Under My Skin

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at [Link]

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Category: F/M
Fandom: Criminal Minds (US TV)
Relationships: Spencer Reid/Reader, Spencer Reid & Original Female Character(s),
Spencer Reid/You
Characters: Mira Andros, Spencer Reid, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer "JJ" Jareau, Emily
Prentiss, Derek Morgan (Criminal Minds), Penelope Garcia, You, David
Rossi
Additional Tags: Smut, Enemies to Lovers, Action, Romance, Fanfiction, Drama, Reader
is a Member of the BAU (Criminal Minds), Forbidden Love, Jealousy,
FBI, Mystery, Reid, Rivalry, Sexual Tension, Resolved Sexual Tension,
Fluff, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Thriller, Dark Past
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2024-11-26 Completed: 2025-05-12 Words: 91,662 Chapters:
26/26
 Under My Skin
by reidbetweenwords

Summary

"What exactly are you trying to prove?"

He leaned in closer, his warm breath fanning over my skin, sending sparks of awareness
coursing through me. "That the tension between us isn't just in my head." His fingertips
paused at the curve of my shoulder, lingering for a moment longer like he was weighing the
consequences of his next move. "That every time you challenge me, every time you push
back, every time you get 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒌𝒊𝒏 - it's because you feel this too."

‿̩͙‿ ༺ ♰ ༻ ‿̩͙‿

In which FBI agent Dr. Mira Andros, a 24-year-old with a PhD in Criminal Psychology,
moves from a dark past of cult investigations to the BAU in Quantico. Haunted by secrets she
can't escape, Mira joins the team to solve a series of brutal murders-only to find herself
entangled in a dangerous game where the line between rivalry and desire with Spencer Reid
becomes harder to ignore.

What if your greatest threat isn't the enemy watching but the desire you can't deny?

#1 - forbiddenromance on wattpad (17/04/25)

spencer reid x oc
trope: enemies to lovers, forbidden romance
 Prologue

The sirens wailed in the distance, a chilling reminder of the darkness that lingered just
beyond the city's glow. A reminder of that all too familiar sound I was now paired with for
the rest of my life, almost every day.
I leaned against the cold brick wall of my apartment, the city lights flickering like fireflies in
the night sky- illuminating the hundreds of thousands of people's lives coexisting next to
mine.

It had been years since I stepped into the shadows of my past, the things that solidified this
career choice— but not a day goes by where the haunting echoes of my childhood don't
reverberate through my thoughts, guiding me back like a compass to fight the darkness I tried
so hard to escape.

As an agent, I had dedicated my life to catching the monsters who preyed on the innocent.
Yet here I was, teetering on the edge of the abyss, ready to dive into a case that felt all too
similar. A cult had emerged, cloaked in secrecy and covered in a web of manipulations that
tugged at the strings on my memory. It was a world I thought I had left behind, but the call of
the past was insistent- a song I couldn't ignore.

Just as I contemplated the gravity of my situation, my phone buzzed insistently in my pocket,

interrupting my calm train of thought. I pulled it out to find a message from Aaron Hotchner,
the Unit Chief at Quanitico's Behavioural Analysis Unit.

Mira, we need you on this case. Your expertise is crucial. Please rethink your decision.

A knot tightened in my stomach as I read the words knowing that once again I would be
drawn into this.

This wasn't just another case; it felt like a reckoning, and I couldn't ignore the pull it had on
me.
 Chapter 1: Project Elysium

TW: Brief mention of traumatic past, cult mention, human trafficking mentions

Song for the chapter: I Want It All — The Arctic Monkeys 🎵

`Mind games

Mistakes,`

📖
The moment I stepped into the BAU, I felt the weight of countless eyes on me, but, out of all
of them, it was the gaze of Spencer Reid that sent an unexpected jolt of adrenaline through
my veins.

The air was thick with anticipation- not just mine but everyone else's in that bullpen.
Curiosity and scepticism lingered as I made my way past desks cluttered with case files and
coffee cups. Unlimited junk surrounded me, a testament to how life here was probably going
to be. Whispers closed around me softly, snippets of conversations replaying in my head-
"The new genius," people murmured.

I couldn't help but feel...slightly proud- until I locked eyes with deep brown orbs slightly
peaking out from messy wisps of brunette locks. The man's eyebrows furrowed in what I
could only describe as disbelief as if he were trying to assess how someone like me had made
it into this unit, in his space and among his team. The intensity of his stare sent a ripple of
heat across my cheeks and I fought the urge to break eye contact. I stood, heart beating out of
my chest and praying he looked away. Praying whoever this was could take his eyes off of
me and let me breathe again.

But his gaze didn't falter. It lingered, drifting from my face, scanning every inch of me in a
measured and calculated way that made me feel exposed. His eyes travelled from the subtle
arch of my brow down to the curve of my lips, and even further. The scrutiny felt clinical like
he was dissecting me with his mind.

I had imagined this first day over so many times, but never like this— never with an
unknown stranger silently judging me, his eyes stripping away every barrier that held up my
composure.

This wasn't just any agent. The air around him buzzed with a feel I hadn't felt in a long time,
a quiet intensity that told me he was used to being the one with authority, the one everyone
called smart. I knew that that was what this was about because I had felt it once too; he was
intimidated. It felt like he was already digging under my skin, uncovering me, and yet
somehow saying that he was just like me.

"Agent Andros?" A warm voice interrupted my thoughts, pulling my focus away from the tall
man who was standing in front of me. It was Aaron Hotchner, the unit chief of the BAU,
extending a hand with a firm grip. "Welcome to the Behavioural Analysis Unit, glad to have
you on board."

I smiled up at him, thinking to myself how glad I was to know someone. We had met before
briefly at a profiling seminar where he expressed his interest in having me on the team.

"Thank you Hotchner," I responded- trying to seem more confident than I was.

He tutted, a grin still on his face- "Please, call me Hotch." I had heard he was a no-nonsense
type of leader, but his warm demeanour was a pleasant surprise.

As I shook Hotch's hand, a sense of calm finally washed over me- slowing down my buzzing
mind. "So, when do we get started?" I asked, eager to jump right into the very case I was
called here to solve.

"We're going to brief on the new case," Hotch replied, gesturing towards the big conference
room- a dark wood round table right in the middle. This was going to be my home for a long
time.

My pulse quickened at the mention of the case, the thought of finally being able to work here
and be challenged sent a thrill through me. Although I loved working in my previous unit,
most of the cases we were handed were hoaxes and there was little happening. My friends
started leaving for better careers, and I guess I wanna see what that's all about. As I followed
the unit chief to the conference room the unknown agent trailed behind me- leaving the feel
of his burning gaze in the side of my head. I glanced back to catch him staring, his eyes
quickly averting away.

Once inside, the team gathered around the large table and I took the seat next to the only
person I knew in the room. "Alright, everyone," Hotch began, confidently scanning the room.
"I'd like to introduce our new team member, Agent Mira Andros. She has extended expertise
in the field for the case we're going to be taking on, so I invited her here to help. It will be a
brutal and lengthy one, so I needed to make sure we were well prepared."

He paused briefly, his eyes flicking between us. "Not to mention, as you all probably already
know—she's extremely smart and has an IQ of 188— meaning she will be a great asset to
this team and I hope you all treat her like family." The room fell completely still for a beat. I
could feel eyes turning toward me, but it was the one pair of eyes I had already noticed that
made my skin prickle. The man I locked eyes with earlier—whose name I still didn't know—
let out a soft, almost imperceptible scoff. He didn't react like the others, who exchanged
impressed looks. No, his arms tightened across his chest, his gaze hardening.

His dark eyes studied me, as if analyzing the numbers Hotch had just thrown out, but his
expression remained unreadable—except for the brief moment of scepticism that flickered
across his face.

A dark-haired woman raised a brow in my direction before her lips curled into a playful
smirk. "188? Wow, Spencer, you've got competition!" she teased, casting a glance toward the
man across from me. The others chuckled, but his reaction was subtle— a twitch of the jaw
and a flicker in his eyes that even I couldn't quite read— not to toot my own horn. I shifted in
my seat, suddenly hyper-aware of the tensions building. Spencer...I thought to myself. So
that's his name. He didn't look in the least amused by the agent's comment, but he stayed
perfectly silent.

Breaking the moment, a tall man with black hair leaned forward- a friendly pearly white
smile breaking through his serious demeanour. "I'm Derek Morgan," he said, extending his
hand out to me. "I run the field operations. If you need anything just holler. It's great to have
another genius on the team."

Next to Morgan who was now smirking after earning a glare from Reid- assuming because of
the 'genius comment', was a platinum blonde woman with an excessive amount of jewellery.
"I'm Penelope Garcia- the team's pretty and perfect tech wizard! I'll dig up alllll the dirt you
need. Welcome!" She said her voice bright and cheerful, earning a small giggle from me.

"Thank you, Garcia." I smiled, feeling a bit more at ease. Her energy was literally contagious
and I could see that she was the person that kept the team's spirits high.

The atmosphere shifted slightly as a tall, quiet man with glasses and a soft-spoken tone
introduced himself. "I'm Dr. Spencer Reid," he said, his voice steady as his eyes pierced
through mine.

"I'm Mila Andros," I replied, a hint of pride creeping into my voice. "I'm also a doctor- PhD
in Psychology and Sociology." I couldn't help myself. I knew exactly who he was now, and
the competitive spark inside me ignited instantly.

Reid's eyebrows raised slightly as he adjusted his glasses as if preparing to deliver a speech.
"I hold a doctorate in both psychology and sociology, as well as a master's in mathematics,
chemistry and another in engineering," he said, his tone reflecting an almost rehearsed
sequence. He added, "Also an IQ of 187, an eidetic memory and a word per minute speed of
20,000."

Insufferable asshole.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes, but a smile slowly crept onto my lips instead, "Impressive,
Dr. Reid" I said, leaning in slightly closer, feeling the tension thicken in the air- noticing how
his hands relaxed after bragging about his degrees like a little kid finally getting a gold star
he was so desperate for. "You must get a lot of enjoyment out of listing your
accomplishments."

"I try to keep it factual," he replied, his lips jutting out into a hint of a smirk. I could just see
the self-satisfaction lurking behind it.

My smile grew, dangerously close to a smirk of my own. "Factual? Maybe," I said, my voice
lowering, "but I think you enjoy the attention just a little more than you're willing to admit."
And that's when I realised—maybe the game wasn't just about IQs or degrees. Maybe it was
about who could get under the other's skin first, and I was not gonna let him win.

I extended my hand for a shake, trying to bridge the gap between us despite the fact our
rivalry was already well-established. "Nice to meet you, Dr," I said in a slightly sarcastic
tone, before Reid pulled back, his expression turning serious.

"There are approximately 3.5 million bacteria on the average human hand," he stated matter-
of-factly, his eyes narrowing. "It would be safer to kiss."

Caught off guard, I felt the saturation in my cheeks quickly flush at the suggestion, "Kiss?" I
repeated almost sputtering, my eyebrows furrowed. As I tried to put on an act of innocence,
my heart raced. "Is that your way of getting out of a handshake?"

"Just a scientific proposal," he replied, wetting his lips as his gaze lingered on mine- thinking
to myself if he would sense the fluster creeping up my neck. A moment of silence passed as
the other team members exchanged amused glances. Hotch cleared his throat, and I withdrew
my hand with an excess amount of speed, shaking my head in disbelief. "I think I'll stick to
handshakes for now, Doctor. Reid," I replied, leaning on the word doctor just enough to
return his earlier dig.

The corner of his mouth quirked up, but he quickly masked it, muttering,"Suit yourself,"

As the rest of the introductions unfolded, I felt increasingly more comfortable in the presence
of my new peers. JJ greeted me with enthusiasm, however beneath her smile, I sensed a
flicker of jealousy, particularly when her gaze drifted toward Reid. It was clear that JJ valued
her role in the team, and it made me wonder if I threatened that.

Emily on the other hand was extremely confident and warm. She encouraged me to lean on
the team whenever I needed support, her firm yet welcoming demeanour definitely notable..
Rossi, the senior agent added another layer of respect by acknowledging my expertise and
expressing genuine interest in my insights.

As the conversations settled down, the air radiated with anticipation- Hotch gathering us
around the table once again. A dim flickering light cast a serious tone over the room. My
heart raced, partly from the weight of the case we were about to discuss and partly from the
lingering tension between me and Reid. I could feel his gaze on me, assessing every micro-
movement making my skin prickle with irritation.

"Alright, team," Hotch started, his voice deep and authoritative. "We're dealing with a series
of disappearances linked to the potential cult operating within some of America's wealthiest
businesses. Mira, since you have expertise in this area, why don't you lead us through what
we know?"

I couldn't shake the feeling that this case would be different. Trust me, I had encountered
many dark corners in my career— and even in my life—but the thought of taking lead on an
operation this extreme was as much daunting as it was exciting. The files I'd read before this
meeting had left me uneasy, the missing persons' faces lingering in my mind.

I nodded, steeling myself as I stood to present my findings. The digital project flickered on,
illuminating the room with images of missing persons and locations that are thought to be
identified with the cult. I clicked on the first slide, "The cult that we're dealing with has been
nicknamed Project Elysium within Interpol's database." As I spoke, I felt Reid's piercing gaze
lock onto me. He leaned forward, his brow furrowing as I began to describe what we had
seen so far.

"This isn't just missing people, is it? You're suggesting they're being actively recruited into
something far more sophisticated," he said, his voice steady but already laced with intensity.

I nodded, appreciating his insight, but sensing the tension crackling between us. "Exactly,
Project Elysium operated under the cover of helping individuals 'achieve success'. They host
exclusive retreats that lure in vulnerable employees with promises of mentorship- however in
reality they're conditioning members to become part of a human trafficking network."

I continued, "We need to go undercover and identify key people involved, then we can stop
this operation before more people go missing."

At that moment, Reid leaned back, crossing his arms with an inquisitive expression, "But
why 'Elysium'? That term has a very specific connotation," He mused, his head racing and his
hands moving to signal as he explained, "In Greek mythology, Elysium refers to a paradise
where heroes are sent after death, a place of bliss and eternal happiness. So, it's ironic that
they would choose a name associated with peace and reward if they're fundamentally about
exploitation and darkness.

I couldn't help but let out a slight smile at his ramble, "Exactly," I replied, intrigued. "They're
using the name to attract people seeking something better in life." I paused for a moment,
gauging the team's reactions before continuing, "Their reach extends internationally, tying
them to various mafia organisations involved in human trafficking. They operate in key cities
such as New York, London, and Tokyo creating a sophisticated network and global pipeline
of helpless victims."

I clicked to the next slide, leading to my last point, "Something else we know about them is
that they conduct really bizzare rituals...For example, one that we know of is being coined as
'The Offering of Remains' in where... you guessed it- they take part in human sacrifice and
afterwards, remove specific parts of the body to bury in the ground or preserved for a further
ceremonial display."

Morgan was the first to break the silence. "Human sacrifice, body parts on display...sounds
like these guys are more than just some cult. Are we talking about sexual sadists here?" he
asked, his face hardened.

Spencer, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, straightened in his seat, eyes flicking
between the images. "Not necessarily," he began.. "Sexual sadists tend to derive pleasure
from inflicting pain, but this level of ritualistic dismemberment suggests something more
than that... This could point to necrophilia or a form of ceremonial mutilation. They may
believe the body parts hold some kind of power or significance in their belief system."

Emily crossed her arms, looking at the screen intently. "It could also be a case of extreme
delusions—psychopathy mixed with some form of cult indoctrination. Maybe they're
convinced that preserving these body parts elevates them spiritually."
Hotch nodded slightly. "Rituals like this can be used to reinforce control, too. Sacrifice could
be a way for the leaders to maintain authority, make followers believe they're part of
something bigger."

I could feel their minds turning, each one chipping away at the psychology behind the
grotesque rituals. "It's likely a mix of all of these elements," I said, stepping back into the
conversation, my tone carrying an unexpected weight. "They're trying to maintain control,
enforce their beliefs, and ritualise the violence to keep their followers committed. They may
not all be sexual sadists, but there's certainly a perverse thrill involved for the higher-ups."

As I spoke, I noticed a flicker in Reid's eyes—a moment of recognition or perhaps

understanding. He leaned forward, his expression shifting from scepticism to something more
reflective. It felt as if he was peeling back layers, trying to uncover not just the case but me as
well.

"Have you encountered this kind of behaviour before?" he asked, his voice steady but laced
with curiosity.

I hesitated for a split second, not expecting to be opening up to the team so quickly. I caught a
glimpse of the others, their expressions a mix of intrigue and concern. "I... have some
experience," I replied, the weight of my past hanging heavily in the air. "I spent years
studying groups like this. There's a psychological game at play, one that can be terrifyingly
effective and that you don't notice until it's too late."

Rossi leant forward, his gaze intensified as if he could sense the truth beneath my words.
"What do you mean?"

I took in a deep breath, forcing myself to hold his gaze. "I was part of something similar once
—long ago. They lure you in with a sense of belonging, a family you never knew you
needed. But that connection becomes a weapon, used against you to enforce compliance. The
violence? It's a means of maintaining that grip. All cults do it, sometimes just in different
ways."

The room fell silent, my admission lingering in the air. I could see the other team members
absorbing this new layer of complexity, but Reid's focus never wavered. He seemed to
process my words differently as if connecting the dots of my experiences to the case at hand.

"Your insight could be invaluable," he said softly, a hint of admiration in his tone. "But we
need to tread carefully. It's easy to get swept up in the emotional currents of a case like this."

I nodded, appreciating his acknowledgement which seemed genuine, not charged with
sarcasm or bitter words. For a moment, it felt like he almost understood me and that we were
not rivals but rather friends, both burdened by knowledge and experience that went beyond
textbooks and research papers.

"Religious, delusion, whatever it is, they're still sadistic," Morgan muttered, shaking his head
at the thoughts. "And people like that don't stop."
The conversation amongst the members shifted, with the team discussing deeper into where
to start. I felt a mix of relief and anxiety wash over me simultaneously; we were finally
making progress but boy was I scared about what we were going to have to endure.

"The rest of the information is on the tablets so anything you'll need can be accessed there," I
said, gesturing toward the sleek devices lined up on the table. "I've dealt with these cases for
a lot of my FBI career, so I don't mind if you've got any questions you'd like to direct at me."

Reid interjected sharply, almost as if he was waiting to find something to say, "And where's
my paper file?"

"Paper file?" I raised an eyebrow, feigning disbelief. "I didn't realise you were stuck in the
dark ages."

He shrugged, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "I just like having something physical to
look at. It's easier to absorb."

I retorted back, "It's not like you need to write things down. I thought you had a photographic
memory?"

"Eidetic." His eyes narrowed slightly at my mistake, visibly seeing him hold back a smirk.

"Well, in that case," I replied, crossing my arms defiantly, "Maybe you should've brought a
notebook instead of relying on paper."

Reid raised an eyebrow at my suggestion, "What is this, grad school?" He shook his head
before the rest of the team laughed.

Hotch cleared his throat, cutting through our sarcastic bickering, "Alright, team. Let's
refocus. We have a serious case at hand."

As the meeting wrapped up, the heavy atmosphere hung in the air, each of us grappling with
our emotions on the task at hand. I stood as I watched everyone file out of the room, me and
Reid being last. As I turned to leave, Reid's eyes followed me, the tension thick between us.

I had to tread carefully, especially with Reid. The rivalry was obvious and charged with not
only a mutual dislike but something else that I couldn't put my finger on.

Just as I reached the exit, Reid called out, "Mira, wait."

I halted, my heart racing.

🖊️
A/N: Hey everyone! Thank you so much for reading the first chapter—I hope you
enjoyed it! Your support means the world to me and I'd love to hear what you guys
think. Please comment, favourite and leave any suggestions (and I mean any at all—
they're all helpful in letting me know what kind of scenes you want in the
book...tropes...etc!) I'm excited to take you along this journey with Mira + Spencer!
Thank you again,
Reidbetweenthewords 🩷
 Chapter 2: Competition

TWS: Cult mentions Song for the chapter: Heartbeat — Childish Gambino 🎵
` I wanted you to know that I am ready to go

Heartbeat, my heartbeat

I wanted you to know whenever you are around

Can’t speak, I can’t speak`

📖
My heart raced as I turned to face the doctor. The way he called me by my first name sent a
jolt through me, and I couldn't tell if it was annoyance or something else entirely. His brows
furrowed upwards for a moment, seeing something in his eyes that could have been
admiration, but he quickly masked it with his usual scepticism. "I was going to say your
presentation was... insightful," he began, his voice steady, "but I can't have you getting full of
yourself, now can I?" His comment, laced with condescension, should've annoyed me, but I
found myself more amused than anything,"Oh, I'm so so sorry to ruin your exclusive genius
club, Dr. Reid. It must be hard being the only one in the BAU who knows anything." I
crossed my arms, my tone laced with sarcasm. "I promise not to overshadow your utmost
brilliance." I continued, dragging out my speech even though it was completely unnecessary.
To be honest— I was just growing to enjoy the look on his face when he was annoyed. He
raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk teasing the corners of his lips, but it quickly vanished as he
retreated behind his usual deadpan. "It's just a scientific observation, Agent Andros. Don't
take it personally." He said, whilst shrugging and returning to using my last name.

I rolled my eyes at his words, a frustrated huff escaping me. His smug attitude and
condescending tone was getting under my skin. I refused to back down even though now he
was ever so slightly towering over me. "Right, because your observations are always backed
by such solid scientific methods.” Reid's gaze hardened, but I could see the faintest twitch at
the corner of his mouth revealing how he struggled to keep his poker face. Just as he opened
his mouth to shoot back at me- Hotch entered the room, sensing the charged atmosphere.
"Good, you're both here," Hotch said, briefly scanning the room before locking his gaze on
us. "We've got a lead on a case that requires immediate fieldwork. I want you two to head out
—there's a potential abduction in Richmond that may be connected to our serial. Witnesses
are claiming to have seen strange symbols near the crime scene. Sound familiar?" I shot Reid
a glance, disbelief flashing across my features as I jumped to intervene "Hotch, I–" "We'll
need eyes on the ground. You two will be the first point of contact for local law
enforcement," Hotch continued. "Go over the scene, and check for any patterns. Also, I need
both of you working efficiently, understood?" "Great," Reid interjected, cutting me off with a
hint of sarcasm that apparently only I could catch. "Looking forward to it." Hotch smiled
lightly, oblivious to the underlying friction still bouncing off every corner of the room.
"Perfect, wheels up in thirty." As he turned and walked away, I pivoted back towards Reid, a
pang of frustration coursing through me. Working with him would be a right challenge, but
on the bright side- it could be fun to poke his buttons. "Well," I spoke, crossing my arms
again, "Guess we're going on a little field trip, genius. Ready to show off?"

Reid smirked, a glimmer of jest igniting in his eyes, "Just try and keep up please, Agent."

⏳
It had been about 5 long days on the field case, each one filled with frustration as we were
met with countless dead ends after every turn. The early morning sun filtered through the
grimy windows of our temporary HQ, illuminating the utterly useless stacks of case files
piled high on the table. We were drowning in a sea of paperwork, reminders of our relentless
pursuit of a lead that always went nowhere. Not to mention, the air was thick with tension, a
smog covering every crevice of our space and the scent of stale coffee lingering. We were
heavy with the weight of so many unsaid words that needed to be spoken. I could see Reid's
brows furrow upwards slightly, a sign I picked up that he was either deep in thought or trying
to stifle another retort. I took a breath, hoping to push through the tension.

"If you actually tried to listen to my ideas, maybe we'd get somewhere faster," I shot at the
brunette, sarcasm covering my words and dripping onto the floor like honey- sweet but
slightly bitter. Reid glanced at me quickly, not giving me much of an acknowledgement.
"Listening is different from entertaining baseless theories." I squinted my eyes at his response
— one that was filled with dismission only adding fuel to my already simmering irritation,
"Baseless? You're joking, right?" my words echoed throughout the room. "You might find
that a lot of what you consider baseless stems from personal experiences, Reid. But I guess
you wouldn't know much about that, I guess your brain is just too narrow-minded to consider
anything outside of your neat little boxes."

He stiffened at the remark, perhaps me having hit a nerve. "My theories are based on
statistical and factual evidence- which is objective, Agent Andros. Personal experiences are
subjective and therefore not very useful in this situation." Okay, Einstein… tell that to every
victim who’s survived a trauma?

At this point, I was literally resisting the urge to throw the closest object at him.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms defiantly. "Oh, my bad, I forgot! You’re the
human calculator. Emotions and personal experiences?Irrelevant, right?" I retorted finally,
Before Reid could respond, the door swung open with a suddenness that made us both jump
out of our seats. Hotch stepped in, his expression serious and urgent. "Reid, Andros, we've
got another site to investigate," he said, cutting through the tension like a knife. I shifted my
gaze from the dorky brunette to Hotch, feeling the remanence of the disagreement we had a
few seconds prior dissipate in the face of the new information. "What's going on?" I asked,
my curiosity piqued as well as my blood pressure heightened. "There's been a report of
strange symbols found at an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of town, again," Hotch
explained, his voice steady. "It could be linked to our case, and I need you two to head out
there immediately." Reid straightened in his chair as I rose, the earlier irritation fading as his
mind's gears started visibly turning. "Strange symbols? You mean like the same from
Elysium?" Hotch nodded, glancing between us, "Exactly. You both know what to do." I felt a
surge of adrenaline at the thought of finally getting out of this stuffy, stale HQ and into the
field, "Right, let's." The doctor quickly grabbed his jacket and followed suit. As we headed
towards the door, I couldn't shake the feeling that the investigation was about to take an
intriguing turn.

"Just remember," I said, glancing back at Reid with a smirk, "the human element might just
lead us to something more than numbers." This earned me a sidelong glance, a smile lightly
playing on his lips as we stepped into the sunlight. "And you remember that data can lead to
discoveries you might not see otherwise, Andros." As we reached the car, the tension faded
replaced with a shared determination we desperately needed to hold on to. After all, we were
stepping into the field after almost a week of nothing, and only two hours of sleep between
us. Throughout the tedious ride to the outskirts of town, the only thing that I could focus on
was the glare that was being burned into the side of my head, and every time I tried to steal a
glance in his direction, the moment I turned my head, that searing gaze would so
conveniently vanish, leaving me with nothing but the thump of the armoured car diving
across dirt roads and the murmur of the radio playing softly in the background. I tried to
redirect my attention and thoughts to the passing scenery, watching as the sun slowly
lowered, but my thoughts just kept circling back to him. That annoying asshole that always
thinks he's two steps ahead of me, the one that is always so convinced he knows better. It was
so infuriating yet there was something that couldn't make me walk away from him, and I
don't know why. The way his jaw clenched when he thought no one was watching, the
occasional wayward flick of his eyes in my direction, and that godforsaken smirk that teased
the corners of his mouth whenever I spoke- as if everything I said was amusing. I could sense
he was fighting a battle with his thoughts. Likely caught somewhere between wanting to
engage with me and his usual tendency to retreat behind the walls of endless statistics and
random facts. "Why is it always so difficult?" I muttered under my breath, the words slipping
out so quickly before I could even catch myself. But Reid was too engrossed in the road to
notice.

Reid’s hazel-coloured eyes quickly darted in my direction, a moment of surprise flashing

through them as he heard my muttered words—unsure of what I was on about but not willing
to ask. But just as quickly as it appeared, he returned his regard to the road, pretending he
hasn’t heard. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles nearly white from the
tension. As the road jolted over a pothole, I finally turned my body fully toward him,
determined to break this painful silence. "You know, you can stop acting like I'm invisible."
His head eventually whipped around, surprise flashing in his hazel eyes that searched the
expression on my face. "I never said you were invisible," he replied, his tone steady, but I
caught the hint of defensiveness in his voice. People forget I'm a damn good profiler. "Then
why do you always seem so focused on everything but me? The way you avoid my eye
contact, the silence, the feigned disinterest?" I shot back, crossing my arms defiantly. I... don't
think I wanted it to come out like that. Great, now I just sound like an obsessed wife.

Reid's eyebrows knitted together, and for a moment he looked genuinely taken aback. "It's
not personal, Mira," he replied, the use of my first name sending shivers down my spine—
how unprofessional. His voice softer now, "I'm just trying to piece together the puzzle."
"Don't call me that. Also, you could at least acknowledge that I'm part of that puzzle," I
pressed, the frustration bubbling to the surface again. "I'm not here just to be your sidekick. I
have insights too."
He shifted in his seat, and the air between us grew thick with tension. "I don't see you as a
sidekick," he insisted, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing his words carefully. "You
have your strengths; it's just..."

"Just what?" I prompted, the challenge igniting in me.

"Just that I'm used to operating solo," he admitted, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable
as he looked into my eyes deeply.

A flicker of vulnerability darted through his gaze, a crack in the armour he tried so hard to
maintain. It was like a glimpse into the real Reid behind the facade of arrogance and intellect.

I felt a pang of understanding mixed with sympathy. This was a man who had become too
comfortable in his solitude, who didn't quite know how to work on a team as an equal, rather
than a one-man expert.

“You can’t keep doing that, Dr. Reid," I replied, my tone lighter and more playful, as I
attempted to ease the tension. "Whether you like it or not, we're working this together, so let’s
try not to kill ourselves yeah?” "Fine," he relented, a resigned expression on his face. "But I
have my own methods, Agent Andros. Just... try not to get in my way, alright?" "Yeah," I
said, the lead of a grin spreading across my face. "However, I expect you to pull your weight,
genius. Let's not forget this is my field of expertise."

Reid rolled his eyes, a familiar scowl returning to his face. He didn't like being reminded that
he wasn't the only expert in the room. His laughter was soft, yet it resonated with a warmth
that broke the heavy silence that had been closing in on us for days. I felt myself relax deeper
into the seat now that the first barrier was lifted. Reid's gaze met mine again, "But let's be
clear—this is still a competition." The tension thickened once again and I could feel the heat
radiating off of him. Maybe I was imagining things because we were stuck in this car for too
long— or maybe he was inching closer to me. "Is that what this is?" I murmured lowly,
leaning in just a fraction more, "A competition?"

Reid looked at me, holding my gaze for a beat too long, his eyes narrowed, studying my
expression. There was an intensity in them that sent a small shiver down my spine, making it
hard to look away.

"Maybe it is," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, eyes flickering with something
that sent a shiver down my spine. His confidence grated on me, that condescending air
always hovering just beneath the surface.

"You know, you should really do something about that ego of yours, doctor," I retorted, my
voice laced with a hint of challenge. "It's not going to win you any popularity contests, that's
for sure." I had clearly hit a sore spot with that comment.

"Oh, I'm well aware of how I come across," he replied, his voice laced with an edge of
annoyance. "But I didn't get where I am today by being likeable, Agent Andros. It's my skills
that matter, not my charm." Just as the air crackled between us, the moment dissolved as he
shifted his gaze back to the road ahead, a warehouse becoming more and more visible as we
approached. The rigid edges of the building were stark against the fading sky, an ominous
silhouette towering over a vast emptiness— acres of wooded area only filled with trees and
the unknown.

The familiar urgency of our task settled back in. The warehouse was surrounded by a chain-
link fence, the barbed wire glinting ominously in the waning light. A sense of foreboding
hung in the air, thick enough to choke on. Reid parked on the dirt road, the engine spluttering
to an end. I grabbed our vests from underneath my seat, passing his over to him. We strapped
them on quickly, stepping out of the car quickly and into the cool evening air. I took a deep
breath and grounded myself. He looked at me before drawing his flashlight and gun.
"Remember, we don't know what we're walking into," he cautioned, his brow furrowing in
that familiar way when he shifted to any remotely professional mindset. "Stay close, and
don't make any assumptions." "Right," I replied, matching his intensity as I adjusted my gear.
"But if this place is what we think it is, we need to be ready for anything— especially your
overconfidence." We shared a mutual nod before approaching the warehouse, the sound of
our footsteps muted against the gravel crunching beneath our boots. The entrance loomed
ahead, a dark mouth inviting us in, filled with shadows that could only be illuminated so
close. I could feel my pulse quicken at the sight. "Let's check for any signs of life before we
go barging in," Reid suggested, his voice steady and measured. He crouched low, scanning
the perimeter, and I followed suit, my instincts kicking in as I mimicked his movements.

"Do you see anything?" I asked, keeping my voice low.

He shook his head, his attention focused intently on the entrance. "No movement yet. But I
can't shake the feeling that we're being watched." I nodded in agreement, feeling an uneasy
knot in my stomach the closer we got. "We need to hurry then," I urged glancing back at him.
"If anyone's in there, they're not going to be alone." We found ourselves at the main door,
taking our positions on either side. "Agreed." Reid stood, readying himself, the air crackling
with that electric energy again. "On three. One... two..." "Wait," I interrupted, holding my
hand up for a moment. "Before we do this, I just want you to know—" "Agent Andros now
isn't the time," he replied, a hint of exasperation breaking through his calm exterior. But there
was something in his eyes, a flicker of curiosity that made me continue my speech. "Wait," I
interrupted, holding my hand up for a moment. "If I don't make it out, I want you to
remember that you could have made this whole thing easier by just admitting I was right."

His brows shot up in surprise, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Is that how
you think this works, Agent Andros? I just admit defeat and we call it a day?"

"Why not? It could save us a lot of time and effort." I grinned, enjoying the brief moment of
frivolity amid the tension. "But I get it. You probably think you're too good to admit I'm right
about anything."

"Admitting you're right would ruin my reputation," he replied, the teasing tone softening the
edges of his usual seriousness. "Okay, okay...On three?" I prompted again, my pulse
quickening remembering the situation at our hands here.

"Right. One... two..."

"Three!"
We moved in sequence, quickly bursting through the entrance, adrenaline surging as we
practically ran head-first into a flickering darkness. The warehouse was musty, a mouldy
smell enveloping our nostrils. Shadows loomed large, and every creak of the floorboards
beneath our feet made my skin crawl. But there was something exhilarating about this, a thrill
that cut through the unease. As we moved deeper into the warehouse, I couldn't help but steal
glances at him, noting the way his jaw tightened in concentration and how his brow furrowed
slightly, betraying a flicker of vulnerability. It was moments like this that reminded me how
layered he was, how easily he concealed emotions beneath his analytical exterior. "Clear,"
Reid called, glancing back at me.

I nodded, my pulse racing as I followed him further into the shadows. The air felt charged, as
we continued forward and just then, a low rustle echoed from the far corner of the warehouse,
freezing me in my tracks.

Reid's head snapped toward the sound, his eyes widening with realisation. "Mira, stay close!"

Before I could respond, the flickering overhead lights suddenly died, plunging us into almost
complete darkness, the only luminescence coming from our crappy torches. The adrenaline
surged as I reached out, instinctively grasping for Reid's arm, the warmth of his skin
grounding me.

My breath caught in my throat as I looked around, the weight of the moment pressing down
like a suffocating blanket ready to smother me. Then, a muffled cry pierced the stillness,
chilling me to the core. "Help!"
 Chapter 3: Silent Scars

TW: SA mention (past trauma), Cult involvement, Addiction, Drug use, Violence,
PTSD, Manipulation

Song for the chapter: Reflections - The Neighbourhood 🎵

'Maybe it's a blessing in disguise (I see myself in you),

I see my reflections in your eyes,' 📖

The sound of a woman's scream sliced through the oppressive silence, reverberating off the
warehouse walls and sending a jolt of adrenaline coursing through my veins.

Reid and I spun around, immediately alert. Reid's eyes narrowed, his mind rapidly processing
the situation and calculating the best course of action. He exchanged a silent look with me,
confirming that we both heard the scream and understood the gravity of the trouble.

"This way," he urged, his voice steady as he gestured toward a flickering light at the far end
of the room. The darkness seemed to stretch endlessly, but the sound of the woman's
exclamations propelled us forward. Reid led the way through the iron labyrinth, now and then
a woman's howls echoing through the vast space.

Each step felt heavy with the weight of uncertainty, the shadows shifting as if they were
alive, closing in on us. I caught a glimpse of Reid, his jaw set, eyes scanning our
surroundings as if calculating every potential risk. It infuriated me how composed he
appeared, and yet I admired his ability to compartmentalise.

"Reid," I whispered, feeling the tension coil in my stomach, "What if it's a trap?"

"It could be..." he replied, then taking a second to think. His voice was low but steady, "We
can't ignore it. If there's a chance someone's in—"

Before he could finish, another cry echoed through the dimly lit space, more frantic this time
and seemingly closer. The sound clawed at my insides, a sound that I had heard so many
times in my life, one that took me right back to when I was 16. I snapped out of my thoughts
speaking again, "Let's go."

I broke into a sprint towards the light, my heart pounding in sync with my feet.

As we reached the source, we found ourselves standing before a rusted door, the frame
splintered and worn.

The door groaned in protest as I pushed it open, revealing a small, dimly lit room. My heart
sank at the sight before me: the girl was bound to a chair, her wide eyes filled with terror.
Panic surged through me, but I forced myself to stay calm.
"Hey! You're going to be okay," I called out, rushing toward her. I could feel Reid frozen
behind me, staring at the scene.

The girl begged to be untied, her voice trembling as I urgently knelt down and quickly
assessed her bindings. "Just hold on," I encouraged as I fumbled with the rope, my fingers
working deftly— unsure of how much time we would have until someone else showed up.
The knots were tight, but I managed to loosen them, her wrists finally breaking free.

"Thank you—" She cried out, latching onto me, rubbing her sore fists as I helped her to her
feet.

I turned my head around quickly to see why Reid wasn't helping, and was met with him
standing there- his eyes focused on something on the floor.

My heart dropped as I followed his gaze, landing on a syringe glinting dully in the dim light.
The sight of it hit me like a punch to the gut. I could see the muscles in his jaw tighten, a
telltale sign of the inner turmoil brewing beneath his composed exterior, his eyes then making
their way to the small dots on the girl's arm. I knew that look all too well.

I saw my reflection in his eyes.

It was a moment that made everything stop, his mind racing back to something dark and
painful. I didn't know what he was recalling—the specifics of his past, but I recognised the
pain in his eyes. It was a ghost I had too, seen before, one that haunted him in ways I couldn't
begin to understand.

"Reid," I said softly, trying to pull him back to the present. "We need to—"

But he couldn't hear me, lost in a memory that seemed to consume him as tears pooled in his
eyes. I wanted to reach out, to reassure him, but something held me back. I mentally noted to
ask him later, to understand what he was grappling with, but for now, there were more
pressing matters at hand.

"Reid!" I called out again, slightly louder this time, urgency flooding my voice as I moved
closer. "We have to keep moving—"

His eyes flickered back to me, finally breaking through his haze. He drew in a sharp breath,
shaking his head slightly to clear the webs of memories that had him ensnared."Right. I'm
sorry...Let's go,"

With one last glance at the syringe, I led the way back toward the exit, the weight of his
unresolved trauma lingering in the air between us. But we couldn't think about that now—
not when there was a girl who needed to be saved and a danger still lurking.

As we moved back through the warehouse, the sounds of our footsteps echoed in the silence.
My pulse raced, the urgency of our position sinking in. I could sense Reid's tension, his focus
relentless as he scanned the darkness for any potential harm.
Once the night breeze hit us and we reached the car, I opened the door and motioned for her
to get in. "Get in! We'll call for backup."

The bloodied girl scrambled into the back of the car, and we quickly climbed in after her, out
of breath and tired.

Bringing my sleeve mic up to my mouth and speaking quickly, "Agent Andros 4219 Willow
Creek Road requesti—"

Before I could finish, the sound of tyres screeching filled the air. I looked up just in time to
see headlights cutting through the dusk, and a car speeding towards us. "Get down!" Reid
shouted, in a split second his protective instincts kicking in and throwing himself over me.

A barrage of gunfire erupted, several bullets flying into the armoured vehicle, shattering the
stillness of the night. I ducked instinctively, the familiar adrenaline flooding my veins once
again. The sound of bullets ricocheting off metal rang in my ears endlessly. It was inevitable
that someone would show up eventually— and I was prepared.

"Return fire!" Reid ordered, his voice slicing through the chaos. I fumbled for my weapon,
heart racing as I slammed open the car door, shielding behind it. I aimed for the approaching
car, squeezing the trigger and sending rounds back towards the assailants. Each shot was
precise and purposeful, cutting through the cacophony of battle.

Reid was beside me, covering me, movements fluid and precise. The world narrowed to the
sounds of gunfire and the shouts of our attackers. In the chaos, I glimpsed over to the other
car's passengers—a group of four teenagers not over the age of 16. Their faces twisted with
adrenaline and aggression sent a pang of nausea through my body, the rage taking over
completely.

"Why are they doing this!?" I shouted over the gunfire, not looking for an actual response.

"Doesn't matter!" Reid yelled back, "Get the girl to safety—I'll cover you!"

I nodded as the gunfight raged on, taking a few shots- leaving one of the suspects stumbling,
my final one taking him down. The remaining three began to scatter, taking cover behind the
car.

I glanced over to the girl quickly, her eyes wide with terror. "Stay low!" I urged, before
making a break for the rear of the car.

"Cover me!" I shouted to Reid as I ducked behind the vehicle. He nodded, firing off a few
more rounds.

The three suspects were desperate, their bullets flying wildly. I could see them huddled
together, clearly panicked but still ready to fight. My focus sharpened as I prepared to
engage.

"On my count!" I shouted to Reid, my heart pounding in sync with the chaos around us.
"One... two... three!"
We moved simultaneously, Reid's aim steady as he took out another one of the unsubs. The
remaining two turned their guns toward us, their fear morphing into reckless aggression.

"Get down!" I yelled, instinctively pressing myself against the ground as an excess amount of
gunshots sounded. I could hear it right above me, the world becoming a blur of sound and
movement for just a split second.

With a charged response that came out of nowhere, I rolled to the side, coming up with my
weapon aimed at the last two suspects. I squeezed the trigger, the bullets finding their mark.
One of them went down, but the last stood firm, panic etched all over his face.

"Don't shoot!" He shouted, his voice finally breaking a tremble. "We just wanted to be cool!"

I stood, rising from my knees, my eyebrows instantly knotting on my forehead. "Cool!?" I

spat, anger boiling over as I aimed at him, "You think that is cool?"

"W—wait, we didn't mean any of that! I swear!" he pleaded, dropping his gun and raising his
hands in surrender. "We- we just did it to be cool! There was a breach in the database— and
— and we wanted to prove that we could start our own cult!" His eyes now swelled with tears
as he looked at us.

Reid and I exchanged a glance, the absurdity of his confession cutting through the tension. I
took a deep breath, lowering my weapon slightly. "You think you can just do whatever you
want because you're kids? This isn't a game!"

I narrowed my eyes at him strongly, "Did you even know what you were injecting that poor
girl with!?" The kid's gaze darted between Reid and me, desperation carved in his face. "No!
We didn't— we thought it was just a scare tactic! We just wanted to get a few followers
online, not... not hurt anyone!"

I rolled my eyes before looking back over to Reid- that same sadness enveloping him again.
He stepped forward, "What you did could've killed that girl, and you're lucky it didn't." As he
expressed, I couldn't help but wonder what happened to him, his every word laced with
sadness.

As backup sirens blared in the distance, I couldn't shake the disbelief swirling in my mind.
We had been prepared for anything, but a group of misguided teenagers playing at cults? It
was beyond comprehension.

"Get them in cuffs," Reid said, his voice low and steady. "Let's get this over with."

"Andros, Reid, report in. What's your status?", the radio chattered.

Reid's eyes met mine, a silent agreement passing between us. "We've apprehended the
suspects," he replied, keeping his tone measured. "But they're not what we expected. They're
just kids playing at being villains."

"Copy that. Backup is on the way. Stay with them until we arrive."
I sighed walking over to the suspects, two out of three of the others having risen, shaking and
realising the fate that ensued them. My eyes met Reid's again as pushed I them against the
armoured SUV and handcuffed them—finally somewhat putting an end to this.

⏳
As Reid and I finally made our way back into the temporary headquarters— those sterile,
fluorescent-lit halls I didn't think I'd ever be so relieved to see— we were met with a round of
congratulatory smiles and nods. The air buzzed with the kind of energy that only comes after
a mission ends with most of the boxes checked. It felt strange, standing there amid all this
celebration when the weight of what had just gone down clung to me like a wet coat, making
me uncomfortable all over my body. The news had already spread that we'd apprehended the
suspects, and while the team exuded relief, the truth of the matter sat heavy in my chest.

Hotch was the first to approach us, his usual serious expression softening just that little bit.
"Good work, both of you. Taking down four suspects without any major casualties isn't an
easy feat. Especially considering the fact you had no visibility and you were protecting a
civilian."

I nodded, acknowledging the compliment, however still not being able to shake the feeling
that we shouldn't be celebrating such a tiny hurdle. After all, this copycat group is nothing to
do with the real cult— so we're not any closer to taking them down. The team might be
relieved, but the victory tasted hollow in my mouth. And...they were just kids. Messed up
kids, but still...children playing at something that they couldn't possibly even begin to
understand.

Morgan appeared next, clapping Reid on the back with that broad grin he always wore when
things went well. "Look at you two," he said, his tone lighthearted. "You're all over the news.
Looks like you're gonna be famous."

Reid smiled faintly but said nothing, his eyes already empty as he retreated into himself, his
mind a thousand miles away. I felt a twinge of frustration. He hadn't been the same since we
found that syringe and I was determined to figure out why.

The conference room was eerily still, a stark contrast to the bustling energy outside. The
sound of footsteps and muffled voices filtered in from the hallway, but here, the silence
pressed in on us, thick and heavy. I slung my bag over my shoulder, watching as Reid
meticulously gathered his papers. His movements were sharp and precise like every action
was carefully calculated. He wasn't just organizing his things—he was distancing himself.
Each motion was a small wall being built between us, and it was driving me mad.

I hesitated before speaking, my heart pounding practically outside of my chest, but the
silence between us was too heavy to ignore. "Hey, Reid?" My voice was softer than intended,
the words hanging loosely in the space between us.

He didn't look up. "What?"

I exhaled slowly, trying to gather my thoughts, my frustration creeping up again. "Back at the
warehouse," I started, my voice a little steadier now. "When you saw that syringe... You
froze. It wasn't nothing."

Reid paused for the briefest second, his hands stilling over the stack of papers. His shoulders
tensed, and I could see the mask of indifference slipping into place, shutting me out before I
could even get close.

I watched every single move. Every twitch, every nose scrunch and every eyebrow tic. I
wanted to help him— as much as I fucking despised him— he didn't deserve this.

"It was nothing," he muttered, his voice cool and detached— still not meeting my eyes. It was
a lie. We both knew it. His voice was flat, emotionless—like he was trying to convince
himself as much as me.

I wasn't buying it. I stepped closer, my heart pounding in my chest as I pushed forward, my
hand going to his arm. "It wasn't nothing, Reid. You can't just pretend like it didn't affect you.
You froze—"

He cut me off, his voice sharp and stinging— a clear attempt to lock me out once again. "I
told you. It's none of your concern."

I clenched my jaw, my patience running thin. "It is my concern if we're supposed to be

partners. Or have you forgotten? I can't have you shutting down like that in the field. What if
something had happened?"

He tried to shrug off my hand, his cold exterior shooting up like armour. "We're colleagues,"
he corrected. "Nothing more."

"Colleagues," I repeated, my voice quiet. "Is that how you see me?"

Reid finally looked up at me, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and something deeper,
something darker. His voice was low, almost a growl. "You don't get to dig into my past,
Mira. I don't need you psychoanalysing every single expression I make every time something
triggers a memory."

I flinched at the bitterness in his tone, "I'm not trying to psychoanalyse you, Reid. I'm trying
to understand. I want to help—"

He threw the file down onto the table, the sound harsh and biting.

Reid stepped forward, his voice rising as his frustration boiled over. "You want to
understand? Fine. I was kidnapped. I was drugged with Dilaudid. Tortured. I even died. I
spent months trying to claw my way back from that, and you think I want to relive it because
you noticed a damn syringe?"

My eyes prickled with tears at his admission, his words hitting me like a punch straight to the
gut. I stood there, like an idiot, speechless, the gravity of what he just revealed crashing down
on me. I had pushed too hard and crossed a line that I stupidly didn't realise was there until I
was too late.
I thought back to my previous comment about him being narrow-minded when it came to
personal experiences... I am such a fool. Who am I to be able to help him? He's perfectly
capable of himself—hell, he's more strong than I am.

"Reid..." I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper, but I didn't know what to say. I wasn't
expecting this admission, wasn't ready to face the depth of his suffering.

I reached out, a futile gesture, unsure of what else to do.

He shook his head, stepping back as if to put more distance between us. "You don't get to fix
me, Mira. You don't get to ask these questions and expect me to just hand over every scar I
have."

His words pricked, but they were true. I'd overstepped, and now the already fragile balance
between us had split completely.

"I wasn't trying to fix you," I said softly, my chest tight. "I just didn't want you to get hurt. I
didn't want to lose you out there because of something you're not telling me."

Reid looked at me for a long moment, his eyes filled with an emotion I couldn't quite place.
But then, just as quickly, the mask fell back into place, and he turned away. "I don't need your
concern," he said quietly. "I just need you to do your job."

Before I could say anything else, I heard a sniffle as he grabbed his bag and walked out of the
room, leaving me standing alone in the silence, my heart still racing. The distance between us
felt impossible now like I'd crossed a line I could never uncross. And I wasn't sure if things
between us would ever be the same.

⌛️
As we settled into the jet for the flight back to Virginia, I took my usual spot by the window.
The soft hum of the engine buzzed in the background, but I drowned it out with my
headphones, letting the melody of "Iris" by The Goo Goo Dolls fill my ears. The rain outside
blurred the view, streaking down the window in small rivers. It felt fitting— the way the
weather mirrored the heaviness in my chest, the weight of memories I rarely allowed myself
to visit.

I closed my eyes, wrapping myself up in a fluffy blanket, letting the music guide me back to
the night that had shattered everything— when I was sixteen, too young to know how dark
the world could get. His hands, the ones that had no right to touch me, still haunted me every
night. The fear— the helplessness, no one was there to save me. My parents were too
wrapped up in their twisted beliefs to bat an eye, too blind to see me falling apart in front of
them. I was just another useless sacrifice for their cause.

An invisible weight pulsed with every heartbeat, a reminder that my trauma was not just a
memory; it was a part of me— under my skin.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to fight off the tears that had begun to slip down my cheeks
accidentally. The memories, the pain—they were always there, but right now they were too
close. I wasn't supposed to feel this way anymore, wasn't supposed to let it control me. But
no matter how far I ran, it always caught up.

I wiped at my face hastily, hoping no one had noticed, and opened my eyes to stare back out
at the rain. But instead, I saw him.

Reid was staring at me. His gaze was intense, not in a judgemental way but with a quiet
understanding that sent a tremble down my spine. He didn't look away this time, like the
several other times we had made eye contact. His eyes were filled with something deep,
something raw that I couldn't place. Maybe he saw through the walls I'd put up, or maybe he
knew what it was like to drown in memories that refused to let go.

I quickly averted my gaze, my breath catching in my throat, as if he had seen too much. But I
could still feel his eyes on me, watching, as if he understood something I hadn't even told
him.
 Chapter 4: Pulled Too Tight

Song for the chapter: The Less I Know The Better — Tame Impala 🎵
"I was doing fine without ya'

Till I saw your face, now I can't erase''

📖
5:13 pm Saturday FBI Team Group Chat

Hotch: Evening, team. Mandatory team-building event tonight. 7 PM sharp.

Morgan: Wait, mandatory? On a Saturday? Hotch?

Garcia: Hotch you destroy all things perfect! I had plans with RuPaul's and takeout...

JJ: ??? What exactly are we doing? Paintball? Laser tag? Please not escape rooms again... 😖
Emily: If Hotch is planning this, it's probably gonna be something intense like trust falls. 😉

Garcia: If there's physical exertion involved, I'm rebelling in the name of fabulousness. I'm
the tech analyst who's supposed to sit pretty and perfect in my cave of computer things!! Why
do I have to take part...

Hotch: You'll find out, please just be there.

Reid: Statistically, studies show that group bonding activities improve team productivity by
25%, and teams with high levels of cohesion have a 35% higher success rate in problem-
solving tasks.

Morgan: Pretty boy, come on. We're not in class.

JJ: It can't be that bad.

Mira: I don't know, JJ. With Hotch, it's always a 50/50 shot.

Hotch: Everyone needs to attend. 7 PM. Don't be late.

Morgan: 😑 Guess I'll cancel my plans.

Garcia: That makes two of us, sugar.

Mira: Hotch, I'm assuming there are consequences for being late?

Hotch: Yes, Mira. You'd be correct.

I stared at the illuminated screen of my phone, the glare casting harsh shadows on the ceiling
above me. Hotch's final message sat at the bottom of the group chat, a neat reminder that my
Saturday evening was officially cancelled. I had mentally prepared for nothing more
strenuous than a glass of wine and reruns of Forensic Files, but apparently Hotch had other
plans...

I groaned, flopping back onto the couch head first. A team-building event? On a Saturday?
Mandatory? Oh, this better be good.

It was a special kind of torture only Hotch could conjure— I was sure he was a sadist of his
own!!

The group chat, predictably, had devolved into a whole blend of complaints, with Morgan
and Garcia leading the rebellion, as per usual. I scrolled up, rereading Reid's contribution to
the chaos: Statistically, studies show that group bonding activities improve team productivity
by 25%... Of course, he had facts for this. He always had facts.

I rolled my eyes, feeling the familiar burn of irritation gnaw at the edges of my thoughts.
Spencer Reid and his facts. His incessant need to insert logic into everything, no matter how
much it grated on me and everyone else. Lately, it has been impossible to separate the
analytical machine from the man—not that I wanted to anyway after our exchange at the
begining of last week. I wasn't sure if I could get through the night without biting his head
off...

