contact.

Perona is still grinning, twirling her fork between her fingers as she watches you both like a cat who just found the perfect toy to play with “You’re blushingggg” she sing-songs.

You nearly choke on your drink “I am not.”

She gasps dramatically “Oh my God, you so are! This is the best day of my life.”

Mihawk sighs, setting his glass down with an audible clink “Perona.”

Something about the way he says her name, low, warning, should be enough to shut her up. Should be. But Perona, being Perona, just grins wider “What?” she asks innocently, resting her chin in her hands “I’m just making an observation. It’s not my fault that you—”

Mihawk lifts a hand, and for a moment, you think he’s about to cut her off with a sharp retort. Instead, his fingers brush against the base of his wine glass, moving it an inch to the side. A subtle shift. A deliberate one.

And then you realise his gaze hasn’t left you since this conversation started.

Your breath catches. It’s not dramatic, not obvious, but it’s enough.

Enough for Perona’s eyes to widen.

“Oh.” She leans back, eyebrows raising “Wait. Hold on. Wait.”

Mihawk finally looks at her, his usual unreadable expression in place “What?”

Perona points between you both “This is real, isn’t it?”

You stiffen “What is real?”

She gasps again, clutching her chest like she just uncovered the biggest secret of the century “You! Him! This! Oh my God, I was just teasing, but you’re actually—”

Mihawk exhales sharply, reaching for his wine again “Perona.”

“What! You can’t expect me not to react!” She gestures wildly “I live in this creepy castle with you, and nothing fun ever happens! Of course I’m going to enjoy this!”

You groan, rubbing your temples “Perona, I swear—”

But she’s already giggling, positively thrilled “Oh, this is so cute. Mihawk, are you going to deny it? Hm?” She bats her lashes dramatically “Gonna tell me I’m imagining things? That you don’t look at them like that?”

Mihawk doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he sets his glass down, levels Perona with a stare so sharp it could probably cut through steel, and says, voice smooth as ever “Mind your business.”

Perona lets out a scream of pure, unfiltered excitement.

── .✦ Crocodile:

The casino is buzzing, filled with the sounds of clinking glasses and the murmur of high-stakes deals. You walk beside Crocodile as he moves through the crowd, his presence alone enough to part people like the Red Sea.

It’s nothing new, he’s intimidating without trying, and people know better than to get in his way. But as the two of you step toward a private lounge, the crowd thickens, bodies pressing in too close. Instinct takes over.

A firm hand lands on your lower back.

It’s subtle, barely even a touch, but the warmth of it sends a jolt through your spine. Crocodile doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even glance at you—he just guides you forward, fingers pressing lightly, keeping you close as he moves with that same effortless authority.

You don’t even have time to process it before you hear a quiet, amused scoff.

Daz Bones, walking a few steps behind, raises a brow “Didn’t think you were the chivalrous type.”

Crocodile barely reacts. If anything, he looks bored, taking a slow drag of his cigar before exhaling, smoke curling through the air “Shut it.”

Daz, to his credit, doesn’t push. But the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a smirk.

You glance up at Crocodile, expecting him to move his hand away now that the crowd has thinned. He doesn’t.

In fact, his fingers shift just slightly, a feather-light movement that sends a slow, creeping heat to your face.

Daz chuckles under his breath “Didn’t peg you as the clingy type, either.”

Crocodile stops walking.

The air changes.

It’s not obvious, no outburst, no harsh words, but the shift is immediate. Tension crackles, and for a split second, it feels like the temperature in the room just dropped.

Daz, wise as he is, raises his hands in mock surrender “Forget I said anything.”

Crocodile doesn’t even spare him a glance. His hand, however, still doesn’t move.

You swallow hard “Uh. You can—”

“Stay close,” he interrupts, voice low and even “People stare too much.”

It’s a flimsy excuse. You both know it.

But as his fingers press just a little more firmly against your back, guiding you forward once more, you decide not to call him out on it.

You don’t say anything. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t trust yourself to.

Crocodile’s hand is still there, still resting on your lower back like it belongs, and every nerve in your body is hyper-aware of the heat seeping through his glove. You try not to think about it, try to focus on anything else, but the way his fingers occasionally press just a little firmer, like he’s keeping track of you, making sure you’re right where he wants you, has your thoughts spinning.

Daz Bones says nothing more, though you can feel his amusement. The bastard’s probably enjoying this way too much.

Finally, Crocodile leads you into the private lounge, away from the crowd. The moment you step inside, you expect him to pull away. To let go.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he moves past you to the plush seating area, finally sliding his hand away slowly, like he’s reluctant to do so.

You exhale, a little too sharply. His golden eyes flick to you, sharp and assessing.

“You nervous?”

You scoff, folding your arms to hide the way your hands might be shaking just a little “Please. Why would I be nervous?”

Crocodile doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling smoke in a way that feels almost deliberate. Calculated. Then, just as smoothly, he reaches for the glass of whiskey set out for him.

“You tell me,” he says finally, voice smooth as silk “You’re the one who went quiet.”

Your jaw clenches “You’re imagining things.”

He hums, low and amused “Am I?”

Before you can fire back, the lounge door swings open, and one of his subordinates steps in with a report. The atmosphere shifts immediately, Crocodile’s expression goes from teasing to cold, all business. He gestures for you to sit beside him on the couch, as if nothing just happened, as if he didn’t have his hand on you like a silent claim minutes ago.

You’re still reeling, still trying to get a grip on yourself, but you move toward him anyway, settling next to him as he begins discussing plans.

And then, so casually you almost don’t notice—his arm drapes along the back of the couch.

Close.

Too close.

Not touching, but close enough that if you shifted even slightly, his fingers would graze your shoulder.

It’s intentional. It has to be.

You glance at him, searching for any hint of smugness, but he’s unreadable. Just focused, listening to the report with that same cold indifference.

But when you shift in your seat, just slightly, testing—his fingers twitch.

Your stomach flips.

He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge it. But that single, almost imperceptible movement is enough to confirm it:

Crocodile is absolutely doing this on purpose now.

── .✦ Sabo:

Sabo considers himself a composed man. A logical man. He doesn’t fluster easily.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Until you came along and ruined everything.

It happens on a regular afternoon at the Revolutionary Army base. The sun is shining, birds are singing, and Sabo is absolutely not panicking…yet.

The two of you are sitting together, going over some mission reports. Nothing unusual. Nothing suspicious. Just work.

And then it happens.

Without thinking, Sabo rests his hand on your knee.

Not in a weird way. Not in an intentional way. Just… naturally. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You don’t move. You don’t even react.

Sabo doesn’t notice.

But Koala does.

She grins.

“Wow, Sabo, I didn’t know you were so affectionate.”

Sabo blinks “Huh?”

Koala gestures at your knee, where his hand is still resting comfortably.

He follows her gaze. Sees it. Processes it. Immediately short-circuits.

His hand jumps away like he’s been burned. He chokes on air. His soul leaves his body.

“I—THAT WAS—WAIT—” He scrambles for an excuse, for an explanation, for anything that isn’t I just did that on instinct like a lovesick idiot.

Koala smirks “Oh, don’t stop on my account.”

Sabo malfunctions. He turns to you, desperate for backup, only to find you watching him with amusement.

Oh, this is bad.

Hack strolls by, raising an eyebrow “You two finally together?”

Sabo dies on the spot.

“WE’RE NOT—” He practically explodes, looking at you with betrayal when you don’t immediately deny it.

You shrug “I don’t mind.”

The world ends.

Koala gasps dramatically “So you wouldn’t mind if Sabo kept touching you?”

Sabo chokes “KOALA.”

You just smile “Nope.”

Sabo’s brain shuts down. His face burns. His entire life flashes before his eyes.

Koala grins “Sabo, you gonna sit there or take their hand again?”

Sabo does what any rational, composed second-in-command of the Revolutionary Army would do in this situation.

He runs.

Straight out of the room, down the hall, past a very confused Dragon, who barely lifts an eyebrow as Sabo barrels past him like he’s fleeing for his life.

He does not stop until he’s outside, hands on his knees, breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“You okay there, Chief of Staff?”

Sabo jumps.

Koala is standing behind him, arms crossed, looking way too smug.

He straightens immediately, clearing his throat “I—I just needed fresh air.”

“Right,” Koala says, unconvinced “Totally not because you just had a full-blown crisis over a little hand placement.”

Sabo groans, burying his face in his hands “I wasn’t thinking! It was instinct! And then—and then they said—” His voice breaks. He can’t even say it out loud.

Koala grins “That they don’t mind?”

Sabo melts into the floor.

She claps him on the back “Come on, Sabo. This is a good thing.”

“How is this a good thing?!” He looks at her, betrayed “I made an absolute fool of myself!”

“No, you just made it obvious.”

Sabo freezes.

Koala raises an eyebrow, like she can see the realization hitting him in real time “Wait. Don’t tell me you actually thought you were being subtle this whole time?”

Sabo has to sit down.

He buries his face in his hands “This is a nightmare.”

Koala laughs “You’re so dramatic. Just go talk to them.”

“I can’t just—just walk up to them after that!” Sabo gestures wildly “What if they were just teasing me? What if they didn’t actually mean it? What if—”

“Why don’t you ask them instead of spiraling?”

Sabo hates how logical that is.

Koala grins “They’re still inside, you know.”

Sabo grits his teeth. Stands up. Forces himself to breathe.

And then, before he can overthink himself into oblivion, he marches back inside.

You glance up when he approaches “Hey, you okay? You ran out of here pretty fast.”

Sabo feels his entire existence collapse.

But he forces himself to focus, to stay calm. He sits down across from you, clasping his hands together like he’s about to deliver a serious political statement.

“…Did you mean it?”

You blink “Mean what?”

He swallows hard “That you don’t mind.”

There’s a pause.

Then you smile, tilting your head “Yeah. I meant it.”

Sabo forgets how to breathe.

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand “Why? Do you mind?”

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. He is malfunctioning at maximum capacity.

“…No.”

You grin “Good.”

Then, so casually, you reach over and take his hand this time.

Sabo dies.

[lazer-t]

Crimson Topaz for a $15 Ko-fi supporter

Crimson Topaz (Topaza pella) hummingbirds construct deep bowl-shaped nests out of gathered Bombax seeds and spiderwebs. They lay a clutch consisting of 2 elongated white eggs. (x, x)

[badathumanemotions]

hi can you write a fic about the team is at a bar ( spencer and the reader are “enemies” ) and the readers ex shows up so she makes spencer act like her bf (they kiss 😛) and it results in them getting freaky because they realise their real feelings for each other

Friction (Part 1)

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader MDNI MasterList Catergory: Smut CW: Enemies to Lovers, Petty Arguments, Fighting, Mean Break Up With Ex, Girl's Night, Background/Foreground Case, Usual Criminal Minds Warnings, Fake Dating, Smut, Sex Up Against The Wall, Oral, Dom/ Sub Undertones, Vaginal Sex, Unprotected Sex. WC: 25,106 [Total Count 52,733] Part Two (AN: I got carried away with this one. It was too long for one post so I had to split it. I know it's not exactly what you asked for but I hope you don't mind. Not Proof Read) From the moment you joined the BAU, you and Spencer Reid had been at odds.

At first, you thought it was just an adjustment period. Everyone had warned you about his quirks—his brilliance, his social awkwardness, his resistance to change. It wasn’t personal, they assured you. He just needed time.

And you had no problem with that. You had seen how he interacted with the rest of the team, how he softened once he settled into a rhythm with someone. You figured it would be the same with you.

But it wasn’t.

Time passed, but Spencer didn’t warm up to you. If anything, he seemed to grow colder.

At first, it was subtle. You’d say something, and he’d respond in clipped, uninterested tones, like he couldn’t be bothered to engage. You’d offer a theory, and he’d shoot it down with a rapid-fire recitation of statistics before moving on without a second thought. It wasn’t just that he was socially awkward—it was that he was dismissive.

And then, as the weeks went on, it became something more.

You noticed the way his jaw would tense when you spoke, the way he interrupted you more than he did anyone else. His corrections became sharper, more pointed, like he was trying to undermine you. And when you gave him back the same energy, he only doubled down.

It made no sense.

You had been nothing but friendly to him in the beginning, even a little in awe of him. You liked him—or at least, you had wanted to. You had made an effort, asking him about his interests, trying to engage him in conversation. You wanted to be his friend.

And yet, from the start, Spencer had been intent on keeping you at arm’s length.

It irritated you more than it should have. Maybe it was because you had seen glimpses of the way he could be—laughing with JJ, bantering with Morgan, engaging in quiet conversations with Emily. He wasn’t incapable of warmth. He wasn’t incapable of connection.

So why was it so impossible with you?

You didn’t understand it.

It was one of your first weeks on the team. The case had wrapped up early, and back at Quantico, the team—minus Hotch and Gideon—had been lingering in the bullpen, half-working, half-making conversation.

“You know what sounds good?” Morgan had said, stretching in his chair. “A drink. A real drink. None of this coffee and jet pretzel diet we’ve been on for four days.”

JJ hummed in agreement. “Ooh, yeah. Emily?”

“I’m in,” Emily had said immediately, swivelling in her chair. “Reid?”

Spencer had hesitated for a second before nodding. “Yeah, sure.”

It wasn’t his usual scene, but the team had been encouraging him to get out more, and he figured one night wouldn’t hurt.

Then, almost without thinking, he glanced in your direction.

You were focused on something at your desk, jotting something down in a file, oblivious to the conversation happening around you. He knew you hadn’t heard Morgan’s suggestion.

And before he could think better of it, the idea formed.

Ask her to come too.

It shouldn’t have been such a big deal. It was a casual invitation, nothing more. If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t even hesitate.

But it wasn’t anyone else. It was you.

Spencer shifted in his seat, pushing his hair behind his ear as he tried to work up the nerve to get your attention. His fingers tapped anxiously against his desk.

He ran through the words in his head. Something simple.

Hey, we’re going for drinks. You should come.

He swallowed hard. No, too eager.

The team is going out tonight. You’re coming, right?

Better. Casual. Not like he cared whether you came or not.

Spencer inhaled, finally ready to speak—

“Hey!”

Your name rang out across the room, bright and familiar.

Spencer���s mouth snapped shut.

You looked up, your face breaking into an easy smile as a man approached. He was tall, broad-shouldered, walking toward you with the kind of confidence that suggested he belonged there.

“Hey,” you greeted warmly as he reached you, and then, without hesitation, you introduced him to the team.

Spencer barely heard the words, but they echoed in his head regardless.

My boyfriend.

The realization had hit him like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know what he had been expecting—didn’t even know why he had been gathering the nerve to ask you to come out with them. But he knew, with startling clarity, that whatever fleeting thought had been in his head had been stupid.

Of course, you had a boyfriend.

Of course, you weren’t interested.

And from that moment on, Spencer had kept his distance.

Now, nearly a year later, you and Spencer Reid were still locked in a cold war of snide remarks, tense silence, and a mutual refusal to back down.

The team had learned to tolerate it, brushing past your constant clashes like background noise. Morgan smirked whenever you two were forced to sit together, JJ raised an eyebrow when one of you cut the other off in a briefing. Emily, ever entertained, had once called it weirdly impressive, the way you could turn even the most mundane conversation into a battlefield. Even Hotch had raised an eyebrow once, as if puzzled by how two otherwise competent agents turned every conversation into a sparring match.

And maybe it was.

Because for all the ways Spencer frustrated you, for all the ways you swore you hated him—there was something about your dynamic that you couldn’t ignore.

Something that made you fight back, instead of letting it go.

Something that made it matter.

And that was what irritated you the most.

Like the case in Detroit.

The house was eerily quiet. Sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting sharp slashes of light across the living room floor. It was the third crime scene in a week, and you were already exhausted.

Three women. All strangled. No signs of forced entry. No struggle. The only thing missing was their jewellery.

You and Spencer had been sent to the latest victim’s house to comb through the scene one more time. Just the two of you.

Fantastic.

“I don’t think the unsub is a stranger,” you said, scanning the room. “There’s no sign of forced entry. He’s either charming his way in or she already knows him.”

Spencer, crouched near the coffee table, didn’t even look up. “That’s not necessarily true. He could be posing as a maintenance worker or a delivery person. It’s common for serial offenders to gain access under false pretenses.”

You exhaled through your nose, forcing yourself to stay patient. “That’s possible. But if he were posing as a worker, wouldn’t the victims have mentioned expecting someone? None of them had appointments scheduled, no maintenance requests, nothing out of the ordinary on their call logs.” You gestured around. “And there’s no sign of a rush. No hesitation. He didn’t need to convince them. They let him in without question.”

Spencer finally stood, crossing his arms. “It’s still an assumption. People let in strangers all the time.”

You turned to him, incredulous. “So, you’re saying three women, in completely separate parts of the city, all just happened to let the same random guy inside?”

Spencer let out a sharp breath through his nose—the closest thing to a scoff you’d ever heard from him. “You’re conflating correlation with causation. Just because the method was the same doesn’t mean the victims knew him.”

You crossed your arms. “And you’re assuming you know everything just because you read a couple dozen studies on serial offenders with no forced entry.”

His eyes narrowed. “A couple dozen? Try over a hundred.”

You huffed a humourless laugh. “Wow. That explains so much.”

He tilted his head, gaze sharp. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

You stepped closer, lowering your voice. “It means, Dr. Reid, that maybe you should try thinking like a person instead of a goddamn textbook for once.”

His expression flickered—just for a second. A tiny crack in the mask. Then it was gone, and his voice was back to its usual, infuriatingly calm tone. “And maybe you should try thinking with logic instead of gut feelings.”

You stared at him, pulse thrumming.

God, he was insufferable.

It wasn’t just that he disagreed with you—it was the way he dismissed you. Like you were foolish for even suggesting a different perspective. Like your experience, your instincts, meant nothing next to his IQ and encyclopedic knowledge of criminal behaviour.

“Fine,” you said, stepping back. “You think I’m wrong? Prove it.”

Spencer blinked, clearly thrown by the challenge. “What?”

“You heard me,” you said, crossing your arms. “If you’re so sure I’m wrong, prove it. Give me one solid piece of evidence that definitively rules out a personal connection.”

He hesitated.

Just for a second. But you caught it.

And that hesitation? That tiny, almost imperceptible pause?

It was a win.

Because for all his facts, all his stats, he couldn’t definitively prove you wrong. Not yet.

But instead of admitting that, he just clenched his jaw and turned away. “We should get back to the station,” he muttered, already moving toward the door.

You let him go, but the smug satisfaction in your chest was short-lived.

Because as much as you hated to admit it, as much as you wanted to believe that this was just a rivalry, just workplace tension, there was something else beneath the surface.

Something that made your heart race a little too fast whenever he challenged you.

Something that made it hard to ignore the way his eyes darkened when he was frustrated, or the way his voice got quieter when he was trying to prove a point.

Something that you both refused to acknowledge.

Because it was easier to fight.

Easier to pretend that this was just a clash of personalities and not something deeper.

So, as always, you buried it down, shoved it behind sharp words and colder stares.

And if Spencer Reid was doing the same? Well. That wasn’t your problem.

Monday came with the usual post-case lull, the team settling back into routine at the bullpen. The scent of Garcia’s latest flavoured coffee wafted through the air as she perched on your desk, legs swinging.

“You never told me how date night went,” she chirped, tapping at her keyboard with one hand while stirring sugar into her mug with the other.

You barely looked up from your paperwork. “Huh?”

“With the boyfriend,” she prompted, stretching out the word. “You two went out Friday, right? Fancy dinner? Wine? Come on, give me details, woman.”

There was a beat too long before you responded, your pen hesitating against the page. “Oh. Yeah. It was... fine.”

Garcia’s brows lifted at the lacklustre answer. “Fine? You usually get all dreamy-eyed when you talk about him.”

You forced a smile. “I guess I’m just tired. Case drained me.”

She didn’t push, but she noticed.

By Tuesday, the change in your demeanour had spread through the team like a quiet ripple in a pond. There was still no mention of your boyfriend. No lighthearted comments about your life outside of work. The usual sparks of your personality felt dimmed, and no one could deny the shift.

The day was long, and by the time you were all back in the bullpen, trying to catch up on case details, Morgan stretched his arms over his head with a loud groan.

“Man,” he muttered, “I can barely remember the last time I went to bed before midnight.” He dropped back into his chair and looked around. “Anybody else feel like they need a little work-life balance?”

Emily rolled her eyes but smiled. “For sure. We work in shifts, but we never really sleep at the same time.” She paused, glancing at you, and then back at Morgan. “I think we could all use a little more balance.”

JJ nodded in agreement, giving a slight chuckle. “Yeah, I hear you. We all need to find a way to make the job fit into our lives, not the other way around. That’s something I’d like to find in a relationship.”

You froze at her words, your fingers momentarily stilling on the case file in front of you. The word relationship hung in the air, and you could feel your walls instinctively rise. You hadn’t mentioned your boyfriend in weeks—not even to the girls, and now the topic of relationships felt like a knife twisting in your chest.

"Yeah, sure," you muttered, giving a tight smile as you kept your eyes on the case. “We’ll find a way to make it work.”

JJ caught the tightness in your tone, and she exchanged a quick, knowing glance with Emily. But they didn’t press you. Not yet.

By Wednesday, the rhythm of the bullpen had returned to its usual hum, but there was a subtle shift in the air. You were still going through the motions, keeping your focus on the case, but something about your presence was different. It wasn’t obvious, not to Spencer anyway. To him, it was the same as it always had been—just another day of your usual jabs and back-and-forth.

“Did you get those files for me, or do I have to send a reminder?” Spencer’s voice cut through the quiet, his usual tone of detached sarcasm filling the air as he stood next to your desk.

You didn’t even look up, your pen still scratching across the paper. “You’ll have to send a reminder, because clearly I don’t work on your schedule,” you said, your words sharp as ever.

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “Right, because we all know how important your time is.”

You met his gaze for a brief second, then rolled your eyes, going back to the case file. “I’m glad you remember,” you muttered.

Spencer gave a small sneer, and shook his head. “Guess I’ll just wait, then.”

Your response was quick, as expected, and just as biting. You didn’t miss a beat. Everything about your interaction with him seemed normal to him, no different from the usual back-and-forth. You responded in the same sarcastic manner, throwing out your usual jabs.

But the team had started noticing. It wasn’t that you were acting differently around Spencer, but that there was something off about you overall. A quiet distance that you had put between yourself and the others, even when you were still doing your job.

Garcia was the first to pick up on it. After your usual banter with Spencer, she dropped by your desk, leaning against it casually.

“Hey, you alright?” she asked gently, her eyes scanning your face. She didn’t push, but she could see that something was different. You were still going through the motions, still interacting with Spencer like everything was fine, but there was an emptiness to your energy.

You didn’t meet her gaze right away, keeping your focus on your work. “Yeah, just tired,” you muttered, pushing a stack of papers around.

Garcia wasn’t convinced, but she didn’t press it. “Uh-huh. You’re always tired,” she said, her voice laced with concern. “But I haven’t heard you mention your boyfriend in a while.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. It wasn’t that you hadn’t noticed the silence about him—it was just that hearing Garcia bring it up made it painfully real. You forced a tight smile, a fake one that didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah. We’re fine,” you said, hoping it didn’t sound as hollow as it felt.

Garcia gave you a knowing look, but didn’t push any further. Not yet. She could see it in your eyes—you weren’t fine, and she knew the silence wasn’t a coincidence.

Meanwhile, Morgan and Emily exchanged a glance across the bullpen. They were both catching onto the shift, seeing how your energy had dimmed. It wasn’t a massive change, but it was there. You weren’t the same. They could tell something was off.

But to Spencer, everything was still as it had been.

By Thursday, the subtle changes in your behaviour had settled into a noticeable pattern. You weren’t sure if it was exhaustion from the week or the simple fact that you didn’t have it in you to keep up appearances anymore, but your usual efforts to deflect and keep things light were slipping. It wasn’t just Garcia who had picked up on the shift—Emily and JJ had started to notice, too.

You weren’t avoiding people, not exactly. You still engaged in conversations, still laughed when the moment called for it, still contributed to the team dynamic like always. But there were cracks in the performance. Little things, like the way you hesitated before answering when someone asked about your plans for the weekend. The way your phone stayed face-down on your desk, as if you were avoiding something—or someone.

It was nearing the end of the day when JJ stretched in her chair and sighed. “I feel like this week has been a month long,” she said, rubbing her temples.

“You and me both,” Emily muttered. “We need a reset before the next case.” She looked over at you and JJ. “Drinks?”

JJ hesitated for half a second before nodding. “Yeah, I’m in.”

Emily turned to you next, eyebrows raised.

You considered it. The idea of being out with them, surrounded by the normalcy of your team, was tempting. But you also knew that too much proximity to them meant a higher risk of them prying, and you weren’t sure you were ready for that yet.

Before you could answer, Garcia’s voice cut in from across the room. “Ooh, actually, I was thinking—we haven’t had a proper girls’ night in forever. We should do one this weekend.”

Emily perked up at that. “That’s a good idea.”

JJ nodded in agreement before looking at you expectantly.

You hesitated. If there was ever a time they were going to corner you about what was going on, it would be then.

But you were also tired. Tired of holding it all in, tired of pretending like nothing had changed when everything had.

“…Yeah,” you finally said. “That sounds good.”

“Perfect,” Garcia beamed. “Saturday it is.”

You forced a small smile in return, but the weight in your chest remained. You had a feeling this weekend was going to be harder than you were ready for.

You weren’t sure why you agreed to this.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to spend time with them—you did. Garcia, Emily, and JJ were some of the best people you knew. But you also knew they had been watching you all week, waiting for the right moment to ask the questions you weren’t ready to answer.

And tonight? Tonight was the perfect setup for it.

Garcia’s apartment was warm and inviting, lit by a mix of fairy lights and flickering candles. The scent of vanilla and something floral lingered in the air, blending with the buttery smell of popcorn on the coffee table. The couch was crowded with throw pillows, and an impressive spread of snacks covered the table—chips, chocolate, and a cheese board that was far too fancy for a casual girls’ night.

Emily flopped onto the couch, popping a grape into her mouth. “You know, Pen, normal people don’t make charcuterie boards for a casual hang out.”

Garcia huffed, dramatically placing a hand over her heart. “First of all, I don’t surround myself with ‘normal’ people. Second, I’ll have you know that a well-balanced snack selection is crucial to the experience.”

JJ laughed as she curled up on the other side of the couch, taking a sip of her wine. “I’m not complaining. This is way better than the sad bag of popcorn I would’ve made at home.”

You gave a small smile, settling into the cushions with your own drink in hand. It was nice—being here, being with them. The easy conversation, the laughter, the warmth of it all.

For the first hour, everything felt normal.

Garcia kept the energy light, regaling you with a dramatic retelling of some office gossip she had overheard, complete with hand gestures and exaggerated gasps. Emily and JJ threw in their own commentary, and for a while, it was easy to pretend that this was just like any other night.

But you weren’t oblivious.

You caught the way JJ glanced at you when she thought you wouldn’t notice, the way Emily’s usual sarcasm softened just a little, the way Garcia kept the conversation moving, giving you space to settle in.

They weren’t going to push. Not right away.

Still, you knew it was coming.

It started subtly. A shift in the conversation, the way the air in the room seemed to change.

JJ leaned back against the couch, swirling her wine in her glass. “It’s nice,” she mused, “just us girls. It’s been a while since we did something like this.”

Garcia nodded, nudging you playfully. “Yeah, sweetness, you’ve been kinda… MIA lately.”

Your fingers tightened slightly around your glass. “It’s just been a busy few weeks,” you said, keeping your tone light.

Emily gave you a look. Not pushing, not prying—just… waiting.

You exhaled slowly, staring at the rim of your glass. The words felt heavy, tangled in your throat. You had spent weeks keeping this locked up, pretending like everything was fine.

But they weren’t going to let you keep pretending.

So you said it.

“We broke up.”

The words felt strange, final in a way they hadn’t before. Like saying them out loud made them more real.

There was a beat of silence before JJ reached over, squeezing your hand. “I’m sorry.”

Garcia’s face crumpled in sympathy, and Emily didn’t say anything, just watching you carefully, waiting to see if you’d say more.

You swallowed hard, forcing a small shrug. “It was… coming for a while. I just didn’t want to see it.”

Garcia scooted closer, resting a hand on your knee. “Was it… bad?”

You hesitated. “Not in the way you’d think. But he had this way of making me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like no matter what I did, I was always… falling short.”

JJ frowned. “That’s not love.”

You let out a short, humourless laugh. “I know that. I do. But when you’re in it, when it’s happening… it doesn’t feel like that. It just feels like trying harder. Like maybe if I was a little less sensitive, a little less difficult, a little more—” You broke off, shaking your head.

Emily’s voice was quiet but firm. “More what?”

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temples. “He used to say I was too much. That I was exhausting to deal with.” Your voice wavered slightly, and you forced a breath through your nose. “He made me feel like I had to tone myself down all the time. Like I had to be easier to handle.”

Garcia’s grip on your knee tightened. “That is—" She sucked in a breath. "That is absolute garbage.”

JJ’s eyes were shining, and she reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You are not too much,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

Emily leaned forward, her gaze steady. “You know that, right?”

You let out a shaky breath. “I want to.”

Garcia made a wounded noise and pulled you into a hug, wrapping you up so tightly you could barely breathe—but you didn’t mind. You clung to her, squeezing your eyes shut against the sting of tears.

“It wasn’t just that,” you admitted after a long moment, your voice muffled against Garcia’s shoulder. “It was the way he’d say things that just… got to me. Like he knew exactly where to hit, even when he wasn’t trying to be mean.”

JJ rubbed your back gently. “What did he say?”

You swallowed hard. “One time, during a fight, I told him I was tired of feeling like I was never enough for him. And he just… looked at me and said, ‘I don’t think you even know how to be easy to love.’”

The room went silent.

Garcia pulled back just enough to cup your face in her hands. “That is not true,” she said fiercely. “Not even a little bit.”

JJ’s eyes were wet. “That is a horrible thing to say to someone.”

Emily shook her head, her jaw tight. “That’s not about you. That’s about him.”

You blinked rapidly, staring at the ceiling to keep the tears from falling. “I think the worst part is… I believed him.”

Garcia let out a wounded noise, and before you knew it, JJ was pulling you into another hug, Emily shifting closer, a solid, steady presence at your side.

“You are not hard to love,” JJ whispered. “You are kind, and funny, and strong, and you care so much. Anyone who made you feel like you weren’t enough didn’t deserve you.”

Emily rested a hand on your knee. “You never had to make yourself smaller for him. And you don’t have to make yourself smaller for anyone else, either.”

Garcia sniffled, squeezing your shoulders. “And if anyone ever makes you feel that way again, we will make them regret it.”

You let out a watery laugh, shaking your head.

It still hurt. It would probably hurt for a while. But sitting here, wrapped in their warmth, their unwavering support—you didn’t feel quite so broken anymore.

And maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as alone as you thought.

Monday came too soon.

The sun hadn't even come up yet when your phone rang. The sound cut through the stillness, waking you up and the second you saw Hotch’s name on the screen, you knew it was urgent.

By the time you arrived at Quantico, the rest of the team was already trickling into the bullpen, some looking more awake than others. Spencer had his satchel slung over one shoulder, a book tucked under one arm. Emily cradled a travel mug of coffee like it was a lifeline, and Gideon stood near Hotch, arms crossed, already in work mode.

You adjusted the strap of your go-bag, exhaling slowly as you made your way towards them. The weight in your chest—the one you hadn’t fully acknowledged until the other night—felt a little lighter now.

Girls’ night had been good for you. It had been painful, but it had been necessary. JJ, Emily, and Garcia had given you space to lay it all out, to speak the words you had been holding in for too long. And in return, they had given you their warmth, their support, their unshakable certainty that you were worth more than what your ex had made you believe.

You weren’t magically healed—far from it. But for the first time in a long time, you felt like you weren’t carrying it alone.

Unfortunately, self-reflection had to wait. Work never stopped.    The briefing room was heavy with tension, the kind that settled deep in your chest. The urgent call had come in barely an hour ago, pulling you all in earlier than usual with little time to process anything beyond getting here as fast as possible. Now, with the jet waiting, Hotch stood at the head of the table, his expression grim.

“We’ve got a spree killer in Louisville, Kentucky,” he said, his tone clipped. “Eight confirmed victims in the last thirty-six hours. The attacks have been spread out across the city—parking lots, convenience stores, even at traffic stops. No clear connection between the victims so far.”

JJ scanned the file in front of her. “Louisville PD is stretched thin. They’re struggling to keep up, and local news is already running with it. People are panicking.”

Emily leaned forward, tapping a finger against one of the locations on the map. “Spree killers usually burn out quickly, but this guy isn’t stopping. If anything, he’s escalating.”

Gideon nodded. “Which means either he’s building toward something or he’s completely out of control.”

You flipped through the reports, searching for a pattern. “He’s not staying in one area for long. No indication that he’s targeting specific people.”

“That’s what we need to figure out before he strikes again,” Hotch said. “Wheels up in twenty.”

By the time you touched down in Louisville, the city was already on edge. The latest victim had been killed barely an hour before your plane landed, and with no clear pattern to the attacks, it felt like you were already two steps behind.

The team split up immediately—Hotch and Gideon heading to the precinct to coordinate with Louisville PD, while the rest of you started canvassing the crime scenes. The killer had struck all over the city, never hitting the same kind of location twice. A gas station, a strip mall parking lot, a quiet suburban street. No connection between the victims. No clear timeline. Just chaos.

And the longer it took to find something solid, the worse it got.

Day one was spent chasing ghosts. Every lead fizzled out before you could get anywhere, every theory dismantled as soon as you thought you were onto something. Tensions in the precinct were high, exhaustion creeping into the edges of every conversation.

By day two, the frustration had settled into your bones.

“Nothing about this makes sense,” you muttered, rubbing your temples as you stared down at the whiteboard. “He’s not following a spree killer’s usual pattern. There’s no emotional trigger we can see, no connection between the locations—he’s just killing at random.”

Spencer, who had been pouring over geographic profiling data at the table, scoffed under his breath. “That’s what we’ve been saying for the last twenty-four hours.”

You shot him a sharp look. “I’m aware, Reid.”

The way he rolled his eyes set something off in you. Normally, you’d just snap back with something just as sharp, but with the exhaustion pressing in, patience was a luxury you didn’t have.

“Would you like to contribute something actually useful, or are you just going to sit there and be an ass?”

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “I am contributing. Maybe if you actually paid attention instead of complaining—”

“Okay,” Emily cut in, stepping between the two of you before it could escalate. “Let’s all take a breath, yeah?”

Your jaw was tight, fingers digging into the back of a chair as you forced yourself to look away from Spencer’s infuriating face. You could feel him doing the same.

It wasn’t just the case getting to you. It was him. It was always him.

And you were starting to get really sick of it.

Three days in Louisville, and the case was going nowhere. The spree killer was still out there, and you were all running on fumes, chasing leads that kept slipping through your fingers.

You stared at the whiteboard, scanning through the scattered crime scenes and victim profiles, trying to make sense of something that refused to fit together.

“This isn’t working,” you muttered, pinching the bridge of your nose. “We need a new angle.”

Spencer, hunched over the geographic profile, barely glanced up. “That’s been obvious since yesterday.”

Your patience was already razor-thin, and his tone was the last thing you needed. “Wow, thanks for the insight, Reid. Maybe next time, say something useful instead of just being a condescending ass.”

Spencer sighed, finally looking at you. “I’m saying we’ve been through these patterns already. Multiple times.”

“And? You want to just sit here and wait for the guy to strike again?”

“No, but maybe you could stop acting like you’re the only one frustrated!” His voice sharpened. “We’re all exhausted, we all want answers, but snapping at me isn’t going to magically make one appear.”

“Oh, don’t flatter yourself,” you shot back. “I don’t expect you to magically solve it, genius or not.”

He scoffed. “Right, because you’d rather argue with me than actually get anywhere.”

“You are impossible to talk to.”

“Likewise.”

The tension between you was suffocating, neither of you willing to back down. Your pulse was hammering in your ears, your whole body wound tight.

Spencer exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “God, you’re just—” His voice was tight with frustration as he muttered, “You’re exhausting to deal with.”

It hit like a punch to the ribs.

For a moment, you just stood there, thrown off balance. The fight inside you flickered, then went out completely.

Spencer expected another snap back, another glare, another biting remark. Instead, all he got was silence.

You swallowed, your throat tight, forcing yourself to keep your expression neutral. But it wasn’t enough. Spencer saw it—the way something in your eyes dimmed, the way your grip on the edge of the table tightened just a fraction before you let go.

The weight in his stomach dropped.

This wasn’t like before.

The arguments, the back-and-forth, the push and pull—there was always an edge of exhilaration to it, something sharp but controlled. But this? This didn’t feel right. There was no rush, no victory, no satisfaction.

It just felt wrong.

You took a slow breath, keeping your voice steady. “Excuse me,” you said quietly.

Then you turned and walked out.

Not storming off. Not slamming doors. Just… leaving.

Spencer sat back, gripping his pen a little too tightly, his jaw clenched.

The silence left in your wake was heavy.

JJ let out a quiet breath, shaking her head. Emily was already pushing herself up to follow you.

Spencer stared at the table, trying to convince himself he didn’t care.

So why did it feel so wrong?

Emily found you in one of the empty offices, the dim light from the desk lamp casting long shadows along the walls. You sat in the chair closest to the window, arms crossed, staring blankly at the parking lot outside. The door creaked slightly as she leaned against the frame, but you didn’t look up.

She knocked lightly, just once. “Figured you’d be in here.”

You huffed, a weak attempt at a laugh. “Yeah, well. Needed a minute.”

Emily stepped inside, closing the door halfway but not shutting it completely. She wasn’t cornering you in, just giving you space. “I get it.”

Silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Emily knew better than to push. She leaned against the desk, hands bracing the edge, watching you carefully without making it feel like she was studying you.

You wanted to brush it off, to tell her you were fine. But the words felt too heavy, too hollow, and Emily wasn’t the kind of person you could lie to so easily.

