My New Migraine Meds Make Me So Freakin Tired And Have A List Of Side Effects As Long As My Armso Content

I’ve Got Your Back - {Part 1}

Bucky x Y/N

Bucky meets you, a student making ends meet at an over-priced convenience store. Despite being afraid of entering the world of romance again, you just seem to …understand each other. Maybe there’s more to them both than they originally thought.

Warnings: age-gap. Angst. Workplace bullying. Language.

Bucky Barnes stepped inside the convenience store. The fluorescent lights buzzed above him, illuminating aisles stacked with overpriced snacks, crappy. The smell of mop-water sat in the air.

He hadn’t really planned on stopping by. But a craving for something sweet had led him here, the tiny corner store tucked between a laundromat and a liquor shop. A couple of kids loitered by the slushie machine, arguing over which flavor was superior, while a man in a wrinkled suit debated over cigarettes behind the counter.

And then, there was you.

You stood at the register, expression caught somewhere between tired and vaguely annoyed—not outright rude, just carrying the weight of someone who’d had a long day. Bucky knew the look well; he saw it in the mirror more often than not.

He didn’t expect much interaction beyond the necessary exchange of goods and payment. But as he approached, a voice from the back interrupted the quiet monotony.

“Y/N! Are you fucking serious? I told you to restock aisle four, not stand there like a damn statue!”

Your spine stiffened at the harsh words. From the back room, a squat man in an ill-fitted polo stomped out, glaring at you with the disdain of someone who’d long since lost any patience for basic human decency.

Bucky noticed the way your eyes momentarily glossed over, how your fingers curled slightly against the counter before you took a steadying breath.

“I did restock it, Mr. Carl,” you replied, voice even but quiet. Bucky swore he saw a glassy sheen in your eyes. “I was just about to—”

“Don’t give me the excuses, girl. If I have to tell you one more time—”

“That’s enough.”

The words left Bucky’s mouth before he could stop them.

Both you and your boss turned to look at him. Your eyes widened slightly, surprised, while Carl just narrowed his, sizing up the stranger who had the audacity to interrupt his evening tirade.

“And you are?” Carl scoffed, crossing his arms.

Bucky’s jaw tensed. “A paying customer who doesn’t appreciate seeing people get treated like dirt for doing their job.”

Carl let out an incredulous huff but, perhaps noticing the sheer muscle and steel beneath Bucky’s jacket, decided not to push it. With a dismissive wave, he muttered something about ‘lazy employees’ and retreated to the back.

You let out a slow breath and glanced at Bucky, something between gratitude and embarrassment flickering across your face.

“Sorry about that,” you murmured, ringing up his purchase. There was a twang in your voice, an accent that seemed a mix-match.

“Don’t apologize,” he said, shaking his head. “You okay?”

You hesitated. Bucky recognized that too—the reluctance to admit that things weren’t fine, even when they clearly weren’t.

“I’m fine,” you said, forcing a small smile. “Been through worse.”

Bucky nodded, respecting the boundary but not quite believing you. He tapped his fingers against the counter, considering his next words carefully.

“You need me to rough him up a little?” he asked, only half-joking.

A surprised laugh burst from your lips before you could stop it. It wasn’t much, but it was genuine, and for some reason, that made Bucky feel lighter.

“Nah,” you said, shaking your head. “As tempting as it is to see Carl get launched into a snack display, I don’t think that would help my employment status.”

Bucky smirked. “Fair point.”

He took his bag, but instead of leaving, he lingered for a second. Then, in a softer voice, he added, “Seriously though… if you ever need help, I’m around.”

There was something in his tone—something solid, reassuring. A promise.

You met his eyes, seeing not just the war hero or the former assassin, but someone who understood. Someone who didn’t just say things to sound good, but meant them.

“Thank you,” you said, and the sincerity in your voice made him realize that maybe, you were telling the truth when you said you’d been through worse.

He gave you a single nod, the kind that said more than a hundred words ever could. Then, with a quiet goodbye, Bucky turned to leave, his heavy boots echoing against the linoleum floor. As the door chimed shut behind him, you couldn’t help but feel a strange warmth spread through your chest. It had been a long time since someone had stood up for you like that—if ever.

The rest of the shift dragged on, the weight of your boss’s words lessened slightly by the brief encounter with the mysterious customer. You found your thoughts drifting back to Bucky’s face—his concerned eyes and the gentle curve of his mouth when he’d offered to help. It was a small gesture, but in that moment, it felt like a lifeline thrown to a drowning person.

When your shift finally ended, you stepped outside into the cool night air, letting it wash over you like a wave of relief. The neon lights of the store sign cast a garish glow on the empty sidewalk, but it didn’t feel as lonely as it usually did.

As you began the short walk home, you noticed a figure leaning against the wall of the adjacent laundromat. It was Bucky, arms folded over his chest, watching the world pass by. He pushed off the wall when he saw you, his eyes lighting up in a way that made your heart stutter.

“Hey,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “You okay to walk home?”

You nodded, surprised by his concern. “I’m fine. I live just a few blocks away.”

“Okay,” he said, falling into step beside you. “I’m in no rush, and I don’t like the thought of you walking out here by yourself after what I heard in there.”

The gesture was unexpected, but somehow comforting.

“Thanks,” you murmured, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sudden rush of emotions. “Did you wait here this whole time just to check I got home okay…?”

Bucky shrugged, his shoulders shifting beneath the leather jacket. “Call it a gut feeling. Besides, it’s the least I could do after that show back there. No one should have to deal with that kind of crap at work.”

You couldn’t argue with that. As you walked side by side, the silence stretched comfortably between you, filled only by the distant sound of passing cars and the occasional chuckle of a couple leaving the liquor store.

“So, what’s your story?” Bucky asked, his gaze scanning the street as if expecting trouble. “If you don’t mind me asking, of course. I get the feeling you’ve got a bit of a history with that guy.”

You sighed, looking down at your worn-out sneakers. “It’s nothing special. Just a dead-end job, trying to make ends meet while I figure out what I want to do with my life. Carl’s always been a bit of a… character, but he pays the bills. Or at least, he did before tonight.”

Bucky’s eyes snapped to you. “What do you mean?”

You shrugged, a hint of sadness in the movement. “I think that might’ve been the last straw. I’ve been looking for something better for a while now, but it’s hard to find something that fits with my school schedule. Plus, I can’t exactly quit without another job lined up, you know? But I feel like shit there.”

Bucky nodded, his expression empathetic. He’d been in tough situations himself, had to make choices that weren’t ideal.

“Well, if you ever need a reference or anything, you’ve got my number now.” He fished out a piece of paper and scribbled down a string of digits. “And if he ever gives you grief again, just remember, you’ve got backup.”

You took the paper, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. The thought of having someone like Bucky on your side was oddly comforting. “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

As you approached the turn that led to your apartment complex, you felt a twinge of sadness. You didn’t know much about him, but there was something about his presence that made you feel less alone in the world. But you knew that this was the part where you said goodbye and went your separate ways.

“This is me,” you said, pointing to the dimly lit building. “Thanks for walking me home, Bucky.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on the worn-out stairs leading up to the entrance. “No problem. Stay safe, okay? Wait…how did you-”

You smirked, holding up the receipt from the store. “It’s my job to remember faces and numbers, even if it’s just for the night. Plus, yours is pretty hard to forget. War hero, and all”

The corner of his mouth quirked up, a ghost of a smile. “Well, I guess that makes me pretty memorable.”

You nodded, tucking the paper into your pocket. “It does. Thanks again, really.”

“Take care, Y/N,” Bucky said, giving you a small salute before he turned and melted back into the shadows of the alley.

The night felt eerily quiet once he was gone, the echo of his footsteps fading away into the distance. You climbed the stairs, the chill of the evening seeping into your bones and unlocked the door to your apartment. Inside, the warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the outside world. You threw your bag onto the couch and kicked off your shoes, feeling the weight of the day finally start to lift. As you padded over to the fridge, the cold floor tiles biting at your socks, you pulled out the leftover pizza from the night before, the cheese congealed into a sad, greasy mess. But it was food, and that was all that mattered right now. All that you could budget for.

