Divider by @anitalenia , so pretty …

It was the night before everything happened. The theater's dim lights flickered out as the credits rolled, and Spencer leaned back in his seat, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips. You couldn't help but glance at him, noticing the way his eyes sparkled, not from the usual, calculated intellect but from something far more carefree. He was relaxed—completely unguarded for once. It was different, and it felt almost like an unfamiliar territory you both were treading on.

"I can't believe I actually got you to sit through a two-hour documentary," Spencer said, his voice teasing, but his eyes were full of affection, a soft warmth you rarely saw unless it was in those rare moments when it was just the two of you.

You arched a brow, pulling your coat tighter around you. "You didn’t 'get me' to do anything. I agreed to come along. Big difference."

He laughed, the sound so light it made you pause for a second. Spencer had an easy charm when he wasn’t buried under the weight of cases, and tonight, it felt like you were catching a glimpse of that version of him—one that didn’t overthink, one that could just be.

"So, I guess I owe you dinner?" Spencer asked, glancing over at you with that soft look that made your heart skip a beat.

"You definitely owe me more than dinner." You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips as you leaned back in your seat. "Next time, I pick the movie."

He chuckled again, and for a moment, you both fell into an easy silence, your feet echoing on the pavement as you walked side by side. The crisp night air wrapped around you, but it was nothing compared to the warmth of having him by your side.

"Deal," Spencer finally agreed, his tone playful, but something deeper lingered beneath it.

You couldn’t quite place the shift in the air—the way it seemed like the world had paused just for a second, giving you both the space to breathe in something more than the usual banter. It was strange, feeling this close to him, the lines between the friendship you’d once had and the relationship you were now walking into slowly starting to blur.

Spencer glanced over at you, his eyes meeting yours. The playful mask he usually wore seemed to falter, just for a fraction of a second. "I’m really glad we did this tonight," he said, quieter than before.

His words lingered in the cool air as you continued walking, and for a split second, you almost wished the night would stretch on forever. Just the two of you, no cases, no pressure, just... this.

As you reached your apartment, you turned to Spencer, arms loosely crossed.

"I'm a bit much," you said, tilting your head. "My sassiness—it can be a lot sometimes."

Spencer shook his head without hesitation. "Not for me."

You narrowed your eyes, skeptical. "Right. And I'm supposed to believe that?"

His smile was small, easy. "I’m too straightforward sometimes."

"You? Never," you teased, but the warmth in his gaze made your chest feel tight.

Spencer chuckled, then, he’s , gaze never leaving yours there was a quiet certainty, that said, "I love m being near you."— everything about you Spencer added , I can’t get enough of .

The words settled between you, heavier than you expected. You let out a small laugh, unsure. "Right," you muttered, looking down.

Before you could think too much about it, Spencer reached out, brushing his fingers under your chin, tilting your face back up to his. His touch was light, careful, but his eyes—his eyes were steady.

"No, really," he said softly. "I adore you. Ever since you started at the BAU."

Your breath caught, and for once, you were lost for words you, you didn’t know what to say , “ all you could say was “Spence”….

Spencer stepped closer, wrapping his arms around you in a warm, familiar hug. His touch was steady, reassuring—something that grounded you more than you'd ever admit.

"So, tomorrow then," he murmured.

"Tomorrow," you echoed, holding on just a little tighter, just a little longer.

He pulled back slightly, his hands lingering at your waist. "Don't forget to text me," you said, flashing a teasing smile.

Spencer huffed a quiet laugh. "Have I ever?"

You smirked. "Right."

With that, you unlocked your door, stepping inside without another thought. You didn’t notice the figure lurking in the shadows, watching.

Spencer turned to leave, hands tucking into his pockets, but he barely made it a few steps before something yanked him backward.

A rough grip, the sharp sting of fabric tightening around his face—a pillowcase shoved over his head. He barely had time to react before an arm locked around his chest, pinning him in place.

"Make a sound, and I shoot," a voice growled in his ear.

Spencer froze. His pulse thundered, but he didn’t fight, didn’t struggle. Slowly, he nodded.

"Good," the voice muttered before dragging him into the darkness.

As you wound down for the night, you couldn’t stop thinking about Spencer—his arms around you, the way he held you just a second longer than necessary. It left a warmth lingering on your skin, a feeling you weren’t quite ready to shake.

You grabbed your phone, typing out a message. Goodnight, Spencer. I had the best time ever. Your fingers hovered over the keyboard before you added, Maybe we could do coffee before work?

You hesitated. Maybe that was a bit much.

Then again, he was the one who asked you out. No, it wasn’t too much. Not after tonight.

You hit send before you could talk yourself out of it.

With that settled, you got in the shower, letting the hot water wash away the buzz of the evening. Afterward, you got ready for bed, set your alarm, and slipped under the covers, your mind still caught on the thought of tomorrow.

Your last thought before drifting off was Spencer—coffee, tomorrow, something to look forward to.

You never noticed that his reply never came.

It was the next morning the , alarm had gone off had waken you up , you hit the alarm button few times before it stoped . As you got up , you put on your designer robe and slippers in got out of bed as you stretched, you glanced at your phone first thing hmm , no message from Spence maybe he’s not awake yet ,you thought ..

Pacing around your apartment, you searched for your shoes, your keys—anything to keep your hands busy. Something felt off, but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

With a sigh, you pulled open the blinds. The sky was dull and gray, the kind of overcast that made the whole day feel heavier.

“Oh Great Depressing you though”… .. You checked your phone again. Still nothing.

