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etfrin · 2 months

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— ʏᴏᴜ'ʀᴇ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴇᴛᴛɪᴇꜱᴛ ɢɪʀʟ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ | ꜱᴘᴇɴᴄᴇʀ ʀᴇɪᴅ

✧— ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: NSFW | midsize/plus size! reader, reader is insecure about her body, reader has brown strech marks around her hips and breasts, cunnilingus and Spencer being sweet as fuck, oh and uhh mirror sex, fem! reader | lmk if I forgot anything

✧— ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: you feel insecure about your body and Spencer isn't having it

✧— ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 1395 words

✧— ᴀ/ɴ: sooo my first plus size/mid size fic! i hope i did writing my own body type justice, i have been getting a lot of comments about my weight irl lately so this is me basically projecting <33

「ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ | ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ | ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ」

“You’re the prettiest girl I already know,” Spencer whispered gently to you, making you see yourself in the full-body mirror in the bedroom.

You bite your lower lip, feeling inferior despite his sweet words. Recently, everyone around you has been bringing up your weight. Typically you didn't care, you knew you were pretty, but society didn't allow you to feel that way. A recent snide comment made by your family during family dinner had you crying tonight.

Of course, when Spencer comes for work, he sees you. Runny nose and red eyes. You're hiccuping as you explain yourself and you apologize for crying for something so silly. Spencer berates you for apologizing, telling you it's fine to feel insecure sometimes.

“Let me make you feel good,” he said as he cleaned you up and slowly made you stand in front of the mirror. He was right behind you, his head on your shoulder. “You know I love you for your mind, but I also love your body the same way.”

“It's my fault for not letting you know that often.”

You open your mouth to protest but a look from Spencer shuts you up. His hand caresses the curves of your body, stopping to grip the plush of your hips. “I love this,” he whispered, his fingers digging into the fat of your flesh. “I love how pretty your hips look bruised from my hold.”

One of his hands snakes up on your body, his fingers wrapping themselves around your neck. His fingertips rest on your pulse. His eyes meet yours in the mirror. “I love giving you marks here,” he said, his fingers tightening around your neck, making you hitch your breath.

His hand now set your throat free to unbutton the shirt you were wearing. The fabric falls to the ground. It reveals your body to him. The tummy you recently started to hide with overly sized clothes, the stretch marks around your hips and breasts. You weren't wearing a bra.

You close your eyes, unable to look at yourself.

“My favorite are your eyes, I love the way they look at me. I love the way they light up when you see me. Even as you were crying, as soon as you saw me your eyes had brightened. Technically, it is probably a reference to contraction of the orbicularis oculi muscle, which constricts the eyes, raises the cheeks, and produces ‘crow's feet’ wrinkles at the outer eye corners.”

You giggled as you heard him, your eyes opening and you turned your head to look at him. “Spencer,” you breathe out, “You don't have to do this-”

“I love your lips as well. I love how soft they are. It's chapped sometimes, but it's fine. I love kissing you either way. I love the way you say my name. It sounds softer and gentle, it's perfect. It's impossible for something to be perfect.”

“You're perfect,” he said firmly as his hands now began to caress the stretch marks on your hips. He traces the dark brown cracks on your skin. “I love tracing them with my fingers… or my tongue. It's calming to me,” he admits.

“They're mesmerizing.”

Your eyes water as you hear him talk about you with such wonder. What seals the deal is when he softly presses his hand onto your tummy. “It's only recently that society considered skinny to be attractive. In several cultures, overweight bodies are considered to be the beauty standard. Overweight bodies are associated with fertility, kindness, happiness, vitality, and social harmony.”

“So in reality, you're beautiful, honey. If not in your eyes, then you're in mine.”

You turn to him, throwing your hands around him. Tears fell from your eyes as you pressed yourself against him. He was semi-hard. You pepper his face with kisses before you catch his lips. “I love you,” you gasp, as you messily kiss him.

He kissed you back, both of your tongues caressing each other. Spencer moans into your mouth as he gently leads you to the edge of the bed. You sit down, and Spencer presses you onto the mattress.

“Now, let me prove it to you,” Spencer said as he pulled his shirt over his head.

He starts by taking your hand, Spencer kisses all five fingers of yours. Then he pressed his lip to the veins of your wrist, his tongue came out to lick your pulse. You moan, your eyes getting blurry with pleasure as he sucks a mark onto your skin.

He continues to give you kisses until he reaches your shoulder blade. Spencer lets his teeth dig into your flesh, making you gasp. Your hand weaving into his hair. You pull at his strands, making him release a whine.

After he finishes his painting of love bites on your neck, he drags his lips down to your chest. His mouth finds your nipple, he makes sure to lick the bud, giving it the attention it deserves.

Meanwhile, you run your hand through his hair, encouraging him on. You keep releasing sounds of pleasure as Reid sucks a tad harder. It makes you gasp, your back arching. Spencer does the same treatment to your other bud. He then let his tongue trace the stretch marks around your chest.

He then goes further down your body. He reached down your tummy, making sure to kiss the path. Spencer slowly pulls your panties down, his knees on the floor. He licked his lips, swallowing down the headiness as he looked at your pretty cunt.

“Sit up,” he whispered, “Look at the mirror as I worship you, sweetheart.”

You do as he says. You sit up, seeing yourself bare with his head buried between your thighs. “Fuck,” you whispered as you see yourself in a new light. You were sexy, you were pretty. And Spencer always goes above and beyond for you. Your fingers find themselves weaving into his brown locks. You slowly pushed his head deeper within you, watching him getting buried beyond your legs. His lips touch your cunt. He lets out a whine, as you moan.

His tongue begins to lick your pussy with several broad strokes, coating his taste buds with your juices. Spencer groans as he continues to use his tongue to please you. But, it was more for him than you truly. He devoured you as his tongue got faster with focused, quick flicks across your clit.

Spencer wraps his lips around the pearl. You moan in ecstasy. You begin to grind your hips, his hands digging into your thick thighs. You fuck his face with your pussy, making his face a mess with your juices. He fucks you with his tongue, the invasion of his wet muscle inside of your hole makes your eyes roll back.

He continues to push his tongue further down your walls. He uses his thumb to draw fast circles on your clit. You cry out his name. You feel the heat build up in your lower stomach. Your pussy begins to spasm around his tongue.

You were so close.

Spencer pulls back to take a deep breath before he dives in again to have his meal. He goes even faster, his pace never faltering. He's desperate to make you cum on his face. The way you're pulling at his hair spurs him on.

“Baby,” he whines, the vibration of his sound sending jolts of pleasure down your body. He lets his fingers join in, his tongue focusing on your clit again as his digits begin to push into your walls. He finds your g-spot, and he never pulls out his fingers completely as he thrusts them back in to keep pressing at the sensitive spongy spot.

“I'm so close!” You cry out.

Spencer nips at your clit. The mixture of pain and pleasure is enough to push you over the edge. You begin to paint Spencer’s face with your juices, the lower half of his face covered in your arousal. Your pussy cums around his fingers and he keeps thrusting them throughout your orgasm.

He finally stops the delicious torture when you pull at his hair to get him away from your oversensitive pussy. Spencer wipes his face, before licking his lips to get remnants of your taste.

“Delicious and so pretty,” he whispered to you, looking straight into your eyes.

He looks hungry for more.

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mariasont · 1 month

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Our Minds Entwined-----------------------

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8, ch 9

MDNI----------------------------------------------------------------

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon's daughter joins the fbi as the newest, brightest member

warnings: implied smut, evelyn annoying the fuck out of hotch

Chapter Eight:

The coffee machine gurgled in the quiet of the break room as Evelyn filled her cup, her hands carefully cradling her favorite pink mug as the steam raised in delicate swirls. The rich aroma of the freshly brewed substance wafted through the air, Evelyn was moments from savoring her first sip when Spencer made his entrance.

