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wkemeup · 3 years

Text

Graveyard

summary: As the unofficial healer for the Avengers, you pride yourself on the ability to mend heroes with the touch of your hand. Only, your gift comes at a heavy price — one you keep secret from your friends —and when Bucky asks you to do the impossible, they’ll discover why your gift is called a sacrifice, too. pairing: bucky x healer!reader word count: 10k warnings: canon level violence

As a child, you were told it was a gift; placed upon a pedestal above the quaint suffering of a rural town and removed of your innocence for the good of strangers. You’d been made to be revered – honored – for the touch that could mend the broken.

It began with a cut upon your father’s finger – a slip of a kitchen knife that had left a small bead of blood in its wake. Curious eyes glanced up at your father as he hissed at the sting of it and you’d reach forward to place your infant hand upon the cut, a grip so mall it barely wrapped around his finger. He stilled as a soft glow began to emit from your palm. When you removed your hand and began to cry, your father was stunned to find his skin perfectly intact – no trace of a scar in its place.

They told you it was a gift, celebrated you as if you were a blessing from Heaven itself. But they were cruel in their rejoice, selfish in their praise. They had not considered your gift was not a gift at all – but a sacrifice.

Like energy, pain could not be destroyed— but it could be absorbed. It could be transferred. Your father’s cut had not simply disappeared, but instead manifested on the finger of an infant for a few short moments before it faded into your skin; laid to rest amongst a sea of foreign injuries that did not belong to you.

“Look sharp, kid! We’ve got incoming,” Banner’s voice startled you from your thoughts as he stood at the doorway to your lab. Arms folded over his chest, an amused smirk upon his face, he must have caught sight of the quinjet landing in the hanger from the windows overlooking the loading dock.

You nodded, setting down the drill beside the stun absorption pad you were engineering for Stark’s newest suit. You didn't have to wonder long who was on the latest mission and currently on their way to your office, because a familiar bickering began to carry down the hall and into the lab, forcing a smile onto your face.

For a mechanical engineer, you saw more of the Avengers post-mission than the med wing did these days. You’d been hired for your multiple PhDs and borderline genius IQ, but once you’d rushed across the room to spare Stark from a rather unpleasant laceration on his palm from an experiment gone haywire, your lab had quickly become a rotating door of injured Avengers.

Sure enough, Barnes and Wilson stumbled their way into the lab, Sam draped over Bucky’s shoulder, barely able to put any pressure on his left leg. While Sam tossed you his charismatic grin and those big, round, puppy dog eyes, Bucky favored to dispose of his partner on the lab table with an aggravated grunt.

“What do we have today?” you smirked, rolling up the sleeves of your coat as Bruce shook his head in amusement.

“Broken ankle, I think,” Sam replied, gesturing to the mess of bandages and improvised splint.

You nodded as you stepped closer, examining the injury before you brushed a hand over the swollen joint. Sam whined at the contact, the pain clearly breaking through the lighthearted grin upon his face though he tried to suppress it. His hand curled into a fist.

“You know I’m not a medical doctor, but I’d have to agree,” you nodded, planting your hands on your hips.

“You could just get the x-rays and go through PT like a normal person,” Bucky grumbled off in his corner of the room, narrowing his eyes in warning upon his partner. “She’s not here as your personal healer, Wilson.”

Bucky was always hesitant of your powers. He never said why, but you wondered most days if he was still seeking penance for the evils he’d committed under Hydra, if maybe he felt as though giving you his pain absolved him in a way he was not worthy of.

Or perhaps it was a degradation of his pride. Men often found strength in their ability to withstand pain. Though, it seemed to bother him when the others would come to you for injuries like this, too, almost as if he worried they were taking advantage of you.

He was a good man; certainly, more concerned with your consent in healing his friends than your parents and the town who spent your childhood exploiting you ever were.

“I don’t mind, Bucky,” you told him, smiling encouragingly back at him until he started to relax his shoulders and uncrossed his arms, softening under your gaze. “If it means less time on the bench and more time out there saving lives and having your back, I don’t mind at all.”

“Yeah, Barnes, who’s going to watch your back if I’m held up in a cast?” Sam teased, chuckling under his breath until Bucky stepped forward and not so subtly bumped his hip to the side of the lab table. The sudden disruption of the table moved his ankle just enough to instantly wipe the grin from Sam’s face.

“Try to relax for me, Sam,” you eased, stepping forward as you started to remove your gloves. You leaned over the edge of the table, slowly removing the splint and the bandage surrounding the swollen muscle. You handed it off to Bucky as you examined the dark purple and blue discoloration on his ankle.

He hissed as you laid your palms on his leg, clenching down on his jaw.

You closed your eyes, concentrating as you felt for the break beneath the surface. A crack splintered through the bone, the surrounding tissue swollen and aching.

A gentle glow began to emit from your palms, a warmth that spread from your hands and directly onto Sam’s skin, through the muscle, and deep into the bone. You could feel the subtle fragments as they began to mend, the swell in his joint as it shrank, the slight movements as he regained feeling.

Exhaling a tense breath, you shifted your stance onto your right leg as the pressure started to build in your ankle. It wouldn’t last long, just a few minutes in comparison to the weeks of treatment and months of physical therapy Sam would have endured – an easy trade for a man who spend his days so selflessly on the line in the service of strangers.

You could sense Bucky watching you and you were careful not to let the pain show on your face. There was a privilege in healing the Avengers like this. It gave your life meaning beyond the injuries of your hometown; of careless teenagers falling off skateboards or angry men in bars who took an argument a drink too far. You’d happily take on a few moments of pain in service of heroes.

Not that you’d let them know.

“You should be good now.” You held your hands up, the soft glow fading away from your palms as you tucked your hands into your pockets. Careful of the momentary break in your ankle, you took a cautious step away from the table to lean on the chair at your desk. No one noticed the wince in your expression as you put the slightest pressure on the fresh injury.

“I will never get tired of that.” Sam looked down at the foot in awe, rolling at the ankle and amazed to find the swelling and bruising disappeared completely. He jumped down from the table, bounding on his feet just to test out the freedom in his mobility.

“Alright, Wilson. Enough,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “You’re going to hurt yourself again and Y/n’s not going to be so generous next time.”

Sam smirked, pausing for a moment as he contemplated. “Nah, my girl will always take care of me. Won’t ya, sugar?”

It didn’t slip your notice when Bucky tensed up at the pet name. You started to laugh, the teasing smile dropping from his face as his hands curled into fists. Sam really knew how to press his buttons and it seemed, surprisingly enough, you were one of them.

“Bucky’s got a point, you know. Fancy healing powers are reserved for field injuries these days.” You were only teasing, both of them knowing you’d have healed a papercut if they’d ask. Still, Bucky smirked, taunting Sam over your shoulder as if he’d won.

You eased yourself off the chair as you started to regain feeling in your ankle, giving more pressure to the heel to find it barely noticeable. You rubbed at the joint with your right shoe to find the swelling had disappeared as well.

A few moments to spare him weeks of pain. Easy trade.

“What about you, Sergeant?”

Bucky paused, raising an eyebrow at you.

You took a step forward, glancing over him in search of injuries. Nothing more than a few cuts that his own advanced healing would take care of overnight. Still, there was one injury you’d been trying to convince him to allow you to heal in the year since you’ve known him.

“You going to let me work on your shoulder yet or are you still being a masochist?”

Sam snickered under his breath as he crossed the room to watch what Banner was doing over his shoulder. Bucky gave you that knowing smile of his, the one that pushed up into his eyes and left behind beautiful creases and lines on his face; an exhale of a laugh on his breath.

“It’s not necessary, doll. I’m fine.”

A frown tugged at your lips. “You always say that, and yet...”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Bucky shrugged. He was watching you with those sweet eyes of his, creating a warmth that spread in your chest entirely independent of the powers in your hands.

“You shouldn’t have to handle it in the first place,” you pressed, a pain in your voice as he placed a hand on your shoulder, letting it slide down your arm. It was an intimate gesture, more contact that he had with most people, and he offered it willingly. You tried not to let the shivers show in your spine as he pulled away.

It looked as though he wanted to say more, but Steve suddenly appeared in the doorway, causing Bucky to take an abrupt step away from you. You hadn’t realized how close you’d been standing to one another.

“Debrief in five,” Steve ordered, eyeing Sam and Bucky, though paused as he saw you, offering a short smile in acknowledgement before disappearing down the hall.

“I’m not letting this go, just so you’re aware,” you teased, pointing at Bucky’s shoulder as he started to wave Sam towards the door. He smiled, keeping his back to you until Sam was clear of the room and he leaned into the open frame, one quick glance back at you.

“Wouldn’t expect anything less, doll.”

***

The next month saw another broken leg, a fractured clavicle, two minor lacerations, a sprained wrist, and a number of superficial cuts – all from various members of the team. Though there was always the one exception who wouldn’t accept your offer no matter how badly he was favoring his right arm.

The clavicle was certainly a challenge to get through, but the world needed Natasha Romanoff in the field, not strung up on a gurney and a brace for a handful of months. It took longer than some of the other injuries to heal, but you’d managed, even if you had to excuse yourself to the restroom as soon as you’d finished, even if you had to shove a towel into your mouth to keep from screaming as it mended itself together under your skin.

The truth was you liked being useful. You liked the stunned smiles on their faces and the appreciation in their eyes. You liked seeing them run a hand over perfectly smooth skin where an open wound had just been. It gave you a purpose.

And sure – your work on SHIELD tech was important and perhaps not all of the injuries in your hometown had been a waste of your abilities, but there was something exceptionally gratifying in mending someone who was untouchable, in healing the people who saved the world.

You’d take a dozen broken clavicles for them.

It was late after your evening shift and you’d taken to running a few laps on the indoor track around the gym. Blow off some steam, use the state-of-the-art equipment Stark spent thousands of dollars on, give your mind something to think about beside how you were going to rewire Sam’s wings to expand in a more fluid motion.

You’d just started to break into a sweat when you noticed Bucky setting up at the row of punching bags. The gym was otherwise empty as the sky favored the stars over the sun, and you started to smile as you watched Bucky shrug off his jacket and drop the bag at his feet. He rolled back his shoulders, concentrating on the bag as he readied his fists. But as the first punch hit the bag, the smile quickly fell from your face.

It echoed up into the rafters, startling you enough to still your sprint abruptly. He let out a grunt as he pummeled at the bag; left jab, right hook, kick, until it broke at the seams and split open to spill sand in heaps upon the ground. He moved on to the next one.

You clasped a hand to your mouth, looking around the gym to confirm you were in fact alone with him. He’d been on a mission as far as you were aware for the last week. You’d missed him hanging around the lab, asking questions as you worked on new advancements on the stun guns for field agents. He must have gotten back a few hours ago and something clearly went wrong.

“Bucky?” you called, voice far too soft to be heard across the gym and above the thunderous clash of his knuckles to leather. You jogged a few paces closer, wincing as he threw the entirely of his momentum into a hit that would have broken an ordinary man’s hand. “Bucky? Are you alright?”

But he didn’t hear you. You took a cautious look back at the doors, wondering if you should go find Steve, or maybe even Sam – someone who might know what happened, someone who might be able to talk him down. But you were the only one around. You cleared your throat, stepping up just behind him.

“Bucky?”

You hit the ground before you knew what had happened.

A blinding pulsing in the back of your head, the wind momentarily knocked from your lungs, you opened your eyes to find Bucky hovering over you. He held a closed fist in the air, the other digging sharply into your shoulder between his grip, pupils blown wide and dark. It took a moment before he seemed to realize who was laying under him.

“Y/n?” He blinked, confused. His stare flickered to the fist held above your head, knuckles dripping red and bloody, and he pulled away instantly, a flash of horror written over his features. “Shit-- I didn’t... What are you doing here?”

You rubbed at the back of your head, brushing over a slight bump that would certainly mend itself within a few minutes. Slowly, you sat up, careful of the sudden darkness that swept over your eyes, though something cool grabbed onto you before you could fall back against the floor.

“Hey, come lean against the wall, okay?” Bucky urged, carefully guiding you to adjust your position until you could press your back to the chill of the plastered walls. You sighed in contentment, the pain in your pain already dissipating. Bucky swallowed nervously. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t stay hurt for long, Buck,” you told him with a teasing smile, though he did not return it. You set a hand on his forearm, squeezing it lightly before returning it to your lap. “I’m alright. I promise. Are you?”

Bucky narrowed his eyes.

“You were beating that punching bag within an inch of its life,” you clarified, chuckling as you gestured to the exploded bag on the floor, and then to the one still hanging with sand streaming down the seams.

“Rough mission,” was all he said, his eyes downcast.

You nodded. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He shook his head.

The two of you sat in silence for a while, listening to the soft buzz of the air conditioner and the faint chirp of crickets outside the windows. You didn’t expect him to say anything. Bucky was a man of few words, but you hoped the company was enough. He didn’t make an effort to move away, not even when your thigh brushed against his.

He was trying to close his fist when you heard him hiss in pain. His right hand was coated in dried blood and fresh, open wounds on his knuckles. They’d barely started to crust over and with every attempt to close his fist, they cracked open, drawing a painful sting in their place.

“Will you let me heal your hand?”

Bucky paused, setting his hand down on his leg. “Y/n, it’s not necessary. I won’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” you countered. “Besides, it is necessary, actually. How are you going to punch the bad guys if you can’t close your fist?”

“I’ve got another,” Bucky argued back, though a smile had etched its way onto his face. He raised his left hand, making a show of it as he curled his fingers into a fist one by one. “This one’s pretty indestructible so...”

“Please, Bucky.” You turned towards him, folding your legs as you held out your left hand for him to take. “Just this once. Let me do this.”

A stormy array of ocean blue and thunderous skies stared back at you, unsure. His eyes flickered down to your hand. Always so hesitant to ask for help, always so reluctant to accept the good things when they were offered. But as he watched you, searching for signs to run, to back out, something softened.

He swallowed and slowly, placed his right hand into yours.

You smiled, adjusting your grip gently on his hand. You placed it to lay on you knee as you hovered your left hand over his knuckles. The warm glow illuminated from your palm and Bucky’s breath hitched as he must have felt the sudden rush of energy it produced.

The scars began to mend before his eyes and just as you felt the stinging prick on your own knuckles, you quickly pushed your right hand into the pocket of your jacket to hide the scars as they formed.

“That’s incredible,” Bucky exhaled, withdrawing his hand as soon as you were finished. He held it out in front of him, examining the dried blood coated around perfectly intact skin. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re incredible.”

A rush of heat burned in your cheeks as you looked away, a smile breaking onto your lips. It was enough to distract you from the stinging in your hand tucked away in your pocket.

“Do you want to watch a movie or something?” you asked, biting on your lip nervously. “Think you could do with the company and I’d like to keep you from breaking more of these expensive punching bags.”

Bucky laughed at that, nodding. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

He stood and offered you his hand, thinking out loud about which one of the movies on his list he wanted to try out next. You pulled your hand from your pocket and took his as he offered it to you; the knuckles already clean and healed.

***

“You should see it, Fitz! It’s a goddamn stroke of genius.” You held up the ventilator no bigger than the pad of your thumb up to the light, admiring your work.

“I’m sure Stark will be thrilled,” a thick Scottish accent crackled through the speaker on the com beside you. “Send me the schematics, will you?”

You pursed your lips, a smile etching through. “Think you can one-up me?”

“No never,” Fitz laughed. You could hear him tinkering in his own lab on the quinjet, the small clicks of metal and the buzz of a drill humming over the speaker. “Just want to see if I’m still head of our class or not.”

“Pretty sure we both know that title belongs to Simmons.”

There was a slight pause, then, a dreamy, “yeah, you’re right.”

A sudden knocking at the edge of the lab startled you as you spun around in your chair, nearly dropping the ventilator for Stark’s suit. Bucky stood in the doorway, clutching at his left shoulder as fingers dug into the muscle. He wore a sort of guilty look upon his face though he pushed out a smile and waved.

“Hey, Fitz, I’ll call you tomorrow, alright?” you said over your shoulder to the speaker, waited a moment for his response and ended the call. You turned back to Bucky as a smile grew upon your face. “What can I do for you, Sergeant? I didn’t miss movie night, did I?”

“No, you’re in the clear,” Bucky chuckled, though it was tense. He stepped further into the lab, relaxing a little as he noticed no one else was around. It was pretty late for you to be working, but you were so close to finishing the ventilator, and well, time easily got away from you with Fitz on the other end of the phone.

“Coming to keep me company then?” you teased. “I’m actually about done anyway, so we could set up the next movie on your—”

“No, I— um...” Bucky started, losing his nerve rather quickly. He exhaled a tense breath, eyes casting down to the floor. “I was, um, wondering if you could work on my shoulder?”

You raised an eyebrow. Even after that night in the gym, Bucky was still hesitant to your offers to heal his various injuries from the field. He’d give you that sweet smile of his, a soft pink in his cheeks, and tell you that he’d be fine on his own. You never doubted that, but it didn’t mean you couldn't spare him just a few hours of that pain.

“The, um,” Bucky winced, gritting his teeth as he pushed his hand deeper against the tissue, “the nerve endings are acting up. Shuri said it’s to be, uh, expected given how Hydra butchered my arm all those years ago, but...”

“Come here.” You were already removing the files and paperwork from the table, gesturing for him to take a seat.

His whole left arm was slack at his side as if he could barely tolerate to move it. Shallow breaths hitched in his lungs as he leaned against the table, settling against the hard, metal surface.

“Can you take this off?” you asked, nodding to his shirt. Bucky’s cheeks flushed and you cleared your throat nervously, playing with the ends of your hair. “It’ll be more effective if I can touch the area directly.”

He removed his right hand from the muscle at his shoulder and gripped at the hem of his shirt. Slowly, he started to pull it over his head, though you could tell from the harsh exhale in his breath that it was causing him considerable pain.

“Here, let me help you.” You stepped forward and helped ease the fabric up his torso and gently guided it off his right arm, over his head, and eased it down his left. He seemed more at ease with the shirt removed, but a chill swept up his spine in the cool air of the lab.

You kept your eyes on his, determined not to let your gaze fall to the hardened muscles on his chest and stomach.

“I won’t be able to heal the scars,” you told him as you moved around to stand behind the table. “Just try to relax for me, okay? I’ll do what I can for the pain.”

Bucky nodded, his hands clenched into the lip of the table, enough to warp the surface. He could barely muster out a response.

“My hands are a little cold, so...” you muttered out nervously, rubbing your palms together in an effort to warm them.

Then, you set your hands against the mess of scar tissue surrounding his shoulder, starting at his shoulder blades as the glow illuminated bright enough to light up the corner of your lab. Bucky gasped, the first breath in a long time completely filling his lungs as he felt the relief within your touch. You could practically feel the tension melting off his shoulders.

It didn’t take long before the pain made its way to your body. Starting out slow, in numbing aches, until it was so sharp, it felt like a dozen edges of sharp blades puncturing into your shoulder. You clenched your jaw, held your breath, thankful that Bucky couldn’t see your face when you bit down on the inside of your cheek and tears sprung into your eyes.

“God, that... shit...” Bucky sighed, his grip releasing on the table. You could hear the smile in his voice, the relief, and it helped to push aside the pain as it manifested in your body.

You moved your hand up his back, sliding along the scars where his skin met metal, taking as much of his pain as you could. Bucky was exceptionally strong, able to withstand far more than you could without passing out completely. You couldn’t take it all, especially if you wanted to keep him from knowing how your gift truly worked, but you took enough.

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, preparing yourself as you moved around to face him. There was more on his chest, by his clavicle, you couldn’t reach from behind him. You'd had years of practice, learning how to keep the pain from displaying on your face. You could get through this for him.

As you stepped in front of him, keeping a steady hold on his shoulder, you could feel his eyes watching you. The glow under your palms was bright enough to illuminate the lab, but it was a gentle light, as soft as the burn of a candle or the golden rays of a sunset. Bucky watched you with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist into knots.

You guided your hand along the scar tissue on his chest, doing your best to ignore the goosebumps as they rose in your wake. Your heart was stammering, louder than the pain radiating in your shoulder, though it lessened the more you worked. The pain had nearly left him entirely as he started to take in more even breaths, relaxing his muscles as you felt them soften under your touch.

You exhaled a tense breath through your nose, concentrating on gathering as much of the pain as you could, on mending the broken nerve endings as they misfired and frayed under the torn appendage. You barely noticed as Bucky crossed his right hand over his chest and laid his hand palm against your hands.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his fingers curling around the undersides of your hands until he gently tugged them away. The glow faded until the lab was only lit by the soft light of the lamp at your desk and the reflection of the moon peering in through the window.

You met his eye, the pain still prominent in your shoulder though you forcibly softened the clench in your jaw as he looked over you. His eyes flickered down to your lips for only a second, but it was enough. Your heart skipped.

Bucky slowly released your hands, letting them fall gently against his thighs, as he leaned forward to cup the sides of your face. Fingers tangling into your hair, you stepped closer, pressed against the table between the parting of his legs.

You wondered if he could feel how fast your heart was racing, or if he could hear it, because you were certain it was going to beat straight out of your chest. The fading pain in your shoulder you’d taken for him was nothing but a forgotten memory as he pressed his forehead to yours, just waiting.

The moment his lips touched yours, you lost your breath; fireworks and butterflies, twists in your stomach and clamoring in your heart. You could feel his smile as it spread into his cheeks, your hands seeking more of him as you slid them up the sides of his bare chest. He was beautiful and perfect and so incredibly wonderful, you’d take hours of his pain, years even, if you could keep kissing him like this.

“Hey, Y/n, I thought you were already done for the—oh, sorry!”

You jolted away from Bucky, restless and a little disheveled, Bucky’s cheeks flamed red, as you turned to find Banner standing awkwardly in the doorway. His hand was shielded over his eyes, his back quickly turned to you as papers littered the floor at his feet. You started to laugh, hand clamping over your swollen lips as you looked over at Bucky.

“It’s no worry, Bruce,” you giggled, quickly skating over to the door to help him pick up the files. Bucky meanwhile shrugged his shirt back on, fixing the flyaways in his hair.

“So sorry,” he mumbled again, clearly embarrassed by his intrusion as he glanced over at Bucky apologetically. He gathered the papers into his arms. “I’ll be going now and, um, I won’t come back, okay?”

You couldn’t help but laugh as Bucky’s eyes blew wide in Banner’s quick escape.

“Still want that company?” you offered with a smile, extending your hand to him. The pain was long gone from your shoulder as he shook himself from the flush in his cheeks and nodded. He took your hand and led you down the hall to the living room. There was another movie on the list to get through.

***

You couldn’t remember the last time you were this happy. Your cheeks began to hurt from how often you were smiling, as if it were a permanent fixture on your features. You’d even caught yourself humming along to the radio as you dusted the surfaces in your lab the morning after Bucky had kissed you goodbye on the landing dock in front of at least a dozen agents.

He’d been away on a mission for the last few days, but he called when he could. You’d spend whatever spare minutes he could get on the satellite phone with him, distracting him from whatever was going on in his end of the world with talk about your latest project with Stark or old stories from the academy with Fitz or what the next movie on the list was going to be.

He wasn’t a man of many words, but you liked knowing he was on the other end of the line. You could picture his smile perfectly in your mind, the way he chewed on his lower lip, how his eyes fell downcast to the floor by your shoes, the flush of pink in his cheeks. It was enough.

“So, things are really heating up with you and Barnes,” Natasha commented as she sipped the top of her steaming coffee before it could spill over the edge. You shrugged, though it was hard to contain your smile. Natasha grinned. “I think it’s good for him. You, too. Don’t know the last time I’ve seen him this happy. He seems more relaxed. Like maybe he’s not carrying the whole world on his shoulders anymore.”

“Helps when he’s not in excruciating pain on a daily basis,” you added, tapping at your left shoulder. He’d let you work on it a few times since that first night. It always took some convincing, but the pain was never as bad as it was that evening. You could take it. You’d do it a thousand times for him without question.

Natasha nodded, a pleased look upon her face. She parted her lips to say more, but a sudden commotion at the end of the hall stole the words from her tongue. You set your coffee down on the counter, peering out around the tables to find agents jumping out of the way of an oncoming train.

“Y/n!” Bucky shouted, voice breaking in the effort as he sprinted down the hall and slammed into an unsuspecting agent. Papers flew into the air as he sprinted towards your room. “Y/n!”

“Bucky?” you called stepping out into the hallway where he could see you.

He skidded to an abrupt stop, his hair flying over his shoulder as he turned in your direction.

“Y/n! Thank God.”

It wasn't until Bucky stood in front of you that you realized he was covered in blood; soaking into his hair, caked under his finger nails, drenched into his suit, and stained to his skin. Your eyes widened, breath all but leaving your lungs, as your hands clutched against his jacket. He tried to pull you back towards the stairs, but you couldn’t budge, not with that much blood all over him.

“What-- What happened? Are you hurt?” You started seeking out exposed skin an effort to draw away any pain you could, even if you couldn’t see any exposed wounds.

Bucky's hand slid over yours, pulling it away. He softened, though you could still see the frantic rise and fall of his chest.

“It’s not my blood. It’s Steve’s.”

Your stomach sank; relief mixed into an ugly shade of guilt and grief. Natasha was already sprinting down to the med bay, coffee mug cracked and spilled upon the tile floors. Her footsteps echoed through the hallway, the sudden clanging of the double doors startling you from your daze.

“Please, I—I need you,” Bucky begged, his voice shaking. Tears were burning in his eyes. You’d never seen him this afraid; this shaken and helpless. “It’s not good, Y/n. He’s-- He’s--”

“Okay.” You pressed a hand to his cheek, brushing your thumb sweetly across his face and smeared the tears as they cleaned the dried blood away. You didn’t need to hear anymore. All you wanted was to take his pain, even if your gift couldn’t touch it as it nestled deep into his heart.

By the time you reached the med bay, a storm of chaos had already barreled through. Lab equipment was knocked over on its side. Dozens of agents frantically running around, shouting orders at one other. Papers and schematics lined the floor with imprinted of boots damaging the print. But it was the trail of blood that drew your attention.

Droplets trailing from the loading bay of the jet to down the med wing to the surgical room. Dark red and oozing. Taunting. Far too much for any ordinary man to have lost. You tried to stifle the gasp as it hitched in your breath the moment you saw him.

Steve was strung up on a gurney, suit cut down the middle and flayed open, exposing his chest and the three bullet holes expelling pints of blood. The hands of several agents were pressing down onto him, trying to keep pressure on the wounds, deep red slipping out from between their fingers. The look on their faces said enough – he wasn’t going to make it.

“Where’s Helen?” you gaped, staring at Steve.

“Ten minutes out.” Tony stumbled into the room as he rounded the corner, holding a stat phone in his hand. “She’s in the chopper.”

“He can’t wait ten minutes.” Bucky gripped tight to you hand and you could feel the tension radiating in his muscles. You wanted to take it for him but he pulled his hand before you could, turning to face you. “You’re all we have. Y/n, please. I can’t lose him.”

Bucky had never once asked you to heal someone like this. He could barely muster the will to ask you to heal his own wounds, to ease the constant stream of pain in his shoulder, and the open wounds on his hand. But with Steve’s life in the balance, he didn’t have room to be hesitant anymore. He couldn’t risk his best friend’s life.

But he didn’t know it would risk yours in the process.

You swallowed, glancing back nervously at Steve. “I’ve never healed anything this bad before, Buck. I don’t know if I can--” survive this.

Could your body heal fast enough to take on his injuries? Could you do them one by one? Would he live long enough to even try? Would either of you?

“Y/n, please. He’ll die without you,” Bucky begged, his voice wavering. Tears reflected in his eyes; gentle pale blue obstructed by a swarm of fear and guilt and desperation, a redness straining into the surrounding white until his cheeks were wet. The dried blood cleared in streaks as they traveled down to his jawline.

You watched him as he bit down onto his lip, shielding his face from the others as he waited. The frantic beeping of the monitor strapped to Steve’s chest was growing frantic, irregular, and you knew there wasn’t much time left.

The worst you’d ever attempted to heal before had been the stabbing of a stranger. You’d found her clutching stomach in an abandoned alleyway in Queens, contents of her purse spilled to the pavement, jewelry torn from her neck. You'd knelt down beside her and took her pain without so much as a second thought.

As her wound began to close, your skin split open, blood soaked into your shirt, your vision grew dark and hazy, until it was nothing at all.

The last thing you remembered of that night was the horror in the woman’s eye as she scrambled away from you and ran back to the safety of the open streets. You woke in a pool of your own blood hours later – longer than it had ever taken to heal before.

A scar remained on your stomach from that night. The only one on your body. A warning.

Test the limits of your gift again and learn why it’s called a sacrifice.

But as you looked back at Bucky, at a man who never dared to ask you for anything until it was unbearable, who wore his own scars and healed his own injuries in fear of exploiting your gift, who was impossibly gentle for the evil he was surrounded in for decades – you couldn’t find it in yourself to say no. You didn’t want to.

Bucky must have noticed the change in your expression because his shoulders softened immediately, a heavy sigh sinking through his body. He pushed forward and pressed a quick kiss to your lips; short, chaste, and still—filled with a world of emotion, of gratitude, of relief. It gave you the courage to do what needed to be done.

Tony began to shout for the room to clear the moment you approached the table. You stared down at Steve, whose skin had grown nearly translucent, the monitor above displaying his heart beat as it evened out to a nearly thin line. He was fading fast. You wouldn’t have much time.

Everything around you became muted, distorted, as you channeled your focus; the huddled whispers of the agents hovering over Steve with their hands pressed to open wounds sounded as if they were miles away.

Bucky stood at your side, watching anxiously though he tried his best to remain stoic and unaffected, though you knew he was splintering apart at the seams. Natasha and Sam were huddled in the far corner, talking quietly amongst themselves as they tried to put the pieces together as to what happened out in the field. Tony was shooing away stay agents with the threat of force, while Banner did his best to remotely disengage the power on Tony’s glove.

None of it registered. Not beyond the flow of blood coating Steve’s chest and dripping onto the floor, your shoes stepping into the pool below. It was a miracle he was still alive at all. The serum was the only thing tying him to this Earth.

You stretched out your hands, hovering over his chest and the agents quickly dispersed. You didn’t dare steal a glance in Bucky’s direction as the glow began to emit under your palms, afraid he might see the goodbye in your eyes or the apology for what he was about to witness. There wasn’t time.

The pain was sudden. Sharp. Like you’d felt the bullets rip straight through you as if you stood on the battlefield in Steve’s place. You cried out at the impact of it, nearly thrown from your stance as you clutched into Steve’s body.

Bucky jolted beside you, startled as you cried out again, desperate to choke down the screams before they passed your lips. He stared at you, wide eyed, as you clenched your jaw.

“Y/n? Are you—”

Another scream tore through you and Bucky visibly flinched. You didn’t have the energy to hide the pain from him, not with three bullets tearing through you. You had to save Steve; put the full force of your power into healing his wounds before they consumed him whole. Damn the consequences. Damn the sacrifice of your gift.

Your body was always meant to be the host of broken bones and bullet wounds and bruises. Made to be broken and mended. A host to others. A graveyard of injuries that did not belong to you.

It was what your parents had told you from the time you were a child; that you were a gift to others, that you were a vessel to better the world. But it came at a price; one, it seemed, you’d soon enough pay.

Your legs began to shake as a wave of darkness cast over your vision, tunneling, consuming the space around you. You could only vaguely make out Bucky’s voice calling your name, his tone laced confusion and concern, but you blocked it out. Daring to look in his direction now would only hinder your resolve and you needed to save Steve’s life.

Concentrating your power, a scream ripped through your lungs as the glow illuminated the entire room, enough that Bucky was forced to shield his eyes.

The wounds were taking hold on your body. One at your stomach. Another along your ribs. The third, just above your chest. Exit wounds opening on your back. You could feel the drip of blood as it slid down your skin; thick and unrelenting.

You were growing light headed as the pain started to dissipate. But the wounds were still fresh on your body, still open and bleeding; the pain shouldn’t have faded so quickly.

The steady beep of the monitor indicated that Steve was stabilizing, the flesh had nearly closed, and you barely registered Helen’s voice as she rushed into the room, ordering her team to take over.

“Hey, hey, you did it, sweetheart. You did good,” Bucky exhaled. He had the most beautiful smile on his face; filled with a sense of pride an awe, stunning and handsome beyond belief, even with traces of concern still evident in his eyes.

But you were stone. A statue. You couldn’t move without fear of collapsing completely.

“He’s stable now, Y/n,” Bucky eased, trying to pull you gently away from the table. “Come here, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

Bucky hand set against your stomach when you didn’t follow and he froze; the sticky wet residue of fresh blood on his hand. He stared down at his palm in horror as the blood began to seep through your shirt in three distinct spots, all perfectly aligning with the ones on Steve’s chest.

Bucky darted forward, pushing up your shirt to find the wounds he’d seen healed on his best friend moments ago littered over your stomach. His mouth went dry, throat lined with sandpaper, rocks shoved down into his lungs. His hand trembled as it reached out and touched the bullet wound on your ribs. His breath hitched as he felt the warmth of blood and the tear of flesh in your skin.

He couldn’t breathe.

“Is Steve alive?” Your voice was barely a whisper and you wondered if Bucky could even hear you at all. His eyes were glossed over in fresh tears, lips parted in shock as he stared back at you. You could hardly keep your eyes open.

Before he could respond, your legs gave way and you stumbled back out of Bucky’s hold. Your vision was closing in, a dark cloud of black swarming around you as your foot caught on the edge of toppled lab equipment. You were in Bucky’s arms again before you made it to the floor.

You didn’t hear him screaming for help, didn’t hear the shattering crack in his voice, or the crash of equipment behind you as Simmons raced into the room. You didn’t feel his hands as they desperately pressed onto the open wounds, or the heat of his breath as he begged you to ‘stay with me, sweetheart’. But you felt the warmth of his embrace.

It was comforting as the darkness pulled you under.

***

A heaviness draped over you. Soothing. Pressing you into the soft cushion below. A repetitive chime rang above; even in tone, consistent. It drew you back from the kind embrace of shadows, calling you toward a flicker of light.

Pressure squeezed at your hand. Cold and warm at once. Solid and soft.

You listened for the chime; allowed it to guide you as the rest of your senses awakened.

The chatter of voices in the distant too muffled to distinguish. The distinct smell sterilizing alcohol that burned in your nose. The heat of a thick blanket tucked around your legs. The chill of a breeze streaming from the humming vent above. Scratchy bed sheets and laundry fresh clothes a few sizes too big for your frame.

You groaned, trying to adjust to the influx of light as you opened your eyes. It was a room you recognized. White. Clean. Far too bright. You’d been within the walls dozens of times before, but never laid upon the bed. It was a strange view.

Glancing down, you found yourself dressed in a dark grey t-shirt that didn’t belong to you. The logo was faded on the chest but it was still recognizable. Vintage. An eagle at the center of a circle, it’s wings remarkably similar to the symbol of the Howling Commandos. Around the edge: Strategic Scientific Reserve. You’d seen Bucky wear it until the hem frayed. Sure enough, as you reached for the bottom of the shirt, you found the split seams.

A slight squeeze on your hand again drew your attention to your right. There, you found Bucky hunched over the side of the bed; both hands encasing yours, his forehead rested on the very edge of the mattress.

A smile tugged at your lips until it started to ache. Unused muscles, must be. You wondered how long you’d been out this time. Must have been longer than a few hours. Bucky’s back would need your attention after the way he’s been sleeping.

“Bucky,” you tried to call, but found your voice was nothing more than a breath of air. You winced, testing it again. “Bucky?”

He only hummed in response. The sweet vibrations nestled against your arm. It took him a minute as he lifted his head, stretched out his upper back, matted hair fallen down into his face, before he caught your eye; glancing around the room, checking the door, the heart monitor above, like it had become routine, until he realized you were watching him.

He froze, eyes wide. “Y/n?”

You nodded sleepily, pushing out a smile. “What’d I miss?”

Bucky didn’t laugh. His hands were still gripped tight to yours, squeezing at them as if he were checking to make sure you were real.

Your smile began to fall the longer he stared at you. “How long was I out? Is Steve okay?”

Bucky cleared his throat, nodding, though it seemed strained. “Y-yeah, Steve’s fine. Doc said he’d make a full recovery thanks to you.”

“That’s good,” you replied, but Bucky couldn’t so much as force a smile. He couldn’t seem to look at you, his hands playing with the lines in your palms. It was then you started to notice the dark circles under his eyes, the wrinkles in days old clothing, the hallowed look upon his face. Your stomach sank. “How long was I out?”

Bucky’s paused for a moment, his movements stilling as he traced your lifeline. He sighed, resuming again. “Six days.”

“Oh.”

A silence swept over the room. You’d never been under that long before. Frankly, you were a little surprised you woke up at all given the extent of Steve’s injuries. Your fingers dipped under the hem of Bucky’s old t-shirt and grazed over the bullet wound on your ribs, feeling for the raised edges of a fresh scar. It didn’t heal, as you suspected the others hadn’t; laid to rest next to the knife wound from the woman in the alley. Injuries you were never meant to survive.

“Were you ever going to tell us?”

You looked up, startled by Bucky’s voice as it wavered. He brushed at his eyes; red and glossy.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

“No,” you admitted and Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He sank back further into his chair and you could read the disappointment on his face. You gritted your teeth, preparing to deliver the same speech you’d been telling yourself for years. “My body could handle it, Buck. It was only a few minutes of pain to trade for weeks or months of your own. It kept you in the field and off the bench. The world needs you guys. It was worth it for me. I could handle it.”

“Until you couldn’t!” Bucky snapped, startling you as he tugged his hand from your grasp and began to pace around the room. His fingers raked into his hair, gripping at unwashed strands. “You almost died, Y/n! You almost died because I fucking begged you to use your powers to save Steve and I—Jesus, Y/n — if I had known what it does to you, I never would have asked you to do that!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” you replied gently, wanting nothing more than to ease him. Bucky shook his head, unwilling to accept your answer. “Bucky, if you knew that healing a papercut hurt me, you wouldn’t let me do that either.”

He paused; arms folded over his chest though he wouldn’t look at you. “No, I wouldn’t.”

You softened, sitting up in the bed, though a dull pain rushed made it rather difficult, leaving you to clutch at your stomach. It ached as you moved, an unfamiliar feeling, and the tension quickly faded from Bucky’s shoulders when he heard you whine.