As you heated up your dinner in the microwave, the glow of the screen casting a soft light across the kitchen, you couldn’t shake the image of Bucky’s face from your mind. The way he looked at you - like he truly saw you - was something you hadn’t experienced in a very long time. The microwave beeped, snapping you out of your thoughts. You took a bite of the lukewarm pizza, the cheese pulling away from the bread. But somehow, it tasted a little less disappointing given that your night was accompanied by a nice guy… and a small spark you hadn’t felt in a long time.

You sat at the small table by the window, looking out into the quiet street. Sometimes a car passed by, their headlights painting streaks of light on the pavement. You found yourself wondering about Bucky’s life. What led him to be so kind? What made him want to protect someone like you from a simple act of workplace bullying? The curiosity grew, but you pushed it aside, telling yourself that you should be grateful for the brief respite from your reality and not overthink it.

Your phone buzzed, breaking the silence. You glanced down at the screen, expecting a notification from a class group chat or a text from a friend complaining about their day. But instead, you found a message from an unknown number.

Unknown: Hey Y/N, it’s Bucky. Just checking in. How are you holding up?

Your heart skipped a beat. You weren’t used to this kind of attention, especially not from someone like Bucky Barnes. You know, handsome. Sweet. You took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing thoughts. Just the thought of answering gave you a flutter in your chest.

You: Hey, I’m okay. Thanks for checking in. It’s been a long night.

Bucky: No problem at all. Just wanted to make sure you’re not letting that asshole get to you. You deserve better.

The bluntness of his message made you chuckle around a mouthful of pizza. It was refreshing, the way he didn’t mince words. You chewed thoughtfully, considering how much of your situation to share with him. After all, he was basically a stranger.

You: I’ve had worse days, but thanks for caring. I’ll be okay. Just trying to keep my chin up and move on.

The phone vibrated again, the screen lighting up with another text from him.

Bucky: That’s the spirit. Ever need someone to vent to, I’m here. Or, you know, to help you move some furniture. I’ve got strong arms and not a lot of plans.

The offer made you smile wider. It was almost a vague way of saying he wanted to see you again, despite being a blunt man he could bring himself to ask you out. It was laughable, in a way.

You: Haha, I’ll keep that in mind. I actually do have an old bookshelf that’s been giving me a hard time.

Bucky: Perfect. I’m your man. Whenever you need it moved, just let me know. No strings attached. Unless you want to grab some coffee first.

The suggestion was casual, but it hung in the air, charged with something more. You chewed on your lip, contemplating his offer. It wasn’t just about the bookshelf; you knew that. But the idea of seeing Bucky again, of sharing a moment that didn’t involve work or the stale air of the convenience store, was tempting. You hadn’t had a decent conversation with anyone in what felt like forever.

Coffee sounds good - you replied, trying to keep your excitement in check.

Bucky: Great! How’s tomorrow afternoon around 3? I can swing by with some muscle and a decent taste in caffeine.

You nodded to yourself, feeling a rush of blood to your face. It wasn’t a date, but it was something. Something outside the routine of your life. Something that had the potential to be more than just another forgettable encounter.

You: Tomorrow at 3 it is.

Bucky: Looking forward to it. Get some rest, and don’t let Carl ruin your night.

The conversation ended with a promise to meet, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe had just handed you a gift-wrapped opportunity for a new beginning. You spent the rest of the night scrolling through job listings, a renewed sense of determination burning in your chest. Maybe you didn’t need to settle for the same old crap anymore. Maybe there was more out there.

The next day dragged by with the excitement of a snail race. You found yourself checking the time on your phone every few minutes, counting down the hours until you could see Bucky again. It was ridiculous, really. You barely knew the guy, but he’d left an indelible mark on you with his kindness and protective nature.

Finally, the clock struck 3, and you felt your nerves begin to fray. You’d chosen your outfit with more care than usual, opting for a simple black dress that fell just above your knees and a light cardigan to ward off the chill of your ill-heated apartment. It was cleaner than it had been in weeks, the bookshelf sitting awkwardly in the middle of your living room, a clear indicator of the ruse you’d concocted.

When the buzzer rang, you took a deep breath and opened the door. Bucky stood in the hallway, dressed in a simple white t-shirt and jeans, looking every inch the hero from your childhood comics. He held up two steaming cups of coffee, the aroma wafting into the room.

“Peace offering,” he said with a wink, handing one to you.

You took it gratefully, feeling your nerves dissipate a little. The warmth of the cup felt good in your hands. “Thanks,” you murmured, taking a tentative sip.

He stepped inside, surveying the bookshelf with a nod of approval. “Looks like it’s seen better days.”

“It was my grandmother’s. I just can’t seem to part with it,” you said, feeling a twinge of nostalgia.

Bucky set his own coffee down and rolled up his sleeves. “Well, let’s get to work then.”

The process of moving the heavy, cumbersome piece of furniture was surprisingly easy with his help. You directed him where to push and pull, and together, you managed to maneuver it into the perfect spot. It was a small victory, but it felt significant, a symbol of progress in a life that often felt stagnant.

Once the bookshelf was in place, you sat down on the couch, breathless and laughing. Bucky followed, his smile reaching his eyes as he took in the now organized space. He handed you back your coffee, and you took a grateful sip, watching him as he wiped the sweat from his brow.

“So, what’s the story behind the books?” he asked, gesturing to the eclectic mix of novels and textbooks that now lined the shelves.

You shrugged, feeling a bit self-conscious. “They’re just my escape. Sometimes school gets overwhelming, and I just need to lose myself in a good story.”

He nodded, his gaze lingering on the spines before meeting yours. “I get that. Sometimes, when I’ve had enough of my own head, I’ll read for hours. It’s like…going on an adventure without leaving your couch.”

You shared a knowing look. “Exactly. And my couch is pretty comfy for traveling the world.”

Bucky’s smile grew a little sad. “Or escaping it, huh?”

The air in the room changed, thick with unspoken understanding. You both knew what it was like to carry a past that weighed heavier than any book. You took a deep breath, deciding to let down your guard a little.

“Yeah, I guess so. Sometimes it’s easier to deal with other people’s problems than my own. And the ones in books have a better chance of a happy ending than the ones in real life.”

He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “But you can’t live in someone else’s story forever, Y/N. You gotta write your own sometimes too.”

You looked away, feeling the weight of his gaze. It was a gentle push, but it was a push nonetheless.

“I know,” you said softly. “I’m just…scared to mess it up, you know?”

Bucky’s hand found yours, his grip firm but gentle. “You won’t. And if you do, that’s what the backspace button’s for. Just keep going.”

The warmth of his hand was like a balm to your soul, a silent promise of support. You swallowed the lump in your throat, feeling the beginnings of something unfurling in your chest - hope, perhaps?

You both sat there in silence for a moment, sipping on your coffee, the quiet hum of the fridge the only sound breaking the stillness.

“So, what’s your story?” Bucky asked, curiosity etched in his voice as he took a sip of his now lukewarm coffee.

You took a deep breath, unsure how much of your life you wanted to unpack for a man you’d only just met. But there was something about him that made you feel safe, like he could handle whatever you threw at him. “It’s not much to tell, really. Just trying to get through school, work to pay the bills, the usual stuff. My parents aren’t around, so it’s all on me.”

The sadness in your voice was palpable, and Bucky’s expression softened. He knew what it was like to be adrift in the world, carrying the weight of responsibilities that were never meant for one person.

“What about your friends? They help you out?”

You shrugged. “They try, but everyone’s got their own lives. It’s hard to juggle it all. And Carl…” You trailed off, not wanting to dwell on the sour note he’d left you with the night before.

“He’s not worth another thought,” Bucky said firmly. “You’ve got more important things to focus on. Like what you’re gonna do after you graduate.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I want to be a counsellor. I’m studying psychology.”

Bucky’s eyes lit up. “That’s amazing. You’ll be great at it. You’ve already got the patience and strength to deal with people at their worst.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the compliment. “Thanks. It’s just what I’ve had to learn to do, I guess. Can I ask you something a bit stupid?”

Bucky raised an eyebrow, his grip on your hand not loosening. “You can ask me anything.”

“How did you become so…” You paused, searching for the right word. “So…good?”