He moved with an awkward grace, his lean frame wrapped in a sweater, the morning light casting a scholarly glow on his thoughtful expression. Evelyn took a moment, as she often did, to admire the earnest curiosity etched into his features. She pivoted gracefully, a playful glint in her eye, the corners crinkling in silent laughter.

"Morning, Dr. Reid," she chimed. "Joining me for the most important meal of the day?"

Spencer offered a small, hesitant grin, casting a wary glance over his shoulder as if anticipating an unwelcome audience. When he turned back, finding the coast clear, his gaze couldn't help but sweep over her, a slow, involuntary trail from her eyes down to her heels and back up again.

"Did you know caffeine can actually increase cortisol levels?" Spencer inquired, his tone shifting to that of a lecturer as he warmed to the subject. "Cortisol is secreted by the adrenal glands and plays a critical role in regulating various bodily functions. While it's essential for survival, elevated cortisol over prolonged periods can lead to a host of issues. So, while that cup of coffee might seem like a good idea, it's worth considering the potential endocrine implications."

Evelyn closed the distance between them with a playful step, her eyes gleaming. "I love when you talk nerdy to me, Dr. Reid," she started. "But if you deprive me of my morning coffee, I won't be the only ones suffering the consequences."

Spencer's hand reaches out, almost involuntarily giving Evelyn's ass a quick, teasing tap. She arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a feigned expression of shock.

"In the workplace, Dr. Reid?" Evelyn chided, her voice laced with mock scandal.

Spencer's chuckle was a soft counterpart to the florescent hum of the break room. Evelyn stood there, the light catching the subtle highlights in her hair, her smartly tailored suit accentuating her figure.

"Speaking of which, and presuming your neurons are adequately myelinated for the day, how about those ground rules?" Spencer's question came with a half-smile.

"I'm going to pretend for a second that myelinated is part of my daily vocabulary," Evelyn retorted with a playful roll of her eyes. "Upstairs is all clear," she tapped her temple for emphasis before taking another step towards the genius, "but after last night, I can't say the same for downstairs."

Spencer cleared his throat, a faint blush creeping up his neck as memories of the previous night flickered through his mind. "Don't start with me."

"Me? Start with you? Never," she said, her eyes dancing with humor. "But in all seriousness. This," she gestured between them, "stays between us. We can't do anything here."

She straightened up, her expression mock serious. "I'm already juggling enough with these legacy rumors. If I start adding 'sleeping with my mentor' to my resume, I'll need to write a survival guide."

Spencer's response was quick. "I can do that," he said, his eyes accusing. "As long as you behave."

"I'm always on my best behavior, sir," she declared with a sly smile, her voice trailing off as she sauntered out of the break room, "my place or yours tonight?"

Spencer's hand instinctively went to the bridge of his nose, squeezing gently as if to ward off an impending headache, the universal gesture of a man both charmed and utterly undone by the woman before him.

The tech lab was alive with whirring machines and the subtle glow of displays. Evelyn glided into the room, her steps light and her grin spreading.

The hum of computers and the soft glow of screens set the backdrop as Evelyn breezed into the tech lab, her steps light and her smile wide. She found Garcia, the queen of all things digital, her dominion sprawling before her in an array of flickering pixels and streaming data.

"Hey, P! Need your magic fingers to trace a number for me. And maybe sprinkle a little of that fairy dust to make the results come faster." Evelyn says with a lighthearted twinkle.

With a flourish, Garcia twirled in her chair, her clothes a riot of color that defied that room's monochrome sterility. She peered at Evelyn over the top of her pink-rimmed glasses, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.

"Sweetie, you're radiating more energy than my entire tech setup. What's got you bouncing off the walls? Extra shot of your coffee or just high on life?" Penlope questioned, her voice laced with humor as she watched Evelyn practically vibrating through the room.

"What? No, I'm not. It's just a good day, that's all," Evelyn laughed, the sound bubbling up effortlessly.

Garcia tilted forward, a teasing glint in her gaze. "Uh-huh. You can't fool me, Miss Sunshine. You've got that 'I just got laid' glow," she pushed, "spill it. Who's the lucky guy?"

"Garcia, quit it," she giggled, brushing off the insinuation with a wave of her hand. "There's no guy. Just... work stuff, you know?"

But Garcia remained skeptical, playfully wagging a finger bedecked with a glittering ring. "Oh, come on! You've got that look. The one that says, 'I did not get my eight hours, but boy, was it worth it.'"

Laughter spilled from Evelyn, a rich sound that reverberated against the walls. "Seriously, Penelope, drop it. I'm just happy. Can't a girl have a good day without an interrogation?"

Garcia shot her a knowing glance, but she conceded with an exaggerated sigh. "Alright, alright. I'll let you off the hook... for now. But I've got my eye on you. Now what's this number you need traced?"

Evelyn passed a slip of paper across the table, her grin unwavering. She offered a swift thanks and retreated to the bustling bullpen.

Evelyn's desk was a splash of color in the otherwise muted tones of the bullpen. Pink post-its fluttered like flags, each scrawled with affirmations and tiny tributes to her teammates. Amidst this cheerful chaos, Hotch stood, his hands clasped behind him as he surveyed the landscape of girlish whimsy.

At the sight, Evelyn's steps hastened, she darted forward to intercept his gaze, positioning herself squarely before him. "Hotch, sir, hi! Can I help you with something?"

Hotch met her gaze, his eyebrow lifted in mild inquiry, the shadow of a smile on his face. "I was looking for the Simmons report. You were supposed to turn in it yesterday." He tried to peer around her, amusement flickering in his eyes at the sight of her cluttered workspace.

His eyes settled on the pen holder, an extravagant display of sparkle and faux gems. He remarked with dry wit, "Does that... fit the bureau's decor standards?"

Evelyn's smile was unapologetic as she shrugged lightly. "Mm, probably not. But it brightens up the place don't you think?" She rifled through the stack of papers, her face a canvas of sheepish charm. "About that report... I, uh, totally forgot. But it will be done, pinky promise."

She extended her pinky towards him. Hotch regarded the small gesture, his features betraying no reaction. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, but his stance was unwavering. "I'm not going to do that," he declared, eyes flicking to her upheld finger. "I expect the report on my desk by the end of the day."

Evelyn snapped to attention, grin never faltering. "Aye, aye, captain," she chimed cheerfully. "You'll have it before you can say 'bureaucracy'."

With a parting nod, he moved back to his office. In the corner, Morgan, JJ, and Prentiss stood in a tight knot, their quiet conversation floating in the air near the water cooler.

"There's no way," Morgan asserted, his head moving in a firm denial, his eyes reflecting staunch disbelief.

"I told you soooo," Prentiss crooned, her voice dripping in smug satisfaction.

"Huh?" Evelyn's question hung in the air as she swiveled towards the group, her eyebrow arching in a silent demand for clarity. "What are you talking about?"

"There's an ongoing bet to see how long it'll take you to really get in trouble with Hotch," JJ confesses, her grin spreading as she looked towards the other.

Evelyn's voice rose in protest. "What? I do get in trouble!" she insisted. "Did you not just see that? Or when I went rogue on my first takedown?"

Prentiss let out a soft chuckle, her eyes meeting Morgan's knowingly. "Please that was 'Evie trouble.' It's like being scolded by a teddy bear."

"And what does that even mean?" Evelyn asked, her laughter rising through the room as she shook her head.

"Baby girl, your definition of trouble with Hotch is a lot different than ours," Morgan said with a playful wag of his finger. "You barely get a slap on the wrist, while we'd get the whole paddle," he teased.

"That is so not true!" Evelyn's giggle bubbled up uncontrollably, her shoulders bouncing with each note of disbelief. She playfully rolled her eyes, dismissing the notion with a shake of her head.

