HAPPY BIRTHDAY ANGEL!!!! 🥳 It Was Really Fun To Draw His Patterns Lol I Hope Y’all Enjoy This One!!

me: *is jokingly mean to my friend*

friend: *jokingly pretends to be hurt*

me:

If you’re still adding people to the firey familiarity tag list, I would love to be on it 👉👈

absolutely!!! i will add you to it as soon as i post the next part <3

Some Genshin Impact girls I drew!~

| More artworks |

spreading the nonbinary/trans DCA agenda

"oh sorry, i guess i was infodumping again" - sad, shy, apologetic

"you sly dog, you got me monologuing" - cool, strong, confident

THREE’S A CROWD

from THE KINK LIST

Request from @sebs-oxygen “I really need a threesome with spencer and hotchner”

Summary: Somehow you end up in bed with your boyfriend and your boss

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (Smut)

Content Warning: R18 (threesome, fingering, oral (m receiving by f and m), protected penetrative sex, praise kink, little bit of degrading kink, slight size kink, some action spencer x aaron activities, Dom!Aaron x Dom!Spencer x Sub!Reader )

Word Count: 3.6k

Masterlist Navigation

You don’t really know how it happened. Like at all. One minute you’re in the hotel bar, doing a few shots and playing a few rounds of Would You Rather, some scandalous comments that are less than professional, and the next minute, your boyfriend’s in front of you, striding with a purpose to your hotel room while your boss follows behind you.

In your head… Well, you’re trying not to get too in your head about it, so you’re thinking about Penelope and how much she would flip out if she knew what you were about to get up to.

Keep reading

Fiery Familiarty - Part 4

i’m so sorry yall ;;; i really meant to post before now, my brain has been all over the place. but finally, here you have part 4, please forgive me!! i hope you guys enjoy <3

words: ~2.1k

prologue | part 1 | part 2 | part 3

When you awoke the following day, you were almost nervous to leave your room. As you dressed, you mentally prepared yourself, taking a deep breath before you walked out to greet everyone else. You greeted everyone politely, elbowing Toph and Sokka as you fought for your morning meal. You thanked Pipsqueak before taking your food, settling in to watch Aang and Zuko training. 

You couldn’t help but cringe as Zuko let out a particularly frustrated growl, changing form in an effort to get more out of his bending. “Don’t patronize me! You know what it’s supposed to look like!”

“Sorry, Sifu Hotman!”

You snickered around your breakfast at the nickname.

“Hey, jerks!” Sokka sat beside you, munching his apple. “Mind if I watch you two jerks do your jerk bending?” 

You elbowed him, “Shut it.”

“Get out of here!”

“Okay, take it easy.” Sokka drops his apple, “I was just kiddin' around.” He snickers to himself as he walks away, “jerkbending, still got it.”

You watched Zuko sink in on himself, groaning in frustration at his own failure. You decided to leave them to train in peace, not noticing Zuko’s eyes trailing after you as you went. 

Once you caught up to Sokka, you shoved him. “Hey, idiot, what was that for, do you have a death wish or something? Willingly bothering an angry bender? Has Katara taught you nothing?”

He chuckled to himself shoving you back, “Hey, not my fault I’m so naturally hilarious. Besides, he’s so fun to tease now that he’s on our side.” He threw an arm around your shoulder, “besides, I think he’s got other interests. Somebody was asking about you this morning.”

Your eyes widened as you looked over to him, “what?”

Sokka’s face pulled into a Cheshire cat grin, “oh yeah, he was asking all about you this morning. Who you were, where you were from, what we knew about you. Seemed to reaallllly wanna get to know you. You got something going on with Prince Grumpy?” 

Your heart was pounding so loud that Sokka’s voice sounded muted. Had he figured it out? Surely not, or everyone would know. Right?

You laughed nervously, trying to keep your voice steady. “No way, I think he’s just asking 'cause I talked to him yesterday. Asked him about some stuff, he probably just wants to know more about who he’s teamed up with.”

Sokka swung his arms behind his head, crossing them to support it. “Okay, whatever you say! But I’m telling you, he’s more than just curious. There’s something more there.”

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, you tried to will it away as you grumbled, “whatever.” You passed him and went to check on Toph. You chose to spend the rest of your day with the others, exploring the Air Temple and playing mindless games to entertain yourselves. 

Around the campfire, after Zuko came to the realization that he didn’t have the rage and anger to fuel his bending, Toph explained how she learned from the original source, the badgermoles. Though, seeing as the dragons had since gone extinct, he and Aang decided they were going to visit the civilization of the Sun Warriors. They set off bright and early the next day. 

You paced all day until they returned, rushing to check on them. Aang laughed, assuring you they were alright before launching into another of his long-winded stories. You all got a good laugh out of their very sacred dragon dance.

Later that night, you guys sat around the fire, sharing food and laughter. 

“You should’ve seen the look on his face, I’ve never seen a kid so scared about a baby tiger seal!” Katara’s cackle was infectious, everyone joining in as Sokka whined at her for exposing him.

You chuckled softly, nudging him, “Don’t worry Sokka, I remember back home when we would visit the turtleducks, Zu-” You panicked, coughing to cover the fumble. “My friend Zumon, he used to bug them and the mother would bite him.”

The others laughed softly but mostly continued to tease Sokka and tell more stories. You could tell Toph felt your heart start pounding. She tapped your leg in concern, to which you tapped back twice for “I’m okay.”

You could feel Zuko staring at you. You lifted your gaze to meet his, your breath catching in your throat. He knew. There was no way he didn’t, not with the shock in his expression. He almost looked hurt, and you couldn’t take it. You stood up, quietly bidding everyone a good night, claiming you were tired. In reality, you barely slept.

You woke up before the morning sun had even risen, a hand on your shoulder. You panicked, sitting up so fast it made you dizzy.

“Sorry,” Zuko whispered, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You felt some tension bleed as you realized it wasn’t someone coming to attack you, but some came back when you realized that it was Zuko. Your Zuko. The Zuko you deceived into thinking you weren’t his childhood friend. Who found out by accident because you had slipped up in your stupid story. “Zuko… hey.”

“Hi,” his awkward attitude strikes back. “I was… Well, I was wondering if you- If you’d like to train. With me.”

“I’m not sure if that’s such a good idea-”

“Please.”

You could see the hope in his eyes, even in the dim light.

“...Okay”

You got on some light clothes, following Zuko out to where he’d been training with Aang. He sat down, patting the spot beside him. “So…”

You laughed softly, “so…”

“Why… didn’t you say anything?”

The dreaded question. “I didn’t mean to lie to you… I just couldn’t tell them. You have to understand, having someone from the Fire Nation try to join them? That was not an option. I couldn’t tell anyone. After I left, I had to blend in. I became a lost child, an orphan. Everyone assumed my family had been killed in the war, and I couldn’t tell anyone the truth. The family of the Fire Nation generals, even a child, are not treated kindly. I didn’t get my scar from a trip and fall,” you laughed bitterly.

Zuko paused, taking in your words before responding, “I didn’t mean why you didn’t tell anyone. I mean, why didn’t you say anything to me before you left? Y/n, you were… You were my only friend.”

Your heart dropped as you looked at him, grabbing his hands, “I never wanted to leave you, Zuko. There was never a day when I didn’t regret leaving you behind, you were my best friend. But after what I heard, their plans to enslave a town of innocent people… I couldn’t stay there.”

As Zuko studied your expression, he could see the distress in your eyes. His eyes softened, “If anyone understands the cruelty of the Fire Nation, it’s me. I’m just glad you got the chance to get out of there. It just… hurt. Losing my best, my only friend. Then when mom left…”

You leaned forward, hesitating before hugging him, tears welling in your eyes. “I’m so sorry for not being there when you needed me. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been to lose her, Ursa was so kind and loving… I’ll never let you go through something like that alone, not again.”

As you pulled back, you saw a sole tear stream down his face. You raised a hand to his cheek, swiping your thumb across it as he leaned ever so slightly into your touch. “I promise, Zu.”

And as the Zuko in front of you looked into your eyes, you could see the broken boy he used to be, a weak smile finally gracing his face.

He closed his eyes, taking a moment to gather himself before pulling back. “Will you train with me? I… can teach you what I learned from the dragons.”

Your eyes widened, “I’m honoured, Zuko, but if they catch me-“

“The sun isn’t even awake yet, Y/n. Just this once, bend with me. It’s been years.”

You couldn’t resist those puppy dog eyes.

You nodded, stepping towards him as you bowed to each other. “I haven’t used my bending in years, I can’t promise I’ll be any good to practice with.”

A soft laugh, “I supposed I'll have to show you how a real master does it then, huh?”

You let out a scoff, shaking your head playfully, “you, a master? I saw you a couple days ago, that little smoke show wasn’t master level.”

He grinned, sliding into his first form, “that was before a dragon showed me my true power. Here, I’ll show you.” He moved so fluidly, from one motion to another before he struck. The sheer amount of fire, the heat radiating from his bending, it was mesmerizing.

You smiled, “Oh great Sifu Hotman, show me your ways!” You waved your hands in fake worship, eyes swimming with mischief.

“Spirits, not you too!” You let out a cackle as he grumbled about the ‘stupid nickname’. 

“Well, come on, teach me.”

His grumpy expression seemed to soften, his eyes betraying him. He slid behind you, “may I?”

You nodded without even thinking about what he was asking to do.

You gasped as he placed his hands ever so softly. You had forgotten how bending heated his hands. His touch felt deliciously warm with the morning air cooling your skin. You inhaled, holding your breath as his feather-light touch slid over your arms, guiding you. 

“Uncle always told me that your firepower comes from breathing, not muscle.” He pressed gently on your diaphragm, “breathe, Y/n.”

You drew a shaky breath, closing your eyes to try and steady yourself. You focused on his voice, on the electricity buzzing under your skin everywhere he touched.

“Good. Your breath becomes your energy. It powers you, it extends out and becomes your fire. Let the air fuel your flame.” He was so close you could feel his breath against your neck and he pushed you into form.

Your eyes shot open as you felt all the energy culminating, a flame shooting out of your hand. Your eyes lit up as you turned to him, “I did it!”

He laughed, “I told you, you just needed a master to teach you.”

Your smile turned to a cocky grin, “oh yeah? We’ll get ready to get your butt whooped, O’ Great Fire Master. You can’t stop me now that I’ve got my spark back!”

You let out a laugh as you pushed, a flame forcing him the deflect. That was all it took to get him going. You mimicked him, mirroring his forms in a perfect act of push and pull. It brought back old memories of long-forgotten childhood games, and silly moves you once used. You let out an excited yelp as he threw his ‘Super Mega Prince Fireball’ at you, nearly tripping over yourself as you dodged it. Zuko couldn’t help but play fight when it brought such a lovely shine to your eyes.

Then suddenly, as if the puzzle pieces had fallen into place, you remembered an old dance. One from such a distant memory, you were sure he had forgotten. But as you took your first step, and hummed a note, hoping he would remember… You could see recognition cross his face as he took the next step, humming the note to match. The raspy notes in his voice matched with the even tone in yours, creating the melody you’d missed so dearly. 

You danced around each other, letting out plumes of fire, your bodies brushing against each other in an intricate dance. As the tune built to its crescendo, your eyes met and suddenly it was like the world ceased to exist outside of him. He danced so perfectly, it’s like you were an extension of each other. You could feel your heart pounding as your feet moved in sync, a harmony you had never known until now. Then, on the last note, he swept you up, the way he’d never had the courage to do as a child. Zuko held you close before he dipped you, and both your opposite hands reached up toward the sky. Then, in your final pose, your hands wove together, shooting out flames that mixed so hot it burned white. 

You both held the pose, bodies pressed together as your chests heaved from the exertion. You were staring into his eyes as though you’d never see each other again, drinking each other in with a breathless smile. You almost forgot that you weren’t the only people in the temple.

“Well well, looks like Sparky finally found his match.”

taglist:  @mochminnie @martinys-world @shinyakii @typicallydepressedandanxious

BLOOD ORANGE (full)

Description: You get your period during your adventure and anxiously wonder… can Astarion tell? Why is he acting like that? Looking at you like that? Smut ensues. (Takes place before you’ve ever slept together.)

Rating: Explicit, +18, MDNI

Pairing: Astarion x Fem!Reader

Warnings: anxiety, sexual tension, mild blood, period sex, vampire biting, blood drinking, teasing, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, porn without plot, fluff and smut

Wordcount: ~7k (~3k just smut)

Read on AO3 or below the cut ♥

Something discomforting interrupts your sleep.

