#unsub!reader

[magewritesstories]

when i tell you the urge to write a unsub!reader criminal minds fic where the victims absolutely had it coming and reader gets away with it is strong rn, i mean it is STRONG.

[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

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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.

[aswanlake]

“The victims had no defense wounds, which means it was a blitz attack. we’ve confirmed that they all didn’t know the same person so it couldn’t have been a person of interest and so far none of them have anything in common.” Spencer Reid was truly stumped, the BAU following suit. it was unusual for the BAU to get stuck on a case especially for a week, they would have at least had a profile by now or a suspect in mind and yet they were all stumped, completely unaware of what could connect them to one another.

Morgan had given up on brainstorming an hour ago, going through a book that they had found in a victim’s house, it was just a normal book, the occasional annotations from the victim but that was it. it was ironically a murder mystery set in the same place as the first victim. Spencer’s eyes glanced over from the board that he had used to capture his time and escape from his own guilt and inability to solve this case to examine the book that Morgan had before it clicked. “Morgan, give me that.” Morgan chuckled but handed it to him, “What happened to your manners, pretty boy?”

Spencer raised his hand in apology but never said any actual words, scouring through the book, taking it apart by removing the sleek cover as his fingers grazed over the author’s name. “I’ve read some of her books before.” He mumbled, Morgan heard it, as did everyone else but they knew that wasn’t the point he was trying to make so they let him continue. “You read a lot of books, pretty boy. What makes this one so special?” Spencer’s body turned towards the box of evidence, splaying the photos they had from the crime scenes onto the table.

Just as he had suspected, skinny fingers pointing to something in three different photos. “They all own the same book- this book. Same author just different covers, I knew I’d seen it before, I just didn’t remember where.” That was the downside of his withdrawal and recovery symptoms, a boy with a usually spot on, unbreakable mind now has cracks and slips every now and then. He was normal and hated it. Hotch nodded at his observation, the coincidence not leaving his mind anytime soon. “That is true but Garcia already checked for book clubs, libraries, anything that would have been in common with these people, any indication that they would be in the same place at the same time.” He spoke, voice rough with lack of sleep but Spencer responded with a shake of his head, pulling a book out of his bag— different cover, same author.

“This author does something different, instead of doing meet and greets or book clubs she does one on one meetings with whoever applies.” He swallowed, hating to admit this about a good author, a well respected author who had collected a lot of fame in a short amount of time but it was the only sensible option on the table. “Our unsub is the author. She kills people and then uses them in her books, getting close to them with the one on one meets which is why no one fought back because they were so excited to meet their idol that-” “they let their guard down.” Morgan finished, immediately grabbing all of his stuff, the team following in short. “We need to meet this author.” JJ said, confident in Spencer’s word. “Well you’re in luck. Boy wonder applied for a one on one meet and greet.. and it was just approved.” Garcia’s hands glided from her computer, showing the accepted letter. A computer automated thank you message along with promises of a signed book and your face right next to it.

a/n : if you’d like to be added to the taglist please comment below. reblogs appreciated!! 🤍

© aswanlake do not copy, steal, translate, repost any of my works

[hoe4hotchner]

idk if i have alr requested this but aaron hotchner x unsub!reader ??

Under his skin | [A.H]

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Unsub!Reader

CW: psychological manipulation, power dynamics, implied violence, implied murder, interrogation, mind games

WC: 1.7k

Summary: Hotch finally captures you, but as the interrogation unfolds, it becomes clear the real game has only just begun, blurring the lines between right and wrong.

           The tension in the air was palpable as Agent Hotchner entered the dimly lit interrogation room. He stood tall, his presence commanding, his eyes fixed on you, he had been hunting you for months. You sat at the metal table, wrists shackled, your expression calm. Still, your eyes held a defiance that matched the intensity of the control in his.

           "You've been hard to find," Hotch said, his voice low, each word measured. He circled the table, never breaking eye contact, the weight of his authority pressing down on the room. "But it's over now."

           A slow, knowing smile crept across your lips, not in submission but in challenge. "You think you’ve won, don’t you, Agent Hotchner?" you murmured, your tone laced with mockery. "But you don’t understand, do you? You were never in control. Not once."

           Hotch stopped behind you, his jaw clenching as he resisted the urge to react. He’d dealt with killers before - manipulative and dangerous minds who thrived on power games - but you were different. There was something about you that got under his skin, something that blurred the line between hatred and… something else.

           He leaned down slightly, his breath warm against the back of your neck. "I understand more than you think," he whispered. "I know what drives you."

           Your pulse quickened, but you refused to show it. You turned your head just enough to meet his gaze from the corner of your eye, your smirk never faltering. "And what is that, Agent Hotchner?"

           "Fear," he said, his voice steady, his eyes searching yours. "You're terrified. That’s why you keep pushing, keep running, keep killing."

           You straightened in your seat, your composure cracking for just a moment before you masked it again with a cold laugh. "You don’t know anything about me."

           Hotch moved around to the front of the table, placing his hands on its surface as he leaned in closer, his face inches from yours. "I know you better than you think," he said softly, his eyes narrowing. "You wanted me to catch you, didn’t you?"

           Your smirk faded, replaced by something darker, something rawer. The truth of his words hung in the air between you, and for the first time, you felt the weight of the game you’d been playing. But you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing you break. Not yet.

           "You really think this is over?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

           Hotch’s eyes hardened, his jaw tightening. "It’s over."

           But even as he said the words, there was an unspoken understanding between you, a pull that neither of you could ignore. Enemies. Opposites. Yet, somehow, connected by something far deeper than either of you was willing to admit.

           Hotch stood still, watching you for any sign of weakness, any crack in the armor you wore so expertly. But there was something in your gaze, something he couldn’t place. He had chased you for months, relentlessly unraveling the puzzle you’d left behind, but now, sitting across from you, he felt it - the undeniable pull that shouldn’t exist between foes.

           You leaned back in the chair, your posture relaxed but your eyes burning with an intensity that made his stomach twist. "You say it’s over," you repeated softly, "but is it? Really?"

           Hotch didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Instead, he sat down across from you, his eyes narrowing as he studied your every move. There was a strange calmness in the air, a stillness that shouldn’t exist between hunter and prey, but here it was. And Hotch hated it. He hated how you affected him, how, even now, with your wrists bound in cuffs, you still had power over him.

           "You wanted this," he said quietly, his voice a low growl as if he was trying to convince himself that he was right. "You wanted me to find you."

           You raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Maybe I did," you admitted, your voice was like silk. "Maybe I’ve been playing you all along."

           He should be angry. Furious. But instead, there was something else simmering beneath the surface - something that had been growing since the first time your paths crossed. Something that blurred the line between hate and fascination.

           Hotch leaned in, his eyes locked on yours, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Why?" he demanded. "What do you want from me?"

           You held his gaze, the challenge in your eyes unwavering. "Maybe I wanted to see if you could catch me. Maybe I wanted to know if you were as good as everyone said you were."

           He shook his head, not buying into your game. "That’s not it," he said firmly. "You’re too smart for that."

           You let out a soft laugh, leaning forward slightly, closing the distance between you. "Maybe I just wanted to see you up close, Aaron."

           Hearing his first name fall from your lips made his blood run cold and hot all at once. He had heard it a thousand times from friends, colleagues, and family, but from you, it felt… intimate, wrong even.

           "You don’t get to call me that," he said, his voice strained.

           "Why not?" you asked, your voice almost playful. "You’ve been chasing me for months. You know me better than anyone."

           "You’re a killer," Hotch said, his tone sharp.

           "And yet, here we are," you whispered, your eyes darkened, daring him to admit the connection neither of you wanted to face. "Maybe you’re not as different from me as you think."

           Hotch’s jaw clenched. He wanted to refute your words, to tell you that you were nothing alike, but something stopped him. Deep down, beneath the layers of righteousness and duty, he felt it too. The same darkness that fueled you had touched him as well, shaped him in ways he didn’t want to acknowledge.

           He stood abruptly, pushing his chair back as if to create distance, both physically and emotionally. "This ends here," he said, his voice hard, though it trembled slightly.

           You smiled, slow and taunting, as you watched him struggle with the truth he didn’t want to face. "We both know that’s a lie, Aaron."

           He turned on his heel, refusing to look at you as he headed for the door, but your words lingered in the air, heavy and unshakable. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

           Hotch stopped just shy of the door, his hand hovering over the handle as your words echoed in his mind. The venomous sweetness in the way you said his name, the way you pushed, prodded at parts of him he kept buried deep - he hated that you could get under his skin so easily.

           "I know you feel it too," you called softly from behind him, your voice echoing in the stark interrogation room. "That pull… it's what kept you chasing me."

           He hesitated, fingers tightening around the cold handle. His body was rigid, but every nerve in him was taut, strained to the breaking point. "You don’t know anything about me," he growled, though the words lacked conviction.

           You smirked, leaning back in your chair with a confidence that set his teeth on edge. "Don’t I? You’ve been playing the hero for so long, trying to separate yourself from the darkness. But it’s always there, Aaron, lurking beneath the surface."

