aftergubler

[aftergubler]

i want his arms around my neck so badly

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spencer cullen!!!!

he look like a vampire here, and i would love to feel his teeth in my neck fr

[aftergubler]

omg i need more of this!!!!!!

femme fatale

prompt; toxic reader that keeps coming back to spencer when she finds out he’s started dating someone new ‘cause she knows he can’t resist her.

cw; toxic! relationship, reader being a little shit, cheating, arguing, spencer being rough, talks of spanking and punishment, smidges of bdsm?, heavy kissing, make out session, poor max, inspired by s15ep06…

you’re smiling, as pretty as ever as spencer opens the door.

“what are you doing here?” you pout at his harsh tone, his arms crossing over his chest as he stares you down.

“aw. so angry…” you tease him. “aren’t you gonna invite me in?”

“no.” you chuckle. “you can’t keep doing this, y/n. i’ve moved on.”

“have you now?” you step forwards, and him, backwards.

“yes, i’m with max now. so i need to ask you to leave.”

you step inside his apartment, completely ignoring him and looking around. nothing’s changed since the last time you were here. every book is on its place, every photo and picture still hands from its hooks on the walls. it smells like him. you love it.

“is this her?” you take a polaroid from the wall, showing it to him. when he doesn’t answer you hum. “she’s cute.”

“stop it.” he tries to take it from you, but instead you move away your hand quickly, keeping it.

“or what? you’re gonna punish me? you loved to do that.” he groans, but you know that the memories affect him. you smirk. “remember? my pretty ass all red with the imprint of your hand?” you purr.

“enough.”

you sigh. “so boring. that max girl has make you boring.”

“no she hasn’t, she’s the best thing that has happened to me.”

“and a liar.” you rectify yourself, and he almost rolls his eyes.

“what are you doing here?” he asks again, getting tired of these games.

“i want you back.” he closes his eyes, and sighs.

“you always do this… you can’t keep coming to my apartment every couple of months expecting to get me back, y/n, not when you were the one who broke up with me.”

“why not? i always get what i want.” you bite down on your lip, rising your free hand to caress his cheek, but he captured it before you could reach him.

“not this time.” his grip tightened and you moaned for him.

“that’s the spencer that i like. i bet miss little perfect is a vanilla in bed. don’t you miss it?” you step closer. “miss me?” he stares into your eyes.

“no.”

“so many lies. you seem to forget i too am a profiler, baby.”

“shut up. don’t call me that.”

“make me.” you whispered against his lips, smirking when you see the change in his eyes, on his body. you had won, again.

spencer was quick to let go of your hand and cup your face with his hands, pulling you in in a rough and heated kiss. you quickly corresponded. god, you’ve missed this.

his tongue pushed into your mouth with a groan. he was kissing you as if he were starved. as if he had been drowning and you were air.

“spencer, thanks for the flowers, you didn’t have-“ the door of his apartment opened, and spencer hurriedly pulled away from you, but it was too late, an astonished max had already seen the two of you kissing.

you smirk and wipe your lips with the back of your hand. “hi, max.”

she stares at the two of you, before letting go of the key —that you had told her would be under the doormat in the card of the flowers you’d sent her and in which you’d asked her to come to spencer’s apartment— and the flowers and turned around to walk out.

“max! wait!” spencer tried to go after her, but stood helpless at the door frame. it was too late. he turned to look at you and you smiled.

“oops?”

-

a/n; i actually love this prompt and reader.

[aftergubler]

I have the entire twilight saga and 3 bridgerton books that are untouched but i have read every spencer reid fan fic i can find on here

[aftergubler]

he look like a vampire here, and i would love to feel his teeth in my neck fr

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THIS!!!

They. Better. Not.

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I love early seasons Reid sm

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the people in twitter/x are soooo annoying they fight over EVERYTHING

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i love you sweater vest boy, i love you

[aftergubler]

tempted to change my profile picture because BRO IS SO HANDSOME WHAT THE FUCK

ngl I first thought that pic was from 10 years ago not literally last week.

