#jordsie writes

[scripts4dreamers]

Not Your Hero. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

Chapter one, Chapter two, Chapter three, Chapter four, Chapter five

AN: Whaaaaaaat? A chapter of a WIP? From me? Insanity

Characters: Finnick Odair, Coriolanus Snow, Mags Flanagan, James Karakus, Annie Cresta

Pairings: Finnick x reader

Spoiler(s): None

Warning(s): Mentions of blood, death, murder, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, psychological manipulation, intimidation 

Prompt/Inspiration: House in Nebraska - Ethel Cain

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While the games are on, no one ever really leaves the viewing room. Finnick knew that, all the mentors did, but for you this was a whole new experience. He watched you pace like a caged animal, stress eat from the neverending flow of food brought in by avoxes, and talk with James in a low voice whenever something happened. He knew for a fact that you didn’t sleep at all. Some of the others did, he did, but you just sat on the couch every night with your knees pulled up under your chin, staring at the screen.

Because of that, you watched Adam Donaldson die in real time on the second night. Finnick had stayed up with you, sitting in a shared and quiet vigil because, if he was honest, he’d seen it coming. Maybe you’d seen it too, because the first tear had slipped down your cheek before the careers had even noticed the smoke from Adam’s small campfire and made the connection. Finnick wished he could say it had been quick and painless, an arrow to the heart, a snapped neck. It wasn’t. It had been a slow day and Finnick knew better than anyone how those kids were trained, first and foremost, to entertain. He tried not to watch Annie, tried not to watch you watching Annie, reminded himself not to tell you that Annie was a good girl, really, that she was just doing as she was told. Compassion would come later, he promised himself, for now you were living one of the worst moments in a mentor’s life. You wouldn’t appreciate a spirited defense of your tribute’s killer.

It took the careers three full hours to finally put Adam Donaldson out of his misery, and you didn’t make a sound the entire time. You didn’t shift or move or eat. You barely blinked. Adam screamed and bled and died, and Finnick watched you bear it, adding another lost life to the list of sins you could never really really be forgiven for. A few mentors tried to stop by and comfort you but you brushed them off or snapped for them to leave you alone, like an animal in a trap. Finnick was the only person who was spared your annoyance so he held your hand and didn’t let go. He didn’t try and tell you that it wasn’t your fault, he knew you wouldn’t have listened. Instead, he just promised that it would be over soon. Just hang on, he whispered again and again, just hold on for a little longer and then it’ll be over. If nothing else, it would be over.

When the dust settled and the remaining body fragments had been collected, Finnick had watched something in you deflate and his heart pinched. He knew that moment, the pain, the guilt, the relief. You’d made it through. You’d gritted your teeth and made it through.

“First one’s the hardest,” Haymitch had slurred, shocking Finnick, who hadn’t thought Haymitch had even noticed what was happening, “Gets easier,” he shrugged, “or so they keep telling me.”

You gave him a look, as though you were weighing up the benefits of biting his head off, but eventually you just nodded, “Thanks, Haymitch.”

“Don’t thank me,” he replied, “I didn’t say it gets bearable.”

Finnick felt a rush of protectiveness sweep over him, but he forced himself to just stay at your side until you assured him that you would be alright, and then he allowed himself a rest. You returned to your pattern. You watched the male tribute from Four get beheaded by a rival a few days later, watched Serena slip away into the darkness, clutching a bleeding shoulder that wouldn’t heal, watched Annie’s psyche start to crack as she isolated herself and cradled the air, imagining it was her partner’s bloody body. And you told it all to Finnick each morning in a dull, monotone voice, the bags under your eyes getting darker and darker with each passing day. He wanted to help. He wished that there was something he could say or do to help you deal with the grief, but he couldn’t. He had to focus, to keep his eye on the end point and, right now, he had other things on his mind.

Annie was AWOL.

Losing Ajack had broken something inside of her. You’d told him the whole story; about how he’d gotten into an argument with the boy from District one, how they’d pushed and shoved at one another until the boy from one had picked up an ax and ended it, hacking at Ajack’s neck while his partner held Annie back. Apparently she’d screamed at the boy to stop, begged him even, and after Ajack’s head had been completely severed, she’d held his body for so long that the hovercraft hadn’t been able to collect it until the early hours of the morning. After that, she’d vanished, disappearing into the bush without any supplies. Whenever the camera found her now, she was muttering to herself, or fiddling with her fingers, or staring out into space like she wasn’t there anymore.

Finnick had never felt more helpless. He’d chewed his nails down to the beds, and used every tool of persuasion in his arsenal to keep sponsors from pulling out. He supplied Annie with food and water, with sleeping gear and climbing supplies. None of it had helped. Now, as he clung to the very edges of his sanity and wracked his brain, he had to admit: he was out of tricks. There was nothing else he could do. The sponsors had pulled out in favor of the pair from district one; Annie had no weapons and, even if she did, she was in no fit state to use them and, worst of all, it had been nearly two days since the last gruesome death. That usually meant one thing; the crowd would be getting antsy and the gamemakers would be planning something awful. He watched Annie’s lifeless body on the screen as she twitched and muttered in her sleep, his heart twisting into painful knots.

“Finnick!” Annie screeched, giggling as she scrambled up the rocks and away from his attacks, “Stop! I don’t want to get wet.”

“Why?” he laughed, pushing up off the ocean floor and letting himself float on his back.

The cool water lapped against his temples, filling his ears and cradling his body in its strong, reliable arms. He loved the water, lived for it. There was nowhere that he felt more at home, or more like himself than when he could taste saltwater on his lips and feel sand on his skin. His stomach churned with anxiety and a mixture of fear and anticipation, but he breathed in deep, filling his lungs with bright sunlight and the smell of warm ocean rocks and let the rocking of the waves soothe him.

Annie was perched on the rocks like a seabird, her long dark hair swirling and tangling in the wind as she watched him swim, a kind of quiet longing in her eyes. Not for Finnick himself of course, but for his comfort, for his ease in the ocean. Annie was terrified of the sea, she always had been. She was a strong swimmer, as all the kids in district four were, but she’d never trusted it, never truly believed that it could carry her and support her weight. She always felt, privately, in the back of her mind, that it was just waiting to drag her under, to a dark watery grave. Finnick opened one eye and gave her, what he hoped was, a confident smile.

“Like what you see, Cresta?” he joked

She scoffed, a delicate blush coloring her cheeks, “You wish.” she paused, worrying at the inside of her cheek, “How are you never nervous? It’s reaping day, and you haven’t even broken a sweat.”

Finnick pushed forward, tipping into a steady tread, and shrugged, “Nothing to be nervous about. We’re fourteen, Annie, it’s not going to be us.”

“It might be,” she argued, “York said that none of the older kids are volunteering this year.”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

Annie shrugged, “They just aren’t.”

“But they have to.” He insisted, “That’s the rules.”

“We haven’t won in years,” Annie reminded him, “I think they’re just sick of volunteering to die.”

Finnick pressed his lips together, feeling the cold hand of dread creeping into his chest again. No volunteers? That was unheard of. What would happen now? A normal reaping? Could anyone be picked now? Could he be picked? He met Annie’s eye and saw his own terror reflected there in vibrant sea green.

“It won’t be us, Annie,” he assured her, hoping that he sounded more confident than he was, “I promise you, it won’t be us.”

Finnick’s eyes started to sting and he swore softly under his breath, burying his head in his hands and carding his fingers through his hair. It felt like his heart was shattering piece by piece and dragging him down into the depths along with it. Out of the corner of his eye Finnick saw a familiar shadow and, despite everything, some of the tension in his shoulders relaxed. You collapsed onto the couch beside him, reaching out and resting a hand on his back comfortingly. God, he hated how good that felt. He hated how he longed to lean into your touch, to bury his head in the crook of your neck and weep like the broken boy he was. I’m just a kid! He wanted to scream, I can’t do this! I can’t do this anymore!

“I know, Fin,” you whispered, as though you could read his mind, “you’re doing so well.”

A tear slipped down his cheek and he shook his head frantically, “Annie’s screwed. The sponsor’s are gone, she’s barely eating. There’s nothing I can do to save her.”

You were quiet for a moment, “There’s never anything we can do, really. It’s always just a big gamble.”

“I know but-”

“And you aren’t out of sponsors. I spoke to my guys and they’re going to back Annie since-” You pressed your lips together, “since Adam’s gone and Serena-well-she’s not going to be able to hold on much longer.”

Finnick’s head shot up, a mixture of relief and incredulousness filling him so suddenly that he wasn’t even sure he’d heard you right.

“What? Y/N, no-I can’t accept that.”

You shrugged, a hint of a sad smile at the corner of your mouth, “Good thing you don’t have a say then. Take the help, Finnick. If not for you, then for Annie. She needs you on top of your game right now.”

He remembered the way Adam had called for his mother, how you’d flinched as each slow, deliberate cut had chipped away at the person he’d been until there was only a bloody corpse. Annie had been a part of that but, looking at you now, it didn’t seem to matter.

He shook his head again, the momentary relief being swallowed up again by hopelessness, “She can’t win. She can’t even seem to walk in a straight line right now.”

For a long moment you just watched the screen together, two victors acting in perfect synchronicity. You watched the pair from district one slice through the underbrush like demigods, looking powerful and determined and painfully self-assured. Smart money was on them, anyone could see that. They had everything on their side; all the training, all the sponsors, all the gear and, most dangerously, that deadly team mentality that would keep them together until it stopped serving them. Finnick knew how powerful that bond could be, it had kept him alive more than once during his games and his every instinct told him it would get this pair through it too. However, as useful as weapons, sponsors, food and allies were, you’d had none of that. You’d been alone from the moment you were reaped. You had no skills, no real buzz, no friends. No one had given you more than half a look in the Capitol, and you’d come out on top anyway. The thought gave Finnick hope. Maybe Annie wasn’t completely screwed. Maybe, with you by his side, Finnick could still find a way to bring her home.

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No one had really believed Annie Cresta had a shot. Not James, not Chaff, not Brutus, not Seeder, not even Mags really. When Ajack had died, every reliable metric in the book had said that district four’s hopes of having a winner on their hands had died with him. But every reliable metric in the book had also had you pegged as an early death, so you said fuck the metrics, and believed in her anyway. The more you felt Finnick give up, the harder you believed. The more other mentors started to gently suggest that you let her go and move on, the more vehemently you insisted that she wasn’t out of the game yet and redoubled your efforts. At some point over the past few days, possibly when she’d gone against her team and given Adam the death he’d long since earned, Annie Cresta had started to mean something to you.

She was every discounted tribute, every long shot who got written off and left to die. She was you, and she was the tributes you’d already failed to save and, maybe, if you could find a way to bring her home, you would be able to live with yourself for letting Adam and Serena die. Serena’s arm was infected now, badly. Experts said she had maybe three days of agony in front of her and there was nothing you could do to save her. But Annie was healthy. Some part of her mind had gotten her to eat and drink, she wasn’t physically injured, and a lifetime of having enough to eat gave her stamina.

She could win, and she would, you told yourself again and again. She had to.

You told Finnick too, and when you did some of his old sparkle would threaten to rear its head and he would almost smile. Almost. It never lasted. He slipped in and out, between resigned, grieving and unimaginably tense. Sometimes, you had the sneaking suspicion that your hand between his shoulder blades was all that was keeping him anchored to this reality. So you kept it there, and you fed him bits of biscuits and sandwiches, got him to drink water, shower and sleep, and you wondered how long he would last, and what would be left of him if Annie didn’t make it out.

Selfishly, unforgivably, a part of you wondered if he was in love with her. You would never ask, of course. It wasn’t your business, it wasn’t the right time, but you couldn’t stop the wondering. Was Annie the one who Finnick lay in bed pining for? Was she the woman he daydreamed about and had planned a future with? Did it bother you if she was? Always, it came back to the same single fact; it didn’t matter. You wanted Finnick to be happy, and you needed Annie to come home. That was that.

Some days you were so close to the edge that it was only the memory of Finnick’s voice in your head that kept you from crumbling.

Just hold on, he’d whispered, you’re so strong, you can do this, it’ll all be over soon. It was like a mantra now, more than a prayer, a promise that this too would pass. There would be time to fall apart, time to grieve, just not yet. First you had to get through, and get Annie through.

You spent your 17th birthday throwing a massive party for potential sponsors. It was the event of the season, the magazines exclaimed, absolutely anyone who was anyone was invited. Finnick and Mags weren’t there, a few noted, but that was to be expected this far into the games. Your prep team hid the signs of exhaustion under layers of makeup and pressed fake finger nails over your chewed ones. Your stylist pulled you into a tight, revealing outfit that, months ago, you would have been too self conscious to wear out, strapped you into some heels and you were ready. The music was loud, the press was there and the party lasted all night. You let the tv crews interview you, you gushed about the Capitol, choking down disgust. You danced with those victors who had come in support of you, and you flirted and teased your way to raising enough money to buy Annie some iodine for her drinking water.

Back at the control center, after you had scrubbed off the remnants of the powders and creams and sickly sweet perfumes and slipped into something more comfortable, Chaff brought you a cake shaped like a lightning bolt. James took responsibility for all the presents the other victors, and your various admirers, had lavished you with. You and Finnick ate pieces of cake together on the couch, sighing with relief as Annie successfully treated her water and took her first long drink in two days. You didn’t think about your last birthday.

After Chaff and James had led everyone in a genuinely enthusiastic bout of “Happy Birthday”, Finnick nudged you with his arm, tearing your attention away from the screens, where the pair from one were hot on the trail of the boy from nine.

“Happy birthday, Y/N/N,” he said softly, his deep green eyes sparkling with something so sweet it made your teeth ache, “I-”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you interrupted feeling, with certainty, that he was going to apologize for not being with you in the sponsor pit, “there’s more important things right now.”

Finnick smiled with a fondness that had you feeling uncomfortably found out, and he strung an arm around you loosely, turning both of your bodies so you were facing each other. It was the first time you’d seen him look fully away from the screens and monitors in days.

“I was going to say that I’m…I’m glad we met,” he explained, “and that I hope, for your next birthday, we can do something a little less morbid.”

You pressed your lips together, feeling oddly touched, and tried not to think about how, for that to happen, both of your tributes next year would have to be dead.

“Thanks, Finn,” you said instead, “I’m glad we met too.”

He took your hand and kissed your knuckles gently, sending a tingle of electricity through your entire body as he pressed a small gift into your palm.

“For later,” he explained, as you examined the parcel.

You nodded in understanding, slipped the parcel into your bag and, again acting with the perfect synchronicity of two people with identical goals, you both turned back to your monitors to watch for signs of trouble.

Two weeks into the games, after everyone had written her off, you knew Annie had won. It happened quickly, a few days of rain, some flooding and a crack. The dam seemed as though it fell in slow motion and, in mere moments, all the perfectly laid plans Cashmere and Gloss had been working on all season fell to ruin. Serena barely stirred as the wave crashed down on her, by all accounts she died in her sleep and you counted it as a mercy.

The gamemakers slowed the wave, so it didn’t flatten the competition entirely but, by nightfall, even those who could swim were starting to struggle. The beautiful arena was now entirely flooded and Annie was swimming. Not paddling around, not hanging on for dear life. Instead, for the first time since Ajack’s death, she was virtually coming to life. She gilded through the water like a sea otter, evading the other tributes with ease and finding safe areas to rest away from the dangerous currents and undertow.

“She’s going to make it,” Finnick said incredulously, “Oh my god, Y/N, she’s going to make it.”

You nodded, “Hell yeah she is.”

A few stragglers held on for a while but, after another two days, Annie Cresta was airlifted out of the drowned arena, the official victor of the 70th Hunger Games. When the final canon sounded you couldn’t contain the sound of relief and excitement that slipped past your lips, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. It was like watching a dream play out in real life. When you looked at the screen you saw yourself, felt the momentary rush of terror followed by pure ecstasy as you realised that the impossible had happened: you had won, you were going home.

She had won. She was coming home.

If you were happy, Finnick was joy personified. He leapt to his feet and cheered, laughing with the unrestrained incredulousness of someone who had been well and truly hopeless for ages. You smiled up at him as he watched the screen hungrily seeing, for a moment, his youth written on his body like a sign. It was easy to forget sometimes that he was only eighteen. It was easy to forget that you yourself were only technically an adult with how old and world weary you already felt. You tore your eyes away from Finnick and let them fall on Mags who was weeping silently, a wrinkled hand pressed to the base of her throat as she smiled. She caught your eye and extended her free hand for you to take. You gave it a squeeze and you hoped she could feel your sincerity, how truly happy for district four you were. A year after you had personally ripped their chances away, they were bringing home a win. It felt almost fair.

“I didn’t think I would see another win,” she explained to you softly, “not in my lifetime. I didn’t think I would get to bring another one home.”

“But you did,” you said, looking back at Finnick, “you did it.”

Mags shook her head, giving your hand another squeeze, “You did it, the both of you. Finnick is a wonderful mentor, but even he couldn’t have gotten any more help to her without your sponsors. I won’t forget that.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I won’t forget that,” she repeated, “and I’ll make sure he never does either.” she finished, gesturing at Finnick with her head.

At that exact moment Finnick seemed to remember your existence and he turned back, sweeping you up into his arms and spinning you around like a carousel.

“We did it!” He laughed, “We did it, Y/N, we did it!”

“We did,” you agreed, laughing fondly as you detangled yourself.

For the briefest moment when you broke the contact Finnick seemed crestfallen, but it was over so quickly, swallowed up by his happiness, that you almost thought you must have imagined it. He pulled Mags into a similar embrace, whispering something to her too low for anyone but Mags to hear before looking back at you.

“You and me, Y/N/N, we fucking did it!”

You heard Adam’s voice in your head, saw him strain at the restraints on his wrists as he was tortured and jeered at. His sister had watched that. Sweet, kind Genna, who laughed a little too loudly and never quite knew when to stop being friendly, had watched her older brother get systematically and clinically taken apart and she would probably never be herself again now. Serena had been just kid, she hadn’t even started high school yet. She died after days of agony, with a raging fever. Her father had wept when she was reaped. They had been yours, and you’d been less than useless to them. Suddenly you were so tired, so drained. How many days had it been since you slept? The fragile pieces of you were cracking under the strain. James caught your eye, the corners of his mouth tense with suppressed grief. You don’t know what you were looking for really. Not comfort, not saving, maybe an acknowledgement? The shared recognition that something had happened, something had been lost here.

“You lot better get ready,” James said to Finnick and Mags, coming to your rescue, the way he was wont to do, “Annie is going to need you both. You don’t want her to be alone when she wakes up.”

Finnick looked like he wanted to argue, but a brief word from Mags seemed to remind him where he was. He shot you and your mentor an apologetic look, but you could still see the shimmering, bubbling excitement just under the surface, ready to burst forward at any second.

“Thank you,” he said seriously, “both of you. Just-” he breathed, letting out a burst of relieved laughter, “thank you so much.”

You felt James’ hand on your shoulder, a rough but familiar anchor to reality and you gave Finnick a genuine smile. Just a little longer, you heard him whisper in your mind, just keep it together for a little longer.

“Of course,” James said, speaking for you both, “it’s the least we could do.”

That was a lie, but you all knew it, so it couldn’t hurt anyone.

“I’m so happy for you,” you said, “truly.”

Some of Finnick’s franticness seemed to seep out of him into something softer and fonder and you watched, in real time, as he remembered where you were, what you’d lost, what you’d been through.

“Y/N-” he started, moving as though to step toward you.

Your eyes were pricking now, the suppressed panic and rage rearing its head so powerfully that you were almost frightened of yourself. James tightened his grip on your shoulder and, in one fluid motion, moved subtly between you and Finnick, angling his body in such a way as to not be obvious but still clearly making himself a barrier. Finnick recoiled, a flash of hurt crossing his perfectly sculpted face. You wanted to assure him, your instinct was to reach out and promise that you were fine, that he’d done nothing wrong, that of course you wanted to stay and be with him and Mags, but you were just so fragile. James felt like a lifeline, like your protector, swooping in and delivering you from the private hell you’d been living in and, if you were honest, there was nothing you wanted more than to fall apart in private.

Mags tracked the interaction with her eyes, tugging Finnick’s arm gently as he stared James down.

“Come, boy,” she said soothingly, “Annie will be waiting.”

Finnick gave you one last deeply apologetic look, and then nodded, letting Mags pull him away. James didn’t move. He stayed where he was, waiting until every last mentor, even drunk old Haymitch Abernathy, had slipped out of the control center before he stepped forward and crouched down in front of you.

His face was creased with concern, his dark eyes filled with the deep understanding that only someone who had personally put you back together more than once could ever have, and you absolutely shattered. In moments you had collapsed into a fit of broken sobbing, keening like a wounded animal as weeks of pent up anxiety and fear rushed out at once. To his credit, James didn’t try to calm you down, he just let you cry. He’d always been wonderful at knowing what you needed, how to get you through the pain without smothering you or talking down to you. Even before you were a victor. Even when you were just a scared fifteen year old girl who’d been handed a death sentence.

It felt like you stayed there for an eon, working through every last drop of resentment and disappointment in yourself until there was nothing left but a sort of deep, throbbing ache.

“I am happy for them,” you eventually said, voice shaky through your tears, “r-really I a-am.”

“I know,” James assured you kindly, “I know, but you can be happy for them and furious for us at the same time. I know they were when you won last year.”

You nodded, feeling the first slivers of solid ground beneath your feet again as you wiped your face and took deep, steadying breaths.

“Did you cheer and twirl people around too?” you asked, trying for a joking tone and almost succeeding.

“Oh yeah,” he answered, “you bet I did. I was fist pumping the air and shouting like a maniac, I thought Finnick was going to swing on me. I think I threw a chair.”

“What?” you laughed incredulously, “You did not.”

“I’m pretty sure I did,” James insisted, “Y/N/N I was so proud of you. I cried like a baby for days.”

You sniffed and wiped your eyes again, welcoming the change of topic, “You did?”

He nodded, giving you another fond look and giving your shoulder a squeeze, “You were amazing, you did everything right, made good on every opportunity. I did my job, I set things up but you just…” he shook his head, whistling, “you just ran with it. I’ve been doing this for twenty-three years and I’ve never seen anyone come close to the upset you pulled off.”

You felt something that could have been pride, a stubborn urge to take some pleasure in your win, before the sadness won out again and your lip began to tremble.

“Fat lot of good it did them,” you said, “fat lot of good I did them.”

James sighed, “That’s what I’m trying to say here, there’s nothing you could have done. You made it out because you played smart, you fought hard, you kept your wits about you and you clawed your way to the top, not because I did something to get you out.”

“I had sponsors.”

“Not at first,” James admitted, “not enough, not nearly enough. You convinced more people to put their money behind Adam from the start than I’d managed to rustle up for you. At the end of the day the money means jack shit, there’s only so much we can do.”

“I told them to shift their pledge to Annie,” you whispered, Serena’s shaking body flashing behind your eyes like snippets of film, “I could have poured more into Serena. I told them not to, I told them to sign with Finnick and-”

“And Annie won.” he reminded you kindly, “Those rich idiots will blame you for their massive payouts and they’ll trust you implicitly now. How many more kids will you be able to help with their money in the coming years, hmm? The handful of die hard rich people we still had available to us couldn’t have raised the funds to save Serena from that infection, Ash, you know that.”

“I could’ve done something! I could’ve-”

He shook his head, “No, you couldn’t have. Listen, whatever you think you could’ve done, I’ve tried it. I’ve tortured myself with what-ifs for longer than you’ve been alive, they never work. Trust me, you did everything right.”

You tried your hardest to listen, to really take in what James was saying like he was offering you a balm for your aching heart, but the pain just sat there in your chest, stubbornly refusing to dull.

You felt your eyes start to prick again and you longed for home, for your mother’s embrace and the safety of your room.

“Then why does it hurt so much?” You cried, collapsing into James’ chest again as you devolved into a fresh bout of sobs.

James doesn’t have an answer for that, so he just held you close and tried to be as comforting as he possibly could be. James’ feelings for you were….surprising, to him at least. When he’d turned thirty-nine he’d joked to Ivette that the only thing he wanted for his fortieth was to make one return journey to the district with a living person. Just one, he’d laughed with an edge of franticness, he wasn’t asking for the plethora of success stories the mentors from some of the other districts had, he just wanted one.

It had been a joke, mostly, but here you were. When he’d first met you on the train after the reaping, there’d been a sort of ache in the back of his teeth, like the ghosts of the countless hours spent biting down on his jaw were finally coming back to haunt him. You were so young, he remembers thinking, not yet sixteen and already doomed to die. Only…there was something about you, something in your eyes that felt like defiance. It felt like anger, like the will to live. James had looked at you on the train and had seen himself, but even that hadn’t been enough to override his deep dread. He’d lost too many to have any real hope for your survival. At most, he hoped you would die quickly, and without suffering.