You pushed through the pain in your stomach, holding up a hand as Bucky started to step forward to help you. It would fade. It always does. You’d heal and move on, until the next injury came through. It was routine. It was your life.

So, you told him as much.

“I’d do it again.”

Bucky frowned. He looked like he wanted to just lay on the bed beside you, curl up against your chest and sleep. He was exhausted. And still—he couldn’t let it go.

“You almost died—”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

“A sacrifice?” Bucky’s face contorting in horror. “Are you insane? You're not a sacrifice, Y/n!”

You nodded, determined; the words of your parents, the village elders, ringing in your ears. “That what this gift is, Bucky! I can’t actually heal anyone other than myself, but I can transfer the injuries and the pain to my body. That I can heal. It’s what I was born for! It’s my purpose. I was made to be a sacrifice.”

“Not for me!” Bucky held his ground, voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “Nothing is worth that to me! Do you understand that? I won’t trade your life for anyone’s, not even Steve’s, and I sure as hell don’t care how many bones I break or how bad the nerves in my shoulder misfire. I won’t put that on you again. The team won’t either.”

You clenched your jaw, heart starting race. No one had ever challenged you on this before. No one had ever questioned whether your gift should be used at all. No one ever seemed to care of the effect it had on your body, never thinking to look past the extraordinary abilities to the mutilation under the surface.

No one until Bucky.

You curled your hands into the thin sheets at your waist. “Bucky, don’t be ridiculous. I’m saving you all from weeks of unnecessary healing. I can handle the pain. It’s an easy trade for—”

Bucky’s fist met the wall. “You’re worth more than just a vessel for our pain, Y/n!”

“What the hell is going on in here!?” Helen Cho rushed into the room, eyes darting between Bucky standing by the corner of the room, shaking out his hand, and you as you laid in the bed at the center, the heart monitor above pulsing far too quickly.

Bucky seemed to notice the frantic beeping of the monitor and the anger quickly drained from his face.

Helen glared at him as she stepped closer to you, beginning to check your vitals. “You should leave,” she shot over her shoulder. Your stomach twisted to knots as Bucky nodded defeatedly and walked to the door.

“No, don’t--” you called, voice small, nervous. He paused in the frame, glancing back at you with a raised eyebrow. “Please, Bucky. Stay.”

Helen set a hand on your shoulder as if to ask if you were sure. You nodded.

“You may be able to heal yourself, but you’re still recovering,” Helen advised, tapping on the IV drip. “Take it easy, alright?”

Bucky remained stoic by the door after Helen left. He didn’t say anything for a while, his eyes focused on the tile floors at his feet, waiting until the heart monitor chimed in even, steady counts.

“Will you sit down? You’re making me nervous,” you chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. It got him to look at you, at least. While he couldn’t muster a smile, it was clear he was drained of the anger that had quickly taken hold of his body; anger that was never once reserved for you, but for the voices in your head that deemed you unworthy of more than a body to be used by others.

Bucky sank into the chair at your bedside.

“When’s the last time you slept, Buck?”

He stayed silent. It was enough of an answer. You didn’t dare ask the last time he left this room, not with the shiny reflection at his roots and the red strained in his eyes. Six days at your bedside, hunched over on a cold, unforgiving chair, clutching your hand. It ached deep into your bones.

“I mean what I said,” Bucky mumbled, slowly brining himself to meet your eye. He reached out for your hand, letting the comforting chill of solid metal lay below as the warmth of flesh and muscle laid on top. He brought your fingertips to his lips and gently kissed at your knuckles.

You sighed at the feeling. “Bucky, I...”

“You’re more important to us than your abilities,” he pressed, a sincerity behind his words and laced delicately into sweet shades of blue. “You do a lot of good to keep us safe with the tech you’ve been building and the adjustments to the suits. You’re incredible at what you do, Y/n. Your worth isn’t based on how many injuries you can heal or how much pain you can handle. We care about you. I care about you. Isn't that enough?”

You didn’t know.

You’d never known anyone to prioritize you over your gift. You parents had exploited it from the moment it was discovered your ability; showing you off, treating you as an idol to be worships and adorned. They put their child through broken bones and lacerations and asthma attacks. They sat back and watched as you healed strangers of arthritis and sprained ankles and migraines. Their child cried as they collected their winnings.

Were you afraid it would happen again? Is that why you kept it from the team? From Bucky? You’d convinced yourself it was noble to silently suffer in their place, but you started to wonder if it amounted to little more than your parent's words whispered into your ear: your ability is a gift to the world, a sacrifice unto yourself.

“Would you ask any of us to suffer in your place?” Bucky questioned, drawing you from the mess inside your head with the gentle vibration in his voice.

“I just want to help you...” you murmured, tears slipping past your cheeks.

Bucky reached forward and brushed the tears as they fell, sliding his hand against your cheek and nestling against your hair. You leaned into the touch.

“So, we find a middle ground, okay?” Bucky offered, smiling enough to push into his cheeks, though his eyes were still heavy. “No trivial injuries. No life-threatening injuries. We take the stuff in-between case by case.”

“Your shoulder,” you added, determined. Buck started to shake his head but you pressed harder. “Five minutes of pain to spare months of yours, Bucky. No lasting damage. Don’t argue with me on this one.”

It brought the smile back to Bucky’s eyes as he eventually nodded. You knew he had no real authority to decide what injuries you could and couldn’t heal, but you’d never had anyone who dared to put you first. You trusted him to do that; you trusted him more than yourself, anyway.

“We decide the rest together,” you told him. “I get the final say but... I need you to tell me if I’m pushing it too much, but I won’t be too cautious, either. No discriminating against Sam.”

“No promises,” Bucky chuckled, playing with the ends of your hair dreamily. “The other stuff I can deal with.”

“Okay,” you exhaled, relief sweeping through your body.

“Okay.”

“Think I’ll be lucky if anyone on the team even lets me touch them for a few months after this ordeal, though, huh?” You laughed and though it ached in your stomach, it was considerably less than it was moments earlier. You didn’t mind the dull pain. It was familiar, almost a comfort. Steve was alive because of it.

“Yeah, can’t say anyone was thrilled to find out how your powers actually worked,” Bucky chuckled. “But they’re happy you’re alright. I’m sure Steve will be, too. He was pissed when he woke up and learned what you did.”

You clenched your jaw. “Never good to be on Cap’s bad side...”

“No, it’s not,” Bucky agreed, wide smile pressed to the back of your hand, his lips touching over exposed skin. “He doesn’t like when anyone else pulls a self-sacrificial move. It’s kinda his thing. Diving into the Atlantic and all. We don’t really need two of you running around...”

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, swatting Bucky away. Your cheeks hurt from smiling, the pain in your stomach long forgotten, or maybe it had finally healed. You supposed it didn’t matter.

They were scars that would never heal. Like the knife wound. Like mesh of hardened tissue around Bucky’s shoulder, stretching out onto his chest and back. Reminders of when you were too both close to the edge, to the brink of darkness. Reasons to push back towards the light.

read the sequel here!

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader

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watchmegetobsessed · 3 years

Text

Flatmates - Harry Styles

i listened to kiwi while writing it so i strongly advise to listen to is while reading as well. without any further ado, i present you this flatmate!harry fic with some steamy smut!

word count: ~9k

warning: smut

masterlist

You were desperate to find a place to live, to say the least. You’ve always had trouble remembering deadlines and important dates, and thanks to this charming trait of yours, you successfully missed the deadline of the college dormitory applications. After a day of solid panic you started looking for cheap apartments, but living off campus seemed to be something only rich people could afford. Rents were ridiculously high and you were certain you couldn’t afford to spend thousands of dollars for a room smaller than your pantry back at home. You watched ad after ad, making calls all day for a week straight, but at the end, you always went to bed with the thought that you’ll have to live under a bridge through the first semester of your freshman year.

It was until a friend of yours, Rita, who was mature enough to apply to the dormitory in time called you with the best news you could receive.

“This friend of my future roomie is looking for a flat mate. You gave me his number, maybe you could give him a call and see if the room is still available. Just tell him Kimberly gave you his number, I’m sure he’ll offer you the room on a nicer price.”

“Oh my God, you just saved my life!” you gasped, almost feeling like crying. “I owe you big time, Rita!”

You called right away, not wanting to waste any time and maybe have the room already rented by then. A deep, male voice answered the call in a soothing British accent.

“Harry Styles,” he said in a calm tone.

“Hey! My name is Y/N and I got your number from Kimberly. I’m looking for a place to live from September and I was told you have a room to rent?”

Harry sounded a little hesitant at first, asked a few questions about you to have a better picture of you, but eventually offered the room. You quickly agreed that you’d be able to move in at the end of August. You were thankful you had one less worry about school finally.

August rolled around the corner faster than you expected and in no time, half your life was packed up into boxes and suitcases as you and your dad drove two hours on a Saturday to get you all settled in your new home. Up until this point, you hadn’t seen Harry just yet. Though you did search up his name, but he was the kind to never post about himself, but mostly about guitars, landscapes and animals. His Instagram was dry, no trait of what he looked like or even the slightest hint about himself. There was only one photo that featured the outline of a guy, which makes it clear that the person was fully naked, no trace of any clothes hanging on his body, but it was completely dark, so nothing could be really seen. However the tag on the figure made you think it wasn’t him, so it didn’t matter. His Facebook seemed even sadder, barely any posts, not even a decent profile picture. You were surprised to see there are people who don’t really use social media, but you didn’t take it as a bad sign. Harry must be a private person and you had nothing against that.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to move in with a guy you’ve never met before?” your dad asks as the two of you are unloading the car in front of the apartment complex. Glancing up you shrug your shoulders with a little excitement, knowing that you are only minutes away from finally seeing the person you are gonna spend your next months living with.

“He sounded like a decent person, and I really don’t have any other choice, dad. Or do you want me to sleep in a park or something?”

“God, no. You really should be more careful about those deadlines next time,” he sighs kissing the top of your head before shutting the back of the car once everything is set on the ground.

“Don’t worry, I already bought a calendar so I can keep better track of everything.”

When you first told your parents that you’d be living with Harry, they didn’t seem to be a fan of the idea, but they realized you weren’t really swimming in options at the moment so they eventually come to peace that their daughter is going to be living with a guy. They didn’t make a big deal out of it, knowing well you were an adult now practically who can make choices for herself.

The two of you manage to bring everything up to the third floor and you ring the doorbell since you don’t have your keys yet. You immediately recognize Harry’s British accent as he calls out a “coming!” from the other side of the door and a few seconds later it opens, revealing him.

Your first thought is that he is tall. Very tall and oh my! How handsome! His green eyes find your gaze and his dimples come out as he smiles at you happily. This man is surely a nice sight, you think to yourself, but you quickly bring yourself back to reality as he takes a look at all the stuff surrounding you.

“Y/N, why didn’t you call me that you were here? I could have helped you!” Taking a step outside he stretches his hand out for your dad. “Nice to meet ya, you must be Mr. Y/L/N. I’m Harry.”

“Nice to meet you,” your dad nods at him shaking his head before Harry grabs a box from the floor himself, holding the door open for you.

“Come on in!”

The three of you quickly bring everything inside from the hallway and you finally have a moment to look around. It’s not a big apartment, but seemingly perfect for two people. Walking in you have a small kitchen on the left and a little dining area on the right with a simple table and four chairs around it. Further inside is the living room, it’s nicely furnished very bright thanks to the large windows across the front door. On the left there’s a door that leads to the bathroom and on the right there’s a small hallway, two doors on each side. The two rooms are exactly the same size, so there was no need to have a discussion about who is getting which room. Not that you were gonna go against Harry when he literally saved your life with letting you stay with him.

The place seems tidy and neat, it’s clear that Harry takes good care of his home and that is for sure a relief.

Your room has a double bed, a desk with a chair, a dresser and a built in little closet. Everything is white or a light beige color, nothing extreme and you already have plans about how you want to decorate it to make it cozier.

“I left two shelves free for you out of the three. I have a few hair products, but I figured you’d need more space,” Harry tells you when you put a smaller box into the bathroom that has all your toiletries.

“Thank you, I appreciate it,” you smile at him.

Your dad sticks around a little longer helping you unpack some of the bigger boxes, then you walk him down to his car before he leaves.

“Please call your mother often. You know how much she worries about you,” he asks as he pulls you into a quick hug.

“Will do.”

“And call us anytime you need help. Two hours is not that far away, I can always come and get you.”

“I’ll be alright, dad, but thank you.”

You watch him climb into the car and he rolls down the windows waving in your way as he leaves from the parking lot. You stand there until he disappears on the corner and then go back up to your apartment.

Harry is sitting in the living room when you get back, some quiet music playing from the Bluetooth speaker as he reads a book. He glances up at you and you flash him a smile closing the door behind you.

“Your dad seemed quite okay with you living with a guy.”

“He had time to get used to it. They’re not that strict though.”

“That’s cool. I was thinking, maybe we could order some food when you’re done unpacking and just get to know each other a little more.”

“That sounds great!” you smile, but can’t ignore how fast your heart is beating in your chest. Harry surely has an effect on you that you’ll need to gain control over if you don’t want to make living together hard for yourself.

It takes quite some time to unpack everything and find the right place for your stuff, you don’t even finish by the time the food arrives so you decide to leave the rest for tomorrow.

The Chinese food is all set on the table when you walk out and Harry is getting two plates for the two of you.

“Settled in?” he asks as you take one of the chairs and he sits across you.

“Not fully, but I’m getting there,” you chuckle as he hands you your order. “Thank you.”

You talk over the food, just getting to know each other and you finally get a better picture of Harry. It’s his third year of college, he is studying music and pedagogy, intending to one day use music as a helping tool for kids who have learning difficulties. He is a big fan of collecting vinyls and quite passionate about trashy rom coms.

“Really?” you chuckle when he mentions how his Netflix queue is filled with romantic movies.

“Guilty pleasure,” he nods smirking.

You tell a little about yourself too and he seems genuinely interested, which feels nice. You would have hated if he found your interests boring and negligible, but that’s not the case.

“How come you couldn’t find a roommate for so long?” you ask the question that’s been in the back of your mind for quite a while now. Both of you are done eating and you’re cleaning up the table.

Nothing really stood out about Harry just yet, it’s quite a mystery for you why he couldn’t find someone to live with him.

“Well, you could say I’m a little picky in this field. Lived with my best mate first year, and though I absolutely love him, he was horrible to live with. Felt like his personal maid the whole time. When Niall moved in with his girlfriend and I had to move on my own I promised myself I would choose carefully. Lived with a PhD student last year, he was pretty great, but he moved out when he graduated, and I couldn’t really find someone I liked since then.”

“Glad I passed then,” you chuckle as you take the dishes and start washing them while Harry stands next to you, leaning against the edge of the counter.

“You seemed like a decent person to live with, I hope I won’t be wrong about that,” he chuckles, but you can tell he is still a little scared you might turn out to be a total asshole.

“Don’t worry, I won’t be too much trouble. I’m quiet like a mouse and clean up after myself.”

“That’s all that matters,” he smiles. “Alright, I have some things to finish, I’ll be in my room if you need help with anything.”

“Thank you, Harry.”

He waves in your way before disappearing in his bedroom.

You spend most of your Sunday unpacking what was left and running errands, buying groceries so you don’t have to go to the store every other day during the week. You occasionally meet Harry in the kitchen or the living room, but you both just do your own thing and it’s totally fine by you.

School starts quiet smoothly, Harry was kind enough to give you a rundown of where you’ll find your lecture halls so you don’t really get lost around campus, easily finding your way.

Friday afternoon you and Rita are sitting at a café near campus to discuss the first week of school. You don’t have any classes together, so only grabbed lunch two times all week, but didn’t have more than twenty minutes together before one of you had to run to a class. Now you are both comfortably sat in a booth with two cappuccinos and plenty of time to talk.

“So, how is living with Harry?” she curiously asks.

“He is great! Though we don’t meet that much. He has a band so he has practice three times a week, spends the rest of his time at home reading or watching TV.”

You ate dinner together twice this week, but you haven’t really had the courage to join him in the living room when he was watching TV. It sounds stupid but you figured maybe it would bother him if you were out there with him. And since he didn’t invite you either, you just stayed in your room mostly.

“Kimberly told me he is hot, is that true?” she asks with a smirk as she takes a sip from her hot drink. You immediately feel your cheeks heating up.

“Well, he surely is a good looking guy,” you breathe out.

“Lucky you! There’s not much of those in an all girls dorm,” she pouts and you chuckle. “So are you gonna make a move on him?”

“That’s not gonna happen,” you shake your head laughing.

“Why not?”

“Because we live together and if he rejects me that would be so awkward for the rest of our time living together.”

“But you can’t know for sure if he would reject,” she points out, but she can’t bring up one thing that would change your mind.

“It’s better not to take the odds. I don’t want to end up on the street.”

As the days go by, things start to get busier in your everydays. Assignments and papers start to pile up so you have to start working on them if you don’t want to leave everything to the last moment. You become a regular in the library, the atmosphere is great for you to get into the flow and get a lot of work done.

It seems like Harry is in the same shoe, he is often in and out of the apartment, sometimes only spends home just a couple of minutes before he leaves again. However they slowly get accustomed to each other, learn the ways the other likes things and work up a schedule for things. Harry learns that Y/N likes to take a shower twice a day and washes her hair usually on Wednesdays and Sundays, so he doesn’t try to take too much time in the bathroom on those days. He also notices how she doesn’t have time to wash the dishes after herself on Thursdays when she just runs home to have a quick bite before she has to leave for another lecture, so they came to a silent agreement where Harry cleans up after her on Thursdays while she takes up on the dishes on Saturday when Harry leaves to band practice at eight.

They work well together and soon enough all of Harry’s doubts about Y/N fade into nothing and he realizes he has made the right choice with her.

Usually she stays at the library until seven on Mondays, but this week they are closing early because they are rearranging a whole department, so Y/N leaves a little after five. She pays a quick trip to the grocery store before she heads home. Opening up the door she immediately hears the music playing, one of Harry’s vinyls is twirling around in the record player and she hears the water running in the bathroom. Setting her bags on the counter she starts unpacking the groceries.

The music and the running water pushed the sound of her arriving down, Harry didn't realize that you were home early when he opens the bathroom door, singing to himself wearing absolutely nothing as he wants to go and grab a pair of clean underwear, but he is shocked to see you standing in the kitchen.

“Shit!” he snaps, hands immediately flying to cover himself as he sprints back to the bathroom quickly grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist.

Your cheeks are heating up immediately even though you didn’t see anything you weren’t supposed to, the counter top covered him just right above the critical line, but it’s the first time you’ve seen his upper body completely naked.

Even though it was just a spit second, the sight of his many tattoos and the defined V-line leading down to his crotch burned straight into your mind, leaving you flustered and shy all of a sudden.

“Sorry! I should have let you know I was coming home early!” you call out turning around, as if he was about to walk out naked again. Harry chuckles lightly as he returns, this time a towel wrapped around his waist.

“Don’t be silly, you don’t have to check in when you come home. It was my fault, I shouldn’t just walk around naked assuming you wouldn’t be home.”

You should, you think to yourself gulping as you turn around and dare to look at him again. You don’t see less than just a few seconds ago, his chest is glistening from the dampness, his curls are still wet and you are having a hard time not to stare at the tattoos on his lower stomach, so you busy yourself with the rest of your groceries as he walks into his room and returns in a pair of sweats and a white t-shirt.

“Any plans for the weekend?” he asks disappearing in the bathroom, but he leaves the door open and you hear him shuffle around, probably fixing up his hair. He uses some kind of mousse that keeps his curls perfectly and also happens to smell like mango and some kind of citrus.

“Um, not really.”

“We’re playing at this bar with the band, wanna come and watch us?” Walking out of the bathroom he switches the light off before walking to the couch and opening up his Netflix account on the TV. His invitation surprises you, but it also feels nice he wants you there.

“Oh, sounds fun! Can I bring someone?”

“Of course! I can have a table reserved for you, if you’d like,” he smiles at you before turning his attention to the screen.

“That would be great, thanks.”

You feel like after your little encounter it’s probably not the best day to join him at the TV, especially because you can’t stop yourself from blushing every time you look at him. The sight of his naked torso pops up in your mind every time and there’s no way you can just casually sit on the couch with him without your body lighting up on fire.

Rita is excited when you tell her about the invitation, you don’t even have to convince her to go with you since she is dying to finally meet Harry. When he leaves in the early afternoon on Saturday he assures you that there’s gonna be a table reserved under your name, and off he goes to practice, leaving you alone for the rest of the day since he tells you he won’t be back before the concert tonight. Rita comes over around six and the two of you get ready together.

“You have to wear something spicy,” she wiggles her eyebrows at you while you sit at your desk applying mascara to your lashes.

“I don’t want to overdress, it’s just a bar.”

“Yeah, but Harry invited you. I bet he wants you to see him play.”

“Of course he wants, why else would he invite me?” you ask with furrowed eyebrows.

“You don’t get it,” she chuckles turning to you, hands on her hips. “He wants you to see him play because it feeds his ego. Maybe even turns him on.”

“Stop acting like there is anything between us. We are flatmates and that’s all.”

“I think he wants to be more, you’re just too pussy to make a move yourself,” she shrugs turning back to your closet.

“Stop calling me a pussy for not wanting to make it awkward for the two of us to live together. I’m pretty sure Harry doesn’t see me as anything more than just the person he lives with.”

“Then we have to change that. And I think this is the perfect dress for that.”

Rita pulls out a little black dress you bought about a year ago, but never really got around to wear it. It’s so tight, pushes your tits up way too much for your liking, you’re not even sure why you bought it in the first place.

“I’m not wearing that,” you shake your head.

“Are you afraid he might get a boner from you in it?”

“Rita!” you snap at her, but she just chuckles.

“Look, if you’re so sure he doesn’t want you like that, why does it matter what you wear?”

She has a point. It’s not like this dress will change anything and it would be nice to wear at least once in your life this stupid dress if you bought it.

Grabbing it from her hands you throw it to the bed and start undressing as she claps in victory.

You remembered right, the dress leaves close to nothing to the imagination when it comes to your figure. The fabric hugs your figure tightly, and you put on a lacy bralette that peeks out at the top of the dress, kind of covering some more from your skin, since the dress doesn’t do much in that field itself. Rita tries to convince you not to take a jacket, but you throw your denim jacket on, feeling the need to have something give you the slightest sense of being covered.

You arrive at the bar twenty minutes before the concert starts and it’s a good thing Harry reserved a table for you, because the place is packed. You’re not sure if it’s because of them or it’s just a regular Saturday evening.

The little stage is all set up, but you see no sign of Harry anywhere as the two of you settle at your table with a drink. Luckily, the bartender did not ask for an ID, he was too busy looking at your chest. At least there’s one good thing in this dress.

The drum set at the back has the name of the band on it and you smile reading it. The word ‘Stylish’ is printed on it with bold blue letters, referring to Harry’s last name, who is most likely the front man of the band.

The place is buzzing and the two of you enjoy being out at a bar concert. When the lights go down you finally spot him walking out of the back followed by a guy and two girls.

“Welcome, folks,” he greets the audience, his accent filling up the place over the chatters. A round of cheering answers him, making him smile. “Thank you for coming out tonight, we hope to entertain you in the next hour. Our name is Stylish and now let’s get down to business,” he smirks and just as he takes a step back from the mic, the band starts playing. Harry grabs a guitar himself before stepping back to the mic and then he starts singing.

They play a mixture of covers and original songs, the transition between them is so smooth you sometimes forget it’s a whole different song that’s playing. Harry is clearly enjoying the spotlight, his presence on the stage is so natural and capturing, you often catch yourself forgetting about the rest of the band.

One song follows the other and you don’t even realize how fast this hour passes by. Harry sometimes stops in-between songs, entertaining the audience with small jokes and just casually interacting with them.

“Our last song is up next, so let me take a moment to introduce the band,” Harry speaks into the mic while softly playing the guitar so it’s not completely quiet as he talks. “At the drums, the amazing and talented Sarah Jones!”

A round of applause fills the bar as Sara waves around smiling widely, before Harry moves on to the next member.

“Playing the piano, the wonderful Charlotte Clark!”

Charlotte plays a short melody on the keys matching up with what Harry has been playing, before she also waves at the audience.

“The guy who is a way better guitarist than me, Mitch Rowland.”

Harry’s comment makes the audience laugh and Mitch just nods shyly, a smile pulling on his lips under his mustache.

“And this handsome Brit who sometimes acts like a comedian,” Sarah starts leaning closer to her mic. “Harry Styles.”

It’s no surprise that Harry gets the biggest cheering and he smirks sweetly, his fingers still strumming on the guitar. The clapping and screaming slowly dies down and as Harry steps back to his mic they start the last song.

It’s quite an upbeat, funky song, you just can’t resist dancing around on your chair and seemingly Rita is enjoying herself as well, cheering with her beer in her hand. The song comes to an end and they all line up at the front of the stage bowing down together as the whole bar cheers on them as one person.

“Woah, this was… something else,” Rita breathes out once they disappear at the back and chatter fills up the place once again and the lights come back.

“They smashed it!” you nod in agreement. You figured they are good if they get asked to perform, but this was way beyond what you were expecting.

Looking around you are hoping to see Harry somewhere, but they must be celebrating somewhere at the back. Maybe he won’t even come out, you think to yourself as you finish up your beer.

“I’ll get us another round,” you tell Rita as you make your way to the bar.

There are quite a few people waiting to be served, so you squeeze yourself into the crowd and hope to get to the front soon.

“So how did you like it?”

You jump in surprise when you hear Harry’s voice coming from behind you, and turning around you see how close he is standing to you.

“Hi! I didn’t even see you sneak up on me,” you chuckle making him smile as he squeezes himself next to you. The two of you finally reach the front, but the bartender is serving someone a little on the left so you have to wait. “I loved it, you were like a proper rockstar up there!”

“Thanks,” he chuckles and his dimples show up on his cheeks. The bartender finally gets to you and Harry is quick to order for the both of you. “’S probably better if I place the order since you’re not twenty one just yet.”

“Didn’t have any problem ordering the first time,” you smirk smugly and Harry raises his eyebrows at you before his eyes wander down your body for a second.

“I bet you didn’t in this dress.”

Suddenly, you’re very aware of how daring your outfit looks, so out of reflex, you pull your jacket tighter on yourself, Harry’s smile quickly fades as he realizes that he made you uncomfortable with his comment.

“I meant that you look really pretty. Definitely makes you appear a little older though.”

“My friend wanted me to wear it, I would have been fine with something else,” you admit as the bartender places your order in front of you and Harry pays for the whole thing.

“Glad she convinced you,” he grins down at you and you can feel your cheeks heating up once again.

He helps you carry the drinks to the table and Rita quickly puts her phone away when she sees who you are returning with.

“Harry, this is my friend, Rita. Rita, this is Harry,” you introduce them and Harry shakes her head smiling.

“Nice to meet you,” he nods kindly.

“Oh, same goes for you,” Rita smirks and you roll your eyes at her.

“I’ll go get the rest of the band, do you mind if we join you guys here? There are no empty tables.”

“Sure,” you nod smiling before the crowd swallows Harry.

“For fuck’s sake, you have to make a move on him, Y/N!” Rita turns to you as soon as he is gone.

“Would you stop?” you chuckle.

“No! This dude is so hot I forget my name when I look at him! And you live with him! You can’t miss this chance, Y/N.”

“I’m not missing anything. We live together, it’s not worth it.”

“Not missing anything?” Rita looks at you as if you were mental. “You are literally missing everything!”

“I’m done with this conversation,” you tell him just when Harry appears again, this time with two of his bandmates, Sarah and Mitch are following him smiling, hand in hand.

“Charlotte had to leave early, but this is Sarah and Mitch,” Harry introduces them as they join the two of you at the table. “And this is my flatmate, Y/N and her friend Rita.”

You all shake hands as Harry sorts out the extra beers he has ordered so everyone has a drink on their hand.

It’s no surprise, but Sarah and Mitch prove themselves to be just as cool as they seemed up on the stage. And the best thing is that they don’t shy away from sharing funny stories that include Harry.

“So have you been looking for a new place to stay, Y/N?” Mitch jokes. “I’m sure you’ve had enough of Harry by now.”

“Very funny,” Harry laughs at his bandmate’s comment.

“To be honest it’s pretty fine so far. He is a pleasant person to share your home with,” you say with a soft chuckle.

“What’s one thing you hate about living with him?” Sarah asks and Harry pretends to be hurt over the question.

“Who said there’s anything she hates?”

“Shush, I was asking her!” she hushes at him making you laugh.

“I really can’t point out anything in particular. Maybe he has been very careful, luring me into believing that he is the perfect flatmate so I get stuck with him.”

You stay for a while, just chatting and having a good time until the bar starts to empty out and you decide it’s better if you head home as well.

“We have to take care of the equipment, are you leaving or do you want to wait for me?” Harry asks you.

“We’ll just call an Uber, don’t worry about it,” you smile at him.

“Alright, see you at home.”

You say goodbye to Sarah and Mitch and part your ways with them as you and Rite head outside.

“I hope you noticed how Harry was looking at you,” Rita smirks at you when the two of you are sitting at the back of the Uber.

“What are you talking about?” you sigh leaning your head against the seat.

“I caught him staring at you quite a few times.”

“He was just probably looking at me when I was talking. Don’t try to talk something into it that’s not true.”

“Alright, I’ll stop,” she replies holding up her hands. “But I still think you are missing out on some amazing dick.”

You awkwardly glance at the driver who is hearing everything you say, but Rita seemingly doesn’t mind that you’re not alone.

“You know what? We should give Tinder a try.”

“What? Why?”

“If you don’t want to make a move on your hot flatmate, we need to get some satisfaction from others.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Oh, you are not,” she chuckles. “But you will be when you match with the hottest guys on campus.”

You let Rita believe that she convinced you to sign up for Tinder, but you get out of the car with the intention of never downloading the app, like ever.

Walking into the apartment you grab a clean, oversized t-shirt and a pair of panties since your sleeping shorts are all dirty, but you were planning to do the laundry tomorrow. You decide it’s not a big deal and the shirt will probably cover enough of your body.

You take a quick shower to get off the thick smell of the bar that’s stuck on your skin, taking your time moisturizing yourself once you’re done. When you get dressed you see that the shirt does cover your bum, but if you lifted your arms up it surely shows a big portion of your ass, so you’ll have to be careful if Harry arrives.

You’re lounging on the couch watching a rerun of House M.D. and scrolling through your phone when Harry arrives.

“Hey there, rockstar!” you greet him teasingly and he just chuckles shyly.

“Is it gonna be my new nickname?”

“Well, you really were one tonight, so I think yes,” you nod making him laugh. Walking further inside his eyes stop on your bare legs and he is quick to notice that you’re not wearing any pants, like you usually do. You immediately tug on the end of the shirt to cover more of your skin, but it’s not really working.

“Ehm, I’ll go and take a quick shower,” he informs you before disappearing in his room first and then rushing into the bathroom.

Looking down at your attire you decide it’ll be better if you threw on some sweats. Harry clearly got a little uncomfortable seeing you so bare, so it’s better to cover up. You’ll just take them off when you go to bed.

Harry doesn’t take too long in there, and when he joins you on the couch you are pretty sure he took a cold shower since no steam followed him when he left the bathroom. His eyes flicker to your now covered legs, but he doesn’t say anything, just makes himself comfortable next to you.

“You like it?” he asks nodding at the TV.

“Yeah, he is such an asshole, but it’s funny,” you huff. “Hey, I took a few pictures tonight. Wanna see if you like any of them?”

“Sure,” he nods pushing himself up a little as you unlock your phone and show him the photos you took of him and the band while performing.

Some of them ended up really cool, you were able to catch the lights and their movements just the right way, especially one stands out where he was holding out a note, basically screaming into the mic, he really looks like a rockstar on that one.

“Can you send me this one?”

“Done,” you smile at him and glancing over you see that he opens the Instagram app on his phone. You watch him crop and adjust it a little bit, then tag his bandmates and finally, he posts it.

“Wow, this is the first picture on your page with you actually on it,” you tease him.

“So you’ve been stalking my profile?” he smirks at you.

“I wanted to check you out before I moved in, but your social media was no help in that.”

“Yeah, I’m not a fan of posting that much, but this was a cool picture.”

“It’s an honor to know that I took the first one featuring you.”

“Actually, this is the second one, but it is the first one where my face is visible,” Harry tells you before turning his attention back to the TV, but the gears start to turn wildly in your mind, trying to remember which picture could be the other one.

Later, when you’re lying in your bed with your door closed, you pull up his profile and stat scrolling down. Most of the pictures fall out, because they have absolutely no trace of any human being on them. But then you stop at the one that features a black silhouette of a man, the one you thought wasn’t him.

Opening up you tap on the tag and see that it leads to Mitch’s profile, but now that you’ve met him, you’re pretty sure it’s not him in the picture. So you take a closer look and as you go over the small details, like the line of his neck, how wide his shoulders are and the untamed curls, you soon realize that it is indeed Harry in the photo.

You push down a moan when realization sets in, because that means that you’re staring at the naked silhouette of Harry and it immediately starts a fire between your legs.

“Jesus,” you whisper as you let yourself stare at the photo a little longer. You weren’t expecting it, but it’s surely making you feel some kind of way.

Locking your phone you throw it to your nightstand before you bury your head into your pillow. You have to press your thighs together quite tightly to make the throbbing sensation stop so you can finally fall asleep. Well, it takes some time before that happens and it’s quite torturous.

Unlike how you planned, Rita finally gets you to download Tinder and give it a try. She helps you set up your profile, and though at first it feels incredibly awkward, you slowly adjust to being out there on the virtual market.

You start swiping left and right whenever you are bored during classes or you’re having a break from studying. Your matches start to pile up and soon enough you start getting messages as well. You reply to the ones you like or find funny and creative, giving them a chance, but not many end up going too far. Somehow the conversations always die down and you lose interest in the person.

Only one guy gets as far as asking you out and getting a yes as an answer. Jordan is a physics major and seemed like a nice and funny guy through the messages, good-looking too, so you decided to give it a go.

So Friday evening you dolled yourself up, put on a nice blouse with your favorite skinny jeans and black heels, ready to head out to your first ever Tinder date.

As you walk out of your room you find Harry in the kitchen in his basketball shorts and a simple black t-shirt making himself a cup of tea. The shorts are hanging low on his waist and as he reaches up to get the hones from the cupboard you get a glimpse of the soft skin on his lower waist. You quickly look away before you could have any further thoughts about what else is under the waistband of his shorts.

“Oh, where are you heading all dressed up?” he asks, eyebrows raised.

“I actually have a date,” you admit nervously as you grab your keys and put it away in your purse.

“Lucky guy,” he smiles and you can feel your cheeks heating up again. There’s just something in the way he compliments you, it makes your knees go jelly.

“Thanks. I’ll see you later? I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” you tell him grabbing your jacket from the hanger next to the front door.

“Have fun,” he nods before you walk out.

Jordan proves himself to be quite frankly the same guy you got to know through messages. He takes you to this Mexican themed bar and you are just chatting over some exciting looking cocktails, but you find yourself zoning out sometimes.

What is Harry doing right now? Is he staying at home? I should have asked if he had any plans. Maybe he is hooking up with someone right now.

You find yourself thinking about way more than you probably should and it’s making you lose your shit. So maybe this is why, or because Rita told you to just go with the flow, but when Jordan asks if you want to go up to his place you say yes.

It’s as awkward and bad as you were expecting, unfortunately. There’s a reason why you don’t hook up with every random guy you go out with once. You are totally on different pages, but when you are lying under him on his bed, you just know there’s no way out.

It’s not that he forces you, because you’re sure he would have stopped if you asked, but it would be so awkward to just walk out because you weren’t feeling the vibe. So at least one of you should enjoy it.

You should deserve an Oscar for that orgasm you fake, it’s so believable. Jordan doesn’t seem to notice that you felt absolutely nothing, just frustration and impatience, he tries to make you stay the night, but you save yourself with a lie that you have to wake up early in the morning so it’s best if you head home.

Your frustration just grows on your way home. You were really hoping to get laid tonight, so maybe that could stop you from fantasizing about Harry, because your thoughts have been wild since you found out that he is the one on that Instagram picture. It doesn’t help that he has been walking around shirtless quite a lot.

Shameful or not, you even touched yourself once thinking about him. You were home alone after a particularly boring day so you thought you’d just get yourself off. Before you could realize where your thoughts have wandered, you were moaning his name as you came hard. You couldn’t look into his eyes that day when he came home, he probably thought you were nuts, basically running away from him.

It’s almost midnight when you get back home, you were expecting Harry to be asleep by now since he has band practice in the morning, but you are surprised to see light coming from his room. As you close the front door, kicking your heels off he walks out, of course, without a shirt, his glorious body on full display.

“Hey, how was your date?” he asks as you step to the fridge to get yourself something to drink. You’ve been so damn thirsty since Jordan was… done with you, you could have asked for some water at least, but you just wanted to leave as fast as possible.

“Ugh, don’t even ask,” you whine, leaning against the counter.

“That bad?”

“Worse,” you roll your eyes and Harry chuckles softly.

“Come on, it couldn’t be that bad if you came home so late.”

“Well, it did start off nice, but I shouldn’t have said yes when he asked if I wanted to go to his place.”

“Oh.”

“Worst sex of my life, I wanted out the moment we arrived, to be honest,” you honestly say, feeling a little weird that you’re talking to Harry about it, but you just want to get it off your chest.

“Then why didn’t you just leave?”

“Dunno, I just… I was hoping for just a little satisfaction, but I guess I asked for too much,” you sigh finishing up your water and you walk past him with the intention to grab your pajamas and have a shower that would wash away the happenings of the night, but Harry’s voice stops you.

“Not everything is lost just yet.” Turning around you give him a puzzled look.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He bites into his bottom lip and lets his eyes travel down your body, his intent gaze sends a shiver down your spine. When his eyes return to your gaze your heart is wildly beating against your chest.

“I mean that… I can make you feel good, if you want.”

Your mouth hangs open and your eyebrows shoot up at the blunt offer he just made. At first you’re not even sure you heard him right, but as you replay his words you realize that you indeed heard him crystal clear.

“Are you messing with me right now?” you ask, feeling like it’s all just a joke. He did not just offer to satisfy you because you complained to him about how bad your date was.

