Can I Recommend Daylight By Christmasbarbie

ALYSSIA THIS WAS SO GOOD!!! EVERYONE GO LIKE, COMMENT AND REBLOG RN 😠 MY GIRL ATE UP HER FIRST FIC !!!

SIP AND STAND • SPENCER REID

SUMMARY: Navigating caffeine cravings and chaos, Reid finds himself drawn into a tense standoff, discovering that even in a coffee shop, unexpected alliances can brew.

PAIRING: fem!reader x spencer reid

a/n: this is my first time posting on here so pls be nice and lie to me even if it sucks cause i’m sensitive

this isn’t an actual reader x spencer fic cause i struggle with writing in first person and not writing a specific character so bare with me while i learn!

tysm to @g4rvez-r3id @dearlenore and @cerisereids for helping me navigate through this super overwhelming new process! <3

w/c: 2.2k

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The fluorescent lights of the coffee shop hummed, a stark contrast to the chaos swirling in Reid's mind. The case they'd just wrapped up had left him feeling hollow. A six-year-old boy, missing for three days, found just in time – but Morgan had taken a bullet to the shoulder during the takedown. His teammate would be fine, just restricted from field assignments for a while, but the image of blood seeping through Morgan's shirt kept replaying in Reid's mind. He needed caffeine, and he needed it now.

He shuffled toward the counter, already calculating the amount of sugar he'd need to counteract the bitterness of the black coffee. Three packets? Four? He usually went for five. He knew it wasn't healthy, but right now, he craved the jolt of pure, unadulterated sweetness. He reached for a handful of packets, tearing them open and pouring them into his cup with abandon.

The bell above the door chimed, and a laugh cut through the ambient noise – warm and genuine, like honey over gravel.

A young woman walked in, her yellow sundress flowing down to her ankles, making her look like a ray of sunshine against the coffee shop's muted tones. Her brown hair fell in loose waves past her shoulders, and there was something gentle about the way she moved.

"I know, Mom, I know," she said into her phone, her voice edged with frustration as she joined the line, running her free hand through her hair. "I wish I could visit this weekend, but this paper on evolutionary psychology is killing me. Like, I get the basic premise of cognitive adaptations, but trying to explain how modern behavioral patterns evolved from ancient survival mechanisms? I'm completely stuck."

Reid's ears perked up. He found himself unconsciously leaning closer, stirring his coffee slower than necessary.

"The professor wants us to focus specifically on mate selection theories," she continued, adjusting the strap of her bag. "I've got three days to figure this out, and I just... I don't know. It's overwhelming."

Her mom's voice on the other end must have been comforting because she let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I know Dad would say it's all a bunch of hooey. But you know how he is with anything that doesn't have a clear-cut answer."

As she listened to her mom's response, her eyes caught the movement at the door. A man in an expensive suit walked in, took one look at the line that wrapped around the counter, and headed straight for the front. He brushed past several waiting customers, ignoring their pointed stares and muttered complaints.

"Mom, something just came up," she said, her voice shifting to a more serious tone. "I'll call you back in a little bit, okay? Love you."

She slipped her phone into her purse and stepped directly into the guy's path.

"Excuse me," she said, her voice firm but polite. "There's a line."

The guy paused, looking at her with a patronizing smile. "Ah, but rules are for those without charm, sweetheart."

"I'm not your sweetheart," she replied, her voice cooling several degrees. "And you can wait in line like everyone else."

The guy stopped, turning to face her fully. "Look, I'm in a hurry," he said, his tone impatient. "I don't have time for this."

"Well, that's unfortunate," she said with a smile that didn't reach her eyes, the kind that could cut like ice. "The line starts back there."

The guy's face flushed with anger. He took a step closer, invading her personal space. "You need to learn to stay out of people's way," he said, his voice low and aggressive.

She didn't back down, though Reid noticed her fists clench at her sides. "And you need to learn basic manners," she retorted, her voice slightly less steady than before.

"Listen here, you little—" the guy sneered, leaning in closer.

Reid abandoned his half-empty coffee cup on the table. The statistics on public harassment flashed through his mind – how often these situations escalated, how many victims never reported. He calculated the probable outcomes and decided it was time to intervene.

"Is there a problem here?" Reid's voice cut through the tension as he stepped forward.

The guy turned, irritation flashing across his face. "Mind your own business," he snapped.

"I'm afraid I can't do that," Reid replied, his voice calm. "You see, social dynamics in public spaces can be quite fascinating. Did you know that intervention by a third party decreases the likelihood of escalation by 50%?"

"Who the hell are you?" the guy challenged, turning to face Reid fully.

"FBI Special Agent Dr Reid," he said, pulling out his badge. "And harassing people in public spaces is very much my business."

The guy scoffed, though Reid noticed him take a small step back. "You expect me to believe you're FBI? Looking like that?"

"Would you like to verify my credentials with the local field office?" Reid offered calmly. "Or perhaps we should discuss the legal definition of harassment in public spaces. The statutes are quite specific about—"

"This is ridiculous," the guy cut in, but his confidence was clearly shaken. He looked between Reid and the woman, jaw clenching. As he turned to leave, he muttered, "I don't have time for this shit," before shooting one last look at the woman. "You got lucky this time."

Once he was gone, Reid turned to her. "Are you okay?"

She let out a long breath, her shoulders finally relaxing. "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine. Just a bit shaken, I guess. That was..." She ran a hand through her hair. "Thank you for stepping in. I was trying to act tough, but he was starting to scare me a little. I really don't like entitled jerks."

"Most people wouldn't have said anything in the first place," Reid offered.

"I usually don't," she admitted, wrapping her arms around herself. "But something about his attitude just... I don't know. I couldn't help myself." She shook her head slightly. "I should probably learn to pick my battles better, huh?"

"Actually, speaking up against threatening behavior can help prevent future incidents. Though perhaps with backup next time," he added with a small smile.

She laughed softly. "Yeah, well, thankfully my backup today came with a badge." She gestured to the counter. "Let me buy you a coffee? As a thank you?"

Reid glanced at his abandoned coffee cup, already forgotten in the whirlwind of the encounter. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"Please, I insist," she interrupted. "It's the least I can do for my knight in..." she paused, glancing at his mismatched socks and cardigan, "...academic armor?"

He nodded, intrigued. "Sure, I'd like that."

They moved to the counter together, and as they waited for their drinks, she seemed to relax more, the color returning to her cheeks. Her eyes caught on the book tucked under his arm. "Wait, is that 'The Picture of Dorian Gray'?"

"It is," Reid replied, suddenly aware that his heart was beating faster than usual. "Though I find Wilde's short stories more psychologically complex, particularly 'The Happy Prince.'" He paused, then added, "I couldn't help but overhear – you're writing about evolutionary psychology?"

"Oh god, yes," she groaned. "And completely drowning in it. I thought I understood the basics, but trying to connect everything together..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

"I actually have BAs in Psychology and Sociology, along with PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering and I've done extensive study in evolutionary psychology for my work with the FBI's Behavioral Analysis Unit," Reid said, then hesitated for a moment. "If you'd like, I wouldn't mind helping you work through some of the concepts?"

Her eyes lit up. "Really? You wouldn't mind?"

Reid took both their coffee cups before gesturing to an empty table by the window. "Not at all. Actually, the evolutionary basis for altruistic behavior is fascinating. Did you know that reciprocal altruism was first mathematically modeled by Robert Trivers in 1971?"

She smiled, following him to the table. "I have a feeling I'm about to learn a lot more than just that."

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The afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky as their conversation flowed effortlessly, weaving through topics of evolutionary psychology, literature, and the quirks of human behavior. Reid's explanations were met with keen interest, and her questions were insightful, sparking lively debates between them.

"You know, the way you explained the evolutionary basis for altruism really helped me see the connections," she said, jotting down notes in her notebook. "I never thought about how reciprocal altruism could be mathematically modeled."

Reid nodded, clearly in his element. "It's fascinating, isn't it? Trivers' model from 1971 really opened up a new way of understanding social behaviors."

Just as she was about to respond, Reid's phone buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at it and saw Garcia's name flashing on the screen. "Excuse me for a moment," he said, stepping aside to take the call. His demeanor shifted immediately, becoming serious as he listened.

