Maya (c-m-stuff)

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[c-m-stuff]

Welcome lovely people!

Hey friends! I am Maya and thank you for being here! I write for the Criminal Minds fandom, specifically for Spencer Reid. If you have any requests or just want to talk, feel free to text me. I truly love you all & hope you enjoy! (Requests are open!)

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[chrono083]

This silly idea has been kicking around in my brain for a lil while now and it's doing me no good there so I'll dump it here.

I recently saw a hypothetical discussing Elle being brought back as a victim in a case and how emotionally devastating that'd be for long term members of the BAU but I think it'd be equally interesting and potentially more heart crushing if she was brought back as an unsub.

(also they've already just killed off a character in Nelson's sparrow, HOWEVER I only know that cause I spoiled it for myself. I'm only on S3)

The thing I read mentioned how the team wouldn't be able to talk to her and get a nice bit of closure - it is notoriously difficult to talk to dead people after all. But I think it would be more interesting if she was still alive yet changed to such a degree that trying to have the conversations that the team needs to have with her are pointless.

The idea rattling around in my skull is that she ends up continuing with her vigilante justice (probably going after the same sorta of person that led her to leave in the first place) after leaving the BAU.

She'd be especially suited to being an unsub too, having worked with the BAU she'd know what they and cops in general would be looking for, and therefore she'd be able to cover her tracks a lot better than your average Joe. But it'd be interesting to see how she devolves and loses a part of herself in that process to the point of being outright antagonistic to her old colleagues.

Hotch especially would be interesting I think, cause he'd want to let her know that he had learned from their experiences and improved. Her just shutting him down wouldn't really come as a surprise but I think it would still sting a lot.

[cynbx]

I can definitely see her as an unsub, especially with how she left. I can see her as a vigilante.

[companionjones]

Man in the Mirror

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Summary: Spencer rambles about his insecurities.

Warnings: Insecure!Spencer

Inspiration Prompt: "I am into you because you're hot. And smart. In that order, but both are needed." ~@crownmemes

*******

"Honestly, I just don't see why." The words burst out of the exasperated agent's mouth.

You sighed, "Spencer--"

He interrupted you, "No, I'm serious! I don't see why someone like you would take interest in someone like me."

You had a bad feeling you knew where this was going. "Spencer--!"

He still wasn't having it. "I mean, look at you! You're the most attractive person I've ever seen! Next to you, I'm--"

"Spencer!" You walked over and cut Reid off with a shake of his shoulders before his words got too self-deprecating. "Honey, really. You have to get a hold of yourself."

All it took was one look in Spencer's eyes to tell that that his head was still spinning with insecurities.

"Baby..." Your gaze softened and you kissed him on both cheeks. After that, you held his face gently in both hands. "I am into you because you're hot. And smart. In that order, but both are needed."

Spencer straightened up.

Maybe he was finally starting to hear your words?

"You think I'm hot?"

You grinned. "'Course I do. Have you ever looked in the mirror?"

Spencer laughed. It was a stark contrast to his earlier mood.

*******

Author's Note: Thank you so much for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, I have tons of fics over on my masterlists. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[cynbx]

Fantastic story. ❤️

[ajsbau]

*Derek and Spencer arguing about something*

Derek: There's no way that's true, man. You're full of shit!

Spencer: 🤓☝️ Well, actually, humans are full of-

Derek: *walks away*

[reidspncer]

the way that morgan spends the whole of 'the popular kids' trying to look out for and keep reid safe. immediately switching from teasing reid about his lack of sleep to giving him his full attention when he opens up about his nightmares. telling reid to talk to gideon, and then talking to gideon and hotch himself because he knows that reid won't. trying to reassure reid that it's okay, and then opening up about his own nightmares even though they're clearly something he doesn't like talking about. sending reid away with a task when he figures out that cory's the killer to keep him out of harms way while he confronts cory. putting his gun down. tackling cory (and reid) the moment he gets the chance to. the hand on reid's shoulder and checking that he's okay afterwards.

[blluesiide]

Frustration and embarrassment boil hot through your body.

You'd been feeling a bit uneasy from the start, and you're the one who initiated the conversation to begin with.

The topic of physical intimacy was one that you were very skittish about, but you had your reasons. Spencer was nothing but respectful to you and your boundaries, but you knew you needed to have a sit down discussion to really clarify what everything meant to you. It was something that always floated in the back of your mind, but didn't seem important until a few nights back, when a heated make out session lead to wandering hands.

His hand on your waist, your rib, it all felt good. It wasn't until his hand slid softly down your abdomen that you froze, quickly gripping his wrist to stop the whole thing.

"I don't know. I don't know, I'm sorry." You sigh, unable to finish your initial thought after everything had been laid out.

"It's alright-"

"It's not alright," you argued back. "It's something you want and I don't know how to... If I can-"

"You don't need to have sex with me in order for me to love you." He interrupts. "I love you. And if it takes a long time for you to feel ready, that's fine. Even if you're never ready, and never want to, I'm okay with it. I don't need it."

"But you want it." You can't help but reply.

"Sure I do. But I don't need it. It's not more important than your comfort."

You're quiet for a moment, the urge to tell him he deserves better on the tip of your tongue. You swallow it down, eyes beginning to water.

"Thank you," your voice breaks. "Thank you." You repeat, and he pulls you into a warm, loving hug. He applies just the right amount of pressure, soothing circles into your back.

"I love you." You murmur into his neck.

"I love you, too." He softly replies, pressing a kiss against your hair.

[lillaberry]

Spencer Reid Headacanon

He always plans thoughtful and sometimes very elaborate dates. When he proposes it’s a total surprise because him being sweet and planning a perfect day for you is just so normal.

[deerfawnn]

love — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer accidentally reveals your secret relationship by kissing you in front of the whole team—oh, and blurting out “I love you” for the very first time, too. content warnings: secret relationship , mention of a case , spencer being very worried about the unsub and case but its mostly fluff !! a/n: haiiii !!!!! hope you didn't miss my secret relationship fanfics too much </3 also i finished writing this like 10 minutes ago but i was too excited not to post it

Things were heating up.

You were getting closer—so close—to catching the unsub. The map was sprawled across the table in front of you, dotted with red circles.You traced another location with your marker, murmuring quietly under your breath, a habit you'd most definitely picked up from your boyfriend.

Spencer was nearby, slouched in a chair, mumbling to himself in a similar fashion.

His brows were furrowed. You could tell this case was hitting him harder than most. Maybe it reminded him of something—or someone.

Whatever it was, it weighed on him, and that meant it weighed on you, too.

You took care of him as much as you could—though it wasn’t easy with your relationship still hidden from the team. Last night, you’d slipped into his hotel room after everyone else had turned in, finding him already buried in files.

You didn’t ask if he was okay—he wouldn’t have answered honestly. Instead, you’d wordlessly sat beside him on the bed, running your fingers through his hair until his shoulders finally relaxed.

“Want to cuddle?” you’d murmured, and he hadn’t even hesitated before nodding, letting you pull him down against the pillows. He’d tucked himself under your chin, his breath warm against your collarbone, and you’d held him, fingers carding gently through his curls until his breathing evened out.