As if summoned by the very topic, Rossi and Reid appeared in the doorway. They caught the end of the conversation and, with impeccable timing, chimed in together, "It's true."

"If I forgot my paperwork, I'm pretty sure I'd be relegated to coffee duty for a month--minimum," Spencer said as he gave a small, resigned shrug.

"I'll have you know, I can get into trouble," she declared, puffing up in feigned offense. "I'm always getting under Hotch's skin."

Skepticism was written all over their faces, each look a playful jab at the very ideas. "Oh, we're sure you're a regular rebel," Morgan said, his tone heavy with irony.

"Yeah, right. They day you get a real scolding is the day I'll dye my hair pink," Prentiss declared, her laughter softening the edges of her sarcasm.

"And I'll wear a feather boa to work," Rossi added, the twinkle in his eyes suggesting he found the image as ludicrous as it sounded.

"Statistically speaking, Evelyn, the probability of you inciting Hotch's ire is remarkably low," Spencer articulated, his brows furrowing in thought. "Considering the standard deviation of workplace interactions, it's more probably likely for an asteroid to graze our atmosphere."

Evelyn rolls her eyes, taking their words as a challenge. "We'll see about that."

Noon struck, and with it, a cast of golden rays pierced through the blinds of Hotch's office, painting the surfaces with a light hue of daylight. Evelyn, her arms cradling a stack of tardy documents, sauntered into the room. Her hair, a cascade of chestnut waves, framed her face, and her eyes, sharp as flint, scanned the room.

"Special delivery!" The announcement echoed off the walls, as Evelyn, framed by the doorway, held the papers aloft like a trophy. "The prodigal paperwork returns." Her smile was a bright flash in the subdued light.

The click of the mouse ceased as Hotch's gaze lifted slowly from the computer, his face betraying nothing of his thoughts. "Thank you, Evelyn," he uttered, each word measured. "I was beginning to think it had gone into witness protection."

The room was filled with the sound of Evelyn's giggle as she perched against the doorframe. Her smirk was a playful twist of her full, rose-tinted lips. "Oh, you know me. I like to keep things interesting. Life's too short for bureaucracy. "

Hotch's fingers moved methodically through the stack, each page turning with a crisp snap. His eyes, sharp and calculating, never strayed as he spoke. "Interesting isn't quite the Bureau's motto. We prefer efficiency."

"And yet, here I am, brightening your day with my inefficiency," she teased.

The folder landed softly on the desk as Hotch straightened, his gaze piercing as it met Evelyn's. "Evelyn, is there something else you needed?"

"Just checking on my favorite unit chief," she declared with a shrug, "making sure you're not bored under a mountain of dullness."

Hotch's eyes took on a sharper focus, an almost accusatory gaze. "I'm quite capable of digging myself out, thank you," he stated, the hint of a smile lurking beneath his serious expression. "Now, if there's nothing else, I have work to do."

Evelyn's smirk was unwavering, a silent ally as she acknowledged his words with a graceful nod. "Of course, sir. Duty calls."

The bullpen thrummed with life, agents weaving through the maze of desks, papers shuffled, and phones rang, the air buzzing with the collective focus. Evelyn's presence was a silent counterpoint, a different mission in mind. Her fingers sifted across the documents in front of her. With a feigned slip of the hand, she accidentally exchanged the contents of two folders. As she handed Hotch the Thompson report, masquerading as the Henderson case, she could barely contain her amusement.

Evelyn glanced up at Hotch with feigned surprise, her eyes wide with mock innocence. "Oh, did those get mixed up? That's totally on me," she said, her voice dripping with faux contrition as she sat perched on the edge of her chair.

Hotch's hand clasped around the correct folder, his gaze drifting across Evelyn's features, a wordless pause hanging in the air. It was a look that lingered just a beat too long before he finally looked away.

With a serene composure, Hotch handed back the folder, his words deliberate and clear. "Please double-check your work in the future."

"Absolutely, won't happen again, sir," Evelyn responded.

Watching Hotch disappear behind his office door, Prentiss and JJ, couldn't help but shake their heads. "You are playing with fire."

With a playful toss of her hair, Evelyn responded, "It's what I do best." Her wink sailed across the room to the women as she swiveled back to her desk.

Later, she sent Hotch on a wild goose chase for a non-existent file. Hotch reappeared, the absence of the file evident in his empty hands and the slight crease of annoyance on his brow. His irritation was barely veiled by his professional composure and the sight stirred a warmth across her cheeks and spread through her. It was as if the air had thickened, her body responding with a clench of her thighs.

Evelyn snapped her attention back to her task, letting out an exaggerated gasp, her eyes widening with feigned realization.

Evelyn's eyes lifted to meet Hotch's, a flutter of her lashes accentuating her apology. "Oh, my mistake. It's actually for next week's briefing. My apologies, sir."

A collective gaze tracked Hotch, the team's faces etched with a blend admiration and disbelief at the boldness. Hotch's head shook slightly as he closed the door behind him.

With a subtle lean, Morgan caught Rossi's attention, a smirk playing on his lips. "You seeing this, Rossi?" he asked, his voice low, carrying the weight of disbelief.

"Hard to miss," Rossi mused, "she's got guts, I'll give her that," he admitted, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a half-smile, "but she's doing a great job of proving our point."

"Hey," Evelyn's whisper was a soft accusation, a conspiratorial murmur that barely reached between the three of them. "Just you wait, I've got more up my sleeve."

With a gentle head shake that sent his curls swaying, Spencer loomed over her desk. "At this rate," he said, looking down at her with an amused glint in his eye, "you're going to need your own section in the employee handbook."

The bullpen fell into an abrupt hush, the agents' heads turning as Hotch's commanding tone sliced through the idle banter. Without missing a beat, he looked eyes with Evelyn. "Gideon, my office. Now."

The team's eyes flickered from one to another, the collective oooh sounding more like a drawn-out sigh as Evelyn got to her feet. The air seemed to still as she offered a nod, her face the picture of innocence. With a gentle tilt of her head, she responded sweetly. "Of course, sir."

Hotch stood behind his desk, the stern set of his jaw softening despite his best efforts. His words came with struggle, weighted with disappointment rather than anger. "This isn't like you, Evelyn. Misplacing evidence is a serious offense."

With eyes wide and innocent, Evelyn held her poise, her hands neatly folded in front of her. "I'm so sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

The room felt smaller as Hotch sighed, his authoritative demeanor dissolving into a softer, more approachable one. His voice lowered, tinged with an unexpected warmth. "What's going on with you today?"

"Hotch," Evelyn burst out, the playful strain in her voice belying the seriousness of her words. "I've been an absolute terror today--don't I deserve a better scolding that that? Everyone thinks you go easy on me."

Hotch's eyes sharpened, the hint of annoyance seeping through his demeanor. "So that's what this has been about? You've been testing my patience all day because of what--some office wager?"

Evelyn watched, a spark of mischief in her eyes as Hotch's composure began to fray. The fabric of his suit jacket tensed, subtly outlining the firm set of his shoulders. His jaw worked silently, a clear sign of his growing irritation, a detail she found inexplicably enthralling.

"See, right there!" she exclaimed, her finger jabbing the air with theatrical emphasis. "That's what I'm talking about--that's the look!"

A barely perceptible quirk of his lips betrayed him. "You're unbelievable."

Evelyn's eyes sparkled with sheer desperation shimmering within. "Hotch, can you please--pretty please--pretend to yell at me? I need to win this bet."

"At this point, Evelyn, I don't think I need to pretend."

She offered him a pout, her lower lip protruding just so, a silent plea.

He exhaled a deep sigh, a reluctant white flag. "Fine. Shut the door."

"Thank you, thank you!" Evelyn sang out, her mind already racing ahead. "Oh, wait, I need to look scared, right?" She whirled around, her hand hovering over the door handle as she caught the team's collective gaze, wide and expectant, peering through the blinds.