[aftergubler]

i love his long hair so bad i really wanted to run my fingers through his hair

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i NEED this man, it's not a joke anymore, i'm serious!!!!!!

[aftergubler]

me too!

Spencer Reid with the fbi vest

i have the dirtiest thoughts when he's wearing the fbi vest

[aftergubler]

look at me with those big puppy eyes and i'll be on my knees in five seconds

[aftergubler]

he listening to her talking about music 😭 so cuteeee

i'm looking forward to the next chapter!!!

the girl with a pearl earring // s.r.

s.r. & fem oc

word count // 1.9k

**this is season two spencer, but with rossi as opposed to gideon and emily as opposed to elle!

chapter three is here already! i got v motivated and had time to kill soooooo here we are!

shoutout to my number one supporters @aftergubler and @darkmatilda

—————————

Dr. Nicole Sterling is brilliant, composed, and impossible to rattle—until she meets Dr. Spencer Reid. He’s awkward, logical, and far too observant for her comfort. She challenges his intellect; he sees right through her walls. As their partnership grows, so does the tension between them—built on quiet glances, unspoken truths, and moments that linger just a little too long.

They’re opposites in every way. But sometimes, opposites aren’t meant to clash—they’re meant to fall.

—————————

Chapter Three: Composition VIII

The police station buzzed with activity, but Nicole felt the energy settle over her like a blanket she had long since learned to wear. Her sharp eyes scanned the room—officers on phones, papers shuffling, a corkboard laden with photos of the victims. She took a steadying breath, the weight of the case settling deeper into her mind.

Hotch gestured toward the corkboard. “Let’s use this to regroup. JJ, Rossi, gather the latest reports from the officers here. Morgan, check in with Garcia about potential leads.”

Nicole moved with Spencer toward the board, her thoughts churning. She glanced at the photos of the victims, their serene expressions at odds with the violence of their deaths. Her mind ticked through the case details as though flipping through pages of sheet music, searching for the pattern she knew was there.

“These aren’t just victims,” she murmured, almost to herself. “They’re symbols.”

Spencer, always attuned to the quiet moments, turned his attention to her. “What do you mean?”

Nicole paused, gathering her thoughts. “The way he’s posed them, the precision of the notes in his sheet music. It’s not just about the music itself. It’s about creating a legacy. Each victim represents a movement in his symphony.”

Spencer nodded slowly, his fingers tapping an unconscious rhythm against his notebook. “The final movement,” he said, voice trailing off as he glanced back at the board. “But what’s missing?”

Nicole frowned, staring at the images. Then, almost without thinking, she reached out and straightened one of the photos that had been pinned slightly crooked. The small act felt grounding, a way to impose order on the chaos.

Spencer caught the motion and smiled faintly. “You’re very precise,” he said, his tone almost teasing. “It’s... impressive.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, a small smile tugging at her lips despite herself. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Before the moment could linger, JJ hurried over, breaking the brief levity. “We’ve got another victim. Jakob Rosen just abducted Clara Nguyen, a pianist. Witnesses saw him force her into a car outside a concert hall.”

Hotch joined them, his expression grim. “Garcia tracked his vehicle to an abandoned theater downtown. Let’s move.”

———

The crumbling theater loomed ahead, twilight casting long shadows across its facade. Nicole’s heart quickened as they approached, the faint strains of classical music drifting out into the cold air. It was hauntingly beautiful yet discordant, the notes clashing as though fighting to find harmony. Her mind honed in on the sound—Rosen’s message, raw and desperate.

Hotch’s orders came swiftly. “Morgan and Rossi, secure the perimeter. JJ and Prentiss, cover the exits. Reid, Nicole, you’re with me.”

Nicole followed Spencer through the dimly lit corridors, her steps quiet on the worn carpet. She kept her breathing steady, her mind sorting through what she knew of Rosen. A failed composer, consumed by his inability to meet his own impossible standards. He’d always been striving for something unattainable.

They reached the main auditorium, peering through a crack in the door. Rosen stood on the stage, a figure of manic energy, pacing back and forth. Clara was tied to a chair in the center, trembling but silent. The grand piano beside her held scattered sheet music, a chaotic counterpoint to Rosen’s furious muttering.