"7 PM..." I huffed to myself, tossing the phone onto the cushion beside me. Hotch was
nothing if not a sucker for punctuality— meaning I couldn't even turn up like 30 minutes late.
Even better, that gave me about 2 hours to make myself look...somewhat presentable and as if
I wasn't prepared to bed rot for the whole weekend.

I sighed again and forced myself up with one swift motion—forcing myself was the only way
it was going to happen. As I walked back to my bedroom, my mind wandered back to the last
case. To him.

Reid's voice still echoed in my head from our argument and the look he gave me on the plane
on the way back. We hadn't spoken much at all since then. Every interaction now felt like
walking on glass, sharp and fragile, the weight of unspoken words hanging in the air between
us. It wasn't just about the case anymore; it was personal, buried beneath layers of frustration,
misunderstanding, and—if I was honest with myself—a bitterness I couldn't shake.

I pulled on a black long-sleeve shirt and low-cut jeans, my movements sharper than
necessary as I wrestled with my brewing frustration. Team building... Ugh. Trust falls and
icebreakers won't fix whatever this was between Reid and me. It ran deeper than that.

Still, I'd show up because I didn't have a choice.

⏳
The laser tag arena was dimly lit, the air thick with excitement and the faint sound of
electronic beeps echoing off the walls every so often. Neon lights flashed, casting vibrant
colours across the walls, creating a heavy atmosphere that felt exhilarating and surreal.

Hotch stood at the front of the group, like a teacher leading a school trip— arms crossed and
looking every bit the serious leader as he addressed us. "Alright, everyone, listen up!" His
voice boomed over the noise, drawing our attention. "Tonight's exercise is all about
teamwork, strategy and—" he paused dramatically, glancing at the colourful laser guns, "not
getting caught with your guard down."

A smirk danced across my lips as I took in the information— feeling Reid's gaze on me,
already knowing his eyes were sparkling with mischief. Hotch continued, oblivious to the
double meanings threading through some of his words. "You'll be divided into teams, and
remember, it's not about how fast you can shoot; it's about positioning and finding the right
moment to strike."

"Sounds like a lot of thrusting and dodging," Morgan quipped, earning a chorus of chuckles
from the group and a response from a particular member— "We're used to that aren't we
chocolate thunder?"

Morgan shot a playful glare at the blonde, his lips curling into a grin, "You know it, baby girl,
just don't get too close or you might get burned."

Hotch's brows knitted together, clearly struggling to maintain his composure amidst the
jokes. "Focus, people! This isn't just about shooting your laser guns around aimlessly," he
said, trying to sound serious but failing to suppress a slight chuckle. "You'll need to
communicate effectively with your partner. If you can't rely on each other, you'll end up...
exposed and vulnerable."

He continued, "Alright, let's get to the partners. It's crucial that you trust your teammate. If
not, you could find yourselves in a—" he hesitated again, glancing down at his list, "—well,
let's just say, a tough position."

A wave of laughter rippled through the group, and I caught Reid's eye again before he looked
away.

"First up: Morgan and Garcia," Hotch announced, and their cheers mingled with playful
banter. "Next, Emily and JJ. And for the grand finale..." He looked at me, the anticipation
hanging in the air, "Mira, you're paired with Reid."

Greaaaat. Hotch making my life worse. It's as if he knew about our argument...

Reid? Out of all people? Come on give me a break and stop pairing me with him! I tried to
hide the surprise on my face as Hotch finished assigning pairs. I bit my tongue, desperately
fighting the urge to start an explosive riot in protest. The recent argument still stung, the
memory of it making my jaw clench involuntarily. I glanced over to the tall brunette, trying
to gauge his reaction— and he just looked as unhappy about this arrangement as I was.

Reid crossed his arms, his brows furrowing slightly, visibly displeased. "This is just
wonderful—just so you know, studies show that unproductive pairings lead to a 47% increase
in team failure rates. So, congratulations, we're practically fucked."
I couldn't help but chuckle, "47%? Where are you pulling that number from, Dr. Reid? Your
ass?"

"Sounds like you just made that up," Morgan chimed in, shaking his head as he readied his
laser gun. "You can't just throw out numbers like that, pretty boy. Where's your proof?"

Reid turned to Morgan, his gaze unwavering. "Well, you see, Morgan, it's all about creating a
sense of urgency. If I throw out a dramatic statistic, it'll keep our spirits high—even if it's not
technically accurate," He admitted.

He rolled his eyes dramatically, and I couldn't help but smile despite myself. "I'm still trying
to figure out how he managed to pair us together. It's like he wants us to implode."

"Or explode," I replied, the banter coming more easily than I expected. "We could end up
taking each other out before anyone else even gets a shot in."

Reid shot me a sarcastic look, seemingly enjoying the dark humour of our unfortunate
situation. "Don't give me ideas."

Meanwhile, the rest of the team was gearing up and preparing for the match. Morgan and
Garcia were huddled together, whispering and plotting like a pair of giggling teenagers. JJ
and Emily were discussing strategic positions, their serious expressions adding a layer of
contrast to the carefree attitudes surrounding them.

Watching them all, I was reminded of just how out of place I felt with them - a group of
extroverted adrenaline seekers and social butterflies.

***

As the last of the team donned their laser tag gear, Hotch clapped his hands to get our
attention— then ushering us through the entrance.

We were immediately hit with a wave of neon lights, and the thumping pulse of the electro
music that thrummed through the arena. It was a maze of obstacles— barrels, walls, and
plenty of hiding spots that would either serve us as an excellent cover or trap us in vulnerable
positions.

As Hotch led us inside, a countdown began, the numbers flashing ominously across the neon
screens. "Five... Four... Three..." The energy in the room shifted, excitement bubbling as
everyone prepared for action.

"Two... One!" The buzzer sounded, and we were released headfirst into the chaos of the
arena.

"Stick close," Reid instructed, his voice steady - trying to navigate the best way to use our 2-
minute grace period. He was already scanning the area for potential threats.

"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, trying to mask my nervous energy with a layer of sarcasm. "Just try
not to trip over your own feet."
Reid rolled his eyes, clearly used to my attitude by now. "Don't you think this would go
smoother if we at least tried to cooperate?"

We crept through the arena, weaving our way carefully through the obstacles. The neon lights
cast an unnatural glow on Reid's face, highlighting the sharp angles of his profile. He looked
strangely handsome in the artificial light, his mop-like long hair tousled and his shirt slightly
wrinkled.

I shook my head mentally, pushing the unexpected thought aside. I needed to stay focused
and focused only. This wasn't about admiring his annoying face.

Suddenly, a burst of bright laser shots illuminated the corridor around us, echoing the sounds
of laughter and shouts from our teammates. For some reason, I had completely forgotten that
the game was in full swing, and the adrenaline surged through my veins.

"Get down!" Reid hissed, pulling me roughly against the wall. His body pressed close to
mine, and I could feel his breath against my ear as he covered my mouth with one hand.

His touch sent an involuntary shiver down my spine. The sudden contact was jarring, his lean
form pressed fully up against mine. I could feel the heat radiating off him, and smell the
subtle musk of his cologne. He'd always worn an understated scent, something earthy, and
faintly spicy.

He brought his other hand up to his mouth, covering it in a 'shhh' pose. His breath felt hot
against my skin, his hand still covering my mouth from any sounds that might escape. I could
feel his heart slamming against his chest, the steady thump matching my own.

My eyebrows furrowed upwards as I looked at him, my eyes searching his. And in that
moment, the chaos of the laser tag arena faded away for just a moment. The intensity of his
stare upon my skin was electric, and I could see a flicker of something in his deep brown
eyes, a mixture of surprise and an awareness that sent a jolt through the air between us.

Reid's grip on my mouth faltered for a second as he seemed momentarily lost in thought, his
breath catching slightly. I watched as the muscles in his jaw tightened, his brows knitting
together in concentration. The tension in the air shifted, thickening with an unfamiliar
feeling.

I felt my pulse quicken and a growing heat between my legs. It was confusing, exhilarating,
and incredibly frustrating all at once.

Reid's eyes flicked down from mine, his gaze drifting lower for a beat. It was just a
momentary flash, but it was just enough to erupt goosebumps all over my body and let out a
soft gasp. And yet as the threat passed, just as quickly as it happened, he composed himself,
his expression shifting back to his usual cool detachment. He cleared his throat awkwardly,
stepping back, his hand dropping away from my mouth

"Uh, sorry," he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck in an almost boyish manner. "I just...
didn't want you to make a sound..."
I shot him a teasing smile, trying to mask the flutter in my chest. "Right. Because Derek was
going to let us go unnoticed if you didn't cover my mouth like I was about to scream."

Reid cleared his throat once again, looking down to the floor as his cheeks tinged with a hint
of pink— even noticeable with the strobe lights going crazy. I realised that he must've felt the
moment too. "Well, you know, it's all about strategy—"

"In fact, uh, studies have shown that 72% of surprise encounters in laser tag lead to, um, a
decrease in overall effectiveness if you're not careful about your—" He faltered, realising the
silence from me and glancing back up, the awkwardness hanging in the air like neon lights
the surrounding us.

"Your what, Reid? Your 'tactical approach' to teamwork?" I interjected, unable to help the
teasing lilt in my voice. "What's next? You're going to tell me that not covering my mouth
could cause a 50% increase in our likelihood of failure?"

His brow furrowed, clearly flustered by my banter. "Well, it's not exactly a scientific
conclusion, but—"

I spoke again interrupting him, realising the situation that was at hand and the fact that we
were pretty much sat here playing goose. "Let's just hope your 'conclusion' doesn't involve
any more hand-holding," I teased enjoying the new dynamic.

Before he could speak again, I unholstered my laser gun making my way to leave, "Let's go.
Stay low."

We moved cautiously down the dim corridor, the weight of our shared moment still lingering
in the air. The sounds of the arena faded into the background as we focused on navigating the
maze of obstacles. The pulse of adrenaline quickened our steps, and for a fleeting moment,
the playful banter felt like armour against the upcoming chaos.

Reid followed me in somewhat of an awkward silence, his shoulders tense. As we steered the
maze of the laser tag arena, I found myself sneaking glances back at him. He was always so
collected but was clearly struggling to maintain his cool, especially after what had just
happened. His grip on his laser gun was tight, knuckles turning white.

"Gotcha!" I exclaimed as I hit both Derek and Penelope in quick succession. They both
immediately froze, their hands raising up in the air in a gesture of surrender. Groans and
mutters escaped their mouths as I made my way towards them, a smug grin on my face.
"Looks like I win, hot stuff."

"Damn it," Derek muttered, his eyes narrowing in mock frustration. "You got us both, huh?
Can't say I didn't expect that."

I couldn't help but let out a chuckle in response, shrugging and savouring my small victory.
"You should have known better than to underestimate me."

"Oh, we didn't underestimate you, sugar," Penelope chimed in. "We were just too busy
getting distracted by each other's good looks."
She gave Derek a sideways look, batting her eyelashes dramatically. Derek rolled his eyes,
but there was a hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

"Alright, alright," he said. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. We just need to adjust our
strategy for the next game."

After an intense round filled with dodging, shooting, and a few surprises, Reid and I managed
to eliminate everyone else in the arena. It was just the two of us left, and the dimly lit
labyrinth around us was thick with tension.

"Where are youuuu, Reid?" I called out, my voice dragging out and echoing slightly in the
enclosed space. "You hiding behind a barrel or something?"

Reid's low chuckle floated through the maze in response, sending a slight shiver down my
spine. "Not quite."

His voice was close, but the vague lights made it impossible to see where he was. I cursed
inwardly, frustration seeping through my veins. "Show yourself, Doctor Genius," I called out
once more, my finger itching on the trigger.

The silence that answered me was almost deafening. I strained my ears, trying to detect any
sound that could give away his position— a rustle, a whisper of movement, anything. But
alas, nothing. I cursed again, my eyes darting around what I could see of the maze. He was
good. Too good.

I slowly began to move forward, my feet silently treading on the rubbery floor. I kept my
gaze peeled, searching for any movement or hint of Reid's presence. But the arena seemed
eerily still as if it was holding its breath in anticipation.

The tension was tangible, crackling in the air. I knew he was near, I could feel it. But where?

I was about to call out again when something caught my ear — a soft, almost imperceptible
sound that I knew all too well. My heart leapt in my chest, adrenaline kicking in. I spun
around, my laser gun aimed and ready.

And that's when I saw him. His tall profile was just visible through the maze of obstacles, his
eyes locked onto mine. The sight of him, so close and yet so unreadable, made my stomach
flip.

But neither of us pulled the trigger.

We stood there, locked in a tense standoff, each of us gauging the other. His laser gun was
trained on me, and I could see the concentration etched on his face, the way his brow
furrowed slightly. There was something electric in the air, a pulse of unspoken words and
unacknowledged tension that kept us both frozen in place.

I felt the weight of the moment pressing down on us, thickening the air until it was almost
suffocating. And then, without a word, Reid took a cautious step forward. My heart raced as I
watched him move closer, a mix of confusion and intrigue swirling inside me.
He stopped just a few feet away, his gaze unwavering, the dim lights casting sharp shadows
across his features. And then, with a deliberate slowness, he dropped his laser gun to the
ground with a soft thud. The sound echoed in the stillness between us, amplifying the weight
of the moment.

A mix of confusion and intrigue panged within me as I breathed out, "What are you doing?"
my grip on the gun tightened instinctively.

He didn't answer my question, instead taking another step closer, closing the distance
between us.

Reid continued to advance, each step measured and deliberate; slow on purpose. My breath
hitched in my throat as I held my ground, confusion mingling with anticipation as I tried to
decipher his motives.

As Reid stepped even closer, I found myself backed up against the cold, hard wall. He was
towering over me now, his body a mere whisper away from mine. I closed my eyes for a brief
second, inhaling deeply and recalling the moment we had shared, just like this one only 20
minutes ago. We had never been this close, and we had never been this intimate.

Then, in a surprising move, he leaned in slightly, and my breath caught in my throat once
again. I couldn't tell if he was about to make a bold play or if he was about to back down. The
uncertainty was intoxicating, holding me captive in that moment leading me to— in one swift
movement take control of the situation. I stepped forward, pressing my laser gun against his
stomach, feeling the warmth of him through the fabric of his shirt. I tilted my head, looking
straight into his eyes, the playful smirk returning to my lips. "You've put yourself in quite a
predicament, haven't you, Doctor Genius?"

I raised an eyebrow, my body pressed against him, the laser gun still aimed at his stomach. I
felt the heat of him through his shirt, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he breathed.

"You could say that," he murmured, his eyes flickering from my laser gun to my face. There
was a hint of challenge in his expression as if he was daring me to continue. I couldn't help
but relish the power I had over him in that moment the way he turned submissive... if that
was even appropriate to say about my work rival.

"Mmm," I said, tilting my head slightly to look straight into his eyes. "Seems like someone's
all tongue-tied. That's not like you, Doctor Brains. You're always begging to speak."

A flicker of irritation crossed his features, the challenge in his eyes more apparent now.

"I don't beg," he retorted louder, the words sharp. But his voice had a hint of huskiness that
made my stomach flutter.

"Oh really?" I drawled, a sultry edge to my voice. I pressed the laser gun a little harder
against his stomach, feeling the firmness underneath my touch. "Are you sure about that,
Doctor Reid?"
I leaned in closer, my lips dangerously close to his ear. "You're a lot less cocky now, aren't
you?" I murmured, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of my mouth. He let out a frustrated
huff but didn't respond. He seemed reluctant to give me the satisfaction of a reaction, but I
could see the struggle behind his eyes.

For a second, I let the silence hang between us, the anticipation almost suffocating. I could
feel the pulse of adrenaline in the air, both of us waiting to see who would break first. Then,
with a soft chuckle, I pressed my body against his just a little more, my lips brushing the shell
of his ear.

"Oops," I whispered, and before he could react, I pulled the trigger.

The laser gun buzzed as it registered the hit, the red light on his chest blinking in defeat. I
pulled back, a satisfied smirk spreading across my face as I watched the realization settle in.

The sight of him standing there, his chest rising and falling, caught somewhere between
frustration and something of a much darker feeling, sent a rush of heat through me as if my
body wasn't feeling heavy enough. There was just that flicker in his eyes... arousal?

I could feel the punch between us, as I'm sure he could also feel— like a wire pulled too tight
— ready to snap. It wasn't just the thrill of the game... the competition and the slight digs...
No, it was something else. The way he looked at me, stunned, and vulnerable. That quiet
intensity of his that was usually hidden behind layers of intellect and restraint was laid bare
now, raw and exposed.

I could still feel the warmth of his body from when I'd pressed the gun into his stomach, the
memory of it lingering on my skin. Was I just caught up in the moment, my adrenaline
fueling this stupid 'connection'? Either way, I wasn't backing down now. Not with him
looking at me like that.

Reid's chest heaved, and I could see the moment he regained his composure, his eyes
narrowing slightly, that calculated sharpness returning. He took a slow step forward, closing
the distance I'd just put between us, and for a second, I thought he might walk away. But
instead, his lips curved into a small, knowing smile—one that sent a shiver down my spine.

"That's how you want to play, huh?" His voice was low, almost a growl, the usual softness
giving way to something far more dangerous. "You think a little stunt like that is going to
rattle me?"

He leaned in, his breath hot against my cheek, and I felt a thrill run through me. "You
might've won the round," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "but don't think for
a second you've won the game."
 Chapter 5: Nightmares

TW: Nightmares, Brief mention of past addiction, Brief mention of cults

Song for the chapter: forwards beckon rebound - Adrianne Lenker 🎵

"Villain and violent, infant and innocent,

Baby both arms cradle you now, both arms cradle you now."

📖
The hotel's entrance loomed ahead, a quiet haven before the storm we were set to face in the
morning. Hotch's voice still echoed in my mind— telling us about the newly discovered
disappearances. The team was tense, but no one said much— we were all hoping for a
breakthrough after weeks of restless work with no outcome. We checked in, grabbing key
cards and exchanging weary glances.

"Tomorrow's going to be another long day," Rossi muttered, falling into step beside me as we
made our way down the hall. "But tonight, we could use a break."

I stifled a yawn, feeling the weight of exhaustion setting on my shoulders. "Yeah, no

kidding," I replied, running a hand through my hair. "I don't know about you guys, but I
could use a drink."

It wasn't long before the team found themselves in the hotel lounge, drinks in hand, and a sort
of casual, comforting energy settling over us. Garcia, always one for team bonding, insisted
on some light-hearted trivia to break the tension.

"Alright, my crime-fighting warriors," Garcia announced, her smile infectious as she waved a
hand in the air. "Who's ready for some hotel trivia?"

Hotch groaned his expression deadpan, as usual. "You've got to be kidding me." J.J.
chuckled, raising her glass slightly. "Come on, Hotch. Lighten up a bit."

Morgan groaned but smiled. "Do we really want to get into this with Reid? The man's
practically a human encyclopedia."

Reid, sitting across from me, adjusted his glasses and gave Morgan a smirk. "I'll try not to be
too competitive."

Garcia let out a heavily exaggerated gasp, feigning surprise. "Reid being competitive?
Never!" The group laughed, the atmosphere lightening a little— which was very much
needed.

The game unfolded in a mixture of groans and laughter, with Reid predictably dominating the
trivia rounds. I couldn't resist throwing in a few teasing remarks whenever he rattled off some
obscure fact, his expression a mixture of pride and irritation. It was nice, the lightness of it
all. For a moment, we weren't BAU agents on the hunt for a killer. We were just people trying
to distract ourselves from the inevitable. The death and sadness that we were bound to see
tomorrow. Even Garcia wasn't safe behind her screens.

The game wound down, everyone retreating to their rooms one by one. I headed to mine, but
the second I was alone, the weight of everything came crashing back down.

I closed the door behind me, the buzz of friendly banter quickly quieting as I was alone for
the first time since we arrived. The silence was almost jarring, an uncomfortable reminder of
the tension I'd been trying so hard to ignore.

⌛️
I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling of the dim hotel room, the memories creeping in like
they always did when the world around me got too quiet. The nightmares. The twisted faces
of people I once trusted, the echoing chants, the feeling of being trapped. My heart pounded
in my chest, the retentions of the cult flooding back, vivid and suffocating.

All I could see was the taunting ghosts of my past— unable to just let me rest— even for one
night.

Sleep was impossible. I tossed and turned for what felt like hours before finally giving up. A
cold sweat covered my body, clinging every inch as I slipped out of bed and made my way to
the motel's outdoor communal balcony.'

As I slid open the glass door, the quiet sounds of the city hit me first— the most comforting
sound. It reminded me of the night I got the message from Hotch asking me to rethink my
decision on this case... The worry of uncovering that past trauma all over again wouldn't
leave my mind. Even as I looked out of my apartment window— listening to the distant hum
of traffic and the soft rustle of leaves in the wind.

Now, standing on the balcony, the same unease settled over me. The prickly chill in the air
seeped into my skin, but I welcomed it. Anything to distract me from the chaos fermenting in
my mind.

I closed my eyes as I leaned against the railing, trying to focus on the cool breeze brushing
against my face, hoping it washed away those foul thoughts, hoping it could finally cleanse
me. It had been like this for every night of my life ever since— the most normal nighttime
routine now meant I only ever got a few hours of sleep.

A soft sound broke through the haze of my thoughts— footsteps interrupting my sublime,
although quiet and deliberate. I tensed instinctively, a common reflex my body just learned to
adapt. But then, I heard his voice, low and hesitant to speak.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

I didn't need to turn around to know it was Reid. The fact that his voice and my nightmares
had been the only thing constantly on my mind for the last twenty-four hours, I knew it was
him instantly. His presence was somehow familiar, even in the suffocatingly quiet part of the
night.

I let out a slow breath, forcing myself to relax. "No," I replied, my voice barely above a
whisper. "Nightmares."

There was a pause. A stillness in the night. And then I heard him step closer. He didn't press
for more details, didn't pry into the past I never spoke about— unlike the time I had stupidly
crossed the line in our temporary headquarters. Instead, he simply stood there leaning on the
railing beside me, his gaze fixed on the same distant view.

"Hotel trivia wasn't tiring enough for you?" I teased softly, trying to lighten the weight
between us.

Reid huffed a laugh, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips appreciating my attempts at
comforting him. "I could recite every capital city in the world after that game and it still
wouldn't be enough to tire me out," he replied, his tone soft but playful.

He shifted his weight on the railing, his gaze fixated on the city glow below us. "I was just
about to say the same about you if I'm honest."

He looked over at me, his stare serious but somehow still gentle. "Nightmares?"

I felt a knot tighten in my chest, the memories of the past clawing their way to the surface. I
could still remember the hatred that had simmered between us just days before. The sharp
words we'd exchanged, the way we had both let our frustrations bubble over during our tense
moments in the field. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet the scars of our arguments were fresh in
my mind.

"Yeah," I said, forcing a laugh that didn't quite reach my eyes. "You know, the usual.
Shadows of my past, cult chants, and a few old faces that I'd rather forget."

He shifted slightly, his gaze still unwavering. "Those experiences can be hard to shake off. I
get it. Believe me."

I turned to face him, letting the weight of my words hang between us. "And you? What keeps
you up at night, Reid?"

Reid's gaze flickered, just for a fraction of a second. His past was often a sensitive subject,
and he wasn't one to open up easily— even to friends. He sighed, running a hand through his
messy hair. "It varies," he said quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of wry humour.
"Sometimes it's the latest serial killer case, other times it's the countless hours of physics
equations I've got rolling around in my head. Tonight..."

He paused, staring out into the city once again, his gaze growing distant. "Tonight it's...
something else."

The weight of his words lingered in the cool night air, thick with anticipation. His gaze, once
distant, flicked toward me, holding mine for just a moment longer than usual—like he wasn't
saying something he didn't dare to put into words.

With a sigh finally breaking the silence between us, I leaned against the railing, turning fully
towards him. "You know you can tell me anything, Reid," I said quietly, my voice barely
above a whisper. "I'm here to listen."

Reid's shoulders visibly tensed at my words— instantly putting up a million invisible barriers
between us like it was nothing. His jaw clenched as he tore his gaze away from me— as hard
as it seemed. A flicker of vulnerability flashes across his features before disappearing behind
that familiar, guarded expression that I was so used to seeing.
"I'm fine," he replied, his voice switching effortlessly to flat and monotone. "Don't worry
about me."

I could feel the distance he was trying to put between us, and despite the strain that we were
constantly battling— my heart ached for him. Even though he agitated me to the next level, it
still wasn't fair for someone so intelligent to go through something so dark. I knew he was
struggling, something he refused to share.

Reid went silent for a moment, taking a deep breath like he was contemplating continuing his
words. He stared off into the distance, the city lights reflecting in his dark brown eyes. Then,
almost too quiet to hear, he spoke, "It's always the same," his voice was low and gravelly as if
the memories were choking him silently, "The warehouse, Tobias, the drugs. All of it."

As I watched Spencer's face in the dim light, a thought gnawed at me—how much had he
changed because of everything he'd been through? I didn't know him before all the trauma,
but the man standing in front of me felt like someone who had been broken down and rebuilt,
carrying the weight of what he'd seen. Infant and innocent, I thought, remembering the
person he might have been before all this—someone who probably never imagined he'd
become so guarded, so wary.

Without thinking, I reached out, both arms instinctively moving to cradle him, offering the
comfort I knew he'd never ask for. My fingers barely grazed the back of his neck when he
flinched, recoiling from my touch as if I'd seared his skin.

"I said I'm fine," He repeated, slightly louder and clearer this time as if I didn't hear him the
first. His voice was colder, an edge now creeping into his tone that made it clear I'd hit a
nerve. And so quickly again I remembered the bitter animosity that still lingered despite the
fleeting moments of understanding.

Of-course. How stupid could I be? We will always loathe each other that will never change. I
withdrew my hand, letting it fall quickly to my side, the unspoken rejection stinging more
than I wanted to care to admit.

"Right," I muttered, biting back the urge to press further like I once had before. "Of course,
forget I said anything."

The chill in the air between us wasn't just from the night anymore. A frigid, unspoken ridge
between us hung. I turned away, ready to retreat back inside— ready to go back to my
lonesome thoughts and put space between us again. But before I could move, I heard his
voice— soft this time, quieter than before.

"Mira..." Reid's voice was low, almost hesitant and when I looked back, I saw something
different in his eyes. A glint of apology... barely there but just enough to make me pause.

I didn't say anything, just stood there, waiting. His gaze dropped to the ground again, unable
to look me in the eyes, his hands flexing restlessly on the railing as if he didn't know what to
do with them.

When I got the confirmation that he wasn't going to speak again, I let out a slow breath, a soft
smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite everything.

Without another word, I turned away—facing the door and exiting, leaving him standing
alone on the balcony. Whatever this was, it wasn't the time to force it. Not tonight.

As I slipped back inside, the warmth of the room felt oddly cold in comparison to the
unspoken understanding we'd shared, however brief.

⏳
The sun was just beginning to rise when I finally gave up on the idea of sleep entirely. The
restless night had left me with a hollow feeling, my mind circling back to the balcony, back to
Reid and the cold way he pulled away. I didn't know why it bothered me as much as it did,
but it gnawed at me and all the remaining energy I had.

By the time I had showered and dressed, the rest of the team was already gathering for
breakfast in the hotel's small dining area to discuss the developments in the case. The
clinking of the plates and the low hum of voices filled the room, a far cry from the
suffocating silence of the night. I grabbed a cup of coffee, the bitter taste barely registering as
I approached the table where everyone sat, their attention focused on Hotch, who was
briefing us on the latest developments.

Reid sat next to Hotch and my eyes instantly flicked to him like a gravitational pull. His own
were a bit red and puffy, and his usually combed hair was ruffled. It was obvious that he
hadn't gotten much sleep either. Despite this, he was listening intensely to Hotch— his brain
firing off in multiple different directions, strategising quickly. I could sense the stress
radiating off him, the stress that I could relate to.

I knew that his mind was elsewhere, still spinning from our conversation the night before.

As much as I wanted to focus on the case, to bury myself in work and let the rest fall away– I
couldn't.
 Chapter 6: Spencer
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Song for this chapter: Nervous - The Neighbourhood 🎵

"You got me nervous to speak,

So, I just won't say anything at all,

I've got an urge to release,

And you keep tellin' me to hold on."

📖
The air in the BAU bullpen was laced with the aftermath of our latest case— one that was
straining the minds of every single member. I stood at the whiteboard, markers in hand and
my mind firing off into all different directions— aching to connect the dots between the
current suspects. We had been going at it for almost 2 weeks now, with still no concrete
evidence.

Although days had passed, my mind was still in tangles with the words said at my
confrontation with Reid- the feeling of dread after uncovering such a delicate time of his life
still clawing at me no matter how hard I tried to suppress them. Every time our eyes met, it
felt like a tidal wave of emotions, threatening to spill— anger, irritation, confusion— and I
couldn't sort through any of it.

I leaned in closer to the whiteboard, my pen scratching against the surface as I joined another
location on the map, trying to make sense of the very complicated geographical profile.

These guys had 'known ' locations pretty much up and down the whole country.

But my concentration shattered as I caught a glimpse of Morgan across the room, his laughter
ringing out like a siren. Owch— loud, very loud... He was teasing JJ, but it was Reid standing
just out of reach who pulled my attention. The light in his eyes flickered as he laughed, and
my heart twisted in my chest.

The moment was interrupted by a new member of the team, a new analyst named Hannah,
who runs paperwork for us, her playful and flirtatious demeanour becoming apparent as soon
as she met Reid's side. "Hey, pretty boy," She smirked— mocking the pet name almost
everyone called him. I felt a familiar heat rise in my cheeks, a mixture of annoyance at the
fact she joined practically yesterday and she was already trying to marry half of the men here
now to mention the fact that Spencer was allowing it— maybe even enabling it— whilst he
was supposed to be helping me over here.
"I need your genius for a moment," Hannah began again. "Can you help me figure out this
printer? It has a mind of its own." She said this with the fattest grin on her face, twirling her
blonde-streaked hair between her fingers.

I stared across the room, my eyes squinting and brows furrowing at her words visibly.

How could someone be that clueless?

It's a printer woman, not a rocket? Okay, maybe a little harsh— but seriously it's not that
difficult. You're hired for your 'amazing' paperwork expertise yet you can't click a few
buttons? I rolled my eyes, my stomach twisting with vexation.

"Yeah, I can take a look at it," he said, his words polite but lacking the usual enthusiasm.

Reid, however, looked at her with a half-smile, the one who told me he was more amused
than annoyed. Which, in fairness, it was probably the most exciting thing to happen all day.
"Sure, let me take a look," he said, pushing his chair back with a squeak, and standing up. He
adjusted his trousers, before clearing his throat and moving with her.

As they walked toward the break room, Hannah glanced over her shoulder– a smirk still
plastered on her face. "You know, Reid," she said, her voice lowering to a whisper, "If you
can save me from this printer, I might owe you something in return."

I felt my heart drop into my stomach, not out of jealousy but out of pure disbelief. Was she
really trying to flirt her way into a genius with something as trivial as printer assistance???

As Reid walked with Hannah, his eye twitched in response to this suggestion of a 'favour'.
Without missing a beat, he replied, his tone playful yet sharp. "Oh, and what exactly do you
have in mind?"

The dirty blonde looked up at him, an obvious sultry expression on her face. Letting out a
soft laugh, she lowered her voice even more, her breath warm on his ear as she leaned in.
Way too close. "Let's just say, I'm pretty good at showing my appreciation." Reid's jaw
clenched, his fingers curling tightly around his sweater.

"Uh, yeah, I mean... the printer's been known to be uncooperative," he said, shifting
awkwardly, his wit battling with the palpable flirtation in the air. "But I think I should
probably stick to my area of expertise." He cast a sideways glance at me, a fleeting
expression of uncertainty flashing across his features as if he were trying to gauge my
reaction.

Hannah leaned in even closer, clearly not taking the hint. She placed a hand on his arm,
batting her eyelashes up at him once again and moving way too close to be considered
professional. "Oh come on, Spence. Don't be shy," she teased, "You can show me
your...expertise...any time."

I couldn't believe what the hell I was watching. Hannah was basically throwing herself at
Reid which was— to be clear a pretty bold move as she had only been in the office for like a
total of 4 days... My eyes narrowed as I watched them, annoyance spreading all over my
body more and more with each passing second. Unconsciously, my hands curled into fists at
my side—knuckles turning white from the tension. Did she really think she could just waltz
in here and disrupt everything? I had fought tooth and nail to gain Reid's trust, to be seen as
his equal, and I'm probably still not even there and now here she was, prancing around as if
she could claim his attention with a few well-placed compliments.

My mind trailed back to what we were doing here, what we were trying to take down— and
slowly back to my own experiences. We were getting nowhere, and people around the world
were going missing every single second we weren't doing something. Finally having enough,
I stepped forward, "Reid!" I called, my voice harsher than I intended.

Reid's gaze flickered to mine, a temporary look of uncertainty crossing his face. There was
something in his eyes—something I desperately wanted to interpret as regret over his part in
this ridiculous charade—but the moment passed too quickly. He turned back to Hannah,
attempting to deflect her advances. "I think we should focus on the case. We have a lot of
work to do."

Hannah didn't seem pleased. She fluttered her lashes and placed a hand on his arm. "But
Reid," she said, her voice laced with disappointment, "I'm sure a few minutes to fix my
printer won't really affect anything, will it?"

"Really?" I shot back at her even though her comment wasn't directed at me, my voice
dripping with sarcasm. "Because the last time I checked— you're still on probation. I don't
think it's the wisest idea to be flirting your way through the first week." I couldnt help it but
the fiery words spat out of my mouth, with no way to stop them — even if I wanted to.

Her eyes widened momentarily, caught off guard by my boldness. But she quickly recovered,
a sly smile creeping across her lips. "Flirting? Oh, sweetheart, this is just networking. You
should try it sometime."

It was one thing to see her throw herself at Reid, but to belittle me in the process? No way.

"Networking isn't about flirting. It's about building relationships based on mutual respect and
trust, something you seem to be lacking," I snapped, crossing my arms tightly. "You're not
here to play games. You're here to file paperwork.''

Hannah bristled at my words, but before she could respond, I had already stormed out of the
bullpen, fueled by a mix of exasperation and frustration. I found myself standing in the empty
hallway, taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself down—but nothing was helping. In
a moment of impulse, I burst through the door leading to the rooftop, the cool evening air
hitting me like a wave. I stepped out onto the concrete, letting the fresh air wash over me,
hoping it would clear my mind. The skyline stretched before me, the city's lights twinkling
against the dusky sky like a constellation of stars. The view always calmed me, grounding me
in a way nothing else could.

Moments later, the sound of Reid's footsteps echoed through the hall as he followed me, his
expression serious. "Mira..." he sighed, his voice firm.
"Just leave me alone, Reid," I shot back, picking up the pace as I turned a corner— no idea
where I was going, just desperate to put a distance between us. But he was quick, closing the
gap effortlessly.

Those stupid fucking legs.

"Mira..Stop." He stepped closer, concern etched across his face.

I turned to him, my arms crossed defensively over my chest, the skyline standing tall behind
me a stark contrast to the whirlpool of emotions in my mind. "Maybe I don't want to deal
with your issues, Reid. Maybe I'm tired of watching you throw yourself into distractions
when we have a case to solve."

The agent's eyebrows furrowed in annoyance at my comment, his expression dark.

"Throwing myself into distractions?" he repeated, his voice now holding a hint of anger. "Is
that what you think I'm doing?"

He took a step closer, closing the gap between us. He towered over me, his presence
intimidating even though he was only a few inches taller. "You really think I'm that
unprofessional?"

I stood tall, holding my ground even as my heart raced in response to his proximity. The cold
air swished around us, a contrast to the heat radiating off of our bodies. "I— I didn't mean it
like that, Reid," I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. "But you can't deny that you're
using this as an excuse to avoid confronting what's really bothering you.''

Reid's jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with something I couldn't quite place. "And what
exactly is bothering me, then?" he asked, his voice tight. "Enlighten me."

He was so close now that I could feel the warmth of his breath against my skin, his gaze
intense as he studied my face, like he always does, trying to find something new...

"I'm sure you think you have me all figured out, don't you?" Reid retorted, his voice stern. He
took another step forward until he was practically looming over me, our chests almost
touching. "You've got this whole psychoanalysis thing down, don't you? Figured out all my
deepest, darkest secrets because you're so damn perceptive."

I looked up at him, swallowing hard. feeling my defences begin to crumble under his piercing
watch. "You're right," I shot back, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. "I want to
understand, but every time I try, you shut me out! It's like I'm talking to a wall."

"I want to understand because we're so similar... our minds work the same. And I know you
know that too, I can see it now."

"You think a few shared interests equate to knowing somebody?" Reid cut in, his voice rising
in pitch at the end. "You think intelligence alone can bridge the gap between our lives? You
have no idea what I've been through. You know nothing."
I looked down, tears prickling in my eyes as the reality of his words came down on me.
Maybe I was being stupid, trying to force a partnership it was now clear to me he didn't want.
"You're right...I don't know anything." I admitted, my voice trembling.

The once visibly frustrated man watched as my features twisted into an expression of hurt,
his starting to fade. He swallowed quickly, the realisation of his harsh words hitting him
quickly.
Without thinking, he reached out— his fingers lifting my chin gently, forcing me to meet his
brown eyes. The action was gentle, almost tender, a contrast to the punch of his words just
moments ago.

The moment his fingers brushed against my skin, a jolt of electricity surged through me, but
beneath that spark was an undercurrent of anger and frustration. I forced myself to hold his
gaze, trying to read the storm brewing behind those brown eyes. "You don't get to push me
away and then act all gentle when you realize I'm hurting Reid!" I lashed back, my voice low
but fierce.

His eyes were locked onto mine, and in that moment something within them changed.

"Call me Spencer," he added, his voice dropping to a low murmur.

My eyebrows furrowed at his words—the air between us grew heavier as the heat of his
breath against my skin made me jitter. I was hyperaware of the warmth of his hand against
my chin, the way his fingers were still holding me gently in my place.

What? Call him Spencer?

This shouldn't feel so intimate... We're fighting— this isn't supposed to feel like... This! And I
hate myself for it...

"Spencer," I breathed hesitantly for the first time, testing the name on my lips as it rolled off.
I exhaled deeply, my eyebrows furrowing as a weight was lifted off of my chest.

I could hear his breath hitch as he heard his name leave my mouth. His eyes...darkened. The
grip on my chin tightened slightly, holding me in place like he feared I would slip away. In a
voice so faint, it was barely a whisper, he replied, "Say it again."

It wasn't a request at this point, but a demand.

I couldn't break away... and nor did I want to. "Spencer," I sheepishly repeated, my voice soft
as I watched his expression melt into something more raw—unlike that deadpan he usually
wore. I could see the effect my words had on him. This moment felt significant, almost as if I
had crossed another unspoken threshold— yet maybe this time a good one.

His breath came in a shaky exhale, and for a moment, it felt like time stood still. The tension
crackled around us, thick with unspoken emotions that hovered just out of reach. "Why does
it feel so different when I call you that?" I hushed, barely managing to contain the tremor in
my voice. It was a question I hadn't intended to voice, but the moment felt too intimate to
hold back.
 Spencer dropped his hand from my chin as he looked into my eyes deeper. The sudden
absence of his touch left me feeling oddly cold, my skin still burning from where his fingers
had been. He took a calculated step back, running a hand through his hair as he spoke.
"I don't know," he responded, his voice low and contemplative. "Maybe because you haven't
used my name before. It's always been... 'Reid', 'Agent' or 'Doctor."

As Reid stepped closer, I felt my pulse quicken. He made me so nervous, and it was
infuriating. I wanted to say everything bubbling inside me, but the words felt trapped, heavy
in my throat. Why did it feel so hard to just speak?

Why did he have this effect on me? Every time I tried to articulate what I felt, I froze. I had
the urge to release everything—the confusion, the frustration, the undeniable attraction—but
the words tangled in my mind, refusing to come out.

I looked up at him once more, the intimacy of the moment completely enveloping us. Before
I could even think about my decision— my body was stepping forward, closing the gap he
had once again tried to form between us. "Spencer..." I began, the word hanging in the air like
a delicate promise, but before I could continue, Derek's voice thundered from the doorway,
slicing through the fragile tension we had built word by word.

Both of us jumped as Derek called— "Mira! Reid!" the urgency lacing his tone. "We need
you in the conference room— now!"

The sudden interruption shattered any type of intimacy we had in the moment. We both
whirled round to face the doorway, our eyes wide and our breath suddenly shallow.

"What's going on?" Reid asked, his voice quickening with a mix of irritation and concern, the
analytical mind kicking into gear, shoving aside any lingering emotions.

Derek stepped into the room, his brow furrowed with seriousness. "We've got a lead on the
cult. They're planning something big, and we need to move quickly. We have to devise a plan
to go undercover."

Before I could respond, he spoke again, his eyebrow raised sceptically. "Are you two good?
Because we need to be focused on this."

"Fine," Reid said, his voice clipped, a wall returning as he adjusted his glasses and
straightened his posture. I could see the familiar, guarded facade reemerge, and a part of me
resented the interruption for making him retreat.

This isn't over, I vowed silently, even as the world around us shifted back into the realm of
criminal profiling.

Chapter End Notes

🖊️
A/N:

First name huh... how exciting 🤭

As always — I would really love to hear your opinions! What do you think about
Spencer's and Mira's current dynamic?
Your feedback means the world to me by the way! Any contribution such as
commenting, voting or even adding the story to your reading lists helps boost my view
count which in turn means I can get chapters out quicker :)
Please let me know your theories or even what you want to happen in the future between
the two— I'll see what I can do!

Thanks again pretties!

xoxo

Reidbetweenwords
 Chapter 7: Undercover

TW: Cult mentions, sexual manipulation mentions

Song for this chapter: The Walls - Chase Atlantic 🎵

"Fuck it,

I might take a little more now,"

📖
I never thought I'd find myself in a relationship with Spencer Reid.

Even if it was just a charade for an undercover operation.

But here I stood, in the bustling bar surrounded by laughter and clinking glasses. This wasn't
just any bar—it was an exclusive bar which hosted parties every Friday evening for the most
accomplished business folk— the scene of our first infiltration of the cult.

Finally.

We had worked tirelessly to get here, designing the perfect ruse to go covert, completely
undetected. And well— this involved Reid and I to fake a romance. Why you ask?

Elysium thrived on the belief that the bond between two people held a unique kind of power
— something they could manipulate, control and ultimately break to suit their agenda.
Young, promising couples who were looking to do anything to climb social ranks frequented
this bar and were prime targets, their success and influence making them ripe for
manipulation.

Not only that, but it was about using love as a weapon. Sexual manipulation became one of
their most handy tools, luring couples in under the guise of success and exclusivity...making
them feel special.

This sick obsession with control made them hunt for the brightest, most connected pairs—
like us.

I took a glance around the room once again, analysing all the details— a very prominent
contrast from the bars I would've chosen to attend. The dim, intimate lighting, the low hum of
sophisticated chatter, the expensive wine and cocktails on offer— all of it screamed
'privilege.'

I watched as Reid fidgeted with his tie, a mix of annoyance and discomfort on his face, the
way his nose would scrunch every so often was a telltale sign. I knew he wasn't used to this
kind of environment, and frankly neither was I believe it or not.
I took a deep breath, readying myself. "We need to sell this, Reid," I muttered under my
breath, the name falling from my lips without a second thought. It was easier to keep him at
arm's length like this— to stay detached, even when I could feel the warmth of his body next
to mine so closely. The moment it slipped my tongue, I saw it— the brief flicker of
disappointment in his eyes. His face remained neutral, but the way his jaw clenched told me
all I needed to know.

The intimacy of calling him "Spencer" has felt like crossing a line we both didn't know how
to deal with— and now, using "Reid" was like I had taken a step back. It was safer that
way...surely?

Slipping me away from my train of thought, Reid leaned closer to me, his breath warm
against my ear as his low voice cut through the ambient noise of the bar. "Is it okay if I touch
you?" His question was soft, measured but behind the exterior, I could sense his nerves— the
same ones swirling in the pit of my stomach.

My body was already responding to his presence, to the closeness between us like it was
natural. I nodded, feeling the gravity of the moment sink in. "Yeah, it's okay."

His hand settled gently on my lower back, the heat of his touch spreading throughout the thin
fabric of my dress. It was subtle, barely noticeable to anyone watching, but the gesture wasn't
just for display— it grounded me in the moment of chaos— hell, both of us. His fingers
splayed out a little, steady, hesitant and gentle— like he was cautious of every move he made.

"We need to make it look real," he whispered, leaning in just enough for his lips to brush the
shell of my ear. His voice reverberated through me, sending a shiver down my spine, the kind
of feeling that had absolutely nothing to do with the task at hand.

I turned towards him, my mouth curving into a smile, trying to play the part as my hand
rested on his thigh. It was all for show— just a facade of affection— but the way his body
responded to my touch, tensing slightly, made the line between real and pretend feel
impossibly thin.

We were both way out of our element here, playing a role that not only required a believable
fake relationship— but also intimacy. Something we were definitely not used to— with one
another at least. I could see it in the way his eyes flicked briefly to mind before darting away,
somewhat feeling slightly embarrassed at the dynamic we were forced to play.

His thumb brushed lightly against my back, and I bit my lip, leaning in closer. "You're doing
fine," he hushed lowly. "Just breathe."

As I leaned into Reid, playing the part of the enamoured girlfriend, I caught sight of a figure
moving through the crowd. There was something about their purposeful speed, the way their
eyes scanned the room with careful precision, that set off alarm bells in my head.

"Three o'clock," I murmured against Reid's ear, my lips barely moving.

I felt Reid's hand tense against my back, his fingers pressing ever so slightly into my skin as
his hold inched lower— meeting my hips. To anyone watching, it looked like an intimate
gesture— but to me, I knew this was him preparing. Him ready to keep me close.

"Show time," he whispered back, his breath warm against my cheek.

As the figure approached, Reid smoothly turned us both, angling our bodies to face the
newcomer whilst maintaining our intimate pose. I giggled softly, looking up at him through
my eyelashes as I swirled my drink— pretending he had just shared a private joke. The
adoring expression felt foreign on my face and especially when directed to him, however, I
held it, even as my heart raced beneath my ribs.

"Well aren't you two a sight for sore eyes," a smooth voice cut through the crowd.

I turned, allowing surprise and curiosity to colour my features as I took in the man before us.
I checked the mental boxes in my mind on his profile— dressed in a tailored suit, gelled-back
pristine hair, his smile wide and inviting yet something cold stalking behind his eyes.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure?" Reid inquired, his voice taking on a warmth I'd
never heard before. "I'm Dr. Spencer Reid, and this is my girlfriend, Mira Andros," he
introduced.

I couldn't help but smile lightly at the title— even though it wasn't real it still sent butterflies
kicking my stomach for some unknown reason.

The man's eyebrows rose slightly at Reid's title. "A doctor? How fascinating. I'm Jonathan
Reeves." He shook Reid's hand, then mine, the grip lingering a moment too long despite
Reid's visible discomfort with even shaking his hand in the first place. "I couldn't help but
notice you two. There's something... special about your energy. Are you new to these
gatherings?"

I felt Reid's arm slither around my waist fully, pulling me even closer. The gesture was
protective, possessive even, and I found myself leaning into it.

"We are," I replied, infusing my voice with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

I looked up at the tall chestnut-haired nerd who was holding me as I spoke again, calculated
—"Spencer's work has been gaining attention lately, and we thought it was time to... expand
our horizons." I glanced up at him as I used his first name as if it was the most natural thing
in the world.

Reid's eyes darted to mine, a subtle mix of stupefaction and pride lighting up his expression.
It was brief, but I noticed it. The way he relaxed slightly against me, allowing the moment to
play out while still holding onto that underlying tension.

Jonathan's smile widened creepily as if he had finally caught his prey, "Well, you've certainly
come to the right place. I'm part of an exclusive group that I think you both might find...
intriguing. We're always looking for bright, connected couples like yourselves."

I felt a thrill of anticipation mixed with dread. We were in. But as Jonathan began to
elaborate, his words laced with subtle manipulation, I couldn't help but wonder – at what
cost?

As Jonathan led us to a more secluded corner of the bar, I felt Reid's hand grip my hips with a
little more pressure— reassuring me that we would get through this test.

"Cold?" he mumbled closely to my face.

I shook my head slightly, hoping he couldn't feel the way my pulse quickened. This was just
an act...I reminded myself— even as I leaned into his warmth, making the most of it before
I'd be alone again at night.

"So, tell me, what do you both know about energy manipulation?" He spoke as he gestured
for us to join him on the soft velvet couch.

I felt Spencer tense beside me, his thigh pressing against mine as he looked up. This was it—
our way in.
"We've dabbled..." I ventured, allowing a hint of eagerness to colour my tone, "But we're
always eager to learn more."

Jonathan's eyes gleamed wide with interest. "Excellent. You see, at Elysium, we believe that
the energy between couples is a powerful force. One that can be... harnessed."

As he spoke, I noticed a symbol tattooed on the inside of his wrist, partially hidden by his
sleeve. A stylised sun with twelve rays—eleven straight, one wavy. A chill ran down my
spine; I recognised it from our research, it must've been buried in there somewhere.

Reid must have noticed too, because he shifted, his hand sliding up my back in a seemingly
affectionate gesture. But I recognised it for what it was—a signal. That symbol meant
something.

"Fascinating," The agent said, his voice taking on a tone of scientific curiosity that wasn't
entirely feigned. "And how exactly does one go about harnessing this energy?" he edged, his
voice lifting at the end.

Jonathan smiled, clearly pleased by our interest but not willing to give too much away. Of
course."That's something we explore in depth at our special events. In fact, we have an...
exclusive gathering coming up this weekend. Couples only, of course. I think you two would
be perfect for it."

My heart raced. This was exactly the kind of opportunity we'd been hoping for. I turned to
Reid, our faces mere inches apart. "What do you think, love? Sounds exciting, doesn't it?"

Love...

Reid's eyes met mine, and for a moment, the intensity of his gaze made me forget we were
pretending. "I think," he said softly, his thumb tracing small circles on my back, "that sounds
like exactly what we've been looking for."

I became acutely aware of every point of contact between us—his hand on my back, our
thighs pressed together, the way his breath ghosted across my cheek. The line between act
and reality blurred indefinitely.

Jonathan cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Wonderful. I'll just need to ask you a
few... preliminary questions. To ensure compatibility, you understand."

As Jonathan began his interrogation, I tried to focus. But all I could think about was the
warmth of Reid's body next to mine and the unsettling realisation that I didn't want him to let
go.

He fired off questions about our relationship—how we met, our shared interests, and our
future aspirations. Each question felt more probing than the last, but Spencer remained
poised, responding with a calm that made me both proud and anxious. I could sense Jonathan
scrutinising every one of our responses, searching for any sign of disconnection.

"Your chemistry is palpable," Jonathan said, his voice dripping with intrigue. "But let's test it
further, shall we? I have a little exercise that might help."

"An exercise?" I echoed, my curiosity piqued.

Oh god.

"Yes," he replied, a sly grin spreading across his face. "I want you both to close your eyes and
hold each other's hands. Focus on the energy between you. I'll gauge the connection."

I exchanged an unsure glance with Reid, uncertainty flitting in my chest. But there was no
backing out now. We both nodded, and Jonathan gestured for us to comply. As we closed our
eyes, I felt Reid's fingers intertwining with mine, warm and reassuring. His grip was firm, yet
gentle, each subtle shift awakening even more nerves on my body than before.
"Now, breathe together," Jonathan instructed, his voice almost soothing as it dripped into the
air. "In... and out. Let the energy flow."

With every further breath, I became more sharply aware of the way our hands fit together,
moulding.

As Jonathan continued to speak, his tone shifting to a hypnotic rhythm, I couldn't shake the
creeping realisation that this was a tactic—this was how they got their victims to work for
them, to relax, to be entranced. His voice was smooth, the cadence almost musical, and I felt
the pull of it, an unconscious urge to surrender to the moment.

He was very experienced and it made me believe he was probably one of the higher-end
recruiters—trying to establish that rapport with the victims right from the beginning. If I
hadn't known any better...I would've missed it.

Memories flashed through my mind—fragments of my own experiences, the way people

could manipulate my emotions, bending them to their will through a gentle touch and a soft
word. I thought of the times I had been vulnerable, the moments when I let my guard down
too easily, swayed by honeyed words and subtle gestures.
Just as I thought we were finding our footing, Jonathan broke his spell, asking us to open our
eyes.

"Wonderful. Now, let's take this a step further. How about a dance?" he proposed, rising to his
feet and extending a hand to me.

I hesitated, glancing at Reid, who looked equally taken aback. "A dance? Here?" I asked,
glancing around the bar.

"Absolutely. It's the perfect way to demonstrate your connection." Jonathan's gaze remained
fixed on us, the predatory gleam never leaving his eyes.

I felt Reid's tension beside me, the air thick with our mutual reluctance. I could almost hear
his internal struggle as he weighed the options. Part of me wanted to refuse outright, to call
Jonathan out on his manipulative game. But another part, the part driven by our mission,
knew we had to play along.

Reid leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear. "This is just a performance."

He said it so surely like he was trying to not only convince me but convince himself...

I turned to face him, feeling the familiar rush of annoyance at how close we had to get for
this charade. "Fine," I whispered, my heart racing as I turned back to Jonathan and took his
hand.

As Jonathan led me to the small open space near the bar, the brunette followed closely,
positioning himself just behind us. The music thumped around us, and I felt myself sync into
the beat.

