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snowdropluck204 · 5 months

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A Date With Death - Spencer Reid x Unsub Fem! Reader

Hi my lovelies! After a lot of people seemed interested in this story, namely a few that commented who I am tagging below! If anyone wants to be tagged in these chapters from now on, let me know! I am going to try and plan this out okay, I'll post a separate post with the release dates of the chapters! With that! Enjoy!

Also, I'm a Brit writing about America... Specifically Colorado! So if there is anyone from there that would be willing to help me, please do!

Tag List: @vexis-world @inexplicableeee @flowercrownsandtrauma

TW: Murder, gore, blood, vomit, mentions of rapists, pedophiles, abuse, y/n being mistaken for male.

Spencer pov

The BAU hadn't had a case like this for a while...

This case had gotten media attention across the country, further even. All because this unsub was doing things that many a soul had thought about, hell even acted upon, the difference between their unsub and the average person, is that he was getting away with it.

For the last month, bodies had been cropping up all over Denver, Colorado, all with the same MO. People, both men and women, had been found dead in different locations, the only things that the victims had in common were the ways they were killed and that they were all once convicted of a crime. These crimes have ranged from rape, domestic abuse, paedophilia and stalking, but each of the victims had been killed using three consecutive methods.

As the car arrived at the scene of the crime, the body being found outside his own home, I wasn't massively shocked to see the crowd of media representatives surrounding the scene, I was a little perturbed to see a separate crowd of protesters.

"How many of them are there?" I asked confused, "God the street is crawling with them!" Morgan nodded from beside me, as we both stepped out of the car. Hotch grumbled under his breath, "Clearly the local cops didn't secure the area very well." The reporters seemed to have noticed us, we weren't exactly inconspicuous in our suits and sunglasses, but we still flashed the badge, asking them to move as politely as we could.

Immediately we were swarmed, questions being fired at us left and right, "Do you have any idea who was behind this killing?" "What is being done to keep this community safe?" "Why has it taken this long for the FBI to become involved?"

We tried to answer as many as we could without giving away too much of the investigation, including how little had been discovered so far. The police here had no leads, so we were working off of very little, and, until we had analysed the crime scene, we had no working profile of the unsub to make up a suspect list. This was square one...

Morgan walked over to the protesters, myself following close behind, they were all carrying banners or picket signs, they each read various forms of propaganda, 'He's Saving Lives', 'Let Him Live', 'Grim Will Save US.' I tilted my head as we walked closer to the crowd. Derek very clearly hadn't assessed the situation as strongly...

"Don't you worry folks, we'll have this guy behind bars soon!" He called out, trying to get the group to leave peacefully, only to get angry faces and practically being spat at.

"Why? He's doing what our government is too scared to do now! I say let him go!" A woman cried, beginning a chant of, 'Let Him Go.' The chanting became louder, Hotch began seeming more nervous as they advanced. He turned to shout over his shoulder at the local police.

"Can you hold them back please?" At the authority in his voice, the cops quickly rushed to attention, herding Morgan and myself into the front yard. The crime scene.

The body had been placed, almost gently, into the flowerbed in the front yard, some of the blood that decorated his body had even been mopped up. "Do we have an ID on the victim yet?" I asked Hotch, receiving a negative, apparently the neighbours knew of the victim, knew that he lived here, but rarely spoke to him and didn't know his name, so I crouched down to see what we were working with.

This victim's demise, also followed the same MO of the last seven victims the unsub had killed. Each of the victims before this one, had been killed with three separate methods, asphyxiation, the throat was slit and then the victim was garroted. "Reid." Hotch asked from behind me, I turned to look at him, showing him he had my attention, "What have we got?"

I looked back to the body, fiddling with the gloves on my hands, "The victim seems to have been killed in the same methods of the unsub's MO, it's called the threefold death, it's a religious method of killing going as far back as Druid-Irish folklore. The threefold death obviously entailed a person being killed three separate times, in this case, asphyxiation, a form of stabbing and then a mixture of the two... It was said that this method of death was saved and used as a punishment for those who didn't deserve to die only once..." I told them, trying to be as concise as possible.

