Eliza @beenreidingaboutyou - Tumblr Blog

I'll Follow You Until You Love Me

part one of Make Me Your No. 1 Obsession

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content warnings: murder, canon typical violence, mentions of stalking, i think that's it, but as always please message me if you feel differently and I'll get it added

a/n: this took...way longer than expected because I basically scrapped my initial draft, but I'm really glad that I did so I could put out this vastly improved version. A vast majority of this hasn't been beta read, but fuck it, I'm ready to post. This part is a bit of a read, but hopefully that will hold you guys over while I work on the next part <3

credits to @/strangergraphics for the divider

word count: 3.4k

From a young age, you’d had a deep love of music and performing. You auditioned for every musical put on at your school, competed in every talent show, and got up early every day in high school to make it in time for morning choir practice. As you got older, you began jotting down lyrics in school notebooks and composing songs in your free time. You started performing at open mic nights and booking local bars, working your way up one gig at a time before you got your record deal. Once you signed your record deal, you went on tours where you opened for bigger and bigger artists until you found yourself on your first headline tour. You felt like your dreams were coming true, but that sense of success gave way to fear when the first body was found.

You were halfway through your tour, having completed the international tour dates and returning to the US for the latter half. Your first show in America went according to plan, though you had no doubts it would : your opening act, Erika, put on a fantastic show, the crowd was just as excited as you if not more, and you were yet again reminded of how much you loved being on stage. The next morning on the tour bus is when you saw the article about a body being found at a hotel near the venue. It named the victim and mentioned that they had been in town to attend your show. Your manager told you it was an unfortunate coincidence. not something for you to worry about. You sent your condolences to the fan's family and their death lingered in the back of your mind even as your tour continued.

News of another murder arrived after your next show. Though your name wasn't mentioned in the article, you recognized the victim as the fan you'd brought on stage during your performance. The little voice in your head told you that these murders were connected to you, even if no one else could see that yet. It wasn't until your third show and the corresponding third murder that you were approached by investigators. The stoic, well-dressed man waiting for you at the next venue introduced himself as SSA Aaron Hotchner with the Behavioral Analysis unit of the FBI. He was accompanied by a petite, sharp-dressed blonde, Agent Jareau or JJ, as you'd come to find out. They informed you that the most recent victim had attended your show, but the link to you was confirmed by evidence at the crime scene, song lyrics written on the wall in the victim's blood. Your song lyrics, to be exact. At your request, you were shown an image of the message which read 'Darling, you're the one I want.' Neither agent said it, but you knew there was a possibility that this killer wanted to get close to you and viewed these other fans as competition. They thanked you for your time and informed you someone would be back later with more questions. This interaction played on repeat in your mind as you left to greet some fans who'd won a meet-and-greet with you before the show. You couldn't help but wonder if one of them would be the next target.

The next morning brought a second visit from Agent Hotchner, this time he was accompanied by a Dr. Spencer Reid.

"Not agent?" you'd asked, intrigued by the change in title.

"I have three PhDs," was the response from the tall, lanky man.

You answered a few more questions about your interactions with the victims as well as if you'd noticed anything suspicious. You were wrapping up when Hotch's phone went off. He stepped out of the room to take the call, giving you a moment alone with Dr. Reid. He gave you a cute albeit awkward closed mouth smile.

"Has your team ever dealt with a case like this before?"

"Most of our caseload involves serial killers, but we've profiled a few stalkers as well. Sometimes the two overlap."

You don't get the chance to press him for more information because Hotch returned to the room, his facial expression betraying nothing to your untrained eyes, but Spencer recognized that look and knew another victim had been found. With a nod of his head, Hotch signaled that he needed to speak privately with Spencer. You didn't move from your seat, watching as the two men spoke in hushed voices. You fidgeted with the charm on your necklace as you strained to listen to their discussion. Though you missed most of it, you got the gist- another body, along with another set of your lyrics, had been found.

Your fingers stilled when the pair faced you again and Hotch spoke, "We're going to beef up your security at each venue. Spencer here will also be staying with you for extra protection."