Sensations filter into consciousness - stars, crickets’ songs, the hard earth beneath you, and the smell of your now ashen campfire. A dull ache and heaviness spreads down your back and through your pelvis. It's a familiar feeling; it's just your period, though that isn’t much consolation at the moment. It still might as well be a stab wound.

You shift your weight with irritation and curse to yourself. Of all the times for this to happen, now was particularly annoying. During the day, you could've found something to distract yourself. But now, you’re expected to sit still among all your peacefully sleeping companions with nothing to dampen the pain. It's already starting to feel like knives carving into your body from the inside.

When this happened weeks prior, you were able to pull Shadowheart aside and she was happy to cast a spell to alleviate the pain. Part of you would like to ask her for that again now, but you don't get the sense you’re close enough with her to wake her at this hour. It wouldn't be the end of the world... but your pride and anxiety insist that it's just not an option. She did, however, give you a blood-catching cloth that you could use for next time. That was nice of her. 

You clutch at your sacrum when another painful sensation rakes through your insides. You ache to change clothes and be alone so you can groan and stretch in peace. There's bound to be a clearing in the forest not far from here where you could do that. Carefully pulling some supplies from your pack, you excuse yourself to go find such a place.

After hobbling through the woods for a few meters, the perfect spot comes into view. The trees are dispersed widely with large patches of soft grass creating space between them. Dew is already starting to blanket the ground. This will do. Undressing from the waist down, you notice a small stain of garnet blood has already marred your underwear. You change into clean clothes and put the blood catching cloth in place, wincing and groaning dramatically as you do so.

Finally, you lie down in the cool grass and release a deep breath, finding some comfort in at least being alone. But the cramps still painful and debilitating. Stretching usually helps you ease the gnawing and clenching of your muscles, so you cycle through a few positions for several minutes. You end up on all fours, arching your spine and dipping your navel toward the earth. You sigh with relief and find yourself almost growing sleepy again . . .

"Having a midnight romp, are we?" 

A silken voice hits your ears and sends your head spinning behind you.

Astarion stands at the edge of your forest sanctuary. He gently leans against a tree with his arms loosely crossed. He wears his usual camp clothes and a simpering expression.

"Ah, it's just you." Your bristles lower when you register the voice and see his familiar face. You rearrange yourself into a more dignified seated position. "Stalking me then, are we?"

"I wouldn't call it stalking so much as just following a loud, clumsy woman a few paces outside of our camp. Curiosity got the better of me," he says with some playfulness.

You smile a little. Quips like that used to annoy you, but you've grown quite fond of his sarcasm and banter these past few weeks.

"Well, you have found the loud, clumsy woman. Sorry if I disturbed your rest. I tried to be quiet," you say.

"Please, it's not like I need any more beauty sleep," he teases.

You smirk at him but say nothing. Your insides recoil a bit when you feel the temptation to agree. Truthfully, you've developed something of a 'crush’ on him, and it's reaching a certain point where you’re not always sure how to respond to his silly or suggestive comments. His roguish good looks and vicious aura don't help; he is indisputably attractive. Dangerously so.

But, a love affair is the last thing you want to further complicate your tadpole predicament with, especially with someone who can be so unpredictable. At least, this is what you tell yourself when the thought arises.

Besides, you don't want to stroke his ego too much. You've already been letting him feed from you nearly every night under the guise of 'I need you stronger for battles,' but truthfully… you enjoy it.

You enjoy the rush of adrenaline and the atmosphere of closeness that comes when his lips wrap around your neck. The sharp shock of pain that melts into a cold pleasurable tingle in your veins. You also like seeing the aftermath play out in his features. It always seems to have a very restorative and rousing effect on him. The way his mannerisms and expressions change after drinking from your body; It does something to you that you’re not quite willing to admit. 

"You know," he says, forced to break the silence. "I was a bit surprised you didn't invite me for a bite tonight... Not that I’m here to beg!" His hands raise in mock defense and he smiles sheepishly. "I just... well, you may have spoiled me a bit." 

A short laugh escapes you and you glance away shyly. "It's just been a busy day. I didn't mean to leave you hanging." This was the truth. "Besides, I’m not feeling very well so it's probably for the best. I likely wouldn't make a very good meal."

"Oh, I don't know..." he says trailing off. The corner of his lip twitches.

You notice something's a bit weird about him tonight... weirder than normal. He’s smiling but it seems off - an edge behind his cool exterior. Over these past few weeks, you've seen so many different expressions on his face but this one you don’t recognize. He’s also never sought you out to ask 'why not tonight?' when you didn't extend an invitation in the past. And it seems out of character for him to do anything that could be interpreted as desperation.

"What's got you feeling so poorly?" he asks almost sweetly.

"Just some stomach cramps," you say flatly and divert your gaze again. Annoyed he's making you elaborate on a potentially embarrassing situation. You regret mentioning feeling unwell in the first place.

In a tone that doesn't sound all that genuinely concerned, he sings, "Oh dear, I hope you're not the first of us to come down with some nasty food poisoning."

There's an ounce of breathiness to his voice - provocative as usual. But normally his torso and arms sway about expressively when the two of you chat. Those sweeping arms and gratuitous body language are now replaced with just the tiniest lift of his heels from the ground when he speaks. His arms folded over his waist, tightly, unmoving.

His stillness unnerves you. It also seems out of character for him to offer help... or pry…

You notice his eyelids are soft but his stare has so much potency behind it.

A sharp realization finally pierces your mind. You do recognize this look.

Gods above, so caught up in mulling over your infatuation and reading his cues that you didn’t even consider…

Does he… does he know you’re bleeding?

Can he smell you? 

Of course he can.

He's like a shark when there's a bloodied scene nearby. He always makes a point to mention it so the rest of us will be on guard during our travels. 'There's blood in the air.' 

You recognize this look from the first night he tried to bite you – suppressing his urge to devour you.

Ice in your veins.

You swallow thickly.

Detaching yourself from the thought as quickly as possible, you huff and try to squash the present discussion with some good old-fashioned beating around the bush.

 "Okay well... it's not a stomach cramp per say, um… I don’t really think you would relate. The important thing is I can promise it won't come to affect you too," you say curtly.

You can feel yourself blushing, your chest a bit tight with anxiety. If he didn't sense it before, then he must know now. This topic usually provokes some disgust and awkwardness from people who don't experience it, but you've never given thought to how a vampire would react. Which seems ridiculous now, considering you've been letting one feed from your neck nearly every night for weeks now. Your mind screams the last part silently.

"Ah, say no more," he says politely, seeming to understand your hints. "Forgive my nosiness."

You’re relieved the reaction isn't an unpleasant one. "It's fine," you reply quickly. "I just needed to find somewhere to groan in peace."

"You're sure it's not ceremorphosis?" he jests, feigning nervousness. He knows it isn't, but it lightens the mood. "You'll have a hard time convincing Lae'zel that it isn't." 

"Do githyanki not have periods?" I ask with genuine curiosity.

"Oh I have no idea. And I do not intend to ask." 

You'd find it funnier if you weren't so uncomfortable, but it does clear the last fragments of tension in the air. As if on cue, a sharp pain suddenly hitches your breath and makes you wince. Now that the hellcat's out of the bag, you don't bother masking your discomfort.

Astarion clicks his tongue and quickly apologizes when he sees your face contort. He takes a hesitant step towards you and then seems to root himself in place again. 

“It’s okay," you say through pinched features. “A nuisance. I’ll be fine by morning.”

"I suppose I should give you your privacy then,” Astarion drawls out rather slowly. His eyes skim up and down your body intentionally before he turns to leave. He wears a similar smile to the one that befalls him after feeding on you – the same one you’d never admit does wicked things to you.

"If I can be of any assistance to you tomorrow, please... let me know," he says over his shoulder. “Sweet dreams~”

~

The next morning, Shadowheart aids you. She insists you can wake her next time. She won't mind. 

As you venture forth, you can’t help but think back to the last time you had your period during your journey and how Astarion might (must…) have smelled you then too.

It was early into your travels, no more than 24 hours after surviving the nautiloid crash. You remember cursing to yourself about the timing, but there aren’t any memorable details beyond that. Any aches and pains were likely overshadowed by the daunting threat of ceremorphosis and energy spent getting to know your new companions.

You try to specifically recall Astarion's demeanor during those few days, but it's hard to remember anything outstanding. He was terribly reserved for the better part of a week when you started travelling together. ‘What’s there to tell? ...It’s all rather tedious.’ Only after his vampirism was exposed did he seem to strike up more conversations and wear more emotions on his face. But you do eventually remember an exception…

His façade seemed to crack when you stumbled upon a gory scene of bloodied gnolls and hyenas. His demeanor was suddenly strange and turbulent when you stood amongst them. Surrounded by piles of mutilated flesh and impossibly wide puddles of blood, even your less-attuned senses were saturated with the metallic aroma. He was trembling, gasping almost through each sentence. Desperate to move on and away from the area once we’d killed them all.

You remember thinking in the moment that he seemed more shaken up than you would’ve expected. And his comments about the overwhelming smell of blood... it seemed to disturb him more than anyone else – even though he’d given off the impression he was no stranger to violence and killing.

Now, you realize it wasn’t the carnage that disturbed him – but his own frenzied hunger.

The thought sends a shiver down your neck. There are some scaled similarities to his behavior then and his behavior now when he feeds from you. He all but vibrates with energy before supping on your blood. He does a decent job at hiding it, but you still notice his breathing is ragged and his hands tremble when he goes to drink from you. And afterwards, he sways and laughs generously as though he's single handedly polished off a bottle of wine. It affects him like a drug, and you can’t help but wonder what it must feel like. You can’t help but wonder if it’s stimulating in other ways too.

~

When you're back at camp for the night, you have some red wine with the others to wind down. Two glasses in, you realize you’ve avoided talking to Astarion as much as you normally would today. A bit of guilt drips through you when you walk past his tent. He stands there now, the moonlight framing his elegant shape while he lazily thumbs through ‘The Roads to Darkness.’ Your eyes linger too long on the notch between his collar bones and the veins that swim up his forearms. Your feet bring you closer to him even though you have no plans of what to say.

He notices you, smiles, and closes his book to greet you. “Hello, my dear.”

 “Good evening, my friend~” You’re surprised at your own confidence, then you remember the wine.

“You seem in high spirits,” he cocks an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should have imbibed some of that Blackstaff after all.”

“Oh, you didn’t have any?” You’re surprised. He usually partakes.

“No, I’m afraid now might not be the best time to let my inhibitions~ get the better of me.” He looks at you suggestively. “Maybe in a few days… when I’m a little less distracted."

You’re once again confronted with the embarrassing reality that he might (must… your mind insists. He must…) sense the blood between your legs. It seems like he wants you to know it too. The thought shoots an arrow through your abdomen – pleasure laced with fear. You’d be lying if you said the thought of Astarion’s mouth moving below your neck didn’t occupy your mind at times. Would he enjoy tasting your blood mixed with the nectar of your arousal?

You give in to the thought momentarily, leaving you at a loss for words. Asking him exactly what is distracting him fills you with too much uncertainty to speak.

After several more silent seconds the only thing that comes to your mind is an invitation. A familiar one.

Hesitation cleaves between your mind and mouth. The offer you used to extend so effortlessly now sits heavy on your tongue. All the bravado the Blackstaff gave you earlier is gone in an instant. A thousand thoughts echo in your head at once before you feel the words finally spill from your lips:

“You can feed on me tonight if you want.”

He holds your eyes calculatingly for a moment before replying in a hushed voice. "Oh darling, only if you're sure you're feeling up to it. I wouldn't want to put you out, considering your condition." His tone feels genuine, warm even.

"I’m sure,” you say in an elevated pitch. Your mouth is so dry.

"Alright... well you know, we could meet in that same little plot you sniffed out last night. If you're still having trouble sleeping, of course."

You do not give yourself time to speculate what this could mean. The thought of being alone with him again makes your heart flutter violently. You feel as if you’re floating away from your own body when you hear yourself say, "That sounds good." 

He smiles. A glimpse of his tongue pressed between his teeth. "Until later then."

~

You lie awake in your bed roll, eyes glued to the night sky.  Your companions have surely all fallen asleep by now. It feels like you have waited an eternity.