Harry takes a few steps closer to you, a small smirk tugging on his lips.

“Not really. You want to get off and I would love to be the one to help you with it.”

“But… we live together,” you say and realize how stupid this just sounded, but you hope he gets what you were trying to say.

“So? Does that mean we can’t fuck?”

The way he said that makes your legs go weak for sure. You’ve been fantasizing about things similar to this, but those were nowhere near to actually hear him propose the idea of fucking.

“But… it’ll be weird, won’t it?”

“Only if we make it.”

He walks closer, closing the distance between the two of you and he cups your cheek in his hand as his eyes flicker down to your lips.

“Harry…” you breathe out, but you already know you gave in. There’s no way you can say him no, not after weeks of dreaming about the exact same thing.

“Just stop thinking,” he tells you before pressing his lips against yours.

He kisses you hard and you gladly let his tongue push into your mouth within a second, kissing him back with the same passion. You wrap your arms around his neck as his hands travel down on your sides until they reach your ass and they give it a bold squeeze, making you moan into his lips. You feel him grin as his hands move over to your thighs and he urges you to jump and so you do, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Though you keep your eyes closed, kissing him hard, you can tell he brings you to the couch, laying you down to your back, holding himself up above you. He starts kissing down your jawline and neck, sucking and biting on the sensitive skin. His hands grab the hem of your shirt and you lift yourself up a bit so he can pull it off, throwing it away to somewhere behind the couch. While his lips are sucking on your breasts wherever they are bulging out from the lacy bra, his hands work fast on your jeans, undoing the button and the zipper, tugging them down until you can just kick them right off.

“Matching set? You were really counting on having a good time tonight,” he mumbles against your tummy as he kisses his way down on your body.

His right hand reaches up and cups your breast before it slides under you and easily unclasps your bra. You quickly slide the straps off and throw it to the side, so now you are lying under him only in your panties, whimpering and panting at every kiss he leaves on your body.

“What do you want, Y/N?” he hums glancing up at you, sitting between your legs as he slides just one finger over your soaking wet panties, running it along your throbbing center.

“Fuck, I want you,” you breathe out.

“How exactly do you want me?”

“Jesus, just eat me out, Harry!” you shamelessly moan and he smugly smirks before he hooks his fingers into your panties and pulls them down, throwing it to the ground.

Now you’re lying completely naked in front of him, and he pushes your knees farther apart, looking down at you with lustful eyes.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this,” he growls as he gets closer and without a warning, he licks into you.

You moan in sensation as he starts sucking on your clit, his tongue working perfectly against your bud. Your hands find their way into his hair and you grab a handful of it in each. Oh, how many times you’ve thought about doing this!

“Harry!” you cry out when you feel him push a finger into you, slowly pumping it in and out a few times before he adds another to it. He quickly picks up his pace as he keeps sucking on your clit, getting you closer to your orgasm with every lick.

“Fuck, I’m so close!” you moan, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you struggle to even breathe.

“Cum for me, baby,” he mumbles against your wet clit and just a few more pumps later you came, screaming his name.

“Fucking hell, Harry!” you breathe out when he climbs up on you smirking.

“You think you can handle another one?” he asks, pecking your lips softly. Looking down you see how hard he is and even if you were on the verge of dying you would have said yes. There’s no way you let him get up from this couch unsatisfied after the orgasm he just gave you.

Instead of saying anything, you push on him until he is sitting on the couch and you have your knees on his sides.

“I think you are a little overdressed, aren’t you?” you ask teasingly as you bring a hand down to his erection, cupping it through his shorts and underwear.

Harry cranes his neck so his lips could meet yours again as he lifts his hips up, pushing his shorts down along with his boxers. You sit back down to his lap and his erection presses against your wet folds making you moan into his mouth.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” you ask breathlessly, but Harry shakes his head.

“I would last, I just want to fuck you,” he growls and you swear to God that was the hottest thing you’ve ever heard.

“Condom, we need a condom,” you tell him, still kissing his lips.

You get off him and he quickly runs into his room, shortly returning with a condom between his teeth. He rips the package on his way and falls back to the couch, rolling it on carefully. When he is done you swing your leg over him and get on top again, holding onto his broad shoulders. He grabs the base of his cock and lines himself up to your center and you give yourself a moment to admire his naked beauty right in front of you.

You look into his sparkling eyes and leaning down you kiss him hard as you slowly ease down to his length, his cock slowly filling you up fully.

“Oh fuck!” he moans at the feeling of you around him. His fingers dig deep into your waist as you stay still for a few moments, adjusting to his length. “You alright?” he asks breathlessly. Your eyes meet his and you nod a little before you start moving.

It takes a few moments to find the right pace and get yourself comfortable, but when you finally do, you just can’t stop. His hands are on your ass as he guides your hips a little and you feel the rings on his fingers against your heated skin. He buries his face into your neck nibbling and kissing on the soft skin wherever he reaches.

“Fuck, you look so fucking hot, Y/N,” he grunts when you let your head fall back, feeling your orgasm slowly building up again.

“Harry, I’m gonna cum again,” you pant, picking up a faster pace, desperate for release.

“Cum for me, baby. Let me make you feel good!” he moans wrapping his arms around you as he holds you still, stopping you from moving, but instead he starts thrusting into you, his cock buries so deep into your pussy, your eyes roll back into your head from the feeling.

“Yes! Don’t fucking stop!” you scream as he keeps fucking you hard.

It doesn’t take too long until you fall completely apart and cum again, your legs basically turning into jelly. Just a few thrusts later Harry cums as well, thrusting deep into you a few more times as he moans into your neck.

You lie completely numb on him, his fingers gently stroking your naked back as you try to come back to reality. When you lean back and your eyes meet again you are still speechless.

“I’ve literally wanted it since the day you walked into this place,” he admits with a soft chuckle.

“Really?” you giggle shyly.

“Oh, really. Seeing you around, sometimes without a bra under your shirt completely killed me most of the time.”

Your cheeks are heating up, you didn’t think he noticed when you weren’t wearing a bra.

“Don’t be so shy, you have amazing tits, you are not allowed to wear a bra anymore around here,” he teases you grinning as you laugh and leaning down you kiss him shortly.

“I had quite a few fantasies about you too,” you admit making him raise his eyebrows.

“Really?”

“Mhm, especially after you walked out of the bathroom naked, even though I didn’t even see your dick then.”

Harry chuckles lightly as he pushes his hair back from his forehead, resting his head against the back of the couch.

“So…” you shyly start, ”what now?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that… we live together and we just fucked. What does this mean for the future?”

“Well, I thought that next time we could do it the right way. I could take you out on a proper date, and then fuck you on the kitchen counter.”

You laugh at how blunt he is, but you love the idea he just proposed.

“Okay. Sounds fine by me.”

#harry #styles #harry styles #harry styles oneshot #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles fiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles au #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x reader #harry styles flatmates au #harry styles friends to lovers

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spencersankleholster · 3 years

Text

XOXO, Spencer

A/N: This is my first fic so I hope you like it! Basically, Y/N performs at an open mic and Spencer is there. They meet, smut ensues, yadayada.

Warnings: NSFW, smut, oral (f receiving),

Spencer didn’t usually like bars. They were too loud, too sticky, and because of his sobriety he couldn’t drink anyway, but tonight Morgan and Garcia had dragged him to an open mic at their favorite bar. Garcia had a friend performing, and Morgan was just there to pick up artsy college girls.

As Spencer walked into the bar, he automatically felt stressed. His germophobia and general social anxiety were quickly taking over. Despite every instinct in his body telling him to go home, to run, he stayed, if only for his friends' sake. They were having so much fun, and he’d hate to ruin a night out.

Spencer sat and drank Shirley Temples as acts continued to rotate through. Garcia’s friend was alright, if a bit dull, but he clapped loud anyway. Some acts were good, some were mildly painful, and most were rather unmemorable. Until you stepped on stage.

“Hey, guys! I’m Y/N, and tonight I’ll be performing a cover of Moon Song by Phoebe Bridgers! I’m, uh, I’m gonna get started now, but uh, I hope you enjoy!”

Spencer gave you a small smile as you fumbled through your introduction. You were never one for performing in public, but when you saw the poster for the open-mic in the hall of your dorm, you felt the urge to sign up. You thought, what’s the worst that could happen? Now, on stage, you hated the confident person that signed you up just two days ago. You could feel the audience watching you, and the feeling was terrifying. Finally, you closed your eyes and strummed the first chords.

“You asked to walk me home, but I had to carry you-“

Spencer would be lying if he said he wasn't entranced by you the moment you started singing. Even if he weren’t a profiler he’d be able to see the pure emotion and heart you put into music. It didn’t matter that the song wasn’t yours, he could tell you fully felt it. As you hit the last verse, and your face contorted with emotion, Spencer realized that he hadn’t breathed the entire time.

As you came back to earth after the performance, you looked into the faces of the crowd, waiting for a reaction. You met eyes with a young man - he was absolutely gorgeous, with big, kind-looking brown eyes, prominent cheekbones, and soft long brown hair. He gave you an earnest smile, and you sent one right back. As the clapping subsided and you walked off stage, you couldn’t help but look back at him over and over.

As you sat back at your table, he got up and head to the bar, and before you knew it you were following him.

“Hey, I’m Y/N,” you said quietly to him. He turned, looking surprised when he saw it was you.

“Oh, hi! Uh, I’m Dr. Spencer Reid.”

“Doctor?” You replied

“Yeah, I uh, I have a few PHDs.” He said awkwardly

“Well then, nice to meet you Dr. Spencer Reid.” You said, smiling at his soft and endearing nature.

“Nice to meet you too, Y/N. You were great up there, by the way. You looked like you were really getting into the music.”

“Really? I sometimes make this weird face when I sing, I hope that didn’t show up.” You chuckled

“Not at all. You were beautiful.” and you could tell, he truly meant it.

You spent the next hours talking about various subjects - food, literature, music, and most interestingly, his job as a profiler.

“So you’re like a mind-reader?” You asked excitedly

“Well, not really.” He laughed

“Profile me!” you said. He looked hesitant, but Spencer couldn’t resist the eagerness in your eyes. After making sure that you really wanted this, he began.

“Well, you’re obviously a college student, but I don’t think you major in music. You were nervous getting on stage and you likely don’t perform much, even for friends or family, but the callouses on your fingers tell me that you spend a lot of time with your guitar. You’re probably majoring in a humanity instead, and music is just for fun and self-expression. Small family, maybe a sibling or two, and I’d say that you’re the youngest. Oh, and from your sweatshirt I can say that you’re probably from New England.”

You looked down at your red sox sweatshirt and gave him a big grin. “Almost all correct, Dr. Reid, but I’m a middle child.”

“Dang it.” he huffed.

The rest of the night was spent laughing at each other's jokes and flirtatious banter. Eventually, Morgan and Garcia left for the night, giving Reid discreet thumbs up on their way out, but he barely noticed. You were both so involved in your conversation that you didn’t realize the bar had emptied out, and you were the last two left.

“Hey, guys, can you get out so I can go home?” The tired bartender said. Realizing the time, you both quickly went outside into the biting November night.

“God, it’s freezing! It wasn’t this cold when I went in!” You whined. You hadn’t worn a coat, it was 60 degrees when you left the house, but it being 1 am the temperatures had dropped significantly. Spencer shucked off his overcoat, handing it to you. Underneath, he wore a cozy blue sweater with a white t-shirt peeking out of the collar and a plaid scarf. Wrapping his coat around you, he felt nervous. A pretty girl, standing next to him in the middle of the night, wrapped in his coat. It sounds like a romance novel, but here he was living it.

“Won’t you be cold?” You said, looking concerned.

“Don't worry about me,” He said running a hand across your cheek, “I can handle it.”

Feeling his hand on your cheek, you started leaning toward him. He leaned in too, and soon your lips were locked in a warm embrace, chasing off the cold winter air. The two of you kissed passionately for what seemed like an eternity, which was entirely too short. When you broke apart, neither of you felt so cold anymore.

“I don’t live too far from here, so if you wanted a nightcap, maybe some coffee, we could head over there?” Spencer said. He hadn’t invited many girls back to his apartment before, and doing so made him nervous, but when you softly replied “Yes” that all went away.

Holding hands, the two of you traipsed through the night, wrapped in each other’s warmth. When you reached his apartment, you stopped to kiss him before opening the door. Quickly, the kiss deepened, and the two of you kept kissing even as Spencer was opening the door. Fumbling through his apartment, knocking into walls and large stacks of books, you made it to his bedroom. Spencer hoisted you up to sit on top of his dresser and began kissing your neck. You moaned as he slowly nipped and licked down your neck. You wrapped your legs around his waist and lightly grinded into his cock. Spencer moaned against you and quickly began grinding as well.

When Spencer moved away from you, you thought you had done something wrong, but a split second later he was pulling up the hem of your shirt and looking to you for permission. You peeled off your sweatshirt, leaving you in a thin tank top and bralette. Spencer leaned back in to kiss you and began massaging your boobs over the tank top.

“Why don’t we get this off too?” He breathed, referring to your tank top. You nodded and Spencer pulled the garment off of your body, leaving you in your fairly see-through bralette and jeans. To even the score a bit, Spencer then pulled off his own sweater, and seeing your opportunity, you helped him to shirk off the tight white t-shirt underneath as well. Moving to his bed, you sat straddling his lap as he sat on the edge of the bed. He ogled you for a second, and then in one swift motion pulled off the remaining fabric covering your chest. Not wasting a moment, Spencer leaned in and began sucking on your boobs, moaning lightly against them.

“Oh my god, Spencer!” You moaned as he lightly bit down on your nipples. While still attached to your breast, he started unbuttoning your pants. Flipping you over with your back lying on the bed, he pulled down your jeans. You stared in awe as he knelt at the end of the bed, kissing up your calves and thighs, slowly teasing you. It was agonizing waiting for him to reach your core, but when he did, the wait was made worth it. He began by slowing licking up your heat, and then began sucking your clit. While still licking you, he eased his long fingers inside of you, curling up into your g-spot. With his tongue circling your clit and his two middle fingers hitting your g-spot, you could feel your climax quickly approaching.

“Please, fuck, Spencer!” You pleaded, making him go faster. Almost immediately, that wave of pleasure hit you like a truck, and you came on his tongue.

Panting, you sat up a bit, looking at the gorgeous sight of Spencer lapping up the rest of your juices. As soon as he finished, you pulled him up by the back of his neck and kissed him deeply, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Trying to pay him back, you leaned down and unzipped his pants, wanting to suck his cock, but he stopped you.

“No, baby, there's no time for that. I just want to be inside you.” There was no arguing with that. You pulled down his pants and boxers, revealing his fully hard cock, pink and dripping with pre-cum. As much as Spencer loved the sight of you staring at his member, he wanted to get down to business. He reached to grab a condom from his nightstand, but you stopped him.

“I have an IUD and I got tested last week. Clean. How about you?” you said

“I haven't been with anyone since I last got tested, and I was clean then. You wanna do this?”

“God, yes.” You replied.

Wasting no time, Spencer got on top of you and lined himself up with your entrance. Slowly, he pushed into you.

“Good girl, so tight for me.” He breathed. You moaned as you adjusted to his size, and after a moment, Spencer began to move. He went slowly at first, trying not to hurt you, but you were having none of that.

“Faster!” You demanded, and he listened. Picking up the pace, Spencer rocked into you, his hair cascading over his face and sweat dripping down his forehead. Instincts kicked in, and Spencer kept going faster and faster. He then pulled you against his chest, kissing you as he felt your walls contract around him. You felt his cock slip out of you, and his hands holding your face.

“Get on all fours, baby.” He commanded. You quickly obliged and turned over onto your hands and knees. Spencer moaned as he groped your ass and lined his cock up with your entrance. He pushed into you faster this time, eliciting a loud moan from both of you, and then began to thrust hard. You could nearly feel him in you stomach, and from the way his cock was twitching inside of you and your walls tightening around him, you knew you would both climax soon.

“I’m gonna cum.” You moaned. At this, Spencer sped up, now hitting your G spot perfectly. He grunted loudly with every thrust, and pulled your back against his chest to get an even deeper angle. Your climax came quickly after that, and you could feel yourself tightening even further. You screamed all the way through your high. A moment later, Spencer let out a loud moan and you felt yourself being filled with his cum. Spencer pulled himself out of you, and panting, you both crashed onto the bed. Spencer wrapped an arm around you and kissed your forehead, and then said,

“I loved hearing you sing earlier. And a minute ago.”

You laughed at the joke, still a little out of breath, and cuddled even closer to Spencer. Your head on his chest, you both fell asleep without a worry in the world.

The next morning, you woke up alone in his bed. Confused, you looked around, but then noticed a post-it note stuck to your hand.

“Y/N - Sorry for leaving so suddenly, but duty calls! I had an amazing time and I hope you did too. There’s a croissant on the table and there's still coffee in the pot, so help yourself, just lock the door behind you when you leave. Here’s my number, so call or text and maybe we can do this again. XOXO, Spencer.”

#criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds #mgg #mgg fanfiction #mgg x reader #reader insert

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literaila · 4 years

Text

sweet sweet relief

spencer reid x reader

request: do a Reidxreader where the reader is hotch’s younger sibling? They’d be new to the bau and hotch is over protective and reluctant to let them do anything. Due to their young age they get super close to Reid, maybe fluffy or angsty? Thank you!

Warning: angsty (kinda), BAU stuff...

The first time Y/N had met the team they could barely tell the two of them were related.

They were nothing alike.

It wasn't even just outside appearances, they were different, in character, in shape, in every form possible.

Aaron Hotchner was calm and quiet, he was known to be stern and sophisticated, he worked actively to stay in control. He was cautious and careful. He was the epitome of undisturbed.

Y/N Hotchner was not.

She was feisty and stubborn, and she would rather argue with someone than submit to them, and she was lively and sarcastic and known to be impatient.

There were barely any similarities between the two.

But they were both smart, and they both had a mindset for justice, both believe that everyone deserves a chance to prove themselves, that everyone had a right to feel safe in their world. They both believed that by removing just a little bit of the darkness within the world, just a little bit, it would make everything brighter.

But besides that, they were two completely different people.

It was a surprise to everyone that they were related.

That two people so completely different could share the same DNA.

So when Y/N walked into the conference room, a little later than Hotch had requested, all of his team members shared confused glances at the smirk Hotch had on his face, at the almost-hug he had given this girl.

She looked far too young to be his girlfriend.

Hotch turned around to 6 pairs of confused eyes, 6 people with questions, 6 people who looked very very intimidating to Y/N.

She’d heard all about Aaron's team, she’d heard about the lovely technical analysis, the eldest profiler who had a kick for jokes, she’d heard about Derek, the strongest member of the team, she’d heard about Emily and her history in crime, JJ who’d been the top in her class, and the genius who was only 3 years older than her.

She’d heard about all of them.

That didn't mean she was any less nervous to meet them.

And with the way they were looking at her like they already wished she was gone, her nerves shot through her body.

She couldn't help but turn to her brother, her eyes cast downward, and hope that he knew she needed help. Hoped that he knew her just enough to know when she was nervous.

“This is Agent Y/N Hotch. Strauss assigned her as a new addition to our team.”

There was more collective confusion around the room.

“Hotch?” Morgan asked, Y/N looked up at him, to see him frowning at her, she wondered why he cared that much, wondered why he was bothered by her, why he looked like he could tell exactly what she was thinking.

“Yes.” she answered back quickly, and sternly, like she was telling him as a favor, “Aaron is my brother.”

There was a gasp from across the room.

A blonde woman, with bizarre earrings and questionable clothes, walked over to Y/N, a wide smile on her face as she looked at Hotch with hopeful eyes.

“Sister?” she asked, almost like she was being given a gift Y/N thought.

Hotch only nodded.

Her smile got wider.

She embraced Y/N, pulling her into a quick hug like they’d known each other forever. Y/N felt some nerves escape her at the hug, at least one person didn't hate her already.

“Hotch didn't tell me he had a sister, it makes sense though, you’re so pretty.” She pulled back to smile at Y/N, she had bright energy, one that reminded Y/N of a friend back home, her smile was contagious.

“Y/N, this is Penelope Garica, the technical analyst I told you about.”

“It's lovely to meet you.” Y/N said laughing, as Penelope pulled her into another hug, she already had a special place in her heart for the blonde.

“You have a sister?” Derek asked, and Y/N looked over Penelope’s shoulder to see his face much more relaxed, less threatening, she immediately placed him as the man Aaron had told her about, the strong one.

“Yes, I do. I never told anyone for security reasons, and there's never been a need to bring it up.” Hotch looked at his little sister with pride, he was glad she was there, glad he was going to get to spend some more time with her, glad she had made it so far so early in her career.

“Plus, he didn't want to brag.” Y/N teased, making eye contact with Derek as a way to say she didn't mean any harm, as a way to let him know she wasn't going to be a problem.

He smiled at her. She smiled back.

“I’m Derek Morgan.”

After that, three other people came up to her, with warm smiles, all introducing themselves, JJ who seemed warm and paternal. Emily, who looked to Y/N like a rebel at heart, she smiled a little extra at that. And Rossi, who immediately told her she was a part of the family, “Any family member of Aaron’s is a family member of ours.”

It felt strange to be accepted by all of them so quickly, strange to feel so comfortable so quickly.

And then she was introduced to Spencer.

It took her heart a moment to force her to move.

She’d heard about Spencer, the man who was closest to her age, the smartest man Aaron had said he’d ever met, the Doctor with three PhDs.

He was utterly attractive.

Nerves shot up and down her body, reminding her of the fear she had prepared herself for, though this time it was a different type of fear.

She had not prepared for soft brown eyes and messy hair.

She had not prepared for him to be anything like he was.

Fuck.

He was exactly her type.

She shyly smiled at him, and he waved, just waved, unlike the handshakes she had gotten from everyone else, something in her mind was telling her not to question it.

With a blush on her cheeks she looked away, she looked away and reminded herself that she was there to work, that her boss was her brother, that even if she did immediately want to know everything about the doctor only ten feet away from her, that this was work.

She stayed silent for a couple of moments.

Her brother announced it was time to get started on the case.

***

It had taken a couple of weeks to get used to the job.

Aaron had warned her as much.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he’d asked as soon as she’d announced she was moving out to Virginia, moving to work with the FBI. Y/N had taken it as judgment, she thought he didn't think she could do the job, didn't think she was strong enough, didn't think she was mature enough to handle the BAU.

She’d immediately run to her own defense, “I’ve been sure for almost 3 years Aaron.”

“No, Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. It's just… this job takes a toll on a person. Are you sure you want to do it?”

There hadn't been a doubt in her mind, had not been a moment of hesitation, a moment of wondering if she was really strong enough, if she really dared to do what her brother did every day, there was never a question of if she thought she could do it.

It hadn't even taken her a moment to answer yes.

But, this time, Aaron had been right.

Seeing dead bodies, learning about different methods of insanity, diving into the mind of people who were sadistic, not saving everyone. It was all heartbreaking.

And exhausting.

Y/N was starting to understand what her brother had meant, what he was thinking of when he said it took a toll on people, she was starting to wonder how he dealt with it, how he went every day being the boss and not breaking down while dealing with what they dealt with.

She was starting to wonder how they all dealt with it.

Most days, none of them seemed bothered, none of them seemed to mind any of it. She tried to remind herself that they had all been doing it a lot longer than she had, that they had seen everything a million times, that they had gone through the worst things she could imagine. It didn't help her feel any better.

She wasn't going to quit though, she could feel it in her blood, in her heart, that she was doing the right thing. That this is what she was meant to do, that no matter how many people died, no matter how many terrible people there were, she was saving someone's life.

And she was good at it.

She kept her head held high and tried not to show any hesitancy.

The night right after the case, one that had been particularly different from the others she’d seen, she felt practically dead on her feet. She wondered if she’d have to get used to the constant sleep deprivation.

It was late that night when she overheard Spencer talking to JJ, who looked about five seconds away from becoming the next unsub.

Y/N laughed behind them and wondered what he was talking about.

In the 6 weeks she’d been there she’d gotten close to most of them, she’d learned about their lives, about the way they worked best, she learned how smart they all were, how amazed she was by them. But she hadn't gotten the chance to speak that might to Spencer.

Maybe she didn't want to.

Maybe she didn't want to feel herself slip under the coworker crush that she was familiar with, maybe she didn't want to learn about him, things about him that she would think about constantly, maybe she didn't want to get close to him in fear that someone might notice how taken back she was by him, maybe she didn't want her brother- and her boss -to find out about the crush she had on him.

Maybe.

Maybe all she wished for was some relief from the overwhelming feelings she felt for him.

She was thinking about him, thinking about ways to accidentally eavesdrop on the two of them without looking suspicious, when JJ noticed her.

“Oh hey, Y/N” JJ looked exactly how Y/N felt. Her eyes were practically closed.

Y/N pretended not to notice the way Spencer looked away from her.

“Hey,” she said quietly, giving a little wave as she walked to the elevator doors. Home. That's where she wanted to be.

“Spencer was just inviting me to a movie he recorded at his apartment that he was going to watch-” JJ said, as Spencer tried to interrupt her, she just gave him a stern look when he tried. “-but I need to get home to Henry, so maybe you could go with him instead?”

There was a gleam in her eyes and a smirk on her mouth, if Spencer and Y/N both weren't so obvious they would’ve known what she was doing.

The team had been trying to set them up for a month.

Y/N just stared confused, nerves running up and down her spine reminding her to breathe. She suddenly felt wide awake.

Spencer just looked conflicted.

‘Um- yeah” he cleared his throat, running his hands over his hair and down to his neck “yeah- you could come... Yeah.” he said, moving to glare at JJ for a moment, JJ who was smiling wide, knowing that Spencer would never take back the invitation- especially not for a pretty girl.

“Oh.” Y/N jumped in surprise, her heart was beating faster at the prospect of going with Spencer, and while she knew that he had not technically invited her, she still felt her body practically shout with excitement. “Yeah, of course, I’d love to.” she stopped for a moment trying to collect herself, trying not to look as surprised as she felt, “if it's alright with you.”

They all stood there in the elevator, listening to the quiet hum of the machinery, two of them looking awkwardly at the ground, both of them full of nerves, one of them smiling between the two of them.

As the elevator finally came to a stop Spencer spoke up again.

“Yeah, if you want I could- you could just- follow me… if you want.”

Y/N nodded quickly, not used to Spencer talking to her directly.

JJ smiled just a little bit wider, just a little, and waved them both goodbye, turning around before saying “I’ll let you both deal with that.”.

She couldn't wait to tell Penelope.

And then there were two.

Two, very socially inept, nervous, people.

***

Spencer's apartment was just as Y/N had expected it to be, it was small and warm, and there were a million lamps all around the space. It was filled to the brim with bookshelves, at least 5 of them all around the room making it look smaller than it was. In the corner of the room there was a small couch and a tv, Y/N could see books spread all over the coffee table, and multiple mugs sitting around the room.

It felt like his home.

Y/N adored it.

Though Spencer looked around nervously, his eyes uncomfortably noticing all of the things he’d forgotten to pick up, all the books he’d left out.

“So um- this is it.”

Y/N giggled a little at that.

Her car ride over there had been filled with doubts and insecurities, she had noticed how distant Spencer had been with her, how little effort he had made to get to know her. Out of all of her new friends he was the least welcoming.

She still felt drawn to him. She still felt like she needed to get to know him.

It was the craziest feeling.

On her way over she had decided she would get to know him, just so she could count herself as a friend, just so she could start looking past him, start looking at everyone else instead of constantly being focused on him.

“Okay. Do you have popcorn?” Y/N said breaking the silence they had been surrounded in.

It earned Y/N her first smile.

She was amazed.

She wanted to keep making him smile.

Spencer gestured for her to follow him to the kitchen while he put a bag of something- which she assumed was popcorn as she had asked -in the microwave. It felt just a little bit more comfortable now, almost like they weren't going to have the worst time together.

“So uh- how are you um-” Spencer cleared his throat, clearly out of his bounds. “How are you enjoying the BAU? I knew that- um- when I first started I was really nervous.”

Y/N felt a bit darker at his words. Did she tell him how she really felt, about the doubts she’d been having? Or did she lie through her teeth? Lie to the man who had given her his first smile, lie to the man who had invited her over?

Turns out she didn't have to answer that question, as Spencer answered it for her like he did most questions.

“Oh no. Did I- um… Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry I didn't mean-”

“What?” she said quickly “No you didn't say anything wrong…”

Spencer stared at her, waiting for her to continue, he felt like she had more to say.

“It's just I… I don't know I’m just not-” she threw her hands up and sighed, surprised by her own reaction, she didn't want to throw all of her problems at Spencer, especially when it was their first time even having a full conversation out of work.

“Is there something wrong?” he said quietly, trying to read her body language to gauge her reaction.

“I just-” she sighed again and put her head in her hands. “I can't explain.”

Spencer nodded. He just stared at her a little bit longer, he had read somewhere that if you leave silence between conversations, most of the time the question would be answered all on its own.

After a couple of seconds waiting he could clearly see this wasn't the case with Y/N.

“Okay. What if I ask questions… and you answer?”

Y/N looked up, “like an interrogation?”

Spencer smiled a little bit and nodded, he was glad she seemed open to the idea.

“Okay.”.

They spent the night like that, Spencer had learned all about Y/N just through asking questions.

The movie was forgotten.

Y/N had come clean about her worries, about her hesitations with their job, Spencer had practically pulled the truth out of her after seeing past all the empty answers she gave his questions.

It was infuriating how much he could read her.

Eventually, they had switched, and Y/N had asked the questions for a little while.

She had learned about Spencer's mom, had learned about his love for all things sweet, had learned about his favorite books, and had learned a lot more about practically everything than she ever had in school.

It was almost addicting.

They switched back and forth for hours, eventually moving to the couch, asking each other questions and laughing.

It was almost two in the morning.

Earlier Y/N had felt like she was going to fall asleep standing.

Now she felt wide awake.

She thought about how the morning would turn out, how much they both needed sleep, and eventually said, “I should probably go.”

The smile Spencer was wearing fell just a fraction of an inch, and Y/N immediately felt terrible.

“I think we both need some sleep.,” she said, trying to communicate that she didn't actually want to go, but she definitely didn't want to fall asleep at her desk the next day.

Spencer walked to the door and smiled.

He smiled.

She wondered how hard it was going to be to stay away from him now.

***

“Aaron she was going to die!”

“Y/N, you can't throw yourself into situations like that.”

A year later she had no doubts about her job.

No hesitations.

Nothing but the need to save as many victims as possible.

Cases in Virginia were always the most stressful, with Strauss breathing down their necks, the media wanting to know everything about the FBI that was located in the state.

They all hated it.

They much preferred to go out of state, somewhere with none of their families, none of their problems constantly chasing them down. It was always so much calmer when they weren't home.

Always so much easier.

And maybe running directly into danger wasn't the best way to relieve stress.

Y/N knew that.

But she also knew how scared that girl must have felt, she knew how deadly the gun in the unsubs hand was, and she knew that it was her job, not just as an FBI agent, but also as a person, to do something. To do anything to save a little girl's life.

She wasn't going to stop to think about her own life in a moment like that.

She had rushed into the house, rushed into the place where so many other little girls had died, rushed into the place with a man almost three times her size, a man who was holding a gun. She wasn't going to risk that little girl's life.

And she was fine, and that little girl was alive.

To her, that was worth more than a million praises from anyone.

It wasn't enough for Hotch though.

The minute they had gotten back to the office, the second Y/N had tried to sit down at her desk, the minute she had tried to say anything to Spencer, that was the minute Hotch pulled her away, furious, into his office.

She already knew she was in trouble.

He had sat her down, he had repeated exactly what he had said when she arrived at the unsubs house, alone, he repeated his exact orders to her, repeated the orders that she had deliberately disobeyed.

“Aaron. She needed my help!”

“Y/N you can't risk your life! And you definitely can't ignore a direct order.”

Both of them had scowls on their faces, and at that moment they looked exactly like siblings, looked so similar it was hard to tell them apart.

The rest of the team was sitting in their desks, listening to them fight, pretending to be filling out late reports, but mostly listening to the two siblings fighting.

Garcia was standing outside the door, waiting for something to happen. She didn't want anything bad to happen to her best friend. She didn't want them to fight at all.

Spencer nervously looked from the door to his desk over and over, waiting for one of them to walk out, waiting for the yelling to continue. He knew that his girlfriend was probably freaking out internally, trying to control her anger as she had to do many times with her brother. He knew that what she needed right now wasn't a reprimand, what she needed was reassurance. He had no idea how he could get that to her.

“Aaron. I am good at my job. I got her out of there. Safely.” Y/N said sternly, refusing to back down, even for a moment, refusing to admit that what she did was reckless, refusing to admit her life meant anything more than that little girl.

“But at what cost Y/N? What if you had gotten hurt-”

“I didn't.”

“Or died? What would that mean for us?” He asked, looking at her, his eyes hard and unmoving.

Their stubbornness was always something they had shared.

“Aaron. I knew what I was doing. I had to save her.”

“It was reckless Y/N.”

“Maybe it was. Maybe, it was. But I’m fine, she's fine, we’re all fine.” she reassured him by gesturing to the door, why didn't he understand that she couldn't not go in there?

“I can't have you acting like that. I can't have you not listening to my orders.”

“Is that what this is about? Me disobeying you?” Y/N asked in shock, shock because it almost felt like he was trying to control her, trying to show her that he was still older than her. “Because news flash Aaron, I’m not some little kid you’re in charge of anymore.”

“I’m your boss.”

“I had to do it!” she said finally.

“It was stupid. It was stupid and reckless, and I have no idea what you were thinking.” His words were final and stern. His face was angry, and he was clenching his fists. It looked like he wanted to say more but Y/N wasn't going to let him. She wasn't going to let him call her names, and treat her like she wasn't an adult.

Y/N was done, she was done trying to be calm, done trying to keep all her feelings hidden deep in her chest, done trying to pretend she didn't want to throw something at him, she was done.

“I’m not a little girl Aaron!” she yelled at him, walking away. “I can take care of myself, and I know what I’m doing. Maybe that's not good enough for you, but it's good enough for me.”

And she threw open the door, too angry to care about Penelope who was standing shocked in front of her. She rushed to her desk and started throwing things in her bag, mumbling under her breath.

“Y/N?” Someone said from behind her.

She sighed.

“What Spence?” she said quietly, feeling like giving up.

“Are you alright?” he asked, grabbing her arm and trying to get her to look at him. If she looked at him he would know how she was actually feeling, without having to guess.

She looked up and studied his eyes.

“He's being ridiculous!” she whisper-yelled looking back down at her desk. “I did the right thing and I’m fine. He's just mad because I didn't listen.”

Spencer watched her for a few moments.

“Maybe he's right,” he said quietly, his eyes looking worried and surprised, surprised because he hadn't meant to say the words out loud.

Y/N’s head snapped up. Her eyes looked deadly.

“What?” she said quietly, more quietly than she had been in the past 10 minutes.

“Y/N I just think that-”

She cut him off. “No Spencer. You’re supposed to take my side. You’re supposed to have my back. Jesus-” she said sadly grabbing her bag from her desk and throwing it over her shoulder. “You’re my boyfriend and you’re supposed to support me.”

“Y/N I do I just-”

He couldn't get anything else out.

“You’re supposed to support me,” she said desperately, giving him one last look, one filled with anger and doubt and sadness, and all the feelings she had no idea how to express, she gave him one last look and

She walked out the door.

***

Driving was a helpful coping mechanism.

Driving helped Y/N ease her mind. Helped her think things through.

She knew she shouldn't have yelled at Aaron and Spencer like that, she knew she had overreacted. And she knew that to some degree they were right.

She hated how protective both of them were.

She loved how protective both of them were.

It was a difficult car ride, she was doubting herself, doubting her instincts, doubting her efficiency as an agent, doubting if her brother and boyfriend believed in her.

She knew she overreacted.

But Aarons words had hurt, he had insulted her, and even if he’d had reason to, it still hurt her feelings.

Spencer was a different story. She’d automatically assumed he would agree with her, would agree that the little girl's life was worth more than any risk, would agree that Hotch was being harsh.

She’d forgotten how angry he could get when she ran right into danger.

She was driving and her palms were sweaty, and her stomach was being attacked by anxiety, and she had no idea how to talk to either of them.

All she knew was that she had to.

She had to get over her feelings, she had to think about them.

So she drove back. Slowly. As slow as she could go, but she drove back.

When she parked her car she felt like turning around, she felt like a little kid again about to go tattle on her brother to her mom, felt like she was the victim and the abuser all at once, and felt an overwhelming amount of emotions fill her to the core.

She walked inside. It took her a moment to remember how to get back to her desk.

It was irresponsible for her to leave in the first place.

When she walked through the doors of the BAU you noticed Spencer's absent desk, she noticed her other coworkers staring at her, their eyes a bit hopeful. She looked at them confused.

“Reid went to the bathroom. Don't worry pretty girl, he didn't leave.” Morgan said, reading the question in her eyes, watching her exhale in relief.

She smiled at him and walked towards Hotch's office.

She had been gone almost 2 hours, and technically she knew that everyone could have leftover half an hour ago, but she also knew all of them, and she knew how late they’d stay.

She knocked on her brother's door, regret pooling at her stomach, air filling her head.

There was a quiet “come in” from the other side.

She peeked inside his office, saw him scribbling on a piece of paper, and as soon as he looked up Y/N felt a million times smaller. She always felt smaller when she was in trouble. Though when she looked at her brother's eyes all she could see was relief.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he said, looking back down at his papers, clearing his throat, clearly a sign that she could come in.

So she did.

She walked over to his desk and sat in one of his empty chairs. She watched him write for a minute, thinking of something to say, thinking about all the times she’d had to apologize to him in the past.

“Aaron.”

“Hmm?” he said looking up at her again.

“I’m-” she paused, paused, and took a deep breath. He deserved an apology. “I’m sorry.”

She saw his jaw twitch, saw a flicker in his eyes, saw a drastic change in posture.

“I know,” he said.

She sighed in relief. She knew he wasn't mad anymore.

“I know I overreacted. I know it was stupid what I did. I won't do it again, I just- I just had to do something. That's all.” She hoped that was a good enough explanation, hoped it would make him forgive her, hoped her mistake could cost her in the future. She looked down at her hands, not wanting to see his reaction. She hated apologizing.