Hotch positioned himself with his back to the window, his silhouette casting a commanding shadow across the room. With a flourish, he gestured towards the scattered paperwork on his desk, his voice booming just enough to be heard through the glass.

Evelyn's lip caught between her teeth, an effort to rein in the giggles that bubbled over. Her shoulders trembled, betraying her struggle as she dipped her head, a strategic move to conceal from the curious glances beyond the glass.

"Evelyn, you're terrible at this."

"I-I know, I'm sorry," she sputtered between fits of laughter. "But I think they bought it."

"I doubt it."

"You're the best boss ever, Hotch," Evelyn beamed.

Hotch's head gave a slow shake, the barest hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

"Too much if I cry on the way out?" she teased, feigning distress as she inched towards the door.

"Just go, Agent."

The day was winding down with the low hum of the office, Evelyn glided through the bullpen, her smirk as loud as the click of her heels. She tossed a bag onto Prentiss's desk, the contents clicking softly. The bag, clear and plastic, revealed the pink hair dye inside.

Evelyn leaned closer, the bag crinkling between them. "For your new look, Em," she teased with a wink. "I want to see a brand-new you by tomorrow."

Prentiss examined the dye, eyebrow raised in playful defiance. "Dream on, Evie," she chuckled. "This going in your Secret Santa gift."

Next the feather boa found its new home around Rossi's neck, courtesy of Evelyn's hands. "This is non-negotiable, Rossi," she declared. "Your suit needs a touch of pizzazz."

"But let's be real, Evie," Morgan chuckled. "You didn't really win the bet, did you?"

Evelyn gasped, her hand flying to her chest. "Whaaaatt?" she uttered. "I have absolutely no idea what you're implying."

"Oh, come on," Emily scoffed, "we all know what Hotch looks like when he's chewing someone out. And that, my friend, was a performance worthy of an Oscar."

Evelyn's eyes widened, her act faltering under the team's knowing looks. "Oh! You know, I-I totally forgot, I have that thing I was totally supposed to do."

Evelyn was in her own world, surrounded by the familiar end-of-day bustle. As she slid her laptop into its case, her phone chimed--her eyes lit up, a smile curving subtly as she read the message from Spencer: My place. 8 pm.

Evelyn's gaze lifted, catching Spencer's eye across the room, a knowing look shared between them. She typed her response with haste: I'll be there. No sooner had she done so than Hotch's voice sliced through the buzz of the office. "Evelyn, my office."

She breezed in, her retort poised on her lips. "You didn't call me in here to actually yell at me, did you? Because, despite popular belief, I'm about as good with confrontation as a cat is with a bathtub. I'd probably start crying, it'd be this whole thing, and--"

"Evelyn." Hotch's voice was firm, a verbal full stop that demanded attention.

"Right. What's up?"

"Miami. Next week. A conference on behavior analysis," he began. "I want you there, presenting your research on the correlation between language patterns and criminal behavior."

"A paid trip to the beach? Count me in!" Evelyn squealed.

Hotch's reply came as a dry gust. "This is a business trip, Evelyn. Not a vacation."

She nodded, her grin undiminished. "Sorry, what? My mind's already sunbathing in Miami," she teased, twirling on her heel.

"Oh, and Evelyn?"

"Mhm?"

"The team's right," he confessed. "Don't let it go to your head."

taglist: @nonamevenus@aceofspades190

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lechemoon · 1 year

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the one where you're distracted by his hair

spencer reid x reader

wc: ~1.1k

a/n: currently doing my very slow rewatch of criminal minds and he's walking with a cane with his long hair <3 hope you enjoy! no warnings apply

for some people, the constant ticking of a clock in a quiet room is enough to distract them from work. the continuous sound of ticking and tocking and ticking and tocking making it just so that every 10 ticks causes a spelling error in a report.

you didn’t understand this much; clocks don’t bother you unless you’re sitting completely still. the ticking makes you want to move, so that’s what you do when you hear the time pass

for others, the click clack of a mechanical keyboard around them can drive them absolutely up the wall.

you didn’t understand this either. you love the sound of your own mechanical keyboard at home. you have half a mind to actually bring it to the office with you, but the knowledge of people hating tactile switches keeps you from doing so.

you also don’t understand what is up with spencer’s hair lately. the sight of it just barely past his shoulders in slight waves. the look of it so light brown that it makes you crave either caramel or chocolate (or both- you aren’t picky).

for whatever reason, he has decided to let it grow. and for whatever reason, you have decided that it’s the most mesmerizing and distracting thing in the BAU.

the length looks good on him. you like the shape it takes and the way it naturally falls. truthfully, you thought spencer’s hair was straighter. you never noticed how it curled at the ends til it grew to his shoulders.

it’s especially shiny today, soft-looking. you wonder if yesterday was his wash day. it looks healthy, too. like he uses a specific type of shampoo to get his hair to be just so.

it looks like he’s taking a break. you can tell because he’s skimming a book he’s probably already memorized, fingers gliding down so he doesn’t lose his spot in the event that his attention is called elsewhere.

as you stare, you take your own hair in your hands and brush it with your fingers. a finger gets caught in a small tangle, making you wince slightly. you wonder if your hair looks soft and shiny, too. if he would think so.

the hand scanning the page takes a break so that it can tuck a piece of fallen hair away from his face and behind his ear instead. for a second you wish it was your hand helping him (you want to run your fingers through it just once), and the idea makes you flush slightly.

and maybe the flush serves as a giveaway or a siren, because spencer looks up from his book directly at you. not abruptly. it’s like you watch it happen in slow motion.

his eyes stop tracking the page, his brows furrow together slightly, and he just… looks at you.

spencer gives you a confused look, as if to say do i look funny? do i have egg on my face?

then his confused face gives you a shy, questioning smile. why were you staring at me? something catch your eye?

“oh my god,” you whisper to yourself, averting his gaze and hunching over your desk to escape it. you’ve been caught ogling.

you want to bonk your forehead on your desk, but your hands stop you because you’ve already buried your face in them. as if already disappearing in your own cubicle wasn’t enough to hide from spencer.

ignore me, ignore me, ignore-

you hear wheels from one of the desk chairs rolling your way. you don’t have to look to see who it might be, because you already know.

so, you raise your head up from your desk, and smooth your hair using your hands. the sight of spencer dragging himself towards your desk using his chair as a vehicle and his cane as an oar as if he were rowing greets you. it’s silly, and you think the thought shows on your face because he smiles at you again.

after he decides he is close enough to you (a respectable arms length away) he sets his cane on his lap and wiggles a bit to make himself cozy. “hey, y/n.”

“hey, reid,” your voice cracks a bit. clearing your throat, you try again. “hello, reid.”

he looks at you expectantly, but you honestly don’t know what he’s expecting. was he wanting to know why he caught you staring? that’s so forward.

“so,” he leads.

you raise a brow. “so…?” you think maybe if you play it off, he’ll let it go.

the feigned confusion doesn’t trick him, so he gets to the point. “were you uh, were you staring at me? you know, our brains are kinda wired to inform us when it feels like we’re being watched and it definitely felt like i was being watched a minute ago.”

“oh, uhm,” you feel your face heat up only slightly, “no?”

he gives you a small laugh. “no?” he repeats back to you.

you’re hoping that your nerves aren’t showing, but it’s hard when a profiler confronts you. damn them and their profession.

“i mean… yes?” you tap your fingers on your desk to let out jitters so that you don't bounce your leg.

“was there something on my face? did i do something? were you-“

“nothing on your face,” you interrupt. it was your hair you want to say to be truthful. “i just- your book.” you settle on. you look over at his unoccupied desk and nod your head in the direction for extra effect. “what were you reading?”

something akin to relief washes over him. did he really think he had something on his face besides the hair he’s tucked behind his ear?