You try to talk yourself down from the heady excitement bubbling inside you. There's no reason to react this way – you’ve done this plenty of times now. We're just doing it a different spot tonight, you tell yourself.

Nothing is going to happen. You’re just reading into things too much.

At no point in your conversations with Astarion did either of you express a want to be intimate, yet you feel the palpable anticipation of that possibility. How ridiculous. You’ve made assumptions about his intentions because of your little crush. That’s all. A fleeting interest, and one he likely does not reciprocate.  

Your anxiety surely has you overthinking his reaction to your period as well. This kind of blood is probably completely different from the fresh blood he’s always sniffing out anyway. It’s not like you’re bleeding out from a stab wound… even though it may feel a bit like it.

You glance at Astarion lying in his bedroll across the campfire. He lies curled up on his side so you can’t see his face – odd for him to sleep in that position. You climb to your feet quietly and make your way to the forest clearing. Your body feels much lighter than it did the evening before, disorienting-ly so.

It only takes a few moments to reach the grassy area from last night. Perhaps you’re walking a little faster than usual.

Attempting to relax, you elect to do more stretches until your companion arrives. It will help clear your mind and relieve any lingering muscle tension the cleric’s spell no longer helped with.

Before too long, Astarion’s footsteps can be heard approaching. He makes a bit of noise on purpose to alert you of his presence this time. You’re relieved he doesn’t choose to sneak up on you again. He catches you uncurling from a stretch when you see each other.

“Well, well. You remind me of a cat. So languid and flexible,” he says.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you laugh.

“You should.”

So forward. Your insides turn over at the affectionate notion and the sultry tone of his voice. It seems to undo all the self-talk you endured earlier.

“You remind me a bit of a cat too,” you tell him. “Nighttime prowls, stalking your prey and sneaking up on them…” Your tone is playfully pointed.

“Oh please! I didn’t startle you again tonight, did I?” he scoffs.

“No, just an observation. A compliment.” You can’t help it.

This earns a smile from him. “That’s very kind.”

The air waits expectantly for you to break the silence next.

“Should we…” you motion awkwardly toward the ground. Going about things this way is new.

He knows your meaning and doesn’t force you to finish the sentence. He simply graces you with another devilish smirk and follows your lead.

~

Strewn out on the forest ground is a blanket you brought from camp. You lie back on it and go to offer your neck, turning your nose to the side. Your heart beats quickly and your mouth secretly waters in anticipation. He kneels beside you and supports himself on his hands. But while descending toward you he pauses halfway down. You feel his silence and stillness stretch on longer than expected.

"Perhaps we should give this pretty neck of yours a break," he says quietly.

Surprised (and disappointed), you start to turn your head to face him, expecting him to pull back so your eyes could meet. Instead, he comes in close as if he still intends to bite you, blocking your movement.

Lips hovering just above your neck, his breath blooms down your chest. His upper body brushes against your breasts ever so slightly, sending warm electricity down your midsection and scattering through your abdomen. You stay melded together there for long seconds.

Does he mean...?

"What are you suggesting?" you finally ask breathlessly.

"Don't pretend you don't know." He hisses and peels himself up to find your eyes. There’s a small edge of urgency to his voice. "The - tsk… "

"...The scent of blood on you has driven me mad the past two nights," his voice wavers.

Of course...

You almost want to apologize, but the fact that he’s just confirmed your suspicion is staggering. You feel as though all the blood’s been drained from your body in an instant, and he hasn’t even bitten you yet. You’re frozen, grasping for words in vain while you stare into his crystal red eyes.

"And it’s not just the smell of your blood,” he continues. “-intoxicating as it is. I can't help but notice how much I've... enjoyed your company lately. I've taken many moments to wonder what it would be like to… enjoy more of you."

The words send desire rolling through your body, surging deep in your chest and spilling into your sacrum. Astarion’s never shied away from directing flirty comments at you, but his tone is often flippant, bordering on disingenuous at times. Now though, his words feel truthful, vulnerable.

It’s exciting to hear him acknowledge the chemistry you’ve begun to share. The heavy trepidation your attraction once carried suddenly feels much lighter, replaced with a small spark of confidence. The forest feels as though it's condensed around you, holding you both in an impenetrable cradle – quiet, shielded from the rest of the world. It’s safe to name your desires and share them here.

And Gods, to know without doubt that he’s also wondered what it would be like to fuck you… it fills you with such a renewed lust for him; you can’t deny it anymore.

"Do you wonder that too?" he asks gently.

You swallow and whisper hoarsely, "I do."

He shifts his weight closer to you again. A spike of anxiety jolts through you when you remember what started this conversation – the smell of your blood… an alternative to your neck…

An obscene vision of Astarion’s face licking blood from your cunt flashes in your mind. Your hips curl instinctively at the thought. A piece of your mind shatters from the possibility of it becoming a reality.

"Then, what say you? Are you inclined to get a little closer? As soon as tonight?” he presses further.

Wordlessly you place a hand on the side of his neck, thumb stroking the corner of his jaw. His skin is surprisingly soft and cool to the touch. A mixture of excitement and unease floods your senses. It's so surreal to be here with him now when you've pushed away many daydreams of a moment like this.

“I would like that,” you admit.

He smiles at your affirmation and closes the gap between your lips. Arousal erupts from your veins once again when he kisses you. His lips are soft but with a tempest behind them. The desire in his kiss is tinged with melancholy, quiet desperation crashing against you. His tongue caresses yours in ways nobody’s has before. Both responding and leading. Moving along you like water currents.

He sinks into you to deepen the kiss. Your body responds in kind, free hand finding his waist and legs seeking to tangle with his own. Your bodies brushing against each other for the first time is almost too much to bear. If something as simple as this elicits such a strong reaction, you can hardly imagine how the rest of the evening will affect you.

His legs move between your own, his hips persuading your thighs to open. His body is so cool against yours, burning hot. The contrast makes you ache to press your core, the hottest place, against him. He must read your mind because he lets his full weight fall into you so your temperatures can mix. It’s now that you can feel he’s hard, pressed between your legs. He moans lewdly into your mouth as he steals your heat. The combination of stimuli begins to transform your arousal. Thoughts and time begin to slip from comprehension.

Your hands snake underneath his shirt to run your fingers against his midsection. You remove each other’s clothes and steal kisses between each garment. His hands skate up your obliques and trace circles around your breasts, making you arch into him like, well, a cat. You laugh to yourself.

He begins to slide down your body. You instantly miss having his pelvis pressed against your own. He drags his lips, tongue, and occasionally the tip of a sharp canine along your exposed breasts and midsection. His hands expertly unloop your belt and tug the pants off your thighs.

Gods, are we really doing this? The cool night air enveloping your bare skin sobers you a bit.

“Still sure you’re up for losing a little more blood?” Astarion whispers huskily.

You nearly choke on your own spit at the audacity.

“You really have a gift for disarming comments,” you tell him.

“Just making sure we’re on the same page,” he says while thumbing at the hem of your underwear.

 He must notice how tense your muscles are because he pauses.

“Are you comfortable?” he asks earnestly.

“I… you’re not grossed out?” you wince through the question.

He blinks at you in disbelief. The concern in his features morphs into amusement.

“Darling… I’m a vampire. Did you forget?” he jokes. "No, I am not ‘grossed out’. I may not know what it feels like, but I do know it’s perfectly natural and…" His voice lowers, "it's something I’ve always been quite intrigued by the possibilities of, if I’m honest with you.”

Yet another indecent sensation spreads through your body at these words. How interesting. Relief, pride, and curiosity tangle themselves in your mind and you can’t help but start to smile.

“Is that all you’re worried about?” he asks as if there was something else he’d expected.

You nod, “Yes. I want this.” To reinforce the words, your body language relaxes, open and willing for him. You’ve suffered in anticipation of this for nearly 24 hours and it’s time to give in.

“Please,” you whisper, driving the point home. He seems to like this.

“Good,” his voice hums and his dark smile returns.

His fingers return to caress your body and hook over the waist of your panties. He tugs at the hem, up, towards your bellybutton, skillfully maneuvering the fabric to tease you and manipulate your flesh without directly touching. You sigh and tilt your hips to encourage him. He peels the garment off agonizingly slowly, savoring every moment more of your skin comes into view, until they’re stripped from your legs and discarded entirely.

He strokes the pads of his fingers in circles over your mons veneris. They skate closer and closer to your lips, driving you to insanity. Your hips strain into him, begging for his touch to finally reach your clit.

Instead, his hands slip under your knees to lift and bend your legs. Powerful emotions of arousal, embarrassment, and euphoria crash over you all at once when he pulls your knees apart and looks down at you. You can feel the cool air against your wetness now, unsure how much is blood or transparent arousal. His jaw hangs open slightly, and you swear his pupils dilate to an unnatural size as he takes in the sight. The entire position makes you feel deliciously vulnerable. You tremble under his gaze and fight the nagging instinct to clamp your legs shut as he hovers over you. Even harder you must fight it as his elbows come to the ground and his head lowers down between your thighs.

His mouth encloses around you slowly and deliberately, as if lacing his lips around a wine glass. He presses his tongue firm against your wetness, immediately releasing a long, debased groan that shatters any of your remaining insecurities.

You've already imagined what his voice must sound like during sex (it's impossible not to) but the reality of its sound is more guttural and feral than expected. The sound waves resonate through your body violently and the pleasure is so great you think you might be dead.

Alas, you are very much alive, lying on the forest floor with a vampire between your legs.

Astarion laps at every curve, everywhere the colors red and pink have stained your skin and further. His tongue moves with purpose and heavy pressure, seeking to consume every bit he can. Teeth skim against your soft flesh every so often, but never hard enough to hurt. Just enough to make you feel like an orange peel he seeks to scrape every last morsel of flesh and juice from.

He clutches at your ass cheeks while he feasts on you, thumbs pulling your center apart. He’s apparently licked your thighs and lips clean, because now he only pushes his tongue inside you, fucking you mercilessly with it. Every so often, he pauses this onslaught to pet your clitoris with the tip of this tongue, making your hips spasm and core tighten. The rhythm he teases you in makes you wetter and wetter. It’s the perfect vehicle to coax more blood from your pussy and into his mouth.

He removes himself for a moment and leans forward to kiss you again, lips slick with saliva and slightly swollen from friction.

He tastes of so many things at once. Saturated in the copper cherry flavor of your blood and the seasalt of arousal, your tongues meet again and again. All this on top of Astarion’s own lingering scent, herbal and citrusy, your senses spill over with colorful stimuli.

“Still having any doubts, my dear?” he whispers through a kiss.

“No. Gods, no,” you answer.

"I could stay latched to you all day like this..." he pants against your lips. "I would clean up every. drop. for you." His voice drips with lascivious melody.

"What's it like?" you ask excitedly.

He grins at your question. He loves that you would ask him this.

"Intoxicating,” he breathes through his teeth. “You are the most sinfully delicious fruit I've ever tasted. As if your blood alone didn't already tempt me."

"Is it enough?" you inquire. "…enough blood, I mean?"

"There's no such thing" he says. "but… I have an idea of how to encourage more out of you." His fingers graze down your belly and knead at the skin of your pelvic bone again. The motion indirectly pulling the hood of your clit back and forth.

You moan unabashedly and your spine contorts, begging once again for his hand to go lower. This time, he obliges and uses two slender fingers to tease the contours of your vulva. When they slip between your folds, a silent cry hitches in the back of your throat. He probes at your entrance gently at first, pushing just barely deeper than before with every motion. You writhe against him, trying to remind yourself to breathe.

Normally you would savor such attentive foreplay, but right now it's torturous. It’s overwhelming to even watch what he’s doing; your eyes keep fluttering shut. Every time his fingers delve deeper your desire swells greater. When his knuckles finally brush against your ass, he curls his two fingers inside you over and over, quickly. They rub firmly against your sensitive upper walls, dragging more slickness out of you.  

The sudden pressure and intensity in his movements surprises you. It moves you to open your eyes just long enough to find his own. His gaze holds you down, you feel almost charmed, petrified, dominated. Unable to look away. Rutilant eyes stare deeply back at you while he possesses you – they hold so much intensity and desire, all while focused on you.

It leaves you a bit awestruck, to have him both create and witness your ecstasy. To know you. The moment feels unexpectedly intimate until his hypnotic eyes finally release you.

