I know this book is supposed to be fluff on top of fluff on top of fluff but I thought this would be interesting to write. I know it's choppy but it's intentional so hey please enjoy

EDIT: I wrote this before I was caught up on the show and now after watching season ten (spoilers ahead!! proceed to story if you haven't seen s10) and having seen David's daughter's storyline I highkey regret writing this but it's still cute so imma leave it up. the parallel is a lil spooky so listen I'm not saying I could be a CM writer but,,, (this is a joke obviously I'm not that talented please read with a grain of salt)

-

"And you're sure this is him? This is... this is my dad?" You question the private deceive, staring at the picture she gave you. It's the ripped off cover of a magazine, dumb graphics nearly covering the man's face.

"That's him, alright. My money, please?" The impatient PI asks, but you're stuck where you are, sitting at an outdoor cafe. She taps her foot as you continue to scrutinize the image.

"And who's the girl?" You ask, tracing your fingers over where his arm rests on her shoulder, thinking of the years you've missed out on things like that.

"Actress named Lila, can't you read? Everything else is in the file. Money please, kid," she urges you, and you roll your eyes. Finally tearing yourself away from the picture, you hand her a decent sized wad of cash.

"Don't call me 'kid.' I'm sixteen," you say defensively. She scoffs, taking the cash.

"Sure. Sixteen. That's why you're in college and have the money to pay a private detective. No lies there at all," she jokes, and you send her a glare as she finally walks away. You know everyone underestimates you, and you try not to let it get under your skin. But ever since your mother passed two years ago, nothing has been right.

It was always the two of you. She called you her little genius, always claiming you took after your magnificent father, even though you'd never even met him. She would sometimes slip away into her mind, and every time, you knew she was dreaming of him. Every once in a while she'd begin tell you stories about him, but always caught herself and stopped. Despite her obvious infatuation, something always seemed to bring her back down to earth.

"Come on, mom, keep going!"

"No, no more, my little genius. No more."

"Why not? You were at the good part! Now tell me, what did he say next?"

"Sweetie, please. What he said next doesn't matter, because in the end I said goodbye."

"But did he say goodbye too?"

"You're too curious for your own good, my little genius. Now come on, finish your work."

It was strange. You feel so close to your father, constantly having been compared to him and teased with stories of him. Yet at the same time, you didn't know anything about him. Not his name, his face, his job. But now... the file may be thin, but it weighs heavy on your heart as you pick it up.

You look around, feeling strange doing this in a random coffee shop's outdoor seating area. Such a normal place for such a life altering event. Nevertheless, you take a deep breath and prepare to open it.

"Sorry, mom. But I'm his little genius too," you mutter to yourself. But as soon as you're about to open the file, your hands freeze.

What if he's dead? What if you waited too long and you'll never meet him? Or worse, what if he's alive and doesn't want to meet you? What are you honestly expecting? He can't drop everything to take in a child. But what's everything? And shouldn't he drop everything? You're his child. Why hasn't he reached out to you if he's just as smart? If you can find him, he could've found you. Why didn't he? Maybe he didn't want to be found. He was probably married to Lila, living it up in a mansion on his Hollywood bucks. You weren't a mansion kind of girl. Maybe this was all one big mistake.

--

"I'm sorry, miss, there must be a mistake. Dr. Reid has no kids on file, estranged or otherwise. I can't let you in," the secretary says, looking up at you doubtfully. Your hands fidget and you fight the urge to projectile vomit.

"So my dad does work here?" You ask, shifting your weight. The secretary changes her doubtful look to an impatient and angry one. You swallow.

You opened the file. Of course you did. And it told you his name, his credentials, where he works. Your campus was relatively close to Quantico, but you probably would've rushed here even if you were across the country. Finally here, the butterflies in your stomach won't stop fluttering.

"I appreciate your cute little long lost dad act, but this is the FBI. I'm not letting some kid inside. Get out of here now and I won't charge you with anything, alright?" She says, leaning forward like she's making a spectacular offer. You scoff, furrowing your brows.

"You're going to arrest me because I'm inquiring about my father? Seriously?" You ask, genuinely disbelieving. But as soon as you say it, you know you've messed up.

"I don't like that tone of voice."

--

"Keep your voice down!" Hotch scolds Reid as they stand in the break room. Reid sputters and throws out his freshly made coffee, turning to Hotch.