“it’s margaret atwood. cat’s eye,” he explains, letting the word eye fall from his voice gradually. “it’s about a woman who’s reflecting on her youth and her childhood.”

you don’t have the guts to tell him that you weren’t actually focusing on the book. you also don’t have the heart to tell him you don’t read much. but hearing him talk about it makes you ask, “can i borrow the book when you’re done?”

he looks between you and the book way over on his desk, his hair making its way from behind his ear back to the side of his face. it looks so much softer up close.

your fingers that were previously tapping your desk twitch, like they want to reach out and twirl the escaped piece of hair and wrap it around your index finger.

“of course!” he says, excitement coating his words. you’ve heard from his team that he loves sharing things with others who want to know more. “remind me to give it to you before the day ends. i’m almost done with it!”

another lock of hair falls slightly out of place, this lock on the other side. it frames his features almost like a picture. he doesn’t fix it, just lets it stay there partially covering the outer corner of his eye. and you can’t help what you ask next.

“spencer?”

“hm?”

“may i touch your hair?”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x original female character #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #mgg #matthew gray gubler #my fics #spencer reid x you

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pathologicalrambler · 28 days

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things i have in common with spencer reid part 2 :

i’m a chronic yapper

#criminal minds #aesthetic #tv shows #actor #spencer reid #comfort show #mgg #actors #matthew gray gubler #comfort character #fave character #fbi agent

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jude-ruo · 21 days

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Seen a ghost, Matthew?

#procreate #digital art #matthew gray gubler #halloween #spooky #spencer reid #wild west #character art #fanart

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sharlsainz · 3 months

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it's ALWAYS a man with floofy hair

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delusionaldeadgirl · 3 months

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i wish chai spencer reid was real cause DAMN. bro knows how to make a girl blush 🤭🤭

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #spencer reid x y/n #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler #character ai

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cerisereids · 1 month

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nobody knows what it means to me that spencer reid’s literal mother is played by jane lynch. i owe my life to that woman. sue sylvester had such a profound impact on my childhood honestly

#watching glee at 11 knowing she’s the best character #she’s also great in cm #the range #spencer reid #criminal minds #diana reid #jane lynch #matthew gray gubler #mgg

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missmitchieg · 22 days

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if Reid ever shows up in evolution, they're gonna have his wardrobe filled with grays and browns but i doubt mgg will allow that idk

Nahh, I can't see that happening because Gubler would complain about the lack of colorful mismatched socks and purple anything so immediately the second he saw the horrific amounts of gray and brown, maybe a beige thrown in. As much as Reid is a stereotypical nerd that did wear brown and gray, colorful mismatched socks are literally canonically Spencer's Thing. Plus, he likes color, too.

S1ep1, he's literally wearing a color that's not gray or brown.

Like, he would at least try to compromise and ask for a shade of green and a Comme de Garçons cardigan with a little heart. Maybe colorful converse just for old times sake.

#criminal minds #criminal minds evolution #matthew gray gubler #spencer reid #omg i'm sorry i'm so annoying about this everyone #i'm just very passionate about what my favorite characters would wear #and how they would decorate their homes and office spaces #i just have a lot of opinions about criminal minds

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reidiot · 10 months

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i love men (him only ♥︎)

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etfrin · 2 months

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GUESS THE PLOT BY THE TITLE

remember this is inspired from that one episode in which Reid mentions he's still afraid of the dark, probably season one, so if that changes in later seasons, it's not set up in that time line 🩷

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mariasont · 1 month

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Our Minds Entwined———————————

ch 1, ch 2, ch 3, ch 4, ch 5, ch 6, ch 7, ch 8

MDNI——————————————————

pairings: aaron hotchner x oc x spencer reid

summary: in which jason gideon’s daughter joins the fbi as the newest, brightest member

warnings: soft dom spencer, sub oc, making out in a bathroom, spencer & aaron being simps, oral f receiving, oral m receiving, fingering, dirty talk, yeah!

Chapter Seven:

Evelyn's eyes flickered open, greeted by the relentless dawn light that pierced the room. The alarm's persistent drone became a mere backdrop to the blissful haze that wrapped around her, a lingering afterglow of the night before that made her thighs clench at the thought. Extending a lazy stretch, her fingers roaming over the sheets, half-expecting to brush against Spencer's familiar warmth. A cool absence greeted her instead that snapped her back to reality, her heart dropped with a dense thud.

She bolted upright, the sheets clutched to her chest like a shield, her mind a whirlwind of questions that demanded answers. Did he regret it? Was it not as good for him as it was for her? In the quiet of the room, her confusion found an echo, intensifying the sense of abandonment that snaked its way up her spine, panic beginning to take hold. The memories of his touch faded into the hazy idea of a dream, leaving her exposed, her defenses crumbling to nothing.

Evelyn rose, her body moving on autopilot, as she prepared for the day. Securing her badge to her waist, she felt a wave of dread wash over her, the inevitable encounter with Spencer looming over her head.

Evelyn made her way down the stairs, each step tentative, as she entered the lobby. Morning light spilled through the windows, painting long, somber shadows. JJ was there, her blonde hair reflecting the sun's rays like a halo, her posture exuding her calm authority as she conversed quietly with Hotch. He stood with his back to the light, his sharp silhouette and eyes scanning the room as he spoke.

Evelyn felt a twinge of relief upon noticing Spencer's absence; she wasn't ready to face him. For now, she welcomed the reprieve, allowing herself a moment to gather her thoughts. JJ's observant eyes were quick to detect the change in Evelyn's demeanor.

"Good morning!" Evelyn announced with a chirp, her tone light and breezy, as she flashed her practiced smile and wave.

"Morning, Evie," JJ greets with a warm smile, her voice carrying a hint of concern, "How'd you sleep?"

Evelyn's cheeks warmed at the memory, a flicker of awkwardness passing through her. "Oh, you know, the usual--battled my alarm clock, dreamed of paperwork, and won," she smiled, deflecting the attention. "Speaking of dreams, I bet Hotch was up all strategizing about our case, right?"

Hotch eyes narrowed slightly at Evelyn; his perceptive gaze told Evelyn he knew what she was trying to do. "Strategizing is a 24/7 job... and so is paperwork," he began. "Though, I try not to outsource it to the interns."

Evelyn's eyes widened in mock horror, her voice laced with feigned defensiveness. "It was one time! And for the record, I was strategically conserving energy... for more important tasks," she declared, her grin spreading across her face, as infectious as it was wide.

Hotch's response came with a barely perceptible smirk. "Whatever you say," he said, disbelief clear in this tone, yet his expression remained unreadable. "Let's head out."

Evelyn hurried after him, curiosity piqued. "Wait, how did you even know about that?"

Hotch continued forward, seemingly oblivious to Evelyn's struggle to keep up. Evelyn, in her attempt to match his stride, found herself almost jogging.

"Let's just say, not all profilers need to profile to get their information," he hinted with a sidelong glance. "Some people," his eyes briefly flickered to Morgan, seated nonchalantly in the SUV, "just have a hard time keeping things to themselves."

With an overexaggerated eye roll, Evelyn grumbled, "Morgan and his big mouth," earning a burst of laughter from JJ. "How could he?"

The soft chuckle from Hotch was fleeting, but it was enough to spark a glow in Evelyn's eyes. She really loved that sound. "In his defense, he didn't know I was listening. Now, shall we?" He motioned towards the exit, holding the door open waiting for her to lead the way.

They stepped into the station to find it cloaked in a tension, the air heavy with the unspoken urgency of detectives eager for a lead and the simmering frustration of dead ends.

As they arrived at the station, the atmosphere was tense, the air thick with anticipation and the lingering frustration of a case at a standstill. Hotch guided the team through the precinct's doors, his face an unreadable mask as he moved through.