His mouth joins his hand, immediately working your clit with persistence while his fingers pump inside you. You gasp, and a laugh of disbelief bubbles out of you. The combination of touches makes you feel delirious. His tongue roves over you mercilessly and his hand quickens its pace. Every muscle in your body is taut and frozen in fire. Your eyes find the stars when you feel yourself start to come apart on his fingers.

"Please don't stop," you cry quietly.

He doesn't. His fingers continue to stretch your walls and thrust against your core, tongue quick and unceasing against your pert clit. Tears well up in your eyes as the intensity of sensation builds to a white crescendo.  It falls over you like glass shattering in slow motion. He groans against your pussy as you come, undoubtedly feeling it clench desperately around his hand. It’s so intense you can’t help but cry out and grasp wildly at his back. You don’t care if your voice reaches the campsite. He slows his movements to keep rhythm with you as you ride out your orgasm.

“Such a pretty voice you have,” he removes his fingers and kisses the inside of your thighs.

He makes sure you're looking when he brings his digits to his mouth and licks the red stain clean from them. There’s no hesitation in the action, he laps your blood from his fingers as if it's honey, or spilled wine. He licks your center again too, purely for his own gain now, just for the taste.

“Gods,” You shudder at his touch, still hypersensitive from the climax he wrought through you.

A little less clouded, your vision sharpens on his form. You admire how striking he looks below you. Shirtless, broad shoulders holding the weight of your thighs. Pale moonlight painting every muscle. Your eyes pathing from his sharp collar bones down to his toned navel. He looks so beautiful. Already, you desire him again. More of him. Your eyes land on his cock, still erect and straining against his trousers. 

“That was amazing,” you finally manage to say. “I don’t think I’ll ever have another experience quite like that one.”

“I certainly don’t think so either,” he looks proud of himself. “But must we speak of it in the past-tense already?”

“You’re right. I misspoke.” Your foot gently drags over his clothed erection, in case your interest isn’t clear.

He looks at you knowingly and brings a hand to his waistband.

“Oh, good,” he smiles and unwraps himself from the fabric. "You’ll tell me if it’s uncomfortable, right?"

You nod. “Just start slow, if you can?”

Your eyes widen at his exposed length. His cock is longer and thicker than you'd expected, which is saying something since your imagination was already kind to him. Filthy anticipation coils inside of you.

“Of course. I already intended to take my time,” he whispers lowly.

He hooks his palms under your knees and pulls you apart for him. His body looms over you and the head of his cock grazes your entrance, teasing you with every microscopic movement. He rocks against you in little pulses that make you whine and twist impatiently. He starts to enter you, a little deeper with each push, teasing you just like he did with his fingers, driving you insane.

You can’t take much more, mewling underneath him while he torments you. Fully withdrawing with every stroke, the tip of his cock re-penetrates you again and again in an agonizing tempo. Shallowly fucking you with disciplined control. Before long though, you see his expression start to lose composure.

He straightens up to a kneeling position and beckons you to lift your lower body up to meet him.

“Feet on the ground, darling,” he orders you sweetly.

He scoops you up by your ass and levels your entrance with his cock again. Your upper back still lies on the ground, your body in a half bridge pose, fully exposed to him.

He hoists you against him and sheaths himself inside of you, finally forgoing the teasing. You nearly scream at the sudden weight of him inside you, stretching the entire depth of your walls. His hands pull you up and down on his cock, thumbs tickling the inside of your hipbones where he grips you tightly. You lose yourself again as he fucks you, overwhelmed with elation and disbelief.

Astarion groans obscenely. You notice he’s transfixed on watching himself impale you, gradually painting his cock with your cordial. His eyebrows furrow seriously and his mouth falls slightly open, taking in the sight. He seems to lose himself too, and you find yourself with your full back against the ground again, his body covering you, still inside you.

“You still smell so irresistible.” A hand finds the base of your skull and clutches at your hair. He pulls and forces you to bear your neck for him. It sends a little jolt of fear through your body initially, but you relax into his grasp after a moment.

“Can't get enough?” you ask, just barely managing to show some cheek. He continues to fuck you gently through the exchange. Were his strokes any closer together, it wouldn’t be possible to form words.

“Never,” he hisses against your ear.

His lips graze down your throat, pausing to hover just above where he always drinks from you. “May I?”

“Do it,” you plead.

His fangs tease your skin for several more strokes before they finally drive through you, and as soon as they pierce your skin he fucks you faster. His cock beats against the back of your walls again and again. He moans desperately into your neck while he bleeds you. You’d call the sound pathetic, were it not for the way his teeth held you down like a predator killing its prey. Your cunt clenches around him tightly in response, mirroring his jaws.

The wound to your neck is just barely endurable at first, but it starts dissolving into pleasure almost instantly. Now coupled with the adrenaline of having sex with him, the feeling is near mind-altering. It hypnotizes you. Possesses you.

He drinks from you hungrily, sucking and gulping you down every few seconds. The wet sound of him swallowing can be heard right underneath your ear. You both whimper frantically into each other, ecstasy building quickly. His cock starts to hit you harder, stretch you wider. He unlatches himself from your neck, gasping for air. Blood drips from his lips and down his chin when you see his face. His pupils are blown out. It looks as though he’s trying to form words but they won’t escape his mouth.

He only manages a, “Gods… I’m…” before stuttering out a loud groan, abandoning his thought and dignity. You can feel him throb inside you eagerly, struggling against your muscles squeezing him in as he climaxes. He thrusts into you wildly a few more times before shuddering and cautiously falling into you.

His body covers you for a short moment, your chests rising and falling into each other as you both catch your breath. He then rolls himself off of you and lies by your side.  

“Apologies” he breathes out heavily, wiping blood from his jaw. “I lost myself there for a moment… I’m infertile, so no need to worry. But I should have told you.”

“That’s okay,” you whisper. You’d barely considered it - too drunk on pleasure to think rationally.

The sweet earthy aroma of the dampened grass drifts into your nostrils. Lying there naked, sticky and sweaty, anxiety slowly starts to creep back under your skin. No doubt this could complicate things going forward… especially if your attraction goes beyond the physical like you suspect.

You hear a wet sound beside you and turn your head to see Astarion licking his palm. His eyes meet you while he sucks at the skin between his thumb and index finger. He smiles and, to your surprise, gently pulls you into him. The smell of savory herbs and citron tickles your nose; his scent is already growing to feel familiar.

“I’d like to share a little more of your heat, if it’s alright with you,” he says quietly. His lips brush the hairs on your head.

“I’m happy to share,” you say through a smile, secretly delighted to be curled up in his chest.

His fingers trace your back lazily and you reflect on the past two nights (mostly this one). As amazing as tonight has been, the fear of your feelings growing stronger from this gnaws at you. But you gather the courage to push your insecurities aside. Testing the waters with a little suggestion:

“Provided we don’t die from being turned into mind flayers or some other horrors, I think we should do this again next month.”

You feel him smile against your crown.

“Why wait until next month?”

~END~

Thank you for reading :>

The Quiet One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader

Genre: fluff

Content warnings: Reader gets taken during a case and starts isolating herself

Word count: 11.1K (It's long, I know)

Spencer’s POV

Spencer Reid didn’t need to be an expert in psychology to know that Y/N was hiding something. It wasn’t a dark secret—at least, he didn’t think so—but it was a part of herself she kept locked away.

She was new, sure, but most new agents took Garcia’s boisterous affection or Morgan’s teasing in stride after a week or two. Y/N, however, stayed remarkably quiet unless the conversation turned to a case. Then she was brilliant—her analyses sharp and concise, her physical prowess undeniable in the field. Even Hotch had complimented her work ethic within the first month, which was rare.

But socially? She was an enigma, answering questions with one-word responses or polite nods. Garcia had deemed it her “personal mission” to get Y/N to loosen up.

And now, Spencer found himself curious too.

Reader’s POV

The BAU bullpen was oddly calm for once. Cases were lighter this week, leaving the team to catch up on paperwork. You didn’t mind it—it gave you time to settle into the rhythm of things.

Sitting at your desk during lunch, you pulled a battered paperback from your bag. It was a comfort read, one you returned to when the world felt overwhelming. The words on the page blurred slightly as you chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to ignore the faint hum of conversation between Morgan and JJ.

Then came the voice.

“That’s Jane Eyre, right?”

You glanced up to find Dr. Spencer Reid standing by your desk. His hands were shoved awkwardly into his pockets, a rare flicker of nervousness in his expression.

“Uh… yeah,” you said, holding up the book. “It is.”

“You know, Charlotte Brontë originally published it under the pseudonym Currer Bell because women authors weren’t taken seriously in the 19th century,” Spencer said, his voice gaining confidence as he dove into familiar territory. “It was actually one of the first novels to really explore the concept of the ‘modern woman.’”

You blinked at him, unsure whether to be impressed or amused. “I didn’t know that.”

His eyes lit up, and you instantly regretted not saying something more engaging.

“Well, there’s actually a lot of debate about whether Jane Eyre is autobiographical. Brontë infuses so many elements of her own life into the story, especially Jane’s resilience and independence—”

“Reid!” Morgan called from across the room, grinning. “Are you giving another one of your literary lectures?”

Spencer flushed, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “I, uh… I was just—”

You shut the book and offered a small smile. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

That placated him, and he nodded quickly before retreating to his desk.

You couldn’t help but replay the interaction in your head for the rest of the day. Spencer had an undeniable passion for knowledge, and for the first time since joining the team, you found yourself wondering if you’d like to hear more of what he had to say.

Spencer’s POV

It started as a casual observation: Y/N always ate lunch alone.

After their brief interaction earlier that day, Spencer couldn’t help but notice her more often. She stayed on the periphery of conversations, her focus always sharp, but there was an unshakable air of… loneliness about her.

Garcia was determined to change that.

“I swear, my magic isn’t working on her!” Garcia huffed as she leaned against his desk later that afternoon. “But mark my words, Reid, I will crack that shell.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “You’re treating her like a puzzle.”

“Because she is a puzzle! She’s this brilliant, badass, stone-cold agent who also reads classics on her lunch break? She’s practically you in a different font.”

Spencer opened his mouth to respond but shut it again. The comparison caught him off guard. Was that why he was so fascinated by Y/N?

Reader’s POV

Over the following weeks, Spencer became a surprising constant. It started with the occasional factoid about the books you were reading, but it soon extended to case-related conversations. You found his intelligence refreshing, and his quiet, thoughtful presence felt like something you could trust.

Garcia, on the other hand, was a force of nature.

“Okay, Miss Mysterious, you are coming to Rossi’s this weekend, and I will not take no for an answer,” she declared one Friday afternoon, her hands on her hips.

You tried to protest, but Garcia had a way of steamrolling right over you. Before you knew it, you were at Rossi’s house that Saturday evening, surrounded by your team.

Spencer’s POV

He watched from across the room as Y/N sat next to Garcia, a soft laugh escaping her lips as the tech analyst recounted some over-the-top story. It was the first time he’d seen Y/N genuinely relaxed, her quiet demeanor giving way to something brighter.

She caught his gaze and smiled hesitantly.

Spencer felt his heart skip a beat.

Reader’s POV

Rossi’s house felt warm in a way you hadn’t expected. The deep wood tones, the glowing fire in the hearth, and the hum of your team’s laughter filled the space with an almost familial intimacy. You’d arrived tense, unsure of how to handle this uncharted territory, but Garcia had stuck by you like glue, coaxing you into conversations with her sunny enthusiasm.

To your surprise, you didn’t mind.

“You’re not allergic to wine, are you?” Garcia asked, pressing a glass into your hand before you could protest. “This is Rossi’s best stuff. Don’t embarrass me by turning it down.”

You gave her a faint smirk and took a small sip, letting the rich flavor spread across your tongue. “It’s good.”

“Good?” Rossi barked from across the room. “That’s a $300 bottle! Show some respect!”

You startled, but Morgan waved him off. “Don’t let him scare you, Y/N. Rossi says that about every bottle he pulls out of his cellar.”

The group laughed, and you felt yourself relax by a fraction. You didn’t belong here, not fully—not yet—but it was nice to pretend for a little while.

It wasn’t until later in the evening, when the group had spread out into smaller clusters, that you found yourself wandering onto Rossi’s back patio. The cool night air was a relief after the heat of the crowded living room, and you leaned against the railing, gazing out at the sprawling yard.

The sound of the door opening behind you made you glance back. Spencer stepped outside, a mug in hand.