She spoke first. “Do you want to talk about it?”

You shook your head. “Not really.”

But the words were already pushing at the edges of your teeth, restless and aching. Emily just nodded, like she knew you’d say more when you were ready.

Your fingers curled around the hem of your sleeve. “It shouldn’t have gotten to me.”

Emily tilted her head, considering. “Maybe. But it did.”

You let out a slow, frustrated breath, pressing your fingers into your temples. “It wasn’t the same as before, but it still—” You stopped, jaw tightening, shaking your head as if that would loosen the feeling lodged in your chest. “I don’t know. It still hit.”

Emily studied you for a moment before speaking, her voice quieter but sure. “Sometimes it doesn’t have to be the same to hurt the same.”

That shouldn’t have made your throat tighten, but it did. Your ex’s words had been cruel, calculated. Spencer’s had been careless, tossed out in frustration. But they had landed in the same place, re-opening something you hadn’t realized was still raw.

You inhaled sharply, blinking hard as you turned your gaze back to the window. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.”

You exhaled through your nose, shaking your head. “I should’ve just snapped back like usual. I don’t know why I—” You hesitated, trying to find the right words, trying to make sense of your own reaction.

Emily didn’t fill the silence for you. She let you sit in it, in the weight of it, before she finally said, “Because sometimes, it’s not just about the words.”

That hit too close. You swallowed. “I don’t even think he realized what he said.”

“He didn’t,” Emily agreed. “But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

The confirmation made your chest ache. You could deal with Spencer being an ass. You could deal with the usual biting remarks, the way you two pushed and pulled at each other like it was second nature. But this was different. And maybe that was the worst part—he hadn’t even known what he’d done.

You dragged a hand down your face. “I just—God, I hate feeling like this.”

Emily’s mouth quirked in something that wasn’t quite a smile, but wasn’t pity either. “I know.”

Another moment of silence, but this time, it felt a little easier to breathe. Emily wasn’t pushing you to move past it, wasn’t telling you to toughen up or act like it didn’t matter. She was just here. A steady presence in the middle of a storm you hadn’t expected.

You let out a slow breath. “Thanks.”

Emily nodded. “Anytime.”

After a moment, you straightened in your chair and rubbed a hand over your face. “I think I just need a little time.”

Emily studied you for a beat before nodding. “Okay. I’ll let the team know you’re taking a minute.”

You gave her a small, grateful smile. She didn’t press for more, didn’t tell you to shake it off or come back before you were ready. She just squeezed your shoulder lightly before slipping out of the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

You sat there for a long time, staring out at the parking lot without really seeing it. The argument played on a loop in your head, over and over, like pressing on a bruise just to see if it still hurt.

It did.

Spencer’s words echoed, rattling around in the space between memory and old wounds, landing exactly where they shouldn’t have. You had taken hits before—verbal, emotional, professional. You had always given as good as you got, pushing back, meeting force with force.

But this?

This had made you fold in on yourself before you could stop it.

That’s what gnawed at you. Not just the hurt, but how easy it had been to slip back into it.

Eventually, you exhaled sharply and pushed yourself up. Hiding wouldn’t change anything.

When you stepped back into the main workspace, you caught the way the team registered your return.

Emily glanced your way but didn’t say anything, just subtly shifting to give you a spot near the table. Gideon and Hotch barely looked up from the geographic profile, their focus locked in on the case. JJ offered a quick, understanding smile before turning back to her notes.

And then there was Spencer.

You felt his gaze before you saw it.

He was watching you—not in the usual sharp, assessing way, but with something else flickering behind his eyes, something you couldn’t quite place.

You ignored it.

You sat, pulled the case files toward you, and focused.

It didn’t take long before Spencer tried to bait you.

“So, are you actually going to contribute this time, or just—”

JJ turned a page in her notebook with a little more force than necessary, but Spencer didn’t seem to notice.

He was still waiting for your usual sharp retort.

But you didn’t bite. You didn’t even look up.

Spencer hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, before shifting in his seat. “Because if you’re done sulking, we could use a second opinion on this.”

JJ tapped her pen against her notes—light, rhythmic, controlled. The kind of thing someone might do to keep themselves from interrupting.

You exhaled slowly through your nose and kept reading.

His brows knit together, irritation flashing across his face. That was usually all it took—a little push, a sharp edge, and you’d shove back just as hard. The rhythm was predictable, expected.

But you gave him nothing.

Something about your lack of response made him sit up a little straighter. He tried again later, dropping a pointed remark about one of your old theories, the kind of thing that would normally spark another round of arguing between you.

JJ cut in before you could even think about answering. “We should figure out how this changes our approach.” Her tone was casual, effortless—redirecting before anything could spiral.

All you did was give a clipped, neutral answer before moving on.

It wasn’t normal.

And Spencer felt it immediately.

The back-and-forth between you had always been sharp, but undeniably electric. It was how the two of you worked—pushing, challenging, throwing words like weapons but never really cutting too deep. It was infuriating, and yet…

Yet, without it, something felt off.

At first, he told himself it was fine.

You were being more professional. That was good, wasn’t it? It meant less wasted time, fewer distractions.

So why did the space between words feel so hollow?

By mid-afternoon, he felt it more keenly. He found himself waiting for something—for you to roll your eyes at him, for you to cut into one of his statistics with some half-formed anecdote, for you to press into a point just to see if you could make him slip.

But you didn’t.

You weren’t mad at him—not in the way he was used to. There was no sharp edge in your tone, no fire behind your eyes when you spoke to him. You were just… distant. Like you had already decided he wasn’t worth the energy.

The realization sat uneasily in his chest.

It wasn’t just that you weren’t arguing.

It was that, for the first time, he was starting to understand just how much he had come to rely on it.

And worse—just how much he missed it.

He tried again.

“Your profile from yesterday doesn’t hold up,” he pointed out, knowing full well that wasn’t true. It was a weak, low-hanging argument, the kind of thing you would normally jump on without hesitation.

JJ’s pen stilled for just a second before she wrote something down, her expression unreadable.

You barely spared Spencer a glance. “Noted.”

And that was it.

No scathing rebuttal. No pointed counterattack. Just two syllables and nothing more.

Spencer felt his stomach twist.

He should have been relieved. He should have been glad to be free of the back-and-forth, the constant tug-of-war.

Instead, it felt like missing a step on the stairs—like something fundamental had shifted beneath him.

He had spent almost a year convincing himself that you were nothing but a thorn in his side, an unnecessary complication. That your arguments were exhausting, that you were too much to deal with.

But now, without that sharp edge of friction, without the tug-of-war of words and challenges—without you pushing back—

It wasn’t the relief he had expected.

It was unsettling.

It was hollow.

And he didn’t like it.

But instead of sitting with that realization, instead of acknowledging it, Spencer pushed it aside.

He told himself it was temporary.

He told himself he didn’t care.

But deep down, in a part of his mind he wasn’t ready to examine, the truth settled in like a weight in his chest.

He missed it.

The case hadn’t broken yet, and frustration was starting to settle over the team like a heavy fog. The profile was solid, but nothing new had come up to push them forward. Eventually, Hotch checked his watch, then let out a slow breath before looking up at the team.

“We’ll pick this back up in the morning,” he said. “Get some rest while you can.”

There wasn’t much discussion after that—just the quiet shuffle of files being stacked, chairs scraping against the floor as everyone gathered their things. The exhaustion was evident in all of them, not just from the case but from the weight of the day itself.

Spencer barely glanced up when you left with Emily and JJ, keeping his focus on the files in front of him. He had tried multiple times throughout the day to provoke you, to get a reaction, but you had remained distant, detached. It wasn’t what he was used to. It wasn’t how things were supposed to go between you.

And it unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

By the time they made it back to the hotel, everyone was running on empty. Goodnights were murmured in the hallway before doors closed one by one, leaving the corridor quiet.

JJ lingered.

She had been watching Spencer all day, watching how he had pushed and pushed without realizing just how deep he had cut. And now, standing outside his door, she wondered if this was even a conversation worth having.

She sighed and knocked.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and Spencer blinked at her, clearly surprised. “JJ?”

“Can I come in?”

He hesitated for a beat, then stepped aside.

The room was neat—predictably so. His go-bag was partially unzipped on the dresser, a few books stacked beside it. The lamp on the nightstand cast a warm, dim glow over the space.

JJ took a breath, arms crossed. “We need to talk.”

Spencer sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “If this is about earlier—”

“It is.”

His expression tightened. “I don’t understand why everyone’s so upset with me. I didn’t do anything different.”

JJ leaned against the desk, choosing her words carefully. “Spence… did you even notice how off she was today?”

Spencer frowned. “She was upset. I got that. But she was already upset before I said anything, so I don’t see how this is my fault.”

JJ exhaled slowly. “I never said it was your fault. I’m saying you made it worse.”

Spencer folded his arms, clearly bracing himself. “How?”

JJ hesitated. She really didn’t want to be the one to tell him this. It wasn’t her place, and she hated the thought of betraying your trust. But Spencer was stubborn, and without the full picture, he wasn’t going to understand.

She tried one more time to get him there on his own. “Spence, think about what you said to her today.”

“I was just trying to keep things normal,” he insisted. “She’s always throwing things at me, always pushing. I thought—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I don’t know what I thought. But I didn’t think it was any different than usual.”

JJ studied him for a long moment. He really didn’t get it.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. “She and her boyfriend broke up.”

Spencer blinked. “Okay?”

JJ clenched her jaw. “Recently.”

There was a flicker of something in Spencer’s expression—maybe surprise, maybe something else—but it passed quickly. “I didn’t know that.”

“No, you didn’t,” JJ said, voice quiet but firm. “But the rest of us did.”

Spencer opened his mouth, but JJ wasn’t done. “She didn’t just break up with him, Spencer. It was messy. It was bad.”

She hesitated. Once she said it, there was no taking it back. But Spencer wasn’t getting it, and if she didn’t lay it out for him, he never would.

JJ took a slow breath and met his gaze. “Do you know what he said to her? The exact words?”

Spencer’s throat bobbed. He didn’t answer.

JJ held his gaze. “He told her she was exhausting to deal with.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, like the words had knocked the wind out of him.

JJ let the silence stretch, letting him sit with it.

His jaw tightened, fingers curling at his sides. “I didn’t know,” he finally said, voice quieter than before.

“I know,” JJ said, her own voice softer now. “But now you do.”

Spencer sat heavily on the edge of the bed, his mind clearly working through it in real time. JJ could see the moment the realization settled in, could see the way his breath went just a little shallower.

“She’s always thrown things at me,” he murmured, almost to himself. “We argue all the time. I didn’t think—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “I was trying to keep things normal.”

JJ’s expression softened. “Maybe she didn’t need normal today.”

Spencer looked down, hands clasped together. His fingers twitched, restless.

JJ sighed. “Look, I know you didn’t mean it. I know you weren’t trying to hurt her.” She paused. “But it doesn’t change the fact that you did.”

Silence stretched between them again.

JJ stepped toward the door. “Just… think about it, Spence.”

She left him sitting there, alone with the weight of what he had done.

Spencer sat on the edge of the stiff hotel mattress, staring at the carpet as if it held the answer to everything that had gone wrong today.

He hadn’t meant what he said.

You’re exhausting to deal with.

It wasn’t calculated. It wasn’t even true. It was just the first thing that had left his mouth, a careless response thrown out in frustration, the way someone might swat at an insect buzzing too close. And yet, it had landed with an impact he hadn’t expected, hadn’t anticipated.

He knew he had upset you. He wasn’t oblivious. But he had assumed—wrongly, as it turned out—that it would pass, that you would snap back at him, that the sharp-edged dynamic you two had built over the past year would continue as it always had. But instead, you had stopped. Just shut down entirely. And that was what confused him the most.

You didn’t do that.

Until now.

And then JJ had pulled him aside, her expression wavering between exasperation and reluctant sympathy.

"Do you know what he said to her?"

"He told her she was exhausting to deal with."

The words had lodged themselves into his brain like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit, and yet, the more he sat here, the more it sank in, settling into place in a way that made him feel almost sick. He didn’t know. He should have known. Everyone else had figured it out, after all. But he had been too caught up in his own frustrations, too caught up in you, to see it.

Spencer inhaled sharply, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes. His mind was spinning, and no amount of logic, no statistical breakdown, could make sense of what was happening inside him.

It wasn’t irritation. It wasn’t exasperation.

It was never any of those things.

Because the truth was, you were gorgeous when you were fired up.

He thought of it now, and the image came so easily, so vividly, that it sent a fresh wave of something unnameable crashing over him. The way your eyes gleamed with challenge, how you lifted your chin ever so slightly when you stood your ground. How, in the heat of an argument, you would step closer, and closer, and closer, until he could feel the warmth of you in the space between them, his heart hammering against his ribs.

He had told himself it was adrenaline. That it was simply the thrill of the debate. But if that were true, why did he feel that same pull in moments of quiet?

Because he noticed you. Always. He noticed the way you walked into a room, how his eyes would flicker toward you before he could even stop himself. He noticed the way you took your coffee, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were focused, the way your lips pressed together when you were trying to suppress a reaction.

And worse—worse—was the way he needed you to notice him.

How if your attention was on someone else for too long, irritation curled in his chest before he even understood why. How he would find himself throwing out a fact, a statistic, an argument—anything—to drag your focus back to him.

And now, sitting here in the dim glow of the hotel room, he couldn’t deny it anymore. He couldn’t twist it into something else, something easier, something safer.

It was never about frustration.

It was never about annoyance.

It was never about proving a point.

He had fallen for you.

The next morning, the team gathered in the local police station, running through every last detail of the case.

They were close. They all knew it. But close wasn’t good enough.

Spencer sat at the edge of the table, hands folded, watching as the others debated their next move. He should have been adding to the conversation, throwing out statistics, challenging theories—but his mind kept drifting.

To you.

You weren’t avoiding him, not exactly. But you hadn’t spoken to him directly since yesterday. No sharp remarks, no challenging looks. And for the first time in months, Spencer had no idea where he stood with you.

Should he apologize? Would that even help? Maybe he should just acknowledge the breakup, offer his condolences, or—no, that didn’t feel right either. JJ had told him that in confidence. He wasn’t even supposed to know.

He didn’t know what to say, and the more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed to figure out.

So he said nothing.

He just kept glancing over at you, tracking your movements from the corner of his eye, trying to gauge if you were okay. You looked… normal. You were focused, leaning over the map spread across the table with Emily, lips slightly parted in concentration as you traced a path with your finger. No hesitation, no faltering. If he hadn’t known any better, he would’ve thought nothing had changed.

Except it had.

And he didn’t know what to do with that.

"Alright," Hotch’s voice cut through the low murmur of conversation. "Let’s go over everything again. We’re missing something."

The table quieted as everyone focused in. They had been circling the same theories, re-examining the same evidence, and yet the unsub was still out there. It wasn’t enough to understand how he operated—they needed to know where he would strike next.

Spencer forced his thoughts into order, pushing away everything unrelated to the case. "The geographical profile suggests he’s moving in a pattern, but the locations aren’t random. Each site is within a specific radius of the last, but the distances vary slightly."

Morgan nodded. "Which means he’s picking locations based on something else. He’s comfortable in these areas. Familiar with them."

"But he’s not returning to the same place," Emily added. "He’s not risking going back to where he’s already been."

"Maybe not physically," you said, tilting your head slightly, "but what if he’s revisiting them in another way?"

Spencer glanced at you, waiting.

You tapped your fingers against the table, thinking out loud. "His attacks have been escalating, and he isn’t sticking to a cooling-off period anymore. If he’s a spree killer, that means he’s running out of time—he knows he can’t keep this up forever. But his locations aren’t random. He’s picking spots with security cameras, but ones that don’t give a clear line of sight to him. He isn’t avoiding surveillance—he’s using it."

Garcia’s eyebrows lifted. "Oh, I like where you’re going with this, sugar. If he’s keeping an eye on potential targets—checking security feeds, traffic cams, maybe even livestreaming footage—then that means there’s a digital footprint."

Garcia’s eyebrows lifted. "Oh, I like where you’re going with this, sugar. If he’s been scouting locations through security feeds, traffic cams, maybe even livestreams, then that means there’s a digital footprint."

"Can you check for any unusual access to local surveillance systems?" Hotch asked.

"My dear, I thought you’d never ask." Garcia’s fingers flew across her keyboard, her monitors flickering as she sifted through data. "Let’s see… ah-ha! Someone’s been remotely accessing surveillance feeds at irregular intervals over the past few weeks, and a lot of them line up with where he’s already struck."

Morgan leaned forward. "Can you trace where he’s accessing them from?"

Garcia’s eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "I can try, but he’s been careful—using different networks, bouncing signals. But…" She trailed off, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Then she gasped. "Oh. Ohhh. Oh, you arrogant little—gotcha!"

"Garcia?" Hotch prompted.

"He accessed a security feed less than an hour ago from an internet café downtown. And guess what? He didn’t even bother masking his location properly this time. I’ve got an address, sending it now!"

Hotch didn’t hesitate. "We’ll split up. Morgan, Prentiss, Reid—you’re heading to the internet café. The rest of us will head to the location of the security feed he accessed. Move out."

The team sprang into action, adrenaline kicking in. If they moved fast, they had a shot at catching him before he disappeared again. Everyone was in motion within seconds, adrenaline cutting through any lingering fatigue. There was no telling how much time they had before the unsub struck again—but if they were fast enough, this could be the break they needed.

Morgan pushed open the glass door of the internet café, stepping inside first, with Reid and Prentiss close behind. The scent of burnt coffee and stale air filled the space, the hum of outdated computers blending with the occasional click of a keyboard. The lighting was dim, casting a dull yellow glow over the handful of patrons scattered throughout the small room. Most were hunched over their screens, headphones in, lost in whatever they were doing. A few sat with their arms crossed, scrolling lazily.

Prentiss took a slow, surveying glance around the space. “Not exactly a high-tech setup,” she muttered under her breath.

Morgan tapped his earpiece. “Garcia, tell me you’ve got something.”

“I wish, hot stuff, but this place is a technological ghost town,” Garcia replied, frustration creeping into her normally chipper voice. “No security cameras, no membership logins, and judging by the routers I’m picking up, this café is basically running on dial-up speeds. There’s no digital footprint I can track back to him. He picked a place designed to stay off the grid.”

Morgan exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Of course he did.”

Reid stepped forward, scanning the room with meticulous detail. He wasn’t just looking at the patrons—he was analyzing them. Body language spoke louder than words, and if the unsub had been here recently, someone in this space should be reacting to it. Anxious glances, fidgeting hands, tense shoulders—signs of discomfort, of someone trying to bury a memory of something that unsettled them.

But as he moved through the café, his frown deepened.

“No one looks nervous,” he said finally, voice quieter, thoughtful. “No one’s agitated or distracted. If he was here recently, he likely didn’t draw attention to himself. He didn’t rush out. He finished what he was doing and left on his own terms.”

Morgan glanced at the empty stations, his jaw clenching. “So he’s already gone.”

Prentiss approached the counter and flashed her badge at the disinterested employee leaning against it. “FBI. We need to know if there’s any way to see who used which computer in the last hour.”

The man barely looked up from his magazine. “People pay in cash, sit wherever’s open. No reservations, no check-ins. They log in as guests, and once they leave, that’s it. No records.”

Reid’s fingers twitched at his side. The unsub had been here. Sat at one of these computers. Chosen this place specifically. But he was already gone, and they had nothing to track him with.

Morgan hit his earpiece again. “Hotch, we came up empty. He’s gone.”

A beat of silence. Then Hotch’s voice, steady and sharp. “Understood. Get to the next location. We’ll regroup there.”

Morgan’s frustration was evident in the hard set of his jaw, but he didn’t waste another second. “Let’s go.”

Morgan, Prentiss, and Reid stepped out of the SUV into the midday sun, the heat pressing against them as they scanned the busy city square. The crowd was dense—office workers on lunch breaks, tourists snapping pictures, street vendors calling out their deals. It was the perfect place for a spree killer to strike. Chaotic. Unpredictable. Too many people, too many obstacles.

Before stepping into the mass of bodies, the three of them discreetly stripped off their FBI vests and tucked them into their bags. The unsub couldn’t know they were there. If he got spooked too soon, he could vanish into the crowd—or worse, start firing.

Hotch’s voice crackled in their earpieces. “Stay sharp. We don’t know what he looks like, but he’s here for a reason.”

Gideon’s voice followed. “He’s not just wandering—he moves with purpose. Watch for someone scanning the crowd, someone looking for opportunity.”

From the other side of the square, you adjusted your stance, eyes sweeping over the mass of people. JJ stood nearby, appearing casual but doing the same—observing, waiting. Neither of you could afford to look like you were searching for a killer.

The team spread out, moving through the crowd as naturally as possible. Morgan weaved through street vendors, blending in as another pedestrian. Prentiss adjusted her posture, walking with purpose in the wave of foot traffic. Reid moved slower, his gaze analytical, picking apart every movement, every expression.

Minutes passed. Observations fed through the comms. “Man in a blue hoodie, but he’s just waiting for someone.” “Woman near the fountain keeps checking over her shoulder—just on a call.” Nothing solid.

Then, Reid saw him.

A man, mid-30s, walking against the flow of foot traffic. He wasn’t heading toward a food stand or looking for a place to sit. He wasn’t engaged with the environment—he was watching it. His gaze moved from person to person, lingering too long on individuals who had stepped away from the main crowd. Isolated people. Easy targets.

Reid’s stomach twisted.

“I’ve got him,” he murmured. “Moving east through the square. Black T-shirt, dark jeans. He’s watching people, not engaging. He’s not lost—he’s hunting.”

Hotch’s response was immediate. “Do not approach alone. Everyone converge.”

But the mass of people were too tightly packed.

From your position, you could see the problem immediately—there was no easy way to get to him. The city square was packed with bodies moving in all directions, some stopping to talk, others oblivious to the tension unfolding around them. If any of you ran outright, it could tip the unsub off. But if you didn’t move fast enough…

Prentiss pushed forward, murmuring, “Move, excuse me,” as she wedged past pedestrians. Morgan took a different approach, using his size to nudge through gaps. You manoeuvred in the opposite direction, trying to cut off the unsub’s escape route without drawing attention.

Then—

The unsub stopped.

His head tilted, scanning.

He knew.

Reid saw it first—the shift in posture, the tension in his shoulders. A second later, his hand moved, reaching into his waistband.

“Gun!” Reid shouted.

The square exploded into chaos.

Screams rang out. A stampede of bodies surged in every direction—people shoving past each other, knocking over chairs, sending tables crashing to the pavement. Vendors ducked behind their carts, tourists abandoned their bags, running blind in the panic.

You pushed forward, fighting against the wave of bodies. JJ did the same, one hand raised to flash her badge, but no one was looking—everyone was running.

Morgan broke through first.

The unsub’s gun cleared his waistband—he was going to shoot—

Morgan lunged.

The impact sent both men crashing to the pavement. The gun skidded across the ground, lost in the rush of feet. The unsub snarled, thrashing under Morgan, throwing wild elbows, twisting hard.

Prentiss dove in, grabbing his wrist as he reached for something else.

“No, you don’t,” she gritted out, shoving his arm down.

You finally reached them, helping Morgan keep the unsub pinned as he bucked wildly, nearly dislodging them both. Reid snatched the discarded gun, securing it, while JJ moved to control the thinning crowd.

The unsub thrashed once more before finally going slack, panting hard, his fingers clenched into shaking fists.

Hotch and Gideon arrived seconds later, weapons still drawn but lowered.

“Secure?” Hotch asked.

Morgan, breathing heavy, nodded. “Yeah. He’s done.”

Prentiss snapped the cuffs onto the unsub’s wrists, voice firm. “You’re under arrest.”

The tension didn’t ease right away—sirens wailed in the distance, and people were still running, voices frantic—but the worst of it was over.

They had him.

An hour later, back at the station, the energy had shifted.

The unsub was in custody, locked away in interrogation, and the team was wrapping up.

Morgan sat at the table, rolling his shoulder where he’d taken a hit during the fight. Prentiss dropped into a chair, exhaling as she pulled off her boots. Reid stood near the whiteboard, absently running over the information they’d mapped out.

Gideon leaned against the doorway, watching as the adrenaline finally started to fade.

Hotch surveyed the team. “Good work today.”

JJ, still coordinating with the press, gave a tired thumbs-up from her spot on the phone.

Garcia’s voice filtered through the speaker. “Please tell me you’re all intact, because watching that play out through traffic cams nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Morgan smirked. “We’re good, baby girl.”

Prentiss stretched, shaking her head. “One hell of a takedown.”

Hotch checked his watch. “Jet’s waiting. Wheels up in twenty.”

With that, the team packed up their case files, exhaustion settling in. The weight of the chase was lifting.

Another case closed. Another killer off the streets.

The team boarded the jet, the familiar hum of the engines filling the cabin as they settled in. The rush of the day had passed, but something else lingered—something you couldn’t quite shake.

You weren’t sure if it was the aftermath of the case or if it was him.

Spencer had barely spoken since they left the station, but he was there—close enough to notice, too far to say anything. You were hyper-aware of him in a way that hadn’t faded with the tension of the job. Every movement, every glance that lasted just a second too long before darting away, kept you on edge.

Across the cabin, Morgan stretched, groaning slightly as he leaned back in his seat. "I don’t know about you guys, but I need a drink after today."

Emily smirked. "Pretty sure that’s non-negotiable at this point."

JJ chuckled as she pulled her hair from its tight ponytail. "The question is: quiet drink or bad decisions drink?"

Morgan shot her a look. "What’s the fun in quiet?"

Emily shook her head. "Translation: We’re gonna regret this in the morning."

Laughter rippled through the space, the weight of the day lifting just enough. The idea of unwinding, even for a few hours, was tempting. A normal night out. Something separate from cases and killers.

But your mind was elsewhere.

Would he go?

Would you want him to?

Spencer hadn’t said anything, hadn’t joined in the conversation. But he was listening. You could feel it—how his presence never really left your periphery, how he seemed to shift slightly when Morgan mentioned the bar.

You weren’t sure if the hesitation you felt was about him or about yourself. Because if he went, if you went… then what?

Back at the BAU, the team moved through the office with the easy rhythm of routine. Files were dropped off, final reports checked over, and goodbyes exchanged with the late-night staff. The case was officially over.

You lingered near your desk, your thoughts still tangled. The bar. Spencer. The way he’d been watching you on the jet, the way neither of you had said a word to each other. You didn’t know what that meant. Didn’t know what you wanted it to mean.

Emily was sorting through some paperwork at her desk when you walked up. She glanced up as you stopped beside her.

“What’s up?” she asked.

You hesitated. “I don’t know if I should go tonight.”

Emily’s expression shifted slightly. “Because of Spencer?”

You exhaled. “I don’t know if I want to be around him right now.”

Emily set down her pen and leaned back in her chair. “That’s exactly why you should come.”

You frowned. “Emily—”

“Look,” she cut in, keeping her voice casual. “You’ve been stuck in your own head about this all day. Skipping out isn’t going to change anything.”

You crossed your arms, not totally convinced.

She gave you a knowing look. “Come out, have a drink, take a break from thinking about it. If you don’t want to talk to him, you don’t have to. But don’t sit at home just because he’s going to be there.”

You thought about it. She wasn’t wrong. Maybe getting out for a while was what you needed.

After a beat, you sighed. “Alright. I’ll come.”

Emily grinned. “Good. Let’s go before they leave without us.”

The bar was alive with energy, a steady pulse of music humming through the air as the team settled into their usual post-case routine—drinks, conversation, and letting go of the weight of the job for just a few hours. The booth they’d claimed in the corner was already cluttered with half-empty glasses, a testament to how easily they were falling into the night.

Garcia was in the middle of an animated story, hands gesturing wildly as she recounted something that had happened in the tech lab earlier that week. JJ was leaning into the table, laughing, while Prentiss smirked behind her glass. Morgan, already a drink in, was hanging onto every word with an amused grin.

Spencer was quieter, sipping his drink as he listened to the conversations, though his attention wasn’t fully on them. It kept flickering toward you.

You weren’t looking at him. Or, at least, you were doing a very good job of pretending not to. But he noticed the way you seemed hyperaware of his presence, how your fingers curled around your glass a little too tightly whenever he shifted in his seat.

Something was different between you two tonight. And you both knew it.

Garcia suddenly clapped her hands together, pulling everyone's attention. “Alright, my loves, this has been fun, but the dance floor is calling.”

Morgan smirked. “You lead the way, baby girl.”

“As if there was ever a question,” she said, grabbing his hand before her gaze zeroed in on you. “And you. No backing out. You’re coming.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What? I didn’t—”

“Nope,” she cut in, already reaching for you. “We’re celebrating. And I refuse to let you sit in this booth all night pretending you don’t want to shake what your momma gave you.”

JJ laughed, nudging you as she stood up. “She’s not going to let you say no.”

Prentiss raised her glass. “Might as well accept your fate.”

You exhaled in surrender, setting your drink down. “Fine, fine.”

“That's the spirit!” Garcia cheered, leading the way toward the dance floor with Morgan at her side.

You followed, letting yourself get swept into the easy energy of the moment. The beat of the music was loud, the air warm with the press of moving bodies, but Garcia was electric, pulling you right into the centre of it. Morgan spun her with a laugh, and she threw her hands up, pulling you in with her.

For a moment, you let go.

Back at the booth, Spencer’s gaze never left you.

Prentiss arched a brow at him, sipping her drink. “You know, for two people who claim to hate each other, you stare at her a lot.”

Spencer tore his eyes away, clearing his throat. “I was just—”

Prentiss smirked. “Yeah. Sure.”

He huffed but didn’t argue. Because honestly, what was there to say?

After a few songs, you finally broke away from the dance floor, laughing as Garcia dramatically fanned herself. “That was necessary,” she declared. “Now go hydrate before I drag you back out here.”

You shook your head with a smile, turning toward the bar. But first—you needed the restroom.

You wove through the crowd, still feeling the lingering buzz of laughter and music as you made your way toward the hallway. But the light mood vanished the moment someone stepped into your path.

You had barely made it past the dance floor when someone stepped into your path.

Your stomach twisted.

Not him. Not now.

“Wow,” he drawled, looking you up and down with a smirk. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

Your breath went shallow, but you forced your expression to remain neutral. “Didn’t think I’d see you either.”

Your ex let out a soft laugh, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe you were real. “C’mon, don’t be like that. We don’t have to be weird, do we?”

"We." Like you were both responsible for the unease curling in your stomach.

“I’m actually just heading to the bathroom, so if you’ll excuse me—”

Before you could move, he reached out, his fingers grazing your cheek.

You froze.

It was casual. Familiar. The kind of touch that once would have made you lean in without thinking. But now?

Now, it made your skin crawl.

You took a step back, heart hammering, but before you could say a word, warmth enveloped you—an arm sliding around your waist, steady and certain.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

Spencer.

His voice was smooth, easy, but there was something deliberate beneath it—something razor-sharp. His breath ghosted against your temple just before he pressed a kiss there, the barest brush of lips against your skin.

Your ex’s expression shifted from smug amusement to disbelief. “No way.”

Spencer didn’t acknowledge him. His fingers rested firmly at your side, thumb stroking absentmindedly against your ribs—a grounding touch, steady and real.

Your ex let out a scoff. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Spencer tilted his head slightly. “Oh, you must be the ex-boyfriend.” He emphasized ex, and something in his voice was just polite enough to be cutting.

Your ex huffed. “I mean, you could just say my name.”

Spencer smiled. “I could.”

A beat of silence. You could feel the way Spencer held himself—calm, unshakable, like he’d already won whatever battle was unfolding here.

Your ex’s gaze flicked between you and Spencer. “You’re serious?”

Spencer turned to you, his eyes warm, questioning. “Are we serious?”

Your breath caught.

This was supposed to be pretend. Just a way out.

But the way he was looking at you—like the answer was already written in the way you leaned into him, in the way your fingers had instinctively curled around his forearm—made your pulse stutter.

“…Yeah,” you murmured. “We are.”

Your ex laughed under his breath, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay. There is no way you two are together.”

Spencer’s fingers flexed slightly against your waist, the heat of his palm pressing into your side. “And why’s that?” he asked, tone pleasant.

Your ex gestured vaguely between you. “Because you hate each other.” He looked directly at you now, his smirk widening. “I mean, come on. How many times have you gone off about him? You can’t stand the guy.”

Spencer exhaled a quiet laugh of his own, shaking his head. “You see, that’s where you’re wrong.” His fingers brushed against your hip again, slow and deliberate, just enough to make your breath hitch. “You mistook sexual tension for hatred.”

Your ex’s smirk faltered—just for a second.

You felt it.

Your pulse jumped, heat creeping up your spine. Spencer had said it so easily, so casually—like it was obvious. Like it was something he’d already figured out.

And maybe he had.

The thought sent a shiver through you, your fingers tensing slightly against the fabric of his shirt. You were too aware of his touch now, of the slow drag of his thumb tracing lazy circles along your side.

His stance had shifted closer, his body angled toward yours like it belonged there.

And, for the first time, you weren’t sure if you were just pretending anymore.

Because the truth was…

You liked this.

And from the way Spencer’s grip tightened ever so slightly at your waist, from the way his breath hitched just barely when you leaned in the slightest bit closer—maybe he did too.

Your ex’s smirk faltered—just for a second.

The shift in his expression was slight, barely there, but enough for you to recognize it. A flicker of doubt.

But then—he scoffed, shaking his head with a short, humourless laugh. “That’s cute.”

He said it like he didn’t believe it.

Like he refused to believe it.

His gaze flicked between you and Spencer, searching—like he was still waiting for the joke, for the moment one of you would break character. But Spencer didn’t waver, his fingers still resting against your hip, his body still angled toward yours like he had no intention of moving.

And neither did you.

Your ex’s jaw tightened just slightly, his smirk sharpening at the edges, like he was trying to convince himself he was still in control of the conversation. “Right. So you’re telling me that all that arguing, all that fighting, was really just foreplay?”

Spencer tilted his head slightly, the corners of his mouth curving up in something dangerously close to amusement. “You said it, not me.”

Your ex huffed out something that might have been a laugh, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, okay.”

But you could see it now—the frustration creeping in, the way his fingers curled slightly against his drink, the way his confidence wasn’t quite as unwavering as before.

Because, for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he was right about you anymore.

And that felt like a win.

“Right,” he said again, like he was resetting himself, regaining control. But then his smirk returned, sharper now, meaner. “So what, you got so desperate after two weeks that you climbed under the first guy who looked at you?”

The words were like ice water.

You felt Spencer react before you could even process it yourself.

His arm tightened around you, pulling you fully against him, but that wasn’t what made your breath catch. It was the shift in him—the sharp, immediate tension coiling beneath his carefully held exterior.

His voice, when he spoke, was nothing like before. The polite, measured tone was gone.

"That’s an awfully crude way of admitting you thought she’d be miserable without you."

The words were smooth, but there was an unmistakable bite beneath them, an edge that cut precisely where it needed to.

Your ex blinked, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

Spencer tilted his head slightly, studying him with a faint curiosity, like he was solving a puzzle with a predictable outcome. "I’m sure it’s a hard concept to grasp, but she didn’t settle for me. She chose me." His fingers traced a slow, absentminded circle against your side before he added, "And I’d say she made the right choice."

Something hot and unsteady curled in your stomach.

Your ex’s jaw twitched. “Just saying what everyone else is thinking.”

Spencer hummed, tilting his head like he was studying something particularly unremarkable. “That’s interesting. Because from what I can tell, the only person thinking that here is you.”

Your ex let out a dry laugh, crossing his arms. “Come on, man. We both know she’s a lot to deal with. It’s exhausting, isn’t it?”

The breath you took in was sharp, uneven.

Because those words weren’t new.

They weren’t just some cheap, offhanded insult—he had said them to you before. At the end. Before he walked away.

Spencer stilled. You felt the shift in his body, the way his fingers froze against your side for just a moment before resuming their slow, grounding motion.

Because he had said it, too.

Not with the same venom, not with the same intent. But it had still stung, had still settled in your chest like an ache you couldn’t shake. And now, here he was—his warmth pressed against you, his voice steady, unwavering, as he met your ex’s gaze head-on.

“I don’t find her exhausting,” Spencer said simply.

There was no hesitation, no preformative bravado. Just quiet certainty.

He turned his head just enough to catch your gaze. His fingers brushed against your hip again, deliberate, his touch light but steady. “If anything,” he continued, voice softer now, just for you, “I think she’s extraordinary.”

A slow, creeping warmth spread through your chest.

This wasn’t real. This was for show. But the way he was looking at you, the way his touch lingered, the way his voice dipped just enough to make your skin prickle—

God, it didn’t feel like an act.

Your ex let out a breathy laugh, his disbelief giving way to something tighter, something closer to frustration. “You two can fake it all you want,” he said, voice lower now, rougher, “but I know her. And I know that this. This is bullshit.”

You have no idea what you threw away, do you?" Spencer asks.

The question was quiet. Almost pitying.

Your ex scoffed, but there was something defensive in the way his jaw tensed.

Spencer didn’t even blink. "That’s fine. I don’t mind proving just how wrong you were."

And then—slow, deliberate—he turned to you.

Your breath stilled as his free hand came up, fingers skimming along your jaw, tilting your chin up just slightly. His touch was light, careful. Not possessive. Just there.

The air between you crackled.

Your body moved before your brain could catch up. Your hand slid higher, resting over Spencer’s chest, the steady thud of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

He exhaled, just a little shakier than before.

And then—loudly, bitterly—your ex laughed.

“Yeah. Okay.”

The sound was sharp, cutting through the moment like a blade.

Spencer didn’t turn. Didn’t react. But you felt the subtle shift in his body, the way his stance remained firm, like he was making sure there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he was exactly where he wanted to be.

Your ex let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. “Whatever, she's your problem now,” he muttered, turning on his heel and walking away.

Spencer’s hand lingered for just a second longer before he dropped it, stepping back just enough to put space between you.

The space between you felt electric, every nerve attuned to where his fingers rested.