"I'm sorry, Hotch, but a kid? I have a kid?" Reid questions, and Hotch tilts his chin down, looking conflicted.

"I was told that some girl showed up begging to see Spencer Reid, claiming to be your daughter. They don't know how real this is," Hotch explains, and Spencer runs his fingers through his hair. He mutters to himself shortly before finally snapping his gaze back to Hotch.

"Take me to her."

"Are you sure, Reid? If she isn't your daughter, this could be a trap. We can just get Garcia to look into it for now," Hotch warns. Spencer looks at him, sadness hinting behind his eyes.

"But what if she is mine? I know what it's like to grow up without a father. I don't want to be responsible for doing that to anyone else. I could be a dad, Hotch. I can't wait for Garcia. I mean, how can I let that go?"

--

"Let me go! This is ridiculous!" You nearly yell, hoping it'll get someone to open the locked doors. They shoved you away in what appears to be a mix between an interview room and a conference room, a place you presume is used to talk to grieving families. Better than a holding cell, you figure, but still not great. You did a lot of research before coming here, but somehow never expected to see this side of the FBI building.

Then, all hail, your hear the lock click. You're too busy thanking the universe to even look at the door as it creeps open, your gaze focused upwards instead. But when you finally come back down to earth, all thoughts stop.

It's him. Its the man from your picture. Dr. Spencer Reid. Agent Reid. Lila Archer's mystery love interest. A genius. Star of the BAU. The love of your mother's life. Your father. Your father. Your father.

The silence hangs, and you both stare at each other, mouths agape. You can hardly believe you're breathing the same air.

"I'm, uh, I'm Sp- uh, Re-"

"I know," you cut him off as he tries and fails to find a way to introduce himself. He blinks a couple times before simply closing his mouth. He rubs the back of his neck, and it sends goosebumps down your arms. He looks so much like you. No, wait. It's the other way around. You look so much like him. He's your father.

Your subconscious knows you should make an effort to say something, but you're far from forming coherent sentences. How could you? You're looking at him. Flesh and blood. He's right there.

"C- uh, cou- shou- uh... Sit?" He mumbles, and you blankly nod. He slips into a chair, so now he's sitting across from you. You just stand there, staring at him still. None of your senses seem to be working, and for some reason, your muscles aren't picking up your brain's messages to hop to it. He looks up at you, and tears finally start to swell in your eyes. You look so much like him. You look like your father.

"What's your name?" He asks breathlessly, not commenting on how you haven't moved, standing like an idiot. You try to hold in the tears, but one slips down your cheek anyways.

"I look like you. She always said I looked like you," you whisper, ignoring his question, and you can tell that tears are building in his eyes, too. Of course, you had seen his picture and studied it feverishly enough to already know that you looked alike, but this was... this was different. You could hear his breathing, for god's sake. This was so much more real.

"She..." he trails off, looking distant. You clear your throat, finally finding the strength to sit across from him.

"My mother. Do you... do you remember her? Us?" You ask shakily, and he looks at you, absolute devastation in his eyes.

"You... you look like her, too. I remember her. I would never forget. She... she never told me," he whispers the last part, and you can't help it - your tears are freely flowing now.

"She loved you," you whimper, unable to bring your voice any higher. You don't bother worrying if he can hear you, you know he can. Neither of you would miss a word of this.

"I loved her," he replies, and you let out a sob. You slap your hand over your mouth, trying to keep it together.

"Where...?" He doesn't have to finish the question for you to know he's asking about her. You shake your head, sobs taking over your body now.

"No," he says, but you nod through your tears. He takes shaky breaths, tears streaming down his cheeks too.

Of all your careful planning on how this would go, of all the pathways you explored, crying for ten minutes straight never made it in your plans.

Just when you think you may have exhausted all your tears, he reaches his hands out and clasps onto yours, which were resting on the table. The contact startles you, making you jump in your seat. He pulls his hands back tentatively, but you grasp onto them and hold his hands tightly in yours.

You and your father continue to cry for a long time after that.

--

"Sixteen years is a long time to not know who your father is," Rossi speculates. Garcia, Reid, Morgan, and Rossi are all crammed into Garcia's office where she has the security footage of the room (Y/N)'s in pulled up. You're curled up and asleep on a swivel chair, looking strikingly like Reid when he sleeps on the jet. Garcia has to physically hold in her coos, and Reid can't take his eyes off of you either.

"Apparently she knew about me," Reid answers, which makes Morgan and Rossi share a look.