“It wasn't stupid,” Hotch said, putting his pen down. She looked up at him slowly.

“What?”

“It wasn't stupid. I’m sorry I said that. I understand what you had to do.”

More relief, making its way up her feet, and into her stomach, relief filling her chest with cool air, seizing the fire of anxiety in her chest. Sweet, sweet relief.

“But that doesn't mean you can ignore my orders” He added, and Y/N felt herself smile. He was teasing her, she saw a glimpse of the brother she used to- still -idolized.

“Sir, yes sir,” she whispered, moving to stand up. She had another person to apologize to. As she walked away her brother spoke again,

“Y/N?” she nodded, looking back at him. “Don't be too hard on him,” he said gesturing outside, where Spencer was back at his desk, staring at the bag on top of Y/N’s.

She smiled at him and looked over at her brother. “I won't.”

She almost walked away again “Aaron, you should go home.” he looked back up at her “go say hi to my nephew for me. “

And with that, she walked out the door, walked away too fast to see him smile at her.

The relief was invading her brain, making her next decisions for her.

She would have to thank it later.

She walked out the door and over to Spencer's desk, Spencer who looked surprised she was actually there.

She grabbed his arm and pulled him up.

“Hey-”

She kept pulling him, moving both of them into an empty storage room, while the rest of the team laughed at her antics.

As soon as she made it into the small space with him, as soon as he looked down into her eyes, his face entirely a question, her nerves entirely seized.

“I’m sorry.”

Spencer frowned at her. He frowned and opened his mouth in a silent question.

“I’m sorry for overreacting. I shouldn't have taken out my anger on you. It was unfair.” She said, searching his eyes for forgiveness.

They didn't fight often, barely fought at all, but every time they had she had always found the answer to her problem in his eyes. His eyes seemed to know everything.

She wondered if they knew how much she loved him.

“No, Y/N I should’ ve-”

She pulled him into a kiss, resting her hands in his hair as he moved his to her cheeks, as she held her apart as she kissed him, her lips an entirely different apology of their own.

Sweet sweet relief.

When she pulled back, just enough to see his face, she watched him sigh in bliss, watched the tiny smile on his face, watched his eyes open with amazement.

She wondered when she had last kissed him like that.

It seemed like too long.

She pulled him back in, giving him small pecks on his lips, and then his cheek, and then his neck. Smiling at the way he giggled when she tickled him with her hair.

“Y/N?” he said after a moment, his voice warm.

She looked back up at him to smile, to smile and peck his lips once more as an answer.

“I think I’d like you to take out your anger on me just a little bit-”

She cut him off with a kiss.

Sweet sweet relief.

my masterlist here.

#spencer reid smut #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds rp #criminal minds headcanons #emily prentiss x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #mgg #mgg x reader #mgg blurb

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fortheloveofwonderland · 3 years

Text

Ask the Stars [Spencer Reid x fem! Reader]

Find my masterlist here. Requests are Open.

Requested: Yes l No

A/N: I’ve had this idea floating around for a while and finally decided to write it and it flowed liked nobodies business! I LOVED writing this so I hope you enjoy reading it. Special thanks to the angel @dreatine who gave me the title for this fic and showing me the beautiful song the title is from (lyrics for which can be found throughout). Set pre-BAU.

CW: swearing, drinking, mutual pining, friends to lovers, age gap between consenting adults, virgin! Spencer, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, fingering, groping. I think that’s everything!

Plot: growing up together, best friends Spencer and the reader have always been secretly in love with one another. But a night together under the stars might be too little too late and with Spencer moving to DC and you to Idaho, that one night may be all you ever get.

WC: 12.2K

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Ask the stars up in the sky,

Ask the stars they’ll tell you why.

Stars know ev’ry little thing you do,

There’s a little star that’s watching you.

Ask the stars when you’re with me,

Ask the stars then watch and see.

Las Vegas, Nevada - 2003

Spencer didn’t think he would have made it through the last ten years of his life and been where he was now if it hadn't been for the family next door.

He was just twelve years old when they’d moved in, struggling to cope with high school bullies and his mom's schizophrenia all on his own.

They would help out with his mom in any way they could, they had him round for dinner when it was too tough for him to go home and they took him along on their annual camping trips every year.

They had been there for him when he’d had to have his mom committed when he was eighteen. They were kind, friendly people. They treated Spencer like their own son.

He liked to pretend when he was with them that they were his family. He liked to play pretend, that he had a loving father and a mom who wasn’t sick.

He lived in a fantasy world whenever he was with them.

But Spencer’s favourite part about the family next door by far, was their daughter, Y/N.

You were four years Spencer’s junior, just an adorable eight year old when you’d moved in next door to the young genius and his mother. The two of you had grown up together and somewhere along the way attraction and feelings developed.

Of course neither one of you had ever said as much. You were best friends, you didn’t want to risk destroying that by confessing your feelings for him.

And besides, at the end of the summer the two of you were going your separate ways; you were off to college in Idaho and Spencer was moving to DC for his illustrious new job at the FBI.

This was the last chance the two of you had to spend time together before everything inevitably changed. So maybe going on a camping trip with your parents at eighteen was a little lame. But there was one reason and one reason alone you were going on the trip.

Spencer Reid.

***

Just as you were lugging the last of your bags out of the front door, you heard the front gate creak open.

Your eyes shot up and landed instantly on his as he slipped through the gate.

You immediately dropped the bag on the floor and were dashing down the front steps and down the path.

“Spence!” You squealed, running at him at speed.

He caught you in his arms and the two of you almost went tumbling back to the concrete but he managed to steady you both.

“Whoa Y/N,” he laughed, wrapping you tightly in his arms. “I missed you too.”

You clung to your best friend, breathing in his scent. He’d only been gone two months finishing up his third PhD, but it felt like forever.

The last few years Spencer’s studies had taken him away from Vegas much more than you would have both liked. He’d missed the last two family camping trips and they had been so dull without him.

You were so happy to have him back for one last trip.

“It’s so good to see you.” You smiled, pulling back from the hug to get a proper look at him. Of course over the years you’d memorised every sculpted curve of his face, those sharp cheekbones, deep set eyes and sinfully plump lips but you would never tire of looking at him.

“Y/N, Spencer, it’s time to go!” Your mom hollered from the street, breaking you out of your thoughts.

“Give me a hand with my bag?”

“Of course.” He smiled, following up the path to the house.

You felt lighter when Spencer was around, like all of your worries and fears just melted away.

You had no idea how you would cope with him in DC while you were in Idaho. But that was a problem for another day.

For now you were just revelling in Spencer’s presence.

***

Admittedly camping with your parents was never a terrible experience. Your dad was the outdoorsy type, your mom was not. So they compromised.

Yes you were in the woods but your mom would not allow sleeping in rustic tents. Every year she booked up the most glamorous of tents for your stays. Wood flooring, real beds, even nightstands and lamps.

So technically you were sleeping in a tent, but it was just as comfortable, if not more so than your bedroom at home. The site was equipped with showers and real toilets. It wasn’t really like camping at all.

“Oh Spencer sweetie,” your mom called to him as you were unpacking the car several hours of driving later.

“Yes?” He looked up at her with a smile.

“Did Y/N tell you, we weren’t able to book three pods this year, I must have called late. I hope it’s ok for the two of you to share?”

Wow. Your mom was a better liar than you pegged her to be.

Even your dad seemed to fall for it.

When she’d told you a few days ago, you’d seen right through it.

You knew your mom had known for a long time of your crush on your genius neighbour. She’d probably known before even you did.

So you didn’t question it when she’d told you she’d only been able to book two camping pods, but you were sure your blush gave away exactly what you thought about it.

“Uhm yeah I guess that’s fine.” He shrugged and was that a blush you saw spreading to his cheeks? “I’ve got my sleeping bag, I can just sleep on the floor.”

Not if I have anything to do with it, you thought but his response seemed to appease your father.

Once Spencer went back to emptying the bags from the car your mom gave you a look and a small smirk.

You tried not to blush. Your mom had always been pretty cool for a mom and you had never been more grateful for that until right now.

You finished unpacking the car and took your stuff to your allocated tent to change before heading down to the lake.

Spencer took some clothes to the toilets to change and you spent longer than was necessary picking out the perfect bathing suit.

The last time Spencer had seen you in a bathing suit was two years ago and boy had your body changed in two years. You couldn’t wait to show it off to him.

You just hoped he liked what he saw.

***

Thankfully Spencer had already dived into the water before you took off your summer dress and unsheathed the glorious body you were hiding underneath the fabric.

The water made for a great way to hide the erection that almost immediately grew when he saw you in that bathing suit.

He tried not to look at you, mostly because your parents were there and he was sure they wouldn’t be happy with him gawking over their daughter.

But he was in essence, a cold blooded male. He’d had a crush on you for about as long as he could remember, you’d grown up together, surely it was only inevitable?

But you were his best friend. You were the only real friend he’d ever had. And he didn’t want to ruin that by sexualising you. But god that would be so much easier to do if you weren’t so damn hot.

When had you stopped being the adorable girl next door who used to play with her pony toys in the front yard? When did you become this drop dead gorgeous woman standing before him in a scantily clad bathing suit?

You had changed since the last time he’d seen you in so little clothes. You’d developed curves in what Spencer thought was all the right places.

You looked up and your eyes met his and you gave him a bright smile that made him feel a little weak. You walked to the edge of the lake and he couldn’t tear his eyes away from you.

You walked with poise, a sense of a confidence Spencer could never muster. He watched as you dove into the water so gracefully, and re-emerge a few feet in front of him.

You pushed your wet hair off your face and waded closer to him, wiping the water from your eyes.

Spencer felt a lump forming in his throat the closer you got. His eyes betrayed him and they fell to your chest, the water droplets rolling over your skin shimmered in the sun.

How I want to lick those beads of water off your skin.

“You ok?” You laughed, coming to a stop in front of him.

“M-me? Y-yes why wouldn’t I b-be.” He stuttered at the close proximity he now found himself in to you. He could reach out and touch you. He could reach out and kiss you.

He did neither.

“Come here,” he raised your hands out of the water. “Your hair is going to get in your eyes.”

You gently stroked a strand of Spencer’s wet hair out of his face and it sent a shiver racing up his spine.

His cock was aching. He’d never been touched by a woman in such a way. He’d never been touched by a woman in any way and honestly it felt like he could blow his load just from you stroking back his hair.

“Much better.” You smiled at him, leaving him feeling a little downtrodden when you withdrew your hand.

“Uh thanks.” He croaked, feeling light headed.

“You’re welcome.”

For a moment the two of you stared at each other, eyes locked as though communicating subconsciously.

Spencer wanted to grab hold of you and kiss you like there was no tomorrow. He wanted to pull you close and feel your body pressed up against his own, run his fingers over your every curve.

He wanted his hands to get lost in your hair. He wanted to bury himself between your thighs. He wanted to feel you, to taste you.

Honestly you were thinking the same, he just didn’t know it. His white t-shirt cling to his skin now soaked in water and you could just make out the soft skin of his chest underneath. You wanted to run your hands over that skin, through his hair, over every part of his body.

You wanted to feel him inside of you, his fingers, his cock, anything. You wanted to stare deep into his eyes while he made you come.

All of a sudden Spencer snapped out of his trance before he did something to make a fool of himself.

“I’ll race you to the next dock!” He dove beneath the surface before you had time to register his words.

You watched him go, splashing a lot as he swam, gangly limbs flailing.

It took you a few seconds to pick your mind up out of the gutter and start swimming after him.

Being the much more adept swimmer, despite Spencer’s head start you managed to beat him to the next dock.

He was much more out of breath than you when he arrived.

“How did you get into the FBI again?” You laughed as he gripped hold of the dock for dear life.

“They ultimately had to make exceptions to allow me into the field.” He panted.

“Clearly.” You teased. “Ohh and look, we’re right by the jet ski hire!” You pulled yourself up on the dock and sat on the edge looking down at Spencer.

“You know I hate those things. Did you know there are around seven hundred jet ski related accidents every year which results in approximately forty deaths? I don’t like those odds, I’ll wait on the dock.”

He tried and failed to get out of the water and in the end you had to help hoist him up.

“No way, you're coming with me.” You stood up and pulled him to his feet as well.

“I most certainly am not.” He made the mistake of looking into your eyes. Those beautiful expressive eyes that could probably make him commit murder.

“Please?” You asked softly and he was like putty in your hands.

“F-fine.” He grumbled.

“Yay!” You squealed a little, throwing yourself into his arms.

Your body pressed up against his and he tentatively wrapped his arms around you.

Your wet bathing suit and his wet t-shirt clung to each other and he could feel your every curve.

Thankfully you pulled away before he got too excited. You took hold of his hand now and started leading him towards the hire booth.

Honestly he’d let you lead him anywhere.

***

Spencer was still shaking almost ten minutes after pulling up in the small alcove a way up the lake and dismounting the jet ski.

He’d enjoyed the close proximity with you it had involved but it didn’t make up for the sheer terror of your haphazard driving.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” You laughed staring down at him as he laid on the grass.

“All I’ll say is, if you drove a car like that I would never let you drive me anywhere.”

“It’s a jet ski Einstein, they are supposed to go fast.” You nudged his ribs with your toe. “Get up, we need to head back.”

“I would literally rather swim back.” He groaned.

You rolled your eyes, nudging his ribs again.

“It’s probably almost a mile back, don’t be so dramatic.” You leant over him and took hold of his hands, pulling him into a sitting position. “How about you drive? That way we can go at a granny pace.”

“Funny.” He grumbled, getting to his feet. “But I will drive actually. I’d rather not die of a heart attack on this lake.”

You slid the rubber band over your hand that the key dangled from and tossed it at Spencer.

He flapped about trying to catch it and just managed to stop it falling to the floor.

You got in your positions on the jet ski. You wrapped yourself tighter around him than was necessary, your arms snaking around his waist and resting on his stomach.

Spencer shuddered but he hoped you would think it was due to the wind.

It could have been the wind but the timing seemed a little too convenient. Did your touch really have that effect on him? He’d never given you any indication that he liked you in that way, but could it be possible? Maybe you would have to test that out.

Spencer took a tentative breath and started the jet ski’s engine. You tightened your hold on him as it started moving.

Spencer was slow to start with just like you had assumed he would be. It was quite nice actually. You had a chance to revel in the way the water felt as it splashed onto your bare legs, the way the wind felt in your hair.

But mostly you were wrapped up in the way it felt to be this close to Spencer.

You pressed your chest into your back, making sure he could feel your breasts on him. You started by gently moving your fingers over the fabric of his t-shirt, round in little circles on his stomach.

As he picked up the speed a little you dared to let your fingers drop a little lower, over his hip bones. You felt him tense a little but due to the sound of the jet ski you didn’t hear the way his breath hitched at your touch.

You moved your hands again, your fingers gently grazing the waistband of his swim shorts.

Spencer practically jumped at your touch so near his crotch and he inadvertently swerved sharply, so sharply that it sent the two of you flying off the seat and crashing into the water.

The engine cut off when the key attached around Spencer’s wrist was yanked out with him.

You both broke the surface, spluttering a little.

“What the hell Spencer?” you pushed your hair back off your face. “Why did you do that?”

Because you have no idea how long I have wanted you to touch me like that.

“You uh...your...I don’t know. I just lost control I guess.” he didn’t want to tell you that your touch had sent him into a tailspin and he had completely lost his focus.

But you had a pretty good idea that was what had happened. And if that was the case, why? Why had your touch affected him in that way? Surely he did not feel for you the way you felt about him?

It couldn’t be possible. But it surely did seem that way.

“I’ll drive the rest of the way.” you told him, rather than pushing him. You didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

But you might have to test this more, maybe on stable ground.

You both climbed back up onto the jet ski, Spencer slightly less gracefully than you, and he handed you over the key.

You made it back to the jet ski hire with no further incident and Spencer was happy to be back on dry land. Although he did miss the closeness the jet ski brought.

“I need to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back ok?” Spencer told you while you returned your life vests.

“Sure, I’ll be here.” you gave him a soft smile.

He couldn’t help but give your body a once over again, it was accidental, he couldn’t stop himself. The feeling of your fingers on his waistband and your chest pressed up against his back were imprinted in his mind and by the time he reached the bathroom he was hard again.

Making sure there was no one else in the bathroom he shut himself in one of the cubicles. He leant against the closed door and exhaled a shaky breath.

It wouldn’t be the first time he had touched himself while thinking of you but this seemed dirty. This wasn’t the comfort of his own bedroom where no one would catch him.

But he knew he needed to take care of this otherwise it would plague him all day.

With another shaky breath he relieved himself from his swim shorts. He closed his eyes, taking his length in his hand and started stroking himself. He bit his lip hard to stem his moans as he pictured you in that sinful bathing suit.

He imagined your fingers moving from his waistband inside his pants and tried to imagine it was your fingers wrapped around him.

He was panting and mumbling your name in no time and it didn’t take long at all for him to come.

He cleaned himself up as well as the tiled floor he had dirtied before using the facilities and heading back outside.

God he hoped you wouldn’t see his deed written all over his face, he would be mortified.

But by the looks of it, you were too busy to notice anything.

The guy putting the moves on you was shorter than Spencer but much more broad and muscular. He had sun kissed skin and beach blonde hair. He had a charming smile and it was clearly working its magic on you.

Spencer approached slowly, you didn’t seem to notice. As he reached your side the man looked over at him with a frown.

“Can we help you?” he asked Spencer.

“Spence, hi.” you smiled at him before turning all your attention back on the other man. “Greg, this is my best friend Spencer. Spencer, this is Greg.”

Best friend, of course, because that’s how you saw him. Friends. Only ever friends.

You hadn’t had any intention of talking to someone while Spencer was gone but when Greg had approached you, you engaged in friendly conversation.

He was attractive, sure, but in your eyes he had nothing on Spencer.

But there was something in Spencer’s eyes that looked a lot like jealousy. Maybe you could use Greg to your advantage?

“Greg invited us to a party at the lake tonight.” you spoke when neither man said anything.

“I actually invited you to a party.” Greg corrected you.

“Oh.” Spencer squeaked a little.

“I’m only coming if Spencer does.” You told Greg with a seductive smile.

Greg smiled at you and stepped a little closer.

“How can I say no to a face like yours.” He ran his finger over your cheek and Spencer wanted to smack him. “I’ll see you tonight babe.” He winked at you before sauntering away.

“He seems like a complete jackass.” Spencer grumbled once Greg was out of ear shot.

“You didn’t even speak to him.” You frowned at your friend.

“Neither did you, not really. I was only gone five minutes. I don’t think we should go to that party.”

“And why not?” You folded your arms over your chest.

“Because we don’t know him. He could be some creep for all we know.”

“I don’t think that’s what’s bothering you.” You stepped closer to Spencer making him swallow. “Are you jealous Spencer?”

“W-what?” He croaked. “Jealous? W-why would I be j-jealous?”

It was written all over his face. He was jealous.

“I don’t know Spence, you tell me.” You stepped even closer to him now, so close he could feel your breath on his face.

You let your hands drop to your side.

“Do you want me for yourself Spencer? Because you know all you’d have to do is ask.”

Good god, what are you doing to me?

Of course he wanted you all to himself, it’s all he’d ever wanted. But that didn’t change the fact you were his best friend and you were moving to different states.

Telling you he wanted you was completely pointless.

“Of course not.” He tried to scoff, forcing himself to step back away from you. “If you want Greg that’s fine by me.”

“Fine.” You spat.

“Fine.” Spencer mirrored.

And with that you turned on your heels and stormed away.

Maybe you’d been wrong after all. Of course Spencer didn’t like you. What a stupid thought that had been.

***

That night your dad allowed you and a very reluctant Spencer to use his car to head back to the lake and meet Greg and his friends.

You and Spencer hadn’t said much of anything to each other since that afternoon but if your parents had noticed they didn’t say anything.

You felt foolish for thinking he could have possibly been jealous. Of course there was no way the brilliant Spencer Reid looked at you that way. There was no way he would deem you smart enough or interesting enough.

It had clearly all been in your head. Or so you thought.

But of course it hadn’t.

Spencer had wanted to scream at you that of course he was jealous and of course he wanted you all to himself, but he didn’t want to make a fool of himself. There was no way he was confessing his feelings for you. He’d done a good job of keeping them hidden up until now and he certainly wasn’t going to let Greg be the reason he told you.

He would take his feelings for you to the grave. It was easier that way. It was easier than ruining your friendship.

You drove to the lake in stifled silence. Normally small talk wasn’t an issue for the two of you, you could talk about anything and everything for hours on end. But for the first time, neither of you had anything to say to one another.

Thankfully it wasn’t a long drive to the lake and you pulled up soon enough and exited the car as soon as you shut off the engine.

Spencer sighed loudly once alone in the car. This was the last time the two of you would be together in god knows how long and you were in a fight already on the first day of the trip.

He didn’t think the two of you had ever fought, not properly anyway. Was this a fight? Spencer wasn’t even sure. He hoped not. He spent a few minutes alone in the car just collecting himself.

He got out of the car and followed in your footsteps. You were already down by a bonfire near the lake edge with none other than Greg. Greg had his arm around your shoulders as he handed you a bottle of beer which you took with a smile.

Spencer took a deep breath before heading towards you. He really didn’t want to be a third wheel with the two of you but he also didn’t have the kind of confidence it took to go and talk to new people.

Third wheel it is.

“Hi,” you barely acknowledged him as he joined you and Greg and if Spencer wasn’t mistaken you moved your body closer to Greg.

He gave you a half-smile and nodded in Greg’s direction.

“Can I get you a beer?” Greg asked him.

“No thanks. One of us is going to have to drive back and looks like that’s going to be me.” Spencer shrugged, trying not to sound annoyed but he clearly did because he saw you roll your eyes.

“Want to take a walk Greg?” you smiled at the other man who gave your shoulders a squeeze as he eyed you up and down.

“I would love that.” he chuckled and before Spencer knew it he was leading you away from him.

It had been all of two minutes and you had already abandoned him. Great.

He turned away from the lake and started back up towards the car assuming he would just wait for you there while you were off doing god knows what with Greg.

He made his way towards the car but didn’t get very far before someone ran into him, knocking him to the floor.

“Ow.” he groaned as he hit the ground, someone landing roughly on top of him.

“Oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry!” she pushed herself off of him, standing up before holding out a hand to help him.

Spencer took it and allowed the stranger to pull him to his feet.

“I was chasing after a frisbee and I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you ok?” she was smiling sweetly at him and Spencer couldn’t help but think it was a very pretty smile.

Maybe not as pretty as yours but pretty in its own right.

“It’s ok.” he told her, shaking it off. “These things happen. I’m uh...I’m Spencer.”

She smiled again and nodded.

“Rose.” she replied. “Would you care to join me for a drink Spencer?”

“You know what?” Spencer smiled. “I don’t mind if I do.”

***

You and Greg had walked further up the lake and found a spot near the water's edge to sit. It didn’t take long before his lips were on yours and his fingers were in your hair.

It was...nice. It was nothing special but it was ok. And you couldn’t help but wish it was Spencer’s lips pressed against your own.

When Greg’s hands moved from your hair down to your breasts, palming them through your top a little roughly, you pushed him back.

“Nuh uh.” you shook your head frowning at him. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh come on babe, we’re just having a little fun.”

“We can have fun without you groping me.” you picked up your beer bottle and swigged from it.

“I didn’t peg you as a prude Y/N.” he raised an eyebrow at you.

“Because I’m not. I prefer the term selective.” you scoffed.

He didn’t take your reluctance as a no however and he moved in again, his lips latching on to your neck and his hand finding your thigh.

He moved his hand higher up your bare leg, over your denim shorts and soon his fingers were toying with the button.

Once again you pushed him, harder than before.

“Hey asshole.” you spat. “I said no.”

He rolled his eyes, picking up his own beer, downing the contents and then tossing it away.

“You’re a drag.” he groaned. “Is this because of that pipe cleaner friend of yours?”

“No.” you pushed yourself up from the ground, grabbing your beer. “This has nothing to do with Spencer. I just don’t like pushy men who think they’re god's gift to women.”

You turned away from him and started back towards the bonfire you could see burning brightly in the distance.

“Girls like you are a dime a dozen.” he called after you.

You flipped him the bird over your shoulder but you didn’t turn back to look at him.

“Asshole.” you muttered to yourself.

You should have listened to Spencer, he’d always been a good judge of character. Maybe you’d have to apologise to him.

You made your way back to the bonfire to find him and make up but you didn’t have to look far.

He was sitting on one of the logs next to the fire but he wasn’t alone.

He had a petite redhead sitting in his lap, her arms wrapped around his neck. And her lips were hungrily exploring his.

“Oh god.” you felt like you’d just been kicked in the chest, like all the air had been forced from your lungs.

You lost your grip on the beer bottle and it fell to the ground.

His hands were gently on her hips, holding her place while he explored her mouth.

Your tears came out of nowhere, alarming you as they started heavily cascading down your cheeks.

Just as a sob wracked your body, you took off running up the bank and towards the car.

You couldn’t watch anymore. Seeing Spencer kiss that girl made your heart feel like it was shattering into a thousand tiny pieces.

You got back in the car and sobbed. Every time you closed your eyes, all you could see was Spencer and that girl, locking lips.

And all you could think was, it should be me.

***

“Sorry if that was really forward of me.” Rose blushed a little when the kiss ended.

Spencer was blushing too, but he had been since their lips first touched.

“I-it’s o-ok.” he stuttered, completely baffled by what had just happened. “I-it was n-nice.”

“I hope it was a little more than nice.” Rose giggled.

But it wasn’t. It was simply nice. It was a nice kiss but it wasn’t with you. He’d kissed girls before but it never felt quite right. And he knew it was because he wasn’t kissing you.

He didn’t speak, he couldn’t find the right words to say.

Rose’s face fell a little and she slid off Spencer’s lap onto the log next to him.

“I know that look.” she chewed her lip. “That’s the look of a guy who is thinking about someone else.”

He wanted to argue with her but it seemed pointless.

“I’m sorry.” He shrugged pathetically. “You’re beautiful and you have no idea how much I wish I wasn’t thinking about someone else. But I am. I always am.”

“It’s ok.” She placed her hand gently on his knee. “It was nice to meet you Spencer.” She pushed herself up from the log.

“You too Rose.” He stood too, needing to find you before you did anything stupid with Greg.

Just as he had this thought, Greg came wandering towards the bonfire alone.

“Where’s Y/N?” Spencer rushed over to him.

“How should I know?” Greg scoffed. “That girl is a cock tease. Not worth my time.”

“Don’t say that.” Spencer practically whined, making Greg chuckle.

“What are you gonna do about it?” Greg snarled at him.

“I uh...I need to find Y/N.” He changed the subject. He did not want to get into a fight because he would most certainly lose.

“Whatever.” Greg scoffed, turning away from Spencer.

Spencer scanned the crowds but couldn’t see you, he knew he’d be able to pick you out of any crowd.

He practically sprinted back to the car, hoping to find you there and as luck would have it, there you were in the driver's seat.

But even in the dark he could see that you were crying.

He ran to the passenger door and flung it open.

“Oh my god Y/N, what’s wrong?” He threw his arms around you, pulling you closer over the console.

“Get off me.” You pushed him away, sniffing back your tears.

“What’s wrong? What did Greg do?” He asked clearly not noticing your hostility towards him.

You sighed, not wanting to tell your best friend you were crying over seeing him kiss another girl, you shook your head, fixing your seatbelt in place.

“Nothing. I just want to forget all about tonight.” You started the engine.

“O-ok.” Spencer chewed his lip.

Neither of you spoke again on the drive back to the campsite or once you were back in your pod.

You slipped into the bed and Spencer in his sleeping bag on the floor.

Neither of you got much sleep that night, you both had too much on your mind. Namely, being in love with your best friends who were seemingly oblivious.

***

The next morning when you awoke you decided today was a new day. You weren’t going to allow yourself to spend the whole trip being mad at Spencer.

You’d never seen him with a girl before, it had been a shock. But he was twenty two, he must have had girlfriends before you guess he’d just chosen not to tell you. And it wasn’t as though you’d never been with a man.

You resided yourself to the fact that you and Spencer were destined to be friends and that was ok. At least it would be ok. It had to be.

You knelt down on the floor next to his sleeping bag and watched him for a second. He was sound asleep, his breathing soft and even. His plump lips were parted ever so slightly and his hair was draped over the pillow. His eyelashes grazed the skins under his eyes.

Maybe it would be a little harder than you thought to just see him as a friend.

Suddenly his eyes fluttered open and landed on you.

He frowned a little, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands.

“Uh...good morning.” He croaked, voice riddled with sleep. “Were you staring at me while I slept?”

“No.” You scoffed, standing back up. “I was just wondering if I could free your hand and put it in a glass of water, see if that peeing thing really works.” You started rummaging through one of your bags to hide your blush from Spencer.

“Mature.” He laughed a little as he sat up. “Hey Y/N, are you ok?”

You took a few deep breaths and turned back to him with a large, fake smile on your lips.

“I’m great.” You beamed. “Now get up sleepy head, we’re going for a hike!”

And with that you took your clothes and stepped over him, undoing the front of the tent pod and disappearing.

Spencer ran his fingers through his hair with a sigh.

He wished falling out of love with you was as easy as it had been falling in love with you.

Not being in love with his best friend would make his life so much easier. But life never was good to Spencer.

***

Spencer loved your family but you were all much more athletic than he could ever hope to be. After a five mile hike, Spencer was exhausted. Sweat made his shirt cling to his body and his hair stick to his forehead.

When your mom had suggested stopping for the picnic she had packed, he was more than happy to oblige.

He practically fell to the grass on his back, panting and sweating.

“If it wasn’t for that huge brain of yours there is no way you would have gotten into the FBI.” you laughed as you flopped down next to him.

“Be nice Y/N.” your mom scalded you to which you rolled your eyes.

Your mom set some food while your dad poured glasses of soda for you all. You spent an hour sitting in the sunshine eating while Spencer worked on getting his breath back.

They still had a five mile walk back.

Spencer found himself stealing glances at you as you ate, like he usually did. He never grew tired of watching you.

You were wearing cargo pants and a vest top. His eyes caressed the side of your neck and the curve of your shoulder and your collarbone. Your skin glistened a little from the heat.

His eyes grazed up to the side of your face and the stray strand of hair that fell onto your face. He wanted to lean in and tuck behind your ear but that seemed too intimate.

He must have been watching you for a long time because when he resurfaced from his thoughts your mom was packing up what was left of the picnic.

“Spence and I will make our way back.” You stood up and brushed down the back of your cargo pants.

“Don’t get lost.” You dad shot you a sarcastic look.

“We’ll be fine. Come on Spence.” You encouraged to which he stood too.

“See you later.” He waved at your parents before following where you had already started walking.

“Do you even know where you’re going?” He asked once he caught up with you.

“No idea.” You shrugged.

“Oh good, just what I want. To get lost in the woods with you.” He rolled his eyes.

“Yeah I’m sure you’d much rather get lost in the woods with that redhead from last night, right?” The bitterness was seeping from your words.

Spencer stopped in his tracks.

“Uh...what redhead?” He tried to lie, he didn’t know what you’d seen so he didn’t want to give away too much.

“Don’t play dumb Spencer.” You stopped too so you could look at him. “The one who was cosied up on your lap, eating your face.”

“Oh. That redhead.” He chewed his lip. “I uh...didn’t realise you saw that.”

“Well I did.” You shrugged. “Looked like you were having fun.”

“It w-was...she was nice I guess.”

“Good.” You spat a little more harshly than you’d meant to.

Spencer frowned, stepping closer to you, leaves crunching under foot.

“Are you annoyed?”

“What? No. Why would I be annoyed?” You scoffed, giving him your best eye roll.

“You seem annoyed.”

“Well I’m not.”

“Good. Because you wouldn’t have any right to be.” It was like he was poking a bear with a stick. He was trying to get a rise out of you.

“And why wouldn’t I?” It was working, you were rising to it.

“Because you left me alone while you went off to do god knows what with Greg. I had to pass the time somehow.”

“By sticking your tongue down some random girl's throat?”

“I’m sure you were doing much more with him.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” You growled, stepping closer to him now.

“You know exactly what that means.” He stepped closer to you too, as though you were challenging each other.

“You really think I was off fucking him?” You raised your voice. “Is that what you think of me?”

“Weren’t you?” He shrugged.

“I most certainly was not! He tried to get fresh with me and I pushed him away. He was a jackass! And then I come back to find you making out with that girl!”

“So you are annoyed about that?”

“Yes, happy? Yes I am annoyed about that.” You yelled.

Spencer closed the space between you but you stepped backwards away from him. He backed you into a tree where you collided with the bark.

He put his hands either side of your head pinning you in place.

Where had this side of him come from?

“Why are you annoyed Y/N?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes you do.”

“No I don’t.” You tried to insist but you knew he could see right through you.

“Tell me. Tell me why you’re annoyed with me for Christ sakes Y/N! What did I do that was so wrong? I was just having some fun.”

“Without me.” You pouted.

“I can’t have fun without you?”

“No, it’s not that.” You shook your head, very conscious of how close Spencer was to you.

“So what is it then? Tell me.”

“I don’t like seeing you with another girl ok?” You raised your voice again.

“But I have to see you with another man?”

“I offered myself to you Spencer. I said all you had to do was ask. You said no. What was I supposed to think?”

“Y-you…you meant that?” His facade faltered and his hands fell to his sides.

“Of course I did.” You spat.

“You...you…” he swallowed.

“It should have been me you were kissing. Asshole.” You mumbled pathetically.

Spencer didn’t know what came over him at that moment but he couldn’t hold back.

He took your face in his hands and pushed you back against the tree trunk before pressing his lips to yours.

For a moment you kissed him back but then your anger returned and suddenly you were pushing him away.

“Stop it!” You yelled. “It’s too little too late Spencer. I don’t want to be your second choice. I don’t want you after she’s had you.”

“S-second choice? Y/N you could never be my-“

“Save it.” You pushed passed him and started walking again. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. We need to get back before it starts getting dark.”

You didn’t know what had come over you. All you’d ever wanted was to feel Spencer’s lips on yours. But when he kissed you, all you could think of was that redhead from last night.

And it broke your heart all over again.

***

“Spence?” You whispered into the dark. “Spence are you awake?”

It had been a long, awkward walk back followed by a long, awkward evening back at the campsite with your parents.

You and Spencer had said barely two words to each other before you called for an early night and crawled into your bed.

“Yeah I’m awake.” He whispered in reply from the floor.

“I’m...I’m really cold.” You felt foolish but you were freezing, you couldn’t seem to warm up.

And the only thing you could think that would help would be Spencer’s warm body next to you.

You heard him sigh followed by some rustling. Then you saw his silhouette beside the bed.

“You want me to warm you up?” He asked softly.

“If it’s not...too much to ask.” You didn’t deserve him being kind to you but that was the thing about Spencer, he was always there when you needed him. No matter what.

He sighed again before lifting the covers and sliding into the bed.

“Come here.” He held his arm open for you and you slid closer to him, his arm wrapping around your waist and you rested your head on his chest.

As suspected, he was radiating warmth. You snuggled into him sighing in content. He ran his fingers up and down your side.

“I’m sorry about earlier Y/N.” he spoke into your hair.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, not like that. It was wrong of me and I’m sorry.”

You shifted a little so you could look up at him.

“I’m the one who should be sorry, Spence. I shouldn’t have acted the way I did. I just...I don’t like the way I felt seeing you with that girl.”

“It didn’t feel great for me seeing you with Greg either.” he cupped your face with his free hand and stroked your cheek with his thumb.

“I don’t want to ruin our friendship, Spence.” a tear escaped your eye. “You’re my best friend and I don’t want to do anything to change that. But I can’t pretend that it didn’t hurt to see you with another girl. And I suppose that means I have feelings for you that go beyond friendship. But I can’t lose my best friend Spence.” a few more tears fell and Spencer tried to wipe them away with his thumb.

“I know Y/N, me too.” He agreed, chewing his lip.

You settled back into his chest and he tightened his hold on you. If this was as close as he could have you then he was going to soak in every moment.

Eventually you both fell asleep, into peaceful slumbers brought on by being wrapped in each other’s embraces.

***

For the rest of the week you and Spencer avoided unnecessary touches and glances each other’s way.

You tried to act normal. You tried to act like you hadn’t kissed and spent the night in each other’s arms.

You knew your parents suspected something was amiss with the two of you, you weren’t quite as pally as you usually were but neither of them said anything.

You spent days at the lake, you went for hikes and sat around the campfire in the evenings as the sunset around you.

On your final night your parents retired to their pod but you remained sitting on one of the logs, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.

“Are you coming to bed?” Spencer asked you softly.

“Not yet, I might watch the stars for a while.”

“Want company?” He smiled at you and you nodded.

He laid his own blanket out of the ground and motioned for you to come over.

You laid side by side on your backs and you draped your blanket over the top of you both as you stared up at the sky.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving for DC when we get back.” You sniffed back any tears that might fall. “I have to spend the rest of the summer at home without you.”

“You’ll be off to college in a few weeks. You’ll forget all about me.”

You rolled your head to the side and he did the same so you were looking at each other.

“Spence, I could never forget you.” You reached for his hand and entwined your fingers.

He sighed in content at your touch. It was the most physical contact you’d had in almost a week.

“I’m going to miss you so much.” He gave your hand a gentle squeeze.

“I’m going to miss you too Spence.”

You laid like that under the stars, just staring into each other’s eyes for some time. There were so many things you both wanted to say but nothing seemed good enough.

Somehow you ended up closer together on the blanket, you’re not sure how it happened. You weren’t sure if you’d moved closer or if Spencer had or maybe you both had, but somehow you ended up with barely a few inches between your faces.

You could feel his soft breath on your face and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from his lips. That kiss had burned itself into your brain and you couldn’t believe you’d pushed him away before you got to really enjoy it.

“Spence,” you whispered after a long stretch of silence.

“Yes Y/N?”

“All you have to do is ask.” You repeated what you’d said to him at the lake your first day.

He knew exactly what you meant and it made his chest tighten at the mere thought.

“Y/N?” He whispered, edging even closer to you.

“Yes?”

“Can I...c-can I kiss you?” He stuttered.

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t Spence.”

He let go of your hand so he could cup your cheek and slowly closed the small space between you.