You swallowed, fingers still curled against his shirt, realizing only now that you were still touching him.

You should move.

But you didn’t.

His gaze flicked over your face, searching. “Are you okay?” he asked, voice softer now.

You exhaled slowly. “I am now.”

But even as you said it, you caught movement out of the corner of your eye.

Your ex wasn’t gone.

Not really.

He had moved to the other side of the bar, but his attention kept drifting back to you and Spencer, his gaze sharp, suspicious.

Spencer followed your line of sight, his mouth pressing into a thin line.

“He’s watching us,” you murmured.

Spencer hummed. “Then I guess we better make it look good.”

His eyes met yours, a question lingering beneath them.

Your stomach flipped.

You nodded.

“Guess so.”

Spencer’s hand was still resting lightly on your back, his fingers a steady warmth against the fabric of your shirt. You could feel the weight of his touch even through the layers—grounding, solid, a quiet reminder that, for now, you weren’t alone.

The bar was still crowded, the energy still buzzing around you both, but the confrontation had left a thin charge in the air, something neither of you acknowledged outright. Your ex had slinked back into the crowd, but you could feel his gaze drifting toward you from across the room. Spencer must have noticed too, because he didn’t move away, didn’t shift back into his usual guarded distance. Instead, he leaned in just slightly, his voice low near your ear.

Spencer’s voice was low, teasing. “Think we should sell it a little harder?”

You let out a soft scoff, playing along. “What, you mean make heart eyes at you? Bat my lashes?”

He tilted his head, considering. “Might be a good start. I was thinking more along the lines of you looking at me like I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “Oh, sure. That’s believable.”

Spencer smirked, fingers tracing a slow, absentminded pattern at your waist. “Guess I’ll just have to win you over.”

Spencer huffed a quiet laugh, a small, amused exhale against your skin. His fingers brushed the small of your back again, an absentminded motion that shouldn’t have sent heat curling through you—but it did.

The bartender stopped in front of you, and you took the opportunity to order another drink, something to keep your hands busy. Spencer did the same, sliding a bill onto the counter before you could even reach for your wallet. You shot him a look, raising a brow.

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “Boyfriend duties.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, taking a slow sip from your glass. The moment settled into something quieter, less tense but still charged, like the flickering glow of a match before it fully catches flame.

Spencer shifted, glancing at you. “So. Are we supposed to look longingly into each other’s eyes now? Whisper sweet nothings?”

You snorted. “You’re assuming I’d have anything sweet to say about you.”

“Oh, I know you wouldn’t,” he said easily. “You’d insult me, but you’d make it sound affectionate so no one else would know the difference.”

You smirked over the rim of your glass. “Sounds like you know me pretty well.”

Spencer’s gaze flickered, something unreadable in it. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I guess I do.”

The moment stretched, something unsaid crackling between you. You cleared your throat, breaking the tension before it could settle too deeply. “We should talk about something. Make it look real.”

He nodded, considering. “Alright. Something neutral. A normal conversation between a couple who doesn’t allegedly hate each other.”

You smirked. “That’s asking a lot.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, then, after a beat, asked, “What’s the weirdest fact you know?”

You blinked. That was… not what you were expecting. “What?”

“The weirdest fact,” he repeated, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know you have to have one.”

You hesitated, watching him, but he only looked back at you expectantly, like this was a completely normal thing to ask.

You thought for a second, then shrugged. “Octopuses have three hearts.”

Spencer’s mouth curved up, just a little. “That’s a good one.”

“You?” you asked, tilting your head.

His eyes sparked, like he’d been waiting for the question. “Did you know that lobsters communicate by peeing at each other? Really sets the mood, doesn’t it?”

You stared at him, then let out a short laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

He grinned. “Right?”

The conversation flowed from there, effortless in a way that surprised you. Facts turned into stories, then into inside jokes. Minutes stretched on, blending into an hour, though neither of you seemed to notice. The bar’s once-lively crowd shifted and changed, people coming and going, conversations rising and fading, but you stayed rooted in place, caught up in the effortless back-and-forth. Time lost its meaning as one topic melted into another, each transition so seamless that you barely registered the shift. You weren’t paying attention to the time, weren’t keeping track of how long you had been standing there, wrapped up in each other’s words. What started as lighthearted teasing had deepened into something more, something neither of you rushed to escape. The way your fingers brushed against his when you gestured, the way you leaned in without thinking, just to hear him better, just to be closer—it all blurred together into something effortless.

You caught yourself mirroring his movements, tilting your head when he did, tracing the rim of your glass in tandem with his. It was subtle, unspoken, but undeniable—the shift between you settling into something that felt natural, something that neither of you seemed eager to pull away from. Your laughter came easier, softer, the kind that lingers in your chest even after the sound fades. His knuckles grazed your wrist when he gestured, your knee bumped against his once, twice, neither of you shifting away.

At some point, the topics shifted, the playfulness giving way to something softer. You weren’t sure who led it there, but suddenly you were talking about things you didn’t usually talk about. Favourite childhood books. Places you wanted to visit. The kind of hypothetical, wistful conversations that people had when they weren’t thinking too hard about what they were revealing.

You barely noticed when Spencer’s hand drifted to your waist again, fingers curling slightly at your hip. The touch wasn’t demanding or obvious—it was just… there. Natural. And maybe that was the problem.

It felt too natural.

Like you weren’t acting at all.

Like you didn’t want to be.

You met his gaze, and something unspoken passed between you. His eyes flickered, just briefly, down to your lips, and your breath caught.

This is dangerous, you thought distantly.

But you didn’t pull away.

Neither did he.

The air between you felt charged, humming with an anticipation neither of you dared to acknowledge outright. Every second dragged out, heavy and expectant. His fingers flexed against your hip, and you knew—knew—that if you didn’t move, if you didn’t break the moment, something would happen.

Something irreversible.

Something you wanted.

Spencer exhaled, barely a breath, but you felt it ghost across your skin.

Then—slowly, like a question—he leaned in.

And you answered.

Your lips met his in a whisper of a kiss, soft and searching, like neither of you wanted to startle the other. The world didn’t stop, didn’t pause for your moment, but it felt like it did. The bar was still loud, people still moved around you, but it all faded into the background, nothing more than a distant hum against the sudden, overwhelming clarity of his mouth on yours.

Spencer made a quiet sound—something caught between surprise and something deeper—and then his fingers curled at your waist, pulling you just the slightest bit closer. Your free hand found its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding on to something solid.

The kiss wasn’t rushed, wasn’t desperate. It was slow, deliberate, like you were both savouring something you hadn’t realized you’d been waiting for.

And maybe you had been waiting for it.

For a long, long time.

When you finally pulled away, it was only by an inch, your breaths mingling in the small space between you. Neither of you spoke. Neither of you moved.

And then—softly, tentatively—you whispered, “Do you want to get out of here?”

The words hovered in the space between you, heavy with meaning. Spencer’s eyes searched yours, his thumb still making those small, steady circles against your skin.

He nodded. “Yeah,” he murmured, voice a little rough. “I think that’s a good idea.”

The drive to your place was a blur of city lights and racing thoughts. The tension was palpable in the car, a silent dance of anticipation and doubt. You didn’t talk—what was there to say that wouldn’t break the spell? The unspoken understanding that had settled between you was more potent than any words.

When you finally arrived, you didn’t even bother turning on the lights. The moon cast enough of a glow through the windows, painting Spencer’s face in stark, ethereal shadows as he followed you inside.

You hadn’t even fully closed the door when he pushed you against the wall, his body pressing against yours. It wasn’t rough, but it wasn’t gentle either—there was an urgency to it, a hunger that had been building for months. Your heart was racing, the beat echoing in your ears as his hands found their way to your face, his thumbs tracing the line of your jaw.

Your breathing was shallow, uneven, as you stared up at him, his eyes searching yours. You didn’t know what he was looking for, but you hoped he found it, because you didn’t have the words to explain. You just knew that you needed this—his touch, his closeness, the way his breath ghosted across your skin.

And then, without warning, he closed the distance between you, his mouth crashing into yours. The kiss was hot, desperate, a year’s worth of pent-up tension and unspoken longing finally given a voice. Your hands slid up his chest, fingers tangling in the fabric of his shirt as you tried to get closer, to erase the space that had kept you apart for so long.

Spencer’s hands found the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head, breaking the kiss only long enough to discard it on the floor. His mouth trailed down your neck, his breath warm against your skin as he kissed and nipped at the sensitive spots he had discovered in the brief moments you had allowed yourselves to touch before.

“I wasted all that time riling you up when I could’ve had you moaning for me instead,” he murmured against your neck, his voice a low, needy rumble that sent shivers down your spine.

You gasped, your fingers curling into his shirt. “You’re insufferable.”

Spencer’s smile was all teeth, all arrogance. “But you like me for it, don’t you?”

You rolled your eyes, but your breath caught as his mouth found yours again, his tongue slipping between your lips in a silent demand for more. And you gave it. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your bodies fitting together in a way that was somehow both new and familiar. It was like a puzzle piece finally sliding into place, clicking with a certainty that sent heat flooding through your veins.

His hands roamed over your back, down to your hips, then back up again, as if he couldn’t decide where to touch first, as if every inch of you was a new discovery he needed to explore. You could feel his need, his desperation, and it mirrored yours. You hadn’t realized how much you had craved this—his touch, his attention, the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world that mattered.

With trembling fingers, you worked at the buttons of his shirt, one by one, until you could push it open. His chest was pale in the moonlight, the planes of his body sharp and defined. You traced your fingers over the lines of his stomach, feeling the tension coiled within him, the rapid beat of his heart against your palm.

Spencer’s own hands were busy with your own shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside. He stepped back just long enough to appreciate the sight of you, half-dressed and flushed, before his eyes drifted down to the swell of your chest, the rise and fall of your breasts with every rapid breath. The urge to touch was overwhelming, and he didn’t resist it. His palms brushed over your skin, the heat of his touch making you shiver, making you arch into him.

Your fingers found the button of his pants, tugging it open with an eagerness that had been simmering below the surface for too long. He stepped back again, allowing you to pull them down, his boxers following, and you took a moment to appreciate the sight of him—his erection straining upward, his thighs taut with restrained power. Your gaze lingered on his body, memorizing the lines and planes, the way the shadows danced across his skin.

Spencer’s gaze never left yours as he reached behind you, deftly unhooking your bra. It slipped down your arms, leaving you bare to him, and his gaze dropped, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of your breasts. He stepped closer, one hand cupping one, his thumb brushing over the hardened nipple, and you couldn’t help but gasp, the sensation shooting straight to your core. He leaned down, capturing the peak in his mouth, his tongue flicking against it. You felt your knees wobble, your breaths coming in short, sharp gasps. His other hand slid around to your back, holding you upright as he kissed and sucked, his teeth grazing just enough to make you whimper. Then he was dropping to his knees, his hands sliding down your stomach to the button of your jeans. You watched, half-dazed, as he unzipped them. He kissed his way down your stomach, his breath hot. You stepped out of your shoes, letting him tug the pants and your underwear down in one smooth motion, leaving you naked and trembling in the moonlit room. He didn’t miss a beat, his hands sliding back up to cup your ass, pulling you closer, his mouth pressing against your sex. You moaned, the sound echoing in the quiet room, and he groaned, his hands tightening on you as he kissed and lapped at you, his tongue tracing a wet line against your clit.

Your fingers tangled in his hair before you even realized you were reaching for him, gripping tight as his mouth finally met you where you needed him. The first stroke of his tongue sent a shudder rolling through your spine, a sharp gasp slipping from your lips before you could catch it. Spencer hummed at that, like he was pleased with himself, like he was committing the sound to memory.

He started slow, like he was savouring you, his tongue tracing soft, teasing circles that made you whine, your hips twitching forward instinctively. He tightened his grip on your thighs in response, pressing you more firmly against the wall, keeping you right where he wanted you. "Stay still," he murmured, his voice low with something dark and satisfied before he licked into you again, this time with more intent, more purpose.

The first few strokes were exploratory, unhurried, as though he was mapping out every reaction, every little sound that spilled from your lips. But the patience didn’t last. The moment he found what made you gasp the loudest, he focused in, his tongue pressing, flicking, teasing in an unbearable rhythm. Your fingers tightened in his hair, your breath coming in uneven, needy bursts.

Your head tipped back against the wall, your breath ragged, your body already trembling under his attention. Every deliberate flick of his tongue sent another spark of heat curling low in your stomach, winding tight. His hands slid up, fingers digging into your hips just enough to anchor you, to hold you there while he devoured you like he’d been waiting for this, like he’d imagined this a thousand times before and now that he had you, he wasn’t going to waste a single second.

"Spencer—" His name came out broken, half a gasp, half a plea, and the sound made him groan against you. The vibration of it sent a shock of pleasure through you, your legs threatening to give out. If not for his firm grip, you might have slid right to the floor.

He didn’t stop. If anything, your desperation seemed to spur him on, his tongue pressing deeper, his mouth working you over with a slow, devastating precision. Like he was unravelling you piece by piece, like he was determined to reduce you to nothing but gasps and shudders and the sharp, needy ache of wanting more.

Your nails scraped against his scalp, your hips bucking forward despite his earlier command to stay still. He let out a sharp breath through his nose, hands flexing against your skin before he pulled back just enough to murmur, "I said stay still."

The way he said it, rough and commanding, sent another jolt of heat through you, your breath hitching as you fought to obey, as you forced yourself to remain still while he resumed his slow, torturous pace. Every movement of his mouth was deliberate, every flick of his tongue calculated to push you further toward the edge. You were shaking, barely holding yourself up, your thighs threatening to clamp around his head with every overwhelming wave of pleasure.

"You should’ve been doing this instead of running your mouth all this time," you managed, your voice breathless, teasing despite the way your body trembled under his touch.

Spencer pulled back just enough to glance up at you, his lips glistening, his expression dark with something utterly wrecked and unbearably smug. "Oh, believe me, I’m making up for lost time."

He didn’t waste another second. His mouth was back on you, determined, insatiable, working you over with relentless focus. The pressure inside you was building unbearably, a coil winding tighter and tighter, and every sound that spilled from your lips seemed to drive him on. His grip on your thighs tightened, his nails pressing into your skin, anchoring you there against the wall like he wasn’t letting you go until he’d completely undone you.

It didn’t take long before you were trembling, your body tight with the effort of holding yourself together. But he wasn’t letting up, wasn’t giving you a second to breathe, his tongue relentless, his grip unyielding. The pressure built higher and higher, every muscle in your body locking up as pleasure coiled deep inside you, ready to snap.

And then he did something—something devastating, something perfect—and you shattered, your body arching, a sharp cry tearing from your throat as you came undone against him. He didn’t pull away, didn’t stop until you were shaking, until your fingers loosened in his hair and your gasps turned breathless and spent.

He didn’t let go of you right away. Instead, he kissed you through every aftershock, his lips brushing against sensitive skin, his tongue tracing soothing strokes where he had just driven you over the edge. Like he wanted to memorize the way you trembled, to savour the way you broke apart under him.

Only then did he ease up, his lips pressing soft, almost reverent kisses against your inner thigh as you struggled to catch your breath. His fingers trailed lightly over your skin, soothing, grounding, while he watched you, his gaze dark and unreadable.

When he finally looked up at you, his pupils were blown wide, his mouth wet and glistening, his expression dark with satisfaction. There was something else there, too—something deeper, something bordering on something almost tender.

"You’re incredible," he murmured, voice low, unsteady.

You let out a breathless laugh, still dazed, still trembling. "You’re ridiculous."

His lips quirked up, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he pressed one last kiss to your thigh before he rose to his feet, his hands still firm on your waist, steadying you as your legs threatened to give out beneath you.

"Can you stand?" he asked, his voice softer now, a flicker of concern beneath the teasing edge.

You swallowed, nodding, even as your knees felt weak. "Yeah. But you might have to give me a minute."

His smirk returned, slow and smug. "Take all the time you need. I’m not done with you yet."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat curling in your stomach, your breath catching as his hands skimmed over your sides, his touch still lazy, still teasing. He hadn’t let go of you yet. He wasn’t pulling away. And when you finally dared to meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes nearly undid you all over again.

"Spencer—"

His smirk deepened, his hands pressing just a little firmer against your waist, holding you in place. "I told you, I’m making up for lost time." You reached out to stroke him, your hand sliding down the length of his chest, feeling the rapid thump of his heartbeat beneath your fingertips. His skin was warm, smooth, and he sucked in a sharp breath when you brushed against his erection. He was already hard, a clear sign of his desire, and the knowledge sent a thrill through you. This was what you both needed—to finally break down the walls that had kept you apart.

You took your time, dragging your fingers along his length, teasing, feeling every twitch and pulse. Spencer let out a low groan, his hips jerking slightly into your touch as his hands tightened against your waist. "You're enjoying this," he murmured, voice rough, laced with restraint.

You smirked, leaning in to press your lips against the hollow of his throat, letting your teeth graze the sensitive skin before whispering, "I think you are too."

His response was immediate—a growl deep in his chest, a surge of movement as he spun you, pressing you up against the nearest surface. The cool wall met your heated skin, a stark contrast that sent a delicious shiver through you, the sensation amplifying the awareness of his body pressing into yours. His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips as he pressed himself flush against your back. "You have no idea how long I've wanted this," he breathed, his voice thick with need.

You turned your head slightly, catching his gaze over your shoulder, your lips curling. "Then stop talking and take it."

That was all the permission he needed.

He reached between you, guiding himself against your slick heat, teasing you with shallow, deliberate rolls of his hips. The anticipation built with every second, the frustration of years of tension finally boiling over into something raw, something uncontrollable. His fingers dug into your hips, the teasing, shallow rolls of his hips only increasing the frustration coiling inside you. Then, in one fluid motion, he thrust forward, stretching you, filling you completely. A sharp gasp tore from your throat, your hands pressing hard against the wall for balance as the overwhelming sensation stole the breath from your lungs.

"Fuck," Spencer groaned, his forehead dropping to the curve of your shoulder for a brief moment before he pulled back and drove into you again, harder this time. "You feel better than I ever imagined."

You couldn't hold back the moan that tore from your throat, the pleasure sharp, overwhelming. "Didn't know you thought about it."

He let out a breathless laugh, one hand sliding up your body, fingers tangling in your hair as he pulled your head back just enough to murmur against your ear, "Are you kidding? I’ve thought about fucking you senseless every time you opened that smart mouth of yours."

A shudder ran through you, your body clenching around him in response. "Is that why you were always such an asshole?" you shot back, panting, barely able to hold onto the thread of conversation between thrusts.

He groaned, his grip tightening on you, hips snapping forward at a brutal pace that made your legs tremble. "Maybe. Guess we’re finding a better way to work out our issues."

You laughed—though it was breathless, desperate—before another deep thrust stole the sound from your lips. He was relentless, fucking you with everything that had been left unsaid between you, with every argument, every lingering glance, every moment you’d spent pretending this wasn’t inevitable.

The wall was rough against your palms, each textured ridge imprinting against your skin as Spencer drove into you, his hips snapping forward with an unrelenting pace. Every thrust sent shudders rippling through you, your body caught between the steady press of the wall and the consuming heat of him. The slick sound of skin meeting skin filled the space between gasps, every movement pushing you closer to the edge, every deep stroke setting you ablaze.

His hands never stopped moving—gripping your waist, trailing up to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing teasingly over your nipples before sliding back down  back down to spread you open for him. His name spilled from your lips in a broken moan, and he groaned in response, his breath hot against your shoulder.

"You like this," he rasped, his voice unsteady. "Being taken like this—rough, unrelenting."

You nodded, lips parting, but words failed you. How could you even begin to articulate the way he felt—the way his touch untraveled you, the way he filled you so perfectly it left you trembling? Every snap of his hips sent pleasure coiling tighter inside you, and the intensity of it all—of him—was almost too much. But god, you didn’t want him to stop. You never wanted him to stop.

His hand slid down between your legs, fingers finding your clit, rubbing tight, teasing circles that had you arching back against him with a gasp. "Spencer—"

"I know," he murmured, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against your neck, sucking just hard enough to leave a mark. “Cum for me. I want to feel every inch of you tighten around me while you fall apart.”

The words alone sent you spiralling. Your body tensed, pleasure coiling tight before breaking apart in waves that left you shaking. Your moan was swallowed by his lips as he turned your head and kissed you, his thrusts growing erratic as he chased his own release, his body shuddering against yours.

When he finally stilled, his forehead resting against your shoulder, his breath hot and ragged, you both stayed like that for a moment—pressed against the wall, tangled together, bodies still thrumming with the aftershocks.

Spencer let out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing idle patterns along your spine. “I think we just found a much more effective way to settle our disagreements.”

You laughed, breathless, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. "Yeah? So what now?"

His smirk was slow, lazy, utterly satisfied. "I think we might need to revisit this… for the sake of teamwork, of course."

You grinned, pushing back against him just enough to make his breath hitch. "Then we better get started." You smirked, adding, "All in the name of teamwork, of course."

He let out a breathless laugh, his hands still roaming lazily over your skin, grounding both of you in the moment. Neither of you moved right away, too caught up in the heat still buzzing between you. His lips brushed the back of your neck, a slow, lazy kiss that made you shiver. "You keep teasing me, and we’re not leaving this wall anytime soon."

Your smirk deepened as you reached back, your fingers trailing along his thigh. "Maybe that’s exactly what I want."

Spencer groaned, his grip tightening at your hips again, his breath coming in short, unsteady bursts. "You’re insatiable."

You laughed softly, tilting your head to the side as his lips found your jaw, then your pulse, then the shell of your ear. "And you love it."

His only response was another deep thrust, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips. He had you pinned against the wall, but you didn’t mind—you didn’t want to be anywhere else.

Time blurred between kisses, between whispered taunts and shared breaths. Every inch of space between you had disappeared, every lingering frustration burned away in the fire you’d both finally let consume you. And when Spencer finally pulled back, his eyes dark with something that sent another rush of heat through you, he exhaled a slow, satisfied breath.

"Round two?" you teased.

Spencer smirked, his fingers brushing up your spine, igniting sparks along your skin. And with that, he pulled you back in, claiming your lips again, refusing to let the night end just yet.

You led him toward the bedroom with deliberate steps, your fingers laced with his, the heat between you still burning from the moments against the wall. The air was thick with anticipation, a silent challenge hanging between you—one that neither of you was willing to back down from. Spencer followed without hesitation, his pupils blown wide, his breath uneven, and his grip on your hand just tight enough to betray how much he wanted this, how much he wanted you.

As soon as you reached the edge of the bed, you pushed him. He fell back onto the mattress with a surprised breath, eyes flashing with something dark and eager. Before he could adjust, you were straddling him, pressing your hands against his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall beneath your palms. You rocked against him, slow, teasing, watching the way his breath stuttered in response.

He let out a breathless chuckle, his fingers flexing against your hips. "You always have to be on top, don’t you?"

You smirked, pressing your hands more firmly against his chest, keeping him pinned. "That’s cute. You actually think you have a say in this?" Your fingers trailed down his chest, nails scraping lightly, leaving a path of goosebumps in their wake. "Tell me, Doctor, does it drive you crazy? Having to let go? Not being the one calling the shots?"

His breath hitched, but he didn’t back down, his hands flexing against your hips. "I think you like testing me."

"I think you like being tested," you countered, leaning down until your lips hovered over his. "And I think you’re going to let me win. Just this once."

His breath hitched as your hands trailed lower, nails lightly scraping down his torso, savouring the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch. You kissed him—slow, teasing—before pulling back just as he tried to deepen it. He groaned in protest, his hands gripping your hips in an attempt to pull you down onto him, but you weren’t ready to give in just yet.

"Patience, Doctor," you murmured against his jaw, your lips grazing his skin as you made your way down his neck, leaving a path of kisses and nips that had him shuddering beneath you. "I want to take my time. Unless you can’t handle it?"

He let out a shaky breath, his fingers digging into your hips as if grounding himself. "You're gonna regret taunting me."

You chuckled, rolling your hips against him in response, feeling the sharp inhale it pulled from him. "I hope so."

His head tipped back against the mattress, exposing more of his throat to you, and you took advantage, biting down just hard enough to make him gasp. His grip on your hips tightened, his entire body tense beneath you, desperate for more friction, more anything.

"You're enjoying this way too much," he said, breathless.

You grinned against his skin. "And you’re not?"

His only response was a low groan as you slid lower, kissing and biting your way down his chest, your fingers tracing every inch of exposed skin, committing him to memory. His body was lean, all long limbs and subtle definition, but the way he responded to your touch—the way he trembled, the way he gasped whenever you hit a sensitive spot—only made you want to push him further.

Your fingers trailed lower, tracing over his bare skin, feeling the warmth of him beneath your touch. His breath stuttered, his body already strung tight beneath you. "You gonna be good for me? Or are you going to put up a fight?"

His breath stuttered, his lips parting slightly, but there was something challenging in his gaze, something stubborn. "Wouldn’t be fun if I didn’t."

Your smirk deepened as you leaned in closer, letting your breath ghost over his skin, relishing the way he tensed at your touch.  Time blurred, the world outside this moment ceasing to exist as every nerve in your body focused on him, on this, on the way he trembled beneath your fingertips. He was already hard, aching, and the sight of him—so undone beneath you, so desperate despite the fight still lingering in his expression—made something hot and insatiable curl inside you.

"You're so damn cocky," you mused, dragging your nails up his thighs, watching as his hips jerked involuntarily at the sensation. "Wonder how long that’ll last."

Spencer opened his mouth, maybe to throw another challenge your way, but whatever retort he had died on his lips the moment you leaned down and wrapped your mouth around him. His sharp inhale, the way his hands flew to your hair, fingers tightening but not pushing, told you everything you needed to know.

You took your time, setting a slow, torturous pace, revelling in the way he fell apart beneath you, the way his cock twitched in your mouth every time you hollowed your cheeks, the way he bit down on his lip like he was trying to keep from begging. But you wanted to hear him. You wanted to break him down until he was nothing but gasps and moans and your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

"Fuck," he choked out, his fingers trembling as they brushed against your cheek, a silent plea. "Please—"

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, lips glistening, eyes dark with intent. "Please what? Say it."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his control slipping with every second. "Please, don’t stop."

You grinned, dragging your tongue along the length of him before taking him back in, deeper this time, until his head tipped back against the bed, a ragged moan escaping his lips. You hummed around him, satisfied, and his entire body tensed beneath you.

"God," he gasped, his fingers tightening in your hair, his hips twitching upward before he caught himself. "You're—fuck—you're gonna ruin me."

You let him feel the smirk on your lips before pulling off of him slowly, savouring the way his breath hitched, the way his hands fisted the sheets like he was barely holding himself together. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, climbing back up his body, letting your lips hover over his.

"That’s the plan. Unless you think you can stop me."

His response was immediate—his hands were on you in an instant, flipping you onto your back, his weight pressing you into the mattress. His pupils were blown wide, his expression wrecked yet determined.

"My turn," he murmured, voice hoarse, before claiming your lips with a hunger that sent another bolt of heat straight through you.

His hands were relentless, sliding down your body, gripping your thighs as he spread them, as he settled between them. His lips traced a slow, torturous path down your torso, his breath hot against your skin. You shuddered as he kissed lower, dragging his tongue over sensitive flesh, marking his way down until you were trembling beneath him.

"Let’s see how patient you are now," he mused, voice laced with wicked amusement.

You smirked, your fingers threading through his hair. "Try me."

Neither of you had any plans of stopping now.

With a steady, commanding grip, you pushed him back onto the bed, straddling his hips before he could even think to regain control. His breath was uneven, hands skimming up your thighs, but you caught his wrists, pinning them down against the mattress. His eyes darkened, lips parting slightly, as if caught between resistance and surrender.

"You don’t get to take over that easily," you murmured, leaning down, your lips grazing against his jaw. "You wanted me in charge—so take it."

Spencer swallowed hard, his pulse pounding beneath your fingers. "You’re really not going to make this easy, are you?"

You smirked, rolling your hips against him, feeling the sharp inhale it pulled from him. "Not a chance. Now, be good for me, Doctor."

You guided him inside you with an unhurried confidence, revelling in the way his body shuddered beneath yours. His fingers twitched, desperate to move, to touch, to grasp at any control left to him, but you kept his wrists pinned, watching as he came apart under you. Every roll of your hips pulled another breathless sound from him, each movement deliberate, dragging out his pleasure until his composure cracked entirely.

"Fuck," he rasped, voice raw. "You’re going to be the death of me."

You laughed softly, leaning down, your lips brushing over his ear. "And yet, you wouldn’t have it any other way."

Spencer’s eyes followed the path of your breasts as you moved, the way they swayed and bounced above him, and it was all he could do to not reach out and touch. It was a dance of dominance and submission, one that had him utterly transfixed. The way you controlled the rhythm, the angle, the depth of every thrust, had him writhing beneath you, desperate for more, for any little piece of control you’d allow him. He could feel every inch of you around him, warm and slick, gripping him so perfectly it made his head spin.

With a smirk, you leaned down, capturing his mouth in a searing kiss, your movements never faltering. He moaned into you, the sound vibrating through your chest, setting your nerves alight. You felt his hands tense against the mattress, the muscles in his arms flexing, his whole body begging to touch, to hold onto something, anything. His knuckles were white against the sheets, his body trembling with the effort it took not to grab you, not to flip you over and claim you the way you knew he wanted to.

Breaking the kiss, you leaned back slightly, the shift in angle sending a fresh wave of pleasure through both of you. "You can look all you want," you murmured, dropping your hands to his chest, your nails digging in just enough to leave marks. "But you don’t get to touch."

Spencer's jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. Not yet. His eyes remained on you, watching every move, every shift of your body, the way your muscles flexed as you began to ride him slower but harder. Each time you slammed down onto him, his eyes rolled back, the sensation of you taking him in so completely, so deliberately, had him fighting for control. He bit down hard on his bottom lip, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps, his restraint slipping further with every motion.

You could feel him getting closer, his body tightening beneath you, his hips jerking upward in a silent plea for more. So you gave it to him—faster, deeper, until he was nothing but a symphony of need and want, his breath coming in sharp pants. His fingers twitched, his muscles coiling beneath you, his body shaking with the sheer force of his pleasure.

Your combined juices flooded his pelvis, creating a deliciously raunchy sound with every slap of skin against skin, each movement echoing through the room. The wetness was a testament of desire, a slick reminder of how much power you had over him in this moment. And with each roll of your hips, each deep, deliberate thrust, the sound grew louder, more intense, a symphony of passion that had you both on edge. The smell of sweat and sex filled the air, intoxicating, adding to the hazy, feverish heat of the moment.

Spencer’s eyes were squeezed shut now, his teeth digging into his lower lip, his entire body taut with tension. You watched him, revelling in the way he trembled beneath you, the way his abs clenched with every movement, the way his chest heaved with each ragged breath. You could feel him getting closer, the pulse in his cock growing stronger, the muscles in his thighs tensing. Every breath he took was shaky, every exhale laced with a low, desperate moan.

With a wicked smile, you leaned in, your breath hot against his ear. "You’re so close, aren’t you?"

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, his gaze locking on yours. "I’m right—fuck—right there." His voice was strained, the muscles in his neck standing out with the effort of holding back. His fingers curled into the sheets, his whole body trembling beneath you, the strain of resisting almost painful.

You grinned, feeling a thrill at his desperation. "Good," you murmured, your voice low, a purr of satisfaction. "Because this is a fight you’re going to lose, Doctor."

With that, you leaned in and bit down hard on his neck, feeling the muscles there jump beneath your teeth. You didn’t break the skin—not yet—but the pressure was enough to leave a bruise. A mark that would be yours alone. Spencer’s eyes went wide, a surprised gasp escaping him, his body arching up into you, and you felt the moment he lost it, his control shattering like glass beneath the weight of your dominance. He let out a strangled moan, his hands clenching into fists against the sheets, his entire body going taut before he spilled inside you, wave after wave of pleasure crashing over him as he came undone beneath you. And when he came, it was with a roar, his hips jerking up into you, filling you so completely it took your breath away. The warmth of him, the pulsing of his cock inside you, it was almost too much. Your own orgasm was a surprise, a sudden explosion of sensation that had you crying out, your nails digging into his skin.

You pulled back just enough to watch him, your own eyes hooded with pleasure. His gaze was hazy, pupils blown wide with arousal. His hands, once fisted in the sheets, now reached for you, trying to find something to hold onto, trying to claim some semblance of power. But you didn’t let him. You kept his wrists pinned to the bed, keeping him beneath you, revelling in the aftershocks that had him trembling beneath your touch.

Spencer let out a long, shaky breath, his body sinking into the mattress, utterly spent, his chest still rising and falling rapidly. His flushed skin glistened with sweat, his lips parted, still trembling slightly from the force of his release. You smirked, pressing one last lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back and sitting upright, keeping him inside you just a little longer, just to revel in the sensation of still having him beneath you, completely at your mercy. He let out a soft, broken groan, and you grinned, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted him.

For once, he had no words. And that, more than anything, was the ultimate victory. You had spent so long locked in battles of wit with him, always feeling like you were a step behind, always scrambling to match his sharp mind and quick tongue. But now, with his breath stolen, his thoughts scattered, and nothing left in him but you—this was a triumph like no other. You traced your fingers over his heaving chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart, knowing that you had reduced the brilliant, articulate Dr. Spencer Reid to nothing but a mess of pleasure beneath you. A victory, indeed.

The silence stretched between you, comfortable, warm. Your fingers trailed absentmindedly over his skin, mapping out the lines of his collarbone, the sharp edges of his ribs. His breath was steadying now, but his gaze remained unfocused, lost somewhere in the haze of what had just happened between you. Spencer let out a slow breath, finally gathering himself enough to meet your gaze. "That was..." he started, but trailed off, shaking his head with a soft, incredulous laugh. "I don't even have a word for it."

You smirked, tilting your head. "Speechless? That’s a first."

He let out a breathy chuckle, his hands finally finding your waist, thumbs rubbing soft, soothing circles against your skin. "You always did have a way of knocking me off balance."

Your smile softened at that, your teasing fading into something more genuine. The weight of everything that had led up to this moment pressed against your chest, making it difficult to speak. The echoes of sharp words exchanged, the nights spent simmering in unresolved tension, the way his gaze had always lingered a second too long before he forced himself to look away—all of it came together into this single, inescapable truth. The fight had never been about animosity. It had always been about everything they were too afraid to admit. "Spencer... about everything before tonight... I—"

He exhaled, his grip on you tightening slightly. "I was an asshole to you," he admitted, voice quieter now. "I didn’t handle things well when you joined the team. I—change has never been easy for me. And then, when I found out you had a boyfriend... I was jealous. I didn’t know how to deal with that, so I took it out on you. I shouldn't have."

You searched his face, taking in the sincerity in his eyes, the quiet regret there. "I gave as good as I got," you murmured, your fingers ghosting over his jawline.

His fingers traced your spine, his gaze never leaving yours. "So... what now?"

The weight of everything unsaid pressed between you, years of tension unravelling in a single moment. The walls you had built to keep him out were crumbling, and you knew, deep down, that neither of you wanted to rebuild them.

You swallowed, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to fight you anymore. I don't want to pretend I don’t feel this."

His breath hitched, and his hands tightened on your waist, anchoring you to him. "Neither do I."

A slow, nervous smile pulled at your lips. "Then let's stop running from it."

Spencer reached up, brushing his fingers along your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw like he was committing you to memory. His touch was delicate, reverent, as if he was afraid this moment might slip through his fingers. "Are you sure?"

You nodded, covering his hand with yours. "I've never been more sure of anything."

Relief flooded his features, and he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead before resting his own against yours. "Then we stop pretending."

The last of the barriers between you shattered as he captured your lips in a slow, deep kiss—one filled with every unspoken word, every lingering glance, every suppressed feeling that had simmered for far too long. This wasn’t an impulse or a fleeting moment of passion. This was real—the press of his lips against yours, slow and sure, the way his hands anchored you to him like he couldn’t bear to let go. It was in the heat of his breath against your skin, the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers trembled slightly as they traced the curve of your spine. The weight of his gaze, filled with something deep and unshakable, sent warmth unfurling through you, settling deep in your bones. Every touch, every breath, every second of this moment cemented the truth—you weren’t pretending anymore. You never would again. And finally, neither of you had any reason to deny it.

As the kiss deepened, the world outside of this moment faded into irrelevance. His hands roamed your back, pressing you closer, as if afraid you might disappear if he let go. You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling him down to you, needing him in a way that felt almost desperate. His breath was uneven against your lips, and you could feel the rapid thud of his heart beneath your fingertips.

You pulled back just enough to look into his eyes, finding them darker, more intense than ever. "Spencer," you whispered, his name a plea, a promise, an invitation all at once. His thumb brushed against your cheekbone, reverent, awed.

He exhaled shakily, his fingers tracing over the curve of your cheek, his gaze searching yours like he was still trying to make sense of everything. "I don't want this to be just tonight," he confessed, voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to wake up tomorrow and pretend like this didn’t happen. Like it doesn’t mean everything."

Your breath caught, a slow warmth unfurling in your chest, because that was exactly what you needed to hear. "Me neither," you admitted, the words feeling truer than anything you’d ever said. "I want this. I want you."

Something in his expression softened, like a tension he hadn't even realized he was holding had finally eased. He cupped the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair as he pulled you into another kiss—deeper this time, more certain, like he was memorizing the way you felt against him.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet space between you. "Then we don't pretend," he murmured. "We stop fighting it."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you nodded, fingers curling around the nape of his neck. "No more running."

And as his lips found yours again, slow and lingering, you knew that neither of you ever would.

Neither of you spoke for a long time after that, simply holding each other, basking in the certainty that, for once, neither of you had to run anymore. This was real.

Minutes passed, or maybe hours—time had lost all meaning. The only thing that tethered you to the present was the slow, rhythmic rise and fall of his chest against yours, the way his fingers traced idle patterns along your skin. The silence wasn’t empty; it was full—of unspoken words, of lingering touches, of breaths that synced in the quiet. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm, all of it grounded you in the certainty of this moment, of him. Spencer traced patterns along your bare shoulder, his touch hypnotic, grounding. "I never thought I'd have this with you," he admitted. "I spent so much time trying to convince myself that it was easier to keep you at a distance. That if I pushed you away, maybe I wouldn't have to deal with wanting you this much."

