“I wish I knew how to quit you” - Annie Proulx, Brokeback Mountain.
Spencer’s voice was muffled against your hand, he’s confused and almost scared then unfortunately relieved when you tilt your head forward for him to see. Your hair was shorter, and your clothes non-descriptive, God knows how long you’d been waiting in his home. “What are you doing here?”
His question was met with a chaste kiss from you, which turned deeper as you press your body to his and push him to the wall. You draw back and place another chaste kiss to his lips, “I missed you.” You respond finally, cupping his face.
Spencer shouldn’t lean into the palm of your hand, nor should he keenly tilt his head side to side as you check him over for any recent injuries. “I should skin Phillip Dowd for this,” you remarked, thumb gently grazing over the bruise that marred the side of Spencer’s face.
“He’s dead,” he tried to assure you, “I shot him in the head. Also how did you know about him?”
You snorted, kissing his head, “I never take my eyes off you, pet.”
A morbid comfort. Spencer was familiar with your profile—notorious and dangerous—yet he never raised the alarm. Enjoying your company to an intimate degree, he remembers when you chose to meet him. Cornerning him publicly, "No sudden movements, Doctor Reid," you'd whispered, stood by him in the line as though you were a couple ordering a coffee together.
"Did he hurt you anywhere else?" You worried, checking his arms next, then his torso. Spencer winced lightly, while Hotch's kicks were comparable to a nine-year-old girl throwing a tantrum, they still left some bruising. Not that he'd say that. He hardly needed another reason for you to justify going after the man. You grumbled in displeasure, the bruising was superficial and would heal soon-ish, “Do you need painkillers?”
“No, I—I’m fine,” Spencer won’t lie he enjoyed being cared for.
You cast a glance of disbelief, “Bubble bath it is then.” Your tone held a finality to it and Spencer follows as he guided to the bathroom.
“The victims had no defense wounds, which means it was a blitz attack. we’ve confirmed that they all didn’t know the same person so it couldn’t have been a person of interest and so far none of them have anything in common.” Spencer Reid was truly stumped, the BAU following suit. it was unusual for the BAU to get stuck on a case especially for a week, they would have at least had a profile by now or a suspect in mind and yet they were all stumped, completely unaware of what could connect them to one another.
Morgan had given up on brainstorming an hour ago, going through a book that they had found in a victim’s house, it was just a normal book, the occasional annotations from the victim but that was it. it was ironically a murder mystery set in the same place as the first victim. Spencer’s eyes glanced over from the board that he had used to capture his time and escape from his own guilt and inability to solve this case to examine the book that Morgan had before it clicked. “Morgan, give me that.” Morgan chuckled but handed it to him, “What happened to your manners, pretty boy?”
Spencer raised his hand in apology but never said any actual words, scouring through the book, taking it apart by removing the sleek cover as his fingers grazed over the author’s name. “I’ve read some of her books before.” He mumbled, Morgan heard it, as did everyone else but they knew that wasn’t the point he was trying to make so they let him continue. “You read a lot of books, pretty boy. What makes this one so special?” Spencer’s body turned towards the box of evidence, splaying the photos they had from the crime scenes onto the table.
Just as he had suspected, skinny fingers pointing to something in three different photos. “They all own the same book- this book. Same author just different covers, I knew I’d seen it before, I just didn’t remember where.” That was the downside of his withdrawal and recovery symptoms, a boy with a usually spot on, unbreakable mind now has cracks and slips every now and then. He was normal and hated it. Hotch nodded at his observation, the coincidence not leaving his mind anytime soon. “That is true but Garcia already checked for book clubs, libraries, anything that would have been in common with these people, any indication that they would be in the same place at the same time.” He spoke, voice rough with lack of sleep but Spencer responded with a shake of his head, pulling a book out of his bag— different cover, same author.
“This author does something different, instead of doing meet and greets or book clubs she does one on one meetings with whoever applies.” He swallowed, hating to admit this about a good author, a well respected author who had collected a lot of fame in a short amount of time but it was the only sensible option on the table. “Our unsub is the author. She kills people and then uses them in her books, getting close to them with the one on one meets which is why no one fought back because they were so excited to meet their idol that-” “they let their guard down.” Morgan finished, immediately grabbing all of his stuff, the team following in short. “We need to meet this author.” JJ said, confident in Spencer’s word. “Well you’re in luck. Boy wonder applied for a one on one meet and greet.. and it was just approved.” Garcia’s hands glided from her computer, showing the accepted letter. A computer automated thank you message along with promises of a signed book and your face right next to it.
a/n : if you’d like to be added to the taglist please comment below. reblogs appreciated!! 🤍
This isn’t a love story. This isn’t a fairytale. This is about a woman bent on setting the world on fire and the FBI agent assigned to her case, drawn to the very flame she ignites.
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub!Reader
Warnings: (18+) Typical CM violence, mentions of sexual assault and trauma, implied sex, fire/arson, and this is basically angst with no happy ending
A/n: For once, I am writing outside my comfort zone. This is heavily based on John Mayer’s song with the same title, Female Rage, and Megan Kane (she did nothing wrong!). Constructive criticism is welcome since I rarely write angst, but please be nice, it's my birthday🥺 (yes my birthday appreciation post is heartbreaking)
You wanted the world to burn.
You wanted to watch the ashes drift through the air. You wanted to smell the acid scent of smoke. You wanted to feel the heat envelop you, to wrap your body like a suffocating blanket. Because simply sitting in silence wasn’t enough for the rage that consumed you, the smoldering anger that craved the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath.
You craved the chaos, but the man lying defeated before you was enough for now. His eyes, wide with horror, stared up at you—the look of a man who knew these were his final moments. He pleaded, his voice cracking in desperation, his hands bound tightly behind his back as you stood there, unfazed.
Please.
I have a family. Think of my children.
Just let me go—I'll disappear, you'll never have to see me again.
That was the problem, wasn’t it? How a man could beg for mercy, could invoke the sanctity of family only when facing his own end. How a man could think that running away could solve everything, believing that his disappearance would erase the past and the suffering he caused.
No, that was a choice you didn’t have. The luxury of forgetting, of escaping the shadows that clung to your every step. Not only was his pleading in vain, it was insulting, as if the depth of his misdeeds could be washed away by mere absence. You wanted him gone. You wanted him dead.
So you gave him a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. Your expression was serene, almost angelic, but it belied the reality of your intentions as your heels echoed through the empty warehouse, a jug of gasoline in hand.
He screamed. Your smile widened. It was useless—no other soul was near enough to hear his cries, too far away to save him. His desperation filled the empty space once again as you poured the gasoline around him, drenching him in its sharp, pungent scent.
Then you took a step back, your hand reaching for the lighter in your pocket. There was a moment of hesitation as you watched him struggle. Could you really do this? Could you cross this final line?
But then the memories surged forward, vivid and painful. He was one of them, one of the people who had taken advantage of your innocence when you were young and naive, who had shattered your trust and left you to pick up the pieces alone, leaving scars that never truly healed.
I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
Your fingers tightened around the lighter. What a foolish man, who was he to think that a forced apology could undo the damage? With a steady hand, you flicked the lighter, the flame springing to life. His apologies continued, increasingly frantic, but they were nothing more than the desperate noise of a man who had run out of options, out of time.
You threw the lighter. The small flame sailed through the air, landing amidst the gasoline-soaked ground with a burst of fire. The flame caught instantly, erupting into a roaring blaze that engulfed him in a matter of seconds, drowning out his piercing scream.
You continued to watch his body burn, and perhaps for the very first time in your life, you felt a terrifying peace.
~*~
“This is the third body in a week,” Derek mentioned, stepping into the old factory as he slipped his sunglasses on top of his head, scanning the scene before him. It was disturbing. The stench of burnt flesh hung heavy in the air, mixing with the metallic tang of blood.
Spencer looked up from where he was crouched near what was left of the victim. “It’s getting more deliberate,” he observed. “The Unsub is trying to send a message.”
Derek moved closer, carefully stepping over a piece of evidence marked by the forensic team. “What are you thinking?”
He slowly stood up, his eyes assessing the place. There were actually a lot of things on his mind, and one of them being how this third victim seemed more calculated, more precise than the others. It was a stark contrast to the first victim, whose remains were found in a haphazard, chaotic state in that old warehouse.
But this one… everything was meticulously arranged, from the positioning of the body to the burn patterns that radiated outwards in a controlled manner. The Unsub was trying to perfect their methods in a short amount of time, and as much as Spencer hated to admit it, it was almost impressive.
“They want attention,” Spencer finally said, breaking the silence as he mulled over the crime scene. “They’re not just doing this for the sake of it; they’re communicating. Whatever message they’re trying to send, it’s getting closer with each victim.”
“You think they’re trying to tell us something?”
“No, I don’t think it’s aimed at us.” Spencer bit his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing in thought. “They’re trying to make a statement.”
“Like a public declaration?”
“Could be,” Spencer acknowledged, stepping back to view the scene from a different angle. “Or it could be a form of protest or revenge.”
“Burning people for revenge,” Derek mused, crossing his arms. “Now that’s a hell of a way to get a point across.”
“It’s deeply symbolic. Fire consumes everything, leaving nothing but ash. It’s final.” He looked up, his eyes meeting Derek’s. “Whoever is doing this is not just angry, they’re trying to erase their victims from existence.”
“Well, they’re doing a pretty good job at it, we haven’t identified any of them yet.”
Spencer frowned, his gaze dropping back to the scene in front of him. Identifying the first two victims had been nearly impossible due to the extent of the burns. The flames had consumed everything, leaving behind little more than brittle bones and ash. Dental records and DNA tests had been their only hope, and even those couldn’t identify the victims.
He continued to study the body, looking for anything that could help them. The burns were severe, almost total, but then something caught his eye. A faint mark, barely visible under the scorched skin. He leaned in closer, squinting to make out the details. There, peeking out from the blackened flesh on the victim’s forearm, partially obscured by the burns, was a small tattoo.
“I think we might have something,” he said, pointing to the mark.
Derek leaned in, his eyes widening slightly. “That looks like a tattoo.”
“You think we can get this to the lab?”
“We can,” Derek replied as he took out his phone and took a quick photo of it. “But we also have Garcia.”
Spencer watched as Derek quickly navigated through his contacts, his fingers moving with practiced ease. He tapped the screen, putting the phone close to his ear. It didn’t take long for the call to connect, and almost immediately, a familiar voice filled the brief silence through the speaker.
“I knew you couldn’t go a day without me,” Penelope’s unmistakable cheerful voice greeted him. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this delightful interruption?”
Derek couldn’t help but crack a slight smile. “Garcia, we need your magic on a photo. There’s a partial tattoo on our latest victim, and we need to know if it matches anyone in the system.”
“Send it over and I’ll sprinkle some of my digital pixie dust on it.”
Derek attached the photo to a message and sent it directly to her. “It’s on its way.”
“Got it,” Penelope replied, her fingers already flying across her keyboard on the other end. “Okay, this might take a while, but I do have more information on our first victim, or I guess you can say, I have all the information that you need.”
“Our first John Doe is identified?”
“Rick Sullivan,” she confirmed. “He was reported missing a week ago by his wife. Turns out he has a bit of a past—multiple arrests for minor offenses, but nothing that would usually make him a target for this kind of violence.”
Spencer leaned closer to Derek’s phone. “Does he have any known associates or enemies that stand out?”
“Not on record,” Penelope said, her voice slightly muffled as she sifted through more files. “But listen to this, his bank transactions show some pretty hefty sums being spent regularly. Guess where most of it is going?”
Derek raised an eyebrow. “Where?”
"To an exclusive strip club on the east side of town called The Velvet Curtain,” she revealed. “Seems our Mr. Sullivan was quite the regular spender there.”
Derek smiled, shaking his head slightly. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
“Not nearly enough,” she replied with a playful lilt in her voice. “Keep the compliments coming and maybe I’ll dig up even more dirt for you.”
“We’ll need all the dirt we can get. Thanks, Garcia.”
“Always a pleasure, gentlemen. I’ll keep you updated if I find anything else,” she said before ending the call.
Derek turned to Spencer as he slipped his phone back in his pocket. “Ready to see some strippers, Pretty Boy?”
Spencer glanced back at the charred remains. He’d seen too many bodies, too much senseless violence. There was nothing left that could shake him—not even the neon lights and dark corners of a strip club, or even the thought of being in a room surrounded by half-naked women. He could handle that. He could definitely handle that.
With a slight nod aimed at Derek, he followed him out of the building.
~*~
“Scarlett!” A voice rang through the dressing room. “You’re up in five!”
You swiped the red lipstick across your lips one last time, perfecting the bold arch that had become your signature look as your eyes swept over your reflection, eying the thin straps of your costume. The fabric was a deep, seductive red, almost the color of freshly drawn blood, and barely covered your skin. The material was sheer and see-through, leaving little to the imagination, something you preferred. Because the more skin you showed, the more you felt in control.
