#reid ash echoes

[mawu-yama]

am i the only reid fan in this environment.

[airjemsfandump]

He's their love child. You can't tell me otherwise. 😭

[incognit0slut]

Slow Dancing in a Burning Room

This isn’t a love story. This isn’t a fairytale. This is about a woman bent on setting the world on fire and the FBI agent assigned to her case, drawn to the very flame she ignites.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader

Warnings: (18+) Typical CM violence, mentions of sexual assault and trauma, implied sex, fire/arson, and this is basically angst with no happy ending

A/n: For once, I am writing outside my comfort zone. This is heavily based on John Mayer’s song with the same title, Female Rage, and Megan Kane (she did nothing wrong!). Constructive criticism is welcome since I rarely write angst, but please be nice, it's my birthday🥺 (yes my birthday appreciation post is heartbreaking)

You wanted the world to burn.

You wanted to watch the ashes drift through the air. You wanted to smell the acid scent of smoke. You wanted to feel the heat envelop you, to wrap your body like a suffocating blanket. Because simply sitting in silence wasn’t enough for the rage that consumed you, the smoldering anger that craved the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath.

You craved the chaos, but the man lying defeated before you was enough for now. His eyes, wide with horror, stared up at you—the look of a man who knew these were his final moments. He pleaded, his voice cracking in desperation, his hands bound tightly behind his back as you stood there, unfazed.

Please.

I have a family. Think of my children.

Just let me go—I'll disappear, you'll never have to see me again.

That was the problem, wasn’t it? How a man could beg for mercy, could invoke the sanctity of family only when facing his own end. How a man could think that running away could solve everything, believing that his disappearance would erase the past and the suffering he caused.

No, that was a choice you didn’t have. The luxury of forgetting, of escaping the shadows that clung to your every step. Not only was his pleading in vain, it was insulting, as if the depth of his misdeeds could be washed away by mere absence. You wanted him gone. You wanted him dead.

So you gave him a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. Your expression was serene, almost angelic, but it belied the reality of your intentions as your heels echoed through the empty warehouse, a jug of gasoline in hand.

He screamed. Your smile widened. It was useless—no other soul was near enough to hear his cries, too far away to save him. His desperation filled the empty space once again as you poured the gasoline around him, drenching him in its sharp, pungent scent.

Then you took a step back, your hand reaching for the lighter in your pocket. There was a moment of hesitation as you watched him struggle. Could you really do this? Could you cross this final line?

But then the memories surged forward, vivid and painful. He was one of them, one of the people who had taken advantage of your innocence when you were young and naive, who had shattered your trust and left you to pick up the pieces alone, leaving scars that never truly healed.

I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.

Your fingers tightened around the lighter. What a foolish man, who was he to think that a forced apology could undo the damage? With a steady hand, you flicked the lighter, the flame springing to life. His apologies continued, increasingly frantic, but they were nothing more than the desperate noise of a man who had run out of options, out of time.

You threw the lighter. The small flame sailed through the air, landing amidst the gasoline-soaked ground with a burst of fire. The flame caught instantly, erupting into a roaring blaze that engulfed him in a matter of seconds, drowning out his piercing scream.

You continued to watch his body burn, and perhaps for the very first time in your life, you felt a terrifying peace.

~*~

“This is the third body in a week,” Derek mentioned, stepping into the old factory as he slipped his sunglasses on top of his head, scanning the scene before him. It was disturbing. The stench of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.

Spencer looked up from where he was crouched near what was left of the victim. “It’s getting more deliberate,” he observed. “The Unsub is trying to send a message.”

Derek moved closer, carefully stepping over a piece of evidence marked by the forensic team. “What are you thinking?”

He slowly stood up, his eyes assessing the place. There were actually a lot of things on his mind, and one of them being how this third victim seemed more calculated, more precise than the others. It was a stark contrast to the first victim, whose remains were found in a haphazard, chaotic state in that old warehouse.

But this one… everything was meticulously arranged, from the positioning of the body to the burn patterns that radiated outwards in a controlled manner. The Unsub was trying to perfect their methods in a short amount of time, and as much as Spencer hated to admit it, it was almost impressive.

“They want attention,” Spencer finally said, breaking the silence as he mulled over the crime scene. “They’re not just doing this for the sake of it; they’re communicating. Whatever message they’re trying to send, it’s getting closer with each victim.”

“You think they’re trying to tell us something?”

“No, I don’t think it’s aimed at us.” Spencer bit his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing in thought. “They’re trying to make a statement.”

“Like a public declaration?”

“Could be,” Spencer acknowledged, stepping back to view the scene from a different angle. “Or it could be a form of protest or revenge.”

“Burning people for revenge,” Derek mused, crossing his arms. “Now that’s a hell of a way to get a point across.”

“It’s deeply symbolic. Fire consumes everything, leaving nothing but ash. It’s final.” He looked up, his eyes meeting Derek’s. “Whoever is doing this is not just angry, they’re trying to erase their victims from existence.”

“Well, they’re doing a pretty good job at it, we haven’t identified any of them yet.”

Spencer frowned, his gaze dropping back to the scene in front of him. Identifying the first two victims had been nearly impossible due to the extent of the burns. The flames had consumed everything, leaving behind little more than brittle bones and ash. Dental records and DNA tests had been their only hope, and even those couldn’t identify the victims.

He continued to study the body, looking for anything that could help them. The burns were severe, almost total, but then something caught his eye. A faint mark, barely visible under the scorched skin. He leaned in closer, squinting to make out the details. There, peeking out from the blackened flesh on the victim’s forearm, partially obscured by the burns, was a small tattoo.

“I think we might have something,” he said, pointing to the mark.

Derek leaned in, his eyes widening slightly. “That looks like a tattoo.”

“You think we can get this to the lab?”

“We can,” Derek replied as he took out his phone and took a quick photo of it. “But we also have Garcia.”

Spencer watched as Derek quickly navigated through his contacts, his fingers moving with practiced ease. He tapped the screen, putting the phone close to his ear. It didn’t take long for the call to connect, and almost immediately, a familiar voice filled the brief silence through the speaker.

“I knew you couldn’t go a day without me,” Penelope’s unmistakable cheerful voice greeted him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this delightful interruption?”

Derek couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. “Garcia, we need your magic on a photo. There’s a partial tattoo on our latest victim, and we need to know if it matches anyone in the system.”

“Send it over and I’ll sprinkle some of my digital pixie dust on it.”

Derek attached the photo to a message and sent it directly to her. “It’s on its way.”

“Got it,” Penelope replied, her fingers already flying across her keyboard on the other end. “Okay, this might take a while, but I do have more information on our first victim, or I guess you can say, I have all the information that you need.”

“Our first John Doe is identified?”

“Rick Sullivan,” she confirmed. “He was reported missing a week ago by his wife. Turns out he has a bit of a past—multiple arrests for minor offenses, but nothing that would usually make him a target for this kind of violence.”

Spencer leaned closer to Derek’s phone. “Does he have any known associates or enemies that stand out?”

“Not on record,” Penelope said, her voice slightly muffled as she sifted through more files. “But listen to this, his bank transactions show some pretty hefty sums being spent regularly. Guess where most of it is going?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. “Where?”

"To an exclusive strip club on the east side of town called The Velvet Curtain,” she revealed. “Seems our Mr. Sullivan was quite the regular spender there.”

Derek smiled, shaking his head slightly. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”

“Not nearly enough,” she replied with a playful lilt in her voice. “Keep the compliments coming and maybe I’ll dig up even more dirt for you.”

“We’ll need all the dirt we can get. Thanks, Garcia.”

“Always a pleasure, gentlemen. I’ll keep you updated if I find anything else,” she said before ending the call.

Derek turned to Spencer as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Ready to see some strippers, Pretty Boy?”

Spencer glanced back at the charred remains. He’d seen too many bodies, too much senseless violence. There was nothing left that could shake him—not even the neon lights and dark corners of a strip club, or even the thought of being in a room surrounded by half-naked women. He could handle that. He could definitely handle that.

With a slight nod aimed at Derek, he followed him out of the building.

~*~

“Scarlett!” A voice rang through the dressing room. “You’re up in five!”

You swiped the red lipstick across your lips one last time, perfecting the bold arch that had become your signature look as your eyes swept over your reflection, eying the thin straps of your costume. The fabric was a deep, seductive red, almost the color of freshly drawn blood, and barely covered your skin. The material was sheer and see-through, leaving little to the imagination, something you preferred. Because the more skin you showed, the more you felt in control.

This was your armor, the persona you donned to hide the secrets buried beneath your glamorous exterior. As Scarlett, you were a siren. Untouchable. You had power and control, something your life outside these walls lacked.

“Scarlett!”

“I’m coming!” You snapped, capping the lipstick and placing it back in your makeup bag. You stood up, smoothing down your outfit, and made your way to the stage entrance.

The stage coordinator eyed you up and down. “No props for today?”

You shook your head, giving a confident smile. “Not today. I can manage without them.”

He nodded approvingly, moving to the side. “Alright, it's your cue."

You brushed past him and headed down the dimly lit corridor leading to the stage, the familiar rush of adrenaline surging through you. Taking one last deep breath, you finally stepped into the glow of the spotlight. The crowd's attention shifted to you, and you felt the power you had grown accustomed to, the control you desperately craved. The music pulsed through the air as you sauntered toward the pole at center stage.

You started to move.

Your fingers around the cold metal, and your body naturally found the beat as you began to dance seductively, letting the red fabric of your costume shimmer under the lights. A flirtatious smile played on your lips as you glanced around the room, locking eyes with a few patrons who watched. You slid down the pole, bending your knees and arching your back gracefully, biting back a smile as you heard the cheers and whistles from the crowd.

You took in the familiar faces and the usual gazes of admiration and desire, from the sleazy grins of regulars to the guilty looks of married men stealing away from home. But then, two men caught your attention, standing out starkly against the backdrop of the usual patrons.

One of them exuded confidence, his gaze steady and assessing as he watched your performance. The other, however, seemed out of place, his eyes darting around the room awkwardly. At first, he appeared uneasy, shifting uncomfortably on his feet and avoiding direct eye contact. But as you moved, dancing with the pole and letting your body sway to the rhythm, his gaze gradually settled on you. 

You had never seen him before. He was unexpectedly handsome, with soft curls that danced along the edges of his face and soft features that made him beautiful, almost angelic. But there was something more about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he seemed to blend in with the shadows, making him nearly invisible among the brasher, more excited crowd. His presence was so out of place and yet so focused on you that it spurred you on. 

With a teasing smile, you tugged at the thin strap of your top, playing with it as you danced. His eyes followed the movement, his breath catching slightly as you slowly slid the strap down your shoulder. The fabric slipped further, revealing more of your skin as you twirled around the pole. 

You then arched your back and bent low, the thin strap finally gave way, allowing your top to slide down your body, exposing your perky breasts to the crowd. His eyes widened slightly, but he couldn't look away. Neither could you. For a moment, it was just the two of you, locked in a silent exchange as the cheers and applause became a distant hum in the background.

You could see the conflict in his eyes—part fascination, part restraint—and it only made you bolder. You slipped the last piece of fabric down your legs, and with each sway of your hips, you drew him deeper into your world, determined to leave a mark on his memory.

~*~

“Just talked to the club owner,” Derek mentioned as he walked over to where Spencer stood, hiding in the corner of the room. “He gave us permission to question the dancers.”

Spencer nodded, but didn’t say anything. Derek raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m… fine.”

Derek gave him a knowing look. “Your first time being at a place like this?���

Spencer’s gaze lingered on the stage. That would be a good excuse for why he was acting this way, but it wasn’t the truth. He grew up in Las Vegas, after all. Even though he rarely found himself in these types of scenes, he knew what went behind the walls. He was aware of what happened inside clubs, the performers, and the whole spectrum of human behavior. But he had never seen someone so… mesmerizing.

His mind was still processing the way you moved, the way you commanded the room with such effortless confidence. The way you shamelessly captivated everyone’s attention, including his.

No, it wasn’t the setting that threw him off—it was you.

“Reid?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m here,” he managed, snapping back to the present. “So the dancers?”

Derek nodded, sensing Spencer’s momentary distraction but choosing not to comment.

“Yeah, we need to start talking to them. With these many dancers, I think it’s better we split up.” His eyes scanned the room. “You take the bar out here, and I’ll handle the lounge area. If any of them seem to know more or are hesitant to talk in front of others, we can bring them aside for a more private conversation.”

“Got it,” Spencer agreed. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath as he made his way directly to the bar, nodding politely to the bartender before turning to address the group of dancers gathered nearby.

“Excuse me, uh, hi there,” he greeted, showing them his badge. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. I’d appreciate it if I could ask you a few questions.”

The dancers exchanged glances as Spencer cleared his throat, trying to appear composed. One of them, a tall woman with striking pink hair, stepped forward. “What do you need to know, Handsome?”

Spencer felt a flush creep up his neck, momentarily flustered by the directness. “Have any of you noticed anything unusual or seen anyone acting suspiciously in the past few weeks?”

The pink-haired woman looked him up and down, taking in his crisp suit and tie with a playful smile. “Well, the only unusual thing I’ve seen lately is a handsome FBI agent in a place like this.”

Her comment drew a few chuckles from the group, and Spencer felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him. He usually could handle a bit of teasing—he’d even interviewed sex workers who blatantly flirted with him before—but being surrounded by half-naked women, one of whom was actually topless, was making him feel distinctly out of place. His usual confidence was slipping away, replaced by a deep, uncomfortable blush.

Before he could respond, another dancer, this one with blue hair, joined in the teasing. “Aww, look at him blushing. Aren’t you just adorable?”

Spencer cleared his throat, trying to refocus. “I, uh, appreciate your… observations. But really, any information about unusual behavior could be very helpful.”

One of them, with a mischievous glint in her eye, leaned closer and asked in a flirty tone, “Would you like to find a private room for questioning, Doctor?”

His eyes widened. “W-What? No, no, I—”

“Ladies.”

Spencer turned around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw you standing close to him, your sweet fragrance enveloping him. His heartbeat quickened, and he found it hard not to stare. You had changed from your performance attire into something slightly less revealing but no less captivating that Spencer had to remind himself to blink.

“Stop teasing the poor guy,” you said, addressing the dancers with a slight smirk.

“We were just being nice,” one of them protested, feigning innocence.

You rolled your eyes. “Come on, let’s give him some space.”

The rest of the dancers giggled, picking up their drinks and retreating to another part of the club. You watched them leave before turning back to Spencer and gracefully took a seat on a stool where one of them had been.

“So,” you began, crossing one leg over the other, and Spencer made a conscious effort not to focus on how the fabric rode up your thighs. “I can’t help but overhear you’re with the FBI. I’m Scarlett.”

He stared at your outstretched hand but made no effort to take it. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Ah,” you said, retracting your hand and placing it on your lap. “You’re that type of guy.”

“What do you mean?”

You tilted your head slightly, a wry smile playing on your lips. “You know, the type who might think less of this kind of job, of people who work in places like this."

Spencer shook his head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I grew up in Las Vegas, places like this don't surprise me. It's just that—l don't do handshakes. Personal preference, not a judgment."

You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

“Well, studies show that handshakes transfer a significant amount of pathogens. It’s actually safer to kiss someone than to shake their hand.”

An amused smile played on your lips. “Is that your way of trying to kiss me, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened, and a flush crept up his neck. “Uh, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he stammered. “I just meant, scientifically speaking, it’s… safer.”

“Of course.” You chuckled, leaning back slightly. “So what brings the FBI here?”

Spencer cleared his throat. “We’re here to gather information about one of your customers.”

“Who?”

“Do you know anyone by the name Rick Sullivan?”

“Know him? He practically lives at the end of the bar some nights.” Your eyes swept over the empty seat where Rick usually occupied. “Although he hasn’t come here in a while, his wife probably decided to put her foot down."

“Do you remember anything unusual about his behavior or if he mentioned anything out of the ordinary recently?”

You thought for a moment, then shrugged. “He was always pretty quiet. But now that you mention it, a few weeks ago, he seemed more on edge than usual. Kept looking over his shoulder like he was expecting someone.”

“Did he ever talk to anyone in particular, or did anyone strange approach him?”

You shook your head. “Not that I noticed. But then again, it gets pretty busy here. Hard to keep track of every interaction.”

Spencer nodded at the information. “Is there anyone who seemed particularly close with him here?”

“I don’t think so. He’s friendly with some of the regulars, but no one stood out. He mostly keeps to himself unless he’s buying drinks for the dancers.” You watched him, noticing the way his brow furrowed slightly in thought and you couldn’t help but ask, “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but don’t you have to write all this down?”

Spencer glanced at you, a small smile forming on his lips. "I have a good memory. I'll remember everything you've told me."

"Really? Do you have a photographic memory or something?"

"Eidetic, actually.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s impressive. So basically you’ll remember anything?”

Spencer nodded. “Yes, I can recall detailed images and information with high precision.”

“Alright, I want you to remember this then,” you said, leaning in slightly. You recited a series of numbers, your voice smooth and confident.

He looked genuinely confused. “What’s that?”

“My number.”