Johnathon's grip was firm as he pulled me quickly into an embrace. "Just relax and feel the
energy," he articulated, and I couldn't help but roll my eyes internally. The guy was so sure of
himself, and it was infuriating. But as I felt that familiar presence close behind me, I accepted
a spark of confidence. I knew he wouldn't let anything bad happen to me— as much as he
didn't want to admit.

I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the nerves. This was just a performance, right? I was
acting, just like he was. But still, having him so close made it hard to separate my thoughts.
His warmth was distracting.

Wow, ew, I sound primal...

Jonathan started to sway us gently, and I felt the rhythm take over. My heart raced—not just
from the music, but from the strange intimacy of the moment. I could feel Reid's presence
behind me, close enough that our bodies almost brushed. It felt natural, yet so incredibly
wrong at the same time.

"Feel the connection between you two," Jonathan instructed, a sly grin creeping across his
face.
I tried to focus on the music, but all I could think about was how this felt like more than just a
game.

"Okay, this is ridiculous," I muttered under my breath, but the way Reid looked at me—
intensely, with a mix of vexation and amusement—made my heart race even faster.

As we swayed, I could feel Reid's gaze burning into me, his presence a steady anchor as
Jonathan led us through the steps. It felt surreal, dancing with one man while another
watched, his eyes piercing into the very fabric of my being.

"Don't look so serious, Spencer," Jonathan teased mockingly, glancing at Reid. "This is a
celebration, after all."

His jaw tightened, but he forced a smile, tension radiating off him as he glanced at me. "I'm
just trying to focus," was the reply, his voice strained.

"Focus on what?" Jonathan asked, his tone sneeringly light. "Your connection? Or perhaps
what I might ask you to do next?"

What I might ask you to-

Before I could speak, the visibly frustrated brunette got in before me.

"Sorry for what I'm about to do," Reid murmured, his words hanging in the air. My breath
caught in my throat as I watched him close the gap between us— taking me away from the
cultist. Before I could process what he meant, he leaned in, his expression shifting from
strained to something softer and relaxed.

"Reid—" I started, uncertainty creeping into my voice, his eyes never leaving mine. The
world around us faded as he reached up, hand cradling my jaw, thumb brushing delicately
against my skin— so delicately as if I was a vase that could break at any moment.

"Just trust me," he breathed in a sultry tone, the heat of his breath mingling with mine. I felt
the warmth radiating from his palm, grounding me as his eyes flickered down to my mouth.
His brows furrowed upwards for just a moment— an internal decision solidified within him.

"Wh—"

Reid's hand shifted slightly, tilting my head back just enough to deepen the angle, and before
I knew it— our lips met. Soft and hesitant at first, however, the touch itself was like a
wildfire erupting across my skin— igniting every single nerve within me. It was tentative,
pensive even as if he was testing the waters and gauging my reaction.

The world around me seemed to fade into a hazy blur.

One moment we were pretending to be a couple and the next I found myself lost in his body.

Fuck it.
As his figure pressed into me slightly, I melted into him, stealing my breath and leaving me
lightheaded. All my anxieties disappeared, replaced with a heady mix of adrenaline and
desire. The doctor's grip on my head tightened slightly, threading through my hair as he
leaned in deeper, my now hypersensitive body feeling every motion. The softness of his lips
against mine was intoxicating, and for a brief moment, I had forgotten everything.

I could feel the pace quicken just slightly before it slowed back down— clearly repressing his
true desires.

I could feel him physically holding back.

Why did that turn me on?

It was still a game, wasn't it? This was for show— for an undercover mission to get us
somewhere— to save innocent people. I reminded myself of our mission, of the watchful
eyes nearby. But even then, as his lips moved against mine, his body pressing further into me
and provocative sighs escaping our mouths— I couldn't help but believe this was more than a
mask.

You would too right?

Jonathan's amused laughter echoed in the background, but it felt distant— almost like a
whisper in comparison to the events unfolding. All I could focus on was Reid, how he held
me and how he tasted.

The soft tinge of cinnamon that I would no doubt miss.

I gasped involuntarily one last time— my body responding beyond my control.

Finally, we pulled apart, breathless and wide-eyed. Reid's forehead rested against mine, his
expression a mixture of surprise and something unspoken, perhaps him trying to understand
what the hell just happened.

He did it, not me!

His dark eyes searched mine, and for a second, I felt exposed, as if he could see right through
my skin—my thoughts, my fears, and the flicker of something that was begging to be
acknowledged deep inside.

"Did that feel like a performance to you?" he whispered, his voice low, edged with
uncertainty. I could hear the raw honesty in his tone, a stark contrast to the playful banter we
often exchanged.

He was silently begging me to answer truthfully, and so I did.

I shook my head slightly, still breathless. "No," was my admission, my voice barely above a
whisper. "It felt real."

The weight of those words hung in the air, heavy with all sorts of implications that I had no
idea what to make of.
The tall man seemed to process, his eyes widening slightly, a mixture of relief and anxiety
crossing his face.
 Chapter 8: Professional

Song for this chapter: Do I Wanna Know — The Arctic Monkeys 🎵

'The nights were mainly made for saying things

That you can't say tomorrow day,'

📖
I lay there, tangled in the sheets, my mind racing faster than my heart could beat.
It wasn't just the kiss— I couldn't stop replaying everything that had led up to it. The ride
back to the hotel had been nothing but thick, humiliating and heavy silence. Reid barely
looked my way, and I was too stubborn to say anything, but of course, it was impossible to
ignore what had happened between us.

I turned onto my side, staring blankly at the wall, recalling every detail of that damn car ride.
The tension had been evident, simmering just beneath the surface, and the air was electric.
Every time I glanced at him— even if just for a second— I thought of how his lips had felt on
mine. His body so close, his hand in my hair...The way he'd pulled back so reluctantly like he
was suppressing all the urges to deepen our actions.

It hadn't been just for the case, had it?

I clenched my jaw, desperately trying to shake off the thought. No, it couldn't have been real.
It was a show. A performance, just like he said.

I mean the guy was literally fucking infuriating, so why was I here trying to suppress these
thoughts that consumed me?

I closed my eyes, begging myself to stop replaying it over and over, but it was impossible.
His warmth, his scent, the softness of his lips—they were imprinted on me now.

What the hell was wrong with me?

A sigh left my lips, my body furthering into the uncomfortable dent of the hotel bed.

Then, a soft knock echoed through the room and I froze— my heart stuttering in my chest as
I stared at the door.

I was tempted to ignore whoever was on the other side, but curiosity— a hint of dread—
made me get up. Slowly I padded across the room, my bare feet silent on the carpet, and
reached for the door handle.

I hesitated, fingers brushing over the cool metal of the handle, the uncertainty gnawing at my
gut. Who the fuck was knocking at this hour?
Twisting the handle and opening the door just a crack, revealed a tall brunette with an
unidentifiable expression on the other side of the threshold.

Dr. Reid.

His expression was as conflicted as I felt, his eyes avoiding mine for a second before finally
meeting them. He was still in his clothes from earlier, hair slightly dishevelled, and that
familiar tension hovered between us like a storm waiting to break.

"I... uh, couldn't sleep," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper. His gaze flickered down,
then back up to me, still unreadable. "I thought we should talk."

"Please?"
My heart pounded as I stepped back, opening the door wider, unsure if I was ready for
whatever this encounter was going to be.

I closed the door behind him as he entered, the soft click echoing strangely in the quiet room.
My heart continued to thump in my chest, each beat louder than the last as I silently watched
Reid take in his surroundings. His scent—familiar from earlier—struck me again, making it
impossible to ignore the almost painful memories.

Reid glanced at the floor, his voice breaking the silence. "I haven't been able to stop thinking
about it," he admitted, his tone low, almost hesitant. His eyes flickered toward me, unsure, as
though he were waiting for some kind of confirmation or denial from my end. "What
happened between us... it wasn't supposed to."

His words sent an ache through my chest, but they were careful, just like him. He couldn't say
it, he was forcing me to. He couldn't admit what we both knew had crossed a line, that we
weren't ready for nor were we ever going to be. That kiss hadn't just been part of the act.

Why the hell had he done it though?

Swallowing the lump forming in my throat, I forced my arms to relax. "Yeah," I said, voice
quieter than I wanted it to be. "I can't stop thinking about it either."

His head snapped up, eyes narrowing as if he hadn't expected me to admit it so openly. I
could see the conflict warring on his face, the way his hands twitched at his sides, itching to
do something but restrained by that maddening self-control of his.

"Well, we need to forget it," he said sharply, the sudden edge to his voice pulling me right
back into that familiar feeling of irritation. "We're professionals. What happened—"

"Wasn't supposed to ?" I cut him off, a sudden anger flaring in my chest. "Just spare me,
Reid. You didn't seem to mind it at the time."

As the heat spread beneath my skin, my teeth gritted against each other from the harsh
reminder. His words — intended to be a slap back to reality — only served to stoke irritation
surging through me.
Professional. That word, that fucking adjective felt like a blade, stabbing mercilessly into my
already bruised pride.

He flinched an almost imperceptible reaction that made my pulse race. "That doesn't change
the fact that it's a mistake. You know that."

"Is it? Because I remember how you grabbed my hair—like you were trying to pull me in
deeper. The way your mouth moved against mine felt far too deliberate for someone who
thought it was a mistake," I shot back, vexation blending with something else entirely,
something I hated myself for feeling.

His eyes darkened, his jaw visibly clenching at my blunt and open response. Evidently, he
hadn't anticipated the fact that I could hold my own and throw his actions back at him.

My breath caught in my throat, the images flooding back in excruciating detail. The way his
lips felt against mine, the subtle hint of cinnamon in his breath. The sound of the soft gasp
that escaped him when my hands found their way to his hair.

Reid put his hands out almost in a defensive position. "Mira, this isn't—"
"Not just a kiss?" I interrupted, an invisible thread within me snapping. "What do you call it
then? Because I can still feel the way you let out those sounds against my mouth. Do you
think that was just part of the act? What do professionals do?"

His usually stoic composure was cracking, the usual control slipping away. He took a step
forward, running a hand through his hair as if trying to calm himself. "Mira—"

"No. You don't get to do that," I snapped, my voice rising to match his. "You don't get to
dismiss it as nothing when it was anything but. You can act all detached but I know what
happened between us wasn't just part of the job."

"Don't twist this, Mira. You and I both know it shouldn't have happened. We don't
even like each other." The bitterness in his tone mirrored the tension slumping thick between
us.

"Like each other?" I scoffed, disbelief mingling with malice. "That's an understatement.
We're practically at each other's throats half the time."

"Exactly," the tall agent shot back, crossing his arms defiantly. "So why the hell are we still
talking about it? This was a mistake—let's just acknowledge that and move on."

My breath was now shallow, my chest moving up and down rapidly. But as those words hung
in the air, the space between us seemed to shrink, the intensity of the moment pulling us even
closer. I could see the conflict in his eyes, the way his breath caught just like mine when we
stood a few mere inches away from each other. There was a mixture of anger...and conflict.
Frustration. Need.

His gaze flicked down to my lips, for a split second before he looked back up at me.
"Mira," he started, his voice barely above a whisper, but the vehemence behind it made my
heart race. "We really shouldn't—"

"Don't," I interrupted again, the word escaping my lips with more force than I intended. "You
don't get to say that when we both know what's at stake here. This... whatever this is, it's
wrong. It can't happen again. Like you said— professional."

"Then why do we keep finding ourselves here?" he contested, the frustration evident in his
tone, as if he were trying to unravel the same tangled mess of emotions that I was feeling.

I opened my mouth to respond, but the words caught in my throat as I felt the undeniable pull
between us. Time seemed to stretch as I was lost in his gaze, the memories of our kiss
flooding my mind—his lips against mine, the warmth of his body so close.

"Spencer," I breathed, my voice trembling slightly, the moment heavy with anticipation. But
even as I said his name, I could feel the line we were both teetering on—the line between
desire and danger.

The tension thickened around us, wrapping tighter with each passing second. The way I said
his name felt intimate—more personal than I intended.

His gaze darkened, his voice rougher than I'd ever heard. "Don't," he warned, low and
intense. "Don't say my name like that."

I met his eyes, the ones that were almost daring me to challenge him. "You were the one who
wanted this," I shot back, hating the way my voice quivered just as unsteady. "You asked me
to."

We were so close that I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his irises. The way his breath
mingled with mine in the seized air. The slight shadow of stubble along his jaw, the way his
throat moved as he swallowed. His jaw. My fingers itched to trace the sharp line — to feel if
his skin was as warm as it looked.

I wanted to touch him again, and I didn't know why.

And just like that, I realised that yet again we were standing on the edge of another kiss. I
watched intently as his hand lifted, hovering just inches from my face before dropping back
to his side.

I couldn't understand why this stupid prick had such a hold over me.

"We can't," I eventually whispered, the words barely audible but heavy with finality." Despite
the firmness in my voice, every single nerve in my body was still itching to take that final
step. As I saw his own lips parting involuntarily— I found myself tracking the movement,
remembering how soft they'd felt against mine. How right they felt against mine.

"You're right," he finally said, his voice strained. "This—we can't."

Spencer cleared his throat, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for something to
settle on. An uncomfortable silence filled the space between us as he pushed his glasses up
his nose, then his hands fidgeting with anything within reach— classic Reid retreating to
nervous habits when emotions were too difficult for him. But I noticed how his deep eyes
kept darting back to me, my lips, my neck, my collarbone and lower— before looking away
each time.

This was what he did whenever things got too real, his way of avoiding uncomfortable
confrontations by redirecting his focus on something less... emotionally impactful.

I stood, barely even breathing— almost waiting for him to say something I couldn't say
myself.
Spencer clenched his jaw, his frustration echoing mine. "What do you want me to say, Mira?
That I have feelings for you? Because I don't."

Owch.

The words sliced through the moment we'd almost shared, leaving only silence in their wake.

"No, I know," I replied, my voice betraying more hurt than I intended. The lie tasted bitter on
my tongue.

"Good, then we agree," he said bluntly, his voice as steady as ever. "This—" he gestured
between us, his hand almost brushing mine but stopping just short. "—was nothing more than
a moment of weakness."

⏳
The early morning light spilt through the large windows of the BAU office, casting a soft
glow over the all-too-familiar bullpen. Finally, we were back at Quantico, the team gathered
around the conference table ready to start looking into next moves after a restless night.

Well...Certainly for Reid and I it was.

I walked into the briefing room, still feeling the anxiety from last night stuck in my throat.
Reid was already seated at the far end of the conference table, his head down, busy reading
the case file in front of him. His hair looked messier than usual like he had trouble sleeping
too. I forced myself to look away however when his gaze met mine—presumably having felt
the heat of my stare.

We had a job to do. A job I was called here specifically to do.

Hotch stood at the front of the room, dropping a thick file onto the table. "Morning, team.
We've got another lead. Local law enforcement found a property on the outskirts of town that
fits the profile of their previous hideouts. It's remote, hidden away, and could be another
location where the cult is holding their gatherings."
I nodded, mentally shifting gears back to the case. But no matter how hard I tried to stay
focused, my mind kept circling back to last night. The heated words, the way Reid's breath
had fraternised with mine, the unbearable proximity. I could still feel his gaze, even though I
was doing everything in my power not to meet it.
Morgan leaned back in his chair, his usual cocky grin in place. "So we storm the place, take
these guys down, and save the day. Easy enough," he blustered nonchalantly— knocking me
clean out of my dozy daydream.
"Not so fast chocolate thunder," Garcia chimed in from her station, eyes glued to her monitor.
"The property's been under various fake names for years. Whoever's behind this knows how
to cover their tracks. This isn't going to be as simple as kicking in a door."

"Which is why we need to move carefully," Rossi added, his tone all business. "We don't
want to spook them before we've got enough to make the arrests."

All eyes turned to Reid as he finally spoke, his tone measured. "Based on their previous
behaviour, they're likely preparing for a major ritual. This property matches their pattern—it's
isolated, within range of their known followers, and the timing lines up. If we don't act soon,
we could miss our window. Also, there's a possibility that they're following the lunar calendar
—"

Something in his calm, clinical delivery set me off. It was like last night hadn't even
happened for him.

I leaned forward, letting the frustration seep into my voice as I interrupted with absolutely no
shame. "So we're just assuming, then? Hoping they'll be there?"

His head snapped up, his eyes meeting mine, irritation flashing behind his usual calm
exterior. "It's not an assumption, Mira. The data points to this location. It's the most logical
step."

I couldn't help the scoff that escaped my lips. "Logical. Right. Because cults are known for
following predictable patterns like clockwork. They're erratic, Reid."

The strain between us was thick enough to cut. I could see Morgan watching us out of the
corner of my eye, his brow raising slightly as he looked between us and then back at
Penelope. The both of them exchanged confused looks.

Hotch's voice slashed through the air, fair but firm. "Focus. We don't have time for personal
disagreements."

Reid's jaw clenched, his gaze shifting from me to Hotch. The older man's eyes bore into him,
silently demanding he keep control. The agent took a deep breath, trying to regain his
composure as his leg bobbed up and down.
I could feel everyone's questioning gazes. They knew something was going on and it wasn't
just merely 'personal'. However, as much as I didn't want to admit, Hotch was right. This
wasn't the time or place for me to lash out, no matter how much Reid's impersonal
detachment was getting under my skin.

Trying to lighten the mood, Garcia interjected quietly, "God, this is worse than when Derek
stole Reid's lunch that one time."

A few soft chuckles rippled through the room, but the tension between Reid and me didn't
falter in the slightest. Garcia's attempt to break the ice fell flat in my chest, the weight of
everything else I was carrying pressing down further.

Reid didn't so much as blink, he was clearly forcing himself to stay silent, to not engage. But
I could see the flicker of frustration in his eyes, the way his fingers gripped the file a little too
tightly.

How unprofessional of me— there were real issues here and all I could think about was some
made-up connection between Reid and I.

Who was I becoming? I mean seriously?

The room started to clear but I could feel Penelope's eyes on me, curiosity written all over her
face.

As I walked toward the exit, Garcia swooped in beside me, her colourful nails tapping lightly
on my arm. "Alright, out with it! What kind of cosmic mystery is unfolding between you and
our resident Boy Genius?" Her voice was soft but insistent, eyes wide as she gave me a look
that stated she definitely wouldn't be letting me dodge this question.

I sighed largely, rubbing a hand over my face. "It's nothing, Penelope. Just... built-up strain
from the case."

She raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, unconvinced of my feeble excuse, "Don't give me
that, Hon. My radar's been going off since you both walked into the— Wait. Hold that
thought."

Before I could protest— or for that matter even blink, she grabbed my wrist and began
leading me through the bullpen, her pace determined. I started to ask where she was taking
me, but the question quickly died on my lips when we stopped in front of a small storage
closet.

"Penelope, what are you—"

Before I could finish, she pushed me inside with surprising force and shut the door behind
me. I stumbled into the cramped space, only to freeze when I saw who was already standing
in there.

Oh— for fucks sake give me a break!

Dr. Spencer Reid. Out of all people I wanted to see.

He was leaning against the opposite wall, arms crossed, looking just as surprised as I was.

The door clicked shut behind me, followed by the unmistakable sound of a lock.

His eyes were wide, filled with astonishment and vexation at being trapped in this closet with
me. The small space felt even smaller with Reid and me in here— it was claustrophobic and
uncomfortable, not to mention awkwardly intimate.
We stood in silence for a few beats, neither one of us sure of what to say at all. I could hear
the team moving around outside, blissfully unaware of what was ensuing in the conveniently
tiny storage closet.

Belatedly, Reid broke the silence, his voice bland. "Is it just me or did Morgan and Garcia
just lock us in here?"
 Chapter 9: Nothing's Gonna Hurt You

⚠️ TW: Panic attack, PTSD, Intense emotions

Song for the chapter: Nothing's Gonna Hurt You - Cigarettes After Sex 🎵
"Nothing's gonna hurt you, baby

As long as you're with me, you'll be just fine,"

📖
I shot the tall agent a glance, half-annoyed, half-amused. "Ahhh—you think? What gave it
away? The slamming door or the delightful acoustics of the team outside?"

Reid rubbed the back of his neck, the motion making his shirt pull slightly across his chest. "I
suppose it's both. They're not exactly subtle about their matchmaking."

I exaggeratedly rolled my eyes. "Matchmaking? This isn't a rom-com, Reid. We're in a closet
because they think we need to talk."

Reid shifted, his shoulder hitting the wall as he leaned against it. He looked like a caged
animal— restless and uncomfortable trying to create more space between us. "And what do
they think we need to talk about, exactly? The weather?"

I couldn't help but chuckle softly. "What's next? Do we share our deepest secrets or get stuck
in a game of 'who can avoid eye contact the longest'?"

Reid's lips quirked into a half-smile before he regained his composure. "You know, if we
were going to play a game, I'd prefer a more intellectual challenge. Perhaps a logic puzzle?"

"God, you're infuriating. Because that's what exactly we need right now—more of your
intellectual bravado." I folded my arms, leaning against the wall, trying to ignore the way my
pulse quickened at being so close to him.

"Maybe if you didn't dismiss everything I say as a 'data point,' we wouldn't have to be in this
closet arguing in the first place," Reid exclaimed, his voice rising slightly, barely keeping it
together.

"Let me remind you, we wouldn't be in this closet if you could just act like a normal human
being instead of a walking encyclopedia!"

A faint giggle escaped my lips despite myself. There was something ridiculous about our
argument that made it impossible to remain entirely serious.

"Right, because normal human beings don't get into uncomfortable closets and have a row,"
he shot back, a hint of sarcasm creeping into his tone. "And by the way, this all started
because of a kiss you're clearly still fantasising about!"

But just as I was about to respond, a sudden voice chimed in from outside the closet. "Did I
hear the word 'kiss'?" It was Penelope, and her tone was equal parts surprise and delight.

"What!?" Both Reid and I said in sync, frozen and our eyes wide as we exchanged
incredulous glances. The realisation that we had been overheard washed over us like a cold
wave, obliterating any previous train of thought we had.

"Penelope! You're not supposed to be eavesdropping!" I hissed, trying to keep my voice low
but unable to suppress the embarrassment that flooded my cheeks.

"Well, it's hard not to when you two are practically shouting about it," she retorted, giggling
on the other side of the door. "What do you mean, 'a kiss'? Was it a passionate one, like hands
in hair? Or like pinning up against a wall..?" She dragged out, her curiosity overtly piqued.

Reid's face was now a deep shade of fiery red, clearly mortified at the fact that Penelope—or
hell, the entire team—had overheard our conversation.

A frustrated groan escaped my lips, running a hand through my hair. "Penelope... you're not
helping right now!"

Her laughter echoed through the door, a clear sign of her amusement. "Oh, but I beg to differ.
You two were finally getting to the good part!"

Reid's eyes rolled up to the ceiling, his face still flushed. "Good part?" He managed to squeak
out.

"Yes! The part where you confess your undying love for each other," Penelope teased, clearly
enjoying our discomfort. "Or maybe where you admit that you're both too stubborn to accept
you actually might not hate each other."

We were both practically steaming at the point, our cheeks both flushed and jaws clenched.

"Penelope, just—" Reid began before I accidentally cut him off.

"Penelope! We're not—" I tried to interject before she steamrolled over us again.
"Oh, come on! It's like a romantic comedy waiting to happen. You two locked in a closet, the
sexual tension practically radiating off you," Penelope pressed, her voice teasingly dramatic.
"I'm surprised I didn't hear shelves falling and unholy sounds—!"

She realised what she had said, and quickly corrected herself, "T—that would be strictly
against the BAU's regulation code and I would probably have to report—"

Reid started stuttering at Garcia's suggestive comment, trying to form words that refused to
come. "We're not— that's not—"

"Oh my, that's adorable, Dr. Genius," Penelope exclaimed. "It's like looking at a deer in
headlights. Except I'm not looking but I'm hearing."
"Garcia!" Reid exclaimed, his voice cracking slightly as he leaned his head backwards
against the wall in defeat. "We're literally locked in a closet! This isn't the time for..."

I couldn't help but stare at him as he made that motion, the structure of his jawline fully
visible and— Oh god. Please stop Mira.

Please. Stop.

"Penelope, we don't need a script!" I protested, feeling my pulse race. "We need to get out of
here before the entire team thinks we're—"

"Thinks what?" Derek's voice boomed from outside. "That you two are lovebirds? Let's hear
some confessions!"

"Derek! Shut up!" I yelled, mortified, as Reid buried his face in his hands, clearly wishing for
the ground to swallow him whole.

I groaned, my hands now almost pulling my hair out of my scalp, "I couldn't tell you how
much I hate this guy–" I spoke before being interrupted by Reid.

Reid's voice was laced with defensiveness, "Trust me, the feeling's mutual!"

Derek chuckled from the other side of the door. "Oh, so you guys are at the 'pure hatred and
pining' stage. This is juicy."

"Oh, it's so like a romantic comedy!" Penelope chimed in from outside.

I shot Reid a sceptical look at Derek and Penelope's dialogue, "Romantic comedy? More like
a tragedy in the making."

"Still better than a horror story," Reid muttered, trying to regain his composure.

"Okay, you two! Enough of the banter," Derek teased. "Let's get you out of there before you
both combust from tension!"

With a laugh, Penelope added, "But not before we get a picture of this moment!"

"No!" I yelled, crossing my arms defiantly as the door swung open, releasing us back into the
chaos of the bullpen.

As we stumbled out of the cramped space, Penelope whipped out her phone and snapped a
quick photo before I could protest.

Derek clapped Reid on the shoulder. "Hey, it's for the memory book, right?"

Reid shot him a look that was equal parts irritation and mortification. "Thanks for that,
Morgan."

As the team chuckled, Penelope couldn't help but chime in, "I should make framed copies.
Maybe add it to my matchmaking scrapbook?"
⏳
Time had passed since our embarrassing situation in the closet, but the memories of it were
already replaying in my head, clouding my mind as we prepared for the impending mission. I
could still hear Penelope's laughter echoing in my ears, her comments about "lovebirds" and
"romantic comedies" haunting me every time I glanced at Reid.

I tightened the straps on my vest, catching the doctor's eye from across the room. His brow
was furrowed in concentration, focused on the case notes, but there were many unspoken
words between us. It felt like he could sense the storm brewing inside me as I tried to shove
my chaotic thoughts aside.

"Stay sharp out there," Hotch commanded, his voice steady and authoritative, cutting through
the ambient noise. "We're dealing with a suspect who has already proven to be dangerous.
Stay together, and watch each other's backs."

The gravity of the situation settled over us like a thick fog, dampening the air. I nodded,
forcing myself to focus on the mission rather than the whirlpool of emotions tugging at my
insides. Reid stepped closer, his gaze piercing as he searched my face, and I could feel the
tension between us stiffening. "Be careful," he said quietly, almost as if he was trying to
avoid saying it.

I turned away from him and focused on the mission briefing. Morgan and Emily were already
suited up, their confident composure reminding me of the task at hand. We were heading into
the field to investigate another abandoned site, a potential lead from a survivor who had
escaped. A place that was supposedly linked to the cult we were chasing, the one that had
begun to worm its way into my past.

I double-checked my equipment, securing my weapon and glancing once more at the others.
They were ready. I had to be ready too.

Morgan, always the steady presence, signalled for us to move in. His hand gestures were
sharp and deliberate, the kind that didn't allow room for hesitation. Emily was on my left, her
movements silent, graceful. We were all on edge, but it wasn't fear. It was the weight of
knowing something could go sideways at any second. The kind of weight that sat heavy in
your gut, grinding away in silence.

My pulse quickened the second we stepped inside, the stale, musty air hitting me first. It was
damp, like decay had been festering here for years and turning into all sorts of biohazards.
Flashlights barely cut through the shadows, their beams feeble against the sheer abundance of
darkness swallowing every up crevice.

This place feels wrong. Too quiet. Too similar to somewhere I had been once before. My
mind raced with possible outcomes, but I shoved them aside.

Fuck. Focus.

"Eyes sharp," Morgan muttered under his breath, scanning the narrow hallways as we moved
deeper into the belly of the building. "Anything feels off, call it. We don't want surprises."
I swallowed, nodding silently even though he wasn't looking my way, perhaps for my own
reassurance. My senses were on high alert, every muscle in my body tensed harshly for
whatever might come next. The grip on my gun tightened instinctively, the cold metal
grounding me as if it would somehow affect my reflexes.

The memories of the last time I was in a place like this clawed at the back of my mind,
foreign and uninvited— the memories I tried so desperately to erase from my mind. The
sound of gunfire, screams my own panic...No. Not now.

I harshly forced myself back into the present, back into the mission. I'm not that little girl
anymore—I'm not that 14-year-old girl who was trapped in a world of things so disturbing, so
menacing that she couldn't obliterate it from her thoughts as they haunted her every second
she breathed. I'm not trapped.

I repeated it like a mantra, keeping my breathing steady and my composure calm. Morgan
was ahead, leading with the kind of confidence you could lean on. Emily stayed close, her
presence another extra layer of safety— however even she felt tense.
The building creaked with the wind as we moved further, its age betraying the silence we had
tried to maintain. The dark walls caved in, and every turn felt like it might be our last.

Then, abruptly a muffled sound echoed ahead— barely audible, but enough to make us freeze
in our tracks.
"Did you hear that," I whispered, more to myself than anyone else.
Emily gave a curt nod, her eyes narrowing in the direction of the noise. "Someone's here."

Morgan motioned for us to move up. We advanced with caution, the narrow corridor ahead
stretching like an infinite tunnel, endless, going on and on. The knot in my chest tightened,
every further step I took felt like I was edging closer to a heart attack. The feeling of
something... wrong.

Breathe. Focus on the objective.

Unexpectedly, a flash of movement caught my eye. A shadow darted in the corner, vanishing
before I could even make out a shape. My pulse spiked, adrenaline surging through every
fraction of my body.

"I see something," I breathlessly hushed out into my wrist-imbedded microphone, my voice
barely above a whisper.

Hotch's voice came through my earpiece, calm but commanding. "Team, proceed with
caution. Do not engage until confirmed."
Morgan took the lead again, guiding us further down the hallway, his flashlight flickering as
if it were struggling to fight the darkness.

I could sense Morgan's determination, but there was something else— an underlying urgency
that had him pushing harder than usual. Maybe it was the high-stakes pressure of finally
closing in on a lead, something we hadn't had for over a month now.
Morgan's jaw clenched as he gestured for us to push forward, faster this time. He was making
a judgement call. 'Too fast' something inside me screamed. My gut twisted in protest. I
wanted to tell him to slow down— to take a beat. We didn't know enough yet. But before I
could utter one syllable, he made his move— charging down the hall towards the source of
the sound.

"Wait!" I tried to catch him, but it was too late. The moment he crossed the threshold of the
next room, everything happened at once—merging into one event of chaos.

A deafening crack of gunfire split the air, and I felt the impact before my brain could process
it. The world lurched violently to the side, and I staggered backwards, my back slamming full
force into the wall. Jarring pain flared in my side, radiating outwards as I gasped, trying to
catch my breath. I barely registered Emily shouting my name as I slid to the ground, my hand
instinctively pressing to my vest in shock.

Morgan swore, rushing back toward me, but the sound in my ears faded as tears in my eyes
welled.

Gunfire. Screaming. The smell of blood.

I was no longer in this dark, decaying building. I was fourteen years old again, huddled
behind a broken-down piece of furniture while my parents scaring their orders into the cult. I
could hear it all. I could feel the same helplessness seeping into my bones, the cold fear that
gripped me as everything in the world around me shattered.
They were coming. We weren't safe. I-

The present slipped away from me, hurling me headfirst into an episode I wasn't ready to
rewatch. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't breathe then and I couldn't breathe now.

It felt like I would never breathe again.

"Mira!" Emily's voice cut through the haze, but it was distant like she was calling from
underwater in an unfamiliar territory. My lungs burned as I battled to drag air in, but it was
like trying to find oxygen in thick smoke.

Suddenly, another voice filled my earpiece, frantic and trembling—Reid's. "Mira! What's
going on? Morgan, talk to me! Is she hit?"

"Reid! Calm down!" Morgan barked through the radio, his voice tense with guilt and the
confrontation not helping. He crouched next to me, a blurred figure, shaking my shoulders
gently, trying to snap me out of the phase that was engulfing me. "She's not hit, just grazed—
Mira, look at me. Hey. You're okay. You're not there."

But I couldn't focus on him. Everything was spinning, the world around me collapsing in on
itself as old wounds rehashed themselves in my mind.

"Mira! Answer me!" Reid's voice cracked, and I could hear the worry—the panic. He didn't
know what was happening and didn't understand why I wasn't responding. And I couldn't. I
couldn't answer then, I couldn't answer now.
Mira. Breathe.

The earpiece crackled with static before Hotch's stern voice cut through. "Morgan, get control
of the situation."

Derek looked like he was barely holding on to himself. I could see the flash of frustration on
his face. He knew he'd messed up. He knew this was completely on him. But none of that
mattered when I was still stuck in a different place— that nightmare. My body was
unresponsive— lost in the horrors of my past, my chest heaving up and down.

Minutes felt like hours, each heartbeat marking time like a countdown. Then, a rush of
movement as Reid burst into the scene, shoving past Emily and Morgan, his eyes wild with
panic. "What happened?" His voice was low, shaky. He immediately crouched next to me, his
hands hovering over me but not touching, as if he didn't know how to pull me back.

Morgan stood back, running a hand over his face, clearly rattled. "I pushed too hard. She got
grazed by a bullet, but it's not the wound. She's having a—"

"PTSD episode," Reid finished, his voice softer now as he gently placed a hand on my
shoulder in an attempt to ground me.

"Mira, nothing is going to hurt you. You'll be just fine..."

I blinked, the sound of his voice finally anchoring me enough to drag me out of the fog. The
warmth of his hand was a contrast to the cold sweat that drenched my body. A shudder
coursed through me, the touch somehow managing to bring a modicum of relief. I looked up,
and for a split second, all I could see was the raw concern etched into Reid's face. He wasn't
angry anymore. He was scared.

"I'm fine," I rasped, my voice hoarse as I tried to push myself up, shaking off the last
remnants of the episode. "It's just... the past. I had a moment. It's over now."

But Reid's features quickly darkened, his relief swiftly replaced by absolute raging fury. He
stood abruptly, turning toward Morgan. "You could've gotten her killed!" He snapped, his
voice sharp, more vicious than I had ever heard.

Woah— I hadn't seen that before—

Morgan stared at Reid for a moment, surprised by the sudden outburst. He knew Reid was
protective of me, but this was different. This was anger—pure, rampant. And it was clearly
directed at him.

"Mira said she was fine to move in," Morgan argued, though his guilt was clear in his eyes.

"She's been fine since day one, and yet you pushed her right into the line of fire!" Reid
shouted back, his voice uncharacteristically harsh. "She's the last person you should be
rushing into a situation like this. You should've known."

Before I could intervene, Hotch's voice came through the comms again. "Reid. Morgan.
Focus on the task at hand. I want that suspect in custody. Now."
I forced myself to my feet, ignoring the lingering pain in my side. I didn't need protection.
Not from my team, not from anyone.

🖊️
 Chapter 10: Confessions

The song for this chapter: Terrible Love - The National 🎵

"And I can't fall asleep, without a little help

It takes a little while to settle down, my shivered bones

Until the panic's out — It takes an ocean not to break,"

📖
There I stood.

The harsh fluorescent lights buzzing overhead illuminated the stark white walls of the
interrogation room. The air was thick with tension, a sense of foreboding constantly
reminding me about the unknown I hoped to unhash.

I had refused to let anyone take this opportunity away from me. I needed to confront this man
— the one that so easily shot at me— to pry into the shadows of his mind and extract the
truth buried deep within. I needed him to undergo that sense of entrapment, for him to
understand how the poor victims who were subject to the cult's conniving plans felt.

The unsub, a wiry little man with sunken eyes and a defiant tilt to his chin slumped in the
metal chair across from me. His wrists were shackled to the table, ensuring that he was not
able to get away again. An expression danced on his face— one that ignited a fit of
unfathomable anger within me— calm arrogance as if he believed he held all of the right
cards in this game.

Spoiler: he did not.

I took a deep breath, steadying myself before I spoke. "Before we start, I want to make one
thing very very clear."

The man's eyes met mine, a glint of curiosity piquing within them as I leaned slightly closer.
"You think you're in control here, but you're not. You're just a small, almost insignificant —
really— pawn in a much larger game of villains."

His smirk deepened, a sickening grin that made my blood boil. "You think you can intimidate
me? I've seen worse things than you."

I tipped closer, my heart pounding with determination. "I doubt that. You may have survived
the darkness, but you're about to find out what it's like to face the light."

I watched as his bravado faltered, just for a moment, and I seized that opening. "Tell me
about the cult. Who leads it? What do they want?"
He scoffed, shaking his head defiantly. "You think I'm going to give you anything? You have
no idea who you're dealing with."

I could feel Reid watching me intently through the one-way mirror, his gaze boring a hole
into my back. I ignored it, trying to focus on being entirely professional and dismantling the
unsub's pretentious persona.

Letting a smirk envelope the lower quatrain of my face, I leant back slightly showcasing a
relaxed demeanour. Although I was in fact not relaxed on the inside— I had a lot of
experience in pretending to be so.

"Oh, I think I have a very good idea," I shot back. "You're scared. You're hiding behind
bravado and false confidence because deep down, you're absolutely crapping yourself. Just
like the people you and your little 'cult' hurt. You're at the bottom of the food chain, you
know they don't care about giving you up right? They'll find someone else to replace you in
an instant as you rot in jail for shooting at a federal agent."

"Dumb decision— by the way." I ribbed, my voice toned as if I was speaking to a child.

His expression shifted from arrogance to irritation, the edges of his confidence fraying under
the weight of my words. I could see the flicker of doubt in his eyes, and I pressed on, feeling
a surge of satisfaction.

"You think you're untouchable, but look where you are now," I continued, leaning in slightly,
my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You're just a cog in a machine that's about to
grind you into dust and keep turning even though you're broken. They'll throw you away like
yesterday's news, just like the lives you ruined. They've probably already picked out your
replacement, haven't they?"

He scowled, apparently me hitting a nerve as he jumped out of his seat— a vein popping out
of the side of his head. "You don't know anything about them or what they've done for people
like me!"
I chuckled, savouring his frustration. "That's where you're wrong. I know exactly what they
are. I've seen it firsthand—the manipulation, the lies, the broken promises. I lived it, and trust
me, you're not special. You're just another puppet in their fun."

I watched as the once proud and egotistical man squirmed in his chair, a small victory
igniting a spark of hope within me.

"Tell me who they are," I urged, my tone turning serious. "Help me help you. This is your
chance to get out of this mess, to turn the tables before it's too late."

He hesitated, his bravery slipping further. "What do you care?" he spat, though the tremor in
his voice betrayed his front.

"Because I want to stop them," I shrugged, my resolve solid. "You may not believe me, but
you have a choice right now. Either you keep quiet and end up as a nameless, insignificant
statistic, or you start talking and maybe—just maybe—you can salvage what's left of your
pathetic life."
The silence stretched, and I could see the internal battle waging within him. I leaned back,
giving him space, letting the weight of my words settle. This was the moment of truth. I was
ready for whatever came next.

But before the man opened his mouth again, someone burst into the room. I hurriedly
whipped my head in the direction of the door opening— confused about who was
interrupting the interrogation at such a vital time.

Dr. Spencer Reid. Of-course.

"Agent Andros, can I have a word with you please?" he hesitated.

I tensed my jaw, irritation that was already hiding inside me, reappearing with the
interruption. Reid's timing has to be studied because... what? He always knew when to cut
through the most crucial moments. I didn't need him barging in. Not when I was finally
getting somewhere with this hoodrat.

But I kept my expression calm, though inwardly I literally felt like hurling something in his
direction. "Dr. Reid," I acknowledged briefly, barely just hiding behind my exasperation.
"We're in the middle of something."

The unsub, sensing the break in intensity, shifted uncontrollably in his extremely comfortable
chair. His confidence which had previously begun to crumble as I took him apart, in this short
time began to rebuild in the brief pause. I couldn't let this opportune moment slip away.

Reid took a tentative step forward, his brows furrowed upwards, a look of impatience lining
his face. "I understand but this is important," he insisted, his tone quieter but no less
demanding than usual.

I stared at him with a blank expression, my gaze hard and unwilling to yield. "Important
enough to interrupt a confession?"

"Yes," he said firmly, his eyes scanning mine. "It is."

I could feel the unsub watching our charged encounter, waiting for the power struggle to
resolve and for one of us to give in to the other. I didn't want to walk away, not now, not
when I was so close to getting him to talk. But something in Reid's demeanour stopped me in
my tracks— something serious. He wasn't just playing any old prank, I could tell.

I let out a breath, then turned my head to the man who now had his chin resting in his hands.
"We're not finished here," I warned, standing from the table but keeping my look locked on
him for just a few seconds longer. His cowardice wavered once again under my stare.

Reluctantly, I followed the doctor out of the room, the door closing behind us with an echoed
thud. The hallway was cold and sterile sending goosebumps erupting all over my unclothed
flesh.
"What is it?" I asked impatiently, not bothering to hide my vexation any longer.

His gaze flickered from one corner of my face to the other and then finally my eyes with a
mix of urgency and something heavier— something that made the hairs on the back of my
neck stand up. Without saying a word, he reached into his jacket and pulled out a worn
manila folder, the edges visibly frayed from handling. He hesitated for a beat before holding
it out to me as if it would be some world-bending thing.

"What's this?" I asked, widening my eyes at him.

"Just...look at it," he stumbled quietly, his usual sharpness softened by something almost
resembling sympathy.

I snatched the folder from his hands, flipping it open with more force than necessary. A series
of aged, faded photographs stared back at me, each like a separate ghost from my past. My
breath caught in my throat as I skimmed it and recognised the faces—ones that could never
leave my memories no matter how hard I tried. My father, my mother...and I, standing
between them with a forced smile plastered on my young face.

And there, in the background, was my sister, her eyes sharp, cold and filled with fear.

A pendant hung from my mother's neck, stopping me right in my tracks as I inspected it

further.

I could feel my heart rate spike, sending a pang of nausea through me as the weight of what I
was seeing settled in.

The Elysium symbol. On her neck.

"Where did you find this?" I demanded, my voice barely above a whisper, but laced with
tension. My fingers gripped at the edge of the photograph so hard I thought it might crumple
beneath my touch.

Reid didn't flinch at my tone, as if he heard it many times before. "It was in the evidence we
uncovered from the cult's hideout. I've been looking through their archives and connections.
That man in there knows who you are and who you were family i— was." His voice was
steady, but there was an edge to it like he was waiting for me to lash out.

"I thought you'd want to see it."

I swallowed hard, my vision blurring as memories long buried came rushing to the surface—
the shootout, the fire, my parents' bodies lifeless on the ground. My mind spun out of control
as I tried to piece together the implications of the photograph. The Elysium necklace. My
mother. She had been there all along—

"You had no right!" I finally whispered, my voice trembling with barely contained rage. "You
had absolutely no right to dig into my past like this."

My hand flew up to my face instinctively, wiping away the forming tears from welling on my
eyeline.
Reid's eyes softened further, but he didn't back down. "I wasn't trying to hurt you, Mira. But
this is bigger than just your pass now. If your family was involved with this cult, we need to
know more."
I shook my head rapidly, stepping back, the folder slipping from my hands sending the
pictures scattered across the floor. "Y-you don't understand," I hissed, my pulse thundering in
my ears. "You don't get to bring them back into my life, Reid. I left that behind, I had to."

Spencer stepped forward, closing the space between us. His voice was low and steady, but
there was a haste in it now. "I'm sorry, but this isn't just about what you left behind anymore.
Your mother—she's a key player in all of this. There is a reason she was wearing that pendant
— keep in mind before we even knew Elysium existed and before you even thought of being
in the Bureau. This means Elysium has been going on for sure over a decade."

His words hung in the air between us, heavy with the weight of our shared history. I felt my
determination faltering, the icy walls I had built around myself beginning to crack under
extreme pressure. I wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stay out of my past, to leave me
alone, but deep down I knew he was right. I couldn't run from this anymore. My past had
caught up to me, and there was no escaping it now.

I took a shaky breath, my voice barely audible as I spoke. "What do we do now?"

⏳
The soft hum of city life greeted us as we pulled up to the hotel, the neon signs of Las Vegas
flickering in the night. It was late—much later than I had expected, and my body ached from
the long hours spent tracking down leads, interrogating the caught cultist and having long
conversations about my family's presumed involvement in Elysium. The air felt thick and
heavy with the tension that everyone was carrying on their backs.

We checked in with little fanfare, the concierge swiftly handing us our key cards. I could feel
Reid beside me, his presence a constant steady weight that tugged at all of my senses except
touch. Smell, sight, sound... here he was everywhere.

As I turned the keycard over and over in my hand nervously, I heard the familiar rapid
clacking of heels approaching, followed by a flurry of brightly coloured fabric and the scent
of roses. I didn't even need to turn around to know who it was.

"Hey, hey hey! There you two are," Garcia chirped, her voice slightly breathless from her
full-force rush toward us. She waved her arms dramatically, her bracelets jangling with every
minute move. "Listen, please don't be mad at me, okay?"

Reid and I both turned to face her, and I raised an eyebrow, sensing a disaster coming our
way. "What did you do, Penelope?"

She winced, holding her hands up in a state of defensiveness and surrender. "Okay, so here's
the thing— I may have made a teeeensy-tiny miscalculation in the hotel reservations. I
thought Spencer was going to stay with his mom tonight, you know, family time and all that
— but when I double-checked there was only one room left..."
"Garcia...One room?"Reid echoed a sense of distress wavering in his voice. He was clearly
just as thrown as I was.

Garcia nodded fast, guilt washing over her face. "Yeah, everything else was completely
booked up. Las Vegas on a Friday night, what are the odds, right? It's a logistical nightmare!
So... I had to double you two up. I'm so, so sorry." She gave us both a sheepish grin, wringing
her hands nervously. "But, hey, at least it's a nice room? Big bed, I think. I mean, not
that I saw it or anything. But hey, it's fine! Totally fine..."

She trailed off as the weight of her words settled in. I glanced over at Reid, his expression
unreadable, though the tension in his posture wasn't lost on me.

"I know, I know," she groaned, clasping her hands together in a dramatic plea. I'm sorry, I'm
so bad at this planning stuff under pressure. I mean, I can juggle six monitors and crack
encrypted firewalls, but one little hotel reservation? Pfft. What even is life?" She gave us
both a hopeful look, her eyes wide with anticipation. "Forgive me?"

I sighed, trying not to laugh at her antics. "It's fine, Garcia. Just... next time, maybe don't wait
until the last minute to book rooms?"

She nodded frantically, her face brightening. "Absolutely! Never again! You two will be the
top priority on my next travel itinerary. I promise!"

Reid gave a small, resigned nod, his voice quiet. "It's not your fault, Penelope. It'll be fine."
His eyes flickered over to me for the briefest moment before he cleared his throat and looked
away.

Garcia visibly relaxed, bouncing on her toes. "You guys are the best! Okay, I'll leave you to it
then." She waved a hasty goodbye, scurrying off down the hallway, her heels echoing as she
disappeared into the distance.

One room. One bed. The thought lingered between us like static in the air, unspoken but
impossible to ignore. I glanced down at the keycard in my hand, my thumb tracing the edge
over and over again as if it held the answer to everything I was feeling. Reid stood beside me,
silent, his tension mirroring my own, the space between us crackling with something
unspoken and undeniable.

I wanted to laugh it off, make some sarcastic quip to defuse the situation, but my mouth was
dry, and the knot in my stomach had tightened into something else—something that wasn't
quite dread, but wasn't exactly anticipation either. I couldn't tell if the thought of being alone
with him in such close quarters terrified me or if it excited me. Maybe both.

This was going to be a long night.

🖊️
A/N:
So I may have just majorly edged you all...But all I'm going to say is the next chapter is
So. Good.

I know I have been going into Mira's backstory a little more and I apologise if it was
slightly more boring— but OH is the spice coming in the next chapter!

Please let me know what you all think :)

Reidbetweenwords 🩷
 Chapter 11: Hotel

⚠️ TW: Sexually explicit content — heavy petting.

Song for this chapter: Hotel — Montell Fish 🎵

'When I met you in that hotel room,

I could tell that you were some bad news.'

📖
The door to our hotel room swung open, revealing an unexpectedly spacious room adorned
with warm, dim lighting and a somewhat fair-sized bed that seemed to dominate the room. I
stepped inside, my heart pounding from the whirlwind of emotions. This was it—just me and
Reid... alone in a hotel room...

I looked around, trying to ignore the anxiety bubbling inside me. My gaze fell on the couch
in the corner, a sad little thing that looked as if it could barely fit one person, let alone
someone as tall as Reid. "So... one bed, huh?" I said, trying to keep the mood light. I back at
him, half-expecting a sarcastic comeback. "You'll have to fight me for it."

He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "I'm not going to fight you for a bed, Mira. I'll
take the couch."

I couldn't help but let out a small laugh at that. "Good luck with that thing. It looks like it
could collapse under you."

"Yeah, better than sharing a bed with you," he shot back, his eyes narrowing slightly, but
there was a hint of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

There was a pause, the silence stretching uncomfortably between us. I could feel my pulse
quickening, an electric hum sparking to life as I realized we were both caught in this moment,
suspended in the tension of what could happen next— if anything.

I took a deep breath, deciding to challenge the heaviness in the air. "You know, Reid, sharing
a bed isn't the worst thing in the world. Some people even find it comforting." My voice was
teasing, and playful. Part of me craved that closeness, even if just for a night, even if it was
my work rival.

He raised an eyebrow, scepticism dancing in his features. "Comforting? Or just... intimate?"

The way he said 'intimate' sent a shiver down my spine, and I bit back a grin. For some
reason, I liked hearing him speak about...well...intimacy?
Maybe it's just because he was so analytical all the time and this proved he actually was a
human with emotions and not just a snarky robot. "Why not both? There's a difference
between sharing a bed and actually... you know." I let the sentence hang, the implication
obvious.
Reid looked away, his cheeks flushing slightly. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves," he replied,
his tone trying to sound light but failing to mask the underlying tension. "We're supposed to
be working, remember?"

As the words swung in the air, I turned to the bed, the soft fabric inviting yet intimidating.
The moonlight filtering through the blinds cast a silver hue over everything, creating an
atmosphere that felt both comforting and charged with anticipation.

I took a deep breath and said, "I'll change first. Quickly."

"Right," he replied, his voice almost breathless. I could feel the tension shifting as he backed
away, giving me space, but not before I caught the way his eyes lingered on me just a second
longer than necessary.

Turning around, I took a moment to compose myself before slowly reaching for the hem of
my shirt. I pulled it over my head, letting it fall to the floor. A rush of adrenaline coursed
through me as I felt his eyes on my back. I could almost hear the steady thump of his heart
mirroring my own.

My body hesitated, the cool air brushing against my skin sending a tremble through me. I
glanced back over my shoulder, catching his looks wide and fixed on me, the surprise
mingling with something deeper—desire. The heat of the moment coaxed me to linger just a
bit longer, to feel the weight of his gaze pressing against me like a gentle push.

I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of power at this moment, knowing that my body was
having this effect on him. I stood there, still topless, and rotated to face him fully, my eyes
meeting his.

Everything within me thought he would've been the 'gentleman' he normally is— and maybe
he would've looked away. But he didn't.

With a slight gulp, I let my jeans slide down my legs, leaving me in just my underwear. I
could feel my cheeks flush, and I fought the urge to cover myself. Instead, I turned away
fully, grabbing a loose shirt from my bag, but not before catching another glimpse of Reid,
who had shifted uncomfortably against the wall, his jaw clenched tight, clearly trying to
contain his reactions and not look at me.

I slipped the shirt on, the soft fabric a welcome barrier, but it did little to mask the heightened
awareness between us. Every sound— the soft rustle of fabric, the creak of the floor— all felt
madly amplified.

"Okay," I finally said, trying to shake off the unease that had settled in my stomach. "You
should—."

"Right," he responded, his voice steady but slightly strained. He moved toward the bathroom,
glancing over his shoulder one last time, his eyes dark and intense, sending a thrill through
me.

I nodded, then sat on the edge of the bed, my heart still racing. Everything in my mind was a
whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, replaying the moments that had led us here. The tension
between us had always been there, simmering beneath the surface, but this was different. This
felt like a line we were crossing, and I wasn't entirely sure I wanted to turn back. I mean,
come on, one room? One bed?

I glanced toward the bathroom, the sound of fabric rustling reaching my ears. I bit my lip
slightly, the desire to look overwhelming me. What would it be like to see him undress? His
lean body— the vulnerability that hid behind a carefully composed exterior. Temptations
were too strong to resist.
I leaned just that inch closer, my breath caught in my throat as I stole a glimpse of him
through the crack in the door that was left slightly ajar.

He was in the process of unbuttoning his shirt— fingers trembling.

Fuck. It was obvious that his thoughts were eating at him, thoughts of what had just happened
racing through his head.

He tossed his shirt aside, revealing his slight, muscular torso. His eyes darted to the open
door, suddenly aware of the possibility of me looking in. He froze for a moment, his breath
catching in his throat. Our eyes locked for just an instant, a surge of electricity igniting
through every nerve in my body.

I felt my cheeks flush, my mind racing as I quickly pulled back in shock— half expecting
him to call me out. But I was caught between wanting to retreat and also wanting to linger in
that moment. Linger in the thrill of getting caught staring.

"Mira?" His voice was low, a mix of confusion and something deeper that sent my heart
racing even faster.

I shifted on the bed, the glow of the moon casting a silvery light in the room, as I mulled over
my thoughts. Guilt— for the way I'd been spying on him was gnawing at me, but also an
unmistakable curiosity. And the thought of him trying to sleep on that tiny, terrible couch sent
an even worse feeling through me.