They received a nod from Detective Martinez, his features etched with lines as deep as the arid crevices of the desert surrounding them.

"Travers?" Hotch asked, his tone direct and expectant.

Martinez's response came with a weary shake of his head, the furrows in his brow deepening into a map of frustration. "He's lawyered up. Won't say a word without his attorney present."

Hotch's voice cut through the silence. "Alright, let's regroup. There has to be something we're missing. Evelyn, find Spencer in the conference room. Go through the evidence again with fresh eyes."

Evelyn's heart vaulted in her chest, as if trying to escape. The idea of working in close quarters with Spencer was like standing at the edge of a cliff; it filled her with a dizzying rush of nervous energy that was hard to ignore. Maybe it would be better if someone just pushed her off. She nodded, schooling her face into composure. I can do hard things, she thought to herself, clutching her files, the soft thud of her footsteps accompanying her to the conference room.

The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the projector. Spencer was already there, his slender finger, the same one that had been in her hours prior, was sifting through the array of evidence before him. His brow furrowed in concentration, jaw set in a firm line, eyes narrowed in focus. God, it was hard for Evelyn to stay upset when he looked that good.

Prentiss stood by the window. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, darted from corner to corner, missing nothing.

Evelyn's heart pounded as the memories of last night flooded her senses his fingers pounding inside her, the feeling of his lips on hers. Spencer didn't even flicker a gaze towards her, his concentration cemented on the sea of papers that sprawled across the table. It was as if nothing had happened.

Swallowing a lump in her throat, Evelyn forced a smile. "So, what are we thinking? Any new angles we might have missed?" she asked, her voice a little too cheerful.

Spencer finally raised his head, his face a blank canvas hiding his thoughts. "We need to reexamine the timeline. There might be a pattern we overlooked."

With a thoughtful tap of her finger against her lips, Prentiss interjected, "And cross-reference the victims' backgrounds again. They all received the remote-control keys shortly before they were killed, but maybe there's more than just the keys linking them."

With a subtle shift in her stance acknowledging Spencer's imposing presence, Evelyn offered him a file. Her fingers brushed his ever so slightly, refusing to meet his gaze. "Look at this," she said. "One of the victims, Mr. Davidson, made several calls to Key Innovations customer service the day before he died. It could be nothing, but it's odd."

Spencer accepted the file, his touch lingering a moment too long. "It could indicate he was having issues with the key. Maybe it malfunctioned, or maybe it was tampered with."

Prentiss leaned in, her eyes darting across the document. "If he called customer service, there should be a record of the conversation. We need to get those tapes," she noted, already reaching for her phone. "I'm going to call the company, see what I can find."

Prentiss stepped out of the room, the click-clack of her heels on the floor punctuating her exit as she moved to make the call. With Prentiss gone, the room shrank, the quiet intensifying around Evelyn and Spencer as they sifted through the evidence, each rustle of paper amplifying the silence.

As Spencer extended his arm around Evelyn to retrieve a file, the closeness of his body sent a shiver of awareness down her spine. His hand grazed her hip in a steadying gesture, and the brief touch causes Evelyn's body to stiffen, stepping back as if she had been shocked.

Spencer's frown was quick to form as he noticed Evelyn's sudden retreat, a crease of concern etching his forehead. "Are you okay?"

Evelyn flashed a quick, wry smile, brushing off the moment. "I'm fine, just practicing my two-step for the next FBI ball," she joked, a lame attempt at deflecting.

"Evelyn," Spencer said, his tone soft yet firm.

Evelyn's response tumbled out in a rush. "So, I wake up and it's just me and the cold side of the bed, which, you know, is a bit confusing. And hey, if that is your way of saying 'it was a mistake,' that's cool. I'm a big girl, I've got my big girl socks on. Just rip the band-aid off quick, okay? I can take it."

Spencer's smirk was a slow slide of amusement. "Oh, I know you can take it," he teased, his voice a low hum that seemed to vibrate through the space between them.

He stepped closer, his presence encroaching on her personal bubble, making her heart race faster than she thought possible. As he backed her up, her hips met the edge of the table with a soft thud, his hands planting firmly on the surface to cage her in.

"I don't regret it at all," he confessed, his eyes locked on hers, "In fact, I've been thinking about it all day."

The air was thick with tension, their faces inches apart, breaths mingling, she could almost taste the mint on his tongue. But then, the sound of footsteps snapped the moment in two, and they sprang apart. Evelyn's cheeks burned with fluster, while Spencer just went back to his files.

Just then, Hotch entered. "Another victim has been killed."

The team assembled at the crime scene, a desolate stretch just off the Arizona highway. The air was thick, not just with the scent of the desolation, but also with the oppressive heat. The sun bore down mercilessly on the abandoned car, its metal body almost mirroring the blaze.

Evelyn squinted against the relentless sun; her hand raised to shield her eyes. "Maybe Travers isn't our guy," she pondered aloud, her gaze methodically sweeping the scene.

Evelyn reached out, her fingers wrapping around Morgan's arm to guide him into position, his broad frame now casting a long shadow that shielded her from the sun's glare. "There, much better," she said.

Morgan raised an eyebrow, feigning indignation. "What am I, your personal sunshade now?"

"Only when you're not spilling my secrets to Hotch," Evelyn shot back, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Morgan chuckled, shaking his head. "You're lucky I'm such a good sport, Evie."

"And you're lucky I don't have more dirt on you, Morgan," she retorted with a giggle, her gaze returning to the crime scene.

Hotch stepped in, sending a look of warning to the two agents. "Travers fits the profile too well to dismiss," he interjects, his gaze sweeping over the team. "Intelligent, meticulous, socially isolated, and motivated by a desire to be recognized. We can't overlook that."

The team fell into a contemplative silence, each member lost in thought until Prentiss arrived, her expression serious. "I talked with the company. Mr. Davidson was having issues with the remote. They sent a technician our to repair it," she announced, holding out a piece of paper with the name of the technician.

The team looked in to look at the name Prentiss had uncovered. Evelyn's mind raced. "Two different guys," she whispered, the pieces clicking into place. "One who plans, one who executes. It's a partnership."

In the observation room, Evelyn's gaze was fixed on the interrogation unfolding before her. Hotch's deliberate questions and Morgan's intense stare bore into Michael Harris, the technician, the focus of their scrutiny. His posture was rigid, defiant, but his eyes told a different story--a flicker of uncertainty passed through them as he kept his arms folded.

In the sterile light of the adjacent room, Reid's slender frame was hunched over the table, his fingers temped in thought. His boyish features, often softened by an air of absent-minded genius, were now sharpened. His eyes, a clear reflection of his mind's workings, flickered over Travers with a scary intensity. Prentiss stood beside him; her posture unwavering. Her dark hair was pulled back, accentuating her set jaw and calculating eyes.

Hotch stepped out, his eyes locking on Evelyn's. "These guys target what they perceive as privilege--wealth, beauty, the whole package" he explained, his voice a low rumble of contained frustration. "We need to shake him. Evelyn, I want you in there. Your profile... It'll strike a nerve."

Evelyn arched an eyebrow, her lips curving into a teasing smirk. "Awh, Hotch, are you calling me beautiful? Careful, or I might start thinking it's part of the job description."

Hotch's response was immediate, his tone firm yet not unkind. "Agent," he scolded.

Evelyn's smile broadened for a fleeting moment before she nodded. "Alright, alright, I'm going. Time to see if Harris finds me as privileged as you do."

As she spun on her heel, she could practically hear the sound of Hotch's eyes rolling, his silent rebuke hanging in the air. Evelyn swept into the interrogation room, her confidence radiating like the steady glow of a lantern. Hotch's silent figure trailed behind her. Harris's discomfort was unmistakable as he met Evelyn's steady gaze, evident that her presence had unsettled him.