           He turned slowly, his expression hard but his eyes betraying the inner turmoil. The room felt smaller now, suffocating under the weight of what was left unsaid. The way you watched him, the way you spoke as if you knew him inside and out, it crawled under his skin in a way that felt wrong. But even more than that, it felt familiar.

           You leaned forward, your shackles rattling softly as you rested your arms on the table. "We’re not different, you and I," you whispered, eyes gleaming with a dangerous allure. "You spend your life catching people like me. But tell me, Aaron - how much of yourself do you see in us?"

           Hotch clenched his fists, fighting the urge to lash out, to shut you up, but it wasn’t just anger that drove him - it was fear. Fear that maybe, just maybe, there was a certain truth in your words.

           He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his gaze locked onto yours with a cold intensity. "You and I are nothing alike," he said, his voice low and controlled. "I don’t get off on causing pain. I don’t manipulate and kill innocent people."

           "No," you agreed, your eyes narrowing as you tilted your head slightly. "But how many lives have you ruined, Aaron? How many times have you had to make the hard choice? The one that keeps you awake at night?"

           For a brief moment, a flash of something passed through his eyes - regret, maybe. But he buried it quickly. "I do what I have to," he said, his voice a little too quiet, a little too tired. "To protect people."

           You studied him, a small smile curling at your lips as you sat back once more. "Keep telling yourself that."

           The silence that followed was deafening. It stretched between you like a loaded wire, ready to snap at any moment. Hotch couldn’t bring himself to move, couldn’t turn his back on you again. You were still dangerous, still a killer, but beneath it all, there was something else. Something more complicated.

           And maybe that’s what scared him most of all.

           "You don’t win," he said, more to himself than to you. "You’re going to spend the rest of your life in a cell."

           Your laugh was soft but chilling, echoing through the empty room. "Win? I already have. You may lock me away, but I’m in here," you tapped your temple with a finger, your gaze never leaving his. "I’ll always be in here."

           Hotch’s face tightened, and without another word, he turned and pushed through the door. The cold, sterile air of the hallway hit him like a punch to the gut, but it wasn’t enough to shake off the weight of your words.

           As the door clicked shut behind him, your maniacal laughter faint behind the steel door enclosing you, Hotch realized something unsettling: the chase was over, but the game had just begun. And whether he liked it or not, you were right.

           You were under his skin.

[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…

[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

[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?”

[thatonepersononline]

a dangerous hookup

idk how i felt abt that ending, i rushed it 😔😔 but im slowly easing into writing smut, i read a lot of it but i don’t write it well. so bare with me 🩷😛

paring: spencer x y/n.

summary: Spencer has been tracking a killer for months, little did he know his newist hookup, has a dangerous secret.

warnings: talks about sex, doesn’t get to detailed.

word count: 4136

The BAU has been tracking an unsub for the last 2 months. The unsub, who is known as “The Widow”, is known to seduce rich and powerful men and murder them. Each kill is a different style, with over 15 kills and barely any evidence, the BAU is stumped. Especially Spencer, he has tried every deductive reasoning practice in the book, studied her M.O. looked over all the evidence, which there’s not much of only a blonde hair, from a wig, and a partial print that doesn’t match anyone in the system. To put it easily Spencer Reid is stumped, and everyone on the team can see it.

“Reid, you need to take a break,” Derek says to Spencer as he pours over the reports for the 100th time that day. “I might be onto something, I’m going to stay a little longer,” He doesn’t even look up from the report as he says that. Derek sighs and pulls Spencer up by the arms.

The two men drive to a regular cop bar, they entered and immediately walk up to the bar table and order two beers. A couple drinks later Derek finds himself two ladies who he walks off with. As Spencer stands alone, his first beer still untouched, he hears a voice behind him.

“What is a handsome man like you doing here alone?” You ask as you walk towards him. Spencer stares at you, like he can’t understand why a gorgeous girl like you would talk to him. You smile as you sit next to him, “What, is there something in my teeth?” Spencer looks down at the ground before meeting your eyes, “No, no nothing there, I was just surprised,” he chuckles. You laugh along with him softly, “How were you surprised,” you place your hand on his arm, that’s resting on the bar table, gently. “I- Well, I don’t get hit on very much,” he confesses shyly. “Well let me change that, what’s your name,” You smile at him.

Spencer smiles. “My name is Spencer… Spencer Reid.”

You smirk, “Well Spencer, I think me and you will have a nice time tonight. How about a drink to start off?” You order a glass a champagne for you and Spencer. While the bartender gets our drink we start talking. “So Spencer, what is a hot guy like you doing here by your self,” You ask as the bartender brings the drinks over. He takes a sip of the champagne before answering, “Me and my friend, Derek, came here to help destress from our job. But Derek left with some girls,” He chuckled. “What do you do for work?” You ask, tilting your head slightly. “Oh, I work for the FBI, we were trying to blow off some steam about a case we can’t close,” He sighs. You smirk, “How about you take me back to your place and i’ll help you blow off a lot of steam.”

We enter his apartment and as he shuts the front door, he puts his hands on my hips and kisses me nervously at first. You kiss him back deeply, not as nervous then him. You and him slowly start stumbling into his apartment, kissing as you guys try and walk towards him room. There’s a trail of discarded clothes that’s follows you two through the apartment. You reach his bed, you’ve only in your undergarments now. You look down at a mostly naked Spencer who is on his knees, in front of you. “let me worship you..” he mumbled as he starts kissing up your thighs towards your clothed clit.

timeskip 2 weeks later

Almost everyday for the past 2 weeks you and Spencer have hooked up. Each time more wild and fun than the last. With the unsolved case still underway, Spencer uses you to deal with these pent up feelings.

“Kid we got a new break through,” Derek said as he waked past Spencer’s desk towards a large tv in the middle of the room. Spencer turned in his chair toward the tv, he got up and walked closer. “Last night, Harry Coleman who was a local politician, was murder in his home. It was the Widows M.O. so we have reason to believe it was her. But Coleman had secret cameras in his home, and it captured a partial image of the Widow.” Garcia says as she shows the images of Coleman murder. Finally she shows the picture that the camera took. It shows for a bit but the face was blurry, as it zoomed in and cleared the image. Spencer sat forward as he proceeded the image. She looked familiar somehow. Spencer stood up as it hit him, it was you…

[messylxve]

Been thinking about an early seasons spencer and a Carmen Sandiego type reader. He’d be all flustered all while you’d be flirting your way through your own interrogation.

Would yall read that??

[angelyuji]

HEHEHHWHEE imagine the bau team hunting down a serial killer not knowing its their OWN PARTNERRRR imma use hotch as an example cuz dilf😫😫😩😩😩

no real warnings tbh just that reader is a serial killer

i think that he would literally never ever guess it was you. this unsub has been taunting the team, they'd get close and then, the MOMENT they think they're getting close... you're gone (kinda). cuz technically you're still around yk. you're going on dates with aaron, taking care of jack during emergencies, etc. but your serial killer hobbies are in hiatus.

aaron would talk about it with you too. he knows he's not supposed to tell you about the case, but sometimes he gets so frustrated with the case and you lend him an ear yk.

you hide it well, but every time he talks to you about the case. you feel giddy knowing how well you've stumped the great bau.

aaron would never suspect you. you're a great partner, a great parent, he loves you. i mean, every night he holds you talking about how much he loves you. you're the sunshine on his rainy day. all of this distracts you, keeps you on haitus for a long time maybe even permenantly. he tells you that he's planning on quitting the bau. that lets you relax, truly putting your hobbies to rest.

"i think i'm going to take the offer..." aaron says, leaning against the counter, watching you cook dinner.

"hmm? which offer?" you look over at him, in his tight shirt and baggy pants.

"to resign." he laughs and pushing his hair back with one hand. "i want to be here... with you and jack. i want to focus on being a father... and a husband." he looks away and you smile at his bashfulness.

"i'm happy with whatever decision you chose to make, aaron. you're stuck with me."

then he proposes, you're elated. every thing is perfect. you have an amazing fiance, an amazing (almost) step-son. the entire bau is there when he proposes. every single thing is perfect... except that aaron isn't quitting. he's staying at the bau with them. he's staying with them. even after he promised you that he'd quit.

"you told me... you told me that you'd quit." you pace around the living room.

"i know. i'm sorry, but the team needs me." aaron looks at you, eyes filled with guilt.

"we need you, aaron! me and jack! we need you." you feel tears roll down your cheeks.

"(y/n)..." he tries to reach out to you and you back away. he stops, hurt.

"i need some air." you leave, kissing jack good-bye.

you were gone for a week, and in that week, two people had died.

"something on your mind, aaron?" rossi put a hand on his shoulder. aaron sat in his office, staring at the picture of the three of you on a picnic.

"i'm not sure... since (y/n)'s been gone, two people have died and... i noticed this last time too." aaron puts his head in his hands.

"what do you mean?" rossi sits down.

"i-i'm not sure. last time too, we had a fight and they left and- and people died." the dots start to connect, but rossi shakes his head.

"aaron, you don't really think-"

"no. no, i'm sure i'm just imagining it."

"i think you should listen to strauss. the stress from scratch, the new unsub, everything..." rossi trails off.

