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You’re sprawled across your bed, the glow of your phone the only light in the room. It’s late, and you’re doing what you’ve been doing for weeks—typing out another shamelessly suggestive message to Simon. You’d gotten bold during his deployment, safe behind the distance, sending him wicked little photos, sly comments, voice notes that made him groan over the phone but never act.
"Miss me yet, soldier? Maybe I’ll send you something to help you remember what you’re missing."
You giggle at your own audacity, flipping the camera around for one more teasing snap. Just as you hit send, you hear it—a floorboard creaking in your apartment. Your laugh dies in your throat.
“Who the hell—” you start, only to freeze when a familiar shadow fills your doorway.
Simon Riley. In the flesh.
He’s leaning on the doorframe, mask pulled up to his nose, eyes burning with something that makes your stomach drop and twist at the same time. He’s home. Early. And judging by the way he’s looking at you—and the phone still in your hand—he’s already seen exactly what you were sending.
“Thought you were clever, did you?” His voice is low, dangerous, rougher than it ever sounded over a call. “Teasin’ me while I was halfway ‘round the world.”
You swallow hard, clutching your phone like it’s a shield. “Simon—I didn’t know you were—”
He pushes off the frame, crossing the room in long strides, and suddenly your phone is plucked from your hand. He glances at the glowing screen, at the message thread full of your cheeky texts and shameless pictures, and huffs out a laugh that has no humor in it.
“You’ve had your fun.” His hand settles at your ankle, dragging you toward him with deliberate slowness until you’re lying flat, heart hammering in your chest. His eyes flick from your face to the curve of your body, then back again. “Now it’s my turn.”
The weight of him settles beside you on the mattress, the heat of his presence impossible to ignore. He leans down close enough that his breath fans over your ear.
“You’ve been beggin’ for this without even sayin’ it. All those photos. All those words. You wanted me wound up, didn’t you?”
Your lips part, but no sound comes out, and Simon’s smirk tells you he knows exactly how flustered you are.
“God save you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice thick with promise as his fingers slide under the hem of your shorts, “because I won’t.”
Dex with a fem messy reader.
mention of the reader having wavy/curly hair
Dex is very meticulous about his routines. Nothing out of place, nothing dirty, nothing messy. He knows exactly where things go, and everything has its specific place in the house. All the books in the library are arranged by genre and alphabetically. The pencils are together in one pencil case, and the pens in another. You'll never see colored clothes with white ones in the washing machine, and he also knows that each fabric needs a specific detergent and wash cycle to prevent staining.
And as for you... well, let's just say you found your own order in chaos. Sometimes you'd forget to make your bed or leave your clothes lying around saying you'd pick them up later (you never would). Or when you did pick up your clothes and tried to put them away in your wardrobe, they didn't end up as neat as Dex's; sometimes they'd end up in a crumpled mess or a Tower of Babel.
You really tried to keep things tidy, but you struggled with organization and were a bit lazy, or sometimes you were simply tired and didn't feel like it. And Dex had to get used to it and tolerate it. At first, your messiness disrupted his routine, a little chaos he couldn't control, and that frustrated or stressed him out. Patiently and politely, he tried to convince you that it was best to maintain discipline and routine, to learn that everything had its place. But something he realized late was that you did have a routine in certain areas, even if you weren't aware of it—things you did out of habit more than anything. And even though it might not have seemed like it, there was a bit of 'order' in your mess; that is, maybe you left your things lying around, yes, but you always left them scattered in the same place. And it bothered you when Dex tidied your room because he moved things around that you already knew where they were, and now you didn't, and the worst part was that he didn't tell you.
Anyway, Dex noticed that you maintained routines in your beauty and hygiene care. He'd observed you styling your hair after showering, always using the same order of products, the same technique, and the same products. First, you'd comb it and separate it into sections, then add cream and gently scrunch it with your hands, creating waves. He'd also seen you wash your face using a cleansing gel, rubbing it between your hands to create a lather, and then, without fail, applying moisturizer and sunscreen. Or even after you finished showering, you'd always dry your body from head to toe and apply body lotion.
Dex paid attention and learned this to incorporate it into his own routine to help you with yours. He wrote down absolutely every personal hygiene product you used so he could buy them when they ran out and restock them himself. And you were always surprised to see that curl shampoo in the shower again, the one you swore was running out, and now it was magically full. And he definitely memorizes the correct names of your products too.
Dex approaches you with a small, round object in his hand. "Here, you were running out of your body scrub. It was the last mango one, they almost sold out."
He'll never admit that he almost got into a fight with a girl over the last body scrub just for you.