"Mr. Harris, we know about the visits to the victims' homes. You were the last one to see them alive." Hotch stated, the lines of his jaw tightening in sync with the syllables. The muscles in his arms flexed subtly, straining against the fabric of his dress shirt as he leaned forward. Evelyn, observing the interplay of muscle and material, had to mentally nudge herself back to the task at hand.

Morgan's voice was a low rumble, almost feral in its intensity as he leaned closer. "And let's not forget the convenient malfunctions that only you could fix."

With a graceful tilt of her head, Evelyn locked eyes with Harris. "Must be tough," she murmured, "going into those big, beautiful houses, seeing how the other half lives."

Harris's jaw tightened, muscles tensing in a visible display of restraint. "I did my job," he spat, the words forced out between clenched teeth.

"And you did it so well," she observed, her eyes not leaving his. "But tell me, Michael, did you enjoy having that power? Deciding who stayed locked in?"

Harris's gaze burned with a silent fury, a raw, seething hatred for the conventional beauty he believed had marginalized him. Evelyn's presence, her composure, it all seemed to amplify his rage, teetering him of the edge of outburst. And Evelyn knew this.

With a level gaze and a tone that left room for no argument, Hotch laid out the facts. "We know about the partnership," he said, each word deliberate, precise. "You and Travers had a system, didn't you?"

"He creates the problem, you fix it." Morgan stated pointedly, a verbal arrow pointed at Harris. "Only you're not fixing anything, are you?"

Evelyn's smile didn't reach her eyes; it was cold, calculated. "You're just the repairman, right? Or should I say the executioner?"

Harris's composure shattered, a visceral snarl ripping through his throat. "You don't know anything! You think you're something special with that pretty face?" he sneered, venom dripping from every word. "Bet you're just like the rest, sleeping their way to the top? Who'd you fuck to get this job, huh? The big boss man here?" He jerked his head contemptuously towards Hotch, the disdain clear as saliva flecked his lips.

Hotch's frame stiffened, an instinctual guard rising within him, but Evelyn was already one step ahead. Her hand met his chest, a silent signal that she could handle him, her face a mask of cool composure. "Is that the best you can do, Harris? Reduce me to looks? I thought you were smarter than that."

The flush of anger on Harris's face deepened, his rage nearly tangible in the stifling air of the room. "You don't know what it's like! You just waltz through life on your tits and ass, never having to work for anything!"

Evelyn's eyes didn't waver. "Seems like you've been watching too closely. Does it bother you, Michael? Seeing people like me succeed?" Her question was deliberate, designed to provoke him.

With a sudden, explosive motion, Harris stood, his hands slamming onto the table with a force that echoed through the room. "I worked for everything while people like you just got it all handed it all handed to them! Those people deserved it, you hear me? They deserved to burn! Travers and I were only serving justice."

The clink of Garcia's glass resonated through the air as she raised it high, her voice carrying over the murmur of the bustling bar. "To the most incredible team, who can solve anything with enough coffee and genius brainpower."

The team had gathered at a cozy pub, just ten minutes from Quantico, to unwind after the case. The warm glow of the vintage lamps cast a soft glow on the group, reflecting off the polished mahogany table. The atmosphere was abuzz with the chatter of fellow agents and the soft hum of jazz playing in the background.

Evelyn, dressed in a red dress that hugged every curve, felt the warmth of Hotch's firm shoulder against hers on one side and Spencer's thigh on the other. The proximity to both men sent a flutter of nerves through her. She took a discreet sip of her wine, hoping to dissipate the swarm of butterflies in her stomach.

Morgan, ever the charmer, lifted his glass with a roguish smile. "And here's to Evelyn," he announced, "the only one who could get a raise out of Hotch with just her performance review!"

Laughter erupted around them. Evelyn's reaction was immediate; her hands flew to her face, shielding her flushed cheeks from the group. The laughter was infectious, but beneath it, she couldn't help but imagine sleeping with him. Peeking through her fingers, she shook her head in mock display. "I cannot believe he said that," she muttered.

"I think we can all agree that the Bureau's hiring practices are a bit more rigorous than that," (are they though) Hotch said. There was a brief pause as he surveyed the group, his gaze lingering on Evelyn for a moment longer than the rest. "And as for performance reviews, I believe your record speaks for itself, Evelyn. No additional... incentives are necessary."

The laughter resumed, Penelope nearly falling out of her chair. Evelyn leaned in, her voice only meant for Hotch. "Careful, Hotch," she teased, "or I'll actually start believing those rumors about your hidden sense of humor."

Morgan, with a playful smirk, couldn't help himself. "Yeah, the hiring practices are definitely more rigorous," he said, winking at Evelyn. "You just need your dad to be Jason Gideon, and you're in. No big deal, right?"

Evelyn shot Morgan a playful glare, her voice low but teasing. "Careful, Morgan," she warned, "don't think I've forgotten about your big mouth. I might just have to start bribing you next to keep quiet."

Hotch, with a slight upward twitch of his lips that suggested a suppressed smile, shook his head. "I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," he said, giving Evelyn a pointed look.

The bar's music echoed through the air as JJ, Emily, Evelyn and Penelope found themselves on the dance floor. Their hands were occupied with the chilled glasses, condensation beading down the sides. The pulsating lights of the bar cast a kaleidoscope of colors over them.

With a lightness in her step, JJ danced with a carefree grace. Her laughter, louder and freer than it had been all night, rang out clear. "You know, I never thought I'd see the day when Rossi would be out-danced by Garcia," she said, nodding towards the table where Rossi sat, looking amused yet slightly bewildered by Garcia's animated dance moves from afar.

Evelyn's eyes followed JJ's gaze, and there they were--Hotch and Spencer--barely concealing the way they were looking at her. Their gazes were intense, unapologetically fixed on her. It was more than just a discreet glance; it was an overt appreciation that lingered just a second too long. When their eyes met hers, they looked away almost guiltily, but the message was clear; she was the object of their undivided attention.

The heat of their stares tangible, igniting a flush that spread across Evelyn's cheeks. It wasn't just the warmth of the alcohol coursing through her; it was the unexpected realization that she reveled in their attention. It was a revelation that came with a jolt of excitement--she wanted to be desired by them, liked the way her presence commanded their focus.

With a twirl that sent her hair fanning out around her, Prentiss joined in. "Oh, come on, JJ" she teased with a wink, "you know Rossi's got moves. He's just... conserving his energy for case."

With a thoughtful sip from her glass, Evelyn relished the drink's refreshing chill amidst the bar's cozy hum. "I think it's more like he's conserving his dignity," she tossed out playfully, her remark sparking a wave of soft giggles among the group.

Penelope raised her glass as if bestowing a royal decree. "To dignity! May we always have just enough to keep us grounded, but not so much that we can't fly!"

A chorus of tipsy giggles erupted once more from the group, their movements unsteady as they huddled close, shoulders bumping and heads nearly colliding.

Drunken giggles erupted once more from the group as they leaned into each other, nearly knocking heads. Evelyn excused herself from the dance floor, her steps unsteady as she navigated through the crowd to the bar. The dim lighting and the thrum of the music offering a brief respite from the watchful eyes of her team.

As she waited for the bartender's attention, she felt a sudden, unexpected pressure on her hips. A sharp gasp escaped her lips before she could stifle, her muscles coiling tight as she spun on her heel to confront the stranger. Yet, the touch was achingly familiar, and the voice that followed she knew all too well.

"God, Spence, you scared me," she exhaled, relief flooding her voice, her pulse gradually calming to the familiar comfort of his presence.

Evelyn's inhale turned sharp, a shiver running down her spine as she met Spencer's gaze, his fingertips barely grazing her hips. His eyes narrowed, his lips twisting into a knowing smirk. "Sorry," he drawled, the words dripping with an insincerity that was as disarming as it was uncharacteristic. "You just look so good tonight, Evelyn."