Of course, sneaking out at 6 a.m. had been its own mission. It took you twenty minutes to escape Spencer’s sleepy, koala-like grip. He kept murmuring thank-yous against your skin—kisses trailing from your collarbones to your jaw, like punctuation marks of affection. It had taken everything in you not to crawl back into bed with him.

Now, back in the briefing room, you had even more reason to catch this unsub.

"I got it." Spencer’s voice broke through the silence.

His head snapped up, and the words came pouring out of him like a dam breaking. Facts, patterns, dates, connections. The rest of the team, who had been working in exhausted silence, immediately turned their attention to him, hanging onto every word.

“Okay. Morgan and Reid—I want you with me,” Hotch announced the moment Spencer finished unraveling the unsub’s pattern.

Garcia’s fingers flew across her keyboard, sending the coordinates to their phones in a flurry of clicks. This was one of those rare, high-stakes cases where even she had to join them in the field. “Location’s live on your devices,” she said, her usual bubbly tone subdued.

Hotch gave her a curt nod of thanks before striding toward the door, Morgan right behind him.

Spencer, however, seemed miles away as he snatched his brown coat from the back of his chair. His mind was already elsewhere, locked onto the unsub.

Then, just before following the others, he turned to you.

You were still standing by the board, capping the dry-erase marker with a soft click and watching him with a soft, worried smile. He seemed exhausted.

“Be careful,” you murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

He blinked, as if snapping back into himself for just a second, and mumbled, “I’ll be okay. I’ll see you later.”

His fingers caught your chin, thumb beneath your jaw, index curled gently under your bottom lip. Time stuttered. His kiss was fleeting, achingly tender, and then his lips brushed yours again as he whispered, "I love you," like it was the simplest truth in the world.

And then he was gone, the door swinging shut behind him.

Silence.

Absolute, suffocating silence.

A pin drop would’ve echoed like a gunshot.

And then—

“Oh. my. god.” Garcia’s shriek could’ve shattered glass.

Your fingers flew to your lips, still tingling from the ghost of his kiss. The rest of the team was frozen—Rossi’s eyebrows had nearly disappeared into his hairline, JJ’s mouth was slightly open, and Emily looked like she was torn between laughing and demanding an immediate explanation.

But you barely registered any of it.

Because Spencer had just said I love you.

For the first time.

And he’d done it in front of everyone.

Garcia was already flailing her hands, rapid-fire questions spilling out of her—“Since when? How did I not know? Oh my god, the touching, the lingering looks, the—!”

But all you could hear was the echo of his voice, playing over and over in your mind like a broken record.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Your face burned. Your heart threatened to beat out of your chest.

You didn’t even notice Emily waving her hand in front of your face until her voice cut through the haze. “Earth to lovergirl,” she teased, grinning.

Blinking, you turned toward the team—all of them staring at you with varying degrees of shock, amusement, and sheer anticipation.

“What?” you managed, voice still breathless.

“That’s all you have to say?” JJ asked, plopping onto the edge of the desk in disbelief. She grabbed a Cheeto from an open bag, crunching loudly.

Garcia was still gaping at you, hands pressed dramatically over her mouth. Behind her colorful glasses, her eyes were massive. Rossi sipped his coffee slowly, clearly judging the entire situation.

“Huh?” you repeated dumbly.

Emily’s smirk softened just a fraction. “You okay?”

You stared at her, still dazed, before muttering, “He said ‘I love you.’”

Another beat of silence.

Garcia gasped. “That was his first time saying it?” Her hands flew away from her mouth, gripping the sides of her head like she might explode.

And then chaos. Again.

“Oh my god—”

“Since when—”

“Wait, wait, wait—that was the first—”

You spent what felt like hours fielding an avalanche of questions, barely able to catch your breath between them. At first, you tried to dodge them—played dumb, gave vague smiles, busied yourself with the files on the table—but it was pointless. Garcia saw straight through you, pinning you with a look that practically screamed, You’re not getting out of this, sweetheart.

So you caved.

“Six months,” you said quietly.

The collective gasp could’ve knocked over the coffee pot.

Garcia clutched her chest like she’d been personally betrayed. ( She was. ) “Six?! Six whole months? And you didn’t say anything?”

You winced. “We were trying to be subtle.”

“You failed!” she cried, throwing her hands up.

Emily laughed. “Okay, next—who made the first move?”

You hesitated, cheeks burning. “He did.”

Another round of dramatic gasps echoed around the room. Even Rossi raised his brows, murmuring, “Didn’t peg him for the bold one.”

“He’s… not. Not usually,” you admitted with a smile you couldn’t quite suppress. “But with me… I guess he was.”

And on it went—question after question, as if they were making up for six months of missed gossip in a single sitting. But despite your initial resistance, you couldn’t deny the warm buzz beneath your skin. It was messy, chaotic, borderline embarrassing—but it was also kind of nice. Being known. Being happy.

Then came the final question.

JJ’s voice was quieter than the others, softer. “Do you love him too?”

You froze.

For a moment, the whole room seemed to hold its breath. Even Garcia stopped typing.

You looked at JJ—then down at your hands—then back up again. And nodded.

Garcia screeched, practically launching herself out of her chair. “I knew it!” she howled.

Emily beamed, her smile so wide it crinkled the corners of her eyes, and even Rossi let out a low chuckle, shaking his head like a proud, mildly exasperated uncle.

You were a little overwhelmed—okay, maybe a lot—but underneath the chaos, you also felt a sheer amount of happiness that you've never felt before.

Hotch interrupted the moment by calling Garcia. “Unsub’s in custody. We’re on our way back. Everyone’s okay.”

Your breath left you in a rush. Spencer was okay.

Your heart, though—it hadn’t quite gotten the message. It was still thundering in your chest, hammering against your ribs with every second that ticked by.

The others must’ve noticed the way you kept glancing at the door, because JJ finally nudged you gently toward it. “Go wait. We’ll clean up.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Garcia waved a dismissive hand. “Honey, please. You’ve got heart-eyes so intense it’s blinding. Go stand dramatically in the doorway like you’re in a movie or something. We’ve got this.”

And so you did.

You found yourself hovering in the doorway of the conference room, a half-hearted folder in your hands, pretending to sort through paperwork as you stared through the glass. Watching. Waiting.

Then you heard it—the low rumble of the SUV pulling up outside.

Every head in the room snapped up like it was choreographed. Honestly, for a team of professional FBI agents, they acted like a bunch of high schoolers most of the time.

You glanced back over your shoulder. Sure enough, all of them were watching you, wide-eyed and waiting like you were the final act in a romantic drama. You rolled your eyes with a half-smile, dropped the stack of files onto the table with a soft thud, and walked out of the conference room.

As you left, you heard Emily mutter, “Garcia, don’t follow her.”

You didn’t wait to hear the response.

The moment you reached the main hallway of the precinct, the doors opened—and there he was.

Spencer stepped inside, his curls slightly mussed, cheeks flushed from the cold, and as soon as his eyes found yours, he smiled. That gentle, crooked smile that always made you smile.

You barely registered Derek behind him, hand gripping the cuffed unsub and throwing you a confused look when you didn’t even acknowledge him. Even Hotch glanced over in surprise as you made a beeline for Spencer.

“Hey—wait, what—?” Spencer managed, eyes widening as you grabbed his arm and all but dragged him down the corridor.

You shoved open the nearest empty office, tugged him inside, and closed the door firmly behind you, leaning back against it.

