The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid X Reader) - Chapter Seven

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Seven

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Seven Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 4306 Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue

~~~

Spencer's foot tapped incessantly as he sat in the conference room waiting with Derek, Rossi, and Hotch. JJ and Kate were conducting the interview with the eldest of the group - Ellie, Spencer thought he heard her say when they were first brought in.

It was both a miracle and a heartbreaking sight to see the small group of girls - no older than seventeen, but no younger than thirteen, Spencer deduced - walk through the station with dirty clothes, some even in pyjamas. Their hair was all knotted, and their bare feet were bloody and dirty from running for miles through forestry and along the railway to find help.

To find safety.

Spencer looked out through the glass walls to see other officers talking with the other girls, no doubt trying to contact their families. Again, that double-edged sword of relief and heartache pierced his heart at the sight.

'Being so young, they would be recent abductions so their orphanages and foster homes should be looking for them. There should be filed reports,' Rossi said, as if reading Spencer's mind.

'But what about the homeless ones?' Derek asked, his tone thoughtful as opposed to pointed and angry. 'The ones that have no one looking for them? We can't just put them back on the streets.'

'No,' Hotch answered. 'However, for some of them, the streets are all they know. We can't force them to accept what we believe is help. All we can do is just give them that offer anyway.'

Derek and Rossi hummed in agreement, but Spencer kept his thoughts to himself. There was a raging war inside him that was happy to see so many young girls be saved from Khan, but the duality to that happiness was a heavy fear that you were now his target for all things sadistic and murderous.

'Pretty boy.' Derek's gentle hand clasped his shoulder, forcing Spencer to look up into Dereks' worried face. 'You okay there?'

Spencer nodded, forcing a tight-lipped smile that he knew wasn't convincing in the slightest. He just couldn't get out of his head the last image of you, crying, hanging helpless as Khan put his hands all over your exposed body. And all the while talking to him, reassuring him.

I would've said yes.

Who knew what he was doing to you now.

Derek squeezed his shoulder. 'We're going to find her, pretty boy,' he said softly, kneeling down to meet Spencer's eye level. 'And when we catch the son of bitch, I'll let you have the honour of taking him down.'

From the look in Derek's eyes, Spencer knew he didn't need permission. But knowing that Derek wouldn't stand in Spencer's way in exacting his revenge on Khan for all he has done - not only to you, but all the girls, too - lifted a little of the fear from him.

Their conversation ended when JJ and Kate barged through the door, and Spencer was on his feet before his brain registered he was significantly taller again. 'What did Ellie say?'

'She couldn't tell us much about where exactly the complex was,' JJ started, 'but she remembers smelling intense pine and cut steel when they exited the building. That they never heard cars or trucks so they must be a fair way into the woods south, possibly over state lines.'

'But Penelope and I looked over every map of those woods,' Spencer said, his tone desperate, borderline upset. 'The properties there either check out in names or don't match what we are looking for.'

'What else did Ellie say?' Hotch interrupted.

'She'd been there the longest of the group,' Kate answered. 'First it was just her, then another girl, then soon they were being brought in twos and threes.'

'He was escalating,' Rossi said. 'Probably because he now has goons of his own to help speed up the process.'

'We talked Ellie through her abduction,' Kate continued, 'and she said she was just sleeping behind a garbage container when he approached her, saying he worked for a homeless centre and had some blankets and warm food in his car just down the street.'

'That's how he got her,' JJ added, 'and she did confirm it was Walter personally who abducted her. He abducted most of the others too. He knocked her out the moment no one else could see or hear them with chloroform, but she woke up sometime before they arrived at the facility and she heard him talking to someone over the phone. From what she could gather, he said the name "Arthur" and sounded pretty upset when he did.'

'Arthur...' For the first time in hours, Spencer's brain fired at the speed of light, turning and calculating and digging back through mental files of all he knew about Walter Khan. He suddenly pulled out his phone and pressed the number one speed dial option.

'How can I help? I want to help,' Penelope answered, her voice tight and anxious and scared.

'Garcia, by any chance, was Walter adopted or in a foster home as a kid, perhaps under a different name?'

Penelope's fingertips flew across her keyboard, then stopped when's he found something. 'There was a Walter in a small orphanage in Pennsylvania about thirty-odd years ago. He was adopted by a Wendy and Arthur Kè Hán - Wendy was a prostitute and Arthur was a carpenter who owned his own business but it went under a few years after they adopted Walter.'

A few more clicks of her fingertips had her murmuring, 'Oh.'

'What did you find?' Rossi asked.

'Turns out Wendy wasn't too happy with Arthur's lack of business, and mentally and physically abused him for not supporting the household. After he took his own life, her anger was directed at Walter. There were never any witnesses so reports were never filed. Once he was eighteen, Walter left home and went completely off grid. He hasn't existed in almost twenty years.'

'Except Kè Hán is the native Chinese translation for Khan,' Spencer explained. 'Garcia, can you look up if any of the properties we checked were under the name Arthur Kè Hán, or some sort of alias with the same letters?'

'Of course,' she said, tapping away at her keyboard before stopping with a gasp. 'Yes! Yeah there is. A lot of one-hundred acres right in the middle of the woods south of New York.'

Spencer hated himself for not seeing earlier, smacking his forehead with frustration. 'He obviously had a strong relationship to his adoptive father, and so half of these killings have got to be some sort of revenge for Arthur. He put the property under his name not only out of respect, but because who would look for a dead man?'

'And if he views the girls he grooms and then kills as his mother...' JJ started.

'Then Y/N might not have a lot of time,' Kate finished grimly.

'Garcia,' Hotch said, but Penelope didn't need anything else.

'Address already sent to your tablets and phones,' she replied, voice cracking with what sounded like tears. 'Now bring our girl home, please!'

'We will, Garcia,' Spencer said and ended the call. He ran after his team as they headed out of the room to rally other officers and a S.W.A.T. team to head out to the property. He was the calmest he'd been in the past few hours. Because he knew where you were. He was coming to get you.

And he was going to make Walter Khan bleed when he saw him.

~~~

You woke up to darkness and cold.

You don't remember when you fell asleep, you were just glad that you did, and that it had been a dreamless sleep. But then again, how could you have had anything in your head when you'd just been through a living nightmare?

The more you woke up, the quicker you realised something wasn't right. You hurt all over, like you'd been pressed by a thousand fingers over and over again. You tried sitting up, but your legs shook with exhaustion, and your groin-

You froze in terror as you looked down your body. Your underwear was still in place, but the memories came flooding back in too quickly. Tears streamed down your face as you recalled how you hadn't always been covered, how Khan had stripped you of your clothes, and with them your dignity. Your stomach churned as the ghost of his touch brushed over your lower body, and you could only throw up stomach acid when you smelt the remaining evidence of what he did to you.

It was smothering: the memories, the touch, the scent - his scent. Your heartbroken cries came out as sad squawks from your already damaged throat. You remembered how he'd laughed at your screams, all the while defiling you for his own pleasure.

Once your stomach was empty even of acid, you curled in on yourself, hoping to bring your exposed limbs some flicker of warmth, of hope. But isn't that why you'd said that to Spencer? You knew he had to have been watching - there was no way Penelope wouldn't have found the server, not found it odd, and not have opened it. While it was Khan's way of taunting your team and he was smart to an extent, he was no match for the mighty Penelope Garcia.

Spencer had been watching, you knew it in your guts. And the moment Khan had opened up your dress and started touching you, you had accepted you would never see him or any of the team again. You would never see his goofy smile, or hear him rant about Star Trek or the many wonders of Halloween. You would never have movie nights, or go out to dinner with him and the team and brush legs in the booth or sitting by the bar. You'd never steal another longing glance at him, or kiss him; and you'd never get to see what you two could've been if you hadn't been such a coward.

You'd never get to tell him you loved him.

It wasn't something people usually told someone on the first date, but you didn't need to date Spencer to know he was it for you. That he had ruined you for anyone else, no matter how handsome or smart or caring or brave they were. No one could beat him. You'd known that since the first time you met him, and had tried to let him know that everyday since.

You shivered, curling into yourself in a feeble attempt to rid yourself of the cold that seemed to sink permanently into your bones. It all seems silly now, you thought, a moment of clarity breaking through your heartache, to have wasted so much time not loving him openly, consequences be damned.

I would've said yes.

It was your last attempt at telling him how you really feel. Whatever happened to you now, you just hoped he understood that one thing.

The door to the Warehouse creaked open, but you didn't move. There was no point. There was no escape. And with the stinging pain of vulnerability and violation coursing through you, you didn't have it in you to defend yourself anymore.

Walter Khan had already taken all he could from you except your life.

Someone pressed a button, and the chain cranked upwards, pulling you to your feet again. Exhaustion weighed on you, and so you just hung by your wrists, numb to the strain in your shoulders, numb to caring about showing Walter Khan he did not hurt you.

The man himself pulled on your hair so you looked up at him, cold, unfeeling eyes meeting your tired ones. 'Look at you,' he said, voice too soft and intimate for your liking, 'all numb and pliant. What? No retorts? No teeth today, sweetheart?'

Anger boiled deep within you. He had no idea how much you wanted to show him some teeth and rip his lips right off his ugly, dumb face. But your body wouldn't let you. It had been put through the ringer a few too many times, and you were well and truly being counted out.

He leaned in close, brushing his nose over your cheeks, your forehead, your lips. His sharp inhale of you had your stomach churning again, had your hands twitching with the impulse to claw his eyes out.

'I'm offended,' he whispered, his hot breath vile as it fanned across your cheeks, invaded your nostrils. He pulled back enough so you could see his grin that could only belong to the devil. 'That's okay. I know how you can make it up to me.'

He let go of you and walked to the table. The foggy cloud of confusion cleared from your brain when he picked up a knife, its pointed edge curved sharp. He held the knife in such a way that it looked moulded to his hand, fitting too perfectly between his fingers as he walked back over. The image of Roxy's mutilated body flashed in your mind, along with the other girls' you'd found, and that seemed to be the trigger to kick your need to survive back into gear.

You struggled to stand flat on your feet, tugging with all the strength you had at your restraints as Khan stepped closer to you. 'Get... away,' you said, but your words came out weak.

A sadistic laugh slipped past his lips, the cold sound rattling your spine, your spirit. 'No one is going anywhere, sweetheart,' he said, and he pulled you close again, keeping you still with a painful grip on your hair. The tip of the knife ran cool along your exposed stomach, grazing softly from just above your belly button to underneath it. He grinned as he followed his actions, his smile showing that he had done this before, but his breathless sighs demonstrated how what he was about to do would feel just like the first time. 'Not until we're done, that is.'

A whimper bubbled in your throat, knowing what was coming next. You just hoped it would be quick and as painless as possible. You sucked in a breath, bit into your lower lip - you would not give him the satisfaction of hearing you scream.

Khan pulled back the knife, holding it for a second before he-

Both doors to the Warehouse slammed open as people in FBI vests came running through the doors, guns at the ready.

'FBI, Khan!'

Not just people - your people.

Derek was the one who'd shouted, coming in through the front door and followed by Rossi and Spencer. The exit door to your right was being blockaded by Hotch, JJ, and Kate. If you weren't in such a state of shock, you would've cried with joy. They'd found you.

'Put the knife down, Khan,' Hotch commanded, tone calm and collected as he and the team circled around him, other FBI agents circling them. With the doors open now, you could hear the struggle and gunfire as no doubt other FBI agents took on the rest of the goons in the facility. 'We have you and your entire operation surrounded. There's no escape.'

Khan looked around at the team, eyes blowing wide with that same wildness of a caged animal. But instead of doing what Hotch said, he grabbed you, pulled you to his chest, and pressed the knife to your throat.

The team stepped closer.

'You don't want to do that, Khan,' Hotch warned.

'Why not?' Khan spat back, the knife pressing hard against your neck. You felt it start to pierce the delicate skin there, causing you to hiss in pain. 'Because you'll shoot? I'm not afraid of some bullets.'

'What about a hundred?' Derek asked, eyes trained on Khan like a hawk, hands steady on his gun. 'Come on, man. You know the only way you're getting out of this alive is if you drop the knife.'

A trickle of blood dribbled down the column of your neck, between your breast, and down your torso. Your heart threatened to beat right out of your chest it was pounding so hard, so fast.

'No,' Khan said defiantly. 'I have worked too hard for too long just for it all to be taken away from me. All because of this slut!'

'You brought this upon yourself, Khan,' Spencer interjected, his tone steelier than usual. You looked into his amber eyes and saw a dangerous fire lurking there.

Dr Spencer Reid was mad.

'That very well may be,' Khan responded, and the pressure of the knife on your neck eased only slightly. 'But you brought this upon yourself, too.'

He raised the knife, and you closed your eyes because this was it, this is where you died.

Then a shot fired, the sound echoing for an eternity in your mind. Then- Nothing.

No piercing pain, no screams, just nothing.

And so you opened your eyes just as Walter Khan collapsed to the floor, a bullet embedded in the middle of his forehead. You looked towards where the bullet came from, and saw everyone also looking at Spencer, whose steely gaze showed no remorse as he holstered his gun.

The realisation that Khan wasn't getting back up - that it was over - had your knees buckling out from under you as uncontrollable sobs wracked your body. Before your wrists could take any more of a beating from holding you up, someone caught you, their arms weaving underneath yours and holding you against their chest. Their scent hit you immediately, and a half second later you recognised the arms that held you.

'Spence,' you sobbed out, tears finally falling from your eyes like twin dams suddenly broken. 'Oh, Spence.'

His long fingers cradled your head softly, pressed gently into your back as you heard someone else undo your chains. 'I'm here, Y/N,' he cooed, breathless almost in disbelief. 'I'm here. You're safe now.'

Once your wrists were free, your arms flopped down in jarring manner that brought on another wave of tears, this time in pain. The pain was just a cruel reminder of what you weren't anymore - pure, whole.

'He touched me,' you managed to get out, your sobs making it hard to breathe let alone speak. 'He touched me!'

'Oh my God,' JJ said, and you felt Spencer wrap his arms around you tighter, his lips pressing softly against your forehead and in your matted hair.