Frowning, you tried calling him. Once. Twice. Straight to voicemail.

Spencer always checked in. Even a quick text. But it had been hour now, and the silence was starting to get under your skin.— you try to call him , straight to voice mail, okay you thought it’s nothing maybe his phone died last night .

Okay, here’s the deal—deep breath in, deep breath out. Get dressed. Get ready. Don’t overreact. It’s just another day. A perfectly normal, casual day at the BAU.

Casual days were your favorite. A chance to look effortlessly stylish while everyone else showed up looking like they just rolled out of bed. You sifted through your closet, fingers grazing over fabrics until you found it—the perfect pleated skirt. Classic, polished, undeniably you. You paired it with a designer top that hugged you just right, slipping it on with a satisfied smirk.

Then, the finishing touch. Your favorite headband. You could almost hear Spencer’s voice in your head, that amused little lilt whenever he’d tease you about them. You know headbands don’t actually serve a functional purpose, right? But despite his commentary, you’d caught him smiling once—just a little—when you wore this one.

Sliding on your tights, you moved with practiced ease, each motion deliberate, like an artist perfecting a masterpiece. When you finally stepped in front of the mirror, you tilted your head, adjusting a stray strand of hair.

“Not just decent. perfection……

With one final touch, you spritzed on your favorite Dior perfume, the familiar scent settling around you like a signature. Satisfied, you grabbed your bag and keys, ready to head out—until a flash of sleek black fur darted across your legs.

"See you later, Onyx," you murmured, bending down to give your cat a quick scratch behind the ears. He purred, tail flicking before trotting off like he owned the place. Typical.

With that, you straightened up, took one last glance in the mirror, and stepped out the door.

You decide to walk today. The air has a crisp breeze, just enough to wake you up but not enough to be miserable. Even with the gloomy sky stretching above, there’s something refreshing about it.

As you walk, you pull out your phone and try Spencer one more time to see if he wants to grab coffee. It rings. And rings. Still no answer. Typical. You sigh, slipping it back into your bag.

The second you step into the coffee shop, the rich scent of espresso and warm pastries wraps around you. It smells amazing. The line isn’t too long—thankfully—so you move forward, already thinking about what to order

When you reach the counter, the barista greets you with a bright, “Good morning! What can I get for you?”

You glance at the menu for a few moments, tapping your nails against the counter before flashing a small smile. “Instead of my usual, I think I’ll try something different. Can I get a white mocha latte?” Then, after a beat, you add, “With an espresso shot.”

“Coming right up,” the barista says, already getting to work.

Your phone rings. “It’s Spencer. Finally. Good morning, sleepyhead,” you say.

“Well, well, who do we have here?”

“Who the hell is this?” you say. “And why do you have Dr. Spencer Reid’s phone?”

“So you see, sweetheart—”

“Don’t call me that,” you snap.

Meanwhile, Spencer is eyeing the unsub talking to you on the phone, glaring at the unsub for calling you sweetheart.

“Leave her out of this!” Spencer calls out.

“Spence?” you say.

“Hey, pretty boy, shut it,” the unsub says.

“Look, last night you all didn’t realize I was following you too. You know he’s an FBI agent, right?” I mean , Dr you say.

“Right, of course, sweetheart,” the unsub says. “I told you not to call me that. Look, I need leverage. Get me five grand by midnight tonight. I’ll be calling soon...”

The phone went dead.

You rushed out of the coffee shop, leaving your coffee behind. You ran straight to the BAU office, heart racing.

You found JJ walking in. “Everything okay?” she asked.

“No, gather everyone now,” you said, urgency in your voice.

“Okay, what’s wrong?”

“Get Emily. I need Rossi, Derek, and Hotch. Now.”

She stopped you, brows furrowing. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Spencer,” you said, barely holding it together. “We need the team. Now.”

JJ’s eyes went wide. “Okay, they’re in the office.”

You rushed to the elevator, muttering under your breath, “Come on.”

The doors opened, and JJ was still following close behind. “Are you gonna tell me what this is about?”

You stopped, taking a deep breath. “Spencer… He’s— I can’t say it until I’m with everyone.”

JJ’s expression changed, worry creeping into her voice.

You pushed open the bullpen doors, seeing Rossi and Derek in the middle of a conversation. “Hey, guys, it’s important,” you said, voice sharp with panic. “Spencer—he’s been kidnapped.”

Derek looked at you, confused. “Right.”

“Look around,” you shouted. “Do you see him here?”

Derek’s face tightened. “He’s running late, right?”

“No,” you said, shaking your head. “The unsub called me a few minutes ago, asking for money to keep Spencer alive.”

You pulled out your phone, showing Derek the caller’s number.

“If this is a prank—” Derek started.

“It’s not a prank,” you snapped, glaring at him.

Your phone rings again. By now, everyone is around you, the tension thick in the air. You hit the speakerphone button, voice tight.

“Spence?” you call out, hoping to hear him.

“I’m here,” he replies, his voice shaky but steady.

You take a deep breath, glancing around the room. “So, sweetheart,” the unsub says, his voice dripping with mockery, “you tell the other agents about my deal to keep pretty boy alive?”

You glare at the phone. Gracie’s trying to trace the call in the background.

“You still there, sweetheart?” the unsub continues. “Look, I’ve told you once before not to call me that.”

“I get it, but this game is fun, right?”

“Fun?” you scoff. “You call this fun? Messing with people’s lives?”

“LOOK HERE, YOU SON OF A BITCH!” you yell, your temper snapping. “I WILL KILL YOU.”