He chuckled, a sound that was surprisingly warm and full of life. “It’s not something you just become, Y/N. I’ve seen a lot of bad stuff. Done a lot of bad stuff. It’s about making choices, every day. Choosing to do the right thing even when it’s hard, even when it’s scary. And I’ve had a lot of people help me along the way. Like Steve… Captain America, I mean.”

The mention of his friend brought a wistful look to his eyes, and you felt a tingle of curiosity about the stories he must have, the adventures he’d been on.

“I just…I mean, I’m not gonna trauma dump on you or anything but sometimes I just feel like I…can’t make up for anything…” Your voice drew out.

Bucky’s thumb made small circles on the back of your hand, a gentle reassurance. “You fascinate me.”

You looked up, surprised. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath, his gaze drifting to the floor before meeting yours again. “You look so sweet. I..obviously you are. But, I can tell there’s something else going on. That something happened….”

You felt your eyes well up, unsure if you wanted to let go of the dam of emotions you’d held back for so long. But the sincerity in Bucky’s voice, the way his thumb kept caressing your hand, made you feel like maybe, just this once, it was okay to be vulnerable in front of him.

“It’s just… I’ve made some mistakes,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “Big ones. Ones I’m not sure I can ever fix. It’s hard to…move on from that.”

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, the warmth in them unwavering. “We all have regrets, Y/N. Hey, we all know I do. But that doesn’t define us. It’s what we do next that counts. And you, helping people, that’s a pretty noble next step, if you ask me.”

You took a shaky breath, his words resonating deep within you. “Sorry.” You giggle softly, “This is a bit dark for a first…whatever this is.”

“It’s okay to be real. Sometimes that’s all anyone can ask for.”

Bucky’s words surrounded you like a warm embrace, his grip on your hand a silent reminder that you weren’t alone. The room felt a size smaller, but not in a suffocating way - more like the comfort of a blanket on a cold night, wrapping you in a cocoon. You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your secrets threatening to spill out.

He could see a look of guilt spilling over your features suddenly.

“Bucky, I’m a bad person.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. You hadn’t meant to say it so bluntly, but there it was, hanging in the air like a storm cloud.

Bucky’s thumb stopped moving. He studied you, his gaze intense but not judgmental. “You can’t believe that, Y/N. You’re not. Everyone makes mis-”

You cut him off with a shake of your head. “No, Bucky. You don’t understand.”

The silence grew heavier, the air thick with the unspoken words. You took a deep breath, bracing yourself for his judgment, his pity. But all you found was his hand tightening around yours, a silent declaration that he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I was trained in the Red Room.”

It was a whisper, the weight of the confession making your voice tremble.

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, the warmth in them never fading. “The Red Room?” he repeated, his voice low and measured. You nodded, the words feeling like lead in your mouth. The Red Room was something you’d buried deep, a chapter of your life you’d hoped never to have to re-open. But here you were, in the dim light of your small apartment, sharing it with this stranger. He deserved to know. He deserved the option to walk away and never look back at the twisted world he’d barely escaped the first time.

He was quiet for a long moment, his hand still wrapped around yours. The tension grew, a symphony of unspoken questions and fears playing in the air. You felt your heart hammering in your chest, the thumping rhythm echoing in your ears. Was he disgusted? Would he leave now?

Bucky’s eyes searched yours, looking for the truth in the shadows of your irises. “The Red Room,” he murmured, the name rolling off his tongue like a dark secret. You could see the recognition in his eyes, the understanding of what that meant. “You were a widow.”

It was less of a question than a statement.

You nodded, feeling the weight of your past pressing down on you like a heavy blanket. The air grew colder, and you found yourself shrinking into your cardigan, as if it could offer some kind of protection from his judgment. But instead of recoiling, Bucky leaned in closer, his gaze never leaving yours.

“How’d you get out?” His voice was gentle, the question not one of accusation, but of genuine curiosity.

You took a deep breath, feeling the walls of your chest constrict around the words you hadn’t spoken in years. “Natasha and Yelena…they found me. When they took the Red Room down. They…freed me.”

Bucky’s grip on your hand grew stronger, his eyes never leaving yours. You could see the understanding dawn in his expression, the knowledge of what it meant to be plucked from the hell you’d been living in and thrust into a world that didn’t make sense anymore.

“Bucky, you….I think you should go.”

Your voice was barely a whisper, the tremble in it clear as day. You couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, the guilt and fear of what he’d think of you now that he knew the truth too much to bear. You didn’t expect him to stay, not after what you’d told him. But the way he looked at you, with a mix of empathy and something you couldn’t quite name, made you hope.

“I’m not going anywhere, Y/N,” Bucky said firmly, his thumb still caressing the back of your hand. “You’re safe here. With me.”

But the dam had already broken. Tears spilled from your eyes, a silent cascade that painted tracks down your cheeks. You hadn’t realized how much you’d needed to hear that, how much you’d needed someone to remind you that you weren’t the monster you felt like. You hadn’t expected to find that in the arms of a man who’d been through his own brand of hell.

But here you were, crying in front of him, letting the pain of your past spill out in a messy, human way.

——————————————————————————————————

I’m hoping this series will be intriguing for some of you fabulous readers! 🫶

Im so gay

But then there is Spencer reid, making me question things

petition to bring back saying "huzzah!" when something goes your way and "alas." when it doesn't

Sometimes a creative outlet is a fun little hobby and sometimes it's a lifelong affliction. Like I crochet because making little woven animals sparks joy and I'm a writer whether I like it or not because I'm tormented by visions

Fanfic writers are like crows. If you give them treats (comments) they will bring you shiny things (fanfic)

There is a severe LACK of sam x reader fics out here and this one is beautiful oh my gods

PLATONIC ➵ S. WILSON

Masterlist | Buy me a coffee

Summary: Bucky has no idea how two people who have known each other for two decades can be so blind to their feelings for one another. At first, it was somewhat comical, the two of you dancing around your obvious attraction for one another, but Bucky has grown tired of pretending that your relationship is strictly platonic.

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Reader

Warnings: FLUFF (some angst if you squint), mutual pining, mentions of Riley (CA:TWS), Bucky meddling in your relationship, mentions of the Blip, alcohol consumption, Reader and Sam being two oblivious idiots in love, no use of y/n

Word Count: 3.8k

Song Inspo: "Platonic" by Ryan Hurd

Author’s Note: So, I saw Brave New World in February and haven't been able to stop thinking about Sam Wilson since. The x Reader tag for my boy is absolutely lacking so I decided to write something for my cap. Hope you guys enjoy some good ole Sam Wilson fluff. Let me know what you guys think and if you have any Sam Wilson x Reader recs on tumblr. Please, I'm desperate.

“You know you could just ask him out, right?”

You choke down your beer, nearly spitting it out as Bucky speaks up beside you. The two of you have been quietly sitting shoulder-to-shoulder at the shitty, hole-in-the-wall Irish pub that Sam insists on frequenting whenever all three of you are in D.C. at the same time. The little tradition had started as a coping mechanism after the three of you were blipped back into existence. You remember Sam begging you to accompany him to O’Malley’s the first time. And you remember sitting between your best friend and Bucky Barnes — it looked almost comical, an ex-Hydra assassin, a former Air Force pilot, and the newly named Captain America drinking a beer together. At first, you thought that Sam had asked you to come as a way to get you out of your house after everything that happened, but as the three of you sat in uncomfortable silence together, you realized that Sam brought you as a buffer. In all the years you’ve known the charismatic Sam Wilson, you never met someone he couldn’t talk to.

And then you met James Buchanan Barnes. 

Unlike Sam, you quickly fell into a cordial friendship with Bucky once you broke the ice. He’s both headstrong and cocky but also observant and aloof. People who meet him in passing might comment on how quiet he is, but you know he’s incredibly opinionated — hell, you made the mistake of commenting about baseball during your trio’s second outing together and had to listen to the man complain about the Brooklyn Dodgers moving to LA for a good thirty minutes. But what really bonded you with Bucky was Sam. You know that when Bucky looks at Sam, he sees what Steve saw in him — the man that Captain America decided was worthy of his mantle. 