He blinked, clearly taken aback, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Oh.”

“There’s a rule against sharing personal information while working here,” you explained, leaning in a bit closer, “But you can save it under Y/N. That’s my real name.”

Spencer found himself momentarily mesmerized by your proximity, the scent of your perfume, and the intensity of your gaze. He blinked, trying to maintain his composure.

“Y/N,” he repeated softly, as if committing it to memory.

You smiled. “Exactly. Don’t forget it.”

“I won’t,” he assured you as you slipped off the stool and the space between you momentarily vanished. For a brief, unexpected second, your body lightly pressed against his. The contact was fleeting but there was an unspoken tension that seemed to pause the noise around you.

The closeness brought a rush of warmth, and your eyes locked with his. “Do you like jazz music, Dr. Reid?”

He frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Um, I don’t really listen to music.”

“Well, that’s a pity,” you replied with a playful smile. “There’s a great spot not too far from here. They have live bands on the weekends.”

“What… what are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to ask you out on a date.”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as he processed your words. “Oh,” he stammered, clearly taken aback by your boldness. He hesitated, his mind racing to catch up with the situation. “I, uh, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”

“Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?”

He swallowed, looking a bit flustered. “It’s not that. It’s just… there are boundaries, and I’m supposed to remain professional.”

“Ah, I see. But if you decide to change your mind…” You moved closer, reaching out to fix his crooked tie, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric. “I’ll be at the Blue Moon on Saturday around 9 p.m., sitting at the bar in a red dress with a drink in my hand.”

Spencer’s breath hitched slightly as he tensed but didn’t pull away, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”

“I hope you do, Dr. Reid.” You took a step back, your hand lingering for a moment before you let go of his tie. “You know where to find me.”

And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there as he watched you blend into the crowd, conflicted and unexpectedly aroused.

~*~

You weren’t sure what you were trying to do. Asking an FBI agent out on a date went against every rule you had set for yourself. You were supposed to keep your distance, to remain anonymous and untouchable. It was safer that way, for both you and your secrets. Yet, here you were, sipping your drink as you waited for a man who represented everything you should be avoiding.

A part of you questioned your sanity. What was it about him that made you break your own rules? It was reckless, foolish even. Getting involved with someone like Spencer Reid could only complicate things.

But there was something about him. Maybe it was the curiosity in his eyes, the way he seemed both out of place and perfectly composed at the same time. Or perhaps it was the way he treated you with a respect and sincerity that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Whatever it was, it had been enough to make you take this risk.

But now, as you sat by the bar alone an hour later, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had all been a mistake. The minutes had ticked by slowly, and you tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that maybe you had misjudged him. Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, and maybe that was for the best.

Just as you were about to give up and leave, the door to your side opened. You turned, not daring to hope, and there he was—looking slightly disheveled and out of breath, but undeniably there with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and a small, relieved smile crossed his face.

“Hi,” he said, a bit breathless. “I’m sorry I’m late, I got held up at work and I didn’t want to come empty handed, so…”

Your eyes drifted towards the simple bouquet of white lilies in his hand. “Are those for me?”

Spencer nodded, extending the flowers towards you. “Yes, they are,” he replied. “I didn’t know what you’d like, and I thought lilies are a safe choice because they’re elegant and not too overwhelming, but then I started thinking maybe roses would have been better, but then roses can be a bit too—”

You cut him off with a warm smile, gently taking the bouquet from him. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”

He let out a small sigh of relief. “I’m glad you like them.”

You placed the lilies on the bar and gestured to the seat beside you. “Come here, you look like you just ran a marathon.”

“It felt like it,” he admitted, taking the seat right next to you. “I really didn’t want to be late.”

“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You slightly leaned back and studied him. “I’m actually surprised you changed your mind.”

Spencer glanced at you. “I… I guess I realized I didn’t want to miss the chance to get to know you.”

“Yeah?” You tilted your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “What do you want to know about me?”

There were so many things he wanted to know about you, actually. He wanted to know your story, why you chose your job, and who you were beneath this confident exterior. But that was all too much for a first date. Glancing around the room, he decided to start with something simpler and said, “Start with how you know this place.”

You smiled, looking around the familiar setting. “I found it a few years ago. I was walking aimlessly down the road one night after work and stumbled this place. It’s become my little escape since then.”

“I can see why." His eyes drifted towards the band playing live music and the few patrons mesmerized by the soft tune. "It’s definitely got a charm to it.”

You leaned in slightly. “Do you have any secret escapes?”

He looked back at you. “Not really. My escapes aren’t quite as charming. Mostly books and chess. They're not exactly thrilling.”

“Books and chess?” you asked, tapping your finger on the bar. “You really are a nerd.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a man of knowledge,” he replied with a shy yet proud smile.

“Well, intelligence is attractive, and not only that, it’s also very sexy." You laughed when you noticed him slightly squirming. “Do you have any other hidden talents I should know about?”

He tilted his head, thinking for a moment. “I’m actually pretty good at magic tricks. It’s something I picked up as a kid.”

“Now that’s a talent I didn’t expect,” you observed, your eyes lighting up. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”

“I’d be happy to,” he replied enthusiastically. “What about you? What’s your hidden talent?”

You grinned. “I can make a pretty mean lasagna. And I’m good at dancing, but you might have already guessed that.”

Spencer suddenly felt the warmth spreading along his face as he remembered your performance on stage the other day. His mind flashed back to the way you moved with such confidence, the undeniable sex appeal you exuded effortlessly, and he could feel his cheeks heating up.

“Yeah, I, uh, definitely noticed,” he admitted.

“I hope that means you were impressed.”

Spencer nodded, still a bit flustered but managing a smile. “Very impressed.”

“Why, thank you,” you noted, leaning closer to him. “How about you? Do you dance, Dr. Reid?”

Spencer’s eyes widened slightly at the question. “I’m not nearly as skilled as you are,” he confessed. “My dance moves are more… theoretical. More of an exercise in coordination than something you’d want to see in action.”

The image of this authority figure awkwardly dancing in his suit made you smile.

“Now this I need to see.” Sliding off the stool, you extended your hand towards him. “Dance with me.”

Spencer hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room. “You’re serious?”

“Absolutely,” you replied. “Trust me, it’ll be fun.”

You waited, half-expecting him to decline considering he didn’t even want to shake your hand the last time you saw him. But then, to your surprise, he took a deep breath and placed his hand in yours.

You couldn’t help but smile as he stood up and let you lead him to a small open space near the bar, slipping in between other couples swaying to the music as the band played a lively, upbeat tune.

“Okay, put your hand here,” you instructed, guiding his hand to rest lightly on your waist. You took his other hand in yours and began to sway gently to the rhythm, leading him in a basic two-step.

Spencer tried to follow, his movements slightly awkward at first. “I’m not sure I’m doing this right.”

“You’re doing fine,” you reassured him, smiling up at him. “Just trust your instinct.”

“My instinct is to find the nearest exit door.”

“No escaping tonight. You’re stuck with me,” you teased, your other hand holding onto his shoulder. “Besides, I think you’re doing pretty well for someone who claims to be bad at dancing.”

Spencer raised an eyebrow, his confidence growing slightly. “You think so?”

“Yep,” you replied, giving him a grin. “In fact, I’d say you’re almost a natural.”

“Almost?” he echoed, a teasing note in his voice. “What do I need to do to earn the proper title?”

“Maybe a spin?” You suggested, already positioning yourself lightly. With an encouraging nod, you prompted him, and he took the cue, lifting his arm and carefully guiding you into a smooth spin under his hold. You twirled gracefully and came back into his arms, beaming up at him.

“How was that?” He asked.

“Pretty impressive.”

He smiled, and a warmth spread through you, a sense of happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was wrong, you knew that. You knew you were stepping into dangerous territory, blurring lines that should remain clear. But at that moment, all those concerns seemed distant and unimportant, especially when the music suddenly turned slower.

The soft, sultry notes of a saxophone filled the air as you moved closer to him, gently grabbing his hands before guiding them to rest behind your back.

“Now this,” you began, moving your arms around his neck. “Is how you dance to a slow song.”

Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft expression that made his whole features light up. He pulled you gently against his chest. “I think I prefer this type of dance better.”

You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt. “Me too.”

You felt a hand press gently on your lower back, drawing you even closer as you took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. He smelled of fresh soap and something sweet, like vanilla or honey—a combination that you could easily find yourself getting addicted to.

The thought surprised you. For someone who loathed men, who had built a life around a cold, calculated revenge against them, you found Spencer oddly comforting. It was unsettling how natural it felt to be this close to him, how safe he made you feel.

You could almost laugh at the irony. Here you were, a woman fueled by a desire for vengeance, finding solace in the arms of a man. It was reckless. Dangerous. You needed to keep your head in the game. Allowing yourself to get distracted, to feel these warm, tender emotions, was a risk you couldn’t afford.

But as you pressed your face closer to the crook of his neck, it became increasingly difficult to push him away. You knew you had to be cautious. You knew you needed to keep your head clear, your focus sharp, and you promised yourself that you would.

But not now. Not when his touch made you feel something you hadn’t felt in years. For now, you allowed yourself to surrender to the moment, to the warmth of his embrace, to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, and to the fleeting sense of peace that felt so foreign yet so desperately needed.

~*~

Spencer wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. He found himself awkwardly moving close to you, then pulling back, reaching out as if to take your hand, then stopping himself. The hesitation gnawed at him, torn between wanting to hold your hand and maintaining a respectful distance.

Was it too soon? Was there a rule about holding hands on the first date?

He mentally sifted through his limited experiences, trying to recall any useful advice or guidelines. But all he could think about was how natural it had felt to dance with you, to be close to you. He glanced over, catching the soft glow of the streetlights across your face. You looked serene, content, and he wished he could just follow his instincts without second-guessing every move.

“What?” You asked without looking at him. “Why are you staring at me?

He quickly directed his gaze away from you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You turned to him with a small, amused smile. “You’re not making me uncomfortable. I was just curious.”

He hesitated as you both continued to walk, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps blending with the quiet night. Finally, he decided to be honest. “I’ve been trying to figure out the right moment. I guess I’m not very good with this sort of thing.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I wanted to hold your hand,” he blurted, his face flushing slightly. “But I wasn’t sure if it was too soon. I didn’t want to seem too forward or make you uncomfortable. I’m sure there’s a whole rule to this that I don’t know about, and I’ve been overthinking it the entire walk.”

You chuckled softly. “Spencer, you don’t need to worry so much.”

He took a deep breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… can I hold your hand?”

“Of course, you can,” you replied. “I’d really like that.”

His face lit up as he reached out, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. You laughed at his boyish smile. “So this is why you’ve been silent this whole time?”

“I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”

“And here I thought you didn’t want to talk to me because you didn’t enjoy my company.”

Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. “No, not at all! I was just worried about doing something wrong.”

“I don’t think you’ve done anything wrong tonight.”

He looked at you, relief washing over his face. “Really?”

“Well, except for making me wait for a whole hour.”

He winced at your words. “Sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

You squeezed his hand gently. “Don’t worry. The flowers were worth the wait,” you said, holding up the bouquet in your other hand. “And besides, I enjoyed dancing with you, I had a great time talking to you, and now you’re walking me home, which is definitely a bonus point.”

“So you’re keeping scores?” He asked, finding this conversation amusing. “What’s my score now?”

You pretended to think, a smile playing on your lips. “Well, punctuality could use some work, but excellent choice in flowers, charming dance skills, and chivalrous escort service? I’d say you’re doing quite well. Maybe an eight out of ten?”

“An eight? What happened to the last two points?”

“You need to earn them.”

“How?”

You slowed your pace, pulling him to a stop under a streetlight.

“Close your eyes,” you instructed. He hesitated for a moment, then complied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shut his eyes.

“Okay. Now what?”

You stood on your toes, trying to match his height, and leaned in close. Then, with a quick flutter of excitement, you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.

His eyes widened in surprise. “I—uh, what—”

You just laughed, a light and carefree sound that cut through the night. “You just gained another point, Dr. Reid.”

Before he knew it, you turned and dashed away, your laughter trailing behind you playfully. He couldn't help but smile at the sound, and, almost without thinking, he started chasing after you.

Spencer wasn't sure why he was running, or even why this felt like the most natural thing to do, but he didn't care. Your laughter was infectious, and when he finally caught up, wrapping his arms around your waist, he couldn't stop laughing.

"Got you," he said, grinning as he met your gaze.

His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, taking in the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. There was a certain glow about you, a warmth that seemed to radiate across your face. His gaze then drifted down to your lips, slightly parted and still bearing the sweetest smile he had ever seen, and he felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest.

He liked seeing you like this. You always looked so confident and poised, but now you seemed... happy. There was a lightness in your eyes that he hadn't seen before, and like a moth to a flame, he wanted to bask in your warmth.

Without thinking, he slowly closed the gap between you, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again. The world seemed to hold its breath as he leaned in, and then, gently, he kissed you.

Your lips were so soft.

He had imagined they would be, but not like this—not as delicate, not as perfectly in sync with his. The sensation was more than he had ever expected, more than he had allowed himself to hope for. His tongue gently traced your bottom lip, and the soft moan that escaped you urged him even further.

He pulled you closer, and you parted your lips to invite him in. The moment his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he was lost in the rush of flavors and sensations. Your tongues danced together, exploring, tasting, savoring every second while everything around him started to blur into shadows and muffled sounds.

He was so engrossed, so utterly consumed by the taste of you, that he completely forgot he was standing in the middle of a bustling sidewalk. It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of a throat being cleared that reality snapped back into focus. Pulling slightly away, he turned his head towards the sound and met the stern gaze of an older woman passing by.

“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling incredibly flustered. The woman simply huffed and continued on her way, shaking her head.

You giggled as you reached up to wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth. “I thought you weren’t good with this sort of thing.”

“I’m not,” he assured you, his thumb gently brushing your sides. “This is... definitely a first for me.”

“Oh, really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you don’t usually make out with girls on busy sidewalks?”

The laugh he let out sounded almost ludicrous, as if the image of him kissing girls in public seemed completely out of character, out of place—until now, to his surprise.

“Nope, can’t say that I do.”

You smiled and tugged on his arm. “Come on.”

You walked together, and Spencer took your hand again. His grip tightened slightly, almost unconsciously, as if he wanted to imprint the way your hand felt into his memory. He was acutely aware of the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers fit perfectly with his. And this sense of wanting to hold onto you grew even stronger when you finally arrived at your building.

“This is me,” you said softly, turning to face him.

He looked down at your intertwined hands. “This is you.”

There was a brief, tense silence before you softly called out his name. He met your gaze, and dear god, how could he let go when you looked at him like that? He was mesmerized by the way your eyes sparkled under the light, the soft curve of your smile, the gentle confidence in your stance.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to ask how you can earn your last point?”

He blinked, momentarily thrown off by your question, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Alright,” he said. “How can I earn my last point?”

Then he saw it, the same glint in your eyes that he had noticed when you were dancing on stage. It was a look filled with flirtation, exuding sex appeal and confidence. The way your eyes sparkled under the ambient light, the subtle but assured smile playing on your lips, all pointed to someone who knew exactly what they were doing and enjoyed the game just as much as the outcome.

“Well,” you started. “How about you come upstairs and we can figure it out together?”

Spencer’s heart raced at your words. He might not have had much experience when it came to dating, but he knew the look on your face all too well because he was sure he had the same expression. His eyes fell to your lips.

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

You gave him a knowing smile. “Because you’re trying to remain professional?” You asked, recalling his exact words the other night. “Spencer, I think you’ve long forgotten about that the moment you agreed to spend the evening with me.”

He felt a rush of warmth at your words, realizing just how right you were. The boundaries he usually upheld seemed irrelevant now, replaced by the desire to be closer to you. He sighed, the tension easing slightly as he admitted, “I guess you’re right.”

You stepped closer, your smile seductive. “So, how about we stop worrying about what’s appropriate and just enjoy ourselves?”

He was going to regret this.

“What do you have in mind?”

He was really going to regret this.

“I think you already know what I have in mind.”

Oh, screw it. If regret was the price he had to bear, then he was willing to pay it.

~*~

The crowd pulsed when you stepped out into the main area, heels clicking sharply against the floor. You took in the scene before you, passing sleazy men, some slipping tips to a dancer on stage, others getting lap dances in the dimly lit corners. A group of men in sharp suits whistled when they spotted you, and you winked at them, flipping your hair back with a playful gesture before continuing on.

You could feel heavy stares watching your every move, but despite being in a room full of men, there was only one man you had your eyes on.

You spotted him by the bar with a drink in his hand, and despite your meticulous planning to bring him back here to observe him, the sight of the man who ripped off your dreams as a naive sixteen-year-old girl never failed to ignite a burning rage within you. You wondered whether his memory was as vivid as yours, if he remembered the disgusting things he had done. But there was never any sign of recognition in his eyes, just as there hadn’t been in the eyes of the three before him.

They all thought you were just a woman trying to make ends meet, working every night in this dark place by taking your clothes off on stage. To them, you were just another pretty face, another body to gawk at. They believed you were just another girl trapped in the cycle of survival, oblivious to the deadly game you were playing.

