DISCLAIMERS: the works here are all regarding CRIMINAL MINDS; all contain smut as of now and are all x fem!oc. I plan to make it more diverse in the future, so stick along ;)
i now take requests for anything criminal minds related ! if they're requests they'll be x reader fics, unlike the other ones where it's x oc. anything your mind would like, gender wise or theme wise (i'd prefer spencer reid and aaron hotchner requests tho). the more complex the description the better. whether it be angst, fluff or smut, if I like i'll do it for ya.
✦SERIES
⌜Spencer Reid⌟
↝ pick your poison, babe (i'm poison either way) - masterlist (4/13) - current fic
Spencer tries and fails to escape the looming present of a serial killer, one that seems to be way too into him. Surprisingly, he ends up liking her more than he should, but because he can't show that, things get... heated.
↝ crashing into him (tonight) - masterlist(2/5)
As much as Hailey tries to force herself to dislike Spencer like he dislikes her, it never quite works out. When they have to share a bed for one night... their true feelings are somewhat revealed.
✦ONE-SHOTS
⌜Spencer Reid⌟
↝ dig me out (of) my grave
Charlotte and Spencer have a massive crush on each other. It all culminates as Charlotte is trying to forget one particularly hard mission. Things get quite heated.
Very angst, very sweet and very smut-y, would reccommend.
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pick your poison, babe (i'm poison either way) - chapter five
MASTERLIST
ao3 link <---
Summary: what's the genesis of a serial killer? what can make someone turn to such extremes?
Tags: unsub!original character, enemies to lovers, serial killers, dubious morality, angst, violence, fighting, (light) blood kink, smut, hate sex, humor, enemies with benefits, canon-typical violence, love/hate, s4!spencer reid, oc is kinda insane and kind of a stalker but spencer is into it, fluff, forbidden romance, tbd...
chapter trigger warnings: detailed murder, internalized misogyny, attempted sexual assault, PTSD symptoms, dating a minor (like 16 and 22).
(heavily lore based chapter and potentially triggering, but i really love it <3)
words: 6.3k
Chapter five: Genesis
(October 1998)
The world looked more colorful in the 90s, at least what Maxine could remember of it.
Her father had been long gone already since she was 11 years old and the memories from before were blurry flashes, coming to her whenever others mentioned their parents. Maybe she had been happy growing up, there were memories of sleeping in her parents’ bed, of how her mother’s feelings felt running through her hair, of some rare smiles from her father, of the doll house he had built for her when she was 6 years old. After he was gone, the sweet and happy had turned sour and so had her mother. She turned exceptionally sad — and it never quite went away. She spent all the time she wasn’t working in bed. Sometimes even the times she was supposed to be working; she had gotten fired quite a lot. Maxine was tired of fighting her mother over it, there was just no use.
So, she had been working part time at a coffee shop since she was 14 for all the stacks of bills bundling up on her kitchen table. It was hard to manage with school perhaps, but it wasn’t like anyone invited her to hang out anyway. Now that she was 16 she kept trying to apply for work at a bar, trying to fool them about their age, but it never quite worked. It’d just be more helpful because then she could work at night instead of right after school.
Maybe in a few months she’d look a bit older.
Even if she didn’t have any friends, she had her boyfriend — Harry. He was a bit older, had already been in college for a while, but it didn’t bother her, he was always pretty sweet, he always wanted the best for her. She had never dated or even considered any boy before him, and she was certain they’d be together forever. Like really. Forever.
“What do you wanna do after high school?” he asked.
She chuckled against his chest where she laid against. “The same as I do now. Help my mother pay the bills.”
“You can’t be with your mother forever.”
“I mean, I suppose I won’t after you and I get married, but… she can’t handle herself, I have to send money regardless.”
“Right,” he murmured.
“Why did you ask?”
“I don’t know, I was expecting you to answer like a college or something.”
“As pretty cool as that’d be, man, that’s not happening,” she replied with a laugh.
He kissed the top of her head. “Never say never.”
As sweet as his optimism was, she didn’t need debt for life nor did she want it. She prided herself in managing the bills, in having some leftover money every month, she didn’t like negative account numbers or owing shit to anyone.
“By the way, there’s this party at the campus happening tomorrow night. You wanna come?”
She raised her head to look at him. “Campus party? You never invite me to those.”
“I am now.”
“Your college is a 40 minute drive from here, how do you expect me to go? I still don’t have my license.”
“I’ll take you, obviously. But, honestly, Max, someone like you should’ve gotten it the second they turned 16.”
She bit down on her lower lip. “Don’t say that, you know I don’t like driving.”
“Because your daddy always promised you he’d teach ya how to drive? Get over it.”
Maxine felt a shiver at the back of her neck, nerves spicing up at his words. He was always so nice, she knew he didn’t mean to hurt her. If it did, it was because she was being too emotional about it all. “I’m not… I don’t give a shit about him.”
“Then, get your damn license, babe.” With that he gave her a kiss on the lips, pulling back with a smile that forced her to bury how upset she had gotten in that turn of a second. He was too good, it wasn’t fair.
“I will,” she whispered.
The party was loud, very similar to a high school one, but somehow nothing like one. The alcohol still felt illegal, yet not in a serious way anymore. No one was worried about their parents catching them or being gone for too long. They were sleeping on campus, they could go back whenever they wanted. Their parents knew nothing and there wasn’t any guilt to it for any of them.
The girls dressed with skirts way too short for how cold it was outside. They seemed more confident, more willing with the boys they flirted with. Some girls her age would still flush if a boy talked to them. God, even Maxine would if she didn’t have a boyfriend.
She had never seen Harry so… relaxed. His attention wasn’t only on her as usual, he had his friends to please, the guys he nodded at, the girls that smacked his shoulder. It wasn’t fair to be jealous, he’d never cheat on her, she knew it. He seemed truly happy and not just because of the way too many cups of beer he had. She liked seeing him all bright, cheeks flushed, he was cute. He held her hand tighter, introducing her to his friends. He pressed closer to her.
However, he didn’t use his brain much. He was so eager to please everyone, she ended up one against a handful.
His friends were calling him to play beer pong, they wanted to see him play because he was always so bad at it. It felt more like mean teasing than playful teasing to her, but he seemed to like it. To do so, he’d have to leave her there, standing alone, without his hand, without him leaning on her. She wasn’t a shy little princess, she wasn’t a child, but it was weird with so many older kids she didn’t know, all drunk while she wasn’t. She wasn’t scared of them, not all drunk men were assholes and there were some girls around, but something about it was scary. She didn’t make any sense and it didn’t make any sense.
“Harry, don’t leave me here,” she whispered. She hated how she sounded.
“C’mon, dude, is your girlfriend being a nag? Get over here!”
“She’s not a nag!” he yelled out.
She felt her lips form a pout. She wasn’t a child, why was she acting like one? “If you drink more, how will you take me home?” But, was she really? She was being rational, right? Then why didn’t he hear it?
“I can drive while a bit tipsy, babe.”
“Are you sure?”
He nodded. “Trust me. Besides, it’s just one game.”
Maxine licked her lips. Did she really want to be that girl? The nag? The one who didn’t let her boyfriend have fun? She wasn’t that girl and she didn’t want his friends to think she was one. “Alright.”
“Alright. You sure?”
“Yeah, you should have fun.”
He smiled at her and leaned in to kiss her on the lips. She could smell and taste the alcohol on his mouth. “You’re the best girlfriend ever. God, I might just marry you.”
Maxine flushed, looking down. “Go.”
“Just stay here with Jackie.”
Maxine glanced at Jackie, the black girl who seemed to be a really close friend of Harry. She’d be jealous if it wasn’t for her boyfriend — Tyler — who had been attached at her hip the entire night. Jackie sent her a short smile and Tyler sipped on the red cup as he stared at the game about to start. She seemed sweet, even nice, but Tyler was a bit scary with all the tattoos on his arms and nearly black eyes that matched his hair.
“Jackie, don't let her out of your sight. Promise?”
She put her middle finger over her pointer finger, showing them to him as a sign of a promise.
“You're the best friend ever,” he shouted, already running over to the table.
Even though he said it’d be one game, he was already on the third one, desperately trying to show he wasn’t a loser. He had lost twice, regardless. Some other friend of his had joined him so they could play in pairs and it was going slightly better. He had looked at her throughout the first game, but after the start of the second he didn’t look her way, not even once. She swallowed down her feelings. She wasn’t a nag.
Jackie and Tyler kept making out next to her, his hands flying places and her smacking him because they were in public. His lips were stained from her red lipstick, but he didn’t seem to care. Both of them kept drinking more and more cups which made them become more and more horny.
“C’mon, just five minutes.”
“I’m not gonna leave her here alone, Ty, she’s —” she cut herself off to get closer to him and whisper, “she’s 16.”
“Wait, what? Harry bagged a Sophomore?”
Maxine felt a newfound flush at her cheeks even with the uncomfortable warmness and sweatiness inside the house.
She slapped her boyfriend’s arms. “Don’t say it like it’s a good thing.”
“I'm not, it's just… wow, he's always going on about all that feminism bullshit and he's dating a teenager?”
Jackie rolled her eyes, probably used to worse coming out of Tyler's mouth.
Maxine didn't understand why he was being so weird, it wasn't like she was a child, he wasn't taking advantage of anything. She wasn't dumb.
“At least she's not 14 or something,” Jackie whispered.
He chuckled, hand squeezing at her side. Then, he looked back at the beer pong. “Looks like your boyfriend is losing, big time,” he commented, glancing at Maxine.
Harry was on his fourth cup, beer already dripping to his shirt. “Right.”
“He never wins at beer pong,” Jackie drawled, definitely too drunk as well.
“Another reason why we don't need to be watching this.”
She glared at him.
“C'mon, you she won't die if we leave her for ten minutes. She'll be fine, her boyfriend's right over there.”
The boyfriend who hadn’t looked at her for 40 minutes.
She tilted her head at him. God, she was actually considering it. “It’s not us leaving her here, it's me. I told him I'd stay here.”
“It's Harry, he doesn't get mad at shit.”
She sighed. “I don't know.
Tyler took her hesitation as a yes, grabbing her hand as he pulled her. “Like you said, not like she's 14, she can handle herself.”
Jackie chuckled. Before he could kiss her, she pulled him away. “Wait, Brad can keep her company.”
His glee faded slightly, he even widened his eyes slightly. “Jackie, you’re sure?”
“Yeah, he’s alone over there.”
“But, it’s Brad.”
“Her boyfriend’s right over there, he’s not stupid.”
Tyler seemed to gulp. Maxine had never seen him look so serious in those 2 hours she had been at the party. “If you say so.”
They both walked over to Brad and she saw them all look Maxine’s way. She gave an awkward wave, pressing her lips together. Brad nodded at them and they both ran up the stairs of that house like they were running from a bull.
Brad walked towards her. He didn’t look as scary as, say, Tyler. He was blonde, with blue eyes. But, he did look smug, very similar to the popular guys at her school. He probably had played football back when he was her age — which seemed to have been longer ago than most around there. He was in his mid 20s for sure. “Hey,” he greeted.
“Hey.”
“Never saw you around here. What's your name, princess?”
She smiled at him. “It's Maxine.”
“Odd name.”
“You’re Brad, right?”
He nodded.
“Seems fitting.”
“Why? ‘Cause I look like a jock?”
She grimaced, though he didn’t take it as an insult. “Slightly, yeah.”
Brad licked his lips and as he did so she noticed his eyes drifting down her body, slow enough to mean he wanted her to notice. Then, he turned around, looking over at the beer pong game. “Why are you here, then?”
Maxine tried to feel the overwhelming sadness and anxiety that had been pushing to make her cry in front of all those older people. “My boyfriend's playing.”
“Which one?”
She pointed at Harry.
He looked over there, nodding with a laugh. “The one losing? You gotta pick a better boyfriend, sweetheart.”
“Oh, do I now? And who would that be?”
Brad looked at her again. “Someone who wins every game.”
“Is that you?”
“C’mon, we should go outside. If your boyfriend’s ditching you for some shitty college game, you should ditch him too.”
“He’s not ditching me,” she mumbled, her arms wrapping around her body.
“He doesn’t seem too worried about you being here alone.”
She shrugged. “He’s having fun.”
“He could be having fun with you.”
His words nearly made her start crying, she felt her vision blur slightly. She turned away from Brad. “Sure, we can go outside.”
As they moved to walk outside, she kept glancing back, wondering if Harry would notice her leaving, but he didn’t seem to. She quickly cleaned the few tears that had come out before Brad could notice.
When they got outside, it was much more chilly and much more dark. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket.
“That isn’t good for you, did you know?”
“Yeah, that’s why I do it.”
She shook her head with a smile.
As nice as it was to catch some air, it wasn’t just the chills that made the hairs on her arms stand up. There was something wrong, with Brad and with herself. He didn’t look so nice anymore, the blue eyes had turned from attractive to predatory. All while he still smoked the damn cigarette. She kept cursing at herself, saying she was being stupid, that he wouldn’t do anything, not when he knew her boyfriend was inside.
She told herself she was overreacting. However, when the cigarette ended and he stomped on it, it didn’t seem that she was.
It wasn’t like Maxine was usually dumb, she didn’t trust just anyone, especially not random boys. She met a lot of people where she worked, a lot of stupid guys who asked for her number. She wondered if they knew her age if they wouldn’t be so blunt or gross, but maybe that was what got them going. She knew how to blow them off, and if not her coworkers did it for her. She never left work late and was always home safe and sound.
So, why the fuck had she gone otuside, pitch black, with Brad who had looked at her like she was a piece of meat? She hadn’t drunk anything.
As much as she could blame herself, she didn’t much when he had pressed her up against a tree outside, deep into a small forest inside the campus. She didn’t think about why she hadn’t been rational because she kept wondering what would get him to stop touching her.
“Brad, you know I have a boyfriend. C’mon.”
He pressed his lips to hers, as harshly as his hands gripped her hips.
She had thought he wouldn't try such a thing with her because she seemed smart. She seemed like a girl that knew he was full of bullshit. Yet, that didn’t mean much to him.
“Brad,” she mumbled against his lips. He didn’t pull back even though she wasn’t kissing him back. The panic started to actually set in when his fingers slid into the inside of her pants from the back. “Brad, stop, please.”
“Don’t be like that,” he finally spoke. He glared at her as if she was doing something to him, then he leaned in to kiss her neck, sucking at it in a way that hurt, not like Harry, that was for sure. Was she cheating on him even if she wasn’t kissing Brad back? She had gone outside willingly, she had known there was something weird with him. What could she even tell Harry? Would he think he was slut like the other girls in there? Would he leave her?
It all did seem like her fault because why wasn’t she trying to leave Brad? Why did she feel so still against the tree? Was she stupid?
Before he could unbutton her pants, there was a loud noise and suddenly Brad wasn't gripping her tight anymore, his hands weren't pushing up her shirt, trying to grasp at something other than her bare skin. He yelled, right against her ear as he fell over onto her.
She pushed him back, pressing herself closer against the wooden tree. He fell on the ground, gripping the back of his leg as he whimpered in pain.
When she looked up there was a guy, gun lowered, staring right at her. He was white, had long dark hair that stopped at his shoulders, some metal band t-shirt she recognised but never listened to, and a mouth piercing. For some reason, she didn’t feel too scared, it was like there was a vacancy of emotion inside her even with the grimmest scene of her life unfolding. “You're not from around here, are you?”
Maxine gulped, looking down at Brad. Should she just stay quiet? She didn’t want to say the wrong thing and be shot, that was for sure.
Brad came to his senses, turning around on the floor to stare at the guy that shot him. “Nutty Billy? What the fuck?”
He raised the gun at Brad, jaw clenching. “I just shot you and you’re still fucking calling me that.”
He forced a chuckle out of his chest, but it was clear he was nervous, only trying to take charge of the moment. “C’mon, man, I-I’m playing with you.”
“Were you playing with her too?” he asked, pointing at Maxine.
Brad glanced at her and back at Billy. “We were just having a good time. You know how girls are, they change their minds quickly.”
“Were you having a good time?” he asked, staring at Max.
She shook her head.
He smacked his lips. “Seems that you don’t know women as much as you think you do. In fact, I’d say those three girls that accused you of rape, but your dad managed to get the charges dropped would agree with her.”
And he was just at a party? No one cared to hang around him? No one cared she was talking to him?
“Those girls were sluts, you can’t rape a slut.”
Maxine gasped. What in the actual fuck?
Billy didn’t react at his comment which meant it wasn’t something out of character for him to say. “And what are you, then?”
Brad scoffed. He tried to get to his feet, but Billy kicked at his wounded leg, making him fall back with a pained moan.
“Stay.”
“What do you want from me, man? Are you their avenger or something?”
“Nah, I’m not some fucking avenger, just stumbled upon you two by accident. I'm gonna go shoot everyone inside.”
Maxine sighed in relief that he said everyone inside which would most likely not include her.
Brad widened his eyes at him. “What? Why the fuck would you do that, dude?”
“Because I want to — not without shooting you first, though.”
“Nu — Billy, don’t, man, they’re gonna catch you and they’re gonna arrest you. You’re going to be in prison for life, dude.”
He scoffed. “Even if I left now, you and your lawyer daddy would put me in prison for life.”
“No — no, we wouldn’t, I swear, I wouldn’t say a thing.”
“With a hole in your leg? You think I’m fucking dumb?”
He shook his head. Maxine could swear she saw tears start to slide down his cheeks. “Don’t kill us, please.”
“Us?” Maxine repeated. Both boys looked at her, surprised to see her talking. “He’s not gonna kill me. He’s gonna kill you and your gross friends, most likely because you treat him like shit.”
Billy gave her a look over as the words left her mouth. “How old are you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“16,” Brad answered.
He knew how old she was and was still trying to…
Billy nodded. “You’re my sister’s age. Is this what you’d do to my little sister, Brad?”
“What do you mean by ‘this’? If she wanted to kiss me, I’d kiss her back.”
“She’d never want to kiss you, same way she didn’t,” he said, pointing at Maxine.
“You don’t know shit, you’re just doing this because you hate me.”
“So, you weren’t about to rape her?” he questioned.
“What? No,” he shouted.
Maxine gulped. “Were you going to stop?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Billy scoffed. “Brad, you know lying to me or her won’t get you out of here alive. I’ve already decided your fate, you should just lay back and take it.”
“What the fuck, man?” he whined.
“Isn’t that what you told the other girls?”
He shook his head. “M-Max,” he stuttered, “you know this isn’t true. We were having a good time, you know I would’ve stopped. You can help me, you can talk to him, he seems to like you, just —”
Billy shot him on the chest.
Maxine flinched, watching as he started to quickly bleed out, blood pouring out of him onto the grass. Brad was still groaning on the floor, trying to speak but only blood coming out. It'd probably still be salvageable even if there was internal bleeding had anyone dialed 911. Or maybe it wasn’t, the only stuff she knew was from watching some random ER episodes. Even if they were accurate, she wouldn’t know.
Billy wasn’t yet done. Suddenly, he took out a knife from his pants. Somehow that was more scary than the gun, the damage felt more real. It wasn’t for her, though. He squatted down next to the body, lifting Brad’s shirt as he had surely done to many girls before.
“What are you doing?” Maxine asked.
He only laughed. “What he deserves.” He started carving into him, there were still twitches of his muscles, hands trying to reach to push Billy off, but he couldn’t.
‘S’
“Stay fucking still,” he ordered.
Not like it did much, Brad drifting off into another world, trying to survive even if it was inevitable that his heart would last beat on that exact spot. She had never witnessed anyone die, not even a pet as her parents always claimed to hate them. She didn’t know anyone who was dead, only people who were gone, alive and breathing, but not bothered with how she was doing. Maybe that in itself could be considered death — but, no, there was something creepier with having heard someone’s last words, the last spot they stared at, the last sounds they heard.
Brad wouldn’t just be the first person she had talked to that died, he was the first person she had ever watched die. It was something most people would never go through, something she certainly never wanted for herself. Sure, there had been times she had wished death upon people who were mean to her at school, times she had wished her mother would just die so she wouldn’t have to keep watching her suffer. None of it felt like a real threat because she’d never kill them, she didn’t have it in her.
‘L’
Maxine didn’t know how he carved so well, as if he had done it before. God, had he? Was she helping a serial killer? The answer to that seemed quite obvious since he was about to go inside that building and shoot everyone up. Even if he wasn’t one yet, he’d turn into one pretty soon and she’d know all about it.
‘U’
“Oh,” she let out as she finally understood what he was doing.
Once the ‘T’ had come, Brad stopped breathing.
Billy pulled back, staring into Brad’s lifeless, open eyes. “What a shame, I wanted him to see it.”
“Why did you do that?”
“It’s how he made the others feel, isn’t it? He should be branded just the same.”
Then, he carved some tinier letters, a ‘B’ and a ‘N’, most likely his initials.
“And, everyone will know I did it.”
Billy must have seen something in her eyes even though she wasn't aware of it because he laughed at her, wiping the knife on Brad’s shirt before storing it away. All she felt was a swelling inside her chest, something keeping all the emotions down, not even letting her cry. Everything felt like a movie, shots passing without her interference. She watched herself, Billy and Brad stand between those trees, but she wasn’t there. Though, she wasn’t sure if she allowed herself to feel anything that there would be even an ounce of pity towards Brad. At least, she wasn’t supposed to feel that way, right? So, she wouldn’t have.
“You should go,” he told her.
She opened her mouth to reply, but then he turned around, walking towards the house she and Brad had come out of. Someone had to have heard the gun on campus, but it seemed that no one inside did with how loud the music was. She saw the gun tucked under his pants, hidden from sight for anyone who saw him come in.
Maxine didn't understand what the fuck had just happened, but she did understand one thing. She needed to get out of there. She made a run for it, catching some late night bus that could take her close enough to home.
