#unsub! spencer

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Midnight | Chapter 6 | S.R

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Chapter Summary - you spend the night in West Virginia, in which you find yourself in a slightly awkward situation. When you move on to a small town in Illinois, you make a decision that could end up being your downfall, while Spencer tries to take his mind off his growing attraction towards you.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - blood, murder, masturbation (male), slight voyeurism, slightly aggressive Spencer, swearing, drinking, making out, tears.

WC - 5k

Chapter Six - Raise No Fool

Logan, West Virginia was, by all accounts, an exceptionally boring place. There was nothing particularly interesting about it, aside from maybe its proximity to the Appalachian Mountains. 

The town boasted two restaurants, Morrison’s Drive In with its “world famous” hot dogs or Chirico’s Ristorante, a family owned Italian joint which was where you and Spencer had eaten dinner upon arrival in town. Shopping was just as sparse as was any other kind of activity in these parts. But you supposed you weren’t here for a vacation. 

The Chapmanville Inn, the fifty bucks a night motel Spencer had picked out was cheap but certainly not cheerful. The old building had definitely seen better days, a lick of paint would have gone a long way. Then again, knocking it down entirely and starting over again would have gone further. 

The room was smaller than your already pokey living room at home. It had twin beds, a wobbly table with a single chair you wouldn't think out of place in an elementary school, a stained blue carpet and little else. At the very least your room had its own bathroom, worryingly not all of them did. 

You hadn’t said much of anything to Spencer for the rest of the drive or over dinner. He kept trying to engage you but you responded with little more than perfunctory sounds and nods. Eventually he gave up trying. 

He’d allowed you to call Luke from the car outside the restaurant while he listened intently to everything you said to ensure that you didn’t incriminate him. You were sure Luke could sense something was amiss, between you telling him you’d left without your phone and that he couldn’t contact you on your replacement device, you knew he was suspicious. You’d ended the call telling him you would be in touch soon. 

When you checked into the Chapmanville Inn, under the names of Andrew and Rose Burnett with their Colorado drivers licences and paying cash, you went straight through to the bathroom to shower. 

You spent a long time under the measly flow of luke-warm water, cleaning yourself with the hotel shower gel which had an odd scent that you couldn’t place. It wasn’t entirely unpleasant but it certainly wasn’t nice either. 

You dried yourself off and changed your clothes and when you stepped back into the bedroom, you found it empty. Spencer was nowhere to be seen and neither were the two firearms or his hunting knife. The only thing left behind were your bags and the clothes he’d been wearing earlier neatly laid out on one of the beds. 

You padded over to the window and pushed the curtain aside to look out at the parking lot. The little navy Nissan was no longer in the spot Spencer had parked it in. 

Your first thought was to run. It could be your only chance to get away from Spencer’s manic clutches. The lobby must have a phone, you could call Luke and tell him everything and get him to come and pick you up. Or you could call the cops and have them come for Spencer, but on what grounds? 

You had no proof he had done anything wrong and you weren’t here entirely under duress. Spencer hadn’t forced you at gunpoint to come with him, ok so he’d threatened you but you could have gotten out of this if you’d really wanted to. When Luke hugged you at the BAU and obscured your phone’s microphone you could have told him what was going on but you didn’t. You didn’t tip Luke off for the same reason you weren’t going to run now. 

You didn’t want to. And that was what scared you most about this whole situation. You had no intention of going anywhere because you wanted to be here with Spencer, no matter how foolish that made you. And you were sure Spencer knew it too, otherwise he wouldn’t have left you here alone. If he’d thought you would run he never would have gone anywhere without you. 

Goddamint, I am in way over my head. 

You sat down on the free bed and quickly fell back against the pillows. You hadn’t realised how tired you were until you laid down. The last few days had taken its toll on you, coupled with the lack of sleep you’d had due to your nightmares and you were exhausted. You felt your eyes fluttering closed within seconds of your head hitting the pillow. You didn’t even manage to get under the sheet before you were drifting off to sleep.

***

You weren’t sure what woke you. Maybe it was the sound of the door being closed or the light that emanated from the crack in the bathroom door. Maybe it was the metallic smell that filled your nostrils and pulled you out of sleep. 

You rubbed your eyes, momentarily forgetting where you were as your brain roused into consciousness. You became aware of the sound of running water. A tap? No, the shower. You sat yourself up in bed and saw the trail of clothes leading to the bathroom door. Socks. Jeans. A hoodie. A pair of boxers. No shirt.

You swung your legs out of the bed without having the forethought to do so and were soon pushing yourself to your feet. You didn’t have to go far before you found the offending item, draped over a garbage bag on the back of the chair. 

Even in the dark room you could tell the material was soaked in blood, mostly by the smell. You’d already assumed where Spencer had gone tonight and now you had proof. 

Still there was no sign of the guns or the knife. 

Curiosity getting the better of you, you crept towards the bathroom and poked your head around the crack in the door. Sitting on the sink basin, either side of the faucet were the two firearms Spencer had taken from your storage container. Inside the basin, soaking in some water was the partially bloody knife. 

Feeling your stomach turn, you went to return to bed before Spencer saw you creeping around but as you turned away from the sink your eyes landed on the shower. 

Through the flimsy yellow-ish curtain you could make out the perfect outline of Spencer’s body as he stood under the shower head. The lighting couldn’t have been more ideal, showcasing every dip and curve of his figure in silhouette. 

You couldn't quite work out if he was facing you or the wall as his hands moved to run through his hair. You could however make out his slim waist and his strong thighs. You heard him exhale sharply through parted lips as he moved his hands from his hair further down his body. 

When he turned to the side you had to hold back a gasp and clamped your hand over your mouth at the sight. His cock was standing at full attention and one of his hands was wrapped around it. When his hand started to move you had to bite down on your hand to stop from making a sound.

Your eyes were glued to his crotch, mesmerised by the way his hand glided up and down his hard length. You pressed your thighs together where you stood feeling dizzy at the sight and wishing there wasn’t a shower curtain hindering your view. 

It wasn’t long before you felt yourself getting wet, your arousal soaking into the fabric of your panties. You wanted to follow Spencer’s lead and touch yourself, or better, have Spencer touch you. But you didn’t move. You kept frozen still, watching him behind the curtain whilst biting down on your hand. 

Small pants and soft moans were coming from Spencer’s lips and you were possibly more turned on than you’d ever been in your life. You would give anything to just hop in that shower with him, to have a front row seat to what he was doing to himself, maybe even help him out. 

You were caught up in your fantasy, lost in imagination of what it would be like to have Spencer fuck you up against those grimy shower tiles. So when a voice interrupted your sordid thoughts, you yelped in shock. 

“You can either join me in here or go back to bed. I don’t need an audience, princess.” Spencer’s tone was amused yet breathy and he didn’t stop stroking himself as he spoke. 

He’d known you were watching him since you walked into the bathroom, the thin curtain worked both ways he’d been able to see you peeping on him. It was the only reason he’d gotten hard in the first place and he’d decided to give you a bit of a show. But you had to pay the cover charge if you wanted the grand finale. 

You made a pathetic whimpering sound like a puppy being kicked in the ribs and then he heard you scurrying away and shutting the door firmly behind you. He smiled to himself, shaking his head and continuing his activity once he was alone. He hadn’t expected you to join him, although he certainly wouldn’t have been upset if you had. He was aware you were attracted to him, as he was to you, but he wasn’t going to push you. 

He stroked himself to completion and made sure to moan louder than was strictly necessary when he came, to ensure you heard him. He inspected his body after and once he was sure he had rinsed off all the blood, he shut the shower off and got out. 

He dried himself off, dressed in a clean pair of underwear and a clean shirt. He cleaned off the blade soaking in the sink before taking it and the firearms and leaving the room. Your bed was furthest from the bathroom and you laid on your side with your back to him. He knew you weren’t asleep as your breathing wasn’t deep enough, but he’d let you pretend that you were. 

He took the knife and the guns and tucked them inside the nightstand between his bed and the bathroom door. He collected up the clothes he’d deposited on the floor and put them and the blood stained t-shirt in the garbage bag. The rags he’d used to clean the inside of the Nissan after disposing of the body went inside the bag too. 

Turning back to you he had an overwhelming desire to crawl into the small single bed next to you, turn you on your back and pin you down to the mattress so hard he left bruises on your wrists, maybe even some between your legs. 

But he refrained. There would be plenty of time for that, and he was sure it would happen. But right now you were like a frightened deer, seconds away from retreating back into the woods at any given moment. He needed to bide his time, let you come to him. But he would have you, he was sure of it.

He crawled into his own bed and mirrored your position, laying on his side so he could watch the back of your head. You seemed to tense up, as though you could feel his eyes on you somehow. He smiled against the pillow, closing his eyes and still seeing you behind his lids.

“Good night my darling Rose.” He mumbled, but as expected, he didn’t receive a reply.

***

The following day you somehow spoke less than the one before. This time you wouldn’t even make eye contact with him unless he forced you to and when he did an adorable blush would spread to your cheeks. You clearly felt awkward about what you’d witnessed last night but Spencer didn’t. And he would use your embarrassment to his advantage.

Your silence made for an extremely long journey. It was almost five hundred miles between Logan and his next planned pit stop in Edwardsville, Illinois. It took just over eight hours to make the drive with the couple of stops for gas he’d had to make. 

He had no target in Illinois. He probably could have found one if he’d wanted to but he was keen to reach his final destination without going off route too much in search of victims and Edwardsville was just a quick detour off of the I-70, barely taking him away from the interstate. 

He’d chosen the Heartland B&B for the night, which was a huge step up from the rundown Chapmanville Inn last night and about triple the price. But his generosity went unnoticed by you. 

It was an old farmhouse style building, set back from the road and surrounded by woodlands. The room was cosy and most importantly, clean. However, there was only one bed. 

You had a scowl on your face as you sat down on the edge of the bed, looking up at Spencer in frustration. There was a couch on one wall but it was far too small for a person of his height to sleep on. 

“Do you think you’ll be able to keep your hands to yourself if we share a bed, Y/N?” He teased you but it only made you scowl grow.

“We will share this bed in your dreams.” You scoffed. 

“Oh we certainly will.” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“I mean it, I am not sharing a bed with you.” You folded your arms in defiance. 

“You expect me to sleep on that?” He nodded his head in the direction of the tiny couch.

“Or the floor. The bathtub. I don’t really care. But you aren’t sleeping here.” 

Spencer stepped closer to you, surprising you when he grabbed you roughly by the bicep and pulled you up to your feet. He was bearing his teeth at you like a wild animal.

“I think you’ve forgotten who has the power here, princess. You will sleep where I tell you to sleep. And if you keep sassing me, that will be in the car.” He spat at you, squeezing your arm so tightly he would surely leave a bruise. 

Suddenly he let you go, shoving you back to the bed and making you whine slightly. He turned his back on you, allowing you to see one of the weapons and the knife sheathed in the back of his pants as though giving you a warning. You watched him walk back over to the door and throw it open.

“Off on another vigilante mission?” You scoffed and he froze at your words in the open doorway. 

He exhaled noisily before slowly turning back to face you. He looked more annoyed than you’d ever seen him, as though your mere presence was a burden right now. 

“No,” he hissed. “I’m going to find somewhere to have a fucking drink.” 

He didn’t wait for you to reply before he stepped outside and slammed the door closed behind him.  You felt your cheeks burning with your anger and you let out a frustrated scream, slamming your fists against the mattress. 

You were growing sick of this. You’d let Spencer drag you halfway across the country only for him to treat you like a nuisance. You’d thought you were here to help, to be somewhat useful to him but instead you were to stay hauled up in hotel rooms while he went out and did whatever the fuck he wanted. 

No, not anymore. You weren’t going to let him treat you like this. If you were in this, you were in it together or you were leaving. You jumped up from the bed, marched to the door and threw it open before disappearing into the night. 

***

Luke had just put down Roxy’s food when his cell phone rang from the coffee table. He patted the dog on the head with a sigh as he prayed it wouldn’t be Garcia calling to say they had yet another case. 

The team was worn extremely thin after the loss of two members and the cases seemed never ending. It was the first evening he’d gotten to spend at home in such a long time and he pleaded that he wasn’t about to be called back to Quantico. 

The number flashing on his screen wasn’t one he recognised and he frowned as he picked up the device and answered it. 

“Hello?” He leant against the back of the couch. 

“Luke, it’s Y/N.” Your voice floated to his ears and he breathed a sigh of relief but it was only temporary. Your tone was a little frantic, quiet and if he wasn’t mistaken almost scared. 

“Is everything ok?” He quickly stood up straight as he started to panic. 

“Yeah. Yeah everything’s fine.” You tried to level your voice. 

“This isn’t the number you usually call from.” He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand to attention, something didn’t sit right with him.

“I went for a walk and left my cell phone at my parent’s.” 

“Y/N,” He swallowed. “You would tell me if something is wrong right? You know you can tell me anything.” 

“Nothing’s wrong.” You tried to insist. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”

“You’re sure? Because I’m really starting get concerned that-”

“I said I’m fine. Jeez, Alvez, paranoid much?” You chuckled but it didn’t sound like your usual laugh. 

“You’re sure? I mean it Y/N you can tell me if…” He trailed off when he heard a beeping in his ear. He pulled the device away from his face and saw the incoming call from Garcia. He groaned as he put it back to his ear. “Sorry, Y/N it’s Garcia. I’ve gotta go.” 

“Oh, ok.” You squeaked. “Sure, I’ll call you soon, yeah?”

“I hope you do.” He swallowed again. “Y/N promise me you’re ok. Promise me that…Y/N? Hello?” He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose when he realised the line had gone dead. 

You quickly replaced the pay phone in its cradle and rolled your eyes at your stupidity. You were not in the right frame of mind to be calling Luke, of course he would see through your thinly veiled attempts to pretend you were ok. You just hoped he didn’t think much of it, hopefully the case Garcia was calling him about would take his mind off of you. 

You leant back against the glass booth and ran your fingers through your hair. You’d gone storming out of the hotel so quickly you hadn’t stopped to think that you didn’t have a key. You could go back and wait for Spencer in the lobby but who knew how long he would be out for. He’d said he was going for a drink, how many bars could there be in a tiny town like Edwardsville? 

As is by some stroke of luck, you noticed a flyer tacked to the inside of the phone booth and stepped closer to it. It was crudely made, no real effort gone into it. You recognised it from the bulletin board in the lobby of the Heartland and could only assume they were posted all over town. It was a flyer for a bar proclaiming two for one shots on Tuesday nights. 

Tonight was Tuesday night. And if you were Spencer, this was the place you would go. 

You grabbed the flyer, pulling it down off of the glass and taking it with you as you marched across the street in the hopes of finding a cab in this backwoods town. 

***

The Corner Tavern, conveniently located at the corner of Main and Union streets, was somehow exactly how Spencer imagined it to look. It looked like it had been plucked right out of an old western, with its hanging sign proclaiming its name and saloon style doors. But inside was a completely different story. 

They’d clearly kept the facade for its charm but inside it had been renovated to reflect a much more modern setting. Loud music played from tinny speakers and the lights were almost too bright for his liking. Most surfaces were a garish silver and combined with the lighting hurt his eyes a little. 