When he returned, he looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, but I have to go. There's a case."

She nodded, understanding. "Duty calls, huh? You know, for a moment there, I almost forgot you were an FBI agent."

Reid chuckled softly, appreciating her light-hearted approach. "It was nice to forget for a bit."

As they gathered their things, Reid courteously opened the door for her. He noticed for the first time how petite she was compared to him, her presence both delicate and confident in contrast to his taller frame. "Thank you. It's nice to share what I've learned with someone who's genuinely interested," he added, feeling a bit flustered by the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

She stepped out into the cool evening air, the bell chiming softly behind them. "I have a feeling my professor is going to be impressed too. Thanks to you, I'm actually looking forward to tackling this paper."

Reid hesitated for a moment before speaking. "If you get stuck on any more complex theories," he offered, trying to sound casual, "I'd be happy to help. You know, for the sake of academic rigor."

She smiled, a hint of mischief in her eyes. "Is that your way of saying you'd like to see me again, Dr. Reid?"

Reid's cheeks flushed slightly, but he met her gaze with a shy smile. "Maybe it is."

"Then I suppose I'll have to take you up on that," she replied. They exchanged numbers, and she gave him one last wave. "Thanks again. For everything."

Before she could turn to leave, Reid hesitated, a hint of his usual earnestness returning. "Are you sure you'll be okay walking home? Statistically speaking, the probability of encountering a dangerous situation increases by approximately 30% when walking alone compared to walking with someone."

She grinned, appreciating his concern. "I'll be fine, Reid. But thanks for the stats lesson. And don't worry, I'll keep my phone handy."

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Back at the office, Reid walked in with an unusually cheerful demeanor, his steps lighter than usual. Morgan noticed immediately and exchanged a bemused glance with Emily. They both observed him for a moment, enjoying the rare sight of a visibly happy Reid.

Emily raised an eyebrow, sharing a knowing smile with Morgan. Without saying a word, they both seemed to agree: something was definitely up.

Finally, Morgan couldn't resist breaking the silence. "Reid, you look like you're on cloud nine. What's going on?"

Reid glanced over, feigning innocence. "What do you mean?"

Emily chimed in with a teasing tone. "Come on, Reid. You can't fool profilers. You're practically glowing."

Morgan leaned in, pressing a bit more. "Yeah, pretty boy, you look like you just won the lottery."

Reid smirked, opting for a classic comeback. "You know, the odds of winning the lottery are approximately 1 in 292 million. Statistically speaking, I'm more likely to be struck by lightning."

Emily laughed, shaking her head. "Nice try, Reid. You're trying to change the subject."

Reid shrugged, a playful glint in his eyes. "I just had an interesting conversation this afternoon."

Morgan's curiosity was piqued. "Interesting enough to put that smile on your face?"

Reid nodded, keeping things light. "Met someone at the coffee shop. We talked about evolutionary psychology—altruism, reciprocal behavior, the usual."

Emily's curiosity was piqued. "That sounds like quite the conversation."

Reid offered a noncommittal smile, allowing a hint of mystery to linger. "It was... engaging."

As they were about to head to the conference room, Garcia intercepted them, noticing Reid's flustered demeanor. "Hey, what's going on with our boy genius? He looks like he just solved world peace."

Morgan chuckled, sharing a knowing glance with Emily. "Just a little coffee shop chat, babygirl."

Emily grinned, offering Garcia a playful shrug. "Yeah, he's had a... stimulating afternoon."

Garcia gave Reid a teasing smile, then turned her attention to Morgan with a flirtatious tone. "Well, sugar, you can fill me in on all the juicy details later."

Morgan grinned back, clearly enjoying the banter. "You know it, gorgeous. I'll bring the popcorn."

With that, they all headed to the conference room, the air filled with the warmth and camaraderie that defined their team.

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If you liked this, please don’t hesitate to tell me because I’m about to throw up out of nervousness!

If you didn’t, pretend you didn’t read it !

Anything for Ellie

Spencer Reid x Single Mom!Reader

Synopsis: Your daughter, Ellie’s birthday is coming up and you plan on baking a cake for her. But when you accidentally break the eggs you just bought, your handsome neighbor, Spencer comes to your rescue.

Category: Fluff

Warnings: post prison! spencer, pictures above don’t indicate how reader is supposed to look! reader’s ex is a piece of shit, spencer lowkey being a dad, mentions of cheating and divorce, reader’s daughter being kind of a wingwoman, mentions of the prison arc but they’re brief, (spencer’s been gone for three months and reader has no idea why), mutual pining, reader’s daughter having an absent father, minor angst, a minor mention of maeve, baking- i think that covers it 🤷‍♀️

Author’s Note: hey lovelies! i’m a sucker for single mom!reader x spencer reid so here it is! will most likely make a part two <3

part one

“Mommy, can I help?” Your almost-five year-old, Ellie begged, reaching her arms up to grab anything you’d been holding. You both had gone to the store and were now coming up the stairs back to your apartment after getting what you needed.

Ellie was turning five in a few days here and had wanted a big birthday party with all of her friends in your apartment. You’d wanted to go all out for your little one, wanting her to have the best birthday party ever.

It’d only been a year since you and your ex had signed divorce papers. While you were married, he was off screwing his assistant at the banking firm he worked in. And you’d caught them in the act, on your bed. You were devastated to say the least. But in a way, it felt like a relief.

Let’s just say, you weren’t happy in your marriage. Your ex wasn’t very helpful when it came to your marriage. He’d nitpick every single thing that made you you, called you a hot mess every now and again and was never appreciative of anything you did for him. And another thing — he was a good dad, just not a very present one. Ever since she was born, it seemed like he wasn’t interested in the parenthood. He’d let down Ellie over a gazillion times and you weren’t sure he’d be able to keep his promise about showing up for her birthday party. There was always something more important and that wasn’t fair to you or to Ellie.

So, you did what you could, scraped up money you had saved and got an apartment in D.C., you’d rather be happy homeless than co-exist with him further. You’d luckily found a quaint apartment, two bedrooms and even managed to snag a bakery job with the help of your friends. Things were turning up for you and for Ellie.

“Here, why don’t you grab this bag?” You say, handing her a paper bag of the plastic cups, plates, napkins and utensils since it was probably the one thing you could trust her to hold.

Ellie had been singing a song, about how she was turning five and she kept reminding you that her birthday was in a few days and how excited she was. You loved that she’d been excited for it. You remembered the day she was born vividly. You were in labor for fourteen hours with no help from your ex, since he was asleep the majority of Ellie’s birth but every minute was worth it to have a little you by your side. You were lucky enough that Ellie was blessed with your genes and had soon enough become your little twin.

You made your way to the door, trying to reach for your keys in your pocket but the paper bags were in your way and you didn’t want to drop one of the bags since it had the eggs you were going to use to bake Ellie’s cake and you didn’t want to break them. You groan as you try to reach in your pocket without trying to drop the bags but your hand slips and down goes the paper bag with the eggs and you wince as you hear the eggs crack.

“Oh, no.” You sigh as you bend down pick up the mess. You’d have to hold off on baking Ellie’s cake tomorrow night, the day before the party. You’d been a bit of a perfectionist and just wanted to bake the cake a few days before.

You nearly thought about crying in front of your soon-to-be five year-old over cracked eggs when a shadow stood over you and your daughter. “Hi, Mr. Spencer!” Your daughter greeted your next door neighbor with a wave and you looked up and did a double-take as you saw the tall lanky man stand over you. He was wearing a brown sweater, black slacks and converse, holding his mail in his hands. But to be honest, he looked a little different. Hence, the double-take.

“Hi, Ellie! Everything okay over here?” Spencer asked as he kneels down to help you clean the mess you made. Ellie answers for you, “No, my mommy broke the eggs.”

You look up at Spencer. “Hi, Spencer. We’re all good here,” You manage to say as you scrape up the bag. “I’m just…” You throw your arms around. “As you know, a bit of a klutz.” You look over at your daughter. “Looks like we’re gonna have to bake the cake tomorrow night, Ellie.”

You stand up and Spencer and you’re still shocked at the fact that even standing, he’s still taller than you. His hair was wild with chocolate locks, with warm yet tired brown eyes and stubble growing on his face. He was always gorgeous.