You simply dissolved into a blubbering mess of tears, snot, and pain in Spencer's arms. You stayed like that for what felt like an eternity; and when your tears had all dried up, you passed out, falling into a dreamless sleep as Spencer held you all the while.

~~~

'Medic!' Spencer cried as you fell limp in his arms suddenly. Your paled face made the bruises and remaining blood on it stand out grossly. He pressed two fingers to your pulse. It was weak, but it was there. No doubt your body was finally giving out after enduring hours of torture and pain. You needed help right away.

'Is she okay? What happened?' JJ asked, the rest of the team joining him as the paramedics ran in through the exit door with a gurney.

'She just passed out. I think her body's shutting down on her,' Spencer said.

One of the medics also checked your pulse. 'We need to get her to a hospital now,' she said, then looked up at Spencer. 'Get her on the gurney.'

As Spencer placed you gently on the gurney, he kept hold of your hand, running alongside you as you were wheeled to the ambulance. The medics placed an oxygen mask on you and pushed you up into the back of the ambulance.

'Go with her, Reid,' Hotch directed. 'We can take care of things here.'

'Just keep us updated,' Rossi added.

'You got it,' Spencer said before leaping into the ambulance as they closed the doors.

~~~

Spencer sat up in the small seat he'd made himself at home in almost...

He rubbed at his blurry eyes. The red numbers of the electronic clock on your hospital nightstand flashed 01:34am.

Roughly seven hours. That's how long since you'd been admitted. Six had been spent in the room he currently resided in. Only two of those had he actually slept, not wanting to sleep in case you woke up and needed to see a familiar face.

His bulletproof vest he'd been using as a pillow slipped to the floor as he straightened up, his bones cracking as he untangled himself from the awkward sleeping position he'd put himself in. Exhaustion weighed on his eyes, but he rubbed at them, hoping it would go away. But it didn't, and with those tired eyes, he looked over at your sleeping form in the white, hospital bed.

You'd been cleaned by the nurses and doctors that helped stitch you up and pop your dislocated joints back into place. An IV drip was attached to your arm, as well as a chord that attached to a heart monitor, and the steady beep that sounded from it was the only thing keeping Spencer from losing it completely.

She's okay. She's alive. You found her.

It didn't matter how many times he told himself that - or anyone else on the team - because you were still hurt, still lying unconscious in the hospital bed.

All because you were a good person.

He leaned forward in the chair and took one of your hands in his, and it frightened him how cold your fingers felt in his. He observed your face; you looked so peaceful despite the bandages covering the cut on your neck where Khan's knife had almost taken you away from Spencer for good.

The mere thought had tears burning his eyes.

A soft knock brought Spencer back to the present, to see Derek holding two coffee cups by the doorway.

'Hey,' Derek greeted gently, walking in and offering one of the coffees to Spencer. 'Thought you might need it. Extra extra sugar, even.'

Spencer smiled appreciatively, but he felt it didn't reach its usual brightness. 'Thanks, but I'm fine right now.'

'Okay,' Derek said, placing the sweetened coffee on the bed tray that was currently situated to the side as you slept. He then pulled up another seat on the opposite side of the bed to Spencer, taking a sip of his own coffee as he sat down. He gave you soft look as he watched you. 'She's one tough cookie, huh.'

A lump formed in Spencer's throat with both pride and terror as he nodded his agreement. 'Can't believe we actually got her back.'

'Well, you better believe it, pretty boy, because we did, and she's right there.' Spencer didn't reply, prompting Derek to put his coffee down and face Spencer properly. 'You know it's not your fault, right? Y/N knew what she was getting into when she agreed to the mission. She knew the potential outcomes when she decided to stay behind and help those girls. I bet you she also knew we would come looking for her - that's what kept her going, Spencer. The thought of us finding her, of you finding her.'

Tears welled in Spencer's eyes as he finally looked away from you and looked at Derek, his hands never leaving yours. 'I just... why did it have to be her? I know its selfish of me to say, but why did they have to drag her back into the very unit she left behind? She could've died!'

'But she didn't, Spencer,' Derek countered, but he was gentle with his words. 'She is here with us. And I don't know about you, but I would take this as a sign.'

'What kind of sign?' Spencer asked.

'To make sure she doesn't slip through your fingers again.'

As if the universe had been listening, a soft groan came from you that had both men looking at you in disbelief. 'Y/N?' Spencer asked softly, holding your hand with one hand while the other stroked back loose, H/C hairs from your face. 'Y/N, can you hear me?'

'Spence?' you said, your voice groggy with exhaustion and sleep. Your eyes slowly fluttered open, and you blinked a few times until your eyes lit up with recognition as you spotted Spencer. Tears welled up, making the E/C of your pupils twinkle with joy. 'Spence...'

'I'll go get the others. And a doctor,' Derek murmured, then quickly zoomed out of the room, leaving Spencer and you alone once more.

Spencer squeezed your hand, a bright, relieved smile splitting his lips apart for the first time in days. 'Hey there,' he said quietly, smoothing your hair down not only to comfort you, but himself - and remind himself that you were real.

His heart soared when he felt you squeeze his hand back. It was weak, but it was something, and the smile that split your face was something he would've gone to hell and back to see on your face everyday. 'You found me,' you whispered, tears falling down your cheeks, but these time they were of joy and relief.

His thumb subconsciously grazed over your knuckles a few times, then he brought them to his lips where he placed a hard, grateful kiss there. 'Of course I did,' he murmured back. 'I will always find you.'

Before you could respond, the relieved sighs of the team entered the room, forcing Spencer to step back as they took turns hugging you. A doctor came in to talk to you as well, but Spencer didn't mind. Not as your eyes sparkled and your voice rung through the room.

He'd brought you home. There was nothing more he could've wanted.

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Four

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter Four Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 5598 Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue

~~~

'So, what do you say, Serena? Do you want to be one of us?'

Madame Lacroix's words looped through your brain as you walked as fast as possible back to the third shitty flat you'd been set up in by your undercover team. You attempted to keep your pace steady but not panicked, unable to shake the feeling that someone was watching you.

The invisible gaze had weighed on you since you'd left the Chateau, since you'd left the meeting. But this new information couldn't wait.

You unlocked the rusty gate to the apartment building, and flew past the bags of garbage that piled up at the doorstep without a single crinkle of your nose - you'd been desensitised to New York's poor pollution a while back. Swift feet carried you up two flights of stairs to your apartment door, where you scrambled for the key to open it.

The moment you stepped over the threshold you finally let the mask of Serena Vanderguff down. Your shoulders sagged as your brain finally recognised the pain in your feet from the six-inch heels you'd been wearing all evening. Despite that, you scrambled to push the heels off, not bothering to place them neatly by the door with the other pairs, and ran for your computer. It was hidden in a false back behind the kitchen sink. Most people would look for a computer in the bedroom or the lounge room, so you'd made the modification in every apartment yourself in case you were broken into by some amateur thieves in the neighbourhood.

You pulled the false back away to reveal the small device and grabbed it out, placing it on the kitchen bench and turning it on. You quickly pulled up the chat room you'd been using to communicate with Holt the whole operation.

You typed a quick message: Face to Home Please.

Not even a minute went by and a reply came: Welcome Home.

A window popped open on your screen with an image of the FBI sigil. You picked up the computer and walked into the bedroom, closing the door behind you. You quickly checked your windows. The moon was on the other side of it's peak; New York was the city that never slept, but it had it's low points, and the precious hours between midnight and sunrise were the perfect time to commit all kinds of crime and other unspeakable things.

You pulled the blinds down once you cleared the street, and sat on your bed as the screen changed from the sigil to the image of a room with a long table and a board in the background. That was odd. It wasn't the usual dark room with just Holt and a headset. Instead, Holt sat in a chair closest to the screen, files spread out in front of him.

But he wasn't the only one in the room.

'L/N, you're on,' he said, but instead of speaking the new information you'd just learned and moving on like you always did, your throat closed up at the sight of familiar faces now swarming the camera.

'Y/N...' JJ breathed out as she took a seat opposite Holt. A beautiful brunette sat beside her that you didn't recognise, only emphasising the missing presence of a certain Alex Blake. It saddened you to think she'd moved on since you'd left - you never even got to say goodbye. But you could've cried at the sight of Hotch and Rossi walking closer to the table with the others. You found Derek leaning on the end of the table beside Spencer, who seemed frozen by the board as he looked at you with everyone else.

This time, you were the one to look at him - at all of them - with shock and surprise, not expecting to see any of them so soon after your initial questioning. Tears stung your eyes, but you remembered you were still wearing makeup and kept them from welling over.

You couldn't help yourself, you raised your hand in a half wave motion, your voice returning. 'Hi,' you said, that one word coming out breathless because the weight that one word carried was almost too much to accept. You hadn't been allowed to be yourself outside your apartment and beyond the one minute conversations you had with Holt once a week.

You had imagined your return to the BAU a hundred times over; you had your explanation ready, your apologies on the tip of your tongue. But now, with the opportunity at your feet, you could barely form a cohesive sentence.

Hotch put you out of your misery, a small smile gracing his stoic features. 'Good to see you, L/N.'

'I second that,' Rossi added, giving a little wave and a smirk back to you. 'Nice hair, by the way.'

You couldn't stop the smile that pulled your lips wide, and it suddenly felt like you were back in the BAU round table room. Like you'd never left.

'Thanks,' you managed out, reaching up to touch the mess of H/C hair on top of your head. 'Not really my style, but then again, I'm not really me right now, so...'

You hadn't meant to bring the mood down, but eleven months was a long time pretending to be someone else. You were starting to forget how you liked your coffee and your style and your way of walking down the street. Just little things, but they added up, and you felt the weight of all the little things you were losing on your shoulders and back everyday.

Your eyes sought out Spencer, half expecting him to look sad or sympathetic like the others. However, what you found was a steeled expression of determination and anger on his handsome features. Not at you (even though he never took his eyes off you), but at the situation you had been put in, you realised.

So he did get my message. That one thought brought a sense of relief to you.

'You had something, L/N.' Holt said it more as a prompt than a question. He knew you wouldn't call up off schedule without a reason, and he didn't want to waste any more time than you already had.

'Yes,' you answered, shoving down your tears, shoving down your delight at seeing your friends, and fell into your other persona: analytical, emotionless undercover operative. 'We were right. There is a big seller that hangs above all the managers heads. They just told me tonight that they have been impressed with my work and so has he. They asked me to join the upper ranks of their scheme.'

'Your work?' Hotch asked.

Holt turned over his shoulder to address everyone. 'L/N has wormed her way into the top spots of each establishment to see where the girls have been coming from, but we've also found out that these places deal in a lot more than just human trafficking. Illicit drugs, money fraud, you name it. These places are screwed a hundred times over when we nail them.'

'So why not make an arrest now, then?' Spencer asked from the back. 'You have enough evidence to do so.'

'Yes, but not on the man that we really want,' Holt replied. 'We make an arrest now, we potentially scare off the seller for good. Girls will keep disappearing, and the killings continue.'

'We figured out that sooner or later, if I offered myself to do the dirty jobs and keep it all quiet, they would learn to trust me,' you explained. 'But I couldn't just do it at one place, I had to do it at as many places as I could to garner trust from multiple witnesses so that their boss would take their recommendation and bring me in himself.'

'And now he has,' Holt added. 'What exactly did they offer you?'

'Each establishment has a spokes girl, for lack of a better word,' you explained, recalling Madame Lacroix's own explanation to you about the Business. 'Roxy was the Chateau's, and these spokes girls would be called in at any time to... appease the seller. It was a sign of good will and thanks from the managers to the man that brings in their workers. I bet anything that that's where Roxy would go on her odd days off, and why she would come back looking like she did.'

'She was his personal play thing...' the brunette said, her tone indicating her disgust to the subject. Her eyes flashed with realisation as she looked directly at you. 'The other girls that were killed, were they also spokes girls from their establishments?'

You weren't surprised that she'd made the link. You didn't know her, but if she was on the team, she must be a good profiler and filled in the gaps.

You nodded. 'All of them. My guess is he wasn't happy with the service he was getting from those girls...'

'Or he could be sending a message to the managers themselves,' JJ finished.

'Maybe it's both,' Rossi offered. 'Maybe he isn't happy with what the managers have turned the girls into since he sold them and this is his way of telling them to pull it together or else.'

'But why twelve stab wounds?' Hotch asked. 'We've profiled this unsub as someone who is calculative and calm. He wouldn't leave those marks without a reason.'

'We've suspected that there may be more than the six establishments that L/N has infiltrated so far,' Holt offered. 'The first kill wasn't planned, based on the jagged and messy stab wounds on her body and the time between the first and second kill. His message wasn't received so he started killing with purpose, making sure that everyone who knew those girls knew who killed them.'

'So you think there are twelve other establishments he runs?' Derek asked. 'And that's who he's trying to warn?'

Holt nodded. 'We've got a list of potential places, but nothing solid like the first six. We figured if we found the guy behind it all, we could shut down everything at once.'

'Well, we think we've found out how these girls are being found,' Hotch said. 'We've been visiting homeless shelters and unofficial orphanages in the quieter, low-risk suburbs where if someone went missing, people wouldn't bother looking for them, not even police. We managed to figure out where the victims and some other missing girls came from including Roxy and her real name.'

'Missy Wright,' JJ added. 'That was her name before she was taken.'

Missy. It didn't sound right; you couldn't imagine that name upon a girl like Roxy. Thinking about it, though, that made sense. Just like you, she'd spent so much time believing she was someone else that her true self was someone completely unrecognisable.

You hated to think that Y/N L/N would be gone for good if you stayed as Serena Vanderguff much longer.

'Garcia is trying to match some more missing girls with the girls in the clubs,' the brunette explained. 'She's also looking into security footage from the aquarium Missy was taken from to see how our unsub did it. Although, whoever this guy is had probably been nabbing girls way before he found Missy, so she might find nothing if he was smart.'

Holt turned back to you. 'We'll keep looking into the girls past, L/N. What else did they tell you about these spokes girls?'

You heard the urgency in his tone. You needed to wrap up in case someone was listening.

'Not much. Just that, after I said yes, they would be in contact with me about having a first meeting.'

'Wait. You said yes?' The question came from Spencer, and you turned down the volume on your computer at how loud he was. He walked down the side of the table until the the bags under this eyes were visible on your small screen. 'Why would you do that?'

You didn't appreciate the tone he spoke with, like he couldn't believe what he heard. As if you'd made a dumb decision.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you narrowed your gaze on Spencer. 'Because this is what we've been working for this whole time. Once I'm in and amongst the dealings, I can gather enough evidence and we can shut this whole operation down for good.'

'You're assuming you won't get caught,' Spencer argued, hands splayed on the table now. 'You have seen what he's done to the girls who haven't given him what he wants, right?'

'I have, which is why I said yes, Spencer.' You never thought the next time you would say his name it would be out of frustration towards him. But it sounded like he didn't trust you. After all the crap you had both been dragged through, you would've thought he of all people would've had your back.

But beneath the anger, you saw his hurt. You saw him sitting at his desk that Monday morning just waiting for you to walk through the doors and maybe ask you out again, not even realising you'd already left. You saw the walls he had rebuilt after you'd worked so hard to pull them down after Maeve's death. The sad irony of it all was that those walls were because of you this time.

So you reigned in your annoyance and said in a steady, calm tone, 'I didn't stop him in time to save Roxy and the others. But there are hundreds of girls that could be next. I won't let him take another girls' life away twice.'

It was silent for a moment, but the moment dragged as you held eye contact with Spencer. You saw his internal battle through the somewhat blurry image of him, and you hoped he saw your own. It sickened you to think about what you were walking into, but you were not going to let another innocent girl be killed because of an impotent, psychopath who got off on overpowering women.

The moment ended when Spencer pushed himself up from the table and stepped away, dropping his gaze from yours for the first time since you'd appeared on screen. It saddened you to think what was going through his head, because you knew that he was blaming himself for your situation. But you were relieved that he dropped the matter for now, at least.

'All right, L/N,' Holt started, standing from his seat. 'That all?'

You dragged your gaze from Spencer back to your unit chief. 'Yes, sir.'

He nodded in approval. 'Okay then. Keep us up to date about this meeting. We'll be in touch.'

'Yes sir,' you said, but instead of signing off straight away, you allowed yourself a few seconds to look at all your friends and give them another wave and small smile. 'I'll see you guys around, then.'

'You got it, kiddo,' Rossi said, waving back.

'See you soon, L/N,' Hotch said.

You spared one last glance at Spencer, whose head had risen again so he could look at you. Determination, once more, steeled his handsome features, giving you hope that he wasn't completely mad at you.

It took all your strength to look away from him and press the button to end the call. One second you were staring at your friends, and the next you were staring at a black screen. You closed the video window and chat group and shut down your laptop.

You finally rubbed at your eyes, not caring if you smudged the makeup anymore. You were about to go take it off anyways before going to bed. It had been a long day, and knowing that you would only get a few hours sleep before the sun rose and you were expected back in at the Chateau for more dirty business, you rose, returned the laptop to its hiding place, and grabbed some takeaway Thai from the fridge.

You would eat, then shower, then go to bed, as you always did day-in and day-out.

Soon enough, you thought as you laid in bed that night, allowing exhaustion to lull you into a dreamless sleep. Soon enough, I won't have to do this anymore. Soon enough, I can go back home.