With a final deep breath, I turned to face the bathroom door again. "Reid?" I called out. "This
couch is horrible. I don't think you should sleep on it..."

After a moment, he emerged, his face still slightly flushed from the earlier moment, the
bathroom light illuminating the sharp angles of his features. "What do you propose I do
instead? Camp out on the floor?"

I pivoted on the bed, feeling a sickly knot of tension in my stomach. "Well... I— uh— you
could come here." I gestured to the space beside me. "Just you know—keep your distance.
It's bad enough we're stuck in a room together let alone a bed."

He studied me for a moment, that familiar spark of challenge flickering in his gaze. "You're
really not making this any easier, you know."

"Good," I shot back, a hint of a smirk tugging at my lips. "I wouldn't want it to be easy. That
would defeat the whole purpose of us being here together."
Reid fully stepped out of the bathroom now and with a begrudging sigh, he moved closer,
climbing into the bed beside me. A small space lingered between us, both our bodies rigid.
The mattress creaked lowly under our weight, amplifying the genuine energy that swirled
around us— mixing with our shallow breaths.

I turned my head slightly to steal a glance at him. The moonlight cast a soft glow across his
face, highlighting the sharp angles and the way his hair fell just over his eyes. He was staring
at the ceiling, but I could just feel his awareness of me beside him, a weighty silence filling
the air.

Suddenly, Reid's voice cut through the quiet, a mix of nervousness and his usual analytical
tone. "You know, this bed-sharing situation is quite common in fiction. Did you know that in
a study of romance novels, 43% featured a 'forced proximity' trope?"

He reads romance novels? Eh. Surely not.

I couldn't help but smirk, turning my head slightly to look at him. "Is that so, Dr. Reid? And
how many of those end with the characters actually sleeping?"

His eyes widened slightly, and I watched as he swallowed hard— his Adam's apple bobbing.
"I... I didn't analyse that particular outcome." Obviously he wasn't expecting me to ask him
that.

"Of course, you didn't," I murmured, my voice low and teasing. I pivoted slightly, causing the
bed to creak. Reid tensed beside me, and I felt a flutter in my stomach at his reaction.

I was making him nervous.

"We should establish clear boundaries," he said suddenly, his voice strained. "For
professionalism."
I raised an eyebrow in curiosity, propping myself up on one elbow to face him better. "Okay,
Reid. What boundaries do you propose?"

His eyes darted to mine, then quickly away out of nervousness. I watched as he took a deep
breath, his chest rising and falling beneath his thin t-shirt. "Well, no... touching. Or prolonged
eye contact. Or..."

"Breathing?" I interjected, poking fun at how his breath had quickened. "You seem to be
doing a lot of that right now."

The brunette's cheeks flushed, visible even in the dim light. "Breathing is an autonomic
function, Mira. It's not something we can just..."

His eyes locked onto mine, dark and intense. I could see the internal struggle playing out
across his features - the logical part of him warring with something deeper.

"Mira," he panted in a whisper, my name sounding like both a warning and a plea on his lips.

I felt myself drawn in, unable to look away from him.

He tried to regain control, tried to put up that professional wall between us. But the look in
his eyes gave everything away— the desire, the need, the lust.

I had never seen him like this before. I had never seen him in such a sensual position, one
that made a foreign sensation grow between my legs.

I watched as his breathing became more laboured, his gaze dipping down for a moment to my
chest, before quickly darting back up to my eyes. He knew he couldn't. And yet he still did.

"Reid," I said softly, my voice barely fighting a whisper. "Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?" he asked, his voice laced with an almost innocent curiosity, but the way his
eyes darkened and he rolled his tongue over his lips told me he knew exactly what I meant—
wanting me to admit it.

The tension between us was stretching, almost like a rubber band at its limit, ready to snap at
any minute if we just let go.

Slowly and carefully, Reid reached out. His fingertip grazed the back of my hand, feather-
light and electric. I took in a breath as he traced a path up my arm, leaving goosebumps
forming at every place he touched. It was like he was mapping every inch of my skin—
taking it in so suggestively.

"What are you doing?" I breathed— the only four words that I could even push out of my
mouth, barely audible.

Reid's eyes met mine once again, a mix of vulnerability and determination in his look.
"Testing a hypothesis," he murmured, his voice soft and husky.

A shiver raced down my spine at his words, igniting a feeling within me that I tried
desperately to bury when it came to him. "A hypothesis?" I echoed, my breath catching. "And
what exactly are you trying to prove?"

He leaned in closer, his warm breath fanning over my skin, sending sparks of awareness
coursing through me. "That the tension between us isn't just in my head." His fingertips
paused at the curve of my shoulder, lingering for a moment longer, like he was weighing the
consequences of his next move. "That every time you challenge me, every time you push
back, every time you get under my skin—it's because you feel this too."

When did he learn to read me so well?

Reid's lips brushed against my ear, his breath burning against my skin. I couldn't stop the
small gasp that escaped me, my body instinctively arching towards him. The teasing graze of
his teeth along my neck made me bite my lip to stifle a quiet whimper, pleasure and tension
clouding my thoughts.

"I really hate you, Reid." I proclaimed, a surge of defiance rising within me even though my
body begged for his touch. "This... doesn't change anything." Liar, my mind whispered. It
changed everything.
Every move was deliberate, calculated— just like every other godamn thing about him. "Is
that so?" he murmured as if he was taunting me. "Then let me describe exactly every single
thing I'm going to do, and you can tell me if that changes anything."

I let out a slight exhale at his words which would normally have been imperceptible, but
because of the room's silence leaving nothing but our heavy breathing— it stuck out. My
body was subconsciously responding to the promises he whispered— and I couldn't even
control it anymore. All these weeks or even months now of verbal conflict, of challenging
each other, of pushing each other's buttons— it all led us here. To this inevitable fucking
collision.

How long had it been since I was with someone in this...way? Too long. Surely that's what
was dictating my movements right? That I was just touch-deprived...

His fingers met my neck as he narrated, "I'm going to brush your hair aside, exposing the
curve of your neck."I tried to suppress a shudder as he suited his actions to his narration, but
failed miserably.

The warm breath radiated against my skin as he leaned in closer. "I'm going to press my lips
just below your ear," he continued, before doing exactly that.

Oh my.

"Then, I'll trace a path down your neck with my tongue, "His words sent vibrations through
my skin before he followed through on his promise.

And as my head fell back involuntarily, giving him better access. I could feel his smirk
growing against my skin.

I could tell he was enjoying the effect he had on me as I desperately tried to keep my
composure, to resist this invisible pull I felt towards him but even though I despised him—
his words and actions made it nearly impossible not to react.

"And now," Reid breathed, his lips hovering millimetres from mine, "I'm going to kiss you.
Unless you tell me to stop."

Kiss?

The words hung in the air, offering me an ultimatum that was wrapped as an invitation. I
stared into his eyes, searching for any signs of hesitation, but all I found was a hunger that
mirrored my own.

"Spencer..." I started, but the word quickly faded into the air, and my mouth suddenly dried.
There was no way I could say the word I probably should have said. The space between us
was crackling with tension, and as his gaze darkened, I felt my resolve slipping one last time
before he closed the distance.

Pressing his lips against mine was all he needed to do to send shockwaves through my body.
The kiss wasn't just electric— it was like a fucking revelation. I melted against him instantly
and lowered every single boundary I had put up.

This was it. No going back. It was real— there was no denying it this time. It wasn't part of a
ruse in a mission—it was just raw emotion.

As Reid pressed me back against the bed, his body covering mine, I knew that this wouldn't
solve anything. In the morning, we'd still be rivals, still drive each other crazy. But for now,
in the darkness of this hotel room, none of that mattered. All that mattered was this moment,
this lustful tension between hate and desire, and the feel of Reid's hands on my skin.

All of our pent-up frustration and barely contained aggression led to our lips crashing
together with a force that could've left bruises. My teeth nipped at his bottom lip— earning a
low growl from him that vibrated through our bodies. His fingers dug into my hips, hard
enough to leave marks, a physical manifestation of the battle between us. Every touch, every
gasp was a surrender and a challenge at the same time.

My hands found their way to his hair, fingers tangling in the soft strands as I lost myself in
him, the thrill of the moment that felt exhilarating and yet dangerous. This was wrong. So
wrong. But everything about it felt so good.

"This won't solve anything," I let out in one quick speech, my voice hoarse from desire.

But Reid didn't seem to care one bit about the words that I had only just about uttered, his
focus solely on me as if he had been aching to do this forever. His lips left a burning trail of
pecks peppered down my jawline, the sound of his hot ragged breaths in my ear.

"Don't care," he snarled, his voice throaty.

Spencer's hands were sure and skilled as he lifted my shirt, his gaze blazing with intent. I
could feel his warmth radiating through the thin fabric, his fingers moving with a purpose
that made my breath hitch.

"Mira," he breathed, looking up at me through his eyelashes. "Just let me feel you."

His fingers moved slowly down my stomach, dangerously close to the waistband of my
pants. My heart raced, caught between wanting him to continue and the nagging voice in my
head telling me to stop. This was reckless, but all I could think about was how good it felt to
have him so close.

"Spencer, we can't..." I whispered, trying to pull back, but my body leaned in closer,
betraying me and everything I stood for.

"Why not?" He shot back, his frustration evident as he had finally gotten me where he wanted
before it was ripped away again. "We've been treading on each other's feet for months! You're
just going to push away again?"

"Push away?" I scoffed, my breathing still hitching from our proximity and the way his eyes
darted to my lips. "You're just jealous because I can keep up with you—no, I can surpass you
and it drives you crazy!"
"Crazy? You're the one who can't admit you're not always in control," he countered, his eyes
narrowing. "It's infuriating!"

"I hate how you act like you know everything," I retorted. "You think your IQ makes you
superior, but you're just a smug know-it-all!"

"Maybe you're just angry that I challenge you," he replied, leaning in closer, our faces inches
apart. "Or maybe you can't stand that I see right through your tough act."

"Stop pretending this isn't complicated!" I shot back, my heart racing with anger and
something else. "We can't keep doing this!"

"Why not?" he said, his voice low, desire creeping in. "Maybe we hate each other too much
to resist."

His words stuck a chord in me, igniting a fire deep in my gut. He was right.

I couldn't find the words to respond, my breath catching as he continued to press me against
the bed. His experienced hands roamed over my skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

"You drive me fucking crazy," he breathed, his lips ghosting against my neck once again,
making me sharply inhale. "You're always challenging me, testing me... I can't stand it."

I tried to defy the pull of his touch, to fight the rising desire that was rapidly burning through
me. But it was useless. I knew I was losing this battle.

"You make me so angry, but somehow that just makes me want you more." The words
echoed in my mind as I traced his jawline with trembling fingers. His features, which had
always irritated me, now held me captive – the slight arch of his brow, his eyes that were a
dark sultry brown— watching me with a hunger I just knew mirrored my own.

I felt his hands slide over my hips, his grip firm and claiming as he pressed his body against
mine. Instinctively, I wrapped my legs around his waist, drawing him closer until there was
no space left between us. The friction was electric, his body grinding against mine in a way
that made my breath hitch, my skin hypersensitive to every single place we connected.

"Does this reaction mean I'm maybe doing something right?" He challenged me in my ear.

His warm breath against my exposed skin sent shivers down my spine. "Stop talking," I
managed to whisper, my fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.

Just as the distance between us shrank to nothing, a sharp knock shattered the moment like
glass breaking.

"Mira? Reid?" The muffled voice of Emily called from the other side of the door. "You two in
there? We need to talk!"

The rude interruption jolted both Reid and me back to reality. He pulled back, his eyes still
aflame with a mixture of desire. I hastily pulled down on my shirt, my heart still beating at an
unmeasurable rate from the adrenaline and disappointment.
Reid ran a hand through his hair, visibly irritated. "Of course, they choose now to need us.
Typical."

Another knock echoed through the door, more insistent this time. "Come on, guys! We're not
waiting all night!" Emily pressed.

"Just act normal," I instructed, trying to smooth my hair and regain some semblance of
professionalism.

Reid nodded, his expression conflicted. "Normal? After that?" His tone was a mix of
incredulity and amusement.

With a sigh, I moved toward the door, but Reid stood beside me, close enough that I could
feel the heat radiating off him. I opened the door to find Emily, arms crossed and a knowing
look on her face.

The black-haired woman smirked at us, no doubt sensing the tension in the air. "Well, you
two certainly took a while."

Reid bristled at the implication, his jaw tightening. I shot him a warning glare, silently asking
him to keep it together for now.

"We were just talking," I said evenly.

Emily raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it but choosing not to comment further. "Well,
talk or whatever it is that you were doing later. Hotch needs us in the conference room."
 Chapter 12: Convinced?

Song of the chapter: Meddle About - Chase Atlantic 🎵

'We only met each other just the other day,

But you already got me feeling some type of way...'

📖
The soft hum of typing and muted conversations bounced around the bullpen, but all I could
hear was the echo of Friday night— three days ago when Reid's breath was against my skin,
the weight of his body pressing me into the bed. It felt nearly impossible to focus. Sitting
across from Reid, trying to act like nothing had happened felt like an excruciating
punishment.

The tension between us was tangible, as usual, a silent war neither of us dared to
acknowledge. We hadn't spoken about it, hadn't even made eye contact since this morning,
but I could feel him watching me out of the corner of his eyes.

I looked up at Reid, sliding the file across the desk without meeting his gaze. "There's
nothing new in these. Just the same suspects we've already ruled out." My voice broke
through the heavy silence between us, urging him to speak.

Our fingers brushed as he took the file, and for a split second, it was like time froze. The
memory of the way his fingers gripped my hips like he needed to hold onto something real
flooded my mind with a vengeance. My pulse quickened from a steady rate to an erratic one,
but I masked it by keeping my gaze fixed on the papers, refusing to give him the satisfaction
of knowing how much his touch rattled me.
I say that as if I wasn't underneath him just 72 hours ago— but anyway.

I forced myself to pull my hand away, hoping he hadn't noticed the very slight tremble in my
fingers. But, of course, with his sharp perception he had. He always noticed.

"You're distracted," he stated matter-of-factly, his voice quiet and personal.

I finally looked up meeting his deep brown eyes. His expression was calm, almost
disinterested, but the heat behind his gaze betrayed him. He knew exactly what he was doing
— of course, he wasn't being genuine at all.

"I'm not distracted," I lied.

He smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Could've fooled me."

Reid's smirk made my skin prickle with a burning frustration. That same feeling he elicited
out of me on a daily basis. He had that maddening ability to get under my skin in a way no
one else could. To make matters worse I could tell he didn't buy my lie for a second.
Just as I was about to retort, there was a loud pop followed by something wet splattered
across my hand. I blinked in confusion as blue ink began to pool across the desk. The cheap,
shitty ballpoint pen in my hand had exploded, successfully spilling all over the desk, some
files and my bright white t-shirt.
"Oh for fuck's sake" I muttered under my breath, quickly standing and reaching across the
desk in front of Reid for tissues— who by the way now had an even cockier grin on his face
as if he was calling me an idiot. Before I could even say anything else, Reid's hand was
already there, brushing against mine as he helped clean up.
"Always so graceful," He said with a dry sneer, wiping at the ink stain on the desk.

My eyes shot up to meet his, anger flaring in my chest at his taunting tone. "If you're going to
be an ass about it, I'll handle it myself."

He leaned in slightly, just enough for his presence to feel suffocating in the best, most
infuriating way. "I think you just like the chaos. It gives you something to focus on besides..."
He trailed off, letting his gaze drop to my dye-covered hand, then slowly back to my eyes.

"Besides what?" I demanded, knowing full well where this conversation was heading, but
refusing to back down.

His voice dropped, the air between us thickening with tension. "Besides me."

Without another word, I stormed off towards the utility closet, my cheeks burning with a
mixture of anger and embarrassment. I could hear Reid's footsteps behind me, following at a
measured pace. Of course, he couldn't just let it go.

Like ever.

I yanked open the closet door, my eyes scanning the shelves for something to clean the ink
off. Reid slipped in behind me quickly, closing the door behind us with a soft click. The small
space suddenly felt even more suffocating just with his presence.

"You're making a mess," he said, his voice hushed and tinged with amusement. Glad
someone is finding this funny. He reached past me, grabbing a bottle of cleaning solution and
some paper towels.

I snatched them from his hands, perhaps a little bit too forcefully. "I can handle myself,
Reid."
"Clearly," he countered, raising an eyebrow at the blue stains spreading across my once
pristine shirt.

I started scrubbing at my hands, pointedly ignoring him. But Reid, being Reid, couldn't leave
it alone. He took a paper towel, dampened it with the solution, and began dabbing at a spot
on my shirt.

"What are you doing?" I hissed, trying to step back but finding myself trapped between him
and the shelves.

"Helping," he said simply, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. "Unless you'd rather walk
around looking like you lost a fight with a Smurf."
I couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped me. "A Smurf? Really? That's the best you
can come up with, Dr. Reid?"

His strong gaze met mine, that infuriating twinkle of entertainment still there, but now mixed
with something darker, more intense. "Well, I could make a joke about how this situation
feels oddly familiar. You, me, in a small space..." He trailed off, his voice low and hoarse.

The air between us suddenly felt charged memories of our hotel encounter flooding back. I
could feel the heat radiating from his body, so close to mine in the cramped closet. My breath
hitched as his fingers grazed my collarbone while he worked on a particularly stubborn ink
stain.

"This is nothing like that," I managed to say, my voice embarrassingly breathy. "For one,
we're vertical this time."

Reid's eyes narrowed at my words, his hands stilling on my shirt. "True," he muttered,
leaning in just that bit closer. "And there's considerably less bed space in here."

I felt my heart rate spike, a mix of anger and desire coursing through me. "You're
insufferable, you know that?" I spat, but I made no move to push him away, I couldn't.

"And yet, here you are," he countered, his breath warm against my cheek. "In another small
space with me. One might think you're developing a habit."

"God, no," I groaned, rolling my eyes. But I couldn't quite keep the smile off my face.

Everything about this situation was taking over me. His proximity was intoxicating, the scent
of books, musk and cinnamon mercilessly enveloping my sense of smell.
"You missed a spot," he whispered, his breath almost flush against my ear as he leaned in
closer.
Something in me snapped. The tension, the frustration, the memory of Friday night— it all
came crashing down. Without warning, I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my
head, standing there in my dark red bra.
Reid's eyes widened, his jaw dropping slightly. For once, the great Dr. Spencer Reid seemed
at a loss for words.

"There," I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Now you can get all the spots."

I watched as Reid's gaze travelled over me, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
The shock on his face was quickly replaced by something darker, more intense.

The air in the small closet thickened to the point of near suffocation, tension crackling
between us like electricity. Reid's eyes flickered with something I couldn't quite name—
surprise yes but also something else. His regard dropped to my chest, then slowly up to meet
mine, lips parting slightly as if he was going to say something but couldn't quite find the
words.

For once, I had rendered him speechless— and I was proud.

"You seem awfully quiet now, Doctor," I quipped, my voice shaky despite the bravado I was
attempting to hold onto. I could hear my pulse hammering in my ears, drowning out any
rational thought that should've been telling me to stop, to put my shirt back on and to quit
while I could.

He blinked rapidly, still slightly astounding, his eyes locking onto mine again with a hunger
present within them. "Mira...I—" His voice was strained, as though he was fighting the pull
between us. "What are you doing?"

I stepped closer, the heat radiating off his body pulling me in like a magnet. "You said I
missed a spot," I said softly, the sarcasm out the window and now replaced with a sultry
undertone that slipped out accidentally.
"This isn't—" His words faltered again as my fingers gently brushed against his chest,
lingering there just a little longer than necessary. The rattling breath that had such a hold over
me hitched powerlessly, and I could feel his whole body tense under my touch.

"This isn't what?" I whispered, my voice barely above a breath as I leaned in, so close that I
could feel the warmth of his skin radiating between the few inches that separated us. My
heart pounded in my chest, the tension between us thick and intoxicating.

He swallowed hard, his jaw clenched. "We shouldn't..." His words lacked conviction, his
voice so low it was almost a rumble. His hand moved slowly, as if against his better
judgment, trailing up my arm, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

I tilted my head slightly, my lips hovering inches from his, the anticipation crackling between
us like electricity. "Then tell me to stop," I murmured, daring him with my gaze, the heat
between us now unbearable.

Reid's eyes bore into mine, his fingers tightening on my arm as though trying to tether
himself to reality. But the desire was too strong, the pull too irresistible. His hand came up to
cup the side of my neck, his thumb brushing softly over my pulse, which was racing under
his touch.

"Am I interrupting something?" Morgan's voice cut through the heavy tension, and both Reid
and I instantly stepped apart, my pulse still thrumming from how close we had come.

⏳
Morgan's teasing grin faded as he led Reid and me down the stark hallway towards the
conference room. "So, I hope you two enjoyed your little makeout session in the storage
room," he said with a smirk, throwing a glance over his shoulder.

Reid and I both froze, the colour rising in our cheeks as we shot each other flustered looks.
"What? I couldn't help but notice you were really getting into it before I knocked."

"Shut up, Morgan," I muttered, trying to hide my obvious embarrassment. Reid's usual
composed expression was replaced by an awkward grin as he rubbed the back of his neck.
"All jokes aside," he said, his voice low, "you two need to be on your A-game for this. The
Elysium cult doesn't mess around and you both got an invitation."

It had been weeks since we first infiltrated the bar pretending to be a couple, but we had
completely forgotten that there were more events waiting for us.

After a few minutes, Derek explained to us that the cult was hosting a private masquerade
ball tonight—an event designed to draw in high-level members and test the new recruits.
Somehow, even though stupidly we didn't leave contact information, Jonathon, the recruiter
we met last time had managed to find the fake residence of Reid's work and sent us a
handwritten cursive, may I add, letter proposal.

I could feel Reid walking beside me, his usual confident demeanour replaced with a quiet
tension. Morgan pushed open the door to the meeting room, revealing a reserved-looking guy
with a pristine man bun sitting atop his head —Henri Lafleur. His face was weathered, his
eyes haunted with the knowledge you could tell he wished he didn't have. A former cult
member...Henri had lived through the rituals we were about to face, and that alone made my
stomach knot.
"Henri," Morgan greeted as we stepped inside, "These are the agents heading undercover."

The stern man nodded slowly, his gaze sweeping over us with a deep, unreadable expression.
"Greetings. You'll be walking straight into the lion's den this evening. La Mascarade des
Âmes- the mascarade of souls— is about more than dancing. It's about forming inner
connections within the cult and building a rapport with those around you. Not to mention to
show off your 'genuine' connection with each other."

His eyes lingered on me, then shifted to Reid. "You two are going to have to play the part of
lovers. I hear you have already done that but I mean convincingly."

I swallowed hard, my throat now drier than sandpaper. "What exactly does this involve?" I
questioned, my voice steady despite the anxiety gnawing away at my insides.

Henri's lips twitched into a humourless smile. "You'll be in close proximity to one another—
dancing, touching, whispering. They'll be watching for the slightest hint of discomfort or
hesitation. Everything about your connection will be picked apart— and quite frankly you
need to act like you can't keep your hands off of each other."
Reid's jaw tightened beside me, his hand brushing against mine as if to steady both of us. I
could tell this was weighing on him too—trust wasn't something either of us gave away
easily, especially not to each other.

"There's no script," Henri added, leaning forward slightly. "And it is a spectacle— masks will
hide your identities, but your movements and interactions...they'll tell the story. If you falter
or show hesitation, they'll see right through you. You'll be expected to dance— intimately.
Make them believe it or your cover is blown."

A thick silence hung between us as Reid and I exchanged a glance, both of us processing the
gravity of what we were walking into.

⏳
The ballroom was already alive with movement, shadows of figures swaying to the soft hum
of a string quartet. I glided into the affluent ballroom, feeling the whisper of my dark blood-
red gown against my skin, the corset sinching me in and making it slightly more difficult to
breathe— unhelpfully as I was already having problems due to the night up ahead. The black
mask adorning my face concealed my identity, but I knew my eyes betrayed vigilance as they
scanned the room.
Suddenly, my gaze locked onto a familiar figure across the floor, and my breath caught in my
throat.

Dr. Spencer Reid.

Even with the simple black mask obscuring half his face, I'd recognise him anywhere. He
stood near a marble column, his lean frame accentuated by a perfectly tailored dark suit. For
a heartbeat, the rest of the room faded away, the anxieties leaving my body.

His dark chestnut eyes held mine, a mix of surprise and perhaps...anticipation enveloping his
face. I hate how easily he affects me, how just his mere presence could simultaneously
infuriate me yet captivate me at the same time. Taking a deep steadying breath, I made my
way towards him, forcing grace and poise into every step to maintain our ruse. Our eyes
never broke contact.

As I approached, I noticed his stares were widened slightly, something interperceptible from
the distance I once was at. He's already in character...reassuring.
"You look...the gown— it suits you..."

I arched an eyebrow, a smirk threatening to break through my carefully thought facade. "Is
that the best you could do, Reid? I was expecting a bit more from our 'resident genius.'"

His expression shifted, the corners of his mouth twitching lightly as he tried to suppress a
grin. "I'm just trying to stick to the script, remember? We need to be convincing and that
means no awkward attempts at flirting— you're lucky you got a compliment at all."
I scoffed before responding, "Awkward flirting? This is a masquerade ball, Reid. It's a
requirement— the most cliché thing they could've made us do. Dancing illicitly- pretending
to actually like each other, or even better be 'in love' and coupled."

Reid shrugged, his gaze playful but earnest. "You know, in many cultures, dancing is
considered a form of foreplay."

I raised an eyebrow, the tension in the air shifting as curiosity sparked. "Is that so, Dr. Reid?
Care to test that theory... for the sake of cultural understanding, of course?"

He hesitated a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Statistically, couples who dance together report a
75% increase in intimacy levels. Not that I'm keeping track or anything..."

How did he even come to learn that fact? No idea. But 75% was a promising number and I
could feel the heat rising between us because of this topic of conversation.

"Alright, if it's for the sake of cultural understanding..." I drawled, stepping closer, letting my
fingers brush against the fabric of his sleeve, my pulse quickening at the slightly bold move.
"I remember the last time we tested a hypothesis," I spoke again, referring to the previous
week as the brunette huffed a laugh— leading me to an empty space amongst the crowd.

"Remind me, how did that go again?" He asked, feigning obliviousness. He placed a hand on
my waist, pulling my body even closer to his.

I tutted, shaking my head, a teasing smile playing on my lips. "I'm not about to recant that
night for your pleasure, Dr. Reid. It was out of control."

He chuckled, his gaze roving over my form with a hint of desire and amusement. "Perhaps I'll
refresh my memory later, then."

My breath caught in my throat as the implication hung in the air— almost choking on my
spit. Was he insinuating... Like self-gratification?

Reid's eyes darkened, a reaction to the flicker of intrigue in mine. His hand on my back
pulled me closer, the warmth of his touch searing through the satin material of the gown as
we began to carefully sway on the dance floor.

"Really?" I shot back, pretending to be unimpressed while the heat rose to my cheeks. "How
very scholarly of you. I didn't realize 'intimacy studies' included solo experiments."

His smirk grew wider, his hand on my waist tracing a gentle teasing pattern across the sliver
of bare skin that showed. He leaned in closer, a low murmur in my ear.

"Hey, a scientist must explore all avenues of research," he replied with mock seriousness, and
I fought to suppress a laugh.

As he pulled me even closer, the atmosphere around us transformed. It was as if the world
faded away, leaving just the two of us—caught in a moment that felt too significant to be
mere banter. The music faded, and for the briefest second, I lost myself in the depths of his
gaze, wondering how far we were willing to go tonight.

As the music swelled, the subtle scent of Reid's cologne wrapped around us like an
intoxicating fog. With a gentle tug, he spun me around, his front pressed against my back—
earning a gasp that escaped from my mouth. I could feel the soft thrum of his heartbeat
against my skin, a steady reminder of how alive we both were in this moment.

"Keep your eyes on me," he murmured, his breath brushing against my ear, sending a shiver
down my spine. The way he held me—possessively yet tenderly—made it difficult to focus
on anything but him.

I turned my head slightly, catching a glimpse of his expression in the flickering candlelight,
his features illuminated with a mixture of determination and something softer, more
vulnerable. "You're making it hard not to," I whispered back, the teasing edge in my voice
barely masking the thrill coursing through me.

Reid tightened his grip around my waist, his fingers pressing into the fabric of my gown as
we swayed in time with the music. Our bodies were so close, touching in places and although
a lot of the time he really pissed me off— this wasn't one of them.

"I can't help but wonder what you're thinking," he confessed, his voice low and intimate, as if
he were afraid of shattering the fragile spell that surrounded us.

I pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a playful challenge sparking between us. "What if
I told you I'm thinking about how easy it would be to push all your buttons right now? Like
this?" I pushed my body further against his deliberately, letting the hint of a smile linger on
my lips as I gauged his reaction.

How I loved eliciting a reaction from him...

Reid's breath caught, and I noticed a flicker of something deeper ignite in his eyes. "You're
playing a dangerous game, Mira."

"But if you're so eager to test the limits, I'd be very happy to demonstrate just how well I can
control myself."

I met him again, unflinching, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. "Oh? And how
exactly would you demonstrate that, Dr. Reid?"

Reid's hand slid lower on my back, dangerously close to territory that would be entirely
inappropriate, even for our cover. His touch was feather-light, teasing, yet it left a trail of fire
in its course.

"I could start by showing you just how steady my hands can be," he murmured, his voice
dropping an octave. "Even when faced with the most... uncontrollable situations."

And just like that, the memories of his instructions from the night at the hotel rang through
my head.

To emphasise his point, he guided me through a series of intricate steps, our bodies moving in
perfect synchronisation. The dance was becoming more than just a cover – it was a
conversation, a negotiation, each movement a challenge and a response.

"Impressive," I breathed, my voice barely audible over the swell of the music. "But let's not
forget why we're really here, Reid. The mission-"

"The mission," he interrupted, spinning me out and then pulling me back against his chest
with surprising strength, "Is to blend in. To be convincing."

His lips brushed against my ear as he spoke. "Tell me, Agent Andros, are you convinced
yet?"
 Chapter 13: Helios Protocol

Song for the chapter: Feeling Good — Michael Bublé 🎵

'It's a new life,

For me,

And I'm feeling good,'

📖
As our quiet and somewhat convincing dance continued, I felt the soft silk of my gown
brushing against Reid's leg with every step, the hem swaying wistfully over my heels. My
black stilettos added a few extra inches to my height, an advantage which brought me closer
to the brunette's level as we moved in sync across the marble ballroom floor. The scent of his
cologne, mixed with the faint aroma of expensive candles and polished wood lingered in the
air.

His slender hand engaged my waist, fingers pressing just enough to make me hyperaware of
the connection. He was a mess of contradictions tonight— he had been for the past weeks
since the hotel... One moment being distant and the next being close enough to set my body
on fire just with his. I wondered what he was thinking. There was nothing I wanted more than
to just know but alas I couldn't truthfully find out.

I just about caught the way his chocolate-brown orbs lingered on my neckline and moved
lower where the thin fabric of my dress dipped just a little bit... My lips twitched with a smirk
at the sight.

Clearly, Dr. Reid wasn't very smooth.

"Enjoying the view, Doctor?" I asked playfully, my voice low as I raised an eyebrow. I could
already feel his response— the way his hand tensed slightly on my waist at the call-out.

Reid blinked, his expression returning to its calm demeanour— almost. The faintest tinge of
rose plastered his cheeks, though his reply was as smooth as ever. "I was just observing... the
complex design of the fabric."

I laughed softly, tilting my head. "Of course. Always so analytical."

He gave a small, self-conscious chuckle, his hand sliding just a bit lower on my back. "I
prefer the term 'methodical', but I suppose I'm just thorough."

His gaze followed over the curves of my body, lingering on the places the gown emphasised
the most. I could feel the heat of his stare, a physical sensation that left me feeling as if he
was dissecting me— or maybe even appreciating me.
"There's just something about the way it fits you," he murmured, his voice barely audible
over the music, but laced with a hunger that made me shiver. "It's... distracting."

"What was that?" I faltered, my voice shuddering at his speech.

Perv.

But the accusation felt half-hearted even as it formed in my mind, because the truth was, part
of me liked the way his words stirred something inside me—a conflict.

However, as much as I wanted to keep playing this game, the reminder of why we were here
flickered back into focus. It wasn't just about the dance, or freaky tension. We had a job to do.

I scanned the now full-to-the-brim ballroom— realising this was the perfect moment to slip
away completely unnoticed.

Reid's eyes met mine again and for a moment, we stood there, caught in that increasingly
common, strange moment where we couldn't pull away— almost begging for the other to do
it.

"Now's our chance," I whispered, breaking the comfortable silence between us, "Corridor's
clear."

Without hesitation, he dropped his hand from my back— but not before he could catch mine
in his. The grip was firm, protective even and as if it was to maintain the pretence of intimacy
while we moved towards the 'grand antheneum'.

The rush it sent through me, however, had nothing to do with keeping up this front.

We weaved through the clusters of guests, the chatter and clinking glasses fading into the
background passing by the shadowy edges of lavish refectories. His fingers tightened around
mine as we slipped out, stepping into the cool, dimly lit corridor beyond.

Reid glanced back, his eyes still dark and focused. "We need to make this quick and ensure
that no one uncovers our ruse... There's a 62% chance we'll get caught if we linger for too
long." He murmured under his breath, the subtle tremor accentuating how he was calculating
the risk in real-time.

I stifled a snort, unable to resist teasing him even in this high-stakes moment. "Only 62%? I'd
say our odds are better than that, Doctor."

He shot me a side eye, lips twitching in something that could've been taken as amusement.
Perhaps? Whatever it was, it vanished just as soon as it came- as expected. "I like to account
for all the variables," he replied, his focus already returning to the task at hand.

We reached the elaborate double doors of the archive, bracing ourselves for what we were
bound to find— another thing linking my family to Elysium. Right?

The rich, deep woof of the door gleamed under the dim lighting, heavy and imposing.
Without a word, Reid reached out and pushed it open with a soft creak. The vast, airy
enclosure lay before us shadowed rows of bookshelves towering above, walls lined with
volumes that seemed to have not been touched in years.

I followed the cautious man inside, taking in the scent of old leather-bound books and the
stale air that hung in the space. Reid quickly moved to lock the doors behind us, ensuring our
privacy for the task ahead. The clock clicked with a faint finality, and I felt the weight of our
mission settle over me like a sky filling with lingering dark clouds.

"Alright," I whispered, surveying the room. "Let's look."

The tall genius moved ahead, his sharp eyes scanning the room with precision. Stood around
us was pretty much what could only be described as a labyrinth of ancient texts and dusty
tomes— but we knew that whatever we were looking for wouldn't be hidden in plain sight.

Hotch had been very clear in his briefing before we left for the gala; we were looking for any
documents or correspondence that might link Elysium to a series of high-profile
disappearances. Specifically, he believed there could be hidden records detailing key figures
such as business leaders, political elites, or anyone who could be doing pretty minor like
secret funding. He also mentioned a rumour of coded letters that could identify the next
targets or worse, plans for expansion. The library was rumoured to house some of those,
buried deep in forgotten archives.

After a good few minutes of searching the rows of books, Reid's attention shifted to a large,
ornate painting that hung on the far wall looking dubiously out of place. He stepped closer,
shooting a glare at me then back at the frame of the painting- which upon closer inspection
had subtle irregularities.

"Surely not right?" He spoke kind of amused as he traced the edge with his fingers–
movements deliberate and precise. For a brief moment, I was caught and slightly
mesmerised. Those hands that were usually trailing over lines of text or poised over crime
scene photos seemed capable of much more than intellectual brilliance.

My dirty mind wandered, imagining what they might feel like against my skin, how they'd—

I shook the thought away quickly, cursing inwardly at myself. This wasn't the time for
distractions. But as his fingers pressed against the frame, a faint shiver coursed through me,
making it harder to focus.

With a soft click of a small indentation in the wood, the painting swung open like a door,
revealing a concealed compartment.

Oh! Okay...

Behind it sat an old-fashioned safe, its metal surface dull and rusted with age but
unmistakably secure. The sight of it sent a thrill of both excitement and dread through me.
Whoever had hidden this hadn't wanted it found easily which only further amplified its
importance.
Reid knelt down in front of the safe, examining the lock with intense focus. "Yep. It's a
puzzle lock," he observed nonchalantly- his fingers once again tracing the intricate design-
numbers and symbols all over the dial. "You need to align the sequence to unlock it,
obviously."

"What kind of sequence?" I asked, stepping closer.

He shrugged slightly before answering, "Could be anything. Common choices for puzzles
like this often involve dates or names tied to the person who set it up. Maybe something
significant to Elysium?"
I bit my lip, glancing at the swirling patterns of the safe's surface— "So we're looking for
something coded or hidden in plain sight, then?"

"That's my guess. It may possibly be a significant date to a founder— however if the founder
was someone who preferred to stay more unknown, it could be a different type of clue.
Something obscure that would only make sense to the initiated."

Reid's fingers danced over the symbols, pausing occasionally as if trying to recall some
hidden memory.

My eyebrows instinctively furrowed upwards as a growing sense of anxiety crept up my side.

Glancing at my watch, I spoke out to Reid. "Reid, we're running out of time. Any brilliant
ideas?"

He ran his fingers through his hair, partially messing it up but not caring— frustration
brewing and evident in his gestures. "The symbols... they're not just random. Look," he
pointed to a series of intricate designs on the safe's surface. "These are celestial bodies. I
don't know how I only just realised."

I leaned in closer, my shoulder brushing against his chest as I peered for a better look. The
contact sent an unexpected convulsion down my spine, but I pushed the feeling aside. No
time. "Astrological signs? What, is Elysium run by astrology nuts?"

Reid's eyes lit up, that annoyingly brilliant mind of his clearly piecing something together.
"Not astrology, Mira. Astrononomy. Precise celestial positions."

"Ah, great," I muttered, "Because that's so much easier to crack?"

"Actually," Reid started, that know-it-all tone I undeniably hated creeping into his voice, "If
we can identify the significant date, calculating the positions is just a matter of—"

I cut him off, not in the mood for his rambles, "Sorry. We don't have time for a lecture,
Einstein. Let's call Garcia."

As I quickly dialled, Reid's proximity was becoming increasingly more distracting. I stepped
a little farther from him, needing space to think clearly as the phone rang. Garcia picked up
on the second ring, her bubbly voice echoing through the speaker on command.
"Hey Girl Genius! Your oracle of all knowledge awaits," came the cheerful voice at the end."
"Garcia, focus," I said, trying to sound calm while Reid's steady gaze kept flicking back and
forth between me and the safe. "We've got a puzzle lock, and it's got something to do with
celestial bodies? Can you pull up any recent astronomical data or events linked to Elysium?
Big ask but maybe it's something significant like dates of ceremonies... et cetera."

"On it!" She responded gladly, already typing furiously on the other end.
As we waited, I couldn't help but glance at the agent. He was still hyper-focused, but the way
his hand hovered over the dial, tracing the symbols without turning it, was oddly
mesmerising.

His frustration had turned into quiet determination, the brown, messy hair covering his
forehead and the deep lines in his brow doing little to dampen the sharp focus of his
expression.

Garcia's voice snapped me back, "Eureka! Oh, you sexy little geniuses!"

Both of us halted at Garcia's outburst, and I felt my cheeks flush. Out of the corner of my eye,
I saw Reid's brow furrow in confusion, his lips parting slightly as if trying to process the odd
compliment humbly. His hand stilled on the safe's dial, and he blinked a few times before
glancing at me, equally perplexed.

I cleared my throat, breaking the awkward tension. "Uhh.. thanks, Pen. What have you got?"

Reid still looked somewhat bewildered as she spoke again, his brain clearly stuck between
multiple worlds. "There's an odd coincidence of key alleged Elysium-related dates aligning
with astronomical events such as— solar eclipses, meteor showers... ah, wait! There was a
major celestial alignment on the last known major Elysium meeting before going
'underground'. Mars Venus and Jupiter formed a perfect triangle in the sky."

Reid's eyes widened. "The positions, Garcia. Quick!"

As Garcia rattled off the coordinates, Reid's fingers flew over the safe's dial. Each correct
number brought a soft click, and with it, a surge of anticipation.

With the final number in place, we held our breath. For a moment, nothing happened. Then,
with a hiss of escaping air, the safe door swung open.

"We did it," I breathed, relief washing over me.

Reid turned to me, a rare smile on his face. Our eyes locked, and for a moment, the air
between us crackled with something more than just the thrill of success.

Thank God today we weren't going to be met with sirens and flashing red laser beams... just
yet.

Shaking off the brief moment, I reached into the safe. Among various documents, a single
envelope caught my eye. My heart nearly stopped as I read the name on it.

"Calla Andros?" I whispered, my fingers trembling.

Reid leaned in closer, peering over my shoulder at the envelope. "Your sister?" he questioned
softly— even though he knew the answer to that. "What does it say?"
I hesitated, staring at the name that felt like a ghost I hadn't met with for a very long time. I
carefully pulled the envelope from the safe, trying to minimise the fingerprints. Inside, there
was a letter, its edges worn, frayed and yellowed with age. The words were meticulously
handwritten...

📜
Agent C. Andros,

Operation Sunflower is compromised. Elysium has apparent reasons to believe that there is a
mole within our ranks. Effective immediately, you are to encrypt all findings using the Helios
Protocol. Failure to do so could jeopardize everything you and the rest of us have worked for.

Rendezvous at the backup site in 48 hours. Ensure no one is following you, and remain highly
vigilant— we don't know who is with them.

If you suspect you are compromised, activate the failsafe without any hesitation. Trust no one,
not even those closest to you, especially anyone in your bloodline.
The fate of countless lives hangs in the balance, and only you can protect them as of now.

Proceed with caution.

- Handler X

📜
I finished reading the letter aloud, my voice barely above a hoarse whisper. The implications
hit me like a lightning strike from a clear sky— spreading under my skin quickly.

My body began to tremble lightly.

So apparently now, the sister I hadn't seen in however many years— thinking she was dead
might I add— was an undercover agent working against Elysium? It felt impossible, yet the
evidence was right here in my hands.

Like... what?

Reid's brow furrowed as he processed the information. "Uhhh... Unexpected?" he said, his
voice tinged with a mix of surprise and something else I couldnt quite place. Suspicion,
maybe?

"Unexpected?" I echoed, my mind reeling. "It's downright unbelievable. Calla, working to

bring down Elysium? All this time, I thought..."

The brunette agent gently took the letter from my jittering hands, his eyes scanning the text
with intensity, analysing something further.. "Mira," he said slowly, "doesn't something about
this feel... off to you?"
I blinked, pulled from my shock by his tone. "What do you mean?"

He pointed to specific parts of the letter. "Look at the phrasing here. 'Operation Sunflower'?
'Helios Protocol'? It's almost... too perfect. Like something out of a spy novel."

Now that he had mentioned it, I noticed it too. The letter hit all the right notes— perhaps a bit
too neatly? "You think it might be fake?" I asked, a new kind of dread settling into my
stomach.

Reid nodded slowly. "It's possible. The age of the paper seems genuine, but the content... it's
almost like it was designed to be found. And here? In this house?"

"A trap," I whispered, the realization dawning on me. "But why? And for whom?"

"You— us..." Reid said grimly. "Or anyone looking into Elysium I guess. By taking this
letter, by reading it, we've essentially..."

"Exposed ourselves," I finished, feeling a cold sweat break out on my skin. "We've walked
right into their trap."

Reid's hand found mine in the dim light of the study, a rare pang of comfort between us. "We
need to get out of here, now. And we can't let anyone know what we've found."

I took a shaky breath, the implications swirling and my head feeling dizzy, followed by a
twinge of nausea. "If this isn't a trap, then Calla must be compromised," I said, my voice
barely above a whisper. "If they had this letter, they could have her... or worse."

Reid's jaw tightened, his brows knitting together in concern. "We can't jump to conclusions
just yet, Mira. We need more information. If she's truly working against Elysium, there might
still be a chance to find her—"

Suddenly, the sound of a floorboard creaking down the hallway echoed in the stillness. We
froze, exchanging wary glances.

The letter was still clutched tightly in my hand. "What if they're watching us right now? What
if they've set this whole thing up to see who comes looking for Calla?"

Reid pushed the door open cautiously, scanning the outside before stepping through. "We'll
have to be extra careful. If they think we're investigating, they'll tighten their grip."

Shit.
 Chapter 14: One Dance

Song for this chapter: Under Your Spell - Snow Strippers 🎵

'It's like I waited too,

You keep me under your spell,'

📖
After several weeks of relentless brainstorming that literally turned the whole team into
zombies— even Reid— The lab results were finally in.

Garcia's chipper-as-usual voice resonated through the conference room, a stark contrast to the
fatigue etched on all of our faces. "Alright, team, gather 'round! I have some very juicy and
anticipated intel from our forensic analysis of the letter."

We leaned in, eyes fixated on her screen as she continued painfully slow, "So, here's the
kicker: They used some kind of weird chemical treatment to create that vintage look, also
Reid, don't ask me what it is because the analysts told me and I couldn't even pronounce it—
Anyway! It's clever, but it means that we have to be extra super cautious from now on."

A murmur of frustrated words rippled through the group. After weeks of scrutinising every
detail, and acting out every possible theory, we were right back at square one. If this letter
had been carefully crafted to look old and authentic, who knew how much of the information
contained within it was genuine?

"And that's not all," Garcia added, her smile fading slightly as she scrolled through the data.
"There were traces of some obscure ink that doesn't correspond with any known brands. So,
we might be looking at something custom-made— or maybe even homemade? Whoever
created this wanted to ensure it would stand out in a sea of ordinary documents."

⌛️
Outside our usual club, the neon lights cast vibrant colours across the pavement as we
stepped into the throbbing heart of the city— on a wild Saturday evening. The pulsating bass
vibrated through me as I stepped into the club, the energy of the crowd also further hitting me
like a wave— the perfect distraction from the chaos that was constantly brewing in the back
of my mind.

The celebratory atmosphere was infectious, yet my heart still felt heavy as I scanned across
the room searching for that one familiar face. Another side-case had wrapped today, however,
the larger cult case still loomed over us, the cult that was trafficking hundreds of people a day
and taking part in all sorts of unexplainable activities...I shook my head, eagerly trying to
release the thoughts of having to go back to the bullpen.
Looking up from the multi-coloured floor, my eyes land upon a face that I had been waiting
to see. Reid stood across the room, a few feet away from me, laughing with Morgan about
god knows what. His smile, finally wide, bright and genuine, seemed almost completely
foreign to me. It stung, a bittersweet reminder of the somewhat comforting friendship we
had. I remembered the way he had been looking at me the past few weeks since our
undercover mission.

Something felt different, but I wasn't sure what.

I pulled my gaze away, forcing myself to focus on something else, the laughter of my
teammates cutting through the tension that was taking over my mind. "Hey, Mira! Come join
us!" JJ called out, her voice bright against the backdrop of the music. I plastered on a smile,
stepping toward the group, but my heart sank as I yet again caught Reid's eye. There it was
again- that simmer between us.

As I joined the others, I felt a palpable distance between me and Reid, an abyss that was
growing wider by the minute. He stood close enough to be within arm's reach, yet somehow
felt like he was unavailable. I clenched my jaw tightly, causing a jolting pain through my
neck— anything to shake off the effect he had on me.

"Let's get some drinks!" Morgan shouted, breaking the moment at last. I turned my attention
to the bar, hoping that the noise would drown out the thoughts swirling in my mind. As I
made my way through the crowd, the rhythm of the night enveloped me, taking over my
body.

⌛️
I leaned against the bar, idly swirling my drink back and forth, the weight of the day still
pressing me. The music pulsed around me, a throbbing heartbeat that urged everyone to let
loose— except for me apparently, because I was still tethered to my thoughts.
Just then as if he could read my mind, Morgan appeared beside him— his trademark wide
grin lighting up his face.

"Come on, Andros! You need to loosen up, enjoy yourself!" he declared, not giving me any
choice in the matter. In one quick movement, my wrist was in his hand, and he playfully
tugged me over to the dance floor. The vibrant club lights spinning above us, illuminating our
faces in a kaleidoscope of different colours.

As I stepped into the crowd, I couldn't help but feel this burning glare on my side profile—
yet again, turning to find Reid. He stood at the edge of the partying crowd, his arms crossed
over his chest in a defensive position and an unreadable expression shadowing his features. I
could tell, just by that few-second glance that something was bothering him. I quickly pushed
aside my feelings as Morgan grabbed my hands and spun me around fast.

"See? Isn't this better than sulking?" Morgan shouted over the music, his overt enthusiasm
contagious. I laughed, my body instinctively giving over to the beat, the tightness in my chest
loosening just a little. But even amidst the laughter, Reid's gaze weighed so heavily on me,
every bit of energy redirected toward the man watching from afar.
God, this felt so wonderfully, terribly cliché.

Pushing through the countless sweaty bodies, Reid's irritation was tangible. "You sure know
how to make a girl forget about her problems, don't you, Morgan?" he called, sarcasm
dripping from his voice as he approached.

Morgan merely shrugged, the playful smirk never leaving his face. "Just showing her how to
have a good time," he retorted, pulling me closer as he twirled me, our bodies moving in sync
with the infectious beat. "You know, it's a well-known fact that dancing can increase your
serotonin levels by up to 50%," he added, throwing a wink my way.

My eyes widened at Derek, "Oooooh...he did a Reid...'' My words slurred as I spoke in slow
motion, the several shots I took earlier clearly now affecting me, finally.

Morgan laughed, the sound vibrating through the crowd, but Reid's expression darkened
further, his jaw clenching as he continued to watch us. "Yeah, well, I'd argue that can only
happen when it's not a distraction from more pressing matters," Reid shot back, stepping
closer as if he could physically pull me away from Morgan's grasp.

"Such a buzzkill!" I called out, whilst looking up at him through my eyelashes in a sultry
way, feeling a rush of exhilaration at his proximity. I twisted out of Morgan's hold for a
minute enough the get closer to Reid, "You should give it a try! Just once, let go of that
analytical side. Besides, we just cracked down on another case! We deserve to celebrate, don't
we?"

Reid crossed his arms tighter, a clear sign of his stubborn resistance. The shadows cast by the
flashing lights played across his face, highlighting the way his brows furrowed upwards with
concern. "Celebrating is one thing, but this—" he gestured toward Morgan, who was already
pulling me back into his orbit with an easy confidence that made my stomach flutter. "This
feels like a different kind of distraction."

I rolled my eyes playfully, defiance building up inside me. "You're overthinking it, as usual."
I turned back to Morgan, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat, clearly enjoying the show.
"Derek, show me some moves!" I urged, letting him twirl me again, the world spinning
around us.

Just then, in a moment of playful defiance, I leaned in dramatically, my lips almost grazing
Morgan's cheek, smirking at the thought. The challenge hung in the air, thick and
intoxicating. The crowd around us seemed to shrink, leaving just the three of us in our little
bubble, only fueling Reid's growing jealousy.

"Hey, Morgan," I said, lowering my voice conspiratorially, "what do you think Reid would do
if I just—" I made a dramatic gesture as if I were about to lean in for a kiss.

Before I could even finish my sentence, Reid surged forward, breaking between us quickly.
My heart raced as I watched him, a mixture of amusement and challenge in his eyes. "You
think you can just toy with him like that?" he interjected, a note of protectiveness lacing his
words that sent shivers down my spine.
Game on.

I darted my tongue over my lips playfully responding, "Why not? It's just dancing!" My heart
was now pounding and my pulse racing, not only because of the alcohol in my system but
from the heat radiating off of the so 'reserved' Doctor. There was a sharp edge to his gaze.

Morgan chuckled, clearly entertained by the escalating tension. "Relax, Pretty Boy. I'm just
giving her a little fun," he teased, winking at me. The easy banter only seemed to heighten the
air between Reid and me, every unspoken word hanging thickly.

In a bold move, I stepped even closer to Reid, practically invading his personal space. I stood
on my tippy toes, my hand going to his shoulder and my mouth to his ear to boldly whisper,
"Just one dance, Reid," my voice a soft plea laced with other kinds of connotations. I didn't
expect this side of me to come out, and not with my apparent rival but again, I looked up at
him as I breathed, "You can't just stand there and sulk while I'm having fun. While everyone
is...? I need you to let loose, just for tonight. Please?"

His breath hitched in his throat as my lips left his ear, making every nerve in my body stand
on high alert. Every one of my words was a mixture of challenge and enticement that made
my head spin more than the alcohol could ever hope to.

"Just one dance?" He repeated, his voice coming out in a hoarse whisper. I could see the
gears turning in his mind as he processed my words. I could visibly see the conflict in his
eyes— he wanted to give in, but something held him back.

I know I should resist him and I know I should keep my distance, but with his body so
close...my logical thoughts seemed to fade.

"Yes," I urged, my voice barely above a whisper, the air thick with anticipation. I looked over
quickly at Morgan who was smiling and sent me a quick wink before I realised...

Oh, asshole! That was his plan all along...

I couldn't even help holding back my smile now before speaking again, "I'll make it worth
your while."

Reid ran a hand over his face as if trying to clear his thoughts, before meeting my gaze again.
"One dance," he finally acquiesced, his voice strained with a mixture of reluctance and
anticipation." Relief washed over me, mixed with a thrill I hadn't expected to feel. "But if you
step on my toes—"

"I won't!" I interrupted, unable to hide my stupid grin as I pulled him further into the crowd,
where the energy was infectious and alive.