“Coffee?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

He nodded sheepishly. “I don’t drink, so… this is my go-to.”

You turned back to the yard. “Makes sense.”

Spencer hesitated before moving to stand beside you. For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the faint hum of conversation from inside fading into the background.

“You handled yourself well tonight,” he said finally.

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“With the team,” he clarified, his gaze flicking to yours. “I know how overwhelming it can be. They’re… intense.”

A small laugh escaped you. “That’s one way to put it.”

He smiled at that, his face softening in a way that made your chest ache.

“I’m not great at these things either,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “Social gatherings, I mean. But… it gets easier.”

“Does it?” you asked, surprising even yourself with the vulnerability in your tone.

He nodded, his expression thoughtful. “They’re good people. It just takes time to feel like you belong.”

You studied him for a moment, his profile outlined by the soft glow of the patio lights. It was strange, how he seemed to understand you in a way that no one else had tried to.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

He turned to you fully, his eyes searching yours. “For what?”

“For… being you, I guess.”

His brow furrowed, but before he could respond, Garcia’s voice rang out from the doorway.

“There you are, lovebirds! C’mon, it’s picture time!”

You flushed, stepping back instinctively, but Spencer’s soft chuckle eased your embarrassment.

“Let’s not keep her waiting,” he said, gesturing toward the door.

As the two of you returned to the chaos inside, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, you were starting to belong after all.

Spencer’s POV

The next few weeks were… different.

Y/N was still reserved, but something had shifted. She smiled more, lingered a little longer when the team joked around, and even initiated conversations once or twice.

Spencer found himself drawn to her even more. He wasn’t sure when his interest had crossed into something deeper—maybe it was the way her eyes lit up when she talked about a case, or how she always seemed to carry herself with quiet determination.

What he did know was that he wanted to spend more time with her.

Reader’s POV

It was late when you returned to the office after a long day in the field. Most of the team had gone home, but the glow from Spencer’s desk lamp caught your eye as you passed by.

“You’re still here?” you asked, leaning against the doorway.

He looked up, startled. “Oh, yeah. Just… catching up on paperwork.”

You hesitated before stepping into the room. “Do you want some company?”

Spencer blinked at you, clearly surprised, but he nodded. “Sure.”

You pulled a chair up beside him, glancing at the neat stacks of files on his desk. “You’re ridiculously organized, you know that?”

He chuckled. “Comes with the territory.”

For a while, the two of you worked in companionable silence, the quiet hum of the office almost soothing. It wasn’t until you reached for a file at the same time that your hands brushed, and you both froze.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling back quickly.

“No, it’s—” He cleared his throat. “It’s fine.”

Your eyes met, and for a brief moment, the air between you felt charged with something unspoken. But then the moment passed, and you both returned to your work, your hearts beating just a little faster.

Reader’s POV

The call came in at 3 a.m., pulling you out of a restless sleep. By the time you arrived at the BAU office, coffee in hand and exhaustion tugging at your limbs, the rest of the team was already gathered in the briefing room.

“Morning, sunshine,” Garcia greeted with mock cheerfulness as you slid into your seat.

“Morning,” you mumbled back, earning a sympathetic smile from her.

Hotch wasted no time launching into the details. “We’ve got three bodies in the last week, all women in their early twenties. Each victim was abducted, kept for approximately 48 hours, and then left in a public location. The cause of death is strangulation. The local PD in Richmond has requested our assistance.”

As the photos of the victims flashed across the screen, your stomach tightened. Young, bright faces extinguished too soon.

“Are we looking at someone who knew them?” you asked, your voice steady despite the knot forming in your gut.

JJ shook her head. “The victims don’t seem to have any connections to each other. Different neighborhoods, different jobs, no shared social circles.”

“So we’re dealing with an unsub who’s opportunistic,” Rossi said, leaning back in his chair.

“Most likely,” Spencer chimed in. “The cooling-off period is short, which could indicate a lack of control or a growing compulsion.”

As the team delved into theories and assigned tasks, you felt Spencer’s gaze linger on you for a moment. When you glanced his way, he offered a faint nod, as if to say, We’ve got this.

Spencer’s POV

Something about this case felt different.

It wasn’t the pattern—he’d seen similar cases before—but the look in Y/N’s eyes as she examined the crime scene photos. She was usually composed, but there was a flicker of something raw beneath her quiet exterior.

“Spence?” JJ’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You ready to head to the ME’s office?”

He nodded quickly, grabbing his bag. As they left, he caught sight of Y/N slipping into the SUV with Morgan and Rossi, her expression unreadable.

Reader’s POV

The first day in Richmond was grueling. You’d interviewed families of the victims, combed through hours of CCTV footage, and spent far too long staring at a map of potential dump sites. By the time the team regrouped at the precinct that evening, the weight of the case was pressing down on you like a vice.

“Y/N,” Spencer said softly as you sat down at a desk in the corner, your head in your hands.

You looked up to find him holding out a bottle of water.

“Thanks,” you murmured, taking it from him.

He hesitated before sitting beside you. “You okay?”

You nodded, though the lump in your throat betrayed you. “It’s just… hard. They’re so young.”

Spencer’s expression softened. “It’s okay to feel that way. It means you care.”

You glanced at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone. “How do you deal with it? Knowing that… we can’t save them all?”

“I remind myself that we can save the next one,” he said quietly. “That’s what keeps me going.”

His words settled over you like a balm, easing some of the tension in your chest.

“Thanks, Spencer,” you said after a moment.

He offered a small smile. “Anytime.”

The break came on the second day. Spencer had been poring over geographical profiles when he noticed a pattern in the unsub’s movements—a cluster of locations that centered around a local park.

“It’s a comfort zone,” he explained as the team gathered around. “The unsub likely lives or works nearby.”

With Garcia’s help, you narrowed down a list of potential suspects. One name stood out: Michael Devlin, a maintenance worker with a history of domestic violence.

“We’ve got enough for a warrant,” Hotch said, his voice clipped. “Morgan, Rossi, Y/N—head to his residence. Reid, JJ, and I will coordinate with SWAT in case he runs.”

Your heart pounded as you pulled on your vest and climbed into the SUV. The tension was palpable as Morgan briefed the team on the way to Devlin’s house.

“He’s dangerous, but he’s not expecting us,” Morgan said. “Stay sharp.”

The house was eerily quiet when you arrived. Morgan motioned for you to take the back while he and Rossi approached the front.

Gun drawn, you moved silently around the perimeter, your pulse thrumming in your ears. A faint noise from inside made you freeze—a muffled cry.

You signaled to Morgan, who nodded and motioned for you to breach the back door.

The next moments were a blur. The door splintered under your weight, and you swept through the darkened hallway, your flashlight cutting through the gloom.

“FBI!” you shouted. “Hands in the air!”

In the basement, you found Devlin with his latest victim—a young woman, bound and gagged but alive. Devlin lunged toward her, but you didn’t hesitate. One precise shot to his leg sent him crumpling to the ground.

“Suspect down!” you called, rushing to the woman’s side.

Morgan and Rossi were there seconds later, securing Devlin while you freed the woman.

“It’s okay,” you murmured, your hands steady despite the adrenaline coursing through you. “You’re safe now.”

The team returned to the hotel late that night, exhausted but victorious. You’d saved someone.

As you sat on the edge of your bed, the weight of the day finally caught up to you. A knock at the door startled you, and when you opened it, you found Spencer standing there.

“I thought you might want some company,” he said, holding up a bag of takeout.

You stepped aside, letting him in.

The two of you sat in companionable silence, the unspoken bond between you stronger than ever.

“You did good today,” Spencer said softly, breaking the silence.

“So did you,” you replied, meeting his gaze.

For a moment, neither of you looked away. The air felt charged again, but this time, you didn’t retreat.

“Thank you,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

The weeks following the Richmond case brought you and Spencer closer in ways you hadn’t anticipated. It wasn’t anything dramatic—no sweeping gestures or long, soul-baring conversations. Instead, it was the little moments that built a quiet, steady foundation.

You started spending more time at his desk between cases, initially just to borrow books or bounce ideas off him, but it became something more. A shared cup of coffee here, a late-night brainstorming session there. The rest of the team noticed, of course, but they didn’t say much—except for Garcia, who gave you a sly wink whenever she caught you lingering near Spencer.

It wasn’t just Spencer, though. You were starting to feel more connected to the entire team. Rossi’s dry humor, Morgan’s teasing camaraderie, JJ’s quiet support, and Garcia’s unrelenting cheerfulness—all of it felt like pieces of a puzzle finally snapping into place.

But Spencer… he was different.

Spencer’s POV

It had become second nature to seek out Y/N when he needed a fresh perspective. Her sharp mind complemented his own, and her methodical approach often helped him piece together details he might have overlooked.

But it wasn’t just her intelligence that drew him in—it was the way she listened. Spencer wasn’t used to people really listening when he rambled about obscure facts or spiraled into tangents. Y/N didn’t just tolerate it; she seemed genuinely interested, even when he went off-topic.

He found himself looking for excuses to talk to her, whether it was about a case, a book, or even something as mundane as coffee preferences.

“You’re spending a lot of time with our newbie,” Morgan teased one afternoon as Spencer returned to his desk.

Spencer bristled. “We’re just… working well together.”

Morgan’s grin widened. “Sure you are, kid. Sure you are.”

Spencer tried to ignore him, but the comment stuck in his mind for the rest of the day. Was it really so obvious?

Reader’s POV

The next case was in Chicago—three bodies were found in abandoned buildings, each with eerily similar staging. The unsub was methodical, leaving almost no evidence behind. It wasn’t until the fourth victim was found that a pattern began to emerge.

“We’re looking at someone with a background in construction or architecture,” you said during the briefing, pointing to the detailed layout drawn on the whiteboard. “Each site was chosen for its isolation and structural integrity. He’s not just picking random locations; he’s planning this down to the last detail.”

Spencer nodded, adding to your analysis. “It’s possible he sees himself as an artist. The staging suggests a need for control, but also a desire for recognition. He’s leaving a signature.”

Hotch glanced between the two of you. “Work with Garcia to identify anyone with the right skill set and a history of violence. We need to narrow this down before he strikes again.”

You and Spencer were paired up to interview a potential suspect—a reclusive architect with a history of volatile behavior. As you drove through the quiet streets of Chicago, the conversation drifted to more personal topics.

“Do you miss it?” Spencer asked suddenly, his gaze focused on the road ahead.

“Miss what?”

“The academy,” he clarified. “Before the field. Before…” He gestured vaguely.

You considered the question for a moment. “Not really. I mean, it was challenging, but I always knew I wanted to be out here, making a difference. What about you? Do you miss… normalcy?”

Spencer laughed softly. “I’m not sure I’ve ever experienced normalcy. But I think I’ve found something better.”

His words hung in the air, and you felt your chest tighten.

Before you could respond, the GPS announced your arrival, pulling you back to the present.

The interview didn’t yield much—your suspect was uncooperative, but there wasn’t enough evidence to hold him. As you and Spencer left the building, the frustration was palpable.

“He’s hiding something,” you muttered as you walked to the car.

Spencer nodded. “Agreed. But without concrete evidence, we can’t—”

A sharp noise interrupted him—a metallic clang, followed by a figure darting into the alley beside the building.

“Stay here,” you said instinctively, drawing your weapon.

“Wait—” Spencer started to protest, but you were already moving.

The alley was narrow and dimly lit, and the figure was fast, but your training kicked in. You rounded a corner just in time to see the man scaling a fence.

“FBI! Stop!”

He didn’t.

You followed, adrenaline surging as you climbed the fence and hit the ground running. The suspect turned sharply, heading into an abandoned warehouse.

You slowed as you entered, your heart pounding. The faint sound of footsteps echoed through the cavernous space.

“Y/N!” Spencer’s voice called from behind you, and you turned to see him catching up, his own weapon drawn.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you said, your voice tight.

“And let you go in alone? Not a chance.”

Before you could argue, the suspect lunged from the shadows. Spencer reacted instantly, stepping between you and the attacker. The fight was brief but chaotic, and by the time you secured the suspect with cuffs, your hands were trembling.

“Are you okay?” Spencer asked, his eyes scanning you for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your heart was still racing. “You?”

He nodded, his expression softening. “I’m fine.”

For a moment, you just stood there, the weight of the encounter settling over you. Then, without thinking, you reached out and placed a hand on his arm.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

Spencer’s lips curved into a faint smile. “Anytime.”