~~~

Spencer was on the precipice of exploding with so many emotions as you ended the call.

Frustration, hurt, hysteria, confusion. Some of it, he hated to admit, was aimed at you. Only because he wanted you safe, he convinced himself, but the offended look on your face when he'd told you to back down told him that you didn't see it that way.

He couldn't help it though, trying to micro-manage. Change wasn't something he liked. While he easily adapted to any situation he was placed in, that ease didn't always coincide with agreement with Dr. Spencer Reid. You leaving was a big change for him, and since then he'd grown more anxious to be in control of every aspect of his life, including the choices of the people around him.

'...there are hundreds of girls that could be next. I won't let him take another girls' life away twice.'

He rubbed his eyes in exhaustion, brushed away the loose curls drooping into them. He knew why you were doing all of this, why you were risking your life. Your selflessness was one of the many things he adored and admired about you.

The small, selfish gremlin inside of him sometimes, however, wished you weren't so selfless. Especially now.

'I definitely wasn't expecting that hair,' Rossi said, breaking the silence that had filled the room since you ended the call. 'I haven't seen that style since my grandmother died.'

'Well, it seems to have paid off finally,' Holt said, standing from his seat. 'She's in, which means we're only one step away from finding who this creep is that's kidnapping children and then brainwashing them into being prostitutes for his own personal gain.'

'Don't forget that he kills them, too,' JJ added, a worried look shining in her doe eyes. 'If Y/N makes one mistake, she could be in real trouble.'

Spencer gulped down the bile that rose at the image of you lying in the morgue like Roxy and the others, all cut up, beaten and bruised. But his heart tightened with disapproval, as if berating his mind for playing cruel tricks on him, on his faith.

On you.

'She won't.' Spencers words echoed through the room, and it surprised him how calm and steady they rang. Realising everyone was looking at him, he repeated. 'She won't. She's made it this far without our help, and she knows what's at stake. All we can do is support her...' He looked to Rossi then, making eye contact with the man who had over time become his mentor. The salt-and-peppered Italian nodded slightly in approval. '...and have faith that she'll do the right thing.'

'I wouldn't worry too much about that,' Holt said, drawing attention back to him. 'She's got a mini camera hidden that looks like a button she attaches to many of her outfits. Anything she sees, we see. The moment we get eyes on the seller and solid evidence that he's behind all this, we'll swarm in on him before he can even think of running.'

'But we can't just rely on Y/N to get that information for us,' Derek countered. 'We've still got to treat this whole operation as two separate cases. Didn't you mention there might be other establishments that are part of this and that's why the girls are being stabbed twelve times?'

'Morgan's right,' Hotch said, looking to the man in question. 'If we back off now, we may alert them to L/N's involvement. Tomorrow, Morgan, work with JJ, Rossi and Garcia and see if you can find out if more girls from other similar establishments have gone missing or turned up dead mysteriously with the same MO as the current unsub. Kate, Reid and I will go back to other establishments we know and ask them where they have been getting their workers from. It's time to put them under some pressure. For now, though, let's go rest. It's late, and there's nothing else we can do until tomorrow.'

Spencer didn't like the thought of another night of you sleeping wherever it was you were chatting from - you must have been in a small room with dark green walls as your voice didn't echo; no light flooded in but you would've pulled the blinds down to ensure your privacy, so you were staying somewhere busy where people could see into your window if the blinds were up. Most likely some sleazy apartment building in lower Manhattan so you could walk to the Chateau in a hurry if needed.

Spencer didn't like that thought at all, but Hotch was right. They couldn't do anything until morning, so might as well try and sleep before chaos unfurls completely. But before Spencer could pack up his satchel bag, his boss called his name.

'Reid,' Hotch called gently, pausing Spencer's motions while everyone else exited. 'I'm bringing you along tomorrow because I need your questioning skills, but I need to know that you're going to be impartial to the matter when we question Madame Lacroix and other employees at the Chateau. Can you do that?'

Hotch didn't mention you at all, but Spencer knew that you were what his boss meant. Silently he was asking: can you keep your cool around Y/N?

In every other circumstance, no. He could barely breathe when you were near him, even then when he saw you on a giant monitor covered up by a mask that made you almost unrecognisable. But what you were doing was important work, otherwise you wouldn't have left him without so much as a goodbye, or even left at all. You'd suffered eleven months for this, he would not screw this up for you even if all he wanted was to bring you back home.

Back to him.