You had crafted this persona carefully, every move, every word designed to lure them in, to make them feel comfortable, even powerful. They had no idea that you held their fate in your hands. You made them think they were taking advantage of a desperate woman, but in reality, they were the ones being manipulated, guided like pawns towards their inevitable downfall.

And tonight, it was his turn. The last of the men who had tainted your innocence.

You slipped into the empty stool beside him, a coy smile playing on your lips. “I thought I saw a familiar face.”

He turned towards you, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, your voice a soft purr. The words were easy, almost natural.

“You’ve been quite the distraction for me,” he admitted. “Couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You laughed lightly. “Good, because I aim to please.”

“And you’re very pleasing to look at,” he agreed, his eyes tracing the curve of your smile. “You have a way of captivating an audience.”

“Well, it’s nice to know I have such a dedicated fan.” You leaned loser so your shoulders brushed. “What brings you here tonight? A fight with the missus?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. She’s out of town.”

You knew that already. You knew his schedule as well as he did, if not better. But you feigned innocence, like you always did.

“Lucky me then,” you replied with a flirtatious tilt of your head. “It means I get to have you all to myself tonight.”

“That’s the idea,” he said, his eyes roaming over you with undisguised interest. “I really couldn’t stop thinking about you lately.”

You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. “Really? What exactly have you been thinking?”

“I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to spend some real time with you. Away from the club.”

You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what exactly would we do with that time?”

His hand brushed against your thigh under the table, a bold move that was more telling than any words. “I think you know what I mean.”

You pulled back slightly, giving him a flirtatious look. “You know it’s against the rules to do anything too... personal here. The club has strict policies about that sort of thing.”

“That’s a shame. I was hoping for more than just a dance.”

You smiled slyly, your eyes locking onto his with a promise. “Who says we have to stay here?”

His grin widened. “Yeah?”

You nodded, brushing your fingers along his arm. “We could go somewhere else…” you murmured, your hand continuing a path up his shoulder, tracing the line of his suit jacket. “Somewhere we can really enjoy each other’s company.”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your suggestion. “Like where?”

You let your lips brush his ear. “How about your place? Your wife isn't there, we can use it however we want.”

There was a pause as he considered your words. You could see the wheels turning, the temptation playing across his face. Sensing his uncertainty, you placed your hand gently on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your fingertips.

“Think about it,” you coaxed softly, your voice a seductive whisper. “Just you and me, no rules, no eyes watching...” Your body inched closer to his. “It’ll be our little secret.”

His eyes darkened with anticipation, the earlier reluctance fading away under your touch. “Alright,” he said after a brief pause. “Let’s go back to my place.”

You smiled triumphantly, standing up, brushing the nonexistent dust on his shoulders. “Meet me at the back exit in five. I need to grab my purse.”

He nodded excitedly as he watched you walk away, mesmerized by the confidence in the sway of your hips. But the moment you stepped into the dressing room, your façade cracked.

You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a deep breath as you fought to keep your composure. The walls seemed to close in, the air thinning around you as if suffocating you under the weight of your own emotions. Your breath became shallow, the world spinning slightly as a wave of dizziness and anger overwhelmed you all at once.

You slowly forced yourself to move, your feet dragging you over towards the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable. The confident, seductive woman from moments was now replaced with a figure trembling under the weight of her memories.

Tears welled up in your eyes as the past rushed back in a wave of emotion. The image of the young girl you once were, the girl whose dreams had been shattered by the man waiting for you outside, seemed to blend itself over your reflection. The pain, the anger, the helplessness—it all came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm you.

But you couldn’t let it. Not now.

Wiping away the tears with the back of your hand, you straightened up, forcing yourself to take deep, steadying breaths. You grabbed your purse and checked its contents one last time, making sure everything was in place, and checked your phone.

There was a message.

Your eyes welled up with tears again as you saw the name glaring back at you.

Dr. Reid :)

Just seeing his name was breaking your heart. He had been trying to contact you for days now, ever since that night you spent together. The night that had been a brief, beautiful distraction from the dark path you were on. He was kind, gentle, and you couldn’t stop thinking of the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world. 

Each message was harder to ignore than the last, and he wasn’t just reaching out; he was trying to reach in. His words were always kind, always thoughtful.

I had a great time. Can we meet again?

Just thinking about you. Hope you're okay. 

Did you know sea otters hold hands when they sleep to keep from drifting apart?

His random messages of facts always made you smile because it was so authentically him—something you had never encountered before. And every time he tried to contact you, the walls you had carefully constructed around your heart began to crack. You longed to reach out to him, to relive those short moments of happiness that had brought a rare light into your life. But you knew that if you allowed yourself to see him again, it would only weaken your resolve.

So you had been avoiding him, giving excuses about being busy or not feeling well. His presence had a way of grounding you, and you couldn’t afford that now, not when you were so close to the end.

Your eyes fell to your phone again. Despite the knot tightening in your stomach, despite knowing how much it would hurt, you clicked open the message.

Can I see you tonight?

The words on the screen blurred as your grip tightened. A part of you wanted to see him again, to have his arms wrapped around your body, to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. But surrendering to these desires would only put you in danger. It was only a matter of time until he saw through your act, and until then, you needed to move fast.

Because you knew that if you let him in, if you opened that door, you wouldn't be able to follow through with your plan. The plan that had consumed you for so long, and now with the final act right in front of you, you couldn't afford any distractions.

So you took a deep breath and crafted another lie.

I have work tonight. I'm sorry.

~*~

Spencer stared at the message, a frown creasing his forehead. Had he done something wrong?

He couldn't shake the feeling that you were avoiding him. He replayed the evening in his mind, analyzing every detail, every word exchanged. It had felt perfect to him—the connection, the chemistry. But now, your constant excuses and distant responses gnawed at him. Had he misread everything? Had he been too forward, or was there something he had missed?

"Reid?" Derek's voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.

“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You were saying?”

Derek opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Penelope entered the conference room with a laptop in her hand. "You guys are gonna love me," she sang, setting the device down.

“You found anything?” Derek asked.

“Remember that blurry picture of the tattoo you sent me a few days ago?” she turned her laptop screen towards them, showing a detailed emblem that was now clearly visible. "This isn't just any tattoo—it's mandatory for the members of a local club known for their… exclusive membership.”

“What kind of club?”

Penelope clicked through a few more screens, bringing up information she had compiled. “It’s a bit underground, not your typical social club. It appears to be part social, part cultural, but there are hints of something more... let's just say, illegal activities.”

“And all members have this tattoo?”

“Yep, it’s like a symbol of loyalty, almost like a badge of honor.”

Spencer felt a knot tightening in his stomach. “Is it… The Velvet Curtain?”

Penelope shook her head, typing quickly to bring up a comparison on her screen. 

“No, The Velvet Curtain is just a fancy, exclusive strip club. This one, on the other hand…” She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she chose her words carefully, “...is much more secretive and, from what I can tell, much more dangerous. Think less about glamour and more about power and control."

“What kind of activities are we talking about?”

“Oh, you know, just the usual gambling and trafficking,” Penelope said dryly, scrolling through her screen. “I think you guys should check this out after we wrap up the case.”

Derek ignored her jab and crossed his arms. “So our victim can be anyone, which doesn't narrow it down much.” He turned to Penelope. “How many members are we talking about?”

“Over three hundred registered members.”

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of numbers.”

“Have you tried cross-referencing the members with Rick Sullivan?" Spencer suggested. "He might be our best lead.”

“Why didn’t I think of that?” Penelope’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she pulled up new data. After a few moments, she exclaimed, “Got it!”

Derek leaned in. “We have a name?”

Penelope quickly brought up a profile. “James Dalton, went to college with Rick. Mid-30s, a manager at a tech firm, lives in the suburbs with his family…” She trailed off, her eyes widening. “...and was reported missing a week ago.”

Spencer frowned, piecing it together. “He could be our John Doe.”

Penelope nodded, already typing away. “I’m cross-referencing his dental records and fingerprints as we speak.”

“You can do that?”

“You underestimate me, pretty boy,” she quipped with a smirk, her fingers flying over the keyboard. It didn't take long for her screen to flash with the confirmation she needed. “It’s a match. James Dalton is our John Doe. The dental records line up perfectly.”

The room fell into a heavy silence as they absorbed the news. Derek ran a hand over his face, breaking the silence with a sigh. “Did Rick and James ever contact each other after college?”

Penelope shook her head, scrolling through her data. “No, there’s no evidence of any recent communications. It looks like they hadn't been in touch for years until... well, until whatever pulled them back together recently.”

Spencer leaned closer to get a better view of Penelope’s screen. “Can you check his bank records? There could be any mutual transactions between them.”

“Pulling up his financials now,” she said, her eyes scanning the data that populated her screen. Moments later, she pointed at a series of numbers. “There are no mutual transactions… oh wow.”

“What is it?”

“He spent a lot of money over the past few months,” Penelope continued, her eyes wide with surprise. “We’re talking significant amounts.”

“Where?”

She looked up at him. “The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt the blood drain from his body. It was as if a heavy, sinking feeling took hold, the kind that grips the stomach and pulls down hard. At first, he thought of your safety. The club you worked at was linked to the case, and worse, even directly to the victims. This connection sent chills down his spine, filling him with dread.

But the more he thought about it, especially when his mind replayed how you had been avoiding him lately, the worse his feelings grew. His concern turned into suspicion, and then that suspicion morphed into a sense of betrayal. Were you involved in this? Were you hiding something from him?

He shook his head. No, he couldn’t let his mind go there. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t. You were too kind, too genuine. There had to be another explanation.

“Reid, let’s go.”

Spencer looked up to see Derek standing by the door. “Where?”

“We need to go back there,” Derek said firmly. “We’re missing something.”

Spencer’s badge felt heavier than usual, the gun on his hip weighing him down. His mind was clouded with doubt, his heart pounding with anxiety. He always considered himself as someone who was confident when it came to his job, a man of knowledge who could win an argument with facts and logic. But now the lines of right and wrong seemed to blurred and he found himself questioning even his own judgment.

He let out a heavy breath. There was nothing else he could do but to follow Derek out of the room. He needed to see this through, for justice, for his peace of mind, and perhaps, for your innocence he hoped to prove.

~*~

You weren’t here. 

I have work tonight, I’m sorry.

You weren’t here.

Spencer was trying to come up with excuses for your disappearance. Maybe you got sick. Maybe there was an emergency. His mind went through plausible scenarios, but none seemed to fit quite right, and his curiosity continued to gnaw at him. He braced himself and approached the club owner, hoping to gain some information under the pretense of connecting you as a witness.

The man, with a burly frame, salt-and-pepper hair, and a scowl etched on his face, barely let Spencer get the words out.

“She was here,” the owner grumbled. “Her set was half an hour ago and I haven’t seen her since. If I find out she’s skipping out on work again…” He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration.

Spencer felt his heart sank. “Again?”

He nodded gruffly. “Yeah, she’s been a bit unreliable lately. Shows up late, leaves early. It’s becoming a problem.”

“Did she mention anything to you?”

“She never says much. Keeps to herself mostly. If she’s in some kind of trouble, she’s not talking about it.” He gave Spencer a once-over. “You know her personally?”

Caught off-guard, Spencer quickly shook his head. “No. I’ve just heard she might have some useful information on the case we’re working on.”

The owner seemed to accept this, nodding slightly. “Well, good luck with that. If you find her, tell her she’s got some explaining to do.”

Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him even more. The pressure in his chest was almost suffocating. He knew he needed to focus on trying to find out anything about James Dalton, but his mind kept turning to you, unable to shake the fear that something terrible had happened, or worse, or worse, that you might somehow be involved. 

“What was that all about?”

He looked up to see Derek watching him closely. “Nothing.”

Derek studied him for a moment, noting the slight shift in his demeanor, the way his eyes darted away. “Reid, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine."

“You know you can talk to me if something’s up, right?”

“I know,” he snapped. Then he sighed, his expression softening. “I’m fine, really. Let’s just focus on the case.”

Derek studied him for a moment longer, wanting to press further, but was stopped when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, saw Penelope’s name, and quickly switched it to speaker.

“Found something new?” Derek asked.

“Yes,” Penelope's voice came through with urgency. “Have you found anything interesting yet?”

“No, nothing solid on our end,” Derek replied, glancing at Spencer who remained focused but visibly tense. “What did you find?"

“I think you should take this somewhere private,” Penelope suggested cautiously.

Derek nodded, catching Spencer’s eye and motioning for him to follow. They navigated through the bustling backstage area, moving past busy staff and performers until they spotted an empty dressing room. He ushered Spencer inside and shut the door behind them.

“We’re out of earshot,” Derek confirmed, his tone low. “Go ahead.”

“Alright, listen,” Penelope began, her voice serious. “I’ve been digging into the pasts of the two victims we identified and I found something disturbing that was buried deep in their college history. It took a lot of digging because it was almost completely erased from the public record.”

“What did you find?”

“There were reports of a group of men, including Sullivan and Dalton, who were accused of sexually assaulting a high school student who was a minor. The details were sketchy and it seems there was a significant effort to cover it up. The case never went to trial, the reports were sealed.”

“How many men were involved?” 

“Four. Sullivan, Dalton, Mark Eldridge, and Robert Lawson.” There were some clicking noises in the background before Penelope continued, “Mark Eldridge was reportedly missing a few days ago, and I cross-checked his dental records with our second John Doe—it was a match.”

Derek let out a sigh. “This looks like some kind of revenge plot.” He ran a hand over his face, the weight of the situation sinking in. “What can you tell us about Lawson?”

Penelope quickly typed in a few commands. “Robert Lawson lives on the outskirts of town. He’s maintained a low profile over the years, but nothing in his recent history suggests he’s aware of the danger he might be in.”

Derek nodded, absorbing the information. “Alright, send us his address. We need to get to him before the Unsub does.”

“Sending it now,” Penelope confirmed.

“Garcia?”

Derek looked up to see Spencer standing at the edge of the room, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. His posture was tense, his face pale, and his breathing uneven. It was the most uncharacteristic of him Derek had ever seen.

“Who was the victim?” Spencer asked, his voice low, almost strained.

There was a brief pause as Penelope searched through her files. “Y/N L/N,” she answered quietly. “She was a high school student at the time, just sixteen. The case was buried deep, but it’s all here—she was threatened, her family was paid off, and the whole thing was hushed up.”

Derek felt a chill run down his spine. “And where is she now?”

Another pause, this one more tense, as Penelope gathered the final piece of information.

“She’s a dancer at The Velvet Curtain.”

Spencer felt his world tilt. The realization hit him like a freight train, his heart dropping like a stone into the depths of his stomach. It was as if the ground beneath his feet had turned to ice, sending him slipping into a dizzying spin of shock and disbelief. The pieces clicked together with the painful precision of a knife twisting in his gut. All the clues that had seemed disconnected before suddenly formed a clear, devastating picture. 

“Reid.”

He couldn’t breathe, his chest tight with a constricting panic. The room closed in around him, the walls seeming to press closer with each labored breath.

“Reid.”

The reality made him feel sick.

“Reid!”

He needed to get out of here.

His feet carried him toward the door, pushing him outside to breathe. The fresh air hit his face, but it did little to ease the heaviness in his lungs.

“Reid, I need you to talk to me,” Derek’s voice followed behind him.

Spencer leaned against the cool brick wall, trying to steady his racing heart and chaotic thoughts. He struggled to find the words, the horror of the situation crashing over him like a relentless wave.

“What happened?”

He stared at Derek through blurry eyes. “It’s her,” he managed to choke out. “I-I didn’t know it was her…”

“Reid.” Derek stepped closer, gripping his shoulders. “Breathe.”

Spencer looked up at him, the pain suffocating his chest, building up inside until he couldn’t hold it back any longer. The words began tumbling out of his lips.

He told him everything. How you approached him that first night they came to the club, how you stood out in the crowd. He described the spark in your eyes when you had asked him out on a date and how hesitant he was at first until his curiosity got the better of him.

He recalled that night, how he felt a connection he hadn't known was missing. He told Derek about the conversations you shared, the laughter between you, and how deeply fulfilling it felt to be with someone who seemed to truly get him, a happiness he hadn't known before.

Derek stared at him when he finished. There was no judgment in his eyes, far from it, but what Spencer saw was even worse—it was pity.

“Reid…”

Spencer shook his head, trying to dismiss Derek’s sympathy that made him feel so exposed. “I know what this looks like,” he cut in quickly. “But you have to understand, it felt—everything with her felt real.”

“I know, I know. I believe you, man, it’s just—”Derek sighed. “You’re too involved in this.”

Spencer met his gaze. “I never wanted to be this involved.”

Derek let out another sigh, something he couldn’t stop doing when the person he considered as his little brother was going through so much pain. He took out his phone from his pocket. “Look, let me call Hotch and tell him to send someone else—”

Spencer quickly grabbed Derek’s arm, stopping him from dialing. “No,” he insisted. “I need to do this. I want to see her.”

“I don’t think—“

“I have to,” Spencer pleaded. “I need to. I can’t… I just… I need to see her.”

“Reid, she’s dangerous. She’s killed three men before, and there’s a chance she might do the same to you.”