Hotch nodded, whilst Morgan began taking a closer look at the garrote around the man's neck. Each of the previous victims had been convicted of a crime, violent and sometimes sexual in nature. Each of the garrotes used seemed to be personalised, a single word scratched roughly into the wooden handle of them, this garrote in particular had the word, 'ABUSER' carved into the grain of the wood.

Morgan pulled out his phone, pressing it to his ear, "Babygirl, newest victim apparently has a history of abuse or domestic violence, can you work your magic?"

I focused back on the body.

Like all the previous victims, the body was as clean as the unsub could get it, he seemed to have cleaned up any blood that pooled on the skin, before laying them to rest, in an almost respectful manner. Laid flat on their backs, hands and arms crossed over their torso, with a single white lily laced delicately between their fingers. The only thing that didn't seem as respectful, was the plastic bag tired around their face, using the same garrote that was used to kill them. I decided to speak up my thoughts to Hotch.

"The unsub almost seems to have feelings of remorse, the funeral like way of displaying the bodies is another part of his signature, strange for what we would assume is just a spree killer, it's more likely that he was targeting these people, or that there was an extreme trigger involved.

"The white lily represents the transience of life and the emotions of grief and mourning, also strange for your average serial killer. There is the possibility that the unsub knew his victims before he killed them... That could prove that he has anti-social personality disorder, he's trying to replicate an emotion he has seen around death, like copying the process of mourning at a funeral." I finished, even I felt confused...

Hotch nodded along, before the three of us walked over to the front door of the victim's home, judging by the track marks through the blood, the victim was murdered in the home and dragged out to the garden. "The unsub must have been surveying the house and the neighbours, because most of them work nights or have late night activities, the victim was found outside his home at around one in the morning. Somehow, the unsub made his way into the home, killed this guy using three separate methods and dragged the body out of the home and positioned it the way he wanted in a small window of about three hours." I told the room.

Hotch nodded, following the trail of blood around the house, leading to a chair in the middle of the kitchen, the kitchen tile had a clear tarp laid over it, the chair on top, both were coated in a thick layer of dried blood, the knife used to slit his throat wasn't at the scene, so the unsub still had it...

(y/n) pov

The sting in my throat and eyes was horrid as I retched into the toilet bowl, the tears running down my face were falling hot and fast. Eventually, the vomiting stopped, I took a deep breath, now that I could, I flushed the toilet and shuddered.

I stood up, my legs shaking, almost buckling underneath me, I stumbled my way to the sink, looking up I saw myself in the mirror, the blood spattered across my face, my arms, my hands. My eyes were different to how they used to be, they were clouded by this grief, this agony I didn't know how to get rid of anymore. The colour was faded, the whites were blemished with deep red veins and my pupils were so dilated, so scared. Memories of the night flashed behind my eyes.

I was walking slowly, stalking forward, making my way to the front door of the house. I'd been watching the house for the last few weeks, he was a monster. Beat his previous wives, now he was alone. Beat his children, now he wasn't allowed to see them. The bastard was too scary for those poor women and children to keep charging him with the abuse, so now he was a free man...

Once I got to the door, I smiled seeing the electronic lock, I pressed a small device to the side of the lock, hearing a small buzz before the door clacked open. Taking my time, both so as not to alert my target and also partially dreading what I was about to do, I pushed open the front door, sneaking through the hallways, until I found the kitchen. The pig was drunk, he hadn't been home longer than half an hour, and he was almost passed out wasted, beer bottles lying around where he was sat on the couch, staring listlessly at the television.