“They never understood me,” Rosen said, his voice rising above the music. “But you will. You’ll help me finish what they tried to destroy.”

Hotch signaled for silence, but Nicole’s pulse surged. She saw it in Rosen’s posture—the trembling hand clutching the knife, the erratic movements. He was moments away from breaking completely. She took a step forward, her voice calm and steady. “Jakob,” she called, her tone cutting through the chaos like a clear note.

He froze, his gaze snapping to her. “Who are you?”

“Nicole Sterling,” she said, keeping her hands visible. Her mind raced, piecing together everything she knew about him. “I’m here because I understand. I know what it feels like to have your work dismissed, to have people look at your passion and see nothing.”

Rosen’s head tilted, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “You think you understand?”

“I do,” she said, stepping closer, her heart pounding. She forced herself to focus on his face, reading every shift in his expression. “You’ve poured everything into this symphony. Each note, each victim, represents a piece of yourself. But it’s not complete, is it? You’re still searching for that perfect harmony.”

Rosen’s hand twitched, the knife glinting in the dim light. “It’s almost done,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “She’s the final piece.”

Nicole’s thoughts raced. She couldn’t let him spiral further. “Clara isn’t the final piece, Jakob. You are. Your music is brilliant, but the world will only hear it if you’re the one to share it. Killing her will silence the symphony forever.”

Rosen faltered, his eyes darting between Nicole and Clara. “They’ll hear it? They’ll finally understand?”

“They will,” Nicole said, her voice unwavering. She took another step forward. “But only if you stop now. Let us help you. Let me help you.”

The knife slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor. Nicole let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding as Hotch and Reid moved in swiftly, securing Rosen. She hurried to Clara, untying her bonds with steady hands. The pianist collapsed into her arms, sobbing in relief.

———

Hotch approached Nicole outside the theater just before they all dispersed into their respective cars to return to Quantico. His face was unreadable, as usual, his sharp eyes fixed on her. “A word, Sterling,” he said, his tone steady but not without a hint of seriousness.

Nicole nodded, following him a few feet away from the rest of the team, near an ambulance that stood as a quiet witness to the night’s events. The soft sounds of the crew packing up filled the air as Hotch studied her. “That was a risk,” he said, his voice clipped but controlled.

Nicole took a moment, inhaling deeply, her heart still racing from the tense moments earlier. She met his gaze head-on, unwavering. “I know you said to stay quiet, but I couldn’t just stand there. He was seconds away from killing her.” She wasn’t sure if his next words would be an order or a reprimand, but she stood her ground.

Hotch paused for a brief moment, his expression unreadable, before his gaze softened just slightly. “Good work today,” he said, his voice giving away little but enough for Nicole to let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

“Thank you, sir. Really,” she replied, her tone sincere. She knew that for Hotch, praise wasn’t something easily given, making his words that much more meaningful.

As they turned to walk back toward the group, Morgan swung an arm around Nicole’s shoulders, his grin wide. “Not too bad today, London,” he said, clearly pleased with the way things had unfolded. Nicole looked up at him, a laugh escaping her. “Oh, is that my name now?”

“Yep, unless you’ve got a better one,” Morgan replied with a twinkle in his eye. “It suits you—big city vibe and all.”

“I’m all D.C. now, remember?” Nicole shot back with a playful smirk, teasing him for the familiar nickname.

Morgan laughed, clearly not buying it. “Sure you are,” he said with a shrug. “I’ll stick with London for now.”

———

Later, as Spencer and Nicole drove back toward Quantico, the hum of the car filled the silence between them. The night had settled in, and the streetlights cast a soft, golden glow across the road, illuminating their path like a quiet, fleeting moment. Nicole kept her eyes on the asphalt ahead, her thoughts still tangled in the events of the evening. The tension had barely lifted, but she was grateful that it had ended without further bloodshed. It could’ve gone much worse.