"i know... i know, i'll think about it."

of course, aaron calls your parents and they say you've been with them the entire time. so he lets it go, but it stays on his mind even when you were back. you'd be sleeping in the same bed and he'd look at you and wonder... could you be a killer? but you'd pull him into a kiss and he'd fall for your warmth once more. you knew he had his suspicions, rossi told you himself. he said he was "worried" that you should "convince him to resign. it'll be good for the both of you". and you did just that. you moved up the wedding, you sent out the invitations, you did everything to distract him from his suspicions and work.

when you walk down the aisle, you see all his suspicions melt as tears fall from his eyes. you feel a grin creep up your face, you did it. you had him for yourself.

"i, aaron hotchner, take (y/n) to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part"

[alexblakegf]

Aaron Hotchner x Unsub!reader

thank you so much for 400 followers and the constant support 🩷

taglist 🏷️:

@itisdoctortoyousir @kalixxa @fdl305 @urfavesim @sponsoredbytonystark @rosaliedepp @Ghostisnotpresent @Sukunaleftoverfinger @beaurielas @prentissesredtanktop

be added to my taglist here

[reiding-writing]

AHH YAYAYAYAYAY I LOVE THIS SERIES SM IM SO GLAD YOU OPENED YOUR REQUESTSSSS!! okay sooooo, i was wondering if you could do a lil continuation of the last part where spencer visits reader in prison and reader’s all confused because they never get visitors and then they see it’s spencer and get all excited (maybe spencer comes to tell reader that he spoke to the court or wherever is considering their appeal, idk how that whole process works lmao, and he’s told them that he believes reader isn’t a threat and that they should be moved to a psychiatric facility instead of staying in prison)

AHH OKAY LUV U BYE 🫶🫶🫶

THE FIRST VISIT

spencer reid&gn!unsub!reader || 2.2k || bloodied roses event!!

WARNINGS: sociopathic!reader, prison guards being dicks, early-seasons!spencer

a/n — thank you mllll 🫶 glad you like the series <333

main masterlist!! ⋆｡°✩ unsub!reader masterlist!!

It’s been almost eight months since you returned to the California Correctional Institution. Back to the familiar concrete walls of your own personal hell and practically sitting stationary as the world span around you.

It was arguably worse than just giving you the death penalty, forced to live in a stupidly awful state of limbo where you did nothing but languish in your own boredom for 23 hours a day without so much as a pen and a piece of paper to satiate you—lest you stab someone with it during your ‘recreational’ hour outside your cell.

The progress of your appeal was slow, basically static, and whilst you weren’t surprised, it was beginning to frustrate you. Why would they drag everything out when you knew they were just going to reject you anyway?

It was stupidly idiotic and a waste of everyone’s time, including yours.

There’s a sharp knock on the door of your cell, then someone slides open the metal hatch, leaving a grating sound in its wake.

“Hands.”

The borderline condescension in his tone makes you want to shove his tongue down his throat, but you know when to pick your battles, so you stick both of your hands through the slot palms up and wait for the familiar cold metal of handcuffs against your wrists.

They’re far too tight as they’re clamped shut, pinching your skin uncomfortably to the point where you’re sure it’ll leave marks, and you bite back the urge to curse out the guard his clear incompetence as he unlocks the door and pulls you out by the metal connecting your hands.

His expression matches his rashness as he forces you down the corridor with another guard to his side, and you swear that if you weren’t acting on your best behaviour for the minuscule chance that they did actually approve your appeal you would’ve given the two a piece of your mind already.

“Where are we going?”

No answer.

“Why am I out of my cell?”

“Shut up before I muzzle you.”

Oh the urge to punch that man in the face.

You settle for a side eye that would probably be the only thing the State Officials needed to reject your appeal knowing how much they despised you for existing, and the rest of the walk is finished in a thick blanket of silence.

The room they lead you into is technically two, lined by a thick pane of glass that splits the room in half, an uncomfortable looking metal chair and floating table with a rotary phone on either side.

“Sit down.”

A small flare of your nose is the only display of your rising anger, your paper-thin composure shrivelling millimetre by millimetre every second you’re forced to look at his stupid face.

You sit down with an air of curiosity. It was very clearly a visitation room you’d been led to, but who in their right mind would choose to visit you? Who had the leeway to get to visit you from inside one of the highest security prisions in the state when getting access to do so was almost impossible?

You just hoped it wasn’t someone from the appeal board. They were always so monotonous and boring.

You sit waiting for almost five minutes, watching the barred clock on the wall tick away until there’s a click from one of the exterior doors and then the door on the other side of the room opens.

And the vexation in your expression shifted into something much more resembling amusement.

The sounds of the chair being dragged out from the table is muffled through the glass, as is the sound of him sitting down, but when he picks up the phone on his table a sharp ringing echoes through the one on yours as a physical show of his presence.

You watch it ring for a few seconds before you turn your attention to the guard standing behind you, and you hold your wrists up towards him expectantly, watching the indignation rise in his face as reluctantly pulls out the keys to remove your handcuffs.

The freedom of your wrists is short-lived though, and almost immediately after you’re uncuffed, your dominant hand is dragged back down to the table to be cuffed against it, a loud thud emanating from it at the edge of your hand catches on its edge.

You’re less perturbed under the presence of your visitor, but you’re sure the seething anger is present enough in your eyes for the guard to see it nonetheless.

Regardless, with one hand free of restraint, you pick up the ringing phone and hold it to your ear, leaning back in your chair with an almost entertained expression.

“Doctor Reid, came all the way to California to visit little old me?”

There’s a small twitch in the corners of his mouth as he restrains himself from smiling at your tone.

He shouldn’t be smiling at a serial killer. Especially not inside a maximum security prison with four guards present.

“I told you I would,”

“That you did,” You give a small nod of acknowledgment against the phone at his statement, eyebrows raised ever so slightly to break the otherwise barren planes of your face. “Didn’t think you’d go through with it,”

“It wasn’t easy,” Spencer lets out a small breath of a laugh, pressing his lips together awkwardly. “There was a lot of paperwork involved,”

He’s mildly embarrassed by his confession, that he’d jumped through so many hoops to be able to visit you like he told you he would. That he’d flown across the country to see you whilst lying to the team that he was going to visit his mother.

“That’s a lot of effort,” There’s a small scrunch of your eyebrows at your response, not a show of sympathy for everything he’d done to be there in person but more of judgement that he’d put himself through it at all.

You hadn’t asked him to visit you. He told you he would, and followed through on it of his own fruition.

“I thought it’d be better to speak to you in person rather than over the phone,”

“You’re still speaking to me over a phone Dr Reid,” You jostle the phone in your hand slightly as a show of your point, and the small quirk of your mouth tells him that you’re joking with him.

“You know what I mean,” Spencer’s expression mirrors yours in the way he almost smiles, and he lets out a short breath of light-hearted exasperation. “I wanted to see you, not just hear you,”

“Well,” You make an outward gesture with your freehand as you lean against the back of your chair again, crossing one leg over the other. “You’re seeing me,”

That he is. You don’t look quite like you did when you joined the BAU on the case, a little paler, thinner, your hair is a little longer and there’s a notable number of bruises covering your arms.

He doesn’t need an eidetic memory to know where those have come from. Although the sound of your wrist hitting the edge of the table at the start of conversation would definitely be stapled into his mind for a while.

“So then, what constitutes a visit from you Dr Reid?”

“I wanted to talk to you about your appeal,”

Any and all whisper of minuscule enjoyment at Spencer’s presence evaporates from your face the minute the word ‘appeal’ comes out of his mouth. It’s honestly fascinating just how fast your demeanour changes, although he’s not sure why it would, surely your appeal would be something of interest to you, not something you actively don’t want to talk about.

“Seriously? You fly all the way over here and you want to talk about my appeal? You do realise this—” You gesture back and forth between the two of you, “—is the one hour I get out of my cell today right? I’m not going to spend it talking about the stupid appeal.”

Seemed like he’d hit a sore spot.

“I just wanted to say that it’s looking pretty good for you,” He cuts straight to the point, not wanting to ruffle you more than he unintentionally had but also wanting to make sure that the main reason for his visit in the first place— apart from the fact that you’d inhabited a corner of his brain for the last eight months and wouldn’t leave no matter how hard he tried—was actually aired out.

You let out a small scoff into the phone’s receiver, and it’s almost grating as it meets Spencer’s ears. “You don’t have to lie to me Dr Reid, I know they’re just dragging everything out until they can find a reason to reject it.”

“They have three weeks before the deadline for their decision, they won’t find anything,” There’s an air of confidence in Spencer’s assessment, but it doesn’t do anything in chipping away your preconceived notion of failure.

“I submitted a report on the BAU’s behalf,” He is decidedly less confident in admitting that second part, left hand subconsciously reaching towards the rolled up sleeve on his right arm to ease the nervous tension in his hands. “To try and support it through the final stages,”

“Leave your arm alone.” You seem to almost completely disregard what Spencer says, and he practically does the same himself as his eyes flicker down towards where his left hand is absentmindedly scratching at the inside of his right elbow, leaving red streaks on his skin.