And while you're curling your hair in front of the mirror, he'll be behind you watching, holding your hair in sections so it doesn't bother you. He'll gently place a hair clip in your hair and hand you the products.
"Don't forget the oil for the ends of your hair," he reminds you, even though you already know.
And the same goes for your facial cleansing routine.
"Don't combine this acid with the exfoliant and be sure to apply this calming toner afterward, here."
He mentions this while passing you the object and gently sliding a finger over the T-zone of your face.
Yes, Dex has memorized your entire profile and everything you need to know so there won't be any mistakes. Your skin type, hair type, etc. Oh, but what if someone ever makes a mistake with his order? Dex will be grumbling and thinking about killing that bastard.
He curses under his breath, eyeing the new serum he just bought for you. "They got the wrong product. This is for oily skin, and you have sensitive skin; it's going to irritate it," he mutters, frowning and looking at you. "I'll be right back, I'll get the right one."
"It's okay, it's not that urgent," you reply, worried about how he's going to treat the seller.
Dex shakes his head and kisses the top of your head. "It's your skin and your health. It's important," he says, grabbing his keys to leave. He probably can't kill the salesman because he knows you'd be furious, but he'd better listen this time.
And that's how you two were able to find your own routine to share, giving Dex back the harmony and control he needed to feel safe
This was so much fun and comfort that I got carried away. Let me know if I should keep writing smth similar but maybe shorter lol
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Summary: The pit in your stomach, coupled with a series of strange circumstances, has led you to believe you're being followed. But what happens when nobody believes you except your crush, Spencer Reid
A/n: Welcome to part 1 of my new Spencer Reid fanfic! I was inspired to write this based on a TikTok I saw by @editssbyrosee. Not sure when Part 2 will be up since my summer class has been keeping me busy, but I'll do my best to get it out as soon as I can, divas. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy Part 1!!
Warnings: Stalking
It was another morning at the BAU, and you were pouring yourself a larger coffee than usual when your coworker, Derek Morgan, came to your side.
“Rough night there, princess,” he said jokingly. This made you roll your eyes and set the pot down.
“Ha ha,” you said sarcastically, then started walking back to the desks.
“No, seriously, you alright? You seem a bit off?” He asked, following you, drawing the attention of your ever-observant coworkers. You set your coffee down and turn to look at Morgan and now Reid and Pretniss awaiting your answer.
“I don’t know; this whole morning has just felt off, like I'm in an episode of The Twilight Zone or something?”
“What, like you're still in a dream or something?” Prentiss asks.
“Who's dreaming?” Hotch's voice rings from the upper level.
You sighed. “Nobody.”
“Alright then, remember reports are due on my desk by the end of the day,” Hotch called down and headed back into his office.
Once you were in the clear, Morgan reiterated the previous question.
“I don’t know; it just has a weird vibe,” you said.
“A vibe?” Morgan echoed, already fighting a grin.
“Yes, a vibe.” You gestured vaguely around the room. “I just feel off like the hairs on my neck are stuck standing up. Keep catching myself looking over my shoulder”
Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Expecting somebody?”
Spencer finally looked up from the book he'd been pretending to read.
“Your brain is constantly processing information you're not consciously aware of,” he said. “Sometimes it notices subtle changes before you can identify what changed. That can create a persistent sense that something isn't quite right.”
You looked at him while biting your cheek.
“While this feeling can be useful, it can also be influenced by stress or expectation. Considering our recent cases and the way you're biting your cheek, I assume stress.”
You nodded absently, though you were finding it hard to focus when Spencer looked that good. You forced your gaze to look around and could've sworn you saw something near the conference room, but when you looked again, there was nothing. Maybe Reid was right; maybe it was stress.
“Did you guys ever see that one episode of Twilight Zone-” Prettiss began helping shift the focus away from you.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The rest of the day went by relatively quickly, as you shifted through case files, picking ones for the team to review. At the end of the day, you turned in your files and waved goodbye to everyone.
On the train ride home, you listened to music and read a magazine, but that weird feeling was still in the back of your mind. You looked up at the fellow passengers but didn't see anything unusual. You tried to shake it off and go back to reading. Spending the rest of the night trying to relax at home.