Spencer shook his head. “What she’s doing is for revenge, you said that yourself. She won’t hurt me.”

“But—“

“Morgan, please,” Spencer interrupted, the desperation clear in his voice. “Let me talk to her. This might be my only chance.”

Derek watched him closely, seeing the pain and determination in his eyes. It was clear Spencer wasn’t going to back down, and understanding this, he finally gave in.

“Fine. But we’re taking every precaution, okay? You’re not going in alone.” Spencer nodded gratefully. “And I’m still calling for backup.”

“Of course,” he agreed, watching Derek turn around.

Spencer silently followed him back to the car as he replayed every moment without you. He tried to search for any clues he might have missed, wondering how he had been so blind, so caught up in his feelings. The thought of you being the one behind those murders was too much for him to bear, yet he knew he had to confront you. He had to know why you did it. He had to know whether any of those moments you shared together was as magical for you as it was for him, even though he was scared of the answers, of this new, cruel reality.

He just had to see you, no matter how painful it might be.

~*~

Your last victim was the easiest. You’d think he would have struggled a bit, or maybe he’d see right through your act. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had seen you, and sure, you might have looked different, but you still had the same features from when you were young. Your eyes. Your smile. You were still you, just older.

But he never noticed, because as soon as you started to seduce him, he was just like the others. All they sought was your body, or the thought of it, the fantasy they spun so easily in their minds. You realized that another thing that hadn’t changed was their disgusting perception of you, not as a person, but as an object for their desires.

Despite their oblivious nature, it came to your benefit. It was easy to put the drug in his drink, not much, but enough to make him drowsy. Enough for his body to go limp so you could tie his hands behind his back easily. You could see his brows creasing as he struggled to keep his eyes open. You knew the sedative was starting to get to his brain.

You managed to drag his body to his study. You had pulled him by his feet, his head occasionally bumping along the floor. He groaned but didn’t do much, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. His eyes, heavy and confused, flickered with a dim recognition of his state, a useless attempt to grasp the situation that was slowly escaping his control.

And you loved it.

“W-What…” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “…help…”

You left him there to struggle as you grabbed the can of gasoline from his backyard, which you had hidden there that morning when he was at work. You wondered briefly if he had noticed it when he came back home, but just like the others, he was oblivious. It was still right where you left it.

You carried it back into the study and noticed his eyes widening slightly, a fear starting to seep through his confusion. You unscrewed the cap, the pungent smell filling the room, and stared down at him.

That was when you heard the ringing.

It was a loud, jarring noise and your eyes settled onto the house phone sitting on his desk. The sound was out of place, cutting through the tension-filled silence like a knife as you waited for it to stop. It kept on going, on and on, until the answering machine clicked on, and a familiar voice cut through the room, calling out your name.

You let out a cry. The sound of Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed in your ears, the voice you had hoped to avoid was now invading this moment.

“Pick up the phone,” he pleaded. “Please.”

But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when his voice was already starting to shake your defenses.

The call ended not long after that. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain your composure. But then the phone rang again. This time, his message was more desperate.

“Talk to me, please, I know what you’ve been through... I just want to help.”

The gasoline can shook in your grip. Help was the last thing you needed. “I don't want any help," you muttered to yourself, the words barely audible over his voice cutting through the answering machine.

“I-I’ll be here if you need me, you don't have to go through this alone.”

"I don't want any help.”

But he kept on, his voice calm yet insistent. "I know you're in pain, but this—this isn't the way to solve things. Answer me, please, let me help—“

It was your last straw. You finally snatched up the phone. "I don't want any help!"

You were met with a stunned silence on the other end. It was deafening, stretching out long enough for the reality of who was on the other end to sink in.

“…Spencer?”

“I’m here,” he replied softly. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hearing his voice, so familiar and filled with genuine care, made you pause. For a split second, the walls you had built around your heart trembled. You wanted to scream at him, to push him away, but a part of you longed for his presence.

“Why?” you whispered. “Why are you not going anywhere?”

“Because I…” There was a pause. “Because I care about you.”

Your heart felt like it was going to burst. “You do?”

“I do,” he confessed. “More than I should have.”

You sniffed, gently placing the gasoline on top of the wooden surface of the desk. “Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?” You wondered, recalling the same question you had asked him days ago.

“You know it was never about that,” he said. “But you’re smart enough to know the real reason.”

You glanced back at the man lying on the floor, barely conscious, his breaths shallow and labored. Spencer’s voice rang in your ears again.

“Don’t do this… please.”

You swallowed, your heart beating fast. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”

“I’ll give you three,” he responded quickly. “One, you’re not a bad person.”

Your grip on the phone tightened.

“Two, you deserve a chance to find real peace.”

Your eyes welled up with tears, the resolve in your heart wavering.

“And three,” Spencer’s voice softened. “Because I want to dance with you again.”

The memory of that night, the connection you felt, rushed back, overwhelming your rage that you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears. “Yeah?”

“I want you to teach me again,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m still not very good at it.”

The image of the two of you dancing at the bar brought a bittersweet ache to your heart. But it wasn’t enough to overwhelm the anger, the deep-seated rage that had driven you for so long.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the phone, the words escaping in a breath so faint it was almost swallowed by the silence of the room.

Spencer heard it, though. “Don’t say that. It’s not over,” he pleaded. “We can still have more nights out, more dances.”

“Spencer, stop.”

“Think about it,” he continued, his voice softening as he tried a different approach. “Your family, they would rather take the money than fight for you. They left you to fend for yourself when you needed them the most.”

“Spencer…”

“And you’ve carried that weight for so long. You’ve been so strong, but now you’re not alone, you have me. So don’t let their choices define you,” he muttered. “You’re better than this.”

His words struck a nerve.

“Better than this?” You suddenly snapped, anger flaring up again. “You don’t know me. Just because we had one date, it doesn’t mean you understand what I’ve been through.”

“I don’t know everything you’ve been through,” Spencer admitted. “But I know pain. I know what it’s like to feel abandoned and betrayed.”

He paused, the line silent for a moment before he continued with a heavy sigh.

“When I was in school, a girl asked me to meet her by the school field one day… only for the football team to show up instead. They tied me up to a goalpost and stripped me naked in front of all the students.” He took a deep breath. “Everyone laughed and stared, and no one did anything to stop them.”

You knew what he was trying to do. And partly, it worked. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for him. You imagined how sad it must have been for him, how traumatic and devastating that experience must have been. It was heartbreaking to picture him in that situation. But despite your sympathy, it didn’t suppress the anger inside you.

As painful as his story sounded, you knew you’d rather take his place instead of enduring what you had experienced.

“Spencer, it’s not the same,” you said, your voice trembling. “What they did to you was horrible, but what happened to me… it destroyed everything.”

“I know it’s not the same,” he replied quietly. “But pain is pain. And it doesn’t have to define us. We can choose—“

“Pain is pain?” You cried, finally letting go of the tears you had been holding back. “You know what’s painful? Hearing your story and the first thing that came up to my mind was how I’d rather take your place, because unlike you, those men didn’t stop after they stripped me naked.”

The anger boiled over, and you couldn't stop yourself, tears streamed down your face as raw, unfiltered pain poured out in your words.

"Do you know what it feels like to be young and helpless? To have four men twice your size assault you?" You screamed, losing any semblance of control you had left. "Do you fucking know how it feels to see these disgusting men get away with everything while you have to endure the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear every single day?"

Your voice broke, heavy sobs wracking your body.

"Do you know how it feels to be broken, to be so destroyed that you can't even look at yourself in the mirror without hating what you see?”

Silence fell, your heavy breathing the only sound in the aftermath of your outburst. Spencer's voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course, you didn’t. Because you’re a man, after all.” You picked up the gasoline again, the weight heavy in your hand. “You’re just like them… all you want to do is to save them.”

“That’s not what I—”

“And you’re fucking wasting my time.”

You slammed the phone down, cutting off the connection.

You moved on instinct. You looked down at the man on the floor, his eyes half-open, barely conscious. You regarded him one last time before you poured the gasoline over his body. The fumes rose in the air as you spread the liquid around the room, creating a trail that led to the door. At some point, one of your heels cracked, and you kicked them off, feeling the cold ground beneath your feet. It was a minor inconvenience, nothing compared to the gravity of what you were about to do.

When you finally reached a safe distance from the house, you paused, taking one last deep breath, throwing the empty can onto the ground. The weight of your past, your pain, and your anger all converged in this single moment. You took out the lighter, your hands trembling as the reality of what you were about to do settled in.

You flicked the lighter, the small flame dancing in the night air. For a moment, you were transfixed by it, the flickering light a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding you. Everything you had endured, everything that had brought you to this point, seemed to hinge on this tiny flame.

With a flick of your hand, you let it fall to the ground.

The flame kissed the trail of gasoline, igniting it instantly. The fire took life, racing along the path with a hunger that matched your own rage. It moved back toward the house, consuming everything it touched, fueled by the fume and your deep-seated desire for retribution.

The flames grew and the fire roared louder, its crackling sound filling the silence of the night. The house began to catch, the flames eagerly climbing the walls. The sight was mesmerizing yet horrifying, and you stood rooted to the spot, the fire reflecting in your eyes, casting light on the tears that streaked down your face.

You felt a smile forming on your lips.

So this was what it felt like, to watch the ashes drift through the air. To smell the acid scent of smoke. To feel the heat envelop you, wrapping your body like a suffocating blanket. To hear the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath. It was beautiful, and you were mesmerized by the flames, the destruction—they were your creation, your justice.

But deep down, it was so much more than that. This wasn’t just for you, but for everyone else who had been silenced, who couldn’t do anything. You realized your anger was more than just a personal vendetta. It was a voice for the voiceless, a stand against those who had used their power to hurt and destroy.

You thought of all the others who had been through the same hell, who had been left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives alone, who had been dismissed by a system that should have protected them.

The fire was for them, too.

You continued to watch the flame dance through the night sky, and that was when you heard it, the distant sound of vehicles approaching you. The crunch of gravel under tires grew louder and you stayed rooted where you were.

There was no running from this, no escaping what was to come. You had chosen this path, you had already accepted the consequences long before the first match was struck.

As you turned around, a group of people in FBI vests came rushing out, some frantically calling for backup as they watched the fire consume the house, while a few others pointed their weapons towards you. But your eyes were fixed on the man who had given you a glimpse of hope, the man who had tried to save you.

You felt tears streaming down your face as Spencer approached you, and you sobbed uncontrollably, the reality of what you had done sinking in.

“I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I-I had to do it.”

“Reid.”

An older FBI agent standing close called him, his tone a clear warning, but Derek, the other agent who you had also seen at the club, placed a hand on his shoulder. The older agent hesitated, then remained silent, allowing Spencer to approach you.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Spencer’s eyes took in your appearance. The confident woman he had always known was nowhere to be found, replaced by this version of you—vulnerable, sad, and angry at the world. The sight of you barefoot, the dirt and grime clinging to your skin, made it even more heartbreaking. Your hair was disheveled, your face was streaked with tears. The raw emotion in your eyes tore at his heart.

“I—I’m sorry too,” he whispered.

You let out a choked sob. “I… I-I really had fun that night.”

Spencer nodded helplessly. “It was the best night of my life.”

Your sobs grew louder, feeling the air restrict your lungs. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get to do it again.”

He shook his head. “We could.”

“You know well we couldn’t,” you murmured. The pain in his eyes after those words left your mouth was too much—that raw, unguarded hurt—and you had to close your eyes, not wanting to see it.

In that brief darkness you wondered what would have happened if you had never gone through with any of this. Would you still have crossed his path? Would things have been different? But no, your rage was too consuming, too deep-seated for you to second guess the path you had chosen.

His soft voice whispered your name, and you blinked your eyes open, noticing his outstretched arm.

“Dance with me.”

You let out a painful cry. “Spencer… don’t make it harder than it already is.”

“Please, I… I just want to hold you.” You stared at his hand trembling under the firelight. “Please.”

You had never felt so much pain, a crushing weight on your heart, and against your better judgment, you took his hand. He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as if trying to memorize every detail of your body pressed against his.

The world seemed to pause. You let your mind be happy for a while, you let it travel to the simple, mundane things you wished you could do with him—walking hand in hand through a park, sharing quiet breakfasts, laughing together over something silly, and feeling his comforting presence beside you during the small, quiet times in bed.

You dreamed of a life where your past didn’t haunt you, where the weight of your decisions didn’t crush your spirit. You dreamed of waking up to his smile, of whispered conversations in the dark, of his naked body pressed against yours as he whispered sweet nothings to your ear. You allowed yourself to fantasize of a life filled with those ordinary, beautiful moments, a life that felt so achingly close yet so painfully out of reach.

But the fire’s glow around you was a reminder of the reality you couldn’t escape. Still, for a few moments, the night around you seemed to fade, the chaos and destruction reduced to a distant backdrop. His hands were gentle on your back, holding you as if you were something precious, something to be cherished, someone to be loved.

“I’m sorry for everything,” he murmured into your hair.

You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, those deep brown eyes you knew you were going to miss. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The sorrow there was mirrored in your own, a mutual recognition of the pain you both felt. His gaze held yours, intense and searching, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. The color of your eyes, the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice. He wanted to remember you for a lifetime.

With tears streaming down your face, you leaned into him, savoring the bittersweet moment. You ignored everything around you. The noise, the chaos, the destruction—all of it faded into the background. It was just the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.

And nothing else did.

So you danced for the last time, holding on to each other desperately, each step a silent prayer, each turn a tender goodbye, as the world continued to burn.

~*~

“Can't seem to hold you like I want to,

So I can feel you in my arms.

Nobody's gonna come and save you,

We pulled too many false alarms.”

~*~

A/n: If you managed to make it to the end, I applaud you! Thank you from taking the time to read this fic. I’m very self conscious about this because not only does it have 14k words, the plot is also very heavy. But I’m happy with how it turned out and I hope you liked it too. Also, I could go on and on about why I chose this specific plot, but I’d be talking too much here. So if you want to further discuss this story, feel free to send me asks. I’ll gladly reply to them <3

[reidhalstead]

For: @heronyearwood

There's a list of names he's got in his head, all waiting to be scratched off with a bloody red line. He plans to erase the letters and who they belong to from existence. The host of the masquerade has stolen his sire's top spot. She'd been there for seven years and her reign has finally fallen to second place.

He's sure she'll be thrilled to know that.

Promises are hanging in the air, a newfound, childish rage that steers him off his former path of righteousness. (What he at least believed to be, once)

Some names he's had echoed in his ears, but they're sitting on another kind of list. Reid's flown past bravery into stupidity — but he's still, trying to salvage what he can of his reason to survive this.

"Yearwood?" It's a question — much like he's approached Valka once, blindly at the butcher shop. He's got a pile of ash in a vial tucked away in his pocket from a night of disaster. It's a last-ditch resort, for if he has to. He'd planned to roll it at Book's feet, like the other had once done for a stake.

The stakes here, seem higher. "Heard in the grapevine, you're heading the other side." It's likely not smart to go right to the head of the snake, but he's done being in the shadows, when those he does care for, are in the sunlight.

[masterwords]

restless heart

Summary: Derek Morgan joins the BAU, making it a team of three, and steals Aaron Hotchner's heart. A slow burn, mutual pining to falling in love story. First meeting to happily ever after.

Notes: I'm kind of just inventing my own timelines here. Artistic liberty doesn't begin to cover the webs I'm weaving. As usual, sorry in advance for starting ANOTHER multi-chapter and for not having anything resembling a posting schedule. We fly fast and loose in these parts nowadays. I'll be incorporating some of the requests that are in my inbox into this story (and a few others) so be on the lookout. I'll answer the ask with a link when it's been used. ** This is now a series, a set of multi-chapter fics and one shots. The prologue will finish up with the addition of team members to bring us up to the pilot, and after that we'll be in the land of one-shots so you don't have to wait on me to get my shit together.

Prologue: Chapter One (5.3k) - in which there is an unconventional job interview & lots of thinly veiled flirting Chapter Two (6.5k) - in which Derek moves in, acquires Clooney and befriends Haley (oh and a case goes very very bad for Aaron & Jason) Chapter Three (6.5k) - in which Aaron & Derek travel to Montana and Aaron saves Derek's life which turns Derek on a little Chapter Four (5k) - in which Haley has more than one pregnancy loss, Hotch is sad and gets sick, and the team really need another member Chapter Five (4.5k) - in which Reid joins the team, Derek is upset about it, and Adrian Bale blows some people up

One-Shots: without trying to bite down (5.1k) - Coda to Profiler, Profiled/Ashes and Dust/Birthright (divorce, whiskey, first kisses, angst and talking) and it hits you so much harder than you thought (9.4k) - Carl Buford's trial in Chicago echoes in my head (5.1k) - Coda to 4x02 The Angel Maker uncharted territory (9.4k and counting) - 5x01 hospital + roy colson + a breakup, mind the warnings on ao3

[veilxstars]

Prompt #1 - Bishop Walker

The dream began sweetly, a scene from childhood where Bishop wandered through a sun-drenched meadow, flowers blooming in hues he would struggle to name when he woke up. Laughter danced on the breeze, and for a moment, he felt light, free from the burdens he had grown used to carrying. The warmth of the sun bathed his skin, a gentle caress that felt like his magic. But just beyond the horizon, dark clouds began to gather, their edges curling like the fingers of a lurking menace around a warped, weakened iron gate.