He still did his job, of course. He smiled, he made contacts with possible sponsors, liaised with stylists and publicists, he gave you advice on how to play smart, and he mapped out a place along his spine to tattoo your name, alongside the nearly forty others he carried with him, when you died. Unfortunately, as the big day came closer, James had gotten sort of fond of you. You were funny and smart, and you had a sharp tongue that made him laugh incessantly, but that also spoke to how personable you could be. Your interview had been a smash hit. You had an instinctual knack for grabbing an audience’s attention and holding it. For the first time in decades, James had felt something resembling hope, but he crushed it down. He reminded himself that there was only so much he could do, that personability wasn’t enough. He’d settled down and re-resigned himself to watching you die and delivering you home in a box.

The games started and when you made it through the first day, and the second, and the third, that damn spark of hope had come back in full force. It was small, he tried to temper it but when, on the fourth day, you’d managed to literally tear your way out of a net with a combination of your hands and teeth, and had successfully rewired the trap to spring up and capture your original capturer, he’d known that you could win. James had never worked the sponsor circuit that hard. He barely slept, he did anything and everything he could to get you whatever you needed; medicine for your bloody hands, food, some wire and, eventually, a current generator. He’d poured twenty-two years of dashed hopes and dreams into you, broken every carefully cultivated rule he’d ever set for himself about not getting attached and, when Claudius Templesmith announced that you were the winner of the sixty-ninth annual Hunger Games, he had wept like a baby and cheered until his voice was hoarse. Just two months shy of his fortieth birthday, James had gotten to make his return journey with you by his side, broken, battered and scarred, but alive.

Afterwards, James couldn’t quite shake his feelings of responsibility for you. He was still your mentor and you were still his tribute, and now the game he was determined to get you through was just life, the After of it all. He had never been able to bring himself to find a nice man and settle down or to have some kids of his own, but if he had, he imagined he might feel about them the way he felt about you. So this, sitting with you in his arms while you fell to pieces…well, it hurt pretty damn bad.

“Y/N/N,” he said gently, when your body had stopped heaving and your violent sobs had softened and faded, “let’s get you home, yeah?”

You nodded, wiping your eyes with the heel of your palm, and James couldn’t help but see your youth. You were a couple of days past 17, practically a baby in his eyes, and already the kind of tired that most adults don’t get until their mid-forties. You knew too much, you’d seen too many horrors and carried too much grief to ever be carefree, the way a 17 year-old should be and, for the millionth time, James felt the rush of pure, black rage bubble up in his stomach. He would tear the Capitol down for this, he promised himself. Not today. Not now, when Snow could take revenge for anything James did out on you and Ivette, but someday. Someday he would find a spark and he’d do what he did best, what had gotten him in that victor’s chair in the first place; he’d stoke it into a blaze, an inferno that would burn out the infection of the Hunger Games for good.

You let your mentor pull you up and walk you back to your apartments, now empty of tributes, and you clung to him like a child, wondering why you could so easily let yourself be held by him, but not by your own parents. Some small part of you wondered if this is how it started, if all those lonely victors you’d met, who had no one but each other, had once had family and friends who they couldn’t bear to be around anymore because they reminded them too much of a version of themselves that was long dead. It felt different, you noticed, as you and James sat down for dinner at an empty table. Not bad, just different, knowing that, on every floor but one, someone like you, with more scars than they deserved, was sitting down to dinner in an equally vacant apartment. Everyone had failed except Mags and Finnick. It should have felt depressing and morbid, and it was, but it was also a kind of solidarity. You weren’t suffering alone. The Capitol had done this to all of you, together and, in a way, that meant none of you were alone. Maybe this was your new home, maybe this was what you got now.

You waited until you were alone in your room to open Finnick’s present. It was small, about the size of a plum, wrapped in soft blue paper and twine. It looked too rustic for the Capitol, you noted with a sudden rush of warmth, as though he’d brought it from home just for you. Slowly, being careful not to tear the wrapping paper, you peeled it open, revealing a beautiful spiral shell, cleaned and polished, and woven bracelet. It was a combination of brown leather, blue chord and flat pearls braided together carefully, with practice and skill. Finnick and Mags both wore similar bracelets, you’d seen them weaving them aimlessly whenever they got stressed, but this was different. This one had been made for you. It wasn’t flashy, or polished, but it fit your wrist perfectly and you knew that, if it was your choice, you’d wear it forever. Slowly, you pushed yourself up and made your way over to the phone, dialing the extension for the floor below you.

“Y/N,” Finnick said, without hesitation, on the third ring, “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I was so tactless, I-”

“What would you have done if I was James?” You interrupted, smiling despite yourself, “I could have been James, you know?”

Finnick paused and then laughed, his voice tinged with barely suppressed exhaustion, “But you’re not James, are you? You’re my-” he corrected himself, “you’re Y/N/N. Mags made me promise to give you some space, but I knew you’d call.”

You hummed in agreement, worrying at the inside of your cheek as the silence stretched, warm and comfortable, “How is she?” you eventually asked.

“Annie?” Finnick asked, “she’s…she’s alive. That’s all that matters.” he continued with a deep sigh, “Her mind is fragile right now, I’m not sure she understands what’s happened exactly, but…yeah.”

“It’s early days, Finn,” you replied instinctively, “you remember what it was like at the start. I’m sure you were a little fragile too. She’s been out of the arena for less than 5 hours, give her time.”

“I knew where I was,Y/N,” he countered ruefully, “I knew it was over, I knew I’d won.”

You sighed, “Give her time,” you repeated, “she’ll come back to you when she’s ready.”

“The doctors say she had a psychotic break,” Finnick said, his voice small and vulnerable, “they say she might not ever…that she might always be…”

“She’s alive,” you interrupted, reminding him of his earlier words, “you’ve got the rest of your lives to figure out how to move forward from this, and yeah maybe she’ll always be a little fragile. That’s alright, we’ll take care of her when she needs us to.”

“We will?” Finnick asked hopefully.

“Of course we will,” you insisted, “you, me, Mags, Chaff, James, even Haymitch. We’re all here for you, and for her.”

“I’m sure Haymitch has some thoughts about that,” Finnick replied, jokingly.

You smiled, “Yeah well, he’ll have to take it up with me if he does.”

“Terrifying,” Finnick said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. Again, you sat in silence, just enjoying the sound of one another’s breathing, before Finnick continued, “ Did you open your present?”

You looked down at the bracelet, “Of course I did. Thank you, by the way, it’s beautiful.”

“Pretty bracelet for a pretty girl, what can I say? Just made sense,” Finnick joked, slipping into his old seductive persona, which pulled a breathless laugh from your chest. You could imagine the catlike grin on his face as he lounged against the wall, all faux grace and elegance, the picture of destructive beauty. “But really, you like it?” he asked in his regular voice.

“I love it,” you promised.

There was a pause on the line, and then Finnick let out a shaky breath. You could feel the exhaustion in your own body catching up to you again, the weeks of staying awake using expensive Capitol medication finally coming for their due.

“I-uh-I need some sleep,” you explained, “I’ll see you soon, Finn.”

“See you soon, kid,” he replied, “and thank you again for-”

“Stop thanking me,” you insisted, fondly, “and don’t call me kid.”

You hung up before you had a chance to change your mind and, as you lay down in your bed and drifted off to sleep, the ghosts of the veldt crept in, joined by two new faces; a tall, lanky boy with a sister who laughed too loud, and a young girl, clutching an infected shoulder, writhing with fever.

—

Finnick stared at the phone for a long time after you hung up, trying to parse his emotions in a way that made sense. His heart was a complete wreck, torn between grief and joy and hope and, fuck it, why hide it, love. Annie was alive, but broken. You were safe, but exhausted. He had his family, but he had secrets, and he’d never be able to stop towing the line without risking losing it all again.

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered into the empty air, covering his mouth with his hand.

Beetee had assured him that he’d blocked the audio bugs in the apartments, but old habits die hard, and Finnick wasn’t taking any chances. Not with this. Not with you. He ached for the feeling of your hand between his shoulder blades, the comforting weight that had kept him grounded for weeks and that he’d grown to rely on without even noticing it. You had a strange way of worming your way into him like that, like a drug. One hit and he was hooked for months, chasing more time, chasing more closeness.

“Finnick, dinner’s ready!” Mags called from the dining room, “The doctor sent us updated reports on Annie.”

“Coming!” He responded, casting one last look at the telephone as he left, adjusting the band of woven leather, chord and pearls on his wrist.

#jordsie #jordsie writes #The Hunger Games #thg #thg imagine #hunger games #hunger games imagine #the hunger games imagine #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick imagine #finnick odair imagine #finnick x you #finnick odair x you #reader insert

[rostovs-lover]

Hey hey! Can I request a Bash x reader imagine where the reader is Mary’s younger sister and she doesn’t know Bash has been in love with her since they were children?

Like Children

Sebastian De Poitiers | major spoilers, brief mention of character death | female reader | fluff, pining, kinda slow burn for a short fic | wc.927

goodness its been a while since I’ve watched Reign, I’m so sorry if Sebastian is out of character. I also hope this isn’t as choppy rushed as I thought it was. I hope you enjoy! (Note: I’m on mobile so I can’t put the cut in, when I get computer access I will add it)

The French court had seemed unimaginable, something (Yn) had only heard about from her sister’s letters and a few brief visits when they were younger. That was until she was there, after Aylee’s murder when Mary sent for her younger sister. Now that she was stuck in a stuffy room, it was almost underwhelming. (Yn) got along with everyone, she always had, and it was nice to finally see the girls she had spent so much of her young life with. It was lonely though, lonelier than she had expected, and she had a newfound sympathy for the way Mary laminated in her letters. 

There was a knock, “Lady (Yn)?” 

She turned around, letting the curtains she had pushed back to stare out the window flutter around her. Sebastian was standing in the doorway and (Yn) almost didn’t recognize him, “Sebastian,” It was his eyes, that’s why she knew who he was. 

“I,” He cleared his throat, “I heard you’d returned to court,” 

She stepped away from the window towards him, “Yes, I arrived earlier today. It’s just as a remembered it yet so different,” 

“Well Lady (Yn), would you like for me to show you around?” Sebastian offered his arm to loop with hers.

(Yn) grinned, Sebastian realized it was the same way she always had, and accepted his arm, “What a polite offer, who would I be to decline?” 

**

Horse hooves clopping against gravel was the only sound in the quiet woods but Sebastian hardly realized. His mind was elsewhere, on Lady (Yn) Stuart and the soft way she spoke to him while they walked the gardens. He hadn’t thought much of Mary’s younger sister, not until the afternoon when he saw her again for the first time in years. Perhaps, he realized, he had chosen not to think of her, pushed her out of his mind. They had been close when they were younger and Mary had come to court with her ladies and (Yn). He could recall a certain feeling for the girl but he had simply brushed it off as a childhood infatuation. They were older now though and he still felt so strongly towards her, Sebastian couldn’t pinpoint the feeling though. Was he in love?

**

Wandering the castle in the dead of night may not have been the smartest of ideas but it was entertaining and (Yn) hadn’t been caught yet. The thought of seeing any respectable person at this hour while only wearing a nightgown crossed her mind, what an impression to make. 

The soft thump of boots against the stairs made her heart start to race and she tried to find a corner to duck around. She rushed around a wall towards a set of big double door and skidded to a stop, leaning on the wall to catch her breath. 

“Lady (Yn)?” The voice was familiar, much softer than usual seeing as it was so late, but familiar none the less, “What are you doing?” 

(Yn) peeked around the corner catching a glimpse at the approaching figures dark hair, “Goodness Sebastian, you scared me!” 

“Well milady, seeing a gown-clad figure rush through the dark hall of the castle isn’t the most welcome sight either. Why are you up?” 

(Yn) felt her face begin to flush, “Well I couldn’t sleep and why stay cooped up in my chambers when there’s so much of this castle that I haven’t seen in ages. I didn’t expect to see anyone,” 

Sebastian smiled, “Well I suppose a bit of an adventure never hurt anyone,” 

**

The soft candlelight flickered against the walls of the tunnel and a grin grew on Sebastian’s face. 

“I cannot believe I’m doing this,” He whispered, “Wandering through these passages at this hour. I don’t think I’ve done this since I was a child,” 

“Me either,” (Yn) picked at a thread on her nightgown, “I remember being terrified of these when we were first at court. I didn’t know where they would lead and I thought that I might get lost and never find my way out. One night Mary convinced me to come to follow her down one, we walked for so long. I got a bit frightened, I was worried we’d never see the light of day again but Mary being Mary, she found a way out.” A comfortable silence filled the small space as the pair wandered a bit further. 

Sebastian swallowed and steadied himself, “Lady (Yn)?” 

“Yes?”

“I think I love you,” 

(Yn) stared at him for a moment, “You… love me?” 

“I believe I do. It’s not anything new either, I’ve felt something for you since we were young but I brushed it off, told myself it was simply being a child and that it would go away but it didn’t. It never did, I’ve loved you since we were children (Yn) but I’ve only just realized it. I think when I saw you for the first time this morning it dawned upon me that these feelings were not-” He shook his head, “- Are not just a silly liking. I love you (Yn),” 

“Oh, Sebastian,” She stroked his cheek, “I believe I just might love you too,”

“Well then,” He started with a grin, “that’s quite a coincidence I’d say,” And he kissed her. 

(Yn) patted his cheek as she pulled back, “I believe we should get back before its sunrise and people start to worry about our whereabouts,” 

Sebastian chuckled, “It would be rather unfortunate to go missing on your second day at court,” He laced his fingers with hers, “Now best not get lost in these tunnels,”

#Sebastian De Poitiers #bash #reign #Sebastian De Poitiers x reader #Sebastian De Poitiers imagine #bash x reader #bash imagine #requested #jordsie #runes writing

[gangrenados]

Reckless

I missed writing about Marcus so much 😭

Warning: sensuality...kinda and blood

He couldn't help but taste the blood that fell from his nose, a nasty way to entretain himself as you did your best to clean up one of his many wounds. Macus was a reckless guy, but more than that an idiot for trying to beat Viktor in a fight.

Yeah, you still remeber Viktor punching Marcus in the stomach as he did his best to get out of his grip. It was a nasty fight, some students were shouting happily as the boys tried to slash each others throats, Marcus had the upper hand for a brief moment, achieving hitting Viktor's head with enough force to make him tremble.

It amased you how he always managed to get out of fights without being demolished, maybe the street boy had some tricks under his sleeve.

And now you were in his room, such a messy one to say the least since Marcus' comics and Shabnam notebook were scattered across the floor and that playboy magazines lying under Shabnams' bed didn't passed unnoticed by you.  

"You're an asshole." Marcus frowned when you pushed his head to the side, you looked so angry it was kinda cute. He hissed at the contact of cotton pressing against thee scarred skin of his cheek, it as like you were trying to punish him for his earlier acts.

"Oh c'om don't be like that!" Marcus complained, but his cheeky smile gave him away perfectly. You rolled your eyes, so done wiith him for the moment but you couldn't dare to leave without trying to talk some sense in your stupid boyfriend.

You loved Marcus deeply, it was scary to care for someone while living in hell but things were in this weird way and you had to deal with it.

It was sad the way Marcus use to jump in the first trouble he found, sometimes trying to play the her and others to just prove he has the worth to be in King's Domions like the other crazy people who ere stucked in it. That made you worried he will end up dead like rat one day.

"One day you're gonna get killed because your mouth." you said concernly, looking him down with th most serious face you could make."So don't be a little bitch and behave."

"I can be a little bitch or a big bitch, whateve you want me to be." Marcus wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. You didn't want to give in into his worlds, but it was hard when that pretty face was looking at you straight to the eye.

His fingers danced above the waist band of your skirt, it was tempting the way his eyes sparked viciusly. Marcus liked his lips quickly, playing his part of seduction to take your mind of off the fight. "So, what you want,baby?"

You put ypur hands on his shoulders, "I want you to think a little bit, okay?" Marcus cliked his tongue at your words, not expecting you to sit down on his lap."But I guess we can talk about that later, right?"

Deadly Class tag list: @conyt1007c @lovelyartemisa @c0-77 @pretendthisusernameisgoodd @miliablr @xerxes-break4ever @mistalli @jordsie @barnowl48 @unknowntoanyone @hecatemacbeth7 @thandeka800 @uniteran @uhohscarlett @cinnamon-cola @hopejungguk @mooneeishorny @ietss @nyeddleblog @drowned-in-vodka69 @sparklnkageyama @thandeka800

#deadly class x reader #deadly class headcanon #deadly class imagine #deadly class #Marcus lopez arguello #marcus lopez arguello headcanon #marcus lopez arguello x reader #marcus lopez arguello imagine #marcus lopez imagine #marcus lopez headcanon #marcus lopez x reader

[eds-gryff]

I Know The Feeling

God fucking damn it, this is the 4th time I'm having to write it, Tumblr is being such a bitch this week. But I love you, Theseus.

English is not my first language.

Not British, I hail from India.

It had been nine months. Nine months since Queenie went over to the Dark Side for love. Nine months of frantic searching by Tina, aided by Newt (they had finally become romantically involved). Nine months of denial by Jacob. Nine months since Leta had sacrificed herself. Nine months of wrath and depression by Theseus, whose nightmares plagued him every single night, he had been so close, he could've saved her, he could've had his fianceé with him in his office right now, smirking at him as he got ready for an interview with a candidate for Deputy Head Auror. But he had been too far away and far too slow and so he was alone.

He had loved her, despite or maybe because if her dark past. And he had lost her.

°°°

'Oh Morgana's saggy tits!' You thought most improperly but you felt it was quite appropriate considering you were facing the door to the rest of your life. Alright, maybe that was a tad dramatic but the gossip you'd heard about the strict, capable, young and handsome Head Auror was going to be one intimidating interview.

There was also the fact that you held a tiny grudge towards Theseus Scamander who everyone attracted to men had a crush on because when he was a seventh year (and a Prefect and a Seeker) had your Crup (a dog like creature resembling a Jack Russell terrier) sent back home when he found you, then a mere youngling of a first year, playing with it because only cats, toads and owls were allowed at Hogwarts. It was a barmy and most discriminating rule but no matter how much you argued against it during all your years at the magical school, it was all in vain. But at least your protesting had let you meet- never mind.

But seriously, just because he got your dog (who was now in the throes of old age) sent home was no reason to hate him. Much.

Making up your mind to have a bit of the courage Gryffindors were so praised for and to not say a single syllable about the old Crup, you knocked on the door. Hearing a deep, sultry voice say "Come in", you walked in the tidy, dark panelled office.

Your first thought when you saw Theseus Griffin Scamander (headcanon) was 'Jesus, Mary and Joseph' even though you weren't Christian. This was because the man in front of you was positively delectable-tall and fit, broad-shouldered with dark but sparkling blue eyes, curly but gelled hair in a dozen shades of brown, and with a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose.

Then 'Do not have an orgasm.'

Then 'NO DOG TALK'.

"(Y/N) (L/N)?" He asked with a curious look- probably because he was wondering why the odd stranger was looking at him like he had the head of a bull instead of a normal human one.

Do not talk about the Crup.

Do not have an orgasm.

No dog talk-

"You sent my Crup away."

Why am I even here if you never listen to me?

"Pardon?" He asked, bewildered and a little bemused because of your sudden blush.

Do not explain, it'll make you seem cra-

"I, er, see, when I was a 1st year and you a 7th, you sent my dog home because he wasn't allowed at Hogwarts." You bit your lip, drawing his attentive, blue gaze to your mouth.

Oh well, conscience. Appears that I'm about to break your other rule as well.

He frowned and suddenly his brow cleared. "You're the Crup firstie. Merlin, you were such a shrill, chubby thing them. You look really marvellous now." Realising what he said, he blushed the colour of his house. To cover up his blunder he said, "I tell stories about your every Christmas, you know."

"Exhilarating." You deadpanned. "Just what I've always wanted to be known as- a shrill, chubby Crup obsessed firstie."

After a bit more of stuttering and ice breakers, he got started on your file and looked impressed. "Quite qualified, O's in all subjects except an E in Potions and -" He smirked and made you go weak in the knees but you smirked yourself. "A D in Divination."

"Couldn't help it." You shrugged. "I fell asleep in every class and once dropped a Dungbomb in the old coot's tea. I'm lucky not to get a Troll."

"Well, thankfully you don't need a Divination degree in the Auror sector." He smiled and that resurrected every single almost-skeletal butterfly in your stomach.

After a bit more talk about Hogwarts and your five year long Auror career, he leaned back and started, sternly. "I want an honest answer, (Y/N). Why an Auror?"

Heck, you were hoping that he wouldn't ask that. Nevertheless, you answered instantaneously, in a dead calm voice. "Grindelwald."

His face hardened and steeled. "Elaborate."

"My partner-" Your tone made it clear what kind of partner you meant "- was brain washed and recruited into his side. Couple of months in, (preferred gender) woke up and realized (preferred gender) was too soft for it all and wanted out and-" You didn't finish but merely shook your head, trying to keep your tears at bay. "I was 20 and (preferred gender) was barely 22. I wake up everyday wanting to kill the murderer and then sleep somehow every night, regretting that he isn't dead or wishing he was." You spoke venomously.

Raising your (H/C) head to look at Theseus, you were surprised to not see any semblance of putting in his handsome features but only determination and.... understanding.

Belatedly, you remembered that his fianceé Leta Lestrange too died in Paris because of Grindelwald.

He exhaled and the expression in his blue eyes made him seem older than he was.

"I know the feeling."

Maybe that was partly why you two forged such a strong friendship. Why after 5 months of camaraderie, he asked you out. Why after four months of dating and a near death experience, he asked you to marry him.

"We're in war, (Y/N) and, and as much as I'd like to avoid another Leta and you'd like to avoid another (ex's name), the love I have for you is stronger. When I saw that spell hit you....and I realized it was a green one, I was dead sure that I'd kill myself if it turned to be what I thought and you were dead. I can't live without you and I don't want to. I know it's early...and I don't have a ring but-"

"Yes, of course. It's yes, Thes, yes! It's always going to be yes."

'And that's why-' Theseus thought as you lay next to him on your wedding night, hearing your exhausted, even breathing and smiling, 'I fell in love with (your gender).'

'And that's why-' You thought as you lay next to him on nearly every night since, hearing his shallow, tired out soft snoring and smiling, 'I love him.'

Thank you to @jordsie for your stories and your comment, it made me stay up till 1 o' clock here to finish this story and make sure it's actually posted properly. Love your fics and hope you tolerate this.

#british #crimesofgrindelwald #fantastic beasts and where to find them #fbawtft #hot #perfect #theseus scamander #theseus scamander x reader #theseus x reader #theseus imagine #ship of theseus #theseus x newt #theseus x leta #harry potter #wizarding world #first wizarding war rp #the great wizarding war #wizarding schools #wizardingsource #fluff #love #comfort #loss #callum turner #ministry of magic #auror #hogwarts #niffler #scamander

[jxhn-mxrphy]

Recommendations

None of these are my writing but an ongoing collection of stories I recommend you should read, in no particular order.(last updated 09/02/18)

*– a series masterlist

^– the first chapter of a series (as I couldn’t find a masterlist)

Star Wars

Poe Dameron

Internet Famous by @propertyofpoeandbucky

Poe and Reader are friends who came together and started a youtube channel for fun. 1 million subscribers later, they’re now internet famous. Their friendship has thrived, however, all of their fans can obviously see that Poe and Reader aren’t just friends

83 Days by @ohmababypoe

A story about the Reader and Poe, based on the movie Allied.

Kylo Ren

With You by @justauthoring

The Reader is a Praetorion Guard, and her and Kylo fight side by side in the final battle.

*Chosen by @kylos-wren

Aasira is chosen to be married to Supreme Leader Ren, unknown to him she has an ulterior motive

Cassian

I Choose You by @ohmababypoe

Cassian and the Readers wedding day.

Hux

Closer by @idontgiveahux

Armitage Hux and The Reader discover they are expecting a baby, while the pregnancy is smooth the birth is traumatic. Which leaves an effect on yourself, and unexpectantly Armitage who struggles to bond with his son.

Kylo Ren and Hux

Spectacle by @callmewinchester

The Reader is in a relationship with both Hux and Kylo, which can good, but stressful.

Peaky Blinders

Shelby Family

Sibling Protection by @peakyxwriting

Shelby!Reader fanfiction where they take her to the Garrison she’s the youngest and some older guy tries to hit on her.

Tommy Shelby

Don’t Go by @small-heaths

In which the reader needs Tommy’s support after a traumatic event at the hands of his enemies

I Taught You Well by @peaky-imagines

Shelby!Reader where Tommy is being very overprotective you

Getting a Puppy Headcannons by @twistedrunes  

You and Tommy get a Puppy 

Intoxicated by @nofuckingfighting

Tommy gets drunk, meaning you have to drag him home and fluff ensues.