So he nodded, confidently and with purpose. He felt like an imposter doing so, but it was convincing enough to Hotch, as he nodded in return. 'Good. Now let's go rest. I don't think we'll get another break like this for a while.'

~~~

Spencer could just tell the Pit was going to be loud before he'd even stepped inside the Chateau itself. The noise was only amplified by the neon lights that flashed and waved all over the dark room as he followed Hotch and Kate down the stairs into it.

They'd spent the majority of the day going all over New York asking the same questions to the other establishments. Some genuinely didn't seem to know, speaking to their lack of involvement with the Business, while others went on the defensive straight away and lawyered up. They might as well have stamped GUILTY all over their foreheads.

The Chateau was their final stop. Unfortunately it appeared to be peak hour currently, as Spencer could barely squeeze through people to get to the bar it was so packed. But they managed, and were greeted by a beautiful woman with charcoal skin, dark eyes and rainbow braids that picked up the neon strobe lights brilliantly.

She looked up from the drinks she was making - some sort of vodka concoction and scotch on ice. 'Sorry, sir. Won't be a moment.'

Hotch pulled his FBI badge out and flashed it at her. 'Actually, we're not here for a drink. Where can we find your boss, Madame Lacroix?'

The woman finished the drinks and placed them on the bar where another girl put them on a tray and left. She wiped her hands on the towel over her shoulder, face dipping with sadness. 'This is about Roxy, isn't it?'

'We just have a few more questions we think your boss can clear up,' Kate injected.

The woman nodded, turning to her left and pointing to Madame Lacroix's office that Derek had gone to only a few days ago. 'She should be in her office. That's where she usually is on busy nights like this.'

'Thank you,' Hotch said before turning to talk with Kate and Spencer only. 'Stay here and see if anyone would be willing to talk about where they've come from or anything else about how this place started up.'

They both nodded as Hotch left for the office, disappearing within the crowd. Kate turned to Spencer then. 'I'll talk to the bar staff first.'

'All right,' he said. 'I'll scope out the floor.'

Kate smiled. 'Don't get lost on the dance floor, now.'

'I won't,' Spencer replied, amusement on his lips. Kate spared him one last smile before turning back around to speak with the bartender. Spencer took that as his cue and turned to walk into the fray of sweaty bodies and clouds of smoke.

He tried not to focus on how many germs were being passed around between the number of people pressed together as he squeezed through. He needed to be looking for girls that were younger than the rest, most likely new. They would be the ones to talk.

Keen, calculative eyes landed on a girl no older than twenty with long, strawberry-blonde hair, doe eyes and a skimpy lilac coloured outfit sitting on an older gentlemen's lap. There was another man there too, the three of them sitting around a small table as they chatted and the men laughed occasionally. And while she laughed and smiled with them, Spencer could just tell she wasn't having a good time.

It stirred a sickening swirl inside of him at the sight, spurring him to walk at such a pace he almost knocked a few people over. 'Sorry gentlemen, but I need a moment with, ah...'

'Lavender,' the girl kindly offered, and Spencer noticed the hope that glimmered in her innocent eyes.

'Hey, now wait just a minute,' the man that Lavender sat on said, his words slurred, clearly intoxicated. 'Did you pay for her time? No? Then scram.'

The man grasped at Lavender's hips possessively, fuelling Spencer's disgust and anger more. He pulled his badge out and shoved it in the men's faces. 'I'm with the FBI, and we're conducting an investigating that you're obstructing right now. So get your drunken hands off Lavender and-'

'Wow, doll face! Aren't you a cutie!'

Spencer couldn't finish his sentence as he was pulled sharply away from Lavender and the men and dragged through a sea of people. He was shoved into a private booth where his kidnapper closed the curtains in a flurry and only turned around when she was sure they were the only two in the room.

It shouldn't have surprised him when you turned around, your hair puffed up, face dolled up, and a red dress sticking to you like a second skin as you stormed over to him in your matching six-inch shoes.

'What do you think you're doing here?' you asked in a harsh whisper, your Brooklyn accent dropped in favour of showcasing your annoyance at him. 'You can't just go throwing your badge in front of big shot men like them. Do you even know who they are?'

'I was just asking a question,' Spencer argued, making sure to match your whisper with his own. 'And they were obstructing my investigation. I mean, they had their hands all over her-'

'Because that is what she is paid to let happen to her,' you interrupted, sitting beside him with a sigh of exhaustion. It was, after all, just before midnight, and the night was still young. 'I don't like it either, but we can't do anything about it. Hopefully those doofuses didn't see your name so they don't know who to complain about.'

Spencer looked around the room, but it was too dark to see into the top corners. 'You're not worried you'll be caught?' You'd dropped your accent without a second thought, so he assumed the booth was somewhat safe from prying eyes and eavesdroppers.

You shook your head, brushing a puffy piece of your hair out of your face. 'These booths are used to do some... well, I think you know what kind of things happen back here. It wouldn't be good for business if any footage of what happens behind closed curtains got out, so Madame Lacroix eliminated the risk.'

It was as if you both finally realised that you were the only two in the room. No cameras, no overbearing bosses (on both sides). Just you and him.

Synchronistically, you and him wrapped your arms around each other, holding one another in a tender embrace that spoke volumes of the time that passed and all the hugs you'd missed in that time.

Everything you'd miss in that time.

'I'm sorry,' you spoke first, words muffled by Spencer's shoulder. 'I'm so sorry.'

'No, no, don't be,' Spencer soothed, hating how you felt you were the one to blame for the mess you both had landed in. 'This isn't your fault. You had no choice.'

You pulled away from him at the threat of tears, but you kept your hands clasped within his, finding his warmth comforting in the depths of the Pit. You blinked rapidly as you looked upwards, stabilising yourself. 'No. But it's the right thing to do. And we're so close, I can feel it.'

He brushed his thumb over your knuckles. If only that action could swipe away all the guilt and pain you'd experienced for so long. 'I know... I just wish you didn't have to keep being someone else. I've missed you.'

Your smile filled a small part of the hole you'd left in him when you'd left, though it was tinged with sadness. 'There hasn't been a day I haven't thought about you guys, that maybe one phone call wouldn't have compromised the mission.' You let out a deep breath, and your smile slips into a flat line. 'What are you doing here, really?'

'Hotch is putting some pressure on Madame Lacroix by asking about how she gets her employees,' Spencer answered. 'Hopefully that will prompt her to get you that meeting with the seller faster.'

'Or blow the whole case apart,' you countered, brows furrowing with worry. 'There's been no mention of human trafficking so far in Roxy and the others girls' murders. Madame Lacroix will get suspicious.'

'Which is what we're betting on.'

You rolled your bottom lip between your teeth in a combination of concentration and frustration. 'That's quite a risk you're taking there, Spence.'

'So is what you're doing,' he said, squeezing your hand in his. 'We're going to end this, I promise. And then you're going to come back to the BAU, and... it'll be like you never left.'

'Alex is gone.'

He doesn't hide his surprise at your words, as you spoke them more like a statement than question. But, just like him, you were a profiler. You were paid to be observant.

'I didn't see her in the video chat last night,' you explained, though Spencer didn't ask for one. 'After this is all over, I'll give her a call.'

'I'm sure she'd like that,' Spencer said softly, a melancholic feeling saddening him at the thought of his absent friend. 'Kate's nice though. She has a daughter, though she's not Kate's. Kate's technically her aunt, but her sister died in 9/11 alongside her husband, leaving the kid an orphan.'

'So she took her in.' Your smile returned ever so slightly. 'I'd say that's more than nice, Spence, and more like what a saint would do. She sounds like a great addition to the team.'

You spoke the last sentence with a hopelessness Spencer did not like one bit. Like you'd given up on coming back to the team - coming back to him - a long time ago.

'Hey,' he said, pulling himself closer to you. 'Don't be like that. You're going to come home. I won't let this end any other way.'

You opened your mouth to reply, but the rumbling of footsteps alerted you both to newcomers that didn't understand the meaning of curtains closed. You reacted quicker than Spencer, who just sat frozen in terror at being exposed or caught or he really didn't know what, just that he was terrified.

You unravelled your hands from his, and instead clasped them around his neck so you could pull yourself onto his lap, barely-covered breasts pressed dangerously close to Spencer's face. He was so used to being above you that he never imagined what it would be like to have the roles reversed.

Was it possible to be simultaneously embarrassed and happy at the same time? According to Dr Spencer Reid, the answer was yes.

He consciously placed his hands on your hips just as the curtains to the booth were reefed open and an overtly drunken man stumbled in with another Chateau girl on his arm, this time a dark-haired beauty with tan skin and dark eyes.

'Sorry, Nadia,' you said, Brooklyn intonations slipping easily from your tongue as you smiled devilishly. 'This booth's taken.'

'Oops!' Nadia squeaked, turning to the man with laughter. 'Sorry!'

And once more the curtains were closed. And it was just Spencer with you.

And your chest pressed right into his face.

You let out a sigh of relief before returning your attention to Spencer. You had to look down to get a proper angle at him, and despite your gaudy makeup and exaggerated hair and jewellery, he couldn't have thought of a more beautiful sight than looking up at you in that moment.

You looked so angelic, your lips so sweet and kissable-

'Well, that was close,' you breathed out, and Spencer heard your heart pounding even without his head pressed to your chest anymore.

Spencer swallowed thickly. 'Yeah,' was all he could manage without making a fool out of himself. He was alarmingly aware of his hands still holding your hips, but he couldn't bring himself to let go of you just yet.

You leant back a little, still not hopping off him, and pointed to one of the black-domed buttons lining the front of your dress. 'Holt has a feed directly linked to this,' you explained in a hushed voice. 'Madame Lacroix said I would be meeting the seller later tonight, so you better be watching.'

Only when he nodded did you make an effort to get off him much to Spencer's disappointment. He'd hugged and held you many times before - but maybe because this time was more intimate, or because there had been so much time since you'd last been together - but he craved your touch again. Soon, he told himself, and he kept his hands at his side.

You stood up and so did he, but just as you went for the curtain, he gently grabbed your wrist. 'Hey, uh,' he started, unsure if now was the right time to ask or not. But all things considered, would it ever be the right time? Throwing caution to the wind, he asked, 'What would you have said? That night I asked you out. Yes or no?'

That one unknown answer had been torturing him for months, mainly because he'd thought you left them all behind without a single thought. But he knew better now. He knew it hadn't been your fault you couldn't say or promise him anything.

Now - now there was hope again.

You stared at him for what felt like an eternity to Spencer, mouth moving but no words coming out. Your hesitation to answer saddened him. Maybe he'd read the signs wrong. Maybe all you'd ever wanted to be was his best friend. Had he just ruined your friendship twice by asking that damned, schoolboy question?

Again, you couldn't answer, as another man with a prostitute came barreling through the curtains.

'Oh, looks like we have some company,' the girl said, but not making any move to leave with the attractive gentleman on her arm.

'Don't worry,' you said, gripping Spencer's shoulder and guiding him out of the booth. 'Doll face here was just leaving.'

You shoved him and he stumbled back into the messy, sweaty fray that was the Pit as you closed the curtains behind you.

'Hope you enjoyed your time, doll face,' you said, the guise of Serena Vanderguff slipping back on scarily so. You flashed him a sickeningly wide smile as you held out your hand for a shake. 'If you want more, you know where to find me.'

And just like that - you disappeared into the sea of bodies that somehow seemed to have increased since Spencer left for only a few minutes. Spencer had half a thought to chase you, find out your answer once and for all, but there were too many people watching. He would only cause a scene.

'There you are.' Kate's voice prompted him to spin around and be greeted by the woman in question as well as Hotch, obviously having finished his interview with Madame Lacroix.

'Was that Serena just now?' Hotch asked in a quiet voice, but loud enough for Spencer to hear over the loud music.

Spencer nodded. 'She said something is going down tonight. What did you find out?'

'Lawyered up in the end. She's definitely hiding something. Anything from you, Kate?'

'I tried asking a few girls, but they all seized up or ignored me. They appear trained that way, just like we suspected. Brainwashed, of some kind.'

'All right,' Hotch said. 'Let's get back to the office. L/N's feed is our only lead now.'

Spencer followed his colleagues through the Pit to the exiting stairs, all the while looking for you. He couldn't find you, however. Maybe she's already having the meeting, he thought. If so, he just hoped you wouldn't do anything stupid in the mean time.

My favourite dumbasses 🤍

wayne Family making me want to draw stupid things

My Wonder (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Wedding

My Wonder (Spencer Reid x Reader) - The Wedding  Word Count: 2576 Reader insert: she/her pronouns. She is not American unless you are, just has a previous history in American law enforcement. Warnings: mentions of beatings, blood, suffocation, near-death experiences, slow-burn romance, and some MAJOR FLUFF!  Spoilers: none

All his life, Dr. Spencer Reid has been told he is a genius - gifted, different. When you, a new member of the BAU, arrive, he expects the same weirded-out reaction from you as everyone does. But when you don't, and you instead find him interesting, Spencer finds himself forming an attachment to you. And as the years go on, is it really any wonder that he falls for you?

This is one of six times you secretly say I love you to Spencer: your wedding.

Full story | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Your wedding was the next major point in his life that your words had impact.

The past five years leading up to your engagement had been some of the best and challenging in your life. There'd been many more close calls on both your lives since then - kidnappings, hostage situations, deadly viruses, the works. Even some romantic challenges that came in the form of other men and women.

But your bond ran deeper than superficial, petty spiffs. You always found your way back to one another, no matter how dark the road got. It was even on such a dark case that saw both you and Spencer on death row that he asked you. You'd both been captured and locked in a shipping container filled with no gaps for air and no way out. Before that, you'd copped a beating from your capture, forcing Spencer to watch all the while. Truthfully, it hadn't looked good, and that's why Spencer did it.

'What?' you asked deliriously, barely able to see straight no thanks to the lack of oxygen.

'I was planning on asking you... after this case,' Spencer admitted, his face mere centimetres from yours as he held you in a tight hug. He was breathless, running out of air and time it seemed. He had to do it now. 'Had it all planned out... We would go to that place on the hill we go to... a picnic all set out... and just as the sun would set, I'd ask you... and give you this.'

You would've gasped if you'd had enough air to do so, in utter shock to see Spencer pull out a simple gold band with a diamond embedded in it from in his pant pocket.

'I've had this for months... waiting for the... right time,' he managed to get out. 'It's my mothers. When I told her I wanted to marry you... she didn't even hesitate to give it to me.'

You were both weak, but he softly picked your left hand up and looked you dead in the eye. 'This might be it for us, but it also might not. Either way, I want to be yours for whatever time we have left. So, (Y/n) (L/n)... will you marry me?'

The tears that trekked down your face actually cleared your vision enough to see Spencer's smile clearly as you answered, 'Yes. I will marry you.'

Either some higher being was looking out for you that day, or your team was just really good at their job (Spencer never doubted them for a moment), but the team found you both in time, both unconscious and barely breathing, but hand in hand, with yours suddenly bejewelled.

Since then it had been a flurry of work and wedding arrangements and stress over the next seven months. Many speculated you were pregnant and that's why you and Spencer rushed the wedding. The truth was you just didn't want to wait any longer than you had to, not being in your line of work. Any day could be your last, so why waste it.

Spencer messed with the tie of his navy blue suit for the hundredth time as he stood waiting under the arch of flowers in the backyard of Rossi's mansion for you. He wasn't nervous, just... ansty, like he had ants in his pants and wanted to get out of them as soon as possible. But he couldn't deny he was just as excited for this day as you were. All of your friends and family dressed up, no case, no killer, nothing but what dessert they were going to have at the reception to worry about. 

'Hey pretty boy,' Derek said, coming up behind him and clapping a hand on his shoulder reassuringly. 'Stop messing with it. You look fine.'

'I know, I just...' Spencer couldn't put into words what he was feeling, not as he stared at his good friend - his best man. Even though Derek had left the BAU, Spencer and him still spoke regularly, and he was more than happy to be there for his best bud at arguably the most important day of his life. 

Derek smiled knowingly, straightening Spencer's tie because that's what the best man did for the groom. 'She loves you, Spencer. You've got nothing to worry about.'

'I'm not worried. I just...' He felt the tears already coming on and he hadn't even seen you yet. You were probably even more gorgeous than you already were. God he couldn't wait to marry you.

'I get it, man,' Derek said, and then the piano started playing a soft, whimsical tune that was so you and he stepped back into place. 'Show time, pretty boy.'

Spencer straightened himself up, told himself to hold the tears back. This was not a sad day, but a joyous one. But his breath was stolen the moment the doors of Rossi's mansion opened, after Emily, JJ and Penelope walked through, and you walked out into the backyard on your father's arm. 

Your gown was simple, accentuating your body like the goddess you were. Your (h/c) locks were styled to perfection, hidden barely by the thin veil that fell like morning mist over your face. You held your favourite flowers in your hands, the glint of your engagement ring shining as bright as the sun that shone upon the whole ceremony.

By the time you reached him, Spencer was about ready to rip your veil off, kiss the living daylights out of you and runaway. But he resisted, instead waiting patiently for your dad to flip your veil up, and for you to hand over your bouquet to JJ, your maid of honour. When you finally turned to face him, he could've cried. You were so beautiful. And we was marrying you today.

You reached out to him, and he was more than glad to clasp your hands at last.

'Hi,' you whispered, a nervous but excited smile twitching your lips.

'Hi,' he whispered back, the threat of tears burning the back of his eyes again. 'You are gorgeous.'

'Thanks. You look handsome.'

'It's a wonder what a whole eight hours sleep and showering more than once a week can do.'

He was so glad to hear your laugh. It calmed his nerves, and apparently yours calmed too, as your hands no longer shook in his.

'All right, everyone,' Rossi started, stepping up to minister the ceremony. 'Let's get this started.'

The boring, ceremonious stuff went by quickly and soon you were reciting your vows. You'd both wanted to write your own vows for each other - agreeing that the usual script was not enough to express your love for one another, and what you would do to protect that love. 

Reid went first. 

'(Y/n),' he began, staring you straight in your eyes. He'd written his speech over and over again, but once he found the right words, it only took him a matter of seconds to memorise them. Forever. 'I've always been told I was different. Gifted, special. Being different helped me get this job, this family-' he turned to his friends, who watched them with bright smiles and teary eyes. 'But it also got me in trouble, held me back from experiencing... normal things like friendship, even love. So much so, that I started to believe... I was unworthy of love.'

You squeezed his hands, hearing the stutter in his words, the built up emotion that threatened to consume him. He gratefully squeezed back, grateful to know he was not alone, that he would never be alone from this day forth. 

'But from the day I met you, you've shown me that I can be myself and be worthy of love. Theoretically, we shouldn't work. Despite popular opinion, studies have shown that people from different backgrounds, with different interests and completely different personality traits are less likely to feel attracted to one another than people with similar backgrounds, interests and personalities.'

'Come on, Reid. You really want people to sleep through your wedding?' Derek asked, prompting you and the rest of the guests to burst into laughter. 

'I have a point,' he countered, and waited for the laughter to die down before resuming his vows. 'And while I usually rely on statistics and facts to make informed decisions about my life, from the day that I met you, you turned my entire world upside, inside out... and I didn't care. Because despite knowing almost everything there is to know about, well, everything, you are the one thing that has and always will make sense to me.'

He saw you trying to hold back tears, so he let go of one of your hands to caress your cheek where some tears rolled down. He swiped them away gently with his thumb without ruining your makeup, the most handsome, beautiful smile you'd ever seen on his lips. 

'I love you, (Y/n) (L/n). I have loved you since we first met, at every case, at every movie night, every time you made me coffee. I love how you find the light amidst the darkness, how you give yourself completely to everyone you meet. I love the crinkle in your forehead every time you get mad at me. I love all of you, and I don't have to promise you that I will stay by your side through it all for the rest of our lives. You have had me since day one, and that will never change, even in death. But before that final day comes, I look forward to making the most of what time we have left loving you.'

The guests clapped so loudly that he almost didn't hear your soft sobs. But he did, and he pulled you into a quick hug before you pulled yourself away.

'Oh my goodness, I just want to kiss you,' you admitted quietly to him, bringing laughter out of him. But you quickly pulled your self away, using your free hand to grab an A4-sized piece of paper from JJ and return to face Spencer.

'Unfortunately, I don't have an eidetic memory so I will be using some assistance for this next bit,' you joked, stopping your flow of tears briefly as everyone chuckled, appreciative for the break in overwhelming emotions. Spencer breathed in deeply, steadying his heartbeat as much as possible. His part was done, but he knew this next part would be the hardest to retain composure. 

'Spencer,' you began, one hand shakily holding your vows, while the other gripped onto Spencer like your life depended on it. In a sense, after today, it would. 'From the moment I first met you, I knew you were special. That you would leave a mark on my life in one form or another. Some sad part of me sometimes thought it would be when you inevitably shot yourself because you couldn't pass your marksman test after three goes-' Cue Spencer looking to Hotch apologetically while the rest of the guests laughed. '-or because, in our line of work, any day could be our last, and I wouldn't rule out any psychopaths intervening with that. However, despite it all, you're still here, and I couldn't be more thankful that you are. You amaze me everyday, Spencer - with your knowledge of the world, your intellectual insight, how you are almost incapable of growing any substantial amount of facial hair.'

You were glad people were laughing now, because what you were about to say next was going to take all your composure not to fall apart. 

'But it is your heart and your ability to connect with people that has captured me completely. Our story has been... unconventional, to put it plainly. We were colleagues first, then friends, then you became my best friend, and I thought I couldn't be happier than that. But maybe it has something to do with some chemicals in the brain that are stimulated when you hang around someone you admire and adore long enough - you know, science stuff - or fate. I don't necessarily believe in either, but I do believe in us, Spencer. I believe that we are two souls choosing to become one for the rest of our lives; I believe you are my person, and the one I choose to face each and everyday with; I believe we haven't overcome all that we have for nothing; and I am not the least bit surprised it took nearly getting blown up to admit how I truly feel about you.'

Spencer couldn't care that what you said about brain chemicals was technically incorrect, it was so you, and there was not a dry eye in the backyard as you looked up at him finally, sheet long forgotten, and (e/c) eyes shining bright with tears and love.

'I love you, Spencer Reid,' you said breathlessly, but loud enough for everyone to hear. 'You have experienced the worst of humanity over and over again, and yet here you stand with me, smiling, happy, choosing to believe in happy endings. You are a wonder - my wonder - and I can't wait to spend everyday from now loving you, and being wowed by you. From now... until I cannot breathe, and even then beyond.'

You gave the paper back to JJ, then returned your full attention to Spencer. It was like it was only you two, the clapping from your guests dulled as well as Rossi's final words. But Spencer didn't miss a beat when he heard him say, 'By the power vested in me and my online-approved minister credentials, I pronounce you husband and wife. Go on kids, you've earned it.'

Spencer swooped you into the sweetest, loving kiss he could muster, gently cradling your neck and cheeks as your lips met in a soft collision. It wasn't lustful (that would certainly come later), but it was consuming, like two forces being pulled together by a magnet. You were separate entities choosing to become one, and it made you smile through your kiss and for the rest of the afternoon and well into the evening. 

You both partied with your family and friends, but you always managed to find your way back to one another despite the chaos. He now cradled you gently as you swayed together on the dance floor, fatigue settling in. You held each other up as you did, content to just be with each other in the final moments of your special day. Emily, your new section chief, had ordered you both take two weeks off to celebrate your honey moon. Because God knew when the next time you'd be able to relax would be when you both came back to work.

You shifted in his arms, manoeuvring yourself to look up at him, a delirious, tired and happy smile adorning your pretty lips. 'I love you, Spencer Reid.'

He leaned in for a brief but loving kiss before saying, 'I love you, (Y/n) Reid.'

Something about how his last named paired with your first name sounded that warmed him inside. The same feeling lit up in your eyes, but maybe that was just the happy tears that formed there, too. 

'We're the Reids now,' you whispered in disbelief, probably due to the amount of alcohol you had consumed throughout the day. 'You're my husband!'

'Yes I am,' he murmured, pulling you back to his chest to lay your head. 'Forever and always.'

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter One

The Way Back Home (Spencer Reid x Reader) - Chapter One Reader Insert: she/her pronouns Word Count: 4867 Warnings: major angst, major fluff, mentions of murder, graphic descriptions of dead bodies, crime scenes, near-death experiences, slow-burnish romance, death, canon violence, rape, swearing, guns, knives, prostitution, canon cuteness of the team. Spoilers: Maeve's death, mentions of previous cases or canon events from seasons 1-10.

Spencer and you have an unspoken connection with one another. Nothing has ever happened between you two, especially since everything went down with Maeve, but your love has grown and overcome and is now clear as day to everyone. However, just when Spencer builds up enough courage to ask you out officially, you're requested on an undercover mission that halts your budding relationship in its tracks.

Months go by without a word from you until bodies of prostitutes start showing up in New York and the BAU is brought in to help. Spencer and you finally reunite as both your cases collide, but your lives and your love are both on the line now.

Will you and Spencer be able to find the way back home this time?

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Epilogue