This was your armor, the persona you donned to hide the secrets buried beneath your glamorous exterior. As Scarlett, you were a siren. Untouchable. You had power and control, something your life outside these walls lacked.
“Scarlett!”
“I’m coming!” You snapped, capping the lipstick and placing it back in your makeup bag. You stood up, smoothing down your outfit, and made your way to the stage entrance.
The stage coordinator eyed you up and down. “No props for today?”
You shook your head, giving a confident smile. “Not today. I can manage without them.”
He nodded approvingly, moving to the side. “Alright, it's your cue."
You brushed past him and headed down the dimly lit corridor leading to the stage, the familiar rush of adrenaline surging through you. Taking one last deep breath, you finally stepped into the glow of the spotlight. The crowd's attention shifted to you, and you felt the power you had grown accustomed to, the control you desperately craved. The music pulsed through the air as you sauntered toward the pole at center stage.
You started to move.
Your fingers around the cold metal, and your body naturally found the beat as you began to dance seductively, letting the red fabric of your costume shimmer under the lights. A flirtatious smile played on your lips as you glanced around the room, locking eyes with a few patrons who watched. You slid down the pole, bending your knees and arching your back gracefully, biting back a smile as you heard the cheers and whistles from the crowd.
You took in the familiar faces and the usual gazes of admiration and desire, from the sleazy grins of regulars to the guilty looks of married men stealing away from home. But then, two men caught your attention, standing out starkly against the backdrop of the usual patrons.
One of them exuded confidence, his gaze steady and assessing as he watched your performance. The other, however, seemed out of place, his eyes darting around the room awkwardly. At first, he appeared uneasy, shifting uncomfortably on his feet and avoiding direct eye contact. But as you moved, dancing with the pole and letting your body sway to the rhythm, his gaze gradually settled on you.
You had never seen him before. He was unexpectedly handsome, with soft curls that danced along the edges of his face and soft features that made him beautiful, almost angelic. But there was something more about him that intrigued you. Maybe it was the way he seemed to blend in with the shadows, making him nearly invisible among the brasher, more excited crowd. His presence was so out of place and yet so focused on you that it spurred you on.
With a teasing smile, you tugged at the thin strap of your top, playing with it as you danced. His eyes followed the movement, his breath catching slightly as you slowly slid the strap down your shoulder. The fabric slipped further, revealing more of your skin as you twirled around the pole.
You then arched your back and bent low, the thin strap finally gave way, allowing your top to slide down your body, exposing your perky breasts to the crowd. His eyes widened slightly, but he couldn't look away. Neither could you. For a moment, it was just the two of you, locked in a silent exchange as the cheers and applause became a distant hum in the background.
You could see the conflict in his eyes—part fascination, part restraint—and it only made you bolder. You slipped the last piece of fabric down your legs, and with each sway of your hips, you drew him deeper into your world, determined to leave a mark on his memory.
~*~
“Just talked to the club owner,” Derek mentioned as he walked over to where Spencer stood, hiding in the corner of the room. “He gave us permission to question the dancers.”
Spencer nodded, but didn’t say anything. Derek raised an eyebrow. “You okay?”
“Yeah, I’m… fine.”
Derek gave him a knowing look. “Your first time being at a place like this?”
Spencer’s gaze lingered on the stage. That would be a good excuse for why he was acting this way, but it wasn’t the truth. He grew up in Las Vegas, after all. Even though he rarely found himself in these types of scenes, he knew what went behind the walls. He was aware of what happened inside clubs, the performers, and the whole spectrum of human behavior. But he had never seen someone so… mesmerizing.
His mind was still processing the way you moved, the way you commanded the room with such effortless confidence. The way you shamelessly captivated everyone’s attention, including his.
No, it wasn’t the setting that threw him off—it was you.
“Reid?”
Spencer cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m here,” he managed, snapping back to the present. “So the dancers?”
Derek nodded, sensing Spencer’s momentary distraction but choosing not to comment.
“Yeah, we need to start talking to them. With these many dancers, I think it’s better we split up.” His eyes scanned the room. “You take the bar out here, and I’ll handle the lounge area. If any of them seem to know more or are hesitant to talk in front of others, we can bring them aside for a more private conversation.”
“Got it,” Spencer agreed. He straightened his tie and took a deep breath as he made his way directly to the bar, nodding politely to the bartender before turning to address the group of dancers gathered nearby.
“Excuse me, uh, hi there,” he greeted, showing them his badge. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid with the FBI. I’d appreciate it if I could ask you a few questions.”
The dancers exchanged glances as Spencer cleared his throat, trying to appear composed. One of them, a tall woman with striking pink hair, stepped forward. “What do you need to know, Handsome?”
Spencer felt a flush creep up his neck, momentarily flustered by the directness. “Have any of you noticed anything unusual or seen anyone acting suspiciously in the past few weeks?”
The pink-haired woman looked him up and down, taking in his crisp suit and tie with a playful smile. “Well, the only unusual thing I’ve seen lately is a handsome FBI agent in a place like this.”
Her comment drew a few chuckles from the group, and Spencer felt a wave of awkwardness wash over him. He usually could handle a bit of teasing—he’d even interviewed sex workers who blatantly flirted with him before—but being surrounded by half-naked women, one of whom was actually topless, was making him feel distinctly out of place. His usual confidence was slipping away, replaced by a deep, uncomfortable blush.
Before he could respond, another dancer, this one with blue hair, joined in the teasing. “Aww, look at him blushing. Aren’t you just adorable?”
Spencer cleared his throat, trying to refocus. “I, uh, appreciate your… observations. But really, any information about unusual behavior could be very helpful.”
One of them, with a mischievous glint in her eye, leaned closer and asked in a flirty tone, “Would you like to find a private room for questioning, Doctor?”
His eyes widened. “W-What? No, no, I—”
“Ladies.”
Spencer turned around, and his breath caught in his throat when he saw you standing close to him, your sweet fragrance enveloping him. His heartbeat quickened, and he found it hard not to stare. You had changed from your performance attire into something slightly less revealing but no less captivating that Spencer had to remind himself to blink.
“Stop teasing the poor guy,” you said, addressing the dancers with a slight smirk.
“We were just being nice,” one of them protested, feigning innocence.
You rolled your eyes. “Come on, let’s give him some space.”
The rest of the dancers giggled, picking up their drinks and retreating to another part of the club. You watched them leave before turning back to Spencer and gracefully took a seat on a stool where one of them had been.
“So,” you began, crossing one leg over the other, and Spencer made a conscious effort not to focus on how the fabric rode up your thighs. “I can’t help but overhear you’re with the FBI. I’m Scarlett.”
He stared at your outstretched hand but made no effort to take it. “Dr. Spencer Reid.”
“Ah,” you said, retracting your hand and placing it on your lap. “You’re that type of guy.”
“What do you mean?”
You tilted your head slightly, a wry smile playing on your lips. “You know, the type who might think less of this kind of job, of people who work in places like this."
Spencer shook his head quickly. “No, it’s not that. I grew up in Las Vegas, places like this don't surprise me. It's just that—l don't do handshakes. Personal preference, not a judgment."
You raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“Well, studies show that handshakes transfer a significant amount of pathogens. It’s actually safer to kiss someone than to shake their hand.”
An amused smile played on your lips. “Is that your way of trying to kiss me, Dr. Reid?”
Spencer’s eyes widened, and a flush crept up his neck. “Uh, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he stammered. “I just meant, scientifically speaking, it’s… safer.”
“Of course.” You chuckled, leaning back slightly. “So what brings the FBI here?”
Spencer cleared his throat. “We’re here to gather information about one of your customers.”
“Who?”
“Do you know anyone by the name Rick Sullivan?”
“Know him? He practically lives at the end of the bar some nights.” Your eyes swept over the empty seat where Rick usually occupied. “Although he hasn’t come here in a while, his wife probably decided to put her foot down."
“Do you remember anything unusual about his behavior or if he mentioned anything out of the ordinary recently?”
You thought for a moment, then shrugged. “He was always pretty quiet. But now that you mention it, a few weeks ago, he seemed more on edge than usual. Kept looking over his shoulder like he was expecting someone.”
“Did he ever talk to anyone in particular, or did anyone strange approach him?”
You shook your head. “Not that I noticed. But then again, it gets pretty busy here. Hard to keep track of every interaction.”
Spencer nodded at the information. “Is there anyone who seemed particularly close with him here?”
“I don’t think so. He’s friendly with some of the regulars, but no one stood out. He mostly keeps to himself unless he’s buying drinks for the dancers.” You watched him, noticing the way his brow furrowed slightly in thought and you couldn’t help but ask, “I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but don’t you have to write all this down?”
Spencer glanced at you, a small smile forming on his lips. "I have a good memory. I'll remember everything you've told me."
"Really? Do you have a photographic memory or something?"
"Eidetic, actually.”
Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “That’s impressive. So basically you’ll remember anything?”
Spencer nodded. “Yes, I can recall detailed images and information with high precision.”
“Alright, I want you to remember this then,” you said, leaning in slightly. You recited a series of numbers, your voice smooth and confident.
He looked genuinely confused. “What’s that?”
“My number.”
He blinked, clearly taken aback, but a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Oh.”
“There’s a rule against sharing personal information while working here,” you explained, leaning in a bit closer, “But you can save it under Y/N. That’s my real name.”
Spencer found himself momentarily mesmerized by your proximity, the scent of your perfume, and the intensity of your gaze. He blinked, trying to maintain his composure.
“Y/N,” he repeated softly, as if committing it to memory.
You smiled. “Exactly. Don’t forget it.”
“I won’t,” he assured you as you slipped off the stool and the space between you momentarily vanished. For a brief, unexpected second, your body lightly pressed against his. The contact was fleeting but there was an unspoken tension that seemed to pause the noise around you.
The closeness brought a rush of warmth, and your eyes locked with his. “Do you like jazz music, Dr. Reid?”
He frowned, caught off guard by the sudden shift in conversation. “Um, I don’t really listen to music.”
“Well, that’s a pity,” you replied with a playful smile. “There’s a great spot not too far from here. They have live bands on the weekends.”
“What… what are you trying to say?”
“I’m trying to ask you out on a date.”
Spencer’s eyes widened slightly as he processed your words. “Oh,” he stammered, clearly taken aback by your boldness. He hesitated, his mind racing to catch up with the situation. “I, uh, I don’t think that would be appropriate.”
“Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?”
He swallowed, looking a bit flustered. “It’s not that. It’s just… there are boundaries, and I’m supposed to remain professional.”
“Ah, I see. But if you decide to change your mind…” You moved closer, reaching out to fix his crooked tie, your fingers brushing lightly against the fabric. “I’ll be at the Blue Moon on Saturday around 9 p.m., sitting at the bar in a red dress with a drink in my hand.”
Spencer’s breath hitched slightly as he tensed but didn’t pull away, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “I’ll… I’ll think about it.”
“I hope you do, Dr. Reid.” You took a step back, your hand lingering for a moment before you let go of his tie. “You know where to find me.”
And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving him standing there as he watched you blend into the crowd, conflicted and unexpectedly aroused.
~*~
You weren’t sure what you were trying to do. Asking an FBI agent out on a date went against every rule you had set for yourself. You were supposed to keep your distance, to remain anonymous and untouchable. It was safer that way, for both you and your secrets. Yet, here you were, sipping your drink as you waited for a man who represented everything you should be avoiding.
A part of you questioned your sanity. What was it about him that made you break your own rules? It was reckless, foolish even. Getting involved with someone like Spencer Reid could only complicate things.
But there was something about him. Maybe it was the curiosity in his eyes, the way he seemed both out of place and perfectly composed at the same time. Or perhaps it was the way he treated you with a respect and sincerity that you hadn’t felt in a long time. Whatever it was, it had been enough to make you take this risk.
But now, as you sat by the bar alone an hour later, you couldn’t help but wonder if it had all been a mistake. The minutes had ticked by slowly, and you tried to ignore the gnawing feeling that maybe you had misjudged him. Maybe he decided it wasn’t worth the trouble, and maybe that was for the best.
Just as you were about to give up and leave, the door to your side opened. You turned, not daring to hope, and there he was—looking slightly disheveled and out of breath, but undeniably there with a bouquet of flowers in his hands.
His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and a small, relieved smile crossed his face.
“Hi,” he said, a bit breathless. “I’m sorry I’m late, I got held up at work and I didn’t want to come empty handed, so…”
Your eyes drifted towards the simple bouquet of white lilies in his hand. “Are those for me?”
Spencer nodded, extending the flowers towards you. “Yes, they are,” he replied. “I didn’t know what you’d like, and I thought lilies are a safe choice because they’re elegant and not too overwhelming, but then I started thinking maybe roses would have been better, but then roses can be a bit too—”
You cut him off with a warm smile, gently taking the bouquet from him. “They’re perfect. Thank you.”
He let out a small sigh of relief. “I’m glad you like them.”
You placed the lilies on the bar and gestured to the seat beside you. “Come here, you look like you just ran a marathon.”