Your chest ached at his words, at the thought of all the wasted time, the hurt you had both caused in your attempts to avoid the inevitable. "I think I did the same thing," you whispered. "You were pushing me away, so I pushed back. And maybe I didn't realize I enjoyed it—that arguing with you was just another way of being close to you."

He huffed out a quiet laugh, his fingers tightening around yours. "We’re kind of idiots, aren't we?"

"Yeah," you murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the inside of his wrist. "But at least we figured it out eventually."

His lips quirked into a smile, but there was something deeper in his gaze now—something tender, something permanent. "And we’re not going to waste any more time."

You shook your head. "No more pretending. No more running."

Spencer exhaled, his hands framing your face as he kissed you again, slow and sure. "Good," he murmured against your lips. "Because I plan on spending a long time making up for all the time we lost."

And as you melted into his arms, you knew, without a doubt, that you had found exactly where you were meant to be.

The next morning, the sun had barely crested the horizon when you awoke to the sensation of warmth and weight beside you. Spencer’s arm was draped across your waist, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. For a moment, you lay still, basking in the unfamiliar comfort of his presence, his eyes on you, watching you sleep. There was something so tender in his gaze, something that sent a warmth spreading through your body, chasing away the last vestiges of the cold loneliness that had clung to you for so long.

You turned to face him, his eyes snapping to yours with a flicker of surprise before he schooled his features back to something more neutral. "Were you watching me?" you asked, the question a teasing lilt in your voice, a smirk playing on your lips.

Spencer's cheeks flushed slightly, his gaze dropping to your bare chest where his arm lay. "I was," he admitted, his voice laced with something that could only be described as adoration. "You looked so peaceful."

You reached up, your hand brushing against the softness of his cheek. "I am now," you murmured, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw, urging his gaze back to yours. The intensity of his stare made your pulse race, the memory of last night's passion still tangible between you.

Spencer swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or regret. Finding none, he leaned in, capturing your mouth in a kiss that was both gentle and hungry. It was a declaration, a promise, a silent vow that this was just the beginning.

Your fingers danced across his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his skin against yours. The kiss grew more urgent as the morning light painted the room in soft hues of gold and pink. The weight of his body on yours was both comforting and exciting.

"I never knew you could be like this," he murmured when he finally pulled away, his voice thick with sleep and desire.

You chuckled softly, nuzzling closer. "What? That I could keep up with you? That I could challenge you?"

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, his nose brushing against yours as he shifted, his fingers skimming along your side. "No," he murmured, pressing a lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. "That you’d let yourself be this open with me."

Your smirk softened at his words, something unspoken passing between you. "Guess you bring it out of me," you admitted, your voice quieter now, more vulnerable.

His hand trailed down your back, fingertips tracing the curve of your spine as he hummed thoughtfully. "I like it," he said, almost as if confessing a secret. His lips ghosted over your jaw before he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again. "I like… this."

Your stomach flipped at the way he said it—uncertain yet sure, like he was still processing the reality of waking up with you but already knew he wanted to do it again.

"I like this too," you said, your fingers threading through his hair, still tousled from sleep. The golden morning light caught in the strands, making him look softer, more at ease than you’d ever seen him.

His eyes flickered with something unreadable before he ducked his head, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. "Good," he whispered against your skin, his arm tightening around you as if he wanted to make sure you stayed right there.

With a gentle nudge, Spencer shifted, rolling you onto your back before settling his weight over you. His kisses grew more urgent as he made his way down your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone, sending shivers down your spine. His hands slid to your breasts, cupping them with a familiarity that sent a thrill of pleasure through you. His thumbs brushed over your already-hardened nipples, and you felt your back arch off the bed, a low moan escaping you.

He paused, looking up to meet your eyes, his own dark with desire. "Is this what you want?" he asked.

You nodded, your voice a breathless whisper. "More than anything."

Spencer's gaze held yours for a long moment, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. Finding none, he leaned in, capturing your nipple in his mouth and flicking his tongue over the sensitive peak. You moaned, your hips bucking against him, silently begging for more. He chuckled against your skin, the vibration sending another shiver through you. His free hand slid down your stomach to the apex of your thighs, teasing the slick folds of your sex before he finally slid one long finger inside you. You gasped, your eyes fluttering shut, your entire body tensing at the sudden intrusion.

He moved with purpose, his thumb circling your clit as he kissed a trail down your body, his tongue tracing the line of your collarbone before moving to capture your other nipple in his mouth. The feeling of his fingers moving inside you, his mouth worshipping your body, was almost too much to handle. You tangled your hands in his hair, holding him to you, needing more.

His movements grew more deliberate, his tongue teasing and taunting, his fingers curling and stroking in a way that had you panting and desperate. You could feel the beginnings of an orgasm coiling tight in your belly, and you knew it was going to be explosive.

"Spencer," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need—"

With a knowing smile, he added another finger, stretching you, filling you. The sensation was overwhelming, your body responding with a sharp intake of breath. His touch was confident, masterful, his movements a silent promise that he knew exactly what you needed.

He watched your face as he pushed you closer to the edge, reading the signs of your arousal with an intensity that made you feel both exposed and cherished. His eyes darkened, his own breath growing uneven as he watched you squirm beneath him, desperation lacing your voice with every whine. With one last, lingering kiss to your neck, Spencer pulled away, his gaze meeting yours as he slid another finger into you, stretching you even further. The sensation was exquisite, a delicious fullness that made you quiver.

Your eyes locked onto his, and you could see the hunger there—for you, for this moment, for the connection that had been building between you for so long. You could feel yourself getting closer, your body tightening around his fingers, your muscles clenching in anticipation. He swiped his thumb over your clit again, and you bit back a cry, your hips bucking up to meet his hand.

"Spencer, please," you breathed, the words barely coherent as you writhed beneath him.

He didn't need the words; he could read your body's language with the same ease he read the pages of a book. His fingers moved in perfect rhythm, each stroke building the tension higher and higher.

"Spencer," you begged, your voice a breathy moan. "Please, I need you."

He pulled back slightly, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. "Not yet," he murmured, his fingers continuing their relentless rhythm. "I want to feel you come apart on my fingers first."

You whimpered, the frustration building. "But—"

Spencer cut you off with a firm look, his eyes dark with hunger. "No," he insisted, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers didn't slow, the rhythm unrelenting, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.

You struggled to keep your eyes open, to maintain that connection with him, but the pleasure was too intense, too all-consuming. Your hips began to rock against his hand, the friction building, the coil of need tightening deep within you. You could feel your orgasm approaching like a storm. "Spencer," you moaned, his name a plea as your body grew taut with anticipation.

"Cum for me," he whispered, his voice a seductive command that sent heat through you.

You moaned, your body responding instinctively to the words, the promise of what was to come. Spencer's fingers continued their relentless dance, the pressure building until you were sure you couldn’t hold on any longer. Your eyes rolled back in your head, and you clutched at the bed sheets, the fabric bunched in your fists as you tried to find purchase in the world that was rapidly spinning out of control.

With a final, desperate whine, you shattered, your body arching off the bed as an orgasm ripped through you with the force of a tempest. You cried out his name, the sound echoing through the room, the waves of pleasure so intense they were almost painful. He watched you cum, his own desire clear in the way his eyes darkened, his pupils dilating to swallow the blue of his irises.

And then, with a slow, deliberate movement that had your heart racing even faster, Spencer removed his fingers from your body, his eyes never leaving yours. He brought them to his mouth, sucking them clean, his gaze locked on yours as if daring you to look away. The sight was obscene, erotic, and you couldn't tear your eyes away as he tasted you.

He leaned down, capturing your mouth again, sharing the intimate flavour of your pleasure with you. You moaned into his kiss, the sensation of his tongue against your own making your core clench with aftershocks.

And then, with a deliberate slowness that made you ache, Spencer took hold of his cock, swiping the tip through your wetness, coating himself in your desire. The contact was electric, a promise of what was to come, and you could feel the tremble in his hand as he positioned himself at your entrance.

You watched as he pushed in, the sensation of him filling you up making you gasp against his mouth. He took his time, inch by torturous inch until he was fully seated. You felt stretched to the brink, but it was a sweet agony, a feeling you never wanted to lose.

His eyes searched yours, looking for any hint of pain or discomfort. Finding none, he began to move, his hips rocking against yours in a rhythm that matched your racing heartbeat. You wrapped your legs around him, urging him deeper, your nails digging into his back as you matched his movements. The friction was exquisite, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you with every stroke.

Spencer groaned, his forehead dropping to yours as he began to move faster, his breathing growing ragged. You felt the tension coiling in his body, the way his muscles tightened and his grip grew more possessive. "Look at me," he whispered, his voice strained with need.

You forced your eyes open, meeting his gaze with a hazy sort of wonder. The way he was looking at you—like you were the only thing that mattered in the world—was intoxicating.

Spencer’s strokes grew deeper, more urgent. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with the desperate sounds you were making. Each thrust sent a fresh wave of pleasure through you, and you couldn’t help but clench around him, urging him closer.

"You feel so good," he murmured, his voice low and raw. His eyes were closed now, his brow furrowed in concentration as he moved inside you. You could feel the tension in his body, the effort it took to maintain control.

The sound of your muffled cries filled the room, the sweet symphony of passion echoing off the walls. His hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit, his thumb circling it in time with his thrusts. You bucked against him, the dual sensations pushing you closer to the edge once more.

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, the intensity of his gaze searing into yours. "I want to watch you cum," he growled, his voice thick with desire. "Again."

And with that, he changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting your g-spot making your eyes roll back and your toes curl. Each movement sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing through you, building on the remnants of your last orgasm. You couldn’t believe how close you already were, how desperate you felt for the release that you knew was just within reach.

Your breath grew ragged, your chest heaving as you met his eyes. He watched you, his own eyes dark with need, his thumb working you with a precision that had your back bowing off the bed, your cries growing louder. You felt yourself teetering on the edge, the sensation of his cock filling you, his thumb on your clit, the sound of his breath in your ear—it was all too much.

And then you were there, falling over the precipice into the abyss of pleasure. You screamed his name, your body tightening around him as the orgasm swept through you like a wave, crashing over you and leaving you trembling in its wake.

Spencer's eyes remained locked on your face, a look of awe and adoration on his face. "God, you're so beautiful when you cum," he groans out. His thumb didn’t stop moving, keeping the pleasure pulsing through you.

And then, with a final, powerful thrust, he followed you over the edge, his own orgasm ripping through him. His body went rigid, his eyes squeezing shut as he buried himself deep inside you, his release hot and intense. You felt your inner muscles clench around him, milking every last drop of pleasure from him.

When it was over, he collapsed on top of you, his breaths hot and erratic against your neck. You wrapped your arms around him, holding him close, your hearts beating in sync. The aftermath was a mess of sticky skin and tangled limbs, but it was the most alive you’d felt in what felt like an eternity.

You stroked his hair, your breathing gradually slowing, the sound of your heartbeats the only music in the quiet room. The sun had fully risen now, casting a warm glow across the rumpled bed.

Spencer's head was nestled in the crook of your neck, his breathing evening out as he held onto you. The intimacy of the moment washed over you, a stark contrast to the chaos of the past few days.

You didn’t know how to navigate this new territory between you. But as his weight settled, as his arms tightened around you, you felt something unfurling within you—a warmth that had been missing for a long time.

You laid there, his breathing even and steady, his heartbeat a comforting thump against your chest. The sun had fully risen now, casting a warm glow over the rumpled sheets. Your fingers traced idle patterns on his back, feeling the contours of his chest.

You sighed, tightening your arms around him for a brief moment before murmuring, "We should probably get up."

"Mhm," he mumbled, though he made no effort to move. He nuzzled against your neck for a lingering moment before finally pushing himself up onto his elbows. His hair was a mess, and his eyes, still heavy with sleep, met yours with something unreadable flickering in them.

Neither of you spoke as you got out of bed, dressing in the nearest clothes you could find. The air between you wasn’t awkward, but it was charged with something unspoken. The weight of what had just happened, what it meant, hung between you like an unfinished sentence.

You padded out of the bedroom, Spencer trailing behind you. The apartment was still and quiet, the only sound the soft creaking of the wooden floor beneath your feet. As you made your way into the living room, your eyes caught sight of the scattered remnants of last night—discarded clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor.

You bent down, sifting through the pile in search of your phone, and Spencer did the same. The moment your fingers closed around the device, your stomach twisted at the sight of the screen lighting up—multiple missed calls and a slew of unread messages.

"Shit," you muttered, unlocking your phone.

"Oh no," Spencer said at the same time, his brows furrowing as he scrolled through his own notifications.

The texts were from the team.

Part Two

[moonlightdiarie]

⁺ ˳ ⁺ ˳ 🕉️ ˳ ⁺ ˳ ⁺ᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟᅟ⁺ ˳ ⁺ ˳ 👔 ˳ ⁺ ˳ ⁺

En la espәra vagAmoS ⒾndiFere𝒩te𝓢, p🄋r el esPaciⓞ que d𝑒jó (ˊσ̴̶̷̤ ₋̮̑ σ̴̶̷̤ˋ)₊🔆⁺˚

[dearlenore]

THE FIRST, FIRST LOVE COMPLEX • S.REID • PT2

SUMMARY: after revealing the shocking truth of Spencer Reid’s first, first love, the team does as the unsub instructs, retracing his steps all the way to Las Vegas.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer

tags: reader is a cutie pie, reader wears sun dresses and bikinis, reader is flirty bombshell, mentions of eating disorder, mentions of death, stalking, etc

a/n: i finally wrote part two please don’t hurt me

w/c: 4.8K

PT1

TAGLIST: @miyah-kaulitz @celestial-dome @lqu91s @ningeology @anthropsych @kore-of-the-underworld (sorry if I couldn’t tag u angels🥹💋)

The BAU’s jet touched down in New York just past noon, the sky a dull, unbroken sheet of grey. Heavy clouds clung to the tips of the city’s steel giants, muting the sunlight and casting a somber haze over the skyline. The low hum of the engines faded, but Spencer’s mind continued to race — fast and relentless — like a needle skipping on a broken record.

He sat rigid in his seat, shoulders tight and posture stiff. While the others moved with calm efficiency, gathering their bags and briefing one another quietly, Spencer remained frozen. His fingers drummed a frantic rhythm against his knee, each tap betraying the nervous energy buzzing beneath his skin.

She’s out there somewhere.

The thought looped through his mind like a mantra — or a curse. Every worst-case scenario unraveled in his head, each one more suffocating than the last. His last memory of you played over and over, taunting him. Your bright smile had been framed by golden sunlight, hair tousled by a lazy breeze as you lounged on a park bench with a book balanced in your lap. He remembered the way you’d tucked your hair behind your ear without looking up, too engrossed in the pages to notice him watching.

She’s safe like this, he had thought at the time. Happy. Warm. Free.

But now? Now you were somewhere in the heart of a city too vast, too unpredictable — a place that swallowed people whole. And Spencer had no idea where you were or what the unsub’s next move would be. That uncertainty clawed at him, tightening his chest until breathing felt like a conscious effort.

“Reid.”

Hotch’s voice cut through the spiral of thoughts — calm yet commanding. Spencer blinked, suddenly aware that the others were standing near the exit, waiting for him.

“JJ and I will handle this,” Hotch said firmly. “You stay here and go through the evidence again.”

“I should be there,” Spencer shot back, his voice too sharp, too fast. His breath hitched. “If he contacts her, if there’s a pattern I missed—”

“You’re too close to this,” Hotch interrupted, tone steady but unyielding. “We need her calm when we find her, not terrified because you’re pacing like you are now.”

Spencer opened his mouth to argue, but no words came. Hotch was right — Spencer knew that — yet the logic did nothing to quiet the gnawing panic threatening to consume him. His mind refused to slow down, cycling through probabilities and variables, imagining scenarios he couldn’t control.

“We’ll bring her back safe,” JJ added softly. Her hand squeezed his arm — brief, warm, and grounding. “I promise.”

Spencer swallowed hard and nodded, but the tension coiling in his chest refused to loosen. As Hotch and JJ disembarked, Spencer stayed behind, staring blankly at the clutter of files spread across the table.

His gaze fell to the photograph at the top of the stack — your face, mid-laugh, eyes crinkled with warmth. The memory of that moment blurred with his anxiety, twisting the image in his mind. What if this unsub had already—

No.

Spencer inhaled deeply, shakily, and forced himself to refocus. He grabbed a pen, determined to find something — anything — that could lead them to you before it was too late.

The law firm’s reception area was sleek and imposing — marble floors polished to a mirror sheen, towering glass walls that seemed to stretch endlessly upward, and a front desk staffed by a sharp-looking receptionist whose tailored blazer was as precise as her clipped tone. She barely flicked her gaze up when Hotch and JJ approached.

“We’re here to see Y/N L/N,” Hotch said firmly, flashing his badge with practiced ease.

The receptionist’s eyes barely lifted from her computer screen. “She’s assisting Mr. Connelly in a meeting,” she replied flatly. “I can leave her a message.”

“It’s urgent,” JJ pressed, her voice calm yet underscored with quiet insistence. “It’s a matter of her safety.”

The receptionist’s cool façade faltered, her gaze flicking from JJ to Hotch and back again. For a moment, she hesitated, clearly debating whether to push back or comply. Finally, her professional demeanor gave way to uncertainty. “I… let me get her.”

Moments later, you appeared from the hallway — heels clicking crisply on the marble, posture sharp and poised. A sleek blazer framed your figure, lending you an air of effortless confidence. Yet despite your composed appearance, warmth still lingered in your eyes — a warmth that flickered brighter the moment you recognized JJ. She was Spencer’s co worker, the one you were convinced he would be with once you were gone.

“JJ?” you greeted, surprise softening your features. “What are you doing here?”

JJ’s smile was brief, weighed down by something heavier. “Can we talk somewhere private?”

The concern in her voice dimmed your initial excitement, and you nodded, gesturing for them to follow you into a quiet office down the hall. The room was simple — modern furnishings, a tidy desk, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the city. As soon as the door clicked shut, JJ’s warm expression shifted to something more serious.

“We believe someone’s been following you,” Hotch said, his voice low and firm. “We have reason to believe your life is in danger.”

Your smile faltered, confusion knitting your brows. “What? Why?”

“We think it’s connected to Spencer,” JJ added gently. “He didn’t want to scare you, but… we need to get you somewhere safe.”

“Spencer?” His name felt foreign on your tongue — distant yet familiar all at once. Your expression softened for a brief moment before unease crept in. “I haven’t seen him in… God, years.” You paused, your mind scrambling to piece things together. “Wait… is this about those weird letters I’ve been getting?”

JJ’s gaze sharpened. “Letters?”

You nodded, moving to your desk and retrieving your purse. “I thought they were just from some weird admirer, but… yeah. They’d show up in my mailbox — poems, quotes about angels and music. It was sweet at first, but then they started mentioning things about my past.” Your fingers drifted to the delicate chain around your neck, absently toying with the pendant — a nervous habit you hadn’t shaken. “I figured it was just someone from high school who remembered me.”

Hotch’s expression darkened. He exchanged a grim look with JJ, and the silent weight of their concern settled over you like a cold shadow.

“Those letters are likely from the person targeting you,” Hotch said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.

You blinked, the air suddenly feeling too thin. “This has something to do with Spencer?”

“We believe the unsub’s fixation started with him,” JJ explained carefully. “But somewhere along the way, they became obsessed with you.”

The weight of her words pressed heavily on your chest. Memories of Spencer stirred — late-night conversations whispered across shared coffees, the warmth of his hand on yours when he thought no one was looking, the way his gaze softened when you laughed. He had always been cautious with you — overly protective in a way you didn’t fully understand at the time.

Maybe now you did.

“I need to get my things,” you said quietly, your voice thinner than you intended. You reached for your purse, suddenly aware of how exposed you felt — the glass walls, the polished floors, the endless corridors all seemed too open, too vulnerable.

“We’ll walk you out,” Hotch said firmly, his stance shifting slightly as if preparing for the worst.

JJ offered you a small smile — one meant to reassure — but there was no hiding the tension that hung in the air.

The moment you stepped back into the reception area, the city’s distant noise seemed louder — sirens wailing faintly in the background, muffled conversations humming just outside the glass walls. As you walked between Hotch and JJ, their presence was comforting yet unsettling — a constant reminder that someone, somewhere, was watching.

And you had no idea what they were planning next.

Spencer barely looked up when Hotch and JJ returned to the station with you. He was pacing near Garcia’s workstation, phone in hand, scrolling through messages for any missed calls. His fingers trembled slightly against the device, his mind spinning in frantic loops.

When he finally noticed you walking in, relief flooded his face — but the tension in his body didn’t ease. His anxiety kept him rooted in place, shoulders rigid and breath uneven.

“Spencer…” Your voice was soft, almost hesitant, yet it broke through the buzzing noise in his head.

“You’re okay,” he breathed, his voice tight. “Thank God.”

You crossed the room quietly, your steps measured. Your hand found his arm — gentle, barely a touch — yet steady enough to pull him from his spiral.

“I didn’t know what was happening,” you said softly, your fingers curling slightly against his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, his eyes flicking between yours like he was trying to memorize your face all over again. “I should’ve told you sooner — I should’ve kept in touch. I—”

“You’re here now,” you interrupted quietly, your voice steady but tender. “That’s enough.”

Before Spencer could say more, Penelope’s voice broke the moment.

“Spence… you need to see this.”

Her fingers hovered above her keyboard, her usual brightness dimmed beneath a layer of unease. The screen displayed a new email — subject line: “For My Angel.”

With shaky hands, Spencer clicked the message open.

The letter was written in the same looping script as the others:

She saved my life once, your angel did.

Her music was like light — soft and warm — and she never knew I was listening.

She’s everything pure in this world, and you’re tainting her.

I’ll take her away, away from you, and give her the peace she deserves.

She won’t need to suffer anymore.

Attached were two video files. Spencer clicked the first.The screen filled with a sunlit beach — the camera shaky and handheld. You stood near the water’s edge, the breeze teasing strands of your hair loose from their pins. The fabric of your bikini clung to you as you laughed, warm and carefree, before playfully splashing Spencer.

“I’m serious!” Spencer’s voice laughed from behind the camera. “You’re gonna get cold.”

“The water is nice, come on!,” you teased, your smile softer than your words. The sound of your voice — light and fond — was enough to hollow out Spencer’s chest.

The video cut off.

The second file played — a dimly lit restaurant this time. You sat across from Spencer, your fingers slowly tracing the rim of your cocktail glass. Your gaze flicked downward as you stirred the straw absentmindedly, a soft smile tugging at your lips.

“Stop looking at me like that,” you murmured without lifting your eyes.“Like what?” Spencer’s voice countered.

“Like you’re profiling me,” you said quietly, finally glancing up.

“I can’t help it,” Spencer’s voice returned, quiet and certain. The look on his face — the love in his eyes — was undeniable.

The video ended.

“That’s enough,” Spencer muttered, stepping back from the screen. His chest felt painfully tight, like he couldn’t draw in a full breath.

“Why would they send this?” you asked softly. Your voice didn’t tremble — it barely rose above a whisper — but the unease was clear in your eyes.

“He’s fixated,” JJ said carefully. “Not just on Spencer — on you. He’s convinced that somehow… you saved him.”

“Saved him?” you repeated, your brows knitting together.

“In high school,” Spencer murmured, piecing it together. “The music, the kindness — you must’ve done something that he clung to.”

You lowered your gaze to your hands, your fingers loosely fidgeting with the chain of your necklace. “I used to play my flute in the park,” you said quietly. “There was this boy… I didn’t know his name, but he was always sitting alone. I played because… I don’t know, I thought maybe it’d help.”

“That’s it,” Hotch said grimly. “You gave him something to hold onto.”

“And now,” JJ added, “he thinks he’s saving you in return.”

For a long moment, you were silent — your fingers still absently twisting the necklace chain.

“We need to find him before he gets that chance,” Spencer said firmly. His voice was low, but the urgency behind it was unmistakable.

You gave a small nod, your fingers tightening around the delicate chain. The air in the room felt heavier than before — thick with unspoken fear — but when Spencer’s hand found yours, you let him hold on.

Quietly, you let yourself believe that somehow, despite everything, you’d be safe.

The morning air was cold — the kind that clung to your skin and sank into your bones — and it carried with it a weight that pressed heavily on Spencer’s chest. He stood beside Hotch and JJ, his fingers twitching restlessly against his side, the unease winding tighter with every breath.

The plan had seemed secure — two officers stationed with you, experienced and reliable. Spencer had reviewed their backgrounds twice, grilling Hotch on their credentials as if he could force some kind of guarantee. But it hadn’t been enough to quiet the gnawing panic in his chest.

He’d argued. Begged, even.

“She should stay here,” Spencer had insisted, voice rising despite himself. “Or— or somewhere safer. A hotel, one with security, or maybe—”

“I just want to go home,” you’d interrupted, your voice quiet but unwavering. “I can’t breathe in here. I need to feel normal again.”

Spencer’s protests had faltered. He’d hated that he understood.

He knew that suffocating feeling — that desperate need to reclaim some semblance of control after fear had robbed you of it. He knew what it felt like to want your space back, to convince yourself that normalcy could be enough to keep you safe.

So he’d let you go — but not without hesitation.

He remembered standing by the station doors, fingers clenched at his sides, feeling like there was something more he should’ve said — something that might’ve changed your mind. When you turned back for him, your gaze softened, and suddenly he couldn’t hold himself back.

He’d closed the distance in an instant, arms wrapping tightly around you. His fingers curled into the fabric of your coat like he could anchor you there with him.

“Please be safe,” he whispered into your hair. His voice had wavered, barely audible even to himself.

“You’ll see me tomorrow,” you promised, voice soft yet certain. “Bright and early.”

But Spencer had held on just a little longer, as if he knew that promise might be one you wouldn’t get the chance to keep.

The apartment felt foreign — like someone else’s home disguised in your own familiar comforts. The faint scent of lavender still clung to the air, and the pastel throw blankets you’d folded just the night before lay neatly across the armchair. Yet none of it felt real. It was like you were standing in a stage set, where everything looked familiar but nothing felt safe.

You’d brewed a cup of tea — something warm and calming — but your fingers barely touched the mug. It sat untouched on the counter, steam curling lazily upward.

Detective Alvarez and Officer Greene moved with quiet diligence, checking the locks for the fifth time that morning. Their presence should have been reassuring, but instead, it only deepened the unease gnawing at your chest.

“We’ve got this,” Alvarez said, flashing you a confident smile. “No one’s getting in.”

You tried to smile back, but it felt thin, forced. The words didn’t stick.

Your gaze kept drifting to the windows. Each shadow seemed to stretch too far, each silhouette in the corner of your eye felt like someone lurking just out of sight.

You turned on the TV, letting the dull hum of the morning news fill the silence. The voices blurred together — static, muffled — but you kept the volume high, hoping to drown out the noise in your head.

Then there was a knock at the door.

“Miss L/N?” Greene’s voice called. “It’s me.”

You frowned, setting your tea down. “Didn’t you just check in?”

“Just want to update you,” he answered. “Everything’s clear outside.”

Something felt off — the words too casual, too light. You hesitated, fingers curling around the door handle. Still, you turned the lock and opened the door just a crack — enough to see Greene’s face.

He smiled, but something was wrong. The smile didn’t quite reach his eyes — too tight, too forced.

And then you saw it — the smear of blood just beneath his collar.

Your breath caught.

Before you could react, he shoved the door open. The impact sent you sprawling backward, your shoulder striking the wall and your head slamming against the sharp corner of your bookshelf.

“W-What…?” Your voice barely broke the air, slurred and thin as dizziness clouded your vision. The room spun, shadows warping and shifting.

The man standing above you wasn’t Greene. His uniform hung loose on his frame, and the dark glint in his eyes twisted your stomach with dread.

“Im sorry it had to be this way,” he murmured, voice low and venomous.

The street was a blur of flashing lights and frantic voices when the BAU arrived. Spencer shoved past the officers crowding the sidewalk, ignoring the calls for him to slow down. His breath hitched when he reached the threshold of the building.

Two bodies.

Detective Alvarez lay crumpled in the stairwell, his chest dark with blood. Officer Greene’s body was slumped near the front door — his badge still clutched tightly in his hand. Blood smeared the floor like a cruel map of what had unfolded, but none of it mattered.

You weren’t there.

“She’s gone,” Spencer whispered, his voice barely holding together. His chest rose and fell in sharp, uneven bursts. “He took her…”

“We’ll find her,” Hotch said firmly, placing a steady hand on his shoulder.

“He has her right now!” Spencer snapped, his voice breaking as he turned sharply toward him. His breath stuttered again — this time more ragged, more desperate. “Right now…”

“Spence…” JJ’s voice was softer as she approached. “We found something inside.”

Spencer barely heard her. His gaze remained fixed on the bloodstains, the smeared footprints leading away from the doorway. His mind kept looping back to the last thing you’d said to him.

“You’ll see me tomorrow. Bright and early.”

But tomorrow had arrived — and you were nowhere to be found.

The living room was a wreck — papers strewn across the floor, cushions gutted and tossed aside, the coffee table shoved halfway across the room. The scent of overturned candles and stale air clung to the space. Yet none of it mattered — not the mess, not the chaos.

What stole Spencer’s breath was the envelope on the coffee table.

His name was scrawled across the front in jagged, uneven letters — the ink pressed so hard into the paper it had nearly torn through. His fingers trembled as he reached for it, dread coiling tightly in his chest.

“Spence…” JJ’s voice was soft, but it barely registered.

With shaky hands, he tore the envelope open. The paper inside was rough beneath his fingertips — thin and cheap, like something torn from a notebook.

“I trusted you to keep her safe. How could you let her suffer like this?

She’s perfect — but she’s broken.

You never even noticed. While you smiled and held her hand, she was starving herself just to stay small enough for you to love her.

She’s an angel… my angel.

I’ll fix her now. I’ll save her from you.”

Spencer’s breath faltered, his fingers tightening around the paper until it crumpled in his grip. His vision blurred as the words seared themselves into his mind.

“What… what does he mean?” Spencer rasped, his voice thin and uneven.

JJ stepped closer, her expression carefully composed yet unmistakably concerned. “Spencer… did she ever mention struggling with food?”

“Yes.” His voice broke on the word. “She’s… she’s always smiling, always full of life…she got better…”

But even as the words left his mouth, memories began to surface — disjointed and sharp.

The quiet way you’d push food around your plate, always insisting you weren’t that hungry.

The faint tremor in your fingers when you were tired — or when you thought no one was looking.

The way your dresses sometimes seemed a little too loose, like they didn’t quite fit the way they once had.

Moments he’d brushed off as nothing — little things that felt insignificant at the time but now twisted painfully in his mind.

You were hurting… and he hadn’t seen it.

“Oh God…” Spencer’s breath hitched, and his knees buckled. He sank onto the edge of the couch, the crumpled letter still clenched in his fist. “I didn’t see it.” His voice broke, raw and strained.

“It’s not your fault,” Hotch said firmly, stepping into his line of sight. “This unsub is projecting his own obsession — twisting it to blame you.”

“No,” Spencer choked out, shaking his head. His voice faltered, barely more than a whisper. “I should’ve known… I should’ve noticed.”

JJ knelt beside him, her hand resting gently on his arm. “Spence… you love her. That’s what matters right now.”

But Spencer barely heard her. His mind spiraled, looping back to the last time he’d seen you — the softness in your smile when you’d promised him “bright and early.”

He thought about the way you’d hugged him a little longer than usual — how fragile you’d felt in his arms.

You needed him… and he hadn’t seen it.

“I can’t lose her,” Spencer whispered, his voice breaking. “I can’t…”

“We’re going to find her,” Hotch said firmly. “But we need you with us — thinking clearly.”

Spencer forced a shaky breath and wiped a trembling hand across his face. He clung to the only thing that mattered now — the promise he silently made to himself as he stared at the crumpled letter in his hand.

He would find you.

He wouldn’t fail you again.

The room was silent except for the furious rhythm of Garcia’s fingers flying across her keyboard. Spencer hovered beside her, too restless to sit. His breath came in shallow bursts, his mind cycling through worst-case scenarios on a relentless loop.

“Come on…” Garcia muttered. “Come on, you sick freak… give me something…”

The seconds dragged painfully on — each one tightening the coil of panic in Spencer’s chest.

Then — ping.

“Got him!” Garcia cried. “A security camera caught him heading toward an abandoned warehouse five miles outside the city.”

Hotch was already barking orders, agents scrambling for their gear. Spencer didn’t wait — he was out the door, heart racing.

The warehouse reeked of mold and rust, the air heavy with dust that clung to Spencer’s throat. The floorboards groaned beneath his steps, each creak splintering the silence. His pulse pounded in his ears — too loud, too fast.

Then he heard it.

A faint sound — soft, stifled sobs.

His chest tightened.

“Y/N…”

He followed the sound, moving faster now. His heart nearly stopped when he saw you — slumped against a metal pole, wrists raw and bruised from the rope that bit into your skin. Your hair clung to your face, damp with sweat, and your breathing was shallow.

“Y/N…” Spencer’s voice broke on your name.

Your head lifted weakly. “Spence…”

Before he could reach you, a figure emerged from the shadows.

The unsub.

He was wiry, face gaunt and eyes wild. The knife in his hand gleamed under the dim light.

“You didn’t deserve her,” the man spat, his voice shaking with rage. His glare locked onto Spencer, burning with venom. “You let her suffer, and you didn’t even notice.”

“Please…” Spencer raised his hands, voice tight but steady. “You don’t have to hurt her.”

“I would never! She’s not safe with you,” the man snapped. “She’s too kind — too good — and you didn’t even see how much she was hurting.” His voice wavered. “But I did.”

Spencer’s heart twisted painfully. “I know you believe that,” he said carefully. “But you’re not helping her this way.”

“I can fix her!” the man barked, his hand tightening around the blade.

“By starving her?” Spencer’s voice rose, breaking with emotion. “By scaring her like this?”

The unsub flinched as if Spencer’s words had struck him. His grip faltered, the knife dipping slightly.

“I wouldn’t starve her! I- I’m not like you.” The unsub held his head with his free hand, waving the knife about. It went quiet for a moment.

Then your voice broke the silence.

“Hey…”

Both men froze as you lifted your head. Your voice was soft — weak yet unwavering.

“Hey,” you tried again, a little stronger this time — gentle, soothing, like you were speaking to a frightened child.

The unsub’s gaze flicked to you. His face twisted with confusion. “You… you don’t have to be scared,” he stammered. “I’m saving you.”

“I know,” you said quietly. “I know you think you are.”

Spencer’s breath caught. He wanted to move — to reach you — but he knew better than to push.

“I remember you,” you said, your voice steady. “From high school… you used to sit on the far bench by the fountain.”

The unsub blinked rapidly. “You remember?”

“Of course I do,” you said with a faint smile. “I used to play my flute there… and you’d always listen.”

“You… you played beautifully,” he whispered, voice breaking. “You don’t know what that meant to me. I was… I was going to kill myself that day. But then I heard you playing, and I thought… maybe there’s still something good in the world. You were that something.”

Tears pricked your eyes. “I’m so glad you didn’t,” you said softly. “You deserved to find peace… to heal. But this isn’t the way.”

The knife wavered in his hand.

“I know you think I’m broken,” you continued gently. “But I promise… I’m okay now. I’m trying to be.”

The unsub shook his head fiercely. “No, no… you’re not okay. I saw you — barely eating, wasting away. He let you hurt yourself.” His eyes flicked back to Spencer, sharp with blame.

“I know,” you said carefully. “But that wasn’t his fault.”

Spencer’s breath hitched.

“I was sick,” you explained gently. “The weight loss… it wasn’t my eating disorder. It was my medication.” Your gaze shifted to Spencer, soft and unwavering. “He’s always been there for me. And right now… I need him.”

The unsub’s face crumbled. His fingers slackened around the knife.

“You’ve been carrying this pain for so long,” you said softly. “But you don’t have to anymore. Let me help you now, the way you once helped me.”

The blade clattered to the floor.

“I just wanted to protect you,” the man whispered brokenly.

“I know,” you murmured, eyes kind. “But it’s over now. You protected me.”

The team rushed in, Morgan and Hotch seizing the unsub before he could react. The man barely resisted — his gaze stayed locked on you, his expression crumpling as tears streaked down his face.

“You saved me,” he mumbled as they dragged him away. “You saved me back then… and you saved me now…”

“And you saved me,” you responded.

Later, after you’d been checked over by paramedics, you found Spencer sitting quietly outside the ambulance. His head hung low, wrists encircled by handcuffs — protocol after crossing into the scene without waiting for backup. His fingers twisted anxiously, his breathing uneven.

“Hey…”

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. When he looked up and saw you standing there — bruised but smiling — his chest caved with relief.

“You’re okay…” His voice broke, and he blinked rapidly.

“I’m okay,” you promised. “Thanks to you.”

“I… I should’ve known,” Spencer stammered. “About the medication… about everything. He was right — I didn’t see it.”

“You couldn’t have,” you soothed. “But you’ve always been there when it mattered.”

Spencer swallowed hard. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if—”

“You don’t have to think about that.” Gently, you reached for his hand, your fingers threading through his.

Spencer exhaled shakily, eyes flicking downward.

“Do you remember…” You paused, smiling softly. “When I used to play for you?”

His gaze lifted, brow furrowing slightly.

“I’d still play for you someday,” you offered. “If you want.”

Spencer let out a breath — a faint, tired laugh — and nodded.

“I’d like that.”

[lavb-b]

[ceruleankitkats]

Draw Morgan OfTheDevil gambling with Hobo Phoenix Wright

halfway through drawing this i decided Uno would be funnier sorry anon.