This time when your lips met it was slow and soft. You revelled in the feeling of his plump, pillowy lips pressed against yours for a moment before you cautiously parted your lips.

Spencer was tentative in his movements as though you may push him away again at any moment.

But of course you didn’t. He slid his tongue in your mouth and started exploring you, slowly at first but soon an animal instinct took over.

He explored your mouth hungrily, holding your face delicately in his large hands. You wrapped your arms around his neck and helped him roll on top of you.

He was hard already, you could feel it pressing against you and you knew a kiss wasn’t going to be enough.

You played with his hair, tugging it a little and he moaned into your mouth, subconsciously grinding his hips into yours.

You dared to let your hands roam his back until you reached the hem of his hoodie and slipped your hands under the fabric.

He moaned again at the feeling of your hands on the skin of his back. It spurred you on to rake your nails lightly over his flesh. You were met with another hard roll of his hips.

The kiss ended so you could both gasp for the air that had left your lungs. Spencer chewed his lip nervously, scared of what might happen next.

“Should w-we uh...do you want to go into t-the tent?” he was so unsure of himself. He didn’t want to sound as though he was being presumptive.

“No,” you whispered, but you were smiling. “I want to stay out here.”

“B-but your parents…”

“Sleep like logs.” you laughed, stroking back his hair. “Spencer, I want you to make love to me under the stars. Do you think that’s something...something you can d-do?” you suddenly felt nervous telling him what you wanted. Maybe that’s not what he wanted? Maybe it was just a kiss?

But the hiss that slipped from his lips told you it was exactly what he wanted.

“I-I...there is n-nothing in the world I want m-more.” he swallowed. “B-but I...I’ve never...done this before.” his cheeks turned crimson in an instant.

Your heart swelled. You had no idea. You assumed Spencer was just quiet about his exploits. You had no idea he’d never been with a woman before.

“Oh,” you didn’t really know what to say. “Is this...have you ever pictured, you know, what your uh...first time would be like?”

His blush deepened and he gnawed heavily on his lip.

“All the time.” he confessed. “And it’s always with you.”

“Kiss me Spence.” you smiled at him, pulling him closer again by his neck.

Your lips met again but this time it was much more frantic and desperate, now you both knew exactly where this was going.

You hooked your fingers under the hem of his hoodie and pulled it up his body. He sat back so he could pull it over his head.

“T-shirt too.” you told him with a smirk while he was sat up.

He looked a little nervous but he complied. In all the years you’d known Spencer you didn’t think you’d ever seen him shirtless before. He was always conservative, insecure about how skinny he was. But in that moment he didn’t have time to worry about his insecurities, all he wanted was you and that was all that mattered.

He discarded the items of clothing, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. Your eyes raked up and down his torso and soon your fingers followed suit, running over his flesh. He hissed again, telling you he liked it.

“W-what about you?” you swallowed nervously.

“What about me?” you smirked. You knew what he meant but you wanted to hear him say it.

“Y-you uh...can I...your dress?” he was blushing again and it was so adorable.

“Spencer, you can do whatever you like to me.” your voice was dripping with seduction and it made his cock twitch achingly. Oh how he’d dreamed of this moment.

His hands were shaking as he reached for the bottom of your dress. He was slow to raise the fabric, making sure you weren’t going to change your mind.

He inched it up your thighs and paused when he got it to your hips. The black pair of lace panties you wore underneath made his head spin.

“Oh gosh.” he panted a little as he spoke.

You smiled, arching your back so he could continue undressing you. Inch by inch the fabric got higher and higher, revealing more of your body.

Once you had discarded the dress, Spencer sat back again to take you all in. Your panties had a matching bra, cupping your breasts magnificently.

“Do you like what you see, Spence?”

“Are you kidding?” He smiled. “You are perfection Y/N.”

You raked your nails down his chest once more and came to a stop at the waistband of his trousers. You toyed with the button a little.

“Can I?” You whispered.

He chewed his lip and nodded.

You unbuttoned his trousers and tugged them over his hips. He wriggled out of them and tossed them in a pile with the rest of the clothes.

His cock was straining at the front of his boxers, begging to be freed.

You allowed yourself to palm him through his underwear. His head fell back and he moaned deeply.

“Oh gosh.” He panted. “I’m sorry, no ones ever touched me like this before.”

You smiled to yourself, loving that no other woman had been here before. But you could also tell if you were to touch him properly, he wouldn’t last to the main event.

You moved your hand to his wrist and guided his hand between your legs instead.

You panties were soaked already.

He looked at you with large, uncertain eyes, but you nodded in encouragement.

“Please Spencer?”

He swallowed.

“What if I’m no good.” He whined a little.

“It’s ok baby,” you cooed. “You could never make me feel anything other than amazing.”

You let go of his wrist and his fingers shakily played with the lace fabric.

He took a few deep breaths before he moved the fabric aside enough so he could get to your heat.

He was so cautious with his movements, trying to ensure he was doing everything right.

He’d read books. He’d watched porn. But he’d never had the real thing.

He started slow, circling your clit with his fingertip in gentle movements. It was enough to make several moans leave your parted lips and he took that as a good sign.

You pulled him down by his neck so you could kiss him again and his confidence built a little, moving his fingers faster between your legs.

“Oh god Spence,” you mumbled into his lips. “That feels so good baby.”

Spencer felt a swell of pride that he was able to make you feel good, but he wanted more, needed more.

“Y/N,” he panted. “C-can I...can we…”

“Yes Spence. God yes.” You kissed him again and he reluctantly removed his hand from between your legs.

You arched your back and unhooked your bra.

His mouth fell open at the sight of your breasts and he moaned viscerally.

You smiled, taking hold of both of his wrists now and placing his large hands on your breasts.

“F-fuck.” He moaned feeling you beneath his hands. “Jeez Y/N.”

You laughed, now working on sliding your panties down your legs.

Spencer gave your breasts a small squeeze, tweaking your nipples a little between his fingers.

You moved your hands to his hips and cautiously slid his boxers down his hips. You couldn’t stop the small moan that left your lips as you freed his erect member.

“Fuck Spence,” you groaned eyeing him up.

He removed his hands from your breasts so he could shimmy his boxers off.

He laid back down on top of you, his cock nestling between your legs. He kissed you softly, stroking back your hair.

“Y/N, I need to tell you something before w-we...you know…”

“You can tell me anything.” you encouraged him.

“Y/N, I have been in l-love with you for as long as I can remember. I need you t-to know that. I need you to know h-how inconceivably in love with you I am.”

You felt tears spring to your eyes at his words. You pulled him close for another kiss.

“Spencer, I love you too baby.” you whispered, making him sigh in relief.

“I have waited so long to hear you say that.”

“You should have asked.” You smirked, kissing him again. “Are you ready baby?”

He nodded with a deep breath. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he kept his eyes firmly on yours he slowly pushed his way inside of you.

His eyes widened and his jaw fell slack. Nothing in the world could have prepared him for the way you felt. Honestly, he almost came as soon as your tight heat was sheathed around him.

He pushed all the way inside you, filling you up beautifully. He paused to take a few steadying breaths.

“Are you ok?” You traced your finger along his bottom lip.

“Yeah,” he panted. “I just need a minute. I don’t want to uh…f-finish too soon.” He blushed.

“Take your time Spence.” You smiled lovingly at him.

He took a few more breaths and captured your lips in a kiss before he started moving slowly.

He was careful in his movements, slow and gentle as though you were made of glass.

He withdrew almost all the way, before slowly plunging back inside you.

His eyes rolled back in his head and the two of you moaned together under the starry sky.

“Jesus Y/N.” He gasped. “This f-feels so...so…”

“I know Spence,” you kissed him harder, messily exploring his mouth, your hands roaming his body and he moved in and out of you.

“I’m r-really not g-gonna…l-last long.” He spoke into your lips.

“Touch me again Spence. I want to come with you.”

He exhaled, moving his hand between your bodies and his fingers started circling your clit once more as he continued his slow thrusts.

The feeling of being inside you was otherworldly. Spencer had never dreamed in a million years it would feel this magical.

He wanted it to last forever. He never wanted this end. If he could feel one thing for the rest of his life he wanted it to be you wrapped around his dick.

He was getting closer and closer to the edge but now his fingers were working deftly on you, so you were you.

You found it hard to believe he’d never done this before because he was amazing at it. He seemed to know just what to do to bring you to your orgasm.

“I’m s-sorry Y/N…I can’t...I’m g-gonna…”

“Me too Spence.”

Hearing you moan his name was all he could take and with one last thrust, Spencer came, filling you with his load.

You came too, clenching around his spasming cock.

He fell on top of you, panting and moaning into your neck.

You wrapped him in your arms and kissed his messy hair.

“God damn Spencer,” you panted. “That was incredible.”

“R-really?” He lifted his head so he could look at you.

“Absolutely.” You held his face and kissed him gently. “I love you Spencer.”

“I love you too Y/N. So much.”

“Shall we go to bed?”

“Five more minutes under the stars?” He asked to which you nodded.

He gently pulled out of you and rolled onto his back on the blanket. You curled into him, resting your head on his chest.

He wrapped one arm around you and held your hand tightly.

“Beautiful isn’t it?” You sighed sleepily, looking up at the night sky.

“Not half as beautiful as you Y/N.”

***

It didn’t take long at all for you both to fall asleep like that. Thankfully you woke up before your parents and managed to sneak back into your tent before they found you.

Your dad would have a coronary if he found the two of you like that.

The drive back was long, it seemed longer than on the way. Maybe because you knew your time together was coming to an end.

Tomorrow Spencer would be leaving for DC and who knows when you would next see each other again.

At least you had your night together under the stars.

You were both exhausted when you arrived home so retired to your own homes to rest, Spencer promising to come and see you before he left the following morning.

Your night together had been magical, but the air between you was now stifled. It was what Spencer feared most. Giving into his urges had probably ruined your friendship.

And now he was leaving and didn’t have time to make it up to you.

As promised he showed up at your front door the following morning, his car already packed up.

You stepped out onto the porch and closed the front door behind you.

“I can’t believe you’re really leaving.” you wrapped your arms around your body as though shielding yourself from the pain that was going to be caused.

“I know, me either. I never imagined leaving Vegas, not permanently anyway.” he shrugged sadly.

“Don’t forget about me when you’re a hot shot in the FBI, Agent Reid.” you gave him a half smile.

“You and I both know it’s Doctor Reid.” he tried to laugh but it came out as more of a sigh. “Look Y/N, I need to know. After what happened the other night…”

“Spence-”

“Where do we stand Y/N?” he cut you off. “What...what are we?”

You sighed heavily and tried to smile even though your heart was breaking.

“We’re best friends, Spence.” you shrugged. “Always.”

“Best friends.” he muttered sadly. “That’s what I thought.”

“Spencer, we’re moving to different parts of the country, I’m not sure exactly what you thought that night was.”

No, neither am I.

“What was it to you?” he said instead.

“I guess...it was a perfect way to say goodbye.”

Spencer couldn’t keep his resolve any longer and his tears broke free, falling down his cheeks.

“Of course. Goodbye.” he whispered.

“Spence, please don’t cry.” you reached for him but he stepped out of your touch.

“I need to uh...g-get going. It’s a long drive to Quantico.” he rubbed the palms of his hands heavily over his eyes.

“Spence,”

“Really, I n-need to go.” he turned away from you and jogged down the front steps of your house and down the path.

“Spencer, please don’t leave like this.” you called after him, dangerously close to tears yourself.

“Goodbye Y/N.” he turned back to you when he reached the front gate. “I’ll always love you.” he sniffed but before you could say anything more, he was gone.

He ran to his car and seconds later he was inside and you were watching him pull away.

You fell to the ground on the porch and you sobbed. What else could you possibly do? You’d lost your best friend and the love of your life in one fell swoop.

All because of one stupid night under the stars.

Ask the stars up in the sky,

Ask the stars they’ll tell you why.

Stars know ev’ry little thing you do,

There’s a little star that’s watching you.

Ask the stars when you’re with me,

Ask the stars then watch and see.

***

Quantico, Virginia - 2020

Seventeen years seem to pass almost in the blink of an eye. One day Spencer was walking into the BAU for the first time and seemingly the next he was almost forty with a lifetime of trauma behind him.

He thought about you every single day for the longest time. He wondered what you were doing with your life. Were you happy? Had you met someone and got married? Had kids?

Honestly he probably still thought about you every day of his life until he met Maeve.

Maeve was a wonderful reprieve from thoughts of you, and for the first time in almost ten years you hadn’t been the first thought on his mind when he woke in the morning.

But he’d never loved her the way he loved you. It was probably for the best that he and Maeve never got to be together properly because it would have inevitably ended when he couldn’t give her his whole heart.

No, he’d left a piece of that in Vegas years ago.

After Maeve he thought about you from time to time but not everyday like he once had. When he was incarcerated he thought about you a lot. He wondered what you think of him if you could see him sitting in that cell, becoming a man he didn’t recognise. Surely you wouldn’t recognise him either.

Then he met Max and once again he thought maybe, just maybe he would finally be able to give his heart to someone else. But his hopes were dashed. They dated for a few months but she always knew there was someone else. Someone else occupied his mind and his heart and it wasn’t fair on Max to stay with her in the hopes that one day he might be able to love her like he loved you.

You hadn’t fared much better in the love department.

You met a man in college and the two of you married at the tender age of twenty one. You knew you were over compensating. You knew this wasn’t the man you were supposed to be with. But he helped take your mind off your lost love and you were sure in time you would stop thinking about Spencer all together.

But of course you didn’t.

The marriage lasted three years and you were divorced soon after your twenty fourth birthday. There had been other men over the years, but none lasted very long.

They scratched an itch. They filled a void in your life that had existed since Spencer walked out. But inevitably you couldn’t commit so each one ended quicker than the last.

You stayed in Vegas all those years, maybe hoping one day Spencer would come back to you, but of course that had been foolish. Spencer was off living his own life, he probably hadn’t given you a second thought in years.

And then, at the age of thirty five, the job offer came that changed everything.

***

“It’s so quiet around here.” Luke mused as he and Spencer walked through the bullpen.

“Yeah I know what you mean. How is Garcia getting on at her new job?”

“She’s enjoying it but she misses the BAU.”

“Tell her we miss her too. Isn’t her replacement meant to be starting today?”

“She is and she’s settling into her new office.” Emily’s voice caught Spencer and Luke’s attention.

“I guess we should go and introduce ourselves.” Luke shrugged.

“Sure,” Spencer shrugged too and the two of them made their way out of the bullpen towards Garcia’s old office.

“I bet it’s going to be so drab.” Luke laughed.

“No more unicorn mugs or fluffy pens.” Spencer agreed.

“Penelope is one of a kind.”

“Undoubtedly.” Spencer swiped his card on the door and pushed the door handle before stepping into the office, Luke just behind him.

“You must be our new technical analyst.” Luke spoke as the door closed behind the two agents.

The woman sat in Garcia’s old chair tapping on the keys turned in the chair to face them.

She seemed to move in slow motion.

“I’m SSA Luke Alvez and this is Doctor-”

“Spencer Reid.” she cut him off, the words falling from her lips.

“Y/N Y/L/N.” Spencer croaked, glaring at the woman in front of him as if he’d seen a ghost.

Luke frowned looking between the two of them who seemed to have forgotten his presence.

Spencer and Y/N stared at each other without saying a word. Spencer’s chest tightened, constricting his breathing. Was he having a heart attack? Was this how he was going to die?

“You uh, know each other?” Luke spoke up.

“Uh...did know each other.” you croaked not tearing your eyes away from Spencer.

“A long time ago.” Spencer added, not looking away from you either.

Sensing the tension in the room, Luke backed up towards the door.

“Maybe I should let the two of you get reacquainted.” he said but neither of you acknowledged him.

He pushed his way back into the hall just as JJ was heading his way.

“Hey, I was just coming to meet the new tech analyst.” she smiled at him.

“I would give it a minute.” Luke told her, making her frown.

“Why?”

“There’s a lot of unfinished business in that room, trust me.” he put his arm around her shoulders to lead her away from the door.

“Spencer and the new Garcia?”

“Yeah.” Luke sighed. “If my profiling skills are accurate, I would say they were in love once. Probably still are.”

Back inside Garcia’s old office, you and Spencer were still staring at each other.

“I had no idea you still worked here, I swear. I wouldn’t have taken the job if I’d known.” you chewed your lip awkwardly.

“You look different.” he spoke as though ignoring what you’d said.

“Well yes, it has been a long time Spencer.”

“Seventeen years, three months and fifteen days.”

“Precisely.” you frowned at his recall. “I’m not eighteen anymore.”

“No and I’m not twenty two.” he sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.

It was longer now, curlier and messier. He sported stubble on his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. He’d gained weight, somehow gotten even taller you were sure.

He was most certainly not the twenty two year old Spencer Reid you had spent a night with under the stars.

“You look different too. Good different.” you told him.

“A lifetime of trauma will probably do that.” he nodded stiffly.

“Spencer? Strange question for you…”

“Yeah?”

“Did you uhm...did you ever tell Penelope about...that night.” you felt yourself blushing.

Spencer closed his eyes for a moment with a sigh.

He hadn’t been this drunk in a really long time. Maybe ever. Spencer never had been a big drinker. But they’d had a tough case and Garcia had suggested they all spend the evening at her apartment drinking.

Spencer couldn’t recall who exactly had suggested the drinking games, possibly Kate, but they had been Spencer’s downfall.

“You never did answer the question,” Garica helped Spencer into his jacket after everyone else had left.

“What question?” he slurred, narrowing his eyes on her.

“During truth or dare Morgan asked you how you lost your virginity. You didn’t answer.”

He swallowed, stumbling over his feet a little.

“I uh…” he sighed. “It was with my best friend. On a camping trip under the stars.”

“How romantic!” Garcia swooned.

“Hmm not really. It doesn’t have a happy ending.”

“I don’t remember,” he opened his eyes. “Why?”

“I met her a few times before she left, she was training me up while you guys were away on cases. She told me about the team and that’s when I figured out you still worked here, but I’d already accepted the job by then. Anyway I told her I used to know you, that we were best friends. I didn’t really think much of it until I found this today.” you fished in your pocket and pulled out a brightly coloured post it note. “It was slotted between the desks. I recognise her handwriting.”

You handed the small folded up note to Spencer who took it and unfolded it. In Garcia’s signature handwriting, it read, “You’re in love, just ask the stars.”

“Ok so maybe I did tell her about my best friend who I lost my virginity to under the stars.” he confessed.

“Ah then the note makes sense.” you took it back from him and slid it back into your pocket.

“Yeah.”

Silence followed, heavy, palpable silence.

He thought maybe after all this time he didn’t feel as strongly about you as he used to. But looking into your beautiful eyes, all those feelings came flooding back to him. He didn’t have a shadow of a doubt that he was still in love with you.

The question was, did you still feel the same?

As if reading his mind you stepped a little closer to Spencer, cautiously at first but when he didn’t shy away you came even closer.

You took hold of his tie and played with it between your fingers.

“I know what you’re thinking Spence,” you smiled coyly. “I always know what you’re thinking.”

“You should have been a profiler.” He smiled softly, making you laugh.

“I’ve said it once, Spence and I’ll say it again. If you want to know if I’m still in love with you...all you have to do, is ask.”

When they twinkle, twinkle,

Wedding bells will tinkle, tinkle.

You’re in love, just ask the stars.

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anashins · 3 years

Text

No Talking in the Library || Taeyong

"Losing my virginity? Better say taking someone’s virginity. Triple check."

There are still so many things you want to do in your last semester before graduation, and Taeyong is willing to help you.

_______

Skinny dipping

Partying all night long

Drinking hard shots

Dancing on a bar counter

Playing spin the bottle

Getting completely drunk

Attend an illegal rave

Kiss s/o I just met

Ditch classes

You inhaled deeply and tucked the sheet back into your dress’s pocket and out of your sight, your thoughts revolving around the last point you’ve written again.

Losing my virginity

You were already a few months into your last year of university and yet you still felt like you hadn’t experienced everything a normal college kid should have once done in their young lives.

That you hadn’t really lived so far.

Looking at your friends, they had left you behind a long time ago in the first semester already when it came down to checking off bucket lists. It wasn’t like you were too shy or stayed away from parties and boys, though. The opportunity just had never arisen, and only now you realized that it probably never would if you wouldn’t take fate into your own hands.

You were sick and tired of waiting for the perfect moment and the perfect guy.

Looking at your watch, you realized it was nearly time for your next class and that you slowly had to get going.

Passing by different bookshelves, you were pondering whether to still search for lecture here in the library to read through the weekend in preparation for the project you had to work on the next week, but you quickly resisted the urge to do so as you had already collected enough and headed straight to the door.

“Watch out!” you still heard before the next thing you felt was pain crippling your face.

Only the break of a second was needed before numbness turned into pain and shot through your nerves that even reached the tips of your fingers with the root of the ache being your nose.

“Oh my god!” you squealed and brought your hands to the middle of your face while tears welled up behind your squinted eyes.

“I’m so sorry!” a male voice said, full with panic.

When you dared to open your lids, you looked into the eyes of the guy who had banged the entry door right into her face.

“You nearly killed me!”

“I’m so sorry, y/n!”

When he mentioned your name, you turned keen-eared. Blinking through your tears, you slowly started to get a sharper view of the boy in front of you as well. Just slightly taller than you, dark hair, and an expression as shocked as yours.

You just didn’t know his name anymore.

“Does it hurt that bad? Shall we go to the ward to get a cooling pad or something?”

You shook your head and slowly brought your hands down again. The guy had a hard time biting down the smile that threatened to slip off his lips. With care, he touched your arm in a comforting gesture to reassure you.

“I’m sorry, but you totally look like Rudolph the reindeer now.”

You sniffed. “Yes, thanks to you!”

“Okay, that’s true,” he admitted and retreated his hand. “How about I make it up to you, hm?”

“Uh…” You stared at him, yet you still weren’t able to classify his familiar face.

“Hey!” You suddenly got interrupted by the library’s supervisor, a middle-aged woman who was always wearing a frown and owned the hearing of a bat. “No talking in the library! Go inside or leave, but this door has to be closed, understand?”

You nodded, and the guy made a move to pass by the librarian, but not without whispering to you “Come here!” before you disappeared into the library again, the door closing shut behind you.

Having you by his arm, he dragged you along the rows of bookshelves until he found a quiet corner in the very far back of the library. All the while when you were looking at his back, you tried to remember where you knew him from.

And then it suddenly came into your mind.

When you opened the group convo with your friends, his face would appear right next to the unsaved contact that your friend Johnny had added two days prior.

It was Lee Taeyong.

Johnny, Ten, and Jaehyun’s new roommate who you had also met once before at Johnny’s birthday party last week.

“Hey, at least your nose is not red anymore, huh?” he laughed when he came to a hold.

“Banging a door into my face again, Taeyong?” you asked back. “I have to admit, this is kind of a weird way to hit on a girl.”

“You know my name! Admittedly, even just now I wasn’t so sure whether you remembered.”

“That was true, but once the pain vanished and I looked at your back, that scene seemed very familiar to me.”

He grinned. “Johnny’s birthday party, yes, I banged a door into your face back then as well. I’m sorry, I am actually a gentleman, I just didn’t have a chance to prove it yet. I hope this isn’t becoming our thing now.“

“You mean… you banging doors into my face? I hope not, because you actually seem like a nice guy, and otherwise I have to do a runner right now. I’d like to live a few years more.”

“My roommates wouldn’t like the thought that I scared their friend away, so let’s keep this a secret, alright?”

He winked and you laughed. You liked his humor very much and were wondering why you two hadn’t talked before at Johnny’s party.

„Oh, what’s this?“

Taeyong lifted his hand and picked up something white from the floor. He inspected his finding and then frowned. The next moment, he presented something to you that hadn’t been supposed to get seen by anyone else aside from you. The sheet. Apparently it had fallen out of your pocket while hurriedly walking!

You blushed up to her ears and snatched it out of his hand. “Don’t read this!”

He shrugged. “Well… it was quite hard not to miss the significant writing while picking it up, so…”

“Ugh…” You rolled your eyes into oblivion and wished for a hole to appear right under you to vanish in there right now.

You felt your ears burning and a hot flush running down your back as you remembered the last point you had written down. A stranger knowing about your virgin life! Embarrassing!!

“Do you… actually mean this?”

“Mean what?” you questioned with a shaky voice.

You hadn’t heard the slightest tone of mockery in his voice, you then noticed, and when you dared to look at him again, his gaze was even radiating curiosity, far from scorn.

“The points on this list.”

“Please don’t make fun of me!” you defended yourself. “You don’t know me or why I did this in the first place, so…”

You wanted to quickly pass by him and escape from the scenery, but he grabbed you by your arm and made you stop.

“What I know,” he then spoke, “is that you’re a kind and funny girl, apparently looking for the full college experience, am I right? I would never make fun of someone for that.”

“Okay… thank you. And I’d prefer if you won’t tell anyone about that.”

“That’s a given.”

“So… having checked off anything yet?“

You shook her head, suddenly feeling a weird knot in your stomach. “I just made this today. But now that someone knows about it, it’s probably ridiculous.”

“I don’t think that it’s ridiculous. You just want some fun, what’s so wrong about that?”

You hadn’t looked at this from another point of view, but now Taeyong was giving you his perspective. And he sounded so nonchalant and positive about it that you suddenly didn’t feel as exposed and embarrassed as before.

“You know what I think?” he then blurted out.

“What?” Now, you grew curious.

“I think you need someone to guide you through it, and many more experiences. Go hard or go home.” He grinned. “Someone who’s done all that already.”

“And you’re such a person?” you challenged.

“Let me see.”

Taeyong took the sheet from you again and read through the list. “Skinny dipping? Check. Partying all night long? Every weekend. Drinking hard shots? Also every weekend. Dancing on a bar counter? Double check, except for that one time I fell off. Playing spin the bottle? Boring, but check. Getting completely drunk? More checks than I can remember. Attend an illegal rave? Double check. Kiss someone I just met? I’m not counting this one anymore. Ditch classes? At least once a month. Losing my virginity? Better say taking someone’s virginity. Triple check.”

“Okay I understand!” You yanked the paper out of his hand again. “You probably had a few years to experience all this, and I only have the rest of my senior year left.”

“Why the rush?” Taeyong asked.

Reluctantly, you answered, “I’m leaving the country for my PhD.”

He nodded. “I see.”

Folding the sheet in your hands, you tucked it back into your pocket. “But please don’t tell the guys, I haven’t opened up to them about my future plans yet, but I want to tell them personally when the time is right.”

“Of course.” Taeyong paused. “Well, then what’s stopping you from joining a party with me tonight to get started?”

“The fact that I barely know you yet?”

“Hm, of course, you’ve got a point.” Taeyong pursed his lips and seemed to ponder over something. “Why haven’t we really talked before though at Johnny’s birthday party?”

“I really cannot remember what happened after you’ve banged the door into my face.” You chuckled. “I probably went to cry in the bathroom and then we’ve just lost sight of each other, because you haven’t found a weird sheet from me like today.”

“So… Since you only could remember me just now, we can technically say we’ve just met, right?”

“I’d sign that.”

“Great.”

You barely had time to wonder why he was grinning from ear to ear yet again when you felt Taeyong’s lips on yours the next moment.

They were soft and warm, his movements gentle at first, and he tasted so fresh and minty, and a little bit sweet as though he had drunk some fruit juice just before. Very summerly, and very manly.

His sudden kiss had left you speechless as well as motionless in the beginning, but you, now in high spirits, started to take pleasure in this act not long after his first move as you leaned against him and were welcomed with open arms.

Taeyong was a very handsome guy, there was nothing to deny about that fact, and he was a good kisser on top of that.

His hands made your body angle so that he could circle his arms around your waist and pressed you firmly against him. With your hands, you wandered upwards and sunk your fingers into his fluffy hair just in the moment Taeyong made you part your lips to deepen the kiss with his tongue.

Of course you had kissed boys before. Just because you were still a virgin didn’t mean you had never made out with someone.

But you had never made out with someone this good before.

Although you had gotten a door into your face shortly before, you weren’t so sure whether it was truly only the aftereffects of a possible head injury or Taeyong’s uninterrupted, passionate and oh-so-good kissing or both that got you feel so lightheaded and dizzy.

But what you knew was that you were enjoying that kiss very much.

And that you wanted more.

And Taeyong apparently as well as he proved it to you when his hands curved against your buttocks, and he gently shoved you backwards until your back rested against the wall behind you.

With his fingers, he felt the tender and glowing skin under your shirt’s bottom hem, massaging the spot there lightly as your hands simultaneously grabbed onto his shoulders and pulled him so close to you that no sheet would fit in the slit between you two anymore.

Secretly kissing in the library hadn’t been written down on your agenda, but you took whatever you could get to make your last semester a memorable one.

This was so fun to you that you started to think that this bucket list that you had made wasn’t that much of a bad idea after all if every single one of the experiences would leave you that excited as kissing Taeyong.

When you parted, he was still wearing that grin that now seemed more sweet than smug to you, and you joined him.

“Kiss someone you just met? Check.”

“Well, then our meeting here didn’t go to waste after all,” you concluded.

Admittedly, you wanted more. And by the way Taeyong looked at you, still so turned on and dreamy, he didn’t seem to loathe that idea as well.

“How about putting another point up that list?”

“Such as…?” You tilted your head.

“Making out with someone you’ve just met at a party?”

You playfully looked away as though you were in deep thoughts, but to you, the answer was clear the moment he had proposed the idea to you. “I think that’s an experience I shouldn’t miss as well.”

Just as Taeyong let out a relieved laughter and leaned in to you again, you heard a familiar,

“No talking in the library!”

In front of them stood the librarian with the worst timing ever.

“Technically, we weren’t talking,“ Taeyong cleared up cheekily as he withdrew from you, and you nodded in approval.

The librarian though looked confused.

The wink Taeyong shot into your direction was only visible for you, and you blushed faintly as you agreed, “Yeah, we were anything but talking.”

„But I heard you!“ the elderly woman scolded.

“Well, we did something much more fun than talking,” Taeyong explained, but before the librarian could chide more, you laughingly escaped to the outside.

„So about the party…“ he then started as the library’s door closed behind you. „Since we’re technically no strangers anymore…“

You rolled your eyes, but smiled. „Perhaps, I’ll come to the party.“

„And then move on to check off the other points?“ He smirked.

You stuck your tongue out at him, but were really looking forward to tonight.

#taeyong #lee taeyong #nct scenarios #nct imagines #taeyong scenarios #taeyong imagines #taeyong x reader #taeyong fluff #nct127 scenarios #kpop scenarios #kpop x you #kpop x reader #nct taeyong #taeyong au #my writing #imagine

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ghost-party · 3 years

Note

congrats on 200! i'd love to see Erwin x reader where they are both professors! looking forward to what you come up with, anything fluffy involving fumbling academics would be fun <3

This request... YES. ❤️ I have a huge weakness for this type of AU. (I used to teach college English classes.) And the idea of Erwin as a professor? Perfection.

Warnings: alcohol A/N: So much awkward, adorable fluff. This ended up being longer than I expected, and I still felt like there was so much more I could write. There’s a very good chance that I’ll end up turning this into an actual fic... 😅

• • •

Erwin + Professors

It’s a few days before the fall semester begins, and you’ve just finished settling into your office. It’s small, but unlike the communal space you shared with the other TA’s back in grad school, it’s all yours. The wall-mounted shelves have been filled with books, your desk is stocked with sticky notes, highlighters, and your favorite pens, and you even managed to bring some small plants from your new apartment.

Feeling satisfied, despite the constant hum of nervous energy you’re sure will stick around until the first week is over, you sit back in your chair and rest your head against the wall. That’s when you hear it.

Sometimes I wonder, how I spend The lonely night dreaming of a song...

It’s music, coming from the office next door — an old song you swear you’ve heard before, but you’re not sure where. When you tilt your head, listening more closely, you hear someone moving around.

When stars are bright, you are in my arms, The nightingale, tells his fairy tale Of paradise, where roses grew...

You’re curious about your mystery colleague. After all, it’s nearly seven o’clock on a Friday evening, and you suspect you’re the only two crazy enough to still be here. While you’ve met the department chair and a few of the other professors, you have yet to meet everyone. And nobody so far has mentioned having the corner office right next to yours.

But then your phone vibrates, reminding you that if you don’t hurry up, you’ll be late to dinner with an old friend who’s passing through town. You grab your bag and keys and quietly shut your office door behind you. The door to your right is closed, but you can see light spilling out from beneath it.

Before you walk away, you take note of the name plate: Erwin Smith, PhD

• • •

The first day of classes is a whirlwind. You barely have time to eat lunch, and you empathize with your students as you, too, struggle to locate your various assigned classrooms on a still-unfamiliar campus.

By the time you return to the English department for office hours, you feel frazzled. Carrying a lukewarm coffee in a to-go cup and an armful of student info sheets in labeled folders, you quickly round the corner — and walk straight into someone.

“Oof.” Your folders tumble to the floor, and coffee splashes onto your shirt. The only reason you don’t lose your balance completely is a large, warm hand at the small of your back, preventing gravity from wreaking even further havoc.

“Are you alright?”

When you look up, you have to remind your brain that words exist and you should use them. Because the man in front of you — who, much to your embarrassment, is holding you rather close — is very, very handsome.

Golden hair, carefully combed back. Bright blue eyes that reflect a concerned warmth. Strong features, sharp cheekbones, a smile that would make anyone melt...

“Y-yes! I’m fine!” Once you’ve found your footing, you glance down at yourself, and then notice you’re not the only one who’s now coffee-stained.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, kneeling down to collect your folders and the many papers that slipped out of them. “I need to be more careful.”

“No, no, it’s my fault,” the man assures you, squatting down to help. “And I keep a spare shirt in my office. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve spilled coffee on myself while grading papers.”

Your fingers brush against his when you both reach for the same folder, and you feel your cheeks grow warm. “Still, though, I’m really sorry.”

You both stand, and he smiles kindly. “Please don’t worry about it. Can I help you carry these? It’s the least I can do.”

You nod and walk down the narrow hallway, with him trailing close behind you. “I’m going to take a guess and say you’re the new hire,” he ventures.

“Is it that obvious?” you ask with a small laugh.

“I’ve been here for a while now, so new faces stand out. Keith said you moved here for the job?”

You’re so flustered, it takes you a moment to connect the name with the stern but friendly department chair. “Yeah. New city, new job, new everything...”

“That’s a lot to be dealing with.”

When you reach your office door and retrieve your keys from your bag, the man behind you chuckles. “So it is you. I wondered, but they haven’t put your name plate up yet.”

“Hmm?” You turn to find him grinning and pointing at the door next to yours — the office of your mystery colleague.

“This is me. Sorry, I should’ve introduced myself — Erwin Smith.” He goes to offer his hand, then realizes your arms are full. You both share an awkward laugh.

You unlock the door and gesture for him to come in. “I’m beginning to think that we both apologize too much,” you tease, dropping the folders onto your desk and tossing the now-empty cup in the trash.

“Only when I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself and made a questionable first impression.” Erwin hands you the remaining folders and shoves his hands in his pockets.

“No, you’re fine! Really, I appreciate the help.” You offer your hand and return his smile. “Let’s try this again. I’m Y/N.”

You notice that his hand is lightly calloused as it closes around yours. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” And you can tell from the look on his face that he means it.

• • •

Over the next few weeks, you see more and more of Erwin, as you both adjust to your respective schedules and learn when they overlap. He holds office hours at the same time as you, and since it’s still early in the semester, it’s unusual for students to actually show up. More often than not, you end up in his office. It’s larger and more comfortable — “lived in” he joked the first time you saw it, telling you about the evenings he’s inadvertently fallen asleep on the small sofa, reading after a late grad class.

There are twice as many shelves as there are in yours, all of them absolutely crammed with books. You could spend hours perusing them all. Sometimes, after you’ve finished grading papers, you pick one at random and page through it.

“Where are you?” Erwin will ask, in the midst of his own grading, and you’ll read a line from whatever book you’re holding, playing a little guessing game with him. More often than not, he knows the title and author from the smallest of clues. It’s obscenely attractive.

Then again, everything about him is attractive. You often feel guilty for sneaking glances at him while he’s preoccupied, watching how his brow furrows while writing an email, noticing when he rolls up his sleeves, revealing hard, lean muscle, thinking that he has no right to look so good while wearing reading glasses. On the few occasions he’s caught your gaze, always offering a small smile, you mentally berate yourself. He’s a friend — your first real friend here. But he’s also a colleague. Keep it professional, Y/N...

You meet his friends when he invites you to join them for weekly trivia nights at their favorite bar, the Garrison. All of them teach at the university, and they’ve formed their group slowly, over years of faculty get-togethers, awards ceremonies, and one terrible team-building camping trip. Hange, who teaches chemistry, immediately adds you to their group chat, which mostly consists of them spamming everyone with memes and Levi from the history department colorfully (but also endearingly) insulting everyone.

By the time midterms come around, your office hours have become much busier. But you still make time to talk with Erwin, and you’ve even spent time together off campus, when he offered to give you a tour of his favorite museum. When you mentioned it to Hange, they nearly spilled beer all over the table, gasping, “You two finally went on a date?!” Erwin choked, coughing as Levi pounded a fist against his back, and you were positive your face was so hot, it would spontaneously combust. Neither of you mentioned it afterwards.

But that hasn’t changed the fact that you have the biggest crush on him. And you’re not sure what to do about it. His friends — now your friends, too — haven’t exactly been subtle about trying to make something happen between the two of you. But neither you nor Erwin has made a move.

This evening, you’ve both stayed late, in an attempt to catch up on paperwork. You notice him stand and walk to the old turntable in the corner, changing the record. The song that begins to play makes you lift your head from the pile of tests sitting on your crossed legs.

“It’s that song.” When Erwin looks at you, puzzled, you explain, “You were playing it, the first time I was here — before the semester began.” Your face heats up as he continues to stare at you. “Sorry, that’s weird, right? I just... didn’t know anyone else was here, and it was a nice song, and —”

He laughs, raising his hands as he approaches you. “Whoa there. It’s okay, you just surprised me. It’s a favorite of mine — ‘Stardust’ by Hoagy Carmichael. My parents used to dance to it sometimes, when they stayed up late drinking wine, thinking I was asleep.”

“Let me guess,” you say, propping your chin on your hand. “You pretended and then read books beneath the covers.”