“It felt like it,” he admitted, taking the seat right next to you. “I really didn’t want to be late.”
“You’re here now, that’s what matters.” You slightly leaned back and studied him. “I’m actually surprised you changed your mind.”
Spencer glanced at you. “I… I guess I realized I didn’t want to miss the chance to get to know you.”
“Yeah?” You tilted your head, a playful smile tugging at your lips. “What do you want to know about me?”
There were so many things he wanted to know about you, actually. He wanted to know your story, why you chose your job, and who you were beneath this confident exterior. But that was all too much for a first date. Glancing around the room, he decided to start with something simpler and said, “Start with how you know this place.”
You smiled, looking around the familiar setting. “I found it a few years ago. I was walking aimlessly down the road one night after work and stumbled this place. It’s become my little escape since then.”
“I can see why." His eyes drifted towards the band playing live music and the few patrons mesmerized by the soft tune. "It’s definitely got a charm to it.”
You leaned in slightly. “Do you have any secret escapes?”
He looked back at you. “Not really. My escapes aren’t quite as charming. Mostly books and chess. They're not exactly thrilling.”
“Books and chess?” you asked, tapping your finger on the bar. “You really are a nerd.”
“I prefer to think of myself as a man of knowledge,” he replied with a shy yet proud smile.
“Well, intelligence is attractive, and not only that, it’s also very sexy." You laughed when you noticed him slightly squirming. “Do you have any other hidden talents I should know about?”
He tilted his head, thinking for a moment. “I’m actually pretty good at magic tricks. It’s something I picked up as a kid.”
“Now that’s a talent I didn’t expect,” you observed, your eyes lighting up. “You’ll have to show me sometime.”
“I’d be happy to,” he replied enthusiastically. “What about you? What’s your hidden talent?”
You grinned. “I can make a pretty mean lasagna. And I’m good at dancing, but you might have already guessed that.”
Spencer suddenly felt the warmth spreading along his face as he remembered your performance on stage the other day. His mind flashed back to the way you moved with such confidence, the undeniable sex appeal you exuded effortlessly, and he could feel his cheeks heating up.
“Yeah, I, uh, definitely noticed,” he admitted.
“I hope that means you were impressed.”
Spencer nodded, still a bit flustered but managing a smile. “Very impressed.”
“Why, thank you,” you noted, leaning closer to him. “How about you? Do you dance, Dr. Reid?”
Spencer’s eyes widened slightly at the question. “I’m not nearly as skilled as you are,” he confessed. “My dance moves are more… theoretical. More of an exercise in coordination than something you’d want to see in action.”
The image of this authority figure awkwardly dancing in his suit made you smile.
“Now this I need to see.” Sliding off the stool, you extended your hand towards him. “Dance with me.”
Spencer hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room. “You’re serious?”
“Absolutely,” you replied. “Trust me, it’ll be fun.”
You waited, half-expecting him to decline considering he didn’t even want to shake your hand the last time you saw him. But then, to your surprise, he took a deep breath and placed his hand in yours.
You couldn’t help but smile as he stood up and let you lead him to a small open space near the bar, slipping in between other couples swaying to the music as the band played a lively, upbeat tune.
“Okay, put your hand here,” you instructed, guiding his hand to rest lightly on your waist. You took his other hand in yours and began to sway gently to the rhythm, leading him in a basic two-step.
Spencer tried to follow, his movements slightly awkward at first. “I’m not sure I’m doing this right.”
“You’re doing fine,” you reassured him, smiling up at him. “Just trust your instinct.”
“My instinct is to find the nearest exit door.”
“No escaping tonight. You’re stuck with me,” you teased, your other hand holding onto his shoulder. “Besides, I think you’re doing pretty well for someone who claims to be bad at dancing.”
Spencer raised an eyebrow, his confidence growing slightly. “You think so?”
“Yep,” you replied, giving him a grin. “In fact, I’d say you’re almost a natural.”
“Almost?” he echoed, a teasing note in his voice. “What do I need to do to earn the proper title?”
“Maybe a spin?” You suggested, already positioning yourself lightly. With an encouraging nod, you prompted him, and he took the cue, lifting his arm and carefully guiding you into a smooth spin under his hold. You twirled gracefully and came back into his arms, beaming up at him.
“How was that?” He asked.
“Pretty impressive.”
He smiled, and a warmth spread through you, a sense of happiness you hadn’t felt in a long time. It was wrong, you knew that. You knew you were stepping into dangerous territory, blurring lines that should remain clear. But at that moment, all those concerns seemed distant and unimportant, especially when the music suddenly turned slower.
The soft, sultry notes of a saxophone filled the air as you moved closer to him, gently grabbing his hands before guiding them to rest behind your back.
“Now this,” you began, moving your arms around his neck. “Is how you dance to a slow song.”
Spencer smiled, a genuine, soft expression that made his whole features light up. He pulled you gently against his chest. “I think I prefer this type of dance better.”
You rested your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt. “Me too.”
You felt a hand press gently on your lower back, drawing you even closer as you took a deep breath, inhaling his scent. He smelled of fresh soap and something sweet, like vanilla or honey—a combination that you could easily find yourself getting addicted to.
The thought surprised you. For someone who loathed men, who had built a life around a cold, calculated revenge against them, you found Spencer oddly comforting. It was unsettling how natural it felt to be this close to him, how safe he made you feel.
You could almost laugh at the irony. Here you were, a woman fueled by a desire for vengeance, finding solace in the arms of a man. It was reckless. Dangerous. You needed to keep your head in the game. Allowing yourself to get distracted, to feel these warm, tender emotions, was a risk you couldn’t afford.
But as you pressed your face closer to the crook of his neck, it became increasingly difficult to push him away. You knew you had to be cautious. You knew you needed to keep your head clear, your focus sharp, and you promised yourself that you would.
But not now. Not when his touch made you feel something you hadn’t felt in years. For now, you allowed yourself to surrender to the moment, to the warmth of his embrace, to the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, and to the fleeting sense of peace that felt so foreign yet so desperately needed.
~*~
Spencer wasn’t sure what he was trying to do. He found himself awkwardly moving close to you, then pulling back, reaching out as if to take your hand, then stopping himself. The hesitation gnawed at him, torn between wanting to hold your hand and maintaining a respectful distance.
Was it too soon? Was there a rule about holding hands on the first date?
He mentally sifted through his limited experiences, trying to recall any useful advice or guidelines. But all he could think about was how natural it had felt to dance with you, to be close to you. He glanced over, catching the soft glow of the streetlights across your face. You looked serene, content, and he wished he could just follow his instincts without second-guessing every move.
“What?” You asked without looking at him. “Why are you staring at me?
He quickly directed his gaze away from you. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
You turned to him with a small, amused smile. “You’re not making me uncomfortable. I was just curious.”
He hesitated as you both continued to walk, the rhythmic sound of your footsteps blending with the quiet night. Finally, he decided to be honest. “I’ve been trying to figure out the right moment. I guess I’m not very good with this sort of thing.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I wanted to hold your hand,” he blurted, his face flushing slightly. “But I wasn’t sure if it was too soon. I didn’t want to seem too forward or make you uncomfortable. I’m sure there’s a whole rule to this that I don’t know about, and I’ve been overthinking it the entire walk.”
You chuckled softly. “Spencer, you don’t need to worry so much.”
He took a deep breath. “I guess what I’m trying to say is… can I hold your hand?”
“Of course, you can,” you replied. “I’d really like that.”
His face lit up as he reached out, his fingers gently intertwining with yours. You laughed at his boyish smile. “So this is why you’ve been silent this whole time?”
“I didn’t want to overstep any boundaries.”
“And here I thought you didn’t want to talk to me because you didn’t enjoy my company.”
Spencer’s eyes widened in surprise. “No, not at all! I was just worried about doing something wrong.”
He looked at you, relief washing over his face. “Really?”
“Well, except for making me wait for a whole hour.”
He winced at your words. “Sorry about that. I really didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
You squeezed his hand gently. “Don’t worry. The flowers were worth the wait,” you said, holding up the bouquet in your other hand. “And besides, I enjoyed dancing with you, I had a great time talking to you, and now you’re walking me home, which is definitely a bonus point.”
“So you’re keeping scores?” He asked, finding this conversation amusing. “What’s my score now?”
You pretended to think, a smile playing on your lips. “Well, punctuality could use some work, but excellent choice in flowers, charming dance skills, and chivalrous escort service? I’d say you’re doing quite well. Maybe an eight out of ten?”
“An eight? What happened to the last two points?”
“You need to earn them.”
“How?”
You slowed your pace, pulling him to a stop under a streetlight.
“Close your eyes,” you instructed. He hesitated for a moment, then complied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth as he shut his eyes.
“Okay. Now what?”
You stood on your toes, trying to match his height, and leaned in close. Then, with a quick flutter of excitement, you pressed a soft kiss on his cheek.
His eyes widened in surprise. “I—uh, what—”
You just laughed, a light and carefree sound that cut through the night. “You just gained another point, Dr. Reid.”
Before he knew it, you turned and dashed away, your laughter trailing behind you playfully. He couldn't help but smile at the sound, and, almost without thinking, he started chasing after you.
Spencer wasn't sure why he was running, or even why this felt like the most natural thing to do, but he didn't care. Your laughter was infectious, and when he finally caught up, wrapping his arms around your waist, he couldn't stop laughing.
"Got you," he said, grinning as he met your gaze.
His eyes lingered on yours for a moment, taking in the way you looked up at him with those pretty eyes. There was a certain glow about you, a warmth that seemed to radiate across your face. His gaze then drifted down to your lips, slightly parted and still bearing the sweetest smile he had ever seen, and he felt an unfamiliar tug in his chest.
He liked seeing you like this. You always looked so confident and poised, but now you seemed... happy. There was a lightness in your eyes that he hadn't seen before, and like a moth to a flame, he wanted to bask in your warmth.
Without thinking, he slowly closed the gap between you, his eyes flicking down to your lips for a brief moment before meeting your gaze again. The world seemed to hold its breath as he leaned in, and then, gently, he kissed you.
Your lips were so soft.
He had imagined they would be, but not like this—not as delicate, not as perfectly in sync with his. The sensation was more than he had ever expected, more than he had allowed himself to hope for. His tongue gently traced your bottom lip, and the soft moan that escaped you urged him even further.
He pulled you closer, and you parted your lips to invite him in. The moment his tongue slipped inside your mouth, he was lost in the rush of flavors and sensations. Your tongues danced together, exploring, tasting, savoring every second while everything around him started to blur into shadows and muffled sounds.
He was so engrossed, so utterly consumed by the taste of you, that he completely forgot he was standing in the middle of a bustling sidewalk. It wasn't until he heard the distinct sound of a throat being cleared that reality snapped back into focus. Pulling slightly away, he turned his head towards the sound and met the stern gaze of an older woman passing by.
“Sorry,” he muttered, feeling incredibly flustered. The woman simply huffed and continued on her way, shaking her head.
You giggled as you reached up to wipe a smudge of lipstick from his mouth. “I thought you weren’t good with this sort of thing.”
“I’m not,” he assured you, his thumb gently brushing your sides. “This is... definitely a first for me.”
“Oh, really?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “So you’re saying you don’t usually make out with girls on busy sidewalks?”
The laugh he let out sounded almost ludicrous, as if the image of him kissing girls in public seemed completely out of character, out of place—until now, to his surprise.
“Nope, can’t say that I do.”
You smiled and tugged on his arm. “Come on.”
You walked together, and Spencer took your hand again. His grip tightened slightly, almost unconsciously, as if he wanted to imprint the way your hand felt into his memory. He was acutely aware of the warmth of your skin, the way your fingers fit perfectly with his. And this sense of wanting to hold onto you grew even stronger when you finally arrived at your building.
“This is me,” you said softly, turning to face him.
He looked down at your intertwined hands. “This is you.”
There was a brief, tense silence before you softly called out his name. He met your gaze, and dear god, how could he let go when you looked at him like that? He was mesmerized by the way your eyes sparkled under the light, the soft curve of your smile, the gentle confidence in your stance.
“Yes?”
“Aren’t you going to ask how you can earn your last point?”
He blinked, momentarily thrown off by your question, then a slow smile spread across his face. “Alright,” he said. “How can I earn my last point?”
Then he saw it, the same glint in your eyes that he had noticed when you were dancing on stage. It was a look filled with flirtation, exuding sex appeal and confidence. The way your eyes sparkled under the ambient light, the subtle but assured smile playing on your lips, all pointed to someone who knew exactly what they were doing and enjoyed the game just as much as the outcome.
“Well,” you started. “How about you come upstairs and we can figure it out together?”
Spencer’s heart raced at your words. He might not have had much experience when it came to dating, but he knew the look on your face all too well because he was sure he had the same expression. His eyes fell to your lips.
“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”
You gave him a knowing smile. “Because you’re trying to remain professional?” You asked, recalling his exact words the other night. “Spencer, I think you’ve long forgotten about that the moment you agreed to spend the evening with me.”