He pulls his hand away with his lips pressed taut into a line, stuffing it into his pocket so he can’t be tempted to do it again. “Sorry,”

“What did you write in your report?” You’re over it before he can even get his apology out, and he clears his throat to regain his sense of composure, tightening his grip on the phone so it doesn’t slip out of his hand under the small film of sweat coating his palm.

“You uh— displayed a lot of your humanity on the case, especially towards your family, and I thought it’d be beneficial for the officials considering your transfer to know that fact,”

You let out a small exhale through your nose, lips quirked upwards ever so slightly. He could almost believe that you were grateful for his contribution, but then you started speaking and the condescension in your tone was enough to tell him that you were definitely not displaying ‘gratefulness’.

“That’s not gonna do jack shit,”

Spencer sighs softly, eyes flickering downwards for a second in ever so slight disappointment in your reaction to his attempt at helping you.

He doesn’t really know what he was expecting from you, but having you disregard it so easily definitely blew the wind out of his sails a little bit.

“You’d be surprised I think,” His attempt at redeeming himself isn’t the most thought through thing he’s ever done, but then again he’s sat in a maximum security prison talking to a serial killer, so arguably he’s done worse. “In cases like yours for ASPD, having someone as a witness of your humanity could really help out your chances,”

“Yeah we’ll see about that,” You don’t seem as frustrated with him as you do disbelieving. Like no matter what evidence he tried to provide you of your decently likely chance of actually getting a transfer you’d made it up in your mind that it was never going to happen.

“Do you… want the appeal to go through?”

You scoff. “What kind of question is that?”

”It’s just, you’ve decided that it’s not going to go through, don’t you— I don’t know, want it to?”

”Of course I do.”

“Then—” Spencer presses his lips together with a short sigh. “…have some faith, If not in me being able to help you then at least in yourself,”

There’s silence over the line for a few seconds, and Spencer can see the cogs turning in your brain as you decide how you want to respond.

You don’t get the chance to.

“That’s it. Ten minutes is over.”

The phone is practically snatched from your hands to be placed back on the receiver, and there’s a sharp end-dial on Spencer’s before he puts his own phone down and readies himself to stand.

The roughness in the guards as the pull you from your seat and re-cuff you is almost aggressive, and the self-restraint you put on yourself to not respond to it is so decadently on display that it’s proof enough for him to believe your appeal will go through.

He hopes that your appeal goes through.

If for nothing else at least so you don’t get dragged around like a ragdoll by the people who are supposed to be reforming you.

[ralvezfanatic]

I need Love you

Luke Alvez x Unsub!Male!Reader

Reader is a serial killer, and currently the Unsub the BAU is going after.. but, also Luke's boyfriend. That, however, doesn't stop Luke from being with him, and much much less, sleeping with him. This part is not necessary to Part 2 of "I love need you" You do not have to read this for part two to make sense. Anything you need to know will be added in the other part.

Warnings: Pure smut, literally 2k words of absolutely porn, I'm so sorry. Not beta-read. Sorta proofread but I promise you there will be mistakes because i somehow always miss them. (pls lmk if theres any mistakes tho 😭 my ask box is open for you to call me out on my terrible writing !!)

Part 2 (WIP)

Word Count: 2.3k

You were a serial killer, and more specifically, the serial killer Luke and his team were going after. Yet, that didn't stop him from dating you, and much less sleeping with you. He knew you were the Unsub his team were after, but he couldn't turn you in, not when you were his boyfriend and he was in love with you. It wasn't right.

You also knew he was a fed, and that his team was after you. But, you also knew he could never turn you in, as long as you made him happy, there was no reason for him to send the love of his life to jail. You weren't dating him just so you could be free though, but because you “loved” him too. Since the first time you laid eyes on him, you have been head over heels for him, and did everything in your power to get with him.

Although you both were complete opposites in the work aspect, neither of you cared. He knew he could get in trouble, hell he'd get sent to jail for aiding a criminal. But that didn't matter, Luke knew how to cover himself, how to make it seem like everything was alright. After all, his team didn't know the true identity of the Unsub they were looking for. Yes, they knew Y/N, and they knew him as Luke's boyfriend, a nice guy, a loving and innocent man. They adored you actually. They did not know though. how you killed people, without hesitation. Or remorse. Nothing.

That's how Luke ended up in your bed once more, naked and you. You looked down at him, with your big E/C eyes glistening with love obsession and lust. You straddled his stomach, your hands roaming over his bare chest as your ass teased his cock.

Luke, though conflicted and torn, couldn't ignore the arousal that surged through his body at the sight of you above him. Despite the knowledge of your dark nature, the mutual desire and affection drew Luke deeper into the web of passion.

You smiled, leaning down to meet his face, your dick rubbing against both of your stomachs as you captured his mouth into a kiss.

He moaned into the kiss, his tongue intertwining with yours, desperately seeking solace and distraction from the moral implications of the illicit affair. Your taste on his lips was intoxicating, and he couldn't resist tangling his fingers in the strands of your messy hair, pulling you closer.

You groaned, feeling the friction on your cock, rocking yourself to pleasure yourself, your ass moving back and brushing past his dick at the same time.

As you continued to grind your bodies together, Luke's hips instinctively lifted, seeking more contact, wanting to feel the delicious friction against his aching cock. His hands trailed down your back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before finally reaching your round ass, squeezing it firmly.

You moaned into the kiss as he squeezed your ass, your cock twitching between your stomachs.

The passionate kiss broke momentarily, and Luke took a moment to gasp for air, his voice husky with desire. "God, Y/N... You feel so good... I don't care about anything anymore... I just want you, right here, right now." His hips involuntarily bucked upward, his need for release becoming undeniable.

As he broke the kiss, you sat back up on him, looking down at you, your eyes full of lust, his cock leaking precum as you spoke. "Mm, I want you too Luke. So bad, don't care how wrong it is.. I need you." You smiled, a hint of evilness in your face, although that was just natural at this point, your love need for him being genuine.

You lifted yourself up, backing up and taking his cock under you. You held it firmly under your ass, teasing the both of you, circling your hole with his tip, groaning as you felt his length tease your entrance.

Luke's breath hitched as you continued to tease him, his heart pounding in his chest. The control you exerted over both your bodies only heightened the intensity of their desire.

“Mm, even without being in me, you make me feel so good.” You groan out, biting your lip trying to hold back moans. You look down at him, a small smirk as you push yourself down and take in his tip.

His hands instinctively gripped the sheets beneath him, his knuckles turning white from the sweet torment. The way your tight heat encased the head of his cock sent jolts of pleasure coursing through his veins, making him ache for more.

Luke couldn't help but gaze up at you, taking in the sight of your flushed face, the way your lips parted in pleasure. Your words sent shivers down his spine, igniting an inferno deep inside him. "Fuck, Y/N... You're driving me insane... I need to be inside you, all the way."

With a mixture of desperation and determination, Luke guided your hips, urging you to take more of him. He lost himself in the sensation of his cock slowly sinking into the velvet warmth of your body, inch by agonizing inch. "Oh God, Y/N... You feel incredible... So fucking tight..."

As you wrapped around him, taking him in fully, Luke couldn't hold back the moans that escaped his lips, pure bliss coursing through his veins. He couldn't resist thrusting his hips upward, meeting your movements, the primal need for pleasure driving him forward.

You allowed him to guide you down onto his dick, moaning out loudly as his thick length stretched you open. Tears welled up as he ripped your entrance open, never getting used to his size no matter how many times you’ve been with him. "Oh fuck Luke.. Always forget how big you are.." You grunt as your walls clenched around him

You stayed on his cock for a moment, until your walls finally relaxed. You began to move slowly, grinding on his dick, shutting your eyes and throwing your head back as he brushed past your most sensitive spot. "Feels so good.. need you so bad." You groaned out, started to speed your movements up

Getting used to his size, you lift your hips up and drop them back down, moaning loudly as you slammed yourself onto him. You started riding him, bouncing up and down your cock desperately, moaning out pornographically.

As you rode him with an expertise that left him breathless, Luke's hands roamed your body, desperately seeking to touch every inch of your heated flesh. He reveled in the feel of your muscles contracting around him, the way you moaned and writhed above him.

All your movements were well calculated and perfected. You leaned down slightly, your hands on either side of his head as your ass took in his cock. Your eyes were shut and face flushed, moaning out loudly as you fucked yourself on him. "So big.. so good. Can't get enough of you Luke.."

Luke's mind and body were consumed by an overwhelming mixture of pleasure, desire, and guilt. The sight of your body moving so sinfully atop his, taking him deep inside, was both exhilarating and torturous. He couldn't deny the intoxicating effect you had on him.

With a groan, Luke arched his back, meeting your thrusts with his own, creating a rhythm that was both frantic and intoxicating. The sounds of your explicit moans filled the room, mingling with the creaking of the bedframe and the heavy breathing that echoed through the air.

"Yes... fuck, you feel so amazing... I can't get enough of you either." Luke's voice was strained, laced with desire and the weight of their secret. "Ride me, baby... Take what you need... I'm yours."