“Did you mean it?” you asked, your voice urgent, breath a little uneven.

Spencer blinked. “Mean what?”

You stared at him in stunned disbelief. “You’re kidding.”

“What?” he said again, completely baffled. “What did I do? Did Morgan tell you about what happened in the field? I know I wasn’t supposed to go near the unsub without backup, but I swear, I had it under control—”

He started to ramble, hands gesturing as he pouted in that way he did when he was simultaneously nervous and a little too proud of himself. “He had a weapon, but I de-escalated him. You would’ve been proud.”

“You did what?” you interrupted, your mind now juggling two emotional crises.

Spencer blinked again. “Wait—so Morgan didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you muttered, your voice flat with disbelief. 

You shook your head slowly, trying to process it all. The nerves, the kiss, the I love you—and the fact that Spencer genuinely hadn’t realized what he’d done.

Spencer’s expression shifted from confusion to concern in a heartbeat. “Hey,” he said softly, stepping closer, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “Did I do something wrong?”

His voice was careful, gentle, and far too kind for how scrambled your brain felt. “Can you tell me what it is?” he added, tilting your chin up just enough so your eyes met his.

Your mouth opened slightly, but the words were stuck. How could he not know? How could he be looking at you like that—all wide eyes and soft brows and worried lips—and not know?

“Spencer,” you said finally, his name sharp on your tongue.

“Yes?” he replied immediately, those puppy-dog eyes locking onto yours like he was bracing for impact.

“You kissed me.”

His brows pulled together. “I’m—I’m sorry?” he said, clearly confused.

If you weren’t so worked up, you might have laughed at his face. But your heart was hammering, and your nerves were tangled in knots.

“You did it in front of everyone,” you clarified.

And then you said it—softly, barely above a whisper. “And then you said—”

“I love you.” His voice cut in before you could finish.

You watched as the memory clearly snapped back into place. Realization washed over his face like a wave, followed immediately by a bright, burning blush that crept up his neck and across his cheeks.

“Mhmm,” you hummed, nodding slowly, your teeth sinking into your lower lip as you studied his reaction.

Spencer rubbed the back of his neck, eyes wide, flustered in a way that only made you want to kiss him senseless. “Oh,” he breathed, glancing away for a second before meeting your eyes again. 

“Yeah… oh.” you repeated. Both of you stayed silent for a second.

“I did mean it,” he stammered out.

A smile tugged at your lips—finally. After an hour and a half of bouncing knees, chewed lips, and an anxiety storm running circles in your chest, the words you’d been dying to hear had finally landed.

“I love you,” Spencer repeated, a little firmer this time—like he needed to hear it aloud again to make it real. Like maybe saying it twice would help his brain catch up to his heart.

The warmth that bloomed inside you was instant. Like sunshine pouring into your bloodstream. You weren’t sure you’d ever felt this happy in your entire life.

Then, of course, Spencer kept talking.

“Did I say it too soon? I’m not sure. On average, men say it around three to three and a half months into a relationship, while women usually wait closer to four months,” he rambled, already blushing furiously, eyes darting anywhere but your face. “And I know we’ve been dating for six months, so technically it took me twice as long, which isn’t statistically ideal, but honestly I almost said it on our first date, which definitely wouldn’t have been optimal and—”

He was spiraling. Fast.

So you did the only thing that would shut him up.

You stepped forward, gently grabbed his face in both hands, and said, soft but certain:

“I love you too, Spencer.”

He stared.

Just stared—like he was trying to memorize this exact moment, burn it into his brain with all its warmth and disbelief and wonder. You watched his expression shift—first stunned, then relieved, then something so bright and boyish it made your heart lurch.

You’d never seen him so happy before.

Well—once. That first time you kissed him. He’d looked a little like this, dazed and blissed out. But now? Now he looked like his whole world had just clicked into place.

“Yeah?” he breathed, voice shaky with excitement, his grin stretching so wide it practically crinkled his entire face.

“Yeah.” You laughed through the word, nodding, the emotion bubbling up in your chest and spilling into every part of you. Your smile was a mirror of his.

Spencer let out a breathy laugh and pulled you into him, arms wrapping tightly around your waist as if he couldn’t stand the idea of space between you anymore. You buried your face into the crook of his neck, grinning against his skin.

“This is real, right?” he asked into your hair, voice muffled. “I’m not dreaming? Because sometimes I do dream about you saying that and then I wake up and it’s just—”

You cut him off with a kiss to the warm skin of his throat.

“It’s definitely real,” you mumbled against him.

Spencer let out a shaky breath and held you tighter. You stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, both of you grinning like idiots. It felt absurdly, wonderfully perfect.

Then you muttered into his neck, “You do know you outed our relationship to everyone, right?”

Spencer’s arms stiffened around you just slightly. “Yeah. Totally. I knew that. I did it on purpose,” he lied, too quickly, voice pitched a little too high.

You giggled and pulled back, hands still resting on either side of his neck. “You’re a terrible liar, Dr. Reid.”

He didn’t even bother to defend himself, just gave you an adorable, crooked grin and leaned in to peck your lips. “Yeah, I am,” he mumbled, brushing his nose against yours.

You kissed him back, just once, then poked a finger into the center of his chest. “Also, we’re going to talk about your little superhero stunt at home.”

Spencer blinked. “Right,” he echoed, suddenly very aware of his earlier reckless attempt to talk the unsub down without backup. “Are you mad?”

“I’m not not mad,” you replied, giving him a look. “But I love you, so I’m saving the full lecture for later.”

He winced slightly, then smiled. “Fair.”

You let your fingers drift through the curls on his forehead, brushing them back gently. “Well,” you sighed, “for now, we have to go out there… into the land of chaos and gossip.”

Realization dawned slowly on Spencer’s face. His eyes widened. “Oh no. Garcia definitely filled Morgan in already.”

“And Rossi’s probably already told Hotch,” you added grimly.

“And JJ and Emily—”

“—were there when it happened,” you finished.

You both stood there in mutual silence for a moment, dread creeping in.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Maybe we could… go out the window?”

You laughed, smacking his chest lightly. “Nice try, genius.”

He gave a helpless little shrug. “I had to try.”

Taking a deep breath, you grabbed the handle of the door behind you.

“Ready?” you asked.

“Absolutely not,” Spencer said without hesitation.

You squeezed his hand anyway. “Come on, lover boy.”

To say that the conference room was chaos would’ve been an understatement.

Garcia let out a sound that could only be described as a squeal-gasp hybrid, immediately launching into a breathless, high-speed barrage of questions that involved timelines and pet names.

Morgan clapped Spencer on the back so hard he nearly stumbled, muttering something about “my boy finally growing up.” JJ just smirked from the corner, quietly sipping her coffee.

Hotch had walked by at one point, muttered something that suspiciously sounded like “About time,” and kept moving without missing a beat.

The jet ride was somehow worse.

You’d sat next to Spencer, hoping for a quiet, post-case decompression. Instead, you were subjected to Garcia and Morgan playing twenty questions from across the aisle. Rossi, pretending to read, chuckled behind his wine glass the entire time. At one point, you tried to rest your head on Spencer’s shoulder, and he’d blushed so hard you thought he might combust.

You weren’t sure if he was embarrassed from the attention or just overwhelmed from finally saying what he’d been keeping in for months. Probably both.