Erwin smiles. “Guilty.” He stands there for a moment, seeming thoughtful. And then he asks, softly, “Did you think it was a date?”

You blink up at him, setting your papers aside. “Oh. I... Um... No.” You’ve grown close enough to him that you can now read the subtle shifts in his expressions, and when you see a flash of disappointment, you blurt out, “But I wanted it to be.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. I’m just... not great at things like this. Especially with a coworker. I didn’t want to make things complicated.”

Your gaze is fixed on the floor, so you don’t notice him sit beside you until the sofa cushion dips. When you turn to look at him, he smiles. “I’ve been feeling the same way. And I didn’t want you to think we’re only friends because of that — like I had an ulterior motive or something.”

He reaches for your hand but hesitates, allowing you to meet him halfway and entwine your fingers with his. There’s an almost imperceptible sigh of relief before he murmurs, “I like spending time with you. I’m sorry I’ve wasted some of it trying to figure out the best strategy, when I could’ve just... told you that.”

You squeeze his hand and smile. “That sounds an awful lot like an apology, Dr. Smith.”

Erwin chuckles. “Well, then, instead of ‘sorry,’ I’ll go with, ‘Would you like to have dinner tomorrow night?’ And to be clear, this would definitely be a date.”

“Hmm...” You glance at the clock on the wall. “It’s only eight. Is tonight too soon?” When his eyebrows inch upwards, you remind him, “You said you didn’t want to waste any more time. And if you do any more work tonight, you’ll end up doing that thing where you pinch the bridge of your nose over and over.”

He lets out a loud laugh. “Someone’s been paying attention.”

��You make it hard not to.” You stand, pulling his hand to your lips and brushing a soft kiss across his knuckles. It’s worth it, to see his blush deepen. “So... Where to?”

#200 followers event #attack on titan #aot #erwin smith #erwin x reader #erwin smith x reader

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tobias-hankel · 3 years

Text

Home

Summary: Spencer finds a home in Hotch. Rating G

Pairing: Spencer Reid/Aaron Hotchner

Prompt: Fluff #5 - “Home stopped being a place when you entered my life.” with Hotchreid/Heid for 700 follower drabble.

Word Count: 875

Spencer Reid never really had a home.

Sure, he had places to live. Houses, dorm rooms, apartments.

He always had some form of shelter to return to, in which he was grateful, but he never truly had a home.

Spencer moved for the first time when he was four. His mom said it was for his safety. He had no idea what she meant by this, but he was four. Just a child, he didn’t get a choice in the matter.

A new house, new school, new chess park.

He tried to make the most of it. He tried to fit in, to find friends, to get along with his father but it still never felt right. Nonetheless, he assumed his house was a home.

It was a home to him until his mom started getting worse and his father left.

He then realized that his home was always just a house. A house that became a place that he was scared to return to. With his father gone, his mom stopped even trying to take care of herself. She would skip her medication, get violent, and forget he even existed.

Spencer tried his best to take care of her but, again, he was just a child.

By the time he was 13, he was moving states by himself. He told himself that it was for his education, but he knew that was a lie. He could have gone to a local college, stayed close to his mom. Instead, he moved to California, and had his mom’s insurance send over a nurse to help watch her.

It was for his own safety and wellbeing, but it still felt selfish.

At only 13, he was alone again. He had high hopes for college. To have a home in a dorm room, to have friends that he understood and got along with.

That never happened though.

His dorm room was far from a home. It was simply a shelter that changed every other semester. Other college students were much older than him and found him strange. He had peers, but not friends.

Spencer finished college with three PhDs and two BAs at 21 and moved himself to Virginia to start the FBI training program. It took him years and the help of Gideon for him to find out what he wanted to do with his life but the FBI and BAU just felt right.

He took weeks to find the perfect apartment, a place he hoped he would be able to call home and he loved it. For once he genuinely believed that he had found himself a home.

That was until his work left him plagued with nightmares and the only one to hear them were the empty walls of his apartment.

Until he had to travel for days for work and the empty apartment offered no greetings to his return.

Until his work left him beaten or shot and the empty apartment offered no comfort.

Spencer found himself not wanting to go back to his apartment. He would rather spend time with his team. He loved going over to JJ’s or Morgan’s or even Hotch’s place.

Aaron’s place.

Spencer’s visits to Aaron’s home started off friendly, dropping workplace titles and just enjoying the other’s company.

Neither man really knew how it happened but soon their friendship turned into more. So much more.

The team was not happy to find out that the two men were dating as they were worried about Hotch taking advantage of Spencer but those concerns quickly left when they saw just how happy they were together.

Spencer found himself wanting to spend every moment with Hotch. It didn’t matter where they were, whether it be in one of their apartments or a thousand miles away hunting a serial killer. He was happiest with him.

After a particularly hard case, the team climbed aboard the jet to head home. Normally Hotch and Spencer made some effort to hide their relationship from the team, even though they knew. Neither man was keen on public displays of affection and they didn’t want to give the team a reason to give them a hard time.

This time they didn’t care though. Hotch sat on the jet sofa and Spencer climbed right into his lap, resting his head on Hotch’s chest while his long legs laid out on the sofa next to him.

No one dared to say anything.

Hotch soothed his hand over Spencer’s long hair and hummed lightly, calming the young man down. After a few minutes he said, “Don’t worry, baby. We will be home soon.”

That’s when it hit Spencer. Home. Spencer smiled, “I’m already there.” He whispered against Hotch’s chest.

Hotch furrowed his brow, “What do you mean?”

Spencer lifted his head off Hotch to look him in the eye, “Home stopped being a place when you entered my life.”

Hotch couldn’t help the smile that painted his face, and he pulled his boyfriend into a passionate kiss. “They say ‘Home is where the heart is’, and my—”

“And my heart is with you.” Spencer said before Hotch could get a chance too. “I love you, Aaron.”

Hotch pulled Spencer tightly against him, “I love you too, Spencer.”

I hope you like it! @black-polarf thanks!

#700 celebration #drabble #hotchreid #heid #criminal minds #fluff #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #I should probably title these drabbles so they actually get attention #but titles are so hard #oh well #nevermind I added a title #It's boring tho

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arrivisting · 3 years

Note

I’d love author commentary on basically the whole scene at Ekkaia in all my war is done (or any individual part of that scene, if your prefer). Taken together, it’s one of the most beautiful and emotionally complex and heartrending things you’ve written, from the description of the sea itself, to the difficulties of Fingon and Alqualondë, to Gil and the ocean and his ‘mother’, to Fingon and Gil beginning to tackle the thorny subect of Maedhros.

I should admit something about all my war is done: it's the most fugue-like my writing has ever been. I jotted down a few notes on my commute into work - I was deeply underwater with my PhD at the time, three months away from submitting - and then the idea of writing a sequel to scion seized me so profoundly that I sat down in the Starbucks where my bus stops, took out my laptop, and wrote instead of just collecting my coffee and walking down to my office. I wrote 15k. In one day. In about five or six hours. I've never achieved anything like that before or since - I do have good days where I can knock 2-4k out easily, but not 15k. (You might note that the posted part of all my war is done is only 12k, but I wrote all the way up into the next bit with Fingon in Tirion that you've read, up until Turgon at the dinner table). I didn't sit down or plan events; I didn't actually know much about what would happen: but I knew they were going to Ekkaia and they'd have some kind of resolution there. These are my phone-notes, from that morning:

You can see, I think, something of the way an idea hits me. I note down a few snatches of plot, not necessarily in any order, some lines I think people should say at some point, although I might not use them, sketch out some things (Formenos's ruins were going to feature more heavily, but they're waiting for a later story).

(It makes me laugh, the words my phone doesn't accept - Gil-galad, for one - and the ones it automatically capitalises from where I've yelled enthusiastically about elf things at people. I never stop long enough to correct spelling etc when I'm trying to get something down).

I clearly knew from inception that I wanted Fingon's place to be called the hill of waiting, and had tried out the name in Sindarin; because my verbs are not good, I came up with Amon Dartha. It was when I was redrafting that I realised Amon Darthir had existed actually in Dor-lomin(!!!) and the name was even more perfect symbolically than I'd meant it to be! Did I know that, unconsciously? I don't know.

You can see, too, that the Sea of Ekkaia was almost the very first point to hit me, and that I knew it and the scene there would be important, and that I knew that the story was about Fingon finding a way to tell Gil-galad that he had been loved, and wanted, and that meant talking about Maedhros; and that at the end I wanted Gil-galad to be gently, impersonally, firmly clear that he would not, could not, be staying to wait with Fingon.

Okay, DVD commentary proper - I'm sorry, I remember awfully little about writing this, given the fugue state and my thesis and everything, so I'm not sure how useful this will be!

“Oh,” said Gil-galad when they broke out of the woods and began to ride down over the dune-lands to the rocky shore. “Oh!”

The Sea of Ekkaia was beautiful, in its own way, but that way that was like no other place in Arda, in either Aman or Middle Earth.

It was a dark-blue that was almost black, even in the late afternoon, and the shore was less sand than gravel, a strange inconsistent rubble of rock and broken sea-shells that had been dashed to pieces by the constant fury of the waves. Staring out to sea, one did not see the far-away horizon the way one did on the gentler coast of Belegaer: there was no gentle faraway blue haze through which one might, perhaps, on a clear day, imagine that Middle Earth could be glimpsed, or at least the Straight Path.

No: instead along the horizon there was a seam of silver light, and then a great blackness, where the Sea of Ekkaia met the Uttermost West that was not quite the Doors of Night, but was certainly the end of Aman itself. If you stood on the shore watching, the seam would ripple with a pulse of light, sometimes green and sometimes white.

It was so far from anywhere the Eldar of Valinor lived. While they clustered around the Belegaer like moths to flame, this shore seemed instead to repel them. Was it the sight of the world’s end itself? It might be; yet Fingon thought there was more to why this wilderness was so little visited, this howling black sea lashing itself against a grey shore. It was beautiful, but not in the way Elves liked things to be beautiful: it was too raw, too unfinished, too savage.

It was too close to where Mandos kept his Halls, which were not only a thing of spirit but also matter, at least in the way that things in Aman were both. Too close to where Nienna’s tower looked out into the Void and where she wept, and wept, and wept. It was too close to death and to rebirth, to judgment and to pity.

There's a little Dawn Treader, I think, in this idea of the uttermost West. I don't know why I thought the seam of the world should pulse with strange light, but it's an uncanny kind of geography, so near Mandos and Nienna, and I like the sense that this is the end of the world, but not the end of the universe.

A lot of this came together serendipitously. I knew some kind of memorialisation of the river that bore Gil-galad needed to be part of his story; that meant going to the sea; and it's clear from the notes that I had already decided that couldn't mean Alqualonde because of kinslaying reasons and memories. (And that that too would need to be confronted). Therefore: roadtrip to Ekkaia. Therefore, the question: what would Ekkaia be like? We don't really know anything about it - only the good qualities of Belegaer. This was really written by a process of inversion, a way of pulling what we know about Belegaer inside-out, and imagining a place at the world's edge, a place that was empty, a place that was uncannily close to difficult things, to Mandos and Nienna; a place that seemed to repel the Eldar as surely as Belegaer drew them like iron filings.

I was thinking visually about New Zealand, too. I spent my childhood summers on the beaches up north, mostly around Tūtūkākā, which are bright and lovely, with golden or white or tawny sand, with gnarled pohutukawa and blue-green water. Like this:

That's what beach and sea meant to me, and it was a shock the first time I went to one of the black sand beaches where the wind howled and the colours weren't blue, green, gold, but iron, grey, navy, black. I loved it, but it felt so other, so passionate, so strange. That shock and that wild beauty and desolation were things I wanted to get at, though Ekkaia would be far more wild and desolate still.

They left the horses in the thin sea-grass, and their shoes, too, and walked down to the water. “I missed it,” Gil-galad said, and closed his eyes, breathing in the brine. “I missed it badly, all the long years besieging Mordor before I died.”

I think Gil-galad would be very marked by his upbringing first in the Falas and then on Balar; you don't lose that, if you grew up by the sea.

The wind took up his long dark hair and made a banner of it as they walked along the rough crescent of rocky ground where the waves met the shore, and around their bare ankles small stones tumbled back and forth in the lace-edge of the water.

When I was young I used to stand in the water and let the waves bury me up to my ankles, watching the water move in, out, spreading skirts of lace overlapping as new waves came in. I could do it for hours. There's something very liminal about the water's edge, between the solid land and the sea, which is why I put this conversation in it, I think. They're in a liminal space and at a liminal moment. It's the scene the whole story has been inexorably building toward, the point where all Fingon's painful scraping-away of his barriers finally reaches his skin.

“Sometimes in Middle Earth it became very difficult to believe in the Valar,” Gil-galad said, his eyes still closed, “in the blood, and the mud, and the filth. There were so many great and small unfairnesses, day upon day, year upon year.” He opened his eyes and looked towards the Uttermost West where the world ended. “And here it is impossible not to. Look at it!"

This is a little more hopeful than the original version, which I don't have anymore, but went pretty much:

"Sometimes in Middle Earth it was very difficult to believe in the Valar,” Gil-galad said. "In the blood, and the mud, and the filth. There were so many great and small unfairnesses, day upon day, year upon year.”

It was a comment more about Gil-galad's rueful scepticism than wonder - because he fought the Dagorlad before he died, because he spent the last ten years of his life in mud and blood and filth and horror. I work on the First World War - its literary legacy and traces in the decades after, more than its immediate experience or actuality, because there was a ten-year period after 1918 where it was more latent than overt, a traumatic lacuna of silence, a Nachträglichkeit- and I thought in the blood, and the mud, and the filth was a little too on the nose.

I kept it, though, because Tolkien was drawing on his own memories of the trenches with the Dagorlad and the Dead Marshes, with those blurred lines of solid land and mud/bog, the living mixed up with the remains of with the dead, all the themes you see again and again in the war poetry and the officer war-books. (Santanu Das is very good on this, as is Eric Leed). Paul Fussell is a bit old-hat now, but his argument that WWI altered the sensibility of its survivors because of their close, consanguinous co-existence with the dead is something I still find valuable. I think there's a lot of WWI survivor in the way I think of Gil-galad, actually, I'm just realising - not that he survived the Last Alliance. He's detached in a different way from Fingon. Fingon's built himself a thick layer of repression/denial, a kind of callous to protect himself from confronting or thinking about what Maedhros did, and what that means for him and to him; Gil-galad is entirely present, but somewhat detached in some ways, the way people who came back from war could be. Not that Fingon and Finrod aren't also separated from the Amanyar by their time in Beleriand and experience of war and death, but Gil-galad lived there for millennia, and he fought a longer, harder, more total kind of war than they did.

But he's at the Sea of Ekkaia, as west as you can get. So much of Tolkien is about that endless longing glance west, that movement: why is this very westernmost edge so under-explored?

I wanted Gil-galad to be softened by this encounter with the sea, so I went back and let his wonder be as much at the spectacle itself as the sea, like the greater hand at work he had sometimes doubted being visible was something wonderful rather than something to be bitter about. I wanted to position him to be potentially open to, perhaps, the Valar; perhaps, to Fingon. I hope he doesn't come off as closed-minded: I think of him as having a fair mind, and good judgment, but - despite placing him here between the sea and the shore - very clear personal lines between what he thinks is just, and what is not. Certainly, it helps a lot, never having known the Feanorians when they had not fallen.

The seam of the universe pulsed with light, and beyond it was – what?

Unutterable nothingness, something worse than death.

Perhaps Maedhros.

This is an important line for Fingon. He hasn't though the name of his own accord for much of the story, flinching away from it; it's only come in when Finrod and then Gil-galad speak the name. This is the first time he's thought it clearly of his own free will, and this is I think the first signal that he's brought Gil-galad here to be as honest and earnest with him as he can be, however much it hurts, or however much it might drive him away. Because if he isn't, and doesn't, Gil-galad will be driven away anyway, and Fingon wants to be connected with him, the first time he's wanted that kind of bond with anyone since he returned.

(I think of Finrod as someone who just kept turning up, regularly, and forcing Fingon to associate with him; and then bringing Amarie; and then his children; and not taking no for an answer. It bothers Turgon rather terribly that they seem to be friends now, when they were never that close Before: that Fingon pushes him away, but allows Finrod to keep pushing; that Finrod does push. He doesn't know about Gil-galad, of course).

He's brought Gil-galad here to show him if possible that he was wanted, to conjure up lost Ringwil where she might be felt if not found; and to do the same for Maedhros. This is a signal that this journey to the sea is as much about Gil-galad's missing father as his missing mother.

The almost-forgotten tang of salt in the air always mingled with the smell of blood in Fingon’s worst memories, and he was not the only one who remembered. The waves were gentle around Gil-galad’s feet, but they boiled furiously around Fingon’s, delivering small spiteful slaps at his calves.

Spiteful was probably the wrong word here. I don't necessarily mean a dramatic boiling or bubbling; but the water is harsh where it touches him, the kind of slapping roughness you get when the tide is coming in rough.

It took Gil-galad longer to mark the difference, engrossed in the joy of the sea and spectacle as he was, and when he did, his face changed. There was something terribly sad in his eyes when he lifted them from the water to look at Fingon.

It wasn’t why he had brought Gil-galad here; but Fingon didn’t want to imagine the look he would receive if he brushed aside the silent question. “No,” he said. “I am not forgiven.”

“So I see.”

They could probably leave it there.

But Fingon won't, because he's trying. He's really trying to connect after all the time flinching away from it, and he's remembering what Gil-galad said about talking, and what Finrod said about mistakes and silences in their first life.

He said, “You said you loathed the thought of being the son of – a murderer. But my own hands have not been clean since Alqualondë, and death didn’t unstain them. All the time you thought I might be your father, you must have known I was a Kinslayer, too.”

I tried to signal this in their earlier tower conversation with Finrod, and Gil-galad's changing of the topic, but I feel like it's a little abrupt here.

“Yes,” Gil-galad said, and his expression didn’t change. “And when the knights that had served you came to me, they told me that you killed that day in ignorance, that you came upon a battle already being fought; that you took up your sword to save those you loved and didn’t question whether it was just. I heard that from others, too, those who had less reason to bend facts to a flattering pattern; survivors of Gondolin and of Nargothrond. I did ask."

“Ignorance wasn’t an excuse. I died ashamed of it, and I live again with the shame.”

"Good!” said Gil-galad, and there was no forgiveness in his voice, even when Fingon jerked his head up in shock. Instead there was the stern ring of a king used to weighing the ideals of justice against the world as it was, the king who had walked arm in arm with Eonwë the Maia, led his people through many full-fledged wars, and held court and meted justice to them for an Age. “That gives me a far better opinion of you than any of the stories did! I’m glad.”

I remember talking to you about this in the comments, about what it meant that Gil-galad wasn't forgiving him. I think I really meant condone, but I also don't think it's Gil-galad's place to absolve Fingon - he wasn't the one wronged! - and that it's important to me that, because Fingon does truly regret it, he doesn't wish to be absolved, to slide away from it. I don't mean he ought to wallow in it or flog himself with it daily, but I think it would be important to him to shoulder and own that guilt rather than ever allowing himself to put it behind him or have someone else tell him it’s quite all right.

I think this is a moment where I show that they're quite similar, too, because even if Fingon wasn't aware that a bracing, clear assessment was just what he wanted, it was what he needed, rather than people being kind (which he's had a lot of, since he returned; and which hasn't touched that central guilt he's hidden from them, that he loved Maedhros, who had done such terrible things. It's prevented him from accepting kindness made him block people reaching out to him. Gil-galad is not being kind, but just, and still reaching out).

It felt like Fingon had been struggling to take a full lungful of air for a long time, and now something constricting in his chest had loosened, as it hadn’t even after the Valar themselves had judged him. It was only now that he realised that he hadn’t wanted Gil-galad to forgive or absolve him. He had wanted – needed – Gil-galad to be better than him, to withhold forgiveness when it was unmerited; and Gil-galad had. He had become the shining legacy they had all hoped he would be, the thing they had all somehow done right.

The water slapped at his ankles again, in impatient reminder.

This is too brief a transition. I should have fleshed the join out more.

“I think Ulmo would come to you here, if you called. You were a king by the sea in Middle Earth, and you may not remember it, but it was a river who gave you life.”

Gil-galad looked at him as if he’d grown an extra head. “What?”

“I brought you here for a reason,” Fingon said. “Where did they go, the drowned and poisoned rivers of Beleriand? I don’t know; but Ulmo might.”

I've really personified the rivers, but I think it's a clear and easy extrapolation from the Withywindle and the River-daughter in The Fellowship of the Ring that I don't need to justify in order to argue that every river might have had its own attendant Maia-spirit. It does make what happened to the Rivers of Beleriand much worse, though, and I wanted to look at the way a character that was a throwaway mechanism in scion ended up being sickened and dying as horribly as Beleriand did; this story was really about following all those lighter bits in scion home, to the end of the line, and looking at the long-term impacts of something that began more lightly. In this verse, Ringwil was a river, but also a person; and I think of her and Finrod as sharing a strange human-river friendship and overlapping enthusiasms.

He clapped Gil-galad on the shoulder, hoping it said all the things he meant it to say. Affection had been so easy for him once, in the life that had been taken from him by the fiery flails of the Balrogs, but now it came hard, and the sea-smell was in his nose, the terrible memories too close to the surface.

He had surely outstayed Ulmo’s tolerance by now. Fingon left Gil-galad there in the water, and didn’t dare glance back until there was thin sandy soil under his feet again.

Only then did he look once more towards the sea.

Gil-galad was standing in the shallows. His broad shoulders were bunched tight, as if he was readying himself for something very difficult, a confrontation with one of the Valar he had long doubted.

Then he spread his arms out, empty-handed, and tipped his head back, and the light on the horizon grew unbearably bright, whiter than white, more silver than silver; and a face began to move upon the water.

I really like this, honestly. Which I can't/don't say often! The temptation to overwrite this was strong, to show this encounter, to describe the Vala: but I think it's often stronger not to show something numinous, to pull away, to let the mind fill it in.

Again, this is Gil-galad as I imagine him: still somewhat distanced from the Valar by the Dagorlad and the things that happened there (and I think perhaps doubly unhappy in that he lived through the end of an Age once before, and that time, at least, the Valar came: they did not come in the Second, nor send so much as a messenger, and such obscenities as the fall of Ost-in-Edhil and the drowning of Numenor had been allowed to happen, and Men and Elves were left alone to come together and break Sauron's grip). Doubting, but not angry; doubting, but still curious. Open to listening.

a face began to move upon the water is of course a deliberate sideways reference to

And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters.

It took a very long time. Fingon could not watch; his eyes dazzled.

Can you tell I was teaching The Duchess of Malfi at this time? Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle; she died young. That sense of a light too bright and white to look upon; that sense of guilt; that faint reference to life lost untimely. This wasn't meant to be a direct intertextual reference, but that net of meaning was there, lightly. Again, I wanted to under-write rather than over-write. I know I have a tendency to over-write.

And of course - there's a sense here that Fingon is refusing the kind of close enoucnter with Ulmo he could/might have. There's water in his eyes. From the wind?

“Thank you,” Gil-galad said when he rejoined him at last. His eyes were glowing, and he whistled Ceredir to him from where he was tearing ropey roots of sea-grass from the dunes with great relish. “Thank you for bringing me here;” and he didn’t say it the way he’d thanked Fingon for the horse, or the armour, or the sword, or even the lance.

Because this is a real gift, something that means something to both of them, something more honest/painful. Fingon's been trying to connect through gifts but not serious conversation or sharing, like some estranged parents do, throwing money at the problem rather than giving of their time or their selves, and however well-meant, it hasn't worked.

“I didn’t truly do anything."

“You brought me to the Sea. I know – I could see – how difficult it was for you."

"Well,” Fingon said lamely. He cleared his throat. “What did Lord Ulmo say about – oh, I can’t call her your dam! – the Maia who bore you? Did she – was she there?”

The dam pun is Finrod's. Don't blame me.

A little of the light dimmed, but it didn’t quite fade away. “No, she’s gone. Back to the Timeless Halls, he says; but one with him again, Ulmo, at the same time.” Gil-galad made a noise. “I don’t pretend to understand any of it, all the metaphysical nonsense of the Ainur! But he was kind to me, and he told me something of her – that she delighted in the making of me.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “I left the flowers we gathered earlier in the waves for her and the sea didn’t dash them back onto the shore. I’m sure Ulmo broke a few laws of Arda there.”

I like this image of the flowers suspended in the water. I had it clearly in mind from before I began to write.

"You were wanted.”

“I’m beginning to believe it,” Gil-galad said.

“You should,” Fingon said. He took a breath. Talking is how you sort things out; and a long time ago, Fingon had been known for his valour. Gil-galad deserved to know how much he had been wanted, who had called himself a political compromise given birth. The truth of that had stung.

And it was less than the truth. Fingon could still remember the first time he had opened his mind to Maedhros over the leagues between them and let him see Gil’s small face through his own eyes, holding nothing back. He had shown Maedhros the dark long lashes and the squashed baby nose, the milk-blister on the bow of Gil’s upper lip, the way his whole head turned an alarming red when he wailed; shared with Maedhros Gil’s fondness for being tossed in the air, his splashing joy in his bath.

This is is me trying to describe a baby without being too sentimental about it, because Fingon wasn't all, oh look at the toesie-woesies, or my son, my son: his eye was more detached, and you see him in scion thinking of Gil-galad as it.

I've been thinking about why Fingon in no way allowed himself to consciously dote on the baby, why that streak of denial that's so strong in his second life was there in his first light, and really: it would have been dangerous to let himself love him, to see Gil as his son and Maedhros's. He was born at a time of terrible loss, after the Flame, when they all expected they could die themselves. He was moved around Beleriand like a game-piece. Fingon was always going to lose him: he wasn't going to get to raise him, after all, until and unless Morgoth was defeated. Maedhros wasn't going to meet him, until and unless &c. It was easier not to let oneself get attached than it was to confront those hard facts and let oneself be hurt by them. Easier to think of him as a baby Finwean prince, and that only: a political pawn, not a son.

Conversely, Maedhros maintains a physical distance, but not an emotional one. Here's a bit from Maedhros's perspective:

Finrod had told him that. They had written, back and forth, in the long months as Ringwil’s belly swelled, as the child formed, as it began to move and stretch and turn frog-like inside her. They had corresponded constantly during the first months of the child’s life in Nargothrond, and during the first months of his life, Finrod had sent long scrolls detailing every change in Artanaro’s weight, his length, his hair colour, his eye colour, how much milk he’d consumed each day: screeds winging forth to Himring until the child was old enough to survive the secret trip north.

Fingon’s letters had been infuriatingly spare of useful information while the child was fostered at Barad Eithel. Beloved, ineloquent Fingon: Fingon, who had nevertheless shown him the child as no reams of paper could.

Fingon had given him forever the rounded bloom of his full cheeks, and the pursed mouth, sullen in sleep: the feathery, rather cross-looking eyebrows, and the small hands with their deep dimples and smaller fingernails, curled into the edge of Fingon’s furred mantle.

Maedhros had felt the way Fingon hovered between wonder and confusion at what they’d wrought: the way he couldn’t quite manage to think of the child as his own, this thing spun out of air and calculation and freshwater into heavy, solid life. He could have loved him so desperately, Maedhros knew that. He was halfway there, hovering in terror on the edge, afraid of falling. If the baby had stayed in Barad Eithel longer; if Fingon had watched him begin to creep around on fat little knees, to pull himself up on the furniture and to take his first steps – to hear the baby babble turn into words and speech – his heart would have opened to him like a flower, and the child would have become the centre of his universe, the sun in his sky.

Fingon had never known what to do with Idril as an infant, either, but he’d easily become an adored uncle as she grew up. If they’d had more time – if the child had been permitted to stay with Fingon even a month longer before being sent for safety to Cirdan –

Well, they’d never had enough time.

There had been few walls between them then, so he had felt Maedhros’s bright joy, the painful love, in its moment of birth: swelling and swelling like a cloud with rain, as though his heart was growing and his blood was leaking out of him at the same time, transmuting into pure tenderness and iron purpose.

I like this because I think of the Ekkaia scene as a cloudburst, full of emotion that has been swelling and swelling and now released. This is one bit of the breaking-through.

He had never needed to ask whether Maedhros considered Gil-galad a son.

“I don’t want to talk about – him,” Fingon said with difficulty, and the salt breeze stung his face, his eyes. “I know you loathe him, and rightly; and I do, too. I do hate him; or I hate what he did. I do! But you should know – you deserve to – that he wanted you, badly, although he never met you; he never wanted the shadow on him to touch you or to taint you.

And this. You can see here where I spun off into cliffs of fall, which isn't a scion story, but sprung out of this speech. It was already there in those sketchy notes, too, a lot of what Fingon's saying here: this important line about hating Maedhros, or what he did (that movement from clear certainty to trying to separate the deeds from the loved one; to urgent reptition - I do! I mean it, I really do! - which means he doesn't, can't: this is the heart of Fingon's guilt, because he wants to hate Maedhros utterly, but he can't, and he is profoundly in denial about that).

“He always wanted children; I took that from him even before the Oath did, but I gave it back to him with you. I loved you first of all for that, but he loved you for yourself. Because you existed, against all hope and possibility and fate and chance; and because you were ours.”

Gil-galad said nothing. There was still a wildflower tucked behind his ear, but the brilliance had quite left his eyes.

“Well,” Fingon said at last. “I needed to tell you that. You should know that you were never – not only – you were wanted very much."

Beloved ineloquent Fingon, &c.

They were some miles from the beach when Gil-galad said, “‘Ours’?”

“Yes."

I was trying to let the gaps and breaks talk for me in the text. Under-writing.

The beginning was full of these little breaks, too, because they didn't yet know how to talk to each other; now at the end, that connection, and their conversations, are breaking down again. It's echoing that ride together at the beginning very strongly, but now it's not Gil-galad trying to become acquainted and Fingon giving light, unsatisfying answers. These are the real questions/answers at last, and the whole story has really been about getting to the point of Fingon and Gil-galad in Aman where they actually could have the kind of conversation Gil-galad was trying to have at the start.

Some miles further, Fingon said, “Did you ever meet him in Beleriand? After I died. I always wondered.”

“No,” Gil-galad said.

It didn’t seem like he was going to speak again, and Fingon had begun to assimilate that knowledge, that pain – that Maedhros had never seen him, had only ever known him through Fingon’s own eyes – when he added,

“But I saw what he did. Have you ever seen a whole city ruined, and known the ruiners to be Elves? It wasn’t even a city, poor Sirion! It was a refuge, a place for the desperate, as far to the West as they could get, as close to the safety of the Sea. They had so very little. No great stone palaces, no towers, no spires. Little enough fresh food. They were able to grow so little, and they lived on fish, and sea-weed, and what brave hunting parties would bring back; and hope. They lived on hope, and they thought Elwing wore it around her throat, but the Valar didn’t come for them: Maedhros Fëanorion and his brothers did instead, and they burned and killed and ravaged. I’d say they salted the earth, but it was salt already. To fall on any innocent Elven city would be a horror: on poor Sirion it was the greatest cruelty I ever saw, and entirely pointless."

They said nothing more.

I like this, too, actually. You see a little here of why Gil-galad might be healthily sceptical of the Valar - they didn't come for them: Maedhros Feanorion and his brothers did instead - and that very post-war experience of seeing a descrated, destroyed town. Worse when you had seen it when it was whole, when you knew the dead and fled.

Sirion is, I think, the worst thing the Feanorions did. I find it worse than even Doriath or Alqualonde (though they're all awful!). These were desperate survivors, huddled together at the edge of the sea for protection. So many of their leaders had been killed or lost. Idril and Tuor had disappeared; Earendil was away; Maedhros and the others struck while only Elwing was there, and she was so young, and so alone, and so damaged already by what they'd done in Doriath. And now they’d come again. There's something about the revictimisation that gets me. It's awful.

I wanted it to be weight and counter-weight - that soft, painful, remembered moment of Maedhros seeing baby Gil-galad through Fingon's eyes, something Fingon has clearly not deliberately thought about since he was reborn, but dredges up now for Gil-galad, because he should know: and which is echoed in the beginning by Fingon's question to Finrod. But Maedhros is still the person who did the things he did, and I wanted to set that soft moment of truth against his deeds at Sirion, another truth, to point out clearly why Gil-galad would recoil so hard from this offering, this honesty Fingon wants to be able to give him. This is the dichotomy at the heart of the story: reconciling Maedhros and how one felt for him with what he did, and how one feels about that. It is irresolvable, at least for Fingon, at least at the moment I've ended it at for now.

I don't know if this is quite what you wanted, @warrioreowynofrohan, especially because like I said, I wrote this story in a frantic fog, but I hope this in some way suffices!

#not!fic

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janeykath318 · 3 years

Text

The Gardener Next Door

Darcy felt like she’d finally made it: finished her PhD and found a great job that allowed her to upgrade from her tiny apartment to her very own house in the suburbs. It needed a little work, but it had charm and personality and Darcy took several months making it her own. The neighborhood she lives in was mostly elderly people or young newlywed couples and the people were generally very friendly. Sweet Mrs. Messer brought her over baked goods regularly and shared the local gossip while Old Mrs. Richards brought her puppy over for regular visits. Before she’d lived there six months, she knew almost everyone on the block except for her next door neighbor on the left, who didn’t appear to be the sociable type.

Even Mrs. Messer hadn’t been able to find out much information, other than his name was something Grant and he liked to garden and preferred to be left alone.

“He must be one of those grumpy old hermit types,” Mrs. Messer sighed. “Never answered the door when I went to bring him a welcome to the neighborhood pie. I wonder what happened to the poor man to make him so wary of people.”

“I don’t know, but maybe you could try leaving some on his front porch with a friendly note. Once he’s discovered the glory of your chocolate chip cookies, he might just loosen up a little.” Darcy suggested.

This cheered up Mrs. Messer and she scurried off to start baking.

Mysterious Neighbor Dude clearly preferred a motorcycle as his form of transportation, but he always pulled right into the garage, so she was never able to get a glimpse of him without his helmet.

As spring went on, Darcy started spending more time outside in her cozy lounge chair, from which she started noticing her neighbor working outdoors. Even from the distance she could see by the way he moved, he was still in the prime of life and he appeared to be a workout fiend, judging by the size of his shoulders and arms.

He wore a big floppy straw hat that kept the sun off, which was probably a good thing because he was working in his garden almost nonstop on sunny days. It was kind of fascinating watching the progression from bare dirt to tiny plants. So far, their only interaction was a friendly wave when he caught her staring and Darcy was dying for more, but he’d never approached her and she didn’t want to invade his privacy.

But then she came home one day to find a big basket of lettuce and radishes on her front porch.

There was a note with them:

“Sharing some lettuce with you. It makes delicious salads. Have a nice day!”

The note was not signed and Darcy squinted at it for quite awhile like it would suddenly start talking and reveal its author, but alas, no such luck.

The lettuce did make excellent salads and she thought about her hunky neighbor with every bite.

Mrs. Messer came over very excitedly to report that the cookies had been taken and she too had been given a basket of lettuce.

“Looks like you were right, Darcy. The man just needed a little kindness. I wonder if he likes lemon bars…..”

As the weeks went by, the gifts of veggies continued, varying as different things came into season. Peppers, carrots, tomatoes, and green beans all arrived steadily and were either quickly eaten or given to Darcy’s vegetarian co-worker.

Darcy started replying to his notes on the fifth basket and soon they had a funny banter going back and forth, filled with vegetable puns.

“Lettuce be friends?” She wrote on the note left in the empty basket which had previously held plump red tomatoes and would be supplying her with BLTs for a long time.

“Yes, peas!” he’d replied on the next basket, which did contain the mentioned vegetable.

“Why are you so cute and unreachable?” Darcy murmured to herself, stashing the note away with a smile.

She laid out sunbathing in her favorite bathing suit the next day and since there was no fence between their backyards, the hot neighbor dude got a nice view. This time it was Darcy who caught him staring and waved happily, pretty sure he was blushing. Ugh. He was just too adorable. She wanted to March over there and plant one on him, pun slightly intended. He briefly took off his hat to wipe sweat off of his face and she caught a glimpse of dark hair and beard. Dang it, that was a GOOD look!!

The notes and vegetable puns continued, but now they were accompanied by cute sketches of cartoon vegetables representing the various neighbors. Darcy absolutely loved it and it proved her suspicions that the so-called hermit was much more observant than he seemed.

“So you’re an artist as well as a champion gardener? Is there anything you can’t do?” She wrote on the next note.

“Plenty,” he replied back. “I sure can’t bake and I can’t seem to be able to remember how to speak when my pretty neighbor is around.”

Darcy was floored, but thrilled, and wrote and rewrote seven replies before she finally figured out how to word her response.

“Here I was thinking you didn’t want to talk to me. Guess we’re both disasters at communicating.”

The response to this rang Darcy’s doorbell the very next evening and she opened it to see her neighbor, up close and personal, looking all kinds of shy and adorable and holding out a bouquet of gorgeous flowers that she knew came from his yard.

“Aww, how sweet!” She exclaimed, accepting the flowers eagerly. “They’re beautiful. Nice to finally meet you……….”

Her voice trailed off as she recognized the gorgeous and famous face in front of her.

“Steve,” he finished quietly, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry for the secrecy. I’ve been hiding out living the retired life and trying my hand at new hobbies.”

He looked even more nervous now, probably thinking she was going to either throw him out or go yelling to the neighbors.

“Please, come in,” she told him, heart pounding. “I’m Darcy Lewis, astrophysicist and former Avengers wrangler. I did NOT recognize you from across the yard with the dye job. It’s a good look, though. Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.”

“Thanks,” Steve sighed, relaxing a touch. “I think I remember seeing you yelling at Tony a few times. It was pretty neat, the way you made him cower.”

“I learned early on, Tony needed a firm hand or he would never eat or sleep and bad things happened,” Darcy recalled, with a pang of sadness. “You guys saved the world,” she added. “I think you’ve more than earned your privacy and a peaceful retirement.”

Steve cracked a crooked smile. “That’s very gracious of you. Some days, it’s a pretty big struggle for me to believe that, thinking about everyone we lost. Gardening’s been keeping me sane.”

“And you’re doing a fabulous job with it. I’ve never had such perfect tomatoes,” Darcy told him with a smile.