"You better not," the towering brunette warned, a slight tension still evident in his voice. I
looked up at him, my eyes sparkling in the lights. My hands dragged him to the middle of the
crowd, letting my senses be overwhelmed completely by the pulsating music, the flashing
lights and the press of the other bodies around us. It was easy to get lost in the energy, to
forget my earlier reservations and forget the fact that tomorrow we will probably go back to
hating each other.

"I don't dance!" Reid spoke over the crowd, his hands placed in front of him unsure of what
to do next. I rolled my eyes at his inexperience, a small smirk tugging at the corners of my
mouth as I took his hands and placed them on my hips. "Trust me, you do now," I teased,
pressing my body closer to his. The warmth radiating from him sent shivers down my spine.

It felt familiar almost— like we were back in the same proximity from the formal gala and
even the hotel night we shared.

The one I couldn't stop thinking about no matter how hard I tried.

His hands were stiff at first, a clear sign of reluctance but as I leaned in a little closer, my lips
brushing against his ear— I whispered, "Let go." The words were barely audible over the
loudness of our surroundings, yet it still sent a shockwave through me— and Reid's too as he
reflexively clenched my hips tighter. His breath against my ear...his body so close to mine—it
was exciting.

God, what was happening?

"Okay, I'm getting the hang of this," Reid finally admitted, a small smile tugging at his lips as
he moved more confidently, even throwing in a little spin that caught me off guard. I couldn't
help but laugh, delighting in his progress, in the way he was shedding his defences, even if
just for a moment.

But then, just as I felt the air between us shift again, Morgan sidled up beside us, a playful
glint in his eyes. "Looks like you two are having fun!" he shouted, clearly enjoying the sight
of Reid finally loosening up.

"Having fun?" Reid echoed back to Morgan, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, that's
one way to put it," he croaked, my breath hitching at the proximity.

The music shifted to something slower, more intense, and Reid's hands tightened instinctively
on my hips. The change in tempo seemed to unlock something in him—his usual analytical
reserve giving way to something more primal, more honest. His fingers traced absent patterns
against my dress that made my breath jump.

No matter the numerous moments we got this close, every single time still made my body
react like it had its own mind.

"You're very different tonight, Doctor" I murmured, looking up at him through the haze of the
now-spinning lights. "Less..." I searched for the word that was on the tip of my tongue, my
thoughts growing more fuzzy at the edges.

"Less me?" he offered, a hint of vulnerability breaking through his controlled exterior. The
bass pulsed around us like a heartbeat, slowly merging with our own. I was forced against
him tighter as another dancer bumped into us. The movement brought my chest flush against
his, and I could feel his heart racing to match mine.
"No, no..." I shook my head, swaying slightly. "Actually— more you? The 'less professional'
Spencer." My fingers found their way to the collar of his shirt, playing with the topmost
button that had come roughly undone in the heat of the club. I felt his Adam's apple bob up
and down in his throat after a large swallow, my nails grazing the sensitive skin of his neck.

His gaze grew heavy, heated, as one of his hands slid up my back, the pads of his fingers
splaying possessively across my spine. "And is that what you want?" he questioned, voice
dropping to a register that made heat pool in between my legs. "Less professional?"

I bit my lip slowly, watching as his eyes tracked the movement intently. The crowd seemed to
push us even closer, though neither one of us was squirming under the discomfort or even
fighting it anymore. My eyes darted past his shoulder to the darkened hallway, leading to the
bathrooms, and when I looked back, I knew he had caught me.

Shit.

Was I actually debating that? No no no, Mira!

I was definitely NOT thinking about leading him to an empty stall...

Attempting a quick and sophisticated recovery, I breathed out nonchalantly, "Maybe." As I let
my hips move in a way that I could only blame on the music and the substance I had
ingested, his fingers dug into my waist in response. I could feel the restraint in his touch.

"What would you do if I said yes, Doctor?" I boldly challenged.

His other hand came up to my neck, thumb brushing over my pulse point in a way that felt
like... like a promise? The touch was so feather-light yet so deliberate.

At this moment, the air had a sense of uncertainty, both of us teetering on the edge of
something too dangerous. Too dangerous for either of us to admit, and if we did— we
wouldn't be able to take it back.

God. He was infuriating.

His thumb traced a slow line down my throat, across my collarbone and stopped above my
chest. The touch felt possessive, like he was analysing every inch of skin he passed over,
marking it as territory he hadn't fully explored yet but clearly intended to.

As the doctor pulled me impossibly closer, his mouth dropped to the level of my ear—
pushing my hair to one side. "If we do this," he murmured, his breath hot against my skin, "It
won't be here. Not like this." His fingers traced the edge of my thin dress strap, making my
skin tingle. "When I touch you for the first time, I want you completely clear-headed. I want
you to remember every single second, every single touch."

Oh.

The calm eagerness in his words made my whole body shiver, my mind already racing to all
the possibilities— his hands touching every single inch of my body, the weight of him
pressing against me—
⏳
The room tilted sharply, the alcohol hitting me in a sudden wave that made my knees buckle
slightly. Reid's grip shifted from possessive to protective in an instant, though the heat in his
eyes didn't diminish.

"Andros?" The concern in his voice cut through the haze. "Hey, look at me."
 Chapter 15: Truth or Dare

⚠️ TW: Sexually explicit content — heavy petting & dialogue.

Song for this chapter: Glory Box — Portishead 🎵

'Give me a reason...

To love you.'

📖
My head felt heavy as consciousness slowly returned, the remnants of the club's bass still
echoing in my fuzzy memories. The first thing I registered was the familiar comfort of my
own bed— and the unmistakable warmth of someone sitting on its edge. I blinked the sleep
out of my eyes to find Spencer perched there, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, holding
out a glass of water.

"Welcome back," he said softly, those intense eyes studying my face. The events at the club
rushed back in fragments—his hands on my waist, that almost-moment between us, his
promise about touching me when I was clear-headed. Heat crept up my neck at the memory.

Why was he being oddly nice? Had we—

"We didn't...Uh....?" I strung out awkwardly, one eyebrow raised - trying to piece together the
rest of the night via my surroundings.

A chuckle escaped the brunette's lips, a low, warm sound that made my stomach flip. "No,"
he replied, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth at the insinuation. "Someone had to
make sure you didn't—what was it you said at the club? 'Make it worth my while?'" The
teasing glint in his eyes paired with the recantation made me shiver in cringe.

"Oh God," I groaned, covering my face with my hands. "I really said that, didn't I?"

As if on cue, Morgan's booming laugh carried through my apartment, followed by what

sounded like JJ playfully scolding him. The familiar sounds of my team—my family, really
made me smile despite my pounding headache.

"Among other things," he murmured, and the low tone of his voice brought back flashes of
his fingers on my throat, his whispered promise in my ear.

"Yeah," I said, letting out a soft chuckle as I pulled myself up to a sitting position, glancing
out at the chaotic living room. "I didn't realize they'd all decided to crash here. I must have
passed out pretty quickly."

My living room had been transformed into an impromptu gathering spot. Garcia and JJ had
claimed my oversized armchair, sharing a blanket and a bowl of snacks. Morgan sprawled
across one end of my couch, while Emily perched on its arm, both nursing glasses of red
wine. Rossi had somehow located my good scotch and was pouring a measure for Hotch,
who had loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves—a rare sight that made me feel oddly
comforted.

"Alright, everyone," one of the agents, Emily, said with a mischievous glint in her eye, "let's
lighten things up with a game of Truth or Dare!"

I exchanged a glance with Reid, who seemed simultaneously amused and wary, his long
fingers intertwined with the hem of his sweater vest, playing with it. This was exactly what
we needed— a distraction, even if it was just a tad juvenile.

As the game progressed throughout the night, laughter filled the living room, momentarily
pushing away our serious thoughts and the weight of our recent revelations. But soon enough,
yawns began to punctuate the giggles and one by one the other agents excused themselves.

When the last door clicked shut behind me, a palpable shift hung in the air. The sudden quiet
was broken only by the soft whir of the AC and the muddled sounds of the city beyond the
window— that same beautiful sound that put me to sleep every night. I caught Reid's eye—
and just before I was about to say something he interjected.

"Do you want me to go?" He queried, a tinge of sadness playing at his words.

I took a slow breath, leaning back into the plush chair by the window. In all honesty, his
question caught me off guard— the slight vulnerability not being something I was used to,
especially not with him. "Not if you don't want to..." I replied, my tone lighter than I felt
inside.

Reid gave a small smile, the kind that didn't quite reach his eyes but lingered at the corner of
his lips. He continued fidgeting with his vest, a nervous habit I was starting to recognise more
and more.

"So," he started, his voice softer now, "we never finished our turn." He raised an eyebrow,
that familiar spark of mischief flickering behind his usually serious expression. "Truth or
dare?"

I swallowed hard, the stakes suddenly feeling higher than they had moments ago. The room
felt smaller, more intimate, with just the two of us left.

"Wait," I said, my eyes landing on something on the dresser. I stood up, my bare feet sinking
into the plush carpet, and walked over to investigate. "Look what I just spotted."

I held up a fancy hotel candle that I had brought back from one of the prior business trips, its
glass container glinting in the lamplight. "Seems a shame to let this go to waste, don't you
think?"

Reid's eyebrow quirked up, a half-smile playing on his lips. "You know, candles were
originally designed to provide light, not ambi— wait—are you suggesting we set the mood,
Agent Andros?"
I felt a blush creep up my neck as I chuckled. "I'm suggesting we make the most out of our
luxurious accommodation! You know it's not every night we get to use stolen fancy hotel
amenities."

"Now, Dr. Reid. Where are those matches?" I continued, my eyes softening.

In a few short seconds, he passed over the pack over to me and I had lit the candle— the soft
scent of vanilla filling the air. I glanced around at the scattered blankets and cups covering the
living room. "This place looks like a crime scene. Why don't we move to the bedroom?
Might be a bit more...comfortable?"

The tall agent nodded before standing and following me into my bedroom which looked no
different from the last time we were there. He clicked on one of the warm side lamps next to
the bed before making himself comfortable.

Settling back down, closer to Reid this time, I met his gaze. "Dare," I said, answering his
earlier question that was persisting unspoken. My heart rate picked up, anticipation building
up heavily in my chest.

Reid's eyes sparkled mischievously as he leaned in slightly. "Alright," he said, his voice low
but playful. "I dare you to... do your best impression of me." His lips twitched, clearly
holding back a laugh. "You've been dying to mock me all night, haven't you?"

How borrringgggg...

I rolled my eyes at his response. "What makes you think I've been 'dying' to mock you?" I
feigned nonchalance, though there was a hint of truth in my statement. I had been holding
back all night, but I wouldn't admit that to him.

Clearing my throat, I pushed my invisible glasses up the bridge of my nose in a very

exaggerated fashion. "Well, actually," I began, adopting the most deadpan, intellectual tone I
could muster, "if you want to understand the complexities of quantum entanglement, you
need to consider the principles first introduced by Einstein, Podolsky, and Rosen in 1935."

Reid's expression shifted from amused to mock-offended, although I could see him fighting
back a grin.

"Oh, and let's not forget," I continued, trying to suppress my own laughter, "the importance of
hyperthymesia when solving serial crimes—because, of course, it's crucial that I remember
every single moment in detail."

I gave him a dramatic, wide-eyed look, copying the way he furrowed his brow when
explaining complicated facts, and delivered my final lines. "Also, fun fact, I can read 20,000
words per minute and remember everything about the Battle of Hastings, but sometimes I
forget to eat for three days."

Reid's stupid facade finally cracked and he let out a hearty laugh. "Okay! Okay!" he said,
holding his hands up in defence. "You got me with the hyperthymesia bit...I didn't even know
you had remembered me speaking about that."
Our laughter faded, and the warmth between us simmered into something more tangible. His
gaze held mine longer than it should have, lingering in a way that sent my pulse skittering.
For a moment, I forgot why we were here, why we were supposed to be keeping
things professional—and then it hit me.

I cleared my throat, trying to ignore the heat in his eyes. "We're supposed to be hating each
other, remember?" I said softly, a hint of sarcasm in my voice as I broke the silence, my lips
curling into a small, defiant smile.

The agent's expression turned serious quickly, his eyes completely locked on mine with a
depth that sent a thrill through me.

Look. I knew we weren't supposed to feel this way. We were supposed to be fucking work
rivals— and yet I still couldn't help it.

He leaned back, distancing himself physically, but the tension not wavering. "Right," he said,
his voice low. "We're supposed to hate each other."

He let out a shaky exhale as if trying to regain his composure. "This game is supposed to be
about mockery, not..." He trailed off, but we both knew what he meant.

"Fuck it. Truth or dare, Mira?"

He shifted on the bed, trying to steady himself, but the tension between us was like a magnet,
drawing us together no matter how much we didn't want to give in. It was like a craving. To
keep pushing each other's buttons— keep trying to see who would cave first— who would
get under the other's skin first.

I realised I had been staring at him in silence when he repeated it again, his voice a hushed
whisper.

"Dare," I said, my breath hitching slightly as the word left my lips. The challenge was clear,
but there was no turning back now.

Reid's eyes darkened, his composure fraying at the edges. He leaned in again, just enough to
make my pulse quicken. "I dare you..." He paused, considering, the weight of the moment
pressing down on us both. "I dare you to admit what you're really feeling right now."

A flicker of hesitation crossed his face, as though even he wasn't sure what he wanted the
answer to be. But his challenge hung there, daring me to be as reckless as I felt.

I swallowed, meeting his gaze evenly. "I..." I started, the words catching in my throat.

"I hate how much I don't hate you," I admitted my voice barely above a sigh.

This was a line we weren't supposed to cross. But the thing was—we'd already crossed it,
hadn't we?

His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. The tension between us shifted, and
deepened, like a current pulling us under. He was searching me— trying to decipher how
much of my admission was real— how much of it I truly meant.

"We were never supposed to get here," he finally murmured, his voice rough, almost strained.
He shifted closer, and the small space between us felt like it was collapsing down.

"I know," I whispered back, my pulse striking in my ears. Every instinct told me to back
away, to retreat into the safety of our usual sharp words and tense glares. But I couldn't. I
didn't want to. The tension had grown into something else, something neither of us could
deny anymore.

Even if it was just a game.

Reid's hand hovered near mine, hesitating for just a second too long. "You should hate me,"
he said softly, as though he was reminding himself as much as he was me.

"Maybe," I replied, my breath catching, "but I don't."

The air between us hung heavy like we were both waiting for the other to break it. And then,
almost instinctively, I took that final step, closing the last bit of distance, my fingers brushing
against his.

Both of us hadn't expected it.

Intimate.

He looked up at me, his eyes seeping with lust yet still trying to make sense of my words. I
watched him, seeing the internal struggle playing out in his eyes. I knew how he felt because
I was feeling it too.

Reid took a deep breath, his voice soft again. "Why don't you hate me?"

The question hung in the air, his eyes searching mine for answers I wasn't sure I could give.

"I don't know," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "Maybe because I see
something in you... something I don't want to hate, even though you infuriate every bit of my
body. Don't get me wrong— sometimes I do but..."

His brow furrowed, clearly not satisfied with that answer, but he didn't press me further.
Instead, he leaned in just slightly more, his gaze intense.

My eyes dipped down to his lips before I cleared my throat, speaking again. "Spencer..."

His eyes seemingly softened at the sound of his name on my lips, a flicker of vulnerability
crossing his features. He was so close to me now that I could feel his hot breath on my skin...
it was driving me insane. The brunette orbs in front of me burned into my skin— waiting for
my words like a command.

"Tell me something," I blurted out suddenly— under pressure. I was desperate for a
distraction from the emotions threatening to show— the ones I didn't want him to know
about. "Anything. Just say something."
A small smirk appeared on Spencer's lips, his eyes glinting with amusement and something
darker.

My eyes widened slightly at what I had just done— what I had stupidly enabled. Before I
could backtrack, the tall agent leaned in even closer— until our foreheads were practically
touching. I had recalled a similar moment so many times, I had even daydreamed about it...
But now that I was here— I felt so bare and exposed under his watch.

"You can't hate that you keep looking at my mouth," he whispered, breathlessly. "You've been
biting your lip for the past five minutes because all you can think about is giving in."

"I don't know what you're talking about—" I quickly stammered in defence, embarrassment
flooding through my veins at his call out. Why was I acting like this? I was usually so
composed and in all honesty I was normally the one making other people feel like—

Ugh.

My hand that was situated on the bed came to press up against his chest, unsure whether to
push him away or pull him closer. But Spencer didn't budge, he let it happen— staying firmly
in place as he stared me down.

"Bullshit," he breathed. "I see how your breath catches when we're this close together. The
way your tongue keeps darting out to wet your lips... You want me just as much as I want
you."

I swallowed a thick ball of spit — the inside of my mouth suddenly becoming overly
salivated.

Reid's lips curled into a smile — a snicker at my silence. "I dare you to kiss me," he
challenged, his voice low and steady— clearly after he had composed himself meticulously.

Uhm. What?
I blinked, caught off guard by his request. "You're serious?" I asked, although I knew he was.

The way his breath ghosted heat all over my skin sent a slight impulse through my body."One
kiss. And then you stop. No matter how much more you want. Trust me."

I felt my resolve slip away once he spoke to me in that sultry voice— the last remnants of my
defence melting away.
I don't know why I wanted him so much. It was so infuriating.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded slowly. "Okay," I whispered, my voice barely audible as I
leaned in, closing the distance between us.

As our lips met, the world around us faded away. The kiss started softly, a tentative brush of
warmth that quickly ignited into something much more passionate. My fingers found their
way to the back of his neck, pulling him closer, deepening the kiss as the tension built
between us.
He responded in suit, his hands greedily gripping at my waist, pulling me flush against him.
There was nothing at that moment I feared more than when he would pull away. Time
seemed to stand completely still, and for a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered— just the
two of us engaging in our lustful desires — ones that had been tugging at us for weeks.

But of course, the reality of our moment settled back over us. I pulled away, breathless and
lightly panting. "One kiss," I reminded him, my voice shaky as I tried to inhale oxygen.

Reid's gaze searched mine, a mixture of exhilaration and confusion swirling in his eyes.
"Yeah... one kiss," he echoed, his voice low and almost disbelieving as if he himself wanted
to keep going despite giving me the dare.

Our breathing synced as we stared at each other, my tongue running over my lower lip—
tasting the hint of him that was still lingering on my lips.

"Spencer..." I gasped lightly, as his hands were still on my waist—even though the grip was
loosening but not letting go. His eyes were broad, almost like he couldn't believe we
restrained.

As we sat there, neither of us moving, my mind was spinning. One kiss had been intense
enough— barely able to keep me from getting my hands on him again and taking him right
there and—

"I think I have an idea," he murmured.

His hands dropped from my waist, and for a brief moment, I felt a pang of disappointment.
But his next words, spoken in a dangerously low tone were all he needed to do to get my
hopes up again. "I want you to follow each of my instructions" he cooed, his gaze relentless.

A thrill shot through me, part curiosity and part anticipation.

I gave a slow nod in response, my eyes not leaving his. "Alright," I said softly, my voice
betraying a hint of my excitement. "Go ahead."

Reid leaned back on the bed, his gaze roaming over me, as though considering his options. A
smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and I resisted the urge to shiver.
"Come here," he almost commanded, one hand patting his lap.

I hesitated for just a heartbeat, then found myself standing, making my way wordlessly to
where he sat. Being acutely aware of the steady thudding of my heart, I straddled his lap.
Spencer's hands found their way to my hips quickly, anchoring me in place and showing how
hungry he was getting.

I searched his eyes, processing for just a moment before the words flew right out of my
mouth.

"What are you thinking, Reid?" I whispered, face to face with him.

His gaze held mine, with the usual intensity that I had actually grown to crave. "Honestly...?"
"Mira, I want to ruin you." he choked, the words slipping from his lips almost like a promise.
Like he was telling me he would get what he wanted. The connotations of his speech sent
vulgar thoughts spiralling within my head. Ruin?

Fuck.

"Even when you pretend to hate me, I know you think about me. I saw the way your eyes
darted to the bathroom when we were dancing together. I know what occupies your thoughts
when you're lying in bed at night. Because they occupy mine too." He semi-confidently
continued, looking up at me through his eyelashes.

My cheeks burned at his words, heat spreading through me that had nothing to do with
embarrassment. "Stop," I muttered reluctantly. I couldn't deny the effects he was having on
me, no matter how much I tried to hide it and no matter how wrong it felt. His fingers bit into
my hips just a little more, reminding me of the physical touch he had on me— and that I had
allowed.

"I don't think about you," I half-lied. I thought about him too much.

He smirked when he saw the flush of red that was spread from my cheeks all the way down
to my open chest. "It's just so obvious you're lying, Mira. You have a tell."

"What are you talking about?" I shot back, attempting to sound indignant, but the tremor in
my voice betrayed me.

"The way your breath hitches when I get too close," he replied, taking a deliberate movement
forward, invading my space further if that was even possible at this stage. "Or how your eyes
flicker to my lips whenever I talk. It's adorable, really."

"You're talking out of your ass, Reid."

His touch was intoxicating me, every single swipe sending me further into a state of
inebriation. A state that was formed simply just from his touch and words. The pads of his
thumbs moved in circles over my hips, so close to where I wanted him but never quite
crossing the line.

All I could think about was shifting and making him touch me where I needed him to.

Something so magnetic about those hands... veiny and lean. He held so much control in his
every movement, every gesture; it was maddening, how something so small could have such
an effect on me.

The only motion I could conjure was the feeble shaking of my head.

"Then tell me what you think about when you're in bed at night," he coaxed, his voice
smooth, every word laced with a teasing undertone.

This was very unlike the nerdy doctor I usually saw every day...

"Not you," I tried, but the word came out as a pathetic whine. Even I could hear the lie in it.
"Bullshit," Reid murmured. "We both know that's not true."

His hips arched up for a brief moment, rocking against mine, and I couldn't stop a gasp from
escaping me.

What is going on?

He repeated the motion realising the sound I uttered, the movement subtle but undeniable as
he ground against me. "Say it," he said, voice a low authority. "I want to hear you admit it."

Even through the many layers of fabric, I could still feel the heat of him against me, the
growing evidence of his arousal making me feel lightheaded. It wasn't so often I was
rendered this totally weak. My hands, resting on his chest, curled into fists that trembled
slightly.

I wanted to find some control— I needed to.

His breath shuddered in the depths of his throat as I took him by sheer surprise, shifting
forward and grinding against his noticeable erection with intent. I was tired of being
defensive and helpless in front of him all the time. I leaned forward, my hands now their way
to his shoulders.

"And if I don't?" I asked, my voice a low rumble.

Yep. That's right, Reid. Your turn to be put on the spot.

His eyes darkened, pupils dilating. He met my challenge with a dangerous smile. "Then I'll
make you. We both know you're aching for it."

"Bold words," I shot back, pushing back against him shamelessly. "Prove it, then."

He'd been watching me for months ever since I joined the BAU. Every glance, every bit of
information I rattled off in a team meeting or a case, each time I proved him wrong...he was
always watching. It drove him crazy, the way my mind worked.

And now as he sat here, there was only one thing on both of our minds.

His self-restraint was wearing more and more paper-thin by the second, I could tell.

"Let go of the control," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. "Stop pretending you don't
want this as much as I do. It's exhausting."

"Exhausting for you?" I shot back, feigning innocence. "I'm not the one practically begging
for it."

He laughed softly, a sound that vibrated through me and made me want to close the distance
further. "Begging? Hardly. I'm just patiently waiting for you to admit what's been obvious for
weeks now."

Ever since the hotel he means... Or maybe even the undercover kiss?
There was a power that came from the look of want in his eyes and the way he breathed my
name that made my head spin. When he responded with the whisper "Mira...", I felt my heart
stop for a few moments.

"You're a stubborn, arrogant prick," I muttered, my body writhing more and more for friction.

"And you're an infuriatingly smart, infuriatingly hot tease," he admitted his voice a ragged
mess that sent heat through my veins. His hands roamed, caressing my body and leaving a
trail of fire in their wake. "You don't play fair, you know that?"

I felt 2 heartbeats now. Not just the one in my chest.

He chuckled, his breath warm against my neck and before I knew it— his lips were on my
skin. The movement was sloppy but demanding, roaming over the sensitive column of my
throat— easing out the smallest noises from me. It was actually embarrassing now.

"I think you like it though. You like making me lose control, don't you?"

I shivered at the tone of his speech, muttering weakly as my body betrayed me by arching
further toward him. "Don't flatter yourself."

He nipped at my skin, a sharp, delightful sting of pain that made a low moan escape me
before I could stop it. "And don't lie to me," Reid murmured, his teeth scraping along my
collarbone, his lips sucking a trail of kisses down my chest.

"This was a game of truth or dare, Spencer. What are we doing?"

At some point, my nails had begun to dig into the fabric of his shirt — a clear sign of what
his intrusive attack on my neck was doing to me. My eyes fluttered closed, the feeling of his
lips against my sensitive skin making me forget everything about the question I had just
asked.

He smirked cockily against my skin, his hands still wandering over my body as if he couldn't
get enough. "What does it look like?"

I didn't even answer. I couldn't. Not when he was killing me slowly like this.

Then, suddenly, he leaned back, his hands shifting to my hips again, eyes shady and intense.
"Look at me," he commanded, and I obeyed almost automatically.

Slowly, his hands eventually started to wander further down my body, the rough drag of his
palms sending heat through me.

His fingers were itching lower and lower, working in such a teasing manner even though he
knew exactly what I wanted. He was going to make me ask for it. The realisation made me
huff, my heart thudding a ragged tempo in my chest.

My breaths were now irregular and unsteady gasps.

"You really don't know how good you look like this, do you?" he murmured.
I let out a sound as his fingers finally, finally dipped lower, skimming the inside of my thigh.
I was desperate for his touch now, desperate to feel his hands on me, everywhere. I arched
against him, needing more, needing him.

"Just stop playing with me...Please." I almost begged.

 Chapter 16: Observations & Complications

⚠️ TW: Sexually explicit content — heavy petting & dialogue.

Song for the chapter: Call Out My Name - The Weeknd 🎵

'Call out my name when I kiss you so gently,

I want you to stay,'

📖
It was strange, how often I'd thought about this, thought about giving in with him, and how
often I'd brushed the thought away, reminding myself of who he was.

Reminding myself that he was just an agent at my work who had serious problems with tone,
was overly analytical and harshly infuriating...

The man who constantly challenged my short fuse— somehow always getting a rise out of
me. Whether it was through an off-handed comment or cocky smirk— it didn't matter
because now here we were admitting something about the dynamic between us we hadn't
intended to before.

We'd been denying this tension for weeks and weeks, too long pretending that it wasn't there,
or that it was just anger and annoyance. But there was no denying it now, not with the way he
had me trapped in his arms, the way his touch was bringing me to the edge of insanity.

"Begging already?" he teased, his hands now meeting with my clothed core. "Tell me exactly
what you want."

I had no dignity left, not with the way he was making me feel. "You," I panted, arching
against his touch with a gasp. "Just you. Your hands on me, everywhere, I don't care how as
long as I can feel you, please—"

His hands finally found the edge of my pants, sliding beneath the fabric to press against my
heat. "Is this what you want?" he purred.

I couldn't find the words, I couldn't even speak as his fingers pressed flush against my clothed
slit, swiping upwards in one swoop. A choked gasp escaped me, my body destroying itself
against his touch — craving more of him. "Yes," I managed to gasp, the word sounding more
like a helpless plea.

He was struggling too, I could tell by the rough edge of his breathing and the way his hands
trembled slightly as they explored my body. "You're so sensitive."

I just looked at him, my mouth slightly parted and eyebrows furrowed as he finally began to
circle around my bud of nerves.
Fuck.

"Shit— that—" I gasped, curling in his lap almost involuntarily.

He didn't respond with words, focusing instead on the movements of his fingers, the way his
touch was driving me crazy. He was concentrating, and eager, using every bit of his
intelligence to just about kill me off.

I felt exposed, and vulnerable, but there was a sense of safety too. "Don't look at me like
that," I murmured under my breath.

"Why not?" Reid questioned, his voice low and rough and movements never wavering.

"Because it makes it harder to think," I admitted shamefully, my gasps fastening as he

pressed just right, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through me.

"That's the point," he retorted, a cocky smirk on his face. "I don't want you thinking. You
stole that from me. I spent so long being the smartest one in the room until you came along."

His fingers quickened, earning a strain of whimpers from my mouth— my head resting in the
crook of his neck.

"Spencer..." I called out quietly, my eyes tight shut revelling in the mad state he had me in.

At this point I was panting, my hand gripping into his shoulder— desperate for him to keep
going, for him not to stop his movements. I had thought about this moment so many times
before that it left me crossing my legs at work in shame...

He chuckled at my need, clearly enjoying the effect he was having on me. "You're practically
falling apart just from this." Reid leaned down his lips right next to my ear. "You've thought
about this, haven't you thought about me making you feel like this?"

My face flushed, his words almost too close to my own thoughts. "Be quiet." I huffed, even
as my body arched forward against his hand. "I'm sure you've thought about it plenty of times
too, genius."

His movements stalled, and he pulled back slightly, his head tilted and a mocking, self-
satisfied smirk on his face. "Honestly, I've thought about taking you apart piece by piece. "It's
fascinating how desire can—"

I writhed in his arms slightly, both frustrated and desperately turned on by his words. "What
is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?" he echoed, his voice taunting. "You're the one practically falling
apart in my hands... I'm starting to think you can't handle this."

Despite my best efforts, I couldn't stop myself from grinding against his fingers, unable to
hold back.
My breath hitched at his goads, digging my nails further into his shoulder. I refused to back
down. "I can handle it, Spencer." was my response, my voice unsteady with a mix of defiance
and need. Why does he always do this to me?

The insufferable brunette let out a deep, amused chuckle as if my response had confirmed a
hypothesis he was testing. "Then prove it," he murmured, his fingers pressing more firmly for
just a brief second— only to then pull away completely— leaving me cold and breathless.

Prove it? The words continuously echoed in my mind like torture.

I didn't even want to give him the satisfaction of seeing me come undone, but at the same
time I ached for his touch— every part of me literally on fire any time I looked at him.

As he straightened and stood with an infuriating nonchalance, I watched, completely and

utterly stunned.

The fucking audacity of him to leave me so close and then pull away...He was torturing me
and he liked it. I could see the self-satisfied shit-eating grin playing at the corners of his lips,
the gleam of debauchery practically swimming in his eyes.

"You," I began, forcing myself to take a deep breath as I readjusted my clothing, "are
insufferable."

Fucking hell I wanted to slap him so bad. My palm actually tingled with the desire to wipe
that smirk off his face. But that would only give him more ammunition, wouldn't it?

Hell, he'd probably get turned on by it.

"Are you done?" he inquired, the slightest hint of condescension lacing his words.

I gritted my teeth, resisting the urge to let my anger get the better of me. Instead, I replied in a
voice that was as cool and collected as I could manage. "Haven't even begun, genius."

Two can play at this game, Spencer Reid.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Mira," the agent ribbed smoothly, letting his eyes linger on me a
second too long before he turned, the door closing with an infuriating finality.

I stood there alone, pulse racing, every single nerve screaming in the silence he left behind.
How dare he reduce me to this— a trembling, frustrated mess all because he couldn't keep his
hands to himself?

Bastard. Absolute fucking bastard.

The room suddenly felt too small, too confined. I began pacing, my heels clicking against the
hardwood floor in an angry rhythm. Five steps one way, turn, five steps back. My fingers
twitched toward my phone at least three times before I finally gave in.

I snatched my phone from the desk, fingers hovering over the keyboard. What could I even
say?
'Thanks for leaving me hanging?' No, too pathetic.

'I hate you.' I mean yes I did but so cliché—

'Come back.' I shook my head. That would be giving into exactly what he wanted— the
satisfaction of knowing he'd finally gotten under my skin. Each option seemed worse than the
last.

Just as I went to put the phone down and accept defeat, a thought struck me— a small, biting
comeback that was somehow perfect. Simple, but with enough of an edge to get under his
skin.

I raised my phone to my neck, adjusting the angle until the lighting caught them perfectly—
the deep purple-blue marks scattered across my skin like constellations he'd left behind. His
marks. My fingers traced along them slowly as I captured the shot, making sure to include the
way my jaw tightened at the touch of the overly sensitive flesh.

Before attaching the photo and hitting send- I typed out my message. "For someone so smart,
that sure was a dumb mistake leaving evidence behind, Dr. Reid."

Let him chew on that for a while. Let him wonder if it was intentional — if I'd even mind.

The thought sent a thrill down me. I knew he'd obsess over the message, his quick mind
would be unable to let it go.

I guess I had the power now.

⏳
The next morning, I took extra care with my appearance. Hair swept up into a neat bun,
exposing the elegant line of my neck—and more importantly, the telling marks that decorated
it that were only visible if you were really looking. A few loose strands fell artfully around
my face, drawing attention to exactly where I wanted it.

I felt his eyes on me the moment I walked into the bullpen. Perfect.

Keeping my movements deliberately casual, I reached up to adjust a file on the high shelf,
knowing exactly how it would make my blouse shift against my skin, and how it would draw
attention to my neck. I didn't even need to look his way to know his reaction—I could feel
the weight of his stare from across the room.

Your move, Dr. Reid.

I made my way to the conference room, where all of the files we had been working on were
spread out. This is where Spencer and I had resided for the past week so I knew nobody
would bother us here. Just as the door closed and footsteps sounded behind me, in one fluid
motion, I was pressed up against the edge of the conference table, his long fingers already
tilting my chin up to examine his work.
"Quite the message you sent last night, Andros," he muttered as his thumb brushed over one
of the marks.

I met his gaze steadily, despite the way my heart hammered against my ribs. "Just
documenting the evidence. Isn't that what we're trained to do?"

"You're right," he agreed, his thumb brushing gently over one of the deeper marks along my
collarbone. "Evidence... I suppose I should be grateful. You're a clever one, aren't you?"

A knowing smirk played at the corner of his mouth as his fingers continued their exploration
downwards. "Though I have to wonder if this was your way of asking for more... evidence."

"Maybe I just wanted to see how you'd react," I replied, letting my hand rest against his chest,
feeling his heart racing beneath my palm. "The great Dr. Reid, thrown off his game by a few
little marks."

His eyes darkened at that. "Is that what you think? That I'm thrown off?"

"Well," I tilted my head, exposing more of my neck, "you did have me pinned against this
table within thirty seconds of me walking in."

He looked up as if he were calculating for a brief second, "It was around sixty seconds but
anyways— correlation doesn't equal causation, Agent Andros." Reid leaned in just an inch
closer for a moment, his breath hot against my ear— erupting all kinds of memories from the
prior night. "Maybe I just wanted to remind you who put those marks there in the first place."

I suppressed a shiver. "We have work to do, Doctor."

"That we do." His fingers lingered a moment longer before he pulled away, that insufferable
smirk still playing on his lips. "The files won't review themselves."

We settled into our usual positions at the conference table, case files spread between us. I
crossed my legs deliberately, letting my pencil skirt ride up just enough to be distracting. Out
of the corner of my eye, I caught him watching the movement.

"This witness statement," I said innocently, trailing my fingers along my thigh as I reached
for a file, "something about it doesn't add up."

His eyes followed my hand's movement, being completely obvious— may I add. "The, uh,
witness statement?"

"Mhmm." I uncrossed and recrossed my legs slowly. "Are you listening, Reid?"

His attention was all over my skin, the way my black skirt shifted with each movement...I
could even see the way his jaw clenched slightly, a telltale sign that he was trying to keep his
composure and whatever was left of his dignity.

There was no doubt when I moved like this, all he was thinking about was his hands between
my legs like last night— because so was I.
"Mira, can we focus here?" he tried to draw his gaze from my thighs back to the files (which
were way more boring by the way) but I could see the internal conflict within him— a mix of
desire battling his duty here in the BAU. It may have been unprofessional— I will admit—
but also we had been sorting through the same files for like a week. There was no way we
would find something relevant...

"Focus... Right." I shrugged, attempting to rein in my playful tone.

He met my gaze, the warmth in his eyes flickering with uncertainty as the weight of my
challenge hung between us. But then a brief shadow crossed his expression, the cracks of
confidence showing through. "I mean... it's professional to maintain boundaries, Mira."

What? Was he serious?

"Boundaries?" I frowned, my heart sinking at the implication. So that was it— he really was
keeping a distance. How naïve of me to think he would even want to explore anything further
with me.

I was just a distraction.

"Is that your way of saying last night was a mistake?" I asked, striving to keep my voice
even, though it embarrassingly trembled ever so slightly.

Reid's eyes darted briefly to the floor as if searching for the right words, his eyebrows itching
together in almost a painful way. "No, it's not that. It was just... intense."

Intense???

"Look, I just think we need to clear our heads. You know, refocus," he said, his voice firm as
he tried to mask the tension.

"Refocus?" I echoed, disappointment lacing my words. "Is that your polite way of saying
you're not interested?"

The silence between us grew heavy, and I could feel my pulse racing. The reality of the
situation crashed down on me with a sobering chill.

"Not interested? Mira, it's really not that simple!—" Reid finally broke his silence, "You need
to know how complicated this is for me."

I forced a smile— my mouth shaped in one tight line — trying to mask the sting of his words.
They were like rubbing salt in a very open, very infected wound. "Fine. Let's go grab a coffee
and 'refocus' then, shall we?"

With that, I didn't even wait for his response before standing up and making my way to the
door. Yeah no, I wasn't gonna let this moment define what we were. The way forward would
have to come later.

⌛️
The soft glow of the overhead lights illuminated our temporary abode — the conference
room. It had been hours since we returned from the coffee shop across the road— the team's
regular comfort— however the silence between me and the tall brunette agent hung
awkwardly heavy in the air, an unspoken ending to the sexual tension and hostility that had
developed over the long day.

Reid was buried in the case files once more, his brain firing off reading at speeds I could only
dream of reading, as I watched his profile through the corner of my eye. Each tick of the
clock amplified the friction between us — highlighting the quick stolen glances as we
attempted to make some sort of effort with the task at hand.

I couldn't concentrate on the case. Not really. Not with him sitting so close, stealing glances
that made my pulse flutter, reminding me of the unresolved tension lingering from earlier.

Frustrated, I fiddled with my pen, tapping it lightly against the table. As I rolled my eyes and
leant forward, the pen slipped from my fingers clumsily— clattering to the carpet flooring
with a small thud.

"Great," I whisper-yawned to myself, sliding my chair back with a soft squeak as I bent down
to retrieve it. As soon as I knelt on the floor, my back slightly arching— I felt a spark of
mischief flood through me. This was my chance to push the boundaries a little more and
maybe another chance to annoy the fuck out of the silent genius.

Leaning forward just that little bit, I caught his eye, my heart racing as I reached out for the
pen. But instead of immediately picking it up like any rational person, I allowed my hand to
linger just a moment longer against his thigh— fingertips brushing against the inside of his
leg, looking up at him sultrily through my dark lashes.

Ha. Fuck you.

"Got it," I said softly, my voice a mere whisper, teasing the fragile line between playful and
intimate.

Reid's eyes widened slightly as his breath hitched, the tension in his gaze flickering as he
spoke. "Mira..."

Just as he opened his mouth to protest, the conference room door swung open again,
and someone walked in.

Oh shit.

My head swung back as I heard a slight gasp followed by— "Mira, what the hell—?" JJ's
voice trailed off as she took in the sight: me kneeling in front of Reid, fingers on his thigh,
with Reid looking flustered and torn between wanting to push me away or fucking pull me
closer—

I could visibly see the heat creeping up Reid's neck, the flush rushing to his cheeks as he
struggled for words. There was a profound look of shock on his face, coupled with a hint of
something— I don't even want to say...
I quickly withdrew my hand, straightened up and returned to my seat with rapid movement,
feeling warmth rush to my face.

"Um, I was just—looking for this." I held up the pen awkwardly, trying to play it off while
the embarrassment washed over me. I could hear JJ trying to contain her laughter, the corner
of her mouth twitching as she glanced back and forth between us.

"Mira," she said, shaking her head teasingly but with an underlying...hostility in her tone, "I
didn't realize you were taking your flirting to this level in the office."

I forced a laugh, though the tension still simmered just below the surface.

"Really, guys? I thought we had professionalism down to an art," JJ added, feigning

annoyance, but beneath it, I could sense a flicker of jealousy. "It's getting late, and I think it's
time to head home. Everyone else has left and I was wondering why the light was still on—"

"Right, home," Reid said quickly like he was eager to escape the moment—and I happened to
notice the way he avoided looking at me.

"Why don't we all call it a night, then?" JJ suggested lightly, her smile failing to reach her
eyes as she studied us both.

"Sure," I forced, the unsteady tone of my voice to remain light.

After a few moments of silence where the air thickened, JJ finally shot one last glance
between Reid and me and then headed toward the door. "Just make sure you both
actually leave this place before sunrise."

Okay— uh— awkward...

As soon as JJ left, Reid turned to me, irritation flashing in his eyes. "Great. Just great, Mira.
Do you enjoy putting us in compromising positions? Like when Derek found us in the
closet?"

"Are you serious?" I snapped, the frustration bubbling to the surface. "I'm not the one who
followed me all just because I spilt some fucking ink on my shirt?"

"Only because you were playing around! I was trying to get some work done, and you..." His
jaw tightened, his frustration palpable.

"Reid, I didn't mean for it to escalate like that," I said, moving closer, my voice dropping to a
whisper. "You know that."

Reid rolled his eyes as he packed up the evidence files, but I could see the tension waning
slightly, realisation creeping in again. "Let's just go. I'll give you a lift back on the way
home."

"Fine," I replied, feeling a flutter of anticipation in my stomach as we made our way outside,
all our bags in hand.
Once we were situated in the car — the silence was thick and charged, amplifying any shift
in our bodies. I could feel my heart throbbing in rhythm with the hum of the engine, my
senses feeling acutely aware of his proximity.

As Reid pulled away from the curb, I couldn't help but take a casual glance down his lap.

Oh?

There was no mistaking it—his black slacks hugged him tightly, emphasizing the
unmistakable outline beneath the fabric. A thrill shot through my body, the quickening of my
pulse sending a blush to my cheeks.

"Looks like you're enjoying the drive," I stated, injecting just the right amount of mischief
into my tone. Of course, I couldn't help myself.

"Andros..." he breathily warned. I could see the way his jaw tightened, a subtle hint that he
wasn't ready to dismiss the moment.

"What? I'm just making an observation," I replied, biting back a grin, relishing the way his
eyes flicked between the road and me, the line between professionalism and desire blurring
with every passing second.

"Observations can lead to complications," he muttered, his voice inching upwards in pitch
slightly.

Oh, how cute— he was nervous...Perhaps even turned on. I leaned a little closer, playing on
this dynamic between us— the scent of his cologne wrapping around me the nearer I got.
"What if I like complicating things?" I teased, letting my voice drop to a sultry whisper.

His face flushed a deep crimson, clearly flustered by my teasing words. He swallowed hard,
his mouth almost completely dried up, the Adam's apple in his throat bobbing and focus was
straining from the road. The car seemed to grow warmer, even though no one turned the
temperature up...

"Mira, please," he managed to choke out, his voice strained. "I'm trying to drive here."

Despite his attempt at sounding stern, there was a hint of playfulness in his tone. His hands
gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles turning white as he fought to keep his
composure. The bulge in Reid's jeans became more pronounced, a clear indication of his
growing arousal.

I couldn't help but smile at his feeble reactions, seeing him flustered brought out all sorts of
feelings.

"Oh, come on." I leaned even closer, a wicked grin spreading across my face. "We both know
you thrive on danger. It's what keeps you sharp, keeps you—" I let my eyes flicker down
toward his growing desire, teasingly, "—on edge."

The tension thickened as I watched his pulse race in his neck. "I hate that you think you can
get under my skin like this," he countered, attempting to maintain the facade of annoyance,
but I could see the cracks beginning to present.

"'Hate' is a strong word, Reid." I leaned back, revelling in my ability to provoke him. "Maybe
you really like it. Maybe that's the real reason you let me get this close."

For a fleeting moment, I thought he would push me away, but instead, I watched as
something flickered in his eyes—a decision made.

Without warning, he turned the wheel sharply, veering off onto a dimly lit side street. My
heart raced, a mix of confusion and thrill coursing through me. "What are you doing?" I
challenged, an edge of excitement lacing my voice.

"I can't do this in the car," he replied— and in one swift motion he drove toward his
apartment — his expression setting into a determined focus.

He can't do wh— oh. Shit.

 Chapter 17: Stay

⚠️ TW: Sexually explicit content — Heavy petting, sexual dialogue & oral sex.
Song for the chapter: One Of The Girls - The Weeknd & Lily Depp 🎵

'We don't gotta be in love, no

I don't gotta be the one, no

I just wanna be one of your girls tonight...'

📖
Reid's apartment door slammed shut with a reverberating thud, the lock quickly clicking into
place. Before I could even process our arrival, I found myself underneath Reid's body —lean
yet surprisingly powerful— pinning me harshly against a wall.

The dim lighting cast soft shadows across the room, illuminating the countless books lining
the shelves, a testament to his nerdy obsessions. My gaze flickered across the spines, noting
everything from classic literature to obscure psychology texts, and I couldn't help but smirk.

"Wow, Spencer, it's like a library threw up in here. Are you always this boring?" I teased, my
heart racing as the stormy intensity of his gaze met mine.

I mean really, no romance books? How did he learn all his... you know... skills?

He didn't miss a beat, stepping closer, his breath ghosting over my lips with need. "Boring, is
that what you call intelligence?" He leaned in, locking eyes with me for just a heartbeat long
before crashing his mouth against mine with a dire urgency that took my breath away.

"Fucking hell, Mira. I don't know whether to kiss you or throw you out," he murmured
against my lips, the hint of an underlying awkwardness seeping through.

"Maybe a little of both?" I shot back, the playful challenge slipping from my mouth, eager to
goad him.

His eyes darkened, a mix of amusement and restraint coursing through him. "Very funny.
You're lucky I'm too far gone to care about our little rivalry right now."

Spencer's hands — strong yet trembling— slid down my side, his fingers deftly finding the
hem of my shirt and slipping beneath it. I shivered at the contact, his slightly cold hands
eliciting goosebumps all over my now-heating skin.

In that moment, I couldn't help myself. I leaned in closer, biting down gently on his lower lip
as I pulled away, watching the surprise bloom on his face. It was the same look I'd seen in
moments of vulnerability—the awkward genius battling his insecurities.
"What was that for?" he asked, clearly unprepared for my boldness, his voice a mix of
confusion and desire.

"Just wanted to see how you'd react," I replied, my voice dripping with mischief. "You seem
tempted?"

"Um, well... I—" He faltered, an adorably flustered look crossing his features, the corners of
his mouth twitching as he struggled to find his words. It made him even more endearing.
"That's, uh, technically—"

"You're stuttering, Doctor," I teased, my eyes sparkling with amusement at the sight in front
of me. "A rare occurrence, I presume?"

Reid's gaze narrowed, his expression shifting from flustered to formidable. "You're pushing
your luck, Andros," he warned, his voice low and even.

I leaned in, my voice taking on a provocative tone. "Maybe I want to see the great Spencer
Reid lose control."

Before he could respond, I reached up and slipped my fingers beneath the edge of his shirt,
quickly lifting it over his head. The rush of his sudden vulnerability ignited a fire within me. I
let my hands explore his toned torso, tracing the lines of his muscles, and feeling the way his
body reacted to my touch.

"How do you like that, Doctor?" I breathed, kissing a path down his chest, savouring the way
his body tensed beneath my lips. He leaned his head back slightly, exposing his neck, a soft
gasp escaping him as I pressed open-mouthed kisses down to his abdomen.

Fuck, why was the image of him like this...So sexy?

"Mm... Mira," he murmured, his voice a mix of pleading and admiration, the way he
surrendered to the sensation only fueling my desire. "You really shouldn't—"

I briefly paused, my lips hovering above his navel. "Shouldn't what, Spencer?" I whispered,
my breath dancing across his skin.

He swallowed hard, his breath catching in his throat as I pressed open-mouthed kisses down
the centre of his abdomen. "It's just... when you call me Doctor," he confessed, his voice
suddenly low and vulnerable. "It... it does something to me."

I paused, looking up at him, curiosity piquing my interest. "Oh really?" I teased softly, my
heart racing at his admission. "What does it do to you?"

Before I could even tease him more, he captured my lips in a bruising kiss, dominating me,
pouring all his pent-up frustration and longing into the heated press of our mouths. With a
sudden shift, he broke the kiss and pulled back, eyes darkened and filled with a wild intensity
I hadn't seen before.

"I need this now." He admitted, his mouth twitching.

"Reid—"

His eyes flashed with urgency, silencing me with a fierce kiss. His hands grasped my hips,
lifting me onto the edge of the table.

"Please," he whispered, his eyes searching mine, raw and earnest. "Just—just don't play
games. I need you. Right now." Every syllable dripped with desperation, unveiling a side of
him that I enjoyed so much.

It was almost like I was in shock— this guy who had been literally infuriating me for months
now was begging for me, pleading like it was all he fucking wanted... I can't help but give in
— those eyes fixing me into a state I can't even deny I was dreaming of.

He was right with what he said the other night, I was thinking about him nearly every chance
I could— thinking about what his mouth and tongue could do... The fantasies had danced in
my mind like fireflies, lighting up the dark corners of my thoughts, igniting a hunger I
couldn't even begin to quench.

"Tell me what you want," I murmured, the heat of the moment drawing me closer, my fingers
running along his jawline as I maintained eye contact, urging him to surrender fully.

"I want... you," he admitted, his eyes glittering with a mix of desperation and desire like it
was eating him up.

Well, we know that by now, Genius—

Without another word, he dropped to his knees before me, his movements filled with an
intensity that took my breath away just at the mere sight of it. His hands gripped my thighs,
spreading my legs apart as he looked up at me.

Hunger. That was all I could describe it as.

Reid's skilled fingers moved down my tights, inch by inch before they were around my
ankles and he was right in front of my aching core. Now, I could see the bulge in his pants, a
testament to his own arousal, and it only fueled my burning desire.

"Spencer," I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. "Touch me."

He didn't hesitate at my request, his hands sliding up my thighs, his thumbs brushing against
the sensitive skin at the juncture of my legs. I gasped at the contact, my hips arching
involuntarily towards him.

Why... was I letting him do this? Even more so— why was I enjoying it?

"Like this?" he murmured, his voice low and seductive. He bent forward, his breath hot
against my core as he inhaled deeply.

And with that, he finally closed the distance, his mouth making contact with me in a single,
electrifying stroke, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through my entire being. A
moan escaped my lips, and I fell back against the table, utterly lost in how he feasted on me
with an insatiable hunger, every flick and swirl of his tongue driving me nearer to the edge—
already.

"Fuck, Spencer," I panted, my hips bucking against his face. "You bastard. You fucking
bastard."

I wanted to protest, to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone. But my body betrayed me, my
arousal growing with each passing second. He was punishing me, making me pay for every
argument, every snide remark, every challenge I had thrown his way.

And god help me, I loved it.

"Don't stop," I gasped, losing myself as each movement of his mouth sent me spiralling
deeper into ecstasy. I could feel the heat pooling in my core, the ache of need building as he
licked and teased, drawing out the sensations that sent waves crashing through me.

But then, he shifted gears, suddenly slowing down as if he were savouring the moment. A
mix of dissatisfaction and desperation surged through me; I wanted more.

"Spencer, please," I begged, my voice trembling as heavy pants escaped my lungs. "You can't
just—"

"I— I don't want to go too fast. I mean..." He hesitated, pausing again, his hands gripping my
thighs tighter as his eyes darted up to meet mine, the mix of determination and uncertainty
etched across his face. "I want you to feel everything. I don't want to rush."

My gaze locked onto his, and I saw the vulnerability beneath his determined exterior. "You
want me to feel everything?" I repeated my voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded, his breath unsteady, eyes burning with intensity. "Yes, every single thing," he
replied, his voice hoarse and low.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching mine for any uncertainties before he nodded, a
determined set to his jaw. And then, he moved in again, his tongue swirling around my nerves
in a slow, deliberate circle.

I gasped as it touched me in all the right ways, his fingers pressing into my thighs as I arched
my back. I could feel the pleasure building, a knot in my stomach, instructing him how much
more I needed.

My breaths came in gasps, the urgency of my need spilling from my lips in soft whimpers. I
felt like I was unravelling slowly, threads of sanity slipping away as he drew me closer to that
edge. Everything within me coiled tighter, and soon, I could no longer hold back.

Surely he had to be...experienced... There was no way he wasn't— every single flick and
swirl pushing me deeper and deeper.

"God, Mira," he murmured against me, his words vibrating through my core as he moaned,
clearly lost in the moment as much as I was. My breath quickened, gasps turning into
desperate pleas.
And then it hit me— like nothing I had ever fucking felt before, waves of pleasure crashing
through me as I pulsed against his mouth. I arched my back, releasing a cry that echoed
through the room.

Poor neighbours...

He didn't stop though, riding out my climax with me, his mouth working and savouring every
moment, coaxing out every last tremor of pleasure from my body until I felt like I was
floating.

This was definitely going to be stuck in his eidetic memory...

I pulled him up toward me, craving the taste of him—his lips on mine, his breath mingling
with my own. What had started as a surface-level feud between us had evolved into
something so much more... The weight of everything crashed down at once— and I
instinctively pulled away, my heart racing for an entirely different reason.

Shit.

"Wait, Reid," I murmured, my voice trembling with uncertainty.

He paused, concern flickering across his features as he met my gaze. "What's wrong?" The
tenderness in his voice cut through the haze of pleasure, bringing me back to reality.

"Shit...I... I didn't mean for it to go this far," I stammered, my heart racing, fear creeping in as
I struggled to articulate what I was feeling. "This was all so fast, so intense—"

"Mira— it's okay—" he said softly, grasping my hands in his, grounding me with the gentle
gesture. The sincerity in his eyes made my heart ache...

