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mermaidgirl30 · 9 months ago

Text

✨New Beginnings✨

Joel Miller x fem! reader

Series Masterlist Part 1

A/N: I loved writing this, it was so soft 🥹 This can be read as a stand alone, but it is a continuation of my fic Fortnight! I hope you enjoy! This is the ending I wanted for them 🥰 Might write another little cute one shot for them in the near future because I love them so much. Thank you to @mountainsandmayhem for beta reading and helping me with the mood board 🩷

Summary: You’ve spent the last three years healing, growing, and letting go. During a day at the lake, fate steps in when you run into Joel without a wedding ring on.

Word Count: 2.9k

Rating: 18+ Only

Tags: fluff, flirting, making up for lost time, old flame, no use y/n, reader sees Joel again after 3 years, reader has a dog named Sammy

Dividers by @saradika-graphics

The summer breeze of Austin rushes through your hair, the smell of fresh oak, the sloshing sounds of lapping blue water, and the feel of new beginnings permeates throughout the air. Summer. Your favorite time of year, your favorite place to be. Georgetown Lake. An escape, a picturesque safe haven where you can sunbathe and let Sammy, your golden retriever, pounce around the clear water as it splashes against his sandy fur.

You’ve been doing okay lately, healing, moving on like you should’ve a long time ago. After sulking around the house days after the mail incident with Joel, you knew it was time to do something, anything to make that pit of sadness wash away. You couldn’t face Tess again, face him, not after you broke down in tears the moment he slipped his calloused fingers firmly around your wrist. It was too much, too soon, too fresh. Even though it had been years since you’d broken up. You never quite got over him, his face, his eyes. But It was way past time, the time to move on.

So you moved, put a sign outside your house to let everyone know it was on the market and sold to the first offer you got. You remember Joel’s face after he saw the posted sign in your yard full of dying roses. He looked so sad, the flecks of his dark irises shining in the February chill as you caught his eyes after hammering the sign in the soft ground. You were wilting more than your red roses, and you needed a breath of fresh air, a way to thrive and grow like your flowers used to be. It was your sign to flee.

After you sold your house and moved half an hour away, you could finally breathe, the wilts of your lilting petals starting to bloom and thrive the longer you were away from them.

You saw the pictures of their wedding on social media, saw how truly happy they looked. You remember shedding a tear or two looking at the photographs, at her flowing wedding dress, at their shared kiss after saying their “I do’s”. It was enough to send you spiraling, enough to make you drop your laptop and crack the screen. And that was the last time you saw Joel Miller. There was no sense in dwindling over what if’s. It was over, done. You swore you’d never see his face again in the city of Austin. He was the past, you had to look towards your future.

You got a new job, working for an environmental engineering company and helping with tracking the bluegill and catfish populations in the lakes around Austin. You liked working outside, loved being near the water. You always felt at home out on the lake with the soft sand sinking between your toes, the calm breeze always blowing away any worries of your messy life. But it wasn’t so messy anymore. It was peaceful, bright, made you feel alive.

You throw the damp tennis ball again, laughing at the way Sammy flops into the water and splashes around, eagerly fetching the soaked ball as he brings it over to you again.

“You ready, Sammy? Go get it!” you yell as you toss the ball back towards the water. He shakes his soaked fur and makes a run for it, but he stops half way and perks his fuzzy ears up at something in the distance. “Sammy?”

You watch him pant happily and make a dash for it in the opposite direction, barking at nothing you can see. “Sammy!” You follow after him, sprinting behind as you hear his chipper barks and feel your hair blow back behind you as you chase after him.

“Sammy, come on! This isn’t like you,” you breathe out as you run until your legs feel like jello and feel as if you’ll pass out at any second.

Your bare feet drag through the sand on the shore, your breath feeling as if it’s on fire as you run and run and run until you finally see his giddy, long tail and golden paws that leap up off the ground. What’s got him so excited? He never runs up to strangers.