He felt a rush of warmth at your words, realizing just how right you were. The boundaries he usually upheld seemed irrelevant now, replaced by the desire to be closer to you. He sighed, the tension easing slightly as he admitted, “I guess you’re right.”
You stepped closer, your smile seductive. “So, how about we stop worrying about what’s appropriate and just enjoy ourselves?”
He was going to regret this.
“What do you have in mind?”
He was really going to regret this.
“I think you already know what I have in mind.”
Oh, screw it. If regret was the price he had to bear, then he was willing to pay it.
~*~
The crowd pulsed when you stepped out into the main area, heels clicking sharply against the floor. You took in the scene before you, passing sleazy men, some slipping tips to a dancer on stage, others getting lap dances in the dimly lit corners. A group of men in sharp suits whistled when they spotted you, and you winked at them, flipping your hair back with a playful gesture before continuing on.
You could feel heavy stares watching your every move, but despite being in a room full of men, there was only one man you had your eyes on.
You spotted him by the bar with a drink in his hand, and despite your meticulous planning to bring him back here to observe him, the sight of the man who ripped off your dreams as a naive sixteen-year-old girl never failed to ignite a burning rage within you. You wondered whether his memory was as vivid as yours, if he remembered the disgusting things he had done. But there was never any sign of recognition in his eyes, just as there hadn’t been in the eyes of the three before him.
They all thought you were just a woman trying to make ends meet, working every night in this dark place by taking your clothes off on stage. To them, you were just another pretty face, another body to gawk at. They believed you were just another girl trapped in the cycle of survival, oblivious to the deadly game you were playing.
You had crafted this persona carefully, every move, every word designed to lure them in, to make them feel comfortable, even powerful. They had no idea that you held their fate in your hands. You made them think they were taking advantage of a desperate woman, but in reality, they were the ones being manipulated, guided like pawns towards their inevitable downfall.
And tonight, it was his turn. The last of the men who had tainted your innocence.
You slipped into the empty stool beside him, a coy smile playing on your lips. “I thought I saw a familiar face.”
He turned towards you, his eyes lighting up. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too,” you replied, your voice a soft purr. The words were easy, almost natural.
“You’ve been quite the distraction for me,” he admitted. “Couldn’t stop thinking of you.”
You laughed lightly. “Good, because I aim to please.”
“And you’re very pleasing to look at,” he agreed, his eyes tracing the curve of your smile. “You have a way of captivating an audience.”
“Well, it’s nice to know I have such a dedicated fan.” You leaned loser so your shoulders brushed. “What brings you here tonight? A fight with the missus?”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, nothing like that. She’s out of town.”
You knew that already. You knew his schedule as well as he did, if not better. But you feigned innocence, like you always did.
“Lucky me then,” you replied with a flirtatious tilt of your head. “It means I get to have you all to myself tonight.”
“That’s the idea,” he said, his eyes roaming over you with undisguised interest. “I really couldn’t stop thinking about you lately.”
You leaned in closer, your breath warm against his ear. “Really? What exactly have you been thinking?”
“I’ve been thinking about what it would be like to spend some real time with you. Away from the club.”
You arched an eyebrow, your lips curving into a playful smile. “Oh? And what exactly would we do with that time?”
His hand brushed against your thigh under the table, a bold move that was more telling than any words. “I think you know what I mean.”
You pulled back slightly, giving him a flirtatious look. “You know it’s against the rules to do anything too... personal here. The club has strict policies about that sort of thing.”
“That’s a shame. I was hoping for more than just a dance.”
You smiled slyly, your eyes locking onto his with a promise. “Who says we have to stay here?”
His grin widened. “Yeah?”
You nodded, brushing your fingers along his arm. “We could go somewhere else…” you murmured, your hand continuing a path up his shoulder, tracing the line of his suit jacket. “Somewhere we can really enjoy each other’s company.”
He raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your suggestion. “Like where?”
You let your lips brush his ear. “How about your place? Your wife isn't there, we can use it however we want.”
There was a pause as he considered your words. You could see the wheels turning, the temptation playing across his face. Sensing his uncertainty, you placed your hand gently on his chest, feeling the beat of his heart under your fingertips.
“Think about it,” you coaxed softly, your voice a seductive whisper. “Just you and me, no rules, no eyes watching...” Your body inched closer to his. “It’ll be our little secret.”
His eyes darkened with anticipation, the earlier reluctance fading away under your touch. “Alright,” he said after a brief pause. “Let’s go back to my place.”
You smiled triumphantly, standing up, brushing the nonexistent dust on his shoulders. “Meet me at the back exit in five. I need to grab my purse.”
He nodded excitedly as he watched you walk away, mesmerized by the confidence in the sway of your hips. But the moment you stepped into the dressing room, your façade cracked.
You closed the door behind you and leaned against it, taking a deep breath as you fought to keep your composure. The walls seemed to close in, the air thinning around you as if suffocating you under the weight of your own emotions. Your breath became shallow, the world spinning slightly as a wave of dizziness and anger overwhelmed you all at once.
You slowly forced yourself to move, your feet dragging you over towards the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was almost unrecognizable. The confident, seductive woman from moments was now replaced with a figure trembling under the weight of her memories.
Tears welled up in your eyes as the past rushed back in a wave of emotion. The image of the young girl you once were, the girl whose dreams had been shattered by the man waiting for you outside, seemed to blend itself over your reflection. The pain, the anger, the helplessness—it all came flooding back, threatening to overwhelm you.
But you couldn’t let it. Not now.
Wiping away the tears with the back of your hand, you straightened up, forcing yourself to take deep, steadying breaths. You grabbed your purse and checked its contents one last time, making sure everything was in place, and checked your phone.
There was a message.
Your eyes welled up with tears again as you saw the name glaring back at you.
Dr. Reid :)
Just seeing his name was breaking your heart. He had been trying to contact you for days now, ever since that night you spent together. The night that had been a brief, beautiful distraction from the dark path you were on. He was kind, gentle, and you couldn’t stop thinking of the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the world.
Each message was harder to ignore than the last, and he wasn’t just reaching out; he was trying to reach in. His words were always kind, always thoughtful.
I had a great time. Can we meet again?
Just thinking about you. Hope you're okay.
Did you know sea otters hold hands when they sleep to keep from drifting apart?
His random messages of facts always made you smile because it was so authentically him—something you had never encountered before. And every time he tried to contact you, the walls you had carefully constructed around your heart began to crack. You longed to reach out to him, to relive those short moments of happiness that had brought a rare light into your life. But you knew that if you allowed yourself to see him again, it would only weaken your resolve.
So you had been avoiding him, giving excuses about being busy or not feeling well. His presence had a way of grounding you, and you couldn’t afford that now, not when you were so close to the end.
Your eyes fell to your phone again. Despite the knot tightening in your stomach, despite knowing how much it would hurt, you clicked open the message.
Can I see you tonight?
The words on the screen blurred as your grip tightened. A part of you wanted to see him again, to have his arms wrapped around your body, to feel the rhythm of his heartbeat against yours. But surrendering to these desires would only put you in danger. It was only a matter of time until he saw through your act, and until then, you needed to move fast.
Because you knew that if you let him in, if you opened that door, you wouldn't be able to follow through with your plan. The plan that had consumed you for so long, and now with the final act right in front of you, you couldn't afford any distractions.
So you took a deep breath and crafted another lie.
I have work tonight. I'm sorry.
~*~
Spencer stared at the message, a frown creasing his forehead. Had he done something wrong?
He couldn't shake the feeling that you were avoiding him. He replayed the evening in his mind, analyzing every detail, every word exchanged. It had felt perfect to him—the connection, the chemistry. But now, your constant excuses and distant responses gnawed at him. Had he misread everything? Had he been too forward, or was there something he had missed?
"Reid?" Derek's voice cut through his thoughts, snapping him back to reality.
“Sorry,” Spencer mumbled, slipping his phone into his pocket. “You were saying?”
Derek opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Penelope entered the conference room with a laptop in her hand. "You guys are gonna love me," she sang, setting the device down.
“You found anything?” Derek asked.
“Remember that blurry picture of the tattoo you sent me a few days ago?” she turned her laptop screen towards them, showing a detailed emblem that was now clearly visible. "This isn't just any tattoo—it's mandatory for the members of a local club known for their… exclusive membership.”
“What kind of club?”
Penelope clicked through a few more screens, bringing up information she had compiled. “It’s a bit underground, not your typical social club. It appears to be part social, part cultural, but there are hints of something more... let's just say, illegal activities.”
“And all members have this tattoo?”
“Yep, it’s like a symbol of loyalty, almost like a badge of honor.”
Spencer felt a knot tightening in his stomach. “Is it… The Velvet Curtain?”
Penelope shook her head, typing quickly to bring up a comparison on her screen.
“No, The Velvet Curtain is just a fancy, exclusive strip club. This one, on the other hand…” She paused, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she chose her words carefully, “...is much more secretive and, from what I can tell, much more dangerous. Think less about glamour and more about power and control."
“What kind of activities are we talking about?”
“Oh, you know, just the usual gambling and trafficking,” Penelope said dryly, scrolling through her screen. “I think you guys should check this out after we wrap up the case.”
Derek ignored her jab and crossed his arms. “So our victim can be anyone, which doesn't narrow it down much.” He turned to Penelope. “How many members are we talking about?”
“Over three hundred registered members.”
He let out a low whistle. “That’s a lot of numbers.”
“Have you tried cross-referencing the members with Rick Sullivan?" Spencer suggested. "He might be our best lead.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” Penelope’s fingers flew over the keyboard as she pulled up new data. After a few moments, she exclaimed, “Got it!”
Derek leaned in. “We have a name?”
Penelope quickly brought up a profile. “James Dalton, went to college with Rick. Mid-30s, a manager at a tech firm, lives in the suburbs with his family…” She trailed off, her eyes widening. “...and was reported missing a week ago.”
Spencer frowned, piecing it together. “He could be our John Doe.”
Penelope nodded, already typing away. “I’m cross-referencing his dental records and fingerprints as we speak.”
“You can do that?”
“You underestimate me, pretty boy,” she quipped with a smirk, her fingers flying over the keyboard. It didn't take long for her screen to flash with the confirmation she needed. “It’s a match. James Dalton is our John Doe. The dental records line up perfectly.”
The room fell into a heavy silence as they absorbed the news. Derek ran a hand over his face, breaking the silence with a sigh. “Did Rick and James ever contact each other after college?”
Penelope shook her head, scrolling through her data. “No, there’s no evidence of any recent communications. It looks like they hadn't been in touch for years until... well, until whatever pulled them back together recently.”
Spencer leaned closer to get a better view of Penelope’s screen. “Can you check his bank records? There could be any mutual transactions between them.”
“Pulling up his financials now,” she said, her eyes scanning the data that populated her screen. Moments later, she pointed at a series of numbers. “There are no mutual transactions… oh wow.”
“What is it?”
“He spent a lot of money over the past few months,” Penelope continued, her eyes wide with surprise. “We’re talking significant amounts.”
“Where?”
She looked up at him. “The Velvet Curtain.”
Spencer felt the blood drain from his body. It was as if a heavy, sinking feeling took hold, the kind that grips the stomach and pulls down hard. At first, he thought of your safety. The club you worked at was linked to the case, and worse, even directly to the victims. This connection sent chills down his spine, filling him with dread.
But the more he thought about it, especially when his mind replayed how you had been avoiding him lately, the worse his feelings grew. His concern turned into suspicion, and then that suspicion morphed into a sense of betrayal. Were you involved in this? Were you hiding something from him?
He shook his head. No, he couldn’t let his mind go there. You wouldn’t do that. You couldn’t. You were too kind, too genuine. There had to be another explanation.
“Reid, let’s go.”
Spencer looked up to see Derek standing by the door. “Where?”
“We need to go back there,” Derek said firmly. “We’re missing something.”
Spencer’s badge felt heavier than usual, the gun on his hip weighing him down. His mind was clouded with doubt, his heart pounding with anxiety. He always considered himself as someone who was confident when it came to his job, a man of knowledge who could win an argument with facts and logic. But now the lines of right and wrong seemed to blurred and he found himself questioning even his own judgment.
He let out a heavy breath. There was nothing else he could do but to follow Derek out of the room. He needed to see this through, for justice, for his peace of mind, and perhaps, for your innocence he hoped to prove.
~*~
You weren’t here.
I have work tonight, I’m sorry.
You weren’t here.
Spencer was trying to come up with excuses for your disappearance. Maybe you got sick. Maybe there was an emergency. His mind went through plausible scenarios, but none seemed to fit quite right, and his curiosity continued to gnaw at him. He braced himself and approached the club owner, hoping to gain some information under the pretense of connecting you as a witness.
The man, with a burly frame, salt-and-pepper hair, and a scowl etched on his face, barely let Spencer get the words out.