But the days that followed?

Even worse.

Because the teasing never stopped.

Emily sent you heart emojis during briefings. Morgan kept calling Spencer lover boy—which you regretted giving him the vocabulary for. Garcia had created a mood board on her computer and refused to delete it.

Even Hotch raised an eyebrow when you asked to share a rental car with Spencer.

But through it all, Spencer stayed by your side. Every awkward joke, every embarrassing comment, every not-so-subtle glance—he never flinched. If anything, he leaned into it. He held your hand in the bullpen and he kissed your cheek at the end of the day.

It was domestic chaos.

Romantic disaster. Beautiful, awkward, completely perfect hell.

[spidercatweb]

IM SCREAMING AND CRYING THIS IS SO CUTE ATHENA‼️‼️‼️‼️

[softtdaisy]

[blluesiide]

Your hand pushes softly through his curls, your expression quiet and thoughtful. His eyes open, shifting to you, as if he could hear your thoughts. "What are you thinking about?" He gently prompts.

You remain quiet for a moment. "You." You reply as you tilt your head, hand continuing it's ministrations against his scalp.

"Yeah?" He asks, that little high pitch lilt in his voice

"Yeah." You confirm softly.

He watches you for a moment. Then, "You gonna tell me about it?"

You breathe, "I'm just thinking about everything that has happened to you. How everything that happened also lead you to be here. Right now." He blinks, waiting for you to continue, so you do. "Is it bad to consider myself lucky? To be with you?"

"No, why would it?" He asks, eyebrows furrowing a little.

"It's like I'm saying I'm glad you went through so much because it landed you here."

He lets out a soft huff, catching your wrist softly, "I survived all my worst days," he presses a warm kiss to your palm. "So I could spend my best ones with you."

It's cheesy, but it's so Spencer. So you slide a little closer, kiss the corner of his mouth, and linger, waiting for him to press his lips to yours. When he does, your thoughts quiet, overcome by adoration for the man in your arms.

When you part, you trace his jaw. "So, you think I'm lucky to be with you, huh?" You tease.

His face flushes immediately, "That's not what I-"

You laugh, and he stops talking. He knows you aren't serious. The sound of your laughter makes it all worth it. All of it.

[cynbx]

Fantastic story. 🥰

[thebaubreakroom]

I love how Criminal Minds fanfic writers use the “Anderson” character. Like his name is thrown around to advance plot but never actually part of the story. “They got a ride with Anderson”, “Get Anderson on it”, “Anderson went to get us more drinks” CM fanfic writers all unspokenly use him in similar situations and I love it because we all have the same vague memory of who he is. Anderson, our silent hero.

[deerfawnn]

hii i absolutely LOVE your writing,, its just so perfect🤭

may i please request a story with spencer realizing he has a crush on reader and so he starts getting nervous and stutter-y around reader. so then reader gets a little upset thinking she did something wrong and they end up talking about what’s happening and it leads to a confession + kiss

thank you!!💖💖

crush — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: a tiny bit of angst bc reader thinks she did something wrong a/n: hii !! this request is so cute <3 i hope you like this <333

Spencer had it bad. 

Like, really bad. 

It wasn’t even up for debate anymore—he was completely, undeniably, and overwhelmingly crushing on you.

Right now, he was sitting at his desk, staring at you as you leaned casually against it, deep in conversation with Emily at her desk across from his. You were animated, gesturing with your hands as you made a passionate argument. 

“No, look, the movie sucks,” you insisted, pointing a finger at Emily. “You have to read the book. It’s so much better.” 

Emily rolled her eyes but smirked, clearly enjoying the debate. “I don’t know, I think the movie has its moments—” 

“Absolutely not.” You cut her off, shaking your head. “The book has so much more depth. The movie just—” You let out a dramatic sigh, exasperated. “It butchers it.” 

Spencer wasn’t even listening to Emily. He was too busy watching you, completely entranced. 

Two days ago, he’d come to a life-altering realization. 

He liked you. 

Not in the casual, oh-she’s-nice-to-be-around kind of way. No. This was the heart-racing, brain-melting, can’t-think-straight-when-you-smile-at-him kind of way. 

And it had all started with a cup of coffee. 

You had placed it in front of him, your fingers brushing his for a fleeting moment as he reached for it. A harmless, everyday interaction—except that it wasn’t harmless. Because then, you had smiled at him. Soft and warm. 

“New tie?” you had asked, tilting your head slightly as you pointed at the green tie he was wearing. 

Spencer had looked down at it, momentarily forgetting how words worked. “Oh—uh—yeah. Yeah, I got it yesterday.” 

You had grinned. “Looks good on you. I like it.” 

And then, as if your words hadn’t already short-circuited his brain, you had reached out—just for a second—adjusting the fabric between your fingers before turning away and heading back to your desk. 

That was the moment. The exact second Spencer knew he was doomed. 

And now? Two days later, he was struggling. 

Struggling to focus. Struggling to act normal. Struggling to not stare at you like you were the most fascinating thing in the entire world—which, let’s be honest, you were. 

“Spence.” 

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he blinked, suddenly hyper-aware of how close you were. You had turned to him now, one hand resting lightly on his arm as you smiled. 

“Tell her the book is better than the movie,” you said, tilting your head toward Emily. “Back me up here.” 

Spencer knew, logically, that he had said those exact words to you a few weeks ago. He agreed with you. He had data, facts, and literary analysis to support the claim. It was an easy argument. 

And yet— 

He was completely, entirely tongue-tied. 

You were looking at him expectantly, your touch burning through the fabric of his sleeve like a brand. 

“I—uhm—I think—” He swallowed, feeling his face heat up. 

You frowned slightly, confused by his sudden inability to form a coherent sentence. 

He needed to get it together. 

“Yes,” he finally forced out, clearing his throat. “Uh, the book is—definitely better. Than the movie.” 

You grinned, triumphant. “See? Told you.” 

Emily just smirked at Spencer, amusement flickering in her eyes. 

You, then , watched as Spencer quickly withdrew his hand from your touch, avoiding your eyes like it physically pained him to look at you. 

And over the next day, it kept happening. 

It was subtle at first—small moments that could’ve easily been brushed off as coincidences. But then they started piling up. 

Like when you were working on the geographical profile together. You had been standing close to him, pointing at a section of the map, asking for his input. But instead of responding immediately, Spencer had frozen. 

Completely. 

You had glanced up, expecting one of his usual rapid-fire responses, filled with statistics and insightful observations. But nothing came. Instead, he stood there, his jaw slightly clenched, his fingers gripping the edge of the table.

You had frowned, waiting. 

A long, awkward silence stretched between you until someone else had walked by, snapping him out of it. He mumbled a quick, barely audible response before abruptly walking away. 

Then there was the night the team went out for drinks. You had slid into a booth at the bar, expecting Spencer to take the seat beside you—like he always did. It was a habit. Something that just was. 

Except this time, he didn’t. 

He sat at the far end of the table, wedging himself between JJ and Rossi, not even acknowledging you. 

That was when the doubts started creeping in. 

Had you done something wrong? Had you said something to upset him? 

You replayed the past week in your mind, searching for anything that might have caused this shift. But there was nothing. At least, nothing you could think of. 