[jynandor]

WHEN LIFE GIVES YOU TANGERINES (2025) dir. KIM WON-SEOK That day, if she hadn't run as fast as she could... If she hadn't run that day... would she have been able to outrun her destiny? But in the end, destiny was a stubborn thing.

[carriefisher]

Character deaths in: FREDDY VS. JASON — dir. Ronny Yu, 2003

[palmetto-polls]

you are david wymack. before you is a list of all your foxes. you must sell one to one direction. choose.

[cosmic-nia]

jax and pomni personality swap?

sorry if the outfits dont look all that great,, i didnt put much thought into them-

also my dumbass forgot the sides of pomni’s hair so let’s just say it was a design choice lol

[inseobts]

hellow^^ can u please write where female reader is jealous with Robin after she teleported next to Law on that one episode in wano? thank you!! :>

Shambles of the Heart

law × reader

a/n: this was fun to write ngl

words count: 5.1k

tags: jealousy, fluffy, soft law, wano arc

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The dimly lit passageway beneath Wano feels both ancient and mysterious. You trail behind Robin, Law, and Sukiyaki, your footsteps echoing softly against the stone walls. The air is thick with history, each corner revealing remnants of a bygone era.

As you descend deeper, the path opens up to a vast underground cavern, revealing the submerged ruins of an ancient civilization. Robin’s eyes light up with scholarly excitement, immediately approaching the window at the end of the narrow corridor to look at the submerged city.

You can’t help but smile, watching her so absorbed. You’ve always admired Robin’s passion for uncovering history’s secrets. But then, a feeling begins to gnaw at you. You glance over at Law, who is walking beside you, hands stuffed into his pockets as usual, his expression unreadable.

Without a word, Law suddenly vanishes from your side, reappearing instantly beside Robin with a soft pop, courtesy of his Shambles ability.

Your brow furrows.

You feel your stomach twist uncomfortably, but you try to brush it off. It’s nothing, you tell yourself. They’re just really curious about ancient things. No big deal.

But then, as you look at them, you see how close they are in that narrow corridor, how their faces are so close, and the blue light of the sea filtering through the window. Their eyes are locked on the submerged city, their curiosity shared in that quiet, intimate way that makes something uncomfortable stir inside you.

Yup, this is making you incredibly jealous.

Couldn’t he wait and go there after her? The thought keeps repeating itself in your mind.

You feel a familiar heat creep up your neck. The jealousy isn’t rational, you know that. It’s just a small moment. But the way they stand there, side by side, engrossed in the same discovery, makes your chest tighten. You wish you were the one standing next to him. You wish he had walked over there with you first.

You bite your lip and try to keep your emotions in check. You turn your head, staring at the ancient walls, anything to avoid looking at the two of them.

After a long, painful moment, Robin turns back to the group. “This city is beautiful,” she says with wonder, taking one last look before stepping away from the window.

You exhale, the tension easing slightly, but you remain silent. You don’t look at Law.

Sukiyaki continues his explanation, his voice drifting in the background as you remain lost in your thoughts. You hear Law’s voice faintly asking something to Robin, but you don’t pay attention. You’re too busy trying to ignore the hollow feeling in your chest.

After a few minutes, Law glances over at you. He notices the distance between you and the rest of the group “You cold?” he asks, his tone soft, but there’s a hint of concern.

You don’t respond right away, not trusting yourself to speak. Instead, you take a step away from him and pull your coat tighter around your shoulders “No, I’m fine” you mutter, trying to keep your voice steady.

He watches you for a moment, clearly sensing something is off, but doesn’t press. Instead, he turns back to the group. The rest of the walk feels awkward, and you can’t shake the feeling of being left out. Robin and Law fall into a quiet conversation, their voices too soft for you to hear. You trail behind, keeping your distance.

When you finally emerge from the underground ruins and return to the festivities above, the warmth of the Flower Capital feels suffocating after the cold, stone silence of the caverns. The vibrant energy of the crowd greets you, but you’re not in the mood to join in. You push through the throngs of people, not stopping to talk to anyone.

You spot Zoro leaning against a nearby wall, a sake bottle in hand, clearly in the middle of trying to relax after the earlier chaos. You make your way over to him, your steps quick and deliberate.

He looks at you as you approach, one eyebrow raised “What’s up?” he asks, his voice gruff but casual.

“Can I join you for a drink?” you ask, trying to sound calm, though your heart is still tight with frustration.

Zoro takes a long swig from the bottle before tossing it to you “Sure, but I’m not a bartender.”

You catch it and open the cap, feeling the familiar warmth of the alcohol. You take a deep drink, the taste sharp and bitter, but it helps clear your mind, even if just a little.

Zoro glances at you again, sizing you up “What’s bugging you?”

You shake your head, not meeting his gaze “Nothing.”

He’s not convinced, of course “You’re clearly pissed off. Who pissed you off?”

You don’t answer immediately. Instead, you take another drink. The liquid burns its way down your throat. Finally, you speak “It’s nothing, really” you mutter, “Just… tired, you know?”

Zoro shrugs “Whatever. You’re the one with the problem. But you’re not fooling anyone.”

You roll your eyes “I’m fine, Zoro. Just… give me a little space, okay?”

He doesn’t argue, instead turning back to look at the ongoing festival. You focus on your drink, taking another sip as your mind drifts. Law’s face flashes in your mind, his voice asking if you were cold, but you quickly push the thought away. You don’t need him right now. You just need to get through the night.

Later, you feel the vibrations of footsteps approaching, the soft sound of boots against the wooden floor. You turn slightly to see Law walking through the crowd, his eyes scanning for you.

You lower your gaze, pretending not to notice. You can feel his presence, even from a distance. He stops a few feet away, hesitating.

“Hey,” he calls softly, his voice cutting through the noise of the crowd “Are you… okay?”

You don’t look up at him, just nodding slightly “I’m fine.”

He steps closer, but you take a small step back, avoiding him “You’ve been distant,” he murmurs, his voice carrying a hint of confusion and concern “What’s wrong?”

“I said I’m fine” you repeat, a little more sharply this time, hoping it will make him stop asking.

For a moment, there’s silence. Law doesn’t say anything more. He doesn’t push you.

Finally, he sighs softly, his shoulders slumping just a bit “Alright… if you need me, I’ll be around.”

You don’t answer. You just take another drink, eyes trained on the distant lights of the festival.

The night stretches on, and you can feel the festival around you, but it feels distant. The laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses, they all blur into a background hum. You take another drink from the sake bottle, feeling the warm liquid settle in your stomach, but it doesn’t settle the discomfort inside you.

You can’t shake the image of Law and Robin standing together by that window, the way he teleported next to her so easily, so naturally. That small, casual moment gnaws at you, and the jealousy that stirred deep inside you now feels like a weight in your chest.

It’s not just that they were so close, but that they seemed so in sync in their shared interest. Robin, always the scholar, and Law, always serious about uncovering secrets of the world, their faces lighting up at the same things, discussing the ruins like they were the only two people who could understand the weight of history. You admire both of their passions for history, but right now, it makes you feel small. In that narrow corridor, they were a pair of like-minded souls, and you felt like an outsider.

And it hurts. You’re with Law. He’s yours. But seeing how deeply they connect over this shared interest stirs something in you that you don’t want to acknowledge. You can’t help it... it makes you feel inferior, insecure. It’s like you’re not enough for him when it comes to the things that matter most to him.

You take another drink, trying to drown the thoughts. But it’s no use. The image of Robin and Law, engrossed in conversation, their faces so close, keeps replaying in your mind. You were standing there, watching them as they practically shared the same breath, and it hurt.

Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe you’re being unreasonable. But you can’t deny the sting of seeing them so close, the way they were so absorbed in each other’s thoughts, their passion for the past so easy to share. Couldn’t he have waited for you? Couldn’t he have walked the few steps to the window like you did?

Zoro doesn’t say much after that, keeping to himself, but every now and then, he gives you a sideways glance, probably sensing you’re not fine. He knows better than to press, though. It’s one of the reasons you like drinking with him. No judgment. Just quiet company.

But then, just as you’re about to take another sip of your drink, you hear it – the familiar sound of boots against the ground. You freeze, your heart skipping a beat.

Law is standing there again, just a few steps away. You don’t turn to look at him, though you feel his presence as if it’s pressing against you. He’s silent for a long moment, his eyes lingering on you, and then he speaks in a voice softer than you’ve heard in a while.

“Can we talk?”

You don’t respond immediately. Your fingers grip the bottle tighter, your knuckles whitening as you fight the urge to snap at him. You don’t want to talk. Not yet. Not when your emotions are still raw and tangled up in confusion.

Finally, you take a deep breath and mutter without looking up, “There’s nothing to talk about.”

Law’s voice remains steady, though you can hear the faintest crack of frustration beneath the surface “There is. You’re avoiding me.”

You feel a sharp pang of guilt, but you push it aside “I’m not avoiding you” you say, but even to your own ears, the words sound hollow.

“You are.” He steps a little closer, but this time, you don’t move away. Maybe you’re too tired to put up the wall again “You’ve barely said a word since we left the ruins.”

You don’t know how to explain it. How could you put into words what’s been eating at you all night? That nagging jealousy, that sinking feeling you couldn’t quite shake. You look at him, finally meeting his gaze, but even that feels like a betrayal. You look away almost immediately.

“I just need some space” you mutter, voice low.

Law stands still for a moment, his gaze unwavering. You can feel him searching your face, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, he responds “Is it because of earlier?” His words cut through the air, simple and direct.

You stiffen at the question, the knot in your stomach tightening. Your lips press into a thin line as you look up at him again “You teleported next to Robin. You didn’t even wait a second. I don’t know, maybe I just—”

Your voice falters, and you stop yourself before you can say too much. You don’t want to sound foolish, even though that’s exactly how you feel. Your heart races, but you swallow hard, pushing through the discomfort “It’s nothing.”

Law’s brows furrow, his expression softening “It’s not nothing.” He steps closer, his voice lower now “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just… wanted to see what Robin was looking at. I didn’t think it’d bother you.”

You feel a strange mix of relief and frustration. Relief because he didn’t mean anything by it, but frustration because your feelings are still messy “It’s not about that. It’s just…” You let out a sigh, feeling stupid for not being able to explain what you feel “I don’t like seeing you so close to her. You two always talk about these things I don’t understand, like it’s something only you two can appreciate.”

His expression softens at your words, but it still doesn’t quite reach your heart “I didn’t think it would upset you, but you’re right. Robin and I… we share an interest in ancient history. But that doesn’t mean I don’t value you.”

Your heart flutters a little, but you’re still caught in the cloud of doubt “It feels like you’re always in your own world when you’re with her, and I’m just left out. You two get each other, and sometimes, I feel like I don’t.”

The words spill out faster than you can stop them. You can see the confusion flicker across his face, but it’s soon replaced by concern.

“I care about you,” he says softly, his tone earnest “You’re not left out. You never are.”

You shake your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips “Then why didn’t you walk over to the window with me, huh? Why did you have to teleport next to Robin like it was nothing? Why do you both always talk about things I don’t know anything about?”

Law’s eyes widen at the accusation, and you instantly regret it, but the words hang in the air like smoke.

“You think I don’t care about you?” he says quietly, taking another step closer “That’s not it. Robin and I… we share an interest. But I’m not with Robin. I’m with you.”

Your heart stutters in your chest, and the guilt begins to weigh heavier than the jealousy. You look away, unable to meet his eyes “I know. But it doesn’t stop how I feel.”

Law takes a deep breath, stepping closer still until there’s no more distance between you two “Listen to me,” he says, voice low and firm “I’m not going anywhere. And I want to share everything with you. Not Robin. You.”

You swallow hard, and there’s a long, charged silence between you two. Finally, you look up at him, your heart heavy with a mixture of insecurity and hope.

“I just need some time to get over it,” you say softly, the words coming easier now “I don’t want to feel like this, but I do. And I don’t want to mess things up with you.”

He nods slowly, his gaze steady “Take all the time you need. But I’m not going anywhere, and I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

You nod, the tension in your chest loosening just a little. It’s not resolved, not yet. But for the first time in what feels like hours, you don’t feel quite so alone in the feeling.

The cool night air stings against your skin as you step out of the tavern, the laughter from the festivities echoing distantly. The weight of your conversation with Law still lingers, but it’s less suffocating now, more manageable. You’re still uncertain about a lot of things, but there’s a quiet sense of reassurance that wasn’t there before.

Zoro is leaning against the side of the building, the ever-present bottle of sake in his hand. He gives you a lazy glance when you exit, raising an eyebrow at you.

“Everything good?” he asks, his tone casual, though there’s a hint of curiosity in his eyes.

You nod, though you’re not sure if everything is truly good. It feels like you’re still in the middle of something, but at least you’re not hiding from it anymore.

“Yeah,” you say, taking a deep breath “Just…needed to talk things out.”

Zoro doesn’t press. Instead, he takes a swig from his bottle and hands it to you without a word. You accept it and drink, the sharpness of the alcohol grounding you.

As the silence stretches on, your mind drifts back to Law. You can still feel the weight of his words, and the way he said he was there for you. He meant it. You know that much. But there’s still that lingering uncertainty in your chest, the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’re not enough for him when it comes to these things he shares with Robin.

But you’re trying. You’re really trying to let it go.

“So,” Zoro says, breaking the silence again, his eyes flicking toward the crowd, “what’s your plan?”

“Plan?” you repeat, furrowing your brow.

“Yeah. I’m assuming you’re not gonna stay sulking for too long.”

You let out a soft laugh “I’m not sulking.”

“Sure you’re not,” Zoro says with a grin, clearly not buying it “So, what are you gonna do? You going to talk to Law, or…?”

You take another sip from the bottle, staring off into the night. The conversation with Law had helped, but you still felt a bit too raw to face him again right now. You wanted to clear the air, but your emotions were still a tangled mess, and you weren’t sure how to approach him.

“I don’t know yet,” you say after a moment “I want to… but it’s hard. I don’t want to make him feel like he’s walking on eggshells, but I also don’t want to ignore how I’m feeling.”

Zoro chuckles, a little too knowingly “You should probably stop thinking so much. Just talk to him. You two have been together long enough, yeah? He’s not gonna bite your head off.”

You let out a soft sigh, running a hand through your hair “I know. I just… I’m afraid it’ll happen again, you know? That feeling of being left out. Like I’m not enough when it comes to the things that matter to him.”

Zoro watches you for a moment, his gaze thoughtful “You’re being an idiot.”

You blink at him, surprised by the bluntness “Excuse me?”

“Look,” he says, straightening up and taking another swig from his bottle “you’re enough. Law’s not some guy who’s gonna run off because someone else shares a hobby with him. You should know that by now.”

You open your mouth to respond but stop yourself, realizing he’s right. He’s right, and you do know that. You just didn’t want to feel like a second choice, like you were in the background while Law and Robin got lost in their shared history obsession.

Zoro shrugs “If you want to fix it, stop thinking about what Robin and Law have and focus on what you have with Law. He’s your partner. Don’t forget that.”

You nod, the weight of his words settling in. It makes sense. It’s not about what Law shares with Robin; it’s about what you share with him. And maybe you’re being a little too quick to let jealousy cloud your judgment.

“Thanks, Zoro” you murmur, feeling lighter than before. Maybe it’s time to stop avoiding the problem and face it head-on.

Zoro doesn’t respond, but he gives you a small, approving nod as you walk away. You’re not entirely sure what comes next, but you’re determined to make it right.

Back at the inn, you find Law sitting at one of the tables, a glass of sake in hand. His usual calm demeanor is there, but there’s a subtle tension in his posture, like he’s waiting for you to approach him. You take a deep breath and walk over, stopping a few steps away from him.

“Hey” you say quietly, trying to keep the nervousness from your voice.

Law looks up, his gaze softening when he sees you “Hey,” he replies, voice calm but with a hint of concern “You okay?”

You hesitate for a moment, but then, with a small sigh, you sit across from him “I’ve been thinking about things. About earlier.”

Law places his glass down, his full attention on you now “You wanna talk?”

You nod “Yeah. I think I owe you that much.”

For a few moments, you don’t say anything, just gathering your thoughts. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable, but it’s full of unspoken emotions, things that both of you are still trying to process.

“I was jealous,” you admit, looking down at your hands “I don’t know why, but I felt… left out. Like I wasn’t enough when it comes to things you and Robin share. You two talk about ancient history, and it’s like you’re speaking a different language. I just feel… like I’m not part of that.”

Law is quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable. You look up at him, unsure if you’ve said the right thing.

“You don’t have to be part of everything I share with Robin” he says gently, his voice low and steady “It’s not about you not being enough. It’s just that we have a shared interest in ancient history. But that doesn’t change anything between us.”

You feel a tightness in your chest loosen as he speaks, his words reassuring you “I know. I’ve been thinking about that, and I understand it now. It’s just… hard sometimes, seeing you two get so lost in something you both care about. I feel like I don’t belong in those moments.”

Law reaches across the table, placing his hand over yours “You belong with me, always. I never want you to feel left out. I’m with you.”

You feel your heart beat a little faster as you look at him, his gaze sincere and unwavering “I’m sorry for being so insecure about it. I don’t want to shut you out.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he says softly, squeezing your hand “You’re with me, and that’s all that matters. No one else matters in the way you do.”

You smile, feeling the last of the tension fade “Thanks. I needed to hear that.”

He smiles back, the weight of the conversation lifting “Anytime.”

For a moment, everything feels right again. The world outside fades into the background as you and Law sit together, knowing that things may not be perfect, but you’re in this together. And that’s enough.

The night is still young, and though the festival has quieted down, there’s a lightness in the air, a sort of magic lingering after your conversation with Law. You’re both standing in the inn’s courtyard, still feeling the warmth from your words, and it seems as if the night has opened up with endless possibilities.

Law glances at you, a glint of mischief dancing in his eyes “Want to go somewhere? Somewhere quiet?”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued “Quiet? What do you mean?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, with a slight smirk, he steps closer to you, and before you can react, he taps his fingers against your wrist. You feel that familiar pull of his Shambles ability, and in an instant, you’re no longer standing in the courtyard but somewhere completely different.

You blink, your heart skipping a beat as you take in the breathtaking view before you.

You’re standing atop a cliff, overlooking a serene valley, the sea stretching out beneath a starry sky. The wind brushes gently against your skin, carrying the scent of salt and earth. Far off in the distance, you hear the faint sounds of fireworks echoing through the air. But more than that, you can see them, the bright bursts of color lighting up the dark sky in a dazzling display.

You turn to Law, surprised “Where are we?”

His smile softens as he watches the fireworks light up the night sky “Just somewhere I thought we could be alone, away from all the noise. I thought it’d be nice to enjoy this… just the two of us.”

Your heart swells at his words, and for a moment, the world feels still, like time has slowed just for the two of you. The sounds of the fireworks fade into the background as you focus on him. The way his eyes glisten with the soft glow of the explosions above, the faint curve of his lips as he looks at you.

“It’s beautiful” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t respond immediately, but his gaze shifts to you, catching your eyes. For a moment, neither of you says anything, words feel unnecessary here, with the connection between you stronger than anything you could say. The sounds of the fireworks continue to boom in the distance, but it feels like you’re in your own world, a quiet, perfect bubble where nothing can touch you.

You step closer to him, your heart beating a little faster now, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling around you. You glance up at him, finding him already watching you, a look in his eyes that makes you feel seen in the most comforting way possible. You can see the care in his gaze, the understanding, and beneath that, something more, a warmth, a tenderness that makes your chest tighten with emotion.

Without thinking, you take a small step forward and rest your hand on his chest, your fingers brushing against the fabric of his coat. His hand instinctively moves to your waist, pulling you just a little closer, the space between you vanishing in a single, quiet moment.

“Thank you,” you say, your voice barely audible, but the gratitude in it is clear “For bringing me here. For… understanding.”

Law’s expression softens, his thumb lightly brushing the small of your back “I’ll always understand you. No matter what.”

You feel your heart race, your breath catching in your throat. This moment, with him, feels like everything you’ve ever wanted and more. It’s quiet, simple, and filled with meaning. You could stay here forever, just standing with him beneath the stars, watching the fireworks paint the sky.

“You’re not just saying that, are you?” you ask, teasing him lightly, trying to ease the fluttering in your chest.

He smirks, a playful glint returning to his eyes “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

You smile, relieved “Good.”

And just like that, the playful tension between you shifts into something deeper, something far more intimate. You lift your eyes to the fireworks again, but your attention keeps drifting back to Law. You’ve shared so much already, but it feels like this moment, right here, right now, holds something more.

Without another word, Law leans down, his lips meeting yours in a slow, tender kiss. It’s soft at first, just the gentle brush of his lips against yours, as if he’s savoring the closeness, the intimacy. You melt into him, your hands moving up to cup his face, feeling the roughness of his skin, the warmth of his breath against yours.

The fireworks burst above you, their bright colors flickering in the night sky, but all you can focus on is him, the way his hand moves to the small of your back, pulling you even closer, the way his kiss deepens as if to convey everything he’s feeling, everything you’ve just shared.

For a few moments, there’s nothing but him, nothing but the warmth between you two. The world outside disappears, and all that matters is the closeness, the feeling of being completely wrapped up in each other.

When you pull away, both of you are breathless, your hearts pounding in unison. Law looks down at you, his thumb brushing across your cheek in the gentlest of motions.

“You make it hard to think straight” he murmurs, his voice husky, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You smile back, your own heart still racing “Maybe that’s the point.”

You lean in to kiss him again, but the fireworks are still going, the sky lighting up around you, their bursts of color reflecting in his eyes. This moment feels like it could last forever. The world seems so far away, as if nothing could ever shake the peace you’ve found together.

And in the quiet after the kiss, with the fireworks still painting the sky, you realize something that you hadn’t quite understood until now, no matter the insecurities, no matter the doubts, there’s no one else you’d rather be with than him. You and Law, standing beneath the stars, are more than enough.

The fireworks continue to explode above you, casting colorful hues across the night sky, but it’s the quiet moments between you and Law that stand out the most. His touch lingers on your skin, his presence next to you like an anchor in a world that can often feel chaotic. The lingering warmth of his kiss, the softness in his eyes... it all feels like it’s just the two of you, with nothing else in the world mattering.

You pull away slightly, taking a breath, and then look up at him, your gaze steady and certain.

“You know, I never realized how much I needed this” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper “The peace. With you.”

Law’s eyes soften, a small but sincere smile curving at the corners of his lips. He leans in, brushing his forehead against yours “I’m glad you’re here. I’ve always needed you. You and me, together. Nothing else.”

For a moment, neither of you speaks. There’s no need to. Everything you both wanted to say has already been shared, in the looks, in the touch, in the simple act of being close. It’s all been said, and in this quiet, peaceful moment, you realize that all the doubts and insecurities you once felt don’t matter anymore. You’ve worked through them together.

The fireworks eventually start to fade, their last bursts leaving trails of light in the sky before dying out. But the two of you remain, standing side by side, your hands still entwined, the quiet comfort of the moment settling over you like a warm blanket.

As the sky darkens even more, you find yourself leaning against him, the soft sound of his breathing calming your racing heart. You feel safe here, in his arms, with nothing but the sounds of the night and the remnants of the fireworks in the distance.

“I think I’ve had enough fireworks for tonight” you say softly, your fingers tracing small patterns on his coat.

He chuckles, a low, rich sound that makes your heart flutter “I think I’ve had enough fireworks for a lifetime. As long as you’re here.”

You look up at him, meeting his eyes, your heart full of love “I’m not going anywhere, Law.”

And in that moment, under the stars, with the last traces of the fireworks fading away, you realize that this is what you’d always wanted. No more insecurity. No more fear. Just the two of you, together, facing whatever comes next. Because together, you can handle anything.

“I love you” you say, the words feeling more real than ever before.

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing your skin gently, before he lowers his head to press a soft kiss to your forehead “I love you too.”

And as the two of you stand there, alone in the night, you know that this is only the beginning of the journey ahead. No matter what comes, you’ll face it together, just like you always should have.

[creatreasurebox]

[badathumanemotions]

Friction (Part 2)

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

MDNI MasterList Category: Fluff and Smut CW: Getting Together, Going On A Date, Smut, Dom/Sub Undertones, Fluff, Teasing, Oral Sex (m rec), Vaginal Sex, Squirting, Breeding Kink, Aftercare WC: 27,329 [Total WC: 52,733] Anonymous asked:

hi can you write a fic about the team is at a bar ( spencer and the reader are “enemies” ) and the readers ex shows up so she makes spencer act like her bf (they kiss 😛) and it results in them getting freaky because they realise their real feelings for each other

Part One Spencer and Reader have to figure out how to deal with the relentless teasing from the team. In the meantime Spencer takes Reader out on a date. (Not Proof Read)

You padded out of the bedroom, Spencer trailing behind you. The apartment was still and quiet, the only sound the soft creaking of the wooden floor beneath your feet. As you made your way into the living room, your eyes caught sight of the scattered remnants of last night—discarded clothes strewn haphazardly across the floor.

You bent down, sifting through the pile in search of your phone, and Spencer did the same. The moment your fingers closed around the device, your stomach twisted at the sight of the screen lighting up—multiple missed calls and a slew of unread messages.

"Shit," you muttered, unlocking your phone.

"Oh no," Spencer said at the same time, his brows furrowing as he scrolled through his own notifications.

The texts were from the team.

To You: Emily: Where the hell did you go?? JJ: Are you okay? We lost you last night. Morgan: You better not be waking up in a jail cell. Garcia: I AM TRYING NOT TO PANIC BUT YOU ARE MISSING??!! Emily: Please tell me you just went home. JJ: Just let us know you're alive, okay? Morgan: You better not be passed out in some alley somewhere. Pick up your phone. Garcia: If you don’t answer, I’m hacking a satellite, I swear. And then I’m sending a search party. WITH DRONES.

To Spencer: Emily: Reid? Where’d you disappear to? JJ: Spence, you good? We haven’t seen you since last night. Morgan: Genius, if you got kidnapped, blink twice. Garcia: OH MY GOD WHY ARE YOU MISSING TOO?! Emily: This is not like you. Answer your phone. JJ: Please just check in. Morgan: Seriously, Reid, don’t make me come looking. Garcia: WAIT. I JUST TRACKED YOUR PHONE. YOU'RE WITH HER?! ARE YOU TWO TOGETHER?!

You exhaled, rubbing a hand over your face. "Well… they noticed."

Spencer let out a breathy laugh, shaking his head. "We should’ve expected this."

Your eyes flicked to each other’s phones, then back up. "Garcia tracked us. Of course she did."

Spencer groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She probably already has a PowerPoint titled 'The Unbelievable Yet Completely Predictable Hookup of the Century.'"

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head. "God, what do we even say?"

You looked at each other, a silent conversation passing between you. You’d spent the whole night wrapped up in each other, lost in something you didn’t fully understand yet. But now, reality was creeping back in, and with it came the inevitable question—what now?

"Do we tell them?" Spencer asked, cautious.

You chewed on your lip. "I don’t know. I mean, we barely know what this is."

His expression softened. "Yeah. Maybe we keep it to ourselves, at least for now."

You nodded, grateful for the reprieve. "Let’s get some coffee first. We’ll figure it out."

Spencer exhaled, glancing at his phone again. "Garcia already knows. Which means we’re on borrowed time before the rest of them do."

You groaned. "She’s probably drafting the 'So You Two Finally Gave In' email as we speak."

"Or using her tech wizardry to figure out exactly when and where this would happen based on sheer determination and a questionable disregard for privacy," Spencer muttered, rubbing a hand over his face.

You shook your head with a tired laugh. "We’re doomed."

He nudged your shoulder, a small smile playing on his lips. "Let’s get coffee before the interrogation starts."

As you made your way to the kitchen, the weight of the team’s inevitable questions loomed over you, but for now, you focused on the simple things—the smell of coffee brewing, the warmth of his presence beside you, the quiet promise of whatever this was becoming.

Spencer leaned against the kitchen counter, cradling his coffee mug in both hands. You sat across from him at the small dining table, stirring absentmindedly at your own cup. The air between you was thick with the weight of Garcia's discovery and what it meant for the rest of the team.

"So," he started, his voice hesitant, "what do we do?"

You exhaled slowly, rubbing your temple. "Garcia knows, which means everyone else will know soon. If she hasn't already started telling them."

Spencer groaned softly, setting his mug down. "She’s not exactly known for keeping secrets."

You gave him a pointed look. "Understatement of the year."

He huffed a small laugh but quickly sobered. "Do we try to control the narrative? Or just… let it happen?"

You took a sip of your coffee, considering. "If we try to get ahead of it, that means having to tell them. All of them. And that means… questions. Lots of them."

Spencer winced, likely imagining the interrogation that awaited the two of you. "Morgan is never going to let me live this down."

"Oh, absolutely not." You smirked, shaking your head. "And Emily and JJ will be smug about it for months."

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I don’t know if I have the energy to deal with that right now."

You leaned back in your chair. "So, what? We just act like nothing happened? Hope they don’t bring it up?"

Spencer gave you a flat look. "You really think that’s an option?"

You sighed. "Not a chance."

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the reality of the situation sinking in. You wanted to be with him—there was no question about that. But navigating this new relationship under the scrutiny of your team was another matter entirely.

"Maybe we just… confirm it if they ask," you finally said. "We don’t have to make a big announcement. Just—if it comes up, we don’t deny it."

Spencer nodded slowly, mulling it over. "That might be the easiest way. Low effort. Less chaos."

You snorted. "There’s going to be chaos no matter what."

He sighed, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "True."

You reached across the table, letting your fingers brush against his. "We’ll handle it together."

Spencer turned his hand over, lacing his fingers with yours. "Together."

A comfortable silence settled between you, but it was short-lived as a notification lit up Spencer’s phone on the counter. He glanced at it and groaned. "Garcia just sent a group text. I refuse to read it."

Your phone buzzed a second later. You hesitated before picking it up, already dreading what you’d see.

Garcia: "GOOD MORNING, LOVE BIRDS. 😘 DON’T BOTHER DENYING IT. IT’S HAPPENING. YOU’RE HAPPENING. SO WHEN DO WE GET TO GUSH ABOUT THIS???"

You groaned, setting your phone face-down on the table. "She knows, she’s excited, and we are officially doomed."

Spencer ran a hand through his already-messy hair. "She’s going to be relentless."

"Oh, absolutely." You took another sip of coffee, trying to steel yourself. "And once Morgan finds out…"

Spencer’s head hit the counter with a dull thud. "This is going to be worse than I thought."

You couldn’t help but laugh, reaching over to pat his arm. "At least it’s out there now. Maybe it’ll be easier once the dust settles."

He lifted his head slightly, looking at you with skepticism. "Or it’ll be weeks of teasing and speculation."

You shrugged. "Either way, we’re in it now. We may as well own it."

He exhaled slowly, nodding. "Alright. We answer questions if they ask, but no unnecessary details. We don’t need to give them more ammunition than they already have."

"Agreed." You squeezed his hand briefly before letting go, picking up your mug. "We’ll face the chaos together."

Spencer sat back, watching you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. "You realize Garcia probably already has a whole board of conspiracy theories about how long this has been going on."

You rolled your eyes. "Of course she does. But at least this way, she doesn’t have to guess anymore."

The two of you sat there, the weight of the inevitable hanging over you, but at least now, you weren’t facing it alone. You had each other. And somehow, that made it all a little easier.

The soft morning light filtered through the blinds, casting a warm glow over the quiet space. The scent of coffee lingered in the air, mixing with something unmistakably Spencer—clean, warm, familiar. It should have felt strange, waking up here, sharing this moment with him after everything that had transpired the night before. But it didn’t. It felt… natural. Easy, even. And that was the problem.

Spencer sat across from you, fingers wrapped around his coffee mug, his gaze flicking between you and the phone resting between you on the table. Garcia’s texts were still unanswered, her curiosity undoubtedly growing by the second, but neither of you seemed eager to address them. Not yet.

“I should probably get started on my day,” you finally said, though you made no move to stand.

Spencer exhaled softly, nodding. “Yeah. Me too.” He glanced at you, then down at his mug before adding, "At least we have a three-day weekend."

You blinked, the reminder settling in. Three full days before you had to step back into the BAU, back into the teasing and knowing glances you were sure to face. Three days where, if you wanted to, you could see where this thing with Spencer might go.

A beat of silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken thoughts. This was the part where things were supposed to go back to normal, where you both stepped away and acted like nothing had changed. Except something had changed. Neither of you could pretend otherwise.

Still, you pushed yourself up from the chair, grabbing your bag. “I’ve got some errands to run.”

Spencer followed your lead, standing as well. “Right. I, uh… I’ve got some things to do too.”

For a moment, it seemed like he might say something else, but instead, he simply nodded, a hesitant smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You hesitated before stepping toward the door. “I guess I’ll see you later.”

His fingers twitched at his side, like he was considering reaching for you, but then he cleared his throat. “Wait.”

You paused, looking back at him. His expression was uncertain for only a moment before he straightened, his voice firmer when he spoke again. “I want to take you on a date. Tomorrow.”

Your breath caught slightly, but you managed to keep your voice steady. “A date?”

He nodded. “Yeah. A real one.” His lips quirked into a small, nervous smile. “No pretending. Just us.”

Your heart thudded against your ribs as you searched his face. “Okay… where are you taking me?”

His brows furrowed slightly, caught off guard by the question. “I—uh, I was thinking somewhere nice. A restaurant, maybe? Do you have a preference?”

You tilted your head, intrigued by his hesitation. “You didn’t plan this far ahead, did you?”

He exhaled a small laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was more focused on making sure you’d actually say yes first.”

A smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “Well, yes, I’m saying yes. But I want details.”

Spencer straightened slightly, his confidence returning. “Alright. There’s this place I read about—small, quiet, great reviews. I think you’ll like it. And after…” His smile turned slightly mischievous. “That part’s a surprise.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “A surprise?”

He nodded. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

You considered it for a moment, warmth spreading through your chest at the idea of him putting thought into this. “Alright. I’ll trust you.”

His relief was evident, his smile growing. “Good. It’s a date, then.”

Before you could respond, he took a small step forward, his hand reaching out to brush against your arm. The touch was fleeting, but it sent warmth up your spine. Then, without overthinking it, he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips—quick, but deliberate, like he needed to do it before he lost his nerve. When he pulled back, his eyes lingered on yours for a moment before he gave a small, almost shy smile. Then, with one last glance, he turned and left your place, leaving behind the lingering warmth of his touch and the quiet anticipation of what tomorrow would bring.

You stepped outside, the cool morning air hitting your skin like a much-needed reminder of reality. You had things to do, errands to run—picking out something to wear, making sure you looked your best for tomorrow night. And yet, as you walked away, your thoughts remained tangled in the warmth of his presence, the way he’d looked at you like he wasn’t quite ready to let you go.

As you moved through your day, checking off errands in preparation for tomorrow, you kept glancing at your phone. No messages from him yet. But every time the screen lit up, your heart stuttered just a little, anticipation curling in your stomach at the thought of your date.

You weren’t sure what came next. But for the first time in a long time, the uncertainty didn’t scare you. It only made you excited for what was to come.

The day passed in a blur of errands and distractions, but no amount of busywork could fully pull your mind from the lingering warmth of Spencer’s touch, the way he’d looked at you before he left. As night settled in, you found yourself staring at the ceiling, the quiet hum of the city outside doing little to settle the energy thrumming beneath your skin.

You turned onto your side, your phone resting on the nightstand—silent, but not forgotten. He hadn’t texted, and neither had you. And yet, the anticipation curled in your chest like an unspoken promise. Tomorrow.

A date.

Your lips curved slightly at the thought, warmth blooming within you. It wasn’t just the idea of the date itself—it was him. Spencer, who had kissed you goodbye like he already knew he’d be kissing you again.

With that thought lingering, you finally let your eyes slip closed, drifting off with the quiet certainty that when you woke, the day ahead would be something worth looking forward to.

The soft buzz of your phone pulled you from the edges of sleep, the early morning light casting a faint glow through your curtains. You groggily reached for your phone, rubbing the sleep from your eyes as the screen came into focus. A single message awaited you, and the moment you saw the sender, your heart gave a traitorous little stutter.

Good morning, beautiful.

Warmth spread through your chest, a smile tugging at your lips before you could even think to stop it. Spencer. The simple message sent a ripple of excitement through you, the reality of the day settling in. Today was your date. A real one.

You stretched beneath the covers, savouring the lingering drowsiness as you let yourself replay the events of yesterday—the heat of his touch, the way his hands had traced over your skin, the way his lips had lingered against yours like he never wanted to stop. The way he’d looked at you, like he wasn’t quite ready to go. The way he’d said it wasn’t just pretending. That this was real.

Rolling onto your side, you typed out a reply.

Morning.

You hesitated a moment before adding, Excited for tonight.

It wasn’t an exaggeration. There was a pleasant sort of nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin, a feeling you hadn’t let yourself indulge in for a long time. You had the entire day ahead of you, and already, your thoughts were consumed with what was to come.

Pushing yourself out of bed, you moved through your morning routine with an unusual sense of purpose. As you sipped on your coffee, you glanced at your phone again, checking for a response. Nothing yet—but that was fine. You weren’t going to obsess over it.

Instead, you focused on the errands you had planned. If tonight was going to be special, you wanted to be prepared. You had an outfit to pick out, details to perfect. And if your mind wandered to Spencer more times than you cared to admit, well… that was just part of the anticipation.

As you started getting ready for the evening, your mind kept drifting back to Spencer’s words. He had told you dinner, but beyond that, he’d kept the rest of the night a mystery. You stared at your reflection in the mirror, brushing a final layer of mascara over your lashes, and wondered for the hundredth time what the surprise could be.

Spencer wasn’t the type to do something cliché or over-the-top, but he also had a way of making the simplest things feel special. A bookstore, maybe? A hidden café with live music? A museum exhibit he knew you’d love? The possibilities were endless, and the anticipation only made your excitement grow.

The knock at your door sent a jolt of anticipation through you. You took one last glance in the mirror, smoothing your hands over your outfit before making your way to the door. With a steadying breath, you pulled it open.