I wobbled over to the shower, flinging back the curtain, my head reeling, I waddled carefully in, trying not to slip. I turned the shower head on, full blast, almost blistering hot, and began to scrub at my skin as hard as I possibly could. The water ran off of me in dark red waves, before they faded to pink and then clear. Once all the bloody water was sucked down the drain, I finally began to relax, which was a mistake.

I slunk up to the guy, leaning behind him before pulling out a plastic bag, the crunching sound of the bag alerted him. He turned and met my face, hidden by a mask, a cheap, crappy masquerade mask, a candy skull, hiding my face. A flash of realisation on James' face made me fear he had recognised me, instead, he began to stutter. "You're h-him, aren't you? The k-killer, t-the Reaper?" He whimpered. Coward. I leapt forward, wrapping the bag around his face and pulling.

I curled myself into the corner of the shower floor, the hot water making me more dizzy and in a deeper haze as tears filled my eyes.

"Please..." He kept begging, pleaded with me to spare his life as he tried to rock himself back and forth in the chair he was now tied to, "I'm sorry! I haven't gone near my family since the restraining order!" He shrieked, the most pathetic sounding noise. I almost spat at him, "Then your a liar as well as a beater." I growled, once he heard my voice, he realised that I wasn't the guy everyone was thinking of. "You're a pathetic excuse of human life, weak. You target the people who you're supposed to care for, children, your own wife." I snarled, stalking forward with a small, but extremely sharp, hunting knife.

The blood went everywhere, the walls, David James' face and clothes, the floor, me. The smell was metallic and bitter, it made me feel vile, hideous, tainted.

He was gasping, struggling for breath as I wrapped the bag around his face again, pulled out the garrote, bound the bag taut around his neck and began twisting, the wire digging painfully into the deep gash already across his neck. Eventually, he stopped struggling, stopped breathing. I let go of the garrote, the handle provoking me with my own handwriting, PAEDOPHILE. Taunting both David James, the beater and myself. (y/n) (l/n), the reaper.

I placed him in his car, and drove the short while down to the cemetery, I huffed as I pulled James' body out of the trunk, dropping him rather unceremoniously outside the gates, in a patch of half dead grass. I closed his eyes through the plastic bag, crossed his arms over his chest, and threaded a single white lily through his hands. After I had finished, I stood slowly, bowing my head, a moment of silence for the deceased, however undeserved it may be.

I left the shower, the water still dripping off of my body quickly becoming cold. I knew there would be little to no physical evidence that I was at the scene. I shuddered once again, the shiver continuing down my body. I quickly got changed and curled up in my bed, trying to remember who I was doing all of this for...

Spencer pov

After examining the crime scene, we all went back to the station, Garcia's face appearing on the laptop screen as we began to review the case, what we knew so far. Gideon was writing on the whiteboard, pictures of the victims taped to the surface, annotations lining them. Elle was pacing the room, fiddling with a pen as she asked about the scene and, in turn, the unsub.

"The protesters outside, they sounded like they were supporting him, how popular is this unsub?" She asked, Garcia quickly typing up on her computer, finding the information in quick keystrokes.

"Oh, he's huge, most of Denver population believe that he's saving their children and friends, he's only killing off people who were convicted of a crime, there's never any witnesses, never any tips called in. These people believe that the government was wrong to get rid of capital punishment in Colorado, that these people deserved it.

"A lot of people also think that the unsub deserves the death penalty too, but that he's some sort of public figure, he knew the risks and the punishment, but took out those who were a risk to their society. The unsub has a lot of names, The Grim Reaper, Charon, The Wraith, lot of mythological connotations..."

I sat, stuck, staring at the whiteboard. "What's going on in that big, beefy brain?" I heard Garcia ask, I finally looked up at the team, all looking at me worried. I felt my brow furrow further as I stood and walked quickly, over to the board. There were seven victims up on the board, the ones we had found, who knew if there were more. Now there was an eighth.