As he ventured deeper into the meadow, the ground shifted beneath him. The grass, once soft and inviting, began to dry, cracking underfoot like brittle parchment. The air thickened with an acrid scent, and the flowers withered into brittle stalks, transforming into sharp thorns that pricked at his skin. He stumbled, glancing around as the cheerful laughter twisted into an echo of screams. Shadows stretched long and thin, creeping towards him with dark intent, their whispers filling the air with chilling words he couldn’t quite grasp.

The scene changed.

Bishop found himself standing at the edge of a dark cliff, the meadow now far in the distance. The landscape was grim and desolate, and a deep rumble echoed from within the abyss. Here, the earth pulsed like a living thing, the ground trembling beneath him as though it were alive. The abyss aborted monsters, twisted creatures emerged from the darkness, their bodies writhing in torment, eyes wide with panic and despair. Each soul he passed reached out, their fingers brushing against him, leaving behind fragments of their anguish that seeped into his skin.

Bishop walked along the canyon's edge, the weight of their sorrow slowing him down, dragging him deeper towards the edge. He could feel pieces of himself slipping away. As he continued along, he began to move downwards, walls sloped upwards as he entered the canyon. The walls shifted and twisted; the stone slick with a viscous substance that pulled at his feet. The air thickened, heavy with the stench of decay and desperation. With every step, his heart sank, the darkness engulfing him. The screams of the lost echoed in his mind, and he felt a flicker of his own joy die.

He found himself in a cavern filled with flickering flames that danced along the walls, illuminating the tortured faces of the damned. They writhed in agony, their bodies marked by scars and burns. The heat intense, stifling, and as Bishop approached, he could see them reaching out, pleading silently for help he couldn't give. In that moment, he felt a burn on his own skin—a searing pain that licked at his arms and torso. The flames grasped at him, pulling away a piece of his essence, a memory of laughter with Reid.

“Let me go,” he whispered, but the fire only tightened its grip. The pain intensified as he felt himself fragmenting, a piece of his spirit consumed by the flames. He staggered back, gasping as he stumbled and the ground turned to ash; he now walked on the charred corpses of those he couldn't save; he was in a bleak landscape of devastation. Here, the sky was a tumultuous swirl of black and orange, a chaotic storm of smoke that choked the air. The remnants of homes lay scattered, remnants of lives once lived, and the cries of those lost rang out, piercing through the silence.

He walked through the wreckage, each step heavy, and as he moved, he felt something slip away—his sense of purpose, the fire that had once driven him to serve. It fell from him like leaves in late autumn, leaving only emptiness. The ash swirled around him, suffocating him. He was forced to take the communion of the dead.

Shadows surrounded him, whispering truths that clawed at his mind. They spoke of failures, of promises unkept, of lives affected by decisions he could never take back. As he listened, he felt another part of himself extinguished—the hope that he could protect those he loved, the belief that he could find a way to atone. The shadows drew closer, and he could almost feel their hot breath on his skin, suffocating him, stripping away what remained of his spirit.

Bishop forced himself onwards - he knew there was no going back. The path now treacherous led him to a precipice overlooking a vast, hellish landscape. Rivers of molten fire flowed like veins across the desecrated ground, illuminating grotesque figures trapped within their searing embrace. They writhed and screamed, their voices rising in a haunting symphony of despair. He gazed into the flames and saw himself reflected back—a soldier who had fought and survived, but why?

From the depths of the inferno, a figure emerged, a distorted reflection of himself, and Bishop felt another piece of his identity ripped away, swallowed by the chaos. Here. Now. The realization that he could never fully escape the scars of his past, that they would forever define him, struck him with the force of a tidal wave. He staggered back, searching for something—anything—that might anchor him in this madness, but the world around him dissolved into flickering shadows and flames.

Finally, quiet. He blinked, and he was in a place that felt oddly still amidst the chaos. It was a sanctuary, yet the shadows crept in, whispering his name, urging him to abandon hope. As he stood in the stillness, he reached for the only thing that felt real—the dog tags that hung heavy around his neck. They were the last tangible connection to who he was, a remnant of a bond forged in fire and brotherhood. But even as he clutched them, he felt them growing warm, too hot to touch.

In this final layer, Bishop was left stripped of everything but the weight of his choices, the emptiness of his soul seeking redemption. All that remained was the burning metal of the dog tags.

Bishop jolted awake, gasping for air as the sharp tang of sweat and the steady hum of the fire station rushed back to him. His eyes snapped open, disoriented for a moment before he realized where he was. The familiar weight of the dog tags hung around his neck. He grasped for them, expecting to feel the familiar cold metal. Instead, the searing heat screamed through his palm. A low hiss escaped him as he let them fall back against his chest, but the damage was already done.

His skin stung where the metal had burned him, the pain a sharp reminder of the nightmare. He'd been in that place again, the one where the weight of everything he had done threatened to crush him. The tags, symbols of a brotherhood, had burned him.

Bishop squeezed his eyes shut, trying to shake off the haunting images, but the gnawing ache of his guilt remained. His fingers tightened around the dog tags once more. If they burned him again -- he deserved it.

[marvelatthismess]

This took me far too long to get around to but

Ash's turn for headcanons

(some of these are random as fuck)

Her rat is called Inno, short for 'innominatam' which is Latin for unnamed/nameless. It's part of Reid that slipped through the cracks as she used pettily name the lab rats 'nameless' in different languages after being told they had to remain unnamed; the original Inno was a lab rat that had to be retired due to her messing with the test results, Reid took her in as a pet (the original Inno is the rat we see in Ashes to Ash). Ash will never admit to naming her

She cares for Mirage more than she would ever admit; he got on her nerves at first but the more time she spent around him, the more he reminded her of her pilots and the more attached she got (respawn give is interactions between them you cowards /j) (this headcanon is heavily influenced by a friend bc they're our favourite characters)

Robot yoga. No one knows why she does it but Ash can often be found doing yoga in her downtime

While she strives for perfection and clean fights, she is not afraid to fight dirty - provided her opponent does it first so that she is then leveling the playing field

Ash's last ounce of open care for humanity was destroyed when she regained her memories after her head was thrown into another dimension (I get they made a deal and she consented but why just her head?? Especially considering it fucking broke when it went through??)

Ash isn't a fan of parties and never was, even before she became a simulacrum. If she's forced to go to one, she can usually be found lurking in a corner until it's over or she can leave

Simulacra don't sleep so Ash doesn't experience nightmares but she (and Leigh by extension) is still haunted by echoes of past events when reminded of them or when her systems are shorted out (gestures to Remnants of Affection where Crypto's EMP sent her into a flashback)

Ok that's all I've got for now but I'm sure there'll be more later hyperfixation go brrrr

[arrthurpendragon]

⌨ + rule 14 + tag you're it

The lecture hall had finally managed to quiet down enough for Professor Ash to finally call the class to order. “Good morning! Good morning!”  He pushed his thick glasses up the bridge of his nose with his pudgy thumb. “Thank you to those of you who bothered to show up this time.  Let me remind you that according to the syllabus you received at the beginning of the semester that attending this lecture is worth 25% of your final grade. And for some of you it’s a graduation requirement.”

A few groans echoed across the hall as did a sea of whispers.  Professor Ash clapped his hands calling their attention back to him once more. “For those of you in need of a good deed for the day and you see someone who should be in this lecture - I’d pull out those cellphones and tell them to get their lazy asses out of bed.”

Laughter erupted across the hall.  Some people even pulled out their cellphones to text their missing classmates.  Emma just sipped her coffee, waiting the for lecture to finally begin. How much showboating did it require to actually start this thing?  But when the talking finally seemed to die down, Professor Ash addressed them once more. “Without further ado, it gives me great pleasure to introduce our guest speakers from the prestigious Behavioral Analysis unit at the FBI, SSA Jason Gideon and Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Have you met either of them?” Emma asked Theresa, whispered in her friend’s ear as the audience applauded their guests onto the stage.

Theresa shook her head.

Send me ⌨ + title to one of my fics and I’ll write a sentence for that fic!

[reiding-writing]

hi could i pretty pls request a cold!reader fic where maybe she gives spencer a kiss on the cheek?? or on the forehead, if not a kiss maybe a hug?

bonus point if the team is there 💖💖💖

ADRENALINE — SPENCER REID!

you and spencer get caught in an explosion, and you’ll be damned if you don’t both get out of it.

spencer reid x cold!reader | 1.1k | h/c | cold!reader masterlist.

main masterlist. | part two.

a/n — not quite in kissing territory yet, but we’re getting there 🙂‍↕️✊

You cough through clouds of smoke, blinking ash from your eyes.

The ground is rough and unsteady under your feet, but you don’t care, you have more important things to worry about.

“Reid?” You’re mid cough as you call out his name, your lungs trying desperately to clean their lining of the soot you’re breathing in.

You hold your sleeve over your mouth and nose, but it doesn’t help very much against the amount of spot fires you’re passing by.

“Reid?” your voice echoes weakly through the destroyed corridor, the sound swallowed almost immediately by the groans of the building. Metal beams creak ominously above you, and bits of debris crumble from the ceiling.

Every step you take feels like it could be your last on solid ground, but you don’t stop. You can’t stop, not yet.

You step over a fallen beam, boots crunching over shattered glass. The air is thick with heat and acrid smoke, but the thought of him—Spencer, somewhere in this chaos, possibly hurt, possibly worse—drives you forward.

Your mind races. You don’t even know where he could be, only that he was nearby when the explosion hit. He had been right behind you, hadn't he? He couldn’t be too far.

“Spencer?” This time his name comes out in a strangled yell. Your voice trembles as much as your legs do, exhaustion setting in from the uneven footing and lack of oxygen.

A faint noise catches your attention—a groan, or was it a cough? You freeze, ears straining to locate the sound. “Reid?” you yell again, heart pounding as you veer left, pushing aside a half-collapsed doorframe.

And then you see him. Crumpled against a wall, his head slumped forward, a streak of soot smeared across his cheek. His chest is rising and falling—slowly, but steadily. Relief slams into you like a tidal wave, so forceful it nearly knocks you to your knees.

“Hey-!” you exhale, rushing to him. You drop to the ground beside him, ignoring the pain that shoots through your knees as you skid on the debris. “Hey— can you hear me?” Your hands are shaking as you gently touch his shoulder, afraid to jostle him too much.

He stirs slightly, his head tipping back against the wall as his bleary eyes blink up at you. “...I’m okay—” he croaks, his voice barely audible.

Something inside you snaps. Before you can stop yourself, you pull him into a tight hug, your arms wrapping around his shoulders as you bury your face against the top of his head. It’s instinctive, a reaction born out of the sheer terror of almost losing him.

“Don’t ever scare me like that again,” you mutter, your voice thick with relief and raw emotion. He doesn’t respond immediately, but you feel his arm weakly rise to rest against your back.

“I... didn’t mean to,” he whispers hoarsely, and despite everything, the corners of your lips twitch into a shaky smile.

The building groans again, a sharp reminder that this moment of safety is fleeting. You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands lingering on his shoulders. “Can you walk?”

He nods faintly, though he winces as he shifts. “I think so.”

“Good. We need to leave. Now.”

You sling his arm over your shoulder, steadying him as he leans heavily against you. His legs are shaky, and every step he takes is slow and labored, but you don’t let up.

The adrenaline coursing through your veins is the only thing keeping you upright, the only thing keeping your mind focused on one task: getting the two of you out of this godforsaken building.

The air grows thicker the further you move through the wreckage, the smoke burning your lungs with every shallow breath. The groans of the building are getting louder now, the structure threatening to collapse at any moment.

“Just a little further,” you say, though you have no idea if that’s true. Spencer doesn’t respond, his head lolling slightly against your shoulder, but he keeps moving.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you see light breaking through the smoke—a gaping hole where part of the wall has crumbled. Fresh air rushes in, and you feel a spark of hope. “There,” you say, your voice tight. “Almost there,”

The two of you stumble toward the opening, and the moment you step through, the sound of voices shouting your names cuts through the chaos. Relief floods you as you spot the rest of the team rushing toward you.

“Over here!” you call out, your voice cracking from the strain.

Emily and Morgan reach you first, their faces a mixture of relief and urgency. Derek takes Spencer from you, easing him onto the ground while Emily steadies you. “We’ve got him,” she says firmly, her hands gripping your arms. “You’re okay now.”

You nod, the weight of the ordeal finally starting to settle over you as you allow a second for your adrenaline to subside. But as you try to take a step toward Spencer, your legs buckle. Pain shoots through your thigh, sharp and unrelenting, and your vision blurs.

“Hey—” Emily’s voice is urgent, her grip tightening as you collapse against her. “What’s wrong?”

You try to speak, but the words don’t come. Your hand instinctively moves to your leg, and when you pull it away, your fingers are slick with blood. A gash, deep and ugly, runs along your thigh—a wound you hadn’t even noticed in the chaos.

“Medic-!” Emily shouts, her voice cutting through the haze.

The last thing you see before the darkness takes over is Spencer, his gaze locked on you despite the chaos around him. His lips move, forming your name, but you’re already falling into unconsciousness.

— part two.

[shrimproscopic]

🔬🦐INTRO POST🦐🔬

Hi! I'm thatmicroshrimp on ao3, and this is my writing sideblog where i keep my fics and stuff related to them :)

Any chapter updates/ misc posts will be tagged 'shrimpwriter', and the name or acronym of the fic that they relate to

find my fic playlists HERE

all my fics currently are:

APEX LEGENDS

GENERAL

CANON ADJACENT

Small Mammal Appreciation Club- Vantage and Ash take Echo to the Vet's

Rift's Aftermath- The aftermath of The Event

CANON DIVERGENT

Newton's 3 Laws- Newton is tasked with looking after Dr. Reid's rat while she's off in the Frontier doing... something. (Outdated since Remnants of Affection WHICH ONLY CAME OUT A MONTH AFTER I WROTE THIS!!!!)

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

What Not To Do If You Want To Win- Ashleigh is presented with a unique opportunity to redo the events that led to her death.

BROKENGRAVITY

CANON ADJCACENT... ish

First Impressions- The job interview tm

A Bad Penny- Ash finds the time gauntlet

Meteor Shower- Mary and Ashleigh watch a rare meteor shower that can only be seen from Olympus once every 87 years... twice.

Olympus Family Summer Funtime- While on holiday, Lilian tries to get her friends to realise their feelings for each other

Broken Matchmaking- Horizon and Ash are forced to partner together for the Games' special Date Night Duos event

Seeing Stars- Mary and Ashleigh go mug shopping.

CANON DIVERGENT

Moving Forwards- A pre-season 20 and onwards scenario where Leigh gains control and finds a common goal with Horizon (Series complete especially as the idea is obsolete now)

ALTERNATE UNIVERSE

Olympus Secondary- My obligatory high school au for the Iris gang (series complete)

CURRENT WIP:

Black Holes and Revelations- Brokengravity fix it fic

[reidhalstead]

There's no doubt she's too proud to see herself anywhere below him. And it's a ghoulish sight, to watch the way their bones shift like living entities in the springy flesh of the undead. Reid goads because he wants to see the monster; it makes it easier when he does this — justifying the twisted use of his suppressed abilities.

It isn't about survival or revenge. It's punishment, really. He'll never atone for his crimes or his sins by ashing this woman. But it will make the blood spilt taste a little better on his tongue when he inevitably has to cave to basal urges. Maybe it's spite that fuels the insanity that he might remember how to be a hunter, in the body of something else. He's danced this routine before and it doesn't always end in his favour; a broken neck and a long day witnessing the devious eyes of his sire; they still forever haunt the back of his gaze.

The other creature recovers in another fast flash, Reid has to focus intensely to be able to track the movements. His senses prickle, locking onto the awareness that he needs to use them and not neglect them. Spending so long pretending they aren't there, has done him no favours.

Another snap echoes in the alleyway when his cheek cracks under the weight of her blow. Then, as he goes to step back, his knee goes too — shatttering. It's impossible not to cry out in pain that reverberates louder in the confined space. He drops onto his good knee and the one that's in fragments trembles with spent energy as it slowly begins its healing process; resetting the nerves around the ivory within. Fuck. You. He wants to say it, but he fears if he opens his mouth, he might just release agonised noise in pissed off plight that she's hit well.

Teeth gritting, her words are a sword in themselves. Cutting at his resolve, adding to the frustration that burns in his body as he stays knelt at her feet. Any passerby might take the scene as something else entirely — on one knee, head nearly bowed to fight the too-long felt sensation of discomfort. It feels like forever before he might be able to stand again.

Head wrenched back to look at her, he hisses, bending into her grasp to ease the pulling on his hair.