~~~

In the bedroom of his apartment, Spencer fiddled with his tie as he looked in the mirror. He didn't know why he bothered though, it was always perpetually crooked. Something you always tease him about.

Teased.

He clenched his jaw at your memory. It had been eleven months since you'd left. Eleven. Months. You just... up and disappeared without a call or a note. Heck, he would've taken a text despite his adversity to how it was inevitably devolving people's interpersonal communication skills.

When he'd shown up to the office on Monday, he expected to see your dazzling figure with two coffees in hand - one for yourself and one for him - and that infamous bright smile on your lips. He hated to admit it, but he'd become reliant on you to always be there. You had only joined three years after he had, around a similar to time to Emily (who had been like a big sister to you), but even after others came and went, you had always stayed.

You had stayed with him. By him. He selfishly thought sometimes it was for him.

So when Hotch had informed him and the rest of the team that you had been offered another position with a different unit across the country, he shouldn't have been all that surprised that you had jumped at the chance to do something more than what you were doing at the BAU.

Again, selfishly, he thought that what you both did would be enough for you. It was for him.

He should've been happy for you despite how shocking the news came. But instead he was struck with an odd sense of open-endedness - no closure. If you were leaving, you would've said something... right? He wasn't the best at recognising social cues or reading people's emotions, but he couldn't have mistaken the smile you'd given him when he'd asked you out that night. It was joyous, it was relief, it was overwhelming excitement for the future. There could've been no faking that you felt what he felt and wanted what he wanted.

His fingers dropped from his tie, seeing no point in trying to fix it any further. Instead, his gaze drifted to his hair. It was long again, unruly curls caressing the top of his neck and tucked as neatly as possible behind his ears. You would always play with those curls as you gave him head massages when he was having his migraines, and kept the habit up whenever Spencer was stressed or tired. It helped him relax, it soothed him.

The image of you pouting whenever he got his hair cut short and close-cropped tugged his lips slightly upwards. He smoothed back the curls on his forehead. He had a random thought to just shave them all off. They were just another reminder of how much time had passed since you'd left.

He raised an eyebrow at himself in the mirror.

He wondered if he could rock the bald egg look.

He grimaced at the thought and shook his head. What the hell am I doing? He rubbed at his tired eyes before looking at his wrist watch briefly. He had to be in the office in just over an hour. So he quickly grabbed a suit jacket from his closet, but decided halfway to the kitchen that he would need extra warmth today and so turned around to grab a cardigan from his messy chest of draws.

He winced at the chaos of colours and material he found waiting for him. For a highly organised, intelligent man, he really could be a complete mess.

He wasn't looking for any particular one, but he absentmindedly sought out the regal navy blue one you'd gifted to him on one birthday. It was the most worn in his collection by far, having worn it multiple times a week (sometimes even consecutively) in the past eleven months. He fiddled with the soft material for a moment, and he swore he could still smell your perfume on it.

Vanilla Caramel and Peonies. An odd combination, but just the right balance of sweetness and freshness.

It was the right balance of you.

She's not coming back, he told himself, and his broken heart yearned for what could've been once more. He'd called you - well, tried calling you - for days, weeks, months even after you'd left. But he'd just go straight to voice mail, and you had never tried to call him back. It was like six years of working together had never happened, like they had never mattered.

Like he had never mattered.

He shook his head and dropped the cardigan in favour of an emerald green one that his mother had just sent him from one of her travels. It was oddly cold compared to yours, but at least he knew where his mother was and that he was on her mind, no mattered how disorganised it had become.

He wondered if he was still on your mind, wherever you were.

It didn't take him long to put on the green cardigan, grab his lunch from the fridge - it was just leftover Chinese from the takeout place down the street - and lock his apartment up before making his way to work. The drive to the FBI Head Quarters in Quantico was its usual, monotonous route, making it to the highly secured facility in under an hour. He entered the bullpen and went straight for his desk first, placing his satchel bag on it before heading for his safe haven - the break room.

They'd just closed a case yesterday and so he expected to be filling out a lot of reports today. Thus the reason for the copious amounts of sugar in his coffee he was currently making.

'Whoa! Talk about having a sweet tooth. Save some for the rest of us, Reid.'

Spencer looked over his shoulder to see Kate Callahan walking through the door into the break room, an amused and slightly baffled expression morphing her gentle features as she eyed Spencer's coffee making. She walked over beside him to grab a mug from the cupboard and poured herself some coffee from the freshly brewed pot beside Spencer.

Spencer spared her a tight-lipped smile. Not long after you had left, so did Alex. It was like a double blow to Spencer's trust system, with two pillars of reliance being taken away so quickly and without warning. Kate had joined the team soon after that, and Spencer was glad to see the past few months that Kate had slotted in with the team just as nicely.

But she sadly couldn't fill the you-shaped hole in his heart.

'Sorry,' he said, putting the sugar container down finally and began to mix what he could in with the hot coffee. 'Our days started earlier when I first started, and normal coffee just never did the trick for me. Now I can't have it any other way but tooth-rottingly sweet.'

She chuckled as she placed the pot down and drank it straight - no creamer or sugar or milk at all. 'Doesn't worry me. I'm a true espresso gal, but I think Morgan may have some issues if all the sugar somehow disappears.'

'I won't tell if you won't,' Spencer offered, tapping the spoon on the cup's edge before placing it in the sink. He took a tentative sip from the hot drink, and relished at the sweetness that warmed his throat.

Kate winked as she took a sip from her own coffee. 'It'll be our little secret.'

Before either could make a move to return to their desks - where no doubt towers of paperwork were waiting for them - the bright, colourful figure that was Penelope Garcia stopped by the doorway. 'Good morning, my beautiful people,' she said by way of greeting, although her smile didn't reach her eyes like usual. 'I know you all just got back but we've got another case. Roundtable when you're ready.'

Kate sighed with exhaustion but Spencer nodded his understanding. Paperwork soothed him, but he didn't necessarily want to be soothed right now. He wanted action, a distraction, something to physically do. Anything to take his mind off you.

'Looks like paperwork will have to wait,' he said, bounding after Penelope with Kate in tow.

'Don't sound so happy about a dead body, Reid,' Kate suggested.

'You don't know it's dead body,' he argued as he swung by his desk to grab his bag and rejoin Kate to walk towards the Roundtable Room, all the while not spilling his coffee. 'Statistically, it is more likely that there are multiple dead bodies involved considering we don't get called in for singular homicide events very often unless it's a high profile victim, in which case the unsub could be a highly trained assassin or of military background. But those statistics are another collection of data unrelated to serial killing, so it's more likely the case involves a serial killer, and therefore multiple dead bodies.'

The two of them entered the Roundtable Room to find the rest of the team already seated and Penelope standing in front of the screen, ready to present.

'What are we talking about?' JJ asked.

Before Spencer could answer, Kate cut in with, 'You don't want to go down that rabbit hole.'

'Okay, my pretties,' Penelope started, clicking a button to start the presentation. Three pictures of women appeared on the screen, alongside birth certificates and a picture of their dead body. 'We have three dead women: Anna Carswell, Petrina Summers, and Larissa Pembroke; and as you can tell from the pictures, their deaths were very messy. There are signs of sexual violence from what remains of their... um... mutilated nether regions.'

'They were stabbed?' Kate asked, her face pinching with disgust and sadness for the women. Spencer didn't blame her. There was blood everywhere including the walls of the dumpsters they were found in. It was enough to make him squeamish; he couldn't imagine what Kate, JJ and Penelope were possibly feeling.

Penelope nodded grimly. 'Yeah. Anna Carswell was the first victim and was only stabbed five times, but the others both have twelve stab wounds each.'

'So much rage...' JJ mused softly as she examined the pictures.

'That,' Derek started, 'or twelve is a significant number for the unsub.'

'Or he's trying to send a message to someone,' Hotch added. 'Look at her clothes, her shoes, makeup and hair.'

Spencer narrowed his eyes to inspect each area individually, but it didn't take a genius to figure out what Hotch was talking about. 'Styled or big hair; tight-fitting tops, skirts and dresses that leave little to the imagination; significantly high heels; and bold jewellery and makeup,' Spencer listed his observations pragmatically before looking away from the screen to address the others properly. 'I don't want to stereotype, but my guess is that they're prostitutes.'

'And boy wonder wins this round of Guess Who,' Penelope announced. 'All of them worked as prostitutes at popular establishments around Manhattan, but they were so far strung that local police didn't put the killings together until Larissa's body was found last night. The first victim was killed six months ago, but Petrina and Larissa make two in the last month.

'That's a bit of an escalation for the unsub,' Rossi finally said, having been quietly contemplating since Spencer walked in. 'Why the sudden increase in kill time, do you think?'

'Maybe he's impotent,' JJ offered. 'Maybe Anna Carswell was just an accident - see, look at the jagged and varied placement of the stab wounds. And for the past few months he's been trying to repress the urge to kill again, and some recent event has been his stressor.'

'JJ's right, Petrina and Larissa's stab wounds are cleaner, intentional. He's perfecting his craft,' Kate stated.

'Who called it in?' Derek asked.

'The first two victims were found by dumpster guys picking up the trash, but Larissa was found by a homeless man trying to find some food,' Penelope said. 'Local authorities have all callers in at their main office and are expecting you within the next two hours.'

'We'll keep debriefing on the plane,' Hotch said as he stood up, tablet in hand. 'Wheels up in twenty.'

Suddenly his phone pinged, and he took a quick glance at it, his face turning grim.

'What is it, Aaron?' Rossi asked.