Whatever came after, she didn’t want to think about it. Whenever she’d see the news of the tragedy, she didn’t want to think about how she knew Brad wasn’t as innocent as the media would paint him to be. They would say he fought against Billy and that led to his destiny. They would say Billy was a loser, the typical profile of a school shooter, whatever that meant. They would say he was relentless and fucked up in the head. They would say he killed 14 people, of those her boyfriend included. They would say he shot himself before the police even got there. They would say he was a coward.
But, if he was such a bad person, why hadn’t he killed her?
If he was so bad, so unlike the normal people, the ones like her, why didn’t she feel bad? Why wasn’t she weeping for her boyfriend? Why would she only stare at a wall, replaying everything? Why did she dream of it all? Why did she dream of herself doing it?
He said she reminded him of his sister, but what if she reminded him of himself?
October 2008
It had been one whole week and she had managed to stay away from Spencer, tried to for once do the right thing, if it could be called that. However, every night she went out to some different club, trying to get the memory of him out of her mind. She’d eventually run out of good places to go to, but she didn’t want to think about that day. She’d deal with it when it happened.
One night she had left at the usual 3 am, yet something wasn’t right. There was a piercing noise at her left, far enough away that she could’ve ignored it, yet close enough that she couldn’t shake off the feeling something bad was happening.
There was an alley there, deep enough into the shadows that anyone passing by car wouldn’t be able to look into it. No rational person would go look there even if they heard a noise — especially if they heard a noise. But, she wasn’t very rational most times.
When she did look, her eyes widened as she pressed herself as close to the edge as possible, only the side of her face popping out. Two men were fighting, but it didn’t seem mutual, only one was getting punched, slammed against the brick wall as if he was nothing. He wasn’t fighting back and Maxine didn’t understand why.
Then, she did because the man took out something from his pocket and the guy punching him was yelling something instead, cut off when the other sliced his throat. He was covered up with a dark hoodie so Maxine couldn’t see his face.
Maxine put a hand over her mouth, gasping into it.
She had only witnessed two murders that weren’t hers in her entire life — the one at the college campus and the one happening right in front of her. It was hard not to be transported right to that moment, when she saw that boy she could hardly remember the name of — was it Brody, Carl, maybe Brad — taking his last breath. It gave her a different feeling than it did back then, there was an engulfing anxiety at every inch of her limbs. Back then, she hadn’t allowed herself to feel it, but now she was drunk and her nervous system was too worn out from burying shit down. She couldn’t dig another body in the graveyard, she had to stare at it.
She knew she had to be quiet, but all she wanted was to scream, fall down to the pavement in sobs. What was wrong with her? She had seen worse, had done worse even.
As the man fell down on the floor, lifeless or heading there, the other one squatted next to him. She watched him raise his shirt before starting to carve something into his chest. Was the universe playing with her? What even were the chances of that?
It would get even worse.
The man got up and Maxine turned towards the entrance of the club again where some other people were smoking. She waited some time, until the man came out of the alley, turning towards the left since he was most likely covered in blood. It was too dark outside for anyone to even catch a glimpse of him unless they looked his away.
Maxine waited some more, the smoke from the other people already irritating her lungs. As he got out of vision she turned towards the alley, running towards the body he had left.
It was clear he was dead, a wide eye expression that would spook anyone. She didn’t have to touch him, and certainly wouldn’t. He had left his shirt raised up and what he had carved made her stumble back into one of the brick walls of the alley.
What in the actual fuck?
It was her own initials.
It was F.R.
Maxine shook her head. There was no way someone tried to blame her for a murder, a random alley murder, a young man that didn’t even fit her MO. They wanted to show she was reckless, they wanted to prove what Spencer had been saying the FBI was waiting for. And, somehow they knew she’d be around because they did it closer to her than they probably expected.
They were making her seem fucking stupid.
Or maybe it was just a lousy copycat, that couldn’t even commit to the bit all the way. Either way, it’d bring more attention to her name than she had gotten in months. The letter hadn't been public, but the murder certainly would. It would screw her over.
God, what if Spencer thought she did it? He’d turn her in for sure. She didn’t want him to think she was coldblooded, she'd murder someone out of spite, she didn’t want his pretty eyes looking at her with more disdain than they already did.
No, she didn’t want any of that.
Maxine only had one option.
Spencer heard the sound of a notification coming from his phone. He rarely got any messages, mostly calls and it was to clock in earlier whenever they had a fresh new case or while they needed to communicate something while working cases. Since they were all at the BAU, it made no sense for it to be work related. So, he already had a feeling of who it could be.
He grabbed his phone, but before he lit up the screen he raised his head to have a quick look around. Everyone seemed to be focused on the files at their desks, eyes burning through the paper too loudly to hear what was going on with him.
The words on the screen were like a slap on the face and he fought hard not to throw his phone to the ground. It'd cause an unnecessary scene.
Jack (plumbler): hey, asshole, you up?
Spencer instead bit hard into his lower lip, staring at his phone that had been declared evidence many texts ago. Maybe if he turned it in then he’d still be safe, they wouldn’t question it too much.
He could say he was trying to lead Maxine — F.R. — on, trying to get more evidence of all the missing bodies, all the families that craved closure. He could hope she wouldn't tell about the — Of course, she would tell and he hated how that was now leverage she easily held, leverage he handed over to her.
Why had he even kissed her? He could excuse it the first time, but the second? He even felt like going further, but thankfully he snapped back into himself quick enough. None of it made sense, or it shouldn’t be able to make sense. He wasn't some horny teenager being guided by his hormones. Just the thought of it was unnatural to him. Still, he felt like one.
No one would know what he felt, though. It wasn't like there was absolutely no choice. He could still say it was for the case, that he kissed her to woo her, get her trust. Could he lie about it easily, though?
God, why and how was he thinking about it so selfishly? As if there were no lives at risk?
He looked down at the message again. His fingers were moving already, too fast for their own accord.
Spencer: Haven’t I told you before not to text me?
Not too original, but it'd have to do for future evidence. Also, he wasn’t sure he had ever actually said that.
Truth was, he needed to get a clear plan, to help them catch her, but only with the information they knew. How wouldn't it all circle back to him, anyway? If she was caught with the text messages he'd be in trouble. He'd have to lie regardless of what happened; he was preparing himself to. He knew he had to stand firm and be ready to excuse anything she’d throw at his face if — no, when she got caught.
Jack (plumbler): wow, coming in straight for the kill, hm? i’ll ignore that because I'm SUCH a nice person.
Spencer: What do you want?
Jack (plumber): i have some info for you.
Spencer: The only information I want from you, Maxine, is the location of all the dead victim bodies. If it’s not that, I do not care. Goodbye.
He did not even close his phone in spite of his words, he continued staring, awaiting the next message.
Jack (plumbler): gosh, you're so infuriating with your words, did you know that?
Spencer: If I'm so ‘infuriating’, stop messaging me.
Jack (plumbler): oh, you know i meant it in the hot way, not in the annoying way :)
Spencer blinked at the screen, feeling his cheeks heat up even if he didn't fully understand what she meant. How could one be infuriating in a hot way? That girl was insane, but what else did he expect from a serial killer. That was the issue, he kept forgetting he was talking to one.
Jack (plumbler): also you replied in less than 30 seconds, someone didn’t send that ‘goodbye’ from the heart, did they?
Spencer: Remember I will turn these messages in as evidence one day.
Jack (plumbler): why haven't you already?
Spencer sighed. At least, the dooming reality of it sent his flush away.
Spencer: Worry about your things, I worry about mine.
Jack (plumbler): I like it when you’re being assertive.
He paused. He wasn’t sure why he kept rereading the words as if the weight of them would get lighter. It was just a provocation, a way to get him to do what she wanted; he was fully aware of all of that. Some parts of him weren’t, though. The flush was creeping back against his will.
Spencer: Goodnight, Maxine. For real, this time.
Jack (plumbler): wait
Jack (plumbler): i have something to tell you and promise me you will take this seriously.
Spencer: I hardly doubt you're capable of seriousness yourself.
Jack (plumbler): no, i mean it, please spencer. just promise me
Spencer: I can't promise something I know nothing about.
Jack (plumber): … i know, but the promise is about you believing me. you know im not a liar.
He snorted. Right.
Jack (plumber): well, nevermind, scratch that. you know I'm not stupid so if you see i did anything stupid you know it wasn't me.
Spencer: I don't think you're stupid but you do plenty of stupid things.
Jack (plumber): not this… i promise you, not this.
Spencer: I don't understand what you're talking about.
Jack (plumber): you will and just remember what you know about me. please. they won't know but you do
Spencer shut off his phone. He didn't understand any of her ramblings and he wasn't sure why she wrote it without mentioning what it was. She didn't care for self preservation. Sure, she changed numbers, but she kept texting him anyway, it didn't do much. She was reckless. Too reckless.
“Reid,” JJ called.
He looked up. “Yeah?”
“We got a new lead on F.R., there’s a new body. Come to the conference room.”
pick your poison, babe (i'm poison either way) - chapter four
MASTERLIST
ao3 link <---
Summary: spencer goes home and finds "Francis" just like as he expected. another chance to turn her in or another chance to royally fuck up.
Tags: unsub!original character, enemies to lovers, serial killers, dubious morality, angst, violence, fighting, (light) blood kink, smut, hate sex, humor, enemies with benefits, canon-typical violence, love/hate, s4!spencer reid, oc is kinda insane and kind of a stalker but spencer is into it, fluff, forbidden romance, tbd...
chapter trigger warnings: none, i believe
words: 4.6k
Chapter four: Breaking and entering
The sound of keys jingling from outside the main door made her body stiffen in anticipation.
Frances had told herself as a preamble that she was done taking so many risks for the short lasting hit of adrenaline she craved. Actually, she had spent a whole week gripping every object extra tight as she cursed herself over what she had done. The rays of guilt shining on her were plenty and rationally she knew very well why they were necessary. To keep her away.
If she was a normal person, it’d be extremely easy. She came face to face with an FBI agent, it should scare most criminals away to another state or country. She wasn’t very well in the head, though.
She had gotten away on pure luck. Maybe on Spencer’s incompetence. Jacob knew it too and that’s why he kept side eyeing her anytime he felt the wheels in her brain were steering away from the most rational path. She wasn’t sure why she kept thinking it over as if there was any other way about it. Weighing the cons didn't make her any less aware of the pros; it served as a way to appease her guilt while she still committed acts not far from ones people in asylums had done.
Acts that had gotten her feet towards Spencer’s house, that made her text him again. There went the new number out the window. At first, she wasn’t even going to text him, but then she remembered his job, that he could be away from the state for a long time and she wouldn't even know it. She had to be sure he'd even be coming home.
She could pretend it was an accident all she wanted, but it had premeditated, she had planned how to break in. It felt like a bad idea in the same way it logically was one. But, it wasn't like any action had ever been logical throughout her process of getting closer to him. Although, it had felt slightly less insane than breaking and entering into someone's apartment, waiting for them. In specific, sitting on his couch — yes, the one inside his apartment — waiting for him to come home.
It was practically begging for him to catch her.
It had been three hours and she tried to keep herself unbored. She laid back on the couch horizontally, random book in hand, he had plenty of those. She wasn't sure if she was even truly reading it, but she was halfway done with it.
She left him unanswered on purpose, an impulse to get him there faster. Gladly, it had worked, he hadn't taken long getting home.
She kept the book in her hands, but kept her eyes attentively on the door. She had a gun at her waist, ready to be taken out when he got inside.
The key turned three times until he was pushing himself into his home. He quickly stepped inside and slammed the door shut behind himself, coming face to face with Francis who laid on his sofa as if she lived in the place.
He took her in, at first. Scanning her from head to toe as he got progressively more and more mad. His jaw clenched, muscle twitching as he glared at her. She couldn’t blame him; if she found someone had broken into her house she would murder them on the spot.
She stared up at him, lips stretching into a smile. Her expression was much different from his. “Honey, you're home.”
He blinked at her. “Francis…” he whispered, albeit his obvious anger, “what are you doing inside my house?”
Francis didn’t know what he could do in anger, but she didn’t think he’d hurt her, but he could do something stupid that could get her in trouble. Well, stupid for her, for him it’d be the right thing to do. So, she closed the book as she got up to a standing position. She threw it on the table at her left which made Spencer wince — cute. As his eyes snapped back to her, he noticed the hand she had behind her waist, locked on something he couldn’t see.
He instantly raised his hands before he even saw it. “Woah, what is that for?”
She could’ve pretended it wasn’t a gun, but she didn’t wish to play games. “You're surprised I have a gun?”
“No, I'm surprised you're inside my house pointing it at me.”
“Don’t worry, just wanna chat.” She took out the gun fast, pointing it at him.
He didn’t even flinch at her motion, too used to it and too busy wondering how to deescalate the situation. She knew the wheels in his brain were turning fast — and they turned faster than most people’s. “Does it have to be with a gun?”
Francis shrugged with a hum. “Don’t you agents love chatting with guns?”
“When it is required, but you’re not an agent.”
She scoffed, faking offense. “Excuse you, I do great work for the wellbeing of others.”
“You kill people, Francis.”
“So do cops and you know it.”
“You kill innocent people,” he reiterated.
“So do they.” She furrowed her eyebrows. “ Wait, innocent? Have you all not been thinking about me whatsoever? I thought you would’ve known by now the motive of my crimes. Are you not smart enough to figure it out?”
“Is that what you want? Recognition?”
“Recognition?” Her grip on the gun loosened as she thought his words over. It had never been about that, was that what they thought of her?
He used the moment to drift his hand towards his bag. He tried to make it seem an innocent gesture, yet it clearly wasn’t. His phone was most likely there.
She cocked her gun which halted his movements, eyes hard set on his. “Now, I don’t think we wanna do that, Reid. I thought we were having a good chat.”
Spencer gave her a look over once more as his hand slowly drifted towards his bag, His hand hovered, but he didn’t reach in. “You’re not going to shoot me.”
“What makes you so sure of that?” He didn’t look extremely sure, though, because he still didn’t reach into his bag freely.
“You wouldn’t have come into my home to shoot me, much less kill me.”
“Maybe I want to give an incentive for you guys to find my father.”
He glanced down.
“You are doing that, right?”
He looked back up, expression less readable. “I don’t need to answer you.”
“Oh, but don’t you love to talk?”
“You don’t know me. We’ve spent no more than fifteen minutes together.”
“And, what great minutes they were, don’t you think?”
Spencer sharply sucked in air through his mouth. She brought the painting of their moment in the alley to life, he wasn’t allowed to pretend it didn’t happen anymore. “I didn’t know who you were.”
She stepped closer. “Right. Now that you do, does it disgust you?”
“Of course,” he quickly replied.
“Are you giving me reasons to shoot you?”
“You’re not going to,” he said once more.
Francis gulped. She wasn’t weak, she could shoot him if needed. Why did his confrontation feel so weird, though? “Maybe not. But, I can hurt you in plenty of other ways.”
“I’m an FBI agent. You think I can’t fight you?”
Francis laughed. “You almost make it sound kinky, Dr. Reid.”
He rolled his eyes. “I ― certainly not.” There was some edge to his voice, slightly high pitched. He flushed easily, she liked that.
“Well, aren’t you boring?”
“Better boring than a mass killer, right?”
Francis stepped forward, gun still high in the air though her wrist was starting to strain. “Isn’t your job studying people like me? You must have a fascination with killers.”
He didn’t reply.
“God forbid I had to hear about murders everyday, I’d go insane.”
“You’re already insane,” he muttered. It had escaped his mouth, she knew it. He looked off to the side as someone did in shame.
“If I was, I would’ve just shot your leg because of that comment. In fact, I would’ve shot you right in that alley, left a message for the other agents.”
“And, yet you couldn’t. Why’s that?” he questioned, with an edge of provocation.
Thankfully, she wasn’t the only one caught in that trap. “Why haven’t you told them about me?”
“What makes you think I haven’t?”
She hadn’t met many agents throughout her life, but she wasn’t sure they’d stand like that in front of a serial killer or that they would’ve ever made out with her and then let her go away. “I’ll await my capture, then.”
He stepped towards her, eyes on the gun pointed at him. “Why are you here?”
“I told you, I wanna chat.”
He gestured at her with a shrug. “What about?”
“What are you doing about my note?”
“Lower the gun, I’ll tell you.”
She gripped the gun tighter. “No.”
“You don’t use guns a lot, do you?”
“What?”
“Your hand’s shaking and I know it’s not because you’re nervous. You’re not an anxious person. The real reason is you didn’t expect it to take much effort holding it up that high for so long.”
Francis lowered the gun, putting it in safety mode again before hooking it into her pants. She had to admit him observing her was kind of hot. “Is that what they pay you for?”
He took a deep breath before he spoke again. “They think you’re a man.”
She scoffed. “Let me guess, I flee the scene too soon?”
“Yes. And you use knives which means you have the strength to fight the bodies.”
“Well, obviously I’m not.”
“No, you are not.”
“What else?”
“For male serial killers, the craving is almost always sexual, but for female serial killers it’s more organized, charged by the thought of something they can gain. However, you kill them quite violently which is more in line with male killers which is why they think you’re a man. The swift kills are more in line with female killers and what makes them get away with it for so long.”
“And, why do you, Spencer Reid, think I’m so violent, then? Am I a psychopath?”
He stepped closer again, taking out his bag that he could place on the sofa now that he was right next to it. He ran a hand through his hair before he spoke again. “You like the spotlight — you carve your initials on the remains you leave behind which means you want credit, you want people to know you took those people’s lives. I believe you see it as justice and you want them to know you’re the perpetrator because if you show your face you’ll be arrested. Additionally, these men remind you of your father, likely have some skeletons in the closet even police can’t dig out.”
“Or they don’t want to talk about it publicly.”
He nodded. “Or that.”
The way he had spoken of her should’ve made her so unbelievably pissed, being read so easily as if her five years were nothing but an easy profile of a stereotypical killer, description of two paragraphs that easily fit in half a page. However, something about how he had thought about her made her heart pick up its pace. Had she lost her mind? “Is that why you’re not scared of me?” she asked, voice lower than before.
That broke his professional rambling, he looked to the side, cheeks pink. She thought she was insane, coming onto him unwanted; but his reactions showed her there was a part of him that wanted her there, that wasn’t in a rush to get her out. “I don’t think I fit your description, besides—” he cut himself off, eyes blinking as his lips formed a straight line.
“Besides?”
He eyed her. “You’re clearly into me.” A brave statement for someone who looked at her with such guilt in his eyes.
She let out a laugh. “You think some of the other men didn’t think I was into them before they got a knife to the stomach, darling?”
“So, you’re… not… into me?” he questioned pausedly as if asking it could hurt him.
Francis took a final step towards him, they were less of an arm’s distance from each other. “What do you want my answer to be? What will make your life easier?”
“The one that’ll make you leave me alone.”
She rolled her eyes. “You can easily do that at any moment, just turn me in.”
He sighed, looking to the side.
“Yet, you can’t…” She raised her hand, tips of fingers gracing his chin as she made him face her again. “Are you into me as well?”
Spencer was stopped as if her touch had clicked on a magical switch, making him pliant. Like a deer caught in headlights. He found his voice, but didn’t even slap her hands away. “I-I hardly know you, I can’t be into you.”
Her hand slid toward his chest, palm pressing lightly as she ran it along his shirt. “You just profiled me. I’d say that requires knowing someone partially.”
“That’s not true. I profiled your criminal alias — F.R. — but truly, I have no idea who you are.”
She tilted her head. “You know more than certain people who have known me for years.”
He glanced down at her hand, but still didn’t remove it. “Not like I’d expect you to share with others the fact you’re a serial killer, Francis.”
She hummed. “What do you expect from me? What do you think I’ll do next?”
“Now or—”
“Whichever you prefer, darling…” Her hand slid slightly so it would be right over his heart; it beat rapidly, pounding harshly against his chest, yet he held the conversation with such casualty that it felt like a contradiction.
His face twitched at the nickname, probably in disdain for it. “I… You’ll probably wait, lay low until you get a response from us.”
“What if I don’t get a response?”
“The longer we don’t reply, the more restless you’ll be, since you’re quite impulsive.”
And he said he didn’t know her. “So, you guys expect me to screw up, don’t you?”
He nodded.
She raised her other hand to join hers in the intention of lacing her arms around his neck. He was remaining still which was confusing. His eyelashes buffered as he blinked at her. “You think I will? Screw up?”
“Probably.”
Francis glanced down at his lips, pushing herself against him. He was already tense, but somehow he got even more, eyes drifting to the side. “Why don’t you push me off?” she asked, whispering in the short space between them. It was what they were both thinking.
He stared, words of excuses in his head for certain, the years of rightness burned into his brain trying to push him away. They didn’t account for one simple thing — the fact that he liked it, that he liked her touch more than he had liked anything. Francis smiled as his eyes drifted down to her lips.
There were no excuses anymore, if their lips even brushed against each other it’d be with full knowledge of who she was. What did it matter, right? They certainly wouldn’t be the first people engaging in something that couldn’t happen. Not that she had the same reasons to not do it as he did. She didn’t even care if it ended well, as long as she got to taste his lips again.
Her mother was right, she was definitely reckless. All rationality off the window, she leaned closer, nose brushing against his. His hands moved to her hips, gripping tight as he pushed her back. “You know we can’t,” he whispered. He sounded so…real, not angry or trying to pretend he didn’t want it, he was being honest with her, having some rationality for the both of them.
“Just one more time… please? I’ll never bother you again,” she replied. She wasn’t intentionally lying, she’d say anything if it meant he’d kiss her.
He tilted his head. “Never again?” He had to know that was bullshit too, but whatever worked to keep his morality intact (not that it seemed a very good excuse even for Francis).
“Never again. Please,” she repeated, leaning closer again.
He pressed into her harshly, bodies fitting together like missing puzzle pieces you miraculously found under the couch. His hand on her cheek, sliding into her hair so he could get a hold of her. She felt like a doll for a few seconds, being touched for his amusement.
He didn't kiss her the same way as he had the last time. No, before he had touched her as if she was something soft, innocent and precious. Now, he seemed to wish to scrap off her lips with his. One last time, right? His lips moved harshly, tongue pressing into hers with ease, as if he had done it a million times before.