"And yet you didn't know about her?" Morgan asks. Reid shakes his head, exhaling loudly through his nose.

"When her mother left, she cut off all contact. I tried to approach her, write her letters, everything. But any contact from me would make her pick up her bags and move somewhere new. I kept trying, but I was forcing her to lose friends faster than she could make them. Eventually, I knew I had to let her go," Reid says, blinking back tears at the memories. He shoves his hands in his pockets and tries to not think about it.

"So how'd she find you?" Garcia questions, finally glancing up to look at Reid. He keeps his eyes fixed on you, rubbing the back of his neck as he sorts through his memories of their conversation to find Garcia an answer.

After the crying, which Reid desperately hoped had somehow been erased from the tapes, because he was fairly sure he cried like a baby, you two had talked, rapid fire. You both had so many questions, so much to say. It was so overwhelming that eventually he could tell you needed to rest. The second he shut the door, he heard your snores.

"She, uh, hired a private detective," Reid says absentmindedly, still rubbing his neck. Morgan chuckles, placing a hand on his friend's shoulder.

"At sixteen? Guessing that means that she's as smart as you," Morgan teases, making Reid's mouth twitch into a smile.

"She's, uh, she's actually smarter. Her IQ is four points higher than mine. She probably could've hunted me down at age ten if she had wanted to," Reid answers sheepishly yet proudly, and Garcia can't hold in her 'aww' any more, earning amused looks from Rossi and Morgan.

"Baby Reid! Ohh, I just wanna hug her and squeeze her and love her and tell her about the embarrassing things her father's done- ohh, baby Reid!!" Garcia squeals, clapping her hands together. Reid suddenly looks alarmed, glaring at Garcia.

"W-wait, what was that- that last one?"

--

"Aha! That's the last one of the batch!" You yell, pointing an accusing finger at your father. He freezes where he is, muffin halfway in his mouth as he stands in the middle of the kitchen. You stalk in and take it from his hands, and he makes a face of distaste.

"What was that for?" He questions, looking like he wants to argue as you fit the muffin back in its wrapper. Good as new, minus one bite.

"Spencer, come on, I told you to take leftovers to work," you scold him. He rolls his eyes, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand to remove muffin crumbs.

You both agreed it was weird for you to call him Dad, but you did start living with him shortly after meeting. You switched your courses to be fully online (your previous additional online courses stayed, too, of course), and though his D.C. apartment is small, you luckily inherited his tiny frame. Living with him was weirdly easy. Not to mention his constant absences due to work, but you didn't mind those. You took the time alone to perfect your cooking skills, since Spencer is an absolute mess in the kitchen. You didn't think a grown man could really eat takeout that often, but lo and behold... your father. He could barely use the toaster without burning the place down. Talk about genius.

"Wha- Okay, I know for a fact that when I put them in the break room Garcia scarfed down at least three a day. I just wanted one to myself," he attempts to defend himself, and you roll your eyes, sneaking a piece of the muffin for yourself and popping it into your mouth. He clearly sees you and sends you a glare, but you smile sweetly and shrug.

"Go, shoo, I'm making cinnamon rolls today. Tell the team to get psyched, I'm doing homemade icing again," you instruct your father, and he laughs, shaking his head as he picks up his messenger bag.

"Yes, ma'am," he mutters jokingly, parting your shoulder affectionately before leaving for work. Finally, you can get down to business.

--

"Me? What? Why? That's your place of business," you say, wrinkling your nose in confusion. Spencer asked you to come to work with him this morning to help him deliver your cinnamon rolls, but you don't see why he can't do it himself.

"You could, uh, you know, meet the team," he offers, biting into his own cinnamon roll as you two sit at the kitchen counter. As soon as he starts chewing, his eyes go wide.

"What did you make these with again?" He asks, inspecting his roll and licking his lips feverishly, digging into another bite before you can answer him.

"Mh. Glad you like it. But haven't I already met the team? They all made fun of me for not shaking hands either, remember?" You remind him, and he shoots you a look.

"You do remember who gave you your eidetic memory, right? I know that you met them. I just meant, you know, really get to know them," he finishes, stuffing his face as you pout your lips.

"Earlier you said all I had to do was drop in with you. Now you want me to really get to know them?"

"They're my team, (Y/N), I want them to know my daughter," he explains defensively, and you don't know why, but it makes you want to throw your arms around his neck and hug him into oblivion. My daughter.