As you continued riding him, his phone rang on the nightstand he had put it on earlier that night.

You heard it, and looked over, seeing a familiar name on it. Emily Prentiss. You got annoyed, knowing that call was to take him away from you, and you weren't going to let that happen when you were so happy and getting lost in pleasure. You continued to ride him faster and harder, moving your hands to find his wrists.

As the sound of Luke’s ringtone pierced through the air, a mixture of frustration and anxiety coursed through him. He knew that answering the call was necessary, but he didn't want to be torn away from this moment of pure ecstasy.

Once you found his wrist, you pinned them against the bedsheets. With the way you rode you, and held his wrists, you didn't allow him to move whatsoever, not wanting to pick up the ringing phone. "God Luke, you feel so fucking good. Fill me up so well.. I'm so close" You whined out, your voice growing needy as you tried to distract him from the phone.

Feeling your hands grip his wrists, pinning them against the mattress, Luke's gaze locked with yours, a mixture of desire and determination in his eyes. He couldn't help but smile, admiring your defiance, your unwillingness to let anything interrupt the passion between you. Luke's heart raced as he felt the intensity of your movements increase, your urgency mirroring his own. He couldn't help but groan in pleasure as you rode him harder, the stimulation driving him closer to the brink.

"You're insatiable, Y/N... and I love it," Luke growled, his voice thick with desire. Despite the distraction, he refused to let it dampen the moment. He used the strength in his hips to meet your movements, thrusting upward to meet your downward motion. "I'm so close too, baby... I want to fill you... claim you as mine."

With every thrust, every twist and jerk of his hips, Luke brought you both closer to the edge. The intensity of the moment, the forbidden pleasure, fueled his desire to claim you completely, to make this moment unforgettable.

You cried out desperately, feeling your orgasm quickly approaching, and your legs growing weak, struggling to ride him any longer. "Luke, I'm so close, please baby."

"Fuck me, pin me down against the bed and fill me up with your cum. Make me yours.” You begged, your movements slowing down, and releasing his wrists from your hold, waiting for him to dominate you as you grew tired.

Luke's breath hitched at your words, a mixture of desire and adoration enveloping him. The way you begged for his cum, for him to claim you completely, sent shivers down his spine. His control wavered as he gazed up at you, feeling his own climax edging closer.

Driven by the raw intensity of the moment, Luke's hands found their way to your hips, gripping them firmly as he halted your movements. With a dominant growl, he swiftly flipped you onto your back, pinning you down against the mattress.

You smiled as he dominated you, flipping you into your back harshly. You giggled as he hovered over you, your face flushed and a dopey smile on him as you locked eyes with him. "Please, please, wreck me! Ruin me, I'm all yours." You begged, your voice laced with desperation and a need for you

"Fuck, baby..." Luke's voice was heavy with need as he positioned himself between your legs, his eyes locked with yours. "You want me to fill you up? To make you mine? You've got it, baby. I'm going to fuck you so hard, you won't be able to walk straight."

With a swift thrust, Luke buried himself deep inside you, claiming you as his own. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he pounded into you relentlessly. The pleasure and desire in his eyes spoke volumes, mingling with the love he felt for you in every touch, every thrust.

You groaned out loudly as he buried into you, shutting your eyes as moaning out loudly. Your mouth fell agape, slightly drooling as he pounded into you, your body rocking with each of his thrusts.

"Oh god Y/N... You feel amazing," he groaned, his voice husky and filled with need. "You're mine... All mine. No one else can have you like this."

His thrusts became faster, harder, the bed creaking beneath them as your bodies moved in perfect sync. The room was filled with the sound of your moans, the scent of sweat and arousal heavy in the air. The pleasure built, blurring the lines between pain and ecstasy, until finally, Luke gave in to the overwhelming wave of pleasure that cascaded through him.

Your hands were by your side, gripping the bed sheets underneath you."Yes Luke, I'm all yours, only yours. Just for you baby.." You whimpered out, your voice high as you tried to hold back moans.

"I-I'm so close Luke.. Gonna, cu-cum.." You warned, your cock twitching and spurting out precum as your orgasm approached.

With one more of his thrusts, you arched your back and your seed shot out of you in thick ropes, covering your belly as you moaned out your name happily.

Luke couldn't tear his eyes away from the sight before him as you surrendered to the pleasure, your body arching and your voice filling the room with delicious cries of ecstasy. Seeing you completely vulnerable, completely submissive, only fueled the fire burning within him.

He continued to pound into you, relishing in the way your body tightened around him, the way your moans grew louder and more desperate. Each thrust brought him closer to the edge, his need for release reaching its peak.

As he continued to fuck you through your orgasm, and even after, you cried out in pleasure. You loved the way you got overstimulated as he fucked you, searching for his own release, loving the way he used you for his pleasure after you were done, even if you could barley handle it. "Luke, please. Fill me up.. give me your cum.." You cried out, still desperate to be filled.

With a final thrust, he grunted, his body trembling as he released deep inside you, claiming you as his own. His hot cum filled you, marking you as his, and he relished in the ecstatic release that washed over you. "You're mine Y/N.. forever."

His breath came out in ragged pants as he collapsed on top of you, his body trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure.

Part 2 (WIP)

[trampleddoves]

interrogations on uneven footing

Spencer Reid needs information on a confidential case. He is not above using unconventional methods to get you to spill.

Series masterlist

Pairing: unsub!Spencer x afab!BAU!reader Content warnings: Smut, 1.7k words, DDDNE! Noncon, bondage, sensory deprivation (complete darkness), nipple play, fingering, edging, overstimulation. Mentions of a made-up case, post prison unsub Spencer. Note: MDNI. This is not for everyone, simply scroll past it if it’s not to your liking. I cannot stress this enough. Heed the content warnings. Proceed with caution.

Multiple zip ties bind you to a wooden chair, an entire row on each arm like some twisted version of the bracelets that normally adorn your person. Ensuring you can’t move, can’t get out. It’s something straight out of a movie, your solitary figure alone in a dark room. You would have laughed if it weren’t for the distracting fact that it’s real, and happening to you right now. 

Smooth plastic digs into your skin if you struggle against them, but ultimately these zip ties will leave no marks. Unlike rope. Unlike handcuffs. They will not slacken even if you sweat through them, unlike duct tape. 

Spencer Reid is nothing if not thorough.

You’ve lost count of how long he’s kept you here. A slight burning in the space between your thighs is a flagrant reminder of his previous attentions. Legs and ankles still parted in the same way he left them, held and bound by the same zip ties that keep your arms and wrists in place. Panties stretched obscenely around your knees from where Spencer tugged them down, just enough to get a glimpse of your pussy. An odious mixture of sweat and your drying arousal keeps your inner thighs slick. 

He hasn’t hurt you. He hasn’t even penetrated you, only parted your folds and coaxed your core to weeping with rough, expert fingertips, while he asked you for details on Gregory Hall. 

Your body is weak, but your mind is sharp. While your pussy clenched and fluttered for more, you’d been able to deny him the details that you’d promised to keep confidential. Emily Prentiss is counting on you to build this profile independently; there’s a lack of certainty with this case. Whether or not Gregory Hall is behind those murders remains a mystery, but your unit chief had entrusted you to keep tabs on him on the side. A job outside the normal bounds of being a profiler, but naive pride had kept you from declining. 

Eager to please. To prove yourself. Icarus flying too close to the sun. You had accepted shady messages from unknown informants, arranged meetings with risky people in order to advance. 

Icarus flying right into Spencer Reid’s trap.

No one knew what happened to him. It’s a boogeyman’s tale in the Bureau, the type that has people ducking their heads and resorting to hushed whispers. Spencer Reid, prodigy, genius, dedicated profiler—in prison for murder. After several butchered attempts to prove his innocence, the genius was subjected to twenty five years in prison, with a chance for parole sometime down the line. He had escaped six months later.

You had never met him in person, not until tonight. 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. The door creaks open, but no light comes through. You incline your head to the right, where his footfalls make dull taps against concrete ground.

“Ready to talk now, sweetheart?” his voice remains low, deceptively soothing. You flinch as his hand lands on your shoulder, squeezing tight. The weight seems to press you deeper into the uncomfortable wooden chair.

“I told you—”

“We both know you’re lying,” he’s bent over your back, tendrils of his hair brushing over your cheek, “You have more information on Gregory Hall than anyone else.”

His free hand crawls up your side, fingers finding the buttons on your blouse. Even in the inky darkness, his movements are deft, undoing buttons with ease. You grow stiffer by the second, shaking your head.

“What is it that keeps you from telling me, hm?” you feel his nose tracing a line down your neck, before landing at the sensitive patch where it meets your shoulder. He takes a shuddering inhale, before touching his lips to the spot, murmuring in smooth, velvet tones, “Are you afraid you’ll get in trouble with Emily? I’d be the last person to talk to her, trust me.”

Trust. What a silly word, considering the circumstances. You almost want to spit at him, at his trust.

“What do you even want with it?” you reply instead, shuddering as both arms wrap around you, meeting at your chest to work on unbuttoning your shirt. Your skin grows slick with sweat, broken apart by goosebumps from every brush of his fingers. He’s been so gentle.