"We've been arguing for months! How did we end up here?" I exclaimed, a mix of confusion
and frustration flooding my thoughts. "I mean, one minute we're challenging each other,
pushing each other's buttons, and now..." My voice trailed off, the implications of our heated
exchange weighing heavy in the air.

"Look... It doesn't have to make sense now," He spoke gently, his eyes softened and thumbs
tracing gentle circles over the backs of my hands.

His words made my pulse sputter like my heart had skipped a beat and struggled to recover.

"I don't... I don't know if I can do this," I admitted, forcing the words out as my mind raced to
make sense of it all. "We've spent half our time disputing, half of it trying to one-up each
other—this... us... it doesn't make any sense."

Spencer's hands tightened around mine, just enough to keep me present, his voice a low
murmur. "It's okay, Mira," he said, his tone softer now, almost... vulnerable. "I didn't expect
this either."

My stomach twisted. He had a way of speaking that made everything sound so simple like it
didn't matter whatever we were doing and like maybe it would just pass. Maybe he was right.
"You can stay here tonight," he continued, a bit more quietly. "It's late, and you shouldn't be
alone." There was no pressure in his tone, just a simple offer as if he sensed how unsettled I
felt.

My eyes met his again, uncertainty laced in all my features.

"It's okay, Mira. We don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with."

I fumbled for my underwear, my hands trembling. Spencer gently took them from me,
kneeling down to help me step into them. The tender gesture made my heart ache. As he
slowly slid them up my legs, his fingers ghosting over my skin, I felt a confusing mix of
desire and uncertainty.

When his brown eyes reached mine once more, he took my hand in his and began to walk,
however my knees quickly bucked from underneath me. Spencer's arms shot out, steadying
me quickly before I hit the floor. His hands settled on my waist firmly, the heat of the touch
searing through the thick fabric of my t-shirt. I gasped, my hands instinctively clutching at
his forearms as I tried to steady myself.

Kill me now... How embarrassing.

"Maybe we should call Garcia and let her know we're adding 'walking' to your list of
weaknesses?" He teased, his lips quirking into a faint, knowing smirk. "For someone who
'hates' me so much you sure are pretty quick to fall right into my arms, aren't you?"

I rolled my eyes in response, pushing slightly at his chest — even though I made no effort to
pull away. Besides if I did, I would have fallen face-first for sure. "You're insufferable," was
all I could let out as he guided me towards what I assumed to be his bedroom.

"Ahhh...Insufferable," he repeated with a mocking tilt of his head. "But apparently not so
insufferable that you didn't let me—"

"Don't. Even. Finish. That. Sentence," I scolded, my voice sharper than I intended, though it
only seemed to amuse the agent further.

Spencer's smirk softened into something quieter as his gaze flicked down to where his hands
rested. Before moving away, he eased me onto the edge of the bed.

I looked up at him through my eyelashes, a faint smile still left burnt into my face. As he
walked away from me and over to his dresser, my gaze followed before drifting around the
room. It was stylish— I will say. Perhaps not so boring as I had called it earlier.

Exposed brick walls gave it an industrial charm, softened by the warm glow of a single lamp
on his nightstand. The dark and earthy tones of the bedding and furniture were broken up by
the surprising presence of lush green plants that looked well looked after.

And, of course, the books. They were everywhere— stacked on the bedside table, lining
built-in shelves, even sitting neatly in piles on the floor. It was the kind of organised chaos
you could expect from the genius.
When I glanced back in his direction, he was already making his way back over to me, a
plain grey t-shirt in hand.

"Taking inventory?" he questioned, his tone light as he handed me the oversized t-shirt.

"Just...observing," I replied, clutching the soft fabric and glancing away, trying to mask the
heat creeping into my cheeks. "Your taste is...slightly unexpected."

He raised a brow, crossing his arms as he leaned against the wall opposite me. "Unexpected,
how?"

I shrugged, fiddling with the item of clothing in my hands. "The plants, mostly. Didn't peg
you as someone who would keep them alive."

"Are you saying I seem incapable of nurturing life?" he shot back, curiosity colouring his
voice.

I rolled my eyes again, pulling the shirt to my chest like a shield. "I'm saying I'm surprised,
that's all."

His smirk returned, softer now but no less smug. "There's a lot about me that might surprise
you, Mira."

The way my name rolled off of his tongue in such a casual way— not laced with sarcasm or
despise, just... comfort. I loved it but hated it at the same time.

In a swift motion, Reid turned around without being prompted as he gave me a semblance of
privacy to change. It was considerate even though we had just done what we did. I couldn't
help but notice, however, how he lingered. His shoulders were stiff, while his posture relaxed
like he was giving me space but silently wishing he could stay with me.

I hesitated for a moment before slipping the shirt straight over my head, the soft fabric falling
just below mid-thigh. My skirt hit the floor with a whisper against the hardwood, leaving me
in nothing but his oversized t-shirt.

"All done," I said quietly, almost testing him.

He turned, his gaze darting over me briefly before fixing on my face. His expression softened
as he took in the sight of me in his clothes, but he didn't say anything, which somehow made
the feeling that was growing in my stomach worse.

"Goodnight, Mira," he said finally, his voice warm but distant as he moved toward the door.

My heart pounded, locked up, caged in my chest.

"Wait," I called after him, the word escaping before I could second-guess myself.

He stopped his hand halfway to the doorknob before turning back. His brows knit together
slightly, a concern tempered by something deeper. "What is it?"
I swallowed the wad of saliva that was stuck in my throat, unsure how to put my thoughts
into words. "Can you..."

"Stay?"

I said, my voice breaking slightly in embarrassment. I didn't want to seem— I don't know—
silly? But I knew deep down that I wouldn't be able to sleep... not after what happened.

He blinked, his surprise evident before it melted into something gentler. "Stay?"

I nodded, biting my lip as I shifted awkwardly on the bed. Now being hyperaware of the
stupid thing I was asking him— I looked down, preparing myself for the pang of disappoi—

"Yes." He said lowly whilst nodding.

Oh?

For a moment, I think I just stared at him, caught so off guard by his agreement. I hadn't
expected him to say yes— at least not without some sort of hesitation.

Spencer stepped away from the door, his movements slow and deliberate like he was giving
me the opportunity to change my mind. But I didn't. My mind didn't even falter for one
second. Instead, I moved back on the bed, silently making room for him.

"You're sure?" he asked, his voice softer now, his eyes searching mine delicately.

I nodded again, unable to find the right words.

He pulled back the covers, sliding in beside me with careful precision. The mattress dipped
under his weight, and the scent of him—something faintly woody and pure—filled the space
between us.

It reminded me of when we were in the hotel — when we last shared a bed together.
However, this time it was different. This time there was no... discomfort? I hadn't meant for it
to happen, and part of me was still confused by it. How had I gone from despising this man,
from finding him irritating beyond belief, to—well, to this?

He shifted beside me, slightly hesitant as his arm moved around my shoulders. His body was
still, but his presence filled every corner of the room, his warmth seeping into my skin,
making me feel both exposed and safe at the same time.

His touch settled on me so tentatively, so gently, like he was waiting for me to pull away. But
I didn't. My body felt drawn to him, the subtle pressure of his arm grounding me.

And then, there it was— his breath. It was soft at first like he was trying to reassure me that
everything was fine... until it turned heavier and lower.

For the first time around him, I felt like I didn't have to fight. Against him. Against myself.
"You okay?" His voice was low, almost a whisper like he was afraid of disturbing the fragile
quiet between us.

"Yeah," I replied, my own voice barely a murmur. "I think so."

The tension didn't ease, even as we spoke delicate words. It only intensified, my fingers
meeting the fabric of his shirt. My body responded without thought, trailing down his side,
tracing the hard lines of his torso and the warmth of his skin beneath the cotton.

The contact was hesitant, slow like I was a novice unsure of what I was doing, yet the
sensation of him underneath my fingertips made my pulse quicken like nothing else.

He tensed under my touch but didn't move away. Instead, he spoke quietly. "Mira, I—I don't
want anything from you. It's okay."

Although he assured me that he didn't want anything, he didn't pull away either. I saw the
hesitation flick across his face, and I knew he wanted it just as badly as I wanted to give it to
him.

How badly I wanted to see the crease in his eyebrows as he threw his head back and
released... As his hands began to tremor at the feeling of my lips around him...

But of course, I didn't want to take this too far—not now. I didn't want to rush it, not after
everything we'd been through today. Instead, I slowly pulled my hand away, my breath shaky
as I tried to steady myself.

The sexual tension was still pulsating through me as I smiled up at him. "We should probably
just sleep," he murmured, his voice like a soothing balm against the heat we'd both been
feeling.

I turned to face the window, letting my gaze drift out into the night sky. There was something
about the city lights, the stillness of the world beyond the glass that calmed me. I could feel
his presence next to me, steady and reassuring.

"I can only ever fall asleep with the sound of the city," Spencer murmured tiredly, his voice a
soft brush against the quiet.

I grinned, even though he couldn't see it. It was funny, in a way. I nodded, though the gesture
was lost in the darkness. "Same," I whispered.

It was then that the realisation hit me as if the quiet of the night allowed it to bubble to the
surface.

I remembered back to the night on the motel balcony, the two of us standing there in silence,
listening to the quiet hum of the world around us. We'd needed it, without even realizing why.
And now, here we were again, both finding comfort in the same thing.

With the sound of the metropolis in the background, my mind slowly drifted off, lulled by the
steady rhythm of it all. Spencer's presence next to me, the shared quiet, the weight of it all
felt just right.
And for the first time in a long time, I was okay.

👤
SPENCER'S POV.

I lay there in the dark, the quiet hum of the city outside weaving through the silence between
us. Her soft breathing was the only other sound, rhythmic and steady.

Something about this moment felt fragile. Like it could break at any second. It wasn't just the
closeness, the way our bodies were so close, yet not quite touching. It was something more
than that, something I had never felt.

Mira wasn't like anyone I'd ever met. I'd been around many people my entire life, but none of
them had ever made me feel this way. Here we were— sharing such an intimate space. The
one I retreated to, the one I kept to myself.

I found myself staring at her, my eyes drawn to the subtle curves of her body beneath the t-
shirt that she wore. My t-shirt.

I wasn't used to that– I wasn't used to seeing her like this— so calm, so still. She wasn't the
Mira I knew, the one who always had a sharp edge to her, always alert, always ready for
anything.

But then something caught my attention, and my breath stilled in my chest. Her shirt had
shifted slightly, just enough for me to catch a small glimpse of skin— her thigh, exposed just
a little. I hadn't meant to look — I didn't even want to. But I did.

And that's when I saw it. A scar.

It was faint but undeniable. A white, pale line ran across her skin illuminated by the soft light
coming through the window. It was jagged. Old. My heart skipped a beat as I stared at it, a
thousand questions flooding my mind. I didn't know how I hadn't noticed it before,
considering my prior... proximity. But now that I did, I couldn't look away.

My heart ached for her, thinking about what she may have gone through. What had
happened? What caused it?

I swallowed hard, trying to push away the quick flood of thoughts that surged through me.
This wasn't the time— she trusted me here. I wasn't about to break that trust, not over
something I had no right to ask about. She was sleeping in a way I had never seen anyone
before. But the scar— it didn't sit right with me.

My finger traced across the line, almost without my own consent. It was like I was trying to
understand it, somehow, to feel what she must have felt.

I froze when I realised what I was doing, pulling my hand away like I'd been scolded. My
breath caught in my throat as I looked at her, watching her chest rise and fall with each
moment.
I lay there, conflicted, knowing that some scars, no matter how deep, were never meant to be
uncovered—at least, not by me.
 Chapter 18: Roses

⚠️ TW: Sexually explicit content — Explicit description & themes

Song for this chapter: Moth To A Flame - The Weeknd & Swedish House Mafia 🎵
"All your friends say he's the one,

His love for you is true,

But does he know you call me when he sleeps?"

📖
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was the emptiness. The side of the bed where
Spencer had once been was now cold, the sheets rumpled up but unoccupied. I stretched, my
body still languid and legs still sore from the night prior, a flush rising to my cheeks as I
remembered every minute detail. His name had fallen from my lips so many times like a
prayer. Although we hadn't gone the whole way, a smile tugged at my lips remembering his
comforting words nd even more comforting mouth...

But now he was gone.

I sat up, groggily brushing my hair from my face as I uncertainly scanned the room. There
was no sign of him— no half-read book, no stack of neatly folded clothes— just the lingering
scent of cinnamon and newly opened pages. Panic settled in my chest quickly.

Did he regret it? Did he leave somewhere to clear his thoughts? Was he embarrassed?

My mind raced with thoughts, concocting all of the worst possibilities I could've thought of.

I swung my legs off the bed and stood, grimacing as the cold wooden floor bit deeply into my
bare feet. My mind was still muddled, and I barely noticed the faint sound of running water
as I crossed to the bathroom.

The door was slightly ajar, a thin line of steam escaping through the crack. It wasn't until I
pushed it open that the heat hit me, heavy and thick, curling into my lungs. I was about to call
out when I saw him.

Spencer stood under the spray of the shower, head tilted back as water cascaded over his face
and lean frame. For a moment, I simply stood there in shock, transfixed by the play of water
droplets sliding down his skin- catching the early morning light. My gaze roamed over his
body, lingering on the defined muscles of his back and shoulders, the curve of his spine, the
strong of his jaw.

Fucking hell.
A wave of heat washed over me, and it had nothing to do with the steam filling the room.
Straight-up desire coiled low in my belly as my gaze travelled lower, taking in the defined V-
lines of his hips, the taut muscles of his abdomen... and then further still, the evidence of his
arousal.

I swallowed quickly as I realised my imagination was far from reality. Although I knew he
had to have a decent... you know... size? Just because of the way he walked around— but
this.

This was... Impressive, to say the least.

However this... was also a bad idea. A very very terrible idea. Leave. Now.

But my feet refused to work, and instead, I stood there sheepishly frozen— hopeless.

And then he moved, shifting slightly under the water, his hand dragging up his torso before
trailing lower. The motion was slow, deliberate, intimate and godamn perverse of me to
continue watching. My breath hitched audibly, my stomach flipping as I realised what I was
witnessing.

Oh my God.

Heat surged through me again and again, my skin prickling with awareness. How hadn't he
noticed me yet? Maybe because his eyebrows were furrowed as if lost in a private thought—
as if he were imagining something...or even someone. The way his lips parted slightly,
releasing a quiet sound that I felt more than heard.

My name.

At that point, I was hyperventilating. My breath came in overtly short, sharp gasps, each one
echoing obscenely in the steam-filled room. It would be so easy to slip out of my clothes, to
join him under the mist and take over where he left off. But I couldn't. Not yet. Not like this.

My tongue darted out to wet my suddenly dry lips, drawing Spencer's gaze. His eyes widened
a flash of surprise as he moved quickly, a flurry of motion as he turned, shielding himself
behind the frosted glass partition.

"Mira?" His voice was rough with shock, sending a fresh wave of desire crashing through
me. "Is that you?"

"I didn't mean to—" I stammered, my hands flying up as if that would erase the moment.
Erase what I had unknowingly stumbled in on. "I didn't realize—"

He ran a hand through his wet hair, his movements jerky and frantic, his back still to me. "I
thought you were still asleep."

"I thought you left," I blurted, my voice embarrassingly high-pitched. "I woke up, and you
weren't there, and—"
He turned his head slightly, just enough for me to catch the edge of his profile, his jaw tight,
his neck flushed. "You shouldn't have—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "This is my
fault. I didn't think."

I pressed my lips together, unsure whether to apologize again or bolt for the door. The tension
in the room was suffocating, the heat from the shower wrapping around me like a second
skin.

I made my decision.

"I'll just—go," I managed, backing toward the door with the grace of a drunk giraffe.

He'd been thinking about me.

The knowledge sent a thrill through my veins, even as embarrassment and confusion swirled
in my gut.

I fled the bathroom quickly, my heart pounding so violently I half expected it to shatter my
ribs. I ignored Spencer and his blurred words as I left as if anything he said could magically
undo what happened. What happened that morning and the night before. We had let our needs
and desires get in the way of what was right— not getting romantically involved with our
coworker— especially one you despised.

The remainder of that Saturday was filled with meaningless tasks. Anything that could deter
me from the wild thoughts pulling me side to side, any forced interactions with anyone
but him, refusing to let him see how far I had fallen.

In the evening, desperation had gotten the better of me. My phone sat heavy in my hand
hovering over the download button for yet another stupid dating app. I didn't even like dating
apps— detested them actually. The endless swiping, the shallow small talk and the parade of
men whose profiles screamed "I'm a big red flag in human form— come fuck me!" But I was
desperate.

I needed a distraction, something to overwrite the image of Spencer in the shower. Hell—
any of the night before that. The way he held me as we both fell asleep was even killing me
now.

The app downloaded with an obnoxious chime, and I opened it, filling out the profile with
robotic efficiency. Interests? Reading. Shooting ranges. Cooking. Not thinking about my
coworker naked.

I swiped aimlessly for an hour, my frustration mounting with every cheesy pick-up line and
poorly angled selfie. None of them looked like Spencer. None of them felt like him— no
matter how much his presence annoyed me.

And none of them made me come undone just by the thought of them saying my name.

⌛️
Monday morning in the BAU arrived far too quickly, dragging me back to the office and the
ever-present tension of being near Reid. I'd spent the weekend trying to scrub him from my
mind— and failing spectacularly. At least I had a somewhat welcome distraction.

Max, the newest match on my app had been surprisingly interesting. Over two days of
messaging, he'd proven himself to be more than the typical 'red-flag-in-human-form' I'd
grown wildly accustomed to. He was somewhat witty, considerate and apparently good at
keeping a conversation alive without resorting to shallow compliments.

Anyways, so when Penelope came barreling into the bullpen mid-morning, waving a massive
bouquet of flowers like a victorious knight returning from battle, I was completely caught off
guard.

"Oh my God, Mira!" she squealed, thrusting the bouquet into my hands. The scent of fresh
roses enveloped me as I blinked at the display in stunned silence. "Who are they from? Wait
—don't tell me! Spencer!"

Her grin was so bloody wide, it was practically blinding, and her excitement was loud
enough to draw the attention of everyone in the room, including he-who-shall-not-be-named
himself.

I froze, heat crawling up my neck as I shook my head. "They're not from Spencer," I said
quickly, cringing at the way my voice pitched higher than I intended.

Why would they be from Spencer...?

Penelope's face fell for half a second before she recovered, her eyes narrowing playfully.
"Oh, then who? Spill it!"

I swallowed hard, pulling the small card from the arrangement. The note was simple and
elegant, written in neat cursive:

Mira,
For brightening my weekend. Can't wait to see you soon.
- Max

"Max," I said softly, feeling both embarrassed and strangely triumphant as I handed the card
to Penelope.

Her eyes lit up as she read the note, and she clutched her chest dramatically. "Max? Who's
Max? Why haven't I heard about Max? Is he gorgeous? Charming? Should I stalk him on
social media to vet him?"

"It's from a guy I've been talking to online," I admitted, tucking a strand of hair behind my
ear nervously. "We've been messaging for a few days now."

"And he sent flowers?!" Penelope repeated, her excitement bubbling over again. "He's a
keeper already."
As Pen continued to LOUDLY gush over the bouquet, rattling off ideas for how to respond to
Max's gesture, a voice from behind me cut through the chatter like a razor.

"You don't even like roses."

The comment was quiet but pointed, carrying enough weight for me to turn to face the voice
as Penelope came to an abrupt halt. Bless her— she looked between Spencer and me, her
mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

I froze, my grip tightening on the bouquet."What?"

Spencer didn't look up from his desk, his fingers idly flipping through a file he surely wasn't
reading. "You don't like roses," he repeated again, his tone clipped, as though he was stating
the weather or reading a funeral obituary. "You've said it before. You think they're generic
and overdone in this age."

I stared at him, my throat suddenly dry and my face as red as a tomato. Maybe it was because
I hadn't seen him since Saturday morning and that ...situation. Or maybe it was because he
was right. I had said that once— months ago, in passing, during some idle conversation about
flowers when the team had been stuck on a crime scene which had loads of different petals
scattered around. How could he possibly remember that?

Penelope's eyes went wide, darting between us like she was watching the world's most
dramatic soap opera unfold. "Wait, is that true? Mira, do you not like roses?"

"I mean..." I hesitated, feeling a flush creep up my neck. "They're not my favourite."

Penelope gasped, clutching her chest like she'd just been stabbed with malice. "But they're so
beautiful!"

Spencer's head snapped up, his gaze locking with mine. "Exactly. They're just beautiful.
There's no thought behind them—no depth. They're what you send when you don't really
know someone."

The room went silent, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the air.

My heart thudded painfully in my chest. Was this just about the flowers—or was he talking
about Max?

"Maybe," I said carefully, forcing my voice to remain steady, "but it's the gesture that
counts."

"Is it?" he shot back, his tone sharper than I expected.

I felt my heart clench painfully in my chest. He was right, wasn't he? Max and I had only
been talking for a few days. He barely knew me.

But then again... how well did Spencer really know me? Sure, we worked together every day,
but did that translate to real intimacy?
And besides, I hated the guy. It's not like me and him were going anywhere together— like
ever. No matter how skilled his fingers or his mou—. Fuck.

Why did it bother me so much? Why did his words affect me more than they should?

I shook my head to clear my thoughts, but then my phone buzzed on the table. Max. I didn't
think twice. I grabbed it quickly and excused myself from the conversation walking into a
small supply closet.

The voice on the other end was warm and smooth. "Hey, Mira. I think you're at work but I
just wanted to ask if you were free later this week?"

I walked a few steps away, trying to keep my voice steady. "Yeah, sure. We can figure
something out."

"Good, I've been thinking about you," Max added, and his voice sent an unexpected shiver
down my spine.

I barely managed to reply, "I've been thinking about you, too." I didn't mean for it to sound
flirtatious, but it came out that way. And I couldn't help it.

The call ended with a promise to see each other soon, and I stood there for a moment, staring
down at my phone. My heart was racing, and I felt a strange mix of exhilaration and guilt, my
mind tangled between Max and Spencer.

As I tucked my phone away back into my pocket, I turned— only to find Spencer standing
just a little too close, his eyes intensely locked onto me. Before I could even take a step back,
his hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a grip that was firm, not quite painful, but still
unyielding. He backed me into the nearest wall, with a force that left no space between us.
This was a very different Reid than the one that fell asleep holding me just a few nights ago.

"Mira," he muttered, his voice low, dark, and laced with tension. "You think this is just
about roses?"

His gaze flickered down to my lips with those deep brown eyes as I responded, "Spencer, I
—"

"No." He cut me off abruptly, his voice laced with a multi-layered anger. "It's not just about
the damn flowers. It's about everything, Mira." His grip on my wrist shifted, pulling me
closer if that was even possible. Him. His breath, his heat... It all complicated everything so
much more.

"You've been ignoring me all weekend. I tried talking to you and texting you, but you didn't
respond. After that morning— hell after that night—" His voice faltered for just a second, but
then it hardened again. "You think I didn't notice?"

God, it's true. He had tried to contact me many times the past weekend— and all I did was
ignore him. I could feel the dull ache in my chest as he spoke, the words like a punch, each
one landing with awful precision. The night of the shower, his head between my thighs— all
things we hadn't spoken about. It all came rushing back in a blur of regret and
frustration. This Spencer, the one who was standing so close, the one who could hurt me with
a word, with a glance, and yet still managed to make me feel like I was suffocating in his
presence.

I'd told him on Friday that I wanted to stop, hadn't I? I'd said that I wasn't ready, but now—
standing here with the raw need radiating off of both of us, I wasn't so sure.

"Tell me," he continued, his voice hushed, but burning with intensity, "Who the hell is he?
Max? You think he knows you?" His eyes bore into me, but the jealousy was unmistakable in
his voice. "He doesn't. He doesn't know you and y-you think he does because you chatted for
a few hours?"

Spencer was right; Max and I had barely scratched the surface, and yet here I was, standing in
front of Spencer— this man who made my body ache with just a look. I hate you, I thought,
but the feeling didn't match my body's reaction.

"No one else gets to touch you, Mira," Spencer muttered darkly, his breath brushing against
my ear. "Not him, not anyone. Even though I hate you, I won't let anyone else put their hands
on you. Ever."

I couldn't breathe.

The possessiveness in his words, something he'd never showcased like that before— it was
too much. My mind screamed at me to fight him off but I was fucking drawn to him. He was
getting under my skin and he knew it. It was the same fire I'd felt in the few kisses we'd
shared— the ones that nearly burned me alive.

Even though I hate you...

In all honesty, I couldn't even process the words quickly enough. It all hit me, that awful yet
intoxicating truth. I wanted him. More than I should, and more than was safe.

Spencer leaned in closer, his lips brushing against mine in a kiss that was almost too slow, but
unbearably intense. He wasn't holding back now. Neither of us were. I felt his chest rise
against mine, the heat building again, and I was lost. He was lost. His breath was shaky
against mine, but his grip on me never wavered.

This wasn't the Spencer I once knew.

The shy, awkward guy who could barely look someone in the eye without rambling. The one
who would have been mortified at the very thought of a kiss like this. No, this Spencer— this
version of him was different.

Even though the words he'd spoken were laced with anger, there was now something else
there too as of recent. Sex.

"I'm not done with you, Mira," Spencer snarled against my lips. "And you're not running
away from me again."
I could barely breathe as his hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me deeper into the
kiss, his body pressing harder against mine. I wanted this, even though I shouldn't.
I hated how much I wanted it.

Spencer had always been the guy with all the answers, the one who could unravel a crime in
minutes. But right now, he was the one who was unravelling me. With every move, every
touch, every word he said, he made me lose control.

And that terrified me more than anything.

"Please come to my house tonight," He muttered desperately as he pulled back just enough to
meet my gaze. "I'll be waiting, okay?"

I swallowed hard. "I'll be there," I said quietly, unsure if I was making a mistake, but
knowing I couldn't say no.

I ran a shaky hand through my hair as he left, trying to compose myself. I needed to get out
of here, to clear my head. I took a deep breath and stepped out of the closet also, only to
freeze when I saw Penelope standing there, her eyes wide and curious.

"Mira?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "Are you okay? I heard some strange noises
coming from the closet."

I forced a smile, ignoring the fact that my face must look like it got burnt by the amount of
heat I felt in there— "I'm fine," I said, my voice strained. "Just... dealing with some personal
stuff."

Penelope raised a brow but then nodded. "Okay..." she said slowly and unconvinced.

I mumbled something about needing to get back to work as I hurried past her. She definitely
knew something was going on— but that was an issue for another time.

The rest of the workday passed in a blur, my mind consumed with thoughts of Spencer and
what would happen when I came over. I found myself eagerly counting down the hours until
I could leave the office and face what was going to happen head-on.

I knew that when I walked through that door, I would be getting into something I couldn't
leave.
 Chapter 19: Psychoanalysis

⚠️ TW: Sexually explicit content: Sexual acts and dialogue

Song for the chapter: Eyes Don’t Lie — Isabel LaRosa 🎵

`Eyes don’t lie,

Say you’re mine…`

📖
The warm, fragrant scent of oregano and garlic greeted me before I even stepped through the
door— which foreshadowed to me that this would be a good night.

I lingered for a moment in the hallway, smoothing the hem of my sweater and pretending I
wasn’t stalling, but the low hum of music drifting through the crack of the door made my
chest tighten. What was it? Anticipation? Maybe…

He was doing this— whatever this was. And I hated it.

With one steadying breath, I pushed the door open. My eyes instantly landing on the small
table he’d set up in the corner of his industrial-looking apartment, illuminated by the glow of
a single lamp. Boxes of Greek takeaway were arranged neatly, the lids popped open to reveal
perfectly arranged dolmades, spanakopita, gyros and grilled souvlaki skewers. My favourite.

How did he know?

I glanced towards the kitchen, where Reid stood with his back to me, pouring something into
two glasses… red wine. Of course. When he finally turned, his face was calm but his
movements were deliberate, lips quirking into a small, almost shy smile.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” I said, setting my bag down on his deep green couch.

He shrugged nonchalantly, setting the glasses down on the table with precision. “You
mentioned a few weeks ago that Greek food reminds you of home. I figured maybe it would
be…nice.”

Nice? This wasn’t just nice. This was thoughtful, bordering on overwhelming. It was
something I had never seen Reid do and especially not for me— I’d never seen him be so… I
don’t even know.

My gaze worked its way down his body, taking in the sight as I sat down at the table. His
shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Casual but deliberate.

Every single thing Spencer Reid ever did was deliberate.

And yet, he didn’t look calculated tonight. He looked effortless. Comfortable, in a way I
rarely ever saw. It was unnerving, disarming even.

“Wine?” His voice pulled me from my thoughts, and when I glanced up he was already
extending a glass toward me.

I hesitated, long enough for his brow to arch slightly in question. Then, with a steadying
breath, I reached for it, our fingers brushing for just a moment. A moment too long.

“Thanks,” I muttered, taking a sip to distract myself from the heat that rose up on my cheeks.

Reid didn’t sit down immediately. Instead, he leaned against the edge of the table, glass in
hand, watching me with a quiet intensity that set my nerves alight. The soft glow of the
orange lamp cast his features in sharp relief— his jawline, his cheekbones, the way his lips
quirked as if he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

Fuck him.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he observed, his voice low, almost teasing.

I shrugged, setting the glass down. “Maybe I’m not used to all this.” I gestured to the table,
the wine, the entire set-up.

He smirked, a hint of arrogance playing on his tongue. “What, a dinner?”

“No.” My voice came out sharper than I intended, but I didn’t backtrack. “You. Like this.”

His smirk faltered, replaced by something more guarded, though his eyes never left mine.
“Maybe you just don’t know me as well as you think you do.”

The words hung between us, daring me to respond, to challenge him. But I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Because the truth was, he was right.

I didn’t know this version of Spencer Reid— and I didn’t think I ever would. The one who
set up dinners, and poured wine, who looked at me with something that wasn’t hostility, but
wasn’t softness either.

And maybe that was the damn problem.

“You’re staring,” he said after a moment, his tone light but his gaze dark, unwavering.

“Am I?” I shot back, crossing my legs under the table trying to take some action to the
growing sensation between them.

“You are,” he confirmed, his voice dropping just enough to make the air feel heavier.

I took another sip of wine, trying to ignore the way his presence filled the room.

The tall agent moved off of the edge of the table, finding his seat opposite me— gaze
lingering. He wasn’t staring exactly, but there was a weight to his attention— like he was
trying to puzzle something out.

I took a sip of my wine, willing myself not to let his presence… entirely rattle me.

“You know,” he said, casually leaning back in his chair and letting his fingers trace the edges
of his own glass, “I’ve been thinking about the other night.”
The comment caught me mid-swallow. I coughed, the wine threatening to make a
reappearance. “Excuse me?”

His lips curved into a barely-there smirk, and he shrugged as if his statement wasn’t
completely out of character. He followed with a nod, “Yeah. Friday. You seemed so sure of
yourself at first. Until you weren’t.” His gaze slides over me deliberately, sending a jolt of
heat straight through me. “It made me wonder what else could make you lose control like
that.”
My breath caught, and I set the glass down before I had the chance to drop it, feeling my
cheeks flush. I hated how easily he could get under my skin. “Is that what you spend your
time thinking about, Dr. Reid? Making me lose control?”

He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the table, his voice a quiet, velvet challenge.
“It’s a little hard not to. Don’t act like you don’t think about it too.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but the words didn’t come. Instead, I could only glare at him,
my pulse thundering in my ears.

We settled into an uneasy rhythm after that, the silence between us punctuated by brief
glances and the occasional scrape of utensils on plates. The conversation had shifted to safer
groundwork, the team, even a passing remark about Garcia’s love for meddling- but the
tension still hummed between us like usual.

Every now and then, I’d catch him watching me, his expression totally unreadable, and I’d
pretend not to notice.

By the time we’d finished eating, the empty wine glasses sat as evidence of a meal that had
somehow felt both too long and not long enough. That’s when his eyes fell on me again,
sharper this time, honing in like a blade.

“Can I ask you something?” he said finally, his tone calm but weighted.

I hesitated, unsure if I even wanted to give him the permission. “Depends,” I replied
cautiously, leaning back in my chair as I folded my arms.

He shifted, his chair creaking faintly as he leaned forward. His eyes dropped, just briefly
before returning to meet mine with an intensity that made my stomach twist. Despite his
heavy gaze, his faltering told me he was nervous.

“The scar on your thigh,” he said, his words measured, deliberate. “It’s something I saw the
other night… while you were asleep. Where’s it from?”
My stomach dropped the pleasant haze from the wine evaporating instantly. My posture
stiffened, and the tension that had been buzzing between us earlier coiled tighter, sharper, like
a live wire ready to snap.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for that question.

I looked at him, unsure of how to respond—or if I even wanted to. He had no right to ask. No
right to even notice in the first place. Especially with me unsuspectingly sleeping next to
him… And yet, here he was, casually dissecting a piece of me I’d worked so damn hard to
bury.

It made me feel nauseous.

“It’s none of your business,” I said tightly, my voice colder than I intended.

Reid didn’t flinch. If anything, his gaze sharpened, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Maybe
not. But it’s clearly something you don’t want to talk about, which makes me wonder why.”

Anger ravenously flared in my chest, hot and unwelcome. “You don’t get to sit there and
psychoanalyse me, Reid. Not about this.”

My mind thought back to the time when we stood in the BAU after detaining the four
teenagers who decided to make their own cult. The day when Reid went into an episode after
looking at a needle on the ground. The day that now seemed so far away.

“You don't get to dig into my past, Mira. I don't need you psychoanalysing every single
expression I make every time something triggers a memory."

"I'm not trying to psychoanalyse you, Reid. I'm trying to understand. I want to help—"

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t back down. “I’m not trying to psychoanalyse you. I just—”
He stopped himself, exhaling a sharp breath as he too remembered. “I noticed it, okay? And I
can’t stop thinking about it. Because it matters. You matter.”

“Don’t,” I snapped, my voice shaking slightly. “Don’t try to make this about how much you
care or whatever noble crap you’re trying to pull. You’re just curious, Spencer. Admit it.”

He flinched at that, and for a moment, I thought he might back off. But instead, he leaned
forward, his voice dropping to a near-whisper.

“Maybe I am curious. But that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

The words hit me harder than they should have, and I hated how much they unsettled me.
How much he unsettled me. I stood abruptly, the chair scraping loudly against the floor.

“This was a mistake,” I said, grabbing my bag from the couch. “I shouldn’t have come.”

I turned toward the door but before I could take another step, his voice stopped me.

“Mira, please wait.”

I froze my back to him, my hand hovering idly over the doorknob.

“What are we even doing?” I asked gently, my voice almost fragile. “What is this, Reid?”

There was a beat of silence, heavy and suffocating before I heard him rise from his chair. His
footsteps were soft but purposeful as he closed the distance between us.

“This,” he said, his voice firm, right behind me now. “This is what we’re doing.”

Before I could process what he meant, his hands were on me, spinning me around. His lips
crashed onto mine with a force that stole my breath, and all the tension, all the anger, all the
unspoken words combined into a kiss that was nothing short of explosive.

And in that moment, I knew there was absolutely no going back. We had been playing the
game of push and pull for far too long, and as his lips moved against mine— so hungry and
sensual, I knew that this was what I wanted.

I wanted to stay here lost in this moment. In this kiss of possession, of desperation where our
tongues claimed each other. It was all too intoxicating to the point where I felt like I was
drowning in sensation. My mind completely drifted away from the prior animosity— like a
distant memory.

“Spencer…”I whispered, my voice hoarse with desire.

His name slipped from my wetted lips like a prayer, and it sent a jolt through him— visibly.
Me saying his name like that — seemed to fuel this burning fire between us. Spencer’s grip
tightened on me in response, pulling me closer as if he was trying to anchor himself to
something solid amidst the chaos of this urgency. His body pressed against mine, his arousal
hard and insistent.

“Don’t say my name like that, Mira,” he rapsed against my lips, his breath hot and uneven.
“It drives me crazy…” he spoke again, his fingers brushing the edge of my hips before they
slid under my sweater.

I swallowed hard, fighting the way my body reacted to him. Under his control. I couldn’t
even deny it anymore as much as I fucking wanted to— this was real. This wasn’t just some
fight or some childlike game. We were past that now.

I let out a soft gasp when his fingers found the bare skin of my stomach, dragging up to the
curve of my ribs, and I shuddered at the contact. I wanted to push him away, to stop this
before it went any further—before it became something neither of us could take back.

This moment felt different from Friday— in this one I was sure.

“Fuck, Mira,” he groaned, his lips trailing kisses down my neck. “You feel so good.”

His hands slid higher, cupping my breasts through my bra. I gasped, my nipples hardening
beneath his touch. I knew I should stop this, but it felt too good, too right.

His hands made me ache in places I didn’t want to acknowledge.

“Mira,” he murmured again, his voice rough with pure desire. “You don’t have to fight it.
You don’t have to fight me.”

I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to fight it anymore— I wanted to give in to that euphoric
feeling… with him. As his thumb traced the edge of my bra, he slowly, deliberately,
unclipped it with one hand and slid it off my shoulder. My body was straight-up trembling
now, the cool air rushing in against my skin, but it only made me want him more. I lifted my
arms, silently giving him permission as I let him strip the rest of the fabric away— my chest
rising and falling with every ragged breath.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his hands running down my sides, memorizing every
curve. “I’m not letting you pull away this time. I won’t let you.”

His words echoed in my mind, a seductive promise I couldn’t resist. Not anymore.

“Reid,” I breathed. “Please…”

I didn’t even know if I was begging him to stop or begging him to continue. All I knew was
that I wanted him to lose himself in me. His lips found mine again, kissing me deeply,
hungrily. I moaned into the kiss, my hands fisting his shirt, desperate for more.

The cold pads of his fingers found my nipples, rolling and pinching them which sent jolts of
pleasure straight to my core. I arched into his touch, my hips grinding against his. I could feel
his hardness pressing against me, and it only stoked the passion I had.

“I need you,” I huffed— breaking the kiss.

His eyes were dark with desire, his breathing ragged. "I've got you, Mira," he murmured, his
voice low and rough. "I've got you."

Reid’s breath was hot against my ear as he pulled away from me slightly, his eyes dark with
desire. “You don’t even know how bad I want to ruin you right now,” he whispered, his voice
rough, sending a shiver down my spine. “But I’m going to make you beg for it.”

His hands quickly took mine as he moved towards the bedroom, the lamp light already on.
Had he been expecting me?
I pushed the thought away as Spencer pressed me onto the bed, leaving me no time to even
think. “Are you okay?” he murmured, quickly gazing down at me, his eyes filled with
concern. He made sure to ask me before he continued. Perhaps internally in that moment, I
may have smiled a little bit.

I nodded my head looking up at him, unable to muster up even a sound.

“I need your words, Mira.” He affirmed, his watchful gaze never faltering. “Tell me you’re
ready.”
I swallowed hard, my chest rising and falling with every shaky breath. “I’m ready,” I
whispered— my voice barely a breath. The words felt like a confession, the anticipation
within me building higher with every second that passed.
With a growl of approval, he kissed me again, more urgently this time, as though he couldn’t
wait any longer. His hands gripped my hips, guiding me towards him, pressing me into the
bed. I moaned against his lips, my body already responding to him with a need I couldn’t
quite control.

As I lay back on the bed, my heart raced – Reid’s eyes raked over my body. His gaze was
intense, filled with a hunger that I was scared could eat me alive.

Eyes don’t lie.

Those lean hands of his trailed up my thighs, pushing my skirt up as he went, the anticipation
killing me. When he reached the edge of my underwear, he paused, his eyes finding mine.

“Tell me what you want, Mira,” he muttered. “I want to hear you say it.”

Fine.

“I want you to touch me, Reid.” I practically moaned, unable to take the torture anymore. My
core was aching, and now my hips were rocking for just any sort of friction.

His fingers hooked into the waistband of my thong, slowly sliding them down my legs. I
lifted my hips, allowing him to remove them completely, leaving me bare and exposed
beneath his heated gaze.

“You’re staring…” I smirked, looking up at him as he made no movements. It was a dig at his
earlier comment at the table.

He didn’t respond immediately, instead leaning over me, his breath hot against my skin as his
lips brushed the sensitive spot just below my ear.

"You like teasing me, Mira?" he whispered, his voice rough with barely contained desire.
"Because you’re not the only one who’s been waiting for this." His hand moved between us,
slipping down my body, finding the place where I ached most.

The moment his fingers made contact with me, my breath hitched, and my body arched
instinctively towards him. He groaned low in his throat, a sound that only added to the haze
of desire clouding my mind.

"You’re so wet," he whispered, the words wild and raw.

My hips bucked up against him in frustration, a silent plea for him to give me more. I needed
him like nothing else before.

With that, he lowered his head, his tongue finding my clit quickly. I cried out at the sensation,
my hands fisting the sheets as he licked and sucked at my most sensitive spot. Then, his
fingers slid inside me, curling and thrusting, driving me wild with pleasure.

This felt better than the last time he had been between my legs. I didn’t have any thought of
stopping or any worry present at all— I didn’t care anymore if we weren’t supposed to be
doing this. It’s what I wanted. It’s what he wanted. For us to feel each other.
"Fuck, Reid," I moaned, my hips rocking against his face. "Don't stop, please don't stop."

He redoubled his efforts, his tongue and fingers working in tandem to bring me closer and
closer to the edge. My moans grew louder, my body tensing as my orgasm approached.

"Come for me, Mira," he commanded, his voice muffled against my core. "Let go, baby."

With a cry of his name, I did, my body convulsing beneath him as my orgasm crashed over
me. He rode out the waves, his tongue gentle as he brought me down from my high.

When he finally pulled back, he looked like a man possessed, his eyes dark and his lips
swollen. "You taste so fucking good," he growled, his voice rough with lust.

He crawled up my body, settling between my thighs. The imprint of his erection nudged
against my entrance, and I moaned at the feel of it, the promise of what was to come.

But before he made any more movements, he paused. Instead of pushing through with what
we both wanted, he locked his eyes with mine and leaned down to press a searing kiss against
my lips. It was slow, deliberate— teasing.

When he pulled away, his gaze softened just for a moment before he ran his fingertips up my
leg lazily. “You’re so impatient,” he muttered under his breath, which was now growing more
and more ragged— watching me come more needy for him. “But maybe that’s because
you’ve been thinking about me all day, haven’t you?”

I squirmed underneath him, my skin heating at the accusation. “I have no clue what you’re
talking about, Spencer.” I shot back, though my voice quivered.

His brow raised slightly, amusement dancing in his expression. “No? Then who were you
thinking about— hell not even just today… Anytime you wanted to touch yourself? Max?”
His tone darkened at his mention of the name, and I felt his grip on my thigh tighten just a
little.

I blinked up at him, stunned by the shift in his demeanour. “What are you—”

“He hasn’t even met you yet,” Reid continued, his tone sharp despite the teasing touch of his
fingers. “But that hasn’t stopped him from wanting you. Thinking about you.” His lips curved
into a slightly darker smile.

“Spencer—”
“Tell me, Mira,” he interrupted. “Did you download that app before or after you walked in on
me in the shower?”

My stomach flipped, heat rushing to my cheeks as I realised he had caught me out. “What
app—”

Oh shit. Oh shit. My mind raced as I pieced together his words— he knew. He must’ve
overheard me speaking to Garcia in the bullpen.
“You know exactly what app,” he said, his voice sharper and a little more confident that
didn’t really seem like the Spencer I knew. But this was still him— analytical, unrelenting,
and far too good at reading between the lines. His thumb brushed over the inside of my thigh,
closer to where I ached for him. “You probably couldn’t stop yourself, could you? All that
imagination, all that frustration— you had to do something about it.”

“That’s not true—” I tried to deny it, but I couldn’t. The words were tumbling out weak and
unconvincing— so horribly that I questioned whether I should just stop talking altogether.
We both knew the truth I mean…he always did.

“No? Then why did you avoid my calls, texts, or anything following the days after it
happened? Why did you flinch every time I got too close to you today?” His fingers
continued their torturous ascent, and his touch ignited a fire in me I wouldn’t dare try to put
out.

“Spencer, please—” My voice broke, equal parts plea and protest, though I wasn’t sure what I
was begging for anymore.

“Please what?” His voice was low, a velvet command that made my breath hitch. “Say it,
Mira. Say you thought about me.”

I bit my lip, my body betraying me further as I felt more of a pool between my legs. This
position we were in— it was intimidating but made me feel so turned on. I mean every nerve
in my body was screaming for more of his touch, but my pride held me back as I remembered
the relationship we had. The one where we made fun of each other and argued— if I
submitted fully there was no going back. It was like surrender.

He chuckled softly, his free hand brushing my hair back from my face. “You’re so stubborn,”
he grunted, his voice almost fond, though his teasing smirk never faltered in the slightest.
“But I think I like that about you,” he leaned closer, his lips grazing my jaw and then trailing
to my ear. “It’s going to make breaking you even sweeter, Mira.”

Holy shit. Spencer Reid? What the fuck?

My breath caught, my chest heaving as I fought to hold onto some semblance of control.
“You’re—so—” I tried to find the words, but they scattered like ashes under his touch.

I had only ever dreamed of him saying things like this to me— I never knew he actually
would. And the act of it happening in real life… was completely different to what played out
in my head. It was so much more erotic.

“Say it, Mira,” he demanded again, his tone gentle yet unyielding, as his fingers dipped and
pressed onto the bundle of nerves that was now throbbing. His touch was maddeningly light.
“Tell me how many times you’ve thought about me since that day. How many nights you’ve
laid awake wishing it was my hands on you instead of your own.”

The truth sat heavy in my throat, but the tension between us snapped whatever resolve I had
left. “I did,” I admitted finally, my voice barely a whisper, my body trembling under his
touch. “I thought about you.”
“Me too,” He self-confessed before engaging our lips once again, my hands flying to his
shoulders. My legs finally wrapped around his hips as they trembled, feeling the even harder
press of him now. He pulled away just enough to meet my gaze, his eyes burning into mine.

“Do you know how many times I’ve thought about you, Mira? The way you’d feel? The way
you’d sound?”

His words sent a fresh wave of heat pooling low in my stomach, my head started to spin. I
felt him unbuckle his belt, and following that nestle down his slacks. Whilst doing so, I
couldn’t even look down. I was so lost in pleasure.

Spencer’s eyes locked onto mine, searching for permission, maybe, or some final sign that I
wanted this as much as he did whilst he aligned himself with me. “Do you have—”

“I’m on the pill, Reid.” Was all that escaped me breathlessly as my nails dug into his
shoulders and my hips bucked. That was enough for him to push inside.

His teeth gritted, muscles in his jaw ticking— all whilst he stretched into me, slowly,
deliberately. He stole every single ounce of air from my lungs.

“God Mira,” he groaned, his voice straining as he bottomed out inside me, struggling to
adjust. His forehead pressed against mine, breaths ragged and uneven as he fought for a
semblance of control. “You feel—fuck— better than I ever imagined.”

I couldn’t think, I couldn’t do anything but feel. The way he filled me so perfectly, every inch
of him pressing against places I didn’t even know I could ever ache for someone, it was
overwhelming. My hands trembled, nails pushing into his skin as a moan escaped me, my
hips jolting up instinctively to take him deeper.

Spencer cursed under his breath, his lean hands gripping my hips to hold me steady. As his
lips brushed against my ear again, the rasp of his voice broke through my haze— “Do you
have any idea how hard it is to think straight when you’re under me l-like this?”

That familiar stammer of his lingered just faintly on his words, a hint of the Spencer Reid I’d
known from across the briefing table. But now, here, he was something else entirely:
controlled, confident, and utterly consuming.

My body arched into his, desperate for more as he pulled back just enough to thrust into me
again, this time sharper, deeper. The gasp that tore from me only seemed to spur him on, and
he grinned, the slightest tilt of his lips. “Was that a good angle? Should I try a different one?
Statistically speaking, I think I can find exactly where you—”

“Spencer!” I cut him off with a breathless laugh, gripping his hair and yanking him down to
kiss me. His rambling had always been fucking infuriating but now— it was endearing in a
way that made my nipples harden. The kiss silenced him, but only briefly.

When he broke away, his lips hovered just above mine, breath warm and teasing against my
skin. “You’re such a—” I started, only to have the words dissolve into a broken whimper as
he rolled his hips, hitting a spot that made my toes curl.
“A genius?” he offered smugly, his lips quirking in that self-satisfied smile that I had once
hated. “Or maybe just—” He thrust again, harder this time, dragging a startled cry from my
lips. “—thorough?”

As we continued, Spencer’s pace grew relentless, every movement calculated but desperate.
His breath continued to hitch as he attempted to speak— “Keep making those sounds…” the
strain in it betraying how close he really was. “I want to memorise every sound you make
when I have you like this.”

Every single second further pushed me closer and closer to the edge, and I couldn’t pull
myself back. Not anymore. My body was aching, already on fire, every nerve alight with a
need that had been building and coiling so very tight in the pit of my stomach until I thought
I might snap in half. The pressure was unbearable, the way Spencer was pushing, fucking,
into me like he was determined to break me.

I knew that was what he wanted.

“Mira,” the brunette gasped my name out, his voice raw and desperate.

I swallowed hard, the word swirling in my head, repeating over and over again. How was I
supposed to tell him that everything he was saying—everything he was doing— was
unravelling me? My body was a mess of sensations, every part of me trembling and aching to
feel something more.

The sound of his voice, the way he said my name, like he needed me, sent a wave of heat
crashing through me. He was pushing me higher, his breath getting ragged, and I couldn’t
stop the quiet whimper that slipped past my lips.

“Spencer,” I gasped, trying to find any ounce of control. But I knew it was too late.

“Are you close?” he asked, his tone desperate, like he couldn’t take much more. “Tell me,
Mira. Please.”

But before I could say anything— he spoke again. “I know you are. I can feel you—” I could
feel him falter, the strain in his voice, his body moving faster now, desperate.

“I can’t hold on much longer,” he groaned, his words practically a plea as he thrust harder,
the pressure building, overwhelming me.

Oh fuck. I bit my lip hard, trying not to let go. But I couldn’t stop the heat rushing through me
as I hit the edge— I couldn’t as I looked up at him, seeing the sight I had ached for. The
furrowed eyebrows, parted lips, heavy breathing. My body caved beneath him, every inch of
me shuddering as I became louder, unable to keep quiet anymore.

“Spencer… Shit—I—” I tried to get the words out, but instead I crashed over the edge as he
continued his relentless thrusts. My legs shook uncontrollably as I finally let go, calling his
name in a way I was sure his eidetic memory would never, ever forget.

I wanted to be sure of that.

His grip tightened on me momentarily as I felt him tremble, the last few thrusts pushing him
over as well, body jerking as he found his own release with a harsh groan. His name slipped
from my lips once more, not sure if I was saying it to him or to myself.

Spencer’s body collapsed over mine, his weight heavy but comforting as he buried his face
against my neck, taking in deep, shuddering breaths. His body was still shaking, and I could
feel the warmth of his skin against mine, his heart thundering in his chest.

I lay there beneath him, chest still heaving and my mind reeling from the aftermath. The
intensity of everything still crashing through me in waves. My hands wandered up to
Spencer’s back, tracing absent circles on his skin, trying to ground myself in the moment and
what we had just done.

What we had done together.

Spencer shifted, his movements slow and deliberate as he pulled away to look down at me,
his eyes soft.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost gentle like he was afraid to break
the fragile bubble that surrounded us.

I nodded, the words a little harder to place now. “Yeah…just—”

He cut me off with a quiet reassuring kiss, his lips barely brushing against mine as if he was
trying to reset everything. It was soft and almost apologetic like he wanted to make sure I
was still there with him. My fingers curled into his hair, pulling him back just slightly so I
could meet his eyes, searching for that same intensity from earlier.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, though I wasn’t sure if he had said it in the heat of the moment
or in a deeper way.

I didn’t hesitate. “I’m not going anywhere.”

 Chapter 20: Observer

Song for this chapter: Empathy — Crystal Castles 🎵

📖
SPENCER’S POV

I could feel her against me, her body warm and steady, the quiet rhythm of her breathing
matching mine. It had been a very long time since I was so close to someone like this— skin
to skin… In all honesty, it had only happened twice, and yet this moment was by far the most
serene. Any lingering tension we had previously seemed to dissipate and now we were just
present— mindfully relishing in one another’s presence.

I had spent so many years of my life just living in my head, analysing every detail, every
moment, every fact… But right now, with her here, as crazy as it sounded— all of that other
stuff felt distant. She was here, and I was here, and that was enough.

Sure we would eventually have to address what this meant for us— but not yet.

I shifted, my chest suddenly tight with an unfamiliar feeling. The words came out quieter this
time, almost hesitant. “I don’t want to… make this awkward, but… do you want to stay here?
Or maybe we could watch something? I just… I don’t want you to leave.”

The fragile-looking brunette who was covered by just merely a white sheet, shifted slightly,
looking up at me with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Her fingers danced across my chest,
the touch almost teasing. “So, you don’t want me to leave, huh?” she said, her voice low and
playful. “I mean I’m sure the old Spencer Reid would’ve been perfectly fine with me getting
up and walking out of here, but now you’re all…” She paused dramatically as if thinking
hard. “…protective?”

Of course, she was enjoying the irony of this moment…

She smirked, almost as if she could read my thoughts. “You know, I can’t help but wonder
what the old you would think about this…provocative scene. You hated my guts not too long
ago.”

I raised an eyebrow at her, trying to suppress the grin tugging at my lips. “That was before,” I
muttered, but the words came out with a softness I hadn’t expected.