"None of this makes sense." I murmured, "All of the evidence contradicts itself, we can't make a linear profile of the unsub..." I trailed my hands along the pictures, "The unsub should be someone who shows little to no emotion, but he sets his victims to rest in a nice place, with flowers, almost mourns them. He gruesomely murders his victims with an ancient religious process, only to have no showing of any other religious motif or ritualistic killing.

"They clearly have been watching their victims, their neighbours, their homes, but there is no physical evidence of that! The places the victims are left were proved by relatives to be special to them, so the unsub leaving the bodies there shows some sentiment and that, somehow, the unsub knew them but none of the victims had ever met each other and have no social circles in common with one another!"

I had never felt so frustrated and confused. Hotch patted me on the shoulder as I sat down again, running a hand through my hair. He began a pep talk that always begins the investigation, "True remorse from the unsub might only be capable if they were compelled to commit the killing for reasons unknown to even them, or he's being forced to..."

#cute #love #fanfiction #romance #x reader #comfort #open requests #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #x fem!reader #murder #unsub!reader #angst #cw: gore

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fuckingstrange · 10 months

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| Day19: stay awake |

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WARNINGS: Reader gets shot (gsw to neck), near-death experience, bleeding (no shit?)

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WORDS: 1,434

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PAIRING: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

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Ignore the fact that I'm literally procrastinating in making a Pt.2 to the Diana Reid fic..

Next fic gonna be based off that gif bc oh LAWD.

An Unsub stands in front of you, gun against your neck, the barrel cold against your skin. You don't back down, Reids words of warning threats to the Unsub going unheard.

“You fucking pussy.” You spit, the Unsub's face filling with anger as he presses the gun more against your neck, shouting “What the fuck did you just say!?”. You keep a blank stare, showing no signs of fear. “I called you a pussy. What, are you suddenly deaf? Being deaf would make it hard to hear the terrified screams of your victims that you love so much.” You taunt, the Unsub only growing more angry, trembling in pure rage.

Your words seem to be the last string, because there's suddenly a gunshot sounding throughout the room. You drop to the floor just as you hear a second one, Reid having shot the Unsub. Your head smacks against the floor, vision blurring as blood squirts from your neck. Reid is on his knees next to you, without thinking, using both hands to squeeze over the wound as tight as he can.

The bullet luckily only went through the side rather than center of your throat due to the Unsub’s rageful trembling, the clean enter/exit wound getting covered by each of Reids cold hands. He squeezes hard, a whine sounding from your throat when it nearly cuts off your oxygen.

He adjusts his grip, trying to make it so you can breathe better, but it doesn't help much considering blood is slowly rising in your throat. Panic sets in, you smack the cold concrete floor, trying to get Reid’s attention.

He hears your palm smacking against the floor, glancing over at your hand before looking at his own around your neck. Blood spills on the floor beneath your head, crawling into your hair and soaking into the fabric of his pants over his knees.

You whimper fearfully when the room seems like it's beginning to dim, smacking harder as it gets harder to breathe from the panic and blood rising in your throat. Reid’s eyes widen and he leans closer to you, whispering, “Hey, hey, you're okay. That's it. There you go, Flail, whine, cry, do anything you need to, just stay awake.”

You try to respond, though only end up coughing up blood. He loses any bit of fear of the biohazard that is being covered in your blood, instead pulling your head into his lap and keeping his palms digging into the wound from front to back. “It's okay, it's okay. Don't be scared, it's just a little blood. Cough it out, let it out.” He says frantically, much rather wanting you to get the blood out of your mouth than choke on it.

He looks around, wondering where the fuck everybody is, if anybody even heard the shot, because to him it was loud as can be when it went off. He swears that he can still hear it ringing in his ears. He glances over at the Unsub's now lifeless body, not feeling an ounce of remorse for him since he's the reason you're nearly dying in his lap.

His attention is pulled back to you when you reach up and begin smacking him on the leg, your whimpers beginning to get weaker and weaker as you try to alert him that you can feel yourself leaving. His heart sinks as he squeezes tighter, though all it ends up doing is making it harder for you to breathe.