"What? Why are you staring?" He asks, leaning back and away from you. You blink back tears, unable to identify why hearing those words makes you so emotional.

--

"Penelope, baby, I love you, but you can not get emotional in front of (Y/N). You will scare her off, understand?" Morgan looks down at Garcia as she rolls her eyes up at him. She takes a grip on his hands, moving then from resting on her shoulders to just holding them.

"Please, cutie. I've got this," she assures him, but somehow Morgan doesn't fully believe her.

"Garcia isn't the one you should worry about, Morgan. My money is on Hotch intimidating her," Prentiss cuts in from her desk. Rossi shakes his head, not having it.

"Nah, Hotch has Jack. Don't underestimate his ability to understand parenthood," he defends Hotch, but Emily scoffs.

"Jack hardly compares to a teenage girl, though. Not to mention a mini-Reid teenage girl," she counters, and no one can argue.

"Please don't call me mini-Reid. My name's (Y/N)," your voice comes from behind them, startling the whole group. Spencer stands close behind you, and you hold the box of cinnamon rolls with the same look of distaste your father wears in uncomfortable situations.

The entire team breaks out into smiles, sharing glances at how strikingly similar you two are. They all stare at you appreciatively, scanning you up and down as you shift in place.

"If we're done with the part of this interaction that includes all of you looking at me like I'm a really cool toy, I'd like to serve you my cinnamon rolls now," you say curtly, making most of them laugh sheepishly. Garcia waves you over, and Spencer nudges you forward to meet his family.

--

Several months later, the BAU is the most welcoming family you've ever had. You bring them baked goods and other meals constantly, becoming their beloved but unofficial chef. While it's true that Morgan may complain about you trying to keep him fat, not a single member can deny that your food has opened their eyes to a whole new world.

They're about to embark on a particularly extensive case a distance away, so you decided to surprise Spencer and the team with massive amounts of tupperware-clad meals for them to reheat in their hotel microwaves.

"I come bearing gifts!" You exclaim as you push open the glass doors, not caring about being loud since no one other than the BAU would be in the office at this unreasonably late hour. They all smile and greet you warmly, and even Hotch smiles and comes out of his office when he sees you've arrived with bags and bags and bags full of food.

After some time of distributing containers - each marking their own with their initials, as thievery has been known to hit when your cooking is involved - you nod contently, the job finally done. Spencer is already digging into a sandwich you made for him, and you gravitate towards him, as always.

As much as you love the team, you don't love big groups. Spencer is the only one who knows, though, and he continually finds excuses to pull you away when he senses that you need it. Right now, you're doing your best to send signals that you need it.

"Can I ask you a question, (Y/N)?" Morgan asks, and you take a deep breath.

"You just did," you point out, making him roll his eyes. He chuckles anyways, proceeding.

"Why are you so invested in cooking? From my understanding, all you do is cook, read, and sleep," he says, and you breathe a silent sigh of relief. This is a question you can easily answer.

"People tend to find my behavior less appalling when they're eating my chocolate muffins. I find that people are always more tolerant of me if I consistently bring them baked goods, and recipes are much easier to understand than humans are," you elaborate. Most of them smile, but Emily leans forward and looks at you sadly.

"We'd still love you even if you didn't make us baked goods, (Y/N), you know that, right?" She says reassuringly, and you blush, taking a step back and smiling awkwardly.

"Can we just stick to muffins?" You answer meekly, and they all give you sympathetic looks. You glance to Spencer, your eyes begging him to help. He quickly swallows the bite of his sandwich and wraps an arm around your shoulders.

"C'mon, it's late, and all of this must've taken you forever. I'll ride the subway home with you so you don't fall asleep and miss our stop again- is that okay, Hotch?" Spencer says, letting you lean on him as he looks to his boss for approval. Hotch tries to suppress a smile as he nods, and you wish Spencer hadn't mentioned you falling asleep on the subway. As he turns and leads you out of the office, you elbow him.

"That was totally embarrassing, dad," you say through gritted teeth, making him laugh openly and tug you closer as he pushes open the glass door for you.

Neither of you notice, but the team does - you broke your agreement to call him Spencer, slipping up and saying dad instead. Garcia buries her head in JJ's shoulder, trying not to squeal too loud.

Anyone could see how alike you two look, and it didn't exactly take a group of profilers to figure out that you loved each other. And as you stand in the elevator with your father, the love you feel is truly unreal.