“She was here,” the owner grumbled. “Her set was half an hour ago and I haven’t seen her since. If I find out she’s skipping out on work again…” He trailed off, shaking his head in frustration.
Spencer felt his heart sank. “Again?”
He nodded gruffly. “Yeah, she’s been a bit unreliable lately. Shows up late, leaves early. It’s becoming a problem.”
“Did she mention anything to you?”
“She never says much. Keeps to herself mostly. If she’s in some kind of trouble, she’s not talking about it.” He gave Spencer a once-over. “You know her personally?”
Caught off-guard, Spencer quickly shook his head. “No. I’ve just heard she might have some useful information on the case we’re working on.”
The owner seemed to accept this, nodding slightly. “Well, good luck with that. If you find her, tell her she’s got some explaining to do.”
Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of the situation pressing down on him even more. The pressure in his chest was almost suffocating. He knew he needed to focus on trying to find out anything about James Dalton, but his mind kept turning to you, unable to shake the fear that something terrible had happened, or worse, or worse, that you might somehow be involved.
“What was that all about?”
He looked up to see Derek watching him closely. “Nothing.”
Derek studied him for a moment, noting the slight shift in his demeanor, the way his eyes darted away. “Reid, is everything okay?”
“I’m fine."
“You know you can talk to me if something’s up, right?”
“I know,” he snapped. Then he sighed, his expression softening. “I’m fine, really. Let’s just focus on the case.”
Derek studied him for a moment longer, wanting to press further, but was stopped when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, saw Penelope’s name, and quickly switched it to speaker.
“Found something new?” Derek asked.
“Yes,” Penelope's voice came through with urgency. “Have you found anything interesting yet?”
“No, nothing solid on our end,” Derek replied, glancing at Spencer who remained focused but visibly tense. “What did you find?"
“I think you should take this somewhere private,” Penelope suggested cautiously.
Derek nodded, catching Spencer’s eye and motioning for him to follow. They navigated through the bustling backstage area, moving past busy staff and performers until they spotted an empty dressing room. He ushered Spencer inside and shut the door behind them.
“We’re out of earshot,” Derek confirmed, his tone low. “Go ahead.”
“Alright, listen,” Penelope began, her voice serious. “I’ve been digging into the pasts of the two victims we identified and I found something disturbing that was buried deep in their college history. It took a lot of digging because it was almost completely erased from the public record.”
“What did you find?”
“There were reports of a group of men, including Sullivan and Dalton, who were accused of sexually assaulting a high school student who was a minor. The details were sketchy and it seems there was a significant effort to cover it up. The case never went to trial, the reports were sealed.”
“How many men were involved?”
“Four. Sullivan, Dalton, Mark Eldridge, and Robert Lawson.” There were some clicking noises in the background before Penelope continued, “Mark Eldridge was reportedly missing a few days ago, and I cross-checked his dental records with our second John Doe—it was a match.”
Derek let out a sigh. “This looks like some kind of revenge plot.” He ran a hand over his face, the weight of the situation sinking in. “What can you tell us about Lawson?”
Penelope quickly typed in a few commands. “Robert Lawson lives on the outskirts of town. He’s maintained a low profile over the years, but nothing in his recent history suggests he’s aware of the danger he might be in.”
Derek nodded, absorbing the information. “Alright, send us his address. We need to get to him before the Unsub does.”
“Sending it now,” Penelope confirmed.
“Garcia?”
Derek looked up to see Spencer standing at the edge of the room, staring blankly at a spot on the wall. His posture was tense, his face pale, and his breathing uneven. It was the most uncharacteristic of him Derek had ever seen.
“Who was the victim?” Spencer asked, his voice low, almost strained.
There was a brief pause as Penelope searched through her files. “Y/N L/N,” she answered quietly. “She was a high school student at the time, just sixteen. The case was buried deep, but it’s all here—she was threatened, her family was paid off, and the whole thing was hushed up.”
Derek felt a chill run down his spine. “And where is she now?”
Another pause, this one more tense, as Penelope gathered the final piece of information.
“She’s a dancer at The Velvet Curtain.”
Spencer felt his world tilt. The realization hit him like a freight train, his heart dropping like a stone into the depths of his stomach. It was as if the ground beneath his feet had turned to ice, sending him slipping into a dizzying spin of shock and disbelief. The pieces clicked together with the painful precision of a knife twisting in his gut. All the clues that had seemed disconnected before suddenly formed a clear, devastating picture.
“Reid.”
He couldn’t breathe, his chest tight with a constricting panic. The room closed in around him, the walls seeming to press closer with each labored breath.
“Reid.”
The reality made him feel sick.
“Reid!”
He needed to get out of here.
His feet carried him toward the door, pushing him outside to breathe. The fresh air hit his face, but it did little to ease the heaviness in his lungs.
“Reid, I need you to talk to me,” Derek’s voice followed behind him.
Spencer leaned against the cool brick wall, trying to steady his racing heart and chaotic thoughts. He struggled to find the words, the horror of the situation crashing over him like a relentless wave.
“What happened?”
He stared at Derek through blurry eyes. “It’s her,” he managed to choke out. “I-I didn’t know it was her…”
“Reid.” Derek stepped closer, gripping his shoulders. “Breathe.”
Spencer looked up at him, the pain suffocating his chest, building up inside until he couldn’t hold it back any longer. The words began tumbling out of his lips.
He told him everything. How you approached him that first night they came to the club, how you stood out in the crowd. He described the spark in your eyes when you had asked him out on a date and how hesitant he was at first until his curiosity got the better of him.
He recalled that night, how he felt a connection he hadn't known was missing. He told Derek about the conversations you shared, the laughter between you, and how deeply fulfilling it felt to be with someone who seemed to truly get him, a happiness he hadn't known before.
Derek stared at him when he finished. There was no judgment in his eyes, far from it, but what Spencer saw was even worse—it was pity.
“Reid…”
Spencer shook his head, trying to dismiss Derek’s sympathy that made him feel so exposed. “I know what this looks like,” he cut in quickly. “But you have to understand, it felt—everything with her felt real.”
“I know, I know. I believe you, man, it’s just—”Derek sighed. “You’re too involved in this.”
Spencer met his gaze. “I never wanted to be this involved.”
Derek let out another sigh, something he couldn’t stop doing when the person he considered as his little brother was going through so much pain. He took out his phone from his pocket. “Look, let me call Hotch and tell him to send someone else—”
Spencer quickly grabbed Derek’s arm, stopping him from dialing. “No,” he insisted. “I need to do this. I want to see her.”
“I don’t think—“
“I have to,” Spencer pleaded. “I need to. I can’t… I just… I need to see her.”
“Reid, she’s dangerous. She’s killed three men before, and there’s a chance she might do the same to you.”
Spencer shook his head. “What she’s doing is for revenge, you said that yourself. She won’t hurt me.”
“But—“
“Morgan, please,” Spencer interrupted, the desperation clear in his voice. “Let me talk to her. This might be my only chance.”
Derek watched him closely, seeing the pain and determination in his eyes. It was clear Spencer wasn’t going to back down, and understanding this, he finally gave in.
“Fine. But we’re taking every precaution, okay? You’re not going in alone.” Spencer nodded gratefully. “And I’m still calling for backup.”
“Of course,” he agreed, watching Derek turn around.
Spencer silently followed him back to the car as he replayed every moment without you. He tried to search for any clues he might have missed, wondering how he had been so blind, so caught up in his feelings. The thought of you being the one behind those murders was too much for him to bear, yet he knew he had to confront you. He had to know why you did it. He had to know whether any of those moments you shared together was as magical for you as it was for him, even though he was scared of the answers, of this new, cruel reality.
He just had to see you, no matter how painful it might be.
~*~
Your last victim was the easiest. You’d think he would have struggled a bit, or maybe he’d see right through your act. After all, this wasn’t the first time he had seen you, and sure, you might have looked different, but you still had the same features from when you were young. Your eyes. Your smile. You were still you, just older.
But he never noticed, because as soon as you started to seduce him, he was just like the others. All they sought was your body, or the thought of it, the fantasy they spun so easily in their minds. You realized that another thing that hadn’t changed was their disgusting perception of you, not as a person, but as an object for their desires.
Despite their oblivious nature, it came to your benefit. It was easy to put the drug in his drink, not much, but enough to make him drowsy. Enough for his body to go limp so you could tie his hands behind his back easily. You could see his brows creasing as he struggled to keep his eyes open. You knew the sedative was starting to get to his brain.
You managed to drag his body to his study. You had pulled him by his feet, his head occasionally bumping along the floor. He groaned but didn’t do much, not because he didn’t want to, but because he couldn’t. His eyes, heavy and confused, flickered with a dim recognition of his state, a useless attempt to grasp the situation that was slowly escaping his control.
And you loved it.
“W-What…” He closed his eyes, then opened them again. “…help…”
You left him there to struggle as you grabbed the can of gasoline from his backyard, which you had hidden there that morning when he was at work. You wondered briefly if he had noticed it when he came back home, but just like the others, he was oblivious. It was still right where you left it.
You carried it back into the study and noticed his eyes widening slightly, a fear starting to seep through his confusion. You unscrewed the cap, the pungent smell filling the room, and stared down at him.
That was when you heard the ringing.
It was a loud, jarring noise and your eyes settled onto the house phone sitting on his desk. The sound was out of place, cutting through the tension-filled silence like a knife as you waited for it to stop. It kept on going, on and on, until the answering machine clicked on, and a familiar voice cut through the room, calling out your name.
You let out a cry. The sound of Spencer’s unmistakable voice echoed in your ears, the voice you had hoped to avoid was now invading this moment.
“Pick up the phone,” he pleaded. “Please.”
But you didn’t. You couldn’t. Not when his voice was already starting to shake your defenses.
The call ended not long after that. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to regain your composure. But then the phone rang again. This time, his message was more desperate.
“Talk to me, please, I know what you’ve been through... I just want to help.”
The gasoline can shook in your grip. Help was the last thing you needed. “I don't want any help," you muttered to yourself, the words barely audible over his voice cutting through the answering machine.
“I-I’ll be here if you need me, you don't have to go through this alone.”
"I don't want any help.”
But he kept on, his voice calm yet insistent. "I know you're in pain, but this—this isn't the way to solve things. Answer me, please, let me help—“
It was your last straw. You finally snatched up the phone. "I don't want any help!"
You were met with a stunned silence on the other end. It was deafening, stretching out long enough for the reality of who was on the other end to sink in.
“…Spencer?”
“I’m here,” he replied softly. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”
Hearing his voice, so familiar and filled with genuine care, made you pause. For a split second, the walls you had built around your heart trembled. You wanted to scream at him, to push him away, but a part of you longed for his presence.
“Why?” you whispered. “Why are you not going anywhere?”
“Because I…” There was a pause. “Because I care about you.”
Your heart felt like it was going to burst. “You do?”
“I do,” he confessed. “More than I should have.”
You sniffed, gently placing the gasoline on top of the wooden surface of the desk. “Because you’re an FBI agent and I’m a stripper?” You wondered, recalling the same question you had asked him days ago.
“You know it was never about that,” he said. “But you’re smart enough to know the real reason.”
You glanced back at the man lying on the floor, barely conscious, his breaths shallow and labored. Spencer’s voice rang in your ears again.
“Don’t do this… please.”
You swallowed, your heart beating fast. “Give me a reason why I shouldn’t.”
“I’ll give you three,” he responded quickly. “One, you’re not a bad person.”
Your grip on the phone tightened.
“Two, you deserve a chance to find real peace.”
Your eyes welled up with tears, the resolve in your heart wavering.
“And three,” Spencer’s voice softened. “Because I want to dance with you again.”
The memory of that night, the connection you felt, rushed back, overwhelming your rage that you couldn’t help but laugh through your tears. “Yeah?”
“I want you to teach me again,” he said, a hint of a smile in his voice. “I’m still not very good at it.”
The image of the two of you dancing at the bar brought a bittersweet ache to your heart. But it wasn’t enough to overwhelm the anger, the deep-seated rage that had driven you for so long.
“I’m sorry,” you whispered into the phone, the words escaping in a breath so faint it was almost swallowed by the silence of the room.
Spencer heard it, though. “Don’t say that. It’s not over,” he pleaded. “We can still have more nights out, more dances.”
“Spencer, stop.”
“Think about it,” he continued, his voice softening as he tried a different approach. “Your family, they would rather take the money than fight for you. They left you to fend for yourself when you needed them the most.”
“Spencer…”
“And you’ve carried that weight for so long. You’ve been so strong, but now you’re not alone, you have me. So don’t let their choices define you,” he muttered. “You’re better than this.”
His words struck a nerve.
“Better than this?” You suddenly snapped, anger flaring up again. “You don’t know me. Just because we had one date, it doesn’t mean you understand what I’ve been through.”
“I don’t know everything you’ve been through,” Spencer admitted. “But I know pain. I know what it’s like to feel abandoned and betrayed.”
He paused, the line silent for a moment before he continued with a heavy sigh.