“Who’s the crazy lady?” the unsub asks Spencer.

“The one you’ve been talking to the whole time,” Spencer says, sounding almost amused. “Oh , that’s my girlfriend. Isn’t she a delight?”

“Get me five grand,” the unsub demands. “Then we’ll talk. After that, the line goes dead, leaving you fuming, fists clenched at your sides.

Anything, Garcia?" you asked, your voice sharp with impatience.

"Yes," she replied. "The old library, the one that was abandoned a year ago. That's where the cell phone is coming from."

"Let’s go," Hotch calls out, already heading toward the door.

He turns to you, his voice commanding. "Stay back with Garcia."

You cross your arms and glare at him. "No. I’m coming with."

Hotch gives you a look, but you don’t back down. Spencer was all you had, aside from the team

"Fine," Hotch says, begrudgingly. "But you follow my lead."

"Fine," you respond, voice clipped, but the fire in your eyes says it all. You're not letting this go.

Once at the old library, you all made your way through, checking every room until you found the one.

“I told you to follow my lead,” Hotch said, but you shot him a look.

“It’s Spencer,” you replied, voice sharp.

Without missing a beat, you took the lead.

You saw the unsub pacing back and forth. You glanced at Hotch, then spotted Spencer—tied to a chair. You gasped.

“Who’s here?” the unsub asked, his voice cold.

He started moving toward you. “FBI!” Hotch shouted. “Put your hands behind your back.”

“He said put your hands behind your back,” you repeated, more forceful.

“Okay, sweetheart,” the unsub sneered.

You dragged him to the ground, glaring. “I said, don’t call me that.”

You cuffed him quickly, handed him off to Hotch, who looked frustrated but didn’t say anything. You didn’t care.

You rushed to Spencer.

“Spence, I was worried about you.”

You untied him, and he smiled up at you.

“What?” you said, confused by his grin.

“Good to know I’m in good hands,” he said, his voice light but warm.

Before you could respond, Spencer pulled you in, tight.

“Spence,” you gasped.

The team stood there, watching you two, but Spencer didn’t let go.

“Let’s go home,” you whispered, your voice softer now.

Your eyes found him instantly, sitting at his desk, completely lost in his book. His fingers traced the edge of the pages, his lips moving slightly as he read. Focused. Unaware of the way your stomach twisted just looking at him.

JJ and Emily stood in the corner talking, while Derek walked by, flashing a smirk. You barely had time to react before he stopped right in front of you.

“What’s up, love?”

You stiffened. “Nothing,” you said quickly. “I’ll ask JJ.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “No, you can ask me.” He threw an arm around your shoulders before you shoved it off.

“Actually, no—I can’t. You’ll tease me, and I can’t take that right now. I just need a girl’s advice, sorry, Derek.”

Derek scoffed, holding his hands up. “Alright, alright.”

You turned away, heading straight for JJ and Emily.

“Hey, can I ask you guys something?”

Emily glanced up. “Sure, what’s up?”

You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder before lowering your voice. “I wanna take… um, Spencer out,” you admitted. “Like shopping. Maybe grab something to eat. But I don’t know how to ask him.”

Before either of them could answer, a voice cut in.

“This is what you needed help with?”

Your stomach dropped.

Derek stood there, arms crossed, shaking his head.

“I could’ve helped with that without teasing you,” he said, almost offended. “If that’s what you were worried about, all you had to do was ask.”

You opened your mouth, but he just sighed and walked away.

JJ nudged you. “I think someone’s feelings are hurt.”

Your chest tightened. “I’ll be right back.”

You found Derek in the break room, stirring his coffee a little too hard.

“It’s not like you to get upset,” you said.

“I’m not upset,” he muttered. “It’s just—he’s my best friend. And I thought we were friends too. If you needed something from me without the teasing, you could’ve just said so.”

Your shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. Just then

“I really like him,” Derek , in I just didn’t want you to tease me about it .

Just as you said that , “Spencer walked in”..

Spencer froze mid-step, his hands in his pockets.

“Who do you like?” he asked. “Do I know him?”

Derek chuckled, shaking his head. “Great You murmured to yourself, That’s the second time today someone’s overheard me say something today.”

Spencer stepped back immediately. “Sorry—I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“You didn’t, pretty boy.” Derek clapped a hand on his shoulder. “She needs to talk to you.”

Spencer glance at you, eyes filled with curiosity—and something else.

Nervousness.

“ you glared back at Derek..” — it’s okay you thought to yourself you can do this …

Your breath hitched. “Spence, I was wondering… would you want to, um, go shopping? And maybe grab something to eat after?”

His brow furrowed slightly. “It’s… me? You like?”

You nodded, heart pounding. “I was scared to tell you. Maybe just nervous,” you admitted. “I was gonna ask JJ and Emily for advice, but then Derek caught me . He wanted to help, but I thought he’d tease me, and… well, now we’re here.”

You exhaled sharply. “I get it if you don’t want to, Spence—”

“If I don’t want to?” he repeated, almost like he was testing the words.

You could see it then—he was just as nervous as you were. His fingers twitched slightly, his lips parted like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure how.

“So… you like me?” he asked, careful, hesitant.

You swallowed hard. “Yeah. But it’s not a big deal,” you mumbled.

Spencer stared at you. “Not a big deal? You were literally trying to get advice on how to ask me out,” he pointed out. “How is that not a big deal?”

You hesitated, turning toward the counter, needing something—anything—to do with your hands. “I don’t know, I’m just… not good at these types of things.”