He reminds you of Riley in many ways, and that’s why Sam had a more challenging time getting on board with the three of you hanging out together at first. Because for so long, it was just you, Sam, and Riley. You met Sam at boot camp, and then you met Riley shortly after. The three of you ran pararescue missions together — Sam and Riley clad in Exo-7 flight suits while you manned the C-130, which, thanks to a big government contract with Stark Industries, integrated cloaking systems and environmental blending. Then, on a routine mission, Riley got shot out of the sky, and suddenly it was just you and Sam. Sam became a PTSD veteran counselor, you got a piloting job with SHIELD stationed in D.C. to stay close to him, and then the two of you became regulars at O’Malley’s due to its proximity to both of your apartments. A part of Sam was afraid that he was replacing Riley by inviting Bucky into the space you share with him, but he had made a promise to Steve before he’d gone back in time with the infinity stones. And slowly but surely, the two became close friends, bonding over shared military stories, their musical tastes, and their deep respect and adoration for you. 

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Bucky scoffs at your question before taking another swig of his beer. He knows you’re playing dumb — the two of you have been participating in this same song and dance for the better part of a year now. Two months into regularly drinking with Sam and Bucky at O’Malley’s, you drunkenly confessed to Bucky that you harbor feelings for your best friend. He pretended to be shocked, but he knew about your little secret after first meeting with you and Sam. Bucky may be a tad out of touch with new social norms — the man hasn’t participated in the dating scene since the 1940s — but the act of pining hasn’t changed over the decades that have passed. 

“We’re just going to pretend you haven’t been brooding all night after Sam got whisked away by those girls?”

You roll your eyes at Bucky’s question. The annoyance weaved into your expression doesn’t come from a place of malice but instead draws from your frustration at how well Bucky understands you. Sam will always be your best friend, but Bucky has become something like a brother to you over the past year — an empty role in your life since Riley passed away. And after all, Bucky is an older brother — a protector — at his core. He may have lost his little sister a lifetime ago, but the instincts were still there, buried deep down until you and Sam showed up in his life.

“Brooding is your thing, Buck.”

“Exactly. So, can you stop stepping on my shoes?”

A smile tugs at your lips as Bucky playfully nudges you with his elbow. You know he’s trying to lighten the mood, and his humor has made you feel a little lighter; however, there’s still a gnawing in the pit of your stomach as you watch one of the girls slowly slide their hand down Sam’s arm. Bucky follows your gaze and lets out a tired sigh.

“Seriously, kid. What’s stopping you from just asking him out?”

“He’s my best friend, Buck.”

Bucky arches a brow at your reasoning. You say it as if it’s the answer to all of your heartache — as if it’s a valid excuse to hold yourself back from happiness. He has no idea how two people who have known each other for two decades can be so blind to their feelings for one another. At first, it was somewhat comical, the two of you dancing around your obvious attraction for one another, but Bucky has grown tired of pretending that your relationship is strictly platonic. He’s been trying to intervene, but whenever you think about confessing your feelings to Sam, you immediately talk yourself out of it. And Sam isn’t any better. Bucky’s tried to talk some sense into him at least a dozen times, but he’s sure you don’t feel the same way about him.

“I could always set you up with one of my friends.”

“I’m fairly certain you only have two friends, and they’re currently at this bar, Buck.”

Bucky rolls his eyes as he finishes his beer. 

“Believe it or not, I do have a life outside of you and Sam.”

He places the empty bottle on the counter along with a five-dollar bill before layering his leather jacket over his long-sleeve t-shirt. It’s a mild spring day, but you know he doesn’t wear the extra layers for warmth. They’re worn for the same reason as his leather gloves — security that his shiny, metal arm is covered. Bucky spares Sam one last glance before turning his attention back to you. You’re nursing the beer in your hand, simply waiting for Sam to notice you again. He gently grabs your shoulder with his good hand, and Bucky’s heart breaks in his chest as you look up at him with sad eyes.

“Just think about it, okay?”

You nod at his question, and Bucky releases his hold before heading home for the night. With a sigh, you finish your lukewarm beer and order another while waiting patiently for your best friend. Sam Wilson has always been the life of the party — the man who shines like a ray of sunlight even on the darkest days. But the Captain America mantle came with a newfound attention that Sam seems to revel in. You, however, find yourself struggling with it — it had been just the two of you for so long, and now you feel like you’re sharing him with all of America. 

But little do you know that even now, with the entire bar vying for his attention, Sam feels drawn to you like some invisible string is pulling him back. His eyes scan the crowd at O’Malley’s until they find you. He gives you a bright, genuine smile — the kind that leaves you grinning from ear to ear. You watch as he excuses himself from the lively conversation and approaches you. He slides into the seat beside you, shoulder bumping against yours as he leans into your space to grab the beer in front of you. You shoot him a playful glare as he takes a drink out of your beer bottle, and he winks at you in response. He places the bottle back in front of you before speaking.

“Bucky already left?”

“You know the old man — has to be home before bedtime.”

Sam laughs while throwing an arm back across your chair. You don’t even think twice about the action; Sam’s done it at least a thousand times at this point.

“Are you ready to get out of here?”

You give him an eager nod, desperate to get some fresh air. Sam laughs at your reaction before paying both of your tabs. Like in the bar, you don’t think twice as Sam slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side as you walk down the streets of the nation’s capital. Not even as he walks up the five flights of stairs with you to your apartment, unlocking the door with the key you gave him ages ago. Not even as he moves through your apartment as if it were his, opening your fridge to grab two beers and rifling through your junk drawer to find the bottle opener he knows is in there. Not even as Sam falls asleep on your couch again after a night of talking for hours. You don’t think twice because this is how it’s always been between you and Sam — it’s always been comfortable, domestic. 

But, for some reason, tonight is different. As you sit on your kitchen counter, finishing your beer, Sam’s loud snores from your living room are drowned out by Bucky’s words from earlier this evening ringing in your ears. This is what your life has always looked like, but is this all it will be — waiting for your slice of Sam’s increasingly divided time? You’re happy for him. Truly. Sam deserves everything that the mantle of Captain America comes with — the attention, the popularity, the spotlight. You’re overjoyed that the world is finally seeing what you’ve seen in Sam all along, but a small part of you is jealous. And that jealousy is starting to eat you alive. 

You sigh, downing the last of your beer before sliding your phone out of your pocket. Scrolling through your contacts, you find Bucky’s name. You listen to the phone ring twice before Bucky answers your call. Concern is evident in his voice as he says your name. You rarely call him this late, but you know you’d talk yourself out of this in the morning. 

“I’ll do it, Buck. Set up the date.”

“It’s about time, kid.”

You spend the rest of your agonizingly slow week second-guessing that phone call. Hell, you almost call Bucky at least a dozen times to cancel the date altogether — to simply state that Bucky’s advice is ridiculous and you’re perfectly fine with your current situation. But, ultimately, you decide this is for the best. If your goal is to get over your absurd crush on Sam Wilson, then you actually need to start working on it. So, even though you’ve managed to worry yourself sick on Friday, you still manage to get yourself ready that evening and leave your apartment. A small smile pulls at your lips as you stand outside the address Bucky texted you several days prior. You’re thankful he chose a casual ramen spot for the blind date. It makes the whole experience a little less high stakes — like you could leave at any time with limited consequences. 

With an exasperated sigh, you finally bite the bullet and pull open the door to the small establishment. The bell above you rings, and you’re greeted by a friendly man behind the counter, telling you to sit wherever you want. You turn towards the quaint dining room and, to your surprise, see a familiar figure sitting at one of the tables. Sam Wilson looks just as surprised as you feel. Your feet move on their own accord as you approach your best friend. He looks nice — clad in a maroon polo and his nicest pair of jeans. 

“What are you doing here, Sam?”

You found it strange that you never received your weekly text from Sam asking you about your Friday night plans. But you concluded that either Bucky told him about your blind date or Sam planned a date for that evening as well. But this was an outcome you never expected.

“Bucky set me up on a blind date with one of his friends.”

Your brow furrows at Sam’s confession.

“Bucky set me up on a blind date with one of his friends.”

Sam looks at you as if you’re speaking a different language, and embarrassment washes over you as you realize that you’re right: Bucky Barnes only has two friends, and they’re currently looking at each other stupidly in a family-owned Ramen joint. Anger rushes through your veins as the realization sets in, but Sam still looks dumbfounded.