“When I was in school, a girl asked me to meet her by the school field one day… only for the football team to show up instead. They tied me up to a goalpost and stripped me naked in front of all the students.” He took a deep breath. “Everyone laughed and stared, and no one did anything to stop them.”
You knew what he was trying to do. And partly, it worked. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of pity for him. You imagined how sad it must have been for him, how traumatic and devastating that experience must have been. It was heartbreaking to picture him in that situation. But despite your sympathy, it didn’t suppress the anger inside you.
As painful as his story sounded, you knew you’d rather take his place instead of enduring what you had experienced.
“Spencer, it’s not the same,” you said, your voice trembling. “What they did to you was horrible, but what happened to me… it destroyed everything.”
“I know it’s not the same,” he replied quietly. “But pain is pain. And it doesn’t have to define us. We can choose—“
“Pain is pain?” You cried, finally letting go of the tears you had been holding back. “You know what’s painful? Hearing your story and the first thing that came up to my mind was how I’d rather take your place, because unlike you, those men didn’t stop after they stripped me naked.”
The anger boiled over, and you couldn't stop yourself, tears streamed down your face as raw, unfiltered pain poured out in your words.
"Do you know what it feels like to be young and helpless? To have four men twice your size assault you?" You screamed, losing any semblance of control you had left. "Do you fucking know how it feels to see these disgusting men get away with everything while you have to endure the nightmares, the flashbacks, the fear every single day?"
Your voice broke, heavy sobs wracking your body.
"Do you know how it feels to be broken, to be so destroyed that you can't even look at yourself in the mirror without hating what you see?”
Silence fell, your heavy breathing the only sound in the aftermath of your outburst. Spencer's voice was gentle when he finally spoke. “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“Of course, you didn’t. Because you’re a man, after all.” You picked up the gasoline again, the weight heavy in your hand. “You’re just like them… all you want to do is to save them.”
“That’s not what I—”
“And you’re fucking wasting my time.”
You slammed the phone down, cutting off the connection.
You moved on instinct. You looked down at the man on the floor, his eyes half-open, barely conscious. You regarded him one last time before you poured the gasoline over his body. The fumes rose in the air as you spread the liquid around the room, creating a trail that led to the door. At some point, one of your heels cracked, and you kicked them off, feeling the cold ground beneath your feet. It was a minor inconvenience, nothing compared to the gravity of what you were about to do.
When you finally reached a safe distance from the house, you paused, taking one last deep breath, throwing the empty can onto the ground. The weight of your past, your pain, and your anger all converged in this single moment. You took out the lighter, your hands trembling as the reality of what you were about to do settled in.
You flicked the lighter, the small flame dancing in the night air. For a moment, you were transfixed by it, the flickering light a stark contrast to the darkness surrounding you. Everything you had endured, everything that had brought you to this point, seemed to hinge on this tiny flame.
With a flick of your hand, you let it fall to the ground.
The flame kissed the trail of gasoline, igniting it instantly. The fire took life, racing along the path with a hunger that matched your own rage. It moved back toward the house, consuming everything it touched, fueled by the fume and your deep-seated desire for retribution.
The flames grew and the fire roared louder, its crackling sound filling the silence of the night. The house began to catch, the flames eagerly climbing the walls. The sight was mesmerizing yet horrifying, and you stood rooted to the spot, the fire reflecting in your eyes, casting light on the tears that streaked down your face.
You felt a smile forming on your lips.
So this was what it felt like, to watch the ashes drift through the air. To smell the acid scent of smoke. To feel the heat envelop you, wrapping your body like a suffocating blanket. To hear the sound of the world cracking and crumbling under the force of your wrath. It was beautiful, and you were mesmerized by the flames, the destruction—they were your creation, your justice.
But deep down, it was so much more than that. This wasn’t just for you, but for everyone else who had been silenced, who couldn’t do anything. You realized your anger was more than just a personal vendetta. It was a voice for the voiceless, a stand against those who had used their power to hurt and destroy.
You thought of all the others who had been through the same hell, who had been left to pick up the pieces of their shattered lives alone, who had been dismissed by a system that should have protected them.
The fire was for them, too.
You continued to watch the flame dance through the night sky, and that was when you heard it, the distant sound of vehicles approaching you. The crunch of gravel under tires grew louder and you stayed rooted where you were.
There was no running from this, no escaping what was to come. You had chosen this path, you had already accepted the consequences long before the first match was struck.
As you turned around, a group of people in FBI vests came rushing out, some frantically calling for backup as they watched the fire consume the house, while a few others pointed their weapons towards you. But your eyes were fixed on the man who had given you a glimpse of hope, the man who had tried to save you.
You felt tears streaming down your face as Spencer approached you, and you sobbed uncontrollably, the reality of what you had done sinking in.
“I’m sorry,” you cried, your voice breaking. “I-I had to do it.”
“Reid.”
An older FBI agent standing close called him, his tone a clear warning, but Derek, the other agent who you had also seen at the club, placed a hand on his shoulder. The older agent hesitated, then remained silent, allowing Spencer to approach you.
“I’m sorry,” you repeated. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Spencer’s eyes took in your appearance. The confident woman he had always known was nowhere to be found, replaced by this version of you—vulnerable, sad, and angry at the world. The sight of you barefoot, the dirt and grime clinging to your skin, made it even more heartbreaking. Your hair was disheveled, your face was streaked with tears. The raw emotion in your eyes tore at his heart.
“I—I’m sorry too,” he whispered.
You let out a choked sob. “I… I-I really had fun that night.”
Spencer nodded helplessly. “It was the best night of my life.”
Your sobs grew louder, feeling the air restrict your lungs. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get to do it again.”
He shook his head. “We could.”
“You know well we couldn’t,” you murmured. The pain in his eyes after those words left your mouth was too much—that raw, unguarded hurt—and you had to close your eyes, not wanting to see it.
In that brief darkness you wondered what would have happened if you had never gone through with any of this. Would you still have crossed his path? Would things have been different? But no, your rage was too consuming, too deep-seated for you to second guess the path you had chosen.
His soft voice whispered your name, and you blinked your eyes open, noticing his outstretched arm.
“Dance with me.”
You let out a painful cry. “Spencer… don’t make it harder than it already is.”
“Please, I… I just want to hold you.” You stared at his hand trembling under the firelight. “Please.”
You had never felt so much pain, a crushing weight on your heart, and against your better judgment, you took his hand. He pulled you gently into his arms, holding you close as if trying to memorize every detail of your body pressed against his.
The world seemed to pause. You let your mind be happy for a while, you let it travel to the simple, mundane things you wished you could do with him—walking hand in hand through a park, sharing quiet breakfasts, laughing together over something silly, and feeling his comforting presence beside you during the small, quiet times in bed.
You dreamed of a life where your past didn’t haunt you, where the weight of your decisions didn’t crush your spirit. You dreamed of waking up to his smile, of whispered conversations in the dark, of his naked body pressed against yours as he whispered sweet nothings to your ear. You allowed yourself to fantasize of a life filled with those ordinary, beautiful moments, a life that felt so achingly close yet so painfully out of reach.
But the fire’s glow around you was a reminder of the reality you couldn’t escape. Still, for a few moments, the night around you seemed to fade, the chaos and destruction reduced to a distant backdrop. His hands were gentle on your back, holding you as if you were something precious, something to be cherished, someone to be loved.
“I’m sorry for everything,” he murmured into your hair.
You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes, those deep brown eyes you knew you were going to miss. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”
The sorrow there was mirrored in your own, a mutual recognition of the pain you both felt. His gaze held yours, intense and searching, as if trying to commit every detail to memory. The color of your eyes, the feel of your skin, the sound of your voice. He wanted to remember you for a lifetime.
With tears streaming down your face, you leaned into him, savoring the bittersweet moment. You ignored everything around you. The noise, the chaos, the destruction—all of it faded into the background. It was just the two of you, as if nothing else mattered.
And nothing else did.
So you danced for the last time, holding on to each other desperately, each step a silent prayer, each turn a tender goodbye, as the world continued to burn.
~*~
“Can't seem to hold you like I want to,
So I can feel you in my arms.
Nobody's gonna come and save you,
We pulled too many false alarms.”
~*~
A/n: If you managed to make it to the end, I applaud you! Thank you from taking the time to read this fic. I’m very self conscious about this because not only does it have 14k words, the plot is also very heavy. But I’m happy with how it turned out and I hope you liked it too. Also, I could go on and on about why I chose this specific plot, but I’d be talking too much here. So if you want to further discuss this story, feel free to send me asks. I’ll gladly reply to them <3
Summary: You had no problem teaming up with George Foyet if it meant you could get rid of Haley Hotchner.
Rating: Angst
Warning: Death, killing, no one knows the reader is involved, a lot of cm darkness and unsettling nature, the reader is very convinced she's doing the right thing
Words: 1809
Main Masterlist | Criminal Minds Masterlist
An thank you to @tudorscrown for the idea!
You've loved Aaron Hotchner since high school.
He's loved Haley since then too. And she won. Not that she deserved him. The only good thing to come from her was Jack. Sweet little Jack was the only thing keeping you from killing Haley right out. Instead you became “best friends” with her. That way you could spend as much time with Aaron and Jack as you wanted.
You were there to watch her grow insecure with Aaron being away all the time, pretending to comfort her and reassure her of how much he loved her and jack. Honestly you were amazed by your own acting skills and the ability to hold back what you truly wanted to say to her.
Aaron is the best husband.
You’re such a bitch and don’t deserve his love.
He should be with me.
You are so lucky you have the sweetest little boy on the planet otherwise I would snap your fucking neck.
But you held back.
Even when Haley and Aaron divorced, you knew his heart still belonged to her, leaving no room for you. You knew that if you were to have him all to yourself, she would have to die.
It was only a matter of time that you met George Foyet. He came up to you, planning on killing you, the start of his plan to get back at Aaron, but you convinced him that you knew a better way.
Why just kill the people Aaron Hotchner was close to? Why not do a little psychological torture first? George liked the way you thought and, though begrudgingly, agreed to spare Jack. That took some time for him to agree with, but you refused to help him and in fact actively worked against him and promised him he would never get revenge.
Deep inside he knew you would and make his plans ten times more difficult, so he agreed. He just needed a little bit of insurance first. And that is why he stabbed you several times before leaving you bleeding in the park. Reaching for your phone, you called Aaron.
“A Aaron...”
“Y/n? What’s wrong?” You smile hearing the panic in his voice. Ah to know how much he loved you. “What happened?”
“Foyet-" You swallow the pain of the wounds starting to really hurt. You would have to remember to return the favor when you saw him again. "H he…”
You needed to say no more for Aaron to spring into action, getting your location by Garcia hacking into your phone, calling 911, and rushing to your side. He held your hand in the ambulance as you weakly recalled the “events” of the evening to him. How Foyet approached you, said something about a deal, and proceeded to stab you.
“Shhh,” Aaron brushed back your hair, “You did good. Rest now.” You close your eyes, his presence warming your heart.
It was only a matter of time before Aaron realized that Foyet would come after you again plus his ex-wife and son. He knew he would have to protect you all by putting you in Witness Protection and sending you far away.
It was only a matter of time before Aaron realized that Foyet would come after you again plus his ex-wife and son. He knew he would have to protect you all by putting you in Witness Protection and sending you far away.
You kept Foyet in the loop on not only your location, but the location of Haley and Jack, who both of the handlers assigned to your cases. In turn he gave you updates on Aaron.
Though you were used to not seeing him for long periods of time, you were missing him. The only thing keeping you going was the thought of being with Aaron and Jack.
Finally, the day came.
You were seated beside Jack, watching Foyet and him play with his little toy soldiers, your emotions completely in check as to not give away the ending of this day or how giddy you were about it.
“Here. Call this number.” Foyet handed Haley the phone. She pressed call, placing it on speaker, freezing when Aaron’s voice came over the phone. “Foyet.”
“Aaron? You’re okay?”
“I’m fine.”
She looked so confused until Foyet looked up at her, the pieces falling into place. “Oh Aaron.” She breathed, tears welling in her eyes.
“He can hear us, right?”
“Yes.” She wiped at her face, her tears sparking more joy in you. “I am so sorry.”
“Haley, show him no weakness. No fear.”
“I know… Sam and Y/n told me all about him.”
“Is she there with you? Is Jack?” Always the caring man, checking in on your and his son. “They are. I is he?”
“No, Sam is fine.”
You and Foyet knew Kassmeyer was dead, he had to pretend to figure out where he would get your locations without revealing your involvement. He told you that he was going to stop by there and kill him for a little bit of fun.
“Oh Aaaron, Aaron, Aaron-” You didn’t like the condescending voice he was using towards him. “Is that why your marriage fell apart? Because you’re a liar?”
You bit the inside of your cheek so you didn’t roll your eyes. Aaron wasn’t a liar, he was just a protector of the truth. Turning back to Jack, you push back his hair, assuring him everything was going to be okay as you fill your eyes with terror passing between Foyet and Haley.