Spencer’s voice broke the stillness, hesitant at first. “That was really, um… great, what you did with Rosen,” he said, his fingers absentmindedly adjusting his glasses as he drove. “The way you got through to him. I mean, you’re really good at that. Not that I thought you wouldn’t be—" He stopped himself, almost tripping over his words. "I’m sorry. I meant—”

Nicole let out a small laugh, cutting him off with a soft smile. “I know what you’re trying to say, Spencer. And thanks, but honestly, it wasn’t that big of a deal. He was on the edge, and I just did what I could to keep him from going over. Nothing special.”

Spencer didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t press further. He simply nodded, his eyes focused on the road. “It’s not easy to connect with someone like that, especially when they’re that far gone. You made him listen. He needed someone to understand, and you gave him that. That’s not nothing.”

Nicole couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips, grateful for his words. “Well, thank you. Really. You’re not so bad yourself, you know. It would’ve taken me far longer to put the dots together if it weren’t for you.”

Spencer glanced over at her quickly, his lips curling into a modest smile. “I guess we don’t make a bad team.”

“I suppose we don’t,” she replied, her tone casual, but there was a flutter in her chest. She was glad for the dim lighting of the car, which hid the faint blush creeping up her neck.

Spencer gave a soft hum of agreement, then his expression shifted, his eyes lighting up with curiosity. "You were humming earlier... it sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Was that Elliott Smith?"

Nicole glanced over at him, surprised. "You know Elliott Smith?"

Spencer blinked and then shook his head. "Not really. I’ve read about him, but I’m not familiar with his music. It’s always been a bit... out of my usual scope." He shrugged slightly, his tone almost apologetic. "I tend to stick to more classical or instrumental stuff. I know it’s not the most exciting answer, but it’s true."

Nicole smiled, amused. "Well, I won’t hold it against you," she teased lightly. "But you should check him out sometime. His music’s... raw, you know? It’s like he’s laying all his emotions on the table, and you can’t help but feel every word. It’s heartbreaking, but beautiful at the same time. Of course, the music itself is stunning too, with all the harmonies and subtle layers. But the lyrics... the lyrics are really what get to you." She caught herself, laughing softly. “I’m completely rambling. I’m sorry.”

Spencer shook his head quickly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “No, no, don’t apologize! You’re passionate about this. Really, I’m enjoying listening. Tell me about your favorite songs. Maybe I’ll check them out.”

Nicole was taken aback by his genuine interest. She wasn’t used to being listened to like this—about the things she loved. At Interpol, her colleagues would listen to her when it came to work, to leads, to strategies on taking down the Crimson Syndicate. But when it came to her own interests—art, music—those things usually fell on deaf ears. Yet here was Spencer Reid, asking her to say more.

“Well, the song I was humming is Alameda,” she began, her voice softening as she shared the details of the song with him. The conversation flowed easily after that, with Nicole revealing more about the tracks she loved, their meanings, the way they made her feel.

By the time they pulled up to the Bureau, the car had grown quiet again, but it was a comfortable silence. As the engine idled and the headlights bathed the parking lot in soft light, Nicole realized something. Maybe, just maybe, there were people who could truly see her—more than just a profiler, more than just an agent. Spencer had shown her a glimpse of that tonight, and it was enough to leave her with a quiet warmth, lingering even as they parted ways.

—————————

hi!!! short calm lil chap but i was in the mood for bit of relationship development! hope u guys are liking this so far :)

[aftergubler]

GO READ THIS NOW SERIOUSLY IT'S AMAZING!!!!!!

can't wait for the next chapters 🤭🤭

the girl with a pearl earring // s.r.

s.r. & fem oc

word count // 2.5k

**this is season two spencer, but with rossi as opposed to gideon and emily as opposed to elle!

this are the first two chapters of my first fic, please enjoy!!! or don't. hate on me. see if i care. (i do)

—————————

Dr. Nicole Sterling is brilliant, composed, and impossible to rattle—until she meets Dr. Spencer Reid. He’s awkward, logical, and far too observant for her comfort. She challenges his intellect; he sees right through her walls. As their partnership grows, so does the tension between them—built on quiet glances, unspoken truths, and moments that linger just a little too long.