Spencer was quiet for a moment before he admitted, softly, “I’m not either.”

You looked at him.

He gave a small, nervous smile. “I… I didn’t even know you liked me back.”

His voice was gentle, like he was still trying to believe it.

Spencer shifted on his feet, his fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. He hesitated for a moment, then took a breath, meeting your eyes with that soft, unsure look that made your stomach flip.

“Let’s do it,” he said, his voice careful but certain. “Let’s go shopping—whatever you had in mind, I’m in.”

You stared at him, heart pounding. “Really?”

His lips quirked into a small, nervous smile. “Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I… I like you too.” His voice dipped slightly, more unsure now. “And I want to do this.”

You felt like you forgot how to breathe for a second. All the nerves, all the overthinking—it all seemed so ridiculous now. He was just as uncertain, just as hesitant, but he was still standing there, choosing this. Choosing you.

A slow smile crept onto your face. “Okay,” you said softly. “Then let’s do this.”

Spencer gently took your hand, his touch hesitant but warm. “Ready?” he asked, glancing at you.

“Now?” you said, caught a little off guard.

He nodded. “Unless you had something else in mind?”

You shook your head. “No.”

“Okay then,” he said, offering a small smile as he guided you out of the break room, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder.

As the two of you stepped into the bullpen, you hesitated. “Spence… what if—”

“It’s okay,” he reassured you softly. “It’s just our first date.”

Your heart stuttered at the word date, but before you could overthink it, Spencer glanced toward JJ and Emily. They were already watching, grinning as if they had known this was coming all along.

Just as you reached the exit, Hotch stopped the two of you. He barely lifted his gaze from his paperwork, but the hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Have fun, you two.”

You and Spencer exchanged a quick, nervous glance before smiling. Then, without another word, you walked out together.

“Do you wanna walk?” Spencer asked, glancing at you. “Or ride?”

“Walk,” you said without hesitation, smiling. “We’re so close to everything, and it’s, um—” You hesitated, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious. “Never mind.”

Spencer looked at you curiously. “More peaceful?”

You nudged him lightly, rolling your eyes. “You’re the genius. What do you think I meant?”

A small chuckle escaped him, his smile soft but genuine. “I think I get it,” he said, glancing down for a second before looking back at you. The warmth in his voice made your heart skip a beat.

The first place you stopped was a little bookstore with a small café tucked inside. The scent of coffee and old paper filled the air, making the place feel cozy and warm.

“Come on,” you said, grabbing Spencer’s hand and pulling him inside.

He let out a small, breathy laugh, his lips curling into a smile—of course, he didn’t mind.

You spent the next couple of hours wandering through the shelves, flipping through pages, and sharing quiet comments about different books. Eventually, you convinced Spencer to pick out one of his favorites and read a few pages to you.

His voice was soft but steady, each word carrying a certain rhythm as he got lost in the story.

You couldn’t help but smile as you listened, watching the way his eyes lit up.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked, a knowing look in his gaze as he closed the book for a moment.

“I am,” you admitted, still smiling.

“Let’s go,” you said, giving his pant leg a gentle tug to get his attention.

Spencer looked up from the book, blinking. “Where to?”

“No clue,” you grinned. “But that’s the best part. Come on.”

He hesitated for a second before placing the book back on the shelf, his fingers lingering on the spine as if saying a silent goodbye. Then, with a small nod, he followed you out of the store.

Back on the street, the air was crisp, the faint hum of the city surrounding you both.

“The mall is just around the corner,” Spencer offered, glancing at you.

You smiled, leaning against his shoulder for a brief moment. “Okay,” you said. “Let’s go.”

You spent a few hours wandering through the mall, picking up a few things along the way. Spencer did too, though he was more subtle about it. At some point, he had slipped away for a moment, just long enough to buy you something—a delicate bracelet that caught his eye. He tucked the small bag carefully inside his coat pocket, deciding to wait until the end of the date to give it to you.

"Spence," you said softly, glancing up at him as you walked. "I’m having the best time."

His lips curved into a small smile. "Me too."

"Wanna grab some food?" you asked, nodding toward the food court.

Spencer nodded. "Let’s get some sandwiches or something."

You agreed, and soon the two of you were sitting across from each other, the hum of mall chatter in the background as you unwrapped your food.

"This has been a really good first date so far," you said, smiling at him between bites.

Spencer swallowed, then tilted his head slightly. "What’s your favorite color?"

You blinked at the sudden shift. "My favorite color? Umm…" You thought for a moment. "Light orange and bright pink mixed together."

"Like a sunset," he added.

"Right," you said, a little surprised.

"What about you?" you asked, taking a sip of your pink lemonade.

Spencer hesitated for a second before shrugging. "I don’t really have one… but if I had to choose, light blue."

You nodded, then paused, watching him. "Wait—" You blinked. "The color of my eyes?"

His gaze met yours, warm and honest. "Exactly," he admitted.

Your heart skipped a beat.

As you finished eating, you both stood up. Spencer grabbed your tray, dumping it before you could, while you gathered the shopping bags.

“Night person or day person?” he asked as you stepped away from the food court.

“To be honest?” You glanced at him. “Night person.”

He nodded. “Most days, I’m a night person too.”

You narrowed your eyes at him playfully. “You’re just saying what I wanna hear, Spencer Reid.”

He let out a soft chuckle, shifting beside you. “I mean, I do like my mornings… but I love nights.”

“Fair,” you said with a small smile.

There was a brief pause before Spencer cleared his throat, his voice quieter this time. “Are you… a cuddle person?”