“Tell Jack I need him working the case.”
Haley nods, looking over to Jack and you. “Jack? Did you hear that?” Jack jumped up from his spot, rushing to his mother to take the phone. “Hi daddy.”
You couldn't help but smile a little at Jack. He was such a sweet little boy and honestly didn’t deserve to deal with this. It was the only guilt you held being a part in all of this.
Aaron told Jack that he needed him working the case with him again before telling him to hug his mother. Haley squeezed him tight, knowing this would be the last time she got to ever hold him before letting him go, watching him run out the room.
“He’s so cute. Like a little junior G man.” Foyet watched Jack go before calling out, “I’ll be right out Jackie-boy!”
You glare at him, daring him to even think about going after that little ball of wonder, but Foyet seemed to ignore you, his mind already made up. Standing, you made your way over to Haley, taking her hand in yours and giving it a squeeze, trying to convince her you were her friend up until the very end.
Foyet saw the act of comfort, scoffing as he pointed the gun at you. “I want you to wait in the other room.” Haley gripped your hand tighter, not wanting to lose her only lifeline besides her ex-husband on the phone. You tried to stay, moving yourself behind her, appearing like you don’t want to leave her side, but you really wanted the satisfaction of seeing her get shot. You waited for years for this bitch to die, and you weren’t going to let Foyet take that away.
“Come on, come on.” Foyet took your arm, taking you to the other room. “I’ll get to you in a second, beautiful.” You cringe at the sound of his voice. He really was going to leave you here? In a normal situation, someone would try to fight back while he is distracted, but all you did was lean against the wall, waiting and listening.
Haley talked about love, and it made you sick. Love. She didn’t love him; not like you did. Your anger was quickly dissipated by the sound of several gunshots.
You poke your head back into the other room, a wicked grin spreading across your face. Before saying anything you walk over and pick up the phone Haley held in her dead hand, making sure the call was ended. The last thing you needed was to accidentally give yourself away.
Before you could say anything though, the clicking sound of the safety and the cold steel of Foyet’s gun pressed into your back. “I should have seen this coming, honestly.”
“You should have, but I’m not going to kill you.”
“Oh?”
Foyet lowered his gun, rounding to the front of you, a grin of his own on his lips. “Nope. I am going to leave you alive and then when Aaron gets here, I am going to let him know that it was you that led me to his wife and kid. So, while they are dead, you live, and he hates you.”
You stood in silence as he told you his master plan, just like a real super villain, it was honestly kind of funny to hear. You saw his plan coming a mile away, but let him play it out because you had a trick up your own sleeve.
In a flash, you grab his arm, yanking him forward and throwing him off while your other hand grabs his gun. The two of you continue to wrestle, falling to the ground, rolling around before the loud sound of a gun rang in your ears.
You pull back, peering down at Foyet as his wide eyes stare up at you, his hand gripping his stomach as blood seeped from his now fresh gun wound.
“I knew you would try and kill me, but I wasn’t going to let you.” You aim the gun at his head. “You see the difference between you and me, George, is that I’m not pride driven. Just in love.”
He laughed. “Love?! You don’t love him! You’re obsessed! You think just because you get his wife out of the way he’ll just suddenly accept you?!”
You clench your jaw, pressing the gun harder into his forehead. “He will! I will help him and Jack through this tough time! He loves me!” You take a deep breath to center yourself. Foyet was just trying to buy time until Aaron showed up to catch you in the act. Chucking at his ploy, you smile.
“I see what you were doing, but it’s not going to work. Because unlike you, I’m not sloppy.”
You pull the trigger. Ending the terror that was George Foyet.
The door banged open, Aaron rushing in to see you standing over Foyet’s dead body, gun in your hand and Haley dead on the floor. “Aarron!”
He was numb, tears streaking down his face as he went to Haley, clenching her tightly as his stoic composure finally broke. It hurt you to see him like this, but you knew it was for the best. “I’m so sorry Aaron.” Tears welling in your eyes, dropping the gun.
“You..” Aaron pulled back from Haley, taking your hand into his, “There was nothing you could do.”
You grip his hand tightly, knowing that right now he would hurt, but once the two of you find Jack only time, and you, would heal his heart.
fic based on adele’s sky fall lyrics such as “where you go i go, what you see, i see” or “you might have my number but you’ll never have my heart” 😱😱😱😜
It's only a short one and... well, I don't really know how I came to write this, it just happened while I listened to the song on repeat lmao
It's not too long, but maybe I'll write some more of it and they'll be a part 2 aha
Warnings: blood, knives, unsub reader, manipulation, abduction, reader is a bit unhinged (not in a good way)
would like to clarify, obviously I do not condone crime, I'm writing this out just in case someone somehow thinks I condone this, I do not. I'm aware I'm digging myself a bit of a hole with this, but still. Anyways...
You had led him on for months. Something you were actually quite proud of. You had fooled an FBI agent, the unit chief of the BAU. The Big Bad Aaron Hotchner. You had gained his trust, you had ‘moved in’ (he didn’t need to know that was just an act, that you had an apartment downstairs too). You gained his trust, given him a sense of security, let him grow attached, let him grow to love you. You pretended to love him.
And he didn’t even realise because, at the end of the day, he was just like any other man. His downstairs brain ruled, blinding his upstairs brain. You let him feel secure, greeted him when he got back from a case, picked Jack up from school, cooked dinner when he was tired, bought him a coffee when he was working.
Who was going to guess who you really were? Who was going to suspect sweet and innocent (Y/N) (L/N)?
You wiped the blood off your cheek with your thumb, pressing it to your lips, the metallic taste filling your mouth. You smirked, looking down at your latest victim. He looked up at you, eyes wide and filled with tears, blood smeared along his cheek. Pathetic. You gave a gentle tut, head tilting.
“Afraid, sweetheart?” You asked softly, placing a hand on his cheek. “It’s alright to be scared.” A glint filled your eyes.
“You should be.” You gave a hum, moving your hand to pick up the knife, resting it on his neck. You leaned forward, “Say hi to Aaron’s ex-wife for me.” And with that, slashed.
There was nothing like the thrill. The adrenaline rush that shook your hands, the fluttering in your stomach, the heavy breathing. Nothing matched it.
You revelled in the feeling for a moment before you removed the gloves, placing them in a plastic bag, along with your clothes and the knife. When you got back, you’d burn the clothes and gloves. As for the knife, you’d wipe it clean, before placing it in it’s designated place in the floorboard under your bed. Wiping the blood off your face, you threw the tissue and wipes into the plastic bag. You’d burn them too. You looked at the body, admiring it for a moment before you turned on your heels, and left. You’re sure someone would find it eventually. It’s not like they’d be able to tie him to you, you didn’t know the man. He was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. And he looked so much like Aaron youunsub y/ just couldn’t resist.
Hi! I love your one shots soooo much they are super cool! Could you do one with a gender fluid unsub around 14 who is hotchs child and like has been killing since hailey died and they go on cases and always kill wherever their cases are? I probably phrased this horribly but to bad! (:
Aaron Hotchner X Unsub Teen Reader
Request: Hi! I love your one shots soooo much they are super cool! Could you do one with a gender fluid unsub around 14 who is hotchs child and like has been killing since hailey died and they go on cases and always kill wherever their cases are? I probably phrased this horribly but to bad! (:
Third person pov...
The rain pounded against the windows of the BAU, mixing with the tension that hung thick in the air.
A team of elite profilers, once accustomed to solving the most heinous crimes, had been uncharacteristically stumped lately. Even their veteran leader, Aaron Hotchner, was feeling the pressure to crack this case.
“Another body found in Phoenix,” Garcia’s voice chimed through the conference room.
“Same MO as the last three we tracked. And it’s almost as if whoever is behind this is toying with us. The victims were all found in different locations, and there’s no connection beyond the way they were killed.”
Hotch stood at the head of the table, his jaw set as he processed the information. What remained unspoken hung like a thick veil in the room—his child.
Y/N had been accompanying the team for the past few months. They were brilliant and keen, yet something darker stirred within them—something rooted in a tragedy that had left its mark on the family.
It was one year since Hailey’s shocking death, and in that time, Y/N had transformed. Once a bright, cheerful teenager who wore their heart on their sleeve, they were now a whirlwind of secrecy and shadows.
The pain of losing their mother had morphed their grief into a need for retribution. They had been the one to inform Hotch about their first kill, a desperate declaration of their struggle with the chaos swirling inside.
“I want to help,” they had said, their eyes sparkling, yet haunted. “I never want anyone to feel how I felt when Mom died.”
Hotch’s heart ached at the memory. He was helpless to contain the darkness blossoming within Y/N, and what he feared most was that they might one day become the very thing they sought to destroy.
As the team piled into the jet, Hotch’s gaze fell on Y/N, sitting silently, headphones in their ears, lost in their own world.
Their style had evolved into a blend of what-they-wanted-to-be and what-they-resented; garments tailored not to gender expectations, but rather an expression of their multifaceted self—a mixture of floral patterns contrasted with edgy leather, layers lending complexity to an already intricate persona.
“Are you alright?” Hotch asked softly, leaning closer, though they didn’t quite meet his eyes.
“I’m fine,” Y/N replied, the words almost rehearsed, a barrier against the turmoil that awaited exploration. “I want to help, to make a difference.”
The words hung in the air, and beneath them was something deeper, more menacing. Hotch couldn’t shake the feeling that Y/N was seeking not just to help, but to find solace through something darker—not just shaping justice, but perhaps defining it through blood.
When they landed in Phoenix, the tempo of the city pulsed around them; sirens sang through the streets, and chaos bubbled beneath the surface.
The BAU team wasted no time regarding the case. Teaming up with local law enforcement, they reviewed the crime scenes, learning the patterns that unfolded with each new victim.
Y/N observed with an intensity that fascinated and terrified Hotch.
As they pieced together the clues, he struggled to decipher whether they were contributing to the investigation or secretly plotting their next move.
Days blended into nights as the team worked relentlessly. Each day they’d visit the scenes of the grisly murders, with Y/N becoming more withdrawn and brooding.
They had become an expert at slipping away unnoticed, coming and going like a phantom that haunted the edges of their father’s life.
During one evening, Hotch found them beneath a flickering streetlight, sketching something in a weathered notebook. “What are you drawing?” he asked softly, trying to bridge the vast emotional gulf that had formed between them.
“My thoughts,” Y/N murmured, not raising their eyes from the page. “Of Mom. Of… everything.”
Hotch’s heart tightened. “You don’t have to carry this alone, you know. I’m here.”
“Maybe I don’t want to just be here,” Y/N admitted, their voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe I want to be something else. Something that means something.”
“You are so much more than you realize. Your mother would have wanted—”
“Mom’s dead,” Y/N interrupted, the sadness transforming into an uncharacteristic ferocity. “Do you think I haven’t thought about it every day, every single moment?”
Hotch swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising tide of frustration and fear. “You have the chance to make a difference in the right way. Let us help you—”
“Sure, help me by stopping the bad guys,” they shot back, standing abruptly, their emotions boiling over. “You mean help me keep the things I want to do in check? Help me pretend I’m not hurting? I don’t need that. I need something much more… satisfying.”
The confrontation felt like a turning point. In that moment, Hotch truly understood the internal war raging within his child. It wasn’t just about grief; it was about an urge to exert control in a world that felt chaotic and lost.
Understanding this collided with the haunting realization of their possible actions. As each day passed, bodies continued to pile up in unspeakably horrific ways. Their killer—a shadowy figure playing mind games with the authorities—remained elusive, and as clues began to mount, a nagging sense of familiarity clawed at Hotch’s memory.
Finally, everything clicked into place when a witness emerged with descriptions of the killer’s attire. Everything fit perfectly with Y/N’s style.
Hotch’s pulse raced as anxiety gripped him; he had to find Y/N before they reached a point of no return. A frantic search of bars and alleys began while Garcia worked on tracing their phone virtually everywhere.
When he finally found them—a confrontation under the same streetlight, with the echo of sirens blaring in the distance—there was a blood-stained knife clutched in Y/N’s hand. Their expression flickered between triumph and despair.
“I did it, Dad. I stopped them,” they whispered, trembling as they gazed into his eyes.
“You’re not a monster,” Hotch pleaded, his heart racing. “But this isn’t justice. This will only destroy you from the inside out.”
Silence hung between them for an agonizing breath, before Y/N dropped the knife, the clatter breaking a spell. “But I killed for you,” they sobbed. “For us.”
Hotch stepped forward, carefully reaching for them. “We can find a better way, together. This—this isn’t the path your mother would want for you.”
As Y/N fell into his embrace, the darkness quelling its hold, the rain began to pour once more, washing away every trace—a promise for a better tomorrow: healing, understanding, and love forged through pain. They stood together under the flickering streetlight.
The end!
Hope you liked this one shot, sorry for any spelling or grammar mistakes.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five
Summary: Spencer finds out that reader is not who he thought they were. (Lots of angst)
Pairing: Spencer Reid x Unsub (g!n) Reader
Word Count: 1.4K
TW: Death, seizures, hemlock poisoning, hospitals and a brief mention of suicide.