It’d been a while since you’d seen Spencer, living next door to him for over a year now. For about three months, he’d completely disappeared and you almost wondered if maybe he moved but standing in front of you, clearly he didn’t.

You manage to grab your keys out of your pocket while holding the bags but Spencer had come to your rescue and managed to grab both of the bags from your arms and you unlock the front door, Ellie running inside, to mess around no less. You turn back to your neighbor and give him a small yet appreciative smile as you take your bags back from his hands. “Thank you, Spencer.”

“No problem.” The man says. You look at him and squint your eyes and Spencer gives you a confused look. “Sorry, I don’t mean to stare, it’s just… it’s been a while. You look a little… different.” You admit and his face falters for a moment. “It’s a good different, I promise you.”

Your downstairs neighbor, Rita — a seventy year-old woman who lived alone with a dozen cats — had a theory that Spencer may have been abducted by aliens. Granted, she was a senile old lady that watched too many UFO shows but it made you wonder why he disappeared for a minute. You knew he was an FBI agent, his job must’ve been too demanding because you’d hadn’t seen him until now.

“So, where have you been? Ellie and I have missed you.” You smile and Spencer opens his mouth and it looks like there are gears running through his head and he shrugs, “Oh, just… a vacation. Of sorts.”

A vacation, of sorts. Huh. You start to wonder if maybe Rita is right about an alien abduction. You nod, not knowing how to respond to that and luckily, your daughter is a good icebreaker because she comes rushing back to the front door where you are talking with Spencer. “Spencer! I’m turning five in this many days!” She tells him, holding three fingers up.

“Oh, wow!” Spencer bends down to her level. “You doing anything special for your birthday, Ellie?” Ellie nods once more, “Yes! We’re having a big birthday party for me and I’m gonna get a lot of presents and cake!” This then causes your daughter to turn to you. “Mommy, can’t we bake the cake, now?” Ellie begs, beaming her signature puppy eyes that make you say ‘yes’ to anything for her.

“I’m sorry, babe, I broke the eggs so we’re gonna have to wait until tomorrow when I can go to the store to get eggs to bake the cake, okay?” You ask, running a hand through her hair and she looks down in sadness. The last thing you wanted was to make her sad.

“Uh, actually,” Spencer speaks up. “I have eggs, if you’d like to have them to bake your cake.” He offers and you shake your head, surprised he offered. “Oh, thank you for the kind offer, but it’s alright.”

“No, take them,” Spencer insists. “I don’t need them and if I use them, they’re not going to be good anyways, since I can’t really cook anything.” He chuckles to himself but you still have hesitation written on your face. Spencer sees it, tilting his head to meet your eyes and pushes — “I insist.”

He always knew what to say, how to fix the issue. The first time you met, you had gone over to his apartment to ask if he had any juice since it was the only thing Ellie wanted to drink when she was sick and you’d just run out. Luckily, Spencer had had juice and formally introduced himself to you. Since that day, he never forgot you. He never forgot the way your hair was sticking out of your messy bun, that you were wearing a pastel pink robe and mismatched socks, like he did often. It was then that he wanted to get to know you. Luckily, you baked him cookies as a token of your gratitude the next day and the rest was history.

“Take the eggs, Mama! Take the eggs!” Ellie begs as she bounces, grabbing you by your arm and you finally give in, “Okay, I’ll definitely pay you back for the eggs. I do appreciate this a lot, Spencer.” You tell and he nods, “Hey, what are neighbors for? I’ll go get those for you, right now.”

Spencer heads back to his apartment as you and Ellie make your way inside of yours and you place your bags on the counter and take a breather. Spencer is gone for at least ten to fifteen seconds before showing back up with the eggs, like he said he would get for you.

“Here you are.” He says, handing the carton to you. “You really didn’t have to do this, Spencer. Your generosity…” You trail off but he shakes his head, “It’s really no problem. Just as long as you have me with a cup of sugar.” He jokes and you laugh along with him.

Suddenly, Ellie appears behind you and looks at your neighbor and asks, “Spencer, will you help me and my mom bake my birthday cake?” You look down at your daughter. Her spark and confidence was something you definitely didn’t pass down onto her.

Spencer responds with nothing except wide eyes and an open mouth. You’re quick to jump in and speak for him. “Spencer probably has other things to attend to, Ellie.” You look back at him. “You definitely don’t have to.”

“Please, Spencer! Please!” Ellie begs with puppy eyes and you look at him and joke — “Don’t fall for her puppy eyes. She gets away with a lot around here because of them.” Spencer chuckles and looks at you, “Uh, if it’s okay with you. I really don’t mind staying.”

You raise your brows, “You don’t?” Spencer shakes his head, “Yeah, why not spend my time with a four-year-old princess and her beautiful mother?” He jokes and you will your cheeks not to turn a shade of crimson at the beautiful comment. Him thinking you were beautiful made your stomach churn and your heart skip a beat.

You stared at him. There was something in his eyes that was tired and sad, like he needed this. He was never like that, usually his eyes lit up and to some degree they did, but you worried for him silently, especially since he sort of dodged the question about you asking where he was. You decide for him to stay, to which Ellie excitedly grabs him by his hands.

“Come on!” Ellie drags Spencer as she pulls him towards the kitchen and he lets her. “El, what do we do before we start baking?” You ask her. “Wash our hands!” Ellie says and grabs a chair to stand over the sink as you put soap into her hands and you look at Spencer as he makes his way over to the sink and put soap into his hands as well and you do the same.

Ellie grabs her apron that you bought her for baking so she doesn’t get it all over her clothes and you put on your baking apron and you all soon begin.

You put the ingredients together, consisting of sugar, flour, cocoa powder, baking powder and baking soda and you let Ellie do the mixing as you begin to work on the frosting.

“Mr. Spencer?” Ellie asks the man standing next to you as you work your magic. “Yes, Ellie?” Spencer asks, dividing his attention to her. “Where were you?” You turn to your daughter, wondering where that came from. But with her nosy nature, you aren’t very surprised by the question.

“Uh, I was working, Ellie. You remember my job.” Spencer speaks softly to her, reminding her. “Right, you’re a spy.” Ellie says as she continues to mix. “I am a spy, yeah.” Spencer chuckles a bit as he replies.

He is quick to then change the subject before Ellie can ask anymore questions. “Let me ask you this, Ellie, do you want to see a magic trick?” He did this often when Ellie needed focus her attention on something else, it helped stimulate her brain, Spencer claimed when he did it the first time he’d ever witness her have a meltdown.

“Oh, Ellie, you love magic.” You comment. Ellie had a moment where all she was into was cartoons and she’d recently just watched Strange Magic and had fallen in love with the concept of fairytales and such. In fact, the party was fairy-themed, wanting her friends to dress up as fairies.

“Would you like to see a magic trick?” Spencer asks and Ellie nods vehemently and Spencer looks around and finds a piece of paper and looks around for a pen, which he finds on your counter and shows Ellie the items. “Now, watch the pen.”

He quickly stabs the pen through the paper, making Ellie gasp and the pointer side of the pen is on the other side of the paper and Spencer tilts and pulls the pen from the paper and the pen isn’t broken and the paper doesn’t even have a dent in it.

“Wow!” Ellie exclaims. “How did you do that?” Spencer shakes his head, “A magician never reveals his secrets.”

Your heart skips a beat as Spencer treats your daughter like she’s his own, almost. Your ex wasn’t good with kids, which was probably why he didn’t bother having a good relationship with Ellie. But Spencer, since the day you met, seemed to always have an affinity with kids. He loved watching over Ellie and he was so caring and trustworthy. You’d almost wished Spencer was Ellie’s father instead, considering her biological one wasn’t very present in her life.

“You done mixing the powder there, kiddo?” You ask, taking those thoughts out of your head and she nods, “Yes, Mama.”

“Alrighty, wanna help me whisk the frosting?” It was Ellie’s favorite part after all. “Spencer, do you like chocolate cake?” Ellie asked as she made her way over to you and you sat her on the counter. “I do. My favorite donuts are actually chocolate with rainbow sprinkles.” Ellie beams with excitement at that, “That’s my favorite, too!”

After a while, you finally finish baking the cake yourself since Ellie seems so cooped up on Spencer and showing him her room upgrade since she recently wanted to fill the walls with posters, and she wanted to show him her new toys and she had him show magic tricks to her.