Hotch pocketed his phone as he said, 'That was the New York FBI office. They've found another body. Wheels up in ten.'

~~~

Spencer stood across from the coroner with the latest victim's body laying between them.

Roxy Vega. Sounded fake, but that's who her brothel manager identified her as. She was the one to call Roxy in, but said that one of her girls was the one to find her. Spencer and Morgan were to go talk to her and the manager after looking at the body.

'She's the same as the others, poor thing,' the coroner said, her brow scrunching with displeasure. 'Stabbed to death. Twelve, to be exact.'

'Anything from the toxicology report?' Derek asked.

She shook her head. 'Hasn't come back yet, but I can guess she'll be like the others too and be clean. People think prostitutes would be similar to junkies, but the truth is it's usually whoever they're serving that put something in their system to... elevate the experience.'

Spencer and Derek must've been pulling shocked expressions, because she chuckled, putting her clipboard down on a table beside her. 'I used to do some escorting myself to help pay off medical school before I got this job. Nothing extreme like these girls, but the same principles applied.'

Spencer gave her a tight-lipped smile before pointing at the sheet. 'If you don't mind, can I look at the wounds myself?'

'Sure,' the coroner said, and delicately manoeuvred the white sheet covering Roxy so that it covered her upper body still. Even the dead deserved some modesty.

But Spencer wasn't perturbed by her female genitalia. He was more interested in the twelve stab wounds that scarred her lower abdomen and pelvic area. Six side by side in each area.

'That's odd,' he murmured to himself.

But Derek heard him. 'What is?'

Spencer hovered his pointer finger over each wound. 'Look at these,' he said. 'They're almost exactly parallel to one another, all in a row. And the cuts are all the same length, too.'

'Well that rules out our unsub being rageful,' Derek added. 'If he was angry when he killed them, the wounds would no doubt be all over the place, and varied in length if he did it in a frenzy.'

'So our unsub is cool, calm and collected,' Spencer mused, but something still didn't add up. 'There is almost something ritualistic about the placement. Like it's a symbol.'

'Well, he's definitely trying to send a message then,' Derek said, eyes drifting back to Roxy laying on the table. 'But who is it for?'

'And has it been heard yet?' Spencer added. The buzz of his phone prompted him to pull it out of his coat pocket and answer the call.

'Hotch,' he answered. 'Morgan and I have just finished at the morgue. The lines on the latest victim suggests that these could be ritualistic killings or a message to someone or even a group. The stabs were clean so the girls, well Roxy at least, would've been restrained or knocked unconscious before they were stabbed.'

'That changes the profile from a raging serial killer to someone who had these killings premeditated,' Hotch concluded. 'Good work, you two. Head down to the brothel to see the manager and the co-worker who found her. Local authorities took their statements but maybe they know more than they think or are letting on.'

'Okay,' Spencer agreed. 'What are you guys doing?'

'JJ and Kate are talking with the victim's families one at a time and Dave and I are at the headquarters talking with the officers and detectives who started this case. I'll ask them if they noticed the stab wound patterns, see if it means anything to them.'

'We'll call JJ and tell her the same,' Spencer said. 'Maybe the unsub is taunting the parents somehow and the key is in the stab wounds.'

'Okay. Call back when you're done.'

'Got it.'

Spencer hung up and turned to the coroner. 'Thanks so much for your help. If you could send that M.E. report to our unit chief, that'd be most helpful.'

'Of course,' she said, offering a kind smile. 'I'll keep looking for other anomalies, particularly if you think they were somehow restrained or unconscious before they were stabbed.'

'The mass blood spillage was just for show,' Derek said. 'I have a bad feeling these girls weren't stumbled upon by accident. There's more to this, and whoever these stab wounds were meant to warn is the key to solving who is behind all of this.'

Spencer quickly thanked the coroner for her time before he and Derek were out the door and in an SUV driving to downtown Manhattan to the brothel.

The Chateau, despite its name, was just a small sign hanging above a door that needed a fresh coat of paint about ten years prior. No doubt the sign would light up neon at night to draw in the locusts that were cheating husbands or deadbeat wannabes. But it was located on a busy street, and daylight made it look unassuming compared to the big billboards and towering office buildings around it. Just a hole in the wall, really.

'This place looks like a dump already,' Derek said as they examined the outside. Posters advertising all kinds of entertainment from the establishment were pinned to billboards either side of the door and down the wall where people stood in line to get in perhaps. But they were torn, like flyers from a travelling circus long ago.

'That's probably a strategic method,' Spencer said. 'It's what many opium dens in Shanghai used to do back in the 1920s to avoid law enforcement suspicion. Of course, brothels and even opium dens are legal today, but they now act as the fronts for more illicit dealings.'

'Right,' Derek said, reaching out for the door handle tentatively. 'Let's just hope that isn't the case today. We've got enough to worry about with four dead girls let alone some underground, black market bullshit.'

Derek wasted no more time in opening the door and stepping inside, Spencer right on his heels. But as soon as the daylight faded and their eyes readjusted, they both gaped at what met them inside.

Lavish gold and black velvet carpet lined the floors, swirling in intricate, flowery designs that made Spencer feel dizzy for a second. A settee sat to their left in a small alcove where gold curtains were pulled back, but Spencer took a guess as to why they would be closed at certain points. All the furniture were beautifully crafted pieces with a black gloss layer and gold lining certain edges that sparkled in the low light from the victorian style lamps hanging on the walls.

It scared Spencer how accurate he had sort of been. It felt like he was in a 1920s film noir club where gangsters met up to make and complete deals. Where they smoked cigars, and the showgirls wore sparkly, frilly, feathery dresses and patterned pantyhose. In the back of his mind, Spencer knew it was a brothel, that the gold and sparkles were just a front, but he couldn't help but be impressed by the attention to detail. Right down to the artwork that hung on the walls, all of which were from famous painters from the time period.

'They're amazing, aren't they?'

Spencer spun alongside Derek at the new, commanding voice that entered the room, and found a woman in her late forties to early fifties standing by a podium where the registry would no doubt sit each night for customers to sign in and out of. He had to give it to the establishment, it was committed to the act.

'Y-Yes,' he stuttered an answer, looking back at the painting in front of him. 'It looks like- I'm sorry, but are these the real thing?'

She laughed heartily as she sashayed over to them, the bellowing arms of her white, silk sleeves flowing gracefully with her movements. 'Goodness, no. The real ones are more than likely in a museum somewhere or hanging above the bed of some rich bimbo who doesn't understand what it is or who even painted it.' Despite the malice in her words, her red lips parted in a sultry grin. 'But alas, these do just fine. As do you, might I say.'

Spencer didn't like how her eyes raked over him and Derek ever so slowly, like she was some predator contemplating what part of her prey she should consume first. This is what JJ, Kate and Penelope must feel most of the time, he thought, averting his eyes as best as possible from the woman's snake-like ones.

He decidedly did not like the feeling it gave him.

Sensing his partner's discomfort, Derek reached into his jean pocket and pulled out his badge. 'Thank you, but we're here on official business only today.'

Those snake-eyes latched onto the badge, and it only took her half a second for her sultry smile to drop and to cross her arms. But not out of embarrassment, more like how a child did when they didn't get what they want. 'So you're the FBI agents I was told was visiting me today. How charming.' She held out hand to Derek, and Spencer couldn't help but notice how bare it was compared to rest of her. Long dangling emeralds hung from her ears, matching the beautiful emerald necklace around her neck. But no rings, or bracelets.

Odd.

'I'm Madame Lacroix,' she said, Derek finally taking her hand. 'I am the manager of The Chateau.'

She held her hand out to Spencer, to which he awkwardly splayed his hands up by his chest in a mock surrender. 'I, uh, actually don't do handshakes, sorry. Just a personal thing.'

Madame Lacroix looked him up and down from over her nose, which was an impressive act as she stood a good head shorter than him. After a moment, she dropped her hand and the matter, turning back to Derek once more.

'Madame,' Derek started. 'We just want to ask a few questions about Roxy Vega. We understand she was... one of your own for a while now. Is that correct?'

'Yes,' she answered, her painted face taking on a contemplative, even fond expression at the mention of Roxy. 'She'd been with us around eleven months. Some of the girls were supposed to take her out this coming weekend to celebrate. Geez, did those girls love partying.'

'How so?' Spencer inquired.

That snake-like gaze whipped back to him in an instant. 'They would have weekends away once every couple of months. Fancy yachts, expensive clothes, gourmet restaurants. One time, they went to the Greek Isles for a week.' She shrugged nonchalantly. 'But they could always pay for it. My girls are the best at what they do. So much so they are able to pay me and keep a good amount of earnings for themselves. And before you ask, everything is perfectly legal here, I have papers.'

'We're not really interested in that, Madame Lacroix,' Derek continued. 'You say Roxy was part of a, shall we say, an exclusive group in your establishment.'

'If you're implying that I play favourites, I don't, agent,' Madame Lacroix said, her tone dancing with silent threat. 'All my girls work the same hours, and relatively earn the same amount. It's completely on them if they decide to form friendships or alliances wth one another.'

'Was the girl who found her in that group too?' Spencer asked for Derek.

She nodded. 'Usually, Roxy and her girls don't let newcomers into their group. And if they do, it's not until they're a few months into working here. But yeah, Serena was pulled into that group from the moment she got here only three months ago.'

'Do you know where she was before The Chateau?' Derek asked.

'Yeah, she was uptown at a strip club, Guilty Pleasure. I know the guy who runs the place, and I don't blame her for leaving.'

Guilty Pleasure. The name rung familiar with Spencer, and so he pulled Derek away a little to whisper in his ear. 'That's the club Larissa used to work at.'

'And what are the odds that Larissa is now dead?' Derek added, eyes lighting with recognition. He quickly turned back to Madame Lacroix, urgency written on his face. 'Madame, there have been three other girls found in similar fashions to Roxy.'

For the first time since she entered the room, she didn't appear in control of everything happening. Her face dropped and a look of confusion and shock reflected in her eyes. 'Three other girls? Oh my goodness...'

'If you'd like, we can continue this talk in your office?' Derek offered, to which she nodded and began walking towards the podium, which Spencer now realised was in front of twin staircases heading downwards either side.

'I usually conduct private business at night, so my office is down in the Pit where I can make sure my girls are okay,' she explained as they descended into the a dimly lit bar reminiscent of the roaring 20s.

A giant glass chandelier hung in the middle of the ceiling, providing enough light to see the retro bar to the left, the cabaret setup of chairs and tables that faced the small stage at the far end of the room, and the empty booths where more settees and lounges sat with curtains drawn back for now. Again, Spencer was struck by how much it felt like stepping back in time. It was truly impressive.

Spencer halted, however, when Madame Lacroix stopped and turned back to face them, genuine concern furrowing her perfectly plucked brows. 'You don't think Serena has anything to do with this. Do you?' she asked.

'We don't know that for certain,' Derek answered. 'But we would like to have a talk with her so we can start clearing up this mess. Do you know where we can find her?'

She nodded, then pointed to a door over their shoulders. 'She's here doing stocktake for me today, actually. She does so on occasion when my workmen are busy with other jobs. A load just came in this morning. You can found her sorting through it out back in the loading bay.'

'Thank you,' Spencer said before turning to speak with Derek. 'I'll go talk with her while you finish here.'

'Shout if something goes wrong, okay?' Derek warned, to which Spencer agreed and made his way to the back door.

He couldn't stop his nose from scrunching as the scent of rotten food and heavy alcohol wafted up it. Giant bins were pressed against the far corner of the loading bay, but it wasn't a very big room, so the smell was easily detected.

Looks like the stocktake room doubles as the bin room, he thought as he stepped further into the bay, where crates were stacked taller than him with food, glassware, alcohol. Amongst the stacks was a shuffling of feet, then a hard thud that resulted in a harsh cry and an 'Ouch!'

'Hello?' Spencer called out while searching his way through the stacks. What did a brothel need with so much stuff anyways? 'Serena?'

'Over here!' a heavy Brooklyn accent replied. Spencer followed the voice, finding a hunched over woman cradling her exposed toe. She wore burnt orange platform wedges with jeans and a white tank top that left little to the imagination of a one Dr. Spencer Reid. Her hair was a puffy mess of curls like the blowouts back in the 80s, and it was so big he couldn't see her face.

'Are you okay,' he said, rushing over to help, but she just held up a hand, her face still covered.

'Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, doll,' she replied hastily, shakily. 'Just hit my toe, is all.'

'Well, here, let me get you some ice-'

'That's not necessary, hun. Really.'

'Well, at least let me have a look at it. You might've gotten a splinter in it or-'

'Stop.'

He was already bending down when the word hit him. But not just the word, but the voice that came with it. It was different to the Brooklyn accent now. It was... familiar.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as familiarity turned into recognition; and when he looked up from his half-squat position, he froze where he was and stared. Because the woman he saw wasn't an unrecognisable face of some girl called Serena.

His mouth had gone dry at the shock, and so he gulped a few times, trying to find the words he'd been holding back for months. But instead, only one word came to the surface.

'Y/N?'

— CALM AFTER THE STORM

pairing: remus lupin x reader

summary: the 4 times you hate each other, and the one time you don’t. alternatively, remus lupin is a pain in your arse and yours alone.

warnings: enemies to lovers, swearing, kissing, mention of blood and wounds, some bad writing as always which is unedited

author’s note: just a little e2l fic for my own indulgence as its my fave trope and its criminal how i barely have any e2l fics… also haven’t written anything in ages soooo enjoy!

when he just has to be controversial

The sun was beaming, colourful rays reflecting over your book through the stained-glass windows of the Gryffindor common room as you lounged on the sofa with your head in Lily’s lap. You were barely paying attention to the chatter of your friends around you, choosing to focus on your copy of ‘The Catcher in the Rye’ and Marlene’s soft guitar playing. The lazy afternoon is a welcome break from the increasingly stressful N.E.W.T lessons that have had you all so exhausted, you’re not sure if Peter is asleep or dead from his curled-up position on the rug.