^Little One by @littlestshelby

Set in a A/B/O universe, Felicity is a lamb in a world full of wolves.

Tommy And You Have an Argument by @nogods–nomasters

What the titles says :D

Isaiah Jesus

Little Girl by @peaky-imagines

Reader is John’s 16-year-old daughter, dating Isaiah, invoking protective Father!John

John Shelby

Kimber’s Girl by @small-heaths

After the death of Billy Kimber, Reader  is kicked out by her sister and with nowhere else to go she finds herself at the Garrison sharing drinks with John Shelby.

Michael Gray

Monster by @small-heaths

After killing Father Hughes Michael goes to the only place he knows he will be consoled; [y/n]’s house. A place where he can confess his sins without fear of judgement.

Sly Girl by @ambywrites

Polly plays matchmaker with Reader and her son, Michael 

Finn Shelby

My Shelby Snowflake by @blinderblood  

In which Finn and you are cute in the snow.

Lost by @littlepeakyblinder

Reader is Finn’s girlfriend, completely out of the family business, until you are dragged into it. 

The 100

John Murphy

This Isn’t the End, It’s Only The Beginning by @johnmurphyseyebrows

The evolution of Reader’s and John’s relationship from the beginning of your relationship to where you are now.

Sound of Silence by @jordsie

The reader is known for being quiet around camp until someone threatens Murphy.

Riverdale

FP Jones

Oh Dear by @tricksters-captain

You are Archie’s older sister and you have a thing for a certain serpent.

Marvel

Bucky Barnes

*Remedy by @avasparks

When a woman is found at an abandoned Hydra base, more dead than alive, Bucky takes it upon himself to help her in any and every way he can. He doesn’t have much of a choice, being the first to approach her without the intention of hurting her in a long time, she doesn’t trust anyone around but him

If you wish for me to remove your story from this list, or change the summary of it, please send me a message and I will sort it as soon as I can :)

#star wars #poe x reader #poe daemeron x reader #kylo x reader #kylo ren x reader #hux x reader #armitage hux x reader #cassian andor x reader #cassian x reader #shelby family x reader #thomas shelby x reader #tommy x reader #isaiah jesus x reader #isaiah x reader #john shelby x reader #john x reader #finn shelby x reader #finn x reader #michael gray x reader #michael x reader #john murphy x reader #murphy x reader #fp x reader #fp jones x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel #the 100 #riverdale #peaky blinders

[officialpittacuslore]

Happy Thanksgiving to both my US Natives as well as my international followers!!

I am thankful for booklr for introducing me to worlds and ideas I've never considered before as well as LL for being my final driving force to start writing creatively. I'm thankful to everyone who follows me and continues to.

Shout outs to @gisabarrow @adamussutekh @eighthgarde @goddamnalientourists @orsumfenix @superlocked-potterhead-of-lorien @irinarocks @green--autumn @blackbeakedcrochan @navrinaoflorien @glitter-clams @toramarushou @lorically @ollievers @lorienis300000000milesaway @vaticancameos333 @gardeofficial @fuckthemogadorians @jordsie @lorien-is-my-home @languageoflorien and @the-moogle-of-your-nightmares !!! I love y'all a lot!

Also IRL friends @i-am-yoi-trash @pawelcyril and @forgedstick since it won't let me tag Vee oops

#text #jay things #friends

[vexedbuckbeak-blog]

Women like you drown oceans...

A/N: I know this wasn’t requested, but I really felt the need to write it, so I hope you sunshines don’t mind. I’m starting back up with writing requests tomorrow. Thank you for bearing with me! I’d like to dedicate this to all of you, especially the ladies that brighten my days without even knowing it: @goblackhatwithme@narcissxblack @jordsie @fjrebolt @aquiilo @theweasleysredhair @ri-ddikulus and @deerjily. Thank you all, I have so much love for you! I hope this isn’t too much of a waste of time for you!

Hermione Granger is 18 years old, her hair still wild as her dreams, eyes still burning with the stories she has lived. Each morning she wakes with terror sticking to the outskirts of her porcelain mind, before remembering that the worst is over. She pushes stifling darkness aside with the light of her mind, the brightest of her age, still glowing like a thousand suns. She is kind, smart, loving, but she is not weak, no, she has the strength of Hercules lurking in her heart, waiting behind her glistening brown eyes. She smiles warmly at the people she loves and shoots daggers at any that threaten them, prepared to bare her teeth in a split second.

Ginny Weasley is 18 years old, and though she be but little, she is fierce, taking on every day like a roaring dragon, setting flames to anyone or anything that dares stand in her way. She is a warrior, a fighter, and mightily strong one at that, pouring fears into hearts that try to defy her. She loves fully, wholesomely, completely, she loves a man with a scar on his forehead and darkened clouds floating over his wounded soul, and she, only she, has the power to fix him. She heals with her touch and silences with her glance, her presence a privilege to be earned, because she has learned that some people aren't worth her time.

Luna Lovegood is 18 years old, and it's likely that she has lost more than she has gained, but a smile still graces her pale face and her hair still dances behind her as she runs in the wind, letting it blow her thoughts away. She does not hate the ones that brought pain upon her; instead, she finds herself wondering why and how one could be that emotionless. She wonders if it's a disease, perhaps a mischievous creature hiding in their head, thinking on a cure as she continues to brighten the world with the artlessness of her existence, seemingly the only one who understands the futility of hatred.

Cho Chang is 18 years old. She has loved and she has lost, her heart breaking into undiscovered fragments that scatter through the air as she flies, not only because it's what he loved, but because it's what she loves. The clouds remind her of the power she holds in her pale hands and the dark strands of her hair that flow behind her in the strong gusts she powers through. She has placed a white rose on a coffin, and cried pure teardrops, she has written unseen letters kept in a box and traced her fingertips over the smooth fabric of her Yule Ball dress, but she is still strong, powerful as Artemis, and though she may resemble perfectly painted porcelain, she is strong, shining steel, and nothing can change that.

Parvati Patil is 18 years old. Her best friend is dead and gone, but sometimes she still allows her wounded soul to write letters that begin with Dear Lavender, and end with love, P, the ink always staining her fingertips and luring trapped tears from their hiding place. She takes violet flowers to her grave and speaks to a pearly white headstone, talking about a handsome boy who asked her to dinner and why she denied him. A year too late, she confesses that the girl that lies concealed 6 feet under is the only person she'd ever say yes to, and her laugh is empty and sad as salt leaves trails on her sun kissed face, and along with her heart, the sky begins to weep.

Padma Patil is 18 years old, and she has seen horrors and death, destruction and devastation, and all the terrifying scenes still visit her dreams, but she doesn't let it phase her. Her heart is stitched up with a golden thread, invisible bandages tightening around her wit filled mind, and she is whole, scarred, but whole once again. Her sister is off in her own grief-filled world but she doesn't leave her side, she never will, for she is a glowing shield, bright, robust, impossible to permeate and she will stand strong until the day she takes her last breath, and even then she will shelter the people in her heart as long as her spirit roams the earth.

Angelina Johnson is 21 years old, and she still mounts a broomstick every so often, flying through heartless winds in the middle of winter. She recalls the boy whose hand she held at the Yule Ball, and her heart breaks a little at the thought, but her smile never falters because he wouldn't want her to cry. She looks at their laughing faces on time stained photos, memories as vivid as that very moment, the moving figures putting a grin on her face and pouring vigor into her heart. A dust cloud lifts from the album as she closes it and flies into the bright blue sky once again, yelling his name in laughter as she disappears in a cloud.

Hannah Abbott is 18 years old. She is in love with a boy people barely noticed, perhaps because he reminds her of herself. He is kind and loving, brave and belittled and she sees the Gryffindor lion that hides in his heart, its roar making her fall deeper and deeper in love, and soon she can no longer see the surface. She is immersed, but she breathes, her lungs filling with love and kindness, with truth and the art of seeing the distorted clearly. The yellow badge that once decorated her black cloak is still pinned to her wall, but that is not, and never will be, all that she amounts to, a decision made the moment she saw death for the first time and never shoved aside, each day a climb towards what she can be.

Fleur Delacour is 21 years old and she loves a man with fire not only in his hair but in his heart. He is kind and he is loving and she doesn't need him, no, but she wants him. She has conquered dragons and wickedness, death and devastation, but she still stands strong. She is very beautiful, it's more than true, but her beauty isn't what keeps her standing strong, it's not what keeps her heart beating strong. It's not her silken hair or her shining eyes, no, it's the champion that crouches in the corner of her soul, prepared to pounce like a jaguar at the first hint of danger. She doesn't need protection, she is protection, ferocious and just, and crossing her is the last thing you want to do. 

Astoria Greengrass is 16 years old, and her mother takes her into a store filled with white satin dresses, while her eyes remain fixed on the world outside. She hears her name uttered again and again, but her mind is full of flashes of a war she has seen and the boy she has only met twice whose eyes are cold as ice, betrothed to look into hers until their hearts stop beating. The words of her parents go in one ear and out the other, the truth locked in her beautiful head, the truth that she doesn't need to marry to be alright. She keeps quiet, and plans her escape, a smile spreading across her face as she remembers the power she has seen in girls barely older than her, suddenly finding it in her fingertips and seeing a glimpse of its reflection in the mirror, knowing that she'll never just be someone's wife, but a queen, even if she only rules her simple, little empire.

Women like you make the world go round. Women like you drown oceans.

#hp #hp imagine #headcanon #hp headcanon #golden trio era #hermione granger #ginny weasley #luna lovegood #cho chang #parvati patil #padma patil #angelina johnson #hannah abbott #fleur delacour #astoria greengrass #golden trio era ladies #the golden girls imagine

[scripts4dreamers]

A New Day

AN: Was this based on that shifting thing on Tik Tok? Yeah, yeah it was. I love a parallel universe, okay?? Characters: Regulus Black, Marlene Mckinnon variant, Dorcas Meadowes variant  Pairings: Regulus Black x reader  Summary: What if, instead of drowning, Regulus managed to slip into a new world. Your world. 

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Regulus had planned for months. He’d double checked all the calculations, practiced until his eyes went fuzzy and then practiced more. He could hold his breath for nearly 4 minutes, do the most complex spells wordlessly and keep almost anyone out of his head. He was ready. No one in the history of the wizarding world had ever understood Voldemort better than he did and Regulus Black was ready for his tricks. He was getting out of this mess and taking Voldemort down at the same time and there wasn’t a damned thing the Dark Lord could do to stop him. He was ready.

Having said that, he’d never expected his plan to actually work. As the mangled corpses dragged him beneath the water and his throat burned with a cursed thirst powerful enough to drive someone mad, Regulus had fully expected to die, but he tried anyway. He’d pushed through the pain, held his breath and began his incantation, ready for the moment that nothing would happen and he would start to drown. If he hadn’t practiced the spell so much that it was almost effortless, he probably wouldn’t have had the strength to go through with it. But he had, so he did and, to his surprise, it had worked. Just when he thought he’d run out of air he felt the hands dragging him down start to lessen, he heard a strange rustling in his ear and a tugging behind his ribcage like nothing he’d ever experienced. The pain of drowning was replaced with the pain of being ripped in two. He opened his mouth to scream, remembering the water a moment too late. It was filling his mouth, filling his lungs, drowning him. Drowning him! At least the pain would end, the terrible terrible pain of it. Merlin, why wasn’t it ending? Make it end! And then-

Well, then he’d landed on an empty road, gasping for air on his hands and knees, with tiny bits of gravel digging into his exposed skin. For a moment he couldn’t believe it was real, that all that work had paid off. He thought it must be some trick, a last cruel game that Voldemort concocted. Give them hope and rip it away, that had always been his style. But as time passed and he caught his breath, Regulus was forced to accept the fact that he’d been right. He’d really done it. The relief was so intense that he didn’t notice that he was laughing until the tears started streaming down his face. It just felt so completely, impossibly unbelievable that he was finally free. He was soaking wet, it was starting to get cold and he was definitely in shock, but Regulus forced himself to look around. He was on a deserted country road, on a hilltop surrounded by long grass and old, gnarled trees. The sky was starting to darken and he could hear the hustle and bustle of a town somewhere in the distance, symphonic with the bugs and the breeze. He pushed himself up, ignoring the protest of his worn out body and stumbled to the nearest tree, collapsing against it so he could watch the sun set on his new world. A world without magic.

Reality bending magic was more advanced than anything Regulus had ever even considered in his youth but, as the war went on and his situation became darker and more hopeless, he figured he had nothing to lose. A million things could have gone wrong, the least unpleasant of which would have been him dying instantaneously, but he did the work anyway. He didn’t have a lot of requirements for his desired new reality. In fact, he only had four: No Regulus Blacks already in that reality, no Voldemort, no death eaters and no wizards. And somehow, he’d gotten it all.

Regulus sipped his coffee absentmindedly, taking a moment to ground himself in the here and now. He let his eyes drift shut and took some deep breaths, the way his doctor had taught him to, letting the cool spring air fill his lungs completely, and then letting it out slowly. Even now, five years later, Regulus could never quite get past the feeling that he was drowning, that the water was right there, outside his lips, just waiting to slip into his mouth and drag him into the depths. But that was just a memory now. He was safe, he was free. The only thing left from his old life was currently sitting behind the glass windows of a bookstore, with a big gold sticker on the front celebrating it as a 20th Anniversary Special Edition.

“Have you really never read Harry Potter?” You asked, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Hmm-What? No, I haven’t-” he replied with a distracted smile, “is it good?”

You shrugged with one shoulder and took a sip from your drink. You were trying very hard to be nonchalant but he’d known you long enough to recognize the way your eyes lit up . The book meant a lot to you. While you looked at the books, Regulus tried to subtly twist his hand in just the right way, and was rewarded by a rush of steam coming from your cup. You always hated when your drink got cold.

“You love it, huh?” He asked, nudging your shoulder with his.

You blushed and rolled your eyes fondly, “I hate that you can do that. Yes, okay, I love it. Those books practically raised me, but the author is a TERF and there’s a bunch of problematic shit in them and so I also kind of hate them. For making me love them, you know?”

Now that was a relationship he could understand.

“Oh yeah. So, not worth it for me, then?” He asked, feeling the familiar roiling of curiosity and anxiety in his stomach that talking about the book always caused.

You gave him a surprised look, “Oh no, you should definitely read them, just don’t buy them. You can read my old copies, I’ve annotated all the gross shit in the margins.”

“Why’d you ask if I’ve read it? You guys bully me enough for it for you to know.”

“It’s just such a major coincidence,” You said, not for the first time, “I mean, Regulus Black? What are the chances of that?”

He shrugged, “It has to happen sometimes, I mean there’s only so many names in existence. Regulus is a real star and Black is a fairly common surname.”

It was a familiar lie, but it still tasted wrong when directed at you. Some people bought it, some didn’t. He’d been reminded by some of your friends, very gently of course, that there was no shame in choosing to name yourself after a character. People choose new names when they decide to live as their true selves all the time, they would say. Privately, he wished he’d known that before he’d started introducing himself as Regulus Black. A new name would have saved him a lot of trouble. On the other hand, if he’d decided to go by something else, he might never have met you.

—

It still felt wrong to be going out without his wand, but the drinks at these parties were always good, and honestly he enjoyed the company. One of the things no one tells you about being ripped from your dimension by ancient magic and placed somewhere new at the tender age of eighteen was that everyone in your new hometown probably already has friends, and it’s not like you can send an owl to your friends, because they’re all fictional here. And dead, he reminded himself, they’re also all dead. He pushed that thought away with another shot of something foul that burned the back of his throat, and refocused on his surroundings. Thank Merlin for university towns, where he could blend in a little more, and where no one was shocked to meet someone new who didn’t quite know their way around yet. When he’d shown up here four years ago he’d expected a lot more pushback, only to find that it was registration season for the local university. It was quite prestigious, so no one batted an eye at a stranger. A few days of research, some sneaky spell casting and, before he knew it, he was all set up and ready to start classes.

“Oh. My. God, you’re kidding!” The person he was talking to squealed, their eyes widening with surprise, “No way is that your name. Did your parents name you that?” Regulus nodded, pleasantly tipsy and already very used to this conversation. The person gasped again, running one hand through their thick, blonde hair, “Jesus Christ, that’s borderline child abuse. I mean, it’s alright when it’s a wizard-nazi in a kid’s book, but who ever met a med student named Regulus?”

“Well, technically, you just did,” he pointed out, teasingly, ignoring the rush of shame, “a lot of people at our school have, actually. Is it really that bad?”

Marble looked up, their eyes widening in horror as they realised what they’d said, and he couldn’t help but laugh. They were clearly drunk and mortified by the idea that they might have just been rude. It was endearing. They reminded him of another blonde who used to stick her foot in her mouth a lot, a friend of his brother’s. They’d played against each other in Quidditch.

“No! God-sorry-no it’s not bad, it’s just weird is-all. I mean, who’m I to judge, really, my name’s Marble. Granted, I gave myself that one.” They blurted out quickly.

“I like the name Marble,” he replied.

They smiled, “Cheers, mate! I do too. So does my girlfriend, Dora. She helped me pick it, actually. Her and my friend Y/N,” they continued. At your name they gasped and grabbed his arm, smiling like they’d just made a marvelous discovery, “oh my God, Y/N. You have to meet Y/N, she’s going to love this.” they assured him, dragging Regulus through the crowds of drunk university students and towards a group of people talking and laughing in the kitchen.

“Y/N!” Marble called, “Y/N meet my friend, I’ll bet you can’t guess what his name is.”

One of the people turned and Regulus felt his breath catch in the back of his throat. It was like looking at the ocean, he thought to himself, or the sun, that’s how beautiful you were. When you smiled at him and stuck out your hand for him to shake, Regulus felt like he was eighteen again, stumbling around on shaky legs, drunk on his own freedom and terrified at the endless possibilities in front of him.

But he took your hand anyway, because he couldn’t help himself, and he heard himself say, “Hi, I’m Regulus Black.”

—

That had been almost a year ago. The best year, Regulus could say with certainty, of his entire life. He loved his classes, he was finally starting to feel like he’d found his feet in town, he had an apartment and a job. And he had you. Well, alright he didn’t have you, per say. Not the way he wanted to, but he had you in his life, and the friends you now shared, and that was a hell of a lot more than he’d ever expected.

His first two years in your world had been a lesson in self-preservation. Everything he encountered was new, he spent most of his time just figuring out how things worked, how to get places and make food and how to keep himself alive without magic. Not that he didn’t still use magic, he absolutely did, but the problem was that no one else did. Everything he knew from his world was pointless in yours, so getting used to that had taken time.

The next two were about rehabilitation. Deprogramming, they called it. After one of his classes he’d come across an advert for a support group for people who wanted to transition out of hate groups and, well, Regulus had in fact been part of a hate group, so he went. It was a kind of work he’d never done before, like digging thorns out of his skin after the skin had already healed over. It had ached and stung and hurt, but it had also felt good. Freeing, almost. He still went to the support group, but now he was leading meetings, helping other people the way the group had helped him. He remembered when he first got up the nerve to tell you about the group, to tell you what he’d been (in modified terms, at least), and how you’d taken his hand and said you were proud of him for making the right decision.

On bad days, when he felt the water creeping in, he clung to that memory like a life jacket.

“I guess you’re right,” you continued, “It’s still so weird.”

He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, “Do you-you think it’s dumb?”

You looked up quickly, blushing again, “Oh God-no, Reg, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that,” you assured, reaching out to squeeze his free hand, “I love your name. It’s beautiful. That’s not what I meant.”

“Y/N’s a beautiful name,” he countered softly, squeezing your hand back briefly before letting it go.

“Thanks, Reg.”

Without another word you turned away from the bookstore together and continued your slow walk back to the house you shared with Marble and Dora. It was a little private ritual you shared, and Regulus treasured it above almost everything else. He glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and smiled when he caught you glancing back. Almost everything.

“What did you mean?” He asked after a moment of comfortable silence.

“Hm?”

“You said you didn’t mean like that,” he explained, “so what did you mean?”

“Oh, um,” You smiled sheepishly, and shook your head “nothing, it’s stupid.”

Oh now he had to know. You had this habit of doubting yourself that made Regulus crazy. He wanted to show you that nothing you thought was stupid, that he loved hearing all of it. Every bizarre dream, every late night rant, every embarrassing story, he wanted to know it all. He stored everything you told him away in his mind like pirate’s gold, along with all the good memories he’d made over the years. Late at night he’d pull them out one-by-one and examine them, like artifacts and try to let them muffle the sounds of his past screaming in his ears.

He bumped you with his shoulder, relishing the brief contact, “Bet it’s not.”

“You’d lose that bet.”

“I’d still like to know,” he assured you softly, “I like to know what you think about things.” he lowered his voice, “About me.”

It was a risky move, but not one he took lightly. Regulus Black thought everything through, he was meticulous, but you made him want the risk. He loved making you smile, making you blush and roll your eyes in that fond way you did. He loved that you let him tease you but, more than that, he loved that you let him in. You told him the things you usually kept private, you teased him back. When you were together, you were happy. He made you happy. A few months ago he’d gotten sick. You’d spent two weeks at his apartment, nursing him back to health and after that things between you were…different. You were more nervous around him, your looks lingered sometimes, like you were searching for something. When you were out with friends, you always ended up next to each other. He hadn’t seen you go home with anyone. It was new, and delicate, and Regulus wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but he knew he wanted it. He knew he wanted you, in whatever way he could have you.

You sighed, but shot him a sheepish look, which he knew meant that you were caving, “You can’t laugh.”

He mimed locking his lips, “Scout’s honor.”

“You didn’t even know what that meant until Edgar told you last month,” you pointed out fondly.

“But I know now, so it counts.”

You laughed gently and the sound made Regulus feel like he was floating.

“Alright then,” you agreed, “I meant it was weird because, when I was a kid, I had a massive crush on Regulus in the books.”

Regulus stopped in his tracks, “I’m sorry, you what?”

Your face was bright with embarrassment and Regulus had to remind his lungs to keep breathing, “What? People have crushes on fictional characters like all the time!”

“You said he was barely even in the books!” He pointed out incredulously, “You said there were only a handful of mentions of him.”

“There were but like,” you paused, covering your hands with your face, “he was cool! He basically took on Voldemort all on his own when he was like 18, that’s awesome.”

“He was a death eater.”

“He joined at 16, and he literally died trying to bring Voldemort down,” you countered.

Regulus snorted, and continued on his way, you falling into step beside him, “Which is barely a redemption arc. One big heroic sacrifice doesn’t undo being a nazi, you know?”

Especially since I didn’t actually die, he thought to himself.

“I know,” you sighed, “but it’s just so tragic. Sirius didn’t even get to hear what really happened.”

Ouch. No matter how many years passed, Regulus couldn’t help but hurt whenever someone mentioned his brother. He should have sent a letter, or a patronus, something. He should have-

“And I think, if he’d lived, he would’ve made the right choice,” you continued, snapping him back to the present. You looked so certain that it made his heart ache, “like you did. I actually think you two would have gotten along well.”

Doubt.

He let the silence sit for a moment.

“Wait so why is it weird? Because I have the same name as a fictional character you liked?” he clarified.

This time you definitely flushed. The sun had barely risen. The whole street was lit up in that early spring morning chill. With the streetlights overhead and you by his side, Regulus thought it felt a lot like magic. Real magic, and he wished he could freeze everything exactly like it was.

“Well, no,” you admitted, “not just that.”

“Then what?” he pressed.

You shot him a helpless look, “Don’t make me say it.”

He frowned, stopping again and reaching out to stop you too. Your house was in sight now, he could just let you go, but he didn’t. There was something sad in your eyes, something he’d put there, and he wanted to know what it was so he could stop it from ever happening again.

“Say what?” He asked, searching your face for clues. When you didn’t answer, he stepped in, holding your arms as though he was steadying you, “Hey, Y/N/N, it’s me, Reggie. You can tell me anything, you know that, right?”

Your eyes watered a bit, but you nodded, “I know. I do know that, Reg.”

“Then talk to me,” he said softly, reaching to touch your cheek, “please?”

You rolled your eyes at yourself, “It’s st-”

“Don’t you dare say it’s stupid,” he interrupted, “don’t you dare.”

You pressed your lips together and then sighed, leaning in until your forehead was pressed to his sternum and your arms were loosely hanging on his waist. Instinctively, Regulus wrapped his arms around you, wondering if you could feel the way his heart was pounding in his chest.

“It just isn’t fair,” you started, your voice a little bit muffled by his sweater, “because it’s so obvious right? You have a crush on a book character when you’re a kid and then you grow up, go off to university, meet this incredible guy and he just happens to have the same name? What are the chances of that?” you complained, “But at first it’s all fine and you’re just friends, but then he gets sick and, for a moment there you think he’s going to die and-” you looked up and Regulus could feel the way your breath stuttered in your chest when he held your gaze, “and it sucks because you’ve already fallen for one Regulus in your life, right? So you can’t fall for another one.”