The following morning, you followed your same routine and headed out for the day. You were trying to cross the street when a red car flew past, making you seethe. It wasn’t even 8 am and you had almost been taken out. You shook it off and headed to your favorite cafe. When you were finished there and heading out, a lady held the door open for you, bringing up your foul mood. The rest of the day was similar to the last except when you noticed a red car again on the way home.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
The next two weeks were cut and dry. With a case here and there and, of course, tons of paperwork and cases for you to screen. During your free time, you did your usual, from grocery shopping to runs in the park. Everything was normal and fine except for your mind constantly picking up on the sight of red cars and the random calls from unknown numbers. Your brain hadn’t fully processed what type of car almost hit you, but now it’s like you couldn’t miss any red ones. It was slowly weighing on you as you became hypervigilant, looking for one whenever you were out. Though of course it was a big city and red cars were everywhere, making your nerves futile. Reid gave you the statistic on it when you brought it up. But you still just had a weird feeling that you couldn’t shake. You tried to bring it up to the team, but they all agreed it was a response to almost being hit. So you poured yourself into your work and tried to ignore your unease. Because it had to be irrational, like everyone said.
It wasn’t until you got back late from a case one night when you got spooked. You exited the company car and headed to your door when you heard heavy footsteps behind you. You whipped your head around to see someone running around the corner up ahead. Why anyone would be running at 3 am you didn’t know, but you just opened your door and eagerly escaped inside. When you entered your living room, you noticed that it smelt weird, almost like peppermint. You walked through the rest of the apartment and didn’t find anything else out of place. The trash in your bathroom had been knocked over, but you assumed it was your cat. The drawer in your bedroom was also ajar, but you probably left it like that as you rushed to pack your go bag. So you went to bed and entered a dreamless sleep. But later on in the night, you woke up to your phone buzzing on the nightstand. You slowly opened your eyes and expected to see Hotch's name, only to find it was an unknown caller again. You groaned and silenced it, going back to sleep. In the morning, you woke up and saw 5 other missed calls from strangers. Sending warning signs off in your mind. But you pushed it aside for now since you were late to work. During your spare time, you stopped by Penelope’s den.
“Hey Pen think you could run a number for me?”
“Of course!! Who do you need?”
You gave her your phone and let her do her magic, just for them to be traced back to nothing significant.
“Looks like it was just spam, y/n; you probably got put on a call list or something.”
“Oh, ok thanks Pen,” you say. You were a little disappointed as you wanted an answer to your unease.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
It wasn’t until you grabbed coffee one morning that you became convinced. The guy behind the counter who always took your order began striking up a conversation. Now normally this wouldn’t be alarming until he brought up the yoga class you used to be in. You never shared this information, and this was textbook stalker behavior. You quickly left for work, ready to slam this guy with a hefty stalking charge as the case formed in your mind.
You practically ran into the main room eager to tell everyone. To your luck, everyone was congregating around Reid’s desk, likely to watch a magic trick.
“Guys, I figured it out!! What’s been bothering me, or better yet, who?”
“Well, tell us,” Emily said excitedly.
“The guy at my coffee shop!!” You say, but they begin shooting unconvinced looks at each other. “Okay, walk with me here. Today he asked about my yoga class that, mind you, I haven’t gone to in 5 months. Or the fact that I see him occasionally walking down the street near the smoothie shop I like. And here’s the cherry on top of the cake. I saw him get into a red car recently!”
Silence fell across the room as you searched everyone’s faces. They all looked awkward and like they were biting their tongues.
“Guys?” You ask with confidence wavering.
“Well, y/n, it’s a theory all right, but do you have any concrete evidence?” JJ asked dismissively.
Her response irritated you. You weren't dumb and knew she was right, but her complete rejection was what bothered you. You were close to JJ; she trained you in her image when you took over her spot as communications liaison. You didn't think her, of all people, would shut you down so fast.
“I guess not. But how do you explain the yoga thing?” You accuse.
“Didn’t you always stop there after class?” Emily asks, making you nod in response. “Then he probably noticed you stopped showing up in yoga clothes and with your mat.”
“Yeah, the kid probably made an observation, hardly a stalker sending you letters or anything,” Morgan said.
You looked at all of them, defeated. Your eyes settled on Reid silently begging him to understand.
“You can have Penelope run a background check,” Reid says quietly.
“This is why you’re my favorite genius,” you say, feeling relieved someone was taking you seriously.