“I was pretty proud of them,” Steve admitted, then he grew serious again and looked at her very earnestly with those gorgeous blue eyes.

“Darcy, do you still want to…”

“Yes,” Darcy interrupted. “Heck yes. I like you, Steve. I didn’t really know you apart from Captain America before and I’m finding regular Steve to be more irresistible than Mrs. Messer’s lemon bars.”

Steve chuckled and started to turn pink, which was even cuter seen close up.

“Given how amazing those are, that’s high praise,” he remarked, with a twinkle in his eye. “Looks like I’ve got a lot of missed opportunities to make up for.”

They shared another long look and Steve moved into her personal space with intent-to-kiss written all over his face.

Darcy was very much down for that and nodded eagerly, wrapping her arms around him. The pent up feelings resulted in a pretty intense kiss, which left her weak in the knees and practically hanging onto Steve for dear life.

“Well that was worth it,” she whispered, when she’d caught her breath. “I’m so glad you didn’t actually go to the moon. There’s been rumors.”

Steve full on laughed at that, a joyous sight which she’d never witnessed before, but was very glad to finally see. His eyes crinkled, his face lit up and he looked so adorably cute, her heart turned into a puddle of goo.

“Don’t know where they came up with that one,” he remarked, shaking his head in amusement. “But I have no intentions of going to the moon. I’d rather stay here with you.”

“Good, because I need some more of those green beans, ASAP,” Darcy replied mischievously, barely refraining from making an eggplant joke. She didn’t want to be TOO forward.

“How about you come over and I can give you the grand tour?” Steve suggested.

“Yes, peas.” She responded, making him laugh again.

Before long, the neighbors were gossiping again, this time over the shocking sight of “Mr. Grant” making out with Dr. Lewis right in his backyard.

“I knew it!” Old Mrs. Richards chuckled, petting her dog gleefully.

“I’ll volunteer to make their wedding cake!” Exclaimed Mrs. Messer.

#shieldshock #Darcy Lewis #Steve Rogers #retired! Steve #fluff

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emm-jayy · 4 years

Text

unexpected (i)- spencer reid

Summary: Your whole family is killed, and the BAU is on the case

warnings: smut, and mention of throwing up

word count: 4k

series masterlist

gif not mine

Spencer walks into the 6th floor of the FBI building, sporting a cup of coffee he’d gotten by a local shop.

“Hey Reid, what did you do this weekend?” Emily asks, looking up from her desk.

“I went down to the library to read, and then some kids asked me how I finished all the hooks so fast. They wanted me to compete with them on speed reading.” Spencer says, nodding.

“Did any of them beat you?” Emily ask, raising an eyebrow.

“No, of course not.” Spencer replies.

Emily laughs, “Well, we’ve got a case, let’s go.” She says, picking up a file, and walking to the briefing room.

Spencer follows, walking into the briefing room. Most everyone is already there, and Spencer sits down at the round table.

Garcia begins, putting pictures on the screen. “This is the Y/L/N family from Washington . They were killed in their homes last night, via gunshots to the parents, and suffocation with a plastic bag to the son.” Garcia says, “The daughter, Y/n, was living at college not too far away, so she was spared from the crime.” Garcia says.

“That family is low-risk. If the unsub isn’t attached to the family, he could easily pick a new family quickly. Wheels up in 30.” Hotch says, closing the file.

On the jet, the team speculates about the unsub. “Our unsub probably suffocated the boy with little to no noise, and then shot the parents in their bed. Quickly in succession.” Morgan says, looking at the photos.

“That means our unsub probably has some common sense, I say this was premeditated to an extent.” Emily comments.

“Reid and Morgan, I want you at the crime scene. Emily and JJ, work victimology at the precinct. Rossi and I will talk to the daughter.” Hotch says, knowing that the team is landing soon.

Everyone nods, and begins to pack up.

Spencer and Morgan pull on their gloves as they enter the crime scene. They walk into the room where the mother and father were shot.

“The blood splatter is almost exactly the same on both sides. That means that the unsub had no hesitation about killing them both.” Morgan says.

“No remorse either.” Spencer says, “What was the gun the unsub used?” Spencer asks an officer next to him.

“9 millimeter.” The officer replies, “The guy took the gun with him though.”

Spencer nods, and then hears yelling from downstairs, and commotion. He looks toward Morgan, and they rush downstairs.

“You need to let me see them!” You scream, trying to get past the officers near the door.

Morgan puts his hands up, “Wow, wow ma’am. What’s going on?” He asks you.

“You guys have to let me see my family!” You exclaim, wiping tears from your eyes.

“Okay. I’m Agent Morgan, and this is Doctor Reid from the FBI. You’re Y/n right?”

You nod, looking at him hesitantly.

“Now, aren’t you supposed to be down at the station.” Morgan asks.

“FBI? What? Yes, I'm supposed to be down at the station but I needed to see them.” You say, breathless.

“They’re not here. They’ve been moved to the morgue for further analysis.” Morgan says.

“Oh.” You say quietly. “Well he’s a doctor, can’t he take me to them?” You ask, looking at Spencer.

“I’m not that type of Doctor actually. I hold three PhD’s in-” Spencer begins, but Morgan interrupts him. “Not now kid. Can I talk to you for a minute?” Morgan asks Spencer, pulling him aside.

“We don’t have anyone at the morgue right now, do you want to take her?” Morgan asks.

“What?” Spencer asks in a hushed voice. “Why me?”

“You’re closer to her in age, she might give more information then she thinks if you just talk to her.” Morgan says.

Spencer thinks about it, then looks back up, “Okay.” and then walks back up to you.

“I’ll take you to the morgue.” Spencer says. You nod, and follow him out the door.

You sit in the passenger seat, and you look over at Spencer. “Do you have any idea who did this?” You ask.

“We just got on the scene. I have 6 other people on my team, and they are working other parts of the case currently.” Spencer says, looking at the road.

“Well, what do you think?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“It really is too early to tell. But from what i’ve seen I can tell it was premeditated, and that there was no hesitation in killing your parents.” Spencer says, almost regretting the words that were coming out of his mouth. They were almost facts,sure, but he still felt bad.

“Oh. You can tell all of that by just looking at pictures?” You ask.

“Yeah, we’ve studied extensive behaviors. A lot of them are similar. Also, a lot of what i just told you could be figured out by a lot of people, it’s kind of just common sense.” Spencer says, and you nod.

When Spencer pulls into the parking lot, your breaths seem to get heavier.

“Hey.” Spencer says. “You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“No.” You shake your head, “I need to.” You say, taking a breath.

“Alright.” Spencer says, pushing the door open for you.

The M.E pulls the bodies out of the cold chamber, and pulls back the sheets.

You gasp, putting a hand over your mouth. Spencer attempts to be sympathetic, and puts a hand on your shoulder.

“Maybe I should drive you back to the station.” Spencer says quietly. You nod, tears slowly falling down your face.

“Come on.” He says, leading you out the door.

The car ride back is mostly filled with silence, until Spencer breaks it.

“Is there anyone you can think of who would do this to your family?” He asks.

“No. Everyone adored them. If anything I was the problem child.” You mutter.

“Hey, don’t say that.” Spencer says, furrowing his eyebrows.

You laugh at the pity he’s giving you, “It’s true.”

Spencer doesn’t answer, and eventually, he pulls into the station.

“Some other people on my team have to question you.” Spencer says, putting the car into park.

“Okay.” You say, unbuckling your seatbelt.

You and Spencer walk into the station, and head to the bullpen.

“Reid! Where the hell have you been with her?” Rossi asks whenever you two walk into the bullpen.

“She showed up at the crime scene, demanding to see her family. I took her to the morgue so she would maybe answer some questions. Nothing too helpful.” Spencer says, quietly so only Rossi can hear.

He nods, and then takes you aside for some light questioning.

He walks over to where the rest of the team is, around a bulletin board.

“Do you guys have any leads?” Spencer asks, standing near the board.

“We think the unsub is a psychopath. I’ve never seen anyone kill with less hesitation or remorse.” Emily says, and Spencer nods.

“I forgot to ask. Were there signs of forced entry?” Spencer asks, and the team shakes their heads.

Spencer walks over to the room they had you in, and walks to Hotch, who’s observing.

“Have you asked her if the family would lock their doors at night?” Spencer asks Hotch.

“Yes. She said they usually didn’t since they lived in a good neighborhood.” Hotch replies.

Spencer shakes his head, sighing, and then walks back over to the board.

Around 30 minutes pass, and then you’re let out of the room.

It was a little past nine at this point, and everyone had been working tirelessly.

“Doctor Reid?” Spencer heard a voice call, and he turned around.

“Yeah?” He said, facing you.

“Do you think you could drive me back to my hotel room. I don’t have a car.” You say, innocent eyes boring into his own.

Spencer turns toward the team, and Morgan speaks up, “Go ahead kid. We need to sleep on this anyway.”

Spencer nods, grabbing his bag and coat, following you out the door.

“Why not have an officer take you to your room?” He asks, after driving for a bit, genuinely curious.

Your answer was hesitant, “I don’t know, I think I feel more comfortable with you.”

“Hm.” Spencer answers, a small smile forming on his face.

Spencer pulls into the parking lot of the pretty nice hotel. He unbuckled his seatbelt, and was going to open the door.

“What are you doing?” You ask, looking at him.

“I’m making sure you get up to your room safe. What type of FBI agent would I be if i didn’t do that?” He asks, a smile on his face. You laugh lightly.

Spencer follows you from the lobby, in the elevator, and to the door of your room.

You unlock it, and he steps inside.

Spencer takes in your bag, thrown on the bed. It was obvious you went straight from here to your home.

“Okay well it seems like you got here safe. I should be go-” Spencer is interrupted by your lips on his.

The kiss was over as soon as it began, giving Spencer almost no time to process what just happened.

“How old are you again?” is all Spencer had to say. He knew how old you are, he had an eidetic memory. He just wanted you to hear it.

“22.” You said, looking at your feet.

Spencer knew it was wrong, your family had just died. It would get him in so much trouble. But the adrenaline rush of the trouble he might get in, and the fact that your tits looked so good in that low cut shirt you were wearing. Fuck.

“I’m sorry Doctor Reid.” You say quietly.

He pushes your chin up with his finger, and leans towards your ear. “It’s Spencer.” He says, and then crashes his lips to yours.

Spencer walks forward, moving you towards the bed. He pushes your bag off, and lays you down on the edge of the bed.

Spencer shoves your shirt up, marveling at your perfect breasts. He licks one over the material, and a low moan comes from you.

“Is this okay princess?” Spencer asks you, and you nod very urgently.

Spencer takes your shirt all the way off, his following. He unclips your bra, taking one of your nipples in his mouth.

You moan, pulling on his hair. Spencer trails back up, kissing from the swell of your breast to your earlobe.

You try to unbutton your jeans, but Spencer’s hand stops you, “Patience, darling.” He says, and finishes unbuttoning them for you.

Spencer feels the wet spot in your underwear. “Are you this wet for me?” He asks, whispering in your ear.

You moan out a yes, and then he unbuckles his pants, sliding them off.

He climbs on top of you, and grinds against your clothed pussy. You both groan at the friction.

“No foreplay.” You say, “I can’t wait.”

Spencer nods, and then groans, “Fuck, I don’t have a condom.”

“I’m on the pill, and I'm clean.” You reply.

“Thank god, I’m clean too.” Spencer sighs in relief, “Now. Turn over sweetness.” He says to you, and you comply.

Spencer slides off your underwear, and takes off his boxers. He slides his cock up and down your slit, until you arch your back, whining for him to slide it in.

Finally, Spencer does. Eliciting a high moan from you, and a low groan from him.

He lets you adjust to his size for a moment, and then begins to thrust.

You grab onto the sheets, and Spencer’s hands are glued to your ass, pushing you back onto his cock.

One hand of Spencer’s drifts to your hair, pulling you up by it slightly. The slight pain causes your walls to clench, making Spencer groan.

“Fuck. Good girl” Spencer mutters between thrusts, “Gonna make me come.”

Spencer reaches a hand around your hips, and begins to rub your clit.

“Fuck. I’m close.” You say breathlessly.

“Me too pretty girl. Let go for me.” Spencer says, and you do exactly that. You yell Spencer’s name as you come

In the midst of your orgasm, you feel Spencer spill inside of you.

You feel Spencer fall beside you, mind still hazy from your orgasm.

You lay on his chest, just reveling in the experience for a few minutes.

After those few minutes of bliss though, Spencer knows what he has to do. He sighs.

“I hate to do this.” He says, truly meaning it, “But I have to leave. I could get in so much trouble for this.” He says.

Spencer expects a look of hurt on your face, and it shows up, “It was worth it sweetness,” He says, running his hand down your face, “I promise. Here, put your number in my phone. I’ll text you updates on the case.” He says, handing you his phone.

You do what he asks, bringing the sheet up to cover your body.

“As soon as the case is over, we can be together all we want. But right now it would be a conflict of interest, and I really want to bring your family’s killer to justice.” Spencer explains to you.

You nod, and Spencer kisses you once again, passionately.

Spencer slowly gets dressed, not really wanting to leave. When he’s ready, he gives you another kiss, smiling down at you.

“I’ll see you later Y/n.” Spencer says.

It’s close to 11 whenever Spencer gets to the hotel the team is staying at.

Morgan is still in the lobby, sitting with Emily. “What took you so long, man?” Morgan asks Spencer.

“Uh, Y/n was scared to stay in her room alone. I had to stay there for a bit to reassure her. I think that’s why she wanted me to take her, more safe than a beat cop I guess.” Spencer says, the lies coming out of his mouth so easily.

“Alright kid, go get some sleep. You look tired.” Morgan says, gesturing to his eye bags.

Spencer nods, heading up to his room. He was tired, but from something completely different than Morgan thought.

Spencer takes a quick shower, something he wished he could’ve done at your hotel.

He throws on a caltech shirt and shorts, and falls onto the hotel bed.

Spencer awakes to knocking on his door. He checks his phone, 5:34 AM. He groans, and stumbles towards the door.

He opens it, rubbing his eyes, and sees Morgan.

“There’s been another family murder, same M.O. The son was suffocated and the parents killed in their beds.” Morgan says quickly.

Spencer nods, “I’ll be down as soon as I can.” He says, becoming pretty awake almost instantly.

He closes the door, and turns on the lamp. Spencer grabs his phone, and texts you. He assumes you’re asleep, but you’ll see it when you wake up.

“There’s been another family murder.” Spencer types to you, and then begins to get dressed.

He rides in the SUV with Morgan, Rossi, and JJ. “This was the Miller family, right?” Spencer asks, looking on his tablet.

“Yeah, and they only had a son, no daughter off at college. I think we can assume the unsub hasn’t been watching these family’s all that long.” Morgan says, Spencer nods.

The team shows up at the crime scene, pulling on their gloves. Spencer heads up to the parent’s room with Emily.

“God. No hesitation again. Or struggle.” Emily says, shaking her head.

“Do we think the unsub has a socioeconomic motive?” Spencer asks, “Both the family’s have been pretty well off, maybe he resents that.”

Emily nods, taking in that information.

The team finishes getting information at the crime scene, and then they head back to the station to attempt to deliver the profile after discussion.

“My thing is, why does the unsub use such a quiet method with the first victim, and then shoots the others?” JJ asks.

“It’s possible the unsub knows he couldn’t fight off that many people at once.” Spencer says, “He takes out one victim rooms away, and then kills them in succession because he can’t fend any of them off if they were awake.”

“So do you think our unsub is a short skinny guy?” Emily asks, and Spencer nods.

As everyone else is discussing, Spencer pulls out his phone.

“We are going to deliver the profile soon if you want to come down here.” Spencer texted. It was around 9, surely you’d be awake.

A response from you follows quickly after, “On my way.”

Spencer puts his phone back in his bag, and listens to everyone else put in their ideas. About 20 minutes later, Hotch says, “I think we’re ready to give the profile.”

“Our unsub is a male in his late 20s to early 30s” Morgan starts.

“We believe him to be short and scrawny, someone you wouldn’t think to commit a crime.” JJ says.

“We have reason to believe that he either grew up poor, and that’s why he resents the well off. Or he grew up middle class, and he resents his own family.” Hotch explains.

“Either way. We are looking at someone very dangerous. The unsub hasn't shown any remorse or hesitation in these murders. We believe him to be a functioning psychopath.” Emily says.

“Functioning psychopaths are someone you’d never expect.” Spencer begins, “They seem genuine, but you might be able to pick up on slightly manipulative behaviors.”

“That’s all we have for right now. We will alert you if we have anything more.” Rossi says, and the officers and detectives around them disband.

Spencer is collecting his things, when he feels someone behind him. There you are, a look of anger on your face.

“What the hell was that? I know like a hundred guys with that description you just gave.” You say, crossing your arms.

“That’s just something we use to get started. We will work more to narrow it down.” Spencer explains.

“Reid.” Hotch says, “What is she doing here?” He asks.

“I just wanted to be here. It’s not like I have anything else to do.” You grumble.

Spencer gives Hotch a look, like he really feels bad for you. Hotch nods, and walks away.

“Hey. Let’s go talk in private.” Spencer says. He takes you into an abandoned office, and closes the door.

As soon as the door is closed, your lips are on his. When Spencer smiles against your lips, you pull away. Spencer laughs slightly, “Not here princess.” He says.

You pout, giving him puppy dog eyes. Spencer can’t resist, you just look so damn perfect. He once again smashes his lips against yours, his hands drifting to your breasts.

He squeezes them, and you let out a breathy moan, “Be quiet for me princess.” He says softly, unbuttoning your pants.

“This is okay right?” Spencer asks against your lips, and you breathe a yes.

Spencer’s hands drifts down to your clit, rubbing soft circles on it. He spins you around, to where your back is pressed against the door.

Spencer’s middle finger slides down to your entrance, and he eases his finger into you. You let out a moan when he curves his fingers, and Spencer’s hand is immediately on your mouth.

He slides another finger into your heat, and thrusts them as best as he could without your pants being off.

He moves his hand from your mouth, and replaces it with his lips. You kiss for a little bit, until the pleasure becomes too much for you. You move your head down, and bite Spencer’s shoulder to keep you from moaning.

“Fuck.” Spencer says, rubbing your clit with his thumb.

He feels you clench around him, and he knows you’re close. “Cmon baby, come on my fingers.” He says softly.

You do just that, and let out a soft moan, muffled by Spencer’s shirt.

After you come down from you high, Spencer pulls his hand out of your pants. You giggle, embarrassed at what you just did.

“Do I look like I just came?” You say, fixing your hair.

Spencer laughs, running a hand down your face. “No sweetness.” He says, “Whenever we walk out, I’m going to pretend like we are having a conversation.” He tells you, and you nod.

He opens the door, and begins to speak. “I’m sorry Y/n, but you can’t be around here anymore, I’ll call you an uber back to your hotel.” Spencer pulls out his phone.

He glances up at you, and he sees the fake annoyed face you put on. He smiles slightly, setting up the uber.

“It should be here soon, go wait outside.” Spencer tells you, and you comply.

“Damn Reid. What was she asking you for in there?” Morgan asks, and Spencer shrugs him off.

There was nothing more to do that day except wait. They were waiting for lab reports and things, so everyone was working on their own thing.

Two hours later, the captain gets a call in his office. Spencer sees the captains face change, and Spencer knows something is wrong.

The captain comes out of his office, luckily the whole team is there.

“We have another family murder, and witnesses say that there was someone in a dark blue hoodie getting away by foot.” He says.

“I need everyone in their gear in 2 minutes.” Hotch says, “I want Reid, Morgan, Prentiss and Rossi driving around the area of the crime. The unsub couldn’t have gotten far.”

Everyone nods, and gets ready as soon as possible.

3 minutes later, everyone is in the SUV with vests on.

Morgan is driving, and turns the sirens on. The area around the house of the crime is basically a circle, so they begin to drive around it.

“Since we know this unsub is intelligent, they would probably head towards the city, a more populated area means it's harder to get caught.” Spencer says from the backseat. Morgan nods, heading in that direction.

After driving in that general area for a bit, Morgan slams his hand on the wheel, turning off his lights.

“This is pointless.” He sighs.

And just then, Spencer sees a figure slips out from the bushes beside a house.They were wearing a blue hoodie and jeans.

They began to move down the sidewalk, at a slightly faster pace than a walk.

Spencer waves his hand, “Morgan!” He says, pointing at the house about 200 feet down.

The whole team automatically opens their doors, rushing over to the unsub.

They all draw their guns, and Morgan yells, “Put your hands up or I will shoot.”

The person slowly puts their hands up, shaking their head.

“Now put your hands on your head, and turn around.” Morgan yells, and the figure begins to turn around.

“Took you long enough.” The person says as they turn around. The voice. Spencer can almost match it. Then, the figure turns around completely.

You.

You have a smirk on your face, looking at Spencer. “What?” You ask, “You weren’t expecting me, Doctor Reid?”

It all made sense to him now. He had given you his number, and he was texting you updates. You had inserted yourself into the investigation to the extreme. A functioning psychopath, and Spencer didn’t notice.

Spencer’s mouth is open, and he can’t even reply to you.

“Yeah Hotch, we got her.” He hears Emily say into her comm.

Spencer has to walk over to the side of the pavement, and he retches. Rossi comes up behind him, “Kid? What’s the matter?” Spencer can’t even respond.

He stands back up, trying to look at you, but he can’t.

“Call me!” You say, to Spencer as you are forced into the car. “Oh wait. I’m the one who gets the one phone call.” You laugh.

@1800-fight-me @rachel-rebellio @itsarayofsunshine @cupcake525 @soupmakesmynoserun @elizabethkaylynn @drspencr @mattgraygubler @nanocoool @reid-187 @darling-doll9 @disney-dreams-world @myfavbau @softpeteparker @chaoticsteverogers @throughparisallthroughrome @whollytaciturn @imsuperawkward @pinkprincenamjoon @pprettyboyreid @reidswords

#spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #mgg #cm #gublergram #gublernation #gube #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #sebastian stan #68 kill #suburban gothic #emily prentiss

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delaber · 3 years

Text

Just Friends (Part 2)

Story Summary: After moving to America for a 3-month long internship, you meet two interesting characters on a boring night out.

Word Count: 3.7K

Pairing: Rafael Casal x Reader

Warnings: Alcohol, minor drug use, smut, slight dom!Rafa, swearing, and loads of British references (sorry not sorry lol).

Chapter Note: Thanks for your kind words! So nice to feel the love in this community. Feel free to ask and hit me up if you want to be on the tag list, have questions, suggestions, etc. /Best!

Tag List: mysearchforgratification lonelydance

Other Parts: See Masterlist

You were trying to count eight hours ahead but with each passing margarita, the math was becoming harder and harder to do. Eventually you just opened the app on your phone and let it do it for you; it was almost 11 a.m back in England. If you went to the coat-check immediately you could call your old lab-partner Laura on your way home and get a much needed update on the project you'd both been working on before your American exchange program had started. Constantly being eight hours behind was rough on keeping in touch, and right now you missed everything back home - even the stupid yeast cells from your project that had kept dying on you and Laura.

You were just about to message Laura and tell her that she should be expecting a call from you shortly, when you were interrupted by someone clearing their throat loudly above you. You slowly looked up from your phone only to see the snarky blonde mystery man from earlier towering above you, clutching two drinks.

"Hi," he smiled as you looked up at him.

"Mystery man," you nodded in greeting.

He sent you what seemed to be his signature charming smile and you realised that his right incisor was just a little bit crooked. It was annoyingly cute.

"Mystery girl," he winked at you, "mind if I sit?" he said as he made himself comfortable on the cushion next to you.

"Uh, I guess not?" you raised an eyebrow at him.

"I brought you another double Margarita," he handed you one of the drinks he was holding, "I wanted to apologise for my behaviour earlier. I hope I'm not interrupting anything?" he nodded towards the lit phone in your hand.

"No, uh, not at all. I was just typing up an email for work," you tossed your phone aside.

The blonde mystery man sent you a sceptical look, "who types up emails for work after they've had a million drinks? Not to mention; at 2.30 in the morning?"

"What can I say except welcome to my story: the life and death of a temporally challenged European in America."

Mystery man laughed at your words, "yeah, you're far away from home, aren't you?"

"Oh what gave it away, bruh?" you said slowly, doing your best to fake a Californian dialect.

Mystery man almost choked on his drink, "You're British?" he asked with a smile while wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Nice to finally see his human side.

"English," you nodded.

"Definitely far away from home then," mystery man nodded, "you here on holiday?"

"I'm actually here for a couple of months in a mandatory exchange program as part of my PhD."

"PhD, huh?" He looked impressed, "damn, I could tell you were smart."

"Well," you said quietly, turning your eyes away from his burning gaze.

He sensed your discomfort at his statement and continued, "What about your friends over there? Why aren't you out dancing with them?" He pointed towards Miranda and her two friends on the dance floor.

You were just about to tell him about your situation with the three girls when you realised something, "hey; how'd you know they're my friends? Been keeping an eye on me, have you?" you laughed at his suddenly stiff smile.

"Well," he ran a hand through his blonde hair while licking his lips slowly, clearly trying to come up with a clever answer, "I couldn't just let you leave before you've found out where you know me from, now could I? Have you given it more thought?"

"No, I actually haven't thought about you at all," you teased him, earning yourself a sincere laugh from the guy, "but... that being said; I'm no closer to guessing it than I was a few hours ago. Although I am sure that I've seen both you and your friend before. So if you have any ideas, I'd be much obliged."

"Hey; I don't know," he shrugged, "I'm just trying to get you to admit to your obvious pick-up line."

"That was not a pick-up line!" you chuckled, "I was genuinely wondering where I've seen you before."

"That's what they all say," mystery man rolled his eyes with a playful smile on his lips, "you're lucky it worked, you know."

"Too bad it didn't work on your friend though," you clicked your tongue, mocking him before continuing in a whisper, "it was intended for him."

He clutched his heart in mock offence, "Ah!" he exclaimed as if he'd been shot, "sadly, that's what they all say too..."

"Aw, you poor man," you smiled and took a sip of the drink he had handed you.

"So why aren't you out dancing with your friends? They seem..." he hesitated as he looked them over, "...fun?" he tried.

"I think you just answered your own question," you laughed.

"Good point," he mumbled.

"Why aren't you out dancing with your friend?" you nodded towards his friend Diggs who was casually moving on the dance floor next to a swarm of girls who all seemed to want his attention.

"Well, I've been patiently waiting for the only interesting woman in here to go dance so I could casually bump in to her on the dance floor. But apparently her ass is glued to this booth. If I was out grinding on Diggs, I wouldn't be able to talk to her - Which would really be a shame as she is without a doubt the prettiest woman in the room," mystery man smiled.

You made a gagging noise at his horrible attempt at flirting.

"Over the top?" He laughed.

"Way over the top!" You joined in, "remember; I'm British. We like it low-key."

"What? You want me to invite you out for tea and scones instead?" he said in a horrible cockney accent.

"It wouldn't hurt your chances," you laughed, "but I'm good with the margarita for now."

"So you don't want to go out with me?" he raised an eyebrow.

"Nope."

"So the way you were staring at me and Diggs earlier really wasn't an attempt to flirt?"

"No," you laughed at him. He looked almost shocked.

Mystery man squinted his eyes as if seizing you up, "You're completely unfazed, aren't you?" He said.

"About what?"

"Well about me being charming as fuck of course," he said with a chuckle.

"Meh," you shrugged. It wasn't true. You were completely mesmerised by him. But he was acting too cocky for you to not give him a challenge.

"Meh?" He repeated.

"You're bloody cute - I'll give you that. But you're a silver tongue, and well... let's be honest; you need the rejection."

"Are you challenging me?" He raised an eyebrow at you, "it feels like you're challenging me..."

"Hey, no need to feel down by the rejection. I'm doing this for you. I have your best interest of heart," you laughed, touching your heart with the palm of your hand.

He looked you over for a couple of seconds, "I cannot figure you out."

"Well that's a good thing, isn't it? Keeps things interesting."

"Yeah, you definitely strike me as a girl who keeps things interesting... What's your name?"

"You can call me -" your eyes landed on the drink in front of you and you remembered the bartender’s words from earlier, "- Margarita Girl. As that is probably how you're going to remember me after tonight," you smiled.

"How about breaking-my-heart-girl?" He smirked.

"Ah see; you're doing it again," you pointed your finger at him and he laughed at you, "you're way over the top. Keep it low-key for Margarita Girl, damn," you laughed.

"Okay, so we're really not doing names?" His smile grew wide. He was probably already thinking about how hot it'd be to fuck a girl's brain out without even having to bother to learn her name first. Textbook fuck boy.

"Let's keep it interesting," you reciprocated his smile with a small shrug, "what can I call you?"

"You can call me whatever the fuck you want," he said cockily, probably realising that by asking for his name, you'd agreed to spend more time with him.

"Okay, Margarita girl and Mystery Man it is."

"Sounds like a superhero duo," he smiled.

"Interesting. What are our powers?"

"Well, in line with our names: you're intoxicating as fuck luring in all the bad guys, and I have the ability to turn invisible."

"Only creeps want to have a superpower where they can vanish on command," you laughed at him.

He was about to retort when he was interrupted by a male voice coming from beside you, "Hey Rafa!"

You'd been so fixated on the blonde man in front of you that you hadn't even seen Diggs approach your booth with a swarm of girls at his heel. So his name is Rafa? Odd, you thought to yourself but had enough decency to pretend that you hadn't heard.

"What's up," Mystery man - or Rafa apparently - responded to his friend.

"The bar is about to close. I'm thinking about grabbing a cab home. You coming?"

Rafa looked at you briefly before answering, "I think I'm good for now, bro."

"Alright, see you tomorrow then," Diggs padded Rafa on the shoulder before heading towards the door.

Rafa turned his attention back on you and stared at you with a small smile playing on his lips, "So bar's closing down in a bit," he said, "maybe we can squeeze in another drink somewhere else?"

"Yeah, no," you shook your head, "I think I'm about to head home. I have a long walk ahead of me. If you're fast, you can still catch your friend and join him in that taxi though."

Rafa looked at you, "do you live far away from here?"

"I live over on the corner of Mayflower and Lafayette," you responded, "it's roughly a 30-minute walk or something."

"Yeah, I know where it is - I live close by," he eyed you carefully, "if you want to, we could walk together?"

"Taxi doesn't sound too enticing?"

"Meh, I'd much rather take the walk," he shrugged

"Alright then," you nodded, "I guess I wouldn't mind the company."

"Aw," Rafa said, "I think that's the sweetest thing you've said to me all night!"

No more than ten minutes later, you were both wearing your coats and were headed in the direction of the townhouse you were sharing with another British girl, Samantha, who you'd met online a couple of weeks back.

"So how do you find California?" Rafa asked you after a couple of minutes of walking.

"I like it. It's different, that's for sure," you sighed, "but I think it's quite great here."

"Different how? Are you from a small town or something?"

"I'm from a small town called London. I don't know if you've heard of it?" you teased him.

"Hey, don't get smart with me," he laughed, "But in all honesty; apart from the obvious, how is L.A. so different from London?

"You know... London's population is almost twice as big as that of L.A., yet somehow everything's just bigger over here."

"Yeah," he nodded, "I could imagine. I remember the first time I was in L.A... It completely blew me away."

"You mean you're not from here?"

He shook his head, "I'm from up north. I moved here a few years back to focus on my career."

"Yeah? What do you do?" You asked curiously.

"Hey; what's the point of not having names if you know all about my career?"

"That's not fair. You already know that I'm a nerd," you winked up at him, pronouncing the last word as he would've.

He smiled down at you, "yeah sorry for calling your field of work nerdy earlier," he laughed awkwardly.

"I work in a lab. It is nerdy to be honest," you laughed, "no need to worry."

"It's just... I don't think I've ever pictured anybody looking like you to... you know.... actually be a nerd," he chuckled.

"We come in all shapes and sizes," you winked up at him and noticed how his smile grew wider, "as I'm sure people in your line of work do."

"Smooth u-turn you just did there," he laughed at you, "Well," he drawled, "if you absolutely must know, I moved to L.A. to focus on my music."

"You're a musician?" You looked up at him. Of course he was. Probably one of those douchy John Mayer-types who brought their guitar everywhere and always had to play Wonderwall at every. single. party. "Is that where I know you from? Am I currently being walked home by a well-renowned musician that girls from all over the world would be dying to be serenaded by?" You laughed.

"I assure you that millions of girls would kill to be in your position right now - but I highly doubt that it's because of the music," he chuckled, "I don't even have an album out."

"What kind of music do you do?"

"Rap mostly," he said proudly.

You looked him over; you would not have taken him for a rapper. "Oh, that's... cool," you said quietly.

He looked at you with a bemused smile, "what? You don't like rap music?"

"I hate it..." you whispered with a chuckle.

"WHAT?" He bellowed while looking at you with huge eyes, "are you insane?"

"Right after accordion-music, it is the worst genre there possibly could be! It's probably what they play for you when you enter the gates of hell."

"I've finally done it," Rafa looked shocked, "I've gone and found the only person in L.A. that doesn't like rap. You're probably the type of person who'd murder me in my sleep!"

It made you laugh loudly, "well how else would I know what kind of music they play you down there." He chuckled at your comment and you continued, "sorry. It's just not really my style."

Rafa clutched his chest, "I'm offended! How can it not be?"

"I didn't grow up with rap music," you laughed, "Name one famous British rapper!"

"Uh, easy!" He started counting on his fingers, "Skepta, Dizzee Rascal, Giggs, Doctor Green, The Streets, Stormzy - should I just keep going?"

"Okay, okay you've made your point. Apparently, I'm uncultured."

"So, what do your uncultured ears like then? Adele? Ed Sheeran? One Direction? Should I throw in some Spice girls?" He joked.

You smacked his arm lightly, earning yourself a low chuckle from him, "oi, the fact that I'm English doesn't mean that I only listen to the pits of British music."

"Sorry," he continued in a chuckle, "but I am genuinely interested."

"Well I'm not going to tell you now. You'll just mock me!"

"If you don't tell me, I'll keep assuming the worst."

"That's not my problem," you laughed at him.

He blinked twice, his charming smile still in place, "You are easily one of the most interesting women I've ever had the company of. You keep surprising me."

"I'll take that as a compliment," you smiled up at him.

"Oh, you definitely should."

You kept walking side-by-side for a couple of minutes, talking about the differences between life in L.A. and life in London. Just like when you had observed him at the bar, he talked with much vigourosity, hands flying everywhere as he spoke, his fingers slightly brushing against yours on several occasions. You had no idea whether he was doing it on purpose or not.

He was in the middle of a story about something that had happened to him earlier that evening when you suddenly stopped dead in your tracks. He looked at you with raised eye brows, "what? Was my story boring you?"

"Not at all. But this is me," you nodded towards the small townhouse in front of you.

He let out a soft whistle, "Nice place. You live here alone?" He took in the building.

"I know it seems childish at my age but since the rent is expensive for a common student I atually have a room mate..."

"Having a roomie is not childish," he laughed, " I know society would have you believe that, but fuck 'em. It's much nicer than living alone. I have a roomie too; Diggs - you know, the guy you met earlier tonight."

"Oh! That's why he asked you to come home with him," you teased him.

Rafa shot back his head with laughter, "you really thought we were an item or something?"

"Hey, who am I to judge?"

Rafa continued to chuckle, "I love the man but it's completely platonic. Also; he's too ripped for my taste," Rafa joked.

"Waaaaay too ripped!" You chimed in, rolling your eyes to match Rafa's.

"So manly!"

"Too manly!" You continued in an over-exaggerated tone.

"...And he definitely doesn't have enough tattoos!" He continued.

"That man is a boring plain canvas," you joked.

"I keep telling him that a tattoo on his pec would do him good. But - sigh - he never listens."

You looked him over and couldn't hold back a small snicker, "Strong words coming from you."

"Yeah? What do you mean?"

"You're not exactly the 'tatted up'-type, now are you?"

"I have several tattoos," he chuckled.

"Eh, you do?"

"Yeah," he nodded with a vibrant smile, "on my chest and arms."

"I did not see that coming," you laughed.

"See - I can be interesting and unpredictable too," he looked awfully proud of himself, "How about you? Do you have any?"

"I do," you nodded, "just a small one. It's embarrassing really..."

"Yeah? Where?" He smiled sweetly. Even though it was dark, you could easily make out his charming crooked tooth.

"Uhm..." you contemplated not telling him but ended up thinking to hell with it, "it's on my inner thigh," you said carefully. Talking about your dumb tattoo that was located at a highly sexual place wasn't exactly something you'd normally do with men you'd only just met.

"Inner thigh, huh?" He licked his lips while examining your face, "not gonna lie; the thought alone turns me the fuck on!" He laughed, "why don't you invite me inside so we can study eachother's tattoos?" He took a step closer to you. The sweet, charming guy who you'd had the pleasure of walking by your side was suddenly replaced by the fuck boy from the bar.

"You really don't waste your time, do you?" You laughed at him. Men you'd been on several dates with back home in England hadn't even been half as forthcoming as this guy was and you hadn't even known him for more than a couple of hours.

"Sorry," he shrugged while not looking the least bit apologetic, "I might've had a drink too many, but all I've been able to think about tonight has been how I want to take you home and get to know you better," he said while leaning in and stroking his thumb on the side of your arm, "you seem... different."

"Okay; full disclosure," you said with a sigh, "you're cute and all, but I'm not going to sleep with you."

He sent you a pout, "why not?"

"Well, as much a turn-on as it is to have a grown man beg you for sex," (he laughed at that), "I'm not going to have casual sex with someone I've only just met."

"Who says it has to be casual?" He smirked while leaning even closer, "I can do you good."

"God, you're insufferable," you rolled your eyes at him while fighting the urge to just jump him.

"But the good kind of insufferable, right?"

You laughed at his remark while slowly leaning closer to him, "no," you whispered.

"I'm really fighting hard not to kiss you right now," he groaned as he released his lower lip from between his teeth, a small smile playing on the corners of his mouth. His put hands on your waist, and he was slowly edging his face closer to yours.

Your fingers easily found the back of his skull, and you softly nuzzled with his hairline, silently telling him that it'd be alright for him to kiss you.