A/N: Hi! Thank you to everyone who liked, commented, reblogged and followed Checkmate (Part one), it means the world to me. Sorry it’s taken a couple of days to upload - I’ve been working so many shifts ugh - anyway, I wrote this on the bus and did not proof read, I hope you enjoy.
You’d always mocked Romeo for being so rash but, as you stood hyperventilating over Spencer’s body, your first instinct was to drink the rest of the poison from the tiny vial in your pocket.
You were in shock. You needed to snap out of it. He’d not ingested enough to kill him instantly; you had a only few minutes to save him.
You collapsed onto your knees and checked Spencer’s pulse - it was weak. But still there. He’s alive, you reminded yourself. Alive. Alive. Alive.
If you were thinking rationally, you’d have left the building. Maybe tip somebody off so that they could find Spencer. If you were thinking rationally, you’d have recalled that Ben would kill you if you saved Spencer’s life. But none of that mattered, not when the only person you cared about was seizing in front of you.
You forced yourself off your feet and attempted to wipe away the tears streaming down your cheeks. What have I done, you chided yourself.
Running to the bedside table, you grabbed the landline telephone and dialled ‘911’.
The automated voice startled you, “Ambulance, fire or police?”
“Ambulance,” you whispered into the receiver.
Your malicious, manipulative, mastermind facade had dropped. You were hardly recognisable as the person you were moments ago. You didn’t know what you’d do if Spencer, your spence, was not okay.
“Hello?” A deep male voice echoed through the receiver.
“I-Help me. Help please,” you begged frantically.
“What’s your name?”
“Y/N. Um…Y/N Reid.” You couldn’t breathe. You’d placed a pillow under Spencer’s head and you’d pulled him towards your lap. His body wouldn’t stop shaking.
“Okay, Y/N. Listen to my voice and take a deep breathe…that’s it. I need you to calm down and tell me what’s happening,” the first responder asked.
“My…my boyfriend he’s been poisoned. And he’s seizing. Oh my god, please help, he won’t…he won’t stop seizing,” you choked back a sob.
“Can you tell me where you are? Help is on the way.”
“[your address]. I-hurry. Please hurry. He’s an agent. An FBI agent.” It hurt to remind yourself of his job, that he’d lied to you. But that didn’t matter, not now.
You heard a phone dialling in the background.
“Y/N, can you tell me your boyfriend’s name.”
“Spencer Reid. D-Dr Spencer Reid from the Behaviour Analysis Unit in um Quantico.”
“An ambulance is almost with you. Y/N, he’s going to be okay. Is he still seizing?”
You whispered, “no.”
“Can you check his pulse for me?”
You did what he asked, it was painfully slow.
“Do you know what substance he ingested?”
“It was-”
There was a sharp knock at the door followed by heavy footsteps running up the stairs.
You hung up the phone as the paramedics rushed to Spencer’s collapsed form.
Everything was a blur. You were barely aware of what was happening.
You watched their lips move as they shouted questions at you that you barely heard. You watched them start chest compressions on Spencer. You frantically chewed at your nails as they placed him on a stretcher and carried him out of your house.
You remembered when you’d bought it. Spencer had held your hand as you explored the empty rooms. He’d hugged you from behind, wrapping his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to his favourite spot - where your neck me your shoulder. As both of you examined the rooms he rambled random facts about windows and the wall fixings. You loved it when he rambled. You would stare in awe as he counted off numerous statistics.
You’d eaten Chinese take out on the living room floor after you’d bought it. The furniture hadn’t arrived yet. You stayed up all night talking, kissing among other things. You were both so happy then. You’d thought you had escaped Ben, escaped that lifestyle after years of doing whatever he told you.
That blissful dream ended thirteen months ago.
You followed the two paramedics to the ambulance, about to follow them in when you felt a cold hand on your shoulder that instantly snapped you back to reality.
You turned to face the tall blonde woman behind you. You recognised her from a picture on Spencer’s phone. JJ, you thought her name was. Her children were Spencer’s godsons. Or maybe he’d lied about that too.
Luke Alvez, who Spencer had briefly introduced you to in a coffee shop several weeks ago, placed handcuffs around your wrists as JJ read your rights, “Y/N L/N you are under arrest for the twenty four counts of first degree murder as well as the attempted murder of FBI agent Dr Spencer Reid.”
As the world collapsed around you, you watched the ambulance drive away - sirens flashing through the melancholy city.
——————————————————————————
It was Penelope who’d gotten the call. She’d dropped her pink octopus mug when she was told that “Dr Spencer Reid had been poisoned and was on his way to the hospital.”
The rest of the team had been waiting anxiously at the round table. Spencer had insisted on going after you alone, Emily and JJ had protested but Rossi and Tara had agreed with Reid. You were dangerous. Deadly, even. They needed the element of surprise and that was something they’d only achieve if he followed his usual routine and went home to you alone.
It broke Penelope’s heart to see him like that. Spencer had looked exhausted and so broken. She wanted to give him a hug but she observes the way he flinched away anytime someone tried to touch him or offer comfort.
Penelope ran out of her office to the others.
It was Rossi who spoke first, “Garcia what’s wrong?” He asked, observing her dishevelled state as Penelope stood shaking in the doorway, “what happened?”
JJ spoke next, “is Reid okay?”
“I-no. No he’s not.” The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop.
“Penelope…” said Emily.
“A 911 call just came through from his house. He’s been poisoned, an ambulance is on it’s way. Reid…Spencer,” She inhaled sharply, “is unconscious.”
“Then who made the-”
Luke finally spoke up, “Y/N. It was Y/N.”
“But why would they call for help after trying to kill him?” Asked Tara.
No one spoke for what felt like minutes.
Emily finally answered, “it’s doesn’t matter. We need to get to that house now. Lewis, Rossi, you’re with me. JJ, you go with Alvez.”
“What about me?” Penelope questioned weakly, “I can’t…I can’t just stay here and do nothing, waiting for a call.”
“Go to the hospital, we’ll meet you there as soon as possible.”
Penelope nodded, relieved.
As they left the room, Luke hugged Penelope, “he’ll be okay, Garcia. I promise. They wont get away with this.”
——————————————————————————
When he awoke, the first thing he smelt was jello. He loved jello.
“Can I have some of that…please,” Spencer implored.
It was quickly followed by a squeal as Penelope through her arms around him.
“Spencer, you’re okay! Thank god you’re okay. I was so scared. We all were.”
Slowly he began to notice the beeping machines around them and the dull throbbing in the back of his head. He winced.
“Do you want me to get the doctor? I should tell her that you’re awake and-”
Spencer interrupted her rambling, “what happened?”
“You were given a near lethal dose of hemlock.”
Shit. He cursed to himself, remembering something he had read.
“Conium maculatum, colloquially known as hemlock, poison hemlock or wild hemlock, is a highly poisonous biennial herbaceous flowering plant…how did I…”
“Y/N,” Garcia whispered, staring at the hospital room floor.
The memories all came flooding back to him then. The truth of who you really were, the things - the illegal things - you had done. He Spencer recalled all the lies. It hurt more than his body did.
He fought tears. He would not cry over you, Spencer refused.
“Did you find them?”
He was surprised to hear answer “yes.”
“What? But if poisoning me was their escape plan, how did you find them so quickly? How long have I been unconscious?”
None of this made sense.
“Y/N, well, they made the call Spencer. They stayed with you the whole time. JJ and Luke arrested them when they were following you into the ambulance. They’ve been in an interrogation room for three days, Rossi and Tara are with them…you’ve been unconscious for three day.”
Spencer was going to be sick.
Emily, JJ and Alvez rushed into the room.
“You’re alive,” they gushed, “you’re okay!”
Spencer wasn’t listening. He didn’t care.
He stared at Emily who almost immediately understood what he was about to ask.
“No, Reid. Absolutely not.”
“I need to see them. I need you to take me to Y/N.”
A/N: Thank you for reading! Part three will be uploaded in the coming days ◡̈
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may i pretty please request spencer reid x an unsub reader 👹 i'll leave the smut or no smut up to you, i'm a very indecisive person 💀
You can love. knock yourself out😘❤
Editor bear: OKAY im literally an idiot! 💀 I thought you were asking me not a full ass request LMAOOO bro my bad fr. Hope you enjoy 💀 and here my good friend @justagenderfluidstuff
This case has been passed around for years. Different states the unsub attacked two times each month. And this time the unsub attacked Quantico, Virginia. The cops and FBI immediately knew who had done the brutal murder.
It was the infamous K/n. His murders became Americas most wanted serial killer in such short time. He wanted others to know the things he did. Two times a month he will kill and display the victims only most serial killers and crazy people will only understand. He always left his name K/n in his first dead victims left thigh.
He will kill up to ten to twenty or so people then open their stomach remove all of their guts and replace them with fish guts. And leave the victims body by a nearby pond
If the victim was rich he would put their head in a fish tank and somehow sneak the to a tank into a pet shop waiting for someone to find it.
What made it harder for the cops to catch him is the people he chooses are random. The only thing they found out is he kills the poor/ standard people in the first week then kills the rich/wealthy on the second.
As Reid reads all the information on the flies he asks "How do we know they're a male?" "Well because he told some reporter a few months ago when she assumed he was a girl." Gideon answers
"The way he told her is that he had sent some fish to her house. With the bone still inside and a human eyes inside of the bone spelled HE. And when she moved the fish off the plate the plate had his name carved in it." Hotch answers the question in everyone's mind.
"And! To make sure everyone believes him he carved "HE" Into every single victim's chest." Penelope answers.
"So the man we are looking for is a well known marine biologist. At first the other FBI thought he was a regular fisherman until he used a dumbo octopus guts in one of his victims. That means hes a pro with sea animals and has access to go in the water that deep." Gideon gives everyone a run down.
"Hey pretty boy you been real quiet today." Morgan says making everyone's attention go to him.
"I know someone who's a marine biologist. He should know more about this..." Reid accidentally blurts out. "Oh oh who you know pretty boy? " Derek teases seeing Spencer's red cheeks. "Can we meet him?" Hotch asks. "Yeah he should be home now."
TIMESKIP.
Once the Bau arrives at the strangers house they get in awe. "Hes one rich man huh Spence." J.J Says looking at the pool. Spencer digs in his bag for the spare keys and unlocks the door letting the team in. "Wow. Do the guy you know think he can hook me up?" Morgan teases his friend looking around the house.
The team follows Spencer upstairs and Spencer opens the door that says "Working ❤" The team stares at the man who has a lab coat on and gloves holding an eel. The music in the room plays soft and cool like they were underwater. "Does the music help the animal calm down?" Penelope is filled with curiosity looking at all of sea animals.
"Well he doesn't know if he calms them down but it calms down some but it mostly calms himself down as he works." Spencer answers to his co-worker.
Y/n turns his head around seeing Spencer with a few more people who have serious expressions on their face. Y/n puts the eel back in their tank before taking off his gloves and putting them in the trash and washing his hands.
"Hi love. And his co-workers." Y/n says slightly irritated to be interrupted during work. "I'm sorry to barge in like this while you are working but we need you."
2ND POV
You already knew what this was about the moment they stepped in and Spencer worried face like a warning. You already have your alibi just in case they suspect you.
I mean you and Spencer planned this. A few months ago he went with you to keep you company during one of your business trips in a different state. You thought about just going off the script and just skipping the kills that month. But your ego overcame you because you didn't want anyone to think that you were weak or scared. But sadly as luck would have it Spencer had followed you and saw you kill those people.
Once you found out he saw you brutally kill and display those people you acted innocent and scared manipulating him slowly that you didn't mean too you were only scared and you didn't know really what happened that your mind acted on its own like you were a different person. You acted like that with him but with others you were a blunt stone cold man who didn't care about anyone besides his boyfriend and sea animals.
Spencer knew one day you may be a suspect so you both plan out alibis every month just in case something like this was gonna happen.
After the Bau asks you hundreds of questions about your job and fills you in about the K/n killer and any clue might fit this picture. You gave them wrong ideas and they ate it up believing you since you are Reid's boyfriend. "Guys you know hes working from home right and he has his own work hours." Reid tells the team reminding them they're holding him up from working.
The team says their goodbyes but not Penelope shes begs Y/n to see an animal. Y/n sighs and tells the team to follow him to a guest bedroom. "All my guest bedrooms have their own theme about the animals here so this room is about seahorse. Her name is bugs shes currently two and she has a thats pregnant mate in my office"
Y/n says looking at the beautiful sea creature. Wow the team stares at awe before saying their real goodbyes. Y/n walks them out but grabs Spencer's wrist stopping him shutting the door.
"Remember Spence~ Stay calm and collected don't hint or say anything about me unless you have to. And the main thing to not forget is?" Y/n says to Spencer giving him an evil smile.
"I was with Y/n the entire time during his work trips and I have proof."