You felt your face warm at the question. You glanced down, suddenly aware of the slight chill in the air. Before you could answer, Spencer was already slipping off his jacket, gently draping it over your shoulders.

“I do like to cuddle,” you whispered, pulling the jacket around you. “But, umm…”

Spencer smiled softly, watching you with that awkward yet endearing nervousness of his. “Good to know,” he murmured.

You finally made your way back to the BAU. It was late, the bullpen quieter than usual, only a few desks still occupied.

“I had a great time today, Spence,” you said, turning to face him. “Honestly, hands down the best date I’ve been on in a really long time. And with a guy who actually listens… who actually enjoys my company.”

Spencer’s gaze softened. “I’ll always enjoy your company.”

He hesitated for a moment, then reached into his pocket, pulling out a small bag that had been tucked away the entire day.

“What is it, Spence?” you asked, curiosity flickering in your eyes.

“Open it.”

You did, peeling back the tissue paper to reveal a delicate bracelet, silver with tiny, sparkling bow charms. It shimmered under the fluorescent lights.

“Spence… you didn’t have to spend money on me,” you said, looking up at him. “Just spending time with you was enough. That’s all I ever wanted.”

“I wanted to do this for you,” he said simply. “May I?”

You nodded, holding out your wrist as he carefully clasped the bracelet around it. You tried not to let the emotion welling in your chest spill over, but your eyes burned anyway.

“Thank you,” you whispered, voice barely above a breath.

Spencer gave you a small, nervous smile. “You’re welcome.”

"Spence," you started, shifting on your feet. Your fingers played with the edge of your sleeve as you glanced up at him. "I was wondering… is it okay if I, umm… can I hug you?"

His lips parted slightly, almost like he hadn't expected the question. But then, that shy, endearing smile of his appeared.

"Of course," he said softly.

Before you could second-guess yourself, you stepped forward, wrapping your arms around him. Spencer hesitated for just a second before he hugged you back, his arms gentle but firm around you. He smelled like old books and coffee, the faintest trace of his cologne still lingering from earlier in the day.

You exhaled, melting into the warmth of him.

You see him now, looking up at you with sparkling brown eyes. The early morning light highlights the caramel tone seeping through the dark brown. It captivates you. Your eyes drift down the rest of his face, it's all you can do to not get completely lost in him, in those eyes.

"Whatcha looking at, handsome?" you drawl, sweet as honey as you reach for the case file on his desk.

You can't help the small smile that forms as heat rushes into his face, deepening his complexion a deep red.

"It-" his words catch in his throat, which he clears before continuing, "it's for a potential new case. From Hotch."

His tone is clipped, as if he's forcing himself to sound casual. He does that when he's nervous, you've come to find out. You wonder if the pointed toe heel resting delicately on his knee has anything to do with that. You press the ball of your foot into him playfully, reveling in the way he flushes even deeper.

"Can I see?" you ask lightly, tilting your head and pouting your lips, "I want to see if it's the one I passed along to him on Monday. I still haven't heard back from him about it."

You hop down from his desk, grabbing the chair adjacent from his desk. Maybe you pull it a little too close to his chair, but you can't seem to care too much once his bicep grazes your own. The smallest touch sends shock waves through you, a surge of electricity pumping straight to your heart.

You hear his breath pick up as you reach across his lap to grab the file. A small smile spreads across your lips as Spencer nods his head frantically, long, deft fingers passing the file to you.

"Yeah-yeah, I think it is. The white collar case on Cape Cod, right?" he asks, and you nod.

"Yeah, he wanted you to look at it?" you look towards him with bright eyes, hopeful. "I wasn't sure he'd be okay with us picking this one up. It's not really something we normally cover, but I have a feeling about it. Something's not right..." you trail off, scanning the details once more.

"I agree," he says, and it's almost laughable how relieved you feel at his approval. "I couldn't help but notice the fraud charge. They wired the money to an account in Germany. If this crosses country lines then we might be dealing with something more than just fraud."

"That's exactly what I was thinking!" your fingers latch onto his forearm in excitement. His eyes flash to your touch, his breath catching again.

Your eyes linger on his face, tracing each freckle of his smooth skin. His eyes flit up to yours, and the contact stops time. Everything around you comes to a standstill, you and Spencer are the only ones that exist in this moment.

A tap of a manila folder snaps you out of your Spencer-induced-haze, cheeks heating as you look up to find Hotch. A knowing look glimmers in his eye, and you twist your hands in your lap.

"Get ready to leave for Cape Cod," is all he says, tone definitive before he goes to brief the rest of the team.

Spencer's heart clutches in his chest as they exit the plane, right onto a coastal beach. She's dressed for the occasion, an airy, floral sundress ebbing and flowing around her gorgeous figure. He shoves his hands in his pockets, willing his gaze to focus anywhere else. He finds solace in his Converse, the way they squish against the sand deters him from the way her dress dips lower at the chest.

He shakes his head, as if to rid himself of the thought, as guilt creeps into the pit of his stomach. He's been fighting these feelings ever since she joined the bureau. The magnetic pull she has on him, the grip of want clutching his heart, his lungs, until he can barely breathe. As always, she saddles up next to him, as if she knew she's on his mind. She's always on his mind.

A mix of coconut and chemicals fill his nostrils, her sunscreen infiltrating all his senses. Her bare arm grazes against his, her proximity nearly suffocating. He'd rather die than move away from her, though.

They're assigned the same task, analyzing the letters sent to and from various money launderers. She's bent at the waist, palms flat against the white folding table set up on the beach. Hormones rage through him, he feels like a perverse teenager, but the way she pops her hip out nearly gives him a heart attack.