His hungry gaze was fixated on your smile as his lips came crashing onto yours, finally closing the distance between you completely. As soon as your lips touched, he stopped dead in his tracks however; he was clearly waiting for you to take the next step - which you did, but not as fiercely as he would have hoped; instead of attacking him - as he was used to when he normally whipped up this move - you captured his lips in a soft, tender kiss, lips barely touching but still with so much raw emotion spilling into him, that he was left with a weird feeling in his chest. He thought to himself that the way you reciprocated the kiss almost was... loving? It was definitely something he hadn't tried in years.

He was about to pull you closer and advance further into the kiss, when you pulled your face away from his and whispered, "I've had a great night tonight. Thank you." You stepped out of his arms.

"Ah, you're being serious," he said with just a hint of hurt to his voice, trying to pull you back to him without any luck.

"Yep," you laughed while turning away from him.

"Hey," he called from behind you, "will I see you again?"

"You know where I live, don't you?" You looked at him over your shoulder. His hair was a mess and he was looking at you all innocently while you continued to walk away from him.

"What? You want me to make a big romantic gesture or something?" He laughed.

"You have my address, do what you want," you smiled before turning away from him and towards your front door.

You heard him groan from behind you as you put your key in the door, "Hey, I don't even know your name!" He bellowed.

"It's Margarita Girl."

"Aw, come on. The least thing you could do is give me your name," he called from the pavement.

"Goodnight Rafa," you laughed before the door closed shut behind you.

#rafael casal x reader #rafael casal #daveed diggs #blindspotting #rafael casal imagine #smut #rafael casal fanfiction #bay boys

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everybodyscupoftea · 4 years

Text

this is the life

ole miss rafe x reader

you and your boyfriend deal with your ~futures~

literally no one asked for this lol, i’m sorry

(warnings: cursing)

Your animal and dairy sciences seminar had a report due that you’d stayed up very late making last minute edits to because you were stressed it was really bad. The next morning was brutal. Not only was in an 8 a.m. lecture, but your coffee machine was out and you overslept, barely giving yourself enough time to get to class before the professor checked attendance.

You slid into your seat, out of breath, just as started scanning the seating chart for attendance. The boy who sits next to you turned to ask, “Library was backed up this morning?”

“What?” you asked, halfway paying attention, still scrambling to get your notebook out.

“Since you’re running late, I’m assuming it’s because the library was busy when you went to print your report.”

Your stomach dropped and you swore, “Fuck. I forgot to print it. Fucking fuck. I submitted it online but I forgot we needed to hand him a physical copy too. Oh god I can’t afford to fail this class.” You were getting worked up and the boy was starting to look more and more like he regretted talking to you in the first place.

“I mean he’s pretty chill, so I’m sure if you explain he’ll let you bring it by his office later.”

The boy had a point, but you were already too far gone. For the rest of the class, you were unfocused, and if someone asked you what he lectured on, you’d have no clue, so preoccupied with rehearsing how you were going to beg him for an extension. You only had one other class, and you’d definitely be able to print it out and run it to him between them, but that was depending on if he let you.

Just as class was ending, your phone vibrated in your hoodie pocket, and you checked it, immediately calmed at seeing a text from your boyfriend. Rafe sent Can’t wait to see you this weekend and whatever had a grip on your chest loosened enough for you to take a full breath for the first time since waking up.

After speaking to your professor and his reassurance that you didn’t really need to worry much about the written report, that it was just to ensure everyone had it turned in prior to class, you left, much happier, but the exhaustion hitting you straight in the gut.

Thankfully, all you had left that day was a communication elective and then to drive to Rafe’s apartment in Oxford. He’d convinced you to make the trip because he wanted to show you around the place he’d called home for four years after leaving behind his “hometown trauma.” His words.

Your class flew by, people were giving speeches and you’d given yours Wednesday, so you sat there mindlessly, half asleep, until she dismissed the class for the weekend. Stopping back by your apartment to pick up your overnight bag, you decided to last minute check your PO Box, it had been a while. To your shock, you actually had mail, and when you saw the return address, the sick feeling returned to your stomach.

There was about a two-hour drive to Rafe’s apartment from Starkville, and you had the option of opening the letter containing either the best news or the worst news of your life before the drive or at Rafe’s apartment. Part of you wanted to know then, but a stronger part of you wanted to be with Rafe so he could comfort you if necessary.

Instead of making a decision, you felt your tired brain could not, you called Rafe. He answered before the second ring and you couldn’t help yourself.

“I see that receptionist job taught you some useful skills.”

“What?” he asked, sounding confused.

“Answering my calls fast, that’s good because my time is money.”

Rafe sighed, “Can I help you?”

“Someone’s mad. But, yes, should I open the letter from the vet school now or wait until I get to Oxford.”

You heard some shuffling around before he answered, “You think you can wait? I actually have something to tell you too.”

“Yeah, um, sure,” you were a little worried, “Is everything okay?”

“I think so. We just need to talk.”

“Right, talk, are you sure everything’s good?”

“Yeah, stop worrying. Just drive on over.”

You had been excited to go visit, but after that phone call you wanted to go back to bed. With a deep sigh, you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your hands and slumped backward. Blinking away the spots, you buckled up, pit in your stomach, and drove to your favorite coffee shop in Starkville. If shit was going to go down in Oxford you were going to have your comfort drink.

StrangeBrew’s drive-thru was packed and you tapped your fingers anxiously on the steering wheel as you waited to order your blueberry cobbler cold brew with soy milk. Right as the barista handed you the to-go cup, your phone vibrated and Rafe had sent drive safe!! <3. The fuck did that mean in the context of your earlier phone conversation?!

The drive to Oxford was boring as hell. You’d made it before, a band you liked had played there one night, and you and some friends had made the reluctant trip to see them. Turning on your podcast, you focused on nothing but the drive, pushing aside relationship doubts and the growing anxiety about the letter sitting in your passenger seat.

You called Rafe when you got close, and he was waiting outside his building when you finally found a visitor’s spot. He jogged over to grab your overnight bag and bent down to give you a quick kiss, before greeting you with, “Hey, baby, how was the drive?”

“Boring as fuck, nothing new.”

“Went smoothly?”

“About as smooth as possible. I’ve had to pee for the last like 40 minutes though, so it’d be great if I could do that now.”

He laughed and turned to walk to his building, motioning for you to follow him. You did, scampering a little to keep up with his long strides, and he unlocked a door on the first floor, holding it open for you, “Bathroom’s down the hall to the left.”

Rafe was sitting on the couch when you made it back out to the living room, and you finally took a good look at him. His laptop was on the coffee table and he was wearing a pair of Ole Miss sweats, a worn-out t-shirt, and a pair of glasses you were unaware he needed.

“Take a picture,” he interrupted your train of thought and you rolled your eyes.

“Shut up, Cameron. Now, tell me what you want to talk about so I can open my letter.”

“No, open your letter first and then we’ll talk.”

You weren’t sure why he was so insistent or why your heart rate tripled, but you were pretty sure it wasn’t the coffee. With shaking hands, you held up the letter from the MSU Vet School. All of your undergrad work came down to that letter, whether you’d have to take a gap year and try to find work to apply again or whether you could move forward in your career path.

Rafe watched on eagerly as you carefully tore it open and started reading. Eyes jumping across the page, unable to focus, you barely made out, Congratulations and We welcome you and We look forward to seeing you next fall.

With a gasp, you launched yourself at an unprepared Rafe and latched on, arms wrapped around his neck. He ran his hand up and down your back soothingly and asked, gently, “Good news?”

“I’m going to Vet School,” you whispered, voice cracking in the middle of your sentence.

“Fucking right you are, my little Rockstar.”

Your face heated up and you buried it in the crook of his neck, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. Only to come crashing back down a few seconds later as you remembered Rafe wanted to talk. Pulling back slowly, you asked, “So, what was it you wanted to talk about?”

His face lit up and he leaned forward, hanging on to you so he didn’t accidentally dump you onto the floor, and grabbed his laptop. Clicking to his email, he showed you the message he had pulled up from Mississippi State University Department of History Admissions.

“So, you know I’ve been interested in teaching,” he started, “and I’m debating whether I’d like to teach college or not.”

“Yeah, last we talked, you were leaning toward college professor, right?”

“Right. Well, I applied to a few schools that had a PhD program I was interested in, and I heard back from my top choice.”

Your mind was racing, still not connecting the dots, until he motioned at his laptop. Looking back down, you skimmed the email, telling him that he’d been accepted into MSU’s PhD in European History program and gasped, turning back to him in excitement, “No way?!”

“Way,” he told you, wide grin on his face.

Jaw dropped, your mind raced to put together a coherent thought, “How long have you been planning this?”

“The program is good, this isn’t a new thought, but MSU obviously jumped up my preference list to the top after we got together.”

“Fuckin whipped,” you teased and he tilted your chin down to kiss you.

Pulling away he brushed some of your hair back, “Only for you.”

As he leaned in again, you were the one to pull back, “Wait, we have to celebrate!”

Rafe groaned, “No, let me kiss you.”

“No! I want food, I spent the entire ride thinking I was going to get dumped when I got here.”

He furrowed his eyebrows, “What?”

“We need to talk,” you quoted, “that’s one scary fucking sentence, Cameron.”

He smiled sheepishly, “Sorry, sweetheart, I just wanted to keep it a surprise.”

“Well you did.”

Rafe leaned in to kiss you again and pulled back to add, “You really think I’d make you drive all the way here, just to break up with you. I’m wounded you think that lowly of me.”

“You are an asshole.”

Rolling his eyes, he pinched your cheek gently, “Be nice to me, I’m sacrificing my dignity and lowering myself to Mississippi State’s standards.”

Blinking a few times in surprise at his sudden switch, you told him back, “Fuck off, I’m sure you were last choice as soon as they saw where you got your undergrad degree.”

Without saying anything else, he kissed you again, gripping behind your knees and shifting so your back was on the couch. As he lowered himself down on top of you, you decided that food could wait. You had your future to celebrate.

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron fluff #rafe outer banks #rafe cameron fic #rafe obx #outer banks fic #outer banks #obx #college rafe #ole miss rafe

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etherrealoblivion · 4 years

Text

Chapter Fifteen: Fuck It

Table of Contents

Fic summary: Owning a bookstore in downtown D.C. came with its fair share of downsides. You never thought that being the target of a serial killer would be one of them. Luckily, a nice FBI agent by the name of Spencer Reid is assigned to watch over you. What's the worst that could happen?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Words: 2,770

RATING: MATURE

MASTERLIST

The awkwardness toned down after a while. There wasn’t much more you could be embarrassed about now that you’d been sleeping in the same bed together for days. What was strange was the fact that it was Christmas Eve and neither of you really knew what to do.

“Should we celebrate?” he asked finally after a few episodes of the strange true crime show on VHS — it was called Felon’s Brains and Spencer hated it, but there wasn’t any cable this far out and there were fifteen seasons of it on tape.

“I’m not sure.” Christmas hasn't always been a happy holiday for you. That coupled with the fact that you were hiding from a killer, what was there to celebrate?

Looking over at Spencer sitting next to you on the couch, his face contorted as he thought hard. There’s something to celebrate.

“When was the last time you ate?” While he was skinny in the first place, his shirts seemed to be falling a little looser lately.

It was a good question judging by the way he had trouble remembering.

“I’m not sure. A few days ago.”

You would be surprised, but there hadn’t really been many opportunities for either of you to eat. You’d grabbed an apple just before you left the hotel but that was pretty much the only food you’d had in a while.

“We should have a feast,” you said excitedly, your stomach grumbling at the thought. Spencer also looked relieved, probably more at the idea of keeping busy.

“Okay! I’m not all that sure what’s in the pantry.”

The yield was minuscule, but you could make the best of it. Surprisingly, there was an old pasta maker with a stiff crank, but it would work well enough. There was flour, eggs, olive oil, all the ingredients to make pasta from scratch.

However, when presented with this idea, Spencer blistered.

“I’ve said this before, I’m, uh, not exactly a chef.”

You smiled gently at him, gathering the ingredients.

“Me either. But pasta from scratch is like the one meal I can make. And there’s some canned vegetables in the pantry. You can prepare those.”

He seemed daunted by the idea, but moved to the cabinet and took out several cans.

So you did your best making the pasta (perhaps adding a bit too much flour) and soon the meal was ready.

“Oh my god!”

“What?” you said nervously, watching him swallow the first bite of pasta.

“This is amazing!” he dug in, savoring it. “How did you learn to make this?”

Pleased, you took a bite yourself. It did taste really good. But so did Spencer’s vegetables.

“I learned from my old . . . roommate.”

You tried to play off the slip. Hopefully, he’d go along with it.

“Cool! Well, it’s delicious. Thank you.”

His eyes crinkled when he smiled, sending a spark through you and you grinned back at him.

“You know, this isn’t a bad Christmas Eve.”

He nodded, glancing from the meal to the window to you. Startled at the sudden eye-contact, you looked away, no doubt a blush spreading to your cheeks.

Spencer cleared his throat; he did that a lot.

“Ahem, did you know that Christmas is just the evolution of a popular holiday in the Roman Empire that celebrated the winter solstice as a symbol of the resurgence of the sun, the casting away of winter and—“

“While it does drive me crazy when you ramble, in a very good way, maybe we could talk about something a bit more personal?”

He wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or relieved.

“Sure. Like what?”

“Hmm. What was your favorite Christmas?”

A bright smile lit up his face.

“The Christmas after my tenth birthday. My dad dressed up like Santa and we went and saw reindeer in Baskin’s park. I got to ride one. My mom was so scared the whole time. She kept thinking I was going to fall off, even though my dad was right next to me the whole time. That was really the last family time we had. He left the next year.”

His smile turned to a frown.

To change the subject, you took the plates to the sink, then sat on the couch, patting the place next to you. Spencer stood and ambled over, plopping down next to you, attempting to smile. Your positions were similar to how they’d been in the bookstore, all those nights ago. Strange how close you’d grown after such little time.

“What about you? What was your favorite Christmas?” he asked.

You took one look at him, wearing a thick burgundy sweater that looked far too scratchy to be comfortable, woolen mismatched socks, and regular jeans, his head tipped back on the couch and staring at you so sweetly, awaiting your response.

“This one.”

You had whispered it so quietly you would have been sure he didn’t hear it . . . if not for the sharp intake of breath next to you.

Quickly moving past that, you said, “I’m not sure. I’ve never really had super special Christmases. I mean presents and stuff is great, but none really stand out. Well, stand out in a positive light.”

He chewed on that for a minute.

“Then what’s been your worst Christmas?”

You shot him a look, “I’m not sure you wanna hear about that.”

“I do! Here,” he scooched closer, picking up your legs and swinging them into his lap, surprising you with the closeness of the gesture, “I’ll go first. My worst Christmas was the year after my dad left. I didn’t get any presents because he wasn’t there and my mom was admitted.”

“Admitted?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

“She, um, she has Schizophrenia. She lives in a mental facility.”

It was such a personal confession, you weren’t sure what to say. He told you something extremely private! That’s good! Right? No. If anything it just blurred the lines of your relationship further. Was he telling you to indulge you, make you feel more comfortable with him knowing so many personal things about you, or did he actually want to share that part of himself with you? Either way, you needed to acknowledge it.

“I’m here, Spencer.”

He looked at you in surprise.

“Most people say they’re sorry when I tell them that.”

Shit.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—“

“No, no,” his eyes were full of curiosity and wonderment. “I’m actually grateful. It’s weird when people apologize because there’s really no right response. I can say, ‘it’s okay’, which is a lie; ‘thank you’, even though I’m not really thankful; or I can ignore it which is just mean. An apology creates an unconscious obligation.”

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, digesting the words.

“I promise never to apologize to you,” you said, smiling.

He smiled back, chuckling softly. “I promise, too.”

“My worst Christmas was last year.” He adjusted his position so he could look at you better. “I had just started my Linguistics PhD so my schedule was constantly full. At the time I was living with my ex-boyfriend, Matthew. He, um, had problems with me being gone so frequently; he always wanted to know where I was and what I was doing. So when I surprised him by coming home early on Christmas Eve, I thought he’d be pleased. Turns out there was a reason he was so obsessed with my schedule. He didn’t want me coming home to someone else in our bed.

“I remember when I walked in and saw them together how sad I was. But even more so, I was relieved. Looking back on it, I was just looking for an excuse to get out of that relationship.” You looked off in thought. “Huh. I’d never really thought about that.”

His hands were slowly patting your legs, sliding up and down your clothed shin. It seemed like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

“I’m here for you.”

He had said it as a comfort, as a substitute for ‘I’m sorry’, but you couldn’t help taking it as though he was saying he was there for you and he always would be, unlike your ex. Spencer seemed to realize this, his hands freezing on your leg.

But he kept stroking after a moment, and said, “I never liked the name Matthew. So pretentious.”

You laughed lightly, reaching out for his hand, clasping it in yours and running your thumb along the back.

“Spencer. How is this going to end?”

When the FBI had first talked to you, Morgan had assured you that the stalker wasn’t trying to kill you. But then why were they being so protective of you?

He waited a moment before answering, holding your hand tightly.

“The model of a stalker killer deciding to rehearse his fantasy multiple times with possible intent to have you complete the final scenario concludes itself with one of two possibilities. The more likely being the stalker will kill himself.”

“What’s the other possibility?”

Embers from the fire snapped and crackled in the heavy silence.

“He’ll kill the object of his desire.”

Although you had kind of put together the fact that there was more to the danger you were in, it still came as a shock to have it confirmed.

“Have you had cases like this before?”

He paused, biting his lip.

“Yes.”

“And how do they end?”

“The ones we win, the victim goes through therapy, the stalker goes to prison, and eventually we move on. It never goes away, but it gets better.”

You nodded seriously.

“What about the ones you lose?”

As the logs in the fire snapped again, a lightbulb burned out, making a loud popping noise above your head and shrouding the room in darkness.

Spencer stood on the couch, adjusting the bulb.

“Sorry, I guess there’s not the best electricity out here.”

“Well, there’s a generator out front. It’s probably just the lightbulb.”

“No, these lightbulbs were changed recently. Are you sure you saw a generator?”

You nodded.

“Then it must be the circuitry.”

He unscrewed the bulb and sat back down, setting it on the end table. The only light in the room came from the fire. It cast a golden glow over his sharp features, drawing your attention to the cut of his jaw and the plumpness of his lips. The firelight in his eyes as he stared sparked something inside you; a sort of sudden urgency.

You sat up, moving closer to him on the couch. His hazel eyes glowed in the soft light of the room.

Slowly, you brought your hand to his face, gently caressing his cheek. His lips parted and his eyes grew dark, glancing down at your lips.

The threat of death was just around the corner, closer than you’d thought. You loved Spencer and you needed him to know before . . .

“Y/N. . . .”

It was barely a whisper but you felt it in every part of your body.

Letting the feeling wash over you, you picked up his hand, placing it on your cheek and melting into the touch.

Spencer stroked your cheek, thumb brushing against your lips. You parted them, staring at him as you mouthed his thumb.

He suddenly pulled back, balling his hands into fists and trying to catch his breath.

“Listen, there’s this thing called ‘transference’ it’s when—“

“Spencer, I like you.” Well, that was one way to shut him up.

At his shocked expression, you quickly burst into a ramble. “Not because you’re protecting me, I've thought hard about this. I can protect myself, I'm not helpless. That being said, everything about you makes me want to be with you. The fact you love reading, knowing all sorts of random facts, you love memorizing lists, the way you raise your eyebrows when you’re shocked like you’re doing now. I want you, not the idea of you. I want you.” You said the last part with such conviction you thought you’d explode.

Meanwhile, Spencer was speechless.

Testing the waters, you leaned in as slowly as you could, giving him the opportunity to stop you if he wanted.

When your mouths were millimeters apart, neither of you moving, just breathing heavily, you said, “You don’t want this?”

“Drink,” and the second he said it, your lips met harshly with tongue and teeth clacking together. It was desperate, urgent the way you pulled him on top of you, laying back on the couch. His hands were everywhere at once, running through your hair, snaking around your waist, brushing against your neck.

Breaking the kiss to pull his sweater over his head, you marveled at his bare chest. It was different than you’d pictured. Not muscular per se, but not nearly as scrawny. It was perfect. He was perfect.

He hesitated at your gaze, so you pulled him back down, ravishing his mouth and scraping your nails down him back, leaving a trail of white marks.

But, ever the hero, he pulled back, shaking his head softly.

“Wait, wait . . .”

The absence of his mouth was unbearable, but you would respect his boundaries. Although you knew now that if anything, it was his job interfering with his feelings for you. It wasn’t that he didn’t want you. He just couldn’t have you.

The thought was too much, you looked away from him, still hovering above you. When, after a moment, he still hadn’t moved, you looked at him, surprised to see an extremely pained expression on his face.

You tilted your head, eyebrows furrowing. For him, that seemed to be the last straw for he sighed and leaned back down muttering, “Fuck it,” and kissing you harder than ever before.

It was the first time he’d cursed in front of you. Moaning against his mouth, you could feel his fingers brush against the skin of your sides. You gasped at the contact and he started to pull back, but you pulled him closer, nipping his lips and letting your legs fall open, closing any gap between you.

He grunted softly and inadvertently thrust against you in just the right spot, causing you to thread your fingers through his hair and pull.

The yank made him gasp and his hips jerked unconsciously against yours.

“D-do that again,” he whispered between kisses.

Delighted, you did, hard, your other hand desperately trying to unbuckle his belt. He occupied himself with kissing up and down your neck, occasionally biting and subsequently soothing with licks.

You finally got his belt undone, throwing it to the floor as he pulled your shirt over your head. He pulled back for a moment, admiring you. Your bra wasn’t all that special, just a plain tan one, but Spencer looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Tired of the space between you, you pulled him back, kissing him deeply and moving his hand to your breast. The moment he was given permission, his hand slipped underneath, kneading gently.

As you popped the button on his jeans and shoved them down his legs, he found the clasp of your bra and snapped it, probably breaking something in the process. Now your chest was bare, Spencer’s hands moving all over your body, soaking up every inch possible. You gently reached down and felt his hard length, both of you moaning at the contact. He thrust into your hand, desperate for more.

But you had to stop him, you pulled him back, hands moving to gently grasp his cheeks, holding his face inches from yours.

He seemed alarmed by the shift, stopping all movement and staring into your eyes.

In that moment, with him on top of you, looking at you with such care, such caution, like you were the only thing that mattered in the world and he’d do anything you asked in an instant, you realized you needed to tell him. If you kept it in any longer you’d burst.

He knew what you were going to say the moment before you said it.

“I love you.”

The two of you held eye contact for a moment, the only sound in the room your breath. Then, his expression softened and he opened his mouth to speak.

But before he could say anything, there was a loud THWACK and he fell forward onto you, unconscious. Behind him, standing above you, was a dark figure holding a blunt object.

Terror rushed through you, chilling the marrow in your bones. But before you could so much as scream, the figure lifted the object and brought it down on your head, hard.

Everything went dark.

notes: I am so sorry.

Taglist: @aperrywilliams @mjloveskids666 @dolanfivsosxox @criesinreid @fanficsrmylife @racerparker @sammypotato67 @lukeskisses @reidcrimes @you-had-me-at-hello-dear @l0ve-0f-my-life @thatsonezesty13 @yourmisosoup @queenofthebees003 @pinkdiamond1016 @eu-solidao @perverted-guardian-angel @boiled-onionrings @rainsong01 @lesbian-emilyprentiss @andiebeaword @itsmoony @cielo1984 @baby-i-am-fireproof @mendesminimuffin @fukyouthink @addie5264 @gretaamyk @sercyan @expressiodeppresio @matthewreid

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fic #fanfic #fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #fandom #smut #slow burn #angst #fluff #criminal minds #i am so sorry

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a-singleboat · 4 years

Text

Serious

Word Count: 3.3k

Request: can you do emily prentiss x fem!reader with some angst? Thanks! - anon

Warning(s): Reader gets kidnapped, blood, stabbing, general gore

When you first started dating Emily Prentiss, you knew the risks. It wasn’t easy dating a high-profile government employee, especially when you were roughly six years younger than her. If anything, it made it even harder especially when your lives didn’t seem to line up at all. While she was Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit in the FBI, you were working toward your first pHd out of, hopefully, two.

So while she was out catching serial killers and the rest of the mortal evil in the world, you were attending classes and conducting research on “The effectiveness of rehabilitation in prisons and the criminal justice system.” It was riveting stuff, really. A pHd in forensic psychology would put you on the path to becoming a criminal researcher like you’d always dream of.

Well, technically you wanted to be a criminal profiler but you weren’t all too athletic and based on knowing what your girlfriend did, decided on a career change shortly after gaining your bachelors. What Emily did seemed exhausting, quite frankly, and you could make just as much of a change as she did out in the field by sitting in a lab.

But what made things really hard between the two of you was the fact that due to who you were as a person and what Emily did for a living, you have attracted a very adamant stalker who was twice as likely to turn violent than the rest of them simply because he’d known you earlier on in life.

Unfortunately, your oh-so-loving stalker was a man by the name of James Carlton, who’d felt slighted in the way you’d rejected him several times over the course of your high school career. Yeah, you didn’t really pick up the sentiment of “Treat People with Kindness,” until about midway through your sophomore year of college. Some could say you’d brought this on yourself.

“I’m okay,” you assured your girlfriend through the phone, crossing your arm over your torso and leaning against the wall. It reeked of cigarette smoke despite the huge sign on the wall stating that smoking was prohibited within fifty feet of the establishment. You peered through the gauze-like curtains, searching the motel parking lot for the tell-tale sign of the FBI’s arrival. “I’m just a bit shaken up. Though, I think he might have my psychology paper. I can just reprint that though.”

“Of course out of everything you’re worried about, it's your goddamn paper. You shouldn’t be worried about your grades when your life is in danger,” Emily advised, the sirens blaring in the background.

“But my grades are all I have right now, well, except for you.” You risked another glance out the window. “How long until you guys get here?”

“Five minutes, tops,” Emily assured her. “We’ve already passed the library.”

A shadow passed in front of the window as you took a step back in shock, the frightening electric blue eyes of the very man you were running from staring straight at you. He pressed a sheet of paper against the window, a sadistic grin spread over his features as he leaned into the musty glass.

In crude sharpie, the words YOU CAN’T HIDE FOREVER had been scrawled over the careful ink of your psychology paper. You really couldn’t pass that in for a grade now.

Smoke started to creep into your room through the vents, forcing you into the center of the room as you covered your mouth and did everything you could not to breathe in. You just had to last four more minutes.

You whimpered as you saw the door handle jiggle, James having disappeared from the window to attempt breaking down the shoddy motel room door. You could barely hear Emily asking what was going on over the thumping of your own heart as your vision blurred. It was either you stopped breathing and passed out or took a breath in and passed out anyways.

You managed to whisper, “He’s here,” into the receiver before you collapsed, gasping for air. Not even a moment later, you felt a hand at your waist as someone heaved you over their shoulder. Unfortunately for you, it probably wasn’t Emily.

By the time you came to, you were already thoroughly scared. Your dreams had been anything but pleasant, flashes of torture blinding you even before you were awake. But still, you kept your eyes closed and your breathing even as you tried to figure out where you were.

It felt dark. With nothing covering your eyes, you could tell that it was as well. The air smelled damp, like an old towel that had been left sitting for too long. It was cold as well and as far as you could tell, you were underground. You were willing to bet you were in a cellar of some sort.

Slowly, you moved your left foot only to realize your ankles had been shackled to the extremely uncomfortable bed. It felt like you were laying on hay, which was completely possible. The prickly sensation at your back was either that or hair, which would have been extremely unfortunate.

A door opened on the other side of the room, causing you to stiffen. You choked back a sob as you struggled to keep your breathing under control.

“Oh, Y/n,” James cooed, running a finger down the side of your face. You heard more footsteps before the door slammed shut, causing you to tense up once more. “You’re awake, aren’t you, baby?”

You figured there was no reason to hide anymore, flinching away from him and his use of the pet name. Emily called you baby all the time, something you’d grown to like in your relationship. You never liked the name before her.

“What?” he asked, pulling down your blindfold. “You don’t like it when I call you baby?”

Instead of focusing on him, you turned your head so you could analyze where you were. You were right, it was dark. There was a dim floor lamp in the far corner, weakly emitting an eerie glow over the room. By the lamp, barely within reach of the light, was another man. He had a gun on his hip and stood protectively in front of the door, as if he were waiting for something.87

James was a lot more prepared for your abduction than you originally thought. This would make it difficult for your rescue but to be honest, you were doubtful that you would make it to the next day.

He grabbed your face, forcing you to look up at him. You tried to sink further into the scratchy mattress but he followed you, a sadistic smile on his face as he just got closer the more you tried to shrink away. “You thought you were safe?” He got closer, chuckling. His rancid breath washed over your face and you held your breath until it subsided. “You’ll never be safe. Not as long as I’m alive. You know why?”

You really didn’t want to know why.

“Because I’d follow you to the ends of the earth, darling.” He traced a finger down the side of your face. “You’re never getting away from me again. You’re mine.”

“You’re delusional,” you managed through gritted teeth. “I’ll never be yours. I wasn’t in high school and I sure as hell am not now.”

James scoffed. “You popular girls were always the same. Always thinking you’re better than everyone just because you were well liked.” He slapped you, causing your head to whip to the side. The sting from his palm meeting your cheek hurt more than it normally would. You could already tell that it was already reddening even without the help of a mirror. “Though, I have to give you props. Ashlynn didn’t last this long before she was sobbing for her life. You really surprised me.”

“Ashlynn?” This was news to you. In high school, you’d surrounded yourself with like-minded individuals all more self-conscious than the last. Ashlynn was the “head bitch” as others put it. She was like the Regina George of your friend group. “So after me you’ll go for Georgia and Penny, is that it?”

“You always were the smart one, weren’t you?” James said, backing off. He walked over to a table just out of sight, picking up a knife and running it over a whetstone a few times. You winced at every stroke, watching as he sharpened his weapon with glee.

“You really should have saved me for last,” you said, choking down any fear. James raised the blade into the air, admiring the sharp edge before strolling back over to you. He pressed the knife against your collarbone, barely applying any pressure.

“And why’s that?”

“Because my girlfriend’s going to come for me,” you said, gasping as he forced the blade into your skin. You felt the trickle of blood slide down the side of your neck until it dripped off onto the mattress. “She’s an FBI agent, you know.”

James rolled his eyes. “And Ashlynn’s husband was a cop. She still died.” He pulled the knife back, resting the tip on your arm. “They still haven’t found her body, you know. It really shouldn’t have been too hard to find though. It’s where you and the rest of them used to hang out everyday after school.”

“Why are you telling me this?” You stiffened your arm, pushing into the mattress to escape the knife. There were two outcomes that you could see. Either Emily dramatically bursted into the cellar and managed to save you just in time or you got marked up and eventually bled out. You crossed your fingers and sent out a mental prayer that Emily would get to you in time.

The tip of the knife dragged over your arm, splitting your skin like the Red Sea. Strangely, it didn’t hurt. The knife was so sharp that you couldn’t feel anything. You didn’t know if that was a good thing or not but at least it saved you from the pain.

“Why am I telling you this…?” James brought the knife up and cut down the middle of your shirt, leaving you exposed. He traced a few letters over your stomach with his finger before turning the knife over in his hand, pressing the weapon blade-side down. It cut into your skin, the beginnings of an “M” blossoming on the right side of your stomach. “Because you’ll be dead by morning. If you refuse to be mine then there’s no point in keeping you alive. You think your idiot of an FBI agent can save you in time?” He finished carving his word into your stomach, pain blossoming across your entire midsection causing your sight to go blurry. He’d pressed harder that time which meant you actually felt each excruciating cut he made.

James took a step back, taking the moment to admire his handy work before thrusting the knife hilt-deep into your stomach.

You felt the pain, a searing white-hot pain right underneath where your belly button was. If you breathed wrong, you could feel the knife move, which was horrifying in many ways. You tried to make your breaths more shallow on purpose, not wanting to disturb the weapon jutting out from your stomach.

And, just like a movie, the door burst open a moment later. Shouts of “FBI!” and “Hands up!” could be heard. You watched through blurred vision as James put his hands up, laughing maniacally as the blood left your body. Not only could you feel the blood drip down your collarbone and arm, but you could tell that your stomach was doing a good job of acting as a waterfall, watering the mattress below you.

Unfortunately for you, your stomach’s waterfall performance was not beneficial to the cause of keeping you alive. The last thing you saw before succumbing to the darkness was your girlfriend’s extremely worried face and the muffled sounds of her beautiful voice. Too bad you didn’t stay awake long enough to hear any more.

Emily was struggling between acting as the Unit Chief her team needed her to be and playing the understandably worried girlfriend to the woman that was bleeding out in front of her not even four hours ago. Thankfully they’d gotten to you in time. You hadn’t been bleeding for too long and the knife hadn’t been taken out which improved your chances of survival by a good amount. Emily wasn’t really paying attention when Reid was prattling off your survivability rate. She was more focused on making sure you actually survived.

You’d lost a lot of blood. That wasn’t arguable. By the time they reached you, your neck was drenched as well as your arm. The pool of blood in your stomach wasn’t comforting either and the second she saw what had been carved into your skin, Emily had to excuse herself for a moment to go throw up in the bushes.

And the worst part… the worst part was that you looked dead. You looked exactly like a victim in one of the many photos she’d see in a day. Your hair was wet--from what, she didn’t know, and you looked awful. After years of looking at the photos and consoling grieving families, she never even imagined that she’d be the one to be consoled.

“The doctors are hopeful, but she lost a lot of blood,” JJ said, resting a hand on her shoulder. Emily didn’t react. She had your scarf clenched in her hands. It was the same scarf you’d given her after it started snowing on your fifth date together and you had to escape into your apartment that was nearby. You’d said that it looked better on her and smiled. God, she’d give anything to see you smile again.

It was crazy how five years of love could be erased in just a day. Five years of morning phone calls when Emily was away, five years of at-home dinners after a long case, five years of just existence with you… it hurt to think about how quickly it could all just be gone.

“This is all my fault,” Emily muttered, twisting your scarf through her hands. She let the fabric slip through her fingers, watching as it fell into a heap on her lap. “I should’ve never left her alone.”

“You can’t blame yourself for that,” Reid was standing in front of her on her left side, his arms crossed across his chest. As much as he tried to make it seem like he hadn’t been crying, he didn’t really do a good job with hiding it. His eyes were red and his cheeks blotchy. The fact that he was sniffling didn’t help either.

Reid and Y/n were best friends for years before Emily came along. The two of you actually met through Reid. You’d brought him lunch one day and it took about five weeks of seeing you around before Emily got the guts to ask if you were single--to which Reid had smiled wide at and answered that yes, you were single.

“I was the last person to see her,” he said. “If anything, it was my fault.”

Rossi scoffed. He didn’t know you as well as Reid or Emily but after years of having you as Emily’s plus one for dinners at his mansion, he’s gotten to know you better than most. You saw him as a father figure and he saw you as one of his own. “Neither of you should be blaming yourself. Y/n is here and she’s safe, that’s all the matters now. We can’t change the past.”

Says the man who obsessed over an unsolved case from his prime, Emily wanted to say. But she held back. Arguing wouldn’t get them anywhere and as much as she hated it, Rossi was right. You were safe with six government agents plus one technical analyst and one retired government agent sitting outside the room where you were receiving surgery.

“Y/n’s tough,” Morgan said, resting his own hand on Reid’s shoulder. He’d been there a lot toward the beginning of your relationship, quickly becoming the older brother type that you never get to experience as an only child. “You both know that. She’ll pull through.”

The night passed into its eighth hour when the doctors finally emerged. Emily was the first to stand, slapping Reid’s shoulder until he woke up and stood with her. The rest of the team had either passed out or left. Alvez had gone home, as had Lewis. The only other people that remained were JJ, Morgan, Garcia and Rossi.

“Most of the injuries she’d sustained were superficial. They should heal within a week or so,” the doctor, Dr. Smith, informed them. “She’ll be in pain for a few good weeks as she heals. The stab wound to her stomach will take longer to heal, the knife having gone deep enough to penetrate her uterus. We expect she’ll make a full recovery.”

Emily frowned. “And the carving?”

“Wasn’t deep enough to scar,” Dr. Smith assured her. “In fact, most of the knife injuries should heal without scarring. Just the stab to her abdomen should scar.”

Reid nodded, thanking the doctor before turning to Emily. He looked more relieved than worried, which was a good thing. Y/n would be okay.

“I thought I was going to lose her,” Emily said. Your scarf had become a bracelet of sorts, securly tied around her wrist. It still smelled like you, though it had faded since you’d given it to her.

“Do you want to go in and see her first?” Reid offered, looking over at the Intensive Care Unit you’d been moved into. They could see you through the glass now. You were asleep, most likely exhausted, and rightfully so. You looked peaceful asleep, a familiar and welcome sight, though she usually saw you like this when she came home late from cases.

“Shouldn’t we let her sleep?” Emily asked, eyes not moving from your still frame.

Reid looked over his shoulder. “Well, I don’t think anyone’s going to go home until she’s awake. You could go sit with her until she does.”

Emily nodded but she didn’t move. She was torn between wanting to be by your side and wanting to just leave you be. Reid pushed her toward you, motioning for her to get along with it.

She crossed the threshold, closing the door behind her. Immediately, the silence was apparent. Compared to the occasional sound of chatter in the hallways, your room was completely silent. It was a welcome change, though Emily would have much rather preferred the space be filled with your laughter.

Emily pulled a chair from the wall over to where you laid, sinking into the uncomfortable faux leather. She reached for your hand, taking it in hers. Your skin was still as soft as ever thanks to the hand cream you use nearly every chance you get. The dumb little habit had things slipping from your fingers more often than not but Emily was always there to catch the occasional glass.

You had a few paper cuts from the speed at which you read, and though you were nowhere near Reid’s 20,000 WPM, Emily swore that you consumed material faster than he did. For a brief moment, Emily thought about leaving you. The world was dangerous enough as is without a constant target on your back because of her occupation. Maybe you’d fare better with someone who wasn’t as high profile.

But then she thought about what you would say--you’d reprimand her for being an absolute dumbass before telling her that dinner was ready with a smile. Emily leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your palm before settling back into the seat. She refused to let go of your hand, bringing the chair as close as possible.

Emily would wait a thousand years if it meant you’d wake up and be in her arms once again. She drifted off to sleep with your hand still firmly intertwined with her own, a reminder that you were safe and that she would never let go of you again.

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