You both know he could hurt you, if he wishes to. The restraint he’s exhibiting is simply another layer of depravity, another way to toy with your mind, a looming reminder that this could be worse. 

That’s the problem. Hating him, hating your predicament, hating this twisted interrogation, would infinitely be easier if he were manhandling you. Causing wicked purple and blue blossoms over your skin like a perverse garden. Pulling your hair back so tightly they rip from your scalp.

You never thought you’d ever wish for violence, yet part of your yearns for it at this moment. It’s easier to reconcile violence with the violation you’re currently experiencing. Because that’s what this is. Violation. Assault. Spencer Reid exerting his will over you because he can. Because he wants something only you have access to.

“I simply need to know if my theory is correct, doll.” he coos, finally easing your blouse off your shoulders. Just enough so he could tug your bra down your chest, straps slipping down your shoulders. 

You whimper into the silence of the room, partially thankful for the lack of light. At least he can’t see you. At least you’ve been given the dignity to keep your face hidden. 

However, it poses another problem. One you had been grappling with all night. This impenetrable darkness goes both ways, blinds both of you. And without your sense of sight, everything else is heightened. 

When his thumb brushes over your nipple, the taste of blood floods your mouth. Your teeth had broken through the skin of your lower lip. Another flick, and then both thumbs begin to circle your nipples, and you shudder as they harden into stiff peaks. Another round of interrogation. He’s slowly wearing you down, you realize, literally stripping off your clothing, and in turn, adding more stimulation. 

Earlier, he had just been playing with your clit, attempting to wheedle out the information from you until your labia grew puffy from overstimulation. At your staunch refusal, he had left.

And now he’s back, pinching and tugging your nipples as you cling to your stubborn, one minded goal to keep the information to yourself.

“I would assume we have the same goal, anyway,” he murmurs, humming as he presses his large palms to your breasts, squishing them, your nipples hard and poking into his palms, “Prove he’s guilty.”

“How did you even know I was on the case?” you whimper, squirming as you feel your traitorous body reacting. The familiar warmth coiling at your lower belly. 

“You weren’t difficult to track, even I could find traces of your dealings and I have an aversion to technology. Tell me what you know, doll.” he replies, one hand leaving your chest and traveling down. You dread what’s about to come, dread the inescapable fact that he’ll cup your sex and find you drenched again.

When his hand meets your exposed pussy, he hums, a self satisfied sound that mocks you to your very being. 

“So fucking wet for me.” he hisses, licking a stripe up your neck. You squeeze your eyes shut, unable to do much but squirm uselessly on the chair. “You know, I’m beginning to think you want to be kept here.”

“No.” the word is sharp and clear, to your relief.

“Really? Yet you refuse to tell me what you know,” his index finger finds your entrance, circling it while the heel of his palm pressed on your clit, “You know the information will get you out of this.”

“I wouldn’t know that,” you hiss through gritted teeth, nails digging into your palms as he strokes up and down your slick folds, teasingly. Soon, your nails will break the skin there too, and you’ll be left with bloodied lips and hands, all from your own doing. How ironic, “For all I know, you’d kill me the moment you get what you want from me.”

“I’ve been a man of my word so far, haven’t I? I told you I won’t hurt you.” A finger breaches your entrance, sinking knuckle deep. True to his word, no pain is felt. Only the relief of the stretch, the fullness your disloyal body has been craving. “Besides, doll, you’re of more use to me alive.” Another finger. Your pussy clenches around them greedily.

“I - no.” It’s weaker now, breathless.

He laughs. He’s gone through this song and dance earlier, but now his fingers inside you are reinforced by his other hand palming your chest. “So you do like this. You just keep saying no to giving me information, doll, it seems you want to stay here and let meplay with your pretty pussy, hm?” his fingers begin a slow pace, thrusting in and out of your wet channel. Every time he buries them inside, they crook just so, hitting that perfect spot that has you straining against your bounds. This time, it isn’t out of a desire to get out. This time, it’s out of overwhelming pleasure.

“S-stop.”

“Stop?  I can feel you clenching.” he drags his fingers out slowly, and indeed, your pussy clenches around the digits like you never want them to leave. Spencer laughs, biting your earlobe as he transfers his ministrations to your clit. Quick, steady circles that have your thighs quivering.

“Reid, stop,” your plea is weak, pitiful.

“Tell me what you know.”

“No.”

He removes his hands. You choke back a sob, feeling your hair sticking to your forehead as you struggle to regain your senses. His next words are spoken from afar, and you realize he’s leaving again. “I’ll keep you here for days, if I have to, doll.” a threat. A promise.

Spencer Reid is a man of his word. As the door shuts, you realize you’ve condemned yourself to this fate.

[seasprincess]

Unsub!Spencer reid x reader

An au where Spencer Reid is like Joe goldberg from the series ‘You’

warnings-suggestive language, smut, use of y/n, mentions of drugging, spencer’s thoughts written in ‘’, misogyny linked through out, probably more

wc:2.4k

this is part 1

Spencer Reid is not a psycho. He’s not some creep like the other men in this world. No. He’s caring because he’s doing all this for you because he loves you. He wants to prove to you that he loves you.

Ever since that day you came into his bookstore looking out of place, gliding through the aisles like a goddamn angel. You were so beautiful as you looked over the books and actually taking the time to appreciate them. Most of the people who come in here don’t care about the books. Just here to take a quick selfie for their instagram to show that they are so mysterious and read. Of course Spencer hates that crowd. He’s always trying to avoid them as much as possible. He’d rather be reserved and by himself. But you, oh you. He wants to be around you.

And from the moment you walked up to the counter with the book ‘The narrative of John Smith’ he knew you were made for him. Sent to him by whatever god or angel that is watching over him. A blessing.

You both chatted about the author, you actually knew the author. Spencer couldn’t stop watching you. Watching the way your hair falls so perfectly as you laugh at one of his stupid jokes that would usually earn some weird looks. But you understood the joke. ‘Oh you are perfect.’ One of his thoughts.

And you flirted with him. He knows you flirted with him. He’s not crazy. He knows he’s not crazy. He’s a man in love that will do whatever he needs to to show you. To show you you are his and he is yours.

He’s not confident enough to outright ask you for your number. The whole idea to him is forehand and terrifying.

But when you got out your bank card to pay his eyes flickered down to see your name. And the stuff he can find with just a name.

Of course he researched you when he got home. He isn’t a fan of social media. Why would someone want to showcase a fake life to a bunch of followers that they didn’t even know? The whole idea was just not appealing to him. But he is thankful that it is too you.

He can find out so much about you. All the embarrassing college memories, all the things you like, what you did on the 21st of May five years ago. Not that he will probably need that information but he can always ask you about the family holiday you went on.

He found out your relationships with your family, your friends, where you liked to hang out with said ‘friends’. He knows all about them too, and he can tell it’s not your crowd. You’re a girl who likes books, likes to write, likes dorky little things. And they. Well they’re just loud mouthed rich party girls who are certainly not good enough. But you have to fit in. You think you have to lower yourself to fit in with them. ‘Oh Y/n, you don’t have to be different with me. You can be yourself with me.’

Your social media portrays different sides of you. Facebook isn't as active as the others. You’re gen z of course it wouldn’t be. But instagram? Oh he’s had fun with your instagram.

A bikini photo of you that you posted in 2021. You look so beautiful he can’t stop staring. His eyes roaming all over your curves and your tits. Oh your tits. He’s a fan to say the least. The thoughts he’s had about them.

Spencer can’t help but get hard as he looks at it. He just can’t stop looking at you and all your photos. Who needs porn when he can stare at photos of you and use that imagination of his?

He usually ends up here. Sat at his desk staring at his laptop screen. stroking his cock as he imagines you kissing him, sinking down on him as you moan his name.

It’s not weird. He’s not weird. He’s your soulmate.

Spencer stands by a tree, trying to appear as normal as possible. His hat and dark clothes allowing him to blend in. He’s trying to make his presence minimal as he looks through the windows. He knows this is okay for him to do, but if you or someone else saw. No one would understand that he’s doing it because he loves you.

It’s late. The sky dark and filled with stars. If only you could properly see them without all this air pollution. But that’s a rant that Spencer will just have to go on another day.

There’s a light. It is a distant street light. Of course it’s blinking every so often. He lives in one of the most famous cities in the world, the big apple, but they can’t afford street lamps that actually work. ‘Typical.’ He thinks to himself before sighing. But all his annoyance melts away as he sees you.

Spencer’s eyes are locked on you as he watches you walk around your apartment in just an oversized shirt and panties.

‘Oh come on Y/n. Walking around in that with the curtains open? Any creep could be watching you. You’re lucky I’m here.’ Spencer thinks to himself. Eyes scanning for anybody that appears to be a threat to you. But all there is is no one. Just you and him. You, and him.

Spencer’s watches as you get changed. Into some small dress that he is definitely going to have to fight some men away from you. ‘Oh you don’t make things easy for me, do you love?’

You’re going out. He can guess that much. The make up, the outfit. You’re going clubbing.