“Sammy! Come here, boy,” you clap your hands together as you walk towards whoever he’s got wrapped around his cute, fluffy face.

“I’m so sorry. He’s not usually like this. I…” You freeze, your breath hitching as you stare at the man that fully consumes your vision. Joel.

He looks over at you, a warm smile curling against the edge of his plush lips as his golden brown eyes crinkle down at you. It nearly takes your breath away. He looks so… good.

He’s filled out more, his flexed arms and broad chest clinging to his white t-shirt, corded veins twisting down his tan arms almost like you remember. He looks more buff, more healthy, like maybe he stopped drinking that amber colored whiskey he used to love. His grey threaded curls are grown out, his doe brown eyes more shiny, more alive than the last time you saw him. And he looks like he’s happy, so happy. It’s amazing what three years of not seeing him can do to your own mind. The sight of him almost makes you dizzy, delusional, like maybe this is fate.

“Joel?” you whisper out, your voice shaky and breathy as your eyes slide down his blue swim trunks, his leather sandals, his tan skin that seems to glow like glitter under the orange beams of the sunlight.

“Yeah, it’s me. Nice to see Sammy’s doin’ good. Guess he remembers me,” he chuckles as he bends down and scratches the back of Sammy’s fluffy ears. Sammy jumps up and licks the side of his face as another infectious smile takes over Joel’s glowing face.

Joel laughs as he wipes the slobber from his greying scruff and stands back up, bright eyes blazing through you as he flicks his gaze slowly over your figure. You feel a little self conscious standing in your too short denim shorts and baby blue crop top as you fold your arms nervously over your chest. Why are you so nervous?

“It’s uhh… good to see ya. How ya been?” he asks slowly, rubbing the back of his neck as his hand drags through the curling strands that sit against the nape of his neck.

“Good. Yeah, good,” you nod as your fingers dance nervously up and down your scorching arms. “What about you?”

“Yeah, I’ve been good, too. Busy, but that’s always good. Been workin’ a lot, contractin’, the usual.”

You nod your head, watching the way his heavy gaze never leaves your eyes. Suddenly, it feels too hot, too intense. That spark simmers low in your stomach, that strong pull that you always felt when you were around him. It’s almost like you were meant to meet here like this, unplanned. Maybe it was fate. Maybe… but then you remember Tess. Where was Tess?

“You, umm enjoyin’ your new place? House, apartment, wherever you moved?” His tone is gentle, like he’s genuinely interested in how you’ve been, where you moved. And it feels strange, but also like it needs to be asked.

“Oh, yeah. Actually, I love it. I moved just a few miles from the lake. It’s so peaceful, being able to come out here whenever I want to.” Your eyes flick over the calm water, examining the gentle ripples of the clear lake, but then Joel’s deep voice brings you back to the present.

“Sounds like you’ve been doin’ good.” He gives you a lazy smile, one where it’s crooked and soft and so serene that you can’t help but smile back.

“Yeah, I really have.”

“That’s good, real good,” he says as he nods his head, just continuing to stare at you in awe. And it’s like you’re just seeing him for the first time, that summertime glow just sizzling off his tan skin.

Your eyes wander over him, lapping up his broad muscles and dreamy smile and untamed curls. He looks so handsome. You don’t know what it is, but something brand new seems to shine through him.

“You look… different,” you say with narrowed eyes, trying to assess what exactly is different, but you’re not sure what.

“Yeah? That a good thing or bad thing?” he chuckles as he runs a hand straight back through his lush curls. The action makes your breath get caught in the back of your throat.

“I dunno. Think it looks good on you, whatever it is.” You smile nervously up at him and bat your eyelashes flirtatiously.

“Yeah?” he smirks as the flecks of his dark eyes glisten under the rays of the hot sun.

“Yeah,” you reply bashfully. “You seem more… happy.”

He chuckles as he shoves his thick fingers into the pockets of his blue shorts. “Guess that’s what happens when a man stops drinkin’.”

Your eyes grow wide as your mouth drops open. “You? The Joel Miller has stopped drinking his precious whiskey?” you ask dumbfoundedly.