"Wait, you expect me to just… continue my tour like this isn't happening? Like one of my fans isn't getting murdered after every show?" you questioned, appalled at the idea of putting more people at risk.

"For the time being, yes. We can use your tour schedule to predict where this unsub will strike again. If you cancel your shows, we won't have a reliable way to track his movements," Hotch explained.

You gnawed on your lip while you processed his words, internally weighing the decision as if you really had a choice in the matter. The room is silent until you nod, "Okay, if this is really the best way to stop this guy then I won't cancel." "Spencer here will keep you safe until we catch this guy," Hotch reassured you.

"And the fans who come to the shows, you'll keep them safe, too?"

"I'll let Spencer explain the specifics to you. I need to check in with the rest of my team," Hotch replied, leaving before you could question him any further.

Your attention turned to Spencer, "So…my fans?"

"We're going to do everything we can to guarantee their safety."

"In other words, you can't promise no one else will die."

"No, but it won't be because we didn't try. We're going to catch this guy," Spencer stated as if it was inevitable.

You replied with a nod, choosing to believe him rather than dwell on the possibility that this killer would go free. "Right, well, I uh I need to get ready. I have an interview and performance for a local radio station before tonight's show."

"I know, your manager gave us your schedule. Do what you need to, I'll be here when it's time to leave," Spencer said as he got comfortable on the couch.

You disappeared into the bedroom of your hotel suite, returning to Spencer an hour later. You'd changed from your casual attire to an outfit more befitting your public persona. You'd taken the time to do your own hair and makeup as well. Your beauty team would redo it before you took the stage tonight, but you often chose to do it yourself for interviews. With one last glance in the mirror, you grabbed your purse and walked back into the room where Spencer was waiting patiently. He was pouring over files that he'd spread out across the coffee table, brow furrowed in concentration. You cleared your throat and he looked up then scrambled to shove the papers back into their corresponding folders. You bit your lip to stifle a giggle as you watched him, there was something adorable about this seemingly put-together FBI agent rushing to put his things back into his messenger bag.

The interview and performance went according to plan. A small vetted group of fans was in attendance. You spent time taking pictures and signing autographs, thankful that they chose to come see you. You wondered how many would have shown up if they knew that their presence put them on a killer's radar. Regardless, you didn't let your smile falter for the whole event. Your cheerful demeanor only slipped for a moment when you stepped back into the dressing room, but it was long enough for Spencer to notice. You flopped onto the couch, planning to get some rest before you had to change for tonight's show. Instead, you stared off into space, ruminating over the murders.

"You don't have to pretend like this isn't affecting you," Spencer said, breaking you out of your trance.

"What?"

"Your fans being targeted. I can see that it's getting to you, even if you don't want to admit it," he elaborated.

"I don't really think I have a choice. Everything is kind of…'go go go' between the travel, the public appearances, the tour itself. If I let it show that I've got something other than this tour on my mind, it can lead to negative press or people cancelling their tickets. I can't exactly keep touring if everyone decides it's safer to stay home."

"I…I know we've asked you not to address this publicly, but you shouldn't bottle your feelings up either. If you're up for it, I don't mind listening."

"…I'll think about it. Sometimes it's hard to tell who really wants to be my friend and who just wants gossip to sell to the tabloids."

"Anything you tell me stays between us. I care too much about my job to put it at risk to make a few bucks by selling secrets."

You studied him, noting his sincere eyes. It's not easy for you to let people in, not since your name became recognizable. Fame could be an isolating existence. You never knew if someone had an ulterior motive, a desire to exploit their connection with you for their own gain. Something about Spencer felt…real. He hadn't once asked about what other celebrities you knew or if you'd listen to his latest demo (not that he had one, but multiple people had requested that you checked out their music). Though you couldn't explain why, you inherently knew he was the kind of person who kept his word.

Your moment of contemplation is broken by a knock at the door. Spencer's hand went to his holstered weapon, readying himself to take out the potential threat on the other side.