It stops the blood, though. So he takes this as a chance to try and drag you the few feet out into the open, your nearly lifeless body being pulled out into the snow. You can faintly hear him start screaming for the team, and within seconds there's sirens all around. You black out for a minute, waking to see Hotch and Morgan stand over you, lifting you from the snow and pulling you towards an ambulance that showed up at some point.

You keep going in and out, and each time your eyes open, you see Reid right there with you, feel his hands in your hair, a gentle grip to try and soothe you as the paramedics bandage you up and try to keep you awake for longer each time.

You pass out a few more times throughout the five minute ride, once waking to the paramedic when they stick an IV needle in your arm, once waking up when Reid kisses your forehead, once waking when they're pulling you from the ambulance and wheeling you inside.

The next few days seem to blur together, you're basically left alone in a hospital room after your surgery, labeled as “too unstable” to have any visitors just yet. A nurse wakes you up by changing the bandages on your neck every few hours, over the next few days she has to change them less and less because of how it's healing, getting down to twice a day.

Once people are finally allowed to visit you, it's only two people at a time. First Hotch and Morgan came to visit you, spending an hour with you before heading out. Next you saw Garcia and JJ, each spending at least three hours just hugging you and making sure the nurse is treating you gently during bandage changes. You expected to see Reid that day, but he was nowhere.

The next day, fourth day rolls around, and you wake up to a knock on the room door. A doctor walks in, followed by your doctor, Reid. Your eyes immediately light up when you see him, arms flying open in hopes of a hug, to which he gladly accepts. He kisses your cheek, giving you a gentle squeeze while whispering, “Told you that you'd be okay.”. You just smile and pull him in for an actual kiss, hearing the doctor chuckle and comment on your eagerness.

Reid pulls back, taking a seat next to you and letting his hand rest on your thigh. You each look over at the doctor when he starts to explain how to care for your wounds, and you give him a slightly confused look. Then, it clicks. “I'm going home!” You exclaim happily, voice still hoarse from the lack of talking during your recovery. “Yeah, you've been here nearly a week and are healing up nicely, so we're letting you head out a bit early.” The doctor says with a smile, passing you the discharge papers, chuckling when you sign it as quickly as possible.

The doctor clears up a few more things, demonstrating to Reid and you how to change the bandaging and giving him a list on the things you should avoid to finish recovering smoothly. Like having to yell, eating foods you need to chew a lot, no pressure around the wound, can't move your neck too much, etc. He takes the papers and bids you good luck on your at-home recovery, exiting the room so you can get ready to leave.

Reid helps you get out of the hospital gown and into the clothes he had brought you, kissing you wherever he can besides your neck as he tells you how much he missed you during the four days he couldn't see you, also scolding you on your bold choice of words that nearly got you killed in the hands of the Unsub.

Reid slips on your shoes for you, pointing out that he's not gonna let you even lift a finger during your recovery. “I may have gotten shot in the neck, but that doesn't mean my hands are affected.” You groan, giving him a playful nudge. “Don't care, I'm still gonna take care of you. Now, come on. Let's go home.” He grabs a hold of your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours and pulling you out of the hospital room, eventually out of the hospital into the cold, snow-covered parking lot.

He gets you into the car, and before you can even fight back or do it yourself, he buckles you in. You smile at him, deciding to not argue with him on taking care of you, instead thanking him and giving him a quick kiss. He smiles back and makes sure your legs are out of the way before shutting the door, running around and hopping into the driver side. He throws it into drive and backs out of the parking space, leaving so quick you might as well think he's running from somebody. When, really, he's just eager to get you home where he can cuddle you and treat you like royalty.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x gn!reader #hotboxed x-mas ficlist #comfort #I lobe gore #this has none (i think)#woohoo #yippee yippee yippee

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