But it offered two for one on shots and after walking for almost three miles from the hotel, he was in desperate need of a drink. Or five. 

He ordered two shots of Bourbon and necked them in quick succession before ordering another two as well as a glass of scotch. Double. Once again he quickly took the shots before meandering around to find a table. 

He’d locked one of the guns and his hunting knife up in the glovebox of the Nissan, not wanting to be seen as a threat to the locals. But he still kept the little Colt tucked inside his boot, he wasn’t a complete idiot. 

He had been sitting down for approximately two minutes before he had company in the form of a curvaceous blonde who was almost half his age. She was likely tipsy, certainly flirting. That was confirmed when she bypassed the other chairs at the table in lieu of sitting directly on Spencer’s lap. He couldn’t tell if she’d missed the wedding band on his finger or simply didn’t care. 

He’d be lying if he said didn’t find her attractive and that he didn’t appreciate her attention. Maybe a fling with a beautiful young girl he would never see again was just what he needed. It had been a frightfully long time since he’d been intimate with someone. 

She placed her hands on his shoulders, grinding herself a little in his lap as she did so. She moved close to his ear and he felt her hot breath on the side of his face.

“I’m Sarah.” Her lips brushed against his ear lobe. 

“Andrew.” He replied, thinking it easier and wiser to use his alias.

“You’ve got a hot professor thing going on, Andrew.” She giggled and the sound was akin to nails on a chalkboard to Spencer but he ignored it. 

“Not the first time I’ve heard that.” He let one arm snake around her waist, holding her place. 

His other ventured upwards, cupping her cheek while his fingers threaded into her hair. He used his grip on her to pull her head back from his ear. Her eyes were glossed over from alcohol consumption and her lips were pouting at him, desperately inviting. 

He really couldn’t be blamed when he tugged her closed and slammed his lips against hers. She certainly didn’t seem to mind as she was quick to let him plunge his tongue in her mouth. 

He gripped her face as he kissed her and she in turn wrapped her arms around his neck. She adjusted herself in his lap until she was straddling him and the way in which she rocked against him had him growing hard in no time. 

She moaned shamelessly against his lips, would probably have even let him fuck her right there in the middle of the bar for anyone to watch. Her desperation turned him on and disgusted him in equal measure. But it didn’t stop him deepening the kiss and grinding upwards to meet her. 

Maybe they could go somewhere with a little more privacy, the alley down the side of the tavern could work. He could so easily get her on her knees for him, he was sure he could get this hopeless girl to do just about anything for him. 

His free hand glided under her shirt and across the planes of her back. He wondered how many other men this pathetic creature had let take advantage of her. Were older men always her type? He would be willing to bet she had daddy issues that he would be more than happy to exploit. Only he didn’t get that chance. 

Suddenly Spencer found himself being forcibly pulled away from Sarah by his hair, a hand threading into his locks and roughly tugging him by the roots. He sat back with a frown while Sarah’s arms fell to her sides, expecting to see an angry boyfriend or something standing over them, he was already concocting a way out of this in his head. But what he saw instead was somehow worse. 

Your eyebrows were furrowed deeply in anger as you glared at him, your lips pulled into a tight line of frustration. But it was your eyes that contradicted the rest of your expression, your large, sad eyes that were filled with tears as you looked at him with this woman straddling his lap. 

Sarah wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and looked at you in annoyance at your interruption. Spencer barely paid her any notice, all he could look at was you and how it looked as though your heart was breaking.

“What the hell, lady? We were kind of in the middle of something here.” She got up from Spencer’s lap and approached you, folding her arms across her ample chest. 

“So I saw.” You squared your shoulders. “I hate to break this to you, but I’m his wife.” 

You proffered your hand towards the blonde, showing off the worn gold band on your ring finger. Spencer couldn’t help the smirk that jumped to his lips as you played the part of scorned wife so perfectly. 

Sarah frowned, looking between the ring and Spencer who was still sitting dumbly in the chair. He shrugged at Sarah, not at all looking sympathetic. 

“In my defence,” He pushed himself up, sidling between you and Sarah. “You didn’t ask.” 

“Go to hell, jackass!” Sarah suddenly slapped him hard around the face, with a force that caused Spencer to stumble on his feet. 

He groaned at the impact, cupping his cheek in his hand. He knew he couldn’t argue with Sarah, not without admitting your marriage was part of a fabricated identity anyway, so he let her storm away. 

“See, I would deserve that if we were actually married.” He joked, turning to where you stood.

He felt the exact moment his heart shattered in his chest. Taking in the tears now silently rolling down your cheeks and your quivering bottom lip he felt the pain he’d caused you by kissing that stranger tenfold in his own heart. You looked utterly forlorn as you stared at him with the most broken look in your eyes he’d ever seen.

“Y/N…” He whispered, stepping closer to you. “I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t realise that you…that we…” 

He trailed off as he saw you raising your arm. Seconds later another blow landed on the same cheek, this time even harder and he yelped in pain. You worked out a lot, you boxed in your spare time. That wasn’t fair at all. 

“I second what she said,” you spat as angrily as you could muster given your tears. “Go to hell, jackass.” 

Spencer went to speak but you were already turning on your heels and fleeing the bar. He wanted to call after you but he’d already garnered a lot of attention from other patrons who were now all staring at the jackass who had seemingly cheated on his wife. 

You stormed away, your tears burning your cheeks as they fell and tried to brush them away to clear your vision as you shoved your way out of the bar and onto the dark street in the middle of a town you didn’t know. 

You’d been stabbed in the back by someone you had once called your best friend. You’d been used, betrayed by the man who had given you his ring, albeit a fake one. Your mother didn’t raise a fool, so why were you letting Spencer use you as though she had? 

I'm wearing rose-tinted shades but,

All I see is shades of my imagination covered in red.

A crooked smile and some fake love,

Put me in these handcuffs.

Threw away the keys 'cause I was a threat.

Well, first you try to tell me that we're family,

Then you try to tell me that it's for the best.

You promise that you'll be there if I need you,

But I don't need your handout, you can take it back.

I won't be used,

My mama didn't raise no fool.

Won't let you leave me hanging,

So cut me loose.

My mama didn't raise no fool,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Mm, I got a pain in my backbone,

Where'd you get that knife from?

Why the hell is it so covered in red?

I let you walk into my home,

Let you make it your own.

You tried to tear it down and,

Leave me for dead.

Well, first you try to tell me that we're family,

Then you try to tell me that it's for the best.

You promise that you'll be there if I need you,

But I don't need your handout, you can take it back.

I won't be used (no, no),

My mama didn't raise no fool.

Won't let you leave me hanging,

So cut me loose.

My mama didn't raise no fool,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Ladies and gentlemen,

If you're sick of being disrespected,

Let me hear you sing it, go.

I don't wanna feel,

Like my money that you're spending.

No, I don't wanna feel,

Like I'm losing 'cause you're winning, baby.

I don't wanna feel,

Like my money that you're spending.

No, I don't wanna feel,

Like I'm losing 'cause you're winning.

And I won't be used,

My mama didn't raise no fool.

Won't let you leave me hanging,

So cut me loose.

My mama didn't raise no fool,

Won't let you leave me hanging.

I won't be used,

My mama didn't raise no fool.

Won't let you leave me hanging,

So cut me loose.

My mama didn't raise no fool,

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh (whoa),

Won't let you leave me hanging, no more.

Oh-oh, oh-oh, ooh-oh, oh (no more, no more),

Won't let you leave me hanging.

Won't let you leave me hanging.

Won't let you leave me hanging.

@andiebeaword @muffin-cup @takeyourleap-of-faith @ssa-uglywhore27 @bubblebuttwade @jay-2s-world

[bambinafangirls]

that 40/50 year old man is NOT gonna fuck you in that position!! his back hurts!!

[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

[vatelixx]

The visionary, the willing executor,

Spencer Reid x afab!UNSUB!reader (written with mid!seasons Spencer Reid in mind)

SMUT!! copious amounts of angst (there’s traces of fluff in there as well if u get out ur magnifying glass)

BASED ON THIS SONG (it got so stuck in my head that I had to write something that correlated):

──── autistic spencer (it’s not explored that much, but it’s always gonna be present in my oneshots), evil evil reader (im not being dramatic this time. she’s literally a serial killer. like her ‘body count’ is copious. but idk, she’s kinda sweet. if u squint and ignore the bodies). They were in love ur honour !!! they’re still in love ur honour !!!! She pays him a visit two years after he found out about her homicidal tendencies (they miss each other, Spencer might also hate her a little but it’s okay, don’t worry about that).

Warnings: sub spencer (aaaaaaalways), maybe perhaps some vague, very faint mentions of switch!spencer but idk i blacked out writing this, choking, mentions of death and general behaviour that would get you a life sentence, praise more than degradation surprisingly, coming untouched, crying (you’d think that was a kink or something?), she fucks the good out of him, hopeful ending (eh, kinda), mentions of dante’s inferno, copious amounts of religious imagery, greek mythology references, this isn’t dead dove at all i promise.

w.c: 5k

a/n: everything i write has been so angsty recently. i’m working on something softer for my next upload i swear (alongside the requests, I promise, they’re being written im just a die-hard perfectionist). aaaaanyway, happy (belated) halloween!! It’s Spencer’s favourite season so i thought i’d write him getting destroyed by a serial killer (god when is it my turn????)

────────────

Spencer would consider himself a good person, by default. It’s reasonable: a renowned member of the BAU, with intellect he’s weaponized for morality. The blood etched onto his hands is justified. Necessary evil for greater cause. He’s willing to blemish his skin for the virtue, for the lives of others.

He remembers naivety. He remembers being so fragile he could easily crack into fragmented pieces of wasted innocence. Maybe that’s been stolen from him now, maybe the ruins of his sacrifices are too sharp to touch upon still, but he’s good. He knows he will always be good.

And yet, there’s a bruise. Something ugly and distorted that stains his skin. Something that has the ability to crawl deep into his bones and leave behind a mess of pain. Something bad. Festering and tainted, it haunts him with every breath.

You.

You, who came into his life as an abundance of sunlight. Helios personified. Pretty and warm, and everything he needed. He wanted to kiss you: the moment he stumbled into the coffee shop, tousled hair, overworked and raw from a burdening case. When you took his order, marking constellations onto the styrofoam cup. Andromeda, Ursa Major, Cassiopeia. Later, much later, then when you became an indomitable presence to his apartment.

But for all the good he’s preserved, Spencer knows he’s not allowed to receive it.

“You shouldn’t be here,” is the first thing he says when he finds you waiting for him. He always knew you would come back; you’re bound to follow him indefinitely. Like his shadow, his guilty consciousness, his cracked past of addiction and pre-pubescent torment.

He let you go. When the act was over, the curtain drawn, when he saw you. Homicidal, the perpetrator of the case he was working on, malevolence packed into the frame of perfection, oh even still, he let you go. Free to continue the cycle of death, he was left to scramble in the mess of his own misguided heart.

There’s risk in reward, and reward in risk. You’re meticulous, hedonistic to the last detail. But Spencer? Well, he will always be the one loose end you could never quite force yourself to clean up. The thread that kept untangling, even as time passed. Cut it off, you should be rational, wash every bleeding trace of him from your skin.

But there’s irrationality in love.

Blood adorns your features; there’s no need to touch up your appearance, to return to the domesticated facade you once used on him. No, he’s been exposed to the ugly now. There can be no do overs, no back-tracking, game over try again doesn’t exist in real time.

“What are you going to do about it?” you ask, and god, hes just as beautiful as the day you left him. So perfectly real, with dragging exhaustion and pretty brown eyes to ease the sting of his tight-faced, troubled expression.

You didn’t cut the phone lines, nor move the gun he keeps stashed in his cabinet drawer. Down the hall, to the left. You know he won’t make any abrupt actions. Know, in an intuitive way, telepathic communication between past lovers.

“It was a gamble coming here, aren’t you pleased to see me pretty boy?”

Spencer has to fight every urge he has, every moral he believes in to not lunge at you; to not strangle your slender neck, crack you in half, destroy you the way you’ve destroyed his sanity.

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since you cataclysmically uprooted his routined life. He fell in love with softness, not the jagged edge of a blade.

“I let you go. Wasn’t that enough?” it feels too natural, fighting in his apartment, some sort of twisted lovers quarrel. There’s a definite list of everything he should do in this moment, and despite all logic, he just blanks at the sight of you.

“You had to come back. Rub salt in the wound. Do you get off on this?” a sigh falls from his pretty lips, “Actually, don’t— don’t answer that. We both know the answer.”

“I get off on you,” you correct.

It’s true. If he was to analyse you, profile your warped brain like his other unsubs, he’d find nothing but unyielding loyalty to him. For all the damage you’ve done, there’s always been one anomaly to your detachment.

He stands right before you.

And, sure, maybe you’ve got a leg up in this situation. Perhaps the distorted memory of you holds him back: lazy nights and tangled sheets, his body pressed up against yours. The way he’d talk, quantum physics, philosophy, rambles that dissolved into open admissions of feelings. There’s a lot that was fake, but to be a good liar, you have to add subsidiary details of truth.

God, he wishes the world would be cruel—a cosmic alignment of karmic righteousness that would grant him relief: some kind of justification for what he must do. But the universe is indifferent, nothing but a distant star, a fleeting speck of dust in the grand scheme of life. There’s no such thing as good or bad, only consequences.

Consequences. Consequences for his actions. Butterfly effect. He can comprehend it. But, there were many things he adored about you, while the illusion of love was tangible. The way your hair would curl just above your shoulders, your skin in the morning light. The way you’d laugh at one of his obscure Star Trek references, better yet his criticism on modern, inaccurate horror. He could stare at you for eons, as though he was trying to make out the secrets of the universe in the constellation lines of your scars.

The illusion of love, as it was. He sees you now with the clarity of reality, the same way a mirage fades away as you approach; a distortion of perception.

“And you get off on me. Even now. Don’t you?” you say, shifting forward to close gravitational space.

There’s no way to disregard this morbid connection. No psychological justification he can exploit to demean your feelings. You’re not a psychopath, nor anything that relates to a lack of empathy. You feel— you feel empathy for all of your victims, the line of bodies that mark your path. But it goes deeper than that. There was reasoning for your actions, just as there was for his.

“Say it,” you goad. And there’s satisfaction here, sure. Something mean and condescending. But there’s also hurt, because he was supposed to be a means to an end, and now, he might very well be your end.

“Say you miss me. C’mon boy genius, a few little words and i’ll have enough content to satisfy me for years. Don’t be mean— you know I hate being edged.”

He does miss you, every day that he wakes up, his bones too hollow and cold to leave his bed. The ache in his chest where his heart was supposed to be, too empty to function. No amount of caffeine can fill the void in his skull where thoughts of you used to reside. The longing, the desire for the past to rewrite itself.

“You’re sick,” he tries. But he’s not good at this. Not when the love remained after the inevitable fall out, not when the darkest parts of him still clung to want, even after he realised the truth.

“You’re sick, and..” he tries again, “and I hate how much I miss you. There? Is that enough? Are you happy? Got what you wanted?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, “No. If I ‘got what I wanted’, I would still have you.”

Spencer dies. Metaphorically, literally, what does it even matter? He dies, respawns, and then kisses the admittance from your lips.