Still, it didn’t stop the sinking feeling in your chest every time Spencer avoided your gaze, every time he hesitated before answering you, every time he refused to sit near you. 

And now, back at Quantico, the case closed, reports needing to be filed, you sat at your desk, watching him. 

The office was quieter than usual—most of the team had taken the morning off to rest, leaving only you and Spencer to handle the paperwork, just as you always did. 

Except this time, Spencer wasn’t talking to you. 

He sat across the room, his eyes fixed on his files, his pen moving rapidly across the paper. And still—not once—did he look up at you. 

Your fingers curled slightly against the report in front of you, a dull ache settling in your chest. 

The silence between you was suffocating. 

Hours passed, the only sounds filling the room were the scratch of pens against paper and the occasional shuffle of files. It was unnatural—terribly unnatural. The two of you were never this quiet around each other. 

Spencer wanted to talk to you. He always wanted to talk to you. But every time he opened his mouth, he managed to embarrass himself. So, he just... stopped trying. 

And then there was the other problem—his newfound hyper-awareness of you. 

Every touch, no matter how small, felt like an electric current running through his skin. Like when the two of you were sitting in the back of the SUV on the way back from a case, and your knee had accidentally brushed against his. It had been nothing to you, a completely normal, casual thing. But to him? To him, it had set his entire body on fire. 

Or when you touched his arm , casually, the way you always did—except now, it wasn’t just casual to him. Now, it was overwhelming. Too much. 

So he did what he thought was best—he avoided it. Avoided you. 

It was time to leave, and coincidentally, both of you started packing your bags at the same time. 

Somehow, despite everything, you still moved in sync. 

It was a habit at this point. You always left work together, falling into step beside one another like second nature. Some nights, you’d end up at the movies, where Spencer would hesitantly—almost shyly—share his food with you. Something he never did with anyone else. Not with his germophobia. Not even with the team. 

But with you it had never been a problem. 

Other nights, you’d wind up at his apartment, curled up on his couch, just hanging out. Just you and him. And in hindsight, Spencer supposed he should’ve seen this coming. 

Should’ve realized that whatever this was—whatever you were to him—wasn’t just friendship. 

Maybe he’d been crushing on you all along. 

The two of you walked to the elevator, the air thick with awkwardness. You exchanged shy smiles, unsure of what to say or do.

Finally, you both spoke at the same time. 

"Are you okay?" 

The words tumbled out of your mouths in perfect unison, and for a moment, you both froze, staring at each other. Then you both chuckled awkwardly, the sound breaking the tension, just for a second. 

“Go ahead,” Spencer nodded at you, pressing the button to call the elevator.  

“You—just... I feel like I haven’t talked to you properly in ages,” you admitted, a nervous laugh escaping as you fiddled with the strap of your bag. 

Spencer looked away quickly, a guilty blush creeping up his neck. 

Oh god, why couldn’t he just act normal around you? 

“Did I do something wrong?” You blurted out, suddenly worried. "Because I—I’m not entirely sure what it was, but you haven’t been looking at me, or talking to me, and I’m just—” 

Before you could ramble on any longer, Spencer cut you off. His voice was a little too loud, too eager. 

“No, no, you didn’t do anything wrong!” He shook his head quickly, almost desperately, as if trying to reassure you. His wide eyes met yours, and there was a softness in them. “I promise.” 

The elevator doors slid open, and the two of you stepped inside. 

You pressed the button to the ground floor, still watching him, trying to make sense of everything. 

“So, what is it then?” you asked, your voice more hesitant now, as the elevator began its descent. 

Spencer bit his lip, his fingers nervously tapping against the strap of his bag. What was he supposed to say? That he had a huge crush on you, but he couldn’t even stand to be near you without fumbling through his words and avoiding your gaze? It sounded so stupid when he thought about it. 

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, staring at the doors in front of him as the elevator descended slowly. His mouth opened, but no words came out. 

“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” you pointed at him, a hint of teasing in your voice, but the concern still lingered. “You’re acting like this because something’s going on, and I’m just—I don’t know what it is.” 

Spencer’s heart raced.

The doors finally opened, and you both headed towards the exit , where you stepped out into the chilly night air. You instinctively pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, waiting for him to speak. 

Spencer hesitated again. His mind was spinning.

“No, I swear it’s not you,” Spencer muttered, tugging on the strap of his satchel, trying to buy himself some time. “It’s just I—I…” 

You waited, eyes fixed on him, your breath fogging in the cold air. You were getting impatient, and the more time passed, the more you started to worry that whatever had been going on was something you had no control over. Something that was maybe your fault. 

You were now standing by your car, watching him. Spencer looked torn, his fingers gripping the strap of his satchel tightly, his body tense like he was debating whether to run or stay. His lips parted slightly, and then, as if he couldn’t hold it in anymore, the words tumbled out. 

“I like you.” His voice was quiet.

For a moment, you just stared at him, confusion flickering across your face. 

“I… didn’t realize you disliked me until now?” You frowned slightly, your voice uncertain, trying to make sense of what he was saying. 

Spencer’s eyes widened in panic. “Wait—no!” He rushed to correct himself, shaking his head frantically. “That’s not what I meant—I didn’t mean that.” 

His breath came out in a nervous puff of air, his cheeks burning red as he struggled to find the right words. 

“I mean—I like you. Like, like like you.” His voice dropped to a mumble, the last part barely above a whisper. “Like, I have a crush on you.” 

He swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest as he finally said it. 

And then, silence. 

His eyes darted to you hesitantly, searching your face for a reaction, his stomach twisting with anticipation. 

You stood frozen. Did he just say what you think he said? 

“I… what?” you blinked, your breath hitching. 

Spencer’s face was already bright red, his hands fidgeting nervously at his sides. He looked like he wanted to disappear into the pavement, like he regretted saying anything at all. His voice had been so quiet at the end, barely above a whisper, but you heard him. 

He liked you. Like liked you. 

“I have a crush on you,” he repeated, this time slightly louder, but his voice was still laced with hesitation. His eyes flickered between yours and the ground, as if he was trying to gauge your reaction but couldn’t bear to look for too long. “That’s… that’s why I’ve been acting so weird.” 

A rush of emotions hit you all at once. Relief. Surprise. And something else—something warm, something thrilling. 

You let out a small breathy laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “Spencer, you’ve been avoiding me for days because you have a crush on me?” 

He winced slightly. “Yes?” 

A smile tugged at your lips. The pieces started falling into place—the nervous stammering, the awkward silences, the way he’d flinched at even the smallest touches. You had spent the entire week wondering if you’d somehow upset him when, in reality, he was just… flustered. 

Over you. 

It was almost funny. No—it was funny. 

Spencer watched you carefully, his anxiety spiking at your silence. He had just spilled his feelings to you in the most awkward way possible, and now you were just standing there, staring at him with this unreadable look. He braced himself for rejection, for you to awkwardly brush it off, for you to tell him that you didn’t feel the same way— 

Instead, you smiled. 

And then you laughed. 

Spencer blinked. “Are you—are you laughing at me?” He sounded both confused and slightly horrified. 

You quickly shook your head, even though you were still grinning. “No! No, I swear, I’m not laughing at you.” You bit your lip to stifle another giggle, but it wasn’t working. “It’s just—you’ve been torturing yourself over this ?” 