One of her hands moved from behind his neck to his shoulder while the other moved up to this cheek, trying to hold him against her the same way he held her. However, that didn’t seem to be what he wanted or needed. He grasped her wrist, twisting her arm behind her back as if she was a criminal he didn’t have his lips locked with. His fingers pressed harshly into her wrist, the feeling would certainly linger for a long time after, if not also accompanied with some light yellowish bruises.
By looking at him one wouldn’t assume he had it in him to be so rough — she certainly hadn’t. Usually she hated when boys tried to take charge as if they’d do it better than her, but she wasn’t hating it… at all. She had never felt her underwear dampen with just one kiss. Frankly, he most likely didn’t even notice, he was just going with the flow, with his needs.
The little moan she let out against his mouth made him press his tongue into her mouth. God, if he even listened to her anymore she hoped he could send any help that’d allow her to deal with his lips. With the grip on her, he twisted them around until her back hit something hard and bulky — his bookshelf. He had finally let go of her arm, and stared at her with eyes so dark he didn’t even look like the same person.
His lips were wet, glistening with both their spit. She didn’t have to pull him closer, he did it himself, both hands grasping her face as he deepened the kiss. She held on to his back, pushing him close so she could feel him. His leg pushed forward, pressing in between her legs. She moaned against his mouth as she circled her hips into his leg on instinct. At her right leg she felt him, hard.
And just as he did to her, she tried to rub her leg against him. It was worth it for the raw groan he gave against her lips, almost sounding pathetic. However, it made him pull back, come back to his senses.
As they parted, a string of spit still connected them. Too hot, making her want and need more. She knew he could give it to her. He stared at her as if he was already imagining where in his living room could he bend her over, tongue running over his glistening lips. She was more used to being the one on top, but she'd let him get it out of his system.
Before she could daydream it further, he pushed against her shoulder, stepping away from her. She hit the bookshelf hard, pain looming at her shoulder blades. She didn't make a noise, she held it in, she didn't want to show weakness, even when she had nearly been rubbing herself against his leg moments prior.
“That was…” he trailed off, shaking his head. His cheeks were so red and his eyes moving wildly so, it looked more like the Spencer Reid she knew than when he was kissing her.
“Great?” she prompted, even if she knew that wasn't what he meant. That's all she knew to do, try to light up the room even if it was already covered in gasoline.
Spencer did a face, all scrunched up in disgust. It hurt her a bit, it wasn't like she was that bad of a person. She wasn't a psychopath, she wasn't a sadist, she didn't hurt children or women… he dealt with much worse than her everyday. So, why did he look at her like that?
“Oh, c'mon, don't start the pity monologue in your head. You kissed me because you wanted it.”
He shook his head. “It was a lapse of judgement. I clearly didn’t nor should I. That's not what this is.” It wasn’t that, he had agreed with her it’d be one last time, he meant to do it. He had even paused, leaning in by his freewill.
Francis glanced down at his crotch that had been pressing against her leg. “You’re still fucking hard, Spencer.”
Spencer stepped even further away from her. “Don’t. J-just, don’t. That’s a natural reaction. I still didn’t mean to kiss you.”
“Didn’t mean it? You fucking kissed me twice, you went back for more. Don’t be a hypocrite. Even if you regret it, at least man up and own it.” Every word she gave was like a bullet that she didn't know how to unload.
“I do regret it,” he replied.
“But, you wanted it.”
He stared at her, lips pressing together as he tried to take in her words. He didn’t seem ready to admit it, it was like the words were foreign to how he saw himself. But, that wasn’t her fault. “I didn’t want it.”
“You’re such a little bitch.”
“Right, cause you’re not a—” he cut himself off, shaking his head.
“A bitch? C’mon, say it, man up.”
He shook his head. He let out a sigh, walking towards his couch to sit down on it, head on his hands. “No, I don’t think you are one. That’d be easy, that’d keep me away.”
“I’m nice, then? Am I good? Is that what you like in me?”
“You’re definitely not any of that. You’re snarky and a bra—” he cut himself off, eyes pressing close together. He gripped his hair tight with his fingers as if it helped him escape the situation.
He was fully freaking out and some part of her felt bad, making her wish to step out of his apartment, stop the unnecessary pain she was causing him; even if that was the way she moved about life, he didn’t deserve it.
She wasn’t made of clear cut black and white feeling, though. Another part of her loved it, the sadistic side. She enjoyed his despair and knowing she caused it. Especially since he had been the one kissing her first, making it worse for himself — it was satisfying watching him try to blame her for it.
She smirked. “A brat?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You might be kinkier than I thought, doctor Reid.”
He cried out in annoyance and disgust. “God, this is insane. What am I doing? You’re basically a stranger, I don’t even know your true name. It’s not like you murdered someone and I know you so I’m covering for you. I’m doing it for no reason, it doesn’t even make sense. This doesn’t happen. It just doesn’t happen.”
She didn’t even understand it herself. Why was he acting like that? Wasn’t he used to dealing with people like her? It felt like he was giving himself too easily, like he had nothing to lose, maybe it was self harm, he was using her to hurt himself. She’d like to believe that she didn’t care as long as she got to be close to him.
“Yet, here I am listening to you make crude jokes about me like we’re friends, like there’s anything real going on.”
She stepped closer to him as he sat looking down on the couch. “C’mon, I didn’t say anything was real. We agreed one last time, that’s why it happened. You don’t need to freak out.”
“Francis, I shouldn’t even want it to happen one last time.”
“It’s Maxine.”
He raised his head, eyes meeting hers finally. “What?”
She felt like the shy one out of sudden. “Francis is my middle name. Maxine’s my first one.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“You said you didn’t even know my true name, as if knowing made it better.”
He stared at her, as if moving would set off a catastrophic set of events.
“Does it make it better?” She knew it didn’t.
“Can you leave my house now, Maxine? Is our chatting done? Did you get the information you needed?”
She always hated when people said her name growing up, she associated it with her parents, but when he said it, it was like it had a different meaning. But, there was no need to think about it for too long while he was kicking her out of his house. She wouldn’t step down that low. “Sure.”
“Then, please, leave.”
Once she got home, she felt the sudden urge to punch something. It was as if all the strings holding her back before had finally snapped, and she was free falling into the abyss.
What had she been thinking? Telling an FBI agent her true name, kissing him again or more like letting him kiss her― God, regardless of who it was to blame, it was a clear mistake. He was probably already ringing his team, ready to catch her, hand over all the evidence to her. Maybe kissing her had been a way of luring her further in, make her even easier to catch.
But, no, he had seemed genuinely puzzled, broken. You didn’t fake that, not him, he wouldn’t be able to do it.
Right?
She stood face to face with herself in her bathroom mirror. She saw plenty of emotions she could no longer even recognise, but one stood out to her. Fear. Even with being so close to getting caught, more than any other time over those five years, she had never felt scared. She thought she’d be ready to play with fire, to soothe the possible burns, but she wasn’t. It hurt and she just willed all the fire away — it was of no use since the fire had already burned her entire house down, leaving nothing but ashes. But, it wasn’t done, the fire still followed her, every move, every decision.
Everything had been going according to plan, but even that she regretted. She shouldn’t have contacted the FBI, it made her an easy target and, God, she didn’t want to die. Why had she done it? In addition, she had involved Spencer in all of it, a seemingly innocent good-willed agent… She didn’t want things to go bad for him, she didn’t want him to be caught in it all. She hadn’t even picked a bad person to bring down with her; she always hurt the good people around her.
There it hit her.
He was a good person and he was guilty. If she felt that unbearable guilt and fear, he was feeling much worse. She doubted he could even properly sleep. Which meant he wouldn’t tell them anything especially now that he had kissed her not just once, but twice. He didn’t seem to be an easy liar or someone who kissed possible murderers. Admitting to it would be an easy ticket to being fired… or worse.
so many diverse photos to put on spencer reid fic banners because that man looks good every single second he's on screen, it's unreal. there is no bad angle wth.....
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all of the characters rolling their eyes at spencer's yap station moments, i wish i was there to enjoy them. he's so cute going on and on about the things he likes.... can fictional characters be real??
(id perhaps accidentally interrupt him by needing to kiss him)
pick your poison, babe (i'm poison either way) - chapter three
MASTERLIST
ao3 link <---
Summary: our darlings both swim through the lake of guilt they found themselves in. Francis with a friend and Spencer all by himself. one thing's for sure, they're both locked deep into their heads.
Tags: unsub!original character, enemies to lovers, serial killers, dubious morality, angst, violence, fighting, (light) blood kink, smut, hate sex, humor, enemies with benefits, canon-typical violence, love/hate, s4!spencer reid, oc is kinda insane and kind of a stalker but spencer is into it, fluff, forbidden romance, tbd...
chapter trigger warnings: substance use (not by spencer or oc)
words: 3.8k
Chapter three: Lake of guilt
Ever since Francis was a little girl her mother always spat at her about how reckless she was, warning over the dangers that came with being so trusting, so lenient and wild. It was also confusing because she never even saw the shadow of those words. She never trusted anyone for as long as she could remember, and it never proved to be a wrong way to go about life. Kids were mean without intention, teens were mean to appease their friends and adults pretended they weren’t mean while they spewed the worst things at you. She didn't need to become an adult to realize that everyone around her would hurt her in some way.
She wasn’t dumb. Even though she had barely passed through high school she knew there was some psychological reason for the way she felt. Something about her parents, something about self defence mechanisms. None of it helped her because none of it took into account that her life goal was to find her father and kill him. So, she trusted herself. She knew she had to be soft enough to have people feel that she was letting them in, and be funny enough to make them feel good while they stayed. It could be torture at times or it could be fun — too much fun.
With time and fun came the death sentence her mother had set on her. She hadn’t even noticed for the longest time, but it seemed that the longer she went without looking her mother in the face, the more reckless she became. The more she lost it.
Again, she wasn’t very knowledgeable in the matter, but it was all probably tied with the whole… murdering thing. She didn't know how it went from self defense to a genuine pursuit of people that fit the picture — of her dad. She had stopped wondering about the genesis of it all a long time ago, she just knew she was really good at it.
Like… extremely good at it.
Not just in the vague sense of murder, she was good at sneaking in places she didn’t belong, sweet talking all sorts of people whether good willed or bad, swiftly killing regardless of what she felt towards the person, dismembering with a clean cut, carrying bodies over long distances, even running away… But, being reckless could ruin it all.
She had been keeping eyes on the FBI, the whole reason she was near Virginia in the first place. She took in some of them. She watched them with precision, with care, always keeping her distance, making sure she blended with the crowd. It was risky, but that’s what she was good at. Living near the edge of it all.
Francis read up on all of them, the team that'd most likely be in charge of a case like hers. She wasn't sure why she picked them, perhaps chance or running away brought her there as if by fate (if there was one thing she liked was to oblige by fate). She had particularly liked one of them — Spencer Reid.
She didn't just read up on him, she did extra homework. She asked her closest friends in the criminal arts business for anything they could find on him — they were much more skilled at hacking than her. He seemed sweet, highly intelligent and still humble — which also made him weak, easily fooled in her mind. It was hard not to think like a killer, but even harder not to think with her hormones.
Then they made it even harder, they managed to find his phone number and she said it was irrelevant, yet she wrote it down on a piece of paper that was still on her handbag. Before she knew it, she was typing on her phone, his number as the recipient. She told herself it was only to make sure they were thinking about the letter she had sent, but was it really?
She developed a whole plan that then incorporated Spencer — even if he was an FBI agent that could certainly blow all her plans up just by doing his job correctly.
For how much she liked playing with fire, she liked to get burned even more. As such, she watched and watched, definitely bordering on stalking. As the flames reached impossibly taller highs, she wondered if he had felt that something was wrong as the good agent he was, any warmth.
He surprised her, he didn’t even tell them someone was texting him. She didn't understand why he'd hold back on such information, but not like it was her job to care about it. If he was screwing up, that was on him, and, at the end of it all, even greater for her.
The plan of texting ominous messages didn't last long — he actually sounded interesting in those short bitter replies, it made her want the real fucking deal.
At first, she was just going to stare at him all night. Then, she told herself she’d only talk with him a bit, see if it would fluster him (it did). Before she knew, she was taking him outside, cornering him in that dark alley. He had looked even cuter from up close. She couldn’t help but sink her fangs in. And she knew she dug into him good, if the shaking of his hands and body were anything to go by.
Francis kept wondering if it had been wrong to kiss him, if there wasn’t something creepy in kissing someone who wouldn’t kiss you if they knew who you truly were. At least she remedied that effect by instantly telling him, not quite being able to hold herself. Maybe she could blame it on the alcohol, maybe on the softness of his lips, the way he had kissed her as if she was unique… no one had ever kissed her like that before ― just thinking about it she was getting off track.
She felt so fucking stupid and yet… he didn’t do anything. At least, he hadn’t yet, but maybe at any moment he’d easily turn her in as the missing piece of all the leftover cases, as if finishing the puzzle would make it all better.
She changed apartments in case he had unknowingly followed her, changed numbers too. The mistake was basically remedied. She had maybe a small little problem…
A problem that stood in front of her, natural blonde unlike her fake one and revealing blue eyes that made him even more scary. “Why did one of my men see you all giggly talkin’ to an FBI agent?” Jacob questioned.
Francis gulped. “What do you mean?”
He stepped closer to her, jaw clenching. He was exceptionally mad which usually indicated there were no drugs running through his veins. “Don’t fucking lie to me. I give you money, I help you track down these agents for who knows what, and you repay me by almost getting caught?”
She threw herself on her couch. “Jacob, I wasn’t going to get caught.”
“You were talking to one of them.” He walked around the couch to sit down next to her.
She rolled her eyes, head falling back on her sofa. “They aren’t psychics, they can’t read my mind.”
“No, they’re just highly trained in studying human behaviour, Francis.”
“Why are you so worried? Even if I do get caught, it doesn't mean you will.”
He scoffed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Of course it fucking does, these are highly intelligent agents, not some deadbeat cops. If you’re locked up in one of their rooms, they’re reading up on your entire life.” He took out a small bag from his pocket.
She’d love to see them try.
She has covered her tracks incredibly well over the years, even her friends — ones like Jacob next to her on the couch — didn’t know even a quarter of the truthfulness of her crimes. None of them even knew her real name.
“They have no reason to lock me up. They don’t handle simple robberies. And, certainly aren’t interested in arresting one more drug dealer unless you’re becoming too much of a problem.”
“Yeah, but you’re not just a lowlife robber, are you?” Jacob got down on his knees near her coffee table, popping open the small ziplock bag.
Francis chuckled. “If you don’t know the answer to that, neither do they, darling.”
He took out his wallet to get a card so he could make lines out of the white powder on the table. “They’re not fucking dumbasses like me.”
She wouldn’t argue with that, but it wasn’t like intelligence meant much whether you lived your life like a good civilian or like she did. It’d just mean how depressed you’d be going through your days and weeks. And, how soon you’d get caught in whatever it was you were doing.
No one she dealt with outside of her victims seemed so put together and precise as those agents she had watched in that bar. A part of her wondered if she could’ve followed her father’s footsteps, became a cop herself, or maybe even an agent. It was hard to follow a ghost, though, no footsteps to actually step in that led you anywhere.
So, her life was that. At 26 she didn’t have anyone to genuinely trust, no one who knew her, no one who wanted to. Everyone in her life used each other on different levels, nothing was genuine. It was the life she chose before she could even understand what that’d mean for her in the future.
Was she allowed to want more? Was she allowed to wish to get out? Or did she have to follow through with the plan she made as a teen? Did she truly have to heal up all her childhood wounds? All for what? To die after?
She was way too deep into it already. You couldn’t lead a normal life after witnessing the violence it took to take someone else’s. No matter how much she washed her hands, her knife, her clothes — or how many times she changed apartments, states — there was always blood covering her and it followed her footsteps, it stained everything.
There was no choice but to sit in the living room as one of her closest friends sniffed two lines of cocaine back to back. “Woh,” he let out as he scratched his nose. He started straightening the coke again, making one last line.
“Aren’t drug dealers supposed to not use their own stuff?”
“Well, babe, I don’t sell cocaine.”
She shook her head, but couldn’t help the smile on her lips. “You shouldn’t be an addict, regardless. All the money you’re making selling, you’re spending using.” Kind of stupid of her to be calling him poor when he often gives her money, but he never did care for the petty insults, that’s why she liked him.
“You been watching too many drug movies or somethin’?”
“It’s not movies, it’s real life. You know I’m right.”
He scoffed. “Real life,” he muttered to himself, “you’ve never been this much of a bore.”
She pouted. “I’m not being a bore.”
“Prove it. You want some of this?”
She wasn’t that easily influenced. “Is that the pure shit or is it traced with something?”
“You think I’m rich enough to be buying pure shit, Francis?”
“I’m good then.”
“So, you are a bore.” He sniffed the last line.
“Such a bore I talked to an FBI agent.”
He leaned back on the couch, still sitting on the floor. “Now that I’m in a better mood, you wanna tell me what that was about?”
“Not really.”
Jacob looked over at her, eyebrows raising. “Is it about Spencer?”
The name was like getting slapped in the face. She widened her eyes. “W-what? What do you mean? How do you know about Spencer?”
“Lisa told me you were asking her boyfriend way too much about this dude, more than the other guys.”
She sighed. That just wasn’t fair. That girl was always getting in her business — She didn’t kill women, but she’d open an exception for her. “Lisa is such a bitch. Why’s Travis still with her?”
“She’s a bitch because she calls you out?”
“What does she even gain with that?”
He smirked at her, the face of someone who wanted to shame her. “What do you gain from having a crush on an FBI agent?”
She groaned, grabbing one of her pillows to hug it close to her chest. “That doesn’t even make sense with what I said — just, shut up.”
“If you wanna fuck him, do it, but don’t be walking around his friends. They’ll smell what you are and you’re gonna get caught.”
“I don’t wanna —” she cut herself off.
Truth was, she didn’t know what she wanted with him. She just needed to talk to him, she wanted to get to know him. The goal hadn’t even been to kiss him, she didn’t know why it turned out to be a sexually charged encounter. She was acting without thinking and it often happened whenever she didn’t plan enough ahead.
There were emotions in the mix she wasn’t used to. She never lingered long enough to allow herself to feel them. Which, already didn’t make sense because she talked to the guy once, and had known of him for about a month. It didn’t make sense to feel those emotions so intensely: the glee, lust — even the fucking guilt, it was like there was a whole damn lake of it. Everything came to her as if she was a teenager again.
“Tthat’s just not what’s happening,” she replied through gritted teeth. “Stop interfering in my fucking life and always trying to tell me what to fucking do.”
He scoffed, looking away from her again as he slid further down against the couch. “You’d be in a much better mood too if you had accepted the coke.”
She threw the pillow at him. The anger was good, it let all your shit out without having to speak a damn word. It wasn’t like those other weak emotions that had made her flush at his words. “You’re an asshole.”
He hadn’t even moved an inch. “The asshole who got you this apartment.”
Francis rolled her eyes.
Even if she felt like a teenager, she wasn’t one anymore. She could hold herself. If she could plan murders to the highest precision, she could stay away from a random boy she hardly knew. She would stay focused on her mission of finding her father. That was the only goal she needed to have — kill him and then be gone herself.
It wasn’t hard.
It’d all be fine.
Spencer had done his job for quite a while, he had dealt with things most people on the planet didn’t know were possible or real — some he didn’t wish to know were real either. Still, he always found it in him the power to keep going, not always for him but for the people he could help with his capabilities. He didn’t feel like much of a help after whatever that was with Francis.
His day off had been used to sink further in the lake of guilt he willingly jumped into. He knew who she was, he had to, even while he allowed her to pull him into the alley, even when he gripped her tight against him, even at the first bite of his lip — he had to know, it was his job to know. It didn’t make sense that he hadn’t realised it. God, he let her walk off while his phone sat in his hand, waiting to be used. It didn’t make sense, he didn’t do that, that wasn’t him.
It made even less sense how the image of her was carved into his brain more than anything had ever been. The taste of her lips, her eyes, her hair, the red dress… Torture, almost worse than the real torture he had been subjected to before.
One moment he was eyeing himself in the mirror, forcing himself to make eye contact with the same man that had let a serial killer run away — the man who was covering for her. The next he was arriving at work, one step after the other towards his desk. The time off had been too short, not enough to even heal the wound at his lip, a clear cut none of them had seen before as he had gone home after what happened, letting them think whatever they preferred.
The moment he sat down, coffee in hands, he glanced around towards all the other agents surrounding him. It was too early, most people had not even clocked in, yet. But, the work there never stopped, there was always something being dealt with.
He felt the familiar footsteps approach him before he saw the person responsible for them. “What happened to you, man? You completely disappeared after Saturday night.”
He licked his lips, head tilted down towards one of the papers at his desk. “I was tired so I went home.”
Morgan came into his field of vision, standing at the side of his desk. “So, nothing to do with that pretty blonde lady who you were getting all friendly with?”
He looked up at him. “No.”
His eyes instantly slipped towards his lip, eyebrows furrowing. “Jesus, Reid, you got into a fight or something?”
He felt his cheeks warm up under the bright lights before he could force himself to pretend. “N-no?”
His worries shifted into smugness, a smirk slipping onto his face. God, he had no idea how hard he should hold on to his worries. “My man, was that her?” he teased, hand smacking his shoulder.
“No, why would she have done that?”
Emily approached them before Spencer had to respond to Morgan for much longer — but he simply went from one to two people interrogating him so it wasn’t really a nice change.
“Good morning,” she greeted.
“Morning,” Spencer mumbled.
“Why does he look so annoyed at you?”
Morgan leaned against Spencer’s desk with a grin. “Was questioning him about that girl from Saturday.”
She mimicked his grin. “Oh, the one he left with?” She smacked his shoulder as well, making him jolt slightly. “Did you have fun?”
“No. What does that even mean?”
“I mean, you two did leave to go outside and then you disappeared for two days. I assume you were up to something fun.”
He looked at her for the first time since she arrived. “I wasn’t. I just went home after accompanying her outside.”