“Mhm. Mostly. Haven’t touched a bottle in three months. Been doin’ good, feelin’ stronger, more sharp. Even been hittin’ the gym.”

You smile warmly over at him, your eyes alight as you drop your arms to your side and nod, his words taking your breath right out from your chest. “Joel, that’s so great. I’m so… so… proud of you.”

He nods slowly at you, the dimple indenting the middle of his cheek as his crooked smile makes you feel things you haven’t felt in a long time. Like there’s hope. “Proud of me, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whisper out.

“Well, that’s sweet of ya to say, darlin’.”

Darlin’. He hasn’t called you that in so long, you almost forgot how good it feels to hear seep off his sticky sweet voice, that gravelly lull that soothes your racing pulse in your chest.

You suddenly notice his left hand, tracing every inch, every tan speck of his thick fingers. It’s unusually bare, no gold ring like in the wedding pictures you saw online. It’s gone, vanished. Was Tess and him, dare you say… over?

He watches you assess his empty ring finger, his eyes flicking over your narrowed, confused face as you stare so hard that you think your eyes might fall out onto the smooth sand.

You open your mouth, drawing air into your tight lungs, until you release the words you’ve been wondering this whole entire time. “Are you and Tess still…” You can’t even finish your sentence, afraid that maybe he’d just left his ring at home or left it at the jewelry shop to get polished up.

He lets out a heavy sigh and shakes his head. “Nah. We ended things last year.”

“Oh.” You’re dumbstruck, your mouth agape as he says the words you were almost too scared to hope for. Not that you wanted things to end badly between them, but somewhere deep inside you still wished that maybe one day you could find each other again. And as fate twisted its tethered vines around the two of you, it seems like this was meant to be.

“I’m sorry, Joel,” you say with tight knit brows.

“Don’t gotta apologize, wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but still. I’m sorry things didn’t work out.”

He shrugs his broad shoulders and gives you a tight lipped smile. “After gettin’ married, we jus’ realized we wanted different things. Things weren’t the same as before, and we decided it was better off if we went our own separate ways. There’s no hard feelings, jus’ was better off not bein’ together. We gave it a good two years, but ultimately it jus’ didn’t work out, and that’s fine. Had a lot of growin’ to do after, found my own pace again. It was the best choice. I’m much… guess you could say happier now.”

“Oh, well that’s good. I’m glad things turned out for the best.”

“Me too.”

You give Joel a small smile, and he sends a dreamy one back your way, all crinkled eyes and that crooked smile that makes you dizzy every time you look at him.

He shifts his weight and digs his heel into the soft sand. His eyes look down towards the ground, then flick slowly up towards you, almost like he’s nervous.

“Hey, do you maybe wanna go grab some coffee this week with me?” His hand scratches the back of the scruff on his neck nervously as his jaw ticks from the building anticipation.

“Houndstooth Coffee?” you ask with a raised brow.

He chuckles warmly and nods. “‘Course. Only the best.”

You smile in reply. “Okay. Yeah. I’m in.”

“Great.”

You both stand there in the heat of the afternoon, gentle smiles pressing against both of your lips as Sammy barks and runs circles around you and Joel.

As if Sammy is trying to intrude on the awkward moment between you and Joel, he jumps up and presses his damp paws on your back which knocks you off balance and sends you lurching forward.

“Sammy!” you whine. As if on cue, Joel reaches out and catches you, wrapping his strong arms around your hips as he balances you back on your feet.

“Whoa there, easy now,” he chuckles as he lingers his big hands on your shimmering skin. Your mouth parts open, and you gasp as you look up to find kind, dreamy brown eyes staring down at you, almost like he’s mesmerized. And for the moment, it feels like the first time the two of you ever met, almost magical, but this seems new.

You hook a strand of hair nervously behind your ear and laugh. “Always showing up at the right time it seems.”

“Yeah, seems like it,” he smiles kindly.