Spencer huffed, looking away. “I wouldn’t call it torture—” 

“You literally stopped making eye contact with me.” 

“That’s—okay, that’s fair.” He sighed. “I just… I didn’t know how to act. Every time I tried to talk to you, I ended up embarrassing myself, and I figured it would be easier if I just… didn’t.” 

You softened at that. 

“Spence,” you said gently, reaching for his hand before he could overthink it. The second your fingers brushed his, you felt him stiffen. But he didn’t pull away. “You know you could’ve just told me, right?” 

He let out a breath, finally meeting your eyes. “I was afraid that if I told you… things would change.” 

You squeezed his hand lightly, feeling a rush of fondness for him. His brain was the most brilliant one you’d ever known, but sometimes he made things so complicated. 

“Well, things are going to change,” you admitted, watching his expression closely. 

His heart stuttered. “Oh.” 

A flicker of panic flashed across his face, and you quickly squeezed his hand again before he spiraled. 

“Not in a bad way,” you reassured him, stepping a little closer. You tilted your head, smiling softly. “I like you too, Spencer.” 

Spencer’s breath caught. “You…?” 

“Mhm.” 

He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to process your words, as if he hadn’t even considered the possibility that you might feel the same way. 

And then—oh. 

Oh. 

His entire body relaxed, the tension melting from his shoulders. He let out a breathy laugh, running his free hand through his hair as he shook his head. 

You smiled as you leaned back against your car, watching the relief wash over Spencer.

He stared at you, his eyes flickering between your own and your lips, and you could practically see the thoughts racing through his mind.

Spencer swallowed, his hands fidgeting at his sides. And then, as if the rush of confidence from his confession hadn’t completely worn off yet, he asked, “Can—can I kiss you?” 

Your stomach flipped at his words, your smile widening. “Thought you’d never ask.” 

Spencer exhaled something that sounded like half a laugh, half a breath of relief, before you reached for him, your fingers curling gently around the fabric of his cardigan as you tugged him toward you.

He let out a shaky breath, his hands hovering for only a second before settling on your cheeks. His fingers were warm despite the cold air.

His fingertips barely grazing your skin like he was memorizing the shape of you. His thumbs brushed your cheeks, and for a second, he just looked at you—like he wanted to take his time, like he wanted to remember everything about this moment before it even happened.

Then, finally, he leaned in. 

The first touch of his lips was soft, almost tentative, as if he was giving you a chance to pull away. But when you didn’t—when you kissed him back just as eagerly—he let himself relax. His hands cupped your face more firmly, his body leaning just slightly into yours.

You sighed against him, your hands sliding up to rest against his shoulders, your fingers gently threading into the curls at the nape of his neck. That was all it took. You felt him shiver slightly under your touch, a quiet hum of contentment vibrating in his chest.

When you finally pulled away for air, your foreheads rested together, both of you breathless but smiling.

Spencer opened his eyes, his pupils slightly blown, a soft, dazed smile tugging at his lips.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he murmured.

You chuckled, your hands still resting against his neck. “You really thought I didn’t like you back?”

He huffed out a small laugh, shaking his head. “I don’t know. I guess I just didn’t want to get my hopes up.”

You brushed your thumb along his cheek, tilting your head playfully. “Well, you should’ve. Because I really like you, Spencer.”

His smile widened, something utterly adorable in the way his entire face lit up at your words.

“I like you too,” he said again, as if he still couldn’t believe he was allowed to say it out loud.

You grinned. “Yeah, I think I got that part.”

[cynbx]

Fantastic story. 🥰

[foxy-eva]

How to start out as a Fanfic Writer

I occasionally get asks about how to start writing fanfic and how to increase engagement, so I decided to make a post with some advice!

Find joy in creativity My first advice is to write about the things you personally enjoy and really want to bring to paper. Practice your writing and read other people's work (and books) to find your own voice and writing style. It's about having fun and not about being perfect. And please please please do not use AI.

Participate in writing events I know there aren't that many in this fandom anymore but some people still host writing challenges or events and will reblog your work or post a masterlist with your fic if you participate. This way more people will notice your story.

Support other writers If you want to get other people's attention, you have to actively engage with other fanfic writers. Read their works, reblog it and leave nice comments. Make a rec list with the stories you liked. Other writers will notice and might check out your blog at some point because they recognize your name. That's how I became mutuals with a bunch of blogs with a much larger following than me.

Find a community One of the best parts about posting fanfics is being part of a fandom and getting the chance to find other people who love the same things you do. Not only is it incredibly rewarding to be part of a community, it also helps with increasing engagement on your fics. People you regularly talk to will be more likely to read and reblog your stories! This doesn't just happen out of nowhere and "bigger" writers don't suddenly have a few chosen ones who become their friends. We all started out somewhere and prioritized talking to other people in the fandom. You have to actively message them, join a discord etc. Before I posted my first fic I reached out to one of the largest CM fandom blogs at the time and now she's my best friend and we even met in person. Isn't that wonderful?

Use the right tags Tagging your posts appropriately is very important so people can find your stories. You can look at the tags of well-performing fics in the fandom and see what they used. I always check if my fic actually appears in the tags after posting because sometimes tumblr randomly shadowbans certain words and will hide your post. That really messes with engagement!

Be patient Trust me, I know how frustrating it is to put so much work into a fic only for it to not get that many notes. That's not a skill issue! Sometimes people just get lucky with a post and it blows up right away. I wasn't that lucky. It took at least 6 months of me regularly posting stories until my fics finally started getting more notes.

That's all I can think of for now! I hope this post is helpful to some of you. You can always come into my inbox or my dms if you need advice about writing, I'm very happy to help! I love finding new writers and making new friends in the CM fandom, so please don't hesitate to reach out to me.

[flametrashira-deactivated202505]

my dream as a fanfic writer is to write a story which people want to talk to me about and send asks about afterwards and discuss things the characters did and the symbolism and meanings behind certain lines and I'll be all "hehe thanks" but irl I'll be in literal tears because I wrote something that means something to someone

[bethsvrse]

STOP MAKING MY LIL AWKWARD NERDY BOYS BE CONFIDENT AND SO SURE OF THEMSELVES!!! I LIKE THEM BECAUSE THEY’RE NERDY NOT BECAUSE YOU FANFIC WRITERS MAKE THEM EGO MANIC ASSHOLES

[threadbaresweater-deactivated20]

it's okay if you're not on a rec list

it's okay if you don't have 1000 followers

it's okay if you haven't written as much as you wanted to this year

it's okay if you doubt yourself

it's okay to want more attention

it's okay if you're too shy to share your work

you are valued. you are here. you are important.

there's at least one person out there who recognizes you and looks forward to what you have to say.

you belong.

[codename-mom]

The boiler breakdown

Summary: It's winter, the boiler in Hotch's appartment is down and there is no repairman available. Jack has to sleep with his father and as a sleep-talker, he has an interesting point of view on all the members of the BAU team

Characters: BAU team (Blake era) and Jack

Contents: this text is part of a self-challenge on the theme "It's cute but...". So, it's supposed to be funny and/or cute with a slice of bitterswitness. Hope you'll enjoy it!

TW: well, I think it's just fluff on this one. :)

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

“I'm cold!" moaned Jack, curled up in a ball under his comforter.