Her fingers continued their teasing dance across my chest, leaving trails of fire in their wake.
God. What was she doing?
“Before what, exactly?” she whispered in a seductive tone that made my arousal jump up
underneath the covers.

“Before you realised how much fun it is to have me around? When we’re not arguing?”
She had a way of making me feel like I was hanging on the edge of something dangerous, yet
incredibly alluring. The mix of tension, humour, and… whatever this was between us, made
everything feel like it could shift at any moment.

"I think I just didn't know how to… deal with you. How to deal with this." My hand found
her wrist, gently stopping her teasing touch. "How to deal with wanting you and wanting to
strangle you all at once."

Her lips curled into a playful grin, and she leaned in, just enough to make my breath catch. "I
think you've made your feelings pretty clear now, Reid."

I chuckled lightly at the playful banter we were now ensuing, continuing after her, “Yeah?
And what exactly are my feelings, Miss Andros?” She was right— everything between us
had shifted in a way that was impossible to ignore now, that was for sure.

She leaned back slightly, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Well, for starters, you seem to
enjoy having me in your bed,” she said, gesturing to the tangled sheets around us. “And…
you’re not rushing to get me out of here, huh?”

I couldn’t deny that. Not at all. The thought of her leaving— us going back to whatever the
hell we were doing before… felt like a punch to the gut. I had shamelessly gotten used to
having her around— even if it was only just banter and intellectual sparring at times. And if I
was being honest with myself, I had gotten used to the way she made my heart race, too.

"You’re right," I said quietly, my voice uncharacteristically soft. "I… I enjoy having you
here." There was no denying it now, not when she was this close, making my heart beat faster
with every word, every look.

She raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “Enjoy having me around, huh?
Guess you’ve finally admitted it, Reid.” She shifted slightly, her fingers brushing over my
arm, sending a shiver down my spine.

I let out a quiet laugh, trying to hide the fact that my pulse was still racing. “I didn’t mean it
like that. You’re just... impossible to ignore.”

She smirked, leaning in closer, her breath warm against me. “Oh, I’m impossible to ignore
now, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Mira really knew how to get under my skin, huh? No matter the task she always made it a top
priority… Maybe I’d grow to like that about her. I mean, no one else could do it.

I met her gaze, the teasing still present in her eyes but also something else. Something deeper.
“I wasn’t trying to compliment you,” I said, my tone a little more serious. “I’m just... saying
what’s obvious.”

Her eyes softened for a moment, and then her playful grin returned. “Right, obvious.” She
paused, her hand tracing small circles on my chest. Before either of us could say another
word, both of our phones buzzed on the nightstand, breaking the moment.
I furrowed my eyebrows, picking up my phone and silencing Mira’s.

23:42 showcased on my display.

I sighed longly. “Looks like we’ve got work to do.”

She rolled her eyes but didn’t move, body slightly stiffening at the idea of having to leave
our… situation. “Of course we do.”

I glanced down at the messages from Hotch, the details of the case already swirling in my
mind. Multiple victims, no clear pattern, a twisted mind just begging to be caught. It was the
kind of challenge that usually got my adrenaline pumping, but right now, all I could think
about was the warm body pressed against mine and the way her touch set my nerves on fire.

I rubbed a hand over my face, trying to shake off the distraction. “It’s a mess,” I muttered,
more to myself than to her, even though I knew she could hear.

In that moment, I didn’t really know what I was referring to— perhaps the case or maybe our
relationship…

⌛️
The van was completely still, except for the soft hum of the engine and the occasional crackle
of the radio. We’d been parked for hours, watching the idle building across the street. The
case was a string of bizarre disappearances, with no distinct pattern and no apparent
connection between the victims except for being middle to upper-class victims. All we really
knew was that someone had been taking them— torturing them, and leaving behind just
enough evidence to make it clear we were dealing with a highly organised, calculated and
meticulous offender.

It was kind of like they were rubbing it in our faces saying— you can’t catch me! But we
would… eventually. We almost always did.

I’m not sure it was the kind of case that gave you many answers, just fragments and the
longer we sat there, the more I felt the weight of it pressing in. Who knew if it was even
linked to Elysium? There was no sense of closure in the air, no way to know how close we
were to finding the answers.

All we could do was wait. And wait. And wait.

The silence stretched on, but then I felt her shift beside me, her presence suddenly taking up
more space than it had moments ago. Mira adjusted herself in her seat, straightening up and
letting out a long sigh. She crossed her legs, the movement pulling her shirt tight up across
her torso for just a moment before she tugged it down with a little bit more force than
necessary. I could tell she was trying to get comfortable— understandably since the van
wasn’t very accommodating.

Her actions were subtle, but not subtle enough to miss. My eyes darted to her hands, to the
way her fingers brushed against the fabric, and then down to her thighs, which she hadn’t
quite hidden. My pulse jumped, and I cursed myself for it. I’d been in close quarters with her
before, but tonight felt... different. Her proximity seemed to have an effect on my
concentration, pulling me in ways I couldn’t explain.

“Spencer,” she said, her voice low but steady. Her gaze had shifted away from the monitor
for the first time in what felt like ages, and I met her eyes, feeling my throat tighten. “What
do you think? Do we have anything yet?”

Her words were a welcome distraction that I didn’t mind at all, though my mind had already
shifted to other thoughts of her. Perhaps ones that I shouldn’t have been thinking of at that
moment. The way she moved, the way she sounded. It was all making it so hard to focus on
the case at hand which was getting increasingly dull— except for her.

I swallowed, forcing my thoughts back into professional mode. "Not much yet," I replied,
trying to keep my tone even. "We’re still waiting for more intel from the surveillance team.
Until then, we just keep monitoring the perimeter. If we’re lucky, we’ll get a break soon."

She nodded, her eyes lingering on me for a beat too long. There was something in the way
she looked at me, a subtle intensity in her gaze that sent another wave of heat creeping up my
spine.

I always felt exposed under her scrutiny— maybe it was why she had aggravated me so
much. Like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling.

God. Curse this.

The van just felt too small, the air too thick with something I didn’t want to name. Her eyes
lingered on me again, heavy and unrelenting, and I just swore I could feel them tracing over
my features like a feather-light touch.

I shifted in my seat, trying to find some semblance of control, but her gaze pulled me back in.
There was something magnetic about it, a pull I couldn’t ignore- not ever, even since I first
met Mira. My pulse quickened. I didn't want to look but I couldn’t help it.

She leaned in just a little closer, the smallest movement, but it felt like the distance between
us had evaporated. A warm, almost electric sensation tinged the air a hue of red.

“You’re staring…” I murmured, my voice lower and rougher than expected- almost trying not
to break the bubble of this moment.

Her lips quirked up at one corner slowly, but it wasn’t a playful smile. There was something
deeper in it - something that made my breath catch in my throat. “Am I?” she taunted, her
voice softer than mine, almost like a breathless whisper.

I swallowed hard, all my thoughts racing at a million miles per hour- trying to focus on
anything other than the way her body seemed to draw closer as if she knew exactly what it
was doing to me.
“I…” I started, but my words faltered. I couldn’t find a reason to pulll away, not when she
was this close. Not when she looked at me like she could see every layer I’d strategically
built around myself.

Her cruel gaze dropped to my lips then, slow and deliberate, as if she were considering
something in this charged moment. Then she met my eyes again. “You don’t have to say
anything..”

I was fighting it now. Every bone in my body was screaming at me not to give in to that
euphoric feeling of her soft lips on mine that I craved every single night when I lay in bed
unable to sleep. Even though I shouldn’t— my body slowly, temptingly betrayed me with
every deep exhale until there was barely space between us. The air was suffocating, too tight,
too heavy, and yet I couldn’t move away.

She was still so close. I could feel the warmth of her skin, the faint scent of her perfume, so
intoxicating it almost completely enveloped my clouded mind.

“You don’t make this easy for me…” I mumbled almost silently, barely able to keep my voice
steady, my body reacting before my mind could make any sense of it.

Her breath hitched at the words I let out so cautiously, the admission that was always swirling
in my mind… Her gaze flicked to my lips, and for a second, I thought she might kiss me. I
was on the edge of it too, so close I could almost taste that burning intensity between us. But
as quickly as she moved closer, she pulled back slightly, a barely perceptible shift, enough to
make me wonder if it was all in my head.

She tilted her head in a teasing manner, that small sliver of her neck that I had attacked so
many times last night in a ravenous hunger, put right on display. Her eyes never left mine as
she spoke again, “Maybe you like it that way… Maybe we both do.”

Ah. Our silent challenge we both consented to the moment we met. She wasn’t wrong.

The words only hung there for a moment before I leaned in again, my instinct taking over but
before I could make my final move, she froze, her eyes flicking over my shoulder.

A flash of movement outside the window.

A flash of light before the night’s darkness swallowed us up again.

Something— or someone— was there. And I swear to God if they took a photo—

Mira’s arm shot out, fingers gripping my arm with an urgency that snapped me out of the
moment.

“Spencer,” she shuddered, her voice low, a thread of urgency striking. “Look.”

I turned, caching the shadow darting away from us and across the street, a figure slipping out
of view too quickly to make out any details, but enough to ignite a pang of fury within me.
Mira was already moving, pulling herself out of the van in a fluid motion and unholstering
her gun in just a millisecond. I followed suit, my heart still pounding in my chest. The heat
between us was still lingering, making it hard to focus.

We stalked down the street, her pace quick but calculated. I could see the edge in her
movements, the quiet alertness that was all too familiar between us.

The night air felt colder now, sharp against my skin as we moved down the empty lane. My
breath fogged in the dim light of the street lamps, my senses heightened, the stillness almost
utterly suffocating. The dark brunette was a few paces in front of me, her body language
tight, alert— like a predator, eyes darting in every direction, every shadow a potential threat.
It was a side of her I’d seen so many times— but it never got old.

I could feel the weight of her movements as we both advanced. The heat from earlier— from
both of us when her eyes had lingered on mine for a beat too long… It was still there,
smouldering beneath the surface of every step.

As we reached the corner, Mira stopped abruptly, her posture rigid. I tensed, a thousand
thoughts running through my mind as the urgency of the situation kept everything we stood
for at bay. She motioned toward the ground.

There, lying half-buried under the damp leaves and trash near a dumpster, was a small
envelope. The stark white against the grey concrete seemed to mock us, too clean, too
deliberate. It was almost like someone had placed it there just for us to find.

Mira didn't hesitate; her instincts were sharp, fingers already brushing against the paper. She
pulled it out with almost mechanical precision, her eyes scanning the surroundings even as
she unfolded the letter for anything, or anyone, that could unsuspectingly ambush us. I
stepped closer, the hairs on the back of my neck prickling with a haunting unease.

The letter was simple.

“If you continue down this path, you will regret it.

Stop looking. Stop digging. For your own good.

We know what and where you are.”

The words were… chilling enough on their own but what really struck me was what fell from
the letter as she pulled it from the envelope.

A photograph.

I froze right there. My heart skipped a beat as I caught a glimpse of it, and then Mira’s hands
tightened around the edges, her face going pale. Cold blood rushed through me as she looked
up, meeting my eyes with hers, her face going pale. She looked at me, then back down at the
picture, her expression faltering for just a moment before she clenched her jaw.

A fleeting glimpse, a stolen image. It was us.

Mira.

My Mira.

But this wasn't a tender moment of shared slumber. This was… us. In the throes of passion.
Our mouths open, our bodies intertwined, the sheets a chaotic mess around us. The air thick
with the raw, animalistic energy we'd shared last night.

I saw the intensity of her eyes in the photograph, just as I had felt it in this moment, her skin
flushed beneath mine.

This wasn’t even just a stolen moment. This was us. This was…intimate. A passion we had
tried to keep buried for so long, now laid bare. I could almost feel the heat of it all over again
— the way her breath caught in my ear, the pulse of desire that had raced through us both.

Mira’s hand trembled slightly, as if she, too, felt the weight of it. I took a slow step toward
her, but she stiffened, her gaze flickering back up to meet mine, full of something I couldn't
place. Fear, maybe? Realisation?

She thrust the letter and photograph toward me as though it had burned her, her voice deep as
if trying to hold back tears. “Spencer, someone’s fucking watching us—”

I took the items from her hands, one arm pulling her in closer, fingers soothing her as they
made circles across her skin. A chill prickled my spine, not just from the threat but from the
intricacies of the photograph itself. The angle, the clarity— it wasn’t random at all. Whoever
captured it had access.

Then I saw it.

“Look at the edges,” I blurted, holding the photo closer to the dim light of the streetlamp.
Mira squinted, her eyes following where I pointed.

There was a faint smudging at the corners, like the kind left by inked fingers. My mind raced
at a hundred miles per hour - quickly jotting up the dots.

“This was printed in a rush,” I murmured. “They were careless.”

“Okay, but how does that help us?” she demanded, her voice rising. “We’re still being
watched, Spencer! Someone—God knows who—is tracking everything we do!”

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay focused despite the surge of adrenaline. “Ink
residue like this isn’t from a commercial printer—it’s from a darkroom. Whoever took this
isn’t just some tech-savvy stalker. They’re meticulous, but they’re also… traditional.”

Mira’s eyebrows furrowed as she zeroed in on my face, understanding where I was coming
from. “You think it’s someone old-school. Someone from the cult.”

“It fits,” I said, my voice quieter now. “They still rely on analogue methods. Printing in a
darkroom would make it harder to trace digitally, but…” I trailed off as another realization hit
me.
“But what?” she pressed, her tone sharp.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. “The way this is shot. The framing, the precision.
This isn’t just surveillance. It’s…” I hesitated, the word tasting bitter as I said it. “It’s artful.”

Mira’s face darkened, her expression twisting with disgust. “So what, some creep in the cult
has a knack for photography? How does that narrow it down?”

“Not just a knack,” I said firmly. “A signature.”

Her lips parted as the weight of my words settled between us.

“Whoever took this didn’t just capture us,” I continued, my voice thick with unease. “They
wanted us to see ourselves this way. Vulnerable. Exposed.”

Her voice dropped an octave lower. “And you think you know who it is.”

“I don’t,” I admitted out of annoyance, glancing back at the photograph with a grimace. “Not
yet. But I’ve seen work like this before. From someone who worked closely with the cult.”

Mira stepped closer to me, her expression unreadable. “Henri.”

Her words landed like a punch to the gut, but I knew she was right. Henri’s background with
the cult was extensive— too extensive. And he had admitted to being one of their most
trusted operatives before defecting. He knew their rituals, their methods, and, now I realised,
we were fooled.

Perhaps he told the cult that we were going to the La Mascarade des Âmes that evening, and
that is why there was a conveniently written handler letter from Mira’s sister claiming she
was an undercover agent?

I shook my head trying to stop myself from jumping to conclusions.

“It’s possible,” I said finally, though my stomach churned at the thought. “But we need more.
If it is him, this means he hasn’t just been misleading us. It means he’s been working against
us from the start.”

The air between us grew heavier, Mira’s breathing quickening. She tore her gaze away from
the photo, her voice trembling. “If he’s behind this… if he’s the one who—”

“We’ll figure it out,” I said, cutting her off gently, my hand squeezing hers. “We’re going to
get to the bottom of this.”

She nodded, but her jaw was tight, her eyes blazing with a fury that told me she wouldn’t let
this go—not until she had answers.

🖊️
A/N:
Soooooo… What do we think? 👀
 Chapter 21: I'm Glad

⚠️ TW: Sexually explicit content: Sexual acts and dialogue

Song for this chapter: Sour Times — Glorybox 🎵

'Forbidden fruit,

Hidden eyes,

Circumstances will decide...'

📖
MIRA'S POV

The elevator doors slid shut with a soft ding, and the weight of everything we'd just
discovered hit me all at once. The photograph— that photograph— was still burning through
my mind. It felt like it had been seared into my memory. There was no escaping it. No
forgetting the way Spencer and I had looked, tangled in sheets, caught in a moment that
should've been private. And now, the team would know.

I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks, the embarrassment creeping in with every second
that ticked by in the confined space. Every time I glanced at Spencer, my breath seemed to
catch in my throat. His eyes, always so analytical, so calculating, were now avoiding mine. It
felt like we were both floating in this awkward limbo, suspended between the walls of this
elevator, unsure of how to even begin.

The silence was suffocating.

"I don't think I can do this," I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper.

Spencer turned to me, his expression somewhat tight, but his eyes soft with understanding.
"We have to, Mira. It's bigger than... us."

I swallowed, forcing myself to meet his gaze. His words were right. It wasn't just about the
photo or about us. It was about someone invading our space—our private lives—and using
that against us. It wasn't just a personal betrayal; it was a direct threat.

How were we even supposed to explain this to the team? How were we supposed to face
them, knowing that they'd seen that photo— knowing they all knew exactly what happened
between us? Especially when even Spencer and I had no idea what this... mutually beneficial
situation... meant for us?

Spencer didn't look at me as we walked into the briefing room, his eyes focused on the task
ahead. He was all business, even if the rest of us was falling apart.
The team was already gathered, and ready for the next phase of the investigation. They
stopped talking the second we entered, their eyes darting to us, already sensing something
was off.

Garcia was the first to speak, her lips curled in a smile. "Hey, lovebirds. What's going on?"
Her voice was teasing, and light, but she quickly faltered when she saw the tension on both
our faces.

"Sit down," Spencer said, his voice firm. "We need to talk."

I could feel everyone's attention snap to us, the weight of their gaze pressing in. My heart was
hammering in my chest. The only thing louder than the silence in the room was the blood
rushing to my ears.

Spencer set the letter and photograph down on the table, pushing them toward the group. I
couldn't bring myself to look at anyone as they all crowded around it, whispering among
themselves.

JJ's voice was the first to break through the murmurs. "What's this?" she asked, her brow
furrowed, as if she was almost offended.

I crossed my arms, my voice slightly shaking as I spoke. "It's a warning. Someone has been
watching us."

The perky blonde picked up the photograph, her eyes widening as she processed what it was.
"Oh my sweet Jesus!" she gasped, almost dropping it.

Morgan didn't even try to hide his surprise once he took the photo for himself, "Damn. Looks
like you two have been a little more than 'just colleagues', huh?"

I shot him a glare, my stomach twisting. This was bad. The photograph was so much worse
than I'd anticipated.

Hotch, ever the professional, picked up the letter, scanning it quickly before meeting our
eyes. "What does this mean?"

Spencer cleared his throat, pushing back the unease that seemed to hang between us. "It
means someone is targeting us. We don't know who exactly, but they've been close enough to
take this photo. They know what we've been doing."

I could feel my face heating up again as the weight of the situation sank in. There was no
denying it now. The team knew. They all knew about the photo. And soon, they would start
asking questions.

Garcia was already on her laptop, furiously typing. "Let me see if I can find any leads—
fingerprints, traces, anything. Someone's gotta have left a trail."

⏳
After hours of relentless searching, Spencer and I remained behind in the office, the air thick
with tension. We had spent the rest of the evening working, scanning files, collecting
evidence, and trying to find some somewhat tangible evidence to bring Henri in. But the case
wasn't the only thing on our minds anymore.

I glanced over at Spencer, his focus unwavering on the screen in front of him. His brows
furrowed in concentration and his lips barely parted as he skimmed through the endless stack
of files. I could see the slight tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tightened around
the mouse— he was aware of me, just as I was aware of him.

I had to fight to keep my breathing normal, because the last few hours, this entire day, had
been a blur of stolen glances, subtle touches, and unspoken words. Every time our eyes met,
it felt like my whole body burned, in a good way.

I bit down on my bottom lip, trying to focus on the files in front of me, but all I could think
about was the almost kiss we had shared earlier in the van. The scent of his breath still
lingered in my mind, those soft yet demanding lips pulling me into a moment where nothing
existed except for the two of us. No creepy photographer trying to scare us, no murderous
cult... just us.

I knew that he felt it too. There's no way he couldn't.

"You know," Spencer started, his voice a little too rough for my liking, "as much as I hate to
admit it, I kind of... wanted to see the team's reaction when we showed them that picture."

My eyes flicked to him almost too quickly, surprised by the words. His usual calm
demeanour was cracked, just enough to let me glimpse the subtle wildness. He was smirking,
but there was something about his smile that didn't quite reach his eyes—something a little
dangerous.

I smirked before making my own admission in response, "I can't stop thinking about you," I
confessed, the words slipping out before I could stop them. It was the truth, and it had been
for far too long

His breath caught for a moment, and then he closed the space between us. His hands slid
around my waist, pulling me closer until my body pressed against his. I could feel the heat of
him against me, the solid firmness of his chest beneath my hands.

Spencer's lips brushed against mine in a kiss that was slow, almost teasing, but it was enough
to ignite everything within me. I responded instantly, my hands threading into his hair,
pulling him closer. He groaned softly against my mouth, and I felt a shiver run down my
spine.

We were both lost in it, in the sensation of finally giving in to what had been simmering
between us for weeks. His hands slid down my back, urging me closer, the heat between us
rising with every second.

But just as quickly as it started, I pulled away, breathless, my hands still resting on his chest.
"We can't keep doing this, Spencer," I said, though even as the words left my lips, I knew I
was lying.

He tilted his head in response, eyes glancing down to my parted lips for just a moment before
returning back to my gaze. "Keep doing what?"

His voice was quieter now, almost coaxing. A challenge. He wanted me to say it. To admit to
him what we already knew deep down.

My fingers curled into the soft fabric of his shirt. Damn him. He wasn't going to let this go—
and especially not now.

I swallowed, and suddenly my throat was extremely dry. "This..." I pressed my palm down
flat against his chest, feeling the steady, restrained rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my
fingertips. "Kissing. Touching. Looking at each other with that— promise... Crossing every
line we—"

He cut me off with a soft, knowing hum. "But Mira..." His lips barely ghosted over my own,
breath warm against my skin. God, every time he does this... my body reacts in traitorous
ways. "Didn't it feel good? Finally letting them see?"

A bolt of heat shot through me at his question. I knew what he meant. The picture— the team
knowing about us.

I exhaled in a shaky uneven breath, and his hands tightened around my waist in response,
fingertips digging in with just the perfect amount of pressure to entice me further. He was
right, and we both knew it. There was something utterly intoxicating about it— the
knowledge that they knew, and that there was absolutely no taking it back.

Not now.

That what had once been buried between us and forbidden... was now laid bare.

His mouth brushed along my jaw, slow, deliberate. "Admit it," he tempted. I felt his voice
reverberating through me, everywhere— seeping into my veins, curling around my ribs,
settling deep in the pit of my stomach.

I clenched my jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

He was patient— too patient. Letting the anticipation coil tighter and tighter until my body
betrayed me— aching. Until I needed.

Who gave him this perfect confidence...

"Mira..." Spencer murmured, like he was testing the weight of my name on his tongue, as if
he hadn't sighed it so many times before.

He smiled against my throat—smiled—like he knew he was unravelling me thread by thread

like he could feel the way my body swayed into his without thinking.
"Say it," he coaxed, his nose brushing the column of my neck as he tilted his head, lips
grazing over the same spot once, twice—his tongue just barely flicking out before he pulled
away, enough to drive me insane.

I could feel his smirk. Cocky bastard.

I gasped slightly under his touch, my head spinning. "You're—" My voice caught as he kissed
beneath my ear, warm and just wet enough to make my knees threaten to give out. "You're
insufferable..."

He hummed, dragging his hands up my sides, thumbs teasing the edge of my ribs. "That's not
an answer."

It was dizzying—how easily he could reduce me to this. How his hands on my body and his
breath against my skin could pull me under, make me forget the lines we had drawn so
carefully.

Fuck, I was drowning.

I needed space. I needed air.

But Spencer's hands were still on me, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to step away quite just yet.

I turned my head slightly, just enough so that his lips dragged along my skin for one last taste
before I forced myself to move.

It would be cataclysmic if I didn't.

My palms flattened against his chest once again, but this time pushing just enough to break
the contact. His eyes darkened at the action, flickering between my hands and my face like he
was trying to read my every thought.

I swallowed hard. "We need to go."

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, expectedly, as his fingers flexed against my waist before
finally—finally— letting them drop. "Go where?"

I took a sharp breath, that ached every part of my body, with attempts to steady myself. I
don't know what could end up happening in this very office if we didn't get elsewhere within
the next 10 minutes- max. "We can't do this here." My voice was softer than I intended, still
drunk with the remnants of his touch.

A moment passed. I could see the way his jaw visibly clenched, the way his eyes slid back to
my mouth before he nodded, short and decisive. I'm sure the consequences of our potential
actions here rang out in his head.

No words were spoken as we hastily grabbed our things. My hands were shaking slightly as I
picked up the files we had been looking through just a mere ten minutes ago— before our
attention finally ran completely thin.
But when we finally stepped out of the BAU office, the cool night air hitting my flushed skin,
reality didn't quite sink in the way I expected it to. Spencer exhaled slowly beside me,
rubbing a hand over his mouth before glancing my way. "Where are we going?"

I hesitated for only a second before answering. "We'll get a hotel."

"We can't go to my place," I reasoned, voice steadier now. "And we're obviously not going to
yours."

Something flickered across his expression, something I couldn't quite name, but he nodded
again.

A beat of silence. Then—

"We should go to the same hotel the others stayed at."

He was right. It was safer that way.

It was also dangerous in every other sense.

But I wasn't about to argue.

⏳
The hotel room had felt cold and sterile, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows across
the walls. I paced back and forth, my fingers tracing the edge of the dresser as I tried to
distract myself. But no matter what I had done, my mind kept drifting back to him—Reid.
The way his voice had sounded when he'd been close.

I could feel the heat physically building within me, my pulse quickening, and the aching
between my legs growing more and more unbearable by the second. I had stopped in front of
the bed, biting my lip as my thoughts turned darker— if it was even possible. I shouldn't
have, but the idea of him had been all-consuming. I wanted him— needed him— more than I
cared to admit. Slowly, almost hesitantly, I slipped my hand beneath my shirt, grazing the
softness of my skin. It was a fleeting, desperate need to soothe the tension gnawing at my
insides.

I hadn't even let it last long before a breathy gasp escaped my lips. I pulled away, feeling
frustrated.

I needed to call him.

The thought had shot through my mind like a bolt of electricity. I grabbed my phone,
hesitating for only a second before I pressed his name.

I let it ring. One... two... three... I held my breath, knowing what was coming.

"Hello?" His voice was rough like he'd been patiently waiting for my call.

I pathetically let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding. "Spencer."
His name slipped from my lips, soft, intimate, and like a dirty secret. It felt wrong, in a way,
to say it so damn quietly.

"I'm alone in this shitty room," I said, almost breathless. "And I've been thinking..."

I could hear the subtle, almost imperceptible breath hitch. "I'm thinking about you too," he
replied, his voice lowering, the edges of it coarser than I had remembered. He said what I
couldn't. That I was thinking about him.

I closed my eyes, leaning against the wall, my mind racing, my heart pounding. "I don't want
to be alone right now," I admitted, and it was the truth. Every inch of my being ached for
him. "Do you?"

"No," he said immediately, without the faintest bit of hesitation. There was no joking this
time— not now. Every word that came out of his mouth from the other side of the phone felt
like he was barely holding himself together. "Why don't you come to me? It's safer that way."
He offered, already acknowledging what was inevitable— us finding our way to each other
tonight.

Perhaps it was slightly hot how he was so open about it.

And that's all it took.

I ended the call without another word, grabbed my cover-up and made my way to his room
next door, without another look back. My pulse was a frantic, never-ending beat in my ears,
and by the time I reached my destination, I was trembling. But not from fear.

From desire.

When he opened the door, his eyes locked onto mine with such an intensity that it stole the
last breath in my overworking lungs. He didn't even say a word. The look was enough. Just
stepped aside, his body barely brushing against mine as I entered.

We were standing so close now. Too close.

The way his body towered over me as I stood...

"I heard you," He purred, the words soft but intense. "Through the wall... I-I heard you...
What you were doing." His voice had dropped further if that was even fucking possible.

"I—" I started to say something, anything but he didn't give me the chance.

He took a step forward, his towering presence swallowing me whole. His fingers brushed
against my wrist, gentle but firm, pulling me closer without saying another word.

"I'm glad you called," he murmured, his voice a low, breathy sound. His lips were
dangerously close to my ear now, his warm breath sending a shiver down my spine. "Because
I don't think I could have stood another minute without hearing from you, Mira."

Everything about him, everything about this moment, felt like it was ruining me.
For a moment, neither of us moved. The silence between us was thick, charged with the
weight of everything we had never said to each other— everything we had fought so hard to
hide. I could feel the fucking pull.

The reflection in the mirror on the opposite wall caught my eye. Our bodies were close, too
close, and yet the mirror seemed to amplify every inch of tension between us.

He obviously noticed it too as it was his hand that moved first, fingers making contact with
my waist as he turned me slightly more to face the mirror.

Spencer stepped forward, his chest brushing against my back, the heat of him searing through
my clothes. "Tell me you feel that," he whispered, his voice a low command, hands moving
slowly and purposefully all over my body. The soft graze of his fingertips, the delicate
pressure of his palm on the small of my back—

I couldn't speak. My breath came faster, shallow and uneven, as he brought me closer, urging
my body against his until every inch of me was pressed into him. He was close enough now
that I could feel the faint tremor in his hands—he wasn't as unaffected as he tried to seem.

In the mirror, I saw the way his eyes were dark with something I could name. It was raw and
unfiltered. All of our resistance, all of our pride crumbled beneath the weight of this all-
consuming desire.

"You don't get to hide from this anymore," he breathed, his voice barely audible. His hands
moved, pushing me against the mirror, forcing my back to arch as he stood behind me, every
inch of his body lined up against mine.

Fuck. I just couldn't look away.

"Tell me you feel this," he repeated, his voice rougher now, his hands sliding lower, tracing
the curve of my hips as he shifted his weight against me. There was nothing gentle about it
now, no pretence of restraint. He was losing control, and so was I.

I opened my mouth to speak, to say anything—something—but the words caught in my

throat. I couldn't form a sentence. Not when his hand was gripping me so tightly, almost like
he was afraid I might slip away.

"I've never wanted anyone like I want you," he rasped, his voice thick with need. It was a
confession, a raw admission that left me breathless. "And I can't stand the thought of letting
you walk away now."

My heart battered against my ribs, each beat a desperate plea for more, for less. More of his
touch, yet less of the distance we tried too hard to keep. A breathless whimper escaped me as
his hands slid higher, one carefully splaying across the flat of my stomach, the other curling
around the swell of my breast.

I could feel a nipple stiffen beneath the thin fabric of my shirt, a dirty ache that he couldn't
miss. My head fell back against his shoulder, my eyes fluttering shut as his fingers teased and
tormented my sensitive flesh.
Every brush of his lips against my skin was seared into my memory, each press and pull
winding the coil of tension inside me tighter and tighter. I was drowning in sensation,
consumed by a hunger I'd never known before. For him. Only him. Always him.

The empty ache between my thighs pulsed in time with the racing beat of my heart, a slick
heat gathering as proof.

"Please..." I didn't even know what I was begging for anymore. He usually had that effect on
me. Release? More of his touch?
His relentless hands drifted higher, teasing and tormenting until he cupped the weight of my
breasts in his palms. I arched into his touch, a shameless moan escaping me as he kneaded
the swollen flesh.

"To feel you tremble apart in my arms, to hear those sweet little noises you make..."

He was going to ruin me. Completely and utterly ruin me.

His muscles flexed beneath my touch as he held me, the raw power in his body both a
comfort and a threat. I gasped out, even as I tilted my head to give him better access to the
column of my throat. "You don't know what you're getting into, I swear—"
I was lying.

He knew exactly what he was getting into.

A wicked grin spread across my face as a surge of power coursed through me. In one swift
motion, I grabbed his wrists and pushed him backwards until his knees hit the edge of the bed
and he tumbled backwards onto the mattress. He looked up at me, dark eyes wide with
surprise, and a hint of fear, chest visibly heaving.

"You wanted to play a game, Spencer?" I teased, crawling after him, as a predatory grin
worked itself onto my face. "My turn."

Spencer gulped audibly as I straddled his hips, pinning his wrists above his head. The power
dynamic had shifted alright— and he could see the hunger burning in my gaze.

"You don't scare me, Mira." He whispered, his voice slightly faltering— telling me something
completely different. I could feel the tension in his body, his muscles taut beneath me, his
chest rising and falling with each laboured breath. He wasn't trying to escape. He was
waiting.

Slowly, I released his wrists, letting my fingers trail down his arms, feeling the heat of his
skin, the pulse of his veins under my fingertips. His breath quickened, but his eyes never left
mine. He was still in control, still the man I knew—but something was shifting.

"I don't want to scare you, Spencer," I said softly, my lips brushing against his ear, sending a
shiver down his spine. "I just want to see if you can handle me."

"I've read thousands of books," he started, his voice gravelly, the words weighted. "Studied
thousands of patterns, analysed everything I could... But nothing in my life has ever made as
much sense as wanting you."

I leaned down slightly, my lips brushing against his ear as I whispered in return, "Careful,
Reid," my tone was a soft tease. "Someone might think you actually like me."

I felt that familiar spike of adrenaline surge through me as his words registered. The man of
logic, reason and intellect, undone by the simplest admission of fucking wanting me.
I could feel the dew radiating off his skin as I forced myself to take things slow— lazily
drifting my fingertips over his chest. My hands slid down his muscular abs, tracing each
ridge and valley. I paused briefly at his belt buckle before continuing on my journey, eyes
never leaving his.

"You've studied all of those profiles, all those patterns and behaviours... but you can't analyse
this."
My hand drifted lower still, cupping him through his jeans and giving him a firm squeeze.
Reid inhaled sharply, his eyes fluttering closed and his head falling back against the pillow.

I loved this image.

"Some things, Doctor," I murmured."Can't be predicted or controlled. Some desires, some

appetites..."

"Like this one," I said, punctuating my words with another slow, deliberate squeeze. Reid
shuddered beneath my touch, a low groan rumbling from his throat.

"And all the knowledge in the world... can't save you now."
 Chapter 22: Bound

Song for this chapter: Space Song — Beach House 🎵

"It will take a while,

To make you smile

Somewhere in these eyes

I'm on your side."

📖
I woke up to the warmth of Spencer beside me, his slow, deep and even breaths fanning
against the back of my neck. The motel room was dark still, the neon sign outside flickering
through the thin curtains, casting broken blue and red lights across the sheets. My body still
ached, my skin sensitive from the night we had shared together before, but instead of
contentment, an old, familiar weight settled low in my chest.

Something thick and unshakable I have been stuck with since the age of 6.

I stared at the ceiling, forcing myself to breathe.

It wasn't that I regretted anything. God no. Not with him. If anything, the fact that I let myself
have this– let him touch me and hold me like nothing was wrong in the world— made me
feel slightly better. Although, of course, it was terrifying in its own bloody right.

Behind me, he stirred. His lean hand, warm and tentative, grazed my ribs before curling over
my waist gently. He was still half-asleep, his grip light enough that I could slip away if I
wanted to.

But I wouldn't.

"Mira?" He spoke hoarsely, heavy with sleep but laced with quiet concern.

I swallowed, shutting my eyes briefly for a second. "Hey."

"You're thinking about something..." He responded.

I hesitated for a moment. He didn't say it like an accusation— more like a fact.

Maybe it was one of the things that I hated about him in the beginning. Spencer always
noticed too much. I turned just a tad, just enough to glance at him. Even in this dim light, his
eyes were sharp and focused.

"Tell me, please," he said softly.

I pressed my lips together in a tight line. There were things I had never told anyone— things
I didn't even want to admit to myself. But something about him— it made me crack.

"There was a ritual," I began, my voice quieter than I meant for it to be— like a hushed
whisper. "A ceremony. I was thirteen."

🕰️
11 Years Ago

The chamber was cold, and the damp stone beneath my bare feet sent ghastly shivers down
my spine. The flickering candlelight barely reached the high ceilings, the shadows stretching
long and monstrous. My mother stood in front of us, hands intricately folded together and lips
pressed into a hellish smile.

My father held the branding iron over the flame.

I knew what was coming.

I had been preparing for this moment since I was old enough to understand words like
devotion, faith, and sacrifice. This was the ritual that bound me to Elysium— forever. That
marked me as loyal. The Eternal, they were called.

Beside me, my sister, Calla, shivered, her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress. She was
younger than me— too young to be here. But she watched everything, wide-eyed and waiting.

My father turned to me. "Mira."

I stepped forward, throat tight. I didn't want to. I didn't want to do this. I never had. But
refusal wasn't an option when it came to this.

It was do or die. No matter who you were.

I swallowed hard, trying to wet my scratchy throat with the little saliva I had left, stepping
forward while the heat of the fire licked at my skin. The burning hot iron glowed, the symbol
searing into my vision forever even before it touched my flesh.

"It will hurt." That was what they always said, whispered it like it was religious scripture, like
it was gospel. "But pain is temporary. Devotion is eternal."

My mother tilted her head my way, her eyes alight with something sickly sweet. She did not
need to speak. She never did.

I lifted my right wrist, my whole body now visibly shaking. I didn't let my fingers curl into a
fist— as much as every nerve in my body was begging for it. I saw what happened to those
who hesitated. Those who failed the loyalty test— the first of many, of course. I wouldn't be
weak. Not like them.

As I watched my father angle the iron above my wrist, I braced. My teeth clenched so tightly
that my jaw ached—
"Wait."

The word was small. Almost fragile. Soft.

But it shattered everything.

I turned, pulse hammering in my throat as my younger, more frail sister stepped forward.
Calla. Her white dress pooled at her bare feet, her dark black hair spilling loose down her
back— darker than mine. She was too young to be here, I repeated in my mind, as if it would
actually change anything. She was too young to understand what she was asking for. And yet,
she lifted her chin, shoulders squared, and determination burning in her dark blue eyes.

"I'll go first."

The chamber fell completely silent— so silent you could hear a pin drop. The fire crackled.
Somewhere behind me, a breath hitched— my mother's maybe. But no one stopped her.

No one except me. Maybe that was the worst part.

I reached out instinctively, the protectiveness over my sister kicking in. My fingers grazed the
delicate, malnourished bones of her wrist. Calla's skin was warm and alive, unlike mine, and
I could feel the faint tremor beneath the surface. My stomach lurched, dread curling like
smoke in my lungs. "Calla, no," I whispered.

She didn't look at me. Didn't acknowledge the quiet plea in my voice.

My mother exhaled slowly, stepping closer, her touch featherlight as she smoothed Calla's
hair behind her ear. "How brave."

I couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. I could only watch, helpless, as my father took Calla's arm
in his grasp, turning it just so, the way he had meant to do with mine only moments before.
She didn't flinch. She didn't hesitate.

"Do you accept your devotion to Elysium?"

Her voice was steady. "I do."

The iron came down.

The sound—God, the sound.

A sickening sizzle. The unmistakable stench of burning flesh filled the air, thick and
suffocating. The world tilted beneath me, and I swayed, my own breath strangling in my
throat. Calla's body tensed, fingers curling against her dress, but she didn't scream. She
barely made a sound at all.

And then—

She smiled.
Not a grimace. Not a mask of pain.

A real smile.

Slow. Serene. Grateful.

Something inside me broke.

I had spent my entire life protecting her. Shielding her. But now, looking at her, I saw
something I never had before.

🕰️
"You okay?"

Spencer's voice was softer now like he already knew the answer. My breath fell heavy, hands
flexing as I tried to rid myself of the ghostly sensation of heat against my skin. It was always
following me.

Yet as he pulled me closer, I melted into his touch. I could feel the warmth of his skin against
mine, his steady heartbeat beneath my cheek. It was a comfort I hadn't known in years, a
sanctuary I'd longed for in the depths of my darkest nights.

As I spoke about that horrible night, about Calla taking my place, I could feel the memories
clawing at my insides. The memory of the burning iron, the sickening smell of the seared
flesh...

But Spencer's presence anchored me, kept me tethered to the present. His fingers traced
soothing patterns on my skin, his breath a constant, comforting presence at my back. I clung
to him, my nails digging into his arm.

"My parents..." I started, swallowing hard past the lump in my throat. "They died just a year
later... during the SWAT raid."

"Or so I was told..." I hesitated; the words were still painful to voice even after all this time.
"And Calla... she vanished. The last time I saw her was a few months after she was branded."

Spencer was silent for a moment before his arms tightened around me again, and he spoke.
"Do you think... I don't know, maybe she's still out there?"

A sharp exhale left me. "I don't know," I admitted. "I used to look for her. Every time I was
back at the unit, every case, every time I passed someone with dark hair and blue eyes, I
thought maybe— maybe one day I'd see her again."

His voice was gentle but steady. "And now?"

I closed my eyes. "Now, I'm afraid of what I'll find."

He was quiet again, but I could almost feel the weight of his thoughts pressing against the
space between us. He had his way of absorbing information, cataloguing it in that impossibly
sharp mind of his, and I knew— God, I knew— he was already piecing things together,
running through probabilities and statistics in his head. It's what he always did.

I exhaled, long and slow, my breath warm against the sheets as I took in the last few moments
of peace. "We should probably get to the BAU soon."

It felt ridiculous to say it—to even think about stepping out of this room, out of this moment,
and back into reality. But the truth was, as much as I wanted to pretend the world outside
didn't exist, it did. And it was waiting for me.

For us.

Spencer made a noise, something between a groan and a reluctant sigh, and his arm tightened
around my waist. "We should." But he didn't move. Neither did I.

I wasn't sure how long we lay there, tangled together in the dim motel light, caught
somewhere between exhaustion and the inevitable pull of responsibility. But eventually,
Spencer shifted, his nose grazing the side of my neck. His voice was lower now, still raspy
from sleep.

"You're warm."

I huffed out a laugh, tilting my head just slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of his sleepy,
tousled form. His hair was a mess, his lips still kiss-swollen from the night before, and the
sheet draped dangerously low across his waist.

"We should go," I said again, this time with more certainty.

Spencer finally relented, exhaling a slow, resigned breath before he rolled onto his back,
stretching out with a satisfied groan. My eyes flickered downward for half a second too
long...

Big mistake.

Because despite the fact that I had spent the entire night beneath him, exhaling ragged
breaths, touching him, feeling him — seeing him like this, all lazy, rumpled and undeniably
smug about it, did something devastatingly annoying to my pulse.

His gaze caught mine. A flame of amusement danced in his deep brown eyes.

"See something you like, Agent?"

I threw a pillow at his face.

He laughed throatily, the sound unreasonably attractive for someone who had just been
assaulted with cheap motel bedding. "I'll take that as a yes."

Prick.
"Get dressed, Reid."
He was still grinning as he slid out of bed, stretching his arms over his head before reaching
for his strewn-out clothes. I forced myself to look away, to focus on finding my own bloody
pants, because if I let myself get caught up in the way his back muscles moved or how veiny
his toned arms looked, we would never be leaving the room.

We dressed in relative silence, aside from the occasional glance, the occasional brush of
fingers as we maneuvered around the cramped space. And then, just as I was reaching for my
gun and badge, there was a knock at the door.

Spencer frowned. I stiffened.

It was too early for room service.

Another knock. More insistent this time.

Spencer exchanged a look with me before stepping toward the door, fingers grazing the
handle—

Then a voice, low and amused, rang through the cheap wood.

"Morning, lovebirds."

I froze.

Spencer did too.

Because that voice?

I had heard it before, but not for a very long time.

Spencer stiffened beside me in an instant, but I barely noticed. My stomach had already
dropped, the sound of that voice sending a ripple of something entirely unpleasant down my
spine.

I knew that voice, not just from our files.

Reid's fingers curled tightly around the handle, and for once, I didn't have the heart to push
past him. My pulse thrummed beneath my skin, an uneasy recognition scratching at the edges
of my memory like nails against glass.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I muttered, stepping forward just as the door was
pulled open.

And there he was.

Elias Westwood.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, dressed in that same calculated carelessness I had
somehow forgotten— his crisp white shirt unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up as if he
had just been doing something terribly important. His tie hung loose around his neck, and
there was a knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

He looked exactly the same.

The same sharp, almost too-handsome features, the same confident gait that made it seem
like he had nowhere else to be but here. But it was his eyes that made my stomach turn—
because they weren't just amused.

They were expectant.

Like he was waiting for me to remember.

And just like that, it all hit me.

I remembered the nights when we had worked side by side on those cult cases— when the air
was thick with a multitude of emotions. Elias had been there, lurking in the periphery of my
focus, his smile a constant distraction that I'd forced myself to ignore. I could almost feel the
aching echo of those past encounters as his eyes locked onto mine.

For a heartbeat, if that, I was rooted in place. Stopped in time. Spencer's presence behind me
pulsed like a silent warning—a tension so palpable it took me back to the first day I met him.
His jaw had tightened, and I could see the flicker of protectiveness in his eyes... and what...
jealousy?

"Hello, Andros," Elias drawled, stepping forward with a languid grace that made my pulse
jump just a bit. "I see you haven't forgotten me yet." His voice, smooth and teasing, carried a
challenge I wasn't sure I wanted to meet.

I swallowed, my mind racing as fragments of my memory came back. "We— uh worked

together," I managed, each word tasting metallic in my mouth— perhaps with a tinge of
nostalgia, too.

My throat was disgustingly dry, and I couldn't help but notice how Spencer's eyes narrowed
ever so slightly as if weighing every syllable.

Elias smirked. "Indeed," he replied softly, his gaze flickering over me with amusement and
intent. "I remember that one field op in Seattle— when you nearly had that doomsday
preacher on the run. You worked well— and if I remember, you had your hair up..." His
words were laced with flirtation, a dangerous cocktail that made my skin prickle.

Fucking hell, what was going on here?

Spencer's hand tightened on the doorframe, his silence a clear counterpoint to Elias's slightly
provocative charm. I could feel his jealousy simmering just beneath the surface, a storm
gathering in the space between us. It was a look I'd seen before— a mixture of protectiveness
and wounded pride— and it made my heart twist in a way that was as comforting as it was
exasperating.
I cleared my throat, desperately trying to anchor myself. "Elias," I said, forcing steadiness
into my tone, "I don't remember all those details like you seem to." But even as the words left
my lips, I knew deep down that I did—only half-remembered, half-forgotten—and that his
presence here was no coincidence.

"Oh, come now, Mira," Elias teased, stepping closer until his cologne mingled with the stale
motel air. "I wasn't sent here merely to reminisce. You see, the BAU isn't the only place I like
to make an entrance. I've been assigned to... monitor the case." His eyes sparkled with
mischief as he added,

"And perhaps, to remind you that sometimes, the past has a way of catching up with us."

No one spoke for a few seconds before Elias opened his mouth again. The jet-black-haired
man chuckled softly, then straightened his posture and brushed a stray lock away from his
face. "Alright then, my dear detectives," he said with an easy grin. "I'm not here all day. Get
your stuff and meet me in the lobby— the BAU calls." His tone certainly left no room for
argument. With that, he stepped aside, letting the door swing closed behind him with an
echoing click.

The brunette agent beside me exhaled. The air between us felt charged and heavy— not
particularly unusual anyways... However, I could see the storm of emotions in Spencer's gaze
— protectiveness, anger, and that unmistakable edge of jealousy he never quite managed to
hide.

As I moved away, I quickly and mechanically gathered my badge, gun and a few personal
items that marked me as both an agent and a survivor of that long night. Quickly zipping up
my bag, I felt Spencer's hand reach out and gently squeeze mine. I met his eyes for a
moment, wanting to say something, anything that could ease the tension. Instead, I only
managed a soft sigh, my heart still racing from Elias's unexpected visit.

"Mira..." Spencer started, his tone earnest, laden with concern as he tried once more to pierce
the veil of my guarded expression. "Can I ask what that was?"

I paused, the question hanging in the air as I balanced the weight of the past and the present.
Shifting my gaze away from his searching eyes, I forced a neutral smile.

"It's nothing," I replied quietly, my voice steadier than I felt.

Spencer's brow furrowed, but he didn't press further. Instead, we stepped toward the lobby
together.

🖊️
A/N:

Hey guys! Hope you are all well. I'm so sorry that the uploads have been so irregular. It's
currently exam week, and a lot of stuff has been going on, but don't worry I am still here and
still staying!
I just want to say thank you so much for all the support on this book, I'm so glad you are all
enjoying [Link] keep supporting if you like this book! Any comments and votes help
greatly!!

Aswell as any suggestions or ideas you have :))

Thank you again!

Reidbetweenwords 🩷
 Chapter 23: Elias

Song for this chapter: makes me want you — Sombr 🎵

⚠️ TW: Sexually explicit content: Sexual acts and dialogue
'You don't care about me,

But that makes me want you,'

📖
The whole energy in the BAU felt very different with Elias in it.

He leaned back in one of the conference room chairs as though he belonged in it, arms draped
lazily over the armrests, a smirk permanently present on his face - one that had already begun
to grate on me, and by the look on Spencer's face, it was getting to him too. He was supposed
to be here as some sort of a consultant — some 'temporary asset', as Hotch had phrased it.
But from the way Elias carried himself, you'd think he ran the whole place. Like it
was his BAU.

Elias had, of course, positioned himself across from me almost directly, his sharp gaze
flickering up from the case file in front of him every so often— watching, assessing, waiting.
I could feel the way his attention lingered deliberately too long, poised just to get a reaction
from me. But I wasn't going to give him that satisfaction. Not when I could already feel the
burning from Spencer's gaze into the side of my face.

"You did always look good when you were deep in thought," Elias mused, his voice pitched
just low enough so only we could hear.

Yeah— deep thought on ways to kill you...

But anyway, I didn't say that. I didn't even look up.

The idea of even giving him even a semblance of the attention he was craving left a brass
metallic taste lingering on my tongue.

Spencer was completely still. Derek, however, was far less subtle. He let out an incredulous
scoff, tossing his pen onto the table with an exaggerated clatter. "Man, you really don't know
how to read a room, do you?"

Elias only grinned at the attention, utterly unfazed by the hostility that was slowly creeping
into the atmosphere. "Oh, I read it just fine, Derek," he replied smootly, his voice dropping
with amusement. His eyes flicked back up to mine, his smirk deepening.

"It's funny how some nights leave a memory you can't quite erase," Elias spoke again,
leaning in just a fraction closer.
A jolt of recognition— and something uncomfortably intimate— raced through me at his
calculated insinuation. I could see Spencer's jaw tighten, his normally steady gaze now
burned with a mix of jealousy and restrained anger. Before Elias could continue, Spencer's
voice cut sharply through the murmur of the room.

"Enough of your games, Elias. No offence but this isn't a reunion party— It's a case meeting,"
he snapped.

Derek scoffed from across the table while Rossi shot a pointed look at Spencer, silently
urging him to keep his cool.

But every time I made eye contact with him, my neck erupted in chills. He looked at me in a
way that said everything— I was his and he was fucking pissed off anyone would try and
change that. It felt like we were back where we were a few months ago, rivals falling for each
other so hard we had to fight to ignore the desires.

Hotchner's deep, measured tone broke through my thoughts and the rising tensions. "Spencer,
please focus on the case, not on your personal relations. And Elias, if you can't keep it
professional here, I'll have you sent back to headquarters. It's a phone call away."

As Hotchner's warning hung in the air, I could feel Elias beside me, his presence unsettling
yet familiar. His sly comments, aimed at me and filled with double entendres, were
aggravating not only to Spencer but to the entire room. I could feel it.

Each time Elias leaned closer, with that bastardly, amused glint in his eye, Spencer's bubbling
frustration flared. I felt oddly exhilarated by the moment, a conflicting rush of emotions
swirling within me. It felt wrong but so good. Each possessive glance from Spencer made
heat rush to my core, and I realised I couldn't hide my reaction any longer.

After what felt like a year under scrutiny, the meeting came closer and closer to the end.
Hotch was still speaking about the case details, any leads we had, his voice steady and
authoritative, but I could hardly focus.

I clenched my thighs together as my attention was split between the details and the
suffocating tension between me and Spencer.

Elias, ever the provocateur, leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips as he casually
flicked glances in my direction. It seemed like he was fully aware of the situation— and he
was definetely toying with us.

When Spencer finally moved over into the seat next to me, the breath in my throat hitched.
Fuck. Why was he getting closer?

The air surrounding us turned thick as he leaned in closer to whisper in my ear, his hot breath
against my skin, the sound of Hotch's voice fading into the background. It was the least of my
problems right now.

"What's he saying now?" He murmured, tension lacing his words.

I could barely concentrate, my pulse quickening as I felt his lean fingers brush against my
thigh beneath the table. His touch was so light but it ignited something within me, sparking a
desperate desire for more that made it so hard to breathe. He had this effect on me. Spencer
was dangerously close now, murmuring into my ear, his words low and incisive.

He knew what he was doing, there was no way he didn't.

"I can see how he looks at you. Just another game to him, huh?" He was never one to dance
around emotions, and his jealousy was pouring out in thick waves.

I could feel his frustration, his dire need for me to reassure him.

"Spencer..." I began, but the words died at the very back of my throat when his fingers
slipped higher, brushing against the dampened lace of my underwear beneath my skirt. My
breath shook, a mix of shock and thrill coursing through me.

"To everyone else, it just looks like we're having a discussion," he whispered, the heat of his
breath sending shivers down my spine. "But I can almost feel your heartbeat. I can see the
way you react to me." His fingers pressed softly, teasingly, drawing slow circles that sent
waves of pleasure flooding through me.

His touch was intimate, almost a declaration, and my mind was spinning, caught between the
fear of being caught and the overwhelming need for him. "Spencer, we shouldn't..." I
managed to muster, but the protest sounded weak even to my ears.

The heat from his fingers burned through my underwear, creating a delicious friction that had
me biting my lip to suppress a moan.

"Just focus on me," he commanded, his voice steady and serene despite the chaos
surrounding us. "Let them talk. Just pretend nothing is happening, but I know what I can get
away with." His fingers found the seam of my underwear, slipping beneath it, igniting every
nerve ending in my body.