Instinctively, just like the past, your hands tangle through his hair, and perhaps there’s a sense of ownership to the gesture. The knowledge that he will always be yours. Scarred from your touch, returning to your lips like a dog with a bird. There’s a mindless attempt at anger on his part, biting lips and rough teeth, but just like always, he quickly melts.

He melts, and you catch him. Because for all it’s worth, lies and deceit aside, you’ve always loved him.

There’s something powerful to the gesture; knowing you have someone wrapped around your finger. Even after you’ve bared the worst of you, the ugliness of man-kind. There’s someone out there that will wipe the blood from your cheek, and kiss you through it.

“Oh, even better,” you mutter against his lips, “Much, much better. C’mon Spence, show me just how much you’ve missed me.”

Two years, 8 months, 11 days since he felt like he could breathe.

It hurts, it hurts so much, because there’s a sense of coming home to the kiss, and he just wants you to stay. To ruin him forever. To leave behind a deformed version of him, something unrecognisable and equally scarring.

You’re too loyal and he’s too susceptible to any form of attention. Because you want him, and it’s easy to fall into a cyclical cycle of self-destruction when you’re the catalyst.

“I did miss you.” he admits again. “You— crazy, homicidal excuse of a person.”

Spencer’s hand comes up to touch your cheek, the rough texture of skin meeting something soft. His thumb traces down the curvature of your jawline, a silent hello that doesn’t linger long, too soon to be replaced with his lips.

You push him back against the wall, a painful groan escaping your lips when you feel his hips canting forward, searching aimlessly for a friction you’ve both been denied. Two years. His body still aches for you. It’s primal, something perverted and tainted and so very good.

You knew this would happen. There was not a doubt in your clouded mind that he would deny you. What you do to me, I do to you.

“There’s my boy.” you mutter when you grip said hips, fingers finding their natural, fated position against divine bone. When he begins to find a stable pace, bucking up to meet you with every kiss that you press to his lips.

He whimpers when you touch him, soft sounds of need slipping past his parted lips into the confines of his empty apartment. He’s trying so hard to maintain composure, but he can’t find it in him to fight the inevitable. The ache of separation between himself and you. So he lets it happen, like he always does.

My boy, the possession goes straight to his head. One simple phrase and he’s untangling, breaking to pieces because yes, he is yours. And yes, he will forever want to be reminded.

“Mhm, mhm. Oh— oh, fuck.” he’s so hard, clothed cock pushing up against you with every movement. He could get off on less of you. He has. Every night.

And yes, it certainly feels like home. It’s only the thing your body has been aimlessly yearning for, day in and day out. It’s not fair, not fair to you, that you’ve allowed your resolve to crumble, your strategic, one-track mind, for the fleeting body of a past lover.

But then again, demeaning him to a past lover doesn’t even begin to articulate this.

You’re fairly certain he was put on this earth, just to torment you.

And you’re fairly certain you’ll always let him.

“God, you’re such a slut for me.” you say, drawing back from the friction just to prove your point. The disintegrating whimpers that bleed out of his mouth in response are enough alone to confirm.

His head falls back against the wall, baring that lovely length of his neck and its pretty bruises. He wants you to kiss him there, to leave one last mark before he says ‘I won’t see you again’ and means it this time.

“Don’t— don’t stop—” even as he speaks, a mess of jumbled words and breathless sentences, you’re still teasing him. He hates how much it works, how much he’d rather fall into the pleasure of your hands.

“Fine. Whatever. Yes. What do you want to hear? That it’s whorish the way I want you. That you’re able to just… corrupt me with all these dirty words, even though I have an extensive vocabulary. Even though i’m supposed to be—“

He’s not even sure what he’s supposed to be anymore.

“You know the extent of my devotion.” he concedes.

There will always be sadistic pleasure in reducing him to such an ignominious version of himself. You’ve seen it before, back when you were trapped in an artificial, yet domesticated, haze of bliss. But to hear it now? Even after everything has been said and done?

That’s a new type of pleasure.

You know he still holds onto the facade of you, aimlessly reaching for something intangible, something that never truly existed. “You want me to be good for you, huh? Just pack up my shit, leave it all behind, get better? Think about it. White picket fence. Coffee every morning. God— it would be insufferable. Coming home to feed the dogs, talking every night over the phone, begging you to be safe on a case, or or—“

Spencer breaks. Silencing your words with a pained whimper.

Usually, he doesn’t allow himself to think about that fantastical hypothetic. He can’t afford to. Months after he let you go, when the truth had been exposed to his naive eyes, he’d spend hours in a mess of aching limbs, dreaming up alternative realities where your hands weren’t stained from blood, and the most despicable thing you could do was make his coffee bitter.

So when you force him to open old wounds, to rehash past hopes, he falls apart. A whine escapes his lips, hips bucking, once, twice and then he’s coming untouched. Making a mess out of himself— and it’s sick, so very sick to get off on the thought of you permanent, the epitome of good.

Something he could hold onto without slicing open skin.

It’s not a good orgasm, it never is without your direct help, but at least it’s some form of release. In the aftermath, he blinks away tears, vaguely aware of the cum staining his boxers, creating damp spots through fabric.

There’s something painful, cutting to your gaze when you look at him. At the debauched sight, corrupted from just a few words.

Give it all up? For what? Him?

All things considered, it’s tempting.

“Spencer,” you mutter in the serrated moments between. When he’s still nebulous, caught in the aftershocks of abrupt pleasure. When he’s just gotten off, untouched, on the notion of a domesticated life with you.

He’s struggling to breathe. He’s spent nights gasping for you, reduced to the most debasing version of himself. So out of touch, you drove a blade through his back, catching his heart on the way.

“Why are you— doing this?” he asks, but before you can even answer, provide him with an explanation that will devastate, he’s lunging forward, kissing the lies that cling to your lips. Kissing you because his mouth hurts when it’s not attached to yours.

“One last time.” he says; he’s too intelligent, too intellectually adept, to allow this swallowing cycle of humiliation to continue.

But, underneath it all, he’s also inherently selfish for you. He’s fairly certain you were engrained into his skin, long before he fell into your barbed trap, teeth and penetrative ruin.

“Then you leave. You actually leave, never contact me again. No showing up at my apartment unprovoked. I have a good life without you. Understood?”

You scoff. He presses forward, “Understood?”

You don’t protest when he elucidates his life as good. Even if it’s quite the contrary. Even if he has to bare witness to depravity every single day, scrutinise his way through the minds of the most perverse. Perhaps this is a social experiment to him, perhaps you are the guinea pig, Laika sentenced to space. You know he loved you once, but it’s hard to comprehend the feelings remained unscarred, it’s hard to imagine you’re anything but a test subject now.

You look at him. Look at that pretty face. Your undoing. He could be your achilles heel, hamartia in its rawest form, or maybe you willingly chose to do this. Maybe fate, and divine intervention played no part in your attachment to him. Maybe it’s just chemicals. The logics explanation. Imbalanced, skewed chemicals.

“Don’t worry, boy genius.” you respond, “You won’t get anything, not even a postcard, from me. It’ll be like I never even existed.” no trace. D.C has always been a monotone cesspit of nothing anyway.

It’s cruel. Because if you leave, truly leave. And he never hears from you again, never catches you in his kitchen, drinking coffee with an unadulterated smile, then he will begin to forget.

The curve of your spine, the scars beneath your chest, the way your fingers fit into his own. The way he was able to memorise your body until he could draw it in the dark, when your body was pressed to his, when there was nothing but a false establishment of safety.

He knows he can’t forget. Not technically. But it’ll grow distant, it’ll be replaced with new normals and routines. That, that, he can’t compute.

“Good,” he says, kissing you again, kissing you because this is it.

Spencer wants you. In every sense of the word, he wants you so badly it’s killing him.

His bedroom still holds traces of you. That, itself, is a crime. But he just falls into you. The way lovers do. Your hands against his skin— his hair threaded through your fingers, your lips at the base of his neck. He lets you leave another bruise, a mark, a confirmation of possession, because even if this is the last time, he is, and always will be yours.

“Still the prettiest person i’ve ever seen,” you admit when he’s flushed naked beneath you.

There’s something in those doe-eyes, brown irises blown out of proportion, that hooked you. Even at the worst, it was still soft with him.

Slender frame, slightly arched, you want to bite into his hips, mark every inch of him as yours. It’s greedy, gluttonous, his messy hair, fanning out like a halo, the tangled curls he never bothers to properly care for.

“God, fucking look at you,” you grip his jaw, tilt his head back to bare that blemished neck of his. To have and to own. He’s so inexplicably different to you, so good it runs down to the bone. And maybe you’ve always been insatiable for what you’ve lacked.

He can’t take this. He can’t, not again. The past, the future will have to dissolve with this moment, because there will never be another again.

You will never get this close to him. It’s a terrifying thought, that this’ll be the standard of intimacy, of love - because he knows it isn’t. But he can’t risk the reality he’s faced with, the reality of living without this. Of living without you.

Your words only make it worse. He wants to beg you to stop. To cease the torture.

“Shut up.” He kisses you, as if to remind you that your mouth is made for kissing, for his lips, for a litany of dirty words that he can’t bear to hear. Those words are for someone else. For someone similar. Not him. Never him.

Defying fate. He gets off on being something bad beneath the surface. No one would ever expect it; boyish maladroit Spencer, the youngest of the team, willingly allowing, condoning, a killer to sink into his skin.

“Don’t tell me to shut up,” you respond, muffled against his lips. “If this is the last time, i’m going to enjoy it. Going to enjoy the sight of you, all desperate for me alone.”

“You assume i’ve ever been desperate for anyone else—“ he counters.

“Oh, that’s it. Keep talking dirty to me.”

“It’s not dirty. It’s a factual statement.”

You pull away, a trail of saliva bridging the space between your mouths. If there is higher power at play here, you want to curse, to spite your creator. Because if ‘things’ had been different, if you had been born from the same rib, this could’ve ended differently.

Or for that matter, never ended at all.

“Sit there and watch me.” you say, and Spencer hates the way he obliges. Pushing himself up against the headboard, he stares at you, at the way you position yourself, standing by the foot of the bed.

“Do you even know what you do to me? Do you even understand the gravity your existence has on me?” you continue, unfastening the lace corset that clings to your frame. When it drops to the floor, breasts exposed, you run your hands across them, catching pierced nipples for a vindictive moment of pleasure.

“I— uh,” Spencer is admittedly a little distracted. Sex had always been something ruinous between you two. Something that conflicted his lack of experience, forced him to adapt.

He always wondered how someone so soft, the epitome of light, could be this obscene. Now he understands.

“Lost your words? Come on, pretty boy. I thought you had an ‘extensive vocabulary?’ Hm?”

He wants to touch himself, to ease the pulsing throb that centres in his cock. But he doesn’t, because despite the time that has passed, he still knows your rules. “Don’t use my words against me. I’m being tortured.”

“Tortured, huh?” your hands fumble over buttons until you’re reduced to a pair of panties, soaked throughly, leaving scarce to the imagination.

“So so tortured. Oh my god, who are you? Can I please have my soul back?” he’s joking, but not really.

“Well maybe if you beg for it,” your words fade into a mess of moans, fingers slipping beneath fabric to graze your clit. Spencer’s head spills back against the wall; he looks more affected by the movements than you.

It’s easy to fall back into old habits. Relapse.

“Come here, come here, i’m having an existential crisis.” he says, watching as you slip one finger, then two inside you, struggling to stand now. It’s strange how pleasure can reduce the most antagonising minds to vulnerability.

“Please— oh fuck, please. Please. Don’t make me watch, I can’t. Need you. Need you so bad.”

He thought he found the core of torture in you touching yourself, but he was wrong. Because when you crawl closer, when you slot yourself between his thighs, lips finding skin that only you have ever touched, he sees the root of evil in his brain. The ninth circle of hell.

It’s justified, he supposes. For all the good he’s done, he has betrayed. Himself, his friends, family, existence itself. There is not one thing he wouldn’t ruin, just to feel you. It’s incriminating, so yes, he deserves to freeze in Cocytus. He’ll willingly plead guilty, accept his entrapment in the ring of Caina.

“Poor baby, look at you.” you say, kissing his tip, catching the pre-cum on your tongue. Spencer responds: fisting bedsheets, fighting the restraint to buck forward, to find misplaced solace in the warmth of your mouth. He’s sprawled out across sheets now, lying back in a tangled heap of want. “Shh, it’s okay,” you continue, “I like my men desperate.”

“Desperate? Ah—,” he fights the urge to shut his eyes, too aware that this is the last memory he will ever retain of you.

You, painted into his mind. The final evidence left in the fire: mouth sinking down his length, taking him to the hilt, watery eyes and leaking mascara.

“This isn’t even desperation. You’re killing me. Just, oh oh— please, don���t. ‘M gonna cum. Gonna cum—“

Is it sick that he doesn’t want to? If only to prolong this transitory moment of destruction? Like the lotus eaters, he will always be mindless in the pursuit of more, more, more of you.

You draw back from his cock, only to press a soft kiss against the tip. The gesture alone has him reeling, has him begging to be saved, to atone for every sin he found in the comfort of your divinely crafted lips.

“Gonna let me sit on that pretty cock of yours, hm? Let me use you one last time? Promise i’ll be good,” a lie, “So so good.”

“God, yes. Yes, please. That would—“ You take him deep, deep enough that everything aches. He only feels alive when you’re wrapped around him, when there’s not an ounce of distance between your bodies, when he can touch the insides of you. Pry open the raw, unfiltered version of you.

He only feels alive when he’s sunk inside the harbinger of death. He’d laugh if it didn’t hurt.

You’ve got one hand tangled in your hair, the other pressed flat against his waist, supporting you through each bump of movement. Eyes like marbles, Spencer looks up, and wonders why this will never be enough for you.

You look back, meet his gaze, as if you’re Orpheus, predestined to turn around, to always return. Even if it’s just for one last second. Even if the fall-out is so much worse than pushing forward blindly.

Oh, hes certain you’re carving a hole inside him, something that will only grow and expand, imploring to be filled by it’s inventor. It’ll hurt, for the rest of time, he supposes.

When he finds your hand around his neck, he isn’t startled. Neither, when your thumb presses against his throat, applying pressure until the world cracks and fades, distorting his refined mind to the here and now. He floats, feeling transient in the curse of your touch.

“That’s it. Just let go. I’ve got you.”

He is a sacrificial lamb. The priests favourite. He will take the knife every time, and thank you for it after.

You release the tension, hand taking his instead. For all the cruelty you possess, you’d never think to harm him. Not physically at least. The emotional damage, however, finds you both. There can be no happiness in either of your worlds, not when the memory of each other festers. “Good boy— taking it so well. God, no one is ever gonna compare.”

He cries at the words. Pretty tears streaming down his face, because the reciprocation to his undying piety will forever trigger the warped chemicals in his brain. Will forever reduce him to something saccharine.

“Love you. Love you so much. Don’t go. Please,” he fractures, “please don’t go.” he begs, besmirched words he’ll regret in the wake of his pleasure. They don’t count, and yet, he knows, in the most depraved sections of his mind, they’re true.