"Are we done already?" He spits the words at her, right before he grabs her wrist and twists it sharply with a snap. Reid forces her to loosen the vice of a hand she has on him so when he dives forward and slams her back against the dilapidated bricks. He burrows a fist in her stomach with a jagged undercut and his mouth sharply darts to tear and bury in her throat —

The way he nearly goes down is satisfying, a rush of adrenaline pumping through her veins like the warmth of blood from the man she had just drained. But this guy? This fledgling with a big mouth and a pathetic game? He won’t go down so easily, he offers more distraction. More fight, and she can see the flame of it in his eyes. Vampires never went down easily.

They’d fight and fight no matter how hard you hit. Fight until they crumble to ash as their head detached or their heart was ripped from their body. How a heart could still hold so much weight when it no longer beats is a fascinating fact. Maybe she’d do his sire a favor and crush his, leaving the traces of him blowing in the autumn wind. Fist raises back like a well-oiled engine, ready to strike a third time. He catches it this time though, prepared for another blow, his block enough to catch her at a miss.

The sudden burst of pain at a boot to the chest, she feels something crack as she smacks into the wall of the other side of the alley. She breathes through it as it heals as fast as it has cracked and blue eyes narrow as he tells her to get up. ’Fucking death wish’ she thinks to herself as she does just that and nearly rips her coat off to loosen her movements more.

“Gladly,” she grits out, moving as if she is about to swing at his jaw again only to uppercut with the opposite fist into his side, snarling in her anger as her foot is pulled back and reconnects with his knee in a shattering blow. “A self-loathing vampire, how fucking original.” she bites out. It feels good, hitting something with resistance, exhilarating. It makes her feel alive, the violence of it. The way it makes her forget when it is, what is coming. The way it sparks a joy she should be scared of. Something she’ll wonder about later. Wonder if she’s truly broken at this point, She grabs a handful of his hair and yanks his head to the side. “Fucking pathetic.”

[notebookmusical]

books read in 2023

hi, hello! inspired by a few mutuals, i decided to do a reading thread of 2023! you can find my goodreads here, and my bookstagram here! as always, askbox + dms are open if have any questions or would like to chat about books!

january

book lovers by emily henry (reread; ★★★★★)

convenience store woman by sayaka murata + translated by ginny tapley takemori (★★★☆☆)

a wish in the dark by christina soontornvat (★★★★★)

so you want to talk about race by ijeoma oluo (audiobook; ★★★★★)

highly suspicious and unfairly cute by talia hibbert (★★★★☆)

the seven husbands of evelyn hugo by taylor jenkins reid (reread; (★★★★☆)

if not, winter by sappho + translated by anne carson (★★★★★)

when you wish upon a lantern by gloria chao (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

this time it's real by ann liang (ARC; ★★★★★)

love, theoretically by ali hazelwood (ARC; ★★☆☆☆)

hell bent by leigh bardugo (★★★★☆)

everything i know about love by dolly alderton (reread; ★★★★★)

the fraud squad by kyla zhao (★★★☆☆)

masters of death by olivie blake (★★★★☆)

enter the body by joy mccullough (★★★★☆)

the stranger by albert camus (reread; ★★★★★)

you'd be mine by erin hahn (★☆☆☆☆)

a hundred other girls by iman hariri-kia (★☆☆☆☆)

bloodmarked by tracy deonn (audiobook; ★★★☆☆)

fearless by mandy gonazales (★★★★☆)

february

the roommate by rosie danan (★★☆☆☆)

wuthering heights by emily brontë (book club pick; ★★★★☆)

the nanny by lana ferguson (ARC; ★★☆☆☆)

the writing retreat by julia bartz (ARC; ★★☆☆☆)

exes and o's by amy lea (★★★☆☆)

not here to stay friends by kaitlyn hill (ARC; ★★★★☆)

chloe and the kaishao boys by mae coyiuto (ARC; ★★★★☆)

isha, unscripted by sajni patel (gifted; ★★☆☆☆)

conversations on love by natasha lunn (★★★★★)

meet me at the lake by carley fortune (ARC; ★★★★☆)

emily wilde's encyclopedia of faeries by heather fawcett (★★★☆☆)

where echoes die by courtney gould (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

vintage contemporaries by dan kois (gifted; ★★☆☆☆)

how to be perfect: the correct answer to every moral question by michael schur (audiobook; ★★★★★)

half a soul by olivia atwater (★★★★★)

ten thousand stitches by olivia atwater (★★★★☆)

longshadow by olivia atwater (★★★★★)

between the world and me by ta-nehisi coates (audiobook; ★★★★★)

infamous by lex croucher (ARC; ★★☆☆☆)

the lord sorcier by olivia atwater (★★★★☆)

the latch key by olivia atwater (★★★★★)

made of stars by jenna voris (ARC; ★★★★☆)

march

when broadway was black: the triumphant story of the all-black musical that changed the world by caseen gaines (audiobook; ★★★★★)

leave it to the march sisters by annie sereno (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

once more with feeling by elissa sussman (ARC; ★☆☆☆☆)

moorewood family rules by helenkay dimon (ARC; ★★☆☆☆)

fleabag: the scriptures by phoebe waller-bridge (★★★★★)

fake dates and mooncakes by sher lee (ARC; ★☆☆☆☆)

vera wong's unsolicited advice for murderers by jesse q. sutanto (gifted; ★★★★☆)

emma of 83rd street by audrey bellezza and emily harding (ARC; ★★☆☆☆)

how to read now by elaine castillo (★★★★★)

constellations by nick payne (reread; ★★★★☆)

ching chong chinaman by lauren yee

devil in winter by lisa kleypas (★★★★☆)

the passing playbook by isaac fitzsimons ( ★★★★★)

infinite jest by david foster wallace

our wives under the sea by julia armfield (★★★★☆)

mrs. nash's ashes by sarah adler (ARC; ★★★★☆)

study break: 11 college tales from orientation to graduation edited by aashna avachat (★★★☆☆)

the love match by priyanka taslim (★★★★☆)

a lady for a duke by alexis hall (★★★★☆)

love and other consolation prizes by jamie ford (★★★☆☆)

april

spoiler alert by olivia dade (★★☆☆☆)

all the feels by olivia dade (★★☆☆☆)

ship wrecked by olivia dade (★★☆☆☆)

float plan by trish doller (★★★★☆)

yellowface by r.f. kuang

the ex hex by erin sterling (★★☆☆☆)

the kiss curse by erin sterling (★★★☆☆)

siren queen by nghi vo (audiobook; ★★★☆☆)

chloe and the kaishao boys by mae coyiuto (reread; ★★★★★)

wandering souls by cecile pin (gifted; ★★★★★)

heavy vinyl, vol. 1: riot on the radio by nina vakueva & carly usdin (★★★★☆)

heavy vinyl: y2k-o! by nina vakueva & carly usdin (★★★★☆)

never ever getting back together by sophie gonzales (★★☆☆☆)

book lovers by emily henry (reread; ★★★★★)

miss aldridge regrets by louise hare (gifted; ★★★☆☆)

if the shoe fits by julie murphy (★★★☆☆)

blackmail and bibingka by mia p. manansala (★★★★☆)

murder and mamon by mia p. manansala (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

icebreaker by hannah grace (★☆☆☆☆)

alone with you in the ether by olivie blake (reread; ★★★★★)

may

beautiful country: a memoir of an undocumented childhood by qian julie wang (★★★★★)

the other black girl by zakiya dalila harris (audiobook; ★★★★☆)

check & mate by ali hazelwood (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

if i'm being honest by emily wibberley & austin siegemund-broka (reread; ★★★★★)

always never yours by emily wibberley & austin siegemund-broka (reread; ★★★★★)

do i know you? by emily wibberley & austin siegemund-broka (reread; ★★★★★)

romeo and juliet by william shakespeare (audiobook, reread; ★★★★★)

joan is okay by weike wang (★★★★☆)

technically yours by denise williams (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

first position by melanie hamrick (ARC; ★☆☆☆☆)

the boy from kyiv: alexei ratmansky's life in ballet by marina harss (ARC; ★★★★★)

the boy you always wanted by michelle quach (ARC; ★★★★☆)

woman, eating by claire kohda (★★☆☆☆)

immortal longings by chloe gong (ARC; ★★☆☆☆)

heartburn by nora ephron (★★★☆☆)

a merry little meet cute by julie murphy & sierra simone (★★☆☆☆)

the deal by elle kennedy (★☆☆☆☆)

the mistake by elle kennedy (★☆☆☆☆)

the score by elle kennedy (★☆☆☆☆)

the goal by elle kennedy (★☆☆☆☆)

the legacy by elle kennedy (★☆☆☆☆)

open water by caleb azumah nelson (★★★★★)

painted devils by margaret owen (gifted; ★★★★★)

playing for keeps by kendall ryan (★☆☆☆☆)

june

the final revival of opal and nev by dawnie walton (★★★☆☆)

the missing of clairedelune by christelle dabos (audiobook; ★★★★★)

happy place by emily henry (reread; ★★★★★)

iris kelly doesn't date by ashley herring blake (ARC; ★★★★☆)

ghosts by dolly alderton (★★★★★)

you don't have a shot by racquel marie (gifted; ★★★★☆)

thank you for listening by julia whelan (audiobook; ★★★★★)

if you still recognize me by cynthia so (gifted; ★★☆☆☆)

imogen, obviously by becky albertalli (gifted; ★★★★☆)

for never & always by helena greer (ARC; ★☆☆☆☆)

all the dead lie down by kyrie mccauley (gifted; ★★★★☆)

one hundred days by alice pung (ARC; ★★☆☆☆)

much ado about nada by uzma jalaluddin (★★★★☆)

thieves gambit by kayvion lewis (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

deep in providence by riss m. neilson (★★★☆☆)

the burnout by sophie kinsella (ARC; ★★★★☆)

small worlds by caleb azumah nelson (ARC; ★★★★☆)

we ship it by lauren kay (★☆☆☆☆)

foul heart huntsman by chloe gong (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

the memory of babel by christelle dabos (audiobook; ★★★☆☆)

pride and prejudice and pittsburgh by rachael lippincott (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

a british girl's guide to hurricanes and heartbreak by laura taylor namey (ARC; ★★★★☆)

the reunion by kit frick (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

queer by william s. burroughs

when grumpy met sunshine by charlotte stein (ARC; ★☆☆☆☆)

july

the storm of echoes by christelle dabos (audiobook; ★★★☆☆)

will they or won't they by ava wilder (★★★☆☆)

fiona and jane by jean chen ho (audiobook; ★★☆☆☆)

business or pleasure by rachel lynn solomon (★★★☆☆)

teach the torches to burn: a romeo & juliet remix by caleb roehrig (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

a man called ove by fredrik backman (audiobook; ★★★★☆)

exciting times by naoise dolan (audiobook; ★☆☆☆☆)

the hobbit by j.r.r. tolkien (audiobook; ★★★★★)

the year of magical thinking by joan didion (★★★★★)

such a fun age by kiley reid (audiobook; ★★★☆☆)

tis the damn season by kimi freeman (ARC; ★☆☆☆☆)

august

a very nice girl by imogen crimp (audiobook; ★★☆☆☆)

bliss montage by ling ma (audiobook; ★★★☆☆)

the raven boys by maggie stiefvater (reread; ★★★★★)

freshwater by akwaeke emezi (audiobook; ★★☆☆☆)

the dream thieves by maggie stiefvater (reread; ★★★★★)

i'm not done with you yet by jesse q. sutanto (gifted; ★★☆☆☆)

blue lily, lily blue by maggie stiefvater (reread; ★★★★★)

the raven king by maggie stiefvater (reread; ★★★★★)

bellegarde by jamie lilac (gifted; ★★★☆☆)

red, white & royal blue by casey mcquiston (reread; ★★★★★)

some mistakes were made by kristin dwyer (gifted; ★★★☆☆)

september

beta read (★★★★★)

dogs of summer by andrea abreu lópez (audiobook; ★★☆☆☆)

in these hallowed halls: a dark academia anthology edited by maria o'regan and paul kane (ARC; ★★★☆☆)

together we rot by skyla arndt (★★★★☆)

stay with my heart by tashie bhuiyan (ARC; ★★☆☆☆)

before we say goodbye by toshikazu kawaguchi & translated by geoffrey trousselot (ARC; ★★★★★)

the dead romantics by ashley poston (★★★★☆)

the seven year slip by ashley poston( ★★★★★)

you, again by kate goldbeck (★★☆☆☆)

serpent & dove by shelby mahurin (gifted; ★★★☆☆)

harlem after midnight by louise hare (gifted; ★★★☆☆)

witch of wild things by raquel vasquez gilliland (gifted; ★★★☆☆)

the luis ortega survival club by sonora reyes (gifted; ★★★★☆)

blood & honey by shelby mahurin (audiobook; ★★★☆☆)

the picture of dorian gray by oscar wilde (audiobook; ★★★★★)

for the throne by hannah whitten (audiobook; ★★★☆☆)

the wake-up call by beth o'leary (★★★★★)

the book eaters by sunyi dean (audiobook; ★★★☆☆)

october

the moth keeper by kay o'neill (★★★★☆)

a fragile enchantment by allison saft (ARC; ★★★★☆)

just kids by patti smith (audiobook)

cult classic by sloane crosley (audiobook; ★★★★☆)

the atlas paradox by olivie blake (audiobook; ★★★★☆)

the goodbye cat by hiro arikawa (gifted; ★★★★★)

the appeal by janice hallett ( ★★★★☆)

the twyford code by janice hallett ( ★★★★☆)

wildfire by hannah grace (★★☆☆☆)

the roaring by t. katarina tayler (★★☆☆☆)

curious tides by pascale lacelle (audiobook; ★★★★☆)

the tempest by william shakespeare (audiobook; ★★★★☆)

murder on the orient express by agatha christie (audiobook; ★★★★☆)

canadian boyfriend by jenny holiday (ARC; ★★☆☆☆)

november

better than fiction by alexa martin (★★★☆☆)

the christmas appeal by janice hallett(★★★★☆)

kaikeyi by vaishnavi patel (audiobook; ★★★★☆)

finale: late conversations with stephen sondheim by d.t. max (audiobook; ★★★★☆)

cleopatra and frankenstein by coco mellors (★★★★☆)

the undertaking of hart and mercy by megan bannen (audiobook; ★★★☆☆)

december

how to stop time by matt haig (audioboook; ★★★☆☆)

the wake-up call by beth o'leary (reread; ★★★★★)

the break up tour by emily wibberley & austin siegemund-broka (arc; ★★☆☆☆)

bride by ali hazelwood (arc; ★☆☆☆☆)

the getaway list by emma lord (arc; review withheld due to st. martin's press boycott)

same time next year by tessa bailey (★☆☆☆☆)

the mountains sing by nguyễn phan quế mai (★★★★★)

normal people by sally rooney (audiobook, reread; ★★★★★)

the night circus by erin morgenstern (reread;★★★★★)

funny story by emily henry (arc; ★★★★★)

les misérables by victor hugo (★★★★★)

TOTAL BOOKS READ: 202

[therewasatale]

fire

On Ao3

Summary: The heat was almost unbearable, the flames were about to reach his side and arms. He tried to lift the beam, but he had no chance against its weight, and time worked against him. He choked on smoke and ash.

The building, cracked and popped around him as the flames were eating up the walls and rooftop. Heavy smoke clouds billowed towards the windows and the opening of the slightly collapsed roof. The support beams creaked and crackled, indicating that they could no longer withstand the flames.

Geoffrey fought for each breath as he tried to free himself. A piece of timber collapsed on him, pinning him against the floor.  

"Shit!"

The heat was almost unbearable, the flames were about to reach his side and arms. He tried to lift the beam, but he had no chance against its weight and time worked against him. He choked on smoke and ash.

"Move, god damn it!" He didn't care about his still bleeding shoulder, or the pain running through his side. It stings as if a knife was stabbing inside of him with every movement. The adrenalin pumped inside his veins, and it kicked in the right time to make him fight for his life. "Move!"

He didn't even rea the hurrying steps. Only when the piece of wood finally was lifted up.

"W-What... you?" Geoffrey coughed.

Jonathan grabbed him, pulling him up to his feet. "I'm sorry, we need to hurry."

"No shit." The hunter shook his head weakly. His lungs felt like as if they were shriveling up with each breathe.

"All right, you can yell at me later." The Ekon easily picked up the Priwen into his arms. The man didn't even try to protest, this made a rush of panic run through Jonathan. He used his powers and teleported through the burning furniture on the floor.

With two final teleportation he was out of the building. Before taking another step, he heard the roof collapsing behind them with a loud crash. But his attention was focused on McCullum.

People yelled and started to gather around. The fire illuminated the buildings around it, but fortunately it was just far enough and the fire didn't spread, yet.

Jonathan made sure no one saw them and teleported over and over along the street until he reached the nearest hideout. A tiny pang of guilt echoed his soul. Maybe he should have gone back to help, but the building was at the end of the docks, close to the river. And he had to make sure McCullum was all right.

"Geoffrey?" Carefully he put the man down on the bed that Reid himself used to sleep in. "Can you hear me?"

A heavy cough was the answer, the hunter fought for each breath. It was as if he was clearing the soot from his lung with every ragged breath. When he finally was able to breath somewhat easily, he collapsed on the bed. "Fuck."

