fxrever23

[fxrever23]

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

Just One Night

| summary: He only shows up when red kryptonite hits. And when it does, he finds her. Every time. | word count: 2029 | warnings: red!k!clark, tension, suggestive content, semi proofread |

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He knew he shouldn't have. He moved before his thoughts could catch up. When he slipped that red ruby ring on, he was gone. Any logical thinking disappeared. Clark needed a moment of release — to not be afraid.

He wasn't Clark Kent.

Not now.

Kal didn't think — he acted. He moved through Smallville like a ghost with fists, all fire behind his eyes with a cruel smile on his lips. Every suppressed feeling, every unspoken want, every carefully buried desire Clark buried beneath the surface, Kal wore it like a second skin.

And tonight, for once, he would have her.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

She felt him before she saw him. Life the air shifted just slightly.

Then the knock came. Low. Slow. Measured. It wasn't a request to be let in. Her breath caught. She didn't move. She didn't need to. She already knew.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

Again. And again. Like he was counting down her resistance. And God help her — she wasn't sure she wanted to resist this time.

"Clark." the door swung open. For a moment, she stood still, stunned. This wasn't Clark. No. No, she knew that look.

Clark leaned against the doorframe, a lazy grin curling on his lips, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world. There was a glint in his eyes that didn’t belong to the boy who once apologized for stepping too close.

And she hated — hated — how well that damned leather jacket suited him.

"Not even a hello?" he asked, voice smooth like water dripping down glass. He stepped forward. She didn't move.

He didn't wait for an invitation.

"You shouldn't be here." she kept her voice steady, yet it did nothing to shield the tremor in her body.

He hummed. "You always say that," Kal circled her like prey, his eyes once filled with warmth now darker — hungrier. "And yet, here you are. Door unlocked, lights on. Waiting."

"Tell me to leave." he stopped behind her. His words were a command, as if he were expecting her to listen. He leaned down, his breath brushing over her ear. "And I'll listen."

She didn't. Couldn't.

Not because she was afraid. But because she wasn't

And that terrified her more.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

Part II?

[fxrever23]

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

Yours, Eventually

| summary: She told him not to tell anyone—or she'd kill again. | word count: 2077 | warnings: dark themes, murder, obsession |

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He found the first letter on his desk, folded neatly into a square. No envelope. No fingerprints. Just his name, written in script.

“Dr. Reid, it’s not every day you catch the attention of someone like me. But I’m fascinated — by your work, your words, the way you never blink when talking about death. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful."

"If you tell anyone about this letter, I’ll kill again."

It was signed: “Yours, eventually.”

He told no one.

But he read it again that night. And again the next.

The second letter came a week later. This time, tucked inside a first edition of Crime and Punishment, left on the table at a cafe three blocks from Quantico. He hadn’t been followed — he knew he hadn’t.

The letter read: “You're more Raskolnikov than you think. Brilliant minds always get away with murder. Unless they're too soft. Are you soft, Spencer?"

He gripped the paper tighter than he meant to. The paper wrinkled.

He kept the letters in a locked drawer, though some nights they stayed on his desk, next to the case files that blurred in his vision.

He told himself he wasn’t afraid.

That fascination wasn't mutual.

He lied.

↻ ◁ II ▷ ↺

“They're escalating,” Prentiss muttered, flipping through crime scene photos. “The violence is more precise now. Like it’s… practiced.”

“Because it is,” Spencer said, eyes still on the board. “She’s experimenting with ligature bruising to see how long it takes someone to pass out without dying.”

Silence.

Hotch turned slowly. “That… wasn’t in the autopsy report.”

Morgan raised a brow. “And it sure as hell wasn’t in the crime scene notes.”

Spencer blinked. The room tilted.

“I—just meant theoretically,” he said quickly. “It’s something I read. In a case study.”

Rossi tilted his head, narrowing his eyes. “Funny. You used the word she.”

He didn’t respond.

Later, alone at his desk, he found the third letter tucked under his keyboard.

“You slipped, didn’t you?” “Careful, Spencer. If you give them my name, I’ll give them yours.”

“But for now… I’m proud of you.”

A kiss print in dark red smudged the paper. His hands shook.

Not with fear. With anticipation.

[fxrever23]

✧･ﾟ:* 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒎𝒆 *:･ﾟ✧

a name wrapped in velvet and thorns.name: echo

age: seventeen (november born. cold hands, warm rage.)

pronouns: she/her

mbti: infp-t — the dreamer with a dagger

zodiac: scorpio☽ ✦ vibes — writes like she’s unraveling

— carries silence like a sword

— hopeless romantic with commitment issues

— raised by books, built by ghosts

✦ currently watching: smallville, arcane (always), criminal minds

reading: your mind

writing: love letters disguised as breakdowns

listening: jazz, rain, and that one song that ruins you

✦ obsessions — lipstick-stained coffee cups

— tragic characters who never ask for help

— mirrors in dark rooms

— soft sweaters & sharper tongues

— the line between love and ruin “i don’t want to be understood. i want to be felt.”

⛧ 𝓫𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓮𝓼 ⛧ for your eyes, not your fingers.

✧ my writing is personal — do not repost, plagiarize, or claim as your own. ever.

✧ no AI use on my content. don’t feed it to bots.

✧ don’t edit, translate, or adapt my stories without permission.

✧ no unsolicited critiques. this isn’t a workshop — it’s a diary with teeth.

✧ you’re welcome to reblog with love. leave a kind comment if it moved you.

✧ if something triggers you, feel free to scroll away. i always tag sensitive content.

✧ respect the characters and ships i write — even the dark or messy ones.

“i write to survive. please treat my survival with care.”