You ride him harder. Back curved, finding god in the washed-out body of someone fatally destroyed. “Not going anywhere— fuck, fuckfuckfuck. That feels so good. You’re so good,” maybe it’s a kink to ruin something so perfectly spotless.

Maybe it’s a kink that he wants it.

“Say it. God, just say it. This once.” for old times sake, he almost adds. But that wouldn’t be objectively correct. For all the intimacy you shared, you never once articulated those three words. Perhaps it was to save your dignity, to hold pieces of yourself in the lies you beautifully crafted.

His thumb runs over your clit, and in the tangle of your orgasm, he almost thinks you forget about his demand. But after, when you’re still taking him, when you’re still clenching, unclenching, clenching around his cock, when you know you own every part of him, you answer.

“I love you.”

He falls apart. Hips canting, body squirming, whimper after whimper escaping his bruised lips as he releases inside of you. Pushed deep, defiled to the limit. For a moment, everything is okay, everything will be alright, because there’s pleasure, and it’s you. It’s always you.

How can he justify falling in love with you again? How can he, when he still clings onto the artificial love of the past? He’s not sure his heart can handle one set of feelings, nevermind two.

He takes you again, well… mostly you take him again. In ways that have him polluted with the remnants of your teeth. Canine marks, etched deep enough to bleed. He hopes the swelling leaves behind perennial scars, anything to remind him. Anything to hold onto when you’re gone and it’s cold.

After, when you lie together, he presses his forehead against yours and wishes he was in any other universe. One where you’re happy. Where everything is pure and simple, clean from sin.

There was always truth in what we shared before, you admit. Lazy nights spent draped over the couch, kissing him to silence convoluted rambles. Your presence in the morning, bathed in holy glow, sunlight bleeding over the pretty sight of you. The first night he touched you and saw god. And then the following night, when he ascended all over again.

He wakes to find no body. He wakes to find nothing. It feels like self-sabotage, the promise that you would leave, even if it’s quite the contrary.

In the absence, abstinence of your presence, he discovers traces of you in everything he sees, all of it, everything consumed, returning to the simple thought of you you you.

When the first postcard comes, Portland, dreary weather— beaches and ports, there’s no anger. No exasperation that you broke your word.

You love him, it’s morbid, but for someone like him, it overrules everything. Sanity, dignity, his own stable existence.

You overrule everything.

[babygorewhore]

I’d let the world burn for you

Unsub!Spencer Reid x bimbo!fem!reader

Spencer Reid is obsessed with you. He stalks you. Removes anyone who’s possibly a threat to you. But eventually, that’s not enough. He has to take you. And keep you forever.

Requested by anonymous! Hope you enjoy! W.C Over 1.5K thank you to @xxbimbobunnyxx for helping me!!

Warnings! Talks of violence! Stalking! Murder! Non graphic! Kidnapping! Drugging! Oral!male receiving! Unprotected sex! Breeding kink! Light restraining! Praise! Light degrading!

You were the BAU’s little sweetheart. The pretty girl who everyone loved and wanted to protect. You had a tendency to get yourself in dangerous situations and Spencer knew he would have to use his work computer to just…make sure you were safe.

He had no guilt when he installed the cameras in your apartment when you were gone. He had to. How else would he make sure you were okay? He had to follow you around in his car when you took walks. Spencer never imagined he’d have the ability to kill outside of the job but when he saw you bringing in a date, it was second nature to shove a needle into the males neck and drag him off into the woods as he left your house.

It was all for your best interest. You were his little doll. An angel. Spencer didn’t come forward about this to anyone. His secret life where he kept in close proximity with you outside of work.

Hotch paired you with him as a partner as you both went to the family of the victim's house today. You were better with emotions than he was concerning consoling families. Your soft eyes and sweet words had a tremendous effect on them as they mourned.

Spencer idly watched in the corner as he examined their behavior. Everyone was drawn to you and your magnetic presence. It also made him angry. You were his. Someone he wanted to keep locked away from everyone.

After learning about the victim, you both got into the car and you crossed your legs. Your soft curves filled out your work pants as you applied a coat of lipgloss in the mirror. “Spencer, why does Hotch never let me interview families alone?”

Spencer withheld the urge to set a hand on your arm and tell you it was because you were simply unable to handle it. “He just wants to make sure you’re safe.”

“I do carry a gun. Just like the rest of you.” You rolled your eyes and snapped the mirror shut. You huffed, pouting your lips and he felt his cock twitch.

“Carrying a firearm is a lot of responsibility. The statistics of gun misuse are alarming and rising.” You giggled at his words and he almost started trembling.

“You’re so cute! I love it when you talk about dorky things!” You reached over and ruffled his hair. Spencer gripped the steering wheel tightly as he managed to smile.

God, he needed you. He’d never felt this carnal desire for someone before. Spencer went his whole life being pushed around until you. He killed for you. He followed you. Kept tabs on you through his computer and phone.

Of course, you didn’t know that as he stared at his screen while you slept in the hotel room. His own room down the hallway. Spencer watched as you turned soundlessly in bed. Cute little pajamas adorned your perfect body as you held a stuffed animal.

Spencer didn’t know how it could possibly escalate from murdering men you dated previously but he was corrected. Two days later, you had chased down the unsub in an abandoned building but had been knocked out cold. When he caught up, seeing you crumpled on the floor with a bloody nose; Spencer snapped. He emptied his clip on the male and then beat his dead body.

That’s when he knew he loved you.

And that’s when he would do what it took to keep you away from all the bad people in the world.

When you all flew home, Spencer had it planned. He got rid of the bodies. Created a sanctuary for you in his basement. He had inherited his childhood home and took time perfecting it. Gathering your favorite things. Clothing. Everything you needed to be happy. He couldn’t live with himself if you weren’t happy. So then, he called you and asked if you needed a ride to work the next day. However, you didn’t know that he had requested that day off. Forged an entire document explaining you were being transferred to another state to Hotch. It was approved.

Your family lived far away so it wouldn’t be surprising if you went out of contact for a few weeks. Enough time to make sure you knew he wasn’t going to hurt you or let anyone take you from him.

Spencer eyed the coffee in the cup holder on the passenger seat as you slid into the car with a bubbly smile. “Hi Spencer! Thanks for the ride!” He grinned.

“Yeah! No problem. I uh-got you something.” He cleared his throat and you smiled.

“Thank you! You’re so sweet.” You took a long sip and happily twirled your hair.

Spencer shuddered and swallowed harshly. It was working. You blinked slowly, biting your lip and you looked at him. “Spencer. I don’t feel so good. I feel…tired.”

He nodded. “Just close your eyes. We will be there soon.” You drifted off into sleep against the window and a sick sensation came over him.

Spencer carried your unconscious body into the house minutes later, his heart thudding against his ribcage as he delicately changed your clothes. Your perfect body and skin made him drool as he dressed you. Putting you into a little nightgown, knee socks and lace panties. They were your favorite color. His cock was throbbing as he tried not to focus too hard on your cunt.

Not yet.

He locked the door and waited for you to wake. The decorated room is lit up by string lights. He hoped you’d like it. Stuffed animals. Spencer also had a drawer full of toys that he would see you use on your pussy. Spencer actually hadn’t touched himself the whole time he watched you. He wanted to cum inside you. Breed that precious cunt.

His cum was only for you.

When you started to stir, Spencer carefully climbed into bed as you whimpered with confused blinks. “Shhhh, you’re okay. Everything is okay now….”

You shifted in bed, looking down and then feeling your clothes. “Spencer? What’s going on? Why-why am I here?” He gently smoothed your hair and tenderly stroked your cheek.

“It’s okay. I had to do it. I had to keep you safe. No one is ever going to hurt you again. You’re gonna stay here with me.” He softly smiled when you examined the room.

“You…did all this?”

He nodded warmly. “Yeah. All for you. Just for you, princess. You won’t have to do anything. Just let me take care of you. Forever. Don’t be scared. I will never let any of those men near you. I took care of them.”

“You were the one…”You whispered. “I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

Spencer cocked his head to the side. “You knew I was watching you?”

You bat your eyelashes with and rub your thighs together. “Mhm. I liked the attention. I always thought you were cute. But I didn’t think you actually liked me this much.”

Spencer shook his head and rested his hand on your legs. “I love you. And I killed for you. And I’ll do it again. You’re gonna stay here with me. I need to keep you safe. Can you do that?”

You nodded rapidly with a hazy smile. “Yes. Of course. I want to stay here with you, Spencer.” And then you kissed him.

Spencer felt like he was on fire as he returned the kiss by hungrily mounting you. He straddled you, his hands wandering all over your body. This was it. This was exactly what he needed. You knew this was the right thing to do. Spencer swirled his tongue in your mouth, nibbling your lower lip as he maneuvers your panties to the side.

“Spencer, let me taste you,” You begged against his mouth. “Let me show you how thankful I am.” Spencer moaned as he allowed you to move him on his back. You tugged off his trousers and underwear. His dick slapped against his thigh and you lowered down. Your tongue lapped at his tip with drool gathering at the corners and you fondled his balls.

He threw his head back and his hand buried in your hair. “Fuck, feels so good,” He praised as you hummed and took him further in your throat. You bobbed your head up and down, working him over with your tongue at the same time and pulled back. You wrapped your lips around his balls and sucked. He saw you grind on the mattress and whine when he thrusted into your mouth.

You groaned and gagged on his dick but kept going. Spencer’s vision went white as he saw you shudder and shake as you continued sucking. “Did you just fucking cum?” He asked and you nodded with tears in your eyes.

He manhandled you around, pulling you off his cock and he was shoving it inside your pussy. Spencer lost control as he pinned your wrists down and moved into you roughly. “Such a tight pussy. You’re such a good girl. I knew you were perfect. You’re such a good slut for me. I needed you so bad.”

You cried out with a fucked out and your eyes rolled back as he reached down and massaged your clit at the same time. “Cum in me, please, please, please!” You begged and a sadistic smile came over Spencer.

“I’m gonna breed this perfect pussy. Cover you in it then fuck some back in. Nothing is gonna go to waste. You’re mine and you always have been.” Spencer kept his promise as he came inside you as a scream escaped your throat. He yanked out, pumping himself to coat your stomach before he gathered it with his hand and fucked it back in with a thrust. “Gonna fuck a baby in you. Just breed you over and over again. You’re never getting away from me. You’re mine. Say it!”

“I’m yours!” You wailed and wrapped your legs around his waist as pleasure overcame you. Spencer released your hands and you dug your nails into his back, sliding them into his hair. You pulled him down to your lips. You moaned loudly against his mouth.

“I’m yours, I’m yours, I'm yours.” He sighed in satisfaction before heaving your legs over his shoulders.

“I’m just gonna use your holes until you can’t take it anymore.” He would burn the world for you yes. But he would also make you his personal whore.

Tagging @marchsfreakshow @starkeysprincess @oceandriveab @oceanblvd111 @bunnycrush @littlexdeaths @redhead1180 @an1t4k

[pinkglittergelpenink]

the team whenever Spencer talks:

[doehoney]

Criminal Minds is so real for their “the unsub is a man until proven otherwise” mentality

[reiding-writing]

SOCIOPATHY [DISORDER]

/ˈsoʊ.ʃi.əˌpæθi/

Antisocial personality disorder, sometimes called sociopathy, is a mental health condition in which a person consistently shows no regard for right and wrong and ignores the rights and feelings of others.

pairing: gn!unsub!reader and spencer reid

genre: mystery, crime drama

total wc: 27.2k

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ bloodied roses event!!

COPYCAT — the main series

The replication of a disturbing 2004 serial murder case calls for the BAU to get involved with the assistance of none other than the original killer themself. And whilst Spencer didn't work the original case, he was eager to learn every detail about it, including its offender.

part one. | 4.5k

WARNINGS: made up murder case, graphic depictions of violence, implied suicide (actually murder), mentions of spencer's addiction, sociopathic reader

part two. | 14.4k

WARNINGS: relationship between spencer and reader is not inherently romantic, sociopathic reader, graphic details of murder, graphic eye descriptions, mentions of spencer's addiction and overdose, morgan and reader really don't like each other, child abuse, childhood addiction, death by overdose, suicide

ETC. — the side stories

the first visit. | 2.2k

a successful appeal. | 1.0k

the phone calls. | 0.9k

spencer gets caught. | 1.0k

authorised visitation. | 1.1k

what if you escaped? | 0.9k

the guards’ heavy hands. | 1.3k

tbc…

[strawbeerossi]

Blade

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Ghostface!Spencer Reid x Ghostface!Elle Greenaway

Description: It’s Halloween night and the streets of Washington DC are a ghost town because of the new curfew put into place after the sudden uprise in murders. Unbeknownst to you, the two people who are on a spree are planning on trick-or-treating tonight. Their treat? You

Content/Warnings: Noncon/dubcon (not sure which one applies cause I’m new to this tbh), knife play, blood, spitting, ffm threesome, crying, fuck-or-die scenario (if you squint), penetration with foreign object, oral (f + m receiving), face sitting, face fucking, unprotected sex (have you ever noticed how I never write protected sex?), breeding kink, creampie

Word Count: 3.6K

Kinktober Day Fourteen: Knife Kink

Navigation || Kinktober Masterlist || AO3

The streets of Washington DC were empty, an eerie fog picking up within the night. Halloween night was usually far different, the many parties going on for adults or the children trick-or-treating and lighting up the dimly lit neighborhoods scattered across the city. This year, fear suffocated the city, a masked killer haunting the area while brutally murdering people and showing absolutely no remorse.

The BAU was working days on end, every lead being buried so deep that not even the brilliant mind of Penelope Garcia could dig them up. Every phone call made could never be traced, no voice recognition because of the device concealing the true voice of the culprit and changing the tone. The hopes weren’t high, the best bet was waiting for this person to get sloppy. It was just a shame because this man knew exactly what he was doing.

None of you had even begun to think of the possibility of it being a team, the kills all perfectly aligned to the point that it had to be a coordinated unsub who’d planned this. The team has been sent home for the night, knowing that you all needed sleep over anything else. It was easier said than done, especially whenever you couldn’t manage to lay down without hearing some bump that had you shooting right back up. Even in an apartment where numerous sounds were normal, you were on the highest of alert.

You had just finished a brief phone call with Spencer, entrusting your closest friend and coworker in your struggles to sleep. He’d commented that he understood and was going through the same issues, telling you numerous things to try and relax yourself enough to sleep. You told him you’d call him later, opting to take a shower before bed in hopes it would relax your tensed muscles.

Little did you know, you gave him just what he wanted.

Your hands were moving to slowly turn the water of the shower head off, a sigh leaving your lips as you felt comfortable. That was what you needed. As your hand dipped out of the shower curtain, you were retrieving the towel hanging on the hanger beside you. Before you could attempt to dry yourself, you were groaning whenever the power had been flipped off. It was storming outside, so you assumed it had to do with the weather. As peaceful as the sounds of rain were, you hated some of the after effects due to the downpour. After using the towel to wrap around yourself, you pulled back the shower curtain.

You had a bad feeling. You weren’t sure exactly why but there was just an uneasy feeling filling your stomach. Maybe it was because of the dark? Your hand was grabbing your phone from the counter, turning on the device’s flashlight before you were approaching your bedroom door. For once in the night, there was silence. Maybe your noisy neighbors finally went down for the night.