Spencer stood there, dressed in a fitted blazer and dark slacks, his hair neatly styled yet still carrying that slightly tousled look that suited him so well. In his hands, he held a small bouquet of flowers, the delicate arrangement carefully chosen.

His lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he just stared. His gaze travelled over you slowly, as if he was committing every detail to memory, admiration flickering in his wide, awestruck eyes. His throat bobbed with a swallow, and when he finally spoke, his voice was a little rough around the edges.

"You look… incredible." There was something almost reverent in the way he said it, his eyes still lingering as if he couldn't quite believe you had dressed up like this—for him.

Warmth blossomed in your chest, and you found yourself smiling despite the nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. Your eyes flicked to the flowers, and something tender unfurled in your heart. "Spencer, these are lovely. Thank you."

His mouth quirked in amusement, though his gaze still held that lingering admiration. "I thought you'd like them."

You accepted the bouquet, inhaling their light fragrance before setting them aside carefully. "You clean up well yourself, Dr. Reid."

His amusement deepened, but there was still that undercurrent of lingering awe in his expression. "Ready to go?"

You nodded, stepping outside as he offered his arm in a way that felt both old-fashioned and entirely Spencer. You slipped your hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him guide you towards the night ahead.

Spencer led you to his car, and before you could reach for the handle, he swiftly stepped ahead, opening the door for you. The gentlemanly gesture sent a small thrill through you, and as you slid into the seat, you couldn't help but smile.

As he settled in beside you, you glanced over with a teasing smile. "So, did you research the perfect first-date flowers? Let me guess—there’s some historical significance to these?"

Spencer chuckled, shaking his head. "I considered a few different options, but I ultimately chose these because they symbolize admiration and new beginnings. Seemed fitting."

You raised an eyebrow. "So you did research it."

He shot you a sideways glance, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Would you rather I just grabbed the first bouquet I saw?"

You hummed in thought. "No, I suppose not. But tell me, Dr. Reid, are you nervous?"

Spencer's fingers flexed subtly on the steering wheel. "Not at all. Are you?"

You tilted your head, considering. "Not in the least."

His smirk deepened. "Good. Then let's see if I can keep surprising you."

As the car pulled onto the road, you cast him a sidelong glance, a smirk playing at your lips. "You behind the wheel is a rare sight. I was half-expecting to have to drive."

Spencer huffed a quiet laugh. "Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to drive. I just prefer other modes of transportation."

"Mmm, like bothering JJ or Morgan for rides?"

"Or utilizing public transit, which is far more efficient in most cases," he countered smoothly.

You bit back a grin. "Right. But tonight, you’re playing chauffeur. A very handsome, well-dressed chauffeur."

His fingers tapped idly against the wheel as he stole a glance at you. "If that’s the case, then I expect a generous tip."

You pretended to consider. "I suppose that depends on the quality of service."

His smirk deepened. "I’ll just have to make sure you're thoroughly impressed, then."

You shook your head, laughing softly as the city lights blurred past. The night was still young, and something told you Spencer was going to keep you on your toes every step of the way.

When you arrived at the restaurant, Spencer once again moved ahead to open your door for you, extending a hand to help you out. The warm touch of his fingers around yours sent a pleasant shiver up your spine, and as you stepped onto the pavement, you glanced up at the softly lit entrance of the restaurant.

The atmosphere inside was intimate, the soft hum of conversation mingling with gentle music. As the host led you to your table, Spencer pulled out your chair for you, another small but thoughtful gesture that made your heart flutter.

You settled in, glancing around before turning to him with a curious smile. "You put a lot of thought into this place, didn't you?"

Spencer shrugged, though the satisfaction in his expression was unmistakable. "You once mentioned you appreciate places with a good atmosphere, and I thought their menu had a few things that might catch your interest."

You shook your head, amusement dancing in your gaze. "You really do remember everything, don’t you?"

He leaned forward slightly, a knowing smirk playing at his lips. "Especially when it comes to you."

Heat crept up your neck, and you picked up your menu in an attempt to disguise the effect his words had on you. "Well, let's see if your choice lives up to the hype."

Spencer chuckled, his gaze lingering on you as the evening unfolded, every detail adding another layer to the undeniable pull between you both.

After ordering, conversation flowed with an effortless ease, laced with teasing remarks and lingering glances. Spencer’s natural charm, when unguarded, was disarming, and you found yourself drawn into him more with every passing moment.

When the waiter placed your drinks on the table, Spencer raised his glass slightly, his hazel eyes gleaming with something unreadable. "To new beginnings."

You tapped your glass against his, the soft chime lingering in the air between you. "And to being thoroughly impressed."

He smirked, tilting his head as he studied you. "I get the feeling that’s not an easy feat."

You took a slow sip of your drink, meeting his gaze over the rim. "Keep trying, genius."

His eyes darkened slightly at the challenge, and he leaned in just enough that your knees brushed beneath the table. "Oh, I intend to."

Your breath hitched slightly, but before you could formulate a response, the food arrived, breaking the moment—but not the tension.

The night was far from over, and if Spencer’s lingering gaze was anything to go by, he had no intention of letting you slip through his fingers so easily.

As your food arrived, Spencer continued to impress you—not just with the thoughtfulness of the restaurant choice but with the way he paid attention. He remembered small details, your preferences, and even the way you liked certain flavours combined. It was impossible not to be charmed by the way he made you feel completely seen.

Between bites, you challenged him with playful quips, and he met you head-on with his own clever retorts, the two of you locked in a battle of wit and flirtation. It was different now—lighter, without the sharp edges of past arguments. Now, it was all charged energy and lingering glances, and the way his knee brushed against yours under the table didn't feel like an accident.

And when he reached across the table, fingers lightly grazing yours as he stole a bite from your plate with a smirk, you knew—this wasn’t just a date. This was something deeper, something neither of you could deny anymore.

After dessert—because of course Spencer had insisted you try something he’d read glowing reviews about—the two of you lingered at the table, neither in a hurry to leave. The hum of conversation around you faded into the background as Spencer traced a finger along the rim of his glass, his gaze steady on you.

"I think this proves I know what I’m doing," he mused, tilting his head slightly.

You raised an eyebrow. "Because you picked a great restaurant? You get credit, but I’m not convinced just yet."

His lips twitched into a smirk. "Not convinced?"

"Mhm. I’ll need further evidence before I declare this a success."

Spencer hummed, setting his glass down. "Then I guess I’ll just have to keep trying, won’t I?"

The weight of his words hung between you, something unspoken but understood. Your heartbeat quickened slightly as you held his gaze, the air thick with the kind of tension that neither of you wanted to break.

Eventually, Spencer signalled for the bill, and before you could protest, he was already placing his card down, offering you a look that dared you to argue. You sighed dramatically, shaking your head. "Fine. But only because I fully intend to make you earn it."

He chuckled, pocketing his receipt. "Noted. And what exactly am I earning?"

You tapped a finger against your chin, pretending to consider. "Oh, I don’t know… maybe a goodnight kiss. But only if you really impress me."

Spencer let out a soft laugh, his eyes glinting with amusement. "Well, now I have even more incentive to make sure the night goes perfectly."

The night air was crisp as you stepped outside, the quiet hum of the city settling around you. Spencer hesitated for a moment before slipping his hand to the small of your back, guiding you toward the car. The touch was light, but it sent warmth curling through you.

"Did you have a good time?" he asked as he once again opened the car door for you.

You met his gaze, a slow smile tugging at your lips. "I did."

Spencer’s expression softened slightly before he cleared his throat, a flicker of something—relief?—crossing his face. "Good. Because the night’s not over yet."

You settled into your seat, curiosity sparking in your chest. "Oh?"

He rounded the car and slid in beside you, starting the engine with an easy confidence. "I have one more surprise for you."

Your lips parted slightly, but you didn’t question it. Instead, you let anticipation settle over you as the city lights blurred past once more.

Wherever he was taking you next, you had a feeling he was about to exceed expectations.

As the car rolled through the quiet streets, the city lights flickered against the windows, casting a soft glow over the interior. Spencer’s hand rested casually on the wheel, his eyes flicking to you every so often, a subtle smile playing on his lips. The air between you was charged, each second stretching out just a little longer, filled with a quiet anticipation neither of you quite acknowledged.

The car slowed as it turned onto a smaller street, and then, just ahead, the silhouette of the planetarium rose against the darkened sky. You couldn’t help the surprised gasp that slipped from your lips, your eyes widening as you took it in. It wasn’t like you’d ever been here before, but something about the way it stood against the night, so unassuming but regal, made your pulse quicken.

"You’re kidding," you murmured, half in disbelief.

Spencer didn’t answer immediately, his lips curling into a slight smirk as he guided the car into a parking spot. "Thought you might like it."

You turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. "You really know how to surprise a girl."

He was already out of his seat before you had a chance to reach for the door handle.

A soft click, and the door swung open. Spencer stood there, offering his hand, the dim glow of the streetlights casting shadows over his features. His expression was unreadable at first, but then his lips quirked into something small, something knowing.

"I try," he said, his voice low.

You stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you followed him to the building. There was a quiet elegance to the way he moved, like he was completely at ease. It made you feel a little out of place, and yet, strangely at home all at once.

The planetarium loomed ahead, silent and waiting. But the moment you stepped inside, it became clear—this wasn’t an ordinary visit.

The space was empty. The hush of the planetarium settled over you like a veil, amplifying the quiet click of the theatre doors closing behind you. Spencer’s hand hovered just at the small of your back—not quite touching, but guiding, a barely-there reminder of how close he was. The air felt heavier, charged, as realization settled in.

He’d arranged this. A private showing.

Your gaze flicked to him, but Spencer only watched you, his expression unreadable at first—then, slowly, a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, that same knowing glint in his eyes.

Without a word, Spencer stepped ahead slightly and gestured toward one of the plush reclining seats in the centre of the theatre. His touch, light but deliberate, skimmed over the curve of your waist as he guided you toward it. You felt the warmth of his hand even through the fabric of your clothes, the barely-there pressure sending a quiet thrill up your spine.

With a quiet certainty, Spencer extended a hand, his fingers brushing lightly against yours before he guided you toward one of the plush reclining seats. "Here," he murmured, his voice low, rich. "Let me help you." His touch was gentle yet assured, the quiet insistence of a gentleman as he waited for you to settle. "Get comfortable."

You settled into the seat, and only once you were in place did Spencer take the one beside you. The moment stretched between you, heavy with the weight of everything unspoken. Then, with a subtle movement, the lights dimmed further, and the vast dome overhead came to life with an endless sea of stars.

Spencer leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into something softer, something meant just for you. "Cassiopeia was placed in the heavens as punishment for her vanity. The gods ensured she would spend eternity upside down for daring to claim she was more beautiful than the Nereids." His fingers twitched slightly as he gestured upward, his other hand resting casually on the armrest between you—close, but not quite touching.

You turned your head to look at him, catching the way his features softened in the faint glow. He was in his element here, effortlessly charming in a way that sent warmth curling low in your stomach.

You should’ve been looking at the constellations. Instead, you found yourself watching him.

And he—he was looking at you.

Not just glancing—watching, as if he were committing every detail to memory. The glow of the stars reflected in his eyes, but it wasn’t the projection above that had him spellbound. His fingers twitched slightly, like he wanted to reach out, but he caught himself, curling his hand into a loose fist against his thigh.

Then, his voice broke the quiet, low and reverent.

"That’s Cygnus," he murmured, gesturing toward the delicate stretch of stars above. His voice was barely above a whisper, but it wrapped around you, steady and certain. "The swan. Some say it’s Orpheus, transformed after death, placed in the sky so he could sing forever."

His gaze flickered toward the constellation, but only briefly—almost like he had to remind himself to look away from you.

He led you through the stories slowly, each word carrying the weight of something ancient, something untouchable. But there was something else beneath his voice—a quiet disbelief, a reverence not for the myths themselves, but for the moment. For the fact that he was here, with you, in this quiet, suspended space where time didn’t seem to exist.

His hand brushed yours, the barest whisper of warmth. Not an accident. Not this time.

His voice softened, something unreadable crossing his features.

"Andromeda and Perseus."

You swallowed, pulse thrumming at your throat.

He didn’t look away this time.

"She was chained to the rocks, waiting to die," he murmured. "Punished for something she had no part in. But Perseus… he didn’t just save her. He freed her. He fought for her."

A slow breath, like he was steadying himself. His fingers traced lightly over the back of your hand, reverent.

"And they weren’t just a fleeting love story. They lived—together, side by side. A full life. A whole life."

The stars spun slowly overhead, but Spencer wasn’t looking at them. He was looking at you, like he wasn’t sure if this was real. Like if he reached for you, he might wake up and find himself alone.

His thumb swept over your knuckles, a barely-there touch, and you felt the weight of it everywhere.

"They’re still up there," he whispered. "Not because they died… but because they lived."

You exhaled shakily, and his gaze flicked to your lips before he caught himself, looking away too quickly. But his fingers didn’t leave yours.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The stars above carried on, spinning silently, but everything else felt still.

You turned your gaze back to the constellations, feeling the weight of his attention linger. When you glanced at him again, you caught it—the wonderment in his eyes, the softness that wasn’t there before. He looked at you like you were part of the sky itself, like the stars had descended just to rest in your gaze. He smiled faintly, almost to himself.

"I never thought I'd be here like this with you," he said, his voice quiet but sure. "But I'm glad I am." His gaze swept over your face, lingering. "It’s funny… the stars are beautiful, but I think the way your eyes glow when you look at them is even more breathtaking."

Your breath caught, a slow, simmering warmth stirring beneath his words, and you found you couldn’t quite look away. There was a tenderness to the way he watched you, something fragile and breathtaking.

He continued to speak, his voice a soft, lulling cadence as he named constellations and traced their stories. You listened, letting the sound of his words settle over you like a hush, each name and myth feeling like a secret shared only with you. You didn’t catch every detail—some part of you too lost in the moment, in him—but it didn’t matter. His voice, the low murmur of it, was enough.

It felt like the kind of moment you’d tuck away and carry with you, a quiet kind of magic. Something romantic, though neither of you said it aloud. You wondered if he felt it too—the pull between you, as vast and inevitable as the stars overhead.

As you both stepped out of the planetarium, the night air hit you with a coolness that contrasted with the warmth you felt lingering from the show. The city lights twinkled in the distance, but none of them seemed to shine quite as brightly as the moment you just shared. It was like the world had softened, everything taking on a golden hue, a quiet, glowing magic you couldn’t quite explain.

You didn’t know what possessed you, but in that moment, you wanted him. You didn’t need words. Without thinking, you turned to face Spencer, the space between you feeling too wide for comfort.

His eyes met yours, dark and intense, the weight of everything unsaid between you settling in the air. You took a step closer, your hand finding the curve of his jaw, gently pulling him down to meet you.

The kiss was immediate, natural, as if you’d been doing this for years instead of the few stolen moments you’d shared together. It was warm, urgent, full of the tension that had been simmering under the surface ever since the first touch. His lips were soft against yours, but it didn’t take long before they turned hungry, deepening as he pulled you in closer. The kiss felt almost desperate, like the world around you had faded, leaving only the two of you in a shared, fiery space.

Spencer’s hand slid from your waist, moving to the back of your neck, his fingers curling into your hair and holding you steady. You gasped into the kiss as his other hand drifted lower, sliding slowly down the outside of your thigh. The heat of his palm against your bare skin was a shock to your senses, sending a shiver through you. Without thinking, your hand moved to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat under your touch.

You deepened the kiss, pressing yourself against him, and his hand shifted lower still, settling on the curve of your ass, pulling you flush against him. The contact sent a rush of heat through you, a delicious pressure that made you want more, need more.

He broke the kiss with a soft gasp, his lips brushing against yours as he leaned his forehead against yours. His chest heaved, just as yours did, both of you still struggling to catch your breath.

“God, you’re killing me,” Spencer muttered, his voice rough and low, and you couldn’t tell if it was frustration or desire lacing his words.

You felt the same, your body still thrumming from the kiss, from the touch. You wanted to keep going, to let the moment drag on forever, but you couldn’t ignore the pull of the car and the inevitable drive back.

“Let’s get in the car,” he said, voice almost a command, but his fingers lingered on your skin as if reluctant to let go.

You nodded, but before you could turn to walk to the car, Spencer’s hand tightened on your waist, pulling you back to him in one smooth motion. His lips crashed against yours again, even more demanding this time, the kiss melting all your restraint away. Your hands slid into his hair, tugging him closer as you felt the intensity of the moment rise again. There was no slowing down, no pulling back now.

When he finally broke the kiss, you both stood there, breathless, for a beat longer than necessary. Spencer’s hand lingered at the small of your back, the heat from his touch igniting a fire deep inside you.

Without another word, he helped you into the car, the cool leather seat seeming impossibly colder after the heat between you two. He slid in beside you, the space between you still charged with that same electric tension.

As he drove, his fingers brushed over your knee absentmindedly, the touch light but deliberate. Your body hummed with the aftermath of the kiss, every inch of you still alive with the sensations he caused. The drive felt like it took forever, the quiet of the night outside only making the distance between you seem larger than it really was. Every so often, you could feel his gaze flicker to you, dark and intent.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic beat of your heart. The air in the car was thick with the promise of something more, something neither of you had ever admitted out loud. And so, without a word, you let your legs fall open just a fraction more, the leather seat cool against your skin. Your skirt, a dark whisper of fabric, slid up your thighs, revealing the softness beneath.

Spencer’s eyes flickered downward, his gaze catching on the newly exposed flesh. His hand paused on your knee for a second before it began to trace upward, the slow, deliberate movement of a man who knew exactly what he was doing—what he wanted. The heat of his fingertips was like a brand against your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You felt your breath catch as his hand slid up your thigh, the fabric of your skirt whispering against your skin as it slid higher.

The sensation was exquisite, sending shivers through your body. You bit your bottom lip to keep from gasping out loud, your eyes slipping closed for a moment. The sound of the car’s engine was a low thrum in the background, the only noise in the otherwise silent vehicle.

Spencer’s hand continued its ascent, his fingertips lightly brushing the fabric of your panties. The anticipation was a coil in your stomach, tightening with every inch his hand travelled. You felt yourself lean into the touch, your body craving more.

With a gentle pressure, he pushed the fabric aside, revealing the damp heat of your folds. You held your breath as he touched you, the first contact of his skin against yours making you shiver. His ring finger traced the length of your slit, the pad of it finding your clit and making you gasp. He took the sound as a cue to press down, his touch feather-light but firm enough to elicit a reaction.

Your hand found its way to his thigh, gripping tightly as he began to rub in slow, steady circles. The sensation was almost unbearable, a sweet agony that made you arch into his touch. You could feel his eyes on you, watching the play of emotions across your face as you struggled not to let the moan building in your chest escape.

With a sudden urgency, Spencer’s fingers slid inside you, filling you up in a way that made your eyes roll back. He groaned at the wetness that greeted him, his movements matching the rhythm of his thumb now on your clit. You bit your lip hard, trying to keep your voice down as the pleasure built, your body tightening with every stroke.

Your hips rocked against his hand, a silent plea for more. His touch was firm and sure, the pads of his fingers finding every spot that made you shiver and moan. It was like he’d studied you, knew every inch of your body, every secret that made you fall apart. You couldn’t believe this was happening—that you were here, with him, and that he was touching you like this.

The sound of your breathing filled the car, each gasp and whimper echoing off the windows, a stark contrast to the quiet night outside. Spencer’s eyes remained on the road, his focus unwavering despite the distraction of his hand between your legs. It was a testament to his control, a promise of what was to come.

His fingers danced inside you, curling and stroking with a skill that was both maddening and exhilarating. Every movement was calculated, designed to build the tension that coiled low in your belly. You felt yourself growing wetter, the slickness of your arousal making your skin stick to the cool leather of the seat. It was a delicious kind of discomfort, a reminder of the need building between your thighs.

You squirmed, the sensation of his touch growing more intense with each passing second. It didn’t matter that you were in a car, that the world was rushing by outside—all that existed was the heat of his hand, the pressure of his fingers. You bit down on your lip, trying to stifle the sounds that wanted to escape. But it was useless. You were too lost, too far gone.

Before you knew it, the car had come to a stop, and Spencer’s hand was withdrawing, the loss of contact leaving you feeling cold and exposed. You opened your eyes to find him watching you, his gaze dark and hungry. He didn’t say a word as he helped you adjust your clothing, his movements gentle but firm.

You groaned at the loss of stimulation, but the ache between your legs was a sweet reminder of what was to come. Your entire body was strung tight with anticipation, your breaths coming in short, shallow pants. You knew you were close to getting what you really wanted—what you both wanted.

Spencer simply said "patience," his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. He gave you one last lingering look, a silent promise of more before getting out of the car. You watched him move with that same fluid grace you'd seen in the planetarium, the moonlight casting his features shadows. He was like a statue come to life, all muscles and angles, and your body responded to the sight of him, the ache between your legs growing.

When he opened your door and offered his hand to help you out, you couldn’t help but feel like you were in some kind of dream—a steamy, erotic fantasy where the intellectual banter turned into something far more primal and consuming. You took his hand, letting him guide you out of the car. His grip was firm, grounding, a contrast to the tremble in your own legs. The cool night air hit you like a slap, but it did nothing to extinguish the fire he’d stoked within you.

Spencer didn’t say anything as he led you to your front door, his hand still holding on to yours. The moment the door was open, you didn’t bother with the lights. The moon was enough to guide you through the darkness, casting everything in a soft, seductive glow.

Without hesitation you boldly shimmied out of your dress, letting it pool at your feet. The chilly air kissed your skin as you stepped out of the fabric, leaving you in nothing but your bra and panties. You didn’t bother looking back—you knew Spencer was watching, his eyes devouring every inch of your exposed flesh. You felt his gaze like a physical touch, sending goosebumps skittering down your spine.

You sauntered away, your hips swaying with an unspoken challenge. The moon’s soft light traced your figure, casting a silver glow on your skin, making you look like a goddess of the night. Your bra and panties were the only barriers between you and his hungry eyes, and you knew it was driving him wild.

As you entered the bedroom, you felt his gaze on you like a physical caress. The room was bathed in the soft luminescence of the moon. You turned to face him, your heart racing as he followed you in, his eyes dark with desire. The anticipation was a thrum in the air, a palpable force that made your skin tingle.

And then, he strode over, closing the distance between you in a single purposeful step. His hand cupped the back of your neck, and before you could even catch your breath, he claimed your mouth in a kiss that was as fiery as it was gentle. His tongue slid against yours, a dance of passion and need that seemed to go on forever, the heat of his body enveloping you as if he could absorb you into himself.

The room was a blur of shadows and moonlight, but it was Spencer that was the brightest star in your universe. His touch was everywhere—his hands roaming over your skin, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, his mouth a brand against yours that you felt in every fibre of your being. You melted into his embrace, letting the sensations wash over you like a warm wave, pulling you deeper into the moment.

He tugged at your bra, and it fell away, leaving your breasts exposed to the cool air. He paused, his eyes raking over you with a hunger that made you shiver, before he bent to capture a nipple in his mouth, sucking and teasing until you moaned. His hands were everywhere—his fingers tracing the lines of your ribs, the curve of your waist, the swell of your hips. He seemed to be memorizing you, learning every inch of your body like it was a sacred text.

And you, you couldn’t get enough. Your hands roamed over his broad shoulders, down his back, feeling the taut muscles that shifted and flexed under your touch. You wanted to devour him, to feel him against you in every way possible. His own clothes came off with the same urgency.

With a growl, Spencer pushed you onto the bed, his body covering yours. The mattress dipped under the weight of you both, the fabric cool and soft against your skin. His mouth moved from your lips to your neck, nipping and kissing a trail that made you arch your back and gasp.

He slid your panties off, revealing your wetness to the air. His eyes flashed with hunger before his mouth was on you, his tongue tracing the edges of your folds, teasing your clit with feather-light flicks that had you writhing beneath him. You gripped the sheets, trying to hold on to something as the world spun away. His mouth felt like heaven, his touch like the answer to every unspoken prayer.

“You taste so fucking good,” he mumbled against your skin, his voice thick with lust. You could feel the vibration of his words against your sensitive flesh, sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. His tongue delved deeper, exploring every inch of you with a hunger that was insatiable. You bucked against his face, your hips moving in a silent plea for more.

The bed rocked as he settled between your thighs, his hands gripping your hips to keep you in place. His mouth was relentless, his tongue swirling and lapping, driving you closer to the edge with each pass. You could feel the orgasm building, a pressure that grew with every touch, every kiss. You were so close, so close to the precipice that you could almost taste it.

"I'm so close. If you stop this time," you breathed out, your voice low and filled with humour, "I'm going to kill you."

Spencer looked up at you, his eyes gleaming with mirth as he took in your flushed cheeks and the desperation in your voice. He knew you weren’t being serious—not really—but the playful threat in your words only served to make him more determined. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your wet skin, and whispered, “Oh, I don’t plan on stopping anytime soon.”

With that, he went back to his task with renewed vigour, his tongue swirling and dipping, his lips sucking gently. You could feel the tension coiling tighter, your body bowing under the onslaught of pleasure. You gripped the sheets harder, your knuckles turning white as you fought the urge to push him away, to drag him closer, to do anything to make the feeling last forever.

And then, when the moment was right, Spencer slid his fingers into you, aiming straight for your G-spot. You gasped at the suddenness of it, your body jolting as he hit the spot with unerring precision. The sensation was like a spark that ignited a fuse, sending waves of pleasure shooting through you.

You could no longer hold back the whines and moans that had been building in your throat. They spilled out into the night, a symphony of need that seemed to resonate through the very air around you. His mouth and fingers worked in tandem, pushing you higher and higher until you felt like you were going to shatter into a million pieces.

The climax hit you like a tidal wave, crashing over you with a force that left you trembling. Your body tightened around his fingers, your muscles clenching as the orgasm washed over you. You could feel your juices coating his skin, and the thought only served to make the sensation more intense.

As the last spasms of pleasure receded, Spencer pulled back, his eyes shining with victory and something else—admiration, maybe? You couldn’t be sure. But the look on his face was one of pure reverence, as if you were some kind of goddess that had just allowed him a taste of heaven.

You watched him, panting and flushed, as he moved over you. His skin was slick with sweat, the moonlight playing across the planes of his chest, casting him in an ethereal glow. For a moment, he just hovered above you, his breaths heavy, his eyes locked on yours. And when he finally spoke, his voice was a soft rumble that seemed to shake the very foundation of the earth.

"You’re not just beautiful… you’re celestial. Like you were born from the night sky itself."

The words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, as Spencer’s eyes searched yours. His pupils were wide, dark pools that seemed to hold the secrets of the universe—and for a moment, you felt like you were drowning in them. The room spun around you, the only constant the steady beat of your heart and the heat of his gaze.

And then, he was moving again, his body sliding against yours, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body. You felt the tip of his erection nudge against your entrance, and it was all you could do not to beg for more. But you didn’t have to—Spencer knew exactly what you needed. With one swift thrust, he filled you completely, the sensation of him inside you making your eyes roll back in your head.

He paused for a moment, giving you a chance to adjust, to breathe. You felt him, thick and hard, stretching you in a way that was both exquisite and overwhelming. You could feel the veins of his cock pulsing against the walls of your pussy, and the sensation was almost too much to handle. But you didn’t want it to stop—you never wanted it to stop.

You reached up and placed a hand on the back of his neck, guiding his mouth to yours in a silent plea for more. Spencer didn’t need any encouragement. His lips claimed yours with a fiery passion that left you gasping, his tongue delving deep as he began to move, his hips setting a rhythm that had you rising to meet him.

The sensation was like nothing you’d ever felt before—like your entire world had been reduced to the point where you were joined. The bed groaned in protest under the force of your movements, the headboard thumping against the wall in a steady, insistent beat that matched the pounding of your heart. You could feel yourself building again, the pleasure coiling tighter and tighter, ready to snap.

Spencer’s hands were everywhere, on your breasts, your hips, your ass—guiding you, urging you closer to that sweet oblivion that beckoned. His thrusts grew more demanding, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered sweet nothings that seemed to carry the weight of the universe.

You felt yourself begin to climb again, the sensation of him inside you more intense than ever. His strokes grew longer, his rhythm unrelenting, each movement bringing you closer to that precipice you’d been teetering on. You could feel the tension in the air, the electricity that crackled between your bodies. It was like you were made for this—for each other—like every moment of your life had led to this perfect storm of passion.

You watched as his cock slid in and out of you, the slickness of your desire making his skin glisten in the moonlight. The sight was almost too much, your eyes going wide as you took in every inch of him, his length, his girth, the way he filled you so completely. Your inner muscles clenched around him, a silent invitation for him to go deeper, to never stop.

Each stroke sent a fresh wave of pleasure crashing over you, making your toes curl and your back arch. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were here, with Spencer, feeling this connection that seemed to transcend the physical. His eyes never left yours, his gaze intense and focused, as if he was trying to see into the very depths of your soul.

The rhythm grew faster, the sounds of your skin slapping against his and the wet noises of your union filling the room. Spencer’s breathing grew ragged, his face a picture of pure concentration as he watched you climb towards your peak. His thumb found your clit again, playing with it in a way that had your eyes rolling back in your head, stars exploding behind your closed lids.

“Tell me how good I make you feel,” he demanded, his voice a gruff whisper. It was a command, but also a question, a need for you to put into words the symphony of sensations that played through your body with each stroke of his cock.

You obeyed, your voice a breathless pant as you whispered, “Good isn’t enough, Spencer. You make me feel alive. Like every nerve in my body is on fire, like I’m floating on air and drowning in pleasure all at once.” Each word was a confession, a revelation of how deeply he affected you.

He groaned, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment before snapping open again, his gaze locked on yours as if he was afraid to miss a single second of this shared moment. His hips sped up, his strokes growing more insistent, more demanding. His thumb circled your clit, pressing harder, faster, and you felt your orgasm building once more, like a crescendo that you couldn’t hold back.

“Tell me,” he said again, his voice low and commanding, his eyes searching yours. “I want to hear it. I need to know how good it feels when I’m inside you, making you come apart around me.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, your body trembling with the effort of holding back the words. But you knew he needed to hear them, needed to know that he was the one who did this to you. So you spoke, your voice raw with passion.

"You feel so deep, so perfect, like you’re claiming every part of me. Like you own me." Your voice broke on a gasp as you clung to him, nails biting into his shoulders. "I don’t ever want you to stop. I don’t think I could survive it."

His response was a feral groan, his hips bucking harder, driving into you with an urgency that spoke of a hunger that could never truly be sated. Your breaths grew shorter, your body tightening around him like a vise. The pressure grew, the tension coiling like a spring about to snap.

And then, with a few desperate thrusts, you were there falling over the edge, screaming out his name as your orgasm crashed over you. It was like nothing you’d ever felt before—a white-hot explosion that sent waves of pleasure through your body, leaving you trembling and gasping for air.

But Spencer wasn’t finished. His eyes burned with an intensity that seemed almost feral as he looked down at you, his hips still moving with a purpose that was unmistakable. You could feel his cock pulse inside you, feel his own release building with each stroke. And in that moment, all you wanted was for him to let go, for him to fill you up with everything he had to give.

In a pleasure-drunk haze, you whispered the words that had been dancing on the tip of your tongue. “Cum in me, Spencer. I need it. I need all of you, please… fill me up." Your voice was a needy whine, raw with desperation.

Hearing your plea, Spencer’s control snapped. He growled, the sound primal and possessive, and his hips began to piston into you, his strokes deep and powerful. You could feel his cock swell even more inside you, the pressure building until it was almost too much to bear.

And then, with a final roar of pleasure, he did as you asked—his seed spilling into you in hot, thick spurts that filled you completely. The feeling was overwhelming, a rush of heat and fullness that seemed to go on forever. Your muscles clenched around him, milking every drop as if trying to hold onto him for as long as possible.

As your bodies stilled, Spencer collapsed onto you, his breaths coming in heaving gasps, his heart racing against your chest. You could feel his weight, the reassuring warmth of his body, the sticky sweat that melded your skin together. For a moment, you just lay there, panting and trembling, basking in the aftermath of what had just transpired.

Then, with a gentle smile, Spencer rolled off of you, taking care not to break the connection entirely. He pulled you into his arms, your legs tangling together, your breaths mingling as you both tried to find your bearings. The room was silent, save for the distant sound of a car passing by outside, the occasional creak of the bed, and the steady beat of your hearts.

You looked up at him, his face a canvas of pleasure and contentment. The moon had shifted slightly, casting a new pattern of shadows across his skin. You traced one with your finger, watching as it danced over the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. He leaned into your touch, a purr of satisfaction rumbling in his throat.

“That was…” he started, his voice gravelly with the aftermath of passion.

You smiled softly, finishing for him, "Incredible."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, his eyes glimmering as they met yours. "Yeah. That’s one word for it."

For a while, neither of you spoke. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable but intimate, filled with quiet understanding. You lay there, fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath. His hand drifted along your back, fingertips tracing your spine with a delicate touch.

"Are you okay?" he murmured, his lips brushing against your forehead.

You nodded, a small hum of affirmation. "Better than okay."

His hand paused, cradling the back of your head as if he could hold you together with just his touch. "Good. I just… I want this to be good for you. For us."

"It is," you said softly, meeting his gaze. "It is."

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering there, his lips warm against your skin. After a moment, he pulled back slightly, his brows knitting together. "You should use the bathroom," he said gently, his concern evident. "Just to be safe."

You smiled at the thoughtfulness, brushing your fingers over his arm. "You're right. I'll be right back."

As you slipped out of bed, Spencer watched you go with a fondness that warmed the air between you. He rose as well, pulling on his boxers and heading into the kitchen. By the time you returned, he had two glasses of water waiting on the nightstand.

"Figured you'd be thirsty," he said, offering you one with a soft smile.

You accepted it gratefully, taking a long sip before setting it down. "You're too good to me."

He chuckled, climbing back into bed and pulling you close once more. "Just looking out for you."

You settled into his embrace, resting your head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. "Tonight was… amazing. Not just this, but the whole night. The date, the way you made me feel. It was easy with you. Natural."

Spencer’s fingers traced slow, lazy circles on your back. "I wanted it to be that way. I wanted you to feel… comfortable. Wanted. Because you are."

Your fingers found his, intertwining them. "You make me feel… like I don't have to try so hard. Like I'm enough."

He squeezed your hand, his voice a soft murmur against your hair. "You are. You always are."

There was a pause, a quiet stretch of time where neither of you moved. Then, without words, he pulled the blanket over the two of you, tucking it around your bodies. His arms stayed tight around you, and you nestled closer, finding solace in the solid line of his body.

The exhaustion crept in slowly, your limbs heavy, your thoughts hazy but content. Spencer’s fingers stroked through your hair, slow and soothing, lulling you toward sleep.

"Sleep," he whispered. "I've got you."

And you did, sinking into the warmth of him, letting the world fade away until there was nothing but the steady beat of his heart and the soft rhythm of his breath.

Morning light crept gently into the room, casting soft shadows across the bed. Spencer stirred first, eyes blinking open to the sight of you still sleeping beside him. Your features were relaxed, lips slightly parted, hair splayed across the pillow in soft waves. A quiet contentment settled over him. He wanted to keep this moment, to hold onto it, but even more than that, he wanted to do something for you. Something simple. Sweet.

Breakfast in bed.

Carefully, he slid out from under the blanket, moving with slow precision to avoid waking you. He paused by the doorway, taking one last look at you before stepping into the kitchen, determination settling in his chest. How hard could it be?

Turns out, harder than expected.

He started with coffee, thinking it safe. Only, the machine sputtered oddly, refusing to brew as smoothly as it should. He frowned, poking at it like that might encourage better performance. When the coffee finally dripped through, it was weaker than expected but passable. He’d just… add more sugar. That would fix it, right?

The eggs were next. Spencer cracked the first one with too much force, half of it splattering onto the counter. He muttered under his breath, cleaning it up quickly before trying again. The second egg cracked better, though some shell slipped into the bowl. He tried fishing it out with his fingers but only made it worse, the slippery bit of shell evading him like a taunt.

"Okay," he murmured, squinting in concentration. He reached for a spoon, finally prying the shell free with a triumphant huff. The small victory felt satisfying—until he realized he’d already let the pan heat too long. The butter burned in an angry sizzle, smoke curling up as if mocking him. He rushed to toss it, opening the window to wave the smoke out.

"Great start," he muttered.

The toast was another misadventure. He set it to medium, turned his back for half a second, and it came out more charred than crisp. He hesitated, then decided maybe if he just scraped off the blackened bits, it would be fine. Rustic. That sounded right. Rustic.

By the time he was done, the kitchen looked like a minor war zone. Eggshells littered the counter, the faint smell of smoke lingered, and the toast… well, it wasn’t black anymore, but it wasn’t exactly golden either. The coffee looked questionable, the eggs a little overcooked. Still, he plated it carefully, determined to follow through.

He placed everything on a tray, hesitating only a moment before grabbing a single flower from the vase on your table. A nice touch, he thought. Maybe it would distract from everything else.

When he returned to the bedroom, you were already stirring, eyes fluttering open as you turned towards him. Your gaze softened, sleep still lingering in your expression.

Spencer smiled, though it was tinged with nerves. "Good morning," he greeted, placing the tray gently on the nightstand. "I… thought I’d surprise you with breakfast."

You blinked at the tray, then back at him. Your lips twitched, though you held it back admirably.

"This is… such a sweet surprise," you said, sitting up, the blanket pooling at your waist. "You didn’t have to."

"I wanted to," he said quickly. "I thought… well, after last night, you deserved something nice. Even if I’m not exactly a chef." He hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. "And the coffee might be a little weak. The toast is, um, rustic. And the eggs are… edible?"

You let out a soft laugh, the sound warm and affectionate. "It’s perfect," you said, though your smile gave you away.

"You’re a terrible liar," Spencer chuckled, but his eyes were fond. "But I appreciate it."

You reached for the coffee first, taking a cautious sip. Your expression twitched, but you swallowed it without complaint. Then you picked up the toast, eyeing it as though it might crumble into dust with one wrong move.