He gave his father, kneeling beside his bed, a pleading look, surely hoping that this would be enough to solve the problem that was plaguing him. Aaron stroked his hair tenderly, his heart aching to see his son shivering under his nose.

“I know, buddy, but the repairmen aren't available right now.”

The day before, the apartment's boiler had failed, leaving all its tenants at the mercy of winter's torments. Outside, the snowflakes were falling merrily on the sidewalks or crashing into the windows of homes. A time that the child would have loved under normal circumstances, if the temperature in the home hadn't dropped drastically during the previous night. Warm at school, he had spent the evening glued to his sire, sniffing loudly to remind him how cold it was. The BAU director, for his part, had taken advantage of his office hours to try to contact specialists, but had been offered appointments on unlikely dates, when he had only managed to reach someone.

“Why don’t you do the repairs?”

“Because I don't know how to do that, he confessed. I never learnt. It’s a very specific job. But I can bring you another blanket if you like.”

“No. It won't be enough," decreed the boy, tears welling up in his eyes.

Hotch couldn't decide whether he was really that cold, despite the thickness of his blanket, or whether he was just putting on an act to get his point across. He admitted that it wasn't exactly heated within these walls, but the sweater on his back did the trick for the time being. However, he also knew that children cooled down faster than adults, so it was quite possible that he was really struggling to warm up.

“Okay, he sighed, defeated. Come with me.”

“Where are we going?" Jack asked right away, looking much less unhappy.

“In my bedroom.”

“Is it hotter?”

“No, but you'll be less cold if you sleep with me.”

“Okay.”

The kid flung himself into his arms, a smile up to his ears, and Aaron got up to take him to his own bed. As soon as his little feet were on the quilt, the boy made a strategic withdrawal underneath it and pulled as much fabric as possible back to him. His father watched the strange caterpillar form its synthetic cocoon with unabashed amusement but remained standing by the bed base. Then Jack's disheveled head popped up from the soft mass and saw Hotch's fleeing movement.

“Where are you going?”

“I've got to start the dishwasher, prepare the breakfast table, your schoolbag and a couple of other things," he said as he read the time on the clock radio.

It wasn't even half-past ten yet, so he was a long way from being finished for the evening. In addition to the necessary tasks, he hoped to be able to take advantage of his son's absence around him to manage chores that required a bit of calm.

“Okay, agreed the toddler, very serious. But come back soon.”

“I’m in a hurry.”

He turned his back on him and left the room just after, leaving the door slightly ajar to let in a trickle of light. Despite being seven years old, Jack still needed his nightlight to fall asleep, and would wake up immediately if you had the misfortune to turn it off. Hotch heard some parents boasting that their offspring, sometimes younger, were already sleeping in the dark, "like grown-ups"; but he wasn't the least bit concerned. He knew plenty of adults who wouldn't fall asleep without a light source in their room, and a number of people he'd put behind bars had been forcibly locked in the dark. A punishment that had bruised the shaky psyches of these fragile children. It was out of the question for him to deprive his son of this source of comfort, even if he preferred to sleep in the dark. And he wouldn't push him to follow so-called societal norms that still too often did more harm than good. As long as it didn't endanger his health, he did everything in his power not to traumatize him any more than he already had been through his own fault.

                Back in the living room, he did as he said he would, trying to make as little noise as possible, then took a few moments to himself before brushing his teeth and putting on a T-shirt and pajama pants. A shiver ran down his spine. Without the thick mesh, the cold of the place was more biting. He left the bathroom, checked that all the doors and windows were closed and that the lights were off, then returned to the darkness of the bedroom. A comforter ball stood motionless in the middle of the mattress. The traffic on the nearby road made it impossible for him to hear Jack's breathing and determine whether or not he was already asleep. Reassembling the box spring on his side, he lifted the still-accessible eiderdown and slid underneath. The creature next to him unfurled at once and little hands pounced on his shirt. Clinging to his arm and torso, Jack shivered.

“You’re still cold?”

“Yes.”

“You'll be fine in a few minutes, reassured his father, placing a kiss on his wild hair. Now close your eyes and try to sleep.”

“Good night, Dad.”

“Good night, champ.”

As expected, the child drifted off to sleep less than a quarter of an hour later, gradually loosening his grip on his top. Pacified by his descendant's slow breathing, Hotch fell asleep soon afterwards. Silence fell on the icy apartment. After two hours, the silence was broken by Jack's high-pitched voice.

“Dad?”

Aaron's eyelids opened almost on the spot, and his attention promptly focused on the little being beside him. However, he soon realized that the boy's breathing was still that of a drowsy person, and the glow of the nightlight – which he had brought from the next room – allowed him to see that his eyes were closed. He smiled. He hadn't had much opportunity to welcome his son into his home after his separation from his mother, but the latter – once they'd mended their differences – had confirmed that their creation was the talkative type, even if unconscious. And since taking care of it himself, he had witnessed more than once the curious but harmless phenomenon of nocturnal logorrhea.

“Yes, Jack," he answered without raising his voice too much.

“I love you, Dad.”

“I love you too.”

“Can ‘ have a cookie?”

The FBI agent held back a burst of laughter that could have snapped his son out of his trance and took a few breaths to quell his hilarity. It wasn't the first time he'd had a conversation of this kind with Jack, but their dialogues had always taken an unexpected turn. Tonight was no exception to the rule. Recovering from his emotions, Aaron hilariously replied:

“Sure. Here.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

The child closed his mouth to chew his imaginary cake and quietly went on with his night, as if nothing had happened. Hotch, amused, shook his head, and soon went back to sleep.

                A few days later, the team was called to the other side of the country for a new investigation. In the jet, the agents proceeded as usual, discussing the details of the case in hand and the deployment of each of them once on site. But this time, a smile split Aaron’s usually impassive and serious mask as he completed the casting.

“What are you smiling at? This case isn't particularly amusing,” pointed out a puzzled Morgan.

“It isn't, indeed, he confirmed, before confessing; I was just thinking about something.”

“Something funny, obviously, stressed JJ, curious. May we know what it is?”

“It’s… it’s a thing Jack did.”

“Is he all right?” immediately worried Garcia, who had stayed on the line to ask Spencer something.

“Yes, yes, he reassured her on the spot. It's just that, currently, the apartment's boiler is on the blink.”

Unwilling to open up normally about his private life, Hotch nonetheless threw himself into it, because the cause of his temporary elation was, in truth, the people sitting around him.

“Is that supposed to be funny?” Blake raised an eyebrow, confused.

“Of course not. It's freezing cold in the apartment, but I can't find a technician available, he complained wearily. The first slot I've been offered is in March. It's almost as if all the boilers in Virginia broke down at the same time.”

“Remind us when this is supposed to be fun,” the former liaison agent turned profiler asked, a mocking eyebrow raised in his direction.

“I’ll be there. Jack is too cold in his room, so he sleeps in mine while we wait.”

“Is it warmer there?” said Reid, wide-eyed.

“No. But he's apparently too small to generate enough heat to keep himself warm in bed. Which is paradoxical because it's a real hot water bottle.”

“You must have restless nights," laughed the blonde in a cross-legged dress.

Three years earlier, just after the tragedy, Jack had spent more than one night sleeping in his father's bed, and the latter had had to deal with the little boy's boundless energy in his sleep. Although barely a third of his size, the kid took up a considerable amount of space under and on the comforter, alternating every conceivable position without ever worrying about the presence of his sire beside him. Aaron soon stopped counting the number of times he had been savagely dragged from his dreams by a slap, an uppercut or a kick from his little roommate.

“Well, he wiggles less than he did a few years ago, he noted with some relief, but he still talks in his sleep. And here’s where it gets fun.”

Early on, he and Haley had noticed that Jack made sounds in his sleep. What sounded like gurgles at first became more and more intelligible as the boy learned to articulate words.

“They say people who talk in their sleep can't lie," announced Spencer.

“It’s true, said his superior with a smirk. Which makes for interesting conversations.”

Hotch had remarked that these unconscious gibberish were neither systematic nor very sensed when he let the boy rant on his own, but the situation changed completely when someone came into communication with him at that moment. The child was then curiously able to respond to solicitations in a rather clear manner.

“Like what?” wanted to know the former police officer, intrigued.

“The first night, he started saying that he was loving me.”

“It’s cute!”

“Wait for it, the giant tempered. I tell him I love him too, and he follows up by asking me for a cookie.”

“It wasn't interested at all,” JJ realized while the others laughed.

“Not at all.”

“What did you do?” inquired the youngest of the group, very attentive.

“I said, "Sure, here." He thanked me and went on with his night.”

A good part of the group burst out laughing as they imagined the scene. Others simply smiled.

“You pretended to give him a cookie?" said Derek, a hint of reproach in his voice.

“Obviously, he had one in his dream.”

“It's cute and, at the same time, a bit devious.”

Penelope had a special affection for her supervisor’s son – the BAU’s first-born – and the latter had to curb her ardor regularly to prevent her from literally drowning Jack in gifts. In fact, he understood that she was less appreciative than the others of the trick he had played on his offspring.

“And what else does he say?" continued Alex with her usual serenity.

“As Reid pointed out, people who talk in their sleep can't lie. So, out of curiosity, I asked him for his opinion on each of you.”

“You did that?”

“Don't worry, Morgan, he said you were a cool big brother with great muscles and that when he grew up, he wanted the same arms as you.”

This time, the hilarity was general.

“The arms still need a bit of work.”

“A little bit, yes, smiled Derek, who regularly maintained his musculature. But I’m fine with that.”

“Me? Me?” leapt the analyst from behind her webcam.

“Then he said, "I love Penelope so much! She's so funny, she's so the best and the superhero of the BAU."”

“Oooooh! Is it possible to have this engraved on a plaque that I can hang on my door?”

Her colleagues laughed heartily, and Hotch imagined how Strauss, his superior, would look if he agreed to her request. Already criticizing him for letting the young woman flood her office with toys and photographs, each less professional than the last, he couldn't imagine what she'd say if she came across a sign engraved with this quote. In the back of his mind, however, he noted that it might serve as a gift idea for her, perhaps in the form of a T-shirt.

“In case we haven't already told you, your son is an angel, sir. And I love him so much too.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“What about me? What did he say about me?" said Reid impatiently.

Despite his lack of social skills and aversion to physical contact, the doctor of criminology and other fields got on quite well with children. Surely helped by his still childish mind on many subjects, he had no difficulty talking to them and they naturally trusted him. Jack was no exception. In his own way.

“Spencer, he looks like a giant noodle, but with brain like no other!”

Morgan, Garcia and JJ immediately chuckled, while Blake and Rossi smiled in unison. Aaron tried to hide his when he saw the annoyed look on Reid’s face.

“A noodle?” he repeated, obviously disappointed.

“With a brain like no other," Dave reminded him, not quite able to regain his composure.

“I didn’t say it was always grandiloquent. Or positive.”

He kept to himself the fact that he found the description rather realistic. The young agent was taller than he was, which wasn't noticeable at first glance, since he was usually stooped or lanky, his arms and legs undulating around his scrawny torso. That was for the noodle side. For the rest, those five doctorates and his eidetic memory spoke for themselves.

“Did he say anything about me?" pursued Alex, sitting on the bench next to the square.

Blake had recently joined the BAU, replacing Emily Prentiss, who had left to join Interpol's London branch. The newcomer taught forensic linguistics, but her instinct and natural clairvoyance made her an excellent profiler. Gentle and caring, she quickly took the youngest member of the unit under her wing, and the two got on wonderfully well. An understanding that was echoed by the other members of the team, who rapidly made room for her among them. Hotch, who was very close to her own age, liked her very much and had already spoken to Jack about her, showing him shots of her with the rest of the group.

“He doesn't know you very well, but he said you had a good air. And that you had a pixie side.”

“Pixie?”

“In his vocabulary, that means "mischievous".”

“Perceptive," she said with a wry smile.

“Not that much, I hope.”

The teacher added nothing more, contenting herself with a mysterious pout that did nothing to reassure her supervisor. Apart from Rossi, who was older than him, all the other agents under his command were between ten and twenty years younger than him, and some days their mental age seemed to decrease so much that he felt he was running a day-care center. By hiring someone from his own generation, he had hoped that this new recruit would give him a chance to catch his breath. But that might not be the case.

“What did he say about Dave?”

“Ah, Uncle Dave, Aaron sighed, repeating the nickname Jack always attributed to his mentor. He said, and I quote, "I'd like him to come every day and cook, because with you it's no good."”

This time, eyes widened and mouths dropped open in amazement at the little boy's reflection. Hotch guessed the giggles that threatened to cross some people's lips.

“I admit, it's a double-edged sword, he confessed, remembering that he'd had the same reaction that evening. And he’s not completely wrong, to be honest.”

Indeed, the agency director may have been good at many things, very useful for his work, but he had the peculiar gift of being unable to make anything remotely edible when he tried to cook. It wasn't for want of spending hours listening to his mother explain how to make this or that preparation, but nothing helped. Regularly, he tried his luck again, as soon as something clicked during the night, but to no avail. Jack was clearly doing better than his seven-year-old self.

“I'll make you some boxes," said the novelist pityingly.

“Thank you.”

“And JJ?" went on Derek, who had just remembered that one of the team hadn't yet gone through the toddler's sieve.

“I fear the worst.”

“No, it’s okay, announced Aaron. He said you'd make a great model for Kung Fu Barbie.”

Caught off-guard, everyone hesitated for a moment before laughter erupted from all sides. Evidently, the father had told his son that the slender blonde trained regularly in the martial arts and had no trouble knocking down men of her stature, if not more.

“Oh, my God…” JJ hiccupped, crushing a tear in the corner of her eye.

“If I find one in a shop, I’ll buy it for you.”

“I can’t wait.”

The hilarity began again, then gradually subsided as everyone caught their breath.

“Does he remember anything about the next day?” Blake questioned, concerned.

“Absolutely not. I, on the other hand, remember, he said, before adding. Yesterday, he pointed out that I was no good at DIY, but that he loved me all the same.”

“Honor is safe," joked Rossi as the giggles resumed.

“You know what?”

“What?” answered Morgan.

“I wish all briefings were like this. You have to admit, it's a lot nicer.”

Everyone abounded or nodded in agreement, and the flight continued unhurriedly, the cabin for once bathed in a light, festive atmosphere.

___

An happy new year to all of you! /o/

Thanks a lot for the attention you give to my works. Don't hesitate to leave a comment, I'll be more than pleased to answer it.