Spencer is not a fan of clubbing the same way he is not a fan of social media. He thinks it’s all stupid. Why would anybody want to be up close and personal with a bunch of sweaty strangers who are dancing like imbeciles. No. It’s not his scene. But if you’re going. So is he. I mean he can’t let you go to one of the places many people are attacked at alone can he? As your soulmate he has to protect you, to watch you. Keep you safe. Safe from the world he knows is willing to hurt you.

He’s snapped out of his thoughts as he hears the door slam shut. His gaze once again falling onto you and how good you looked. The way your breasts are on show from the low cut in the dress. Oh he’s definitely going to be using his eidetic memory to recall this image when he’s alone later. The way they bounce up and down as you walk down the stairs towards what he can only presume is an uber.

Looks like Spencer is going clubbing.

The music is pounding, lights all around the room that would give any regular person a headache. And they have. Spencer.

He’s sat in a corner, out of the way of everyone. He does not want to interact with people. He’s only here to protect you. To watch you.

The heat of the place giving him slight discomfort, he’s not exactly dressed for this place. No, he’s dressed to blend in to the streets of New york. To keep himself warm in the night breeze and not to be in some place that quite frankly might be his hell. ‘Oh Y/n, the things i’m going to have to do for you.’

He watches you dance. Watching how you move so easily and still look so fucking attractive. He knows if he tried he’d look like an idiot. He’d end up embarrassing himself and most likely falling over.

But you. Oh you move so effortlessly he’s actually getting lost in the way you move.

The way you’re laughing and smiling with your friends. He can’t wait to be the one to make you laugh like that. Laugh the same way you did at his stupid joke. He’s never felt love like this. He’s never felt his heart swell and feel so full the way it does when he looks at you. You’re so-

‘Hang on. Who’s this?’ Spencer watches as some guy comes up to you. It doesn’t take a genius to see he’s flirting with you. He’s the opposite of Spencer, all muscular and probably can’t tell his left from his right. And he’s definitely a dick. Spencer can tell he’s a dick. That stupid smile, that look in-

‘Are you flirting too?’ Spencer’s eyes narrowed as he watched your hands on this guy's arm. Why is your hand on his arm?

Maybe you’re just being nice. Maybe you’re just trying to be polite. He can only hope.

If looks could kill, this jock would be 20 feet in the ground and have died a horrific death.

Spencer has been staring him down for the past thirty minutes. Watching you two talk, dance and get way too handsy for his liking. He hates having to see another guy touch you. Only he should touch you like that. He’s actually radiating jealousy. His whole body can feel it. Anger pumping through his veins. He has to sort this out right? He has to stop this guy from taking advantage of you.

Spencer watches you like a hawk as you head off to what he can presume is the bathroom. So as you leave his sight for the first time this evening his eyes fall upon the jerk standing at the bar. Ordering drinks for the pair of you.

Of course he orders the cheapest there is for you.

‘Y/n you deserve so much better than this.’

The guy is joined by some friends, all greeting each other the typical frat boy way even if they are in their late twenties. Morons.

Spencer glides through the crowd. Not wanting to draw attention to himself. He just wants to listen to this douchebag's conversation with his so-called ‘bros’.

“Dude for real she’s all over me. I’m so getting pussy tonight!” He exclaims to his friends which of course doesn’t sit well with Spencer. You’re so much more than a fuck. You’re a smart, talented, beautiful woman who deserves nothing but the best. He knows about your exs, having stalked their socials to make sure he’s perfect for you. That he’s nothing like them. Not that he is anyway. God he has multiple PhDs and they were lucky enough to have even got into college with their grades.

As you return from the bathroom and his frat bros disappear into the club somewhere he decides enough is enough.

This guy is not touching you. This waste of air is not going anywhere near his girl. His soulmate.

“I’m just gonna go piss I’ll meet you outside.” Frat boy says before heading off. Leaving you to make your own way outside. You look uncomfortable, he knows you’re uncomfortable. So he’s going to save you.

He’s going to save you from a night of regret.

Before he can think anymore Spencer follows the guy, following him into the bathroom before he ‘accidentally’ bumps into him.

“Oh man, I’m sorry.” Spencer says before looking at the guy. His chest covered in the liquid from Spencer’s drink.

“You should watch where you’re going bro.” He’s not pleased to say the least. I mean who would be if they’ve just been covered in alcohol?

Spencer scans his surroundings like some spy as his hand slips into his pocket. All the stalls are empty, it’s just them. Him and his current number one enemy.

“Yeah absolutely.” Spencer’s eyes flick back to the guy. Scanning them for a moment before deciding to waste no more time.

He pulls out a needle and stabs him in the neck, quick and fast. The guy can’t even cry out or defend himself before it takes effect. Slowing down everything in his body.

Spencer has to hold him up as he guides him back out and through the crowd. To anybody looking it will look like two guys and one of them has drank way too much.

He has to chuckle and make light conversation with all the clubbers which does not please him but does help his facade.

The cold air hits both of their faces as they exit the building, having to go through a different exit to not be seen but you.

But now he faces another problem.

He has a practically unconscious mumbling man hanging off his arm. The lengths he’s going to go for you apparently have no line he won’t cross.

But to avoid this asshole saying anything when he’s back to consciousness. He has two options.

Kill him, kidnap him.

And seeing as you’re right round the corner waiting for a man that is never going to come. He decides that he can’t miss this opportunity.

He didn’t like killing him. No. It wasn’t enjoyable. But it had to be done. The man was a misogynistic prick. Who was also carrying drugs. Drugs he may have put in your drink. So Spencer is helping out really. One less prick.

As he was a bit pushed for time and in an alley he had to be quick. Stabbing him repeatedly, making sure to not leave any fingerprints and that no cameras were there. Good job Spencer is a smart man and enjoys crime shows.

His disposal wasn’t great either. But he didn’t have many options.

So a bin will have to do. Worst comes to worst he’ll have to come back and move the prick. This guy is just causing issues like he did when he was alive.

But right now all he needs to do is go find you.

As he turned the corner he had seen you. Poor you waiting for that guy to come meet you.

‘You look so good Y/n. You should be waiting for me. Matter of fact I’d never let you wait.’

Spencer’s having to sike himself up to go talk to you. He has a habit of embarrassing himself and he really didn’t want to do that with you. He refuses to do that with you. But the way you two were in the shop. It was so comfortable. So…right.

He had finally reached the stage of being able to head towards you. The nerves will never leave but this is the calmest he thinks he’s going to get.

His feet move before his head. Walking towards you. Palms sweating. Heart pounding.

But before he can reach you, you slip away. Getting in a taxi.

You’re out of his reach and gone.

He’ll just have to wait.

a/n: this is a different style of writing that i’m not sure if i like it. Part 2 will be coming soon.

[goorgeousz]

Hi. Can you please write a story where Spencer Reid is an unsub.? And he doesn't get caught, but he tells himself after a couple of years, like 20? Where is Reid the most wanted criminal? But no one knows when Reid is that Criminal.? He terrorizes everyone. And kills a lot of people? In all kinds of ways, but no one knows he's an Unsub?

accessory to murder | spencer reid

accessory to murder | spencer reid

pairing: unsub!spencer reid x female!reader

summary: someone kills your abusive ex and the bau comes to interrogate you. little did they know they were hunting one of their own.

content/tw: domestic violence (r and ex), mentions of shooting (not graphic), unsub!reid, hospital setting

word count: 2.3k

a/n: i don’t know if that’s what you had in mind, i couldn’t fit the 20 years in it, but in this context spencer doesn’t get caught! I hope you enjoy it, i’m sorry if it’s not too elaborated, that’s all i could come up with!! anyways, thank you for your request, it was definitely out of my comfort zone and i liked it!! my requests and dms are open <3

masterlist

dividers by @cursed-carmine

People always talk about that moment after a tragedy, when you first wake up and your brain hasn't fully woken up  yet, and for the first seconds of the morning you’re peaceful. That 10 seconds-long bliss is the only thing keeping you sane, because as soon as the fogness of your brain wears itself off, the memories come crashing down on you like a tsunami. And you spend the rest of your life trying to chase that little moment, clinging into it for dear life, until the state of consciousness stops feeling like drowning in plain air.

So, the first 10 seconds you wake up that morning feel like a dream. Your body is stiff from sleeping on your back for hours, the lights being too bright for you to keep your lights open, so you blink a few times for your retinas to get used to it. 

Until you blink many times and it's still not enough, so you slowly open your eyes to realize that the lights are indeed too strong, the white ceiling (that’s certainly not your room) reflecting the already too bright led lights. Then you hear beeping sounds just on your left, and that obnoxious smell of alcohol, plastic and metal that you hate so much fill your senses, and that’s when you realize you’re in a hospital.

And just like that, bliss is over: you’re awake.

Luckily, you don’t stay too long watching replaying those memories on your head, because your room was immediately surrounded by nurses and doctors, testing your vitals and asking questions you weren’t even ready to answer.

As soon as the exams were done and it turned out you were completely fine (very inaccurately, by the way), the head doctor responsible for you warned that the FBI was there, asking if you were ready to talk. Since you had nothing to do but to mourn the past events, you told him yes.