The spooky ambience really added on to the Halloween feel, however you weren’t too fond of it tonight. Even in the safety of your apartment, you felt like someone was watching you. Using the handy flashlight feature and safely navigating back to your bedroom, you were contemplating for a few moments before closing your bedroom door, locking it for another sense of security.

Taking deep breaths in an attempt to calm yourself, you were trying to convince yourself that you were nervous for no reason. Nobody could get in. You locked the front door and now your bedroom door, you were safe.

“It’s probably a good thing you locked the door. Could you imagine who can come in at any time?” A disguised voice sounded from the other side of the room, making your heart fall to your stomach. “For an FBI profiler, you aren’t very observant.” You didn’t dare turn around, body paralyzed in fear. “You’re gonna kill me, aren’t you?” You asked, voice as steady as you could get it when there was a laugh behind you. “No. I’m not gonna kill you. Not if you listen to everything you’re told.” Your eyes were squeezed tightly shut from fear.

“Now,” The feeling of the gloved hand against your back made you flinch, however it was like the delicate touch was attempting to soothe you. “Turn around and look at me, hmm? Let me see that pretty face.” You had the mind to deny it, to say no and try and attempt to run, even if you wouldn’t get far. However, you wanted to stay alive, so your body was slowly turning around. “There she is.” The masked figure sighed in content, right hand gripping a blade as the opposite was coming up to pull the mask off.

Your eyes widened, the tears still pouring from the corners and soaking your face. Elle Greenaway was standing in front of you, looking at you with an undeniable hunger in her eye.

You hadn’t seen her in years, not after she lost her job and she was forced out. “Is this a joke?” You asked first and foremost. Surely it was an unfunny practical joke that your ex coworker was putting on. However she made it painfully clear that it wasn’t when the blade in her hand was brought to your neck. “Wait!” You rushed, still frozen from fear while you could hear shuffling from another area of your apartment. This was beyond your bedroom door. “He takes forever. Fuck. He almost missed the fun!” Elle commented, now using her knife to nick your flesh while watching the slow stream of blood trickle down your skin, smiling with satisfaction before leaning forward. You didn’t know what to expect but when you felt her tongue lap over the crimson fluid from your skin, you could feel your cheeks flushing.

Were you really turned on right now?

You didn’t have much time to question it as the woman took the opportunity of you being lost in your own thoughts to move you and unlock your bedroom door. “About time,” She scoffed, making the masked figure stop as he realized she had taken her mask off. “What the hell?” He asked immediately, not having time to stop Elle from yanking the mask off of his head as well.

You could’ve expected anyone else in the world but when you saw Spencer’s wide eyes from beyond the mask, you could feel your blood run cold. You’d told Spencer all of your plans for tonight just for him to make plans to break into your apartment? You could only assume he was going to kill you and the amount of betrayal that consumed you was enough to throw you into the pits of hell without needing to be murdered first. “Look at her! We can’t hurt her. Besides, she’s already so graciously agreed to celebrate the holiday with us tonight. I feel like we deserve a trick-or-treat break.” She began while smirking as the dots were soon being connected by Spencer as he nodded slowly. “Are we sure this is a good idea? Keeping her alive keeps a giant target on our backs since you got the bright idea to show our faces.” He grumbled. “I’ve been to prison once before and I promise you that I would rather die than end up in there again.” He said in a simple tone, making his partner wave him off. “I don’t think we will have a problem with her. Besides, the goal was to catch her in the shower but someone showed up too late.”

You were silent as you’d realized your vulnerable state, wrapped up in only a towel that you’d managed to squeeze tighter around your body. This was insane. “You two are fucking nuts.” As quickly as you found your voice, you were losing it again the moment you had the blade pressed against your throat again. “Watch your fucking mouth.” Elle spat while her intense gaze had you squeezing your thighs together. Being with two profilers, albeit one former, it wasn’t hard for them to notice the way your pupils were blown out, face flushed, the way your grip on the towel was turning your knuckles white.

“Are you really turned on right now?” Spencer asked, a thick tension clouding the room as he was moving closer to you, eyes trailing to the knife in Elle’s hand while he was pulling his out soon after. Holding it up in front of your face, he raised an eyebrow. “You like the idea of getting fucked by people trying to kill you?” He was amused, making you blush from embarrassment. “She’s a whore. You should’ve seen her reaction when I licked her neck earlier.” Elle added soon after, both of their intense gazes making you want to fall to your knees.

As the woman in front of you dragged the tip of the knife from your neck to your shoulder, she sighed in content. “Try it. It’s fun. I think she gets off on the idea of you cutting her, marking her like she’s only ours.” She hummed, watching as Spencer nodded, although his blade was rested under your chin, using a light push to tilt your head up to face him. “You like my knife? Even though I could kill you with it?” He asked, his honey colored eyes hidden behind the cloud of lust overshadowing the beautiful irises. As he let the blade trail from your chin to your neck, his eyes were fixated on your face, watching as you let your eyes flutter shut.

“What kind of slut likes this shit? You really are a whore.” He spat. This wasn’t a side of Spencer that you ever thought you’d see, however you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like it. He applied more pressure, the blade breaking the skin as he ran it down your neck to your shoulder. It wasn’t deep enough to scar, however the sight of your blood covering your skin had his cock stirring in his pants. Like Elle, Spencer had leaned forward to lap up the metallic fluid. He did something a little different though. “Open your mouth.” He grumbled, the mix of your blood and his spit sitting on his tongue. You obliged, mouth open as you had stuck your tongue out as well, which earned a chuckle from the woman watching the scene.

Spencer spit the mixture into your mouth, his free hand forcing your mouth closed while giving you no choice but to swallow it. The act had your cunt clenching around nothing, arousal building in your stomach. “She listens well. We might have to keep her alive after all.” The woman mused while the man in front of you was putting the handle weapon in his mouth, quickly ripping the towel off of your exposed body while grinning around the black handle. Taking it from his mouth, the knife was soon back in Spencer’s hand and running down the valley of your breasts, your breathing picking up from the adrenaline.

He really could gut you like a fish right now but here he is, dragging the knife over your flushed flesh while smirking. Your pussy was glistening from how wet you’d been from this whole encounter.

The knife was dragging down your stomach, then dropping to your thighs as he traced it over your inner thigh. Your mouth was agape, chest rising and falling rapidly. “Let’s see how good that cunt is, hmm?” Elle finally commented, getting bored of only watching as she was flipping her knife around, hand moving to hold the blade while she was dropping to her knees in front of you. “She’s soaking wet, Spencer. Look at this.” The woman taunted, the male dropping to his knees as well while leaving you blushing.

You were anticipating what move they would make next. What you weren’t expecting was for the blunt handle of the knife to tap against your swollen clit, making your eyes widen. “It’s not that big.” Elle commented, laughing as her free hand was moving to spread your labia apart, looking at your desperate hole attempting to clench around nothing as she sighed in content.

“Let’s give that greedy pussy what she wants.” She’d commented, pushing the end of the knife into your cunt, a grin on your face as your desperate hole was eagerly sucking the weapon in. As her hand was moving slowly to fuck you with the knife, you were left to be a whining mess. This was fucked. You should’ve been terrified, ready to fight back even though you knew you’d die. Instead, you were getting pounded with the handle of a knife while being reduced to a moaning and whining mess. The unholy sounds of your pussy squelching around the knife was enough to make things progress quite quickly.

Cruelly, Elle was taking stopping her actions and ultimately tossing the knife on the floor, a huff of displeasure leaving your lips from the emptiness. “Don’t you huff at me. You know, you don’t deserve this.” She spat, her head moving closer to your core as her tongue swiped over your clit with a soft hum, grinning once you’d gripped her hair. “That’s right. Gonna fuck this desperate cunt with my tongue, bet you want that so bad.” Her words were low, her hands resting against your thighs as her tongue was sliding along your slit, collecting every ounce of your essence that you were happy to let her drink up and savor.

“Oh fuck,” You panted, feeling the woman waste no time as her tongue was pistoning your slick hole with no remorse, as if you were the piece of candy she’d gotten for wearing such a clever costume tonight. Spencer had already discarded his robe by that point, palming his hard cock in his pants as he watched the scene go down in front of him.

Her tongue was massaging your inner walls, your moans in sync as she was slurping and sucking at your desperate cunt. She knew exactly what she was doing, her attention moving to your clit while she was sliding two fingers into your cunt without warning. It was enough to make you grip her hair and attempt to shove her face deeper. With her middle and ring fingers, she was scissoring your cunt as she curled them deep inside of you, your walls spasming around her fingers as you could feel your arousal building. The first orgasm you had was powerful, the way you gripped tightly onto Elle while desperately rocking your hips and whimpering softly.

Spencer was humming as he glanced at the woman beside him, her mouth wet with your cum and arousal as she was pulling back after licking up your mess from your cunt and thighs. “Alright. I feel like it’s my turn. That’s fair, right?” He questioned, although he wasn’t delving into your cunt, no, he was pushing himself to stand. “On your knees.” He murmured, hands working on his belt before undoing it, eventually pushing his pants down his legs as he kicked them off. You were mesmerized, seeing the outline of his cock that was being constricted in his boxers.

He hadn’t forgotten about your love of his knife though, kneeling down briefly to retrieve it while slowly running it down your cheek. “You don’t deserve to get fucked by me yet.” He murmured, eyebrows raised as you were seemingly not even listening to him, your hands moving to the waistband of his boxers to tug them down. Watching his cock slap against his stomach had an involuntary moan falling from your lips. “Yeah, figured you’d be a cockslut. Go on then.” He murmured, hand gripping your hair as he was leading you to his cock that was standing at attention. As soon as the tip was pushed past your lips, Spencer gave you a few seconds to get a rhythm going as you were sucking at his dick. However, he was frustrated at just how slow paced you were. That was when he took matters into his own hands, keeping his tight grip on your hair as he was roughly thrusting into your mouth.

The sudden intrusion had you gagging, tears brimming your eyes while you were staring up at Spencer through your eyelashes. “Fuck. That’s right. You look so fucking sexy with my cock in your mouth. Take it like a champ.” He grunted, hips snapping as you were reduced to gagging, moaning, and whining while attempting to bob your head in time with his thrusts. It didn’t work out that way. Spencer craved control, that was why he even worked with Elle in the first place. He’d spent years being the shy guy who had no idea what to do or wanted to hold back. Now however, he had no remorse as he had you crying from him fucking your throat raw. Much to your dismay, you were being roughly yanked off of his cock by your hair.

“There’s no way in hell that I’m wasting my cum in your mouth. You’re gonna have to take it in that desperate little pussy of yours. Bet you’d like the idea of me filling you up, marking you as mine. You know.. I bet you’d like me to fuck my load deep inside of you, get you pregnant? Then what would you do? You’d be stuck with me.” He smirked. He did like the idea of that. The idea of you being quiet and keeping him and Elle safe due to the fact you were filled with his child? It was enough to make his cock twitch.

“Get up. Get on the bed.” He ordered. He could order you around but he knew Elle wouldn’t follow his instructions. “Why don’t you sit on her face? Keep her whore mouth shut so the neighbors don’t think she’s getting murdered in here.” He suggested, the woman not needing to be told twice as she was shedding off her robe along with her pants and panties, not wasting any time to roughly shove your body back into your bed. “Gonna suffocate you with my pussy. I bet you would like that, wouldn’t you? To go out desperately licking and sucking on my cunt?” Elle and Spencer were both filthy talkers. That was for damn sure.

With your body falling against the plush mattress, you barely had time to react before the other woman was setting herself over your face. “I can’t wait to make a mess out of that pretty face.” She mused, waiting for Spencer to get situated before the two shared a glance while the male was getting between your legs, his hand coming down to give your pussy a smack while eliciting a squeak out of you. The sting hurt a little too good, the male taking note as he gave two more smacks before his hand was gripping his cock. He gave himself a few lazy tugs before getting situated, his cock slowly pushing into you. As much as he would’ve loved to split you open, he wasn’t planning on killing you nor seriously hurting you. His generosity was appreciated, even if that generosity didn’t last all too long.

The minute you had Elle’s soaked cunt hovering over your face, your hands were gripping her thighs as your tongue was flicking over her clit, relishing in the hint of her sweet essence. It wasn’t too long for her to take control though, all her weight being put onto your face as she was rolling her hips against your mouth, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as Spencer had pulled out and roughly slammed into your pussy again.

Both of the people you feared so much earlier were using you like a fuck toy, Spencer pounding deep into your cunt while Elle was riding your tongue as you attempted to tongue fuck her, however the moans being muffled into her warmth from the assault on your pussy made it just a little difficult to focus. “Fuck. I think we may have to keep her locked up. Use this little whore for whatever we need her for. Especially after these stressful fucking days.” Spencer panted out.

Your body was nothing more than a toy, begging to be used and abused by the two psychopaths who seemingly pulled you into their spell.

Your second and final orgasm of the night was building with each rough thrust that Spencer granted you with, your face a mess from the sounds of you licking and sucking at Elle’s desperate pussy, the other woman moaning and demanding more out of you, as if that were possible. “Fuck. Wanna be filled with my cum, slut? I promise that you’re gonna be mine. Gonna mark you the only way I know how.” The feeling of your pussy clenching tightly around his cock was all he needed, ropes or his cum painting your inner walls, you were pretty sure he painted your womb just as much. Pulling his softening cock out of you, he was inspecting the damage. Your pretty cunt was glistening, cum just begging to come out as it ran down your inner thighs and onto your bedsheets.

As your tongue was lapping and desperately sucking at the woman’s clit, it wasn’t long until you could feel her creamy arousal paint your mouth area, even rubbing down to your neck as she was pushing her body off of you to fall back against the mattress. You were beyond fucked out, eyes closing as your chest rose and fell at an unsteady pace as you made an effort to catch your breath. “You know..” Elle began while glancing at Spencer, who’d already been pulling his clothes back on.

“I feel like you’re onto something with us taking her.” She commented, the two looking down at you as if they were predators and you were their helpless prey.

“Oh. She’s definitely coming with us.”

[wardengrill]

TV Appreciation Week 2024 - Day 5 : Favourite season of a tv show ↪ Criminal Minds Season 8

Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery

[webbluvrsugar]

BEGGING TO BE USED.

SPENCER REID - KINKTOBER 24 — OCT.7TH — M.LIST.

cw: chocking, unsub x spencer

Spencer was mad.

Mad in the sense that he’s just gotten out of jail and he’s already feeling like an unsub again after just a few fucking months.

Mad in the since that he wants to kill you for what you’ve done to him.

He knows you’re the unsub, he’s cracked your codes, he’s followed you, he knows it’s you. But the team doesn’t really believe their boy genius anymore because of all that happened, and also because they think it’s insane, he’s had a hyper fixation on you every since he got out and they think he’s just including you in every case they get, and well, he is but — he knows you’re behind it, he just doesn’t have enough evidence to prove it yet!

So he does the most sane thing he could do after all that time of torture in jail, he manages to find you, get on a date with you and pretend he doesn’t know, manages to get in the elevator to your apartment — what a fool — you’re probably thinking, he’ll show you the fool.

As soon as he walks in and the door is shut, both hands are on your throat, pushing you against the wall and making sure you’re out of breath.