You stand there breathing his air, feeling a little dizzy at the smell of his woodsy scent, no more whiskey fragrance lingering in his sandy hair. You feel the tension, the chemistry just bursting at the seams. And you know now that this was fate, it had to be.

Joel gives Sammy a couple more scratches behind the ears and then looks over at you with a crooked smile. “Well, it was good seein’ ya again. Been a long time,” he sighs while you nod in response.

“Yeah, it really has…”

Another long minute goes by and then he’s taking one hesitant step back. “Well, guess I’ll let you get back to it. I’ll umm text you about coffee.”

Before he can take another step back, you hold your hand out as if to reach him. “Wait.” He ticks his jaw and knits his eyebrows together as he waits for you to finish. “Where do you think you’re going?”

He smirks over at you. “Jus’ thought I’d let you get back to enjoyin’ the lake. Figured I was interruptin’.”

You shake your head. “No, not at all. Please, stay.” You give him your best puppy dog eyes, and he chuckles in response as his dark brown irises seem to glow in the sunlight.

“Always knew how to get me with those big, beautiful eyes.”

You crinkle your nose up at him and bag your eyelashes sweetly up at him. “What, like this?”

He just crosses his broad arms over his chest and smirks over at you. “Mhm. Jus’ like that, gorgeous. Jus’ like that.”

Your cheeks heat up as you feel the crimson blush taking over, lingering your fingers against his wrist as you ask sweetly. “So, will you stay?”

Joel nods and smiles. “Yeah, darlin’. I’ll stay.”

And he does stay, until the sun starts to slip under the fluffy clouds. He stays the entire afternoon, walking along the shoreline with you, playing fetch with Sammy, catching up on lost time together, starting fresh. It’s almost like he never left, picking up right where you left off. And maybe it was supposed to be like this. Like you had to fall apart to fall back into one another.

And when the sunset starts to fade to light purples and pink colors in the distance while you sit on the edge of the wooden dock, he leans over and kisses you softly. It’s like the world fades to black, and there’s only you and Joel getting lost in one another. His hands cradle your face softly, his plush lips melting into yours as you taste him and let the syrupy taste mix in with yours.

This is how it was supposed to be, how it was always supposed to be. You had to find each other later in life, begin again, have this special moment in time. It was fate, always had been. He was always the one for you, and this just solidifies it.

When he breaks the kiss, you lean against him while he wraps a large arm around you. You gaze out to the calm blue water and take a breath of fresh wildflowers in the air. “Joel?”

“Hmm?” he hums as he looks down at you.

“Thank you for staying.”

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to the top of your head. “‘Course, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ anywhere. Gonna just stay right here with you in my arms.”

You lean your full weight into his warm chest as he scoops you up into his lap and hooks his arms around your waist, his lips lingering against your jawline. You take a deep breath and smile as you look out against the misty lake. You were finally home, with him.

Your forever.

Tags: @laurrrra @yesjazzywazzylove-blog @littlevenicebitch69 @honey-dip-24 @sawymredfox

@orcasoul @thundermartini @solllaris @vivian-pascal @jessthebaker @vie-is-punk

@hoeruiner @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 @amyispxnk @morallyinept @milla-frenchy

@laramc-02 @keylimebeag

#joel miller fan fiction #Joel miller #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #joel x female reader #joel the last of us #no outbreak au #no use of y/n

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numinousmysteries · 19 days ago

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The Baying of the Six-Pound Hound

For the @twocakesficfest (several months too late) prompt:

immortal / invincible queeqeg who likes to show up and mess up a case or two (probably by eating the victim - e.g. Mulder: the victim walked away, cut to a tiny dog dragging a leg away)

A very special thank you to @leiascully for catching all my nauseating tense changes, ensuring I didn't accidentally summon any evil spirits, and making me work a tiny bit more to get them smooching.