The suspect turned out to be a crucial lead, and the case wrapped up soon after. On the flight home, you found yourself sitting beside Spencer, the two of you poring over a book he’d brought.

“You’re starting to remind me of Reid 2.0,” Morgan teased as he walked by.

You rolled your eyes, but Spencer smiled.

“Is that such a bad thing?” you asked, glancing at Spencer.

He shook his head, his expression unreadable. “Not at all.”

As the plane soared through the clouds, you couldn’t help but feel that your partnership with Spencer was becoming something more—something you weren’t quite ready to name yet, but something that felt right all the same.

(Next Case)

The case had felt off from the start.

You’d arrived in a small Colorado town after two young women disappeared within days of each other. The unsub had a clear pattern—abducting women in their twenties, keeping them for a few days, and leaving their mutilated bodies in remote areas.

You’d all felt the clock ticking with each passing hour. But even as the team worked tirelessly to profile the unsub and narrow down suspects, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that something was wrong—something you couldn’t quite put into words.

You were walking back to the SUV alone after canvassing a witness when it happened.

A sharp sting at the base of your neck.

Then, darkness.

Spencer’s POV

“She should have been back by now,” Spencer said, his voice tight with worry.

The team had regrouped at the precinct, but Y/N’s absence was glaring. She’d been checking in regularly all day, but her last update had come nearly an hour ago.

“She probably just got held up with a witness,” Morgan offered, though even he sounded unconvinced.

“No,” Spencer said, his jaw clenched. “Something’s wrong.”

Garcia’s voice crackled through the speakerphone. “I’ve got her GPS! It’s… oh, no. It’s not moving. Her phone’s near a deserted building on the outskirts of town.”

Hotch didn’t hesitate. “Morgan, Reid, let’s go. JJ, Rossi, stay here and coordinate with the local PD. Garcia, keep tracking her phone.”

Spencer’s chest tightened as they raced toward the location, dread clawing at his insides.

Reader’s POV

You woke to blinding pain.

Your arms were wrenched behind you, your wrists bound with coarse rope that cut into your skin. The room was dark, save for the faint glow of a single bulb overhead.

A figure loomed above you, his face obscured.

“Finally awake,” he said, his voice calm, almost casual.

You struggled against the restraints, your breath coming in sharp gasps.

“Don’t bother,” the man said, crouching to meet your gaze. “It’s just you and me now. And I don’t like it when people scream.”

He raised something shiny—a blade—and you froze.

The first cut was shallow, a deliberate line across your arm. Pain bloomed, sharp and hot, and you bit down hard on your lip to keep from crying out.

“Good,” he murmured. “You’re strong. Let’s see how long that lasts.”

Time became a blur after that. The pain was relentless—cuts, bruises, burns. He was methodical, asking questions he didn’t seem to care if you answered. You tried to focus on anything else—your training, the team, Spencer—but the agony kept dragging you back.

At some point, you lose consciousness again.

Spencer’s POV

When they found you, Spencer nearly collapsed with relief—and horror.

You were slumped in the corner of the room, your clothes torn and blood staining your skin. Cuts and bruises covered your body, and your face was pale, almost unrecognizable.

“Y/N!” Spencer was the first to reach you, dropping to his knees beside you.

Your eyes fluttered open, but there was no recognition in them, only fear.

“It’s me,” he said softly, his voice breaking. “It’s Spencer. You’re safe now.”

Your lips moved, but no sound came out.

Hotch and Morgan secured the unsub, who was screaming as they dragged him out of the building. Spencer barely registered it. All he could focus on was you—broken, fragile, and trembling in his arms.

Reader’s POV

The ride to the hospital was a blur. You were dimly aware of Spencer’s hand gripping yours, his voice low and soothing as he spoke to you, though you couldn’t make out the words.

The pain was overwhelming, but worse than that was the fear—the raw, unrelenting terror that you were still there, still in that room.

It wasn’t until you were in the hospital, surrounded by the sterile smell of antiseptic and the soft hum of machines, that you began to feel grounded again.

Spencer stayed by your side the entire time.

You didn’t want to go home.

The thought of returning to the BAU, to the same desks and faces, felt impossible. But Hotch had insisted you needed to recover somewhere familiar, and the team had gently assured you they’d be there every step of the way.

You sat alone on the plane, staring out the window, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The team kept their distance, speaking in hushed tones as they gave you space.

You hated how broken you felt. You hated the way the memories of that room kept flashing through your mind, the way your skin still crawled despite the warm blanket Garcia had draped over your shoulders.

And yet, when Spencer moved to sit beside you, you didn’t pull away.

You stayed silent as he settled in, the faint scent of his cologne reaching you. After a long moment, you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder.

Spencer stiffened for half a second before relaxing, his arm curling around you protectively. He didn’t say anything—didn’t need to.

The rest of the team exchanged quiet glances but said nothing. They knew better than to interrupt.

For the first time since the ordeal, you felt… safe.

Spencer’s POV

She didn’t say a word the entire flight, but Spencer didn’t mind.

When she’d leaned into him, something in his chest had cracked open. He didn’t know what to say or do, but he knew he’d do anything to protect her from feeling that way again.

As the plane descended toward Quantico, he tightened his arm around her, silently promising her—and himself—that he’d be there for her, no matter what.

Reader’s POV

Recovery wasn’t linear.

You thought it might be—thought you could box up what happened and file it away in some corner of your mind. But the scars on your body weren’t just physical, and no matter how hard you tried, the memories of that room clung to you like smoke, thick and suffocating.

You barely left your apartment in the weeks after the case. The team gave you space but stayed present in small ways: a text from JJ checking in, a phone call from Morgan offering to bring dinner, Rossi dropping off an expensive bottle of wine “for when you’re ready.”

But Spencer and Garcia… they were different.

They didn’t just check-in. They showed up.

It started with the nightmares.

They came like clockwork, dragging you from sleep with a gasp and leaving you trembling in the dark. At first, you tried to handle them on your own. You’d curl up on the couch with a blanket, the TV murmuring softly in the background as you willed yourself to calm down.

But after one particularly bad night, your hands shaking so hard you couldn’t hold the phone steady, you called Spencer.

He answered on the second ring, his voice groggy but alert. “Y/N?”

“I—I’m sorry,” you stammered, immediately regretting the call. “I shouldn’t have—”

“Don’t apologize,” he interrupted gently. “What’s wrong?”

You hesitated, the words catching in your throat. But he waited, his patience endless.

“I had a nightmare,” you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a pause, then: “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the line had already gone dead.

When Spencer showed up at your door, his hair mussed and his sweater slightly wrinkled, you felt a pang of guilt.

“You didn’t have to—”

“Yes, I did,” he said firmly, stepping inside.

He didn’t press you to talk about the nightmare. Instead, he made tea while you curled up on the couch, his calm presence enough to ground you. He stayed until the sun came up, his hand resting lightly on your arm as you drifted in and out of an uneasy sleep.

That became your new normal. Every time the nightmares came, Spencer would be there, no matter the hour.

Garcia was the first to call you out on your self-imposed isolation.

“Okay, honey, I love you, but you’re starting to worry me,” she said one afternoon, her voice tinged with concern.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, though even you didn’t believe it.

“Uh-huh,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “So fine that you’ve become a hermit. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “I’m just… not ready to go out yet.”

Garcia was quiet for a moment, then her tone brightened. “Alright, challenge accepted. If you won’t go to the world, the world will come to you.”

The next day, Spencer and Garcia showed up at your apartment with an armful of books.

“Welcome to the world’s tiniest bookstore,” Garcia announced, sweeping into your living room like a tornado.

“I may have gone a little overboard,” Spencer admitted, setting the books down on your coffee table.

“A little?” Garcia scoffed. “Reid, this isn’t overboard—it’s a full-on invasion.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you flipped through the stack, your chest tightening at the sight of your favorite titles mixed in with a few new ones.

“You guys didn’t have to do this,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.

Garcia waved you off. “Please. This is nothing compared to the epic coffee shop we’re planning for tomorrow.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Coffee shop?”

“Just wait,” Spencer said with a small smile.

The next morning, your living room was transformed.

Garcia had brought fairy lights, a Bluetooth speaker, and pastries from your favorite bakery. Spencer had set up a coffee station, complete with syrups and a milk frother.

“Order up!” Garcia called, handing you a steaming cup of your favorite drink.

You curled up in your armchair, the faint sound of jazz playing in the background as you sipped your coffee. For the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of something like peace.

It was Spencer’s idea to bring the theater to you.

He showed up one evening with Garcia in tow, a projector tucked under his arm and a bag of popcorn balanced precariously in Garcia’s hands.

“Movie night!” Garcia declared, dropping the popcorn onto your kitchen counter.

“What’s all this?” you asked, watching as Spencer set up the projector.

“Well, we figured since you’re not quite ready to hit the theaters yet, we’d bring the theaters to you,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes warm.

They went all out, dimming the lights and piling your couch with blankets and pillows. Spencer even gave a little lecture about the history of film before the movie started, earning an affectionate eye-roll from Garcia.

By the time the credits rolled, you were smiling—a real, genuine smile—and for the first time since the case, you felt like yourself again.

You weren’t fully healed. The nightmares still came, and there were moments when the memories felt too heavy to bear. But Spencer and Garcia didn’t let you carry it alone.

With every late-night visit, every carefully planned surprise, they reminded you that you weren’t broken. You were still you, even if it took time to feel whole again.

One night, as you sat on the couch with Spencer beside you, your head resting on his shoulder, you found yourself whispering, “Thank you.”

“For what?” he asked, his voice soft.

“For… everything,” you said, your words faltering but earnest.

He didn’t respond right away, but his arm tightened around you.

“Anytime,” he said, and you knew he meant it.

The turning point came on a quiet Thursday night when the weight of everything finally broke through the walls you’d built around yourself.

It started innocuously enough. Spencer had come over, as he often did, with takeout from your favorite Thai place and a new book he thought you’d enjoy. The two of you had eaten in companionable silence, the TV murmuring in the background as the sky outside darkened.

You hadn’t planned to say anything. You hadn’t planned for any of it.

But then Spencer said something—something small and offhand about how strong you were—and it hit you like a freight train.

The tears came suddenly, unstoppable.

Spencer’s POV

He’d never seen her cry before.

Not during cases, not after the ordeal in Colorado, not even during the nightmares that haunted her nights. She’d always held herself together with an almost unnerving composure, her pain buried so deeply that even Spencer, with all his insight, couldn’t reach it.

But now, as she sat across from him on the couch, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, Spencer felt utterly helpless.

“Y/N,” he said softly, setting his food aside and leaning toward her. “What’s wrong?”

She shook her head, her voice muffled. “I—I can’t…”

“Can’t what?” he pressed gently.

“I can’t keep pretending I’m okay,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m not okay, Spencer. I keep telling myself to move on, to be strong, but I—I don’t know how.”

Her admission shattered something in him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “Not with me. Not with any of us.”

She looked up at him then, her eyes red and shining with tears. “But what if I never feel normal again? What if I’m always this… broken?”

Spencer didn’t hesitate. He reached out, his hands enveloping hers.

“You’re not broken,” he said firmly. “You’re healing. And healing isn’t linear—it’s messy and hard, and sometimes it feels impossible. But you’re not alone in this. I’m here. We’re all here.”

For a long moment, she just stared at him, her breath hitching. Then, slowly, she let herself lean into him, her forehead resting against his shoulder.

Spencer held her carefully, his arms wrapping around her as though she might shatter.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured. “I promise.”

Reader’s POV

It felt like something had shifted that night.

You’d spent so long keeping your pain locked away, afraid that letting it out would make you weak, make you a burden. But Spencer hadn’t turned away. He’d held you, his presence steady and unwavering, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe.

Over the next few days, you found yourself opening up to him in ways you hadn’t before. Little things at first—a comment about how much you missed running, a quiet confession about a song that made you cry. And then bigger things, like the fear that still gripped you every time you stepped outside, or the way your scars made you feel like a stranger in your own skin.

Spencer listened to it all, never interrupting, never judging.

And when the words ran out, he simply stayed.

The real turning point came a few weeks later, when you found yourself standing in your kitchen with Spencer, the two of you cooking dinner together.

You’d insisted on making something from scratch, though Spencer had warned you that his cooking skills were questionable at best. He was carefully chopping vegetables under your watchful eye when he suddenly stopped, his brow furrowing.