He almost feels bad for you, god, he doesn’t even feel like himself, he’d never put a hand on a woman, he’s never done this, but it’s pleasing, it’s nice to punish you for making him look like a fool, because he knows it’s you, you’re tricking him, you and your skimpy black dress that basically forces him to watch your ass every step you take, you did it on purpose, probably.

“S — Spencer..” you beg, pathetically almost, he’s not fucking falling for it.

“Shut up! You know what you’ve done, you think I don’t know?” He squeezes, almost lifts you up a tiny bit, you whimper at the feeling, his calloused hands on your throat are bringing you way more pleasure than they should, specially in this context. “You think I don’t know you’re behind those killings?”

“What are you t..talking about?!” You try to mask it, hands moving to his so they can try and push them down, you have no success, he slightly slams you a little more against the wall.

“Who were they?! Your boyfriends?!” You don’t say anything, he leans closer, brows furrowing in anger. “Tell me.”

“You’ll never prove it.” You chuckle, laugh in his face almost, you can feel the lack of air and the way his fingers are positioned triggering that sweet feeling of pleasure, you have to swallow a moan almost.

Spencer notices it tho, he might be completely insane but he’s still a profiler, he can tell you like it, it’s almost obvious with the way your brows slightly scrunch up. So he releases a little bit of the pressure, teases that sensitive spot in your neck with his thumb.

“I will.” He reaffirms, his face so close you can smell him.

“Yeah?” A giggle. “How, pretty boy?” You tease him, the nickname feels foreign, it almost angers him, but this time, he tries to keep his cool.

“You’re gonna confess.” He says, no, threatens, and you could laugh in his face right now, you’re never confessing to some serial killings you’ve worked so hard to cover.

“You’re crazy, you think I’m going to walk in there and confess to be a serial killer —“ your words stop when one of his hands let go of your neck, it slowly goes down slightly before his fingertips are peering at the pad of your bra, you don’t make a move to push him, you almost freeze as he drags his hand further down.

His hand cups your breast, two fingers toy with your nipple, slightly squeeze.

“Yes. You. Will.” He tightens the hold in your neck.

A few days later, you turn yourself in.

taglist: @waltzthing @stayonmars @baileebear @highkeyinlovewithhanjisung @cheeziebeanz @emma-e-a

[fortheloveofwonderland]

Midnight | Chapter 4 | S.R

Previous Chapter

Chapter Summary - as you come to learn the truth about Spencer’s activities you also discover he knows more about your past than you’d realised. And he’s willing to use it against you in order to pull you over to the dark side.

A/N - Chapter title from the Set it Off album “Duality”. Song lyrics at the end of the chapter.

Pairing - unsub! Spencer Reid / Fem! Reader

Category - dark angst | smut | very eventual happy ending

Warnings - blood, mentions of rapists and murderers, mentions of Scratch and the Crimson King, death of a family member, swearing.

WC - 5.1k

Chapter Four - Duality

The antique clock on the mantle chimed twelve times, offering the otherwise silent room a momentary reprieve. The tension was so thick it felt as though it were smothering you, but you didn’t have any words to even begin your line of questioning. 

You were sitting in the old leather armchair, staring at the front door which Spencer had locked, bolted and dead locked. Even if you could jump up and make a run for it, by the time you’d worked your way through the locks he would have caught you. 

Spencer sat opposite you on the couch, still wearing his bloodstained shirt. Your gun and his knife were next to him. He’d taken your cell phone too which sat on his other side. 

It had only been three weeks since you’d last seen him, since he’d walked out of the BAU but he appeared changed beyond recognition. His eyes weren’t those friendly, kind ones you’d grown so used to but instead held a kind of darkness you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. He seemed older somehow, like leaving the FBI had aged him. 

But it was his attire that threw you the most. The usually smartly dressed doctor was sitting in front of you in jeans and t-shirt, more casual than you’d ever seen him. It was kind of eerie. You knew who this man in front of you was, but you also had no idea. 

Neither of you had said another word since he’d dragged you from the alleyway the silence stretched like a chasm between you. In reality he was right in front of you, but yet he felt a million miles away. 

The quiet was killing you, you knew you had to speak, to ask one of the hundreds of questions on your tongue but you had no idea where to start, or if you even wanted an explanation. 

He kept his eyes on you, as if afraid you might try to escape. Is that what this was? Were you being held captive? Would he ever let you go? 

Luke thought you’d been going home, no one would have any reason to suspect you’d be here. But your phone had GPS and even if Spencer turned the device off now the last place it would have pinged would have been here. 

But of course if Spencer planned on hurting you he would take care of that, he was a seasoned FBI agent after all. If he wanted to make sure no one knew you’d been here, he’d have no trouble doing it. 

Eventually, not long after a glance at the clock told you it was ten minutes past midnight, you exhaled and forced yourself to break the silence. 

“Spencer?” 

He seemed a little startled by your voice and he blinked rapidly as though you’d woken him up from a deep sleep. He looked dazed for a moment or two before he snapped himself out of it. 

“Yes?” His fingers wandered over the butt of your gun, caressing the grooves. 

“Who’s blood is that?” You were surprised you managed to keep your voice steady when asking such a question.

Spencer glanced down at his shirt like he’d forgotten it was covered in blood. He frowned a little as though wasn’t sure of the answer to that. 

When he looked back at you he appeared much less confused, his eyes practically black. At that moment you were scared of Spencer. 

“He was a man called Taylor Gardener.” He continued fingering the gun. “He started as a peeping Tom before he escalated to breaking into women’s apartments and raping them. Eventually he moved onto murder. He killed three women and the cops knew he did it but they couldn’t prove it.”

You felt your stomach turning, understanding the nuances of what wasn’t being said. The fear rose in your throat in the form of bile and you had to sit on your hands so Spencer wouldn’t see they were shaking. 

“You said was. Past tense.” You swallowed thickly. “Spencer, is he dead?”

“Yes.” He replied simply. 

“Did you…did you kill him?” Honestly you didn’t want to answer to that but maybe you needed it. 

You prayed he would say no, give you a reasonable explanation for why he was covered in a dead man’s blood. But you already knew the answer. 

“Yes.” He shrugged. “And cards on the table, he wasn’t the first.” 

You felt like the room was suddenly spinning around you, as though you were spiralling into a black hole, a parallel universe maybe. Because that was the only explanation, right? That you’d found yourself in an alternate reality. The Spencer you knew wasn’t a murderer. 

“Who was?” You found yourself asking but again you didn’t know you wanted an answer to that. 

“Rico Hernandez. He was a nurse at George Washington University Hospital. He was also an Angel of Death responsible for killing six patients who didn’t have life threatening illnesses. They were never going to die until they found themselves under his care.” He pushed himself to his feet now, grabbing up the gun and knife and tucking them in his waistband. 

He walked past you, leaving your cell phone on the couch as he headed towards the window. You looked at the device, wondering if you could get to it in time without him realising. Doubtful.

You turned in your seat and watched him glance out of the window down onto the street. The moon above illuminated half of his face in an almost ethereal glow. But the other half was cast in shadow. It was somewhat poetic, showcasing the duality of man, the good and the evil. 

Maybe Spencer had always been harbouring this side of him which he’d managed to keep hidden all these years, tucked away into the darkest recesses of his mind. Maybe prison had banished the light and let his dark side come to the surface. But surely he still understood that even if those men technically deserved it, what he’d done was still wrong. 

“You know killing them makes you no better than them, right? Murder is murder, Spencer.” 

He suddenly spun back to face you, eyes somehow blacker than before. His eyebrows were furrowed heavily at you in anger. 

“I’ve never killed an innocent person.” He spat, taking a few strides away from the window. “Those men were sick. And the police did nothing about it. And even if they did, so they go to prison, they’ll get out. And then they’ll be free to kill again. Death is what they deserved.”

“You were an FBI agent! You know you can’t take justice into your own hands like that. You have to let the law work in its own way.” You jumped up as he got closer to you. 

“Oh please. You can’t tell me you’ve never wanted to kill an unsub we’ve been chasing. Everyone is capable of murder, some just take a harder push in that direction. I guarantee if you asked anyone at the BAU they would tell you they’d thought about it at least once.” He came close to you, towering over you as if to intimidate you. 

“Thinking about it and acting upon it are two very different things and you know that.” You straightened your back.

“Alvez would have killed Daniel Cullen if I hadn’t been there. Hell I still think he pushed Scratch off that ledge.” Spencer scoffed.

“He did not push Scratch.” 

“I would have. I’m sure Emily would have too after what he put her through. And I know you would have as well.” 

“That’s not true. I didn’t want him to die, I wanted him in prison.” 

Spencer started chuckling dryly, shaking his head as he took a step back. He briefly glanced away from you but when he looked back you saw the evil pouring from his eyes. 

“What about Duncan Green? Would you kill him if you had the chance?” He snarled as he spoke, knowing the exact effect his words would have on you.

As expected your mouth fell open and you stumbled backwards as though his words had delivered a physical blow. They may as well have as you felt the air leave your lungs. Spencer had a menacing smirk forming on his face, smug that he had found your one Achilles heel. 

You closed your mouth and clenched your jaw, feeling a pit forming in your stomach hearing that name out loud after so many years. How did Spencer know about that? How long had Spencer known? Had he really become so cruel that he would bring that up now? 

You couldn’t form any words to respond, gobsmacked that he would throw that in your face. You just stared dumbly at him and so he spoke again. 

“That was why you transferred to the Fugitive Task Force, right? When he escaped from prison.” He folded his arms across his chest, the smug smirk growing by the second. 

A part of you wanted to slap it right off of his face. But he had a knife and your gun. 

“How do you know about that?” Your voice was low and croaky, unlike any sound you’d ever heard from your lips. 

“The same way I knew about Taylor Gardener and Rico Hernandez. I read case files.” 

“You…you read my file?” You shook your head in complete shock. “You had no right to do that!” 

“Duncan Green was a campus security officer at Temple University in Philadelphia. Your hometown.” 

“Stop. Stop it, you don’t get to talk about him.” You took a few steps backwards but Spencer walked towards you. 

“He raped and murdered ten university students before he was caught. His final victim he killed right in front of Gideon, did you know that?” He kept advancing on you and backed up until your back collided with a wall. 

“Of c-course I knew that.” You swallowed, scared that Spencer was actually going to hurt you. 

“The BAU arrested him, and he was sentenced to ten counts of murder in the first degree. He should have been in prison for life, but we both know how that worked out.” He was so close you could smell the metallic blood on his shirt, the coffee on his breath. “You must have been, what? Sixteen at the time he was arrested?”

“Seventeen.” You corrected him, swallowing a lump in your throat. 

“Seventeen years old.” He mused curiously. “How much did they tell you?”

“Enough. They spared me the gory details. I found out the rest when I was older.” You tried to keep your voice measured as best you could. 

“Such a brutal way for a seventeen year old to lose her sister. Gideon had a photo of her in his office, he said her eyes never stopped haunting him. The way she knew he couldn’t save her.” Spencer was enjoying this and you could tell. He placed one hand on the wall right next to your face. “I recognised you when you joined the BAU from her photograph. You look just like her.” 

“So I’ve heard.” You swallowed again. “What is the point of this, Spencer? Why are you bringing up my sister's murder?” 

“I’m getting there.” He smirked, like it was some kind of sick game to him. “You joined the FBI, I imagine because you wanted to stop people like Duncan Green. And when he broke out of prison you found out the Fugitive Task Force was hunting him down so you found a way in.”

“You seem to already know the whole story.” 

“Did it destroy you to know you couldn’t help find him? Conflict of interest, bureaucratic BS.” He edged his face closer to you. 

“Of course I wanted to hunt him down but like you said it was a conflict of interest. So I worked to capture any other fugitives I could while the rest of the team hunted Green.” 

“The rest of the team being Alvez and Phil Brooks?” Spencer raised his eyebrow at you. 

“They were tasked to hunt him, yes.” You nodded. 

“But they never could find him.” Spencer pulled a face. “To this day he’s still out there. Your sister’s murderer is out there living his life while she’ll never get to grow up. That’s not fair, is it, Y/N?”

“Of course it isn’t fair.” You spat, and in a sudden surge of confidence shoved Spencer backwards by his shoulders. “She was my best friend! We may have been two years apart in age but we were more like twins! I loved her and Duncan Green took her away from me.” 

“Which leads me to the point I was trying to make.” He didn’t seem perturbed by being pushed, simply straightened himself up and shook it off. “If you were to find him, you can’t stand there and tell me you would arrest him after what he did to your sister, after what he put your family through. You would have killed him and you would have slept well.” 

You tried to keep your expression neutral so he wouldn’t know that he was right. But the truth was, if you ever found Duncan Green, you would kill him without hesitation. 

Your parents had never been the same after your sister's death, admittedly neither had you. Losing her had been like losing a piece of yourself. You’d never been satisfied with him being in prison, people like him deserved…they deserved…

Fuck, Spencer was right. People like Duncan Green deserved to be dead. 

Spencer saw the exact moment you came to that realisation and he stood back, a wicked grin on his lips. He knew you understood. He saw it in your eyes that you understood what he was doing. 

“You get it now.” He nodded in satisfaction. “So many of these assholes are free to walk the streets, to hurt innocent people, all because of the bullshit that is the burden of proof. Lack of evidence. Witnesses or victims unwilling to come forward. If I can get rid of even just a few of these scumbags, I’m making the world a better place. If I could have taken care of Green back then before he hurt your sister, I would have done. But if you let me continue on my mission, if you don’t turn me in, I promise you I will make it my life’s goal to find him and end his life.” 

You narrowed your eyes on Spencer, taking in his words. You inhaled sharply, straightening your back again and pulling at all the bravado you could muster. 

“No.” You shook your head, determination in your voice. “I want you to find him so I can end his life.” 

Spencer’s grin grew until it was completely encompassing his face. He looked almost proud, certainly impressed, maybe even a little…turned on? 

“I think you and I could make a great team, Y/N.” He came closer, proffering his hand towards you. “What do you say?” 

You looked between his hand that he expected you to shake and his eyes a few times. It felt like you could well be making a deal with the devil. If you shook his hand you were changing sides, from good to evil. If you agreed to this, you were letting Spencer pull you down into the darkness with him and there would be no possible way to claw yourself back. If you did this, it would be you and Spencer against the world. 

Maybe you’d lost a piece of your sanity when Spencer had reminded you of your past, because it was insane to even be considering joining him on this vigilante mission. But when it came to Duncan Green and your sister’s death, sanity went out the window. 

Duality was simply ingrained in the fabric of human nature. Ignorance is a condition of learning. Pain is a condition of health. And as such, death is a condition of life. 

You swallowed down all rational thought as you lifted your hand, slipped it in Spencer’s and shook. He was grinning delightedly at you, and you could only hope you hadn’t sold your soul in the process. 

***

Spencer unsurprisingly didn’t let you go home. He locked you in his bedroom from the outside while he slept on the couch. He still didn’t trust you entirely, didn’t believe that given half a chance you wouldn’t flee and turn him in. 

You knew trust had to be earnt, especially in a situation as delicate as this. If truth be told you weren’t even sure if you were completely on board. 