They’re opposites in every way. But sometimes, opposites aren’t meant to clash—they’re meant to fall.

—————————

Chapter One - The Persistence of Memory

The sharp clack of her heels echoed against the cold cement floor, each step ricocheting off the bullpen’s industrial walls. Nicole Sterling gripped the cardboard box in her arms just a little tighter, the weight of it steadying her as she crossed the open space. Around her, the quiet hum of the office pulsed—the shuffle of papers, a printer spitting out pages, and the faint drip-drip of coffee into the communal pot.

Ahead, Unit Chief Aaron Hotchner walked with his usual purpose, his pace measured but firm, as though the energy of the room ebbed and flowed in time with him. The glass doors whooshed open in his wake, and Nicole followed, her heart thudding a half-beat faster than it should.

Keep it together.

She forced her fingers to relax their death grip on the box. The stakes today weren’t life-or-death like they had been countless times before. This was just her first day with the BAU. A team of strangers. A roomful of unknowns.

Strangers were easy when they were suspects.

But this? Meeting her new team? This made her palms sweat.

Hotchner glanced back, offering a small nod of encouragement. “Your desk’s just over here,” he said, leading her to a tidy corner of the bullpen. He gestured to the workspace, which sat beside a desk crowded with precarious stacks of books, scattered papers, and a Rubik’s Cube whose colors didn’t quite match. “You’ll be next to Dr. Spencer Reid.”

Nicole set her box down, running her hand across the smooth surface of her desk, testing its solidity. “Thank you,” she said, her voice even but soft. “I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.”

Hotchner’s lips twitched in a ghost of a smile. “I’m sure you will. He can be... particular, but you’ll get used to him.” He turned toward the stairs, his tone shifting back to business. “Come on. The team’s waiting for you upstairs.”

Nicole’s heart gave another stubborn pound as she followed him to the round table room. She’d been through far worse than this—interrogations, surveillance in hostile territories, taking down some of the most dangerous people alive. Just last year, she’d been face-to-face with the leader of the Crimson Syndicate as she dismantled their trafficking network piece by piece.

But as she ascended the stairs, she realized something surprising: she’d never been more nervous.

———

The round table room came into view, the familiar tableau of the Behavioral Analysis Unit already seated—papers spread across the table, a map of Washington, D.C. pinned to the board, and a projection screen set to black. Hotchner entered first, his presence commanding attention.

“Everyone, this is Dr. Nicole Sterling, our new transfer from Interpol,” he announced, his voice as steady as a metronome. “She’ll be joining our team as a profiler. I trust you’ll all make her feel welcome.”

Nicole nodded politely, taking in the faces around the table.

Supervisory Special Agent Jennifer Jareau smiled warmly, a spark of curiosity in her eyes. “It’s great to have you here,” JJ said.

“Welcome,” Emily Prentiss added, her tone friendly but measured.

David Rossi leaned back in his chair with an easy grin. “Interpol, huh? I heard you’ve got quite the track record. The Crimson Syndicate, was it? That’s a hell of a case to have on your résumé.”

Nicole’s cheeks warmed, though she kept her tone modest. “That was a team effort,” she said, shaking Rossi’s hand. “And a lot of luck.”

Derek Morgan chuckled, his handshake firm and welcoming. “Luck, huh? From what I hear, you make your own luck.”

Before she could respond, Penelope Garcia practically burst forward, her bright smile lighting up the room. “Well, aren’t you just a vision?” she gushed, her colorful scarf fluttering as she leaned in. “And that accent! Please tell me you’re secretly royalty or something.”

Nicole laughed, feeling the tension in her shoulders begin to ease. “Hardly,” she replied, shaking her head. “But I appreciate the welcome.”

Finally, her gaze landed on the last person in the room. Dr. Spencer Reid.

He didn’t stand. Instead, he gave her a quick, shy smile, his hands tucked into his pockets. His gaze darted from her to the stack of files on the table, as if he was already moving on to the next thought.