Her eyes instantly slipped down to his lips. “Was that part of accompanying her outside?” she asked, pointing at his mouth.
The last time he had felt so easily annoyed he had been under the influence of drugs, but now that wasn’t the case. He was just holding back a huge secret that they all thought they could read on his face — but, what they were saying was the smallest portion from the truth. “Does what happened between me and her matter to your lives?”
They stared at him, doe eyed and even more curious given his outburst.
Before any of them could answer or even try to, JJ approached them all, files in hands. Saved by the bell.
“Hey, nice that you’re all here, we got a new case already.”
He got up from his seat. “Great. Something to do unrelated to questioning me.” As he pulled his chair in and turned towards her, she pointed at his face.
“What’s that on your lip? Did you get hurt?”
He turned towards her, jaw clenching. JJ eyed him with confusion, lips parting already. Before she could say anything else he raised his voice to say, “why do all of you care? Don’t you have your own lives? Is whoever I’m making out with that important?”
She widened her eyes. “Sorry,” she whispered.
Spencer waved his hand at her, moving to go up the stairs before any of them. He heard them whispering about the fact he had said ‘making out’, a stupid error, but he didn’t care, he couldn’t. He tried his best to keep her off his mind and focus on whichever case they had.
Even then, the teasing had continued for as long as the mark on his lip was prominent. After the initial surprise had passed, things finally calmed down. He felt like he was finally back on his normal routine, too busy to worry about what had transpired. Additionally, the “F.R.” case hadn’t yet gone anywhere, they didn’t have any more evidence to conclude a profile.
When he could finally take a deep breath, was exactly when shit got worse again.
He was wrapping up on reading some files regarding some other case. There were only 2 files missing which for him would be quick, of course. That was until his phone pinged with the noise of a notification.
Unknown: when are you home?
Spencer let out a shaky exhale. No, there was no way. Every bone in his body told him he knew who that was, but he still wanted to believe it could be anyone else — a new serial killer, one he could surely turn in that wouldn’t look suspicious.
Spencer: Good night, I do not recognise this number. Who is this?
Unknown: oh, sorry, wrong number, I suppose.
He let out a long breath, locking his phone. Was it even possible it wasn’t her? So, she had actually left him alone? He didn’t have to worry about her anymore?
The screen lit up shortly after. It could’ve been anyone else, maybe not even an unknown number, right? He turned on his phone again.
Unknown: just kidding, spencer :)
Unknown: you know who it is.
It couldn’t have been that simple, could it?
Spencer: Why are you messaging me again?
Unknown: because I wanted to? duh.
Unknown: anyway, are you home soon?
Spencer: Wanted to? What is wrong with you?
Spencer: Why do you even want to know when I’m home?
“Reid, you good?” Morgan asked.
Spencer shut off his phone too rapidly for someone with nothing to hide. “What?”
He pursed his lips. “You looked pissed typing away on your phone. Something wrong?”
He shrugged. “It's nothing. I'm not pissed.”
It was obvious Derek didn’t believe him, but he didn’t prod further.
He looked down at his phone, screen off. She hadn't replied which made him arrive at the unfortunate conclusion that she was definitely inside his house.
Would she really be at a place where she could be easily caught? Wasn't she scared he'd send someone to arrest her? He hadn't given her any reasons to be scared, so most likely that's where she got her courage from. There was still time to break it.
There weren't many ways to go about it besides going there to investigate. What if they got there and no one was inside his house? How would he explain everything else?
“I should get going, it's getting late,” he said, getting up, preparing to gather his things.
He nodded. “You do that, you look really tired.”
Every little lie he told just put him more and more intertwined in Francis’ web and he knew unless he was a spider there was no way for him out of there.
goddd where are the slow burn with a sprinkle of denial, smut and angst in the middle reader/oc aaron fics. bonus if he acts like early season hotch.
i crave it so badly... always been a spencer girlie, but something about hotch lately........ the boss dynamic is so hot and the closed off dude only being truly soft with you thing. OMG.
(im gonna go die of longing for a fictional character)
Summary: Spencer tries and fails to escape the looming present of a serial killer, one that seems to be way too into him. Surprisingly, he ends up liking her more than he should, but because he can't show that, things get... heated.
Tags: unsub!original character, enemies to lovers, serial killers, dubious morality, angst, violence, fighting as foreplay (verbal and physical), (light) blood kink, smut, hate sex, (but also) gentle sex, oral sex, sub!spencer reid & dom!spencer reid (they switch it up), humor, enemies with benefits, denial of feelings, canon-typical violence, love/hate, s4!spencer reid, oc is kinda insane and kind of a stalker but spencer is into it, fluff, forbidden romance, tbd...
MOODBOARD
CHAPTERS:
-> CHAPTER ONE - F.R.
-> CHAPTER TWO - Sink your fangs in (like a vampire)
pick your poison, babe (i'm poison either way) - chapter two
MASTERLIST
ao3 link <---
Summary: spencer finally finds out why he has been feeling so weary. later, he and the team go out and the threat might be closer than he could've ever imagined.
Tags: unsub!original character, enemies to lovers, serial killers, dubious morality, angst, violence, fighting, (light) blood kink, smut, hate sex, humor, enemies with benefits, canon-typical violence, love/hate, s4!spencer reid, oc is kinda insane and kind of a stalker but spencer is into it, fluff, forbidden romance, tbd...
chapter trigger warnings: implied blood kink
words: 5.6k
Chapter two: Sink your fangs in (like a vampire)
Spencer slammed his door shut with a sigh.
It hadn't necessarily been a busy day, but the coffee could only push him through for so long. He hadn’t slept properly in days. At least, he’d have two straight days off, a rare occurrence. He’d spend them all sleeping, that was sure.
A pinging noise rang throughout the apartment. He took out his phone from his bag, dropping the latter on the couch. He let himself fall into the couch, one hand towards his tie to loosen it while the other opened his phone. As soon as he read it his hand at his tie paused.
Unknown: One would think you’re ignoring me.
Spencer stared at his phone, eyes studying the unknown number. He blinked at it a few times, trying to pull together anything that would make it make sense. They definitely had the wrong number, right? Yet, he recognised it, the same number that left him one missed call that morning.
He loosened his tie, both hands moving down to grasp the phone properly and to reply. Was that even the right thing to do? Better question was why wouldn’t it be?
Spencer: Hello, goodnight. I believe you’ve got the wrong person as I do not recognise this number. In fact, this phone belongs to Spencer Reid, not sure who you’ve got me mistaken for. Rest of a good night and I hope you find who you seek.
Spencer reread his message various times after he hit send. The more he did, the more drowsy he got. He wasn't one to worry about text messages, certainly not one to stare at it as he ran through every possible interpretation. Was it too much? Too dramatic? Should he have even replied? Oh, God, why did he say his name? He was an FBI agent, he knew how dangerous that could be.
He was about to shut off his phone until a message instantly popped up, as if the person had been staring and awaiting his reply all along.
Unknown: Spencer Reid? I love that name.
That was definitely not a normal reply. It was quite creepy even, possibly concerning considering his job status. He was about 65% sure that it could be a criminal who got hold of his contact. Not that he was sure how they did that. He knew the right thing to do was to bring it up at work, hand his phone in so they could trace whoever sent the message. Still, he had two days off and if he went back the next day he wouldn’t be going back anytime soon. Not while he was being actively targeted. God, he was tired; he felt his eyes nearly drift shut as he stared.
Being too sleep deprived to properly take in all the options (that should’ve probably been considered in group, not all by himself) was a good enough reason for his next actions.
Spencer: Do you, now? And, what’s your name?
Unknown: That doesn’t seem to be an appropriate reply from an FBI agent, is it now?
Spencer shut off his phone, letting out a shaky breath. Ok, so they knew what his job was. They definitely knew him. Yet, he didn’t know them. There was a familiar chill creeping up his bones, one he had to stomach down often given his job. Maybe that’s why the whole situation got dismissed as less dangerous than it truly was for the rational part of his brain. His nervous system showed him danger yet his very tired brain told him all was fine. He wanted to enjoy his days off.
He was opening his phone again just a few moments later.
Spencer: How would you know if it’s appropriate or not?
Unknown: You’re not going to question how I know who you are?
Unknown: Or are you already on your way to your friends over at the BAU?
Unknown: Also, if you’re curious, my dad was a cop.
Spencer: And, what do I have to do with that? Are you certain I am who you want to be talking to right now?
They sounded way too relaxed, as if chatting with a friend. There was no way a normal person was behind that number.
Unknown: Don’t be mean :(
Spencer: I am not. I literally don’t know who you are.
Unknown: I suppose that’s fair…
Unknown: You know what? You’re most likely tired, that’s why you’re being so unpleasant. I’ll leave you alone.
He shut down his phone. He needed to stop texting back, he was only making it worse being rational against someone who clearly wasn’t. Which didn't make sense since his job included intensive training on how to deescalate all sorts of situations, deal with all sorts of people.
Spencer: I'd appreciate that, yes.
They didn't reply back.
And Spencer did the most contraproductive thing he could've done.
He went to sleep.
Everyone (minus Hotch and Rossi) had time off the next night, such a rare occurrence it could be counted as a miracle. They somehow convinced Spencer to go with them to some bar. They insisted he needed it, yet if someone was tired did they really need to stay up all night, possibly getting wasted? Didn't seem like a logical conclusion to that string of thought. Truth be spoken, he also needed time off, time away from it all, away from the creepy messages on his phone.
As it was, whoever they were, they hadn’t messaged him all day. Not since they had told him to go to sleep ― and he oddly had. He didn’t want to think about that. The blasting noise from the bar’s speakers accompanied with the rapid movements of some people dancing allowed him to do exactly that.
It looked more like a club than a bar, in fact. The definitions passed loosely through his brain. Bars seemed to be more towards conversing and sitting as you drank while clubs were more for dancing and getting blasted by blinding lights. The place seemed to be a mixture of the two without the lights, thankfully for Spencer.
“Alright, man, for every shot you have, I’ll have two,” Derek said, smirk on his face.
Spencer slipped away from his head to stare at him. It had to be a joke, no way he’d think that’d actually happen. “So, if I have none, you won’t drink either?”
He smacked his shoulder. “C’mon, don’t be such a bore, pretty boy.”
JJ scoffed. “Don’t peer pressure him. Besides, you’ve drunk more than all of us combined.”
He rolled his eyes. “Well, starting from now.”
Garcia sipped on her drink as she rolled her eyes.
“Man, I just think you need to relax. You’re so uptight, more than usual.”
Spencer couldn’t help the smile that broke out. It wasn’t a wrong observation, but being at a bar was only making it worse, not better. “I don’t think you and I have the same definition of relaxing. In fact, alcohol may lead to an initial relaxation sensation as it serves as a depressant, but as the alcohol is metabolized it can then lead to more anxiety and stress. It even disrupts your sleep.”
He raised his eyebrows at him. “C'mon, guys, y'all agree, right? He needs to relax.”
They mostly all chuckled at Derek. Spencer didn’t understand why, he wasn’t wrong.
“Maybe this isn’t his preferred setting to relax, though,” Garcia commented. Spencer gestured at her, not even saying anything.
Derek looked down at his drink with a sigh. He knew Morgan was trying to cheer him up in the way he knew worked for him, it was somewhat thoughtful even, made him feel bad for rejecting it. Why didn’t he do it once? It couldn’t be that bad, right? He had the next day still to get over his incoming headache.
Spencer slapped his hands on the table. “You know what?”
Everyone looked at him expectantly.
“I’ll do it, I’ll drink.”
“No way that actually worked,” Emily muttered.
“Nah, he’s playing with me,” Derek replied, shaking his head.
Yeah, he had no idea why, but he did feel like drinking for some reason. He knew it was a bad idea since he was still exhausted from the many days without time off, but it would offer momentary relaxation before the bad effects came in. “Let’s do it,” he announced, raising himself from the table.
“Oh, shit, really?” Derek widened his eyes as he also got up, nearly stumbling away from the table.
They sat at the bar, both with a cup of whiskey in front of them. Derek didn’t actually ask for double of what he was drinking and Spencer didn’t want him to either, he’d leave the bar with alcohol poisoning. That wouldn’t be fun for anyone.
“Have you been getting it?”
Spencer nearly choked on his own drink, making it all slide down his throat and burn on its way down. He coughed slightly as he downed it all. “What?”
“Y’know, getting it?”
“Putting more emphasis in the word won’t—”
“You’re at a bar, it’s the perfect place to get some.”
Spencer’s lips parted as he fully internalized what he was telling him. Why was he saying that? Was he actually drunk? “I don’t think so.”
“Everyone’s here to get laid, you should take your chances.”
“I mean, I…” he trailed off. That was true, but Spencer didn’t need to get anything, he was fine. He knew a couple of hours reading a book would reset his brain back to normal. Nothing else did such a good job as that. “I don’t think there’s any… chances to… take.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Even if I, hypothetically speaking, wanted to take my chances, there’s no one here who would be interested.”
“C’mon, pretty boy, I don’t call you that as an insult, you do know you’re highly attractive. And you’re really fucking smart too. There’s many girls who’d want a bite of ya.”
He pressed his eyes shut, face wrinkling. “Oh my God, never say that again.”
“I mean it, man, there’s like three girls who’ve stared at you tonight.”
He widened his eyes, head raising. Was he playing with him? If he was the way he seemed so eager to check it was quite embarrassing. “What? Are you serious?”
“Yeah, there’s one staring at this very moment.”
“Where?”
Derek raised his cup to his lips, head tilting towards someplace to Spencer's left at the seats of the bar.
Spencer looked in the direction Derek had gestured at, to the far end of the stool seats. There it was, a girl sitting down by herself, staring down at her own drink. Spencer wasn’t one to look or to stare, yet the bright blonde hair and sharp dark eyes weren’t ones to be easily missed or dismissed. There was no way a girl like that had been staring at him the whole night.
She was way too pretty.
The girl glanced back as soon as she saw them both looking. She sent him a small smile, raising her cup to her lips. He looked back at Derek, cheeks tainted, but gladly not too noticeable under the dim light. “That’s not a girl that’d be interested in the type of things I’m into.”
“Who cares about that? At least you could get laid.”
“Why do you keep saying that?” he whined.
He got off the barstool. “Look, I’ll leave and you stay here. She looks like an approacher.”
Spencer scoffed. “Derek, don’t leave me here. Weren’t we drinking together?”
“I’ve already drunk enough,” he said as he slipped away towards the table.
Spencer noticed he said something to the others who raised their eyebrows as they looked over at him. He snapped his head forward again. He didn't know his cheeks could get impossibly hotter.
He should just go over to the table, maybe smack Derek — though, he wouldn’t like to be smacked back, he’d certainly hurt him. He downed his drink, ready to slide off his seat to leave, but a voice came from behind him.
“Hey.”
He looked back. His words were caught on his throat.
She had a short red dress, thin straps at the shoulders. It pressed tight into her frame, but loosened up at the seams. She carried herself with confidence in it, red lipstick matching the exact same shade of the dress.
Spencer didn’t think his brain could ever get overloaded, but it sure felt like it. He had no idea what to do as the girl sat down next to him. It wasn’t foreign to him being bad when it came to socialising, it all made complete sense given how much he had skipped ahead of all the people his age. He didn’t have the time to develop all the necessary skills one did when they were a teen; he was just starting to feel it all come together… at 27. Anything outside of his job he didn’t feel good enough at. Talking could be part of being an FBI agent, but never in a way that meant much to his personal life. He felt stuck, the heat from the body next to him paralysing him.
“Did you not want me to talk to you?”
It had been too many seconds where he stood there like a deer in headlights. So embarrassing. “Yes — I mean, no, I did want you to. I just don’t…” he loosely gestured between them, “get this a lot — or at all, y’know?”
“I suppose guys aren’t approached by women too often, are they?”
He had been stuttering like an idiot and yet she talked to him as if he made complete sense. He didn’t think it over too much — not only because the circuits of his brain had burned out, but also because she had really pretty brown eyes. She looked so steadily at him while his moved all over the place. “Yeah… I guess not.”
“Well, I was staring at you — maybe rudely so — because you looked just so damn cute.” She let out a small chuckle.
Spencer also chuckled with her, he couldn’t help it. She had an infectious smile. “Sure.”
“You don’t believe that you’re cute?”
“I-I don’t know. I just don’t believe that’s enough of a reason to approach someone, is it?”
The girl bit down on her lower lip, seemingly thinking over what he said. “Not if you’re a respectable person, maybe. Most people here would approach anyone they’re mildly attracted to for a good night — or what they assume would be a good night.”
If she was approaching him for a one night stand or something, it just wouldn’t happen regardless, so it made him feel less nervous. He wasn’t interested in that, even if she was gorgeous. The thought of it made him feel too uncomfortable to stomach down. “Is that why you’re here, then?”
“Well, no, I said you’re cute. I didn’t say I wanna sleep with you.” He knew she was just being funny, she definitely intended to.
“Good, ‘cause I… don’t do that.” Why did he sound like such a loser?
“Oh, I mean, I didn’t think that, don’t worry. You don’t look like you do.”
Was it an insult when it was simply the truth? “I know.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that’s bad. Actually, that’s why I even had the courage to come here.” She didn’t look like she needed courage to do much, she seemed so relaxed talking to him. Not that he knew anything about her.
“I suppose this is quite random now, but what’s your name?”
She seemed surprised at his question which didn’t make much sense. It was a perfectly normal question to ask. “Oh…” She looked down at her hands, folded neatly on the bar. “It’s, umm, Francis.” She looked back at him, regaining her confidence. “Francis Rose.”
“Pretty name,” he commented. He tried not to overthink it, it wasn’t good to profile normal people.
She laughed, as if not expecting him to say that. “It’s prettier on paper, truly.”
“I believe you. Can I ask you something?” Don’t act like an FBI agent.
“Sure.”
“Why did you hesitate?”
She didn’t falter that time; she laughed. “Right, yeah, umm, it’s just that it’s not really my name, but it’s what people call me.”
If it was what people called her, she’d be used to it, no? “Why not give your real name?”
“I don’t like it, or I suppose I don’t like hearing people say it.”
He nodded. He could understand that. It seemed to be laced with something complicated, though, something he probably would never understand as he’d likely never see her again.
“Enough with that lame stuff. Can I guess yours?” she suggested.
“My what? My name?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure, why not?”
She jumped in her seat in joy, hands clapping together. “Oh, nice,” she chirped. “Alright, let me focus.” Francis stared at his face harder than she had before, eyes slightly squinting.
“Are you trying to read my mind?”
“Yeah, I’m a psychic,” she replied.
Spencer chortled.
“Don’t laugh, I’m serious.”
“You can be serious, but it won’t make me—”
She slapped his arm. “Shut up or I won’t be able to guess.”
He glanced down at the spot she had hit. God, why had it felt so nice having her touch him, she was a stranger. He wasn’t into strangers.
“Hmm, alright, my signals are a bit off with all this noise, y’know.” She stretched her lower lip down, face twisting into a tentative expression. “Are you perhaps a Jack?”
He shook his head.
“Alright, alright, maybe that was your grandfather’s name, my bad.”
Spencer tried not to grin. Was she actually serious with the psychic thing or was she just playing around? It was hard to read her, she could make such a serious expression while saying such insane things. “I don’t think so.”
She rolled her eyes. “It was definitely someone close to you — but, anyway, is it David?”
It was hard not to think about the letter that was sent to them a few days ago. But, it was just a stupid coincidence.
Francis furrowed her eyebrows, head tilting as she stared at him. “Are you alright?” She widened her eyes. “Are you shocked because I got it?”
“No, no, it’s just — nevermind, it’s wrong again.”
“Ugh, I’m really not selling this psychic thing, am I?”
Spencer shook his head with an exhale.
“Alright, just tell me your name then.”
“It’s Spencer.”
“Oh, such a pretty name as well. I love it.”
Just like the David thing, the message he had been sent to him the day before flashes into his vision. It was a coincidence, God, why was it all clouding his mind. He needed to focus on the nice girl talking to him, not his work matters or… whatever that text was. He had complimented her name, she was just retributing the favor. “Thank you.”
Before he could overthink it any further, she was speaking again. “You wanna go outside? I need a smoke and I’d rather not go alone. Y’know, Spencer?”
Spencer glanced back at the table of his friends. Weren’t they supposed to be spending time together, time off work? It didn’t matter, they were probably all amused, laughing between themselves at the fact they saw Spencer talk to a girl. Besides, if he went outside with her she’d be more safe than going alone.
“I understand if you don’t.”
“No, it’s alright. I’ll accompany you.”
She gave him a smile. “Are you sure? Don’t want to steal you from your friends.”
Spencer smiled back, nodding as he fought the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re not, don’t worry. And… I doubt they care.”
Her hand wrapped around his wrist as she pulled him through the sweaty bodies on the floor. He glanced over at the table of his friends for long enough to see them smirking, Derek winking at him with a wave. Spencer felt the warm spread on his cheeks.
He snapped his gaze back towards the path he walked, focusing on the back of Francis’ head. She had seemed a natural blonde before, but from the back he could see some darker hairs that hadn’t been colored. Maybe he hadn’t noticed because of the dim lighting or the weird conversation.
As they stepped outside none of it really mattered. There were some people around smoking; the smell made Spencer cough as it infiltrated his nostrils. Francis didn’t seem too bothered — it made sense since she smoked — she turned back towards him, smiling as she grabbed his other hand as well. “Now I can finally sink my fangs in.”
Spencer scoffed. The way she had said it was so adorable, even if it sounded real cheesy. “Like a vampire?”
She nodded, leaning in closer.
He let go of her, pushing her hands away. “Weren’t you, umm, going to smoke?”
Francis glanced down at their broken touch, lips wavering slightly. “Y’know, Spencer, any good samaritan would’ve told me that’s bad for me, not remind me.”
“It’s what you came out here for. I know me telling you smoking is bad won’t change a thing.”
She sighed, starting to turn away. “You’re so smart.”
Spencer followed her towards the alley between the bar and another building. “Actually, I have an IQ of 187.”