“So, Bucky set us up on a date.”

“Oh.”

You wait for him to continue, but he just sits at his empty table, at a loss for words. Usually, the silence between the two of you is comfortable; however, right now, it's excruciating. You suddenly feel about two inches tall as you stand before Sam. As the room gets twenty degrees warmer and the walls begin closing in, you decide it’s probably best if you get out of here. 

“This was a stupid idea.”

You turn away from Sam, but before you can take a step towards the door, he grabs your hand. The contact causes you to look back at your best friend, whose gaze is surprisingly tender. Your body relaxes ever so slightly, and, against your better judgment, your hand tightens around his. 

“It doesn’t have to be.”

His tone is genuine, but there’s still that voice in the back of your head gnawing at you. There’s no way that your best friend suddenly wants to go on a date with you. That shit doesn’t happen in real life. This isn’t a movie — he hasn’t been waiting almost two decades for this exact moment to express his feelings for you. You keep your expectations low because although Sam is a superhero, this isn’t a fairytale. Still, you let him gently tug your body into the seat across from him. 

“You don’t have to do this, Sam.”

Sam’s brow furrows, and a look of genuine confusion washes over his features. He studies you for a moment before speaking. 

“You think I don’t want to go on a date with you?”

You roll your eyes at his question. This whole conversation is ridiculous, and it’s beginning to feel like Sam and Bucky are pulling a practical joke on you right now. But Sam looks at you expectantly, waiting for your answer, so you play along even though you aren’t happy about it.

“C’mon, Sam.”

Sam simply arches a brow at you with a bewildered expression, and for a moment, your resolve falters. What if this is real? What if this isn’t some stupid joke between Sam and Bucky? What’s the harm in just letting this moment play out? With a sigh, you look up at Sam, who is still studying your features. 

“Sam, I’m pretty certain that if you were interested in me at any point in the last twenty years, you’d have asked me out by now.”

Sam huffs out a laugh at this, and suddenly, he looks embarrassed. This reaction confuses you. Sam is a confident man — he’s rarely self-conscious about himself or his decisions. 

“Yeah, about that…”

Your heart lurches in your chest as he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly as he tries to find the right words. And as he meets your eyes, there’s an emotion in his gaze that you can’t quite place. 

“What is it, Sam?”

Sam sighs before speaking.

“This isn’t just platonic for me.”

Suddenly, your world comes to a screeching halt. This feels like an out-of-body experience — like some sort of dream — and you’re pretty sure if you pinched yourself right now, you’d wake up alone in your apartment. But that doesn’t happen. You’re really here with Sam, having this conversation.

“How long have you felt like that?”

Sam looks away from you as he thinks for a moment, wanting to give you an accurate answer.

“After we helped Steve with Hydra in D.C., seeing you in the hospital put things into perspective.”

You were working as a SHIELD pilot for almost two years when Sam went missing with SHIELD’s two most wanted fugitives: Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanoff. Because of this, it didn’t take much convincing for you to ignore your orders and help Steve stop the launch of the helicarriers. Bucky, acting as the Winter Soldier at the time, had taken out most of SHIELD’s air support; however, you and a group of four other pilots managed to get your birds into the air. Although the stakes were high, a part of you felt like it was old times — watching Sam soar through the air in his Exo-7 flight suit from the cockpit of your F-35 Lightning II. The fight was going well until Bucky nailed your left wing with a large piece of debris, causing you to go into a downward tailspin. You attempted to stabilize your aircraft but ran out of time. So, you decided to pull your parachute, but to your horror, the cord was stuck. Sam, grounded due to his broken wings, watched helplessly as your fighter slammed into the Potomac River. You were found by search and rescue after the helicarriers were destroyed and woke up in a hospital bed three days later. Recovery was agonizingly slow, but Sam never left your side — except to check on Steve every so often in the room next to yours. The memory brings a small, sad smile to your face.

“That was ten years ago, Sam. What stopped you from telling me?”

“Other than everything that happened after that? You’re my best friend — I didn’t want to risk that.”

You suppose he’s right. There was rarely a moment of downtime after you recovered from your fall into the Potomac River. The two of you immediately threw yourselves into helping Steve track down Bucky, and just two years later, all four of you were wanted fugitives due to the Sokovia Accords. Between the years you spent living on the run and the years you lost to the blip, there was rarely a quiet moment until Thanos was finally defeated — until now. 

“For me, it was after Riley.”

Sam’s eyebrows shot up at your confession, obviously not expecting for you to have fallen first. But, despite his excitement at this revelation, he stays quiet, letting you continue if you want.

“After losing him, I couldn’t help imagining it being you who got shot down that day. The idea haunted me in my nightmares, and I realized that if I lost you, it would be a different kind of grief.” 

Sam’s face softens, and he reaches across the table for your hand. He wraps his hand tightly around yours, grounding you back into this moment before speaking.

“You never have to worry about losing me.”

You scoff at his words, giving him an incredulous look.

“You’re Captain America, Sam. Running head first into danger is your job.”

“Okay, fair. But I have a very compelling reason to stay alive.”

You laugh, attempting to cover up how flustered you feel due to Sam’s words. It doesn’t work. Sam smiles as he notices the effect his words have on you. He could get used to this — flirting with you until you’re bright red and stumbling over your words. It’s undeniably cute, and he can’t believe it’s taken him this long to do it. 

After your emotionally charged conversation, you both need something to eat. The two of you both order ramen, and Sam doesn’t let go of your hand until two bowls are set down on the table. You enjoy your meal while Sam occasionally nudges his knee playfully into yours under the table before offering you a flirtatious smile. The conversation that flows between you doesn’t feel forced or uncomfortable — it feels both familiar and somehow brand new. The two of you had been navigating the grey area between romantic and platonic for so long that it feels almost liberating to look at Sam and know his true intentions. 

After Sam pays the bill, giving the establishment's owner a generous tip, the two of you fall into step with one another as you walk toward your apartment. The walk isn’t drastically different from the thousands you’ve taken before. Sam still slings his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side — except this time, you move your hand up and intertwine your fingers. He still walks up the stairs with you to your apartment, unlocking the door with the key you gave him ages again — except this time, he leads you by the hand up all five flights. And he still moves through your apartment as if it were his, opening your fridge to grab two beers and rifling through your junk drawer to find the bottle opener he knows is in there — except this time, as he places the beers behind you, he doesn’t move away. Instead, he keeps his hands on the counter, one on either side of your body, caging you in. His expression is soft, illuminated by the lone fluorescent light in your small kitchen. And there’s an adoration in his gaze that makes you feel lighter than air.

Steve’s words, from what feels like a lifetime ago, ring in your ears as you look up at Sam Wilson, who stands just a breath away: "As the world's expert on waiting too long, don't."

Tired of waiting, you grab Sam by the front of his polo and pull him into you, locking your lips with his as your chests bump into each other. It’s not a picture-perfect kiss; it’s a little sloppy and frantic, but it’s the type that makes up for the twenty years you spent dancing around your feelings for one another. Eventually, you break away from each other. Sam rests his forehead against yours, and the brightest smile you’ve ever seen graces his face — the man looks like sunshine incarnate as he studies your features.

“I should have done that ten years ago.”

The laugh that escapes you is melodic — a goddamn symphony to Sam’s ears. And he can’t help but kiss you again. And again. And again. In an attempt to make up for lost time and to prove to you, this was never just platonic. 

I'm going to level with you, some of you are VERY confused about the difference between "being a hater as a sports fan" and "wishing death or harm upon sports competitors you don't like". They're categorically NOT the same thing

i check tumblr on my phone like i read the newspaper and i am devastated

GOODMORNING???

Wingwoman (Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader

Summary: You take your good friend/coworker, Spencer, out to the bar to find him a girl to hook up with. Things do not go as planned.

Word Count: 5107

Warnings: Romantic/sexual tension! Mentions of drinking / sex

A/N: Hi! I haven't written posted fanfic in like, 8 years, please be nice xD I would love to know your thoughts - if you have any requests or anything, I'm happy to oblige. ALSO -- I have only seen up to Season 7 of Criminal Minds because I'm a fckn loser. Anywayyyyy enjoy! Not my gif btw, all credit to the owner :)

It was kind of your fault, now that you were thinking back on it. 