"It’s definitely… crunchy," you said, and the laugh that followed was free and bright.

Spencer groaned but grinned, rubbing a hand down his face. "I swear, my brain is good for a lot of things. Cooking just isn’t one of them."

"You get points for effort," you teased, reaching for his hand and lacing your fingers through his. "And honestly? The thought means more than perfect eggs."

He squeezed your hand, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. "I’ll take you out for real breakfast later. Something with less… burnt bread."

"Deal." You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "But this is still my favourite breakfast so far."

He tilted his head, catching your lips with his. Slow. Sweet. The kind of kiss that lingered, tasting of morning and promise. When you finally pulled back, Spencer’s eyes searched yours, like he was memorizing the moment.

"Next time, I'll just bring you coffee," he murmured, though his smile was playful.

"As long as you’re the one bringing it," you said, settling back into the pillows. "It’ll be perfect."

Spencer settled back against the pillows, his arm curling around you like it belonged there. His skin was warm, his body solid as you pressed close, letting the sheets drape loosely over you. His fingertips traced slow, lazy patterns along your spine, the kind of touch that wasn’t in a hurry to be anything but soft and steady.

You pressed your face into the curve of his shoulder, smiling against his skin. “You didn’t have to try so hard,” you said, voice low, lazy.

“I wanted to,” he murmured, his breath brushing over your hair. His fingers traced up, slow and thoughtful, until they skimmed along the back of your neck. “For you.”

The way he said it made warmth bloom low in your chest. You tilted your head, lifting your gaze to his, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. His eyes lingered on you—your mouth, your cheek, the soft curve of your shoulder. His hand slid up, fingertips brushing along your jaw, light but certain.

You leaned in, and his lips met yours like it was inevitable.

It started soft, slow, but it didn’t stay that way. His mouth opened against yours, his hand sliding into your hair, fingers tangling and tugging, angling your head the way he wanted. You sighed into him, your hand sliding along his side, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips.

He kissed you deeper, slower, like he had nowhere else to be. Like there was nothing better than this. His hand traced down, fingertips brushing over your back, down to the curve of your waist. He pulled you closer until there wasn’t space for anything but the steady heat of him, his body solid, his breath quickening.

You shifted, your leg sliding over his, tangling close. His hands found your hips, fingers splaying, holding you there, keeping you pressed to him. His mouth never left yours, deep and wanting but never rushed. His tongue traced over yours, slow and certain, tasting, lingering like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

Your hands roamed, exploring the lines of him, fingertips skating over his ribs, his shoulders, the soft dip of his spine. Every brush of skin made him press closer, his breath catching, his hands smoothing up your back, tracing along your sides. His touch was slow but certain, like he wanted to feel every inch of you.

The sheets tangled around you, warm and soft, but it was his hands, his mouth, his body that held you there. Time stretched out, long and slow, the kind of time that didn’t feel real. You kissed until your lips were sore, until you were breathless, caught between sighs and quiet laughter, until the line between one kiss and the next blurred into something endless.

Every shift, every brush of fingertips, every quiet hum felt easy. Unhurried. His hand cupped the back of your neck, tilting your head just right so his mouth could find yours again. And when his lips dragged lower, brushing along your jaw, down the curve of your throat, you sighed, arching into him.

He hummed, low and pleased, his mouth lingering against your skin, soft and warm. You curled closer, fingers tracing the slope of his back, slow and content.

It wasn’t about urgency. It wasn’t about needing anything more than this. It was about closeness, about the feel of his skin beneath your hands, his mouth on yours, the warmth of his breath, the steady comfort of his touch.

And you stayed like that, tangled up in each other, kissing and touching, letting the world outside fall away.

It could have been minutes. It could have been hours. You didn’t care.

Eventually, he pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against yours. His breath was warm and uneven, his eyes half-lidded, lazy. His thumb brushed along your cheek, slow and sweet.

“I could stay here forever,” he said, voice rough but soft.

You smiled, fingers tracing lightly along his shoulder. “Me too.”

He kissed you again, softer this time, lingering. But then your stomach growled—quiet but impossible to ignore and it made you both laugh, warm and breathless.

Spencer shifted back slightly, his hand smoothing down your side. “I still owe you breakfast,” he said, his tone wry. “Or… brunch, I guess, by now. I feel bad about earlier.”

You hummed, trailing your fingers down his arm. “You don’t have to make up for anything. I’m happy right here.”

“I know,” he said, brushing his fingers along your side, slow and thoughtful. “But I want to. I want to bring you something good.”

You gave him a lazy, teasing smile. “And if I said I’d rather keep you here?”

He chuckled, low and warm. “Then I’d say I’ll be back fast. But you deserve a real meal, and I want to be the one to bring it to you.” His gaze softened. “Then we can crawl back under the covers and have a lazy day in bed.”

You exhaled, the idea settling in warm. “Alright,” you said. “But you better hurry.”

“I will.” He leaned in, pressing a slow kiss to your lips. “Promise.”

You watched him as he slid from the bed, the sheets falling away, leaving him in nothing but his underwear. He stretched, slow and lazy, the muscles of his back flexing beneath skin as he reached for his clothes.

He dressed without hurry, his gaze flicking to you as he tugged his shirt over his head. “Don’t fall asleep on me,” he said, his tone teasing but warm.

You smiled, sinking deeper beneath the blanket. “I won’t.”

And when he crossed the room, leaning in to press one last kiss to your forehead, it lingered soft and certain, like a promise.

“I won’t be long,” he said, his fingers brushing one last time along your arm.

You watched him go, the door clicking softly behind him, and the room felt quieter but still warm. Still full of him.

You stretched beneath the sheets, your body humming with the comfort of him, and let yourself sink into the warmth he’d left behind, knowing he’d return soon with food, with more of this. With more of him.

The café was quiet when Spencer stepped inside, the air rich with the scent of fresh coffee and baked bread. The warmth was a sharp contrast to the chill outside, but it wasn’t enough to thaw the haze that had settled over him since leaving your place.

He kept thinking about how you’d looked when he slipped out tangled in the sheets, hair mussed, skin still warm from his touch. He could still feel the ghost of your lips on his, the weight of your body pressed to his. It lingered, soft and heady.

It didn’t feel real.

He kept thinking about last night, about the way you’d smiled over dinner, the quiet way you’d leaned into him at the planetarium like you belonged there, like you belonged with him. He’d memorized the way the soft glow of the stars lit your skin, how your eyes had caught the light when you looked at him. How you’d kissed him like you meant it. Like you wanted more.

He ordered quickly—pastries, something warm and sweet, and coffee that smelled rich and strong. It wasn’t much, but it felt like a gesture. Like something he could give you, small but thoughtful. He wanted to bring you something good. Something easy.

Walking back, he wondered if you were still curled up in bed, if you’d fallen asleep again. He liked the thought of that. Liked the idea of coming back to you warm and drowsy, your body soft beneath the sheets, your voice low with sleep.

He just liked coming back to you.

By the time he let himself back in, the apartment was quiet. He closed the door softly, toeing off his shoes, and carried the food inside. The bedroom door was ajar, and he caught a glimpse of you inside curled beneath the blankets, now wearing a tank top and panties, your hair falling loose over your shoulder. You were stretched out in the soft glow of morning, looking comfortable and warm, and for a second, Spencer just stood there. Watching.

It still didn’t feel real.

You looked up when he stepped in, your eyes soft with sleep, and gave him a smile that made something in his chest pull tight.

“Told you I’d be quick,” he said, keeping his voice low.

You stretched beneath the covers, slow and lazy. “You were.”

He set the bag down, unpacking the food as you pushed yourself up. The sheets slipped down your body, exposing more bare skin, and he tried not to stare. Tried.

“I got pastries,” he said, passing one to you. “And coffee. I thought—well, I hoped it would be good enough.”

You took it with a soft smile, fingers brushing his. “It’s perfect.”

Spencer sat beside you, the bed dipping under his weight. He watched you take a bite, the way your eyes fluttered shut at the taste, and smiled to himself.

It felt easy after that. You sat cross-legged on the bed, sharing food and quiet conversation, trading bites and soft laughs. Crumbs scattered across the sheets, but neither of you cared. His fingers brushed yours more than they needed to. He let them linger, tracing over your knuckles, your wrist, the curve of your thigh beneath the blanket.

And when you were both full, when the food was forgotten and the coffee cooled on the nightstand, you stayed close. Spencer stayed close.

The afternoon passed in quiet, easy conversation. You stayed in bed, letting the hours stretch long and unhurried. There was no rush, no need to be anywhere but here. Spencer stayed close, his leg pressed against yours beneath the blanket, his fingers brushing over your hand now and then-light, lingering, like he wasn’t ready to let go.

Eventually, he shifted, leaning back against the headboard and stretching out his legs. His arm slid around your waist, fingers curling just enough to tug you gently toward him. You didn’t resist, letting him pull you in until you were settled between his legs, your back resting against his chest.

It felt natural, easy, the kind of closeness that didn’t need words. His hand stayed on your waist, thumb tracing slow, idle circles over the soft fabric of your tank top. You let your head tip back against his shoulder, and for a while, that was enough.

The conversation slowed, words giving way to the quiet comfort of being close. Spencer’s fingers drifted, tracing along your side, over your ribs, and back again. His touch wasn’t urgent, but there was a weight to it, a quiet intent that lingered beneath the surface.

Eventually, as the sky outside dimmed and the soft glow of evening settled in, Spencer's hand paused where it rested on your waist. His fingers flexed slightly, holding on like he didn't want to let go.

"I should…" His voice trailed off, low and reluctant. "I should probably head out soon."

You tilted your head, looking up at him. "You don't have to."

He hesitated, then sighed. "I do. We have work tomorrow. And as much as I want to stay, I don't think either of us will get much sleep if I do."

It wasn’t teasing, and it wasn’t light. It was truth, weighed down with the pull of wanting to stay anyway.

You nodded, though it wasn’t what you wanted either. "Yeah. You're right."

He was quiet for a moment, his hand smoothing over your side like he was memorizing the shape of you. "Tomorrow's going to be… interesting," he said, a dry note in his voice.

You gave a small laugh. "You mean the team is going to make our lives hell?"

He smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. "Yeah. Exactly that."

You shifted, turning slightly to look at him better. "We'll get through it."

"We will," he agreed, but the words were softer. Like he needed to believe them as much as you did. "But we need to be careful. We can’t… We can’t let this affect work."

You nodded, serious now. "I know. No flirting. No… this," you said, gesturing between you both. "Not while we’re on the clock."

His jaw tightened slightly, but he nodded. "Right. No slipping. No mistakes."

"And no giving them anything to gossip about," you added.

He chuckled under his breath, though it lacked humor. "We already gave them enough. Tomorrow, we keep it professional. No exceptions."

You nodded again, though a part of you ached at the thought. "We’ll figure it out."

His hand lingered at your side, fingers pressing in gently like he didn’t want to let go. "We will," he said, and there was something certain in the words. Not just about work but about everything. About you and him.

When he finally stood, you followed him, padding barefoot to the door. The apartment felt smaller as he gathered his things, quieter with the evening stretching between you. You lingered close as he shrugged on his jacket, and when his hand hovered at the door, you reached for him.

He turned, his expression soft and a little sad, and you lifted onto your toes, brushing your lips to his. Slow, lingering, a kiss that said all the things you couldn’t tomorrow. The kind that made him hum low in his chest, his hand lifting to cup your cheek, fingers sliding into your hair.

You pulled back first, but only by a breath. "Goodnight," you said, your voice quieter now.

His thumb traced along your jaw. "Goodnight."

He hesitated, but then he stepped back, opening the door and slipping out with one last look. One that lingered like his touch, warm and slow, even after the door clicked shut.

You stood there for a moment, fingers pressed to your lips, holding onto the feel of him. Knowing tomorrow would be different. Knowing you'd have to act like this didn’t happen.

But it did. And you'd both figure it out. Together.

The night stretched quiet after Spencer left, but his absence lingered. You moved through the motions of evening—tidying up, brushing your teeth, slipping into bed—but it all felt a little too still. A little too empty.

Your phone buzzed just as you settled under the covers.

Spencer: Sweet dreams. I’ll be thinking about you.

A smile tugged at your lips as you typed back.

You: You better not be thinking about me tomorrow. We have to be professional, remember?

The reply came quickly.

Spencer: Right. Completely professional. No thinking about you at all.

You could almost hear the sarcasm in it. Almost see the way he’d be smiling, soft and teasing.

You: Good luck with that.

A beat passed, and then,

Spencer: Goodnight.

You: Goodnight, Spencer.

You set the phone down, but it took a while for sleep to come. You lay there, staring at the ceiling, fingers brushing over the empty space beside you. It felt like something unfinished. Like something waiting.

But eventually, sleep pulled you under.

Sleep didn’t last long enough.

You moved through the morning on autopilot—shower, coffee, dressing for the day. Routine helped, steady and familiar, but there was a thread of tension underneath it all. A sense of anticipation you couldn’t shake.

You paused by the mirror, studying yourself. Trying to find that steady, composed version that wouldn’t give anything away. That could walk into work and pretend nothing had changed.

Professional. Unshakable.

You adjusted your clothes and took one last look.

This was fine. You could do this.

The drive in passed in a blur, but when the building came into view, your stomach tightened. It was easy to imagine the teasing looks, the knowing glances, the way the team would pounce at the first slip.

In the elevator, you caught your reflection in the metal doors. You smoothed your hands down your sides, pressed your shoulders back. Tried to look like nothing had changed. Like you weren’t holding onto the ghost of Spencer’s touch.

The elevator chimed, doors sliding open, and you took a breath.

Steady. Calm. Professional.

You stepped out, heels clicking against the floor, and walked toward the office.

The bullpen was already humming with quiet activity when you stepped off the elevator. Garcia was perched on Derek's desk, legs crossed, a look of pure mischief lighting up her face. She wasn’t even pretending to look busy, eyes fixed on the elevator like she had been waiting just for you.

Her grin was immediate and sharp. "Well, well. Look who decided to show up."

You kept your expression neutral, though it was difficult with the way her gaze swept over you like she was analyzing every inch.

"Morning, Garcia."

She slid off the desk with slow grace. "Morning? Oh, I bet it is." Her voice dripped with implication. "Good weekend?"

Before you could answer, the  second elevator chimed, and Spencer stepped out. He caught sight of the group and hesitated just a fraction of a second, but it was enough. Garcia's grin turned predatory.

"Speak of the devil," she said sweetly.

You watched as Spencer’s eyes flicked over the bullpen, taking in the scene, taking in you. There was a tightness to his jaw, the faintest blush colouring his cheeks, but he kept his stride steady as he crossed to his desk.

Garcia’s grin widened as she gave Spencer a slow once-over. She tilted her head, voice sweet but laced with mischief.

“You’re walking a little funny this morning, Doctor Reid.”

The words hung in the air. There was a beat of silence, just long enough for the implication to land.

Spencer froze, the colour rising sharply to his cheeks. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly unsure how to respond.

Without a word, he hurried to his desk.

Garcia just smiled, looking far too pleased with herself.

Derek let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Well, that explains a lot."

Emily smirked, her gaze flicking between you and Spencer. "Guess all that arguing was just foreplay, huh?"

JJ, walking in with a coffee in hand, raised her brows as she caught the tail end of the exchange. "Did I miss something, or is this just Monday morning chaos?"

Morgan chuckled. "You missed the revelation of the century."

You set your bag down, refusing to let your smile slip. You didn’t plan to deny anything, but that didn’t mean you were about to serve up details either.

Garcia tilted her head, her grin unrelenting. "Come on, you’re not really gonna act like I didn’t catch you two, are you? Phones don’t just spend the night together by accident."

Morgan crossed his arms, looking smug. "Makes sense now. All that tension? All those arguments? Classic case of unresolved chemistry."

JJ grinned, her tone teasing. "Yeah, we just didn’t realize how unresolved it really was."

Emily laughed. "You know, I always thought it was going to end with one of them throwing a punch. Turns out it ended… differently."

That earned a round of laughter, and Spencer, though he kept his head down, wasn’t fooling anyone. His ears were burning red.

Garcia beamed. "Well, whatever it was, I'm glad you worked it out. This place was almost getting boring without the two of you bickering like an old married couple."

"Turns out they just needed to get it out of their system," Morgan added, grinning.

Emily shook her head with a laugh. "Or maybe they just found a better way to argue."

The laughter that followed was easy, though under it, you could feel the curiosity lingering. Questions were brewing, but before anyone could push further, Hotch's office door opened. The sound was enough to pull everyone's attention back to their desks, a momentary reprieve.

But you knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

The morning passed in steady rhythm, but every so often, you felt it—Spencer’s gaze. Quick, flickering glances from across the bullpen. At first, you thought nothing of it. Habit, maybe. Or the lingering awkwardness after the weekend.

But then you caught it again. His eyes weren’t on your face.

You crossed to the filing cabinet, crouching to sift through the lower drawer. Papers shuffled under your fingers as you searched, but the weight of his gaze pressed against you, lingering. Curious. You straightened, glancing over your shoulder just in time to see Spencer quickly look away, his focus snapping back to his desk with suspicious intensity.

Strange.

You brushed it off and returned to your desk. But when you bent again—this time to reach for a file on the lower shelf—you caught it once more. A fleeting glance, sharp and quick, his jaw tightening as his eyes darted away.

You frowned slightly, puzzled. What was he looking at?

It wasn’t until you sat back and caught the way his gaze dropped—just for a second—that it clicked.

Ah.

You bit back a smile.

Leaning forward, you reached for your coffee, letting your blouse shift just enough, casual and effortless. You didn’t look at him, not yet, but you felt the shift in the air, that slight tension when someone’s trying not to stare.

And when you glanced up, there it was. His eyes, caught mid-glance, guilt flashing before he dragged them back to his desk.

Still, his blush gave him away.

You said nothing. Just smiled to yourself and turned back to your work, already thinking of how you’d make him squirm later.

Suddenly Garcia strolled into the bullpen, her heels clicking softly as she made her way to your desk. She perched on the edge, her voice low and laced with mischief. “So,” she started, eyes bright, “have a fun weekend?”

You looked up, keeping your tone light. “Relaxing. You?”

Garcia hummed, leaning in slightly. “Oh, quiet. Except for when I noticed two certain phones spending the night together. That definitely kept things interesting.”

You lifted an eyebrow, teasing. “Must’ve been a wild night for the phones.”

Emily, not even pretending to be focused on work, grinned. "Maybe the phones are dating now. Saved us all a lot of time waiting for them to catch up."

Laughter rippled through the bullpen, and you fought to keep your smile in check.

Garcia’s grin only widened as she turned back to you, her voice low and conspiratorial. “So… is it serious, or just a one-time thing for the phones?”

You took a slow sip of your coffee. “Guess you'll have to keep tracking to find out.”

Garcia chuckled, a sparkle in her eyes. “Oh, don’t tempt me.”

Garcia didn’t waste time. As soon as she slipped off your desk, she strolled toward Spencer’s, her steps light and casual. She leaned in just slightly, keeping her voice low but sweet.

"So," she said, eyes sparkling with mischief, "was it just a fun little weekend, or should I be picking out engagement gifts?"

Spencer glanced up, his expression calm but guarded. "That’s a little fast, don’t you think?"

Garcia smiled, undeterred. "Oh, I don’t know. Sometimes things just… click. Fast and hard."

He paused, as if considering his next words carefully. "I’d say it’s more complicated than that."

Garcia tilted her head, her grin widening. "Complicated is just code for interesting. And I love interesting."

Spencer gave a faint, knowing smile but said nothing more.

She lingered for a second longer, clearly waiting for something—anything—but when Spencer simply returned to his file, she straightened with a soft, playful sigh. "Fine, be mysterious. But don’t think I’m done yet."

And with that, she walked off, not quite satiated.

The teasing air didn’t go away. It hummed beneath every glance, every smirk that lingered a second too long. Every time you crossed the bullpen, there was an expectant pause, like the team was waiting for something to slip.

Morgan, leaning back in his chair, caught your eye as you passed with a file. His grin was slow, sharp. “Careful, sweetness. Don’t throw your back out carrying that—though I guess you’ve already had a good workout this weekend.”

You didn’t miss a step, just shot him a look over your shoulder. “I can handle it.”

But when you glanced at Spencer, his gaze wasn’t on the file. His eyes dipped lower, lingering for a beat too long. His jaw flexed, and he shifted in his seat, flipping a page in the file like it could cover the moment.

Emily caught it too, biting back a grin. She met your gaze and gave an exaggerated wink.

You kept walking, fighting the warmth creeping up your neck.

But Spencer wasn’t doing as well. His gaze flicked up quickly, catching yours before darting away, his fingers drumming a little too fast against the desk.

Later, in the file room, you were too focused on the folder in your hands to hear the door open. Too focused to notice the soft click of it shutting.

You didn’t hear him until you felt him—until his body pressed against your back, warm and solid. His hands landed on the shelves on either side of you, caging you in.

You froze, breath hitching as the heat of him curled around you.

Then his mouth was at your ear, his breath warm, his voice low enough to be dangerous. “Why today?" The words dragged slow and rough. "Why wear something so damn tempting?”

Your heart kicked hard against your ribs. You didn’t turn. Couldn’t. "Didn’t realize it was a problem."

Spencer’s laugh was quiet, low, curling at the edges. His nose skimmed the line of your jaw, a touch so light it left your skin burning. "It is," he said, the words nothing but a whisper. "Because I can’t think about anything else."

You felt his hand drift up, fingers brushing against your side, tracing the curve of your waist, so soft it could’ve been accidental—but it wasn’t. His fingertips skimmed the edge of your blouse, lingering just beneath the fabric’s hem.

Your breath stuttered, caught somewhere between a gasp and a challenge. "Maybe I wanted you distracted."

That earned a sharp inhale, but his laugh came dark and quiet. "Careful," he murmured. "You’re going to get exactly what you’re asking for."

Then, in one smooth motion, he turned you. His hands slid to your waist, firm and sure, and your back met the shelves with a quiet thud.

You barely had time to react before his body pressed close, his hand bracing beside your head. His other hand drifted along your hip, teasing, slow, fingers tracing the shape of you.

And then he was leaning in, his lips brushing close to yours—not touching, but close enough to feel the heat. Close enough to taste the possibility.

Your breath caught, chest rising to meet his. He stayed there, hovering, letting the anticipation crackle between you.

When you tried to close the gap, just a little, his hand slid up to your jaw, holding you still. His thumb traced your cheek, soft and maddening.

"Not yet," he whispered, his lips barely ghosting yours. His eyes were dark, heavy with want. "You don’t get to have it that easy."

The words sent heat spiralling low, sharp and hot.

You swallowed hard, your pulse thundering in your throat. "You’re cruel," you breathed.

He smiled, slow and dangerous. "Only when you deserve it."

And then his hand was gone, trailing down your side like a promise as he stepped back. The air felt colder without him, and your legs barely held steady beneath you.

But Spencer wasn’t unaffected. His jaw was tight, his eyes darker than before. He hesitated for half a second—like he might take it back, close the distance—but the sound of footsteps outside snapped the tension.

He turned, slipping from the room without a word.

And it wasn’t hard to notice the way his pants fit tighter than when he’d come in.

You stayed against the shelves, trying to catch your breath. Your skin still burned where he’d touched you. Your lips still tingled from the ghost of what almost was.

The afternoon stretched, slow and deliberate, each hour marked by lingering glances and barely-there touches. The teasing still hadn’t let up. Emily’s knowing looks, Morgan’s smirks, and JJ’s subtle glances over her coffee mug all pressed against the edges of your focus, reminding you of the tension that simmered beneath the surface.

Spencer tried to keep his attention on paperwork, but every time you shifted in your seat or reached for a file, his eyes flicked toward you. Quick, but not quick enough. And when you caught him, he'd glance away, his jaw tight and the tips of his ears faintly flushed.

You weren’t doing much better. Every brush of his hand when passing a folder, every moment his gaze dipped lower than it should, sparked a quiet heat beneath your skin. The tension built in the space between you—heavy and electric.

Morgan chuckled low, catching Spencer’s lingering stare. “If that’s how you look at her here, I can’t imagine how you look at her when it’s just the two of you.”

Emily didn’t miss a beat. “Bet they don’t argue nearly as much when it’s just them and locked doors.”

Morgan grinned. “Nah, I bet they argue more. Just… with less clothing.”

JJ glanced up, her smile sly. “Well, as long as they showed up to work in one piece, I guess they figured it out.”

Laughter rippled through the bullpen, and you fought to keep your face neutral, though heat prickled at the back of your neck. You didn’t dare glance at Spencer.

But you didn’t have to. His hand twitched around his pen, his shoulders stiff. He flipped a page, eyes down, like the paper could shield him. The flush along his cheeks was unmistakable, and he shifted slightly in his seat, jaw tight.

Emily leaned back, still grinning. “Come on, Reid, you’re the genius. What’s the probability of you making it through today without getting caught staring again?”

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, but he didn’t look up. “Low,” he admitted quietly.

The bullpen broke into another round of laughter, and you pressed your lips together to hide your smile. You weren’t sure if it was crueller to leave him hanging or to come to his rescue—but either way, it was definitely fun.

By the time the day edged toward its close, it felt like every second was strung tight, pulled taut with what neither of you said out loud. The office felt too small, the distance between desks too wide.

You stepped out of the break room and nearly collided with him in the hall. His shoulder brushed yours, his hand steadying you with a touch low on your back—too brief, but enough to send a jolt through you.

“Your place?” he murmured, his voice low, words skimming warm against your ear.

You didn’t turn, just glanced at him sideways, lips curving. “After work.”

He smiled, slow and sure. “I’ll bring dinner.”

And then he was gone, leaving you there with a heartbeat that wouldn’t slow and a promise hanging in the air. The rest of the day stretched endlessly, every tick of the clock a reminder of how close, and yet how far, the evening was.

When the day finally wound down, you gathered your things, pulse thrumming. Spencer wasn’t far behind, though neither of you said a word. It didn’t go unnoticed.

Morgan’s voice broke the quiet hum. “Don’t stay up too late, lovebirds. Gotta be sharp for work tomorrow.”

Spencer paused, his hand hovering over his satchel, gaze flicking up to meet yours before dropping again.

You didn’t hesitate. “I’ll be sure to send him home before curfew.”

That earned a ripple of laughter, light but sharp enough to make Spencer’s ears tint pink. He ducked his head, focusing a little too hard on his bag.

You exchanged no more words, but as you moved toward the elevator, you felt his stare, steady and warm. A glance back caught it—his eyes lingered, heavy with something unspoken.

The doors slid open, and you stepped inside. Just before they closed, Spencer caught your gaze again. A subtle tilt of his head. A silent promise.

When you finally got home, the weight of the day lingered in your bones. You kicked off your shoes, rolling your shoulders as you took in the quiet of your apartment. The teasing at work had been relentless, the stolen glances with Spencer torturous, and the slow crawl of time utterly unforgiving. Now, the waiting was finally over.

You had just settled onto the couch when a knock at the door sent a thrill through you. When you pulled it open, Spencer was standing there, slightly out of breath, brown paper bags in his hands, his messenger bag still slung over his shoulder. His tie was loose, and a few strands of hair had fallen over his forehead.

“Delivery,” he said, holding up the bags.

You crossed your arms, leaning against the door frame. “You’ve never been a delivery guy in your life.”

Spencer stepped closer, eyes twinkling. “I brought food. That counts.”

You rolled your eyes but stepped aside to let him in. He made a beeline for the coffee table, setting down the food before shrugging off his bag. You followed, grabbing plates while he started unpacking the containers.

“You better not have picked something weird,” you teased, eyeing the bags suspiciously.

Spencer scoffed. “I have excellent taste.”

“You have questionable taste.”

“Only in women,” he quipped, earning a playful glare.

You settled on the couch with Spencer, the plates of Chinese food steaming between you. You talked about your workday, the teasing still fresh in your mind. Each shared story was met with laughter and the occasional eye roll, but there was a comfort in the banter that went deeper than the surface. It was easy, this back-and-forth, the way you could poke at each other’s buttons without fear of retribution.

“Speaking of, I think we may have permanently lost our credibility as professionals today.”

You snorted. “We had credibility to begin with?”

Spencer gave you a pointed look. “I did.”

You rolled your eyes. “Well, if you’re so reputable, you should’ve been able to keep a straight face when Emily caught you staring at my cleavage.”

Spencer groaned, covering his face with one hand. “That was humiliating.”

“You turned red,” you teased, nudging his knee with yours.

“I panicked! There was no good way to recover from that!”

“You could’ve denied it.”

Spencer shot you a dry look. “And no one would’ve believed me. Besides, after that, there was Derek.”

You burst out laughing. “Oh god, yeah. He looked so smug when he caught you adjusting your tie like it would somehow erase the fact that you got caught drooling.”

“I wasn’t drooling,” Spencer muttered.

“Mmm,” you hummed, dragging out the sound. “That’s not what I heard.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “Do you enjoy my suffering?”

You grinned. “A little.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head as he picked at his food. “At least I wasn’t the only one suffering. You had Garcia and JJ tag-teaming you all day.”

You groaned, flopping back against the couch. “It was relentless. Garcia kept looking at me like she was proud—like I finally made a respectable life decision by dating you.”

Spencer smirked. “Well, I am an excellent choice.”

You shot him a look. “You’re a choice.”

His smirk widened. “A choice you chose.”

You huffed, nudging his knee with your foot. “Don’t get cocky. And JJ wasn’t any better—every time I looked at her, she was just smiling at me. Like this soft, knowing little smile. And when I asked what she was grinning about, she just shrugged and said, ‘Oh, nothing.’”

Spencer chuckled. “That’s worse than outright teasing.”

“I know!” You threw your hands up. “And then she had the audacity to say, ‘You two make sense.’”

Spencer tilted his head. “That’s kind of sweet.”

You pointed a fork at him. “It was smug and you know it.”

He held up his hands in mock surrender. “I won’t argue with you.”

“You never argue with me,” you shot back sarcastically, eyes twinkling.

The sarcasm goes right over his head. “Now that’s not true.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Fair point. You argue with me about everything.”

His lips twitched. “Not everything.”

You arched a brow. “Okay, name one thing we haven’t argued about.”

Spencer opened his mouth, hesitated, then sighed. “Give me a minute.”

You smirked. “Exactly.”

You nudged Spencer’s knee with your foot, smirking as you picked at your food. “You remember the sticky note war?”

Spencer groaned, shaking his head. “Don’t remind me.”

“Oh, I’m reminding you.”

It had started with a single correction—Spencer, unable to resist his need for precision, had scribbled an annotation onto one of your reports. You retaliated by leaving a sticky note on his desk that read, Clarification: You’re insufferable.

The next morning, you arrived to find a meticulously written response stuck to your monitor: Insubstantial claim. Please provide evidence.

And so it escalated.

Every day brought new additions. You scrawled sarcastic commentary on his files; he responded with passive-aggressive footnotes. You left him a sticky note with a simple No one likes a know-it-all. He countered with a full printout of a psychological study on passive-aggressive behaviour, highlighted and annotated just for you.

You declared war.

One evening, after everyone had left, you gathered every sticky note in the office and wallpapered Spencer’s desk. His chair, his drawers, his keyboard—everything was covered in a sea of bright squares, you wrote on as many as you could. Some were snarky 'You brought this upon yourself', some were outright taunts 'Can’t clarify your way out of this one, genius', and some were just ridiculous 'Fun fact: You're annoying'.

When Spencer walked in the next morning, he stopped in the doorway, staring in stunned silence.

You had never seen him so speechless.

Even now, as you sat together on your couch, Spencer was still shaking his head at the memory. “Do you know how long it took me to get rid of all of them?”

You grinned. “You should’ve surrendered.”

Spencer huffed. “I don’t surrender.”

“And yet, you never retaliated.”

Spencer took a slow bite of his food, eyes narrowing. “Because I knew I couldn’t win. You’re ruthless.”

You held up a finger. “Strategic.”

“Unhinged.”

You shrugged, smug. “Admit it. I won.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head. “You may have won that battle.”

You smirked. “And the war.”

He gave you a look but didn’t argue. That was admission enough.

Spencer scooped up a bite of rice, shaking his head. “I still can’t believe you nearly buried me alive in paperwork.”

You snorted. “You act like I did it on purpose.”

Spencer levelled you with a look. “You stacked those files like a reckless maniac. I barely touched one, and the whole thing came down like an avalanche.”

You smirked around a bite of food. “Maybe you should’ve had faster reflexes.”

He scoffed. “I was ambushed.”

You could still picture it perfectly. Spencer had wandered over to your desk, reaching for a file you’d worked on. But the moment he slid it free from the pile, the precariously stacked tower of paperwork had given way, cascading down on top of him in a flurry of folders and sticky notes.

You had turned just in time to see him flail, letting out a startled yelp as he was buried under the mess.

It had taken you a full thirty seconds to stop laughing before you actually helped him.

“I thought I was going to die under there,” Spencer grumbled, stabbing at his food.

You grinned. “And what a tragic way to go. Drowned in documentation.”

Spencer huffed. “And then, after all that, you had the audacity to lecture me on why my filing system is inferior.”

You shrugged. “It is.”

Spencer set his plate down, turning fully toward you. “No. It is efficient, logical, and, most importantly, does not result in near-death experiences.”

You pointed at him with your chopsticks. “My system works for me.”

“If by ‘works,’ you mean you have to dig through mountains of papers every time you need something, then sure.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s organized chaos.”

“It’s a safety hazard.”

You grinned. “And yet, you still went digging through my stuff.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Never again.”

Spencer tapped his fingers against his plate, eyes narrowing slightly. “You know, I still haven’t forgiven you for the pen-clicking war.”

You smirked. “Because you lost?”

His scoff was immediate. “I did not lose.”

“Oh, you definitely lost.”

It had started with the smallest complaint. Spencer had been sitting across from you in the bullpen, diligently working on something, when he suddenly exhaled sharply.

“Can you stop that?”

You looked up, feigning innocence. “Stop what?”

“The pen.” He gestured vaguely at your hand, where you had been clicking your pen absentmindedly against your notepad.

You paused—then clicked it one more time, just to test him.

Spencer’s jaw tightened. “That.”

A slow smirk stretched across your lips. “Oh, this?” Click.

“Yes.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because it’s annoying,” he said flatly.

That had been the moment you decided to make it your mission to annoy him as much as possible.

You clicked the pen relentlessly, varying the rhythm to keep him guessing. Sometimes, you’d click it twice, pause, then click it again just when he thought it was over. Other times, you’d hold it near his ear and click it absentmindedly while reading.

Spencer had lasted exactly twenty-three minutes before he retaliated.

He started talking—rambling, really—about anything and everything. The mating habits of deep-sea squid, the complete history of the Dewey Decimal System, the statistical probability of tripping while carrying a full cup of coffee.

The worst part? He was staring directly at you the entire time, waiting for your patience to crack.

It became a game.

You clicked the pen during every pause in his speech. He started filling those pauses with increasingly useless facts.

By lunchtime, Emily had thrown a crumpled napkin at both of you and declared she was going to start charging for babysitting.

Spencer sighed, shaking his head at the memory. “You never fight fair.”

You grinned. “Oh, I fight smart.”

Spencer gave you a look. “You fight dirty.”

“And yet,” you said, biting into your food, “you still lost.”

Spencer muttered something under his breath, but you caught the way his lips twitched. Even in defeat, he couldn’t help but be entertained.

Spencer pointed his fork at you, expression serious. “I still haven’t forgiven you for the peanut butter and jelly incident.”

You smirked. “Oh, you mean the time you were wrong?”

He scoffed. “I was not wrong.”

“You were so wrong.”

He sighed, rubbing his temple. “You threw a sandwich at me.”

“You deserved it.”

It had started in the break room, a simple, innocent lunch break. You were at the counter, making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, carefully spreading peanut butter on one slice and jelly on the other. Spencer had wandered in, probably to refill his coffee, when he happened to glance at what you were doing.

And then he spoke the words that sealed his fate.

“You know, you’re making that incorrectly.”

You froze mid-spread, turning your head ever so slightly. “Excuse me?”

Spencer stepped closer, peering at your sandwich with an air of intellectual superiority. “You’re supposed to spread the peanut butter on one slice, then put the jelly on top of it, on the same slice, before putting the other piece of bread on top.”

You gaped at him. “That’s—Spencer, that’s insane.”

“It’s practical,” he argued. “If you put the jelly on a separate slice, it soaks into the bread too quickly and makes it soggy. The peanut butter acts as a protective barrier.”

You narrowed your eyes. “First of all, if you eat it immediately, the bread doesn’t have time to get soggy. Second of all, spreading jelly on top of peanut butter is just wrong—it doesn’t spread properly, and it gets all mixed up. You’re ruining the integrity of the sandwich.”

Spencer made a face. “You’re overcomplicating a simple process.”

You huffed. “And you’re making a mess. If you put the jelly on top of peanut butter, it slides around when you try to spread it! You end up with uneven distribution, which completely defeats the point of making a sandwich in the first place.”

Spencer crossed his arms. “I think you’re just bad at spreading.”

You inhaled sharply. “Take that back.”

“No.”

So you did what any reasonable person would do. You grabbed the top slice of your sandwich, fully loaded with jelly, and threw it at his chest.

The break room went silent.

Spencer stared at you, then slowly looked down at the smear of jelly now adorning his vest.

You sipped your drink to hide your grin. “Oops.”

Even now, sitting beside you, Spencer shook his head. “You know, most people would’ve just verbally disagreed.”

You grinned, nudging his knee. “And most people wouldn’t have deserved to get assaulted with a PB&J.”

Spencer sighed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

Spencer glanced down at his feet, then back at you, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “I assume you’ve finally accepted that matching socks are inherently unlucky.”

You scoffed, setting down your chopsticks. “No, I’ve just given up arguing with someone who’s clearly delusional.”

Spencer hummed, clearly amused. “That’s not what you said the day you tried to force me to wear a matching pair.”

You groaned. “Because you were about to testify in court, Spencer! You were literally representing the entire BAU, and I thought maybe—just maybe—you could act like a normal person for one day.”