Oh. Oh, you can’t. He didn’t expect anything else, so it shouldn’t fucking break him the way it does, but he feels it like a sledgehammer in his chest. And he can’t cry, because you’re being honest, and you’re still in his arms and that has to count for something. That has to be enough.

“But you do anyway,” you continue softly, “even though you know he’s not being honest with you. And even though he’s your best friend and it’s a huge risk, it doesn’t matter because he tells you your thoughts aren’t stupid. And he holds your hand when you’re nervous and you don’t even need to tell him you’re nervous because he just knows. He doesn’t know how post works, but he knows you better than anyone and you fall for him.” The words are pouring out of you now, and Regulus is trying to process what you’re saying, but all he hears are those last four words on repeat. You pause, “And then you tell him in second person on just a random street and that’s dumb because you probably should have made it more romantic, but it’s done now and you can’t take it back and-”

You Fall For Him.

He kisses you before you can finish. He doesn’t even know that he meant to. Looking back, all Regulus can remember is the way you were looking at him, the way you felt in his arms and the sudden realisation that he was exactly where he was always meant to be. That, no matter what had happened, no matter what path he would have taken, the only place he could ever truly belong was right here, in your arms. So he’d kissed you, because he had to. Because he didn’t have the words to tell you what that felt like yet, and because he really, really wanted to kiss you.

You tasted like your drink, and that first breath he’d taken as a free man and also like the sweets he’d stolen from his brother when he was young. Your hands pressed to his chest felt like running down the stairs on christmas and your lips against his were like catching the snitch in the final match of the season. Everything he missed, everything he longed for, all of it was you. All of it. Everything he had was yours, for as long as you’d have him. In any world, any moment in time, he was utterly and irrevocably yours.

When you broke apart, breathless and flushed, Regulus pressed his forehead to yours, feeling the hot flames of desire as they rushed through him.

“Y/N I-I’ve been-I have-” he paused to collect himself, breathing in impossibility that was his life, the sheer joy of it all, “Merlin, Y/N, I fell for you the moment we met, possibly even before then, but I need to be honest.” he braced himself for the impact, for the pain of losing you.

I’ll get her back, he promised himself. I’ll earn her trust back, no matter how long it takes. No matter what I have to do. This will not be the last time I get to hold her.

“Y/N I-”

“Am not really an incredibly sheltered homeschooled kid who just entered the real world, but am instead somehow the actual Regulus Black from the Harry Potter book series? Yeah, I figured,” you teased, with a breathless laugh.

Regulus’s head shot up, but he didn’t let go of you, “Wha-how-?”

You gave him an incredulous, but still fond, look, and pressed another kiss to his lips. This time it was soft, like the petals of the roses he grew outside his apartment block, or the last rays of sunlight over the hill on that first night. It was a promise of something, of acceptance.

“You’re not subtle, my love. My drinks go from lukewarm to piping hot. Marble’s hair untangles itself. Untied shoelaces get done up, you ‘fixed’ a horrendously shattered vase at Christmas.” you explained.

Regulus felt himself go red, “I thought you wouldn’t notice.”

You took his hand and threaded your fingers together, continuing on your walk like nothing had happened.

“We didn’t notice the magic for a while,” you admitted, “but, come on. How were we going to miss the literal dark mark on your arm, hm? Weird tattoo for a guy who never read the books to get, don’t you think?”

“WAIT THE DARK MARK IS IN THE BOOKS?”

#jordsie #jordsie writes #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #wizarding world #wizarding world fanfiction #Marauders #marauder #marauders era #modern au #marauders fanfiction #marauders imagine #regulus black #regulus black x you #regulus x you #regulus x y/n #regulus headcanon #regulus fanfiction #regulus imagine #regulus black x reader #regulus black x y/n #regulus black fanfiction #regulus black imagine

[scripts4dreamers]

Oh, my stars!

AN: First writing piece in a long while! I’m going back to my roots and simping over characters from the Wizarding World. So here’s a little piece about Regulus being in love with you in a potions class.  Characters: Regulus Black Pairings: Regulus x reader Warning(s): none

Y/N Y/L/N was…loud. Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she spoke at an entirely normal volume and Regulus was just completely unused to sitting next to someone with such a never ending stream of things to say and comment on. It wasn’t totally awful. They’d been forced together to work on a project a few months ago and, from the moment you’d sat down, you had seemed intent on acting as though you and Regulus had been friends for years. At first he’d been mortified by your chattering, and the almost comically bright smile you’d always greeted him with but, as the days went on, Regulus had the shocking realization that you were being entirely sincere. You weren’t being friendly in order to trick him, or smiling to throw him off his game, you were just kind of…like that.

It had taken time, a lot of time, for Regulus to start actually talking back. Longer for him to start smiling, but it had happened. At the end of the first month, he’d been forced to admit to himself that potions had become the best part of his day, and not because he loved Slughorn and chopping mugwort leaves. There was something exciting about having a friend that was just his, especially one who seemed perfectly content to accept his good days with his bad ones, and never pushed him to be more bubbly or open than he was ready for. Which is not to say that Regulus wasn’t waiting for the other shoe to drop and for you to move on to less prickly targets, but he’d bask in your attention for as long as he had it. And bask he did.

“Oi, Reg? Are you even listening to me?” You whispered, nudging his side with your elbow.

“Hmm?” He asked, softly, checking to see if Slughorn had picked up on your nattering.

You giggled, rolling your eyes with a fondness he wasn’t entirely sure he’d earned, and leaned in conspiratorially, “I asked if you were going out to Hogsmeade this weekend. Coraline Fawley has been bugging me about getting you to ask her out for weeks.”

You looked beautiful, as always, with your hair up out of your face and your usual glint of mischief dancing at the corner of your mouth. He spent a lot of time looking at your mouth recently. More time than he’d hoped, but less than he’d like. They were just so fascinating. Wait, what were you saying?

Regulus scrunched up his nose, “Fawley? Tell her I’d sooner go out with the giant squid.”

“Or,” you suggested, “you could tell her that yourself and not use me like an owl, for a change.”

Now it was Regulus’ turn to roll his eyes and he turned back to face the chalkboard, “It’s not like I ask you to meddle, Y/N, you just do it. If you want out, no one’s asking you to stick around.”

He heard you sigh and felt a momentary twinge of regret. Considering how little validation he gave you, you’d been wonderful about not holding his moodiness against him, but Regulus knew your patience wasn’t limitless. And, if he was honest with himself, Regulus was dreading the day he finally pushed you just that little bit too far.

“Alright, Black,” you agreed, albeit a little less enthusiastically, “whatever you say.”

You lapsed into a silence that stretched on longer than usual, seemingly dedicating 100% of your attention to the potion Slughorn had assigned, even though Regulus knew you had next to no interest in potions. As the minutes dragged on without a hint of your signature banter, Regulus couldn’t help but start to worry. This had been happening more and more lately. Little mean things would slip out and, rather than bouncing off your back like normal, they seemed to hang in the air like helium balloons, filling Regulus’ stomach with sand and a gnawing shame.

Maybe it was best, he reasoned, maybe this was the start of the pulling away process. It had to happen eventually, right? He might as well enjoy the silence and let you move on to your greener pastures filled with baby unicorns and endless Hogsmeade weekends with your gaggle of adoring sycophants. It was for the best, really.

“Are you going?” He heard himself ask, with a hint of pleading.

You looked up at him, your features schooled into polite neutrality, which he hated, “That’s why I asked you. I’m not sure yet. I was going to decide based on what your plans were.”

As soon as you answered, Regulus felt the knot in his chest loosen and a quiet sigh of relief slipped from his throat. It took him a second to process your answer but, when he did, his heart skipped a beat.

“You wanted to go…with me?” He asked, unsure.

In the dim light of the potions room, Reg couldn’t be sure, but he swore he saw color rise into your cheeks before you looked away, back into your cauldron.

“No. Well, yes, but not like-” you started, “Caroline wanted me to ask you anyway, but I figured that if you were going anyway we could meet up somewhere.”

Regulus fought the surge of giddiness that flooded his system out of nowhere, and smiled gently, “And if I wasn’t going?”

You shrugged with one shoulder, eyes focussed intently on the contents of your potion.

“I thought we could study. Or fly, or something.”

“Together?’

You sighed, definitely blushing now, and rolled your eyes to the ceiling, “Obviously, together, Black. Otherwise I wouldn’t have asked what you were doing. Nevermind it’s a stupid idea I’ll just-” you muttered, your voice fading into a disgruntled whisper he couldn’t pick up.

Regulus was trying hard not to let the swell of conflicting emotions in his chest register on his face. Were you asking him out? Was that what was happening here? Did he want that?

Okay, that was a ridiculous question, he’d been all yours from the very first moment, of course that’s what he wanted. But only secretly. Only in the deepest parts of himself that he kept buried and hidden away from anything that threatened to come in and empty him out. What he wanted and what he could bear to have had never been the same thing. Being with you, oh Merlin, really being with you, was so far out of his realm of reality that it made him dizzy just to consider it. It was just a fantasy. Just a fantasy.

But it could be real, couldn’t it? That’s what you were offering. Alright, you weren’t declaring your love or anything, but it was a start. A whole day together, just the two of you….what a concept.

Your cauldron was starting to smoke and, by Regulus’ calculations, you were three clockwise stirs over the upper limit. He glanced at the clock. There wasn’t long left and if you submitted what you had now, he knew there was no way Slughorn would give you a decent grade. He weighed up his options for a second, not wanting to seem pushy or patronizing, but was jarred into action as you lifted your pipet of bulbadox juice to add a second drop.

“No no no no, wait.” He leaned forward, his side pressed to yours as he gripped your hand to stop the movement.

You froze, staring up at him with giant eyes as he gently lowered your hand with the pipet, making sure nothing dripped into the potion.

“You’ve over stirred,” he explained gently, “if you add more juice it’s either going to curdle or explode.”

“Really? Shit, thanks for the save, Reg,” you answered with a breathless, slightly tense giggle, “reckon I can salvage it?”

“Of course, just add two flitterby wings and some crushed dragon horn and you should be good to go,” he explained, feeling his heart pound in his chest.

“Alright…” There was a long silence where neither of you moved before you nudged him with your knee and said, as gently as possible, “I’m going to need my hand back to make those changes, Reg.”

Ah.

He was still holding your hand. With his other arm practically wrapped around you. Using the back of your stool as support. Fuck. He pulled his hand back so fast the thought he might fall over, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

“Sorry.” he muttered, turning back to his own potion with his ears burning.

“It’s alright,” you responded, and he could hear the smile in your voice, “your hands are very…soft. Softer than I thought they’d be.”

His heart did that funny little stutter again and he shot back, teasingly “Spend a lot of time thinking about my hands then, Y/L/N?”

He quickly glanced your way, so you could see the corner of his mouth turned up in a smile and know he was joking, just in time to catch you shooting him another fond eye roll.

“Not as much time as Caroline Fawley has, I can promise you that,” you joked back.

“Jealous much?”

“Desperately, I’ve been eyeing up Caroline for months.”

Regulus threw his head back and let out a bark of laughter so loud that everyone in class, including Slughorn tore their eyes away from whatever they were doing and gave him a warning look. Regulus mouthed sorry to Professor Slughorn and turned back to his work, stifling his laughter as best he could. One quick glance your way told him you were doing the same, though the hand over your mouth and your silently shaking shoulders told him you were losing the fight.

“Look what you made me do,” he teased, “and after I helped you too…sad.”

“Aww, poor little Reggie,” you teased back, “how about this, to make it up to you, I’ll retract my offer to hang out this weekend, since I’m clearly such a nuisance to you, and go to Hogsmeade with Ollie Macmillan instead.”

Regulus gasped, recoiling in mock horror, “You wouldn’t!”

“Try me,” you responded, leaning in, “Unless, of course, you would rather I didn’t, for some reason.”

Suddenly it occurred to Regulus that you weren’t joking, which was new. You were giving him a choice. If he wanted, you’d go out with Macmillan and, knowing you, you'd never bring up the possibility of being anything more than friends again. You were certain like that. You never pushed. It was one of the reasons he’d started falling for you in the first place.

Regulus opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he realized that he didn’t actually have an answer. His heart was screaming at him to say that of course he didn’t want you to go out with that oaf, Macmillan, he wanted you to go out with him. He wanted you to talk to him and laugh with him and let him stare at your mouth until he had every twist and curve and movement memorized. Of course that’s what he wanted.

But, he was Regulus Black. He didn’t get things like this, things like you, that were good and pure and normal. He didn’t get to go on dates and banter with friends and plan a future with the only person who made him feel like a living person anymore. Did he? If he leant in and kissed you, wouldn’t he just be dooming you to heartbreak? Wasn’t he just dragging you down into his shadowy world?

There was a look in your eye that made him shiver, like you were looking right through him, into the confusion, and that it made you sad. You pressed your lips together and, with a second of hesitation, reached out to touch his hand, softly. So, so softly. You only ever touched him softly, like you knew. Like you’d always known that he was fragile, that he needed tenderness like a plant needs sunlight. How had you known? How did you always know?

“Regulus,” you said, barely louder than a whisper, but with an undercurrent of fierce sincerity, “I can’t change the way you think about yourself, I know that that’s up to you, but I want you to know, whatever it is you’re thinking, you’re wrong. This, us,” you squeezed his hand, grounding him, “even just the chance of it. It’s worth it. Or at least it is to me. That won’t change, but you need to meet me halfway here. It can’t just be me putting myself out on a ledge and hoping that someday you’ll trust me enough to come out to, we need to do it together.”

He shook his head reflexively, “You don’t know what you’re saying. You don’t know.”

“I know you,” you countered, “that’s all I need to know. That and whatever you decide to tell me.”

The bell rang and Regulus felt a bolt of panic at the thought of you packing up and heading off. Something told him that, if he let you leave without an answer, without some indication of where his head was, he’d lose you forever.

He squeezed your hand tight, locking your fingers together and said, “Don’t go out with Macmillan.”

It wasn’t enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. He was going to lose you.

“Don’t go out with Macmillan,” he repeated, “spend the day with me. I don’t give a fuck about Hogsmeade, but I’ll go if you’ll go with me. Honestly, Y/N, I’ll do anything as long as you’ll do it with me.”

You pressed your lips together again, but this time Regulus could see the smile twinkling in your eyes as they watered, and he could feel the way your muscles relaxed, like you’d been bracing for an impact that never came. You were nervous. Oh my stars, you had been worried that he would reject you! The notion was so foolish that, for a moment, Regulus forgot to be scared.

“I would love that,” you answered, “really, Reg. I would love that.”

I love you, he thought to himself. But not yet. It was too soon, he knew that, but maybe one day. Maybe when he’d figured out how to tell you about that secret part of himself he’d kept buried for so long, maybe then he’d say it. Maybe, if he was lucky, you’d even say it back.

Now, wouldn’t that be something?

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[scripts4dreamers]

Wanting more

AN: MORE Regulus Black, because why not?

Characters: Regulus Black, Evan Rosier Pairings: Regulus x reader, Evan x Barty Crouch Warnings: Crude language, references to sex

Being Regulus Black was a lesson in self-sabotage. He didn’t mean to make the wrong decisions, truly, he didn’t, but somehow he always ended up here, watching the one thing he wanted slip through his fingers, with no one to blame but himself. He took a swig from the flask he’d snuck in on his hip, letting the Menaduc’s MerMead numb his bruised ego as he watched the students mill past him and wander further into the great hall.

“Who pissed in your coffee?” Evan Rosier asked, sauntering over with the unshakable confidence he always seemed to possess.

“Fuck off, Rosier.” Regulus shot back, in no mood to play nice with the other kids.

Rosier raised his eyebrows, but didn’t respond, joining Regulus in his vigil without another word. Regulus had arrived at the dance late, and had instantly claimed a spot by the bar in a secluded corner where he could drink and sulk to his heart’s content. Or, at least, he had been able to until Rosier showed up. 200kgs of power and years of practice made him basically immune to Regulus’ silent treatment, and he had very little patience for self-pity. It was a wonder he’d managed to stay friends with Regulus for as long as he had.

“This about Y/N, then?” Rosier asked, taking a deep drink from his own, much bigger flask.

“Once again, I must implore you to fuck off, Evan.”

“Unlikely, Regulus,” Rosier teased back, in a mocking impression of Regulus’ tone, “the night is young, the birds are fit, I will not have you sulking off in a corner all night.”

“Leave me alone,” Regulus whined, “let me lick my wounds in peace.”

“What wounds?” Even replied with a laugh, “Come on, Black, what’s up?”

Regulus gestured to where you were, helplessly, “Look at her! She’s killing me, Rosier. I’m literally being murdered by her in that outfit.”

You had spent ages getting ready for this dance and, from Regulus’ perspective, preparing to specifically torment him. Not that he didn’t deserve it, of course. Your dress was crushed velvet. Green velvet. With a neckline so tempting that it ought to be illegal, he thought to himself, miserably. You’d made sure your hair was out of your face and when you turned, the light glinted off your jewellery like diamonds, which meant Regulus couldn’t miss the way you were smiling and laughing at something one of your many admirers had said. Rosier turned his head and, when you caught his eye, let out a rumbling laugh.

“So, I was right, this is about Y/N.”

“Obviously,” Regulus complained, swallowing another mouthful of mead, “who else?”

Rosier shrugged with one shoulder, annoying Regulus with his effortless cool, “I dunno, mate. There’s plenty of birds worth a second look wandering around these days. Not just birds, either. Some of those Beauxbatons lads have me asking questions.”

Regulus shot him an incredulous look, “You still asking questions, Rosier? Does your ex-boyfriend know that?”

That earned him another booming laugh, “Barty knows what you know, that Evan Rosier won’t kick a fit person out of bed.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Reg agreed, pleased at having caused a distraction.

“Take Y/N Y/L/N, for example-” Evan started.

Regulus groaned, turning to the bar and burying his head in his arms. Rosier clapped him on the back, laughing like he was enjoying Regulus’ pain, which he probably was.

“Come off it, mate, you know I’d never do that to you. I know how gone you are over that girl.” Evan assured him.

“I’m not gone over her,” Regulus protested weakly, head still firmly in his arms, “I turned her down, remember?”

“And now she’s out, looking like that, surrounded by a small mob of eligible folks who are just dying to know if a person can even wear underwear under a dress like that, and you’re over here, tormenting yourself, and accusing her of culpable homicide.” Rosier reminded him.

“Technically, I accused her of murder.”

“Right,” Rosier chuckled, “my mistake. Listen, mate, you know what I’m about to say, right?”

“That I should talk to her?” Regulus suggested.

“That, or get your head under some lass’ skirt, ASAP, and hope that clears your system.”

“Eating pussy isn’t the answer to everything, Rosier,” Regulus protested, mostly just to say something.

“That’s true,” Even countered, “but anything that can’t be solved by eating pussy can probably be solved by eating ass. If not, well, then it’s above my pay grade.”

Regulus wanted to shoot back that there were first year spells that were above Rosier’s pay grade but, as he opened his mouth to speak, he heard the unmistakable sound of your laugh, clear and intoxicating over the music. He instinctively looked up and your way, just in time to regret his decision. You’d thrown your head back, one hand tastefully resting on the base of your throat while you laughed. It made Regulus’ heart stutter against his ribs and his stomach swoop, like he’d just plummeted several stories directly down. Someone he didn’t recognize was flushing red and looking smug at having made you laugh, much to the chagrin of your other admirers, and Regulus himself. He bit down on the back of his jaw to keep from shooting a curse their way and drank deep from his flask to numb the rush of jealousy.

“Merlin’s beard, man,” Rosier guffawed, “you look just about ready to kill someone.”

“I am,” Regulus answered honestly.

“I hate to point out the obvious here, Reggie-boy, but if this bugs you so much, why did you turn her down, again?”

Regulus shot his friend what he hoped was a withering look, but didn’t answer, turning his attention back to you and subtly refilling his flask. The person who’d made you laugh was whispering in your ear now, with one hand resting on the small of your back. The sight made the jealous creature in Regulus’s chest screech to life, prowling and pacing around his heart like a raging guard dog. His only consolation was the flicker of irritation he could see in your eyes. It was well hidden, you were enjoying the attention, but anyone who knew you well would be able to tell how boring you found the person who was clearly infatuated with you. Regulus knew you well. He knew you better than anyone, didn’t he?

Fuck. He’d had too much to drink. His eyes were watering and no amount of blinking was clearing them out. Fuck. This isn’t how tonight was supposed to go. He should be the one hanging on your every word, touching you in that dress, leading you on to the dance floor with his head held high. He shouldn’t be sitting in a corner hoping, beyond hope, that you’d turn and catch his eye. If anyone’s hand should be on your waist, it should be his. His lips brushing your ear as he leaned in to whisper something suggestive to make you laugh, his hair that you were reaching out to ruffle playfully. His, his, his.

He slammed his fist down on the bar, making the barman flinch, but garnering no reaction at all from Evan Rosier, who just smirked into his drink. The sound rang through the hall. Most people ignored it, or didn’t seem to notice at all, but you…

Your eyes flicked to the corner, grateful for the distraction from what was turning out to be a mind numbingly dull conversation. Regulus felt the moment your eyes met his like it was a hammer slamming into his chest because, for just a second, they lit up. For a brief moment you looked relieved to see him, and no one else in the room existed. Just you. Just his Y/N. Beautiful, bright Y/N, who had never not smiled at him before. But then it passed. Sound filtered back into the world as your eyes hardened and Regulus felt his cheeks colour with shame. He swallowed hard, downed his flask, and turned to Rosier.

“Fuck it, I’m in. Let’s get laid.”

Something evil glimmered in Evan’s eyes, that Regulus knew was reflected in his, and his friend whooped, downing his own drink and pulling Regulus to the dance floor.

For the next few hours Regulus tried everything in his power to forget you. He danced with anyone who asked, and with huge groups of strangers. He let girls from Durmstrang kiss his cheeks and stroke his hair. He let boys from Beauxbatons try and seduce him with French poetry, and then shocked them with some prose of his own. He let Rosier lift him up on his shoulders when the band got rowdy. He lived it up, but he couldn’t stop seeing you.

Because you were living it up too. He watched a girl from Beauxbatons twirl you around and dip you low, and he wanted. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Malfoy kiss the inside of arm while Narcissa pressed her lips to your cheek, and he wanted. At every turn, right when he thought he was free of it, there was a flash of green velvet, a hint of your perfume, and he was right back where he started. Wanting. You didn’t look his way again.

“Regulus,” He heard the ghost of you whisper in his head, all those nights ago, “I think I want to kiss you now.”

Kiss me, his mind shouted, but it was pointless. It was in the past, he couldn’t go back and fix it now. He’d ruined it, like he ruined everything.

It was bitterly cold, but Regulus was flushed with warmth, his thigh pressed up against yours as you stared out into the night together, passing a bottle of muggle whiskey back and forth.

“What about Delacour, he’s pretty enough for your taste, right?” Regulus suggested teasingly.

He felt light, lighter than he usually did, but whether that was from the alcohol or from being around you, he couldn’t tell. You scrunched up your nose the way he loved, and shook your head, taking another swig from the bottle.

“He’s too…bouncy,” you explained, “I feel like he’d wear me out.”

“Some people like that, you know?” Regulus whispered suggestively, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

You laughed, but it didn’t completely mask the way you shivered. Regulus felt his chest pinch, but he brushed it aside. It was cold in the astronomy tower. It wasn’t weird for you to shiver. It wasn’t because of him.

You were celebrating your victory in the duelling club. Alongside your partner, you’d wiped the floor with the visiting teams from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. On top of that, the Hogwarts champion had won the last task, so the whole school was in a festive mood. You’d agreed to meet up with Regulus here to have a moment alone. The best moment of Regulus’ night so far, he wasn’t ashamed to admit.

“Oh please, I would wear him out.” you countered.

Y/N Y/L/N + sex = danger! Abort mission! Regulus’ brain swung for a different topic. He had lasted this long by being incredibly good at compartmentalising, if he started letting the image of you, naked and willing, slip into his waking mind, he’d be gone.

“Well, who then?” He said quickly, “It’s the Yule Ball, you can’t go alone.”

You shrugged with one shoulder, ducking away from his glance.

“I was thinking of just going with friends.”

Regulus snorted, “Which friends?”

You rolled your eyes, your cheekbones slightly pinker than they had been moments before. Just the cold, Regulus reasoned to himself, just a reaction to the cold.

“I don’t know. Friends.” you responded, still avoiding his gaze.

“Like who? Evans? Meadows? Bones? Gonna make a little girl’s night of it?” he teased, wondering, not for the first time, why he always felt the need to poke and prod you like this, “Or were you hoping to tag along with Rosier and me?”