Actually, it was definitely your fault, now that you were thinking back on it. 

It had been your suggestion to go out. It had been your idea to act as Spencer’s wingwoman, some last-ditch effort to try to get him out of your mind. He was your coworker, for Christ’s sake. And your best friend. And you’d thought about him desperately for eight of the nine months that you’d known him. 

Emily, Derek, and Penelope had all agreed to tag along, but as the work day went on, each of your coworkers had found some kind of excuse to opt-out. Derek’s niece wanted to Facetime. Penelope forgot Kevin’s birthday was next week and needed to go shopping for a present. Emily had a headache. 

Finding Spencer a romantic prospect on your own was certainly not the plan, but, stupidly, thoughtlessly, you’d decided to go along with it. You could do this. Just one night in a bar, chatting up women for the man you’d slowly been falling for the past eight months. As good of an idea as any, right? 

You and Spencer took an Uber to the bar the group frequented. Ski-ball and pool in one corner, a vintage jukebox and small space set aside as a makeshift dance floor in the other. But the best part - half-off drinks for federal agents. You’d never been one to abuse the badge before, but… 

Three Jack-and-Diet-Cokes later, your moral code had a bit of a crack in it. 

Spencer stood next to you - towered over you, actually, because that man was a fucking beanpole - and you felt his eyes on you as you scanned the crowd. “What about her?” you suggested, jerking your chin to the woman at a high-top table against the wall. She had her nose stuck in her phone and an untouched martini on the table in front of her. 

“She’s clearly waiting for someone,” Spencer pointed out, and you realized he was right just as the woman looked up from her phone and towards the door for the third time in the past minute. “I also don’t understand why you’re so dead set on finding someone to hog me up with.” 

You snorted into your drink. “Hog you up with?” you repeated, turning in your barstool so you faced him. Your knees brushed his thighs. 

“Yeah, is that not…” realization dawned on Spencer and he grimaced. “That’s not the phrase, is it?” 

“Hook,” you corrected, but not impatiently. You made a little hook with your index finger, like a pirate. A little giggle escaped you. “And I’m not dead set on it,” you argued. “I just didn’t want to be the only one leaving the bar with someone.” 

Your eyes flickered up to Spencer’s to gauge his reaction. He seemed surprised by this implication that you planned to leave with someone - someone who was not him. 

“Yeah? Who are you leaving with, matey?” Spencer countered, arching a brow and pointedly looking at your index finger, still in its hooked position. You dropped your hand. 

“It doesn’t matter right now,” you blushed furiously, desperately trying to drive the conversation back to his romantic conquests. Your thought process was that if you actually saw Spencer with someone else in any sort of romantic capacity - dancing, flirting, kissing - you’d finally hurt yourself enough with the sight for those stupid feelings for him to dissipate. “We’re looking for you.” 

Spencer merely hmm-ed in response, an indecisive non-answer, and you noticed he shook his head. Like he was annoyed, but trying not to show it. You swallowed the lump in your throat and polished off your drink before returning to examining the patrons in the bar. You nudged Spencer’s elbow with your own and your gaze landed on the group of three women giggling around one of the tables. “Any of them? The blonde is cute,” you pointed out. 

“Not really into blondes,” Spencer muttered, and you glanced back at him. You could have sworn his eyes were locked on your brunette hair. You opened your mouth to say something, but Spencer cut you off. “But, sure, if watching me strike out will amuse you, Y/N.” Before you could protest, Spencer set his glass down on the bar and started towards the trio of women at the table. 

You leaned down to sniff his glass, curious as to what he’d been drinking. Clear liquid. No smell. Was he… totally sober? 

You watched with narrowed, studious eyes as Spencer approached the women. You could only see the back of his head, but the three women’s faces were perfectly visible. They smiled, friendly, unassuming, and then something came out of Spencer’s mouth that changed their expressions. The blonde in the middle furrowed her brows, and the two women on either side cocked their heads slightly. Spencer’s hand tapped the table and he earned awkward smiles as a goodbye was bid, and when he turned around to head back towards the bar, he just shrugged his shoulders and shook his head, like what are you gonna do? 

“What happened?” you asked as he returned to you. 

“I blew it,” Spencer said matter-of-factly. Too accepting of his defeat. Further supporting your theory that he’d gone over there and purposefully botched it. 

“Right,” you flagged down the bartender to order another drink. 

“You’re getting another one?” Spencer asked. 

You whirled your face to meet his and didn’t see judgment, but rather, concern. “Why does it matter?” you asked, no, dared. 

Spencer shook his head, defeatedly. “It doesn’t,” he grumbled. 

“What about that girl you were talking to earlier by the jukebox?” you asked, nudging his shin with your foot. “The grabby one. She seemed really into you.” 

Spencer visibly gritted his teeth. “I’m not interested.” 

“Are you interested in anyone in this bar tonight?” You asked. The words came too quickly for you to stop them. They were too real. Especially as Spencer’s frown hardened just slightly and you watched him look away from you. 

You took in a sharp inhale, the realization hitting you, the possibility that Spencer might actually feel the same way about you. And that you’d dragged him out here tonight to try and set him up with someone else. You were selfish and thoughtless and stupid. 

You hopped off the barstool, your feet wavering beneath you. “I’d better go home,” you said suddenly, grabbing your bag. You had to leave. You had to go home before you said something stupid, something irreversible. 

You stalked out of the bar and onto the brisk, late-autumn sidewalk. You’d forgotten your coat at the office and insisted you’d be fine. The chill smacked you in the face and you tucked your bag beneath your shoulder so you could cross your arms over your chest and hug yourself for any semblance of warmth. 

Thirty seconds hadn’t even passed before the door creaked and Spencer appeared at your side, throwing his coat wordlessly over your shoulders. “What did I do?” he asked. You looked up at him and saw his eyes - hurt, frustrated, confused. 

Your lips parted and there was a small shake of your head. “No,” you breathed. He furrowed his brows and you explained further. “You didn’t do anything.” 

“Then why the hell have you been so weird around me lately?” Spencer asked, scuffing his shoe against the sidewalk. Like a temperamental first-grader. 

“Weird how?” You asked, trying to pretend like you had no idea what he was talking about. Like your stomach didn’t flip every morning when you saw him. 

“Like you’re… like you’re mad at me. Like you don’t want to be around me,” Spencer looked at the street ahead of the both of you rather than at you. “You always find an excuse to leave the room when it’s just the two of us. You pull Derek or Emily or Penelope into the conversation so you don’t have to interact with just me. You’re out here trying to find me someone to hook up with?” he phrased the last sentence as a question, shaking his head. Your heart lurched. He let out an incredulous laugh. “It’s either you’re trying to shrug me off as a friend entirely, or -” 

He stopped himself. His eyes were fixed on the streetlamp a few feet in front of you. They widened and you felt your heart pound as he slowly met your gaze. The realization hit him, the second half of his sentence lingering, heavy and palpable between the two of you. 

“Or,” you repeated, not phrasing it as a question. Your voice was soft as you said it, your tone anything but a question. 

“Or?” Spencer asked, and you could see his chest start to rise and fall more slowly. 

“Or,” you confirmed, taking in a sharp breath. 

Spencer’s throat bobbed as he looked at you, his gaze piercing and soft, studious and lazy, hungry and satiated all at once. “Oh.” 

Oh. 

“How long?” he asked, turning his feet towards you. 

Your face went red and you lifted your chin, refusing to make yourself feel ashamed of it anymore. There wasn’t any point, not when he knew now. “Since March,” you admitted. Your voice was squeaky. 

“March?” Spencer repeated, incredulous. It was early October now. 

“Yeah,” you exhaled, shrugging his jacket off your shoulders and bunching it up by the middle. You handed it to him. “You don’t have to say anything,” you said. Your body felt like it was on fire. “You don’t have to-”

“I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.” 

You thought maybe you were hallucinating for a second. Your mouth fell open and despite your three drinks, you remembered clearly that Spencer had been drinking water. This was not some drunken confession, not for either of you, because the second he’d asked you why you had been so weird lately, you had instantly sobered up. “Oh,” was all you managed to choke out.

Oh. 