His arm lifts, almost involuntarily, his hand lightly grazing her elbow as he makes his presence known. He revels in the way her eyes light up as they find him, her hand finding his shoulder. He feels dizzy when she gives it a light squeeze, the prettiest smile painting her glossy lips.

"What have you found?" he ponders. She raises her brow at him.

"We've been here for not even five minutes. How do you know I've found something?" she inquires. A light chuckle escapes his lips, his eyes finding the letters she's been scanning.

"You have that crease in your brow when you know something," he mentions softly, her smile widening. "What is it?"

She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, the plump flesh ever so tempting. She's so beautiful when she works, it takes his breath away.

"This. Look at this sentence, here," she points about halfway through an old, crinkled letter. It catches his eye immediately.

"'It's been handled. There's nothing you need to worry your pretty little head about.' What do you make of that?" he asks, though he has some theories himself.

"A partnership. It almost seems romantic, 'pretty little head'," she repeats, "it's almost flirtatious. Like he wants to take care of the partner, man or woman."

Spencer has no idea how the perfect combination of beauty and brains found him, of all people, but God, is he thankful.

"I agree, nice work," he smiles at her, and he revels in the way she preens at his praise. The sun coats her skin, and the natural light makes her shimmer like an angel.

"Thanks, Spence," she nudges his shoulder with hers, and his cheeks heat. It's not from the sun.

An arrest is made not long after they touch down- a 25 year old manager of a local golf club. He's a broad, muscly type, the kind of guy that's always made Spencer feel smaller, less-than. He sees it. The moment he clocks her. It makes him sick.

He's handcuffed, Hotch dragging him along the beach to the interrogation space. On his way there, his eyes lock on the girl right next to him. Acidic bile rises in his throat as his eyes scan up and down, sizing her up like a lamb for slaughter.

Hotch approaches them a few minutes later, his gaze directed at her.

"He says he'll only talk to you. He wants 'the pretty one'," Hotch informs. A shiver unzips Spencer's spine at that, the sick feeling from earlier creeping up his throat once again. He can't help but link his pinkie finger through hers, a reassuring gesture that she's more than this.

Hotch leans closer, his voice a low timbre. "Between us, this guy is a bona fide creep. You don't have to do this if you don't want to."

A wave of relief rushes through Spencer at this, though his stomach drops when she removes her pinkie from his. He sees her straighten her spine in his peripheral, and his head snaps up to look at her. He knows the second he sees her. She's going to do it.

"No," she says to Hotch, almost defiant, "I can do it. I want to help in any way I can."

Hotch studies her for a moment, his brow furrowing in a concern Spencer shares. He nods tersely, and Spencer knows fighting this is a lost cause.

"Alright, let's go," Hotch says lowly, letting her go before both of them.

Spencer follows. It's against his better judgement, he knows he'd probably be of better use elsewhere. He can't let her go in alone, though. Not even if he tried.

Your heart is thumping in your chest, your blood thrumming in your veins as you near the interrogation room. Spencer's behind you the whole time, you can tell. A tiny flame of hope flickers in your chest as he stands at the glass, a white knuckle grip on the table beneath him.

You make eye contact with him one last time before opening the door. You see the restraint in his big brown eyes, how badly he wants to tell you to not go in. You take a deep breath and open the door anyway.

A sickly feeling creeps its way into your stomach, acid bubbling in the deepest part of you. You watch as he sizes you up, his gaze lingering a little too long on your chest. You're used to this, to men treating you like a piece of meat. It never gets easier, but you find a small bit of comfort in the fact that you're helping your team. So, you plaster your sweetest smile, falling into the role that's expected of you.

"Hi! How are you doing? Uncomfortable?" you pout your glossy lips, tone sickly sweet as you perch on the edge of the table. His eyes linger on your ass, the fat of it emphasized by your weight on the table. You arch your back slightly. You know you look good, you decide to lean into it instead of focusing on the man in front of you.

"What do you think, sweetheart?" he asks, sarcasm lacing his tone as he rattles his cuffs. "You help, though."

Your stomach churns, but your smile never falters. Your experience with men like this isn't foreign to you. You know every button you need to push.

"Yeah?" you drawl, your manicured nails crawling to his forearm, resting gingerly there. "Anything I can get you? Food? Water?" you bat your lashes sweetly. The glint in his eye reeks of objectification, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

"Get me a cheeseburger and fries from Louie's. Oh- and a chocolate milkshake, cherry on top," he winks at that last line. You pity him for how proud he seems of it.

You place a hand on his forearm, leaning in so your face is parallel with his. You watch his eyes flit down to your chest, now even more exposed in your position.

"You got it," your tone is saccharine, your nails dragging lightly against his arm as you stand to leave. You make sure to sway your hips a little extra as you leave, looking over your shoulder one more time before opening the door.

You exit the interrogation room to the shocked expressions of your team members, most are impressed, others in pure shock. You catch Spencer, though, and it doesn't take a genius to see the incredulous expression on his face. His brows furrowed, a pout hanging low on his lips.

"Way to work it, honey," Morgan claps you on the back. Hotch nods his agreement.

Pride swells in your belly at their praise. You can't shake Spencer's lack of enthusiasm, though. His inability to look you in the eye sparks a flame of disappointment, blazing through the content you felt just moments before.

You weave your way through the small room, linking your fingers around Spencer's wrist and pulling him out into the precinct. He still can't look at you.