It was bordering on too far. He knew that as soon as he’d said it, but he lived for this. He lived for how your eyes would spark when he challenged you, how you would get still and sure. Nothing made him feel more alive than seeing how far he could push you, and how far you’d push him back. He could see it in your eyes, you weren’t angry with him, you were alert. You were preparing a counter move. The air felt heavy and he noticed, a moment too late, how close your bodies were. He hadn’t moved back. You were practically pressed together. If he leaned in just a little bit, your noses would be brushing. The thought made something in his stomach squirm with delight. He wondered how your skin would feel.

“Is that what we are, then, Regulus?” You asked, your voice low and dangerous, “Friends?”

He didn’t feel like he had the upper hand anymore. He was floundering. The smell of your perfume was filling his head, his heart was pounding at a million miles an hour. The way you were looking at him made him wish he were sober, made him wish he was more drunk, made him wish he was braver, or that he could be sure. It made him wish, for a moment, that he wasn’t Regulus Arcturus Black.

“Isn’t it?” He answered back, because he couldn’t say anything else.

You smiled and, too slow to be anything but intentional, let your eyes drift to his lips and back.

“Do you do this with all your friends, then? Is that why Rosier always looks so chipper.”

Regulus’ answering laugh was more a release of tension than anything else, but he didn’t lean back. He stayed right where we was, watching you watch him.

“No,” he admitted, “I guess this is just for you.”

That was the right answer and, if he was honest with himself, your answering smile was worth losing every single quidditch match he ever played for the rest of his life. Hell, he would give his wand arm to have you keep smiling at him like that.

“Regulus,” you whispered, leaning in, “I think I want to kiss you now.”

He felt his heart stop. You were close enough for him to count your eyelashes. For a moment he let himself fall forward, drawn in by your magnetism, by the irresistible pull of you. His eyes fluttered shut. Merlin, was this happening? He was about to kiss Y/N Y/L/N.

Fuck! He pulled away suddenly, his mother’s face flashing behind his eyes, warning him off love. He had a destiny, a purpose. He couldn’t be kissing girls in towers, acting like he was just another boy. He was Regulus Arcturus Black. He had a duty.

But, lords above, the way your face fell. He wished he were somebody else, anybody else. As you went your separate ways about 30 minutes later, with something unmistakably broken, all that Regulus could think was; Sirius would have kissed you. Sirius wouldn’t have hesitated.

—

Your dress was hot. Okay, yeah you looked hot in it, but temperature wise, it was also just hot. Velvet always is, you reminded yourself, unhelpfully, as you sipped the champagne one of your many dates had brought to liven up the party. It was good stuff and, after sipping it all night, you weren’t feeling nearly as mortified as you had been at the start. You’d successfully avoided That Boy since the night in the astronomy tower, but you were far too proud to let one rejection stop you from attending an event as prestigious and rare as the Yule Ball. The whole castle had been decked out, with little gazebos, benches and strings of lights dotted all over the vast grounds. Objectively speaking, it was incredible. Subjectively, you were having a fairly miserable time. You looked incredible, the drinks were cold, the food was excellent and you were getting the kind of attention that, a year ago, you would have killed for.

Only, there was really only one person you wanted raking their eyes over your body and finding any excuse to touch you, and you weren’t supposed to be thinking about him. No matter how much you danced, drank, and flirted, you couldn’t stop seeing him. Everywhere you turned there was a flash of those flint grey eyes boring into your soul, or a head full of dark curls dipping down onto some person’s chest and filling your mouth with venom. The worst part of it all was how you felt his eyes on you at all times. The weight of them made you breathless, he’d always made you breathless. You made him breathless too. You’d seen it. No matter what he’d done afterwards, you’d seen the way he looked at you, the longing, the desire. Regulus Black wanted you, and it made you furious.

As you sipped your drink, you looked for him in the crowd. One of your admirers, a Bulgarian who’s name you couldn’t remember, had his hand on your waist, but you weren’t listening to a word he said. There he was, Regulus, standing in the centre of a crowd and still managing to look alone as he watched you, a look in his eye that made you want to shiver. For the second time that night you met his eye, and this time you held them. You didn’t look away. Instead, you just let him watch the Durmstrang boy try and convince you to be his for the night, until you could almost feel the waves of jealousy rolling off Regulus in scalding waves of red-hot anger. Then, you politely detangled yourself, and walked away, without a second look.

You didn’t need one. You knew what he’d look like, the same way you knew that he’d wait a second, agonise, and then follow you through the hallways and into the cool night air. You knew Regulus as well as you knew yourself. It was easier than breathing.

The night air was blissfully cold and you breathed it in, letting it clear your head as you made your way to one of the newly erected gazebos on the bank of the black lake. It was charmed a few degrees warmer and to keep the wind and snow out, but it was still heaven compared to the packed, noisy hall. For a long moment you just let the silence wash over you. It felt like a balm on your frayed nerves. Honestly, the amount of time you’d spent worrying about Regulus and this stupid dance was ridiculous, and you were tired of it. You were tired of all of it.

So, no, you weren’t surprised when you heard the footsteps, but you weren’t exactly pleased about it either.

“Just say whatever you need to say and then leave me alone, Black,” you said, not turning around.

“So it’s Black now, is it?” He asked, with a tinge of hurt that made your heart pinch.

“What would you prefer I call you?” You replied.

“My name.”

“Black quite literally is your name.” you countered.

“My first name.” he specified through gritted teeth.

The familiar flicker in your chest that meant a challenge flared to life and you turned to face him.

“Alright. Say whatever you need to say and then leave me alone, Regulus.” you corrected, putting emphasis on the last word.

You expected him to flinch, or step back, but he held firm, something unfamiliar glinting in his eye. For a long moment he just held your gaze, before he swallowed and asked,

“Do you like that Bulgarian boy?”

You left out a bark of laughter, “You have no right to ask that.”

“I know,” he conceded.

“You’re being unfair, Regulus.” you pointed out, your voice wavering.

“I know that too.”

“No, I don’t like him. He was just there.” you admitted, inspecting your nails, “But I suspect you already knew that.”

The corner of Regulus’ mouth lifted, and you were struck breathless again by how beautiful he was. It was unfair, really. One look, a brief smile, and you turned to mush, even after you made a fool of yourself. Even after he’d spent most of the night staring daggers at anyone who dared to do as much as look at you. He always had the upper hand. You always lose.

“I think ‘hoped’ would be a more accurate word for what I was doing,” he admitted with his trademark self-deprecating sincerity.

You snorted, “I would have said sulking.”

He pressed his lips together, but you could see the amusement in his eyes, “That too.”

Another stretch of silence bloomed and grew, and you hated how comfortable it was. You hated how no part of you wanted to go back inside, back to the people who actually wanted you, who adored and fawned over you. You hated how desperate you were to stay with Regulus.

“You look incredible,” he eventually said, with a breathless laugh, “that’s-that’s an understatement. You look…Merlin, Y/N/N, the way you look tonight, I can’t even…”

He shook his head, his curls bouncing around his shoulders in a way that made you desperate to reach out and touch. Much to your dismay, you could feel tears starting to pool up in your eyes.

“Fuck you, Regulus,” you said in a watery voice, “you have no right.”

He nodded, tensing his jaw the way he always did when he was swallowing his words. It made your heart ache. The whole situation was infuriating, and unfair, and so quintessentially Regulus that you couldn’t help but feel like it was inevitable.

“Reg-” you started, at the exact moment he said, “Y/N-”

—

His voice hitched in his throat. You flushed. He could feel that he was flushing too. Fuck, why was this so difficult? He was mad for you, surely you could see that? Surely it was obvious how every nerve in his body was on fire with the effort it took to stop himself from pulling you into his arms and never letting you leave. His heart was a masochistic mess of jealousy and absolute relief, and all he could think was ‘don’t walk away, don’t leave me again’.

You ran a hand over your face, exhausted, and tried again, “Let’s just come out with it then, Reg. Do you want me, or not?”

“Yes,” he answered instantly, “desperately.”

You nodded and stepped closer, “Do you want to be with me, or do you just want to know what I taste like?”

Yes, his heart screamed, yes, yes, yes to all of it! But he swallowed the words.

“It’s not that simple,” he answered quietly.

Your face softened and he could see that you knew what he was thinking. He saw that you sympathised with his pain, but he also saw that it wasn’t enough. You weren’t going to let that be the end of it.

“It really is,” you explained, “it has to be. I can’t keep waiting around, hoping that one date you realise that I’m-” you paused and took a deep breath. Regulus could see the way your eyes watered before you continued, “I need you, Regulus, or I need to move on. There’s no middle ground. So either I walk back into that castle and start that whole moving on thing…”

“Or what?” he asked softly.

You pressed your lips together, sniffing, and shrugged, “Or you tell me to stay. It’s that simple, Reg.”

Just say it, his heart pleaded, just tell her to stay. Fuck mother, fuck father, fuck the consequences, just tell her to stay, tell her we need her too. But he couldn’t make his mouth work. The silence stretched on just a moment too long, and he watched your heart break in real time. You nodded, a look of steely resignation in your eyes.

“Alright, I understand. See you in class, Black.” you said simply, turning to brush your way past him.

SHE’S LEAVING! Everything in him screamed, in unison, and it was like he woke up. He saw your life stretch out before him. He saw you, sad for a while, but then less so and then, before long, you’d be passed him. You’d have a new life, with new friends, and a new person, who wasn’t afraid of loving you. They’d hold your hand in corridors and kiss you in corners. They’d sit and listen to your stories and laugh in all the right places, and Regulus would just…watch. He’d sit on the sidelines and watch you fall in love with someone new, and it would kill him. Not because he didn’t want you to be happy, he did, but because he could have made you happy. Right here, right now, he was letting you slip away when he could give you everything. When he wanted to give you everything. Without thinking, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, spinning you to face him. You looked shocked, but you didn’t cuss him out or run.

“Don’t go,” he said, “stay. Stay with me.”

You held his gaze for a moment, and then nodded, “Alright, alright, I’ll stay.”

“The answer is yes,” he continued. It was like, now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop, “I want to know what you taste like, and I want to be with you. I want to take you home and I want to take you apart, and I want to take you to breakfast. I want it all, I want everything you’re willing to give me.” he admitted in a rush, “I want it all. I want you, Y/N. Merlin, I want so much of you it’s like I can’t breathe for wanting you so much and-”

“Okay, shhh, breathe,” you recommended with a fond laugh.

He tried, but there was too much, too much to say. You took his hand and pressed it to the base of your throat, so he could feel the beat of your heart and your breath coming in and out. Your skin softer even than he’d imagined and feeling it under his hand made him feel like his brain was short circuiting. After months of longing, months of pining and wanting, he was touching you. He wanted more. 

“Breathe, darling, breathe,” you said again, “copy me. In, out, in, out.”

At the nickname, Regulus nearly passed out, but he forced himself to slow down. He needed you to know, to understand that he was yours, that he’d always been yours, and that he always would be. But he had time, you had time. 

“Mostly,” he said breathlessly, sliding his hand up your throat to cup your face as his breathing evened out, “mostly I just want to kiss you right now.”

You smiled, your eyes watering with relief, “I want to kiss you too, but you already knew that.”

And, with that, he finally closed the distance. It wasn’t like fireworks. No, kissing you made fireworks seem garish and small. Kissing you was earthquakes and tsunamis and catching lightning in a bottle in the middle of a storm and it made him tingle with pleasure. Your fingers threaded through his hair, tugged hard, and Regulus saw stars. He pulled your body close, but it wasn’t enough, it would never be enough. He ached for you, he burned for you, and it wasn’t the type of flame that burnt out. Oh no, he had a feeling that, the more you gave him, the brighter it would burn, and the deeper he would ache.

“Lucky me,” he whispered against your lips when you eventually tore yourselves apart.

You hummed your agreement, your fingers still twisted up in his hair, “Speaking of lucky…”

“Mm?” He questioned, pressing his lips down the smooth expanse of your neck, “what’re you suggesting, Ms Y/L/N?”

You sighed, “Take me home, and take me apart, Regulus Black.”

Fuck. If he could bottle those words and drink them, he’d never need to sleep or eat again, he was sure of it.

“Only if you promise me one thing?” he countered, teasingly.

“What’s that?” You asked, pupils already blown wide with desire.

He ducked his head down so that his lips were brushing your ear, “Wear me out?”

You laughed, but it was breathless and needy and you replied, “Oh, I promise.”

#jordsie #jordsie writes #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfiction #Marauders #marauders era #marauders imagine #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #regulus black #regulus fluff #regulus headcanon #regulus x reader #regulus fanfiction #regulus x you #regulus x y/n #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #regulus imagine #regulus black imagine

[scripts4dreamers]

When you know

AN: There’s nothing like getting drunk and singing karaoke to bring two people together. 

Characters: Spencer Reid, Emily Prentiss, Derek Morgan, Penelope Garcia

Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader

Spoilers: None

Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

Prompt: “Hey ! Can you do a spencer imagine about him bringing his crush to the bar with the team and they have a drunk karaoke night and he confesses his feelings for her ? 🥺”

------------------

By the time the phone finally rang, it was nearly 8pm and you’d drifted off into a restless sleep on the couch in your living room. The sound woke you up and you groaned at your empty apartment, fumbling around until you felt the cool metal against your skin.

“Mmhmm?” You hummed, still half asleep.

“Y/N?” Spencer said.

Your heart jumped at the sound of your friend’s voice. You’d been waiting for him to call all day but, when you glanced at the clock and saw how late it was, you decided that you couldn’t let him know that.

“Go away.”

Even through the phone you could hear Spencer shift his weight from one foot to the other, “Y/N/N I’m sorry-“

“No, stop it, I’m still mad at you,” you interrupted without any real malice, “you promised me dinner, Spencer Reid. It’s 8pm.”

“I had a case,” he laughed, “what did you expect me to do? Rush home before we were done?”

“No, that would be unreasonable,” you answered, rolling onto your back, “I expected you to do your job faster so that I wouldn’t have to spend hours wasting away in my apartment.”

“Wasting away?”

“Wasting away!” You repeated, “you should see me, Spence, I’m positively faint from hunger.”

He chuckled through the phone and you could hear the exhaustion in his voice slipping away. The thought made you smile. If there was anything you prided yourself on, it was your ability to make Spencer Reid smile. He may have been a genius, but you were funny so, if you think about it, who was the real winner?

“I’m serious!” You insisted, “I should take you to court, mister. I’ll have you know it’s illegal to keep a girl waiting like this on a Friday night.”

“I think your definition of illegal could probably use some brushing up,” Spencer teased, “and by the way? It’s doctor.”

“Oooooh I’m sorry,” you smiled, “Doctor.”

Spencer laughed again, and you felt a familiar tingle rush through your stomach. You’d known Spencer for quite some time now but, no matter how often you talked, there was something about his voice that always made you weak at the knees.

You’d met at a coffee shop near your house when he’d tripped over your bag and nearly turned your crisp white work shirt into a soggy, caffeinated mess. As it happened, the coffee had narrowly missed you, and you’d insisted on buying him a new one, forcing him to sit down and relax. You’d ended up talking for nearly an hour and, when you arrived the next day, Spencer was already there, with your coffee order in hand. After that, well, you’d been inseparable.

Spencer hummed, “How about I make it up to you? My friends and I are going out tonight, do you wanna come?”

You sat up, “Friends? What friends? Your crime fighting pals?”

You could practically hear him roll his eyes fondly, “You know we’re not technically crime fighters, we’re closer to detectives in the classic sense.”

“Okay, fine, your detective buddies. Either way I’m so there. Where should I meet you?” You replied.

As Spencer listed off the address you rushed to your room, searching the closet for something suitable to wear. You’d never met Spencer’s friends before and you knew you wanted to make a good impression.

—————————

When Spencer hung up, he was somewhere between nervous and excited. It had been too long since he’d seen you face-to-face and the idea of you being right there in front of him in less than twenty minutes was nearly intoxicating.

“She’s coming?” Morgan asked.

“He looks way too happy for her to have said no,” Prentiss smiled.

“Ooooo we get to meet her?” Garcia asked, clapping her hands with excitement.

“It’s about time,” Morgan agreed.

Spencer blushed, “You guys promised you’d be nice.”

“What? I’m nice!” Prentiss argued.

“Yeah, Reid, you've got nothing to worry about. We’ll all be on our best behavior around Lover Girl, I promise,” Morgan said, crossing his heart.

“Derek,” Garcia chided, slapping his arm softly, “her name is, Y/N and she’s about to become my new best friend.”

Spencer smiled as Morgan and Prentiss jumped in, each arguing as to why you were more likely to be their best friend. It comforted his nerves, knowing how much his friends already cared about you. It made sense, after all they’d been listening to him talk about you for months now. In fact, it was Garcia’s idea for him to go back to that coffee shop in the first place. He’d never been more nervous than he was that day, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and hoping you didn’t think he was an absolute creep for getting the order right.

Luckily, you hadn’t, and that had been the start of the most agonizing few months of his life. They were incredible, of course, because you were incredible, but he’d also never felt more out of his depth. He’d had crushes before but with you things felt different, more urgent somehow, like the clock was ticking his time with you away. Maybe it was because he knew he wasn’t right for you, that he worked too much and kept you waiting and never had enough time, and he was just waiting for you to get fed up with waiting on him. Maybe it was because you were so wonderful that it didn’t make sense for someone to not be crazy about you, someone who could give you everything you deserved, someone who definitely wasn’t Spencer. Either way, every moment he had with you was precious, which is why he’d waited so long to introduce you to the BAU. He may have been an adult but, in his heart, Spencer Reid was still an only child and he’d never been good at sharing.

His phone beeped.

Hey! I’m outside...come say hi?

“Shhh!” Spencer said, his heart jumping into his throat as he waved his arms around to silence his friends, “everyone shut up! She’s here.”

Garcia squealed, “Really?”

“Be cool, babygirl,” Morgan smiled, “what are you waiting for, Lover Boy? Go get her!”

Spencer fought down a smile, “Okay, let’s go over the rules: no talking about work, no making her feel weird, no mentioning me talking about her, no inviting her to join the FBI for no reason and no embarrassing stories. Got it?”

“You’ve got it,” Prentiss promised, “like Morgan said, best behavior.”

Garcia looked like she was about to explode with excitement, but she nodded anyway and Morgan wrapped an arm around her shoulder comfortingly, giving Spencer a wink as he did.

“Deep breaths, kid,” he said softly, “it’s gonna be fine.”

Spencer nodded and pushed himself up out of the booth, shooting his friends a double thumbs up as he half walked, half jogged his way to the front of the bar.

When he saw you he froze for a second, his heart literally stuttering in his chest as he took you in. You were beautiful, the small part of his brain that was still functioning supplied, so beautiful that it actually hurt to look at you. He thought he’d be used to the way you made him feel by now but, whether it was the distance or some other magic unique to you, every single time still hit him like a ton of bricks and he was suddenly twelve years old again.

Just then you spotted him, and your face lit up with happiness, shocking Spencer back into action. You rushed over and pulled him close, letting him bury his face in your hair, breathe in your soft, fruity smell and relish in the sudden rush of comfort he felt being in your arms again.

“Spencer!” You cheered as you broke apart, holding onto his forearms and looking him up and down, “Oh my goodness, look at you! You look so nice.”

“Look at me? Look at you!” He responded, trying not to let on how hard he’d tried putting his outfit together, “Not bad for someone on the very brink of starvation.”

“Ah, you flatter me,” you joked, letting him go and adjusting your purse strap.

Spencer noticed the way you were shifting on your feet and fiddling with the hem of your jacket and he felt his heart pinch.

“Hey,” he said, “are you nervous?”

You laughed breathlessly, “That obvious, huh?” You smiled and shrugged, “I don’t know, I just want to make a good impression. This is your family, I want them to like me.”

Spencer bumped your shoulder with his, a rush of happiness bubbling up in his chest at the way you said family. He’d never told you that about the BAU, you’d just known. Just like you’d known a million little things about him that he’d never thought anyone would ever know. Just like you’d known on that first day that he needed someone to talk to. You just knew, and wasn’t that it’s own sort of genius?

“They’re gonna love you,” he assured, injecting sincerity into every word, “trust me.”

You nodded and took a deep breath in, steeling yourself against your nerves and forcing on a smile, “okay. I’m ready.”

And with that, Spencer walked you in. As soon as you stepped into the bar he felt your muscles tense. It was a small bar, cosy and warm, with a stage and a microphone set up for karaoke.

“It’s a karaoke bar?” You hissed, “You didn’t tell me it was a karaoke bar!”

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” Spencer shrugged, “here we are.”

“Y/N!” Garcia greeted, jumping up, “Hi! I mean, hello! I’m Garci-Penelope! I’m Penelope!”

Spencer smiled as he felt your muscles relax and Garcia pulled you into a hug. You laughed, but responded just as enthusiastically.

“Hi! I-uh-I guess you all know my name then,” you grinned.

“Oh shoot,” Garcia said, “sorry, I broke a rule.”

Spencer shot her a panicked look, flushing bright red as you raised your eyebrows at him.

“Don’t mind Garcia,” Prentiss cut in, rescuing Spencer from having to explain, “we're all just really glad to meet you. I’m Emily.”

She reached out to shake your hand and, with that, you took a seat next to Spencer and normal conversation resumed. Morgan and Garcia launched back into their banter while Emily asked questions about your job and when you’d moved to the city. It was easy and normal and...so, so strange.

Spencer was almost painfully aware of how close you were; your leg brushing his under the table, your shoulder nudging his with every little movement you made. He tried to stay focused on what was going on at the table, tried to follow the conversation and add value, but he couldn’t keep the stories straight. Time didn’t make sense anymore. Spencer was completely lost in the unbelievable happiness of having all the people he cared about in one place.

At some point during the night, an immeasurable amount of time later, Morgan bought drinks. That was a mistake. It was a mistake because now you were tipsy and your head was on his shoulder and Spencer thought his head might actually explode with the effort of not blurting out how much he liked you right then and there. You were laughing at something Emily had said, just chuckling like it was the most natural thing in the world and Spencer felt his heart literally swell.

“We should sing!” Garcia said suddenly.

You gasped, slapping Spencer’s thigh with excitement, your whole face lighting up like it was christmas.

“Yes! Yes yes yes! We should sing!” You agreed, “Don’t you think, Spence?? Don’t you think we should sing?”

Spencer laughed and shook his head, “No! No, I don’t sing. Trust me, you don’t want to hear that.”

“Pleeeeaaaaase?” You whined, turning to face him fully and fluttering your eyelashes, “please, Spence?”

Damn those eyes, he thought to himself, feeling his skin flush under the weight of your stare. Maybe this would be easier if he was drunk. He couldn’t say no to you at the best of times but, when you’re pouting at him like that, with full puppy dog eyes? Oh yeah, he was beyond putty in your hands. Spencer could practically taste Morgan’s smug look.

He rolled his eyes fondly, giving in to the inevitable, “What would we even sing?”

Somehow, your smile grew infinitely bigger and Spencer’s heart did that thing where it jumped into his throat and stuttered at the same time.

“Thank you! You’re the best!” You turned to Garcia, “Well? You coming, ‘Nel?”

“You betcha!” Garcia smiled, pulling you up and towards the stage.

At the last second you reached out and grabbed Spencer’s hand, laughing your head off as you went. His skin felt like it was on fire where you touched him, little shocks of electricity running through every inch of skin that touched yours. It was a little ridiculous really, how quickly Spencer lost his head when you touched him. All that genius, all those years of schooling sharpening his mind into a finely crafted machine and all he could think about was the feeling of skin on skin, and the smell of your hair.

The stage was sticky. The microphone was pitchy and jarring. Everything was way too much, and completely dull at the same time because all he could see was you. You and Garcia were hunched over a screen, laughing and talking as you picked a song. The music started and you grabbed the microphone, smiling over at him like it was nothing. Spencer knew he should be nervous, he should be hating every second of being up on stage in front of a group of strangers but, for some reason, he wasn’t. He was happy and calm and like ten other adjectives that almost never described him in the hours after a case, but that seemed to follow you around like a shadow.

You opened your mouth, too drunk to be properly singing, but still sober enough to be almost on key, “Here’s the thing, We started off friends-”

Garcia joined in, “It was cool but it was all prete-end, yeah yeah,”

“Since you been gone!”

You waved him over and Spencer followed, letting you point out the screen where the words appeared line by line. To be in front of the mic, Spencer had to lean in towards you and woah that’s close. He could count every single eyelash and see individual flakes of glitter against your skin, but he pushed the image down, tucking it away into the back of his mind somewhere for him to take out again when he was alone. All this happened in a split second, just long enough for Spencer to remember where he was and snap back into the present.

“You dedicated, you took the time,” The three of you sang together, trying to stifle laughter when Garcia tried to harmonize, “It wasn’t long before I called you mi-ine, yeah yeah, Since you been gone!”