After having slept on it you knew this was an absolutely absurd idea. Law enforcement was your life’s work, surely you couldn’t so easily cross that line into deviance? But Spencer had dangled a carrot in front of you in the form of Duncan Green and in all honesty you’d do just about anything to make that man pay for what he’d taken from your family. 

Maybe Spencer was right, maybe that darkness did live inside of everyone, but it was frightening how quick yours was to come to the surface. 

Being a former Fugitive Task Force agent you had provisions set aside, an escape route in case things ever required it. It was Luke who had aided you in setting up a storage facility in which you kept an arsenal of weapons and at least ten thousand dollars in cash. He didn’t know the location of yours, the same way you didn’t know where his was. It was completely untraceable, even from the likes of Penelope Garcia. 

You allowed Spencer to talk you into sharing the information over breakfast although it really hadn’t taken much. And so you found yourself in the passenger’s seat of Spencer’s Volvo, which had seen much better days, as he drove the two of you down to Lynchburg, Virginia where you kept your cache. 

The choice of Lynchburg had been as simple as you had no ties there, it couldn’t be traced back to you. The weapons and money would be a huge aid in allowing him to fly under the radar and not leave any traces behind. 

He bypassed the bigger, more destructive weapons and chose two handguns, a .38 special Colt Cobra Revolver which was small enough to tuck into the side of his boot and a slightly larger .45 auto SIG Sauer P227, which he slid into the back of his trousers. He had you hide the cash in your purse, along with two of the disposable cell phones. He also found the envelope full of information on a guy who could knock up some of the best fake passports and licences in little to no time. 

You drove back up through Virginia to meet with the man in question. You forked over a fair amount of your cash to procure you and Spencer new identification, passports in case you needed to leave the country and Colorado drivers licences in the names of Rose and Andrew Burnett. 

You didn’t question where Spencer was going when he started back down south after you procured your IDs and not back towards DC. It seemed as though you had become completely complicit in this and you couldn’t entirely understand why. It was as though he’d hypnotised you somehow, brainwashed you into becoming his willing partner in crime. 

Everything was happening so fast that you barely had time to stop and think about what it was you were agreeing to. What was his plan? Now you had weapons and money and new IDs, where did you go from here? Were the two of you supposed to just run away together on some kind of vigilante killing spree? 

You couldn’t explain it but it was like in mentioning Duncan Green he’d unlocked a side of you that you hadn’t known existed. He’d unmasked your evil desires hidden so deep you didn’t realise they had been manifesting since your sister’s murder. And now the box was open and the monster had been unleashed, surely there was no going back. 

He drove you out to a wooded area near the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains where he killed the engine and exited the car. By the time you followed him out, he was rummaging in the trunk. 

You probably should have been surprised when he pulled out a canister of gasoline but for some reason you weren’t. You stood by dumbly while he opened the car doors and doused the inside with the accelerant until it was sopping wet. 

With the last remaining drops, he made a trail from the car to several feet back. Again you followed him blindly. Once the can was empty, he dropped it on the floor and turned to you with a smile. 

“Are you ready to run?” He asked you as he retrieved a box of matches from his pocket. 

“Uh…sure.” You nodded although you weren’t sure you were. 

But you didn’t have a chance to think about it as Spencer was striking the match against the side of the box before tossing it in the direction of the gas trail. 

You heard the sound of the liquid igniting moments before Spencer grabbed you by the hand and the two of you started running. Leaves crunched under foot and you had to dodge in and out of trees as Spencer pulled you along with him. Usually you would have run a lot faster but for some reason your legs wouldn’t comply. 

After around a minute of running the explosion echoed around the baron woods, making you squeak a little in shock even though you’d known it was coming. Spencer chuckled as he continued to tug you forward. 

And for whatever reason, running from that burning vehicle with Spencer’s hand clutching yours, was the most excitement you’d ever had in your life. 

***

Andrew Burnett bought a cheap, used Nissan with cash from a lot just a few miles from the Blue Ridge foothills. He and his wife Rose were driving it away a half hour after stepping foot onto the forecourt. 

He got about half way back to DC before you finally found your voice for the first time that day and you turned to him in your seat. 

“What’s the plan here, Spencer?” You fiddled with your hands in your lap. 

You noticed him glance at you out of the corner of his eye while he drove, putting his foot down and swerving into the left lane to overtake a string of trucks in his way. 

“I’m taking you back to your apartment to pack some things. Then we’ll go back to mine so I get a few bits and then we’ll hit the road. We’re travelling light, you only need to bring the essentials.” He kept his focus out of the windscreen. 

“Ok, but I think you’re overlooking the part that I can’t just disappear without a trace. The team is expecting me at Quantico tomorrow and if I don’t show up they will come looking for me.” 

You watched as his brow furrowed. Clearly in all the other plans he’d been making in his head, that had been an oversight. 

“You’re going to call Emily, tell her that effective immediately you are resigning. Tell her you’re needed back in Philadelphia, your mom’s sick. Or your dad, it doesn’t matter. But it's an emergency and you have to leave.” He thought on his feet. It was a good idea but it wasn’t without its flaws. 

“She will want my firearm and my creds.” You picked at a hangnail on your index finger, keeping your eyes on the side of Spencer’s face and the way it contorted in annoyance.

“I can’t trust you to meet up with anyone.” He flexed his fingers around the wheel.

“Really? After everything I’ve done for you today?” You scoffed. 

“Trust is earnt, Y/N.” He clenched his jaw.

“Then let me earn it. Let me go to the BAU tomorrow morning and hand my badge and gun in. That way I can see Luke too, because trust me when I say he will never leave me alone if I try to walk away without saying goodbye to him.” You pleaded with Spencer to see sense. If this was going to work, if the two of you were going to make a clean break there were certain things that needed to be done. 

He turned his head to you briefly, eyes dark and eyebrows pulled down into a deep frown. But it was fleeting and soon he was turning back to the road. 

“What is the deal with you and Luke?” He surprised you when he asked.

“The deal?” 

“Oh come on, I’m a profiler.” He clucked. “The two of you are close, closer than friends.”

“Not true.” You rolled your eyes. “I mean yeah, we’re close but we are friends. We went through a lot on the FTF and I guess it kind of bonds you.” 

“Oh please, you aren’t that good of a liar. There’s a tension between the two of you.” 

“Jealous?” You found yourself asking even though you hadn’t meant to.

Spencer shot you another look, this time you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He turned back to the road once more and his hands tightened around the steering wheel. 

“What if I was?” He spoke quietly, so quietly in fact you struggled to hear him over the hum of the engine and the rumble of the tires as they sped down the highway. 

You didn’t know what to say to that, was there anything you could say to that? All these years you’d just thought Spencer saw you as a friend, as an ally, someone who understood him. Surely if there had been more to it you would have noticed. 

You were trained to pick up on the intricacies of human behaviour, you didn’t believe you could have missed something like that. But before you could comprehend what he’d said or form a reply, he was speaking again, effectively changing the subject. 

“Fine, tomorrow you will go to the BAU, you will tell Emily exactly what I said and hand over your gun and credentials. You can explain to Luke you’re going back to Philadelphia and then you will get out of there. I will be parked around the corner, you will have your phone in your pocket and I will be on the other end listening to everything you say. If you give even the slightest indication of betraying me I will flee and trust me when I say you will never find me. The only other time I see you will be when I come back to kill you. Do you understand?” 

You swallowed thickly at the firmness of his voice and found yourself nodding your head. You were embarrassed to admit that despite the content of his words, his tone had sent a heat spreading between your legs. There was something incredibly arousing about the way he regarded you. 

Fuck, what is happening to me? 

“Y/N,” he spoke again after you were silent for some time. “I asked you a question, it’s polite to answer. I said, do you understand?” 

“Yes.” You croaked. “Yes I do.” 

And even if you couldn’t explain it, you did understand. You understood not just Spencer’s demands, but everything about this situation. You understood on a deep seated level that you would undoubtedly follow Spencer to the ends of the earth. You acknowledge that you would happily take the place of Bonnie to his Clyde. You were accepting the inherent nature of duality and realising that good and evil sometimes went hand in hand. 

No one was entirely pure, the same way no one was entirely bad. In order for the world to turn, there needed to be both in equal measure. Solace and chaos. Security and danger. Pleasure and pain. Righteous and sinful. 

Together you and Spencer would toll that line and you understood now as he sped down the highway, that this was your destiny. To be here by Spencer’s side as he embarked upon this new adventure, was where you were always fated to be. 

I can't quite contain or explain my evil ways,

Or explain why I'm not sane,

All I can say is this is your warning.

I can't quite contain or explain my evil ways,

Or explain why I'm not sane,

All I can say is this is your warning.

Duality.

I have a confession that you will not believe,

That you could not perceive this freak, gonna set it off.

I have a confession, of a side that I hide,

It's a cloak or disguise unleashed, gonna get it off.

No, I'll never get away,

Cause if I try to stray,

It only holds me closer.

No, I'll never get away,

I'll have it anyway.

I'll never stop.

I can't quite contain or explain my evil ways,

Or explain why I'm not sane,

All I can say is this is your warning.

I can't quite contain or explain my evil ways,

Or explain why I'm not sane,

All I can say is this is your warning. 

Duality.

Du-duality.

Du-duality.

I have an impression, in the back of my mind,

For the black in my tie contains our dirty thoughts.

Make me an obsession, when you lock me inside,

For the ride of your life unleashed, gonna get it off.

No, can't count the list of things,

I know are wrong with me.

No need to justify them,

No, I'll never take the blame.

So I'll just stay the same,

I'll never stop.

I can't quite contain or explain my evil ways,

Or explain why I'm not sane,

All I can say is this is your warning.

I can't quite contain or explain my evil ways,

Or explain why I'm not sane,

All I can say is this is your warning.

Duality.

Du-duality.

Du-duality.

I am good, I am evil.

I am solace, I am chaos.

I am human, and that's all I've ever wanted to be.

No, can't count the list of things,

I know are wrong with me.

No need to just keep fighting,

No, I'll never get away,

I'll have it anyway.

I'll never stop.

I can't quite contain or explain my evil ways,

Or explain why I'm not sane,

All I can say is this is your warning.

I can't quite contain or explain my evil ways,

Or explain why I'm not sane,

All I can say is this is your warning.

Duality.

Du-duality.

Du-duality.

Next Chapter

Taglist

@muffin-cup @andiebeaword @measure-in-pain @takeyourleap-of-faith @dirtytissuebox @ssa-uglywhore27 @dreatine @dr-spencerr-reidd @radtwinkie @drayshadow @this-is-doctor-and-its-calm @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @people-whatabunchofbastards @justreadingficsdontmindme @dielgonacoffee @hotchandspencearedilfs @spencer-reid-wonderland @thebloomingeagle

[certifiedlovergirlsstuff]

stalker!reader/unsub!reader for spencer reid

tw: mentions of blood, graphic descriptions of murder, usual CM gore, suicide.

-noticing him one day when he was at your job for a case asking questions about a victim/killer. i’m gonna say season 4 reid (before he gets shot in the leg). you were stuck to the shadows just observing him and his colleague when boom! his eyes meet yours and you feel a spark, your body tingles. he noticed you.

-he walks away from his colleague who was talking with your boss, towards you, hands in his pockets and this long wavy hair swaying with his motions. he stopped three steps away from you and said, “hello, i’m doctor reid, with the fbi. i was wondering if i could ask some questions about…” his voice was deep and smooth, he pulled you into a hypnotic trance. you just nodded and answered his questions honestly.

-he came back a second time, just saying that the case was over. that was it, you weren’t even personally involved, but he came back for you. he must’ve felt that same spark, that pull to someone magnetic. he even gave you his card and said, “if you even are in area or in need of help, just ask for me.” now how could you not be obsessed with that man after that.

-so you started to follow all the cases the fbi or bau was mentioned, hoping for a glimpse of the names spencer or dr. reid. you kept a folder of photos captured of him from news footage or newspaper articles, red inked hearts circled his head while anyone else was harshly scrubbed away in black ink. his gentle smiles or lovely eyes pierced at your heart each time, it was slowly bleeding into your lungs filling you up to suffocation. you need spencer reid.

-when cases went quiet you started to search relentlessly for him online. you forced yourself to ingest every thesis paper he’s ever written and watch any lecture that was posted. he drew you in with the wave of his hands or how he would ramble then bring himself back to the topic at hand. how you wanted to pick his brain, just sit and listen to him for hours taking about anything he’s stored away.

-it’s been a year since that case. you miss him, you want him in your grasp. maybe you should put that business card to use and just call it, that’d be a lot easier. so you mustered up the courage, pulling the card from your wallet and dialing his number you breathed slowly and pressed call. the line rang three times before it picked up and you heard his voice, “dr. reid, how can i help?”

“uh, this is y/n…” he said he’d remember you so you just gave your name for recognition. the line was quiet for three seconds and you could hear some faint chatter on his end before he responded, “i’m sorry, i- i don’t seem to-“ and you hung up the call before he could break your heart further. he lied.

-it was like you just went through a breakup for a relationship that wasn’t even real. your bleeding heart completely cracked and spilled like fire through your veins. spencer reid is going to regret ever forgetting you and his promise. so you started to do some studying, researching past cases with the bau involved, looking for inspiration from convicted killers

-you find some that were unique but still easy to accomplish with your own physic in play. most of these killers were men, stronger and taller than you. you start to craft your calling cards, poems and roses, anything symbolic to a relationship and heartbreak. you’re nervous your first night on the hunt. you decide to go a bar and wait for someone to make their way into your web.

-you’d dance on them and kiss them, closing your eyes shut and imagining this it what spencer would taste like, how his hands trailing over your curves would release butterflies in your belly. his breath ghosting along your pulse before sucking a bruise into your skin. “wanna get out of here?” seductive eyes watching your toy nod and drag you behind him out the club, heading to his place.

-the make out session was hot and getting steamy, pushing him in the direction of his bedroom. you played the kinky card, “gonna tie you up and gag you, be a good boy.” left in nothing but his boxers he was bond and gagged. playing a teasing game you left him alone while looking for some type of weapon. pulling a pair of black gloves from your clutch and the pointiest knife from a drawer you dragged yourself back to his bed, straddling him at the waist, keeping your hands behind your back. “you’ve made this night very special. wanna know why?” playing coy while pulling the gag down from a second.

the toy cocked a brow with a shit eating smirk, “of course, doll face.” his eyes dropping to your chest and it caused you to grimace. “you’re the first victim of many.” whispered as you slid the fabric back into his mouth

“wait wh-“ muffled when you stabbed him with an angered forced into his heart. his screams were still loud but with music playing in the background and his mouth full, no one would be the wiser.

-you called in sick for the next few days, needing to be consistent for the bau to be called in. you’d go to clubs or even strip clubs, any place that’d have willing men bring you home preying on you while you were the pretender. you kept the killings pretty simple, just stabs to the heart and letting them bleed out, you started to draw heart on their walls from their blood, the red turning black when drying. and finally before leaving a folded note with a poem or a piece of your soul written out was safety pinned to their skin.

-the news started to call you ‘the heartbreak killer’ stupid, but they always wanted to give killers case names. adding a new flare to your lastest kill, you’ve scattered red and white rose petals over their body and a ruby red kiss to their cheek. your fifth victim in a week period. you had a hunger for it now, killing gave you an adrenaline rush that was better than any rollercoaster or scary movie, you vibrate with excitement each night. you started dressing more bolder, wearing wigs even, making sure you stood out for anyone that was connected to your toy of the night.