But when the check came back clean, the team lost full faith in your theory, despite your protests. Hotch went so far as to pull you into his office and offer you time off. Saying this job has a way of messing with your head sometimes. You reassured him that you were fine, but he wasn’t convinced and sent you home early for the day. You were irritated at this point; you knew something had to be happening, but the people you trusted most didn’t believe you. Instead, they chalked it up to strange circumstances. Sure, maybe it wasn’t the coffee worker guy, but you just knew someone was following you.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You felt too restless to go home, so you headed to a place you didn’t frequent often, the movie theater. During the previews, the lady sitting next to you was chatty; you thought it was annoying at first, but her company was refreshing in light of feeling rejected by the team. She looked a bit familiar, but you couldn't place it, chalking it up to her just having one of those faces. But you exchanged Instagrams confirming you didn't know her, then turned your attention to the movie starting. During which she offered you a box of Junior Mints, which you took eagerly. Afterwards, you said goodbye and headed to dinner. Your phone buzzed with her liking the few posts you had up. You stared affectionately at Reid's post, and you decked out in Halloween costumes at the office. Laughing at the memory of being the only two to dress up as the rest poked fun. It made you sad knowing you had been away for only a few hours and were missing them already. The sight of the unknown text flashed across the screen and broke you out of your thoughts and made the hair stand up on the back of your neck. The text read, “Hello, beautiful.” You had to get out of here. You took a different way home and quickly retreated inside. You paced around your apartment trying to figure out what to do when your phone rang again, but to your relief, it was Reid.
“Hello Spencer,” you answered anxiously.
“Hi y/n, I wanted to check in on you.”
At the sound of his voice, you crumpled onto your couch.
“Thanks, Spence. I’m doing alright, I guess. I’m just anxious. I know what you guys think, but I’m telling you something is going on here.”
“Would you wanna come over and talk about it?”
Relief washed over you. “God yes, I’ll be there in 15.”
“Ok, see you then,” he says softly and hangs up.
His words gave you a second wind, and you jumped up, gathering things to leave. But as you reached the front door, the sight of a piece of paper on the floor sent chills across your body. You slowly bent down to pick it up and investigate it. It was the magazine you’ve been reading on the train. You had misplaced your copy, but here it was lying on your floor. You drop it and run to your back door. You keep your gun close as you open the door and scan the perimeter. Once you check it’s clear, you run to your car and drive frantically to Spencer’s.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
Your heart was still racing as you got to his door and knocked. Spencer immediately opened the door and welcomed you into his cozy place. You eagerly stepped in, and relief washed over you. Spencer’s apartment was unique in the sense that it was purely his. Hundreds of books lined the wall, and the air smelled of coffee and tea, with fancy leather chairs and sofas. Case files and research notes were scattered around the various surfaces. You’d only been here in passing, dropping him off after a case or to borrow a book. But it felt more like a library than a living space.
“Make yourself at home,” he said while you took your shoes off.
“Thanks, Spence,” you replied with a sigh.
You made your way into his living room and settled into the couch. You rubbed your face with your hands, trying to process what had transpired today alone. Without missing a beat, Spencer joined you on the couch, holding two steaming mugs of tea, offering you one. He truly knew you better than anyone. You let the comfortable silence of the moment fall over you as you drank. However, your mind was still racing, and you were bouncing your leg anxiously. This made Reid flash you a knowing look.
“Do you think I’m going crazy?” you ask quietly, biting your inner cheek.
“No, y/n, of course not.” He responded quickly and placed his hand on your knee. The contact sent butterflies to your stomach.
“I know something is happening here. But I also know that my evidence is circumstantial. I don’t know what to do,” you murmur.
You watch as the gears turn in Reid's head and pray his genius worked in your favor.
“Ok, we’ll treat it like any other case. Start at the beginning and work through it all, analyzing as we go. If there is something I promise we’ll find it y/n”
“I’ve been trying to do that in my head, but I guess the expertise of a profiler would help,” you joke lightly.
“Perfect, let's get to work,” he said as he stood up. You watched as he shuffled around his place, grabbing you pen and paper. Then he went to what you assumed was a closet and pulled out a huge whiteboard on wheels, rolling it over to the couch area.
“Of course you would have one of these at home,” you snicker.
“Hey, it comes in handy!”
“Clearly,” you muse.
“Okay, start from the top and leave nothing out,” he said while uncapping his markers.
You spent the next few minutes recounting everything that had happened from the unknown calls to the creepy text and magazine appearing near your front door, watching as he scribbled them all down. Seeing them written out like this made you even more nervous. To you, they all seemed suspicious and interconnected, but what if they didn't look that way to Reid?
“Did you inspect the magazine at all?”
“No, I was so freaked that after I realized what it was, I dropped it immediately.”
“Ok what magazine was it?”
“The New Yorker,” you reply and watch as he writes it down.
“Any other texts?” he continued. Making you shake your head no. He then just stares at the board, and you're sure he is in some Reid mind palace stringing things together.
“Victimology is next,” He muttered and cast a look at you.