Eventually, Ellie grows tired and winds up falling asleep on the couch. As you tuck her into bed, you find Spencer cleaning up your kitchen and you smile to yourself. He was always such a neat freak, perhaps you liked that about him. “You don’t have to do that.” You say, making your presence known and the man turns to you with a shrug. “I don’t mind.”

You begin to help as you wipe down your counter. It’s quiet for a moment before you speak again. “You, uh, you were wonderful with Ellie today. You sure you don’t have any kids?” You joke.

Spencer shakes his head with a sly chuckle, “No, I don’t.” You raise your brows, still messing with him. “Oh, yeah, no, I do have a few godsons, though. Henry and Michael. And then, my old colleague’s friend named his son after me. I guess you could say I’m just good with kids.” He tells and you smile.

“You’re a natural at it.” You compliment as you throw away the paper towels you used to clean your counter.

You think to yourself as you guys go quiet once more. And then you decide to carry on the conversation with a question Ellie wanted you to ask Spencer. “Oh, uh, when I was putting Ellie to bed, she wanted me to ask you if maybe you’d like to attend her birthday party this Saturday. You totally don’t have to come, but she wanted me to ask anyways.”

Spencer ponders this for a moment, “Work depending, sure, I’d love to.” He narrows his eyes for a second. “Something tells me she’ll always do the ruling around here.” He jokes and it makes you chuckle. “Yeah, yeah, that’s kind of how it is.”

There’s a moment as the two of you pause and he stares at you with a wondering look. You seem to be gazing back at him. To be honest, Spencer had had a crush on you since the day you came to his door asking for juice.

Of course, before then, they’d lived next door for a while and Ellie was pretty loud behind those thin walls since she was a kid and you most likely encouraged her to be playful and there were times when it was quiet in his apartment and all he could hear was your laughter and hers. And he wondered who was on the other side of that wall. He hadn’t experienced a childhood such as Ellie’s and he was left wondering if he’d ever be able to have something like that. And wondered what it was like for Ellie to have such a wonderful mother.

“How are things… with you?” Spencer asks and you shrug, “Same old, same old. Ellie has been a riot. I swear, she’s into something new everyday.” Spencer pauses you for a second. “Y/n,” He spoke. “I asked how you were doing.”

Your breath catches in your throat and you swallow the lump that has formed. You’d never been used to getting asked that question. You often deflected, talking about Ellie since she was your pride and joy. Spencer had profiled you — knowing he probably shouldn’t have — and had theorized that you only talked about Ellie just to not talk about yourself. It often stemmed from a fear of judgment or vulnerability, he knew. He knew why it was like that for you, not having a very present ex that could care less about you and your daughter and only striving to be strong for Ellie. He wished he could take your pain away, especially after learning your story.

“I’m…” You think for a moment. How were you doing? Truly? “I’m okay, I guess. I’ve just been… stressed. But who isn’t?” You shrug. “I’m a single mom, working at a bakery 24/7 and when she has her days off, she spends them with her kid.” You tell.

This leads to Spencer’s next question. “Will, uh,” Spencer clears his throat. “Will Ellie’s dad be making an appearance at this party?” You sigh, rubbing your temples, something you did often before talking about your ex. “He promised he’ll try but that’s code for ‘maybe not’.”

Spencer frowns and you shake your head, “I just wish he could be a good dad for once. Show up on time, be there for his kid. No matter what happened between us, I still want Ellie to have her dad around. Just the other day, she was asking if she even had one.” The thought made Spencer upset and even brought you back to tears again, when you thought about the day that she asked.

“Well, if you ask me, he’s missing out.” Spencer told and you could tell it was genuine. “On you and Ellie.” You give him a small smile, he always seemed to know what to say to make you feel better. It was Spencer’s specialty, being your personal therapist and trying to make you feel better in every way, shape or form.

You look at him. You wonder what he’s been through, where he’s been. It seems like his thoughts are misplaced, seem to be elsewhere. His eyes are hiding something and he’s keeping his guard up. And with this new look, this rough side of things, you wonder if he barely made it out alive.

“Spencer?” You ask and he hums, looking at you. “You’ve been gone for three months.” You say and he looks down at his hands. “Were you like… undercover or something?” He rubs his hands on his pants and he’s looking anywhere but you, now.

“Would it be alright if… maybe we didn’t talk about it?” Spencer asks and you nod, “Yeah, yeah, totally. I get it.” And you did, there were things about you that you were hiding from Spencer, too. “I’ll tell you eventually, it’s just… it’s still fresh.” He admitted. You nodded, “Of course.” You’d been patient and you’d wait until he was comfortable and ready to tell you where he was for those three months.

“Uh, I should— I should go.” Spencer tells, standing fully and beginning to walk towards your door before looking back at you. “Does Ellie still like princesses? I want to get her a gift.” He tells and you nod, “She’s into fairies now, but she’ll love anything you get her. You totally don’t need to get her anything, by the way.”

“Nonsense,” Spencer shakes his head. “What time is the party on Saturday?”

“At two.” You smile. “I will hopefully be there.” Spencer says.

He opens your door, you following behind as you watch him go out into the hall. “Thanks for letting us use your eggs.” You say, handing him back the carton of eggs. He’d only had about two left now. “It’s no problem. Anything for Ellie, right?” You nod in agreement, “Anything for Ellie.”

You both exchange your goodbyes and Spencer goes back to his apartment and you shut your door. You smile to yourself as you get ready to settle down and relax.

You think of Spencer as you do so. Since the year you’ve lived here, you may have harbored a crush on the man. And why wouldn’t you fall for him? Spencer was such a good guy. He was trustworthy, he was more of a dad to Ellie than her own father was. But you knew better. Spencer had known your baggage, how could he be attracted to you? A single mother, who could barely pay her rent. As much as you wanted to be loved — the way you deserved to be — that was just never gonna happen. And that was the way it was gonna have to be, unfortunately. You’d rather have him as a friend than ever blow it with him.

But little did you know, Spencer was other side of the walls, thinking about you. He’d always had a thing for you. You were so caring and kind and wonderful. Not to mention your little girl, who had so easily won Spencer’s heart with her charm. Why wouldn’t he like you? But he knew what it would lead to. After Maeve, he pretty much believed he wasn’t capable of love again. You proved him wrong. But after him being gone for three months — due to him being at Milburn Correctional Facility, being framed for a crime he didn’t commit — he supposed that would be too much to put on you. And he didn’t want you carrying that his baggage when it was already so heavy.

If only you two knew what the other was thinking.

SPECTACULAR GIMME FOURTEEN OF EM 💳💥💳💥💳💥

𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 | 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐢𝐝

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Category: Smut 18+ MDNI Summary: Bringing your boyfriend to a lingerie sale causes some big problems to arise. Luckily, you’re always down to take care of him, regardless of when and where. Content: 3.3k words, established relationship, Spencer is so so so down bad, reader is a menace, lots of banter, semi-public sex, hand job, improvised gags, unprotected p in v, needy sub!Spencer, kinda switch? Idk they’re both horny for each other, size kink, reader wears lingerie and is shorter than Spencer. a/n: not proofread + am sick, pls forgive mistakes. I just needed something light and stupid after reading THG prequels and rewatching all the movies back to back so here we are. Same girlfriend reader as the last fic. Based on my darling lover’s request.

He’s not sure how he got here.

That’s a lie. He knows exactly how he got here, why he’s here, and it’s because every single atom in his body seems to become irrationally unable to say no to you. It’s pathetic, really. You don’t even have to plead anymore—though you still do, of course, pretty eyes widening just so, lower lip pushing out into a slight pout, and it makes his heart clench and his heart swell in ways that distress him. (You’re dangerous for his health, he’s sure of it, but it doesn’t even matter. If his life is cut short, he can’t think of a better way to go than being loved by you.)

Today, you hadn’t even done that. Just words spoken in a soft little whine, “My favorite store has an ongoing sale.”

How is he to deny you? The boutique isn’t too far away, and while he’d had plans to read for his day off, he can put those off for you. He can read anywhere, at any time. In pockets of vacancy at work, idle minutes during his commute. Time with you is precious, and if you want him to accompany you to a store, then that’s precisely what he’ll do.