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

He hesitated, his gaze flicking to you. “I was just… thinking about how different things are now.”

“Different how?”

He set the knife down, leaning against the counter. “When you first joined the team, you were so… reserved. It felt like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders. And after Colorado, I thought…” He trailed off, shaking his head.

“You thought what?” you prompted, your voice soft.

“I thought I might lose you,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

The air between you seemed to shift, the unspoken tension that had been building for weeks finally coming to a head.

“You didn’t lose me,” you said quietly.

Spencer met your gaze, his eyes searching yours. “But I almost did. And it made me realize how much you mean to me.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“I know this might not be the right time,” he continued, his voice steady but laced with vulnerability. “And I don’t want to make you feel pressured. But… I care about you, Y/N. More than I think I even realized until now.”

For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, your heart pounding in your chest.

Then, slowly, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his.

“I care about you too,” you said, your voice trembling. “More than I’ve let myself admit.”

Spencer’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“We don’t have to rush this,” he said. “Whatever you need—however long it takes—I’ll be here.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from pain.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Spencer squeezed your hand gently, his presence grounding you once again.

For the first time in what felt like forever, the weight on your chest began to lift.

In the weeks that followed, the fragile threads of your connection with Spencer began to weave into something stronger. There were no grand declarations or dramatic shifts—just quiet, intimate moments that built on the foundation you’d already created.

The nightmares still came, though less frequently now. Spencer was always there when you needed him, showing up at your door with that same gentle determination. But the dynamic had subtly changed.

One night, after a particularly vivid dream, you didn’t wait for him to pull out his phone or suggest tea. Instead, you moved closer on the couch, resting your head against his chest.

His arms came around you instantly, holding you securely as his steady heartbeat anchored you to the present.

“Better?” he murmured after a while, his voice low and soothing.

You nodded against him, your fingers curling lightly into the fabric of his sweater. “Better.”

From then on, it became your unspoken ritual. Spencer would hold you through the worst of it, and when the panic began to fade, you’d sit together in comfortable silence, your breaths syncing as the weight of the dream dissipated.

One evening, as the two of you sat at your kitchen table playing chess—well, he was playing chess, and you were doing your best to keep up—Spencer spoke quietly, his gaze fixed on the board.

“You know,” he said, moving a pawn, “I’ve never been very good at relationships.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really? I find that hard to believe.”

He gave a self-deprecating smile. “It’s true. My job, my… personality—it doesn’t exactly make things easy. But with you, it feels… different.”

“Different how?” you asked, leaning your chin on your hand as you studied his face.

He hesitated, then met your gaze. “Like I don’t have to try so hard to be understood.”

Your chest tightened at his words. “You don’t,” you said softly.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a faint smile, and you knew you’d said exactly what he needed to hear.

Spencer showed his affection in quiet ways.

He’d slip a bookmark into the pages of your latest read with a handwritten note—a quote he thought you’d like or a simple “this reminded me of you.”

He’d remember your favorite tea and make sure the cupboard was always stocked, even if it meant sneaking a box into your cart during a grocery run.

He’d lend you his scarf on cold mornings, looping it around your neck with an almost reverent care.

You found yourself returning the favor in your own subtle ways. You’d leave post-it notes on his bookshelves with little comments about the titles you borrowed, enjoying the way he’d chuckle when he found them.

You’d teach him how to cook simple meals, laughing as he fumbled with the stove but never letting him give up.

And once, after he’d spent an exhausting day at the BAU, you’d shown up at his apartment with takeout and a copy of his favorite movie, sitting with him on the couch until he finally let himself relax.

The turning point in your growing relationship came during a particularly hard day at work. The case had been brutal, dredging up memories you’d tried to bury, and you’d found yourself withdrawing again.

Spencer noticed immediately.

“Y/N,” he said gently as the two of you worked late in the bullpen, the rest of the team long gone. “Talk to me.”

You hesitated, your hands tightening around the file in front of you. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t press, but his silence spoke volumes.

Finally, you set the file aside and looked at him. “It’s just… this case. It reminds me of Colorado. And I thought I was past that, but…” You trailed off, the words sticking in your throat.

Spencer reached across the desk, his hand brushing against yours. “Healing isn’t a straight line,” he said softly. “You’re allowed to have bad days.”

You swallowed hard, his understanding breaking through your defenses. “I don’t know how you always know exactly what to say.”

He gave a small shrug, his fingers curling around yours. “Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to feel broken. And I know how much it helps to have someone who understands.”

You held his gaze, something unspoken passing between you. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Always,” he said, his voice steady.

It happened on a quiet Sunday afternoon, as the two of you sat on your couch reading. The sunlight streamed through the window, casting a golden glow over the room.

You weren’t sure what prompted it—maybe it was the way Spencer had leaned closer to point something out in your book, or the way his hand lingered on yours for a beat too long.

Whatever it was, when you turned to look at him, you found him already watching you.

“Spencer,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

His gaze flicked to your lips, and for a moment, you thought he might pull back. But then, slowly, hesitantly, he leaned in.

The kiss was gentle at first, tentative and unsure. But as you relaxed into him, his hand came up to cup your cheek, deepening the connection.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting together, you couldn’t help but smile.

“That was…” you began, struggling to find the words.

“Long overdue?” he finished, his lips quirking in a shy smile.

You laughed softly, nodding. “Yeah. Long overdue.”

From that moment on, things felt… lighter.

You still had bad days, and Spencer still had his own struggles, but together, you found a balance. The quiet intimacy you’d built over months became the foundation for something stronger, something unshakable.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you could face whatever came next—because you weren’t alone anymore.

Being with Spencer wasn’t like anything you’d experienced before.

It wasn’t a whirlwind romance filled with grand gestures or dramatic declarations. It was quiet, steady, and deeply rooted in trust. Spencer was the kind of person who noticed the small things—when you were fidgeting with your hands because you were nervous when you couldn’t quite meet his eyes because something was weighing on you, when your lips twitched ever so slightly at a joke you pretended not to find funny.

And, in return, you began to notice him.

The way he’d drum his fingers on his desk when he was deep in thought. The way he’d tilt his head slightly when he was about to say something he thought might make him sound awkward. The way his eyes lit up whenever you spoke, as though nothing else in the world mattered.

It was terrifying and comforting all at once, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Spencer’s POV

Spencer wasn’t used to feeling this… settled.

He’d been in relationships before, but none of them felt like this. With Y/N, he didn’t feel the need to explain himself or hold back parts of who he was. She saw him—really saw him—and still chose to stay.

It scared him sometimes, the intensity of his feelings for her. But then she’d laugh at one of his rambling stories, or brush a strand of hair out of his face with a soft smile, and all his fears would melt away.

He didn’t know where this was going, but for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t afraid to find out.

One rare day off, Spencer showed up at your apartment with a grin that immediately set you on edge.

“What?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Put your shoes on,” he said, his tone practically vibrating with excitement.

You frowned. “Why? Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” he said cryptically, rocking back on his heels.

You groaned, but his enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself grabbing your jacket.

The “surprise” turned out to be a day at a local botanical garden. Spencer’s excitement was almost childlike as he led you through the winding paths, pointing out rare plants and rattling off facts about their origins.

“This one,” he said, stopping in front of a sprawling orchid, “is called Paphiopedilum rothschildianum. It’s one of the rarest orchids in the world and can take up to 15 years to bloom.”

You tilted your head, pretending to be unimpressed. “That’s nice, but can it make coffee?”

Spencer chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ll add that to my list of criteria for impressive plants.”

Despite your teasing, you found yourself captivated by his passion. Watching him light up over something so simple was a reminder of why you cared for him so deeply.

Later, as you sat together on a bench surrounded by blooming flowers, Spencer reached for your hand.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“For what?” you asked, genuinely puzzled.

“For letting me share this with you,” he said, his voice earnest.

Your chest tightened, and you squeezed his hand. “Always.”

Dating someone you worked with was tricky, especially at the BAU, where boundaries between personal and professional were already blurry.

You and Spencer had agreed to keep your relationship private—for now, at least. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust the team, but you both valued the quiet intimacy of what you’d built and weren’t ready to share it yet.

Still, there were moments when it was hard to hide.

Like when Spencer brought you coffee in the middle of a particularly stressful day and lingered just a little too long by your desk.

Or when Garcia caught the two of you exchanging a look across the bullpen and immediately raised an eyebrow.

“Spill,” she whispered to you later, cornering you in the break room.

“Spill what?” you asked innocently, though your cheeks betrayed you by turning red.

Garcia narrowed her eyes. “Uh-huh. You’re lucky I love you, or I’d make it my personal mission to find out what you’re hiding.”

You laughed nervously and quickly changed the subject.

The first argument you and Spencer had wasn’t dramatic, but it rattled you nonetheless.

It started over something small—he’d forgotten to text you after a particularly dangerous case, and you’d spent the night worrying.

“I didn’t mean to worry you,” Spencer said, his voice tinged with frustration as you stood in your living room. “I was just… caught up in the aftermath.”

“I get that,” you said, your arms crossed. “But you know how I feel about not knowing if you’re okay.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not used to this,” he admitted. “Having someone who worries about me.”

The vulnerability in his voice softened your anger, and you stepped closer, your expression gentler.

“I’m not trying to smother you,” you said quietly. “I just… I care about you, and I need to know you’re safe.”

Spencer’s shoulders sagged, and he nodded. “I’ll do better,” he said, his voice soft. “I promise.”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. “That’s all I ask.”

The tension melted, and as Spencer pulled you into his arms, you realized that even your arguments brought you closer.

As the months went on, your relationship deepened in ways you hadn’t thought possible. Spencer became your safe haven, the person you turned to in your darkest moments. And in turn, you became his—a steady presence in a world that often felt overwhelming.

There were still challenges, of course. The job was unforgiving, and your own lingering fears sometimes crept back in. But with Spencer by your side, you felt stronger—more capable of facing whatever came your way.

One night, as you lay in bed together, his fingers tracing absent patterns on your arm, he spoke softly.

“I love you.”

The words were quiet, almost hesitant, but they hit you like a tidal wave.

You turned to face him, your heart pounding. “I love you too,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears welling in your eyes.

Spencer’s lips curved into a small smile, and he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead.

In that moment, you knew you’d found something rare—something worth holding onto with everything you had.

It wasn’t like you and Spencer were trying to hide your relationship, exactly. You just… hadn’t told anyone yet. There was something comforting about keeping it to yourselves, about having a part of your lives that existed outside the chaos of the BAU.

But the team wasn’t made up of fools.

Between Garcia’s laser focus, Morgan’s teasing intuition, and JJ’s quiet observations, it was only a matter of time before someone put the pieces together.

The unraveling began on a Wednesday afternoon when Garcia came storming into the bullpen, waving her phone like a sword.

“Explain this to me!” she demanded, stopping in front of your desk.

You blinked up at her, confused. “Explain what?”

“This!” she said, thrusting her phone into your face.

On the screen was a photo Spencer had posted to his rarely-used Instagram: a blurry shot of a chessboard and two coffee cups sitting on a familiar coffee table—your coffee table.

“Why is Reid at your place drinking coffee?” Garcia asked, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

You scrambled for an excuse. “Uh, we were… playing chess. It’s no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Garcia echoed, her tone incredulous. “Reid doesn’t even post pictures of his cat! And now he’s posting pictures from your apartment?”

Before you could respond, Morgan sauntered over, clearly intrigued. “What’s this about Reid and Y/N?”

“Nothing,” you said quickly, your face burning.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Sure doesn’t sound like nothing.”

You glared at him, but before the conversation could go any further, Hotch called everyone into the briefing room, saving you from further interrogation.

For now.

___________________________________________________________

The second slip came a week later when the team was out on a case in Seattle. You and Spencer had ended up sharing a room at the hotel due to a booking error, and you thought nothing of it. After all, you’d spent countless nights together—this was no different.

Except it was.

When Garcia called Spencer for an update, you could hear her voice loud and clear through the phone.

“Wait, what?” she screeched. “You’re sharing a room with Y/N?!”

“It’s not a big deal,” Spencer said, his tone even.

“Not a big deal?” Garcia repeated, her voice rising in pitch. “Are you two—oh my God. You are, aren’t you?!”

Spencer’s eyes darted to you, his face a mix of panic and amusement. “Garcia, can we focus on the case?”