"Spencer, what's wrong?" you're not really sure where to start. You hope this gets him talking.

"Nothing. Nothing's wrong," his voice is high pitched in the way that it does when he's lying. "I just- I can't watch you put yourself on display for someone that looks at you like a piece of meat! Is that just your natural state? Since it clearly comes so easily to you."

He mumbles the last part under his breath, and it shocks you into silence. Frustration flares in your chest, spreading like wildfire from head to toe.

"You don't have to watch, then, Spencer," you spit out his name, and he flinches at your tone. "I'm trying to help our team solve this case. If you can't watch, then maybe your skills would be used better somewhere else."

You stalk off, hurt piercing through every nerve in your body. You wiggle your fingers, stretching your neck side to side as you try to shake off the feeling. It finds its way back to you, no matter what you do, rising like bile up your throat.

You open the door back to the interrogation room, watching the man behind the glass eat his food without a care in the world. You stew for a moment, letting yourself sit in the hurt, the anger. You decide to let it fuel you.

You reach your hands into your dress, pushing your boobs up so they rest perkily above the neckline. You turn to Hotch, who looks like he regrets the day he was born, fire blazing in your eye.

"I can crack him," you say assuredly. Hotch nods in response, and you turn the knob to the interrogation room.

Spencer can't help but find his way back into the interrogation room. He sits in the back, behind Hotch and Morgan, back hunched, arms crossed over his chest. His brows are furrowed, the pout on his lips everlasting.

Guilt boils in his stomach as she saunters back in the room. The way his eyes light up when he sees her makes Spencer physically ill. He clears his throat uncomfortably, which causes Derek's head to cross over his shoulder, finding Spencer immediately.

Spencer shrinks into himself even more as Derek moves to join him at the back table. They sit for a moment, watching as she bends over the table at the waist, popping her hip out in a way that's sinful. Spencer bites his lip, completely giving up on hiding his feelings from Derek. He figured him out months ago.

"The way I spoke to her, Derek..." Spencer trails off shamefully. He shakes his head, unable to look at her without feeling nauseous.

"She's going to forgive you. She just needs to know you're coming from a place of concern, not judgement," Derek says, his poignancy grating Spencer's nerves even further. How dare he have such good judgement?

"How do you know she'll forgive me?" Spencer murmurs. He can't remember the last time he sounded so weak.

"Because I know," his certainty draws Spencer's gaze up to meet Morgan's. They sit in loaded silence, the only sound cutting through is her saccharine tone from the other side of the glass. It churns in Spencer's stomach like bad milk.

Derek moves back to where he was before, next to Hotch at the glass window. It's then that Spencer finally wills himself to look at her. She's got her hands on her hips, all her weight resting on one foot in a way that highlights her figure. She flips her hair, and the suspect is completely drawn to her.

"You're a smart guy, I can just tell..." she croons, moving closer towards him, "but being smart doesn't mean you can hide from me, you know?"

The suspect blushes at this, though a smug smirk paints his lips. "I don't know what you're talking about, baby. I didn't do anything."

Spencer white knuckles the table beneath him. It's all he can do to not go in there and wipe that smile right off his face.

"I know you're not used to pretty girls pushing back. Most of them just fall for that smile, huh?" her voice is lower, more intimate, as a nail traces the shape of his lip.

The suspect tenses then, turning his gaze down to his hands. Spencer sits up at this, adrenaline striking him at the suspect's discomfort.

"I...I didn't do anything. I swear," the suspect emphasizes that last part, and Spencer knows she's got him.

"You really think I'm going to let you get away with that answer, when I know the truth?" she's resting on the table now, her hip delicately perched just inches away from the suspect. "It's okay to let go, you know," a nail lightly grazes up his arm. He shivers. "You've lost control already, haven't you?"

The last question comes out as a whisper. The suspect jolts away from her, the legs of his chair scraping the floor.

"I didn't mean for it to go this far, okay?" the suspect exclaims. Spencer stands fully upright now, moving to stand in-between Hotch and Morgan.

"She's got him," Morgan mumbles, and Spencer's chest swells with pride.

"But it did go that far, didn’t it? And now you’re here. You can’t run anymore. What happened that night? I’m right here. You can tell me," she's batting her eyelashes, yet venom laces her tone.

"It was just supposed to be money laundering. They told me I'd be making seven figures if I did. That's all I wanted. I didn't mean for anyone to get hurt," he groans, head falling back.

Spencer, Hotch, and Morgan all exchange weary looks, brows raised in surprise. Pride blossoms in his chest like an early spring flower, his cheeks warming at the sight of his best friend. He's so, so proud of her. He was such an ass earlier. He'll spend the rest of his life making it up to her.

Her head tilts to the side, a faux pout painting her lips. She pats his shoulder definitively before standing.

"Thanks, babe," her tone is sarcastic now, and she winks before leaving the room.

She's caught off guard to see Spencer there, stopping in the doorway just briefly before closing it behind her. The pride swelling in his chest dissipates to that boiling guilt from before, bubbling deep in his stomach.

"Good work," Hotch nods at her, a prideful smile on her lips, "Morgan, have Garcia research any connections to our unsub. He said 'they', we may be looking for a team."

Hotch follows Morgan out, and he's left alone with her now. It dawns on him that he's never been speechless with her before. She's always made him feel comfortable expressing whatever's on his mind. Now, as her eyes gleam with hurt, he doesn't think he's earned that right.

"You did it," he breathes. He gets a heavy scoff in response.