There’s just one problem: you hadn’t really specified what kind of store.

Would he have been able to say no if you told him from the beginning that he’d be accompanying you into a lingerie store? Survey says no, probably not, but still, the heads up would have been nice. Kind, actually, because now he’s trailing behind you like a lost puppy, surrounded on all sides by flouncy, see through fabric in suggestive cuts. Lingerie. You brought him along as you went lingerie shopping.

Here’s the thing: Spencer Reid is no prude. He has studied the human body and anatomy extensively as a young boy, and has such a vivid, graphic memory of them from his time working at the BAU. But those had always been under the guise of science, where he could step back and assess things objectively. Often, the human parts are injured, devastatingly mangled. Viewing them requires compassion and intelligence, not lust. 

He has no idea what to do with the thought of bodies in this way—scantily covered by pretty patterns and thin fabric. Your body specifically. The very idea causes a shudder through him, the familiar heat. Focus, he tells himself, hands shoved deep in his pockets, balled into tight fists. His nails bite into his palm, and he welcomes the sting, focusing on that instead of the image of you in that navy silk slip… or in the pretty purple lace set… or—

“Spence?” 

“Yes?” 

“I’m gonna try these on, okay?”

A panicked look must cross his face, because you laugh, a hand reaching out to caress his cheek.

“I won’t be long, baby. None of these clothes can hurt you, and the sales people don’t bite.”

He’d feign offense if he were in a better state of mind, but he’s a little too panicked to come up with a response. You don’t understand. The very idea of you trying on lingerie is sending some very dangerous images to his brain. Images that, in turn, are causing very physical problems. Specifically in his crotch area. Still, he’s in public. He’s a grown man with working functions and impulse control. So he nods, forces a smile on his lips. 

Satisfied, you press a quick kiss to his jaw, and hurry off to the corridor on the far corner of the boutique, where a line of fitting rooms await. He watches the bundle of lingerie in your hands. He hadn’t even noticed what you were choosing, but Spencer decides that’s for the best. It’s easier to fight his imagination if he doesn’t know the details of your choices. Easier to sit on one of the lounge chairs and fiddle with his hands, gnawing on his lip anxiously, patiently, waiting for you to reemerge with a smile that tells him you’ve made your choice. 

Still, being alone while other women mill about is making him restless. He stands, wandering over to the fitting rooms, “Angel?”

“Yeah?”

He doesn’t like being impatient, he doesn’t even mind waiting for you but god he can’t get his mind to focus. “You almost done?”

“Not yet!” 

He nods, before realizing you can’t see him. “All right, I’ll be right here then.” he answers, leaning on the wall and staring at his feet so he doesn’t seem like a random creep. But then you’re calling out to him again.

“I want to show you.”

Oh, you really are bad for his health. 

“Don’t come out!” he says quickly, looking around. The store isn’t busy, but still, the idea of other people catching sight of you makes something in his chest tighten.

A giggle, and then your head pokes through the heavy curtains, “Okay, then you come in.”

Once again, he is powerless to say no. His feet move, one in front of the other, even though his mind is telling him no, this is a bad idea, turn back. Still, he finds himself in the enclosed space with you. A full length mirror greets him, and that’s where he sees you first. Swathes of artfully arranged black lace and soft mesh fabric that barely cover your body, fastened only by thin straps over your shoulders. 

So very dangerous.

“What do you think?” your eyes meet his in the mirror, deceptively, infuriatingly innocent.

“It’s-uh-pretty.”

“Just pretty?” your head cocks to the side, lips pulled into that pout and Spencer swears the room has no more oxygen. He’s about to pass out.

“Gorgeous,” he manages to say, “Stunning, radiant, angel it fits you perfectly.” his eyes drop to your chest and the words stop abruptly, though his mouth remains slack.

You twist to the side, examining your reflection. The fabric floats around your body, giving him a view of your perfect ass underneath. The panties you have on are a baby blue, not matching the sultry, inky ivory of the slip you’re wearing, and he wants to ask why don’t they match, but no words come from his open mouth.

“Spence, baby, you’re gonna catch flies.” your teasing remark wrenches him from his reverie. You whirl around to face him, half naked and mused, the loveliest creature he’s ever seen. He manages to tear his gaze away from the mirror and focus on the real thing, and how did he ever get so lucky with you?

“No flies anywhere.” he replies, hands finding your waist. His grip is shaky, but firm. Your eyes flash with mischief and he knows he’s a goner. 

“It’s just a saying.”

“I know.” he dips his head, unable to help himself. Soft lips latch onto your jaw, open and warm, “God, you’re so beautiful.”

“In this slip?” Your giggle goes straight to his groin. 

“In anything,” he pulls back, trying to reign in his desire, “In nothing.”

Your brow raises, and he lets out a soft sheepish laugh. 

“Sorry, it’s just…” he trails off, his hands rubbing your hips through the flimsy dress. Mind absolutely devoid of any thought except for how beautiful you look in this tiny piece, how it clings to your breasts and shows teasing hints of your nipples through the thin lace.

“What was that, Spence?” you murmur teasingly, stepping into his personal space. Bodies flush. The lack of distance between you, the familiar softness of your body melting into him brings his attention to the growing tightness at his crotch.

“Mhm? N-nothing.”

“Doesn’t feel like nothing.” There’s that sparkle in your eyes again, devious as you sway your hips against his carefully. The action makes his steadily swelling cock twitch with even more want. 

He has to swallow a moan, but the warning still comes out strangled, “Angel.”  Really, you’re closer to the devil right now, tempting him like this. He tightens his hold on your hips to steady you, brows furrowed as he tries to calm down. 

It’s too late though. You’re both well aware of the growing tent in his pants.

“All right,” you step back, wearing a mask of mock surrender, “Fine, no more teasing. You can go back out now, I’m gonna change again.”

“What?” 

One corner of your mouth lifts into a smirk, “I was being naughty, I’m sorry. You can go back out, I just wanted to show you this slip.”

Evil. You’re evil and dangerous and Spencer Reid is so utterly in love with you. And a little turned on by it.

“Angel, I can’t go back out there!” he whispers, tugging his tight pants. It’s no use. He’s so worked up his cock is beginning to ache in its confines. 

(Okay, so more than a little turned on.) 

Your eyes fall to his crotch, widening comically as though you’re seeing it for the first time, “Oh, would you look at that!” You step back into his space, hands coming up to cradle his jaw. He leans into your touch, welcoming your sweet mockery with his usual, eager docility. “Got worked up for me, hmm? All from seeing me in this slip?”

He nods, hands finding your hips again, holding you to him. “You knew what you were doing.” There’s absolutely no hint of accusation in his voice. You both know it’s true anyway.

“Mhm. And I can’t let you walk back out there like this, can I?” you lift yourself to your tiptoes to press a soft kiss to his cheek, “Not after you’ve been so patient with me.”

A sharp inhale as he feels your hands on his belt. What he would give to just be completely buried in you right now, to lose his mind in your tight heat, but— “We’re in public.”

“We’re in a room.”

“A fitting room.”

“Still a room.” you’ve pushed his pants just enough to free his cock. Even being out of his pants eases some of the tension, the length springing out and jutting from his body. Long and embarrassingly red. Your hands close around it, one hand at the base and stroking up and down, the other at the tip, squeezing gently, thumb running over his slit and spreading his leaking pre cum. 

He fights back a moan and promptly loses.

“Spence.” Your voice is low, but stern, “Keep quiet.”

He nods, teeth sinking into his lower lip to contain his moans. He squeezes his eyes shut, too overwhelmed by the vision of you in nothing but a flimsy slip and panties, in this well lit, public room, giving him a hand job. No, he can’t watch, he’ll bust then and there, but he knows you’re only getting started.

Your hands work up and down his length, twisting just the way he likes, all while continuing to thumb at the tip. Unable to help it, his hips buck into your hands, shamelessly fucking your palms while his cock twitches in them. 

“Look at me,” you croon, breath hot against his neck. Once again, as though his body is wired to obey your every command, his eyes fly open. He moans immediately at the sight of you, which makes you tut disapprovingly. With a shake of your head, you stop, and he can’t help but let out a whine in protest.

“Why’d you—” “You’re too loud, baby, they’ll catch us.” 