Nicole extended her hand, but before she could say anything, Morgan grinned. “Reid doesn’t do handshakes. Too many germs for pretty boy.”

Reid blinked, adjusting his posture slightly. “Actually, studies show that handshakes spread an average of twice as many pathogens as fist bumps—”

Emily Prentiss cut him off with a laugh. “We know, Reid. It’s not a team meeting without a little germ theory.”

Nicole lowered her hand with a small, amused smile. “No worries. I’ll try to keep my pathogen count low.”

Reid nodded, his lips twitching in what might have been approval before he ducked his head back into his notes. Nicole couldn’t decide whether he was uninterested or simply focused. Either way, she made a mental note to figure him out later.

The conversation shifted as Hotchner returned, his phone in hand and his expression sharp. “We’ve got a case,” he said, his tone snapping the team to attention.

Her first day, and they had a case. If this wasn't Nicole Sterling's luck, she didn't know what was.

—————————

Chapter Two - The Birth of Venus

The meeting around the table wasn’t going the way Spencer had expected.

As Hotch explained the case, Spencer found himself listening with only half of his attention—a rarity for him. His mind kept drifting back to Nicole Sterling.

She sat across from him, her focus entirely on the details Hotch was providing. Calm, attentive, but not passive. It wasn’t just the way she took in the information; it was how she interacted with it. When she asked questions, they were deliberate, incisive, and occasionally caught even Hotch off guard.

Spencer had heard the stories—Interpol’s youngest agent, a psychological prodigy with a reputation so well-earned that veterans of the field regarded her with a mix of respect and envy. But none of that had prepared him for the sharpness of her mind. Or the ease with which she fit into the room.

He knew how overwhelming it could be to join a team like theirs, where personalities clashed as often as they aligned and the stakes were always high. Most people struggled to find their footing in the BAU’s intensity. Not Nicole. She was as steady as a metronome, taking everything in stride.

Hotch gestured to the screen behind him, pulling Spencer back to the present. Photos of the victims—four of them so far—flashed in sequence. Each had been found posed in meticulously arranged positions, their bodies left in quiet, isolated spaces.

“All four victims were composers or musicians who attended the International Classical Music Festival in Vienna over the last five years,” JJ said, clicking through additional files. “Three were killed within the past two months. The first victim, Viktor Novikova, was found six months ago. All of the murders took place in different cities across the U.S., but the connection between the victims is clear—they all attended the same festival.”

Nicole leaned forward slightly, her voice cutting through the room with quiet confidence. “He’s recreating something. This isn’t random. It’s not just revenge—it’s intentional. If he’s targeting composers, the pattern could be tied to their work.”

Spencer couldn’t help but study her as she spoke, noticing the subtle, deliberate way she phrased her thoughts. Her words carried weight—not because they were loud, but because they were precise.

“Why composers, though?” Morgan asked. “What’s the significance there?”

Nicole folded her hands in front of her. “Because composition is about control. About taking something chaotic and transforming it into something structured. If he’s a failed composer, like some of the reports suggest, he could be using these murders to complete the ‘masterpiece’ he could never achieve musically.”

Spencer’s mind caught on her words. “Statistically speaking, offenders who use symbolic systems like music or mathematics to organize their crimes are extremely rare—less than three percent of known serial killers. Of those, the majority are driven by obsessive-compulsive tendencies. The precision of the chromatic scale fits that perfectly.” He pushed his glasses higher on his nose, his thoughts coming faster now. “If we analyze the crime scenes and correlate them with his choice of victims, we might be able to isolate the emotional or psychological triggers he’s working from.”

Nicole turned her attention to him. “Exactly. If we think of his murders as movements in a larger piece, then each victim represents a different element of the composition. And he won’t stop until it’s complete.”

Their eyes met across the table, a flicker of understanding passing between them. It wasn’t the first time Spencer had found himself on the same wavelength as a colleague, but something about Nicole’s clarity of thought was... unnerving. She saw the same patterns he did. Not just intellectually, but intuitively.

Hotch nodded. “Garcia, pull every record you can on the Vienna festival. Look for rivalries, rejected applications, or even canceled performances. Anything that might explain why the unsub is targeting these specific victims.”