“Yeah, oh,” Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smile. That playful, friendly, teasing little smile you’d learned to love on him. He stepped towards you. 

You let out this little half-garbled laugh. Spencer reached for your hand, and you let him. Your fingers spread, allowing his in the spaces between. You looked up at Spencer and little fires shot up your hand. How could merely holding hands feel so monumental? 

“What do we… what do we do now?” You asked, your mind in a haze, like a computer awaiting command. 

Spencer let his jacket fall to the concrete and used his other hand to slowly, almost hesitantly, cup your cheek. He looked down at you and your entire face reddened. “Well,” his voice was soft, crackling, like a fireplace, and he met your gaze with searching eyes. “I’d like to kiss you now, if that would be okay,” he said finally. Your lips turned up into an idiotic smile. 

“I think that would be okay,” you whispered. 

His hands were so soft, you realized. His grip on your hand loosened and he was now cupping your face on both sides. And every nerve in your cheeks was firing off signals - Spencer is touching my face, Spencer is touching my face. Like it was some forbidden thing. But then, as if in slow motion, he ducked his head down and his lips touched yours. Gently, at first, tentative and wobbly like a foal taking its first steps. Your hands rested on his torso - taut beneath that stupid little sweater vest. 

He pulled back after just a moment. It was really only five or six seconds at the most, but you were red-faced and breathless by the time your eyes fluttered open, into his. Spencer’s smile was now a full-blown grin, and your expression mirrored his. “Yeah?” He asked, the word carrying more meaning. You’re into this, right? 

“Yeah,” you exhaled as Spencer dropped his hands from your face, but your hands remained on his torso, not wanting to step away just yet. The syllable meant more coming from you, too. I’m really, very much, super into this. Please, for the love of god, kiss me again. 

Spencer arched a brow ever so slightly, and you nodded your head. 

Just like a dance, Spencer’s hands moved to your waist, and at the same time, you slid yours around his neck. He backed you up, completely disregarding his jacket on the sidewalk, until you were flush against the brick wall belonging to the bar. The brisk October breeze ruffled through his hair and yours, yet, suddenly, neither of you were terribly concerned about the weather. 

He kissed you again, and this time it wasn’t as timid. Slowly, at first, his lips pressed against yours, and then his tongue darted out. It teased your lips in silent invitation, and you opened them to grant him access. His hands were everywhere, your hips, your hair, your face. You had moved your own down to his torso again. He coaxed the tiniest little mewl out of your throat, a completely uncontrollable and inevitable noise. 

Spencer’s low, gravelly groan reverberated through your mouth. Your hands gripped the bottom half of his shirt, balling it up in tight, white-knuckled fists. An unmistakable hardness brushed against your thigh. You were perfectly content to stay right there, pinned against the exterior wall of a D.C. bar, but the sound of a car honking its horn peeled Spencer off of you. 

His face was flushed and you released his shirt from your grasp. He let out a small grunt, stepping away from you to grab his jacket off the ground, wrinkling it haphazardly in his hand, holding it strategically over his middle. 

Oh, he liked you a lot. 

“You okay, Spence?” You asked all-knowingly, cocking your head to the side, leaning against the wall, lifting a foot to plant against it. 

Spencer shot a set of narrowed eyes at you, as if noting your smirk and storing it for later. “Yeah, I’m great,” he said, obviously struggling a little bit. His eyes quickly left yours and looked everywhere but at you. 

You didn’t want to embarrass him too much. So you just crossed your arms over your chest and looked at the sidewalk. But the smirk on your face wasn’t going away quite so easily. You considered briefly trying to talk to him about baseball or something to try and help him out, but you decided pointing it out would just humiliate him. Plus, it was a nice little ego boost, knowing you could get him like that with just a simple touch. 

He took a second, but he finally cleared his throat and met your gaze. You sucked your front teeth with your tongue and then bit your lip. “Want me to call an Uber?” You asked. 

Spencer just nodded, and you pushed yourself off the wall, stepping over to join him, digging your phone out of your pocket to order the car. “You okay?” You asked him again after submitting the request on your phone. Spencer’s face was still flushed, but he just nodded and reached for your hand. “Careful,” you warned, unable to resist the opportunity to tease him. “Don’t want you having an-“

“Shut up,” Spencer cut you off, and you snickered. 

___________________________________________________________

You had never been in Spencer’s apartment before. It was unmistakably his, with stacks upon stacks of books in lieu of furniture. 

There was a sofa in his living room, along with a coffee table, a couple of lamps, and a television on a stand. The remaining space, besides a few spots here and there and a clear path with which to maneuver the room, was filled with books. 

You had never seen so many books in someone’s possession before. And sure, you were an avid reader yourself. But nothing like this. Your heart fluttered at the sight, not only because books simply just made you happy, but because it was an incredibly endearing detail about Spencer. Your Spencer. 

He shut and locked the door after you stepped inside, looking around with a childlike, awestruck grin. The TV had a thin layer of dust over the screen - he clearly didn’t use it often. And as you trailed a finger along the top of the nearest stack of books, you felt a pair of eyes watching your every move. 

You and Spencer had both been quiet in the Uber ride here. He had simply held your hand, swiping his thumb across the back of your palm every few seconds. You would occasionally meet his gaze, but then quickly, bashfully, look away, like the two of you were teenagers. 

It was so strange to think of what he had said to you - I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met. How had you not figured it out before now? 

You supposed you had been hiding your true feelings as well, so he was allowed to, too. 

There wasn’t any point in wishing to change the past, you reminded yourself. All you should be focusing on is right now. 

And right now, the street lamps peeked in through Spencer’s living room window, glinting off of his endless brown eyes and making them look like he had the moon in his irises. 

“So,” you said softly, not nearly as wicked as you had been when you were teasing him on the street by the bar. “This is where you live.” 

“Uh-huh,” Spencer bobbed his head, that awkward, straight-line smile crossing his face.

“Lot of books,” you pointed out. 

“Yep.” 

You arched a brow, a teasing smile crossing your face once again. “What’s with the monosyllabic conversation?” 

Spencer clenched and unclenched his fists at his side. “It’s just… really difficult to just stand here and not touch you,” he admitted, a sheepish smile crossing his face. 

You grinned. “You can touch me,” your voice dropped an octave, without you even really thinking about it. 

Spencer licked a canine with the tip of his tongue. God, that tongue. You remembered how he’d teased you less than an hour ago outside of the bar. “Maybe I will,” he shrugged, and you rolled your eyes. 

“You can’t really play it cool, right now, Spencer. Not when I just gave you a-“

“Please stop talking,” Spencer laughed, crossing the room and cupping your cheeks in his hands all in the same movement. You snickered and he kissed you and anything you might have been wanting to make fun of him for was forgotten about. 

You pressed your hands against his chest - holy pectorals, Batman - and craned your neck up so you could reach him. Spencer slid his own hands down your arms and to your hips, and you looped your arms around his neck. One palm flattened against the back of his head, holding him in place, fingers curling around pieces of his soft hair. 

Your heart was hammering away, and there was this aching, hot feeling that was pooling in your core and you all of a sudden felt hungry. Starving for Spencer, for every piece of him, for fully and finally crossing that line from friend to lover. An insatiable hunger for nearly every moment since you’d known him.

Finally you broke away from him, simply because oxygen was a necessity, and he rested his forehead against yours. Your eyes were still closed and your fingers ground into his scalp. “Look at me,” he requested, his voice low. 

Your eyes opened obediently and one of Spencer Reid’s hands curled under your chin. His face moved away from yours but his gaze was locked on yours, a pinpoint, a Northern Star. 

And when Spencer spoke again, your knees buckled. 

“I want you.”

Your mouth fell open, ever so slightly, and you nodded. “I want you, too,” you whispered. 

“Are you still…?” He asked, his eyes searching yours. You’d had three drinks earlier that evening, after all, but you’d polished the last one off nearly an hour ago. Maybe not fully sober, but sober enough to know what you wanted. 

“I’m fine,” you assured him. 

Spencer inclined his head to the side. “You’re sure? Can you pass a sobriety test?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him before you realized he was being sarcastic. You stepped back from him, shrugging off his hands, and extended your arms, touching your nose with your left hand, then your right. Spencer just laughed, and reached out for you, tugging you back to him. “Okay,” he chuckled, planting a kiss on your neck. You let him. “You’re fine, then?”