He watches with a dazed, glassy eyed confusion as you hook your fingers through the waistband of your panties and tug the lacy blue material down your legs. Crumpled between your lovely hands, it turns into a small ball of fabric which you hold up to his mouth, “Bite down on this.”

His brain seems to snap at attention. “I-I can’t, isn’t that store property?” Leave it to his mind to worry about logistics and practicality.

You chuckle, pulling his collar down for a kiss. When his lips meet yours, he wonders why he ever questioned you.

“It’s mine,” you mumble against his mouth. A nibble at his lower lip sends tremors whispering down his spine, “We’re not allowed to try on panties in this store. Something about sanitation.”

Sanitation. The very thought makes him chuckle. It seems so insignificant now, with what they’re about to do.

Still, he accepts the explanation, and allows you to slip the crumpled panties into his mouth. He bites down, tasting hints of your arousal as the fabric meets his tongue. It becomes very clear that he needs this gag, because he immediately moans at the taste.

You giggle soundlessly, the effort to keep silent making your shoulders quiver from your laughter. “You just can’t help yourself huh?” You give his cock a few more strokes, lazy and playful, before walking over to the mirror and bracing yourself against it by your elbows. The panties nearly fall from his mouth as he watches you push your hips back, the slip riding up to expose your ass and the wet, swollen folds beneath. 

Is this heaven? It must be. Just him and his angel, who’s offering herself up and watching him intently through the reflection in the mirror.

“Come on, baby, before the sales people get suspicious.” you murmur. Your eyes flash dangerously in the mirror, but he knows it’s not a mere trick of the light. You’re getting a kick out of this too, the same way he is. 

With a choked sound, muffled by the lace, Spencer steps up behind you. Cock in hand, he lets the blunt tip glide across your soaked folds, letting your arousal mingle with his precum and coat his length. Normally, he’d use his fingers first, coax your walls into a more relaxed state, but you’re right. There’s no time for that. Someone could check up on the two of you any time. The thought makes his cock twitch, and he finally eases into your entrance, slowly pushing into the familiar warmth of your pussy.

He sees your mouth fall open from the stretch. It never gets old, this initial penetration, the way your body always seems to yield to the sheer size of him, no matter how long it has been. He knows he’s moving on borrowed time, only moments to bring you ecstasy, but still he allows himself to savor this first entrance, the tight grip of your pussy around his cock. 

And then he moves, rocking his hips back and forth, watching the mirror for your reactions, trying to make sure he’s not hurting you. But the mirror only reflects pleasure on both your faces. Your face lax, a vision of bleary eyed bliss. His own brows are furrowed with concentration as he shifts his hips, trying to hit the spot from this new angle, one where you’re upright, but bent slightly and anchored by your arms against a wall. 

One of his hands grip your thigh, lifting it up so that your knee is braced on the mirror as well, opening you up to him a little more. His cock sinks another inch deeper, teeth biting down on the panties as he feels you clench.

“Fuck!” you groan, and he knows he’s found the spot. He moves both hands on your waist, holding you steady, marveling at the way he towers over you in this position. A sense of power fills him, warm and glowing from the trust you’ve put upon him. His thrusts grow firmer, steadier, as he feels your tight pussy fluttering and clenching around him. Spencer has to fight the urge to bury his entire length in you; you’ve never done that before and he doesn’t want it to happen on some random quickie.

Still, even though he’s not all the way in, he knows he’s doing a good job, judging by the increasing gasps that leave your perfect mouth. The looming threat of being found, the promise of people beyond the heavy curtains excites him, alarmingly so. And it seems like you’re on the same boat, as you keep glancing over your shoulder, half keeping watch, half daring people to yank those curtains back and expose the debauchery happening within the tiny space of this dressing room. 

He shudders at the thought, thrusting into you more roughly than before. It sends him deep inside your walls, and a cry escapes your lips. Your gazes meet in the mirror, equally mortified, nervous, and excited. 

Spencer continues to move, fucking you in this position. If someone heard, they must have opted to ignore the sound instead, and he’s going to take advantage of that fact, bending his body over yours so that his chest is flush against your back. You clench around him in response, your body greedily eating up every inch he’s allowing himself to give you. 

“God, you’re in so deep.” you gasp, “So, so deep, feels so good.”

He recognizes this state, mindless and vocal from pleasure and he knows you're close. 

“Spence, oh my god baby, so big, you’re - oh fuck, yes!”

It makes him proud, his chest filling with a warmth only you can seem to produce, the very act of reducing you to this babbling, nearly incoherent mess but it also poses a problem. You’re becoming too loud. Too risky. In the heat of the moment, and without stopping the rhythm of his thrusts, Spencer yanks your panties out of his mouth and transfers the fabric into your own. Crumpled up, damp with his saliva, they stop the silly, pleasure drunk stream of words that have been spilling from your lips.

Your eyes meet in the mirror again, his own amused and slightly apologetic, yours barely comprehending.

“Gotta keep quiet, angel.” he murmurs, voice gravelly from disuse, “We wouldn’t want an audience.”

A whimper, smothered by your own panties, perks up his ears and goes straight to his cock. “God baby, you’re so good, letting me have you like this.” he gasps, dropping his head to the crook of your neck. 

His cock feels sensitive, ready to burst at any given moment. His thrusts become sloppy, erratic, one arm wrapping around your waist to keep you tethered to him because he can feel your legs and thighs quivering under his weight. Spencer uses his other hand to brace against the mirror, staining the once clear glass with sweat and condensation.

“Angel, ah!” he’s aware his volume is increasing as the pleasure intensifies, so he bites down on the closest possible thing—your shoulder. As teeth sink into flesh, your pussy tightens around his cock in response, and he’s done for, unraveled, spilling his cum deep into your being. He continues to thrust, recognizing the way you’re squirming against him, the nearly vice like grip of your walls on his thick length.

“That’s it,” he gasps soothing the bite with his lips and tongue, talking and fucking you through your own orgasm, “That’s it angel, come for me, please, need to feel you, that’s it, there you go.”

Normally, he’d bask in the afterglow, hold you to him until neither of you can breath and the lack of space becomes claustrophobic. But not right now. He has to remind himself you’re still in a public store, separated from people by mere fabric—heavy, curtains, sure, but still fabric. So he holds out his hand in front of your mouth, allowing you to spit out the wad of lace into his palm, and pulls out of your fluttering cunt carefully. His cock still throbs but is slowly softening. He helps you stand up.

“God, that was—I can’t believe we did that.” Spencer whispers. Unable to withhold his affection, he peppers your temple and forehead with kisses, relishing in the sweet sighs of contentment that leave your lips, now no longer cushioned by the panties.

“‘Twas so good,” you bury your face in his chest, and he holds you, supports your weight by wrapping his arms around your waist, “‘M so sweaty.”

He laughs, “Yeah, this fitting room got a little heated.”

“Ruined the slip.” you peek up at him, eyes no longer flashing with mischief but cloudy with pleasure.

“Good thing I’m buying it for you then,” he presses his lips to your sweat stained forehead, “There’s no way you’re leaving without it.”

Thank you for reading! Part of the big useless dick chronicles collection.

Dear all trick or treaters 😤😈🫦 I’m coming back for that ass 🫵🏼 if I ain’t get that butt last year?! Then this year getting smashed!! 💕😤🫵🏼🤭☺️🫦🩷🤤

dommy mommy emme is gonna get touched bro 💁‍♀️

I’M WATCHING CHARMED WHERE MISHA COLLINS IS IN AN EPISODE AND HE LOOKS LIKE JACK OMG I—

he’s giving once-ler is his “how bad i can i be?” stage 😭😭😭

DEVOUR ME NEXT 😋

not my edit but its so good i had to share it with yall

ATE ONCE AGAIN!!

THE PERFECT FIT • SPENCER REID

SUMMARY : In a tense, overworked precinct, the team grapples with the challenge of an elusive suspect and considers an undercover operation. Rossi identifies a perfect candidate for the task, trusting her experience and ability to seamlessly blend into the unsub's world.