You don’t even realise someone is saying your name until Marlene tickles the sole of your socked foot with her guitar pick, making you yelp and draw your legs in from where they were previously tucked in between Marlene and her guitar.

“What was that for?” you grumble, nudging her arm with your foot.

Marlene smirks, nodding over to James. “He told me to get your attention. Didn’t specify how.”

You roll your eyes and turn on your side to face the boy in question, his grin unfaltering as he multitasks polishing the handle of his broomstick and talking to you. “Not my fault you’re dead to the world when you’re reading,” he says, matter-of-fact, continuing when you raise your eyebrows in impatience. “I was just wondering how you could look so interested in that book. Remus said he’d do my homework for a month if I finished it the other day and I couldn’t get past five arse-numbingly dull pages.”

You scoff, adjusting your position again to face Remus as well. “And why was Remus betting you to read my book, exactly?”

“It was my copy,” Remus replies, scribbling away on his parchment, cross legged on his chair, to undoubtedly finish the Potions essay that Slughorn had set yesterday. You’re transfixed on the way his hand is moving across the page for a second, unable to fathom how someone can have such messy handwriting. You aren’t surprised in the slightest that the next words coming out of his mouth are ones you disagree with. “I wanted to see how long he lasted reading the slowest-paced book in the world.”

You abruptly sit up at this, shutting your book and forgetting plans of relaxation.

“Hey, watch it!” Lily exclaims, lifting the bottle of black polish she’s using to paint Sirius’ nails from its balanced position on her thigh to avoid you spilling it all over her white top. “If you’re about to argue, please refrain from throwing things until after I’ve done the second coat of nail polish.”

You pointedly ignore this and narrow your eyes at Remus who, infuriatingly, still hasn’t lifted his head from his essay. “I’m surprised you found it hard to read such a slow book. Thought that’d be perfect for you.”

“Look what you’ve started, Prongs,” Sirius sighs, examining his nails.

Seeing the corners of Remus’ lips pull up into a slight smile at your comment just spurs you on in defence of the book you were previously enjoying. “Besides, it’s about a real-life teenager with real-life struggles, not The Hobbit on his latest adventure.”

“Who’s Hobbit?” James mumbles, scratching his head in confusion as Marlene just shrugs, equally oblivious.

“It’s overrated,” Remus insists, finally setting down his quill to look at you. The amused expression still hasn’t left his face and you make a noise halfway between a scoff and a high-pitched squeal of indignance. “Even James agrees.”

“Oh, and James’ opinion on literature is the standard now?” You raise a brow, tutting when James starts to protest. “The only book James has finished in the last six years was Quidditch Through the Ages.”

The way James slowly slides the aforementioned book under one of the sofa cushions doesn’t go unnoticed by anyone. Sirius starts snickering, much to Lily’s annoyance as she tries to control his hand. “She got you there, in fairness, mate.”

Sirius’ chortling seems to stir Peter from his sleep and he opens one eye to peer at you. Seeming to catch sight of your irritated expression, he frowns. “Are these two arguing like an old married couple again?”

“Merlin help us if these two ever decide to get married,” Marlene utters under her breath, bent over her guitar and avoiding the weight of your glare.

“Yeah, he wishes,” you grumble, shuffling around on the sofa to get back into a comfortable position with your book. Remus’ smile has only widened in response and he seems to enjoy your discomfort as you overcompensate for showing your annoyance by wriggling about.

“I dream about it every night,” Remus replies, dryly and Peter giggles below you before turning over to sleep again.  

You overcompensate a little too much by moving around, because Lily huffs from beside you and starts scrambling around for a tissue. “What did I say about the second coat?”

“I didn’t throw anything this time!”

2. when he won’t let you give someone a black eye

Defence Against the Dark Arts is your favourite N.E.W.T subject for a lot of reasons. You enjoy the lesson content, it’ll be useful in future years, and it’s the one lesson you share with every single one of your friends.

You’ve gotten used to James and Sirius messing around while Professor Marigold recites fact after fact about spells and creatures and wizards of dark nature. Its like soothing background noise to you and your classmates who all concentrate in silence most of the time.

Which is why your quill stops on your page and leaves a growing ink blot when you hear snickering and whispers from the other side of the classroom rather than from in front of you where the marauders sit in a line.

The scoffs of disgust coming from Snape and Mulciber are loud enough to attract the attention of the rest of the students and even the teacher, who eventually sets down her piece of chalk in the middle of talking about Wolfsbane potion with an impatient sigh.

“Is there some sort of pressing issue that can’t wait until after class to discuss, boys?” Professor Marigold asks with a tone of ire that would impress Professor McGonagall. “Even Black and Potter have decided to give it a rest today.”

She’s not wrong, you think, noting how they’ve been less disruptive than usual for this lesson, probably tired out from setting each other’s robes on fire in Charms the hour before.

“The pressing issue is werewolves,” Snape mutters quietly, as though he doesn’t want to make a big issue but can’t stop himself from speaking up. “We should be learning more about how to kill them and less about the price of potion ingredients.”

Lily gasps from beside you and Sirius and James tense up at his words. Remus doesn’t lift his head, but you absently notice how his grip tightens around his quill when Peter nervously turns to him. Peter isn’t one for conflict and he’s always been nervous around this particular group of Slytherins, so you’re not surprised he’s anxious.

“Werewolves are still people, you can’t just go around killing them!” you find your mouth moving on its own, before your brain can catch up. When Snape turns to direct his scowl at you, its matched by your own as well as Lily’s disappointed frown. “They didn’t ask to be werewolves, they physically can’t help it! How would you feel if people wanted to kill you for not being able to control being such an arse.”

“Miss Y/L/N,” Professor Marigold warns, setting her stern eyes on you. You’re not one for disrupting lessons or getting into trouble, so when Remus turns around to look at you with a raised eyebrow, your cheeks start to warm and you stubbornly don’t look his way again.

Snape ignores her to continue glaring at you. “I don’t have the capacity to kill people in a feral rage now, do I?” His gaze flits from you to Lily and Marlene and then lingers on the boys. “Of course, you’re defending werewolves. It’s no surprise considering who you choose to associate yourself with.”

“Mr Snape.”

“You have no need to fly into a feral rage to kill people,” you reply, voice steadily rising in volume. Sirius and James turn their heads back and forth like they’re watching a tennis match and you know the only reason they haven’t piped up to agree with you is because they’re too entertained watching the way you’re about to jump out of your seat to pounce on Snape. “All you need to do is show someone your face for them to die of fright–”

“ENOUGH!” Professor Marigold’s booming voice cuts through the laughter of everyone on the Gryffindor side of the classroom and when you turn to look at her, you see even Remus’ shoulders are shaking with silent laughter. You’re not sure why this pleases you, but it doesn’t last long enough for you to figure it out before Marigold waves her wand in the direction of the door and sends it flying open. “Both of you will wait for me outside the classroom until the lesson has finished so I can discuss your appalling behaviour.”

You gape at her for a second, before relenting and grabbing your bag, not wanting to argue with her authority. Your friends have different ideas.

“That’s not fair!” Marlene exclaims, standing up in protest. “She didn’t even do anything wrong.”

“Yeah,” James agrees, also standing up. “Snape’s the one who was being an annoying pri–”

“Sit down, everyone,” Marigold cuts him off, pursing her lips. “Everyone except Mr Snape and Miss Y/L/N. Do not even think about speaking Mr Black, or I won’t hesitate to suspend your and Mr Potter’s Quidditch privileges until further notice.”

Sirius shuts his mouth after a nudge from James and you shoot your friends a grateful smile before making your way out of the classroom, followed closely by Snape.

The door shuts behind him and you don’t bother sparing him a glance before dumping your bag on the ground and leaning against a wall to focus your gaze on a suit of armour for the next five minutes. You’re about half a minute in when you notice that one of the hands are slightly wonky and the classroom door suddenly opens.

Remus, of all people, enters the hallway to join the two of you and quickly shuts the door.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, furrowing your brows and getting up from against the wall.

“Yeah, what are you doing here?” Snape sneers at him, and you give him a scathing look before turning to Remus for an answer.

Remus pointedly ignores him to stand next to you against the brick wall. “I just pointed out to Professor Marigold that you both have your wands and she may not have two students left out here by the end of the lesson.”

“I can defend myself,” you snort, folding your arms. You aren’t sure if you’re annoyed that Remus is insinuating otherwise, or if you’re touched that he doesn’t want you to be hexed into oblivion by Snape. “Especially from him.”

“Oh, I know,” Remus raises both hands in surrender as his tone becomes grave. “It’s not you I’m worried about, trouble.”

“Ha ha,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes at the nickname. He started it around a year ago when you got your first ever detention for helping Sirius and James Charm the Slytherin chairs to throw them off every time someone sat. Your friends had kept quiet about your involvement, but Peeves had spotted you, the nosy bastard. The nickname stemmed from the fact it was the first time you had ever gotten into trouble and it never failed to irritate you. “You better be careful I don’t hex you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of annoying you,” he says, but the serious tone of voice is ruined by the way his lips are twitching in an attempt not to laugh at you. “After what happened when I said I didn’t like that one Jane Austen book? Forget it.”

“Hey, you insulted one of my favourite characters,” you point out, resting a hand on your hip. “What did Emma ever do to you? You had that hex coming.”

“I had pink hair for a week,” Remus narrows his eyes at you, but you can tell he isn’t really angry. Although he refuses to admit it, you know for a fact he didn’t hate the pink hair considering how good he looked with it. An annoying indiscretion on your part. Remus looks behind you for a split second before leaning in a little to whisper. “I won’t get in the way if you want to turn Snape’s hair pink, though. Preferably a very bright shade of flaming, hot pink.”

At risk of your own cheeks flaming up from how close he is – really, what’s the need? – you shake your head let your hair fall into your face. Almost having forgotten Snape is also there, you start when he scoffs (for what you think is the millionth time this afternoon) and you sigh before facing him begrudgingly. “What now?”

“Couldn’t handle the content of today’s lesson?” he asks, tiling his head. You’re about to ask him what the hell he’s talking about before you realise, he isn’t actually talking to you, but to the boy behind you.

“Uh…” you trail off, not sure how to respond. All three of you currently standing in the corridor know that Remus is smart enough to tackle any type of content, especially something as memorable and interesting as werewolves.

Remus’ amused demeanour has been wiped away and you can’t determine his exact expression, but his voice is cold when he talks to you. “Just ignore him.”

“You and your group of friends can’t help themselves when it comes to defending strays and all sorts,” Snape continues, much to your confusion. “It’s not enough that you’re a group full of blood-traitors and mudbloods…”

Remus tenses up behind you and you find yourself frozen for a second.

The next thing you know, you’re lunging at the greasy-haired Slytherin with every intention of hurting his face with your fists, wand long forgotten. Your fingers barely brush his robes, however, when you feel yourself being hauled back by strong arms that wrap around your middle.

“Let go!” you snarl, enjoying the way Snape has backed away, eyes wide and worried. “Did you hear what he said? Remus, let me go.”

He doesn’t relent, still holding onto you when he leans down to speak in your ear. “You’ve already gotten into trouble. You’ll get into a whole lot more when everyone walks out to see Snape with a black eye and you with bruised knuckles.”

“Worth it,” you grit out, still pulling away from his grip and throwing daggers with your eyes at Snape. After a few more seconds of pointless struggling, you relax very slightly just to turn in his arms so you can direct your next words to him more pointedly. “Not only is he a slimy, blood-supremacist twat, but he also wants to kill a poor bunch of werewolves. We should be throwing him into the bloody Black Lake!”

“I know, I-” Remus is cut off when the door opens and students start flooding into the corridor to provide a barrier between you and Snape, indicating the end of the lesson. Remus finally lets you go when he realises you’re in direct view of Professor Marigold who stands behind her desk, waiting for you. “I had no idea you were such an advocate for werewolves.”

It’s the last thing you expected him to say and you immediately look up at him and frown. “Again, they’re people. They don’t deserve to be victims of prejudice just as no one does.” He doesn’t respond, staring at you with an unreadable expression and a hint of a smile. Your frown deepens in confusion. Was he… laughing at you? Especially after you had just gotten along. “I’m so glad you find me amusing,” you say, scowling and storming back into the classroom and away from Remus.

3. when he's too good for flower crowns.

“Tell it again,” James insists, grin wide as ever plastered onto his face despite the withering look you send his way. “Getting a glimpse at even the possibility of Snivellus getting pummelled by Y/N would have made my entire year.”

“The galleons I’d give up to have been there,” Sirius releases a wistful sigh, closing his eyes as he lies down, facing the sun.

You hand him the daisy chain crown you just finished and he dutifully dons it. “I’ll alert the Ministry of Magic to order in a time-turner for an issue of utmost urgency,” you say sarcastically as you start on the next daisy chain. Sirius merely winks at you.

“I think you should’ve let her have at him, Remus,” Marlene states, unapologetic. You nod vehemently in agreement, a little too enthusiastically as you end up splitting a daisy down the middle.

Lily tuts, adjusting her own flower crown as it slips against her silky red hair. “I’m glad you didn’t. Godric knows what Professor Marigold would have done,” she shudders at the thought, ever the diligent student.

“Forget Marigold,” Peter chimes in. “Imagine what Professor McGonagall would have done.”

You don’t miss how he looks over his shoulder in case your head of house is taking a stroll along the grassy grounds.

“She would have combusted when you called him an ugly arse,” Remus pipes in, unhelpfully might you add, from where he sits slightly away from the group under a tree, reading.

The comment sends Marlene, Sirius and Peter into a fit of laughter – James is too busy staring at the way the sun is making Lily look ethereal and she’s too busy pretending not to notice while being secretly pleased. Doing a quick survey of your friends, you see everyone now has a flower crown except Remus. You make your way to the tree he’s resting against while the others chat, and sit yourself down with purpose.

Remus lowers his book very slightly to peer at you and your too-sweet smile. He raises a sceptical brow. “Should I be scared right now?”

You drop the fake smile and hold up your flower crown expectantly. “Everyone has one, but you.”

“How observant,” he says, setting his book down to look at you in mock astonishment. “Have the Aurors at the Ministry caught wind of you yet?”