Spencer shrugged. “And I still gave flawless testimony. The jury didn’t convict based on my socks.”

“You don’t know that!”

The argument had started that morning at the office. You had stepped into the conference room where Spencer was reviewing his notes for court. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, and his slacks had ridden up just enough to reveal an egregious sight—one sock was navy with tiny books on it, and the other was bright green with planets.

You had stopped in your tracks, horrified. “Oh, absolutely not.”

Spencer barely glanced up. “Good morning to you, too.”

You pointed accusingly. “You are about to testify in a murder trial looking like a child whose parents didn’t do their laundry.”

Spencer blinked at you. “That’s dramatic.”

“No, this is dramatic—” You dug into your bag and pulled out the emergency pair of black dress socks you kept for specifically this reason. “Put these on.”

Spencer finally looked up, lips twitching. “You carry emergency socks?”

“I carry emergency Spencer socks because I knew you’d pull something like this.”

He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “I appreciate the effort, but I can’t wear matching socks.”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “You can, you just won’t. What is your issue with matching socks?”

Spencer lifted a single finger, as if about to explain quantum mechanics. “The last time I wore matching socks, I had the worst day of my life.”

You folded your arms. “Oh, really?”

Spencer leaned back against the couch, his lips twitching in amusement. “It was years ago. Back when I was still new at the BAU, and I thought I’d try being… conventional.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Meaning what?”

He sighed. “Matching socks. Crisp, freshly pressed shirt. Everything put together like a normal, functioning adult.”

You snorted. “Bold choice.”

Spencer pointed at you. “A disastrous one.”

You gestured for him to continue, already intrigued.

“That morning, I got to the office early. I figured, you know, new day, fresh start, maybe I’d have a productive morning. I sat down at my desk, opened a file, and immediately knocked over my full cup of coffee. All over my case notes. Ruined. Just black ink bleeding into a giant, useless mess.”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh.

Spencer gave you a dry look. “Then, while I was trying to salvage what I could, Hotch called me in for an urgent briefing. I grabbed the wrong file—completely irrelevant information—walked in, sat down, and didn’t realize my mistake until I opened it in front of the whole team.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes.” Spencer shook his head. “Hotch just gave me that look—you know, the one that makes you feel like you’re six years old and getting scolded by a school principal.”

You grinned. “I know the one.”

Spencer exhaled. “So, after making a fool of myself in front of the team, I went back to my desk, only to find that my chair had mysteriously vanished.”

You frowned. “Someone took your chair?”

“No, it was still there—I just didn’t notice because I wasn’t paying attention. So I went to sit down and… missed. Completely. Ended up on the floor.”

That was it. You burst out laughing. “Oh my god.”

Spencer rolled his eyes. “Derek nearly passed out from how hard he was laughing. I was humiliated.”

You wiped at your eyes. “Okay, but that was just one day.”

Spencer lifted a finger. “That was before I left the office for the day.”

Your laughter slowed. “There’s more?”

“Oh, there’s more. I got caught in a sudden downpour without an umbrella, missed my bus, and when I finally got home, I realized I’d left my apartment keys in my desk drawer at work.”

You winced. “Oof.”

“Had to take a cab all the way back to the office just to get them. By the time I made it home, I was drenched, exhausted, and swore that I would never wear matching socks again.”

You shook your head, still grinning. “You’re ridiculous.”

Spencer smirked. “And yet, I haven’t had a day that bad since.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not proof of anything.”

“It’s proof enough for me.”

Spencer stretched an arm along the back of the couch, fingers idly brushing against your shoulder. His other hand rested on his knee, occasionally toying with the fabric of his sleeve. The room was quiet now, the remains of dinner pushed to the side, your plates stacked neatly on the coffee table.

He shifted slightly, tilting his head toward you. “Come here.”

You raised a brow. “I am here.”

“Closer.”

There was something in the way he said it—soft, certain—that sent a pleasant hum through you. You hesitated only for a second before giving in, leaning into his space. His arm slipped down around you, pulling you snug against his chest. He exhaled in satisfaction, his fingers tracing lazy patterns along your arm as you settled against him.

Neither of you spoke for a while, content in the warmth of each other’s presence. Then Spencer sighed, his voice laced with amusement. “You know, for all the teasing today, no one brought up the pen incident.”

You tilted your head to look up at him. “The pen incident?”

Spencer smirked. “The day you nearly had a full-blown meltdown in the bullpen.”

Your eyes narrowed as the memory clicked into place. “Oh. You mean the day you stole from me?”

Spencer scoffed, feigning innocence. “Stole is a strong word.”

“No, it’s the exact word.” You poked his side for emphasis. “That was my favourite pen, Spencer.”

“Which I borrowed,” he corrected.

“You didn’t borrow it! Borrowing implies permission. You swiped it off my desk when I wasn’t looking.”

Spencer shrugged, entirely unrepentant. “I needed a pen.”

You huffed. “I needed that pen for three days.”

It had started as a minor annoyance—an everyday item that had mysteriously vanished. At first, you assumed you had misplaced it. You sifted through the papers on your desk, checked beneath your keyboard, even dug through your bag just in case. But the pen—the one pen you actually liked writing with—was nowhere to be found.

By the end of the first day, frustration had set in.

By the second, it was personal.

By the third, you were on the verge of losing your mind.

It was your pen. The only pen you liked writing with. It fit perfectly in your grip, the ink flowed just right, and unlike every other pen in the bullpen, it never smudged or skipped. Losing it wasn’t just an inconvenience—it was a betrayal.

Desperation turned into suspicion.

You turned to Emily first. “Hey, did you take my pen?”

Emily barely looked up from her file. “Nope.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

She gave you a dry look. “Yes, I’m sure. Why would I steal your pen?”

That was a fair question, but it didn’t stop you from asking Gideon and JJ the same thing.

When you got to Derek, he smirked. “You’ve been talking about this pen for three days. If I had it, trust me, you’d already know.”

And he was right—because when you finally found it, the betrayal was so immediate, so visceral, that you could feel the blood leave your face.

Across the room, Spencer sat at his desk, absently tapping the end of a very familiar-looking pen against his notebook.

Your eye twitched.

You stormed over, stopping just short of his desk. “Where did you get that?”

Spencer barely glanced up. “Hmm?”

“That pen, Spencer.” You pointed at it accusingly. “That’s my pen.”

Spencer frowned slightly and turned it over in his hand, as if just now noticing. “Oh. Huh.”

“Huh?” you repeated, incredulous. “Huh?! That’s all you have to say?”

He blinked up at you. “Well, in my defense, I needed a pen.”

“You—” You inhaled sharply, trying very hard not to strangle him in the middle of the office. “Why didn’t you just ask?”

Spencer shrugged. “You were busy.”

“Oh my god.” You pinched the bridge of your nose. “And when, exactly, were you planning on returning it?”

He tilted his head, thinking. “Soon?”

You gaped at him. “Soon?! Spencer, it’s been three days!”

Spencer winced. “Oh. That’s… longer than I thought.”

You snatched the pen from his hand with a dramatic flourish. “Unbelievable.”

Spencer smirked. “You could just let it go.”

You pointed the pen at him like a weapon. “I will never let this go.”

And you hadn’t.

Even now, curled up against him on the couch, you could still feel the sheer betrayal of that moment. Spencer, of course, was entirely unbothered.

He smirked, fingers still trailing idly along your arm. “You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You huffed. “You’re lucky I don’t hold grudges.”

Spencer chuckled. “Oh, please. If I took another one, we’d be right back where we started.”

You gasped, scandalized. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Spencer just sipped his drink, looking far too smug.

So you made a move to sit up, feigning exasperation. “That’s it, I’m leaving.”

Before you could so much as shift away, Spencer’s arms tightened around you, pulling you firmly against him.

“Nice try,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your hair.

You huffed a laugh, letting yourself relax back into him. “Unbelievable.”

“Completely believable,” he corrected.

You narrowed your eyes. “You’re insufferable.”

Spencer only hummed, his hold on you unwavering. You could feel the faint vibration of his laughter against your back, warm and steady. He knew exactly what he was doing. As much as you wanted to keep up your righteous indignation… you let him win this one.

With a mischievous spark in your eye, you turned in his arms. He blinked in surprise, his smirk fading into something softer, something hopeful. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his, and suddenly the air around you was charged with a different kind of tension.

You straddled his hips, deepening the kiss, feeling the heat between you grow as his hands found your waist. His fingers flexed, holding you closer, like he was afraid you’d pull away again. But you weren’t going anywhere. Not now.

Your hands fisted into his hair gently tugging, pulling him closer, as if you could somehow merge into one being. Spencer’s mouth moved with yours, exploring, claiming, until you both had to break away for air.

One hand skimmed down his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your palm. It was like a metronome, keeping time with the rhythm of your own. Your thumb traced the line of his collarbone, feeling the heat of his skin, and then lower, the soft fabric of his shirt giving way to the firmness of his chest. His breath hitched when you reached the first button, and his eyes darkened, watching you intently.

Your hand found the hem of his shirt, tugging it free from his waistband. You felt the warmth of his skin as you slid your hand under the fabric, feeling the ridge of muscle, the smoothness of his stomach. His belt buckle was cold against your fingertips, a stark contrast to the heat of his body. You traced the leather, then the button of his slacks, teasing him gently, watching his reaction.

Spencer’s eyes fell closed, his breath shallow as your hand played over his body. You could feel his restraint, the effort it took for him to not take over, to let you set the pace. But when your fingers hovered over the zipper of his pants, he groaned, a low, needy sound that sent a thrill through you.

With deliberate slowness, you unbuckled his belt, watching his stomach muscles tighten in anticipation. The leather slid through the loops with a whisper. Then, with the same teasing grace, you pulled down the zipper. His pants parted, revealing his boxers, and the thick outline of his arousal pressing against the fabric.

Spencer’s breath was coming in short, ragged bursts. His eyes remained locked on yours, his pupils dilated with desire. You reached into his pants, feeling the heat of him, and he trembled at your touch. You took your time, enjoying the way his body reacted to your every move.

With a gentle tug, you pulled his slacks down enough to expose the waistband of his boxers. His half-hard cock strained against the fabric, begging for release. The sight of him, so vulnerable and eager, had you biting back a groan. You leaned in closer, your breath hot against his skin as you kissed him.

His hips arched slightly as you traced the outline of his cock with your fingertips. Spencer’s eyes fluttered shut, a soft gasp escaping his lips. The fabric was thin, almost translucent, and you could feel the heat of him, the firmness growing as your touch grew bolder.

You tugged his boxers down, freeing his cock. It bobbed between you, half-hard and flushed with need. Spencer’s hand shot out, gripping the edge of the couch, knuckles white as you leaned in, your breath ghosting over the tip. He was exquisite, the perfect blend of strength and vulnerability.

With a wicked smile, you hovered just out of reach, watching his eyes follow your every move. Then, with a deliberate slowness that had him groaning, you let a bead of saliva pool on your tongue, dropping it onto his cock like a warm, wet kiss. The saliva trickled down, painting a glistening path that made his length pulse with anticipation.

As Spencer’s eyes grew darker, you wrapped your hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the velvety skin and the pulse of his desire. He hissed in a breath, his body jerking slightly as you began to stroke him. Your movements were gentle, exploratory, learning the rhythm that made him shiver with pleasure.

You watched his face, the way his mouth fell open and his eyes grew heavy-lidded. His chest was rising and falling rapidly now, the muscles tensing and releasing with each shallow breath. You could feel his cock thicken in your grip, growing harder as you stroked, your thumb brushing over the sensitive skin just beneath the head. His hips rolled into your touch, seeking more.

With a gentle squeeze, you quickened the pace, your hand moving in a firm, steady rhythm that had Spencer’s eyes sliding shut. His head fell back, a soft groan escaping him. His hand found your thigh, his fingertips digging in as you continued to pleasure him. The room was filled with the sound of your breathing, the slick noise of skin on skin, the rustle of fabric as his hips tried to meet your hand.

You leaned in, kissing along his jawline, feeling the stubble scrape against your lips. Spencer’s hand tightened on your thigh, his body tense as he tried to hold back. But you knew him—knew the way his breathing grew erratic, knew the tension in his muscles that signalled his impending release.

With your other hand, you reached down, cupping his balls gently. They were warm, heavy with need, and Spencer’s entire body jerked at the contact. His eyes snapped open, his gaze locking with yours as you began to massage them in time with your strokes. His hips bucked, pushing his cock further into your hand, seeking more pressure, more friction.

You could feel the tension coiling in him, tightening with every pass of your thumb, every squeeze of your fingers. You knew you had him right there, just on the edge, ready to fall. Spencer’s breath grew ragged, his chest heaving as he fought for control.

And then, just as you felt the first tremor of his release, you pulled your hand away.

Spencer’s eyes shot open, his body tensing in protest. He stared at you, his pupils wide, his cock still hard and glistening with your saliva. For a moment, he was frozen, his breath stuttering in his chest.

You watched him, your expression one of sweet innocence, a stark contrast to the wickedness of your action. You hadn’t moved away entirely, but your hand was now hovering over his cock, teasing him with the promise of touch but delivering nothing.

Spencer’s eyes snapped to yours, confusion and desperation warring in their depths. “What—what are you doing?” he managed to rasp out.

You smirked. “That’s for stealing my pen, Dr. Reid.”

His breath hitched, his fingers tightening into fists against the cushions. His voice was low, dangerously controlled. “You really want to play this game?”

You smiled. “I already won.”

The sound he made—half growl, half strained laugh—told you exactly how much trouble you were in.

But you didn’t care. You took hold of him again, your thumb pressing against the slit of his cock, smearing the precum that had gathered there. Spencer’s eyes squeezed shut, his body bowing off the couch.

You leaned in, your mouth hovering just above his. “Say it, Spencer. Say I win.”

Spencer’s eyes snapped open, his pupils dilated with lust. He didn’t speak, but his grip on the couch tightened, his hips rolling up into your touch, begging for release.

With a smug smile, you leaned in closer, whispering, “Say it, Spencer.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing with a mix of desire and frustration. He was so close, and you revelled in the power of holding him there, teetering on the brink.

“You win,” Spencer finally gritted out, his voice a low rumble.

Your grin widened, and you leaned in closer, your breath hot against his mouth. “Say it like you mean it.”

“You win, okay?” Spencer’s voice was a desperate whine. “Just—please, don’t stop.”

With a wicked chuckle, you leaned down, blowing softly on his heated flesh. Your breath sent a shiver down his spine, making his cock pulse in your hand. Spencer’s eyes rolled back, his body trembling with need.

“Please, your mouth…” he whined out, the desperation in his voice music to your ears.

With a smug smile, you leaned in, finally granting his wish. You swiped your tongue along the underside of his shaft, feeling him twitch in your grip. Spencer’s eyes flew open, his gaze locking onto yours as you took him in your mouth.

The sound that escaped him was raw, primal—a groan of pure, unadulterated pleasure that sent a jolt straight to your core. You felt your own arousal spike, the warm wetness between your thighs growing as you tasted him.

You took him in deep, letting your tongue swirl around the head of his cock before pulling back, teasing the slit with the tip of your tongue. Spencer’s hand found the back of your head, his grip tight but not demanding, urging you to take him deeper. You complied, his cock filling your mouth as you took him to the back of your throat, the muscles there tightening around him.

He groaned, his hips thrusting up slightly, and you had to fight the urge to gag. You pulled back, taking a deep breath, and then took him again, swirling your tongue around the base of his shaft before flicking it against his balls. Spencer’s entire body tensed, his hand in your hair tightening as he tried to control himself.

You could feel the pressure building in him, the way his muscles coiled like a spring ready to snap. You quickened your pace, your hand working in tandem with your mouth, stroking him faster, harder. Spencer’s eyes were squeezed shut now, his teeth clenched, his body straining for release.

And then, with a sudden, fierce determination, you increased the suction, hollowing out your cheeks as you took him in deep, the head of his cock touching the back of your throat. He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, his hips jerking upward as if trying to bury himself even deeper.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” he whispered, the words barely coherent.

You took Spencer’s praise as the ultimate victory in this playful battle of wills. His hand in your hair grew more insistent, his hips jerking as you worked him closer and closer to the edge. Each stroke of your tongue was met with a strangled sound of pleasure that sent a thrill through your body.

Suddenly, Spencer’s breath grew ragged, his hips stuttering upward, and you knew he was there. You sucked harder, feeling his cock pulse against your tongue. And then, with a strangled groan, he came, hot and thick in your mouth. You swallowed, savouring the taste of him, feeling his body shudder beneath you.

Spencer’s hand in your hair tightened almost painfully, but you didn’t stop, didn’t pull away. You continued to suck, drawing out his orgasms, milking him until he was boneless and panting. His body jerked with each swipe of your tongue, his cock still pulsing with the aftershocks of his release.

He was panting, his chest heaving, once he had enough you sat back, licking your lips. The smug satisfaction in your gaze was unmistakeable. Spencer’s eyes remained shut, his expression one of pure bliss, as he tried to catch his breath.

But before he could recover, you decided to up the ante. With a sultry smile, you stood up, peeling your shirt over your head in one smooth motion. His eyes snapped open, watching in surprise as you revealed your bra, the swell of your breasts above the fabric.

"When you're done here," you purred, "meet me in the bedroom."

You sauntered away, leaving Spencer stunned and still half-dressed on the couch. His eyes followed your swaying hips until you disappeared around the corner. He took a moment to compose himself, his heart racing, and then with a deep breath, he stood and followed.

The moment he stepped into the bedroom, his eyes widened. There you were, naked and kneeling in the centre of the bed, the soft glow of the lamplight casting shadows across your bare skin. The sight of you was like a punch to the gut—beautiful, tempting, and utterly irresistible.

Spencer’s cock twitched with renewed interest. You beckoned to him with a crooked finger, your eyes dark with desire. “I want you inside me, Spencer. Now.”

Without a word, he shed his clothes. You watched as his shirt and pants fell to the floor, revealing his naked form, his chest heaving with excitement. You bit your bottom lip as he climbed onto the bed, his body moving with a grace that belied his usual clumsiness.

Spencer’s hands found yours, pulling you towards the edge of the mattress. He kissed you deeply, his tongue sliding against yours as he positioned himself between your legs. The anticipation was almost unbearable as he reached between your thighs, feeling the slick heat that awaited him. His thumb found your clit, and you moaned into his mouth, your hips arching to meet his touch.

He broke the kiss, his eyes locking onto yours as he dipped his fingers into your wetness. You watched as he pulled them away, glistening with your arousal, and brought them to his lips. The sight of him tasting you was intoxicating, sending a shiver down your spine. His eyes closed for a brief moment, savouring the flavour, and when they opened again, you could see the hunger in them—for you.

Spencer pushed you back, his hands firm but gentle as he dragged your hips to the edge of the bed. Your legs parted wider, inviting him in, and he didn’t disappoint. He hovered over you, his cock standing proudly, the head nudging at your entrance as he kissed his way down your neck. His touch was feather-light, teasing, as if he was afraid to break the delicate spell that had been cast over you both.

He stopped at your breasts, his eyes darkening with desire as he cupped them in his palms. His thumbs flicked over your sensitive nipples, drawing gasps from you. He squeezed, gently at first, feeling the weight of them in his hands, the way your body responded to his touch.

Your back arched, pushing your chest up to meet his, silently begging for more. Spencer didn’t disappoint. He rolled your nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, the pressure increasing until you were panting, your eyes fluttering shut. He knew exactly how to touch you, how to make you crave his mouth on your skin.

He lowered his head, his hot breath washing over your sensitive peaks, making them pebble even more. He licked at one, the sensation sending a jolt straight to your core. The cold air followed, making you gasp as your nipples tightened even further. Spencer chuckled against your skin, the sound vibrating through you. He knew exactly what he was doing to you.

With a smirk, he moved to the other nipple, giving it the same treatment. The combination of heat and cold was exquisite, making you squirm beneath him. He took his time, savouring each taste, each reaction. His tongue swirled, his teeth grazed, and you could feel yourself growing wetter with every flick of his tongue.

Once he had his fill, Spencer took hold of his cock. He positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your pussy lips in a delicious tease. The sensation was maddening, and you reached for his hips, trying to pull him closer, needing him inside you.

He could tease you, try to turn the tables and get revenge for earlier, but the truth was, you had wrecked him. And Spencer Reid was man enough to admit defeat. It didn’t help that he was also desperate to sink into you.

With a groan, he positioned the tip of his cock at your slick entrance. Your eyes went wide, anticipation building as you felt the blunt pressure of him pushing in. And then, without warning, he grabbed your legs, lifting them up and over his shoulders. The move was swift and decisive, leaving you open to him, exposed and ready.

He thrust into you, the head of his cock parting your folds and filling you in one smooth stroke. Your body took a moment to adjust to the sudden fullness, the shock of his entry sending a bolt of pleasure through you. You gasped, your nails digging into the comforter as he pushed deeper, filling you completely.

Spencer held still, his eyes locked on yours as you both felt the connection. He was so thick, so hard, and the way he stretched you felt like he was claiming you. He began to move, setting a slow, torturous pace that had you biting your lip to keep from screaming out. Each time he pushed into you, it was like a wave crashing over your senses, filling you up with pleasure until you thought you’d drown.

With every thrust, he put all his weight behind it, pushing deep and retreating almost to the tip before plunging back in again. His eyes never left yours, watching as you felt each inch of him, your body stretching to accommodate his length and girth.

You could see the fascination in his gaze as he watched himself disappear into your warmth, his cock disappearing into your body as if it were made for him. And maybe it was—the way your walls clamped down around him, the way your hips rolled to meet each of his thrusts, it certainly felt like it.

Spencer groaned, unable to tear his gaze from the place where your bodies met. The sight was almost too much—the way your pussy swallowed him whole, the way your juices coated his shaft. His hand moved to your hip, his grip tightening as he picked up the pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent, more demanding.

Your breasts jiggled erratically with each pounding thrust, the nipples hard and sensitive from his earlier attention. The erotic sight was more than Spencer could handle—his eyes were glued to the bounce, watching as your body reacted to his every move.

With a roar that was part passion and part animalistic need, Spencer bent you in half. Your legs were still over his shoulders, your body arched, giving him the most intimate access to your depths. The new angle allowed him to drive harder and deeper, his cock plunging into you without mercy.

Your whines grew louder, your voice hoarse from the pleasure that was bordering on pain. The friction was intense, and the way he filled you up was almost too much. You could feel your orgasm building, the pressure coiling in your stomach, tightening your muscles around him.

Tears gathered in the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming pleasure you were experiencing. You could feel every vein, every throb of his cock, and it was driving you wild.

Spencer’s pace was relentless, his hips moving like a piston, driving in and out of you with a ferocity that was almost frightening. But you were lost in the sensation, unable to think, unable to do anything but take what he was giving you. You were at his mercy, your body his to do with as he desires.

The orgasm that was building inside of you was unlike anything you’d ever felt before. It was as if every nerve ending in your body was alight with pleasure, each thrust of Spencer’s cock sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. It was intense, almost painful in its intensity, and you could feel it coiling tighter and tighter, like a spring ready to snap.

You gasped out the words, “I’m close, Spencer. So close,” your voice breathless and desperate. His eyes snapped to yours, his own gaze filled with a fierce determination to push you over the edge. He picked up the pace, his strokes growing faster, harder.

And then, as if reading your thoughts, his hand snaked between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit. The pressure was just right, the rhythm in sync with his thrusts. The sensation was overwhelming, the pleasure skyrocketing as he stroked you, increasing the intensity by tenfold. Your body tightened around him, your muscles clenching and releasing in an erratic dance that had him groaning in response.

You were so close, so very close. The orgasm was building, coiling tighter and tighter in your core, threatening to consume you. You could feel it, the impending release, the wave about to crash down on you. Your eyes squeezed shut, your breath coming in shallow pants, and when Spencer’s thumb slid against your clit with just the right amount of force, you almost yelled out.

The sensation was like a bolt of lightning, striking you at your very core. Your body arched off the bed, back bowing as much as it could as the orgasm hit. It was as if every nerve in your body was on fire, pleasure coursing through your veins like molten lava. Your pussy clenched around his cock, squeezing him in a vice-like grip as you felt a rush of liquid spill out of you.

You had never felt anything like this before—the intensity of your climax was so powerful that it was almost painful. Your muscles clenched and released in rapid succession, each spasm sending a fresh wave of pleasure through you. Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise, watching as you gushed around him, your juices coating his thighs.

He was still moving, still driving into you with a ferocity that was both terrifying and thrilling. But now there was something else in his gaze—something primal, something that told you he needed more. He needed to hear you beg for it, needed to hear the acknowledgement that he was the one making you come apart like this.

"Say it," he growled. "Tell me how much you need me to cum inside you."

You didn’t need to think, didn’t need to hesitate. The truth was there, pulsing through your body with every beat of your heart. "I need it, Spencer," you gasped out. "Please, cum inside me."

Spencer’s eyes darkened, his pupils dilating with lust. His thumb worked your clit harder, his cock plunging into you with a new urgency that had your toes curling. "Say it again," he demanded, his voice low and gruff.

"I need you to cum deep inside me," you moaned, the words slipping out with ease. "Make me yours, Spencer."

With a feral snarl, he gave into the demand, slamming into you one last time, so deep it was as if he was trying to reach your soul. His cock pulsed, thick and hard, as he filled you with his hot cum, the sensation sending you spiralling over the edge once more. Your pussy clenched around him, milking him for every drop as your body trembled with the aftershocks of your shared orgasm.

Spencer stayed inside you for a moment longer, his body still shuddering with the aftershocks of release. His breath was hot and uneven against your neck, his fingers gripping your waist as though letting go might break whatever fragile, beautiful thing had settled between you in the aftermath.

Your body was spent, trembling beneath him, every muscle wrung out and aching in a way that promised to linger. Your legs were still slack over his shoulders, your hips sore from being bent in half for so long. But none of it compared to the deep, satiated warmth flooding your body.

Spencer pressed his lips to your temple, a whisper of something sweet and unintelligible before he finally—reluctantly—pulled out of you. You winced at the loss, a small sound of discomfort slipping past your lips.

He caught it immediately. “Are you okay?” His voice was still thick and heavy with exhaustion, but the concern beneath it was unmistakable.

You nodded, but when you moved to shift your legs, a sharp twinge shot through your hips, making you suck in a breath. “Just sore,” you admitted, your voice raspy.

Spencer’s hands were on you in an instant, his touch impossibly gentle as he smoothed his palms over your thighs, easing them back down. His fingers traced light circles over your skin, coaxing the tension from your aching muscles.

“Yeah,” he murmured, his lips twitching slightly, though his voice remained tender. “I guess that’s what happens when you let me fold you in half.”

You huffed out a tired laugh, swatting weakly at his chest. He caught your hand before you could pull away, bringing it to his lips and pressing a lingering kiss to your palm before setting it back down.

Despite the teasing, his eyes stayed warm, scanning your face with quiet attentiveness. He could read you better than anyone, and right now, his expression told you he wasn’t going to let you brush off the soreness.

Without another word, he slid an arm beneath your shoulders and another under your knees. His movements were careful, deliberate, as he lifted you effortlessly, shifting you further up the bed so you weren’t half-hanging off anymore. He took his time settling you against the pillows, smoothing a hand down your side before pressing another soft kiss to your temple.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured before slipping into the bathroom.

A moment later, the low rush of water filled the quiet.

You barely had time to miss him before he returned, his hands warm as they found your waist, coaxing you onto your stomach with gentle ease.

“A warm bath will help,” he told you, his voice soft, already kneading slow, careful circles into your hips. “The heat increases circulation. It’ll help relax your muscles and reduce soreness.”

You hummed in agreement, your body already melting beneath his touch as his thumbs pressed into the tender spots, working out the tension.

Spencer had always been meticulous in everything he did, and this was no exception. His fingers traced the path of each ache, pressing into the tight muscles with an almost surgical precision. He started at your hips, kneading slow and firm before moving down to your upper thighs, his palms smoothing over the lingering soreness from how tightly you had been held open for him.

Then, as if sensing the exact moment the bath had reached the perfect level, Spencer shifted, pressing one last kiss to your spine before slipping off the bed. A second later, the sound of running water ceased.

He returned just as quickly, his hands finding yours as he helped you sit up. The movement sent another twinge through your sore hips, but he was there, steadying you, keeping you upright with infinite patience.

"Think you can walk?" His voice was soft, but there was an undertone of quiet amusement, like he already knew the answer.

You rolled your eyes. "Of course I—"

The moment you shifted your weight, your legs wobbled, refusing to cooperate after everything they had been through. Spencer caught you instantly, his grip firm but gentle.

You sighed, dropping your forehead against his shoulder. "Okay. Maybe not gracefully."

Spencer chuckled, tightening his hold around your waist. "I’ve got you," he murmured.

And he did.

With slow, careful steps, he guided you toward the bathroom, letting you lean into him as much as you needed. The warmth of the steam wrapped around you as soon as you stepped inside, the faint scent of soap lingering in the air.

The bath was full, the surface shimmering with a light layer of bubbles. The water looked inviting, and your sore muscles practically ached at the sight of it.

Spencer helped you ease down, his hands steadying you until you were fully settled in the warmth. The heat licked up your skin, the contrast making you shudder as the tension in your body slowly began to unwind.

Spencer lingered for a moment, watching you with something quiet and unreadable in his expression. Then, with a final brush of his fingers along your skin, he murmured, “I’ll be right back,” and stood.

You barely registered him leaving, too lost in the warmth of the water, the way it cradled your sore body. You let yourself sink deeper, the tension melting away with each passing second.

You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that, eyes closed, mind drifting somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. The water lapped gently at your skin, its warmth working into every sore muscle, and for a moment, you let yourself exist in it, weightless and pliant.

Then the sound of quiet footsteps pulled you back.

You blinked your eyes open just in time to see Spencer step back into the bathroom. Your gaze flickered over him, tracing the lines of his lean body, the familiar angles of his hips, the gentle curve of his stomach. He was already a little flushed from the heat of the steam, and when he caught your eyes on him, a small smirk tugged at his lips.

“Miss me?” His voice was light, teasing, but there was something softer beneath it, something warm.

You hummed, tilting your head back against the edge of the tub. “Depends. What did you bring me?”

Instead of answering, he stepped into the bath behind you, lowering himself into the water with a quiet sigh. His legs bracketed yours, his chest pressing to your back as he pulled you effortlessly against him. The warmth of his body only added to the heat of the water, sinking into your skin, wrapping around you like something safe and steady.

“Does this count?” he murmured, his lips brushing the curve of your shoulder.

You exhaled, your body already melting into his. “It’s a good start.”

Spencer hummed in amusement, his arms looping around your waist, his fingers skimming lightly over your stomach. His touch was absentminded at first, just the slow, lazy drag of his fingertips over damp skin. But then his hands wandered lower, tracing over the sore muscles in your thighs, his touch becoming more deliberate.

“Hurts?” he asked, his voice low against your ear.

You nodded, sighing as he pressed his thumbs into the knots along the inside of your thighs. His touch was gentle but firm, working out the lingering ache with slow, methodical pressure.

“I was a little rough with you,” he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You smiled, reaching down to place your hand over his. “I liked it.”

Spencer let out a soft breath—half a laugh, half something else entirely. His lips brushed the back of your ear, his nose nudging against damp skin as he murmured, “I noticed.”

Heat curled in your stomach, but it was different this time—softer, lazier. You were both too spent to turn this into anything more, too content to do anything but sit there, tangled together in the warmth.

For a while, you just existed like that, the quiet hum of the water surrounding you, Spencer’s hands smoothing over your skin, his breath a steady presence against your shoulder. It felt intimate in a way that went beyond the physical, something unspoken settling between you, something you weren’t quite ready to name.

Then Spencer shifted slightly, reaching for a washcloth.

He soaked it in the water before lathering it with soap, then smoothed it over your shoulder, working slowly, unhurriedly. He worked down your arms, to your wrists, then across your collarbone, taking his time as if there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be. When he reached your thighs, he was just as careful, his hands skimming over the lingering soreness with a tenderness that sent warmth curling deep in your chest. And when his fingers slipped between your legs, it wasn’t sexual—it was soft, a quiet act of care that made your breath catch in an entirely different way.

Spencer pressed a kiss to the side of your head, his voice barely above a whisper. "Okay?"

You nodded, sinking deeper into him. “Yeah.”

Spencer pressed a kiss to your temple before setting the cloth aside. Then, finally, he reached for his own, making quick work of cleaning himself before shifting behind you, his arms wrapping around your waist again.

“We should get out before you fall asleep in here,” he murmured.

You made a small, sleepy sound of protest, earning another quiet chuckle from him.

Still, you let him help you sit forward.

Spencer stood first, stepping out and grabbing a towel before turning back to you. His hands were steady at your waist as he guided you up, wrapping the towel securely around you before grabbing another for himself.

He took his time drying you off, his movements careful and slow. There was something so grounding about it—the way he ran the soft fabric over your skin, the way he made sure you were completely warm before leading you back into the bedroom.

The warmth of the bedroom welcomed you as Spencer led you inside, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows over the freshly made bed. Your steps slowed slightly as you took in the small changes—clean sheets, fresh bottles of water waiting on the nightstand, the quiet thoughtfulness in every detail.

You hadn’t even noticed him doing all of this, yet somehow, he had.

A quiet sort of surprise settled in your chest, spreading through you in a way that had nothing to do with the heat of the bath. Spencer didn’t say anything about it, didn’t draw attention to the care he had taken. He just guided you forward, steady as ever, as if making sure you were comfortable was second nature to him.

Wordlessly, he reached for one of the water bottles, twisting off the cap before pressing it into your hands. “Drink it slowly,” he murmured.

You nodded, lifting it to your lips and taking a few small sips before setting it aside. When you turned back to him, he was already moving toward the dresser, pulling out a soft tank top and a pair of underwear.

His gaze flicked to yours as he held them out. “Unless you’d rather sleep naked.”

You smirked, arching a brow. “Would that be a problem?”

Spencer’s lips twitched, but he only hummed in response, waiting patiently as you stepped into the clothes. His fingers brushed against your skin here and there, never lingering too long, just small, fleeting touches as he helped ease the fabric into place.

Spencer grabbed his discarded boxers from the floor, shaking them out before stepping back into them. Once they were settled low on his hips, he turned his attention back to you, his fingers brushing over your wrist in a silent check. His gaze traced over your face, searching for any lingering discomfort. Satisfied, he gave your hand a small squeeze before stepping over to the bed.

He pulled back the covers, motioning for you to slip in first before following after you. As soon as he was beneath the blankets, he reached for you instinctively, guiding you closer until your body was pressed to his. One arm curled around your waist, his fingers grazing over the hem of your tank top in absent patterns.

There was no rush, no urgency—just the quiet, lingering warmth between you, something deeper than exhaustion and far softer than lust.

Spencer’s fingers traced lazy patterns against your side, his touch featherlight, barely there. The warmth of his body against yours, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek, the quiet hum of his breathing—it was everything, a rhythm you had never imagined would feel so natural.

You sighed, shifting just enough to look up at him. His eyes were soft in the dim light, golden and half-lidded with exhaustion, but still watching you like you were the only thing that mattered. Like he was trying to memorize you, afraid to blink in case this moment somehow disappeared.

A small, sleepy smile tugged at your lips. "I can’t believe we’re here."

Spencer’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering over his face. "In bed? Or…?"

You huffed, swatting lightly at his chest, but this time, he didn’t catch your hand. He let you get away with it, probably because neither of you had the energy for anything more than this lazy teasing. Probably because it was different now, softer somehow, the sharp edges of whatever had existed between you dulled by something warmer, something neither of you had been ready to name before now.

"You know what I mean." Your voice was quiet, not accusing—just full of wonder, of something tender and deep-seated.

Spencer exhaled, his hand stilling on your waist. "Yeah," he murmured, voice low. "I know."

A silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It was full—full of everything that had led to this moment, full of every argument, every stubborn, exasperated glare, every sarcastic remark. Full of every moment you had spent challenging each other, pushing, pulling, refusing to give an inch—until one day, the fire had shifted from something destructive to something entirely different, something that burned just as intensely but no longer threatened to consume you whole.

Spencer’s fingers moved again, tracing slow, thoughtful circles into your side. "I used to think we’d end up tearing each other apart one day. Like two forces that couldn’t exist in the same space without colliding, without breaking something in the process."

You laughed, the sound muffled against his skin. "So did the team."

"Probably still do," he mused, the corner of his mouth twitching. "But I think we surprised them."

You lifted your head slightly, meeting his gaze. "We surprised ourselves."

Spencer didn’t argue. He just looked at you, something unspoken shifting in his expression, something too vast to put into words. He swallowed, as if trying to find something to say, but for once, he had nothing. No facts, no statistics, no carefully crafted words—just you, just this.

You reached up, smoothing a hand over his cheek, feeling the faint roughness of stubble beneath your palm. "I’m glad," you whispered. "That we’re here. That it’s you."

Spencer’s fingers curled slightly, gripping you just a little tighter, as if to ground himself in the moment. His voice was quieter when he spoke. "Me too. More than you know."

You exhaled, letting your eyes flutter shut, the weight of sleep pulling at your limbs. But before you could drift off completely, you felt Spencer shift, pressing his lips to your forehead, soft and lingering. His breath was warm, his presence steady, unwavering.

"Get some sleep," he murmured against your skin. "I’ll be here when you wake up."

You didn’t answer. You didn’t need to.

Because you were safe. Because you were where you belonged.

Because you were his, and he was yours.

And for the first time in a long, long time, everything felt exactly as it should be. No more resisting, no more second-guessing. For so long, friction had kept you apart, pushing and pulling, igniting sparks that threatened to burn everything down. But now, it was different. Now, it was warmth, steady and sure, something to lean into instead of fight against.

Everything else faded—the past, the doubts, the stubborn refusal to see what had always been there. All that remained was the warmth of him beside you, the steady cadence of his breath, and the quiet truth that you had finally stopped resisting what was meant to be.

Part One

[ari-biri]

comm ty!