She could feel like heat of his breath as he leaned in, the gap between them closing to a whisper. It was a side to Spencer she rarely saw--confident, assertive, and undeniably hot. Evelyn's surprise was quickly replaced by a rising excitement.

Evelyn's voice was a hushed whisper, tinged with concern. "Spence, the team is going to see us," she warned, her eyes darting anxiously over her shoulder.

But Spencer seemed unfazed, his eyes never leaving hers. "Do you know how many guys were drooling at you on the dance floor?" he murmured, his voice low and intense. "Do you have any idea how badly I wanted to tell them how desperate and needy you were for me last night."

Evelyn's voice was reduced to a whisper as she felt the moisture starting to gather between her legs. "Spence--"

But he cut her off with a single word, "bathroom," and without another glance, he turned and walked away, his departure leaving her feeling as though the air had been vacuumed from her lungs.

She felt almost pathetic as she trailed after him like a lost puppy, her attention briefly diverted to the team, thankfully engrossed by Garcia's orchestration of a drinking game. She pivoted into the muted glow of the hallway, tucking her hair behind her ear with a practiced motion as she made her way briskly into the bathroom.

She stepped through the doorway only to be greeted by desperate hands at her ass that eagerly drew her in, yanking her into Spencer's familiar body. With a faint gasp, she melted into his touch, her intensity matching his, her fingers instinctively finding and curling into the locks of his hair. Without hesitation, he nudged her back against the sink, a quick tap to her thigh a silent command--a command she instantly obeyed, her legs encircling his waist in a tight clasp.

He murmured his approval, "good girl," he praised, a moan escaping her as she tugged gently at his hair.

His smirk, felt rather than seen, played against her lips. His hands clung to her thighs, pushing her dress up to her stomach. He broke the kiss slowly, savoring the taste before lowering himself to her legs. Spencer began to plant open mouthed kisses to the expanse of her thighs, "So sweet."

"Sp-Spencer-," she faltered, her words barely more than a breathless murmur, "we need ground, ah, rules."

Spencer clicked his tongue, his fingers idly twirling the lining of her underwear, his gaze intimately fixed between her thighs, "like what, sweetheart?"

He deftly removed the pesky shred of fabric, and she observed, her lips parted in awe, as he tucked in neatly into his pocket. Her mind went dumb as he gently coaxed her legs further apart.

His thumb began to draw languid circles against her puffed clit as she squirmed. She muffled a moan against her arm, her hips bucking against his touch. Evelyn's body was begging for more and less at the same time.

"Evelyn, use your words." Spencer chided as he drew agonizingly slow circles on the tender spot. "What rules do we need?"

"Well, for one-," she couldn't finish her sentence as Spencer plunged a finger inside her, his mouth coming down on her neck, his tongue licking long stripes up the expanse of flesh.

Her body turned to Jello as he continued to pump in and out of her. He whispered sweet nothings into her ear as she desperately tried to ride his fingers. "You like that, baby? Keep riding my fingers, get yourself off, it's okay."

"Spencer, please, please," she couldn't even form a thought of what she was asking for, hands twisting around the curls on his head, pressing her chest flush against his.

"Oh, I know, princess." He coos condescendingly as he grinded his hard cock straining against the material of his jeans, against her body. Her eyes widened as she realized just how big he really was. The familiar tightening became to form in her core, her pants becoming more desperate, her hands clutching his face in an attempt to stabilize herself. "Let them hear how good you take it, baby."

She could feel her resolve crumbling, her eyes rolling to the back of her head as she moaned out a string of nonsensical words.

The words tipped her over the edge, her body shaking with pleasure as she cried his name out. He smirked as his hand pressed down over her mouth, her breath fogging up the flesh as she rode out her high.

"You did so good, sweetheart," Spencer praised, his hand gently sweeping the strands of hair from her face, as she offered him a blissful, dreamily smile. This man had now given her two groundbreaking orgasms.

She had never come from a man before, let one be given earth-shattering, life altering ones just from his fingers. She peeled herself away from the counter unconcerned with her disarrayed appearance as she sank to her knees. Her long lashes fluttered gently as she lifted her gaze towards Spencer.

A deep sigh escaped him, his head dropped back, fingers pressing lightly against the bridge of his nose as he declared, "Jesus, you're going to be the death of me."

Evelyn took that as her permission, her hands were a blur, swiftly working the buckle of his belt with an almost frantic efficiency.

She quickly liberated his length from the clutches of the confining material. A subtle gasp fluttered from her, barely audible, as his cock sprang to life. Mesmerized, she studied it--red, angry, massive and imposing.

A quick swipe of her tongue combated the dryness of her lips as she grasped the base with a steady hand. He stiffened in her grasp as he extended his hand, allowing it to come to a soft halt amidst the locks of her hair at the back of her head.

She took a deep breath, trace a path with her tongue from the base to head, testing the waters. Spencer's exhale was a quiet plea, his fingers weaving through the strands of her hair.

Evelyn wanted to relish every moment, to extend the pleasure, and to take her time. Yet, she felt the pulse of Spencer's impatience. She quickly took him in her mouth, a moan enveloping around his cock while his grip tightened on her scalp.

Her lips sloppily dragged up and down the length, her eyes lifting to meet his as she felt him twitch in her mouth. "God, baby, I wish you could see how perfect you look right now."

This only egged her on and she challenged herself to go deeper. An unexpected string of profanities fell from Spencer's lips as she took him.

He cradled her face between his hands, her eyelashes batting softly in his direction. He gently gathered her hair into a ponytail as she continued to take him deeper, trails of mascara etching down her face that he found so perfect.

"Fuck, sweetheart." He moaned out, his hips beginning to push back against her.

Evelyn's hand clung to his thighs, moisture gathering in her eyes as she continued to take his length as far as she could. She could feel he was close--the way his thighs trembled slightly under her manicured hands, the way his cock twitched ever so slightly in her mouth.

With a quick motion, Evelyn placed her hand on the base of his cock, synchronizing her strokes with her mouth, keeping her gaze locked on his. That's all it took before she felt his hold on her tighten, the hot liquid shooting on to her tongue.

She let out a sound of gratification, settling back on her heels while her tongue swept over her bottom lip. His chest heaved in a steady rhythm, his eyes lowering to meet hers, a weary smile lingering on his lips.

"Yup, like I said that will definitely be playing in my head for the rest of my life," he exhaled, his fingers sifting through his disheveled locks.

Evelyn's laughter bubbled up as he extended his hand, drawing her up to her feet. The moment she was within reach, his lips found hers, hungry and insistent. His smirk lingered as he drew away, her cheeks cupped in his hands, his thumbs tenderly sweeping away the mascara smudges.

"What were you saying about ground rules?" Spencer questioned, his voice soft colored with fatigue and a hint of exhilaration.

"Ground rules right," she said. "Absolutely. Just as soon as my neurons start firing again."

Laughter spilled out loudly, his hands deftly untangling her hair. "So, who's braving the exit first? Do you think they noticed?"

Evelyn shot him a deadpan look. "They're profilers," she reminded, then sighed. "But I'll go."

She spun around the mirror, hastily adjusting her dress and taming her hair into some semblance of order before stepping back into the bar. Evelyn's gaze landed instantly on the group, clearly tipsy, their laughter drowning out the rest of the bar. She quieted the butterflies in her stomach as she approached the rowdy group. Her eyes met Hotch's, his single raised brow a silent question about her appearance.

"Evie!" The unmistakable sound of Penelope's shriek pierced the air as she threw her arms around Evelyn. "We were terrified, Chica! We thought we'd lost you forever."

Evelyn responded with an embarrassed laugh, "Oh, P, if I had a nickel for every time I 'died,' according to your standards I'd be out buying a yacht."

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