She glanced back, eyebrows furrowed. “What are you doin’ in a bar, then? Aren’t you supposed to be solving quantum physics equations?”
“Not exactly my line of work, though I’d probably be good at it had I taken interest in Physics.”
Francis turned around, fingers twiddling with the strap of her bag as she straightened her back. “What is your line of work?”
Spencer stopped in his tracks.
Something about it felt wrong, the way she eyed him with a different interest than before. No longer warming smiles, but hard set eyes as her lips tightened. There was some anxiety to her — but not because she was scared — because she was so restless, so reckless. She rocked her feet as she waited for his answer, as if she’d genuinely sink her teeth in at any given moment.
“What is yours?” he asked; he could hear some hesitation in his voice. He didn’t understand what was happening, but some hidden part of him did.
She tilted her head. “Shouldn’t I be the one who’s scared of standing alone with a stranger in some alley?”
“You’ve got no reason to be scared. I don’t look like a threat, nor am I coming on to you.”
She stepped closer to him, her hand coming up to rest on his chest. “If I may be crude, I do wish you were coming on to me.” She slid it up towards the back of his head, fingers sliding through the strands of his hair.
Spencer twitched, breath itching at her touch. “I don’t…”
“Right, you’re not into that?”
He shook his head.
“What are you into, then?”
“I…” he trailed off as she pressed up against him, “I don’t know — nothing?”
Francis let out a hum. Her eyes were at her own hand, at his mouth and neck. She might genuinely be a vampire, after all. “You’re cute.” She pushed him backward until his back pressed against the wall.
He gasped at the force of the movement. It wasn’t as if he had never been with anyone before, as if he had never been entranced in that flirtatious flow. But, no girl had ever pressed him up against a wall so harshly, her fingers grasping his hair harshly with the confidence he’d like it. Not even he knew he was so into it, and somehow she did.
He felt a river rush of motivation, tingles at his fingerprints making him wish to grasp her just as tight as she was grasping him. His hands pressed into fists at his side. She was obviously interested, she most likely wished he grabbed her with the same force, pressed her back into the wall next to him. He wasn’t sure how he knew that, it was something that had never crossed his mind.
“Do you… Do you want to kiss me?” he asked.
She trailed her hand from the back of his head towards his neck, where her thin yet slender fingers wrapped around his neck, adding no pressure to it. “Are you so inexperienced you can’t tell the signs?” Her eyes slid up towards his, looking at him through her lashes.
Why was he pretending to be above it all? Fuck it.
Spencer raised his twitching right hand towards her face so he could pull her closer.
He pressed his lips to hers as if it was something he did every night, as if she was simply another notch on his belt and not a singularity. Everything he thought he knew about himself ceased to have meaning the moment her lips slid so perfectly against his. For him, there was some insecurity behind it all. On the other hand, she had surely kissed many people before, she did it all with such precision.
Their lips scraped together, too dry for the harsh movements. Her hand slid from his neck towards his shoulder to grasp at him as she pulled him closer. His left hand went down to her waist, pushing her to be flush with his body, while the other grasped at her hair the same way she had grasped his.
He took charge of the kiss as if he had wanted it for a long time. God, nothing made sense with that Francis girl. He slid his tongue into her mouth, brushing against hers. She moaned in surprise against his mouth, eagerly pushing her tongue into his mouth as retribution. He was getting pulled into and out of the movement, no thoughts running through his brain and then a sudden awareness of what he was doing.
He knew this girl for only 15 minutes, 20 at best, and yet they were kissing in ways he had never kissed anyone before. Was that the appeal of one night stands — not that it was one, God, no.
Her teeth at his lower lip pushed him towards the brainless side. He gasped as she sucked his lip into her mouth. She pulled back, moving down towards his neck. He jolted backwards as her lips planted on him, tongue licking at his neck. She only pushed him closer, teeth scraping at his neck.
She pulled back slightly, a string of spit snapping against his skin. “Wouldn’t it be funny if I was an actual vampire?”
“Vampires aren’t real,” he replied, for some reason. He knew she was being playful, but he still tried to contain himself, be a straight edge even when it had already been proven he wasn’t.
Francis laughed, the air hitting his wet neck, making him shiver. It felt like ants crawling on the inside of his skin. As she pulled back, he raised his hand, sleeve of his shirt wiping at where she had licked.
She eyed the movement with amusement. “That’s such an asshole thing to do.”
“I — I’m sorry, it’s not like that — I just don’t —”
She silenced him with a kiss, her tongue parting his lips. He couldn’t help the groan that left his mouth, leaving him off guard. Her hand was at his hair again and he noticed his hadn’t yet left hers, he still held her tight, even tighter as they kissed. She grasped tight, more than before, it slid over the edge, no longer bordering between pleasure and pain. But, he didn’t dislike it.
A sharp sting, made him jolt again, hands tightening at her waist and hair which seemed to have encouraged her. She bit harder on his bottom lip, certainly breaking the skin. Her lips were no longer soft, they scraped and pushed as she dug hard into his lips. “Ow,” he let out.
Which should’ve been enough for any reasonable person to stop. Yet, she then sucked on his lower lip, hard, meaning to bruise further. Spencer could feel and taste the new found wetness as the blood pooled into his mouth and into hers.
He pushed against her shoulders and she fully pulled back when forced to. “That hurt.” He brought his hand towards his mouth to sooth the cut, it warmed up as it swelled.
She didn’t look apologetic. She stared at him in a way that sent a chill down his back, not the good kind. Her eyes had such a pretty shine under the moonlight, lips glistened with saliva and blood. Even if it all should’ve felt creepy, he felt his pants getting tighter. He hadn’t even been thinking about that, could she feel him before?
The longer she stayed silent, the harder his heart beat. He gulped. “Francis? Are you alright?”
Francis.
Francis Rose.
There was something about it.
He couldn’t yet figure out what.
She licked her lips that were still stained. “Oh, yeah, I suppose I’m sorry. I just got carried away.” She chuckled. “God, if I must admit this is too exciting. I’m not usually this way, so eager, but I’ve been watching you for way too long.”
“Watching me? What the —”
She smacked her hand over his lips. “Don’t curse, you don’t look the type.”
Spencer pushed her further back, pushing her hand away from his mouth.
Francis let out a sharp laugh, stumbling further back away from him as she held her hands up. “Chill. I mean, I thought you liked my touch on you. You sure seemed to two minutes ago.”
He gulped. “What are you even — Who are you?” His voice was too calm for the situation at hand. He knew had it been a man his reaction wouldn’t have been the same. She likely knew it too, it probably was the reason why she looked at him with such amusement.
“Who do you think I am, Reid?”
He hadn’t told her his last name which meant she had already known it. “How do you know my name?”
She shrugged.
Spencer stepped closer to her, she didn’t seem like she cared. “How do you know my freaking name, Francis?”
Francis Rose.
‘It’s what people call me’.
‘It’s prettier on paper.’
The David mention as if specifically to mess with his head.
“Why would you…” he trailed off. “Why would you approach me?”
“I don’t know. You didn’t mind my texts so I wondered if you minded me in person.” She smiled at him. “I suppose you don’t.”
He wasn’t sure if he hadn’t yet noticed or if he wasn’t allowing himself to connect the dots until it was shoved in his face. She held herself exactly as one would expect. Someone who had gotten away with many murders, someone who carved her own initials in parts of bodies as if to claim them, to claim the end of their lives. None of it was a surprise, there had been pretty and confident murderers before. Most of the serial killers craved the spotlight even if they couldn’t shine under it for too long, even if not to be loved. She fit the expectations, she was easy to profile.
However, she seemed too young to be a highly sought after serial killer, and a great one at that. She had held a normal conversation with him inside the bar just minutes before, she seemed genuinely scared to walk outside by herself. All of it made sense and didn’t at the same time.
“Is this about me or do you want me to send a message?” Would she hurt him out there? At any small scream people would run over, she knew that. He could also just grab her and yell at someone to call the other agents, she’d be brought in for questioning in less than 30 minutes. Why wasn’t he doing that? Maybe the fact he was still hard from their kiss had something to do with it.
“No, they saw you with me. I don’t want them to know my appearance.”
“So, you just wanted, what? To kiss me?”
“No, I wanted to meet you.”
Spencer shook his head. She was insane, right? There wasn’t an explanation to most of what she was doing and she looked too calm for someone standing in front of an FBI agent. The dichotomy meant insanity. “Right.”
She eyed him again, up and down as if he was a prize. “I suppose I should leave before you’re off this haze.”
Spencer could only blink at her. “You should, yeah.”
Francis smiled at him. “Well, nice to meet you. See you soon?”
He looked down as she stepped away.
Maybe if he wished hard enough he could just wake up from whatever nightmare that was. He slid his hands into his hair, grasping at the strands. That only reminded him of how she was touching it before and how much he had liked it — the touch of a serial killer. He let go in a heartbeat.
Spencer reached into his pocket, taking out his phone, hand trembling as he held it. He could still see her walking away, he could call someone on her, have her locked, right? He stared down at his phone, his dark reflection on the black screen, his messy hair and swollen lip. It would look even worse during the daylight.
He glanced up and she had disappeared from his eyesight. He took it as an excuse.
He closed his eyes deep shut, yet all he could see was her dress, the shade, the way it sat at the top of her thighs. The same shade of her lipstick must be all over his lips, mixed with the shade of his blood. He opened them again, letting out a shaky breath.
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pick your poison, babe (i'm poison either way) - chapter one
MASTERLIST
Finally here it is, my first longform spencer reid fic. Hope you all enjoy it<3
ao3 link <-
Summary: Spencer tries and fails to escape the looming present of a serial killer, one that seems to be way too into him. Surprisingly, he ends up liking her more than he should, but because he can't show that, things get... heated.
Tags: unsub!original character, enemies to lovers, serial killers, dubious morality, angst, violence, fighting, (light) blood kink, smut, hate sex, humor, enemies with benefits, canon-typical violence, love/hate, s4!spencer reid, oc is kinda insane and kind of a stalker but spencer is into it, fluff, forbidden romance, tbd...
chapter trigger warnings: murder description
words: 4.4 k
Chapter one: F.R.
That morning had been a good one. Birds chirped gleefully as they routinely did, only mildly muffled when cars drove past her street. The sound of birds singing nearly always made the day seem better. Breakfast had tasted good, the coffee left her tongue slightly burned, but she didn’t pay it much mind. There was no headache even though she had been out all night, drinking too many drinks to count.
In fact, she could remember it all, from the time she left her house to when she went stumbling back, keys sliding into the lock all wrong, falling down once because it was just her luck. When her eyes stopped at her kitchen clock she was glad she hadn’t brought that dude home who had been up on her all night long. At least, she could sleep about four hours, not too bad. The moment she fell into her bed the sleep came to her fast, unlike the usual where she tossed and turned all night. She had realised not while ago that the best way to sleep was to get yourself so unbelievably tired that your brain couldn’t bother you.
The brunette was sad it’d be her last day in that house. She liked it even with the absurdly low pressure on the shower or the window at her bedroom that didn’t quite fully close (who would be able to rob her anyway?). It had been cheap and the landlord was nice, which was rare to find. Regardless, she knew it was time to go. To be fair, she was too used to parting ways with things she liked, it wouldn’t be hard. It only seemed hard when it was happening, after she wouldn’t even remember the address of the place much less how the birds sang.
She had been cleaning some fancy couple’s house for the past three months, the usual.
As she entered the place she lowered the hoodie that had been covering her head, greeting the father at the kitchen. He offered her a tight smile he’d soon forget, closed off and mindless. He continued typing on his laptop, probably something about his work. She didn’t understand much about what business men did, but they sure always seemed to be busy. Never busy enough to not cheat on their wives, somehow.
The man in front of her was named Jack. He was around 40 and his wife was 26, very typical. They had a six-year-old that was most likely the reason for the rushed weeding and why he hadn’t kicked her to the curve yet. It certainly didn’t stop him from seeing other younger women he’d be more satisfied with, though.
Maybe Sarah (the gentle, young wife) knew about it, but she never seemed too bothered. It creeped her out, even made her feel bad. They were the exact same age and yet living such different lives, had different energies, personalities, wishes… The brunette spent most of her days out at clubs and bars while Sarah spent them at home or with her kid at a park. She didn’t know what hit her harder, wishing she had a mother like that or being scared to ever end up like her.
Anyhow, she wouldn’t spend much longer thinking about that family. They’d soon fade from her mind just as the apartment would.
The first stab was always the hardest. The one they weren’t expecting and the one where they could still fight back. He did yell, yet Jack didn’t have much fight in him, he went down with three stabs to the back. It was almost boring, she had expected him to struggle, a bruise or two to her arms as he tried to hold her back.
He fell down, face first into the stupidly fancy tiles of their kitchen; the ones she so often cleaned to be pristine clean. She straddled his back and stabbed at his neck, ending the meaningless screams he was letting out. Blood shot out into the tiles like a cascade into a river.
There had been no words exchanged when she had got there and none until the life left his body, as if he had turned into a ghost right under her, the spirit passing through her as it flew away.
The girl knew she had time, she always did, she planned ahead. She got up, trying to avoid the splattered blood everywhere, ready to clean her knife and store it away before she had to deal with how to get the body into her car. She had dealt with heavier bodies, it would be alright.
At least, she didn’t forget to deactivate the cameras that time. She had already made sure any evidence of her being in that house had been erased, camera footage deleted from the cloud of all those months. Made sure there were no backups of it anywhere.
Maybe the wife would be able to describe her, but it wouldn’t matter, she had hardly gotten to know her in that time, maybe spoke five times with her. She’d have no information to give that’d help them trace her. She could relay the somewhat round shape of her face and the color of her hair, and there were many girls that fit into that description.
As soon as she turned off the facet of the sink, she turned towards the hallway.
Oh, no.
She jumped back as she came face to face with the daughter of the couple ― the young little girl that was not far from seeing her father’s lifeless body laying on the floor. She wouldn’t understand what death meant, but she’d know that blood was bad, blood meant someone had been hurt, that her father was hurt.
She had definitely heard the screams and the noise as her eyes were really wide. “I heard daddy. Where is he?”
She gulped, not sure what to do. Sure, she had gotten people interrupting her, but never a child ― a child that was supposed to be at the doctor with her mother. “I thought you were with mommy. Where is she?”
“She went to see a friend.”
She forced a smile to give her. “I thought you two were going to the doctor. Weren’t you?”
“I don’t know.” The little girl stepped closer. The woman stepped forward, stopping her from moving any closer. “Is daddy okay? I heard him yell.”
“Yes, sweetheart. Daddy’s alright.” She cradled her face with her hand. “He fell, I helped him get back up. He’s already left for work. You should go up to your room while I clean downstairs.”
Had she really lied to a kid?
Once she knew her father was dead she’d resent her, she’d resent her for her whole life. Maybe she would’ve, regardless. She wouldn’t have known her father was an asshole, no one would tell her. She’d be awfully traumatised by that exact moment she went to check the noise, even if she forgot, it’d eat away at her in her subconscious.
“Okay,” she replied, turning around to step up the stairs.
The brunette let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding, and more kept coming. Her chest kept moving up and down as reality set in. She didn’t know when the mother would be home, if she came back too soon she could be caught.
She had to leave everything as it was.
So, she did what she could do best.
She bolted.
She ran towards her car and sped off before the sounds of sirens could even pop up in her mind.
The birds didn’t chirp in her new place. In fact, there weren’t many trees around her new apartment. There was more noise, though, both coming through the window and inside her mind.
The girl looked at herself in the mirror. Her dyed hair had turned out partially crisp, also perhaps too close to platinum blonde for her comfort, but with some hair washes it would go to the color she wanted. The crispiness would only go away once she chopped her hair off. Truthfully, it wasn’t about the color nor the aesthetics; it would never be, not as long as it meant her survival.
She was always careful; made sure to dispose of the body and leave only a trace of what had transpired, yet that time she couldn’t. She had to leave the body, still partially warm with blood pouring out. Even worse, had to leave behind a terrorized kid that’d hate her for all her life. She couldn’t allow herself to think about it for too long.
Maybe it had been good that she didn’t do the usual routine. There would be nothing connecting her with F.R., they’d think it was an unrelated murder and her real figure would still be nothing but speculation. That she could live easier with.
She still had to cover her tracks from the isolated one, though. She moved again ― she was going to before, but not so far away ― she moved all across the country, from Colorado to DC. Tried to think of what she’d do next, if she could even commit more risks after such a close call.
She stood there in her new apartment, paid for with the stolen money that bundled up from the short job, the victims and friends. She wasn’t a big spender, so she managed. It was quite shitty anyway and she expected to not cover the next month’s mortgage as she’d have to move once more.
“The police suspect the killer may have been a woman in her late twenties with dark brown hair. The wife described her as relatively shy, keeps to herself, but polite, didn’t look like she was capable of something of this nature. The security footage from a neighbour shows she did not expect anyone else to be home as she swiftly fled the scene.”
She rolled her eyes, finger still combing through the messed up hair. It was definitely half ruined, at least. She needed to cut some of it. They laid out the evidence as if there weren’t millions of women that fit her description in America. She had always covered her face as she arrived at their house, so she knew they couldn’t have that good of a shot of it. They definitely expected her to still be around the area, shellshocked and hidden, awaiting for her discovery.
She had left the car she used to escape at some gas station, leaving with some random person that could get her far enough away. She passed through enough field covered places to know no one could trace her. The only person who could’ve connected the missing dots was the man who gave her that long lasting ride, but he was now dead, body cut up in some Missouri lake (poor fisherman that’d discover him). He was kind of sweet, but her survival came first. She knew he had no family anyway, no one would really miss him besides his newly acquired girlfriend ― she’d probably move on.
“How can someone kill a little girl’s father so brutally while she’s still home? Only a true psychopath.”
The man on the news let out a scoff. “That’s an easy conclusion to make, but we don’t yet know the true nature of the crime.”
“You think she was fighting back?” one of the women commenting on the case asked.
“If the victim were anyone else, maybe, but Jack is known as extremely nice and helpful in his community. There is no bad thing to say about him. Still, she could have some personal vendetta against him only the two of them were aware of.”
She couldn’t wait for when the police finally realised he had been cheating on his wife — if they hadn’t already, but were covering for the family.
“Or she’s just insane.”
The man laughed. “Well, truly the most important part is the wife who now has to raise her daughter all by herself.”
“Oh, I can’t imagine how she must feel.”
Oh please, she had seen their bank account. Sarah would do just fine.
But, truly, it wasn’t like she wasn’t tired of it all. Of hearing about her own motives, the morals she lacked on the news, all the opinions on all the cases, how they profiled her… She had been pseudo-diagnosed with at least five different mental disorders by commentary people. It was too much at times even for her.
Maybe she was bored because she kept getting away with it so easily. She lived everyday waiting for it to be the one where the police came to put her in handcuffs, yet it never happened. She knew when she got too comfortable, that’s when she’d be caught. And, God, she felt really fucking comfortable.
She needed to step towards her last goal, get it done once and for all. She’d probably get found out, way easier for that when it was a crime of passion. She knew her run was running short, she kept getting it through her head, she knew it.
Really, she knew it. It was all fine, and maybe dying wasn’t all that bad. People had been dying since forever. Dying was better than being locked up for the rest of her life.
Because, yes, she knew she wouldn’t make it to prison, no way she’d rot there for the rest of her life as if she was some dumb criminal. She’d have to kill herself as soon as it was done. As soon as the son of a bitch of her father took his last breath.
And, it didn’t bother her, whatsoever, she had been getting ready for it. She knew since the beginning it’d be what it came to.
She was ready.
She didn’t mind dying.
She threw the scissors across the bathroom before even taking one cut from her hair; they hit the shower wall, bouncing towards the tub. She let out a scream of frustration, not too loud as to not annoy the neighbors.
Maybe she did mind a bit.
Spencer kept having the weirdest sensations. Chills up his back as if he was getting sick. Yet long enough time passed to prove that he wasn’t, not physically at least. It was most likely an FBI agent feeling, brain noticing a pattern he couldn’t yet put into words. Truth was, gut feelings were a thing, so there had to be a foundation to his weariness.
It wasn’t that it made him scared; he didn’t feel that he was about to get kidnapped at any possible given moment. However, he did feel that someone might have been more aware of him than he was of them. That on itself would make most people scared — it should make him scared — God, it should make him scared, shouldn’t it? Still, he wasn’t. Another gut feeling he couldn’t explain.
As soon as he set foot outside his apartment and the door slammed shut his phone rang. He was already running late; had been up too long the previous night and it made his head pound extra hard. So he let it ring as he paced towards his car, also slamming his car door shut. He cringed at how hard it slammed shut; every corner of that car was paid for with his money, no good in destroying it. The ringing stopped after the usual time and he simply drove towards work, possibly speeding the tiniest bit faster.
It didn’t ring again on his way there so he dismissed it as a possible mistaken call, not that he had bothered to check.
“Long night, Reid?” Derek teased.
Spencer hadn’t even sat down yet. Still stood over his desk as he took in everything. He chuckled. “Sort of?” he whined.
Emily smirked at him as she walked past, dropping a coffee at his desk. “Extra good?”
“Thanks,” he muttered, grabbing the cup. “And, nope. Extra terrible, in fact.”
Spencer rolled his eyes. There was no reason in fighting that, he knew it was a joke. None of them would genuinely think he spent the night doing anything other than reading or thinking about a case. To their credit, he wouldn’t believe it either even if he was the one doing it.
Later, they reunited to chat about a new case that had been transferred to their department. Rossi wasn’t around and so Hotch gave the details to the case.
“Someone sent in a letter.”
“A letter?” Morgan questioned. “They sent a letter to the FBI?”
Hotch hummed. “Yep.”
“Is this the 80s?” Morgan joked.
“Not many murderers send letters to police,” Spencer started, “and as such there’s not necessarily a timespan in which that was more prominent. I’d say though that it’d be more common now since everything’s available online, less resources are needed to taunt the police.”
“It doesn’t always have to be about taunting,” Emily interjected, “it can be about guilt.”