"How are you feeling?" Reid blinked and measured him up and down again. He saw all the wounds now; the cracked bones, and opened skin.

"Like shit..." the hunter slowly blinked inside the dark room. "What are you doing?"

"Your shoulder is bleeding, let me fix it." Jonathan pulled a chair closer and sat down next to him.

He was close, closer than any leech Geoffrey would actually let. His instinct tried to warn him, but for a long time, he didn't feel like fighting or running from the vampire-doctor. He, pushed himself up facing Reid.

"All right." With some help he freed his shoulder. The clothes were sticking to his skin.

Jonathan got out the right tools quickly. Luckily, he even kept a small dose of morphine in the back of one of the shelves, just in case someone needed more serious help.

"It will sting, but then I can patch you up."

Geoffrey looked away and just waited. This night didn't go as he planned. He just wanted to follow the path of a leech, find his lair and let the other knew so they could make a plan to kill it. But then he heard the noises, someone screamed, and then he saw the flames over the windows. He got inside without thinking, like a fool he was.

"There, now I just need to bandage your wound." Jonathan broke the silence between them, and dragged back the hunter's attention to the present. "I count three cracked bones, you're lucky you don't have internal bleeding, or any more serious wounds."

"Why were you there?" Geoffrey glanced at him.

"I assume the same reason as you, I wanted to figure out who was that Ekon and why he showed up in the city. Unfortunately, he wasn't the talkative type. He wanted me to give over London, so he could hunt freely." He adjusted the gauze around the hunter's shoulder, his finger barely touched his skin. "I never thought I had such a reputation."

Geoffrey gently shivered, but tried not to pay attention to his body. "Well, even the Ascalon fears you now, so no wonder." The hunter glanced up from his shoulder to the vampire. "You came back for me."

"Of course." Jonathan looked at him a bit longer than it needed, before tearing his gaze away. "You will be fine, just try to get some rest and eat."

The hunter rolled his eyes, but a gentle warmth spread inside his stomach. "Sure thing." He pulled back his shirt, and let out a tired sigh. The adrenalin wore off, and his body felt like a heavy exhausted mess. His finger trembled as he tried to adjust every button, but with each failure his anger rose. "For god's sake..."

"Let me." Long fingers gently pulled his away, and easily buttoned up his shirt.

Geoffrey watched the Ekon,and even when he knew he shouldn't do it or let the vampire help him. He was a hunter and the doctor was a vampire. They should be fighting, hunting each other down and in the end killing each other.

McCullum trembled as Jonathan buttoned up the last button. Gently he stroked his chin with his fingertips. He shouldn't have moved closer the touch, and shouldn't have looked into the vampire eyes. And god forbid, he should have never wondered about how gentle his eyes were and how tempting his lips were.

He was about to lose it, he knew he was getting closer and closer to a point from where he couldn't come back. But he was not there just yet.

Jonathan pulled his hand away. "I should go now. I have to check on the building, and my other patients. I think you will be all right, from now on."

"Yeah, sure." Geoffrey swallowed back his disappointment.

"Have a nice rest, Geoffrey, hopefully we will meet soon again."

"Yeah." He took a slow breath. "And thank you, Jonathan." He called after the Ekon.

Reid glanced over his shoulder, and nodded with a small but honest smile.

The door clicked softly behind him.

McCullum waited for a couple of seconds and sank back to the bed. His heart was pounding; his chest filled with nervous warmth. He will get some sleep when his thoughts exhaust him, but for now he had a lot to think about.

[reidhalstead]

Everything remains slow. The creak of an old door and the eerie dark as the dank cold seeps into his wounds. Whether he closes his eyes or stays awake in the blurry consciousness. It feels like a nightmare is carving away at the strands of flesh hanging off bone. Reid doesn't need to look around. His vision focuses in and out from bricked walls, the tinge of old iron and rust, to the ancient stone that smells agonisingly familiar.

Wait. He twists his neck, searching, desperate to gather strength in what parts remain intact. Halstead flinches — writhing from the floor as he attempts to crawl, one hand first, digging into the concrete below him. He feels heaviness on his wrists, ankles. Like an animal, caged. No. "Neesh—" A sound rips from his throat, protesting in a way that he wants to sound violent. But only sounds confused, scared to know the lengths of how they are here — where is here?

Eyes look towards the clasps around bruised skin, healing but bloodied. Markus is a cunt and he will turn him to ash — he will. Reid still hears the taunting in his head; the goading of what De Villiers might do to his sisters; it's cold water dousing the fire that wars with the ice of his injuries. Hot, cold, it burns the same; inciting the low groans that have a slow-healing man, clawing to a sitting position. He's trembling when recognition comes far too late. If he had known sooner, he might have fought til he too, had been dust.

Metal clangs when Reid's foot pulls away from the length of chain wrapped around it. Frowning, he drags his arm the same way forwards, til it yanks back, taut of all slack. He can make out Eleazar's person, in front of him. Wait, wait — this place. He can't be back here; he won't be back here, captive to a cruel demise he's battled with once before. Nisha agreed. We agreed. Reid came when she asked, he played the role to the best of his capability, for his family's sake.

He can't be back here. Markus.

Blinking, he manages to straighten the fuzz of his vision, but he cannot stand and he falls back — Nisha doesn't allow it, too-strong arms wrap around him, pinning him against her. It's weak when he whines in complaint and he is powerless to stop her. "No—!" Cut off by a wrist against his mouth, the aching of his teeth slice at the open wound. He knows what she said, and if he were able, he'd have ripped her arm from her body. Noises muffled, a mixture of satisfaction, and hatred. Big words, for someone being held steady by Nisha Eleazar. He swallows, despising the moment of relief. She doesn't get to do this to him, lock him away from the world.

Then, she releases him and he buckles forward, crashing to his front — his hands slap on the floor, and the rattle of chains echoes in the expanse of the room. He knows where he is now, and the virulence that pools into his gaze decides that he will kill Markus, Nisha and every monster who might call them friend.

"Fuck you, Nisha." He rasps, feeling his body crave to have a sip of sustenance again. His tongue laps the missed droplet from his lips, bitterly. Reid prays to a non-existent God that Nisha is simply toying with him, for a night, because she's annoyed. "Let me go," another attempt to push onto his feet, but he only makes it as fast as to fall back on his knees, resting back on his legs and the balls of his feet. Grimacing, he spits at her: "—this? —not amusing." You're not funny. And if it is about recreating the last time she caught him, burying her teeth — he doesn't need the chains, or the basement memories to go with it. That had been a monstrous affair as beastly as she is. If he thinks too long, in the pain, or the pit of where they are. He'll scream; he's certain the walls still remember the sound of his voice, the taste of his blood staining the stone. This room knows him, it knows torment; it knows how to steal a life. This place has Nisha as it's mistress.

It didn't matter if he answered her or not. She already knew what his plan had been. He'd told her before and while she had gave him multiple warnings -- more than she normally did -- he still attacked Markus. She supposed that she should be at least a little proud by his passion and drive. But she couldn't let herself, as it would have easily led to his demise.

Markus was much stronger than Reid, after all.

She carried Reid down a set of stairs and opened the basement door. Being in the room caused flashbacks to surface in her mind. Ones of a newly turned Reid, held here until Nisha felt it was safe enough for him to be out of the home. She'd fed him here. Cared for him, here. And now... she'd punish him here.

Nisha didn't need to tell him that she'd warned him. She didn't need to say anything as she grabbed a set of chains and immediately wrapped them around his wrists before setting him down on the ground. Nisha lowered herself behind him. "I'm only going to give you a small amount. Enough for your bones to heal quicker. Not enough for the pain to disappear." She said as she roughly wrapped an arm around his waist, yanking him until his back was flush against her chest. She used her teeth to tear open her own wrist and reached around, pressing it against Reid's mouth. What Markus had done was punishment in itself but it wasn't her type of punishment. She wouldn't break his bones. No. His mind, however... Well, that was another story.

After a few moments she pulled back and stood up. "Oh Reid..." Nisha let out a sigh as she snatched the other pair of chains, snapping them onto his ankles before she stood in front of him. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you wanted this to happen." Nisha said, a smirk on her lips.

[writing-in-april]

Russian Roulette

Spencer Reid x Female Unsub Reader

Thanks to my beta readers! @definitelynotkatesblog and @clean-bands-dirty-stories

WARNINGS: NSFW, SMUT, MAJOR TRIGGER WARNING

Includes: Suicide, Attempted Suicide, Toxic Relationship, Gun kink, Angsty smut -There is no specific dominant person in the smut-

A/N: Please do not read if you are easily triggered or under the age of 18. This was really difficult to write but I am really happy the way it came out! I have a playlist I made for writing this if anyone is wanting it just ask! My requests are open for basically any character you can think of, I want to branch out and write lots of characters!

Word count: 3.2k

Masterlist

——

The warehouse that I had found myself masking my location in was in no doubt the most ghastly place I had chosen yet. I wasn’t sure what drew me to the abandoned depository, maybe I had subtly acknowledged to myself that I was at the end of my rope-I knew I couldn’t run forever. The smoke colored walls matched the ashes dropping from the cigarette I had lit to alleviate my anxiety. The cat and mouse game I had been playing with the team that was on my trail was coming to an end. They had an extra vendetta set out against me since I cruelly betrayed the trust built between us. Polluted air swirled around me as I dug my nose in a book, trying to distract myself from my impending doom.

A noise drew my thoughts away from Catcher in the Rye that I had been reading while sat on a shitty mattress, practically the only furniture in this hole in the wall. My manicured nails snuffed out the cigarette into the bed and discarded the paperback, knowing that this was the start of the end. The double doors swung open as the recognizable silhouette Dr. Reid, his shadow was tall and lanky, with noticeable wild curls that looked as if he had rolled out of bed. He finally graced my eyes with the details of his figure, every step he took had lingering hesitation. It had been weeks since I had last seen him, he looked considerably more tired since he had last graced me with his presence, purple dark rings sat under his eyes, his hair even more disheveled then normal, and his clothes lacked the crisp ironing that he usually sported. I hated that I was the one that had caused his disheveled state, I had found a kindred spirit in Dr. Reid. It seemed like we were made for one another, our interests were exactly aligned, the only major thing that separated us was my penchant for murdering people. He was the first person I had felt connected to since my mother and it pained me to see that my betrayal had obviously weighed heavy on his mind.

“I see you finally found me.” I stated nonchalantly as I stood up, he was standing as far away as he could, from my observation it was evident he was disgusted with me but he was still drawn to me like a moth to a flame. He nodded solemnly, the words that he wanted to speak seemed caught in his throat, so instead his eyes bored into my soul. We stood in contemplation just staring at each other, we were only a few feet away from each other but it felt as if we were worlds apart.

“Was it ever real?” He finally spoke up in a shaky voice, his lip quivering in either anger or sadness. “Did you feel what I felt?”

“I hadn’t been real to anyone in a long time until I met you.” I spoke honestly, though I wasn’t sure if he believed me.

I felt the memory of our first meeting flash before my eyes, a murderer had crashed into my hometown, killing important people with checkered pasts. Politicians, lawyers, and police officers- no one was safe. My job as a therapist put me straight into the cesspit of what I viewed as the worst of humanity, slimy high ranking fixtures of the community. I often felt my skin crawling as sick human beings put on a facade of perfection hiding their nefarious deeds behind closed doors, so I began taking care of them by slitting their throats in the dead of night.

When the BAU rolled into our city they immediately put everyone connected with the victims into protective custody. There wasn’t an immediately obvious motive so the team had collected anyone with an important role putting each person with a specific team member. I had been put with the genius of the team Dr. Reid. The stay in the safe house with him made our relationship blossom, we shared interests, hobbies, and even our backstories (I had edited mine a bit so they wouldn’t catch on). Usually I viewed the world as black and white good or evil and until I met Dr. Reid I hadn’t felt grey before just a dark cesspool of no emotion.

I had never even spoken his first name, I had told him that- “Someone who earned 3 PHDs should have their achievements recognized all the time.” I still couldn’t deny these strange feelings that welled up inside of me, no matter how hard I tried to distance myself.

When I had been spotted by the doctor running from the scene of a crime I could practically hear his heart break and to be honest mine did too. I never wanted him to see this side of me that I kept buried, I had wanted to stop for a while even after that first kill but what had first started out as vigilantism turned into a compulsion to kill.

His screams broke me out of my reminiscing my eyes snapped up to see the doctor holding his gun, pointing it straight at my heart.

“WHY?! Why you?” He broke out of his previous calm facade, letting me in on the anger I had stirred underneath.

“You know the profile Doctor you tell me” I asked, though no answer was given.

The gun was shaking in his hands, his fury boiling over, steam was practically coming out of his ears.

“Pull the trigger Dr. Reid. It’s what we’ve both been waiting for, isn’t it? Let’s skip the reminiscing. So go on. Pull the trigger.” His grip faltered, he wasn’t sure where to go from here, should he take you in? Or completely screw regulation and take out his unbridled rage on the woman who had cruelly stolen his heart by shooting her.

The weapon was lowered, his hands still shook in fury as he put it back snugly in its place. I already knew he had called his team, no matter what he felt for me before there was no way he would risk his career to let me go. Even though I had accepted the cards that had been dealt I wasn’t going to let them take me alive. Tentatively I stepped forward, wanting to gain a semblance of closeness between us before I sacrificed myself, his body was rigid in its place as our chests touched.

I pulled the gun from his his side holster, it was an odd gun for an FBI agent to carry, a revolver to be exact. My fingers gripped the curved cedar handle, dragging it across Dr. Reid’s clothed collarbones, his arms were stiff at his sides unmoving. He was unsure of my intentions with the weapon. He knew logically that I was cornered in this abandoned warehouse with no escape, and obviously I couldn’t do much with a single revolver, that’s why he had only put one round in, reserved only for my heart if the trigger was needed to be pulled. Then I softly, with uncharacteristic tenderness, grabbed the good doctor’s hand with my free hand to guide his large palms to envelope my hand over the gun. He seemed flustered, which was odd to me, his resolve of hatred had never weakened around me until now. Our hands were clasping the gun in unison, the clammy palms of Dr. Reid cradled my own as I reached over and spun the chamber to land on a random spot.

I prided myself on the ability to read people but I couldn’t ascertain the reason behind the evident hesitation in his eyes as I encouraged him to carefully set the revolver snug against my jaw. Was it possible he had developed a care for me or did this just boil down to fear of having an unsub handle his gun. His breathe was mixed with mine, I held my pattern evenly while his had become ragged, strong enough to whisp my hair away from my face. With a flick I unlocked the safety and a genuine smile graced my face, if these were my final moment I was glad I got to spend it with Dr. Reid, he brought me a strange sense of comfort that I had never known before. His whole body was shaking as my forefinger moved to the trigger- he almost looked as if he was going to cry. A resounding click echoed off the dull gray walls of my hiding place, I had momentarily escaped my fate.

Dr. Reid suddenly smashed his lips onto mine breaking me out of the brief relief. My body had grown rigid against his movements, I wasn’t used to emotional connections with anyone and they certainly were never romantic. Just the delicate touch of his hand on my hip was more care then I had ever been shone before.

My cold exterior that I had carefully constructed was now in ruins because of Doctor reid. He was the only one who truly saw who I was, past my trauma and the trauma I caused. I melted into his forceful kiss, the unspoken tension that we had created finally was boiling over. It was full of tongue and teeth, our noses bumping as we poured our feelings into the kiss, speaking without ever making a sound. My back collided with the nearest wall, dust flying off to coat our bodies, his knee parted my legs and rested between my thighs. His spare hand left my hip to cradle my cheek practically engulfing my face with his large palm, raking the soft pads of his fingertips across my skin.

The silver barrel still rested under my chin being held precariously by our joined grip, Dr. Reid’s hand left my cheek, snaking its way down to the waistband of my pants. The tips of his fingers danced at the edge building anticipation in my veins.

He suddenly pulled the gun out from under my chin and set it under his own, my eyes widened in confusion my desire vanishing by the second. I tried to pull our unified hold away from his jawline but unfortunately he was stronger then me.

“I don’t know if I can live without you” he choked out, he had used his profiling skills deducing that I was going to sacrifice myself. He spun the wheel setting the bullet in another indiscriminate position, resetting the stakes all over again.

“It’ll be ok.” I begged desperately trying to talk him away from the ledge, just because I had wasted my life didn’t mean he had to as well. I brought my available appendage and covered the outside of his hand continuing my efforts to pull the gun away from his grasp. He shook his head, tears were freely falling from the both of us, mixing together to form a salty pool. His fingers slipping underneath my encased hand finding the trigger with ease, he pulled it quickly a sickening click resounded through the stale atmosphere. Once I was satisfied that he had survived air quickly left my body releasing the breath that I had held tightly in my lungs.

Mimicking his reaction from earlier I submerged us into another kiss, this one was tinged with my anger from his reckless move. I voiced my displeasure surrounding his actions by biting into his lip, bruising the plush tender skin. A groan escaped from him, the salacious kiss was now tainted with blood from his lips mixing together in gory harmony.