“Oh, we’ll talk about this later,” she said ominously before hanging up.

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “She knows.”

“She suspects,” Spencer corrected, though he didn’t look particularly convinced.

___________________________________________________________

It all came to a head during one of Rossi’s famous dinners.

You and Spencer had arrived together, as usual, but this time, you’d carpooled, which immediately caught JJ’s attention.

“Did you two come together?” she asked casually as you handed her your coat.

“Uh, yeah,” you said, trying to sound nonchalant. “It was just easier.”

“Right,” JJ said, her smile a little too knowing.

The evening went smoothly—until it didn’t.

You were helping Spencer carry dishes into the kitchen when Garcia cornered you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You know, you two make a terrible couple,” she said, her tone dripping with faux innocence.

You froze, a plate halfway to the sink. “Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on,” Garcia said, waving a hand. “We all know. You and Reid are about as subtle as a neon sign.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, Morgan walked in with a wide grin.

“What’d I miss?”

“Garcia’s accusing me of dating Spencer,” you said, your voice a little too defensive.

“Accusing?” Morgan repeated, raising an eyebrow. “Nah, sweetheart, we’re just confirming.”

Your face went red, and you glanced at Spencer for backup, but he just sighed and set the dishes down.

“They’re not wrong,” he said simply.

The room went silent for a beat.

“Wait,” JJ said, walking in with Rossi and Hotch close behind. “Are you serious? You two are together?”

You looked at Spencer, your heart racing. He met your gaze, his expression calm, but you could see the faint tension in his shoulders.

“Yes,” he said quietly, his voice steady. “We’re together.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Garcia’s face lit up like a Christmas tree. “I knew it!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “Oh my gosh, this is so much better than I imagined. You two are like—like a bookish rom-com come to life!”

“Garcia,” you said, your face burning, “can we not make a big deal out of this?”

“Are you kidding?” she replied, her voice high with excitement. “This is the biggest deal! You and Reid? It’s like finding out Clark Kent and Lois Lane are secretly dating!”

“Technically,” Spencer started, “Lois Lane wasn’t actually aware of—”

“Not the time, Reid,” Morgan said, grinning as he leaned against the counter.

JJ folded her arms, her smile soft. “So how long has this been going on?”

“Uh…” You exchanged a glance with Spencer.

“A few months,” he said, his tone even.

“A few months?” Rossi interjected, his eyebrows raised. “You’ve been hiding this from us for months?”

“It’s not like we were trying to hide it,” you said quickly, your hands fidgeting. “We just… wanted to keep it private for a while.”

Hotch, who had been standing silently in the doorway, finally spoke. “And your relationship isn’t interfering with your work?”

“No, sir,” Spencer said immediately. “We’ve been careful to maintain professionalism in the field.”

Hotch studied the two of you for a moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he nodded. “As long as that remains the case, I have no objections.”

Relief flooded through you, and you gave him a small, grateful smile.

Morgan, however, was clearly enjoying himself. “So, Reid,” he said, clapping Spencer on the shoulder, “you finally made a move, huh? About time.”

Spencer’s face turned pink. “It wasn’t— I mean, we— It wasn’t like that,” he stammered.

“Sure it wasn’t,” Morgan said with a wink. “I’ve been watching you moon over her for months.”

“Morgan!” you protested, your own face heating up.

JJ chuckled. “Don’t let him get to you. We’re happy for you guys. Really.”

Garcia practically bounced on her heels. “Does this mean I can officially call you my favorite BAU couple? Because I’ve been holding back for so long, and—”

“Garcia,” you interrupted, laughing despite yourself, “let’s take it one step at a time, okay?”

Spencer’s POV

The teasing didn’t stop after dinner.

By the time everyone had moved into the living room, Garcia and Morgan were in full swing, grilling the two of you with questions about how you got together.

“Come on, give us something,” Garcia pleaded, her hands clasped dramatically. “Was there a grand romantic confession? A surprise kiss? A late-night stakeout where you realized you couldn’t live without each other?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Spencer said, his face still pink.

“She’s right,” JJ added with a laugh. “If anyone’s earned some privacy, it’s these two.”

Morgan leaned back in his chair, smirking. “Fine, fine. But don’t think this means we’re letting you off the hook completely. I’m keeping an eye on you, Reid.”

“Duly noted,” Spencer said dryly, though his lips twitched in a faint smile.

Reader’s POV

By the end of the night, you were exhausted but relieved. The team’s reactions had been overwhelming at first, but their acceptance and teasing affection had left you feeling lighter than you had in weeks.

As you and Spencer walked to his car, the cool night air brushing against your skin, you glanced at him, your heart full.

“Well, that could’ve gone worse,” you said with a small smile.

Spencer chuckled, unlocking the car. “I think Morgan’s never going to let this go.”

“Probably not,” you agreed, sliding into the passenger seat.

As he started the engine, you reached for his hand, your fingers threading through his.

“Thanks for being honest with them,” you said softly.

Spencer glanced at you, his expression warm. “I wasn’t going to let you handle that alone.”

The drive back to your apartment was quiet but comfortable, the tension of the evening melting away.

When he walked you to your door, you hesitated for a moment before pulling him into a gentle kiss.

“Goodnight, Spencer,” you murmured, your voice soft.

“Goodnight,” he replied, his eyes shining with affection.

As you closed the door behind you, you couldn’t help but smile.

The team knew now, and while things might be different going forward, you felt ready to face it—together.

___________________________________________________________

The team adjusted to your relationship with Spencer in their own ways, but the teasing never let up. It became a new dynamic, woven into the fabric of your daily lives at the BAU, and while it was occasionally embarrassing, you couldn’t deny that it brought a warmth to the team that hadn’t been there before.

___________________________________________________________

Garcia

Garcia, predictably, went all in.

She was ecstatic that her two “favorite nerds” were finally together, and she wasn’t shy about expressing it. She’d leave little notes on your desks with messages like “Lovebirds hard at work!” or “OTP: Reid & Y/N forever” scribbled in glittery pen.

One day, you caught her sneaking a photo of you and Spencer sitting close together during a case briefing.

“Garcia,” you hissed, narrowing your eyes. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she said, attempting (poorly) to hide her phone.

“Penelope,” Spencer said, his tone exasperated but fond.

“Fine,” she relented with a dramatic sigh. “But you two are too cute, and it’s practically my duty to document it. What if your hypothetical future kids want to see their parents in their adorable early days?”

You buried your face in your hands as Spencer stammered, his ears turning pink.

___________________________________________________________

Morgan

Morgan was relentless in his teasing, but you knew it came from a place of affection.

He had a knack for making both you and Spencer squirm in the most public ways possible.

“Reid,” he called out one morning as you all sat in the bullpen, “did you finally teach Y/N the quadratic formula last night? Or was it more of a hands-on tutoring session?”

You groaned, your face heating up. “Morgan, seriously?”

“What?” Morgan said with a grin. “Just trying to keep the workplace educational.”

Spencer rolled his eyes but shot you a small, reassuring smile. You’d both learned that ignoring Morgan was usually the best defense.

___________________________________________________________

JJ

JJ was quieter about her support but no less kind.

She’d give you subtle smiles when she caught you and Spencer exchanging glances or a soft nudge when the team’s teasing got out of hand.

One day, while you were working on a case together, she leaned in and said, “You’re good for him, you know.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Spencer’s always been… a little isolated,” she said thoughtfully. “He has us, but he’s never really let someone in the way he’s let you in. It’s good to see him happy.”

Her words stayed with you long after the conversation ended, filling you with a quiet warmth.

___________________________________________________________

Rossi

Rossi was the least vocal about your relationship, but his approval came through in other ways.

He started inviting the two of you to his dinners more frequently, always seating you next to each other and making subtle comments like, “It’s nice to see Reid eating something other than takeout. You must be a good influence, Y/N.”

Once, when you thanked him for the meal as you were leaving, he gave you a knowing look. “Just take care of each other,” he said simply.

You nodded, the weight of his trust settling over you like a blanket.

___________________________________________________________

Hotch

Hotch was, as expected, professional about the whole thing. He never made any overt comments about your relationship but made it clear through his actions that he trusted you both to maintain your professionalism in the field.

That trust came to the forefront during a high-stakes case in New Orleans. You and Spencer were paired together to investigate a lead, and when the situation became tense, Hotch’s calm voice came through the comms.

“Reid, Y/N,” he said, his tone even. “I need you both to stay focused. You’re a team first.”

You could hear the unspoken meaning in his words: I trust you to keep your relationship separate from the job.

When the case wrapped successfully, he pulled you aside.

“You handled yourself well out there,” he said, his expression unreadable.

“Thank you, sir,” you said, standing a little straighter.

His gaze softened slightly. “You and Reid are good for each other. Just don’t let it cloud your judgment when it matters.”

“We won’t,” you promised, meaning every word.

___________________________________________________________

As time went on, your relationship with Spencer became a natural part of the team’s dynamic. The teasing remained, of course—Garcia’s glittery notes, Morgan’s innuendos, and Rossi’s subtle smirks were constants—but there was also an unspoken sense of support that ran deeper than you’d expected.

When cases got tough, the team knew to keep an extra eye on both of you, making sure the weight of the job didn’t pull you down too far. And when things were calm, they celebrated your happiness in their own unique ways, whether it was Garcia baking cupcakes with “R+Y” frosted on top or Morgan giving Spencer a mock toast at Rossi’s next dinner party.

You and Spencer never felt alone in your relationship—not with this group of people who had become your family.

___________________________________________________________

Months turned into a year, and your relationship with Spencer became a steady, unshakable part of your life. What had started as a quiet connection had grown into something deep and enduring—something that didn’t just survive the pressures of the job but thrived despite them.

It was a rare night off, and you and Spencer were curled up on your couch. The soft glow of a lamp cast long shadows across the room, and the faint scent of coffee lingered in the air. A chessboard sat between you, though neither of you had made a move in over an hour.

Instead, your attention was focused on Spencer as he explained a theory about quantum mechanics with the same enthusiasm he brought to every subject. His hands moved as he spoke, his eyes alight with the passion you adored.

“Am I boring you?” he asked suddenly, noticing your quiet smile.

“Not at all,” you said, leaning forward to rest your hand over his. “I just love listening to you.”

Spencer’s expression softened, and he turned his hand over to intertwine his fingers with yours.

“You’ve changed my life, you know,” he said quietly.

You tilted your head, caught off guard. “I could say the same about you.”

He smiled, his eyes searching yours. “I mean it. Before you, I didn’t think I’d ever find someone who really… understood me. But you do.”

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “You make me feel the same way, Spencer.”

The kiss that followed was soft and unhurried, a quiet affirmation of everything you’d built together.

___________________________________________________________

Rossi’s house was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. The entire team had gathered for one of his famous dinners, and you couldn’t help but marvel at how far you’d come.

You stood in the kitchen with Garcia, the two of you laughing as she recounted an over-the-top story about a case from her early days at the BAU. Across the room, Spencer was deep in conversation with Rossi, his hands gesturing animatedly as he explained something.

Garcia nudged you, her grin wide. “He’s crazy about you, you know.”

You smiled, glancing at Spencer. “I’m pretty crazy about him, too.”

“Well, duh,” she said, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “I mean, you’re practically the BAU’s golden couple at this point.”

“You don’t think it’s weird?” you asked, suddenly curious.

Garcia tilted her head, her expression softening. “Honey, weird doesn’t even come close to describing the BAU. But you two? You’re good for each other. And we’re all lucky to have you both.”

Before you could respond, Morgan called out from the dining room. “Come on, you two! Food’s getting cold!”

Garcia grabbed your hand, dragging you toward the table.

As you sat down beside Spencer, his hand found yours under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze. You leaned into him, a quiet smile playing on your lips as the team fell into their usual rhythm of teasing and storytelling.

___________________________________________________________ 

Later that night, as you and Spencer walked back to your car under the glow of the streetlights, you felt a sense of peace you hadn’t known was possible.

“Did you have fun?” he asked, his voice soft.

You nodded, your fingers laced with his. “Always.”

He glanced at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “What are you thinking about?”

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “How lucky I am,” you said simply.

Spencer’s eyes softened, and he stepped closer, his hands resting on your waist. “I’m the lucky one.”

The kiss you shared under the stars was filled with the quiet certainty that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you’d face them together.

You’d found your place—with Spencer, with the team, with the life you’d built. And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole.