Losing Control [ spencer reid x reader ] ✔

1. Spencer

"Come on! It's the last day of winter break!"

You sigh, pushing your Psychology behind Human Behavior book off your lap. "And? We've gone out so much this week already!"

Jamie plops on the couch beside you. "Yes, and? It's the last day of your undergrad winter break."

"Technically, this is the second last day I've had of undergrad winter break," you retort, grinning.

"Yes, whatever, Miss 'I'm getting my second bachelor's degree.'" Jamie pushes her straight blonde hair out of her face and looks at you, her eyes pleading.

You groan. "Fine. We can go to the bar next to the college." A smile appears on your face as you look at your erratic roommate. "We can stay out as late as you want."

Jamie cheers, jumping off the couch and waltzing to her room. You shake your head, chuckling softly as you watch Jamie's figure disappear past the door frame. Looking over at your half read book, you mark your page before closing it. It's a book for one of your upcoming classes: Human Behavior. You try to be a very studious person—reading your lecture books ahead of time, always doing your homework, always studying. It's not like you didn't know how to let loose—you just chose very carefully when those times were. But Jamie is right: you have one more semester left and your second bachelor's degree would be complete. It's time to celebrate, even if the celebrations are a little premature.

Standing up, you stretch as you make your way to your room. Setting the book on your desk, you run your fingers over the wood surface, everything neatly in its place. You like neat and tidy. Whistling under your breath, you rifle through your closet until you find a short red dress, low-cut enough to reveal your cleavage. It's loose around the waist and stomach—you not wanting to show off your figure like that. You don't like to admit it, but your body is probably one of your biggest insecurities.

It's because of the societal pressures of how you think you're supposed to look, you think to yourself. Oh, and the fact that you were relentlessly bullied and have psychological trauma from it.

You curse yourself under your breath. You hate profiling yourself. It's one of your worst habits, and something you're going to have to get over if you want to go into criminal profiling.

Trying to distract yourself from your thoughts, you focus on your hair and makeup. You leave your hair loose around your face and opt for minimal makeup—a little black eye shadow and mascara, some highlight, and red lipstick. Slipping on a pair of black heels, you grab your small black purse, big enough for your ID and some cash. You also throw on a thick black jacket—it is Virginia in the middle of winter, AKA cold as shit.

"Jamie?" You call out as you walk back into the living room. "Are you ready or what?"

"Hold your fucking horses," Jamie calls from her room.

You chuckle, leaning against the kitchen counter. Jamie likes her appearance to be perfect, and most of the time it is. She's the complete opposite of you—confident in her body, able to talk to guys with no problems, an absolute knockout. Despite Jamie's looks and predisposition to be the mean girl type, she's the opposite of that—always willing to help you find new friends, be your wing-woman, one of the most down to earth people you know. She's your best friend.