"I knew I would, since it comes so naturally, I thought why not lean into it?" her venomous tone pierces through his heart as she walks past him. She pats his shoulder the same way she did with the unsub, is skin aflame at the contact, even though she's mad at him.

A wine glass is perched between your fingers as you curl up on the jet. It's a celebratory drink, insisted by Morgan for your involvement in solving the case. You look out the window to the setting sun over the coast, the sparkling water. You take a deep breath before taking a long sip.

It's not soon after you take off that night falls, your teammates falling asleep in waves. One certain member hasn't, though. You feel Spencer's eyes on you as you make your way to the back of the jet, spilling out the remaining contents of your glass in the small sink at the bar.

You relent on your way back, the blaring anger you felt earlier dulled to a hum of frustration. He looks tired, vulnerable in his current state, curled up on the couch of the jet. You crouch in front of him, a delicate hand perched on his shoulder. His eyes meet yours in record time, regret flashing through them almost immediately.

Your heart aches, as if two large hands are squeezing as hard as they can. You've missed him. It doesn't feel right to celebrate your win without him. You push back a strand of hair that's fallen in front of his eye, and they gleam at your touch. You can't help but smile at his softness.

"Spence..." you start, but he cuts you off.

"I'm so, so sorry, honey," the words burst out of him. Your heart clutches at the pet name.

"It's okay," you smile meekly, but your acceptance is sincere all the same.

"No. No, it's not," he says as he sits up, facing you properly now. "I should have never said what I did, it was-it was awful of me. I never want to make you feel like that again."

"Why did you say it, Spencer?" you inquire, the breath robbed from your lungs, "it was so unlike you. It hurt, but it caught me by surprise more than anything."

His eyes squeeze shut at the confirmation that he'd hurt you, and you rest a delicate palm on his forearm. A sincere gesture now, compared to the hollow touches you'd doled out earlier.

"Spencer, I want you to talk to me," you whisper, and he shudders at the softness in your voice. You know he thinks he doesn't deserve your forgiveness.

"That guy, the way he looked at you, he looks nothing like me..." he trails off, and it clicks in your brain.

He wasn't mad at you for flirting, he was scared you were leading him on. That he wasn't as important as a guy who looked like that.

"Oh, Spence..." you can't help yourself, you plop right in his lap. You pull his neck into your shoulder, a deep hug as he breathes shakily.

"You're just so beautiful, any guy like that could have you. Yet you pay attention to me. Why?" he pulls back and looks up at you, eyes glimmering with unshed tears.

"Spencer, for one, that guy is being charged with fraud and murder in the first degree. Don't compare yourself to him," a teasing lilt laces your tone, and he groans playfully into your neck.

You cradle him for a moment, and can't help but notice how normal this feels, how right it is to be with him in this way. You're so in love with him. You have been ever since you first met him, and you need him to know.

"Spencer, you don't give yourself enough credit for how hot you really are," you smirk. He scoffs at that, an involuntary noise that almost wakes up the whole jet.

"Shhh!" you giggle, nails scraping the back of his scalp. You watch the way he shudders at the action, you give him another little scratch before continuing.

"You're so beautiful, Spencer," you cup his cheeks, pressing your forehead into his. "I'm sorry you don't see it."

"Do you see it?" he asks, and you know what he really means. Do you really love me? Or are you just being kind?

"Of course I do, Spencer. I see your kind eyes, your full lips, your hands..." you trail off, finding his hand splayed on your back. You grab it, putting your palm flat against his.

"My-my hands?" he laughs out in disbelief. His cheeks are tinted pink, and you don't think you've ever wanted anyone this bad in your entire life.

You nod. "Yeah, your hands, Spence. They're huge," you lace your fingers together then, and he shudders at the touch.

"But it's not only what's on the outside, though I do enjoy it so very much," he blushes even more profusely. You never want him to stop. "Your heart, Spence. It's so kind, and loving, and forgiving, I'm sorry you don't see yourself as enough. I'll spend as much time as you'll let me proving you wrong."

He looks you in the eye, then. His brows furrowed, lips pouted. The air between you thickens in the silence, your chests move up and down in time together.

"I love you," you whisper, and the shuddering breath that leaves Spencer's lips makes you want to cry.

He buries his face in your neck once more, the heat from his still-red cheeks radiating off of him.

"Oh, angel. I love you, too. I'm so sorry. I love you, I don't deserve you-"

You cut his rambling off with the sweetest kiss to his lips. He groans into it, pulling you closer into him with his hands.

"This dress, honey. I haven't been able to keep my eyes off you all day," he whispers in between kisses.

You let out the smallest whimper at that, the thought of driving him crazy just from your outfit giving you a confidence boost for the ages.

"Yeah?" you ask playfully, moving his hand to rest against a bare spot on your thigh. He looks up at you, submission gleaming in his eye as he nods.

You could just destroy him.

"If you guys start to hook up on this jet, I'm snitching," you and Spencer both jump at the voice coming from behind.

It's Morgan, sitting awake amongst the rest of the sleeping team. Your heart pounds from the shock, though a smile still splays across your face. Spencer looks the same, flushed but content, his cheeks bunching up around his eyes.

"It is about time. We've had a running pool throughout the whole office over who was gonna cave first. Looks like I'm getting a cut, thanks, pretty girl," Derek ruffles your hair as he walks past, going to make himself a coffee at the bar.

"Morgan!" Spencer whines, his head falling back against the couch.

You giggle, too in love to care that you were caught. You snake your arms around his neck, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

"We'll finish what we started when we get home," you're seductive in your tone, and you can tell you're successful from the goosebumps rising on his flesh.