PAIRING : fem!reader x spencer reid

a/n : hi it’s me again! so obviously this is just the first part of a hopefully long series ? i have a lot planned but if you have any suggestions pls send them my way!

i know the use of 3rd person might bother some people but I’m struggling sm writing in 2nd or 1st person so i’m sorry in advance for that

you will learn so much about the reader along the way so rest assured the mysteries will soon all be revealed.

english isn’t my first language so i’m sorry for the mistakes!!

wc : 3.2k

tysm to my sweet angels @cerisereids @g4rvez-r3id for your insights and help on this first chapter<33

══════════════════

In a precinct nestled within the city of Los Angeles, California, the air was heavy. The scent of stale coffee was persistent along with the monotonous hum of an overworked fluorescent light. The room buzzed with urgency, its walls plastered with boards full of frantic scribbles and blurred photographs — each a crucial piece of the puzzle in their elusive case. The table was a chaotic landscape of empty coffee cups and half-eaten takeout cartons, remnants of their unwavering dedication. The BAU team gathered around, eyes laden with fatigue and spirits running low, as ten days of chasing an elusive lead had left them both weary and resolute.

JJ leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples. "We've got nothing. Ten days and nothing."

Morgan tossed the file he was reading onto the table with a frustrated sigh. "This guy's like a shadow," he grumbled, his tone thick with annoyance. "No prints, no DNA, no camera footage. Garcia, is there any way to bypass his loops and get to the raw feeds?"

Garcia's image flickered on the video call screen, her expression determined. "Oh, I've been down the rabbit hole with this one. Our guy's not just looping the traffic feeds — he's gone full Hollywood on us, splicing scenes together like a pro editor. He's got a digital cloak of invisibility, and trying to untangle that mess is like peeling an onion, layer after layer of encrypted nonsense. I'm working on a backdoor algorithm to slip past his smoke and mirrors, but this dude’s playing hardball with the big leagues. It's a serious code tango, and he's leading."

As Garcia spoke, Rossi sat at the table, his eyes scanning the chaotic room, taking in the exhaustion on his team's faces. When Garcia finished, he leaned forward, his voice calm but firm. "We need to think outside the box here. This guy's clever, but he can't be perfect. There's always a mistake, something overlooked."

The team absorbed Rossi's words, a collective silence settling over them. Meanwhile, Reid stood by the map pinned to the wall, absorbed in his own world. His fingers traced lines between cities, a maze of interconnected thoughts. The map was a mosaic of colored pins and scribbled notes, each representing another victim. Brunettes in their mid-20s, lured from dimly lit corners of strip clubs, where the unsub's charm and confidence masked his dark intentions. Each victim shared a haunting similarity—small stature, easily overlooked, but deeply missed by those who loved them.

Hotch turned to him, noticing his intense focus. "Reid, what about the geographical profile? What are you seeing there?"

Reid, still deep in thought, replied, "He's moving in a logarithmic spiral pattern, starting from urban centers and expanding outward. I've calculated the average distance between abductions to be about 7.3 miles. By applying this pattern and factoring in the time intervals, I could probably estimate his next move with some degree of accuracy. It's a bit like plotting a Fibonacci sequence across the map." His team listened, trying to grasp the complexity of his deductions.

Morgan, eyebrows raised, said, "Alright, genius, break it down for the rest of us."

Reid nodded, using his hands to illustrate the pattern in the air. "Basically, he's moving in a way that covers more ground over time, making sure he doesn't hit the same spot twice," he explained, tracing a wide spiral with his finger to show the movement. "If we look at how far apart the abductions are and how often they happen, I can make an educated guess on where he might go next."

Prentiss leaned in, her voice thoughtful but with a hint of urgency. "If we can predict where he'll be next, maybe we could set up an operation to catch him in the act. We've got the patterns, the locations, and we know his type."

Morgan nodded, his expression serious. "If we do this, we need to be crystal clear about the risks. This guy's not just smart — he's a genius. High IQ and extremely cautious. He knows how to stay two steps ahead and cover his tracks. If he even senses we're onto him, he could vanish without a trace."

Prentiss continued, her mind racing through possibilities. "We need to think this through, consider every angle. An undercover operation is risky, but it might be our best shot. We need someone who can blend in seamlessly, someone who wouldn't raise suspicions or tip him off."

Hotch glanced around the table, weighing the risks. "An undercover operation could work, but none of us fit the victim profile. We need someone who matches his usual targets."

JJ nodded, her voice bringing a sense of determination to the room. "It has to be someone who can handle the pressure, someone with the right look and demeanor. We need to find the perfect fit, someone who can walk into that world and not get noticed until it's too late for him."

As the conversation unfolded, Hotch noticed Rossi sitting quietly, lost in thought. There was a hint of something in his eyes—mystery, perhaps a plan forming. "Dave, you've been awfully quiet. Something on your mind?”

Rossi looked up, a sly grin forming. "I think I’ve got someone who fits the profile perfectly. She’s got the right look and experience to navigate his world without raising suspicions."

Morgan raised an eyebrow, a touch of concern in his voice. "You sure she can handle it, Rossi? This is a big operation, and the unsub is dangerous."

Rossi nodded confidently. "She's more than capable. She's tackled the toughest cases. And, she owes me," he added with a grin.

Hotch hesitated, his mind racing through the implications. "Dave, this is critical. We're talking about a case that could easily go sideways at the slightest misstep. The stakes are higher than ever, and we can't afford any mistakes. I need to be sure that whoever we bring in is not only skilled but also completely reliable. Are you absolutely certain she's the right person for this? Because if anything goes wrong, it won't just be on her. It'll be on all of us."

Emily chimed in, "Hotch, we don't really have many options. If Rossi trusts her, maybe we should give it a shot."

Rossi met his gaze, his expression earnest. "I trust her, Aaron. She's proven herself time and again, and I wouldn't call her if I didn't believe she was the perfect fit. I know how much is riding on this, and I'm telling you, she can handle it. She's exactly who we need."

Hotch thought for a moment, then nodded. "Alright, Dave. Make the call."

Rossi stood and reached for his phone, stepping into the hallway. The team watched him dial, anticipation hanging in the air. The phone barely rang once before she picked up, her voice playful and teasing. “David Rossi, you never call just to chat. What’s up your sleeve this time?”

Rossi chuckled, a warm sound amidst the grim atmosphere of the case. “I need to cash in that favor. Think you’re up for a mission?”

She laughed softly, exuding an air of confidence. “A mission? Sounds intriguing. You know I can never say no to you.”

“Great. I’ll have my technical analyst send over the files and the location details."

Just before they hung up, Rossi's tone shifted to serious. "And kid, it’s a bad one."

The change in mood was palpable, and her response was immediate, filled with determination. "I’m on the next flight."

Rossi returned to the room, his expression resolute. "She's in. Let's get to work."

The team gathered around, the tension in the room shifting from frustration to determination. They were tired, yes, but they were also resilient. And they wouldn't stop until they caught their ghost.

══════════════════

Meanwhile, in New York City, the BAU’s soon to be guest star had just ended the call with Rossi. Excitement and apprehension danced within her as she stood in her cluttered apartment. Her eyes landed on the half-unpacked suitcase spilling clothes onto the floor. With a sigh, she muttered, "No rest for the wicked, I guess." The room, filled with personal photos capturing laughter and love, wrapped her in a warm embrace as she took it all in.

Rossi's call had reignited a sense of purpose, pulling her from the comfort of her home into action. It had been a long time since she'd seen Rossi, and much had changed in her life. The thought of reconnecting with him brought a flutter of anxiety.

As she began packing, her phone vibrated on the table. She paused to check it, noting the incoming files and a plane ticket to Los Angeles. A quick glance at the clock revealed only an hour before boarding. A flutter of nerves settled in her stomach.

The Behavioral Analysis Unit was renowned for its sharp minds and unparalleled expertise in profiling and solving the most complex cases. She couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the thought of working alongside such a distinguished team. The prospect of engaging with these brilliant minds was both thrilling and daunting, as she wondered if she would measure up to their exceptional standards.

With her bag packed, she reached for her gun, the final piece of her preparation. She carefully checked the safety, then holstered it securely at her side, feeling the familiar weight against her.

She headed down the corridor and knocked on her neighbor's door. The elderly woman opened it, eyes widening in surprise. "Oh my goodness, I cannot believe my eyes! What a lovely surprise," she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine warmth. "When did you even get back? I didn’t even hear you."