“Don’t be a pain,” you groan, dropping it onto his open book. “I want everyone to wear one for the picture!”

Remus sighs, looking at the large camera over by your bag. You had saved up all summer to buy a magical camera to be able to take pictures of you and your friends in your final year at Hogwarts. The time you used your own muggle camera was a disaster of sparks and broken bits of plastic that took hours to mend. “I already agreed to your incessant picture-taking,” he reminds you, acting like it’s the most painful thing in the world. “The flower crown is not happening.”

“Fine, you miserable git,” you flick a handful of grass at him, sending him sputtering. “Now come and sit for the photo.”

You return to the group with Remus behind you and get everyone in position before hunting down someone to take the photo. Glancing around, you spot a close bunch of first-years and send Lily to use her Head Girl credentials (and warm and inviting personality, of course) to rope one of them into coming over.

“Okay, smile everyone,” you order, plopping down on the grass next to James. You elbow him in the ribs, not even having to look at him to know what he’s doing. “Stop looking at Lily and look at the camera.”

With a couple of mutterings and some nudging, the nervous first-year Hufflepuff girl shakily takes the picture and hurriedly hands you the camera in the middle of the picture sliding out of it. James and Sirius go back to playing with a golden Snitch while Peter watches, while Remus returns to his book.

Lily looks at the picture and coos over how cute everyone looks at the same time as Marlene complaining about her hair. You impatiently take the picture back to slide it into your photo album and something catches your eye.

Sirius is making a peace sign behind Remus’ head. His head that wears a flower crown.

4. when he bleeds out on you.

You’re not sure what time it is – either very late at night, or very early in the morning. You do know, however, that you want to finish your Herbology essay so you can enjoy tomorrow (or today) and cheer your friends on in the Gryffindor vs Ravenclaw Quidditch game. You only have the conclusion left and you’re confident it’ll be done in the next ten minutes.

If you can find your damned quill, that is. You could have sworn you had it ten minutes ago, just before you snuck down to the kitchens to persuade the house-elves to give you the strongest cup of coffee they could make. You take a quick sip and grimace at the lukewarm temperature before setting it down and getting up to search. After turning every sofa cushion upside down, you go to crouch behind the sofa.

You hear the door to the common room being swung open and the hushed voices of the Marauders enter, but you don’t take too much notice as you squint for your quill. It isn’t unusual for the boys to be roaming around the castle at odd hours of the night, but a hiss of pain grabs your attention at the same time you spot the quill.

“Can you guys manage taking him up to the-” Sirius cuts himself off when your face pops up from behind the sofa. He freezes in his efforts to hold up Remus, who you notice is leaning on him and James and Merlin’s balls he’s covered in blood.

“What the fuck happened to him?” Your voice comes out weak as you walk over to the boys. Remus has deep, bleeding slashes over his chest and an assortment of little cuts on his face and hands. He seems barely able to keep his eyes open but when his gaze meets yours, he winces. He isn’t the only one hurt and you realise Sirius’ arm is damp with blood and trembling, the same going for James’ thigh. “What the fuck happened to all of you, oh my God…?”

“Peter, you were supposed to keep watch,” James hisses at the boy who looks like a deer in headlights. He looks a lot better than the others, with only a couple of small cuts scattered around his face and arms.

“She was behind the sofa!”

James’ leg buckles and you snap out of your state of shock to dart forward and keep him steady. “Right. Shit, okay,” you breathe out, holding off asking any questions to prevent anyone from bleeding out. “James, Sirius, set Remus down on the sofa and take off his shirt. Peter, help these two up the stairs and go find a first-aid kit or something.”

“We’ve got a couple in the dorm,” Sirius says, summoning one of them down with a quick Accio and handing it to you. He hesitates for a second, probably unsure if he should stay and explain things, before deciding to turn in the direction of the stairs with James as Peter rushes to help them up. “Look after him, please. We’ll be right back, Moony.”

“Take your time, I’ve got him,” you utter, already fiddling with the first-aid box and trying to open it with shaky hands. You’re no healer, but you know enough to panic when you see Remus has had his eyes closed for the last few seconds. “Remus, keep your eyes open!”

He groans, cracking one eye open to look at you. “I’m injured and bleeding out and you still manage to yell at me.”

“I wasn’t yelling,” you frown, unscrewing the bottle of dittany and scrambling for the cotton pads. You try to avoid Remus’ gaze because you feel extremely silly about being more panicked than him when he’s the one with claw marks down his chest. “Don’t move, or it’ll hurt.”

While dabbing the liquid onto the deep gashes in an attempt to close them up, you ponder on the fact that he probably knows it hurts from experience. You’re not completely clueless.

“What are you thinking?” Remus whispers in the stifling quiet of the common room, looking unsure.

You don’t cease in your movements, changing cotton pad after cotton pad. It takes you a minute to muster up the courage to meet Remus’ gaze again and this time he looks more nervous than you’ve ever seen him. “You’re a werewolf, aren’t you?”

Remus gives you an almost imperceptible nod, like he doesn’t want to admit to it. You take a deep breath.

“Who else knows?” you ask calmly, as if you’re asking him about the weather.

“The boys and Lily,” he admits, swallowing hard. “Oh, and Snape.”

“Snape?” you exclaim, halting your dabbing to gawp at Remus. “I’m not saying you had to tell me or anything, but Snape?”

 Remus winces and you don’t think it has anything to do with his injuries. “In my defence he found out on his own and hates me for it,” he rushes out. “And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you… I-”

“It’s fine,” you cut him off, waving him off and wondering how good you’re hiding the fact you’re a little hurt. “You didn’t have to tell me.”

“No, I wanted to. I did,” Remus insists, looking earnest. There’s something in his voice that’s a little pained and desperate that has you meeting his eyes. “I just couldn’t have dealt with it if you started looking at me differently. The boys and Lily sometimes do, y’know? Like I’m made of glass or something. It’s refreshing whenever you scowl at me or call me an idiot or an arse or a stupid gi-”

“Okay,” you stop him, stifling a grin. “I get it!”

Remus’ eyes flash with relief for a second before you notice doubt start to creep in again. “You don’t need to hide it, by the way. I won’t hold it against you if… If you’re scared or disgusted, or-”

“What?” you cut him off again and scrunch your nose in confusion. “I’m not scared or disgusted. Why would you think that?”

“You’ve been a bit too calm,” he points out.

Rolling your eyes, you grab a bandage to start patching up the worst of the injuries before you move onto the minor cuts and bruises. “I didn’t want you to think I was freaking out, or looking at you differently,” you quote his own words to him with a pointed look, making him smile again. “I don’t, you know. Think of you any differently, I mean.”

His expression is unreadable as he just looks at you and you just look at him, bandage hovering over his chest before his fingers come up to brush the back of your hand. He lightly holds your hand, softly running his thumb over your knuckle as his voice drops to a whisper again. “Thank you.”

You offer him a gentle smile, holding his gaze for a second longer before focusing on bandaging him up again. His hand drops to the side and you oddly find yourself missing his warmth. The large bandage adheres to his skin and you run your fingers along the sides to stick them down, feeling him shudder under your touch.

You quickly busy yourself with looking for more supplies in the kit to hide the way your own breathing has increased slightly. “Hey, anyway, I almost walloped Snape right in the eye for you. If that wasn’t any indication of my standing on werewolves, I don’t know what is.”

“Ah, my knight in shining armour,” Remus chuckles before breaking into a wheeze as the muscles of his injured abdomen contract. “Fuck, don’t make me laugh.”

“Don’t laugh at me then!”

5. when you’re definitely not jealous… you’re not!

Three cups of coffee. You’re on three cups of coffee. It’s also the same number of hours you’ve slept and by Godric can you feel it in every inch of your body as the muted chatter of the Great Hall buzzes around you. Your head is in your hands as you contemplate stealing some Polyjuice potion and bribing a first-year to take a dose with your hair in it so you can go to bed and they can pretend to watch the Quidditch match.

You knock back the last sip of coffee when you sense a presence sliding onto the bench in front of you. Groggily setting the cup down, you see that its Remus. It takes a second to remember why this is concerning.

“Morning, h- Wait, what the hell are you doing out of bed?” you hiss, leaning forward to avoid anyone listening in. You scan your eyes over his chest, two seconds away from ripping his shirt off to check his bandages. “How are you even standing?”

“Relax, Florence Nightingale,” Remus says, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. He does his own quick sweep of the table and sees that most people are out in the Quidditch stands already, so he proceeds to pull the neckline of his shirt down slightly to reveal an already fading scar. No bleeding in sight. “I went to Madame Pomfrey with the boys this morning and she hurried up the process like she usually does. I feel achier than a 90-year-old woman with a metal hip, but the brunt of it is gone and Pads and Prongs are good as new.”

“Okay,” you say slowly, narrowing your eyes slightly. “If you’re sure you can sit out in the stands…”

“I can once I’ve consumed every cup of tea on the premises,” he says, reaching for the teapot. An annoyingly smug smirk starts to appear on his face while he pours. “What, are you worried about me, trouble?”

You scowl instantly. “No, I just don’t want you collapsing on me in the Quidditch stands while I’m cheering the boys on.”

“Right.” He hides his grin behind his cup of tea.

“Hey,” you mumble, nodding to Patricia Holloway who looks like she’s making a beeline to your table. More specifically, towards Remus. “Bright and cheery Hufflepuff incoming.”

“Merlin, it’s too early for this,” Remus whispers, taking another sip of tea before his face breaks out into a charming smile directed at the girl who slides into the empty seat next to him. “Morning, Patricia.”

“You look good today, Remus,” Patricia rests her elbow on the table and tilts her head to look at him with simpering eyes. It’s no secret Remus is good-looking and you’ve heard a million girls talk about him before. You’ve never seen any of them approach him yourself, though. You can’t say you enjoy it. “Are you… okay, Y/N?”

You didn’t realise you were scowling until she addresses you and you rapidly smooth out your expression, clearing your throat. Remus looks amused, which makes it harder to keep the scowl off your face. “Fine! I’m fine, just a bit confused since Remus looks half asleep,” you attempt a laugh through gritted teeth and are spurred on when Remus is actively trying to fight a grin. “And his hair currently makes him look like he’s been dragged through the Forbidden Forest.”

He can’t stop himself snorting at that, but Patricia just looks confused as though unsure how to react. She settles on a nervous little laugh, turning back to him. “I can fix that for you, here,” she says, scooting closer and starts to run her hands through Remus’ hair. You poke your cheek with your tongue, marvelling at how bold she’s being and how Remus is just sat there, still looking amused as ever. “There, what do you think?”

“A hairbrush couldn’t have done a better job,” you deadpan, softening your expression slightly when Patricia begins to look a little disconcerted. “You keep doing that, I’m going to head off to the Quidditch field.”

You all but storm out of the Great Hall, exhaustion having left you completely. It’s replaced by a newfound whirl of irritation that pools in your stomach and creeps up your throat, making you feel a little sick. It must be the coffee, you think, and you’re trying to remember if the beverage has ever made you experience this when all of a sudden there’s a hand circling your wrist.

“Stop, Y/N,” Remus says, a little breathless. You didn’t realise he’d run out after you and you feel bad about his injuries before your gaze snags on his newly tousled hair. “Godric, you walk fast.”

“I didn’t ask you to catch up to me,” you snap, purposely scowling this time. The cheeky bastard still looks amused and your irritation is growing faster than ever. “Besides, the match doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Plenty of time for Patricia to give you a whole new hairdo. Maybe she can give you plaits or– Why are you laughing.”

“You’re jealous,” he exhales with a smile, sounding positively delighted. Any feelings of concern have disappeared and are being rapidly replaced with wanting to thwack him upside the head. “Oh my God, you really are jealous.”

“Jealous, my arse,” you scoff, turning your back to him with every intention of speed walking out of the castle. His long legs keep up with you easily and he rushes in front of you to stop you going anywhere. You glare at him. “Leave me alone, Lupin.”

“Not until you admit that you’re jealous.” Remus is positively giddy with glee and you feel a flush of heat crawling up your neck. You set your jaw stubbornly and he’s incredulous as he shakes his head. “Merlin, you really have to argue with me on everything don’t you? I don’t care about Patricia Holloway and I’m glad you’re jealous. Means you’re less likely to break my nose when I kiss you.”

You barely get the chance to make an incoherent noise when Remus grabs you by the waist and presses his lips against yours, kissing you like he isn’t prepared to let you go anytime soon. His mouth slides hot and wet against your own and you gasp into the kiss when he nips lightly at your lip, your hands coming up to slide into his hair, making it unruly all over again.

Remus is the first to break apart, too soon, and you physically restrain yourself from chasing after his lips. He pulls back slightly, breathing fast to look into your eyes, searching for the answer you’re unable to speak yet.

“You… uh, I-I’m…” you trail off, dazed and breathless and head swirling with every emotion under the sun.

Remus laughs, pulling you impossibly close and leaving a soft kiss on your jaw, which doesn’t help your current speech issues. “If I knew that was all it took to shut you up, I’d have kissed you years ago.”

“Wha-!” You slap his arm, snapping out of the haze. You hide your current uncertainty behind a glare. It hit you like a ton of bricks, but you realised about five seconds into the kiss that you wanted Remus Lupin in every way, shape and form. You’re more than a little terrified, so what better defence mechanism than anger? “Why did you actually kiss me, you prick?”

“You are the densest, most clueless,” Remus begins, pausing to kiss you lightly a couple times when you start to scowl. “Most stubborn and most beautiful little witch I’ve ever known. And if you haven’t figured out after almost seven years that I love you, then I’m afraid we might have to admit you to St Mungo’s, because really-”

“Stop,” you whisper, lifting a finger to press against his lips, effectively silencing him. “You love me? You actually, seriously love me?”

He rolls his eyes and nods, like it’s obvious or something. You huff. “Then why have you been such an annoying pain in my bloody arse, Remus Lupin?!”

“Because,” he says, the word coming out muffled and you hastily remove your finger. “It was a good way to keep your attention. Plus, I like when you’re angry. It’s cute.”

You scowl without thinking and his smile impossibly widens.

“See?”

“Shut up and kiss me again,” you say dryly, pulling him in by the collar to give him a short, searing kiss. “Oh, and I guess I love you too.”

“So, no broken noses in my future?” Remus asks hopefully, softly sliding his nose against yours.

“No promises.”

© earthgirl616 2023.