Hotch smacked his lips. “I’m afraid it won’t be about that. It’s from F.R.”
Spencer widened his eyes. “As in the serial killer F.R.?” He had read up on them quite a lot when the murders had been more frequent two years before, but they had become too sporadic to give a lot of clues any longer. He thought they would’ve faded away; he didn’t think they’d get away with all the murders, but definitely wouldn’t be caught anytime soon unless any new evidence came forth.
“Indeed,” Aaron confirmed.
“Who's that?” JJ asked.
“You don't know who that is?” Spencer wondered, eyebrows furrowing. He didn’t need to await for an answer before he started explaining. “They've been an active serial killer for the past — I wanna say 5 years or so. They kill exclusively older men, that are husbands and/or fathers. The FBI suspects they are a male, most likely around the victims’ age, as they can quickly transport the body out of the houses and since it seems they have mostly used knives, which means they must have the needed force to be able to fight with these men.”
“But, if they just kill men it'd make more sense to be a woman,” Emily said.
Hotch let out a small chuckle. “I mean, we don't know every bit of information regarding those murders yet, but the biggest suspicion is that it's a man. Once we analyse all the cases we can profile them better.”
She glanced down, seemingly in thought at what was said. He knew she hadn't changed her mind regarding her idea. To Spencer it too made sense to be a woman.
“Anyway, as I was saying. They exclusively kill men,” Spencer repeated. “We are yet to find a full body. They only leave behind parts, not really consistent.”
“And, why's that?” Derek asked.
Reid paused, gulping as he considered how to best explain it. Not that it didn't make sense, but it was harsh putting himself in the position of the police finding nothing, but those body parts behind, trying to give any explanation to the families. “They, um, they carve their initials — F.R. — on the body part they leave. We believe it's carved with a knife, always one with the same blade, at least. But, they could have changed knives over the years, surely.”
“Which body parts do they leave behind?” Derek asked.
Spencer pressed his lips together, looking at Hotch, hoping he'd answer that one.
He did, but also with some discomfort. “It ranges from arms to legs to… intimate parts.”
“This is definitely a woman,” Emily muttered.
Aaron cleared his throat. “Well, now that you are all familiar with F.R., we can discuss the letter they sent.” He threw the papers he had been holding that whole time towards the table so each of them could take one and read the letter.
“I won’t bother with any introductions, I’m sure you’ll just use them to draw some weird conclusions about who I am and what I’m like. I’m way too familiar with profiling.
My request is that you help me find my father, and if you do, I’ll offer you the pleasantry of not killing any more people. Also, there’s no use in trying to track me down once I tell you his name, there’s nothing legal tying him to me, he’s a shitty father.
Just do your jobs and don’t try to outsmart me, or there will be more victims than you can pin up in your fancy boards.
David Phillips. He’s around 50 now. We used to live in New York when he hadn’t yet left my mother.
Good luck,
F.R.”
“So, he wants our help?” Spencer questioned, having finished before any of them did. Assuming it was truly him and not some poser trying to mess with them.
Hotch raised his eyebrows at him, shoulders raising as he gave a resigned sigh.
A bit longer passed as the others read at a normal human speed. The first to talk was JJ. “I mean, he must be delusional if he thinks we’ll help. What they’re offering isn’t even a good deal.”
“Yeah, but they must know that,” Spencer replied. “They say they don’t want us to think about what they’re like, but they know we’ll have to do that given our occupation. Using the word ‘pleasantry’ in specific tells us they’re writing from our perspective, and doesn’t want to give us any more work.”
Derek spoke up, “while simultaneously asking us to find their father.”
“Hotch was right, it doesn’t exude guilt,” JJ commented.
He shook his head. “In fact, they’re willing to kill more unless we give them what they want. I wouldn’t put psychopathy past this unsub.”
Emily leaned forward on her seat. “I wouldn’t say that. If they are indeed a woman, the murder of older men who remind her of her father — most likely people who have committed bad acts themselves — would almost make perfect sense. It doesn’t necessarily correlate to psychopathy.”
“I just don’t see this being a dude,” Morgan argued, “the violent ways in which these bodies are dealt with are more common with men than women. I don’t see a woman doing this.”
“Statistically, that’s true,” Spencer said, “Only about 12% to 16% of serial killers are women and most of them favor covert methods of taking people’s lives, such as poisoning, drugs or smothering. It goes in line with their goal which isn’t sex and pleasure as it is in male serial killers, it’s usually a matter of power or financial gain. But, if we’re speaking outside of statistics, Emily’s idea could be plausible."
“The fact they haven’t been caught would go in line with it being a female,” Hotch added. “They can kill various victims spanning a decade. Male serial killers are caught much faster.”
“But, aren’t they most likely to target people they know?” Derek asked. “Their victims span the entire country, don’t they?”
“Yes,” Spencer replied. “Almost as if they’re trying to get a kill in each state. Most murders occur towards the eastern part of the United States, as if here is where their actual hometown is.”
“They did say their dad lived in New York with them,” Morgan said.
“What do we do, then?” JJ asked.
“Well, we should tell Garcia to track this man down and see if she can find him. If we get to him alive, that’s the best way to finally catch this serial killer,” Hotch replied.
“Are we going to reply to them?” Spencer asked.
Hotch shook his head. “After we study his previous victims, but for now we should ignore him, not give him what he wants.”
“Are we trying to provoke them?” Morgan asked. “Won’t that lead to more victims?”
Spencer tilted his head. “If they’re as smart as they seem, they’re probably assessing our reply, thinking about what our next move might be. Wherever they kill now would put us too close to their location, I’m not sure they want that. They would only resort to that as a last measure.”
There was a moment of silence between them.
Hotch broke it. “Unless, they did want that.”
“No, they’re not going down before killing their father,” Emily argued.
“After that they might, though.”
“A serial killer that leaves their initials behind certainly wants some credit for their crimes, they pride themselves in them,” Spencer said. “When they’re finally caught, they’ll get the biggest spotlight available, even if it means they’ll die shortly after.”
“So, they sort of win, regardless, don’t they?” JJ pointed out.
Spencer’s lips parted. It did sound like that. If they were caught, it’d be after they achieved their goal of killing their father. If they were egotistical enough, they’d maybe not mind going to jail for it all, but if it was a genuine payback, they wouldn’t even see it as wrong. He just didn’t understand where the murder of random people came into it all. Could it be in a social justice sense?
Hotch replied to her. “In their mind, yes. To us, they’re valuable alive so they can tell us where the lost bodies are, maybe even some other victims not related to their case. What happens to them after, doesn’t matter much...”
Morgan hummed in agreement. “So, we have to make sure they don’t get what they want, so we can at least question them for all the other crimes, and get the families some resolution.”
Emily nodded. “Even if it means they’ll kill themselves right after.”
“This is certainly a case to work on in the background. We ain’t catching them anytime soon with only a stupid letter,” Morgan whined. “We can’t even agree on their gender.”
“That’s why we need to know more about the murders. They’re sending all the boxes tomorrow so we can skim through them,” Hotch said.
Morgan scoffed. “Alright. I hope there’s something good in ‘em.”
Spencer looked down in thought. He wasn’t sure what he hoped, but most of it didn’t yet make sense. There was no way they actually believed the FBI would help them, and if they were psychopathic there was no way they’d keep their promise of not killing anyone else, they craved for it. And, there was plenty of evidence pointing that way, even if it seemed they had a motive to kill. They had already taken the lives of dozens of people, all in such a short time, it came with some abnormal low apathy.
Sadly, the worst way to go about it was also the one who would get them caught: wait until they got sloppy with the killings and revealed too much.
None of them would be willing to admit it, but they all looked like they knew it too.
pick your poison, babe (i'm poison either way) - coming soon!!
Hello everyone !! It is with much pleasure I announce my Spencer Reid x unsub!oc fic coming soon! I've been having such an unsub x spencer wish for fics and decided... why not write it myself? So it is in the works, with most of it sketched, and two chapters already written that will be published soon.
(Also, inspiration came from the lovely writer @marcidstars and their work NYCTOPHILIA that just keeps me up at night... Go read it if you haven't, it's so good)
For now, here is the description [ not very revealing i know ;) ]:
Summary: Whether it be paralyzing chills running on the back of his neck or blinding messes of moments — too short to burn or too long to freeze — nothing could’ve pushed Spencer Reid away from the bundle of mess that his life had turned to in such a short time. Oddly enough, he found himself not wanting to stop either, not wanting her to stop her new chase in which the newfound focus was him. God, what was wrong with him? What was wrong with her?
Tags: unsub!original character, enemies to lovers, serial killers, angst, violence, fighting, (light) blood kink, smut, hate sex, humor, enemies with benefits, s4!spencer reid, oc is kinda insane and kind of a stalker but spencer is into it, fluff, forbidden romance, tbd...
(series created with kinktober prompts ! i couldn't help but write more as I finished part 1. I'm not sure how many parts this will be but I'm thinking about 5)
PART 1 ♡
summary: As much as Hailey tries to force herself to dislike Spencer like he dislikes her, it never quite works out. When they have to share a bed for one night... things are revealed.
tags: masturbation, orgasm denial, flirting, teasing, light dom/sub, dom spencer reid, anddd there was only one bed, enemies to lovers
words: 6.1k
(kinktober day 1 - masturbation, orgasm denial)
PART 2 ♡
summary: After just a week Hailey can't force herself to be away from Spencer anymore and he gives her the greenlight that invites her right in.
tags: p in v, oral sex, deepthroating, nicknames, dirty talk, light! dacryphilia, teasing, light dom/sub, dom spencer reid, marks (they love leaving hickeys on each other), scratch marks, creampie
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Spencer Reid x OFC
OC called Hailey Harper, but I mean, you can project yourself onto her if you want ;)
words: 5.9k
kinktober day 10 : oral sex (and my pleasantly added dacryphilia + deepthroating)
summary: After just a week Hailey can't force herself to be away from Spencer anymore and he gives her the greenlight that invites her right in.
tags: enemies to lovers, p in v, oral sex, deepthroating, nicknames, dirty talk, light! dacryphilia, teasing, light dom/sub, dom spencer reid, marks (they love leaving hickeys on each other), scratch marks, creampie
ao3 link
Hailey left the bed, a lump forming in her throat that made it hard to talk. She could feel his eyes on her, his fingers that had been on her just minutes before pulling the sheets back as he also left the bed.
She moved to her bag to quickly grab some clothes. Thankfully, she had brought a different shirt that’d pair with the skirt from the day before.
Spencer rounded the bed, walking up to her. “This isn’t a ‘pretend it didn’t happen’ situation, is it?”
She walked, clothes in hands towards the bathroom. “Let’s hurry up, Spencer. I’ll get dressed and walk down first, you can stay and shower. I know you’ll feel weird if you don’t.” And she had told JJ he was showering in the heat of the moment.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
She looked at him. She could read his expression, of course, it was part of her job. But, it wasn’t convenient for her to do so, she couldn’t grab what he was laying down. “What question?”
He looked down. “That if we’re supposed to pretend it didn’t happen?”
She shrugged. “There’s nothing to answer. This isn’t a big deal, anyway.”
He gave a small nod. “I see.”
His look pained her. She moved away to get ready.
She knew she had forgotten something right in the second JJ’s eyes dropped to her neck. They raised to her eyes and widened. “They’re still serving breakfast,” she said. “We’re sat over there, though.” She pointed to a table where the others sat.
“Good, I need some coffee,” Hailey said, walking over to the displayed food.
Much to her dismay JJ followed her. “Had a long night?” she asked.
“Anything new about the case?” She grabbed some slices of bread and put it on the toasting device. It was quite fancy, like a small open oven.
“No, the unsub didn’t act up at night as we had suspected. He seems to like the sunlight.”
Hailey hummed. “And our attention that’s for sure. He won’t do shit if he doesn’t know we’re near.”
“Yes…” she trailed off. “So, what happened between you and Reid?”
She walked over to the coffee machine and the noise of the coffee coming down calmed her brain somewhat. JJ took out her toast before it burned. “Oh, thanks.”
“Does your silence mean something happened?”
Hailey grabbed the coffee and the toast (along with two packages of butter) and went to sit down. She sat down next to her. She started spreading the butter on the toast.
“Where’s pretty boy at?” Derek asked.
She looked up at him. His eyes too dropped to her neck instantly and his smirk could be seen miles away. “Showering.”
“You didn’t join him?”
Emily and Hotch had too been struck with looks of surprise. Hotch kept his face still, but she could see he wanted to ask. Her eyes flushed as everyone at the table was thinking the exact same thing…
“Did you two have sex?” Emily asked.
“Why don’t all of you save the questions for him? It’ll be more entertaining for you.”
“He’s not gonna tell us shit,” Emily argued.
Hailey shrugged, biting down on her toast. “Doesn’t sound like my problem,” she muttered with a mouthful.
As she peacefully ate her breakfast Spencer sat at the table, not close to her, thankfully. He had coffee and a cupcake already. Everyone turned to him with smiles that made him widen his eyes.
“Had a nice night?” Morgan was the first to ask because of course he was.
Spencer looked right over at her. What a way with subtlety. He opened his mouth, but closed it.
“Those marks on her neck say you did,” he explained. Emily laughed at his remark.
He didn’t look at her again, he could most likely picture them in his head. She wished he had warned her. “Oh yeah, she, umm, fell off the bed.”
There were some chuckles around the table, including from Hailey. God, he was so stupid, but she knew it was on purpose.
“Are you two a thing now?” Emily asked.
“No,” Hailey instantly replied before they could ponder on the question. “Why would we be?”
Spencer’s expression was unreadable as he bit down on his cupcake. She could tell they tried to study him just as she did because they were all staring — besides Hotch who just seemed done with the conversation. He glanced at the wandering eyes, but paid them no mind.
“It’s not a HR nightmare, guys. You’re all making assumptions which are most likely all wrong. We’re hardly friends.”
“Yeah, you’re friends with benefits now,” Emily said.
JJ looked down with a smirk. Derek laughed as he licked his lips.
Hailey glared at her. “We are not any of the sort. C’mon, let’s stop with this.”
“I agree,” Aaron added.
As soon as Hailey entered the shared kitchen her heart dropped. Of course, she picked the worst time to have lunch. His eyes were on hers, on her face, on the light marks on her neck and in her mind, it seemed.
They hadn't really been talking since the previous week. Things didn't feel as hostile as before, he was just being neutral towards her. She had hoped for it since forever, but somehow it was worse. Because she always thought he was cute, that he was hot. It was harder to pretend she didn't when he wasn't being mean.
She tried too hard to remember he made a sheet about how often she was late, but somehow that only made her want him more. She didn't even want to think of what she'd do if he was being nice.
Hailey was already trying so hard to find someone that matched up to how he made her feel, and she somehow just made the feeling worse. How was she supposed to forget him? To forget his hands on her? His words? When he was a fantasy she could write him off as being inexperienced and a loser.
He wasn't that anymore.
All she could do is try to avoid him.
“What do you want?” she asked, taking out her lunch from her bag so she could heat it.
“Who said I wanted anything?” He played with his food, still looking at her.
Hailey raised her eyebrows. “No one. Whatever you're doing right now did.” She opened the microwave door and put her food in it. One minute was always a good number.
“Did you know Microwaves were built during World War II as microwave energy was being developed for radar systems for the war?”
“Not something I particularly think about,” she said, staring at her food spinning.
“The first commercial microwave oven was produced in 1947. The oven, however, was actually 6 feet tall.” He gave a chortle at the end of his sentence. Was that the same guy that made her cum the other day?
“When did it become small?” she asked.
“When the first affordable one was brought to the market by the brand Amana in 1966 — no, 1967.”
She turned around to face him. “How do you memorise the dates?”
He shrugged. “Read about it recently?” he offered.
The microwave beeped. She turned around and took out her food. She walked over to sit right next to him. The side of his mouth lifted, but he was still somewhat smiling from the… microwave talk. “Do you own a book that’s just called ‘microwave fun facts’?”
“No…”
She took out the cover of the lunch box. “Just be silent, please.
“Is this kitchen yours?” he questioned. “Am I interrupting your lunch?”
Hailey chuckled. “Now you are, yes.”
“I’m sure that’s it.”
Things felt so awkward and she knew it was because she wanted it again. They had both confessed they wanted to fuck each other and she knew there was no way to ignore it. Just sitting next to him was making her senses light up, even if she wished to keep everything professional — as if it was ever between the two.
“What's the real reason you're ignoring me?”
She paused. “I am not ignoring you. Has something dropped over your head? We never even talk much.”
Spencer hummed, taking more food into his mouth. He didn't sound convinced.
“We both know why,” she mumbled.
He tilted his head as he looked at her. “Are you ignoring me because you don’t want it to happen again or because you regret it?”
Hailey knew what to reply, but did she really want to lie? “Neither. I… I don’t feel either. It’s just weird.”
Spencer nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“God, no.”
“Alright,” he whispered. He didn’t hide the disappointment from his voice. It also lingered in her head for longer than it should have.
Because she shouldn’t care?
Why would she even care?
Yeah, she couldn’t care less.
"If you make up your mind, you know how to find me." He got up and left her eating by herself.
Streetlights had a way of looking like stars if one was distracted enough. Hailey absolutely was, her thoughts racing and hands moving the wheel at the wrong times.
What was she doing? It was wrong, it was stupid, she needed to go back.
He didn't mean it like that. He didn't actually want her to take it up on it, right? They were colleagues, it felt wrong. It was already creepy that during cases she felt horny just at his presence when they were trying to track down a serial killer. She couldn't make it worse.
It was wrong.
She didn't go back. The sound on the radio melted her thoughts that yelled at her, it dripped away as she drived. The wind coming from the window kept her face from flushing as she thought over what she'd even say to him.
She couldn't practice, that'd mean it was real.
As she pulled up outside she took out her phone. Was there any chance he'd be asleep at 10 pm?
You: hey, are you awake?
She put her phone down as she leaned back against her seat. She hoped he didn't answer.
Spencer Reid: ?
You: I assume that's a yes.
Spencer Reid: Why are you texting me? Do you have a fever?
You: umm, maybe?
Spencer Reid: Well… what do you want?
Spencer Reid: Are you going to ask for soup or something? I don't cook that well. Maybe Penelope is the one you should be texting.
You: no, i’m texting the right person, much to your displeasure
Spencer Reid: Not a displeasure. Just wondering what this is about.
Spencer Reid: You're still not saying anything.
Because she was a coward and scared of his reaction. At least she didn't have to see his face. She took some deep breaths and typed out the sentence ‘i’m outside’.
Spencer Reid: You know, this is not how you ‘sext’.
She deleted her two words. Was he fucking serious? She wanted to kill him.
You: since when do you know about sexting? done it much?
Spencer Reid: Never.
Spencer Reid: But, I know it usually starts with “What are you wearing?”
You: Spencer. NO. I am not trying to sext you.
Spencer Reid: Now you know capitalization and punctuation?
Spencer Reid: Anyway, did you build up the courage for whatever you want to say?
She rolled her eyes at his message, but something squeezed her heart in a tight and warm embrace that he knew.
You: i’m here
You: as in, outside
Spencer Reid: Outside where?
You: your house
You: let's talk about last week.
Spencer Reid: Oh…
Was that a good reaction?
You: Spencer… can i come up?
Spencer Reid: You already invited yourself over here, why not?
She left the car and walked up to the door.
You: Open the door.
There was a buzz as the door to the apartment opened.
She decided to take the stairs so she had time to collect her thoughts. She had never even seen his apartment, only knew where he lived. She wasn’t sure what her intentions were that night. Talking didn’t require late night visits to one’s house.
Before she could knock on his door, he was already opening it.
When she stared into his face, confusion in his expression, but not rejection, she really wished she had practiced what to say. “Sorry, I interrupted whatever it was you were doing.”
“I was just reading.”
“Right…”
He stepped aside, giving her space to walk in. His place was tidy even when he didn't expect her. She wondered if he tidied up anything when she told him she was there.
He closed the door behind her. “So, are you here to —”
“Shut up,” she interjected.
Spencer leaned on his door. He did the motion of zipping up his mouth and throwing the key to the side. She knew it wouldn’t last long.
Hailey threw her handbag somewhere and stepped closer to him. “I think… I don’t…”
The way he looked leaning against the door was making it hard to think of any words. She was inside his house, they were fully alone. They weren’t forced to be together, she had driven there on purpose. It was late and he was wearing pajamas already; he seemed fully ready for bed.
She was going fucking insane from the way her heart was beating. Her hands shook from needing to hold back. His eyes were all over her, he knew, of course he did. “I think it’s best we write it off as a one time thing.”
He leaned away from the door and took one step. “Alright.”
“We were tired. It just happened. Just the fact we all had to share beds is already a HR problem, right? You can’t just do these things with — with your coworkers. It’s n-not…” She licked her lips. “You know?”
Spencer stood so close to her she wasn’t even sure why she was there anymore.
“Just tell me you understand,” she whispered, it kept her voice from wavering so much.
“I do,” he whispered back.
She felt it coming.
He pushed her into the wall, hands travelling at her sides, grasping her waist. They both leaned in, both were to blame. He could arrest her right there and then if he wanted. She heard herself whimper as their lips finally brushed together.
His touch wasn't soft, hands cradling her face, but his hair was. She pulled it to angle his head how she wanted. His mouth was minty; he had probably already brushed his teeth.
His hands were sliding her jacket off her shoulders, throwing at the couch. His next kiss was always deeper than the one before. Just his body on hers satisfied the itch that lingered since that morning. But, she knew she wanted more, and he did too. It was obvious where they were headed that night.
He pulled back. “Are you sure you —”
She couldn’t answer him. She leaned into his neck and sucked on his skin. Some part of her considered it revenge. Hailey sucked as hard as she could, feeling him dig his fingers into her sides, pressing down hard. She moved down, sucking on another spot, the taste of copper in her mouth. As she pulled back she could see the little freckles of broken blood vessels and she smirked. The faint yellow on her neck was hardly a match.