"Did you know that the brain releases dopamine when you're turned on?" he whispered into
my ear, sending shivers down my spine, both from his words and the intensity in his gaze.
"It's like a natural high."

Oh god.

I gasped softly, my mouth slightly agape, heart racing, and torn between his intoxicating
words and the realisation of the precariousness of our situation. I knew I should push him
away, that this was highly inappropriate— yet it felt so good, so undeniably intoxicating.

But just as I approached the wave of pleasure, something clicked in my mind. Enough was
fucking enough. I couldn't be so reckless. Abruptly, I stood, pulling away and trying to gather
my thoughts, which felt like a scattered mess.

I nearly knocked over a chair in the process of standing, which fired multiple confused looks
over at me from the table.
Hotch paused mid-sentence, one eyebrow arched in question at my sudden movement. I met
his gaze steadily, my expression carefully blank.

"Agent Andros, is everything alright?" His tone was mild, but there was a strong
undercurrent of warning. He wouldn't tolerate any disruptions to the investigation, least of all
flirtation and frivility.

"Y-Yes, Sir. Please excuse me." I spoke, my voice fluttering as I stepped away from the table
and walked out. I could feel the weight of countless eyes boring into my back, no doubt
speculating about my very abrupt departure.

I pushed open the door to the storage room, the hinges creaking softly in protest. The small
space was dimly lit, filled with towering shelves lined with neatly organised evidence boxes
and archaic case files. The air was stale— so stale and tinged with the faint scent of ages,
paper and dust.

Before the door could even shut behind me, I heard the click of footsteps following behind. I
didn't need to lock to know that it was Spencer — his presence was a tangible thing, an
electric hum in the air that never failed to set my nerves alight.

"I see." He began, a sharp edge in his voice. "He looked at you too... too much like he knew
you intimately. In a way no one else did."

I turned to face him, crossing my arms over my chest in a defensive gesture. I could see the
conflicting emotions warring in his eyes — the jealousy and the barely restrained anger.

My cheeks flushed at his blunt words, heat rising from the base of my throat. "That's none of
your business, Reid," I replied, my voice tight. "My past and who I've shared it with is my
own concern."

I saw a flash of genuine hurt across his features, perhaps at the way I called him 'Reid' instead
of 'Spencer', considering it was such a large milestone in our relationship. But before I could
say anything, in two long strides, he closed the distance between us, backing me up against
the wall. His hands rested against the stone on either side of my head, caging me in with his
lean, yet muscular body.

Fucking hell, even now I could smell his cologne— it intoxicating me in every single way.

"Damn it, Mira, I need to know," he ground out through gritted teeth. "You weren't just
colleagues, were you? Have you fucked him, Mira? Have you let him touch you the way I've
touched you?"

His eyes bored into mine, so dark and so intense, searching for some scrap of confirmation in
my expression. One hand came up to grip my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze head-on. I
could feel the rough calluses on his fingertips, could feel the way he trembled slightly as he
held me.

His grip was firm but not unkind, a mixture of desperation and need that sent my heart
racing. Those furrowed eyebrows... The heat radiating from him... It was all too fucking
much.

"I told you, that's my past!" I retorted, my voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid that if I
even so much as speak too loud, he would leave my presence. My pulse quickened, if it was
even possible, as anger flared in me too.

Spencer's body was so close... Close enough for me to register the rapid rise and fall of his
chest, the scent of him fogging my reason. "But it matters," he replied, his voice low and
urgent, laced with urgency that pierced through my defenses. "You matter. And I can't stand
the thought of someone else... I have to know."

His grip on my chin tightened slightly, tipping my head back and forcing me to confront the
swirl of emotions between us. It was an invitation mingled with a challenge, a plea buried
beneath layers of pent-up frustration.

"Every time I see him look at you, even though he's only been here for less than 24 hours, I
feel like I'm fighting a losing battle," he confessed, his eyes softening as they lingered on my
lips. "And I can't stand the idea of letting someone else claim what I want most."

His lips crushed against mine, and a gasp escaped me at the undeniable warmth of his mouth
on mine. It was fierce, passionate, possessive, a full stop to everything that was unspoken—
jealousy, longing, the inability and struggle to make sense of whatever the fuck was going on
between us.

I responded instinctively, losing myself in the taste of him, the heat of his body against mine,
igniting every nerve.

His movements were relentless, moving his lips over mine with an urgency that left me
breathless. Spencer's tongue teased mine as his hands roamed my body with an innate
possessiveness as though he owned me.

I felt myself melting into him, my hands fisting in his shirt as I pulled him closer and closer
to me until any further was physically impossible. The outside world faded as we lost
ourselves in the moment.

Panting, I arched into him further, my breasts pressing against his firm chest as I tangled my
fingers in his long brunette hair. It was all madness, this all-consuming need that set my
blood on fire and made me forget every reason why we shouldn't be doing this. Ever since he
first touched me, I knew I was fucked. That night in the hotel... it ruined whatever restraint I
had left.

Pulling back slightly, I gazed up at him through my eyelashes, eyes hazy and lips swollen red
from the attacks they had endured. A shaky laugh escaped me before I spoke, "You think
you're the one fighting a losing battle?" I whispered, my voice raw with emotion. "Spencer,
I've been trying to resist you since the moment I first laid eyes on you. Every glance, every
word, every sound... you've gotten under my skin in a way no one else ever has."

Spencer's eyes flashed with renewed intensity at my words, his hands tightening their grip on
my hips. "Then let go, Mira," he breathed against my lips. "Stop fighting this feeling and just
let it happen."

"Let go," he repeated once more against my lips before capturing them again in a deep kiss
that left me clinging onto him for support.

His tongue explored my mouth— seeking out mine, teasing and tasting until I was drowning
in the sensation.

Spencer's lips trailed down my neck messily, leaving searing kisses and bites along the
sensitive skin before he nipped sharply at the junction of my throat and shoulder.

A gasp escaped me at the sting, but he immediately soothed it with his tongue — licking over
the abused area. "Fuck, Mira," he groaned against my skin. "You taste so good."

His hands slid under my skirt as he spoke — inching higher and higher with easy passing
seconds until his fingers brushed over my underwear teasingly. He was back in the exact
same place he was 5 minutes ago. "I can feel how wet you are for me already," he murmured
huskily against my ear. "Tell me how much you want this."

I could feel my face going red, flushing hot at his words even as liquid pooled between my
thighs.

"Please," I whispered breathlessly — so far gone now beyond any point where words could
suffice. Spencer chuckled low in his throat — amused by how easily he could wind me up
tight.

"Not good enough," he chided gently even as he pressed his fingers firmly against me
through the thin fabric of my underwear. "Tell me exactly what you want."

I whimpered at the pressure, hips bucking forward, seeking more contact instinctively.

"I want... fuck...." The words died on my tongue as he teased me further — rubbing slow
circles over where I needed him most.

"Tell me what you want, Mira," The tall agent pressed, his voice rumbling against my skin.
His fingers continued their maddening circling, the damp fabric of my underwear now
clinging to my aching flesh. "I need to hear you say it. I need to hear you say how much you
want me inside you until you're writhing against me, begging for more..."

His other hand slid up, cupping the swell of my breast, kneading the soft mound roughly as
his thumb and forefinger found my nipple through my shirt. He pinched down, rolling the
hardened nub between them, sending sparks of pleasure-pain straight to my core.

"Look at me, Mira," he commanded, his breath hot and urgent against my ear. "I want to see
the desperation in your eyes when you ask me to fuck you with my fingers, to make you
come undone right here where anyone could walk in and see what a needy little thing you are
for me."

I had never heard him speak like this. Ever. It wasn't even that long ago that his presence
irritated me beyond belief. We had been two very similarly skilled individuals locked in
verbal animosity from day one — trying to one-up and outsmart each other constantly.

That first night he touched me, 'testing his hypothesis' lives in my head on a loop... Not to
mention the night we fucked for the first time.

"Please, Spencer," I whimpered, my voice breaking on his name. "I want... I need...
Anything. I'm begging you, please."

Something ignited within him. Without warning, he spun me around and guided me towards
the worn leather couch tucked away in the corner of the storage room. He pressed me down
onto the cracked leather, its coolness a shock against the fevered heat of my skin. This couch
was meant to be for agents that had to spend the night at the office, yet I had a feeling it
wasn't really... used for that ever.

"Spread your legs for me," he commanded, his voice rough and filled with commanding
authority that sent a thrill right through me. I complied instinctively, parting my thighs
slightly, the movement encouraging and daring all at once. As if I was going to object to that?

His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of my underwear, and I gasped at the sensation of
his skin against mine. "You're so responsive," he murmured, his breath warm against my ear,
making me aware of just how vulnerable I was in this moment. "It's like your body knows
what it wants."

"I need to feel you." I could hardly believe how far we had come, from being constant rivals
to this intense physical connection that threatened to consume us both.

With that, he slid two fingers inside me, and I couldn't help but cry out at the sensation. He
worked them inside me with expert precision, curling them just right as I felt the heat coil
tighter within.

Spencer's eyes darkened with lust as he watched my face contort with pleasure, my back
arching off of the worn cushions. He coaxed sweet words and sounds in my ears whilst his
thumb found that sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of my thighs, rubbing slowly in
tandem. His sweet eyebrows furrowed upwards, seemingly like he was writing in pleasure
just from watching.

"You want more, don't you?" He smirked as sparks of pleasure shot through me with each
touch. My hips bucked upwards to meet his hand, as the pressure inside me built to a fevered
pitch.

"Yes, fuck, please..." I gasped, my nails digging into his arms, my chest heaving with each
ragged breath, and my nipples straining against the confines of my blouse.

"I need you inside me..." I pleaded and pleaded, all sorts of slurred and half-strewn sentences
leaving my lips. My voice was barely recognisable to my own ears.

I could feel the pleasure cresting, the coil of tension in my core pulling tighter and tighter as
his fingers moved inside me. My thighs trembled, muscles clenching and fluttering as I
teetered on the edge of release.
I was drowning in this infinite sensation, Reid's skilled fingers stoking the burning passion
within me to its raging inferno. "Please, Reid...Let me." I whimpered desperately, hardly
recognising my own voice as it came to this downright embarrassing need.

His breath was warm against my ear, his voice a low murmur that sent a shiver rippling down
my spine. "That's all you had to say."

Reid's slender fingers curled just right, pressing into that weak spot and the coil of tension in
my core snapped with brutal force. My body arched, a choked gasp escaping my lips as
pleasure crashed through me like a violent wave. I was shaking, utterly undone, and he did
not stop his movements until every last tremor had wracked through me inside and out.

I had barely had time to catch my breath before a sharp knock on the door shattered the
moment.

The fuck?

Reid stiffened against me, his hand retreating so fast it felt like a ghost of a touch. My head
was still swimming, my pulse hammering against my ribs, but the knock came again— and
sharper this time.

I barely managed to swallow down a curse as I forced my legs to steady beneath me, yanking
down my shirt in some pathetic attempt at composure. Spencer's dark eyes met mine for a
moment, he was already straightened up, though his lips were parted just slightly, breath still
uneven.

"Mira." The voice on the other side of the door was unmistakable. It was clearly JJ.

I cleared my throat, forcing my voice to something passable. "One second."

Although she wasn't having it. The door creaked open before I could even fully adjust
myself, and there she was—standing in the dim hallway, arms crossed, blue eyes scanning the
scene before her.

This wasn't the first time she interrupted us in an intimate moment and I had a feeling it
would certainly not be the last...

Her gaze flickered past me to Reid, who had turned his back slightly as if shielding himself
from scrutiny. A muscle twitched in her jaw.

"I need to talk to you," she said, voice clipped. Her fingers curled around my wrist before I
could protest, and suddenly, I was being pulled into the hallway.

The moment I stepped away, JJ spun around, ridiculously theatrically, might I add— her eyes
flashing with pure irritation. "What the fuck, Mira? What was that?" she demanded, her voice
low but edged with slick tension.

What???
I blinked, my head shooting back as I was completely withdrawn by her sudden
confrontation. "What are you talking about?"

She leaned in closer, her voice dropping to almost a whisper, though the fuming intensity she
radiated was unmistakable. "You know exactly what I mean. You and Reid in there, acting
like you were the only two people in the building. Do either of you even realise how reckless
that was?"

felt heat rise in my cheeks, both from embarrassment and defensiveness. "It's none of your
business, JJ. We were—"

"We were what? Getting hot and heavy in a supply closet? While there are things going on
that need our attention?" she interrupted, hands on her hips as she glared at me.

A pang of guilt rose and settled within me. Although I didn't appreciate the confrontation, she
was completely right. How could I be so unprofessional? Especially with what was at stake? I
was acting as if there wasn't a crazy cultist photographer after me, threatening me. But who
was she to question me?

"I know what I'm doing," I shot back in an instant, not thinking through what I should say
next. I crossed my arms over my chest, "And Spencer and I... well, it's complicated, alright?
You can't—"

"Complicated?" she echoed with a scoff, disbelief written all over her face. "That's just
another way of saying you're being careless. You have no idea how this looks to the rest of
us. And what happens when someone sees you? You're both agents—"

"Agents who can make decisions about our personal lives!" I snapped, feeling frustration
bubbling up. "Spencer and I are not just colleagues, JJ. We're working through things."

"Working through things?" she repeated incredulously. "It looks like you two are crossing
professional lines, and I think you're both being selfish. There's a case to focus on, and
instead, you're lost in your little bubble being very fucking inappropriate in the storage closet.
Do you even care about this case?"

My blood boiled with rage. How dare question wether or not I cared about the case— my
whole life was and IS built up around this case. Around my family. This stupid cult that can
never seem to leave me.

I stepped closer, my heart pounding with a mix of indignation and anger. "You don't get it!
You have no right to question my intentions in this case, and as well as this, you have
absolutely no right to judge what is happening between Dr. Reid and I."

Her expression darkened, and I could see glimpses of something deeper beneath her anger—
was it hurt? "I'm judging because I care, Mira! Do you really think Reid's capable of handling
this the way he should? You're putting him in a position where he could get hurt. And I can't
stand by and watch you jeopardise that."
"This isn't about him being fragile— it's about us figuring out how we feel." I retorted, my
voice rising. Maybe if you stepped back and let me handle my own life, you'd understand
that."

"You're not the only one invested in this, you know," JJ shot back, her eyes narrowing. "Reid
is my friend too. And seeing you act like it's just a game... well, it's disgusting."

"Disgusting?" I fired back, outraged. "What's disgusting is that you're acting like you know
what's best for him. He's a grown man, JJ. If he's okay with what's happening, why can't you
just back off?!"

"You think I'm jealous?" she hissed, stepping closer to me, her voice a tight whisper. "Maybe
I just want to protect him from someone who can't be trusted to put their feelings aside for the
sake of getting a job done."

Our eyes locked, and I felt my heart race as the weight of her words sank in. There was a
truth to her statement that cut deeper than I wanted to admit, and it fuelled my anger even
more.

"You don't know anything about me or my past with him," I hissed. "And if you think I'm
careless, you don't know Spencer. He can handle himself—"

JJ's expression softened slightly, but her resolve remained firm. "Just... think before you act.
Reid's not a toy you can just mess around with and then brush aside when it becomes
inconvenient."

Un-fucking believable.
 Chapter 24: Paper Cuts

Song for this chapter: The Cut That Always Bleeds — Conan Gray 🎵
'The lie between your teeth,

The cut that always bleeds.'

📖
The bar we had settled in was dimly lit, buzzing with the low hum of conversation and
occasional burst of laughter from a few groups scattered around the place. Our team had
settled into a booth near the back, a makeshift attempt at relaxation after another gruelling
day spent dissecting all the clues we had. However, even here, in the half-light, I felt the
weight of something much heavier pressing on my skin.

Or maybe that was just Reid.

I hadn't looked at him since JJ and I had our dispute.

I had no answer. Not one that I was willing to speak aloud.

Across from me, the blonde nursed her drink, the condensation gathering in rivulets against
her fingers. Her blue eyes drifted—not to the room, not to the case, but to Reid. Again. And
again. And again.

It was getting fucking tiring to watch.

I wondered to myself if she realised how obvious she was. Surely, right?

Morgan leaned back against the booth, his smirk slow, lazy. "What's the bet we get called in
before the night's over?" His voice was smooth, rich with amusement, but beneath it, there
was an edge.

"Don't jinx it," Prentiss muttered, barely looking up from her drink. "Just once, I'd like a full
night out without a body turning up."

But I wasn't listening. Not really.

Because I could feel him.

I let my gaze flicker toward Reid, my breath catching against the rim of my glass. The dim
lighting cast sharp shadows over the planes of his face, carving out the delicate lines, the
devastating angles. He was listening to Rossi, his fingers curled absently around the edge of
his tumbler, but I could see the tension in them, the way they flexed slightly, like they were
recalling the feel of me beneath them.
Heat curled low in my stomach, a slow, aching pull that made my thighs press together. He
hadn't touched me in hours, and yet it was still there—the ghost of him, the phantom pressure
of his hands, the burn of his mouth on my skin. I swallowed hard, my breath unsteady.

I think there's something wrong with me at this point, because how was he always on my
mind?

I snapped out of my staring daydream as JJ leaned toward him. "You okay?" Her voice was
soft, laced with concern.

I smirked into my drink before I could stop myself. Transparent. Utterly transparent.

Reid barely acknowledged her, his answer a quiet nod, but it was detached, uninterested. Like
he knew exactly what she was doing and had already dismissed it.

"Something's definitely brewing," Morgan continued, shooting a knowing glance at me. "You
two seem more tense than usual." I hadn't even noticed he was speaking to me until I looked
over and raised a brow.

"Right? It's like a haunted house in here," Prentiss added, sipping her drink. "I can almost feel
the ghosts of secrets floating around."

Everyone else laughed, but JJ's eyes narrowed, darting back and forth between the three of
us, calculating. "Or maybe it's just the atmosphere," she inserted coolly, her voice flat.
"People getting too close when they shouldn't be."

Bitch. How dare she?

My heart tightened at the barb, JJ's words like a sting in the air, seeping into the atmosphere
and threatening to overshadow everything else. I felt a collective shift at the table, the air
thickening as everyone collectively pretended to sip their drinks, the tension palpable.

Reid's gaze dragged towards me, searching, and my heart raced. I wanted to tell him with just
a look that I was fine, that he should ignore JJ, that the playful banter was just a cover for the
storm brewing inside me. Instead, I felt my entire body tense, anticipating whatever JJ would
say next. I hadn't even had a problem with her until yesterday... And of course I was aware
they had a history, Penelope told me the first chance she realised something was going on
between me and Reid, but was it not obvious that he was uninterested?

Without thinking, I leaned forward, trying to deflect the attention. "So, what's the plan for
tomorrow? I think we should reassess the last lead we got," I suggested, my tone steely as I
locked eyes with Reid, silently begging him to back me up.

"Definitely," he replied, his voice steady, as though he was more intrigued by our unexpected
dynamic than the tension radiating from JJ.

After I spoke, everyone got into their own coupled conversations. Emily looked to be
playfully teasing Derek, Hotch and Rossi nodded at one another whilst most likely talking
about the brand of scotch they were ingesting, and Penelope was gossiping with an old friend
of the BAU's, Elle.

The air in the booth got more constricted, more stale as my eyes darted around.

"Excuse me," I mumbled, rising faster than I intended. I felt Reid's gaze on me, confusion
shadowing his features, but I didn't stay to explain. I fled from the area and the prying eyes
bearing down on me, needing to distance myself from JJ's accusations and the mounting
tension that had become just unbearable.

The next thing I knew, I was already in the hallway behind the bar— the walls feeling
narrower here, the shadows deeper, and the sound of my own breath suddenly so much louder
in my ears. I needed space. Silence. I needed anything but him.

So, of course, naturally, it was only he who followed me.

"Mira." His voice. Low. Cautious. Already fucking unravelling me.

I turned slowly, in no way ready whenever it came to him. He stood there, the soft amber
light catching in his newly formed curls, his jaw tight with something like restraint. I could
feel the heat of him even from a few feet away, the distance a cruel joke, when all I could
think about was how easily he could close it. How easily I could close it...

His eyes, so brown and so stormy, locked onto mine. I could see the utter war brewing within
him, every fragment of his being. He didn't want to want me. I didn't want to want him either,
but god, the way his gaze flickered down my body and the way he swallowed thickly like he
was afraid to breathe the same godamn air as me, it only made the pool between my legs
grow and the knot in my stomach tighten harder.

"Why are you running, Mira?" he asked, voice barely a whisper, the tension laced with
frustration, like he was holding back some part of him that he was struggling to suppress.

I took a slow step forward, my heels clicking softly on the floor. "Why do you think?" My
voice was calm, controlled, but it didn't mask the fire in my chest. It didn't mask the need for
something more from him. Quite frankly, anything.

He looked like he was about to say something—about to argue, to deflect, to keep up this
dance of distance between us that I knew was just as fragile as I felt. But the words died in
his throat, and his hand—his long fingers—just twitched at his side, like he didn't know
whether to reach for me or pull back, like he couldn't decide which instinct to listen to.

"I'm fine, Spencer," I breathed, and even I didn't believe it. But the words left my mouth
anyway, like a lie I had no choice but to tell.

I wasn't fine, though. Not by a long shot. The anger from the table, the sudden jealousy that
had swarmed my chest, wasn't just from JJ. It was him. It was always him. The way he
looked at me, the way he touched me when no one was around, like I was a piece of
something he was claiming—and I hated how much it drove me wild.
Another step closer. My breath was shallow now, too shallow for this, for him. But I couldn't
stop. My feet were moving before I could talk myself out of it. He didn't pull away.

"We both know why you followed me," I whispered, the words falling from me like a
confession. Reid's eyes darkened, his fingers flexing again, and for a second, I thought he
might reach out to me.

He didn't. He couldn't. Not yet.

But I could feel the pull between us—the gravity of it, suffocating and impossible to ignore.

"You're angry," he murmured, but it wasn't a question. It was an observation. He knew. He

always knew.

I swallowed hard, my mouth suddenly bone-dry. "I... I'm not..." I started to protest, but the
words died in my throat as Reid's hand found its way to the small of my back, his long
fingers splaying possessively over the curve of my waist. I could feel the heat of his touch
through the thin fabric of my shirt, branding me, claiming me— as if I wasn't already his
from the moment we locked lips on that undercover case.

"You don't have to pretend with me," Reid murmured, his thumb grazing the waistband of my
pants, sending sparks of sensation shooting up my spine. "Not anymore." His other hand
came up to cup my cheek, tilting my face towards his, forcing me to meet his probing gaze.

My breath hitched as his hand travelled dangerously lower, his thumb tracing a slow,
deliberate line along the waistband of my skirt.

His gaze was like fire, burning through me, studying me with an intensity that left me
breathless. I could feel the weight of it—like he was peeling away every layer of me, and I
couldn't stop it, even if I wanted to. My heart was racing, a frantic drumbeat in my chest, but
it wasn't fear. It was something else.

"You always think you have to hide," he murmured, his voice low, and just... there. So close.
I felt the words vibrate through the air between us, felt them settle deep into my bones. His
thumb continued to trace the curve of my waist, sliding lower with the slow, measured
patience that made my stomach twist with anticipation. "But I see you, Mira. I always have."

Why did he do this every fucking time? Why did he have to torture me?

I barely managed to breathe. His words weren't just spoken; they were felt—heavy and thick
in the air around us. He leaned in, his lips brushing against my temple, then down the side of
my face, his breath warm against my skin. Every exhale made my pulse spike, and I couldn't
stop myself from leaning into him. God, I wanted to. More than anything.

And then, for a fraction of a second, the tension broke.

I tilted my head up, just enough to catch his lips with mine, the softest of touches at first. But
it was enough. It was enough to ignite the flame, and the kiss deepened almost instantly. My
hands flew up to his chest, gripping the soft cotton of his shirt like I needed something solid
to hold onto, to keep me tethered to this moment where everything else in the world faded
away.

His lips moved against mine, urgent, hungry, like a man starved. His hands slid to my hips,
pulling me flush against him, the heat of his body radiating through the thin layer of clothing.
I could feel the strength of him, the way his muscles flexed with every movement, the way he
pulled me impossibly closer, like he couldn't get enough.

His mouth was on my neck now, hot and desperate, the feeling of his lips and teeth against
my skin sending jolts of electricity straight to my core. My breath was ragged, barely a gasp
escaping me each time he nipped at my skin, each time he shifted his body to press against
mine more firmly.

"Spencer," I breathed, my voice low and shaky, and for the first time, I wasn't trying to hide
the need that surged through me. It wasn't anger anymore—it was this—this dangerous, wild
thing between us, threatening to consume us both.

But then, something shifted.

The heat of his body was almost completely overwhelming, and I couldn't help but smile, the
corners of my lips pulling up despite everything inside me telling me to just give in. I leaned
back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes.

"You think you're the only one who knows how to play this game, Doctor Reid?" I teased, my
voice almost breathless, and despite the pounding of my heart, I felt a wicked thrill rush
through me.

"I think you've forgotten who you're dealing with," he replied, his voice hoarse, a thread of
humour cutting through the thick tension.

"Maybe," I murmured, leaning forward just enough to press my lips against his ear, a soft,
fleeting touch, my breath warm against his skin. "But I'm getting pretty good at this, don't
you think?"

He shivered, just slightly, the smallest tremor running through him. It made me smile, feeling
the rush of power coursing through me. This was the game I knew how to play. The one
where I controlled the pace, the moment, even if for just a second.

But before I could pull back, before I could enjoy the sensation of holding the upper hand, his
hand slipped from my back to my neck, his fingers threading through my hair, tugging me
closer. The shift was immediate, his breath fanning across my skin as he leaned in, his lips
brushing against mine. The kiss wasn't hungry or desperate, but it was full of that unspoken
challenge. Like we both knew where this was heading, but we weren't quite ready to let go of
the control.

And just as I was about to say something else, something dangerous and incriminating, I
heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. They were heavy, purposeful. Too
deliberate to be a coincidence. My heart skipped in my chest.
Please don't be Hotch—

Before I could even pull myself together, JJ appeared in the doorway of the hallway that led
to the back of the bar. Her eyes widened slightly as she took in the scene— Spencer and I,
barely inches fucking apart, caught in the midst of something rather dubious... to say the
least.

The bathroom wasn't even this way. Why was she down here?

There was an awful pause. A long, extremely painful beat of silence before JJ cleared her
throat, the tension so thick now that it felt like the air had gone still around us.

"Am I interrupting something?" She asked, her voice tight.

Yes. Yes, you are. Just like how you conveniently interrupted us the other day, too...

Spencer didn't say anything at first. He didn't look at me, his gaze fixed firmly on JJ as he
took a long breath, his fingers brushing through his hair in that way that always made him
look like he was about to go into overdrive. He didn't like the confrontation, didn't like the
vulnerability of being exposed, and it was clear that he was trying to hide the fact that his
heart was racing just as much as mine.

"No," Spencer said, finally breaking the silence. His voice was more even than I expected,
but I could still hear the edge of something beneath it. Was it guilt? Shame? Anger? I couldn't
tell. "Nothing's... happening here. Not in the way you think."

Oh.

Oh.

The way that she thinks?

What was that even supposed to mean?

JJ's gaze shifted between the two of us, her eyes narrowing, and it was almost as if she
were waiting for us to explain ourselves, to make it right. But the words were stuck, caught in
my throat.

She didn't push, not yet. Instead, she gave us one last look—a quiet, knowing glance—before
turning and walking away, leaving us in the thick aftermath of the moment.

I exhaled slowly, the tension still heavy between us. I couldn't even look at Spencer yet. Not
like this. Not with JJ's question still hanging in the air.

Spencer didn't say anything more. Neither did I. Even as JJ walked away, we both just stood
there, locked in this uneasy dance of uncertainty, our eyes never fully meeting. For a second,
I could've sworn I felt his breath, still warm against my skin, but the air had changed. It was
colder now, sharper, and neither of us knew how to step back into what we had almost shared
moments ago.
Then, before I could even think to say something—anything—he took a step back, like he
was already retreating. His gaze dropped to the floor, his hands slipping into his pockets.

"Are you... Okay?" he finally asked, his voice quieter now, the challenge gone. But there was
something else in his eyes—something that was almost vulnerable.

I didn't answer him. Not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't. I couldn't bring
myself to say what was really on my mind. So, instead, I just nodded, a movement that felt
empty and hollow.

I turned and walked away, needing space. Needing air.

⏳
I walked into the office the next morning with my fragrant coffee cup in hand, trying to shake
off the remnants of a restless night. The echoes of Reid's speech still occupied my thoughts.
What did he mean by 'Not in the way you think?' and what on earth was that tone that I heard
him say it in?

I needed to focus. To clear my head, but I couldn't. Never when it came to him. I mean he
completely rattled me and I'm not sure how he did it.

As I walked over to my desk, the dark ambient lighting already set up, something caught my
eye.

A photograph.

Hm?

At first, it seemed so innocent, so unassuming. The glossy surface gleamed faintly beneath
the soft ambient lighting of the office. A black-and-white shot.

I approached it slowly, fingers trembling, unsure if I wanted to touch it. But I did.

I picked it up, my heart already starting to race in anticipation of what I might see.

What the fuck?

It wasn't a kiss. No, not that obvious. But it was unmistakably intimate.

Spencer was full shot, his tie slightly askew, hair messier than usual, his expression— was
that confusion or something else? His lips were parted, but they weren't pressed to anyone
else's in that photo. But then there was the blonde figure who was leaning in just a little too
close, her red lipstick smeared in a way around the edges that suggested it hadn't been by
accident. Her eyes were locked onto Spencer, her hand resting too comfortably near his chest.

And that's when I clocked it was Jennifer.

I didn't want to admit it, but there was something fucking dangerous in that image.
Something that made my throat tighten, my vision narrowing. It felt like betrayal in the
simplest form—like everything I thought I knew about their relationship was suddenly called
into question.

But was I overreacting? Was I just imagining it?

I couldn't stop staring at the picture. My thoughts were a whirlpool, spinning faster and faster
until I felt like I might drown in them. I glanced up quickly, my eyes darting toward Spencer,
who was seated at his desk, in front of me, pretending to focus on something, probably not
even noticing me, not noticing the bomb that was sitting on my desk.

I couldn't tear my gaze away from him. I needed to—needed to think—but I couldn't stop. I
watched his shoulders tense just slightly, as though he could feel my stare without even
looking. As though he knew what was coming.

What the hell did this mean? What were they doing?

I felt the blood physically drain from my face. The sharp, bitter taste of jealousy rose in the
back of my throat, hands shaking as I set the photo down on the desk with an almost reverent
slowness. The edges of the photo curled upwards slightly from my grip, my fingers pressing
hard enough to leave prints on the surface. Just as I started to move, my vision went starry-
perhaps from the sudden spike in blood pressure or the red rage that covered my mind like a
blanket.

I had to get away from it. Away from him.

And then I looked up, catching his guilty stare.

Spencer was looking at me.

I couldn't breathe.

I opened my mouth, humiliated, but no words came out. There were a thousand questions
between us, and all of them caught in my throat like a weak, oblivious, and cruelly naïve
child.

I felt like I might be suffocating.

Spencer didn't move. His gaze remained fixed on me, unblinking, as though he were waiting
for something, but I had no idea what.

Before I could take another breath, before I could even make sense of what was happening in
my head, I grabbed my bag and fled from my desk, not sparing another glance at the photo.

I didn't want to look at it anymore.

I couldn't.

I bolted from the office, the noise of my heels tapping sharply against the floor only adding to
the pounding in my head. My breath was shallow and too quick, my mind a storm of thoughts
I couldn't even begin to control. I needed to escape it all— the photo, the way Spencer had
looked at me, the thousand questions I couldn't answer or even stomach, and the strangling
feeling in my chest that told me something was incredibly wrong.

I didn't know how long it took me to reach the bathroom, but when I pushed open the door, I
felt an overwhelming urge to expel everything inside me—physically and emotionally. I
leaned over the sink, breathing hard, gripping the edges as I struggled to calm the violent
churn in my stomach. But it wasn't just nausea—it was everything, all of it. The picture. The
look in Spencer's eyes. The uncertainty. The confusion. And what was worse was the
burning, uncomfortable truth that clung to me like a second skin.

I wiped my mouth, but nothing seemed to ease the discomfort. The thoughts kept coming.
Did I overreact? Was I imagining things?

Fucking hell.

As I stood there, fighting against my own mind, a different memory surfaced—a moment that
felt a million miles away from the tension we were tangled in now.

🕰️ MONTHS EARLIER 🕰️
It was after one of our earliest cases together. We were sitting outside, on the steps of a small
café, the last remnants of a cold, rainy night turning into the soft glow of early morning light.
The sun hadn't yet risen, but the streets were already stirring with life. The city was waking
up, and so were we.

Specncer had been unusually quiet for most of the drive back, not rambling on about any
recent studies or statistics. I could tell something was weighing on him, but he wasn't one to
talk about his emotions easily, and to be honest, neither was I, so I hadn't pressed him.

Instead, I had waited. I had learned over the months that sometimes, Spencer needed space.
And in a way, I had needed space, too.

We sat there, side by side, neither of us speaking. The air was crisp, and I could see the faint
outline of fog rolling over the pavement, the kind of fog that made everything feel softer,
more distant. It was the kind of quiet I rarely ever allowed myself to enjoy.

Then, unexpectedly, Spencer broke the silence.

"I've been thinking about what you said," he murmured, his voice low but steady, as though
the words had been building in him for a while. "About how people don't always know how
to deal with... what they feel. How they get stuck."

I looked at him then, noticing the way his fingers toyed with the sleeve of his jacket, a
nervous gesture that betrayed his calm exterior. There was something vulnerable in that
moment, something that reached into the depths of my chest and settled there, warm and
aching.

"I get stuck too," he continued, his eyes meeting mine now, just for a second before glancing
away. "I think... I think sometimes I'm afraid of feeling things because I don't know what to
do with them. I've spent so long pretending I don't care that I forgot what it's like to really
feel."

His words caught me off guard. Spencer Reid—this brilliant, aloof genius—was telling me he
felt the same way I did? That he struggled with the same things I did? I didn't know what to
say.

For a moment, we just sat there in the quiet, both of us lost in our thoughts. And then,
without thinking, I reached out and placed my hand on his. It was simple, but in that moment,
it felt like everything. My heart was beating too fast, but I couldn't pull my hand away.

And my God, he didn't pull away either.

Instead, he just looked at me, his eyes, those soft brown eyes, searching mine for something
— maybe answers or maybe permission.

Spencer's gaze softened, and I saw something in his eyes—something I hadn't seen before.
Maybe he hadn't either.

🕰️
I snapped back to reality, the rush of memories flooding my mind. The quiet moments. The
small, unspoken exchanges. The way Spencer looked at me that day...

I pressed my hand to my chest, feeling the weight of everything I had just remembered. That
moment was the beginning of it all—the start of everything that had felt so complicated and
impossible to ignore. And it hurt now, in a way I couldn't fully explain. Because if that
moment meant anything, if it was truly the beginning of something, then why did I feel so
lost now?

But as I wiped away the remnants of the tears that had silently begun to fall, I knew one thing
for sure: that moment hadn't been a lie. What we had, what we could have, was real

🖊️
A/N:

I'm so sorry.

Here comes the angst....

Let me know what you guys think.

P.S I hope you see what I did with the chapter name and song...
 Chapter 25: Did You?

Song for this chapter: We Hug Now — Sydney Rose 🎵

📖
I'd calmed down in the bathroom.

At least, that's what I told myself as I wiped the last of the tears from under my eyes, staring
blankly at my puffy reflection like it might give me some kind of answer to the numbness I
was feeling. My skin was blotchy, my nose stung from how hard I'd cried and used the back
of my hand to wipe it, and my mouth tasted like a disgusting mixture of bile and bitterness. In
all honesty, I looked a mess. At least my hands stopped shaking.

That was something.

When I finally opened the door, the hallway was quiet— too quiet— and I already knew.

He was waiting.

Spencer leaned against the far wall, arms crossed and face taut with something unreadable.
Guilt? Worry? Whatever. I'm starting to doubt my profiling skills now because he is the only
person that puts me in these positions, in these moments, so far out of my control, that I
cannot tell how he's feeling. The only person.

But as if I was going to care now. Everything was fucked.

He looked up at me so quickly, like he'd been holding his breath the whole time.

I didn't even give him the chance to speak as he leaned forward.

"Don't touch me."

I said it too fast, too cold. Like if I didn't, I'd break down again, fall apart right in front of
him. The photograph and whatever ensued last night were already embarrassing enough for
me, so anything else was not needed. His arms quickly dropped to his sides, jaw twitching,
and he stepped back like I'd physically shoved him.

He didn't say anything, and of course he didn't. There was nothing for him to fucking say.

Well... maybe there was, but I wasn't allowing for the chance. I didn't want to hear it.

I started thinking about every single moment like it had a question mark at the end of it now.
Like, none of it was safe anymore. One instantly replaying in my mind— that night in D.C.
when we got ice cream after that rough kidnapping case—he told me he didn't like sweets but
still took a bite out of mine just to make me laugh, and when it smeared across my nose, he
leaned in and kissed it off. I remember thinking it was such a small, stupid thing, but it made
me feel seen.
After all of our months of arguing, he did that to make me fucking laugh. To make me happy.
To make me feel better after too many of my past thoughts linked to my own family started to
eat me alive. He knew.

I remember the way his hand stayed on my knee under the table during that god-awful
undercover dinner, like he was grounding me, like we were practically joined. I remember the
way he said my name in the dark when I couldn't sleep, all soft and broken like it meant
something.

I remember the hotel balcony, how he didn't try to fix me, just sat there and let me exist, and
how rare that is. I remember him tracing circles on my back the night we slept together for
the first time, after—after he looked at me like I was something good.

And now I don't know if any of it was real. I don't know if he looked at her like that, too. I
don't know if I was just a body in a bed during a case that got too fucking heavy for him. I
don't know if he thought of someone else when he held me. I don't know if I was just a
problem he didn't know how to solve, or worse, one he didn't want to. All I can see in my
head is her smile in that photograph. Her hand on his chest, his eyes on her. And it's like
everything we were—everything I thought we were—is just gone. Like, I made it all up.

How was I even taken for an idiot?

The rest of the day didn't feel like a blur.

It felt like punishment.

Awkward moments stacked one after the other like some bloody joke— every coffee break,
every hallway, every time I had to brush past him on my way to the printer or when he looked
up at me from his desk that faced mine. I could feel him watching me. Always just close
enough to notice, never close enough to touch. His silence was loud and deafening.

Maybe so extreme because if he uttered a sound, I could probably just implode right there
and then. He knew I would, because again, he had grown to know me.

I nearly tripped over Garcia at the coffee machine when she tried to lighten the mood with a
poorly timed joke about us needing "couples therapy."

I didn't laugh.

Spencer didn't either — and I definitely know he heard. She slowly backed away and didn't
bring it up again.

Hotch kept giving me these weird, subtle glances, like he could sense something was
unravelling and was clearly either concerned or just plain outright curious. I played the part.
Sat straight, answered questions, and filed paperwork.
But my head was a fucking fog, every tick of the clock felt like a countdown to a breakdown
I refused to let them see.

I didn't talk to JJ. Couldn't look at her. Not without the image clawing its way back into my
head.

By the time the clock hit six, I didn't even bother with an excuse. I just grabbed my bag and
left. Which was, by the way, so desperately unlike me.

The sky outside was this dull, suffocating grey—the kind of colour that settles over your skin
like secondhand smoke. The kind that makes everything feel slower, heavier. The drive home
was quiet. No music. No noise. Just me and the hollow space in my chest that ached like a
bruise.

When I walked through my front door, the silence felt different. It wasn't comforting. It
wasn't peaceful.

It was lonely.

I dropped my keys in the bowl by the door, kicked off my shoes, and didn't bother turning on
the lights. I went straight to my room, collapsed on top of the comforter fully clothed, and let
my body sink into the mattress like it was trying to swallow me whole.

I didn't cry and I didn't scream, for some reason. I just stared at the ceiling, numb and wide-
eyed, wondering how the hell something that never even had a name could hurt this much.

But as I sat there and swallowed in a hole of my own self-pity, a knock startled me.

I had been sitting on the edge of the couch, arms pulled around my middle, still wearing the
same blouse from work, the one that now felt too tight across my chest, like it was holding in
the ache I hadn't fully processed yet.

I didn't want to answer. Whoever it was— whatever it was— it couldn't be good. Nothing
ever came soft like that unless it planned to devastate you.

But the knock came again, firmer this time. Like the person on the other side knew I was
there, frozen, listening. Like they were counting on my weakness.

Dragging myself up, I crossed the floor with lead in my bones and opened the door halfway
—just enough to look out but not enough to invite anything in.

Elias.

As if my day couldn't get any fucking worse, I definetly needed this nutcase showing up.

He stood there like he owned the hallway, the same infuriating smirk playing on his lips,
dressed like he hadn't spent the day trailing death and tension, like this wasn't the absolute
worst possible time for him to show his face. One hand was tucked into the pocket of his
coat, the other extended slightly forward, holding something small and glinting in the low
light of the entryway.
"I figured you might want this back," he said smoothly, cocking his head just enough to let a
strand of hair fall across his forehead.

It took me a moment to realise what he was holding.

My bracelet.

The dainty golden one I wore all the time— the one I hadn't even noticed was missing,
because everything else had taken up so much more space in my head.

My sister and I had gotten matching ones years ago, one of the last times we ever spent
together. It was a present from distant relatives.

I hated the bracelet for a while when I was a child because I didn't like gold very much. It
quickly grew to be my favourite, gold too, as it was the last real memory I had of my sister.
The words caught in my throat as I looked at it, like trying to swallow a stone, but I managed
to choke out something, anything to break the tension. "Where did you get that?"

His smirk twisted, just the slightest bit, as though he knew exactly how much it stung.
"Found it at my place this morning. You must've left it there last night."

The fuck was he talking about?

The words hit my gut harder than I thought they would, knocking the last pieces of air from
my lungs as I tried to process them.

"I wasn't at your place," I said, voice shaking just enough that I hated myself for it. I hated
how vulnerable I sounded. "I haven't for a long—"

He cut me off, his tone low, smooth, like oil dripping off the edge of a blade. "Maybe you
don't remember. You were a little distracted, weren't you? Funny how things get blurry when
you're caught up in the heat of the moment."

My eyebrows furrowed as I looked around, trying to remember something I apparently

seemed to be forgetting. But I couldn't. There was nothing, just an abyss.

After the bar, I had gone home and gone to bed. What was Westwood talking about? Yes,
okay, I had a few drinks, but there was zero way I was blackout and did something I can't
remember?

That feeling—that sick, crawling sensation under my skin—it was suffocating now. I wanted
to slam the door in his face, to end this conversation right then and there, but there was
something in me that needed to hear it. Needed to understand how far he would go to twist
the truth.

"I don't care what you think happened, because it clearly wasn't me who was at your house." I
snapped the words out before I could stop myself, though my throat felt thick, and I couldn't
tell if I was going to choke or collapse into a heap right then and there. "Just leave. I'm not
playing whatever sick game you're trying to set up. I don't want anything from you and
especially not right fucking now."
The words were out before I had even thought them through, but they didn't make the silence
any easier. I knew how much they cut, how much they had to cut, because Elias was a
predator, and a predator didn't back down until it got exactly what it wanted.

"It's not a game, Mira. I'm just trying to help you," he said, his voice dropping slightly, but I
could still hear the insincerity underneath it all. It was like he was trying to soften me, to pull
me into a web of false comfort.

"No," I said, my voice cracking like it had no right to be heard. "No more games, Elias. This
is done. Whatever you think you can do to control this, whatever you think you can twist into
something you want—it's done."

He tilted his head, eyes narrowing just a bit, like he was considering whether to push me
further. "I think you're lying to yourself, Mira. You're more like me than you want to admit."

I swallowed hard, shaking my head as I tried to back away. "You don't know me. Not
anymore, Westwood."

But he only stepped forward, his presence taking up the space between us like it had a right
to be there. He wasn't going to let this go easily, I knew that much. "I know you better than
you know yourself."

And that was the part that terrified me. The part where his words crawled under my skin,
where the doubt he planted in my mind began to bloom, and I felt—God, I felt so fucking
lost.

Before I could stop it, I was pulling the door shut, shoving him out of my space, away from
me, slamming it so hard it rattled the frame. The sound of it echoing through the apartment,
loud and final, but nothing felt finished.

Nothing was over.

I stood there, breath coming out in ragged bursts, the weight of everything—everything—
crushing me. But that didn't stop me from hearing him. Hearing the subtle, arrogant tap of his
shoes as he walked away. And then the silence.

The absolute silence that swallowed me whole.

But it didn't last long.

A few moments later, I heard the footsteps again—this time not his, but familiar, and for the
briefest instant, I hoped, hoped that it was someone else coming to save me from the
wreckage of the night.

But no.

Of course, just to make things worse, it was Spencer.

Were these men just doing this shit to piss me off now?
His lean figure appeared just at the edge of my vision, his form a dark silhouette against the
dim lights of the hallway. He had been standing there, just out of sight, long enough to
witness the whole thing. He must've seen him leave, heard he door slam, and felt the
suffocating tension that had been building between me and Elias. And not the satisfying, sexy
kind of tension. The horrible, constricting kind.

Spencer's voice, when he finally spoke, sounded tight—strained in a way that I hadn't heard
from him before. He sounded like it wasn't just words he was saying, but that there was a
whole storm behind them. "What the fuck was that?"

And just like that, the rest of the world crumbled— ashes. All that was left was the raw,
unsettled energy between us. Like we were two fucking magnets, constantly pulled and
bashed against each other by something that we could never even control, and that we could
never even understand.

I opened my mouth, about to say something, anything, yet the words stayed tangled in my
throat.

Instead, Spencer looked down a the bracelet on the side table. He said nothing for a beat, then
his voice was low and cutting. "What the hell is that?"

And I knew what he meant. The way he was looking at it, the same way I had— like it was
some reminder of everything before it turned sour. He knew how much I treasured that
fucking bracelet, and I can only imagine his thoughts when he pieced together the broken
shards.

"I... don't know," I whispered, my voice almost lost in the small distance between us. "He...
he said that I left it at his place."

The silence that followed was unbearable and excruciating.

Spencer stepped forward, his expression unreadable but full of something— I didn't know
what— until he was standing so close to me, I could feel the heat of his body. His breath,
shadow but quick, as if the air between us had become too thick to breathe, or even poisoned.

"You're telling me he just came here...to give you that?"

I wanted to lie. I wanted to say something that would make everything so much easier, trust
me I did. But I couldn't lie to him. Not anymore.

Not after we kissed, not after we slept together.

"Yes."

He exhaled harshly, running a hand through his hair, the gesture almost frantic, as if he was
trying to keep himself from spiralling, confronting whatever this was between us, from
unravelling in the way I knew he was.

"Did you think I wouldn't care?" His words, raw and accusatory, cut me like a blade.
"After everything," he said, continuing, but still sharp-edged like he was trying not to lose it,
"you really think I wouldn't care if you—"

"If I what, Spencer?" I stepped forward, chest tight, breath shallow. "Say it."

His gaze dropped for the briefest second, jaw flexing. When he looked back up, it was with a
kind of desperation I'd only seen in rare glimpses— for example, inappropriate moments that
felt like the exact opposite of what we were doing now.

"Did you...sleep with him?"

The question was flat, almost lifeless, as though he was bracing for impact. And maybe he
was.

I blinked.

"No," I said simply. "Why would you even think that?"

Spencer's mouth opened slightly, as if he had a thousand answers— but none of them made it
past his quivering lips. His eyes dropped to the bracelet Elias had returned to me, which was
now clutched tight in my fist. His silence said more than his words ever could.

"Because, what, he had this?" I snapped, holding it up between us. "Because he brought me
something I didn't even know I lost? You think that's fucking proof?"

His lips parted, but I didn't even let him speak. I was spiralling now, heat rising to my face,
words tumbling too fast.

"I can't do this shit with you if everytime something gets hard, you assume the worst of me. If
everytime you get scared, you shut down and pull away— and act like I'm just some mission
you regret fucking."

The silence that followed those words was deafening.

Nauseating.

He looked at me then, like actually really looked— like he was seeing me in this light for the
first time, or maybe even for the last. His voice was hoarse, barely more than a strained
whisper,

"You don't mean that."

I laughed— sharp and humourless. "Don't I?"

Then I stepped back past the threshold and closed the door, almost slamming, leaving him in
the hall, alone with the rain that had just started pouring outside.

⏳
I sat at my desk, staring at my monitor, pretending to read the case file in front of me while
my mind clawed at the memories of last night. My eyes burned due to the lack of blinking,
and a headache pounded like my own brain was trying to scratch outside.

I hadn't seen Spencer all morning.

I tried to act like his absence wasn't affecting me, but it was.

He wasn't at the coffee machine, not in the bullpen, not even doing his usual hover-over-
Garcia's desk routine. And maybe that was for the best?

I'm not sure what I would've done if he were actually here.

I still felt completely raw. Like every nerve ending on my body was exposed, pulled taut and
fraying like a piece of weak hay. His voice kept replaying in my head— Did you think I
wouldn't care?— and it hadn't stopped reverberating since he walked away.

I hadn't slept last night. Of course not. I didn't even usually sleep anyway, but last night I
stayed awake on my side, holding myself and begging my eyes to take their rest.

"Mira."

I blinked hard, turning to find Penelope standing beside my desk, her bright red glasses
covered in gemstones sliding down her nose, and for once her expression completely
unreadable. Half concern, half determination?

Emily was beside her, arms crossed and brows lifted just slightly.

"We need you," Garcia said lightly, but her tone didn't match her usual playfulness. Her usual
'spunk' as she called it. Her tone now was softer and definitely intentional.

Emily tilted her head toward the hallway, and I hesitated for just a moment before standing
up and following them down the hallway because I already knew this wasn't a request.

The moment the door shut behind us, Garcia wheeled around and spoke. "Talk to me. What
the hell happened between you and Reid? And don't you DARE say nothing, because that boy
has been brooding harder than Edward Cullen since you walked in."

Emily sat down and nodded, gesturing for me to do the same. "We're not here to judge. But
we are here to help. Whatever's going on, it's starting to bleed into everything else— and you
are rarely ever distracted, yet today you can't seem to keep your focus on one task."

I let out a long breath I didn't know I'd been holding and sat, folding my arms tightly across
my chest, mirroring Emily's body language.

"It's a very long story," I muttered nonchalantly, trying to dismiss the whole situation which
clearly everyone in the office knew about now.

"Lucky for you then..." Garcia said, sliding into the seat across from me, "I have a lot of time.
And servers that keep receipts at the click of a button."
And so I told them. I told them absolutely everything— the photo, the bracelet, Elias showing
up unannounced at my door, Spencer confronting me outside my room. The guilt, the
confusion, the fact that none of it made sense, that something had to be missing. I could feel
it in my bones— Elias had set a trap, a game, and I had legitimately walked straight into it.

Garcia's fingers were already flying across her keyboard as I spoke. "When did you last have
the bracelet before he gave it back?"

I thought for just a second, closing my eyes as if I were conducting a cognitive interview on
myself. "The day I saw the photo... Yesterday. I went to the bathroom. I mean I felt sick— so
sick— I was sick."

And then it hit. Of course— "I must've taken my bracelet off."

Garcia's mouth dropped open, "Oh, my God. If that bastard picked it up from the women's
bathroom..."

Emily stood up slowly, rubbing her hands through her hair. "Then he's not just manipulative
—trying to gaslight you into thinking you did something you didn't like sleeping with him—
but he's watching you. Staging things. Why?"

The perky blonde's eyes narrowed behind her lenses as her fingers moved faster. A low hum
emitted from the monitor on the desk, and then— there it was. Footage.

Static flickered once, then cleared. The hallway outside the women's bathroom.

"Wait for it..." Garcia muttered, biting her lip so hard it turned white.

And then: Elias.

The bastard.

Slipping into frame like a godamn villain in a B-rated horror movie, glancing around once
before ducking into the bathroom— the women's bathroom— with a familiar glint between
his fingers as he walked back out. My sister's bracelet— my bracelet.

Tears welled in my eyes as I whispered. "I knew it." Heat rose up my neck in a slow,
nauseating crawl. "He took it. He fucking— he took it."

Garcia whipped her head toward me. "You need to tell Reid. Now. Before this festers into
something neither of you can come back from."

I didn't even respond before I was already moving at an incredible pace. The FBI didn't make
us do fitness tests for nothing.

The hallway blurred around me as I shoved the door open, my heart rattling in my ribs. My
head was a fucking cacophony of mistakes and almost, of everything I should've said and
everything he deserved to know. My shoes slapped against the tile as I ran, my eyes scanning
wildly until—
There. Him. Standing by the glass board, flipping through a file, eyes dark with exhaustion,
skin pale like he hadn't slept either. His head lifted the moment he heard me, his expression
flickering with something unreadable when he saw my face.

Fuck, it hurt.

It hurt so bad to see him like that.

"Spencer—" I choked out, breathless.

His lips parted.

But I didn't even make it two steps toward him before a firm hand landed on my shoulder.

"Mira." Hotch's voice cut through like a blade. "I was looking for you— we've got movement
on the Dupont lead. I need you and Reid undercover. Now."

I looked back at Spencer, his devastating eyes, and the words lodged in my throat.

In that frozen second, before everything tipped again, before we were thrown into another
performance, another fake identity and another mission where every touch would definitely
mean more than it should— I realised that this wasn't over.

Not even close.

And the truth?

I had no idea if we'd even survive it this time.

🖊️
A/N:

The angst is... Angsting.

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