"I just got back last night," she replied with a smile. "How have you been Mary? It's been too long."

"Oh, things have been alright. But I see you've gotten some color! Where have you been then?" the neighbor asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

Her mind flickered to places where the sun blazed hot and secrets ran deep, but she simply replied, "Oh you know, just around."

They chatted for a while, the conversation flowing easily. Her tone turned apologetic as she continued, "I actually need to leave town again, and I feel terrible asking, but would you mind keeping Meow Meow for a little longer?"

"Of course, I can keep Meow Meow. He's been such a delightful guest," Mary replied. "I'm just glad you're okay. You take care, and stay safe out there."

After saying their goodbyes, she stepped out into the bustling city streets. As she walked, she pulled out her professional phone, feeling the familiar pang of guilt as she noticed the barrage of missed calls. Pausing for a moment, she stared at the screen, conflicted. The calls were a reminder of the obligations she was leaving behind. With a deep breath, she typed a quick, almost cryptic message, "I'm sorry," and tossed the phone into a nearby trash bin, the action feeling both liberating and heavy with consequence.

With her personal phone in hand, she continued toward her destination, ready to face whatever awaited her with the Behavioral Analysis Unit in Los Angeles.

══════════════════

The airport was packed, a sea of people surging forward, each caught in their own whirlwind of departure or arrival. She, however, felt detached from this chaos, lost in her own thoughts as she navigated the serpentine security line. Her mind was razor-sharp and focused, yet there was a persistent irritation gnawing at her. It was more than just the grumbling about long lines or the seemingly endless wait. It was the silent anxiety that came with carrying a gun through security.

She understood the necessity, of course. The world was a precarious place, and security measures were there to protect, not to inconvenience. But the knowledge did little to quell the discomfort as she watched the TSA agents meticulously inspect every item in her bag. The process felt invasive, as though she were under the spotlight for a crime she hadn't committed. Each moment seemed to stretch, a slow-motion parade of scrutiny and suspicion.

As she reached the front, she handed over her documents, her concealed carry permit perched atop the stack.

The agent, a young man with weary eyes, examined her papers closely. "Ma'am, I'll need to check this permit with my supervisor," he said, his tone apologetic yet firm.

She nodded, forcing herself to remain composed. But a flicker of anxiety sparked within her. She'd left her former job only yesterday, a position that granted her the right to carry. Could her departure really have been processed so quickly? It seemed unlikely, yet the worry lingered in the back of her mind.

"How long will it take?" she asked, her voice steady but laced with impatience.

"Not too long, I hope," he replied, though his uncertainty did little to ease her mind.

Time seemed to stretch, each moment heavier than the last. Her thoughts raced with possibilities. It was improbable that her resignation had already worked its way through the system, wasn't it? The agent returned, looking apologetic. "We’re having some trouble with the system," he explained, "but we're working on it."

Her patience was wearing thin. "I have a flight to catch," she reminded him, a sharper edge to her words.

"I'm sorry, ma'am. We're doing our best," he assured, motioning for her to step aside.

She complied, though the wait felt eternal, each second amplifying her concern. Finally, the agent returned with a nod. "You're all set, ma'am. Thank you for your patience."

Finally, she was through, a wave of relief washing over her as she hurried toward the boarding gate. Her steps quickened, heart pounding with the urgency of making it on time. She flashed her ticket to the attendant, who gave a cursory nod before scanning it and waving her through.

Boarding the plane felt like crossing a finish line. She walked down the narrow aisle, searching for her seat, a window seat with the promise of a view that might offer some distraction. She stowed her bag in the overhead compartment, her muscles tensing briefly as she lifted it.

Once seated, she allowed herself a moment to breathe, leaning back as the familiar hum of the aircraft's engines enveloped her. It was a comforting white noise that seemed to cocoon her from the outside world. She reached into her purse, fingers brushing past a tangle of essentials until they found the tablet.

Taking it out, she settled it on her lap, the screen lighting up with a touch. The files she needed were there, downloaded and ready. She took a deep breath before diving in, knowing the images and reports awaiting her were not for the faint of heart. It was a necessary darkness, one she was both familiar with and perpetually disturbed by.

She shifted in her seat, her eyes drifting back to the images on her tablet. She opened the medical examiner's reports, seeking clarity amidst the chaos.

"Victim 1: Body discovered in the trunk of a stolen vehicle. Multiple stab wounds to the torso. Evidence of sexual assault, but no DNA trace due to condom usage. Defensive wounds present, indicating a struggle. Bruising on the face and neck, consistent with manual strangulation severe enough to damage the larynx but not the cause of death."

"Victim 2: Similar profile to Victim 1. Well-nourished, good dental hygiene. Numerous contusions on the face, indicating blunt force trauma. Marks on the neck suggest choking, though not fatal."

Immersed in the grim details of the reports, she was jolted from her focus by the polite yet firm voice of a flight attendant standing beside her.

"Ma'am, we'll be taking off shortly. Could you please fasten your seatbelt?" the attendant asked, offering a reassuring smile.

Caught off guard, she blinked a few times, her mind slowly returning from the depths of violence and chaos to the present moment. "Oh, of course. Sorry about that," she replied, offering an apologetic smile as she reached for the seatbelt.

With a quick, practiced motion, she secured the belt, feeling the familiar click as it locked into place. The attendant nodded appreciatively before moving down the aisle to ensure other passengers were also ready for departure.

As the hum of the engines intensified, she took a moment to steady herself, then returned her attention to the screen. The world outside might have been preparing for takeoff, but her mind was still entrenched in the darkness of the case, eager to uncover whatever truth lay hidden within those files.

Victim 3: Found in an abandoned car, positioned haphazardly in the trunk. Multiple sharp force injuries to the chest and abdomen. Signs of sexual assault with no DNA evidence preserved. Defensive wounds on the arms and hands, suggesting a fierce struggle. Bruising around the neck indicates choking, with damage to the trachea insufficient to be fatal. Facial bruising present, indicative of repeated blunt force trauma."

With a sigh, she closed the ME’s reports. The brutality was difficult to stomach, but she had a job to do. She turned to the BAU profile, curious to see the psychological insights they had pieced together.

The BAU had outlined a profile that was both intriguing and frustrating in its lack of specific detail. They suggested the unsub was a white male in his 30s, characterized by a disciplined and cautious nature. His proficiency with technology was evident—hacking traffic security feeds and leaving no digital trace required a high level of skill and intelligence. He was organized, methodical, and deeply familiar with law enforcement procedures, as evidenced by his ability to avoid leaving DNA or identifiable traces.

Their theory was that he might have been rejected or humiliated by a woman similar to his victims, fueling his rage. He was a predator, choosing his victims carefully, and his MO suggested a compulsion rather than a need.

She found the BAU's insights valuable but sensed gaps in their understanding. The unsub's unpredictability and geographic spread made it difficult to pin him down. She knew they were up against a formidable adversary.

Her focus shifted to the witness statements, each pause in her reading a moment to absorb the unsettling patterns.

"Witness 1: Described him as discreet, seated in the darkest corners. Rarely engaged with others, but when he did, it was brief."

She paused, letting the words sink in before moving on.

"Witness 2: Noted his attractiveness but also his aloofness. He was watching the victim intently before she approached him, lured by the cash he offered”

"Witness 3: A bartender recalled serving him drinks on his visit. His voice was calm and composed, with an edge that hinted at something darker underneath. He never drank much, always aware, always in control. He left a generous tip, but there was an unnerving intensity in his eyes."

Each account painted a picture of a man who was meticulous, calculating, and intensely focused on his target. He seemed to have rehearsed every move, ensuring he left nothing to chance during his solitary visit. The pattern was chilling in its precision, a testament to his predatory nature.

The last section of the files was dedicated to victimology. It was stark in its clarity—each victim was a brunette in her mid-20s, small, and pretty. The unsub's rage was unmistakable, directed with a chilling intensity towards these women. It was personal and filled with a fury that spoke volumes about his psyche.

As the plane cruised through the sky, she pondered the unsub's motivations. His hatred was a dark mirror, reflecting a twisted perception of the women he targeted. The pattern was there, written in the blood of his victims, and she was determined to decipher it before he struck again.

SOMEONE ASKED ME SOMETHING AND IT GOT DELETED