He began muttering more as he wrote down basic facts about you. Age, Location, Occupation, etc., but when the word “attractive " was written down, it made you blush. You knew he was doing this from a completely analytical sense, but you were still giddy that Spencer thought that about you. But this wasn't the time to gush over the insane crush you had on him. Even though his sweater clung tighter than normal to his body, highlighting his frame, or the way he pushed the sleeves up, revealing his arms, or how his hands looked while writing. Or how you desperately wished you were hanging out in Spencer's apartment when you weren't a potential victim. You began imagining what it would be like to spend time here together. Cooking dinner together or making out on the couch you were sitting on.
“Y/n? Earth to y/n.” his voice pulled you out of your daydreams, making you blush violently.
“Yeah, sorry, lost in thought for a second there,” you say sheepishly.
He made you more nervous as he joined you back on the couch. You watched as he sighed and lightly threw his head back to stare at the ceiling. This was not helping the thoughts you were already having about him. You just admired his features and the way he was so effortlessly perfect. But then he turned to look at you.
“I hate to ask this, but do you know anyone who would do something like this? Any estranged family members? Bad ex? Statistically speaking, 77% of female victims know their stalkers. It's actually only a small percentage nationwide that have cases of being stalked by a stranger, and this is around 9%,” he rambled in classic Reid fashion.
You took a second to rake your brain. “Um, I don’t think so. I'm close with my family, and they all live states away. Sure, I have the odd cousin or two, but none of them would do this.”
He asked you more about your childhood and how you grew up. The question a eager distraction from the heavy topic lurking on the whiteboard. Following it up with questions about your previous relationships. You explained your past ones and watched as his jaw tightened over the way one of them treated you. He was eager to place him as a suspect until you said he was married with kids, making him an unlikely candidate. You circled back around to the coffee shop guy but agreed you were quick to place blame out of desperation. Especially since Garcia looked into him. The clock ticked by as Reid continued to pick your brain. The comfort of his apartment and the blanket you had wrapped yourself in was making you sleepy.
“It's probably unlikely, but what if this person saw me on TV? I mean, I’m constantly on there reporting and talking to people for you guys. What if I talked to someone and they took it the wrong way?” you say with a yawn, making him yawn too.
“Have you noticed anyone who would fit that description. Like an old reporter talking to you or someone going completely out of the way to make conversation?”
“No?” you said sleepily and snuggled deeper into his couch.
You couldn't fight it anymore and sank, your head resting near Spencer's legs. You let yourself close your eyes and felt sleep creeping in, but you were a bit cramped, desiring more space.
“Could I use you as a pillow?” you ask, not really thinking.
“Sure, y/n,” he says in his cute, awkward tone.
You push yourself up a bit to settle your head in his lap, turning on your side to get extra comfortable. Spencer was a bit tense, but after a few moments you felt him relax. His hand found your hair and gently played with it as you fell asleep.
“Oh, I met someone at the movies earlier. But she was nice,” you murmur.
“Y/n?” Reid asked softly, but you had already fallen asleep.
﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌
You weren't sure what time it was when you woke. The room was still dark, but the warmth wrapped around your waist told you everything you needed to know. At some point, Spencer had stretched out beside you on the couch and fallen asleep with his arms around you. You'd never been so grateful to have accidentally drifted off on someone's couch. A smile tugged at your lips as you melted back against him, savoring the comfort of being held. Nestling closer into his embrace, you let yourself drift back to sleep.
Morning light flooded through the apartment, and the sound of a male voice pulled you awake. You blinked your eyes open and immediately noticed Spencer was gone. Glancing around, you found him in the kitchen, pacing back and forth with his phone pressed to his ear. You stayed quiet, hoping to catch what he was saying, but all you heard was a string of subdued “okays" before the call ended. As he lowered the phone, you pushed yourself up from the couch and walked over to him. He turned toward you, his face drained of color. The fear in his expression sent a chill through you before he even spoke.
“A body was found,” he said quietly.
You searched his face, your pulse quickening as he hesitated, as though the next words were almost too difficult to say.
“She was holding a New Yorker,” he said at last. “And… she looks like you, y/n.”
ok i know i'm one to talk but genuinely if you think 👍 or ❤️ is "passive aggressive" you might be spending a bit too much time on your phone jeez louise
here is your daily reminder to COMMENT ON THE AO3 FICS YOU READ! it goes such a long way, especially if it’s a multi-chapter work and you can only leave kudos once. ANYTHING is an acceptable comment—emojis, keyboard smash, screaming, in-depth analysis! i promise you, the writers want it ALL
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