“I’m fine,” you agreed, shrugging him out of his sweater vest, and then reaching for the buttons on his shirt underneath. 

Spencer kissed your neck as you fumbled with the buttons - how were buttons suddenly impossible to undo? Your head craned back just slightly on instinct, wanting - needing - to allow Spencer more access. Your dexterity had become abysmal at this point, and Spencer’s lips were kissing your neck, down your throat, teasing at your collarbone. “Spencer,” you managed to groan out, a wave of annoyance present in your tone. 

“What?” he asked, pulling back, concern filling his face. 

You realized you had actually worried him. “Oh, no, no,” you waved it away, and he visibly relaxed. “I’m just really frustrated, because… because your shirt,” you stammered, and Spencer’s mouth twitched up into a smirk. 

“My shirt,” he stated. 

“That one, right here,” You laughed softly, curling your fingers around the buttons. You managed to wiggle one free, then another. Spencer leaned forward to continue kissing your neck, but you held a hand up to stop him. “Hang on,” you murmured, working through another button, and one more. “I’m concentrating.” 

“You’re sticking your tongue out,” Spencer snickered. Your eyes met his and your cheeks flushed.

“I’m concentrating!” Your voice rose slightly in self-defense. Spencer’s hands went to your hips. 

“It’s adorable,” he told you. “You make the same face at work. When you’re in the middle of filling out a form or trying to open a new bottle of coffee creamer without spilling it,” Spencer rubbed circles in your hips and your fingers stopped working again. 

“You noticed that kind of stuff?” You asked softly, looking up at him with doe eyes.

Spencer just nodded. “All the time.” 

I’ve had feelings for you since the day we met.

You inhaled sharply, finally undoing the last button.The skin beneath the shirt was pale, smooth, and perfect. And when he slid his arms through the sleeves and the shirt fell to the ground, you bit your lip, unable to help it. 

“Y/N?” 

You met Spencer’s gaze and let out this awkward little laugh. Embarrassing, really, if you hadn’t been in the company of your best friend. “You okay?” he asked, and you felt a little giddy as you nodded, moving your hands to his neck and standing on your toes to kiss him again. 

You didn’t know which direction the bedroom was in, so you just took a guess, pushing him back towards one of the doors. He kept his hands on your hips and his lips pressed against yours as he guided you, walking backwards, to the right door. You entered the bedroom and could not possibly be bothered to look around right now, not when Spencer was guiding you in a circle by merely touching your hips, not when the back of your knees hit what was unmistakably a mattress, not when you fell back against it. 

Your eyes were shut, unwilling to take in your surroundings as Spencer guided you onto your back. You toed off your shoes before lifting your legs, and Spencer hovered over you. Your lips were locked with his the entire time. And when you finally opened your eyes and you saw only Spencer, you grinned like a fool. 

Spencer’s fingers were like taking a shower. They were all over you - your hips, first, then your stomach, and you had to resist the urge to giggle because they tickled as he teased the bottom hem of your shirt up. You sat up slightly to get the blouse over your head and you watched him discard it onto the floor. And then his hands were over your chest, thumbs teasing under the wire of your bra, outlining the shapes of your breasts. 

Your breathing had gone heavy and staccato by this point, your body sinking into the mattress, shipwrecked as Spencer touched you. His eyes wandered over your and that little smile on his face was enough for you to know that he was immensely enjoying himself. 

“Can I…?” Spencer’s hands wandered down and gripped your pants as he looked into your eyes, a brow arched. 

You swallowed a lump in your throat and your blush appeared over your cheeks at the same time as his. “Yeah,” you whispered, and Spencer helped you wiggle out of your pants - black slacks, since you had gone straight from work to the bar. They were soon tossed to the floor, and you were only in your underwear and your bra. And Spencer’s brown eyes did not make you feel objectified or embarrassed, but safe. 

“You’re so beautiful, Y/N,” he told you, seriously, and your breath hitched in your throat. 

“You-”

“I’m not done,” Spencer cut you off, lifting a hand to run his thumb down your chin. “You’re so beautiful. And you’re so kind, and smart, and funny. And I’d really like to show you how much I care about you,” he looked into your eyes as a sort of request. 

“I’m not on birth control,” You breathed out in response, feeling your cheeks redden for even bringing it up. Way to damper the mood. Still, you wanted to be responsible. “Do you have a c-”

Spencer’s soft smile turned into a wicked grin and he shook his head. “We’re not going to need one,” he promised, and after looking into his eyes for a moment, you understood. 

___________________________________________________________

Spencer had thoroughly worshiped you, until you quaked and cried out with absolutely no thought to how thin his apartment walls might be. Usually, you didn’t allow yourself to be the center of attention for too long, but Spencer had insisted, and, well, you couldn’t very well deny him what he wanted, right? 

Covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your hair matted to the back of your neck, Spencer finally lay down beside you. Your breathing was just starting to come back to you as you turned on your side to face him. Spencer’s body mirrored yours, the tips of his fingers - those fingers - trailing up the side of your arm. “That was…” his voice was soft, gravelly, and he looked at you like you had anything to do with it. It was literally all him. “Incredible.” 

“Yeah,” you managed to breathe out, unable to really focus on anything besides the curve of Spencer’s lips, the way the apples of his cheeks appeared when he smiled like this. Spencer kissed your lips, unlike any way he had before. All the other kisses tonight had been hungry and excited, exploratory and new. This one was lazy and slow and you let his tongue dance across yours, and when he finally pulled away, your nose scrunched up in delight. 

Your eyes traveled from his lips, down his neck, his collarbone, then back up, taking him in. The glow of his skin, the tired yet exhilarated look in his eyes. So different now than at the beginning of the night, when he’d looked at you with that slightly annoyed expression as you had tried to set him up with other women. You recalled how he had gone off to that group of three women right before you’d abandoned the bar, how he had struck out on purpose just to satiate your nagging. “What’d you say to those women tonight?” You asked him curiously, furrowing your brows at him. 

Spencer, in turn, arched his brows at you. “Why?” 

“Because I’m curious,” you said as his fingers continued to trail, feather-light, up and down your arm. You traced your thumb along his jawline, stopping at his chin. “You were obviously blowing it on purpose.” 

Spencer rolled his eyes. “I actually do have some game, despite what Morgan might say,” he said, his tone defensive. 

You snickered. “Sure you do, Spence. Took you, what, eight months, to get me in your bed?” 

Spencer shot a playful glare at you and pinched the skin on your arm. You squeaked in response and he just laughed. “I just asked them how they were doing tonight,” he said finally, and you knew just from the look on his face that he was lying. 

“You did not,” you pushed back. “Come on, Reid, spill it.” 

“Ok, fine,” Spencer heaved a sigh and rolled his eyes, sitting up in the bed, his back against the headboard. You sat up, too, looking at him with concern. Why was he so embarrassed? “I told them… Jesus.” Spencer rubbed the space between his brows with his thumb and his forefinger. “I told them I was here with a coworker that I had a massive crush on, and that you were trying to set me up with someone else,” he began. 

You started to smile. 

Spencer continued. “I told them that I had absolutely no interest in going home with anyone tonight, and that I had been purposefully striking out all night long because I couldn’t stand the thought of even trying to look at someone the way I look at you.” 

Your smile grew and you moved to sit on your knees, inching closer to Spencer and throwing one leg over him, effectively straddling him against the mattress. “So I asked them,” Spencer continued, his lips turning slowly from an exasperated frown to a small smile. “I asked them if they could just look at me like I had said something stupid, and then I would leave them alone.” 

“Did they say anything to that?” You asked as Spencer’s hands found your hips, contouring to match the curves into the small of your back. 

Spencer’s voice got slightly lower, more serious, when he said, “The girl in the middle did. She said ‘that girl definitely has feelings for you, too’. And then they did what I asked, and I walked back over to you.” 

“She did not say that,” you rolled your eyes, just as Spencer kissed your lips. 

“I have an eidetic memory, Y/N,” he reminded you in a low whisper, as his lips lingered against yours. “Would I lie to you about that?” 

“people are allowed to dislike things” WRONG nobody is allowed to dislike sam wilson