His mouth was open, breaths coming from it as he stared at her like he wanted to hurt her back. He started unbuttoning her shirt instead. “We should go to my bedroom.” But he continued working on her shirt, eyes going right to her chest.
“Take me, then,” she muttered.
He pushed it from under her waistband and slid it off her shoulders. It fell to the ground. “In a second.”
Hailey chuckled. The sound soon turned into a full gasp as his lips touched the top of her breast. He bit down and sucked on the skin like he owned it. Her hand went to his head, grasping at his hair. “Shit,” she muttered. She felt his hand travelling to her back, working at her bra to undo it.
It fell to the floor like her shirt. His lips were around her nipple, sucking on it. Her head hit the wall behind her; she could feel herself getting embarrassingly wet.
“Spencer.” She wanted him without his clothes, she wanted his skin on hers, she wanted him inside her.
He pulled back to look at her, mouth swollen red, hair messy from her hands. “Yes?”
“Bedroom. Your bedroom.”
He cleared his throat, stepping away from her. His hand was on her wrist, pulling her with him as they stepped towards his bedroom. She didn’t have enough reason or willpower to think it was a bad idea. She didn’t have much of a mind to think about his bedroom either. She just mindlessly walked inside.
When Spencer looked at her, his eyes were dark and making her wish to crawl into the tiniest hole. She felt very conscious of her naked upper half, but he looked at her as if he loved it.
She looked back at the bed — his bed.
“Do you want me to throw you on it?” he asked, head tilting, his beautiful curly locks falling to the side. Fuck.
Hailey sat down on it, not lying, she didn't want to fully give him what he wanted. “The mattress is hard, I don't like it.”
He stepped closer to her. She had to look up at him and he made the situation more obvious by grabbing her chin, fingers digging into the sides. “You don't like hard things?”
She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Wanna prove me wrong?” she flirted back despite how hard her heart was beating.
Spencer licked his lips as he let go of her face. “Get to it, then.”
Her eyes drifted down before she could act like she didn’t get what he wanted. She could see how hard he was through his sweatpants; sucking her lip into her mouth at the images that filled her mind. “Make me,” she muttered.
He raised his eyebrows. “Is that how you like it?” His question was loaded and it shot her right through her lower stomach, wetness pooling at her underwear.
“Is that how you like it?” The only sort of dominant thing he had said was ‘look at me properly and ask’, and she kept replaying it in her mind ever since. But, was he into what she was? Would he go that far?
He leaned in close to her and then his hands were at the waistband of her jeans. He unbuttoned them and started running them down her legs. She scooted so she could help him take them off. At her feet he also took off her shoes, throwing them to the side. The jeans were completely flipped outside out as he threw them at a chair next to the bed. There was a cold chill in the air, she was only in her underwear, though.
“You didn’t answer me,” she muttered.
“I can tell you like me ordering you around,” he said.
The way he said it, looking right into her eyes, made her insides flutter. “And do you enjoy it?”
Spencer stepped back, leaving some space between them. “Knees.”
She gasped. He looked serious too, very confident. Him being fully clothed while she was nearly naked made her even more turned on, if that was possible. She dropped to her knees in front of him, hands moving to slide his sweatpants down.
As his cock sprang free she felt the noise on her throat come out before she could stop it. Heat flew to her cheeks as she stared at him; big and the bulging veins were messing with her head. “I think I enjoy it a bit,” he said; she didn’t remember the context.
Hailey leaned in, tongue out to lick up his cock. His hands were pushing her hair back as he gasped. She hoped he’d pull it. She hummed as her lips wrapped around his head, licking it without moving down. She looked up at him with a smirk, hand wrapping around him instead.
Spencer had her hair messy in one hand, he moved the other to under her chin. “Hailey…” She loved her name on his lips. “What are you playing at?”
“Are you not going to beg?” she teased.
His playful demeanour shifted, he glared at her, hand tightening on her hair. “I’m not going to beg, sweetheart.”
She had to press her tights together at the nickname. It was so unlike the Spencer she knew. “You look like someone who would.”
“But, you wouldn’t want me to,” he said.
She swiped her thumb on the head and his eyes fluttered.
“Suck, Hailey,” he demanded.
She didn’t feel like talking back, not that night, at least. She wanted him too bad. So she opened her mouth and started taking him inside. She was careful not to scrape her teeth against him. She had never had someone as big as him so she felt somewhat naive, but she never let the embarrassment stop her from doing anything.
Spencer threw his head back and that eased her insecurities. He let her work slowly at it, moving forward and back slowly, trying to take more of him each time. She kept her hand on the base, she just wanted to feel him up.
At the first tiniest thrust of his hips she dismissed it as an accident, especially because he seemed to be holding back. She could feel that he was tense, his hand tight, but not restricting her movements.
But, he seemed to try it again, more obviously. She gagged for the first time, eyebrows furrowing as she looked up at his eyes. He raised his eyebrows at her, as if asking her if he could. Hailey took her hand off, having both at her thighs as she continued looking at him.
He got the memo. He started properly thrusting inside her mouth, trying to dig deeper and make her take more of him. She dug her nails into her own thighs, trying her best to breathe and not to gag. She had never been so wet without even being touched.
Then, he held her as her nose brushed against his skin. She looked up at him, wide eyes.
“You can take it, baby.” His tone was sweet even if his expression was of pure evil, like she had never seen him before. It was so hot.
She moaned despite the despair she felt. She could feel proper tears leaving her eyes, she couldn’t control them. It was hard to breathe, but she felt wetter by the second.
“You look so pretty crying for me,” he whispered, thumb catching one tear as it fell.
She glared at him, fighting hard not to choke on his cock. She slapped his hip. He thrust his hips at her mouth a bit more before pulling her back by the hair. She could relax for one short moment until he was building a pace inside her mouth.
He wasn’t going as far as he did for those torturous seconds, and a part of her wished he did. Her hand still laid at his hip and he engulfed it with his, grasping her wrist tightly. She moaned at the sensation. “You like that?”
She couldn’t exactly reply, and it seemed like he didn’t want her too anyway. There wasn’t much for her to do besides take it. She had never seen a guy look so hot while deepthroating her. And she had had her fair share of guys. The butterflies couldn’t make her enjoy it so much as she was in that moment — and she felt none for Spencer. They barely even liked each other as friends, there was no reason for it to be that good.
Spencer threw his head back, more moans leaving his mouth. And she wanted them as her ringtone. She could feel him twitching inside her mouth. She didn’t know him well enough, but he seemed quite close.
Before she could feel disappointed that he would cum inside her mouth and not fuck her that night, he pulled her off his dick. “That’s enough.”
Her breaths were heavy as she leaned against the bed for balance. She cleaned the spit on her chin with her hand, throat still raspy and sore from him.
“Get up.”
Hailey looked up at him, jaw clenched.
“Don’t look at me like that, you’re the one who likes it.”
“You like it too,” she muttered.
Spencer shrugged. “Does it matter? We’re never doing this again, right?”
Hailey got up, her knees ached from digging into the floor for so long. She didn’t want to show she was in pain. “Yep,” she replied. She didn’t need him to test her, she knew what she had said and she agreed with herself. It was a bad idea, and it would never happen again. All they needed was to get it off their systems.
Even if those weren’t her initial intentions, they were then.
Spencer nodded, expression hard.
She slid her hands under his shirt and started sliding it up. He took it off swiftly. She moved back on the bed to lie in it. He removed his sweatpants and boxers, then moved to lie on top of her. He sat back on his knees to take off her underwear, throwing it to the side. She let her legs fall open for him, eyeing him with a smile.
Spencer licked his lips and her brain did the work for him. She imagined him head between her legs, licking, sucking, biting at her tights, making her crave him forever, ruining her for anyone else. But, he didn’t move down, he went back to laying on top of her and his mouth was at her ear. “You think you’re ready?”
She had never been so ready, she could feel the wetness dripping to her back. “You’re not going to touch me?”
He kissed her neck. “Why would I give you everything you want?” His tongue was at her neck, sucking one more bruise she’d have to explain — they both would and that excited her horny brain.
She took a few moments before she remembered to reply to him. “Because it’s never happening again.”
Spencer let go of her neck with a pop and moved back to look at her. “Then, I’ll leave you something to fantasize about.”
“Fuck you.”
He didn’t smile nor did he glare, he just looked down and propped himself on top of her. Their hips fully lined up, and her legs at his sides. He took hold of himself and she could feel his head against her clit, grinding, making her gasp.
“Just get to it,” she pleaded, hands grasping his duvet.
He slid down to her hole, getting a few inches inside, then stopped. She felt her entire body tense up and so was his.
“Spencer.”
“You can do better than that, Hailey,” he taunted as he licked his lips.
She wanted to choke him, to flip them around and ride him until he begged her. But, she couldn’t bring herself to even try. “Please,” she whispered.
“Please what?”
“Please, fuck me, Spence.”
He thrust himself fully inside her. She let out a loud moan that flushed her and he moaned too, although much lower. “You’re tight.”
Hailey’s hands moved to his shoulders as she held on to him. Her legs tightened around his hips as if scared he’d move away. It didn’t hurt, much to her surprise, but he stretched her in a way she never felt before. “That’s what happens when you skip foreplay,” she teased.
Spencer couldn’t help but laugh at her. “You didn’t get off on sucking me?”
“Maybe not.”
He started to move slowly, getting both used to it. “How did you get this wet, then?” he asked, smiling at her.
Hailey closed her eyes. “Thinking about someone else.”
Spencer snorted. But, it seemed to annoy him because he gave a proper thrust, making noise leave both their throats. His head fell forward at her neck. His hand moved to her chest as he grabbed her breast, fingers toying with her nipple.
She whined, hips trying to beg him to move faster. “Please, more.”
He pinched her nipple making her yelp.
“Please, Spencer.”
He slid his hand down, grasping her thigh from below to move it closer to her stomach. It made him slide deeper inside her. She could cry again from how good he felt, touching spots she didn’t even know existed.
“You’re so big,” she said.
“Fuck,” he cursed, hips stuttering against her. “You can’t just say that.”
Hailey smirked, opening her eyes again. He looked as much of a mess as she felt. She was sure that’s why he was being silent. “Are you going to cum too fast?” she teased.
He finally thrusted faster, making her nearly gasp for air. His pretty locks of hair bounced as he did so, the ones that weren’t sticking to his forehead. “Why do you enjoy pissing me off so bad?”
She moved one hand up to touch his cheek, he leaned against it, eyes still closed. It felt too… real. It was never going to happen again, it couldn’t. She couldn’t miss him after it was over, she couldn’t enjoy it too much. She drew her hand back, grabbing both his forearms instead, they flexed under her touch as he moved.
“You know, I don’t think your goal is to actually annoy me,” he said, strained voice.
“Why's that?” she managed to say.
He opened his eyes. “You just want me to be rough. You want me to hurt you so you don’t like it too much.”
Hailey pressed her teeth together as she shook her head.
“No?” He tilted his hips and hit a perfect spot that made her instantly let out a loud gasp. “I think you won’t be able to hold yourself. Like you didn’t today.”
“Stop profiling m-me during sex.”
He chuckled. “Don’t act like you don’t like it.”
She opened her mouth to reply, but he thrust so deep again all she could do was moan.
“I knew you wanted it. I might've not been sure before that night, but I saw how y-you looked at me when my fingers were deep,” he stilled deep inside her and her entire body twitched, hands at his forearms as if begging him to let go, “inside you. Can't forget even if I tried.”
She whimpered very pathetically, nails digging into his arms.
“Scratch me harder, sweetheart,” he said as he resumed his pace.
She felt like she could finally breathe. “You like pain?”
He laughed at her question, but didn’t reply.
So Hailey did, she did her best to scratch him, to leave him something to match his neck. He didn’t even twitch and she felt insanely jealous. Who had he fucked like that? Who made him talk like that? Who taught him any of it?
His lips were on hers, silencing her thoughts in return. His hand was on her cheek, thumb digging into the other side of her face. She could feel his groans against her lips, tongues brushing as if both trying to show the other how in control they were. She struggled to keep up, forgetting to kiss back at times. But, his tongue tasted her as if she was his last meal — and wasn’t she?
Her hands scratched at his back instead as she held him close to her. She could feel the sweat on his body mingle with hers, drops at his forehead fall to hers.
She needed more, she needed to be close. Hailey grabbed his wrist to pull his hand off her face and move his hand down, between their bodies. He pulled back with a hum as he got what she wanted.
“P-please,” she whispered.
He nodded. “Anything for you, baby.”
God, the fucking nicknames were too much. She clenched around him despite his words. His fingers circled her clit and she felt her eyes roll to the back of her head. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum so fast.” And his thrusts were never fast like she had craved in the past, they were steady and hard, somehow it was enough when it was him. What about him was so special? She couldn’t understand it.
She felt his mouth at her breast again, sucking on the nipple he hadn’t before. His fingers were hasty, his thrusts were faltering; he was most definitely close too, he just didn’t want to show it.
She felt it build up so nicely already, feeling rising at her lower stomach. She knew she was digging her nails harder, making him hiss. “S-sorry.”
“Don’t stop,” he said, voice like hers. There was no upper hand anymore.
So, she kept her hold as her muscles tightened up. She could feel herself starting to clench and tighten around him.
“Fuck, Hailey, I-I can’t hold off much longer,” he whined.
Next time she’d have him whining below her. She wondered how long he’d let her have control before he fucked her as hard as he was. But, those moments of control would feel extremely good. “I’m close, baby.” She didn’t know where the nickname came from, but nothing rational was anywhere to be seen in her head. All she thought of was him and him and him and — “Spencer,” she whimpered.
“Come for me, Hailey,” he groaned against her chest.
Her eyes were at the back of her head, hands grasping his skin desperately as she came around his cock. She had never clenched so hard around anything. He gasped from it and she knew he was coming too very soon after.
Her face clenched in pain as he bit down on her breast, but it enhanced the sensations that were slowing down. She still felt in the high of her orgasm as he filled her up with his cum. Their moans filled the room. Did he have neighbours? His hand slowed down perfectly as she came down even as he twitched against her.
At the last thrust of his hips the silence was deafening between them. Their breaths could be heard, replacing their moans. She liked his touch, the way his sweaty skin felt against hers. His hair was damp and she didn’t feel grossed out, she wasn’t sure why. There was a foreign feeling at her chest that she dismissed as her erratic heartbeat.
She could feel his too and it wasn’t different.
He leaned back to stare at her and the look was different. He wasn’t putting up an act of someone who had control over her, he wasn’t angry, he wasn’t smug at how he made her fall apart… he seemed sad.
Hailey blinked her regret away. She pushed at his shoulders. “I need to go to the bathroom.”
He moved away from her, both grimacing as his cock slid from inside her. “We didn’t use —”
“I’m on birth control, don’t worry about it.”
Spencer nodded. The rest was left unsaid.
She scooted away from the bed and grabbed his shirt from the floor. “Be right back.”
spencer reid x OFC
words: 6.3k
kinktober day 3: Temporary/Permanent Marks
summary: Charlotte and Spencer have a massive crush on each other. It all culminates as Charlotte is trying to forget one particularly hard mission. Things get quite heated.
tags: angst, death, murder, smut, making out, sexual tension, flirting, rough sex, office sex, biting kink, fluff, hurt/comfort, friends to lovers. Quite dark but it ends very well I'd say.
ao3 link
Whenever Charlotte Pierce looked at Spencer Reid a few things crossed her mind.
He was undoubtedly and exceptionally smart, but that everyone knew, it was objective in the common meaning of the word. But, she felt it in such a weird way, almost jealous of how passionate he could be to search about everything. It wasn’t a feeling that corrupted her soul, though, it made him shine whenever her eyes caught a glimpse of him.
He was very sweet, the type that could make you feel bad about anything mean you said to him, even if you were right. He had that doe-eyed innocence about him. There was that feeling of wanting to see beyond the first layer he had carefully constructed to not let anybody in. Sometimes he seemed so pained and yet exuded such sympathy she just wished he’d curse her out, she didn’t want him to push it all down. She wanted to see the real him, the good and the bad. The extremes and the middle ground.
Truthfully, he was most likely the cutest guy she had ever met, though she’d be suspicious declaring that. His hair always looked soft and she wished to run her fingers over them at all times. Whenever he read or focused on pinning up photos on a board she just wanted to lean in, distract him with a kiss on the cheek. She wanted to sink into his eyes, make him see her everywhere he went. Then, his smile never failed to send butterflies down to her stomach. His hands — God, his hands, they tainted her mind in the cruelest way.
And she was pretty certain everyone knew. She couldn’t keep it in even if she tried, not that she was.
Though she hadn’t yet confessed or even properly touched all the spots she admired in him, it seemed quite obvious it was getting there. They didn’t exactly flirt, but they did spend quite a lot of time together. Never really speaking about what exactly was going on between them, but there was a common understanding that they had risen above friendship a long time ago.
They both rolled their eyes at the teasing remarks from others. Spencer blushed and Charlotte enjoyed it because it meant there was something there. That he liked her too. In fact, she was certain he did, he wasn’t exactly… subtle.
She instantly looked to the side as something was dropped on her desk. She looked up and her lips had a life of their own, moving up to match Reid’s. “I finished it,” he said.
Charlotte looked at the book he dropped on her desk. She had lent it to him the day before. “Lots of free time?”
He shrugged. “I actually took my time with it. Managed to read it twice. Really engaging story, I enjoyed the build up before, umm, before they got together. The writer was especially good at describing the environment of the story.”
She rolled her eyes — not that he had said anything wrong, but he spoke with such seriousness over a simple romance book she had lent him in hopes of flustering him. He seemed to have one upped her by not reacting.
Spencer placed his hands on her desk, a smile forming on his face. “I’ve read better, though.”
Charlotte grabbed the book and put it to the side, making a mental note to store it later. “Yeah?” She looked up at him, raising her eyebrows. “Was it bad because it was spicy?”
That did it. He glanced around at their work colleagues, seeing if anyone was watching the conversation, they didn’t seem to be. “No? I just…” He gulped. “I guess it’s not my thing.”
“You read it twice, though.”
“Yeah, I had the time.”
She hummed. “You’re welcome, then.”
“Yeah, thank you I —” he sighed, “I’m glad you suggested it to me. I like that you thought to do that. Even if it’s not really my thing, I thought it was pretty nice of you. It’s more interesting this way.”
“What’s more interesting?”
“It means you’re not trying to appeal to me, you just want to share what you like. And, that’s nice, right?”
God, could she just kiss him in front of everyone? “Yeah, I hope you’re the same.”
“Well, I don’t think you’d enjoy a lot of the things I read, but I can lend you a book if you want.”
Charlie nodded, a smile forming on her lips. “If you want to.”
“Of course, I’d want to. You’re my friend, that’s what friends do.”
Friend. That word felt so appropriate yet so wrong. They had spent nights at his apartment while she made him watch some random show he’d never pick by himself, she had cooked dinner with him before he offered her his bed while he took the couch. They had gone on dinners after work, all by themselves at surprisingly fancy restaurants where everyone would assume they were a couple. There had been suspiciously long hugs, hand touching below tables that she’d swear is accidental yet if in the line of sight of anyone they’d pull away. She didn’t feel like a friend in those moments.
He seemed to have noticed the shift in her expression. “I— I didn’t mean it like, y’know, I — obviously we’re friends, but we’re… close, there’s not just—” He jolted as a hand slapped his shoulder.
“You don't need to be nervous, pretty boy, you’ve already got it in the bag,” Derek teased, winking at him.
Spencer looked between him and Charlotte, flushing. “What’s that supposed to mean?” He knew what it meant, yet having it laid out so clearly by an outsider was dangerous, it felt like too much, a big cross over the line they have been comfortably in for so long.
Derek shrugged. “You tell me.”
“Derek,” she warned.
He smirked before walking away from them. “Less flirting, more work.”
“We’re not flirting,” Spencer replied, glaring at him as he walked off.
Charlotte bit down her lower lip. “Anyway, I’m glad you enjoyed the book.”
He looked back at her. “Yeah. Nice. I’ll be thinking of which one to give you.”
She giggled at him, he smiled back. “Sure.”
God, why did he make her act like a teenager.
It was a normal thing that happened to everyone in that line of work. Eventually, it had to happen to her. She knew all the rational parts of it, what it did to your head, that you needed a break after an event like that, that whichever choice you made wasn’t wrong just because it ended in tragedy. Gideon had told it all in the reassuring way of his that you knew he had gone through the exact same thing, a tone that you instantly trusted even if you didn’t understand the words yet. She had seen him do it to others, she had felt the warming advice in his words even if he had never told it to her since he had been long gone already.
The comfort and the right words could never fill the hole up in your soul after you took someone’s life. It had to be rebuilt with time and it’d never go away, no matter how well you seemed months later, no matter what the person you killed had done. It was in your hands, the end of that person’s entire existence. It was a heavy thing to carry.
And Charlotte wished she didn’t have to carry it alone.
“Agent Pierce,” Hotch called, pacing towards her. He had some files in his hand, but the most noticeable thing was the uncharacteristic softness in his gaze.
She looked down at her hands at the desk, playing with one of her many rings. “Whatever you wanna tell me, it’s fine, I’m fine.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want time off tomorrow. I need to be here.”
“I know, you couldn’t even be gone one day, you’d just show up here, anyway.”
Charlie chuckled.
“Do you have the report yet?”
She shook her head. “I’ll stay here and write it tonight.”
“Don’t forget it,” he replied.
“When do I ever?”
He nodded and turned around to leave. Before he could, he went back to her again. “Don’t burn yourself out. I know now you don’t want time off, but you will need it. The more you try to bury it, the more time you’ll need to be gone.”
“You think I don’t know all of that?”
“No, I know you know it, but you’ve never felt it. You had never…” he trailed off.
Shot someone to death in a split second decision? Watched the blood pour out the soul from their body, the soul you had taken from them? Even if she could imagine what happened, she couldn’t feel it, it wasn’t a flashback, it was just an event. There was an odd numbness to it that she knew would be gone, but she didn’t understand, not even if she did scientifically. She sighed. “Yeah.”