You closed your eyes, throwing your head back as you sang and drawing Spencer in even closer.

“And all you’d ever hear me say Is how I picture me with you! That’s all you’d ever hear me say!”

You opened your eyes, turning to Garcia as the music swelled.

“But since you been gone! I can breathe for the fiiiiiirst tiiiiiiime, I’m so moving on, YEAH YEAH” you screamed together, even Spencer giving into the music for a moment, “Thanks to you! Now I get! I get what I waaaaaaaant! Since you been gone!”

Spencer couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation and, when he did, you met his eye and followed suit, doubling over and clutching your stomach as you laughed together, Spencer wrapped an arm around your waist and helped you up so that you could support Garcia as her back up singers. It was silly and goofy and fun, and Spencer didn’t really want it to end because it meant he could be close to you. It meant he had a reason to be close to you that wasn’t just his own selfishness and it felt like you wanted to be close to him too.

As the song came to an end and Garcia warbled out a final, “since you been gone”, Spencer found himself just looking at you, something thrumming just below the surface in his chest. His arm was still around your waist, just a friend supporting another friend, that’s all, totally innocent. Except that it wasn’t because he was looking at you like you were salvation and he could feel it happening, he just didn’t care. Because it was obvious, wasn’t it? It was obvious that he loved you. He’d maybe always loved you, ever since that day at the coffee shop and maybe that was okay. Maybe it was okay that he loved you even though he didn’t deserve you because, well, you knew him. You knew Spencer in a way that only one or two people in his entire life had ever known him and you still seemed to like him, you still looked at him like he was something special and precious.

Garcia pulled you both off the stage, bowing to the smattering of applause from the crowd and the whoops and hollers from the table where his friends were sitting. Instinctively, Spencer tugged you back, shooting Garcia an apologetic look, which she accepted with a nod and a subtle smile. His heart was in his throat but, when you turned and looked back at him, tilting your head in confusion, he felt sure.

“Hey-uh-can we-” he paused, smiling sheepishly as he felt himself flush, “can we talk, quickly?”

You frowned, concerned, but nodded and let him pull you aside, and Spencer loved you so much for it that he wanted to scream. Looking around, he managed to spy a somewhat empty corner of the bar, far enough away from the stage that you’d be able to talk without having to raise your voice. It wasn’t perfect, if he’d known-well-if he’d known how tonight was going to go he would have planned something more romantic, but he didn’t and the idea of knowing how he felt and not telling you about it made him feel sick. Because it all made sense now, the sense of urgency, the way his crush on you had never felt like a crush, the way one conversation with you felt just like three hours of uninterrupted reading. It all made sense and he needed you to know, right now, before he got called away on another case and you were apart for God knows how long. He needed you to know.

“Spence?” You asked as soon as you were in the corner, “What’s going on, did I do something wrong?”

“What? No! No-Y/N-you’re-” he started, forcing himself out of his head and back into the moment, “you’ve been incredible. You are incredible, which is sort of what I wanted us to talk about-or-no not exactly?” he rambled, his thoughts and feelings tripping and stumbling over one another in an attempt to find just the right combination of words for the way he was feeling, “I mean it is-you are-but I realised that you’ve always-ugh, sorry-”

“Hey,” you chuckled gently, taking one of his hands in both of yours, “it’s okay, just slow down. We’re not all super geniuses, you know?”

Spencer paused, taking a deep breath and letting his thoughts catch up with one another. God, you really were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, some part of him noted, and your smile….When you smiled at him like you were right then, like he was the only person in the room, like there was nowhere else you’d rather be than right there in that dingy karaoke bar, all his fears just kind of...went away. He could still feel them, if he really tried, but they were distant, locked up in another room, behind a metal door with a padlock on it. They were so far away and you were so close and wasn’t that more important?

“I’m in love with you,” he heard himself say, “I think I’ve been in love with you for a long time, and I know that-I know that you don’t owe me anything, and I’m not trying to pressure you, or force you to do anything, I just thought you should know because-because it’s the truth, and I think you deserve the truth.” he paused, wishing that he could gauge some sort of reaction besides the slight widening of your eyes, “And the truth is that I’m in love with you, Y/N, and-”

Thankfully, you kissed him before he had to figure out how to finish that sentence. He barely had time to notice you leaning in before your lips were on his, soft and sure, like you were answering a question, or saying a prayer. Everything else faded away, nothing was as important as you and, without even thinking, Spencer kissed you back, wrapping his arms around your waist and tugging you closer. Your fingers threaded through his hair and he sighed against your lips, some small part of his brain wondering if kissing was supposed to feel this good. Had it ever felt like this before? Had he ever wanted like this before? No, not until you. Because you were different, you’d always been different and, if the way you whispered his name against his mouth when he nipped at your bottom lip was anything to go by, you’d always been his, and he just hadn’t known it.

He could have stayed like that forever, wrapped up in your arms with the burnt sugar taste of your lips on his tongue, but eventually you had to break apart, even if it was only to breathe. Thankfully, you stayed close, resting your forehead against Spencer’s as you basked in the moment.

“I-love you too,” you chuckled breathlessly, “in case that much wasn’t blatantly obvious.”

“You know, I’d like to say I had a hunch,” he responded, “but I really didn’t.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, leaning forward to press another, much gentler kiss to his lips, “What, you thought I dressed like this for Morgan?”

There was something sinful about being able to let his eyes trace your body like this so openly, something private and intimate that made Spencer want to blush.

“I-uh-I tried very hard not to think about who you dressed like that for, actually,” he admitted, and then quickly continued, “not that you dress a specific way for anybody, or that there’s anything wrong if you do it’s just-you know-women can dress how they like, and there’s nothing intrinsically identifiable in the way a woman dresses that allows a person to truly know what she wants or doesn’t want. Not that you want anything, I just-”

You cut him off with another kiss and Spencer melted into it gratefully. He could feel you smiling into the kiss and, for once, he was grateful for his rambling. For once, Spencer Reid couldn’t think of a single thing he’d change about himself, because you loved him and that was too good a thing for him to want to mess with.

taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​

#jordsie #jordsie writes #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanons #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x you

[scripts4dreamers]

And Stuff

AN: When you decided on a life of academia, you’d never expected to meet someone like Spencer Reid 

Characters: Spencer Reid Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

------------------

You hated this stupid paper, you really really did. You stared blankly at your screen, reading and rereading the same two paragraphs in the vain hope that something would stick, but it was all gibberish.

“Hey, there’s my favorite PhD student,” a familiar voice called, collapsing into the seat beside you, “coffee?”

“Please,” you sighed gratefully, wrapping your hands around the disposable cup and taking a deep sip. It was perfect, just warm enough to shock some life back into you, “I owe you one, Prof. Reid.”

Spencer wrinkled his nose distastefully, and you laughed.

“I told you I hate that,” he said.

“And we both know that’s a lie,” you teased back, “you love being called Professor.”

“By my students,” he admitted, “not by you. How’s the thesis outline coming along?”

You sighed, “it’s not.”

“Can I take a look?” Spencer asked, reaching out towards you.

“Noooooo way,” you said, closing your laptop quickly, “not until it’s done.”

“But, Y/N-“

“No, Spence! It’s terrible.”

Spencer stuck his tongue out at you but didn’t press the issue as he pulled a stack of unmarked essays out of his satchel. You and Spencer had met a few years ago, when you’d both started a BA in philosophy. It was your third undergraduate degree, but like Spencer’s hundredth, and you’d bonded over your love of academia almost instantly. By now, meeting in one of the common areas to study and work together was almost a ritual, twice a week at least, every week of the semester. You loved it, you relied on it really. Without Spencer you were sure you’d have lost your mind years ago.

Spencer couldn’t always stay long, after all he was still a hot shot FBI agent, but even just the little bit of time you did have together was like a breath of fresh air. You both looked forward to the chance to talk about something other than your jobs for once.

“I’m sure it’s not, Y/N/N,” Spencer assured.

“Mhhm,” you said unconvincingly, “what about you? Did you get your epistemology paper in on time?”

“Oh yeah. I’m not sure anything I wrote technically qualifies as an argument, but it’s done.” Spencer replied, his eyes tracing the papers in front of him at lightning speed and marking as he went

You could see the signs of exhaustion on his face and your stomach pinched with concern. Spencer was a genius, you knew that better than anyone, but even he wasn’t immune to the stresses of university life. He was always burning the candle at both ends, taking on more than any reasonable person could ever hope to accomplish, and that was before he started teaching an intro to criminology class. It worried you.

“Spence?”

He looked up, his eyes still glassy and faraway, the hint of a smile on his lips, “Mmhmm?”

You frowned, “Are you okay? You look exhausted.”

Spencer nodded, “Did you know that some studies have shown that an adult man can actually survive on as little as two hours of sleep a night without showing outwards signs of exhaustion?” He rambled, gesturing at nothing with his hands, “Sleep deprivation will, of course, affect your mental capabilities over time, but the amount of time that process actually takes is fairly individual. In my case-“ he looked over, noticed you raising your eyebrows at him, and laughed, obviously realising just how tired he was. “Yeah I’m a little tired,” he admitted, “it’s just been a long week that’s all. I was up for a few days for a case,,” he nudged your shoulder with his, “you know if you took me up on my offer I’d probably have more time to sleep.”

“Me? Join the FBI?” You scoffed, shaking your head, “No way. I’ve never even held a gun.”

“Neither had I before I joined.”

“Yeah but you’re-“ you gestured in his general direction, “you know.”

“I’m what?”

“You know,” you huffed, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment, “strong. And brave. And stuff.”

Spencer laughed but he looked pleased with himself nonetheless, “you think I’m strong and brave?”

“And stuff,” you clarified, “I’m an academic. I’m perfectly happy in a dark room with my dusty books and manuscripts, thank you very much.”

Spencer nodded, stealing a sip of your coffee and grimacing at the taste, “is there any sugar in this at all?”

“You tell me,” You answered, “you bought it.”

“Well there’s obviously not enough, you can still taste the actual coffee,” he said, just as his phone started to beep frantically.

Spencer took it out of his pocket and frowned at the screen. Your heart sunk a little but, when Spencer looked up at you apologetically, you shot him a small smile.

“Duty calls,” you said simply.

Spencer nodded, packing his stack of papers back into his satchel, “I’m sorry, Y/N/N. I’ll see you back here on Friday?”

“Sure,” you agreed, “if you’re back by then.”

“And you’ll send me your thesis outline when you’re finished with it?”

“Of course.”

Spencer wrapped one arm around your shoulder, giving you a quick hug, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Enjoy your day.”

“Good luck, Professor,” you smiled, waving him off, “and thanks for the coffee!”

He waved back at you, half jogging and already on the phone as he vanished into the incoming crowds. You watched him go, sighing sadly as you turned back to your unfinished outline.

“Okay, Y/N, you can do this. Spencer’s written like three of these, let’s go.” You muttered, “The psychological implications of linguistic progression, think.”

You threw yourself back into your research, losing yourself in the methodical nature of your work. The coffee next to you got cold.

————————

Spencer was flushed by the time he made it into the office, his cheeks hurting with the effort of suppressing his smile. Time with you always did that to him, no matter how drained he was when he first arrived.

You were like a ray of sunshine on an otherwise very gloomy day, and ten minutes with you was better for his mental health than a whole weekend’s worth of sleep. You were sweet, and funny, and you let him ramble about whatever he wanted to and even pretended to listen. Meeting you for coffee every week had become more than an act of friendship, it was an act of self care, a thin thread holding what was left of his sanity together.

His phone chimed and he smiled down at the message, a picture of you sipping your coffee and giving the cameras a big thumbs up:

Go kick some bad guy ass, Wise Guy!

He started typing up a reply but, before he could, someone interrupted.

“Good date, Pretty Boy?” Morgan greeted.

“It’s not a date, Morgan, you know that,” Spencer replied, fondly, “it’s just coffee with a friend.”

“Oh yeah it’s totally not a date, just a biweekly coffee hangout with someone you’ve been in love with since forever.”

“Yeah, exactly,” he smiled.

“But it did go well, then?” He retorted with a knowing smile.

Spencer smiled and nodded, “She thinks I’m strong and brave and stuff.”

“And stuff?”

“And stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Prentiss interjected.

Spencer froze, “I don’t know, I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Does she know you’re not dating?” Prentiss asked.

“What? Yes of course! Or-maybe? I don’t know we haven’t exactly talked about it.” Spencer replied.

“No, she doesn’t know,” Morgan clarified.

Spencer opened his mouth to argue but, before he could, Garcia cut in.

“Okay my little geniuses, it’s a weird one today. Let’s get briefed,” Garcia called.

“When do we get to meet her?” Prentiss whispered as they took their seats.

“Never,” Spencer replied.

Emily pouted, “you’re no fun.”

Spencer smiled but, as the briefing went on and the picture of their newest case got clearer and clearer, so did something else; they couldn’t do this alone. They needed help, very very specific help. His heart sunk. As they headed to the jet, Spencer pulled out his phone, wishing to God he didn’t have to.

“Hey, Y/N, remember how you said you owed me one?”

—————————-

This had to be some sort of nightmare, you thought to yourself as you stepped off the jet. When Spencer had first called you, you’d laughed, told him to stop joking around and tell you what he actually wanted but, as it turned out, he was serious. They had a case, he’d said, one that required a certain set of expertise, one that only you had. And you couldn’t really say no could you? Not to Spencer.

And now you’d solved it. It was over. Your hands were shaking and you’d never been this tired in your life, but it was over. You felt a hand on your shoulder and jumped.

“Hey, it’s alright, kid,” Derek Morgan assured you, “you’re okay.”

You nodded, even though it wasn’t a question and gave him a small smile.

“I know.”

Derek nodded, his dark eyes boring into you in that way only members of the BAU could, like they were looking into you and not at you, so you tried to look brave.

“You did good work on this case,” Derek said, walking back to the building with you, “without you I’m not sure we would’ve caught the guy.”

You shook your head, “Spen-Reid would have figured it out eventually.”

Derek pressed his lips together, “Probably, but even he said it would’ve taken him days to reconstruct the language from scratch, even without adding the psychology behind it. In that time who knows how many people our UnSub would have been able to get.”

You looked over your shoulder to where Spencer was standing at the base of the jet’s stairs, looking everywhere but at you. He’d been acting distant for a while now, ever since Hotch had decided to strap you into a bulletproof vest and send you in to talk a maniac off a ledge. The UnSub had been having some sort of psychotic break, he’d forgotten how to speak English and communicated exclusively in a language he’d created himself, a combination of several that pointed to details about his personal life. It was fascinating, in the worst way possible, a real life application of the theory you’d been working on for years. It would make your thesis a piece of cake to finish.

The thought made you feel nauseous.

“Is he-“ you asked Derek, pressing your lips together nervously, “is he angry at me or something?”

He frowned, “Reid? No. He’s crazy about you, he looks forward to those coffee dates with you every week for days.”

You flushed, “They're not dates, Derek.”

“Oh yeah, sorry,” he replied, sarcastically, “slip of the tongue.” He ruffled your hair fondly, “Go on, talk to him, I’ll call you a cab when you’re done.”

You nodded and hung back, letting Derek’s hulking form vanish into the FBI building as you made your way slowly back toward the jet. Spencer was staring up at the moon, looking pensive and beautiful and painfully sad.

“Hey, there’s my favorite profiler,” you greeted gently, “you alright?”

“Hey,” he replied, still looking up at the moon, “why didn’t you go inside with everyone else?”

“I was waiting for you,” you explained, “I wanted to see if you’re okay.”

“If I’m okay?” He laughed incredulously, meeting your eye, “Y/N, I’m out here because I’m trying to figure out what I could possibly say to make up for what I just put you through.” He explained, “This...this stuff-it’s my world, not yours. I should never have brought you into it.”

“Spencer you needed me, your team needed an expert and, no offense, but your social circle isn’t big enough to have two experts in linguistic psychology.” You teased gently.

Spencer chuckled and crossed his arms over his chest.

You stepped forward, resting a hand gently on his bicep, “You made the right decision, Spence. I’m glad you called, I’m-“ you paused, “I’m glad you let me help you.”

Spencer snorted, “And it nearly got you killed.”

“It didn’t nearly get me killed-“

“Yes. It did,” he insisted, “the UnSub was psychotic, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t have killed you on sight. Hotch should never have let you-I should never have let you go in there.”

“But I wanted to and I’m fine. The case is over, Spence, we’re in the clear.” You assured him, “Things can go back to normal now.”

“No, they can’t!” Spencer practically shouted, turning to face you, his eyes red and puffy. You instinctively stepped back and Spencer pressed his lips together, looking guilty, “Y/N, I-knowing you were in danger and that there was nothing I could do about it...it killed me. You were never meant to know about any of this, you were meant to be safe! I was meant to keep you safe!” He explained, running a hand through his hair, “You were the one thing in my life that this stuff couldn’t touch and now-“ he breathed, “now everytime you look at me you’re gonna think about this, and him, and everything I put you through and-“ he met your eye, “and things will be weird and you’ll stop wanting to talk to me. Things won’t be the same, Y/N.”

You flushed and stepped forward, “You're worried that I’m not gonna talk to you anymore?” You asked. Spencer didn’t answer, but the way he avoided your eye and worked his jaw seemed like answer enough, “Spence,” you smiled, “you’re like...my favorite person in the world. This stuff,” you gestured around, “what you do, it doesn’t change that. In fact I think it’s kind of incredible. You guys tracked down a serial killer based on nothing but some muddled letters, who does that?” You laughed.

Spencer didn’t respond, but the edges of his lips twitched, like he wanted to smile. You watched him for a moment, the way he held his head, the way his eyes darted up to yours. He was just as beautiful as he’d always been, but there was something more now. He was vulnerable, you realized, really vulnerable for the first time since you’d known him. No matter what he said, Spencer was reaching out to you.

“Your world is messed up, Spencer,” you continued, stepping forward and taking his hand, “but you aren’t. We aren’t, and I’m glad I got to be there when you needed me. We’re good, okay?”

“Do you promise?” He asked, his voice small.

You squeezed his hand, “I promise.”

Spencer nodded, squeezing back, and let you slowly pull him back towards the FBI building.

“Besides,” you continued, “you still owe me a look at my thesis.”

Spencer snorted, “That’ll literally take me 3 seconds.”

“Show off.”

“What? It’s true.” He laughed.

You suddenly realized that Spencer was still holding your hand and, when he saw you looking and tried to pull away, you held on tighter. Spencer smiled nervously, and you felt a rush of something warm and promising flow through you.

“Hey, Y/N?” He started nervously.

“Yes, Spencer?”

“Are we dating?” He asked.

“After today? We’d better be. I’m expecting at least a dinner after almost getting shot for you.” You teased, bumping his shoulder with yours.

“That’s so not funny,” Spencer replied, but he was smiling when he said it.

“It’s a little bit funny.”

“Fine,” Spencer agreed, stopping in his tracks and pulling you towards him, “it’s a little bit funny.”

And that’s when he pulled you in, cupping your face with his hands and pressing his lips to yours. Just like that, the weariness of the day melted away, disappearing into a kiss that tasted like burnt coffee and sugar and the best champagne you’d ever had. Spencer was strong and sure. He kissed you like it was the only chance he’d ever get, like he wanted to burn the memory of you into that brilliant mind of his forever. When you broke apart it felt like the earth had shifted beneath you and you stared at one another, breathless and smiling like teenagers caught making out beneath the bleachers.

“Oh yeah,” you laughed, “yeah you definitely owe me dinner.”

“Woohoo!” Morgan cheered.

“Ooooo, Y/N and Reid sitting in a tree,” Prentiss sang, “K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

“Go get ‘em, Lover Boy,” Garcia joined in.

Spencer laughed, letting his head fall down onto your shoulder, humming when you threaded your finger through his hair.

“Can we-um-can we maybe continue this at a later date?” Spencer asked, “Like maybe at dinner? Or,” he checked his watch, “breakfast, maybe?”

You looked back at Spencer’s team and felt, with a sudden rush of clarity, that you were looking at a group of people who would soon be staples of your life.

“Let’s go get coffee with the others,” you answered, “and then after that,” you tilted his head up and kissed him softly, “you can take me to breakfast.”

taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​ 

#jordsie #jordsie writes #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanons #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine #matthew gray gubler x you #matthew gray gubler

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt. 1

Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven

AN: Nuh uh, nope. Not this again. You did not sign up for this.  Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi. Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol, eventual NSFW content

Prompt: After watching 7x07 “This episode is so scary man... Imagine just doing your job which is pretty morbid at times but oh well and then suddenly you have to go to this place where there's a lot of tornadoes and you're like well at least I'm inside and safe and then your boss is like "we gotta go right to these tornado places lol" and then you think "well that's scary but at least we have this handy dandy live map showing us exactly in real time where the tornadoes are so we'll be fine and then the internet is like "haha nope have fun dying in a tornado" 

- @pirateismywayofspeaking​ who is a literal genius.

This will be a multichapter piece! So lemme know if you want to be tagged in subsequent chapters. 

—————————-

Usually, when terrible things happen, people say the same few things: “I never thought it would happen to me! You never think something like this will happen to you until it does!”. You’d never really been that type of person. You were naturally cautious, and an ex FBI agent, you saw danger pretty much everywhere. You’d seen some of the worst things human beings could ever do to one another and, if you’d learned anything at all, it was that bad things happened everywhere and to pretty much everyone. There was nowhere that you could definitively say was safe from violent crime, but this was just ridiculous.

You looked around the ruined bookshop you’d poured the last year of your life into with a kind of detached sadness. Even before you opened the door, you could see the carnage. The shelves were upended, tables flipped, every vase in the building was smashed...except one. You sighed, stepping into the store, your eyes scanning the wreck with a practiced efficiency. No broken windows, the door was still locked when you’d arrived and your security cameras were blacked out, there were no signs of forced entry. If anything that made you more uneasy and, not for the first time since you’d left the bureau, you missed the weight of your gun against your hip. You crinkled your nose against the smell, the copper-iron of fresh blood that you were all too familiar with as you crept through your store.

“Son of a-fuck!” You swore loudly, cursing your luck as you took in the scene.

There was a body laid out in the middle of the Fiction aisle: face covered with a burlap sack, wrists and ankles bound with rope and blood seeping into the carpets you’d just had cleaned. Your training kicked in and you noticed, without meaning to, that the rest of the aisle was untouched. The shelves were upright, books in order, even the vase of white roses you’d put there the night before were all completely the way you’d left them. It was like he’d just completely bypassed the entire section.

Huh.

You looked up at the sky, “Really? Right now? You throw this at me, now? Unbelievable.”

There was a sinking feeling in the pit of your chest, along with a nervousness that you were telling yourself was irritation as you pulled out your phone. It had been a long while since you’d done this, but you still knew the number by heart.

“This is agent Jareau with the Behavioural Analysis Unit.”

“JJ, it’s me,” you said, “you’re not gonna believe this.”

——————————

You sat in the ruins of your store until the cops arrived, wondering who exactly you had murdered in a past life to end up with this kind of luck. You gave your statement without much incident, directing CSU to the body and alerting the detective to the abnormalities you’d spotted.

JJ had promised to get the team on the case as quickly as she could, and you knew JJ tended to get exactly what she wanted in that regard, you just didn’t know how you felt about that. It had been over a year since you’d left the BAU, since you’d done one case too many and just got fed all the way up. It really wasn’t any deeper than that. One day you’d come home and found that you couldn’t sleep. It had all just become too much, so you packed up your stuff, tendered your resignation, and started over.

It had been hard at first, but now you owned a fairly successful bookstore with a little coffee shop where you sold good coffee, and homemade biscuits. And it was nice. You felt good, kinda. You definitely slept better at night. Your life was finally starting to feel normal and now this? A dead body just happens to appear in the center of your bookstore in just weird enough a way to warrant a call to the BAU? No, you’d seen too much to consider this a coincidence. Whether you liked it or not, you were about to get thrown back into your old life head first, the life you’d worked so hard to get some distance from. So why weren’t you more...upset?

“Y/L/N?” A familiar voice called.

“In here,” you answered, your voice raspy from disuse. You cleared your throat and pushed yourself up onto your feet, “I’m in here.” You tried again.

The figures who stepped in were painfully familiar and you couldn’t help the tired smile that slid onto your face, your eyes going directly to the blonde woman walking at the very front.

“Y/N!” She greeted, her voice dripping with relief as she pulled you into a hug, “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, JJ,” you assured her as you broke apart, the rest of your old team filing in behind her.

She eyed you like she wasn’t sure, pressing her lips into a thin line as she looked around the trashed store. Derek Morgan swooped in behind her, giving you a second hug.

“Long time, Y/L/N,” he smiled.

You sighed, “Wish it was under better circumstances, Morgs, but I’m glad you guys are here.”

“Y/L/N,” Aaron Hotchner greeted, giving you a firm handshake.

“Thanks for coming, Hotch, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.” You admitted.

“No, you made the right call. The BAU has officially taken on the case. Reid, Prentiss and Rossi are coordinating with the local PD from our headquarters, the rest of us are here to help,” he said, pausing and meeting your eye, silently asking the question you’d been waiting all morning for.

“No sign of forced entry,” you started, “the front door was still locked from the outside when I arrived.” You walked him through the crime scene, glass crunching beneath your feet as you went, “It looks like someone sprayed black paint over the security cameras I had installed, everything’s been smashed but there’s no cash missing from the register. In fact, they barely touched the front desk at all.” You explained, “And this,” you gestured at the Fiction aisle, “is where I found the body.”

Morgan stepped forward and, just like that, the team moved like a well oiled machine.

“White male, looks like he’s between the ages of 19 and 27.” Morgan started.

“His wrists and ankles are bound, but it doesn’t look like he struggled against his restraints at all,” you cut in, without meaning to, crouching down beside the body, “it could mean he was tied up postmortem.”

“We’ll have to wait on the M.E’s report to know for sure,” Hotch agreed, “Y/L/N, can I talk to you?” You nodded and let him pull you aside. He glanced over your shoulder and lowered his voice, “I know you’re out and we can do this investigation without you-“

“But?” You probed.

The corners of Hotch’s mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile, “But, I would also welcome your help if you’re willing to give it. The team is still a man down and, something about this scene has me thinking-“

“That whoever did this isn’t finished,” you agreed, sighing as you ran your fingers through your hair.

Everything was so messed up in your head. You just wanted to go back to bed and start this day all over again. Hotch looked at you and you recognized his brand of quiet concern. It was familiar and comforting, and it helped you process your thoughts.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” you frowned, “yeah. Yeah, sure, I’ll come back.” Hotch smiled and you wagged a finger at him, “But just for this one case! After that I’m straight back to my boring normal person life, alright?”

“Of course,” he agreed, something almost mocking in his tone.

“I’m serious, Hotch, just one more case.”

“I’m agreeing with you!” He insisted, already walking back to the rest of the group.

But he wasn’t and, much to your chagrin, you felt the familiar rush of adrenaline as you turned back to the scene of the crime.

“Hotch, Y/L/N,” Morgan called, holding something in his gloved hand, “you’re gonna want to see this.”

“Here we go again,” you sighed.

————————-

Walking back into the BAU had felt like stepping back in time. After you’d gotten everything you could from the crime scene there was nothing to do but brainstorm, but walking through those doors again...well, let’s say you hadn’t been prepared for how it would feel being back. For the most part, everyone had been glad to see you, especially Garcia, but you could tell that there were still some resentments bubbling under the surface. It made sense, the BAU survived by relying on one another, by acting like a family, and you’d left that family.

Still, there was a rhythm to this kind of work, a flow that was almost painfully easy to fall back into. You’d worked together for years after all, bouncing ideas off of one another like it was nothing and that kind of bond didn’t just go away.

“Admit it,” Derek teased, bumping your shoulder with his as you studied the evidence board, “you missed this.”

“I most certainly did not.”

“Oh you so did,” Spencer agreed, leaning against the table next to you and giving you a fond smile, “I’m sorry about the bookstore though, it was the only store in town with a proper selection of classics in their original languages.”

You shrugged, “I’ll get it up and running again soon enough, just as soon as we catch whoever did this.”

“Speaking of our UnSub, what do you think the relevance of him leaving the body in the fiction section is?” Spencer asked.

“Maybe he’s trying to say that this is some kind of fairytale?” Prentiss suggested, “Like he’s trying to draw us into his story?”

“Maybe, but this has gotta be more personal than that, right?” Morgan said, “I mean, this isn’t some body in an alley, it was dumped in an FBI agent’s coffee shop.”

“Ex agent,” you corrected.

“Sure thing, Princess,” Morgan teased.

“Why does everyone keep talking like that?” You asked.

“Because you leaving is ridiculous. You love this job,” He replied simply, “you’ve always loved this job.”

You opened your mouth to respond but, before you could, you heard the clacking of heels against the marble floor.

“Um, guys?” Garcia said, coming into the bullpen with a stormy look on her face, “we just got word from the officer who went to Y/N’s apartment.”

“And?” You asked nervously.

“They found something,”

“Another body?” Prentiss asked.

“No, weirder, a letter and what looks like a smiley face drawn on the wall in blood.” She said, pressing a button to display the new crime scene photos on the big screen.

Your heart froze in your chest.

There it was; a crude smiley face drawn right above your headboard and a crisp white envelope resting against your pillow. He’d made your bed too, some small part of your mind noted. How polite. Instinctively, you crossed your arms over your chest as you were hit with a mixture of panic and disgust.

“Of course,” you sighed, “of course there is. Why wouldn’t there be? It’s been that kind of day.”

“Do we know what the letter says?” Morgan asked.

Garcia nodded, “And it’s a doozy. The letter contains a poem written with letters cut out from magazines and newspapers. It reads:

Since there’s no help, come let us kiss and part.

Nay, I have done, you get no more of me;

And I am glad, yea glad with all my heart,

That thus so cleanly I myself can free.

Shake hands for ever, cancel all our vows,

And when we meet at any time again,

Be it not seen in either of our brows

That we one jot of former love retain …”

You could feel your friends staring and you tried to keep your face as neutral as possible. Your skin felt like it was on fire, and you could hear the blood pounding in your ears as you thought of a murderer setting foot in your space; him touching your bed, running his hands over the photos on your nightstand, defiling your possessions with his presence. You’d never felt so vulnerable and exposed, and bile rose up in your stomach like your body was physically rejecting the whole thing. Distantly you heard Prentiss and Morgan discussing theories, and you felt one pair of warm brown eyes staring into the side of your head.

Suddenly, you didn’t feel like joking around anymore.

“Sorry,” you muttered, standing up and striding out of the room without looking back, “I need some air.”

You were so angry by the time you made it out into the courtyard that you’d balled your hands into fists and your breath was coming out in short little bursts. Hot tears pricked at the corners of your eyes and your chest felt painfully tight.

“Y/N?” You heard Spencer ask.

You sniffed, wiping your face quickly, “Reid, hi. Sorry, I just-“ you let out a slow breath, “I needed a break.”

He nodded like he understood, tucking his hands into his pockets as he stepped towards you. You wanted to tell him to go away, to head back inside and leave you the hell alone, but the words wouldn’t come.

It had always been like this with Spencer. No matter how hard you tried to be tough and brave and put together, he saw right through you and broke down your defenses. At one point, he’d been the closest thing to family you’d ever had, in fact you thought you might…..

Well, it didn’t matter now. Over the last year things had changed, you’d grown apart. It happened, but the fondness was still there, and the trust, and those damn eyes.

“I get it, Y/N, I can't even imagine what this whole thing must be like for you,” he said, “having your home be violated like that….and the store?” He shook his head, “I know how hard you worked setting that place up.”

Your bottom lip trembled and, for the first time that day, you let yourself feel afraid as tears slipped down your cheeks.

You shook your head, “You know, when I saw the glass all over the floor, and all the books….I just felt tired, like bone tired. I wasn’t scared of that, but now?” You paused, glancing up at Spencer, as a tear slid down your cheek, “He was in my home, Spencer. He made my bed before he left, he wrote me a letter.”

Spencer worked his jaw and hesitantly reached out, touching your shoulder gently.

“We’ll catch him, Y/N/N, we always do.” He promised.

“And until then?” You asked, “Do I just pretend it never happened? Go home and act like it’s all okay?”

“No,” another voice cut in from behind you, “you rely on us. We’ll take care of you,” Morgan explained.

“Yeah,” Garcia agreed, her big blue eyes clinging to yours, “We’ve talked about it already. You’ll take turns staying with each of us a few nights a week and then, on the weekends, we’ll all stay with Rossi to go over the case. And we’ll spend every free moment tracking this son of a bitch down for you.”

Emily nodded and, for the first time since you had opened your store that morning, you felt your chest swell with something a little like hope. You knew the BAU was special, you knew that the bonds you’d formed over the years were damn near unbreakable, but this? This was too much. Seeing your friends rally around you when you needed them most just reminded you how much you loved them, and how much they still loved you. Even now. Spencer gave your shoulder a squeeze and you smiled back at him.

“I really missed you guys,” you said with a watery laugh.

Penelope crooned and threw her arms around your neck, pulling you into a familiarly bone-crushing hug.

“We missed you too, Sugar Plum,” she promised.

“Really?”

“Hell yeah!” Morgan smiled, joining Penelope’s hug.

“You know we did,” Emily agreed, ruffling your hair and pulling herself in close.

Your eyes found Spencer where he was standing just outside of the group hug, both hands in his pockets and a sad smile on his face. You pressed your lips together and, in response, he nodded.

“We missed you,” he said softly and then, as the hug broke up and you allude your way back inside, even softer, “we still do.”

---------------- 

Taglist: @ourfavoritesergeantbarnes​

#jordsie #jordsie writes #cm imagine #cm #cm headcanons #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanons #Penelope garcia #penelope garcia imagine #derek morgan #emily prentiss #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner #david rossi

[scripts4dreamers]

Being a member of the BAU and Spencer Reid having a crush on you would include...

Prompt “I dont know if you write for criminal minds but, if you do can you do a set of headcanons for being part of the BAU and Spencer having a crus on you?”

Being a member of the BAU and Spencer Reid having a crush on you would include:

Being recruited to join the FBI as a final year grad-student, where you were finishing off a doctorate in Linguistic progression and the psychology behind it.

Deciding to join up because you’ve become disillusioned with how little change you could make in the world as an academic.

Hating basic training, but finding out that you actually have a bit of a talent as a sharpshooter and at hand-to-hand combat.

But that doesn’t change the fact that you know exactly where you want to end up.

Getting transferred to the BAU fairly quickly, and being extremely nervous about it.

You’ve wanted to be in the BAU since the start, but actually being there is totally different.

You’ve got very little field experience, but you’re smart, you’re a quick learner, and your supervisor thought you’d be a good fit.

Meeting the team on your first day and instantly noticing Spencer.

Spencer thinking you’re beautiful which, of course, means he acts like a total idiot in front of you.

Him Completely botching the introduction, refusing your handshake and mumbling something you couldn’t hear before turning on his heel and walking away.

Which makes you think he hates you.

Making friends with the other members of the team fairly quickly.

Hotch still scares you a little, but you kinda like that.

Trying to make friends with Reid, even though he seems intent on avoiding you at all costs.

At first you figure he’s just shy but, as time goes on and you see him interacting with everyone else, you realize he’s not shy, he just doesn’t want to talk to you.

Which sucks because you actually think he’s really cool. You enjoy his rambling, and how much he seems to know about everything.

Plus it makes you feel like an idiot for liking him, and it makes you wonder whether you’ve done something wrong.

Meanwhile Reid is trying desperately to not make even more of an idiot of himself around you and failing miserably.

Reid watching you make coffee every morning from his desk, trying to think up something funny or charming to say, but chickening out before he does.

Morgan noticing the tension eventually and confronting Reid before you get to work.

“What’s going on with you, Boy genius? You tryna get this girl to quit or what?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re making her life miserable. She's trying so hard with you man, cut her some slack.”

Reid freaking out because NO NO NO THAT’S NOT WHAT HE WANTED AT ALL!

You suddenly noticing little things around the office changing;

Reid bringing you coffee every morning. It’s perfect, even though you don’t remember ever teaching him how you like it.

Him coming to you for advice more, asking your opinion on cases and unfinished profiles even though you’re pretty sure he knows all this already.

Reid laughing at your jokes more, smiling whenever you make a good point and sitting next to you in the jet.

You’re not exactly sure what changed and why he’s suddenly being so nice to you, but you like it.

For his part, once he’d successfully handed over that first cup of coffee, things got significantly easier.

He fucked up the delivery of course, but instead of turning away or scoffing at him, you’d just laughed.

Reid realising how much you had in common, and how much he actually enjoyed talking to you, and being overwhelmed with guilt for making you feel unwanted.

“Hey, Y/N?”

“Yeah, Spence?”

“I’m really sorry for being such an asshole-you know-when you arrived. You didn’t deserve that.”

Getting stuck in some backwater town on a case together a little while later, and having nothing to do but sit and talk all night.

Suddenly noticing the flecks of gold in Spencer’s eyes, and the way the light glances off his hair.

Realizing you have a big old crush on him one day in the jet, when he passes you a coffee and your fingers touch for a moment.

Spencer memorizing the way you laugh and how you like to wear your hair.

Spending more and more time together as the months go by, slowly but surely leaning everything about one another.

Having long discussions about your favorite things, teasing one another relentlessly about nothing and laughing until your stomachs hurt.

Spencer opening up to you about his past with addiction, and you opening up about your own past.

Spencer being completely mesmerized by you.

You’re a good profiler, so not being completely oblivious to the change in Spencer, but you also don’t want to be too forward.

Similarly, Spencer can tell that you feel something for him, something strong, but he can’t be entirely sure of what it is and he doesn’t want to make a move until he’s sure.

When you eventually do kiss, it’s more of an accident than an intentional move.

You’ve just come off a long case, one that ended in a stalemate between you, the UnSub and some hostages. You'd managed to talk him down, but it took hours and, by the time you got out of the building, with the UnSub in custody, Spencer was almost catatonic with worry.

He’d wanted to come in after you so badly but Morgan had stopped him, reminding him that he might make it worse.

When he saw you walking out, tired a little beat up, but alive, he couldn’t help himself.

He ran straight to you and pulled you into a kiss so passionate and tender that it literally took your breath away.

#jordsie #jordsie writes #bau #behavioural analysis unit #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #cm #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid headcanons #criminal minds imagine #mathew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader

[scripts4dreamers]

Just One Drink

Part Two, Part Three

AN: Cases at the BAU wear on you after a while Characters: Spencer Reid Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader Spoilers: None Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence

Prompt: “We’re in this together.”

(Do I want to write a part two for this? Maybe. Do I love Spencer Reid and the Criminal Minds bunch in general with all my heart? Most definitely. So feel free to send in requests!)

------------------

You sighed, collapsing into the chair by your desk and burying your face in your hands. It had been a long week. Three missing kids, one crazed killer and less than 72 hours to get them back alive; just another week for the BAU. You tried to remember that you’d signed up for this, that you loved what you did and the people you did it with, and that you had managed to save the kids in the end, but your tired brain didn’t care. Right then, all you really wanted was a mug of hot chocolate and to curl up on your couch with a good book.

“Hey, you okay?” you heard someone ask.

You lifted your head slightly and noticed Spencer Reid had appeared beside your desk without you noticing. He was leaning against the divider you’d set up and was trying to look casual and failing miserably. Spencer had been a part of the BAU for a lot longer than you had and he was a bit of a legend in the Bureau but, for some reason, he always seemed nervous around you. He was nice, of course, and clever, and you enjoyed spending time with him but it took a lot for him to seem properly at ease whenever you were nearby and, right now, you were too tired to want to play nice with anybody.

Maybe it was because you were new, you reasoned, maybe he just wasn’t good at adapting to changes in the team dynamic. Still, he was obviously trying, so you forced yourself to give him a small smile and nod.

“Yeah, I’m all good, just tired.” you answered.

Spencer nodded, like he understood, and pulled up a chair, “I was the same when I’d just joined, every case took the life right out of me. You’ll get used to it.”

“I hope so,” you sighed, resting your head in your hands again, “because there’s no way I can keep going on like this.”

For a long moment there was just silence, until he cleared his throat and asked, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Your head shot up and you tried to hide the flash of confusion on your face, “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” Spencer laughed nervously, “contrary to popular belief I’m actually a really great listener.”

“And humble too,” you joked.

“Oh exceedingly so,” he joked back, rising out of his seat, “come on, let’s go get a drink and I’ll prove it to you.”

You considered for a moment. On the one hand, you desperately wanted to get out of the office and remember what it felt like to not be miserable, and you’d been secretly crushing on Spencer since your first day at the BAU, on the other…

You shook your head, “I should stay, I’ve got so much paperwork to get done for this case and-”

Spencer rolled his eyes fondly, reaching down and pulling you to your feet, “And it’ll still be there on Monday,” he interrupted, “Come on, Y/N. I’ll help you with whatever you need later.”

Your heart jumped into your throat at the feeling of his fingers wrapped around your wrist, and you felt a lick of heat run up your neck. It was unfair for a skinny white boy who could describe the plot of every star trek episode ever made in detail to be as attractive as Spencer Reid was. You didn’t know if it was the hair, or his cheekbones, or the way he smiled but, whatever it was, you were a sucker for it so you let yourself get pulled up.

“Okay, Reid, but I’m holding you to that. If I’ve forgotten even one important detail that messes this report up-”

“Y/N, I have an eidetic memory. The report will be perfect,” he smiled, letting your wrist drop and scooping up your bag, “let’s go then, I know the perfect place.”

----------------------

The bar Spencer took you to was small and cozy; busy enough that you could blend in to the crowd without being so loud that it became overwhelming. The drinks weren’t cheap, but they were good, and the booth you’d tucked yourselves into was comfortable and out of the way so you could talk freely. Spencer loved it there. He’d been coming to that bar since he’d first joined the BAU and, even though a bar wouldn’t usually be his first choice for a happy place, this one was packed to the brim with happy memories.

Across from him, you were sipping your second whiskey sour in silence, casting nervous glances up at Spencer every few seconds. Something was definitely wrong. It wasn’t just the dark circles under your eyes that worried him, or the way you never really sat still, constantly glancing around the room and over your shoulder, it was everything. Usually you were so...alive at work. You’d joke around with Morgan, swap stories with Prentiss, brazenly flirt with Hotch and Rossi until they’d crack and give you a smile. In every situation you made a point to add value, whether that be by making a poignant connection during a case or just sliding the perfect cup of coffee Spencer’s way without him having to ask for it. But now things were different. It had been happening bit by bit, too slowly for some of the others to notice but, after this last case, it was impossible for Spencer to ignore. You didn’t laugh anymore, or joke or flirt. You still made amazing points, still worked harder than anyone asked you to, but now it seemed like it weighed you down, like every new case chipped just a little bit more of you away. It hurt to watch.

“Y/N, you know it’s okay to struggle with this stuff, right?” Spencer eventually said. He wasn’t exactly the king of knowing what to say but he felt like he owed it to you to try. After all, when he was new he’d had Gideon to help him through it, “You don’t have to be alright right away.”

“You are,” you replied softly, meeting his eye briefly.

Spencer snorted and shook his head, “Me? The recovering drug addict? Yeah, I’m definitely the poster-child for healthy coping mechanisms.”

You chuckled and then looked up, horrified, “I didn’t mean to laugh at the whole addiction thing.”

“I know, Y/N/N,” he smiled, “but you’re allowed to. I was making a joke after all.”

“Really? I couldn’t tell,” you teased gently, leaning back in your seat.

Your shoulders were untensed now, Spencer noticed, and you were fiddling less and he breathed an inward sigh of relief. You were relaxing.

“Yeah, Morgan says I’ve gotta work on my delivery more,” Spencer said.

“Smart man, Morgan.” you countered.

Spencer smiled, “But seriously, Y/N, if you want to talk-” he lapsed into silence, holding your gaze as he let his offer hand in the air.

You watched Spencer for a moment, that piercing look in your eye that always made him feel unsteady, like you were seeing right through him. You weren’t profiling, he knew that, but you were definitely trying to figure him out. Eventually you sighed, seemingly resigning yourself to your fate, and nodded slowly.

“I just-” you started, “I didn’t know it would feel like this,” you blinked quickly, probably trying to stave off tears, “all the worry just-it just eats away at me and I can’t do anything about it.” You paused, sniffing, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “And it’s never enough, you know? We do everything we can but it’s just never enough and the cases keep coming and coming and all these people keep dying and dying and there’s nothing we can do to stop it. We’re the best people for the job and we still spend 80% of our time playing catch up to these guys,” you shook your head again, “it just messes with my head.”

Spencer felt his heart pinch in his chest, affection rushing through him so fast that he didn’t know what to make of it.

He leaned forward, holding your gaze and said, “Of course it does, we spend most of our day trying to think like some of the most disturbed and dangerous people in the country. Honestly, I’d be more worried if you weren’t struggling with it.” Spencer assured you, “Our job is really really fucking hard, okay? It’s rewarding, but it takes its toll on all of us eventually. What’s important is to remember that you’re not doing this on your own, I’ve got your back-we’ve got your back, the whole team.” He hesitated for a moment, before leaning forward and covering your hand with his own, “We’re in this together, no matter what happens.”

For a long while you just looked at one another, something like gratitude glimmering in your eyes as you squeezed Spencer’s hand. His skin felt warm where it met yours and he softly let his thumb glance along the inside of your wrist.

You were beautiful, Spencer noticed, but not in the way he expected. Objectively speaking you were an attractive person, of course, he’d have to be blind to miss that, but there was something more. Just being pretty generally wasn’t enough to make Spencer’s heart race like it did around you, it wasn’t enough to make him want to reach out and touch, to make Spencer so desperate to spend time with you that he dragged you to a bar he loved on the off chance he’d get you to smile. Just being pretty wasn’t enough to explain why Spencer felt the way he did, it had always been more than that.

You nodded, quickly wiping your cheeks and giving Spencer a small smile as you gently detangled your hand from his. His heart sunk, just a little bit, at the loss of contact, but he made sure to keep his face neutral.

“How are you so good at this, doctor Reid?” you asked.

I’ve been practicing what I wanted to say for nearly two weeks now, Spencer thought.

He shrugged, “It’s just the truth, Y/N, that’s all.”

You nodded and lapsed into what seemed like a thoughtful silence.

“Hey, Reid?” You eventually asked, sounding almost nervous.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Why do you call me Y/N?”

Spencer frowned, suddenly confused, “That’s your name. Is there something wrong with how I say it?”

“No, no you say it perfectly,” you assured him, “it’s just, you don’t call anyone else in the team by their first name. Just me.”

He opened his mouth to say that that was ridiculous, but stopped just before the words left his mouth. You were right.

“Um,” Spencer started, a lick of anxiety flaring up in his stomach, “I don’t-I don’t know, really. Guess I never thought about it. You want another drink?” He took the opportunity to stand up and walk to the bar, returning your empty glasses and ordering two fresh drinks.

He needed a minute to figure out where his head was. He felt unsettled, like maybe something about the way you’d looked at him had struck a nerve. He knew how suspicious he’d sounded just then, like he was hiding something. He knew he had to have a better answer, otherwise you’d just come to your own conclusion and, judging by how good of a profiler you were, you’d probably come to the right one.

Fuck. When he’d invited you out for a drink Spencer had just wanted to make you smile, maybe take a little of the load off your shoulders. He’d never meant to make it so personal, such an obvious declaration of his feelings, but he had. It may have seemed small to call someone by their first name in your line of work, but you both knew different. It signaled intimacy, care, trust. It meant that he felt something for you, something different than what he felt for other members of the team. He had to be smart about this. There were rules against agents fraternizing with other agents, guidelines that had to be followed, boundaries that had to stay in place to preserve the team. Beyond that there was the fact that you were new, he didn’t know you well enough to say for sure how you felt about him, whether there was even a possibility of his feelings being reciprocated, and the fact that he didn’t even really know what his feelings were.

He admired you, he thought you were smart and resourceful, funny, sweet, tough as nails, he liked being around you. He liked you, but that didn’t have to mean anything. He’d liked tons of women in his time, some of them had liked him back, most hadn’t. But the name, the name meant something, it had to.

The bartender handed him the drinks and, reluctantly, Spencer made his way back to the table. You were watching him, somewhere between nervous and expectant, and Reid felt a familiar rush of fondness shoot through him. He collapsed onto the seat across from you, handing you the drink with a small smile.

“Whiskey sour,” he commented, trying to break the tension, “often considered a more masculine drink due to the presence of whiskey and egg-white.”

“Drinks shouldn’t be gendered,” you answered, taking a sip, “and by the way, if there’s egg-white it’s called a Boston sour.”

“Are you from Boston?” He asked.

You shook your head, “Nope.”

“Oh.”

The silence wasn’t uncomfortable exactly, just expectant. Spencer knew instinctively that, if he wanted, he could just avoid the topic completely. You wouldn’t push him. You would leave the bar together, say goodnight, and life would continue on like nothing had happened, but something about that felt inauthentic, like he’d be lying to you somehow, and he respected you too much for that. So he settled on part of the truth

“I call you by your first name because I care about you,” he eventually said, “I-uh-I feel….protective over you, I-” he cleared his throat, “you’re important to me. I didn’t-if it makes you uncomfortable I can call you Y/L/N.”

“No!” you said quickly, “No, I didn’t-it doesn’t make me uncomfortable, I like it. I just-” you looked away, worrying at your lip in a way that made it seem like you were nervous. You took a deep breath and stared down into your drink, “I was worried that it meant you didn’t respect me.”

Spencer’s eyes widened, “What? Y/N that’s ridiculous! You’re one of the best profilers I know.”

You rolled your eyes, “Maybe in other departments, but in the BAU?” You shook your head, “I’m practically an amature.”

“I’m sorry, did you not just solve a case and rescue three kids?” Spencer asked, “Was it someone else who made the connection between De Vos’ childhood arson charge and the kids home the victims were from? ‘Cause if I remember correctly, and I’m pretty sure I do, that was all you.”

You smiled a little, enjoying the praise, but still seemed unsure, “Well none of that would have been helpful if you hadn’t figured out where he was keeping the kids.”

“Yes, it would have,” Spencer promised, leaning forward and covering your hand again, “Y/N, you cracked that case wide open. Without you, those kids would probably be dead.”

“Without you those kids would be dead,” You corrected, nudging his leg under the table and giving him a shy smile.

Spencer felt his heart stutter in his chest and he leaned back, taking his hand off yours but leaving your knees touching under the table.

“Well that just means we’re a good team.” He said, returning your smile.

You laughed and, with that, the tension dissipated. You spent the rest of your time together sharing childhood stories and swapping jokes. You spent twenty minutes just listening to him explain common misconceptions about the story of Tristan and Isolde before he caught himself and, when he laughed and apologized, you just shrugged and smiled, saying that you loved seeing how happy he looked when he talked about it. Spencer nearly swooned at that.

By the end of the night you seemed more like your old self than you had in weeks. Spencer walked you out and waited with you on the street as you called a taxi. It felt different between you now, no awkwardness or strain, just the warm comfort of being with someone you care about. Of course, just under the surface, Spencer could feel the start of something. It was fragile, easy snuffed out if treated poorly, but it was there; potential, the potential for this to be more than a friendship, to be something real, something worth fighting for.

Your taxi arrived before Spencer could figure out how to feel about that. Before he could say anything, you’d pulled him into a warm embrace, leaving him enough time to pull away if he wanted as you wrapped your arms around his neck. He didn’t pull away. Instead, he pulled you close, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You smelled wonderful.

“Thank you for today, Spencer,” you said quietly, so that only he could hear, “I-I really needed it.”

Spencer swore he felt his heart actually melt at the softness in your voice, but he pushed through it.

“Anytime, Y/N.”

You pulled away, smiling bigger than he’d seen in ages, and he couldn’t help but smile in return. You clambered into the taxi gracelessly, because you were looking back at him.

“You won’t be saying that when you’re stuck working those reports with me all of next week,” you teased.

Spencer smiled, stepping forward to close the taxi door behind you, “Wanna bet?”

“You’re on.” you agreed fondly.

He watched the car from his position on the sidewalk until it disappeared, trying to calm the frantic pounding of his heart.

“Spencer,” he muttered to himself happily, “she called me Spencer.”

And by god, he’d never liked the way his name sounded more.

#jordsie #jordsie writes #criminal minds #criminal minds headcanons #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer reid headcanons #matthew gray gubler x reader #matthew gray gubler imagine

[scripts4dreamers]

I literally JUST sat down, pt. 7

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six

AN: Tick Tock goes the clock. Characters: Spencer Reid, Penelope Garcia, Derek Morgan, Aaron Hotchner, Jennifer Jareau, David Rossi.

Pairings: Spencer Reid x reader

Spoilers: None

Warnings: Mentions of crime and violence, alcohol

---------------------------

The buzzing of his phone is what woke Spencer up. He grumbled, fumbling around his bedside table for the source of the noise.

“Hello?”

“Agent Reid?” A vaguely familiar voice asked, “I’m sorry to wake you but I didn’t know who to call and I-“

“What’s going on?” Spencer interrupted, sitting up quickly as he recognized the voice of one of Hotch’s cleared agents.

“I’m on watch at the park this morning and I think something’s wrong. There’s a note and a clear bag full of stuff but no body, and we’ve been here all night. Hotch took the others to meet the director. He said to call you if anything happened.”

“Are you alone?”

“No, my partner’s with me, she’s checking the bushes.” He explained. Vaguely, Spencer could hear the rustling of the partner in the background, “Agent Reid I don’t know what to do here….”

Doctor. The voice in his head corrected instinctively, but he kept quiet, already three steps ahead. Today was the day your stalker was supposed to drop off his next body. Everybody would be on high alert, especially you. If Hotch had gone to the director he must’ve been expecting a pretty serious escalation, and that made Spencer nervous. He glanced out into the lounge, to where he knew you were curled up on the couch, fast asleep.

“Okay, wait there. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He explained, pulling on the first clothes he could find and strapping on his firearm belt, “Just keep the perimeter clear and make sure no one gets in and out, alright?”

“Alright.”

Spencer got ready as fast as he could, running through every possible scenario in his head as the adrenaline started to slowly creep in. He slowly snuck through the living room, smiling softly as he noticed your sleeping form huddled under a pile of blankets. There was something tender about the way you looked then, something different to all the times he’d seen you fall asleep on the jet. Here, you were completely unguarded, comfortable and soft, and it made Spencer absurdly proud to know that he’d made you feel safe enough for that. For a moment he considered waking you up, but he remembered the dark bags under your eyes and the way your shoulders drooped with exhaustion and he decided against it. You’d been going through hell, and you deserved to sleep. Plus, he rationalized as he opened the door and snuck out, it’s not like you could come with him anyway. There was no need to worry you.

Spencer sighed, pushing all thoughts of you to the back of his mind as he forced himself to focus on the case.

——————————-

You could hear your heart pounding in your ears as you tried very hard to look busy, fiddling with a completed report as you walked through your master plan one last time. Your eyes flickered to Spencer as he talked animatedly with JJ about something you couldn’t really hear. He leaned back against the desk, casually tucking a strand of hair behind his ear and crossing his arms over his chest. The sleeves of his read sweater and shirt were rolled up above his elbows and you couldn’t help but glance at his exposed forearms and hands. Spencer’s hands were...unfairly attractive. Truly, truly unfairly attractive. The kind of attractive that made doing your job really difficult and made you wonder what exactly was going on with you. His hands, Y/N? You asked yourself, his hands? Really? Get it together man.

But it was too late, you were completely and utterly smitten. You knew it, your friends knew it, the lady at the coffee shop knew it. You were pretty sure every living person in Virginia knew it, except Spencer. Hopefully. Hopefully Spencer didn’t know, yet at least.

Just then you heard him laugh and your nerves intensified. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe you should just go home and forget this stupid plan and everything would go on as normal. You could do normal, right?

“Hey there, pretty girl,” Morgan greeted, “what’re you doing here so late?”

You flushed, “Oh I-you know-“ you let out a breathy laugh, “just finishing off some work.”

He raised an eyebrow at you questioningly, but let the matter drop, pulling you into a right side hug, “Alright, Y/L/N, keep your secrets. You know I’ll find out, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you’re relentless, I know,” you smiled back, “seriously Morgs, I’m all good.”

He nodded and pressed a gentle kiss to the top of your head, “Okay. I’ll see you, kid.”

You waved him off, feeling a familiar pinch of guilt in the pit of your stomach as he vanished off into the elevator. Out of the corner of your eye you saw JJ step away from Spencer and you took a deep breath, steeling every last bit of nerve you had.

“Hey, Spence, can you wait for a minute?” You called, hoping you didn’t sound quite as nervous as you felt.

Spencer cocked his head to the side, but gave you a small smile, “Sure, Y/N/N, what’s up?”

You took another deep breath, fighting the urge to look away or fiddle with your bag, “I was-um-what’re you doing tomorrow?”

Spencer thought for the briefest moment before answering, “Tomorrow? I’ve got a report to do and some cold cases to go over and then I was just going to go home and read a few books. Why?”

You flushed. This was it. This was the moment you’d been hyping yourself up for all week.

“I was just wondering if you’d maybe want to go see a movie or something?” You asked all in one breath, forcing yourself to meet his eye.

Spencer frowned, “A movie? Y/N, you know I don’t have a DVD player.”

“No!” You quickly corrected with a nervous laugh, as your heart rate doubled, “No, Wise Guy, I meant with me, like at a cinema. There’s a foreign film festival in town I thought you might like.” You paused and then continued, “And maybe after we could get dinner, or coffee or something? If you’d like.

You waited for an answer, but none was forthcoming. For a long while Spencer just stared at you, opening and closing his mouth like a confused goldfish. Every second that he was silent, your heart sank just a little further and you felt your skin start to burn with embarrassment.

“Y/N-“ Spencer started.

Your eyes were pricking with tears of embarrassment, but you blinked them away, quickly shoving your last few possessions into your bag and forcing a smile.

“It’s cool. I get it,” you said quickly, “No hard feelings, but I had to try. See you, Reid.”

You vaguely heard him call your name again, just once, but you ignored him, rushing through the bullpen faster than you’d ever gone before. You wanted to scream, or rip your face off, or curl up in a ball and die, but you could do that here. Not with Spencer’s eyes still boring into your back like a drill. The elevator door closed and you slid to the ground, burying your face in your knees as the suppressed tears slid down your cheek.

You pulled out your phone and dialed the first number you could think, “Morgs? Are you and ‘Nel still at her apartment?” You asked, sniffing, “Can I come?”

————————————-

When you woke up you had the vague impression that you’d been sad recently. It was a fleeting impression, gone as soon as you registered it, but it confused you and set an odd tone for the day. You looked around, remembering the previous night and the conversation you’d had with Spencer, and smiled gently. You’d never thought that you’d be able to be friends with Spencer again, not after your disastrous attempt at asking him out. Ugh, just the thought made you cringe with embarrassment. But he’d forgiven you, it seemed. Or at least he hadn’t brought it up or acted weird and uncomfortable with you, which was a relief.

“Morning, Doctor Reid,” you called, “what’re you making me for breakfast?”

The only answer was silence. You sat up, letting your blanket fall away.

“Spencer?” You called again, “Are you home?”

Again, no answer. Just then, your phone rang and you answered.

“Hey, ‘Nel, is Spence with you?” You asked quickly.

“Sugar Plum!” She greeted, “You’re up.”

Despite yourself, you smiled, “I know, it’s miraculous. Is he at the office?”

“Nope,” Penelope answered, “he’s not on duty today. Well, he is but not like, FBI duty, he’s on Y/N duty. He’s not with you?”

“No,” you admitted, strolling through the apartment to double check, “looks like he left in a hurry.”

“Maybe he went to get breakfast or coffee or something,” Penelope suggested, “you know he doesn’t tend to keep actual people food in his lair.”

You worried at the inside of your cheek, a nagging worry still sitting in the pit of your stomach, but you pushed it down.

“You’re probably right,” you sighed, “can you ask Hotch if he’s seen him just in case?”

“Sure thing, hun. Him and Emily are right here.”

“Okay, thanks ‘Nel, let me know if you hear from him?” You asked.

“But of course, mon ami,” she agreed, “and if anything comes up in the case I’ll call.”

You put the phone down and shook your head, trying to snap yourself out of whatever funk you were in. It wasn’t abnormal for Spencer to leave to get coffee without telling anyone, and it was just like him to do something sweet like going to get breakfast for you both. But it wasn’t like him to leave without waking you, especially not with what was going on.

“Stop it,” you told yourself, “stop worrying. He’s fine. It’s fine.”

So you forced yourself to behave normally. You made coffee, brushed your teeth, pulled on a set of fresh clothes and perused Spencer’s extensive library, picking a book and settling onto the couch. More time passed. More time, the clock tick tick ticking away the minutes. Pretty soon it was obvious that Spencer wasn’t getting coffee, and then your anxiety spiked. For a long while you just stared at a random page in the book, not absorbing anything whatsoever as your mind raced.

Your phone beeped and you grabbed it frantically, relaxing when you saw Spencer’s name on the screen.

“Spence,” you sighed with relief as soon as you picked up the phone, “oh my god I was so worried. Where the hell are you?”

For a second there was just heavy breathing and then, frantically “Y/N don’t-“

“If you want to see Spencer Reid alive again, meet me at the address I’ve programmed into your car’s GPS,” a robotic voice said, “come alone. If you tell anyone where you’re going, I’ll kill him. If you bring back up, I’ll kill him. If you don’t show up, I’ll kill him. You have twenty minutes.”

You felt like the world had stopped spinning, like the floor had dropped out from under you and you were free falling into empty space. There were chills running up your spine and your heart pounded like an anvil in your fragile rib cage. Spencer. Spencer. Spencer, it pounded. Spencer, Spencer, Spencer. How had he gotten him? You were living your worst nightmare in real time. You saw the mutilated body in your bookstore, the gruesome crime scene photos on Rossi’s crime boards. Was that Spencer now? Was he dead because of you? You imagined him lying on the ground, helpless and bleeding out, his deep brown eyes lifeless and still and, without meaning to, a whimper ripped itself from your throat.

“He’s alive.” You told yourself firmly, “He’s still alive.”

You could barely think. You were in a kind of fugue state. Nothing but pure instinct and muscle memory got you into your car and onto the road and the first cognitive thought you had, as you got closer and closer to the destination, was that you would never be making this return trip. This type of stalker would never let you go, never. He’d never let Spencer go. He’d kill himself and both of you before he let you slip out of his grasp again. This was his endgame for some reason, and you were playing right into it. But what else could you do? He had you in the palm of his hand. The fact was, no matter what you wanted or thought or knew, there was nothing you wouldn’t do for Spencer Reid, nothing you wouldn’t risk. You would walk into hell and back for him, and that was that.

Somewhere along the drive you accepted your death. You would not make the return trip, and that was okay. You would die sometime soon, but so would this monster. He would kill you, and you’d use your last moments of strength to take the son of a bitch down with you. He wouldn’t get the chance to hurt anyone else, you promised yourself. No matter what happened, you would be his last victim. You would find a way to save Spencer too, you repeated to yourself again and again. You wouldn’t make the drive home, but Spencer would. You would do whatever it took to keep him alive.

The GPS announced that you had arrived at your destination, an old house on the outskirts of a quiet suburb. You took a moment in the car to breathe, tightening your knuckles on the steering wheel. You ached to just call Penelope, to tell her everything and let the team rescue you. Oh God, your friends. How would they feel when they found your body? After all the work they’d done to keep you safe, here you were throwing it all away. On a whim, you grabbed your phone and sent a quick group message.

From Y/N Y/L/N

Thank you for everything. I love you all so much

Short, sweet, not even nearly enough. You’d meant to say more, you’d always meant to say more, but you’d thought you had years. Two tears slipped down your cheek as you stepped out of the car, leaving your keys in the ignition so that Spencer would have a way to get away when it was all over. There was an FBI sedan parked in the driveway, but at this point you didn’t care much about the profile. All that mattered was getting this over with.

Luckily your stalker hadn’t specified that you couldn’t bring a gun. You drew your weapon, but didn’t bother with stealth, striding straight into the house with a single minded focus.

“I’m here,” you called, “where are you?”

You heard the sound of shuffling coming from a back room, a fist connecting with something solid and you bit back a whimper.

“We’re in here,” Spencer said, his voice tinged with pain.

You could hear your blood rushing in your ears but you kept your trigger finger steady. Despite the terror, you were trained for this. You would not fail. Before you stepped into the room, you felt a tinge of panic. You weren’t ready for this. You weren’t ready to face the man who’s caused all this, but you had to. You had to. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, calming yourself down and schooling your features into something serene. You had to focus on not escalating the situation, that was your best shot at keeping Spencer alive.

“You can do this,” you whispered, to yourself, “you can do this.”

And, with that, you stepped into the room, “FBI, put your hands in the air.”

—————————

“Y/N,” a familiar voice greeted with an almost breathless excitement, “I was worried that you wouldn’t come.”

You felt bile rise in your throat, “Agent Connolly?”

“I knew you remembered me!” Rick Connolly cheered, the barrel of a handgun pressed to Spencer’s temple.

Your heart pinched at the sight, but you tried not to let the fear show up in your face. Rick Connolly had worked at the BAU for longer than you had. It made a sick sort of sense, the worst kind. He’d been on cases with you, written up paperwork with you, helped with filing. His background checks were always clean, there’d never been any complaints against him. Never. He was a good agent, a reliable ally for the BAU. No matter what happened, Agent Rick Connolly was always close by.

“Of course I remember you, Connolly,” you said with a forced smile, “how could I possibly forget you?”

“Rick.” He insisted, “It’s Rick.”

“Rick, of course, sorry-“

“You call him Spencer,” Connolly interrupted, pressing the barrel of the gun into Spencer’s temple harder and snarling down at him, “not Reid, Spencer. I heard it when he called you.”

“Hey, hey hey,” you said quickly, lowering your gun and raising your hands, “I’m sorry. It was a mistake, of course I should call you Rick. I mean, Spencer is just a work colleague, right? But you’re so much more.”

His eyes lit up with a perverse hope, “I am. I love you more than any of them. I’ve done more for you than any of them. I did all of it, all of it!”

“I know, thank you,” you replied, forcing another gentle smile, “for doing all of that. For loving me like you do.”

You could feel Spencer’s eyes on you, watching you like you were a lifeline, or like he was scared he’d never see you again, but you kept your eyes on Rick.

“You’re welcome,” he smiled back.

“But, now that I’m here,” you tried gently, “now that you’ve got my attention and I know how much you love me, why don’t you let Spencer go, hm? That way we can be alone.”

Rick frowned, “Let-let him-? No! No way!” He tightened his grip again and Spencer groaned with pain, “Don’t you see? He needs to die. He’s trying to keep us apart! He wants you gone for good.”

You shook his head, feeling the rising panic, “No he doesn’t, Rick. Reid is my friend, he would never try and keep us apart, right Reid?”

For a moment Spencer was silent, swaying on his feet, but he managed to nod his head and get out a small, “She’s right.”

“YOU’RE A LIAR!” Rick yelled, cocking the gun.

“No!” You screamed, forcing Rick’s attention back to you, “Rick, I don’t understand. I don’t understand why he needs to die. I understand the rest, but I’m still confused. Can-would you be able to explain it to me?”

Rick looked confused for a moment, his gaze jumping between you and Spencer. You held your breath, praying you hadn’t overplayed your hand, only relaxing when he turned back to face you.

“He,” he started, gesturing the gun at Spencer, “got you shot. He let you walk into an active bomber situation alone,” he explained, “he spent years nearly getting you killed and then, when he saw our love, he made you leave! He wants you to be alone and miserable! He wants me to be alone!”

You tried to process the rush of information as quickly as you could, latching onto the first advantage you could find.

“Spencer didn’t make me leave,” you said.

“He did! I saw it! You asked him to go out and he turned you down! He lead you on and then he rejected you, so you left!” Rick yelled, “You thought you were alone, you both did, but I was there, watching. I was always watching. I had to keep you safe, I had to make sure you were protected.”

Spencer whimpered, his shoulders slumping with defeat, as though he’d been found out, and you looked at them both, confused. What on earth were they on about?

You felt the realization click, and your eyes widened with surprise “Oh Rick, oh no you misunderstood.” You started. You stepped closer, keeping your hands raised to show that you weren’t a threat, “You’re right, Spencer did say no when I asked him out, but I’d already resigned by then. I was going to tell him that night but I didn’t get the chance. It wasn’t his fault, it was mine.”

———————————

Spencer was in pain. Deep, aching, throbbing pain. He was pretty sure he had at least one cracked rib, maybe more, and the swift punches to his stomach had knocked the wind right out of his chest. His head was heavy and thick with confusion and, without the strong arm holding him up, he would’ve collapsed onto the floor. Everything in Spencer’s body screamed for an end to the pain. But that was nothing compared to the sick, heavy weight of guilt that hit him when he saw your face. He’d brought you here, you’d come for him. He’d let himself get caught, he’d fucked up. He’d put you in danger when you’d trusted him, but God, he was relieved to see you. And he hated himself for that.

You were beautiful. So so so beautiful. Had he ever told you that? Even with your face set into a mask of calm and determination, you were radiant. Wait, what? He thought to himself, what’re you thinking? Your eyes flickered over to him with a subtle note of concern. Focus, Spencer, he told himself, what did she just say?

His captor seemed confused. He was shifting his weight from one foot to another, looking between the two of you like you were a particularly frustrating puzzle.

“What-what does that-why are you saying this?” Rick asked loudly, lifting the gun to point it at you, “Why’re you saying this?”

You flinched, but stayed calm, “Because it’s the truth. Spencer isn’t the reason I left, he had nothing to do with it. Spencer wants us to be together, that’s why he brought me here.”

You spoke to Rick in a low, soothing voice like he was a wild animal and, as you spoke you were creeping closer and closer. Spencer tracked your movement with his eyes, noticing that you’d shifted your gun belt to be on the side closer to Spencer. It wasn’t an accident.

“Rick, baby,” you crooned, “I’m so proud of you. You’ve accomplished so much, but you don’t need to do it anymore. I’m here now, I’m yours. Let’s get out of here, just you and me, before anyone else arrives.”

“You want that?” Rick asked.

“Of course I do,” you said, with a sweet laugh, “but that gun is scaring me. Can we put it away and let Spencer go so that we can go?”

There was a long pause. Rick looked like he was in a trance, staring at you like you were a walking daydream. Your eyes flickered to Spencer and softened for just a second. Just a brief moment of acknowledgment, almost as though you simply couldn’t help yourself. You were close enough now that Spencer could smell your perfume, which was lucky because, right then, Rick’s dreamy look vanished and he began lifting his gun and pointing it right at you.

“LIAR!” He yelled.

Spencer heard the unmistakable pop of a gunshot, but he had no time to check where it had landed. Instead he lunged forward, grabbed your gun and, in a moment of instinct, pulled the trigger, sending a bullet straight into Rick’s right shoulder. Rick dropped his gun and, in an instant Spencer was on his back, immobilizing him with the pair of cuffs you handed him and rendering him harmless. For a long moment there was just silence as Spencer stared down at the man who had tricked him, savoring the moment of victory until it was broken by a pained gasp. His stomach sank. The bullet, the bullet, where was the bullet Rick had fired?

“Oh my God.” You said breathlessly, sinking down against the nearest wall as blood started to stain your crisp white button down, “Fuck.”

The blood was coming from your abdomen, from a hole just left of your naval that you were pressing your sleeve against in an attempt to stop the bleeding. Your cheeks glistened with tears as you fought not to tense up despite the pain and Spencer felt, for the first time that day, true unadulterated panic.

“No, no no no no,” he said quickly, rushing to your side and gripping your free hand with his, “hey, look at me, we’re gonna be alright. Just keep your eyes open. Stay with me.”

You breathed out slowly through your mouth, “Don’t worry, doc,” you replied through gritted teeth, “ ‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

Spencer tried to assess the situation, but there was too much panic and adrenaline and fear in his system, and all he could see was the tender way you looked at him, and how you’d smiled the night before. His hands were shaking even where they held yours, and his eyes pricked with suppressed tears. You needed a hospital. You needed surgery and he couldn’t save you. He couldn’t carry you without making you bleed out, and he didn’t even know where you were. He was helpless.

“I’m so sorry, Spence,” you said softly, “I never-I never meant for you to get hurt.”

Spencer laughed incredulously, even though nothing had been less funny in his entire life, “You have nothing to be sorry about. You saved us,” he squeezed your hand and was rewarded with a weak smile from you, “you always save us,” he continued, even more gently, “Rick was right about that. You’ve been saving me for years.”

“And you've saved me right back,” you pointed out, your voice heavy with the effort of keeping your eyes open.

Spencer pressed his lips together, tears pouring down his cheek as he fought back sobs and silently prayed to a God he’d never believed in for some kind of miracle.

“But I can’t save you now,” he sobbed.

“No, but we can,” a third, familiar voice answered.

If Spencer had been any less shocked, he would have laughed at the timing of it all. As it was, he just stared into the eyes of his team as though he wasn’t sure they were real.

“MEDIC! We need a medic in here.” Derek Morgan continued, appearing in the doorway like the miracle he was and instantly taking control of the situation.

He scooped you up like you weighed nothing, carrying you out through the doorway just as Emily helped Spencer to his feet and slung his arm around her shoulders to help support his weight. Somewhere in the background Spencer could hear Hotch reading Connolly his rights, and Rossi making some comment about Rick wishing it had been a kill shot. Everything felt surreal, like some sort of fantasy or a hallucination he’d created to keep from having to lose you again, but he didn’t have the strength to fight it.

“Y/N,” he said softly as Emily handed him off to a nearby medic in the back of a waiting ambulance, “I need to see, Y/N. Please, is she alive?”

The medic gave him a sympathetic smile, bundling him onto a gurney, “I can’t let you see her, sir. They’re taking her straight to surgery.”

“But she’s alive?” Spencer insisted as the paramedics fussed and flitted around him.

The original medic nodded, “For now, she’s alive.”

----------------------- 

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