- “we’ve called in the fbi behavior analysis unit to help us find this serial killer. with them here we plan to catch them before there is another victim.” goosebumps scattered over your forearms hearing the sheriff’s announcement. finally, he’s here. your spencer reid came for you. “in do time, my love. we’ll be reunited properly.”

-you took a sixth life the night they arrived, wanting them to know your usual stalking grounds. it would be easier to ‘accidentally’ bump into spencer, rather than actively search him out. so the next day you dressed down, wanting to look more normal, become a wallflower. you were nursing a drink in a shaded corner with watching eyes surveying the crowed hoping to see the tall dr. reid. “uh, excuse me, miss.” your heart skipped a beat, it recognized his voice even over the thumping music rattling your skull.

you turned his way casually and said, “you’re very pretty,” sipping on the black straw of your soda. spencer smiled hesitantly and floundered for a response, “uh tha- thank you. i’m dr. spencer reid i work with the fbi-“ he flashed his badge and you caught a glimpse of a younger photo, “there’s been a series of murders in the area and we suspect the killer visits here. have you seen anything suspicious lately?”

your nostrils flared, he still didn’t remember you not even face to face. “well all men are suspicious in clubs,” dulled chuckles at your retort. you saw spencer’s eyebrows quirked, “are- are you by yourself?” he sounded concerned for a stranger, but you weren’t a stranger. “yeah, my friends left me a few hours ago but i just didn’t want to go home yet.” shrugging him off.

he licked his lips, “well i’d suggest not visiting his establishment for the time being.” “but all her victims are men, so i’m safe. but thanks for the concern, nice to meet you doctor.” and you left the crowded bar with a smirk knowing you gave him a hint.

-you went to work the following day, just telling your coworkers you came down with food poisoning and needed and extra day to recover. they cooed over you but you knew most of them didn’t care, its fine you weren’t planning to stay here forever like most. you were cleaning tables and fixing displays when there was a tap to your shoulder. brittany, a coworker, pointed over her shoulder and said, “there’s a spencer reid here to see you. says he’s with the fbi.” you had to repress your smile.

“dr. reid, pleasure to see you again.” a welcoming smile and open posture. he cocked his head, “i- i remember you. from last year…” it’s like you could see his gears turning and clicking things into place. you didn’t bother denying anything just saying, “wow, what a great memory you have.”

his round eyes stared into your soul, “eidetic memory. you called me a month ago…” now you showed confusion, “no i didn’t. sadly lost your card, but i’m safe. we should have dinner while you’re here.” being bold.

spencer nodded his head, “that sounds nice. tomorrow night works for me, i could meet you here.” he seemed excited to have a romantic date with you. your heart raced, “it’s a date.” and you headed back to your work.

-you changed into date appropriate clothing once you clocked out and waited five minutes outside before you saw the tall spencer reid walking up to your side. he had a sweater vest over a button up with a tie around his neck, his gun wasn’t holstered to his hip for the night and his hair was a bit wind swept. you could eat him up.

“bet you have a bunch of girls after you while away on cases.” walking beside him when he suggested an chinese restaurant just down the block. he chuckled, oh your heart stuttered at the melody, “not really. most people don’t like my… personality.” sneaking a glance at you.

“well they’re missing out, but happy since i’m the lucky girl at your side.” looping an arm through his and pulling his close so you could lean your head onto his bicep. “i’ve dreamed of this since you left.” sighing into the air then pressing a kiss to his fabric covered skin, later you’ll get to taste him.

- “i have a question for you.” it’s been an hour into your date, stomach filled with delicious food and effortless conversation. you nodded at spencer to go forward. “at the bar you said the unsub was a women, what made you think that? no sex has been mentioned in the news yet.”

you pursed your lips in thought, “well, stabs to the heart seems emotionally personal. and the hearts in blood and rose petals, along with her leaving love poems. only a hopeless romantic that was horribly heartbroken would do this art.” slurping noodles into your mouth for punctuation. you weren’t trying to hide your truth, “it was the only way to get your attention.”

- “my attention?” spencer questioned. “well, i’ve missed you and when i tried calling-“ “so that was you.” “and you lied about remembering me!” slamming a fist onto the tabletop forcing it to shake. you leaned in close, “i thought we had something special. you didn’t bother trying to reach me in anyway and i’ve stayed updated with your career.”

“i- im sorry, y/n. my job is just very demanding. i would’ve reached out. i- i didn’t think you felt the way i did.” spencer stretched a hand over the table and rested it atop yours, his long fingers curling along your wrist.

“oh baby, the spark when we first met was instant. i was devoted to you the moment our eyes met, i’d do anything for you.” allowing your other hand to creep up spencer’s arm. “i’d kill myself for you if you asked, i’ve killed for you. would you do the same for me?” doeing your eyes and pouting your lips.

spencer leaned forward, his eyes dropping to your lips then back to your eyes, “anything for you, my love.” whispered just between the two of you. you smiled wickedly, “wanna head to my place?”

-once your door was unlocked and open you pounced onto spencer, hands holding his cheeks so you could press your lips onto his. his palms gripped at your hips and pulled your flush to his chest as his mouth devoured yours, moans ripped from your throat.

“fbi! hands in the air!” heavy footsteps and loud shouts broke the air. you didn’t bother acknowledging them, just submerging yourself into spencer until his arms twisted you around and held you in a tight hug. “don’t fight them. stay alive for me.” spencer whispered in your ear before pressing a kiss to your temple.

-six months. you’ve been institutionalized for six months since your lawyer pleaded insanity to the court. said you did everything because you started to stalk and become obsessive with doctor spencer reid. you didn’t bother mentioning that the killings made you feel stable. you’ve been sentenced for twenty five years to life, chances of parole after fifteen years. your family rarely visited you, you didn’t care. you only enjoyed visitation when he was there.

“the doctor is here.” an officer pulled you from the library to bring you into the visitation center. nervously you fiddled with your hair, straightening your beige uniform, wanting to appear put together for your boyfriend. he wasn’t your actual boyfriend, but he allowed you to call him that.

“hi baby.” sidling into your seat across from him, a gigantic smile hurting your cheeks. he wore his standard outfit, sweater vest over a long sleeve button up, no tie today and his collarbones were on display for you along with his forearms. “you look very sexy today.”

“and you look quite pretty today.” spencer visits you once a week at most, sometimes twice if he’s already in the state for a case. you heard it was cause your psychiatrist told him that your symptoms were worse if he was gone for long periods at a time causing you to act out and harm yourself or others. but you know it’s cause he loves you.

“what book are you reading today?” jerking his head to the worn spine. you peered down at the titles with a twisted smile then looked him dead in the eyes, “romeo and juliet. quiet the love story don’t you think?”

[reidsdimples]

Doctor, Stalker, Special Agent

Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

18+❤️‍🔥 MDNI‼️

TW: Unhinged/stalker/unraveling Spencer, smut, stalking

Too far, Spencer had gone too far and he knew it. But he was too far gone now to turn back. You were consuming him.

Click

You remove your shirt

Click

You remove your pants

He licks his lips and adjusts the lens on his camera. You are an absolute masterpiece. He can’t get enough of you.

Click

You stretch out like you always say after a long day. You bend over and touch your toes, giving him and your open window a full view of your perfect ass.

Click

You had driven him crazy all day. It was like you knew what you were doing to him- leaning down so your breasts peak out of your shirt right in his face. Grazing your ass against his thigh to walk past him in the bullpen. You even snatched his apple that day and bit it before tossing it back to him. He relished eating after you. He knew he wasn’t being himself.

He waited for you to finish stretching, pressing a palm against his aching cock to keep his need at bay. Finally you stepped into the bathroom and tossed your underwear and bra onto the floor outside the bathroom door.

He was quick, easing into the room as stealthily as possible. He snatched the sinful white lace panties off the floor and slid them into his back pocket with a smirk.

You wouldn’t miss them.

Maybe.

He inhaled the smell of your shampoo wafting from the other side of the slightly ajar bathroom door. He couldn’t get enough of your unique sent, even moaning as it engulfed him.

He finally decides to leave through the window which he came, slowly and with all his strength turning away from the object of his desire -naked and wet- just feet away.

“Oh fuck,” you mewl. Stopping him in his tracks as your angelic voice carries into the bedroom. “Dr.Reid-“

He couldn’t be hearing this correctly. There’s no way.

“Harder, right there,” you moan.

He gets closer the bathroom and can hear the sounds of you finger fucking yourself in the shower. Lewd squelching and moans have his dick standing at attention once more.

“Reid fuck!” You exclaim as you cum.

He braces himself against the wall, nearly exploding in his pants at the heavenly sound.

He had to go. Now.

So he did, he hurried out of the window and crashed into the drivers seat of his car-panting. He couldn’t help it, he pulled out his cock and pumped himself a few times until he finished while biting into your underwear.

—

“Coffee! Yay!” You squeak as Garcia hands one to you and Prentiss.

“No major case to brief on right now, Hotch wants everyone working their statements and files today,” JJ informs.

“Sweet,” Morgan snatches a donut from the counter and scoots out of the break area.

“Whoa what happened to you pretty boy?” Morgan whoops as Dr. Reid enters the bullpen looking particular sleep deprived.

“Long night,” he sighs.

You try not to watch him take those long strides to his desk, try not to focus on his disheveled hair and five o clock shadow. And was his tie crooked?

“Wonder what his deal is,” Prentiss frowns. You and Garcia shrug as he approaches for coffee.

“Morning Reid,” you beam like usual. His eyes dart to yours then immediately search for something else to look at. He offers you a flat smile.

“What’s up?” JJ tries to perk him up by smiling and elbowing him.

“Oh I know! You watched the Doctor Who marathon didn’t you!” Garcia points at him. “I told you you’d get sucked in and forget to sleep again.”

“I wish. I just couldn’t sleep,” he stirs his coffee and heads back to his desk.

“He’s been acting weird lately,” Prentiss notes.

“Foreal,” JJ agrees.

—

“Do you have that file on Roger West?” You peak over your desk to Reid’s.

He searches his stack and you find yourself licking your lips at watching his deft fingers work.

“No I think Morgan does,” he answers simply.

“Are you okay?” You walk over to his desk and lean against the edge of it.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. You notice his cheeks turn red.

You reach over to scruff his hair like you’ve done playfully in the past but he captures your wrist. The electricity that jolts between the two of you is undeniable as he stares into your eyes.

There’s a silent acknowledgment of the heat between the two of you and he releases your wrist.

“I gotta- I need to find… I’ll be back,” he awkwardly dismisses himself.

You huff out a shakey breath and contemplate following him. When he doesn’t return in a few minutes, you head down the hallway he took.

“Reid?” You find him sitting at an empty desk in an empty office with his head in his hands

“You shouldn’t be in here,” he grumbles.

“Why? What’s going on with you?” You enter the office anyway and shut the door to give you two some privacy.

“I’m just having a problem, okay?” He shifts in his seat.

“What kind of problem?” You move towards the desk in a way that makes your tits jump. His eyes lock in on them and he throws his head back in frustration.

“You- it’s- you’re driving me crazy,” he breathes. He pushes his hair back from his eyes. When you smirk he tilts his head at you.

“What am I doing?” You play dumb and place your palms on the desk, leaning down and eyeing him.

He adjusts himself again, tugging at the fabric of his pants around what you can only guess is his hard cock. The desk hides it. He exhales a shakey breath.

“Does it hurt?” You glance downward and pout your lip.

“Yes,” he doesn’t hide it.

“And I did that?” You move around the desk.

He looks up at you with pleading puppy dog eyes but then he nods.

“I wanna see it,” you admit as arousal pools between your legs.

“What- I…”

“Please Reid,” you bat your eyelashes and park your ass on the desk in front of his chair. You spread your legs and rest your heels on either armrest.

He is physically shaking, he’s so turned on. You kind of wish you had wore a shorter skirt. But this one still gave him a nice look as your silk clad cunt.

He slowly undoes his zipper while you gently roll your skirt up… up… up. His eyes are fixated on the thin material covering your pussy. He isn’t aware of it but he’s licking his lips.

He pulls his hard cock free, his large hand almost able to wrap around the girth completely. The pink tip is angry and needy and he pumps it as you drag a finger up your core to tease him.

“So pretty, Reid,” you hum and circle your clit.

You buck your hips up and slowly remove your panties while he watches, whimpering and speechless. You slide them into his cardigan pocket.

You place one leg over his shoulder and slide him towards you.

“Do you want it?” You ask him.

“Yes please,” he begs.

“Then be a good boy and make me cum,” you pull him closer until your legs are on his shoulders.

He doesn’t hesitate to drag your hips closer to him, forcing you down on your back as he buries his face in your cunt. He moans into you and he drags his tongue from your entrance to your clit and sucks hard.

“Ah,” you moan softly.

It’s more to an he could have dreamed of, your taste, your moans, he could do this for hours.

He’s pumping his cock while he eats your pussy, greedily shoving his tongue into you and nuzzling against you with his entire face. You find yourself grinding against him, holding his head still while he devours you. His tongue flicks wildly over your clit until you’re biting back your moans.

When you think you can’t take it anymore he puts his cock in his left hand and slides two fingers into your cunt. He curls up while he eats you and works your G-spot. He moans in pleasure as he approaches his own climax.

“Gonna cum while eating me out Dr. Reid?” He grunts into you and focuses on bringing you to your orgasm.

“Fuck baby!” You pant as your stomach muscles tighten.

Then you’re shaking violently as you orgasm onto his face, clenching around his fingers which don’t stop fucking into you.

That’s it for him, he rolls the chair back and you watch as hot ropes of cum shoot from his cock. He bites his lip and throws his head back as he finishes himself with a series of lewd moans.

He eyes you as you roll your skirt down and he pushes himself back into his pants. Neither of you speak for a moment and you come down from your orgasms. His cheeks are red and his hair is messy, you reach over and wipe the sides of his mouth.

“My place, eight o clock tonight,” you say and walk towards the door.

He nearly stumbles coming after you.

“Okay, good, yeah,” he stammers awkwardly.

You turn and take his face in your hands, fixing his hair gently.

“It was about time we did something about this,” you smirk and grip his softening cock through his pants. He jolts and lets out a breathy laugh.

You kiss him gently and he returns with a needy sort of passion as he pulls you into him.

The office door opens and you stumble back off of him.

“Woah! Working overtime huh guys?” Morgan laughs.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Reid lies.

“Come on, we got a case,” he shakes his head.

Spencer follows you and Morgan back to the bullpen, he watches your hips sway, watches your hair move as you walk. You have no idea what you had just awoken in him.

Now that he got a taste of you, he wouldn’t be without it again. He checks his wallet to ensure that photo of you sleeping was still safe and sound behind his ID and smiles wickedly to himself.

“Reid? You coming?” You turn and ask.

“Yep!” He slides his wallet back into his pocket and hurries to the round table room.

[snarkylinda]

Holy shit was "Go to hell" too basic for you?

[starch1ldz]

Morgan: You're a psychopath

Unsub!Y/n, picking at his nails: I prefer creative actually

Spencer: Technically he's a sociopath, which is different.