The room was empty for less than 10 seconds, because right then you heard a knock and then three agents walked in. Two women, and a man. You examined their faces as the beautiful blonde introduced them.

“Hi, we’re with the B.A.U. You can call me JJ,” she pointed to the brunette behind her “This is SSA Emily Prentiss and he’s is Doctor…”

Your eyes followed her fingers, widening at the size of the man you’ve been crushing for the past months. He’s a customer at the library you work at, and you bonded by your mutual interest in mythology. You were aware he worked at the FBI, since he always stopped by at ungodly hours, sat on one of the empty tables (usually all of them), ordered two coffees (one for you, always) and told you all the interesting details of his last case.

“Spencer!” you interrupted, relief falling over you from seeing one familiar face.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked, his big brown eyes scanning you. You hated that you didn’t know how you looked, hoping it wasn’t too messed up.

“I’ve been better.” you managed, your voice still hoarse from sleep.

“Do you remember you got here?”

You pressed your lips together “Not really. I’m sorry.”

Spencer gave you a weak smile, his cheeks blushed “I found you. The lights were still on so I thought you were there. That’s when I found you.” his face had an apology all over it “I’m so sorry this happened to you.” 

Not being ready to face the emotional repercussions of what just happened, you chose to ignore the last bit. “You came to visit me?”

Somehow he got even shyer, nodding towards the table close to the widow. That’s when you first saw it: a water glass with a bouquet full of lilies and baby breaths, wrapped in what seemed to be a journal. It was roughly done, wrapped with a shoelace, with crossword puzzles all over the paper. You realized he did it for you.

“Perfect timing, right?” he joked, his tone as self-deprecating as his expression.

“Spencer…” you cooed, your heart aching on your chest. It was all you ever wanted, but now that pretty dream of yours turned into a nightmare.

“We’re here to ask a few questions, if you don’t mind.” JJ chimed in, seemingly embarrassed to ruin the moment but also wanting to get this over with “It will be quick, anything you say will be helpful.” she promised, apologetic.

You nodded, sitting up properly. Emily and JJ started asking you about last night: what you were doing there, time wise, what your ex was doing there, did you fight often, if you remembered hearing anything or noticing something weird. There wasn’t much you could do, but you answered all of the questions to the best of your ability. Spencer stayed there, explaining the procedure and the nature of the questions, calming you down immediately. His presence was comforting, it took the darkness of it all (if that was even possible).

“That was very helpful.” Emily thanked, smiling warmly at you “Do you mind doing a cognitive? Sometimes your subconscious picks up on more than you realize, and every little detail can help us build the profile to catch who did this to you.”

Spencer chimed in, explaining how it was done and the reasoning behind it, calming your nerves. You thanked him with a nod, agreeing to help.

You closed your eyes.

“Okay, walk us through that night. The last customer left, what time was it?” you heard JJ’s calming voice. You rested your head back on the pillow and sighed, rewatching the scene unfolding in your mind.

“It was almost nine. I remember looking at the clock and thinking I had fifteen minutes to waste before my snack time. I always have a snack at nine. The library was empty, so I picked up my phone to see if there were any texts.” you start to shake a little, remembering how it all happened “And then there were over thirty texts from him, from my ex. I started to read them, but halfway through it he barged in.”

“You saw him walking in? Was he alone?” JJ asked.

“No. I didn’t see him, you can’t see the front door from the cashier, I was there. I heard the bell ringing, and his footsteps. And he started yelling. I didn’t hear anyone else. He found me and started yelling.”

“Do you remember what he was yelling about?” you frowned.

“He started accusing me of being with someone else. He tried to grab my phone from me, I tucked it into the vault under the counter before he could reach it. I explained that I was alone, I was working. We had a fight because he always tried to control me, like we’re still together. But we’re not. For over a year now.” you explain, your voice raising.

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, you’re safe now. I’m right here. We’re right here. Me, Agent Prentiss, Doct… Spencer.” her voice coached you, and your breathing slowly returned to normal.

“How long did it go on?” Emily asked when you assured you were ready to keep going.

“I don’t know. Probably an hour, or more. I managed to calm him down, but then when I told him there wasn’t going back, he freaked out.”

“Wait. What wasn’t going back?” JJ asked.

“Us. Me and him. He insists that we get back together, and everytime I’m not in a screaming match with him he thinks I’m giving up and we’re back together.”

“Okay, now we need you to walk us through what happened when he got shot. Can you do that?” you gulped at Emily’s words.

“Y-yeah. I think I can.”

“Perfect. Remember, we’re here. Where were you then?”

“We were close to a shelf. We were sitting on one of the tables, the one closer to the counter. He stood up and started throwing things around. Books, chairs, whatever he could reach. I tried to stop him. I know better than to get physical with him, but he did that before and it cost me my two last jobs. I couldn’t let it happen to him either, so I just grabbed him. We started to shove each other, until he shoved me so hard that I stumbled on the chair. I didn’t fall, but it hurt.”

“So those bruises on your shoulders, arms and lower back are from him? Your ex?” JJ asked, her voice showing confused.

“Yes. At least for what I can remember. Then he advanced towards me again, but before he could do anything… he got shot. Straight to the heart.”

“Wait, can we go back for a second? Did you hear or see anything weird before the shot? He was walking towards you, but did you notice the pattern? Maybe a light switching off or on, a sound…”

“Yes. He was angry, his face was red. But then he saw something, it was behind me I think. He looked annoyed, and then scared. It was too fast, I barely noticed the change. I was too focused on stepping back, I only realized he wasn’t looking at me because he stopped on his track.”

“The look on his face…”

You started shaking your head, tears falling down your closed eyes. You didn’t want to remember it, his expression. Bare, naked fear. Red eyes widened, it was a fraction of a second, but you saw it. Everything happened so fast.

“Did you see the look on his face? This is very important. Do you think he recognized the person who shot him?” JJ kept going, her voice urgent. Your body was shaking completely.

“No, he didn’t. It didn’t look like it.”

“Okay, we’re almost there. You’re doing great.” Spencer acknowledged it, his voice soothing your nerves. You breathed deeply between cries, trying to steady yourself.

“After he was shot, do you remember anything?” Emily tried, her voice close to you.

“No, I… I watched him fall, the blood… Everywhere. I felt it splashing on me. I stumbled back, I couldn’t see anything. So many tears.” and it clicked to you right then.

The memories came rushing to your mind, it was too fast. You didn’t see anything, you only listened to your own sobbings, and footsteps behind you. You didn’t register them at first, but then you felt it.

The smell. The scent. That one perfume you know so well. Its strong scent, woody and spicy. You recognized it – him – from his scent alone. You didn’t even need to see him. The bell rang, that perfume filled your nostrils and without a beat, four seconds later, he was there, greeting you with a warm smile and a shy wave.

Your eyes shot open, wide, you stared at your hands.

“What? Did you remember something?” JJ insisted.

“No, no. I couldn’t see, and immediately after I couldn’t breathe. It smelled sweet, I tried to fight it but I couldn’t. I can’t…”

“Okay, that’s perfect. You did great.”

“Yes, thank you!” JJ added, both girls with sorrow smiles on their faces “Now get some rest, okay? Spence, we’ll wait for you outside.”

“Thanks.” he said, nodding. Emily and JJ walked out of the room, not before squeezing your hand in empathy.

Even after they left, you didn’t tear your gaze away from your blanket. You felt his eyes on you, Spencer was on your right, a little further back on the room. He had his arms crossed by his chest, his lean torso leaning against the widows. His gaze pierced you, and you wanted to look at him. To see his expression. Did he realize you recognized him? Did he realize you lied? Why did you, in the first place?

You were still trying to wrap your head around it when he moved. He walked closer, his steps deliberated and slow. You should’ve yelled, should’ve called someone. Should’ve pressed that damn red button on your left. But you didn’t. 

Instead you closed your eyes and let the addictive scene of his perfume invade your nostrils, the very same one you smelled last night before you passed out on his arms. You should’ve told them: you know he did it. Even if you didn’t feel it, his perfume. He touched you with care, with passion. He held your waist, only applying enough pressure to keep you from moving away from his grip, holding the handkerchief against your mouth and nose. He cared, you could feel it. You could feel it those past few months, you could feel it last night, you could feel it now.

Spencer stopped right on your side, closer to you than he had been since he got there. He leaned in, you could feel his presence close to you.

You thought he would finish the job right there, maybe a gun, maybe your pillow, maybe another drug. He was smart, he could pull something off. You also thought he would explain himself, deny it all or even ask you to lie for him.

Although in all honesty, he didn’t have to. Because you did it all by yourself. You willingly become an accessory to murder, and there wasn’t turning back. Of course, you could explain it. You could call the cops — hell, you could call the FBI — and say that you didn’t want to say anything because he made you nervous. You would get yourself out of this mess. But you wouldn’t. Deep down you knew, you made your decision. You chose your side.

And he knew it too, because before he left the room with an evil smirk and his hands in his pockets, he whispered only one thing to you — as if you weren’t completely alone in a room with a killer — kissing your forehead afterwards like it was nothing.

“Good girl.”