"Hey, it's just me. Are you decent?" came Erika's voice through the closed door.

"Yeah, you can come in," you answered.

Spencer relaxed at your easy response, but still watched as the doorknob turned and opened to reveal Erika.

"I come bearing pre-show gifts, including- oh. I didn't realize you had company," Erika faltered at the sight of Spencer.

"Erika, this is Dr. Spencer Reid. He's um he's with the FBI," you explained.

"Oh. Right. Your manager mentioned something about that. He's just…not what I expected," she said, her words laced with apprehension.

"You were saying? About pre-show gifts?" you asked, ignoring the wary tone in her voice. You didn't want to make Spencer uncomfortable by speaking about him as if he wasn't in the room.

"I was going to wait to give you this until the end of the tour, as a thank you for inviting me along, but I thought it might be a nice little good luck charm, considering well, everything," Erika explained as she handed you a small gift bag.

"Oh, you didn't have to get me anything. I enjoy your music and this provided a chance to expose more people to your brilliance," you smiled.

"It's not a big deal, really. Just- do a girl a solid and open it?"

"Okay, okay," you caved, pulling the tissue paper out. A jewelry box tumbled out of the bag and into your hand. Inside the box was a golden ring, its band formed by interwoven ivy leaves. "Erika, this is gorgeous," you thanked her as you slipped the ring onto your right ring finger.

"I saw it and knew it was perfect for you," she gave you a gentle smile.

Spencer peered at the ring's design from his spot on the couch, "Did you know that in floriography, or the Victorian language of flowers, ivy represents friendship, affection, and loyalty? Some books from that era also associate it with matrimonial love, but that's not as common."

"How fitting then. Not the matrimonial part, obviously, but the rest of it," you mused, admiring the ring.

"Well, I should get back to my room so I can make sure I'm ready on time. Don't wanna miss my call time," Erika said, walking to the door.

"Break a leg!" you called after her.

"You too," she flashed a smile over her shoulder then shut the door.

You turned to Spencer, ready to share some of your worries, but were yet again interrupted by a knock. Your stylist poked her head in, "You ready to get all dolled up, hun?"

With a nod of your head, she entered the room and herded you to the makeup chair. Spencer watched as your stylist went through her routine, transforming you from 'girl next door' to 'international pop star' with ease. By the time she was done, you had just enough time to change and make the trip to the stage for your opening number. As you performed, you caught sight of Spencer's watchful eye from the wings. You reminded yourself he was only here to protect you and you absolutely could not be falling for this man. You forced yourself to focus on performing, losing yourself in the music instead of lingering on your growing desire to kiss Spencer.

After your encore, Spencer escorted you back to your dressing room.

"So, what'd you think?" you asked as you washed your makeup off.

"About what?"

"The show, silly. And don't sugarcoat it, be brutally honest with me."

"It was visually appealing and you're a talented musician, but it's not really my preferred music," he answered.

"What's your go to music then?"

"Beethoven."

You laughed, assuming he was joking, but his facial expression remained the same, "Wait, you're serious? That's all you listen to? Do you know anything more recent?"

"I enjoy Miles Davis. I also know all the words to every Bob Dylan song."

"I wouldn't have pegged you for a Dylan fan."

"My mom used to play his music when I was little."

"My dad likes his work, too," you said, only a hint of teasing in your tone.

He didn't respond so you busied yourself with gathering up your things. Tonight was your last night at this venue so you didn't want to leave anything behind. Spencer stayed close as you walked out to the waiting tour bus. You'd spend the night on the road rather than in a hotel room as you made your way to your next stop. Spencer set his stuff in the spare bunk beneath yours while you got ready for bed. You climbed into your spot and got under the covers, settling in for the night.

You tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep. This went on for a few hours before you whispered Spencer's name, testing to see if he was awake, too.

"Everything okay?" he whispered back.

"I can't sleep."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's just… the next stop is my hometown. A lot of my friends and family are going to be there because I'm not allowed to warn them."