“On it, boss,” Garcia said, her fingers already flying over her keyboard.

JJ leaned forward. “One name keeps coming up in connection with the victims. Jakob Rosen. He’s a violinist and composer who attended the same festival. Several sources described him as highly competitive, even volatile.”

Nicole’s gaze sharpened. “Was he ever rejected from the festival?”

JJ nodded. “Once. Five years ago. He applied again the following year and was accepted, but there were reports that he felt overshadowed by some of the more prominent composers, including Novikova.”

Spencer frowned, his mind already racing ahead. “A public rejection like that—especially in an insular, competitive community—could have been enough to trigger someone with a fragile ego. But there’s more to this than rejection. He’s not just lashing out; he’s building something. Every murder is part of a larger framework.”

Nicole finished his thought without hesitation. “It’s not about the individual victims. It’s about what they represent to him. He’s using their deaths to ‘compose’ his final masterpiece.”

For a moment, Spencer didn’t respond. There it was again—that seamless connection, as though she could see the same threads he did and follow them just as quickly.

Hotch broke the silence. “Reid, Nicole, I want you two to focus on the psychological profile. Look for patterns in Rosen’s behavior, his background, anything that explains why he’s targeting these specific victims. Everyone else, keep digging into his connections to the festival and the victims.”

As the team began to disperse, Spencer felt a small knot of apprehension in his chest. Working with Nicole meant spending more time in close proximity to the person who, for reasons he couldn’t quite define, was throwing him off his usual equilibrium.

———

The car ride to the local police station was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and the soft shuffle of papers. Spencer stared out the window, mentally sifting through everything they’d uncovered so far.

Beside him, Nicole flipped through her notes, the drumming of her fingers on the edge of her folder breaking the silence in uneven intervals. Spencer’s mind latched onto the rhythm—two beats, then three, then a pause. It felt almost... deliberate.

“You’re thinking about Rosen,” she said, not looking up from her notes.

Spencer glanced at her, startled. “What makes you say that?”

“You’ve been staring out the window for the last ten minutes, but your fingers haven’t stopped moving.” She nodded toward his lap, where his hand rested on his thigh, his index finger tracing an unconscious pattern against the fabric.

Caught, Spencer forced himself to stop. “I was considering his psychological profile. If Rosen is our unsub, the rejection from the festival might have been the tipping point, but it doesn’t explain the escalation. Statistically, only about twenty percent of rejection-triggered offenders escalate to serial homicide, and even fewer sustain the level of precision we’ve seen here.”

Nicole nodded, her expression thoughtful. “You’re right. The escalation suggests a deeper fixation. He’s not just avenging a slight—he’s trying to prove something.”

“Prove what, though?” Spencer asked. “That he’s better than his victims? That he deserves the recognition they had? Or is it something more abstract?”

“Recognition,” Nicole said, her voice quiet but firm. “He doesn’t just want revenge. He wants his name to be remembered. Every murder is a note in his symphony. When it’s finished, he expects the world to hear it.”

Spencer blinked, her words momentarily leaving him silent. She had a way of putting things that felt... right. Too right. He pushed his glasses up, trying to refocus. “If we can understand what the symphony represents to him, we might be able to predict his next move.”

“Agreed,” Nicole said, her gaze steady. “The question is whether we can find it before he writes his next ‘note.’”

The car fell silent again, but the weight of her words lingered. Spencer couldn’t shake the feeling that, for all his knowledge and expertise, Nicole was seeing something in this case that he wasn’t. And that both fascinated and unsettled him.

—————————

i hope you guys liked this! these are the first two chaps, so it's mainly just filler haha but be ready!!!!!! the chapters will get longer, but i just wanted you guys to have a feel for nicole before we got too far into the story!! feel free to leave feedback hehe

p.s. - i am an art history nerd and so all of the chapters will be named after art. i don't make the rules.

[aftergubler]

Spencer Reid in "truth or dare"

he was so gorgeous and stunning in this episode to distract us from the terrible plot!