Undulating my hips onto the thigh that still sat between my legs, desire snuck itself back inside of me, rebuilding what had been banished. I suddenly had the urge to remove every cloth barrier that remained between us, I needed him now. Dr. Reid clearly shared the sentiment as he started pulling on the clothing covering my body. I did my best to shuck off his plum colored blazer with my available phalanges while he attempted to snap open the front of my pants. Our hands still were glued the wooden hilt of the gun that was rooted in its spot at the edge of the doctor’s jaw. The buttons of his dress shirt popped around us as my painted nails dug into the cotton, tearing the offensive fabric from his body. With frantic inelegant movement our outer clothing was ripped off our forms, the only barrier that lingered was our undergarments. His nimble fingertips wound around to the clasp of my bra tugging forcefully the clasp broke, freeing me from its confinement.

The lace was discarded in hast revealing my breasts to him he surged forward capturing my nipple in his mouth as my hips ground into his thigh. Circling my bud he glanced upwards, taking in the sight of my flushed cheeks, hair slicked with sweat, and the gun that I had swiftly moved to my temple removing it from his mandible. Excitement prickled in my core as he meandered down to where I craved him the most, he fisted the mesh- the last remaining remnant of clothing covering my body. A tearing noise filled the space, reverberating around us as the mesh separating us was torn away from me, revealing my full form.

His deft fingers gathered the building excitement between my folds, then he brought them to make contact with my clit. He rubbed slow harsh figure 8s against my pearl, I could feel myself getting wetter- which I didn’t think was possible. The ministrations continued for a while, but I was antsy to get his fingers inside of me. A beg almost fell from my mouth when all of a sudden with no warning his fingers plunged into my heat making my body convulse around him. He curled them expertly, nudging them perfectly at my g spot making the pit in my stomach grow and spread throughout my entire body.

Our hold had started to loosen on the gun so I clutched around the revolver tighter tugging our entangled fingers to rest the metal shaft perfectly against my temple. Upping the stakes further I rapidly clicked the trigger, the gun still had not administered its bullet into my brain, making the obscene act even better then before. His eyes held fear for a moment but couldn’t help his reaction to the clicks, a deep seated groan from deep in his chest. The sensations flowing through my body almost became too much to bear as he moved his thumb to my clit. My back arched against the wall as he sunk the blunt edges of his teeth into my collarbone while flicking against my clit with his thumb, sending me closer to bliss. He must have discerned that I was close to the edge and pulled his fingers away, his knuckles bumping against my g spot one last time which pulled a pathetic whimper from my throat while screwing my eyes shut.

I heard the tell tale sign of a belt buckle clinking causing my eyes to snap open, his full body was finally on display for me. My eyes drank in the sight before me, the doctor was just as I had imagined in my dreams, not too thick but long enough that I thought it might not fit. I reached forward to pump his length spitting into my palm as I jerked him off.

“Jump.” He whispered desperately into the shell of my ear, with careful precision my legs wrapped around his naked torso as I locked him in. The gun was the only barrier that remained between us as he lined himself up to my entrance and thrusted in one swift motion, breaching my walls for the first time.

“Fuck.” The soft expletive fell from his rose hued lips on the column of my throat making my toes curl.

His hips snapped into mine starting a pace with deliberate deep thrusts, my free arm wrapped around his neck trying to pull him in as close as possible. My fingers then wound through his messy curls yanking back so I could pepper kisses along the nape of his neck earning a sharp grunt from Dr. Reid as he picked up the pace. I bit the inside of my cheek in concern as he moved the gun to be placed under his jaw again. Tears started to fall again from my eyes as I silently pleaded for him not to pull the trigger, he ignored my pleas and reset the bullet to a random position once more. His rhythm faltered as the gun clicked for the fifth time, I knew we were testing fate too much at this point and that our luck was running out.

He kept the gun in its position while he picked up his momentum resuming his previous pace. My blood red nails dug into any part of him that I could grab onto leaving red streaks down his chest, back, and biceps as he reached parts of me that I didn’t even think existed. Our eyes locked together as his cock brushed against my g spot causing me to clench around him, we both moaned at the sensation hurtling us both closer to release.

I reached my hand down to rub harshly on my clit as I felt my climax coming just around the corner, my eyes rolling back in response to the added titillation. I then dragged our encapsulated hands away from Spencer pulling the barrel inside my mouth, his fingers flexed around mine anxiously as he soft whispers into my ear attempting to save me from myself. We both had somehow sensed that it was the end, I thought it was very fitting to end my life in the arms of the only person in the world I could find myself caring about. He didn’t stop his thrusts but they were now at a slow languid pace trying to savor every last moment he had with me.

“Spencer” I moaned in bittersweet symphony as I let myself kiss his bruised lips for the last time, our tears were falling giving our kiss a salty taste. A feeling of bliss suddenly overtook my body as I came in glorious crescendo. I rode out my high before I accepted my fate, my blood pounding in my ears for the final time. The wall was painted with blood as I pulled the trigger, ending my life with a bang.

*****

The shot rang in Spencer’s ears, it took him a minute to realize what had happened and that the object of his desire was gone. He was still holding the gun as the body of his unattainable love slumped onto him in death, his face speckled with scarlet. Finally the offending object slipped through his fingers clattering on the floor as he cradled her body.

His sobs echoed the empty rooms bouncing off the the walls mixing with the police sirens in the distance.

“He loved and he loved and he lost her, and it hurts like hell”-Fleurie

Tag list for Russian Roulette:

@zhuzhubii​ 

[cressidascowper]

i knew you’d haunt all of my what-ifs

summary: The Fisher King case ends in the worst possible way.

pairing: elle greenaway x the bau team (hints of jelle bc i couldn’t help myself)

word count: 2.5k

a/n: i’m sorry

read on ao3 or below the cut

There's only one really important question: Can you forgive yourself?

***

As soon as Morgan, Hotch, and Reid enter the precinct, their clothes smoky and covered in ash, JJ swiftly approaches them, calling over to Garcia along the way.

“Gideon just called. He said we need to get the hospital right away.”

The five agents pile into the black SUV, Hotch driving, Morgan in the passenger seat, and Reid, Penelope, and JJ squished in the back seat. No one dares to say a word, the fear of the worst hanging over their heads. The ride to the hospital is fairly quick, thanks to Hotch switching on the sirens and driving at least ten miles over the speed limit. Pulling into the parking lot, they all flash their badges, as they rush past the nurses’s desk.

“Gideon,” Hotch calls out to the older agent, who is sitting in the empty waiting room with his head in his hands. “Any updates on Elle?”

Gideon stands up to face the rest of the team, his eyes resigned and brimmed red. “The doctor said by the time they’d found where the root of the damage was and where the bleeding was coming from, she had already lost too much blood,” he informs, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath before breaking the news. “She’s gone.”

Too stunned to say anything, the rest of the team just stares back at Gideon, his words still processing in their minds.

“What?” Penelope is the first to speak, her voice faint and full of disbelief. “No.”

Tears begin to pool in the tech analyst’s eyes, as she collapses into an empty chair.

Although her and Elle hadn’t been that close when the brunette profiler first joined the team, Garcia always had a deep admiration for the other woman. The way Elle held herself in such a confident manner and didn’t take shit from anybody inspired the blonde. Her quick wit and sarcastic remarks also helped, as Penelope began to warm up to her.

As the days turned to weeks and weeks into months, and after several girls’ nights out, the two had formed a close friendship. It certainly wasn’t your most conventional friendship, Garcia being the picture definition of sunshine and Elle presenting this tough exterior; however, this is what Penelope thought was so special about them.

She would always try to brighten the profiler’s day, especially after tough cases, with comforting hugs and handwritten notes, which she’d left on Elle’s desk. At first, Penelope couldn’t tell whether her acts were being well received, and it wasn’t until after the Billie Copeland case that Garcia noticed that they in fact had been. That night, after the team had returned from Delaware, the blonde watched from her bat cave, as Elle picked up the pink post-it, undoubtedly left by Garcia, a hint of a smile appearing on her face, before sticking the note on edge of her computer.

If Penelope thought that hearing Garner’s voice over the phone (“Agent Greenaway did not have to die like that”) was the worst of it all, she was definitely not prepared to hear it be confirmed that Elle had actually died.

Gideon’s words, She’s gone, echo in Garcia’s head. Elle is really gone.

As the news finally sinks in, Penelope lets out a choked sob. How could this happen?

Oh. This is her fault.

Garcia’s thoughts come to a halt and her chest tightens, guilt consuming her body.

What if she hadn’t played that stupid online game? What if she hadn’t let Garner hack into the system and gain access to all their information, to Elle’s information?

What if?

***

Spencer quickly wipes the stray tear that escapes his left eye, as he hangs his head to hide his quiet sniffles.

The words She’s gone hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and it almost makes him physically double over. Elle is gone, and Reid feels like a piece of him has been ripped away.

All the memories of the older woman run like a film reel in his mind. The time she took him to the firing range to help him with his shooting skills. The time she bragged for hours after beating him in one game of poker. When she corrected his Spanish and then helped him learn some more phrases. When she stayed late that one night to help him with the pile of case files on his desk. The time she listened to his tangent about the origins of corn and why it’s called ‘candy corn’. The time she hugged and thanked him for saving her life on the train in Texas. When she showed him the sights of New York after their case and taught him how to use chopsticks with a bag of jellybeans and skittles on the flight home.

Spencer’s throat tightens, as he attempts to swallow the knot that is beginning to form. He’s unsure how he’s supposed to respond. The wave of different emotions crashing upon him is overwhelming and foreign; it’s numbing.

Elle is— was— his friend, the first friend he’d had that didn’t treat him like some nerdy geek. She didn’t treat him like a burden or like sensitive kid. She treated him someone who could handle the sibling-like teasing she dealt him. She appreciated listening to his quirky facts and statistics. She treated him like a normal person.

With Elle, Spencer felt heard, felt respected. But now she’s gone, and she took her light with her.

Was this his fault? Had he not figured out Garner’s clues fast enough? Elle had always counted on him to put the pieces together, and when she needed him the most, he failed her.

What if he had connected the dots quicker? What if he had figured it out faster that the book Garner was referring to was The Collector?

What if?

***

As soon as JJ hears Gideon tell them that Elle is gone, every part of her freezes. The world around her slows and the pounding of her heart is suddenly all she can hear.

Tears are pouring down her face, but she doesn’t even bother wiping them away; they’re falling too fast for her to catch up anyways.

The beating of her heart is getting louder and louder, and JJ just wants it to stop.

The blood pumping against her eardrums, the silent sobs coming from Garcia, the buzz of the hospital, it’s deafening.

JJ feels her legs start to give way, and the room starts to spin. She barely registers Spencer reaching out to steady her, until she feels his hands on her shoulders, and she shouts, “Stop! Don’t touch me!”

She pays no attention to the doctors and nurses who turn to the commotion of her voice.

Running her hands through her hair, JJ covers her ears, attempting to block out the rest of the world.

All she wants to hear right now is Elle’s heartbeat, Elle’s voice, Elle’s breathing. All she wants is Elle.

JJ releases a guttural scream, sobs wrecking her body, because Elle is gone, her girlfriend is dead, and JJ doesn’t know what to do with herself.

She already misses the warmth of Elle. The warmth of her small laugh when JJ would pout and beg her to watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s for the hundredth time. The warmth of her hand when she’d hold JJ’s after a difficult case, rubbing the blonde’s knuckles comfortingly. The warmth of her body when she’d snuggle closer to JJ on those early Virginia mornings, mumbling into her pillow for another five minutes.

But now, Elle is gone, and JJ feels cold, the fire of her life having been extinguished.

A blinding rage begins to consume the blonde, and she turns to Gideon, all regards for the fact that he’s her superior thrown out the window. “This is all your fault,” JJ accuses, her voice strained from the crying and screaming. “If you hadn’t told me to call a press conference, Garner wouldn’t have shot Elle, and she’d still be here!”

As her own words replay in her mind, her stomach starts to churn, a wave nausea and guilt washing over her, and she rushes to the restroom. She ignores Spencer running after her, her thoughts too occupied on that stupid press conference.

What if she hadn’t called those reporters in for a press conference? What if she hadn’t broken the rules and gone outside the team for help?

What if?

***

Derek watches as his teammates, his friends, break down, his own conflicting emotions boiling up inside.

How can Elle be gone? Not even three days ago, he was with her in Jamaica, sipping tropical drinks on the beach. Derek furrows his brows and tightens his jaw, as he wills away the impending tears.

Elle wasn’t just his co-worker or just his teammate, she was his partner, someone he trusted with his life. She had his back, and he had hers. Except, this time, Derek didn’t.

But beyond being his teammate and partner, Elle was a friend, a confidant, and a damn good wingwoman. Though he would often tease her and give her a hard time, particularly about her love life, Derek respected Elle and cherished the friendship they’d formed.

During the hours spent in car rides and on the jet, the two had discovered they had much more in common than they thought. First, it was superficial surface-level things like both enjoying a really good slice of pizza (though, they did argue over whether Chicago or New York style is better) or both being big fans of baseball (once again, the argument of Cubs vs Mets always came up). But then it developed into actually getting to know more about each other, and building a level of trust that only comes with spending practically every waking hour together and chasing serial killers. They exchanged stories of their fathers and of their childhoods, gaining a better understanding of each other.

Derek tries his best to keep his emotions to himself, especially in front of his team, but when he sees Garcia weeping next to a pile of tissues and hears JJ’s heart-shattering screams, he can’t keep it in any longer.

After the media liaison escapes to the bathroom, Reid following her, Morgan turns to Gideon, unleashing his anguish and anger onto the other agent, “You know she’s right,” he says eerily quietly, as he approaches Gideon, getting in his face, “this never would’ve happened if you hadn’t involved outside help. Elle would still be here, she’d still be a live, you son—“

Before Derek can finish his sentence, Hotch wraps his arms around the younger man, stopping him from doing something he might regret later. As soon as Morgan feels Hotch’s embrace, he collapses into the other man’s arms, the dam bursting and the tears leaking out.

Burying his head into the unit chief’s shoulder, Derek mumbles incoherently to himself, “She can’t be gone…This isn’t possible…It’s all my fault.”

The trip to Jamaica was his idea, he left Elle alone that night, he’s the reason she was so tired she had to be sent home.

What if they’d never gone to Jamaica? What if he’d checked up on her that night?

What if?

***

Aaron tries to mask his distress, putting on a strong front for his team. But with Derek shaking in his arms, Hotch resigns, confronting the devastating news.

Elle was a good profiler and an excellent team member, and sure her position can be easily filled, but Hotch knows that Elle can never be replaced.

Her passion for this job, for helping victims, for putting away the bad guys was hard to come by. But even more so, Hotch knew it was her character that was special. Her sarcastic remarks that made Gideon fondly roll his eyes, her ability to calm Morgan down when a case got particularly frustrating, her genuine interest in Spencer’s random facts and statistics, her snarky banter with Garcia, her tender smile reserved only for JJ, and her sass that made even Hotch smile all completed the team, made them whole.

He is the unit chief, the leader of the team, which means it is his job to ensure the safety of all the members, and he failed. Hotch thought he was doing the right thing, sending Elle home to rest and get some sleep, but he should’ve been clearer with Anderson.

Releasing Morgan, who moves to comfort Garcica, Aaron walks out into the hallway, escaping the suffocating air of the waiting room.

The guilt crushes him, as he slides down the wall, his eyes shut tight and his fists clenched. If anybody were to walk down the hall, they would see the normally collected and reserved Aaron Hotchner disheveled and distraught. Aaron drops his head into his hands in defeat, the sting of his unshed tears adding to the pang in his chest.

What if he hadn’t sent Elle home? What if he had given Anderson better directions?

What if?

***

Gideon watches as the team processes the news he had told them, the news he had been sitting with for the past two hours, the news of Elle’s death.

He remembers meeting Elle on the Slessman-Vogel case up in Seattle. He thought she was overeager and, as her file called her, impatient. But her instincts were true, and as time went on, he saw her true potential shine through and took her under his wing.

Jason remembers Elle calling him ‘dad,’ and him firmly telling her not to call him that again. What he would do to hear her call him ‘dad’ again.

He remains frozen in his seat, as the rest of the team files out of the waiting room, leaving Gideon alone with his torturous thoughts. The older agent slouches deeper into the chair, his heavy heart weighing him down.

He thought he’d done the right thing; he was doing his job.

“I did the right thing. I did my job,” he repeats in his mind over and over, the words haunting him. He told himself Elle would understand, but now she was gone. She was gone, and Gideon would never be able to explain.

Elle wouldn’t understand because she was gone, so maybe he didn’t do the right thing. Rubbing his forehead, Jason tries to relieve the pressure building in his head.

The silence of the waiting room is unbearable, the only sound coming from his thoughts bombarding him. He wants to yell and scream and fill the void Elle left behind.

But, in that moment, all Jason can do is let the guilt tear him apart and accept the fact that Elle’s gone, and she’s never coming back.

What if he hadn’t made the decision to hold a press conference? What if he hadn’t ignored the rules?

What if?

What if?

What if?

“Guilt is perhaps the most painful companion of death.” — Coco Chanel