"Hey, it'll be okay. We'll have extra security in the venue and I can talk to Hotch about getting some undercover agents stationed near them," Spencer said, his steady voice soothing your worries.

You and Spencer continued to talk in hushed voices until you fell asleep to the sound of his voice explaining some obscure historical fact. When you woke the next morning to news of another victim, it gutted you, but Spencer was there for you to lean on, providing an outlet for you to express that anguish. Most of your time was spent going to and from interviews or meet and greets, preparing for each night's performance, or being holed up in a room with Spencer. It was on the third day of shows at your 'hometown' venue that you decided you needed a change of scenery. You put on a t-shirt and jeans, skipping the usual beauty routine you followed when you made a public appearance. The laid back look would make anyone do a double take if they saw you. You were careful to maintain a separate private image so you could pretend that you didn't live in the spotlight, even if it was only long enough to run a few short errands. You were pulling on your sneakers when Spencer caught sight of your dressed down state.

"Uh what are you doing?" he asked.

"I'm going out," you answered, like it was simple, like you didn't have a threat looming over your head.

"You really should stay here," Spencer urged as he watched you put on your jacket.

"Being forced to stay put at every stop is making me go stir crazy. Besides, this is tradition," you replied.

"Putting your life at risk is tradition?"

You huff, "No, obviously not. I was talking about doughnuts. I used to come see shows here when I was younger and we'd always make it a point to get doughnuts from this place down the street. They're open late so we'd stop by after the concert ended while we waited for traffic to die down. I want to go before I perform tonight, since it'll probably be crowded after," you explained.

He said your name causing you to look his way, "I mean it, I'm supposed to be keeping you safe."

"Okay, then keep me safe by coming with me."

He didn't answer, sizing up just how stubborn you'll be about this outing.

"C'mon, Spencer, I'll buy you one, too. And a coffee, if you want. I know how much caffeine you drink on the daily," you pushed, hoping that the promise of sugar would make him cave.

"…Fine, but no additional stops and if I sense anything wrong, we're coming straight back here- doughnut or no doughnut," he relented.

"Deal."

You dragged Spencer to the doughnut shop you mentioned. The shop wasn't crowded so you took your time examining the selection of pastries. You settled on a traditional glazed for now and ordered a fancy decorated one to eat after your show. Spencer got chocolate iced with sprinkles. You convinced him to hide in a corner booth with you while you ate your doughnuts. The two of you lost track of time as you giggled at his lame jokes and he acted like he wasn't growing attracted to you, the real you behind the stage persona. As you walked back to the venue, your hand brushed against his, an unintentional touch. Without taking a second to think about it, Spencer's fingers intertwined with yours. You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, silently telling him this was okay. Neither of you let go until you returned to your dressing room where your stylist was waiting.

That night during your show, you changed your setlist, much to the surprise of the fans in attendance. You sat down at the piano and your gaze searched the crowd, landing on Spencer as he waited in the wings. Your voice shakes almost unnoticeably as you speak, "I hope you guys don't mind if I change things up on you. I uh I've been working on a new song for a while and I finally got the inspiration I needed to finish it. This is my first time performing it so be gentle with me? This is 'Delicate.' I hope you guys like it."

Your eyes kept finding Spencer's tall figure as you sang, almost as if you hoped he'd pick up on being the inspiration for this track. The stunned look on his face told you he had. When he made eye contact with you, he sent a sheepish smile your way as his cheeks turned pink. Your lips formed a shy grin in return as you continued your performance. For the first time in your life, you were excited for the show to end so you could have a moment alone with Spencer.

On the other side of town, the unsub observed the blood-spattered scene in front of him. The identity of the tall brown-haired man whose lifeless corpse lie on the bed didn't matter to his killer. He'd only been targeted because of his similarity to a certain FBI agent. The unsub took a moment to add one final detail to the scene, to make sure the correct message was delivered. Using the dead man's blood, the unsub wrote another set of your lyrics, this time from the song you'd premiered that night, on the wall: Honey, I don't want to share.

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