“It’s ok to say you’re not alright, whenever it all comes to you. I don’t want you pushing through it for your sake nor do I want it to cloud our work. There’s people that need us, dead or alive, we can’t let our personal stuff get in the way.”
“I don’t want to think about it right now,” she admitted.
He didn’t comment on the clear deflection, even if he knew it was his job to.
“I’ll write the report and head home.”
“Why not go home now?” he questioned. “It’s very late.”
Charlotte shook her head. There was no reason to, no one was there for her at home. There she at least had other sleep deprived agents who could serve as phantom company. “I’m alright here.”
He glanced around, eyes catching particularly at Spencer’s desk. “Did Reid go home?”
She paused. How did he always know what was wrong? She hadn’t even admitted it to herself yet, hadn’t allowed herself to think about it, but her heart ached at the mention of him. He hadn’t even tried to talk to her after what happened. She knew she had seemed fine, so maybe he didn’t think he had to — but God, didn’t he know better? He knew she’d soon crash out and she’d need someone, why wasn’t he there?
“Charlotte,” he called, in the serious tone only fit him,
Her hand moved to the mouse, the computer screen coming to life. “Aaron?”
“Maybe he didn’t know you’d get this upset.”
She felt her heart pick up, she wanted the conversation to end. “I’m not upset.”
“You are, I can tell.”
Then, why didn’t he? “You’re a profiler, I’d be worried if you couldn’t.”
“Pierce, just talk to him. You know he’d never leave you like this on purpose.”
She continued ignoring him, starting to type on the keyboard.
“Don’t you two have something going on? You both know it’s more than friendship, right?”
“It’s never crossed the line,” she quickly replied.
“Is that what you’re scared of?”
“I’m not scared of anything and I’m not 100% mad at him. He’s like a… a brother to me,” she said, the word felt odd on her tongue.
He sighed. “Waiting for stuff to happen is more excruciatingly painful than the worst possible outcome you could conjure of facing it all head first.”
“So wise, Hotch,” she sarcastically mumbled back. “Now, can I work?”
She didn’t even look at him, but she noticed him walking away from the side of her vision without any more words.
Finally, at peace.
The next morning she took some time to take in her surroundings.
The light made her eyes water, she squinted them as she straightened her back. The pain was familiar, but always bad enough to nearly take her breath away. She groaned, a hand at her back. She could feel the lack of sleep even though she had just woken up. She pulled on her hair to wake herself up faster.
Fuck, she slept at the office.
It had somehow been a conscious decision as she woke in an unused conference room, not at her office where she last remembered being. She must have walked in there like a zombie and fallen asleep as soon as she fell on the small couch at the corner.
“Pierce?”
She looked over in the direction of the noise. Penelope was at the door, staring at her with furrowed eyebrows. It wasn’t a rare occurrence, but after what had happened, it would’ve been advised of her to sleep properly, not stay up late working. She knew it, she knew it all, and yet… “Hey…” she greeted, voice hoarse. As soon as she spoke a yawn broke out.
“Did you sleep in?”
“What does it look like?” she muttered, angrily. She was always in a bad mood waking up, it wasn't Penelope’s fault.
“Are you going home to change?”
Charlotte shook her head. “I should have a duffel bag here, but I’ll change when I wake up properly.”
“Not going to shower?”
She tilted her head.
“Not that I’m saying you smell bad or anything. You don’t actually, but after yesterday…”
She sighed deeply. “No, I —”
“Charlotte?”
Good, just what she needed.
Spencer came out from behind Penelope, standing next to her. He eyed her, taking in her state. She wondered what he was thinking, if maybe he questioned himself why he hadn’t stayed for longer the day before. She hoped so.
“Good morning to you too, Spencer.”
“You slept over?” he questioned. Not even a good morning back.
“What do you think?” she asked back. She was aware of the bitterness in her voice, and she assumed the look on her eyes was much worse because Penelope looked between them with wide eyes.
“That you did?”
“Aren’t you just great at knowing things?”
“It is our job,” he muttered.
“Isn’t it?” She stared at him with a clenched jaw. His eyes endlessly scanned her face, he could definitely tell she was upset.
Penelope cleared her throat. “I, um, I should be heading to — yeah.” She turned around, stepping out of the room before she could hear anything else.
Spencer moved to shut the door, locking it too. Then, he pulled on the cord that shut off blinds. Anyone would have to be staring quite attentively from outside the window to look inside.
He looked at her with a more honest expression, one that clearly told her he understood what she felt. She felt an unsettling feeling on her stomach at the look on his face. He seemed almost angry as well, as if she had done something to him. Though, he never looked commonly angry — no, he looked uncharacteristically serious instead, sometimes even with a pleading look in his eyes.
“What’s that serious look for?”
He stepped closer to her. “You tell me.”
Charlotte got up, standing right in front of him, she didn’t want to stare up at him. “You’re the one who closed the blinds,” she pointed to the window, “you seem to think we have something to fucking talk about.”
“Why are you talking to me like that?”
She looked off to the side, shaking her head. “I just woke up, give me a break.”
“You’re grumpy when you wake up, you’re not mean.” God, it was awfully painful to remember all the times she woke in his bed by herself, wishing he had been there as well. Wishing she was brave enough to go to his living room in the middle of the night and just kiss him. The morning after always felt domestic enough to soothe that craving.
“I’m not being mean,” she whined. When she looked back at him, that pleading look she mentioned came fully swinging, she instantly felt bad. She wanted to reach out, smooth it out.
“You are,” he replied, voice cracking slightly. “And, it’s unfair because I called you.”
Charlotte’s face scrunched up in confusion. “What?”
“I wanted to see if you were okay. You didn’t pick up.”
She felt like an idiot. “You know I’m not on my phone a lot. If you wanted to say something, you should’ve said it in person.”
He moved closer to her. “That’s not fair. I was very tired, all I could think about was going home. When I did get there, I thought about you, so I called you.”
“Spencer, you think I had the energy to even pick up the phone? All I wanted was to forget what happened. I couldn’t even convince myself to go home.”
He opened his mouth, she could see the words leaving his mouth even if he did not speak them. He pressed his lips shut.
“I thought you didn’t even notice I was upset.”
He scoffed. “You think I didn’t notice? I know you, you’re the person I know the most in the entire world. I worry about you like no one else, I promise you. I — I…” He wanted to add something but it seemed caught in his throat. He furrowed his eyebrows, expression slightly sour as he said something else instead. “Of course, I noticed you were upset.”
“Then, why not say anything?” She felt a sting behind her eyes. She wasn’t even sad, where was that coming from?
“If I asked you, you would’ve said you weren’t.”
“All that would’ve counted was you being there.” She scoffed. “Even fucking Hotch came up to me.”
Spencer looked up at her again, eyes squinting. “I’ve comforted you many times over things he doesn’t even know about. Do you want me to keep score? I doubt he’d come out winning,” he bitterly spat out.
“I didn’t say it was a game.”
“Then, what are you saying?” he exclaimed, stepping closer to her. “I wanted to give you some time. I know you wouldn’t wanna talk about it.”
“It’s not about that!” she yelled. Her cheeks flushed as she remembered where they were. She couldn’t speak too loudly. “It’s not about talking about it, it’s about you being there — being here,” she whispered.
He stayed silent as he studied her face. When he did speak he seemed less angry. “I’m here now, doesn’t that count?”
“But I don’t… Now I don’t need that. Now I just need to…”
“What do you need?” The way he said it did things to her blood pressure.
“I just wanna allow myself to feel something, I wanna hate you.”
He looked at her with curiosity. “Why would you wanna push me away if you’re upset that I wasn’t here yesterday?”
“I don’t want to push you away, I want you here so I can hate you.” She shook her head, cringing at her own words as she took them in. “You don’t get it, forget about it.”
At least, he looked at her like he didn’t. Eyes all cute staring down at her, tongue poking the inside of his cheek as he did when trying to crack down a case. “Do you want me to get it?”
“I… I don’t know.”
The last thing she expected him to do was… laugh.
She blinked up at him. “Why are you laughing?”
“You spend all night upset over the fact I didn’t stay and now that I’m here you want to fight.”
Fight. That was a different word. But, could she say it was the wrong one? He looked at her with a smile, with the smugness of someone who had understood her before she had. She wouldn’t say it was annoying — she was too enamored with him — but it ignited something within her. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He stepped closer. “I think you do.”
She didn’t like how close he was getting, yet at the same time she wanted him closer. Extremely close. It came to her as if it was a slap in the face. She wanted him all marked up, bruises glistening in her name. She took a step back, her own thoughts making her gulp.
He stared right into her eyes as he pulled his bag over his head, dropping it on a sidetable in the room. Her heart took a leap. “What do you want from me?”
She rolled her eyes. “What do you want? Our talk is full of questions because you won’t say shit.”
His eyes moved up and down, tracing her shape. He was studying her again, she absolutely hated it. He needed to stop profiling her.
Charlie grabbed him by the tie, pulling him close to her face. His eyes slipped to her lips, but she didn’t kiss him. “I’m upset I didn’t realize you called. I’m upset you didn’t stay to hold me so I could feel like I could cry. I’m upset that the only person I wanted to talk about it with is you.”
“You can talk to me now.”
“Now I have to go back to work. I have to fake it the whole day and it’s only going to make me feel worse, Spence.”
He pushed against her grip on his tie, but the tug only made her pull him in harder. He licked his lips.
“Reid,” she muttered.
“Pierce.”
Fuck it.
She didn’t go straight to his lips, that’d be too easy of a solution, that’d be giving in. She tilted her head to the side as her lips planted on his soft neck, hand letting go of his tie (a fantasy for later) so both hands could pull him closer by his shoulders. His hands went to her back, holding himself close to her. Why hadn’t they been doing that sooner?
She pressed her lips hard against his neck. He groaned as she pulled some skin between her lips and teeth. She wanted more noises like that from his lips.
Charlie undid his tie and pulled one button open swiftly so she could pull his shirt down and kiss lower on his neck. She bit down on his skin, hands holding tight into the hair she always worshipped from afar. He let out the tiniest moan and she could feel it on her lips. She bit down harder and his fingers repaid it by gripping her tighter.
She bit harder at his collarbone, nearly breaking skin if there wasn’t a part of her that was scared of hurting him — unless she knew he liked it. The moan that left his throat was hot — too damn hot.
“Is t-this what you needed?” he asked, voice all raspy and shaky.
She nodded against him.
“Does it make you forget?”
Charlotte pulled back to glare at him. His neck was red and slightly purple already where she bit him harder. Those would be difficult marks to cover up. “Forget you being an awful friend?”
Spencer raised his hand, it moved to the back of her neck. She shivered at his touch. “I’m sorry I didn’t stay.” His tone didn’t match hers, he was so honest and she clearly sounded like a bitch, burying her shit down.
“I know you are,” she whispered.
“But, you don’t want to hear it,” he stated. “You don’t want me to apologize.”
“No.” She couldn’t hold herself any longer. She leaned in, lips moving to his.
His hand on her neck slid up to her scalp where he grabbed her by the hair. He only made it as rough as she had with him. Charlotte couldn’t help but whimper at his mouth, heat at her core nearly burning her. Everything she had ever wanted was coming to live, yet definitely not how she expected it too.
She had imagined a cute date that they both wouldn’t admit was one. Maybe an instinctual press of lips together, both pulling away after, cheeks flushed. Then as they saw the need in each other’s eyes they would go back in and he’d be soft — so soft — he’d hold her like he presented himself, nice and innocent. There would be no marks on necks, no spit sliding down their chins as they pressed their tongues together for the first time. It’d be slow, controlled, a first of many before they actually took the next step. By then, they’d most likely be dating, weeks would’ve passed, she’d be so unbearably teased by all their innocent kisses that she’d nearly jump on him as soon as he suggested going further.
All the dreaming couldn’t have prepared for the flushing, hot reality that was having him press into her with as much anger as she had, even though he wasn’t mad at her, even though he wanted to hold her all day long. In reality, they both knew where it was going. Their hands were pressing into all the places they had been fantasizing about for all those months, for all those sleepovers.
She bit down on his lower lip, sucking the skin into her mouth. He moaned against her mouth, fingers tightening on her side, hurting just in the way she needed it too. She hated how good he was at mimicking her, it wasn’t fair.
Charlotte pulled back, pushing at his chest. He stumbled back, almost tripping onto the ground as he stepped backwards. His mouth was open, breaths leaving it hastily. She glanced to the side, but no one could be seen outside through the cracks of the blinds. She walked over to him, pushing him hard against the door. He let out a groan at the motion, but still looked at her with darkness, like he wanted to hurt her back.
Before she could bite down on his neck again, he was grabbing her by her face and pulling her in to kiss her. She let out a soft moan against his lips, her body pressing against his. She could feel him pressing low against her belly, his cock not very far from where she needed it most.
She pulled back, glancing down with a teasing smile. “Do you have your gun on you?”
He glared at her as if she made the worst joke ever in existence. Spencer’s hand slid to her hair and he grabbed it roughly making her whimper. He turned her head to the side, exposing her neck. Some of her buttons were already unbuttoned so he simply leaned in and licked on her collarbone, sucking on her flesh like she had done.
“Fuck.”
He bit down, tongue sucking with the clear intentions to leave a mark, to leave her marked as she had to him.
“Reid,” she moaned.
He looked up at her with a raised eyebrow. His lips were so swollen and red, she wanted them between her legs — God…
“I really fucking want you right now.”
“Here?” he asked. There were some glimpses of uncertainty in his expression even if he was breathless, hips grinding against her ever so slightly.
“If you don’t want to…”
Spencer licked his lips. There were a few seconds of silence between them where she grew worried. Had she stepped too far? “Are you, um, clean?”
She nodded. “You?”
“Of course.” His hands slid to her legs, the fabric of her skirt moving up with his touch. “Birth control?”
“We’re good,” she muttered. Spencer Reid was pulling her skirt to her waist, what the fuck.
“This has to be quick, soon enough the office will be stacked,” he said.
Charlotte nodded.
He let go of her skirt to unbuckle his belt and unbutton his pants. She nearly moaned just from that, just watching him, fuck, she was down bad. “Turn around,” he quite literally ordered. She had never heard his voice drop to such a low tone before, it was really fucking hot.
She turned around, hips moving back until she felt his belt against her ass.
“Jesus Christ, Charlotte.” She wondered if he’d curse.
Soon enough her underwear was being pulled down, abandoned somewhere on the middle of her thighs. She’d give anything to see his face as he looked at her for the first time. There was a pause that teased her further where she knew he was staring, taking her in. “Do you like what you see?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, his hand moved to between her legs and she arched her back further as his fingers parted her lower lips. He slid two fingers in experimentally, tilting them and making her whine as her head got unbelievably light. He thrusted them in a few times slowly, as if mapping her insides — it drove her insane.
She had always imagined it slow with him, his hips pressing steadily against her as he tried to keep his noises down, as he tried to hold himself back. Then, her nails clawing at his shoulders would make him speed up, would get them both where they needed. He’d be controlled, though, hands adoring her body, lips soft against hers.
But, none of that was what she needed. “Spencer,” she moaned, hips grinding against his fingers. She needed him to go faster, harder.
“Do you think you’re ready?” he asked, but there was no way he didn’t know the answer to that. His fingers were engulfed by the wetness every time he pressed in, sounds too lewd for both their ears.
“You know I am. Get to it, Spence.”
He pulled his fingers back and then he was tilting her hips further so he could align up to her. She could feel his wet fingers at her bare flesh. “Remember, you can’t make noise, Charlie.”
“Feeling cocky?” she asked.
He chuckled. “No.” She felt the head of his cock press into her as he adjusted his angle. It didn’t take long before he was sliding into her. She hated she hadn’t actually seen his dick, but she could feel it and it was splitting her apart.
She brought her hand to her mouth, biting down on it hard — enough to keep herself from moaning too loud.
“Maybe,” he corrected.
She didn’t need to roll her eyes at his tone, he was making it happen by pulling his hips back and deep inside her again. “Fucking shit,” she cursed.
His breath was hot against her back as he started up a steady pace, hands gripping her hips as if he wanted to leave a mark, she wanted him to. It felt good to forget and only think about his touch, about him. Her nails scraped against the wood door, but couldn’t bring herself to care about it.
Charlotte moved one of her hands down. Fuck, she could feel him thrust inside her. She tried not to get too hung up on it as she started rubbing herself. She wanted it to last longer, to take her time, but she knew they didn’t have much of it. She needed to at least cum.
“You feel so good,” he muttered.
“You too, fuck, Spencer.” She rubbed herself fast, chasing the high so she could fall harder off the cliff. “I never expected you to be so…” Did she really want to say it? “... to be so big.”
He leaned his head against her shoulder, one of his hands moved up to her chest, taking hold of one of her breasts. “You thought about it a lot?” he asked, sounding shy somehow even given the circumstances.
“Fuck you,” she spat out. “You know damn well I have.”
He nodded. “I’ve thought about it too and you feel better than I imagined.” He found her nipple through her shirt, pinching it hard. She let out a moan as she wasn’t expecting it. “Shh.” Him shushing her only made her whimper.
Charlotte nodded regardless. “I’m s-sorry.”
He laughed at her, but it made her clench around him. God, what was wrong with her? He was the sweetest boy ever and she got even wetter while he was mean?
She rubbed herself harder, leaning her head against the door. “Spencer,” she muttered.
He took his hand off her chest to join the other at her hips, he slid them down to her ass, grabbing it quite harshly. “I’ve never done it like this, y’know?”
“From the back?” she asked.
“N-no. I mean, no condom.”
“Oh,” she breathed out. That was even hotter. But she felt jealous thinking of him doing anything with other girls.
“You’re so… s-so wet,” he whispered. “I can’t last much longer.”
“You wanna cum inside me?” she asked. She could be the first — the only one, at something.
He gave her one particularly harsh thrust that sent her close. “Fuck, yes.” Cursing fit him.
She bit down on her lip, feeling building up inside her. “I’m — I’m close.”
He hummed. “I know.” So pretentious coming from anyone that wasn’t him.
She nodded, trying to focus on the build up, it wasn’t hard to.
Then, a hand was on her wrist. She opened her eyes and watched him pull her arm off to replace it himself. As soon as he touched her clit she moaned and had to fight to keep herself up. He held her tighter so she wouldn’t fall. “C’mon, Charlotte. You don’t want us being caught, do you?” The condescending tone as if he wasn’t thrusting harder, pressing more against her g-spot nearly sent her over the edge on itself.
“No, please, don’t stop. I —”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he whispered.
“Yes, shit, I love this, I love your cock, I love — ” Then, she felt it, clenching hard on his dick as she came. “Spencer,” she groaned. He rubbed her through her high, fingers slowing down and making it feel even better.
She felt overstimulated, having him inside her and his touch, it hurt. “Fuck, I’m gonna…” He gasped as he took off his hand.
“Yes, come inside me, Spence,” she moaned, “please.”
Then, his mouth was on her neck again, his teeth out and he bit down. His hand was on her mouth before she could do it herself; she groaned against his hand. She felt his hips stutter against her ass as he came inside her. “Charlie.” The wetness inside her doubled and she loved it. However, she didn’t want to think about cleaning it up.
He was quick to gather back his strength, unlike her. She still heard everything muffled around her, muscles shaking as she fought to stay up. While his mouth was already leaving her skin, the pain where he bit down was instant, spot aching. He planted one kiss on the mark before turning her around, hands around her waist.
“Are you alright?”
Her vision was slowly unblurring as she took in his face. There was an odd aching in her chest as she stared at him. He was still half naked yet the only place she wanted to stare at was his eyes, with such concern as they looked into hers.
“Charlie? Was I too rough? Did I hurt —”
“I love you.”
Spencer’s eyes widened, definitely not expecting such confession so early.
If she were to think about how it would go, it’d be randomly as they laid in bed, maybe after they laughed extra hard with each other. Words slipping out half in spite, half in adoration. And she knew she’d say it first because she had wanted him for too long, way before he started giving her the attention back. He would instantly smile, no shock on his expression because he’d just know — he would have known for weeks already. He wouldn’t even have to say it back, but he would. Then, they’d both giggle like teenagers at such a big word invading such a lighthearted moment.
“I…”
Nothing like hesitation to make her snap back to reality. “I’m sorry, I didn’t — I don’t know why I said that, I didn’t mean it. It was just the y’know hormones and this was really good so I —”
He cut her off with a kiss, both of them were still too breathless to keep up with it properly. When he pulled back he smiled. “I love you too. Of course, I love you, you’re all I think about. I thought you knew that.”
“I — I know, you’re all I can think about too.”
He nodded, pulling back to fix his clothes.
As soon as his touch wasn’t on her, there were flashes of red… blood. The unsub she had shot, she could see his lifeless face, his eyes with nothing behind them, yet staring right at her. She pulled up her underwear, his cum staining the material yet it didn’t matter since she had a change of clothes. She fixed her skirt and everything was blurry again.
He looked at her once he heard the sharp inhale. “Charlie.”
She leaned back against the door, feeling the tears that should’ve come out yesterday sliding out in that very moment. While everything was perfect, after he had just confessed back, after she had him like she had always dreamt about. It felt unfair.
Spencer stepped forward again, hands at her face, making her look at him. “What’s wrong?”
Maybe she could have done something different. If it was someone else there, maybe they would've known a way to keep them alive, so they'd pay for their crimes properly. She basically took them out of their misery. Why would she — “Why did I shoot him?” she asked, voice whiny.
He let out a breath at her words, he was relieved it wasn’t something he did, but he seemed worried just the same. “You did what you thought best.”
She shook her head. “But, I didn’t. I knew I could talk him out of it, but I just, I shot him anyway.”
“No, that’s what you’re telling yourself now. The right thing to do was what you did then. But, if you feel like it wasn’t right, then next time you’ll do better. That’s the job.”
“I killed someone, though. How can someone’s death be a mistake? Like, I know they’re bad and yet it was all so quick, it feels — ” She shook her head, sobbing.
He pulled her close against his shoulder. “It’s okay,” he whispered, kissing her head. “I’ll be here for you now.”