[on Ao3]

He'd been in an uncharacteristically deep sleep when the yapping woke him up, which made it all the more annoying. It was rare for him to be so fully disconnected from the waking world. Typically, he'd float just below the surface of consciousness, the smallest noise enough to rouse him. But on this night, in a narrow, single-story motor lodge wedged up in the Colorado mountains, Fox Mulder had been completely, deeply, aslumber.

He'd been dreaming, too. Not his usual fretful nightmare but a rather sweet dream that featured his partner. It wasn't the first time he dreamt about her, although those dreams were typically of a more erotic nature and would leave him waking up feeling filthy with guilt—and more often than not, rock hard. He'd dream of bending her over the desk in their basement office, burying himself in her, and hearing her soft little moans as he gripped the curves of her hips. Or they'd be on the couch in his apartment and she'd be in his lap, riding him as he watched the smooth undulation of her breasts. These dreams would send him to the shower full of shame. He'd shut his eyes and take himself in his fist, gripping his cock with a firmness that bordered on pain to break the mounting tension with enough self-punishment that he could face Scully in the morning.

But this most recent dream left nothing to be ashamed of. They were walking hand-in-hand, fully-clothed, down a Georgetown street near her apartment. The sun warmed his face and Scully's small hand fit perfectly in his. They weren't in pursuit of a suspect or off to meet an informant, just strolling aimlessly like two people in love. In a way, this mundane dream felt more illicit than his most perverse fantasies because it seemed like more than anything he deserved. He could better imagine a tense moment, even an argument between them, dissolving into frenzied sex than allow himself to indulge the idea of a happy, out-in-the-open relationship with Scully. Which was why this dream was so lovely—and why it had been so frustrating when the yapping shocked him awake.

It sounded like Queequeg. But Scully didn't bring the dog with her on cases, not since– Shit , he remembered. Scully's annoying little furball of a dog, whom she inexplicably loved (which, he considered fleetingly, might bode well for her capacity to love other irritating beings), had died on the shore of Heuvelmans Lake, eaten by an alligator, or Big Blue, depending on who you asked.

The barking must have been coming from one of the neighboring rooms. But Scully was in the room to his left and the room to his right had appeared to be unoccupied when they arrived.

By the time he showered, dressed, and made it outside to meet Scully at the rental car, she was already waiting for him with a cup of bitter coffee from the urn in the motel lobby.

"That dog wake you up, too?" he asked.

She arched an eyebrow at him as she sipped from her styrofoam cup. "What dog?"

"Nevermind," he said, unlocking the car door.

They snaked around the mountain to the ranger station where they'd planned to meet the park ranger who’d supposedly spotted the Slide Rock Bolter. The Bolter, according to legend, was a giant landfish with a forked tail that could pick up a lumberjack and split him in two. It also had the jaw of a whale, the teeth of a shark, and the power to cause avalanche-like rock slides, hence the name. The ranger who contacted Mulder claimed that his partner, who’d gone missing the previous week, had been swallowed whole by the Bolter.

Their interview proved to be less than illuminating and they spent the rest of the afternoon hiking the mountain on their own searching for the creature. The high altitude left them both breathless so they were slower than usual as they ascended. Mulder was annoyed that they couldn't cover more ground before the sun started to set. Their descent was even slower as neither had brought the right shoes and they found themselves stumbling down the rocks and grasping onto each other for support.

Then, he saw it. A flash of auburn darting between a row of skeletal aspen trees. He gasped.

"What is it?" she asked, turning back to face him.

"I saw something," he said.

"The Slide Rock Bolter?"

He frowned and shook his head. "Probably just a fox. Maybe a coyote.” Although, if he were being honest, it kind of looked like a small dog.

Scully shrugged, turned away from him, and started heading back down the mountain.

He didn’t want to say anything, but Scully's apartment smelled bad. It normally smelled nice. Like the candles she lights or even freshly baked bread, even though he knows she doesn't bake bread. But now, it smelled like wet dog. He specifically wouldn't bring that up because she hadn't owned a dog in nearly a year now. For reasons that might have been, depending on who you asked, his fault.

He tried to hide his disgust as he spread open a file of photographs on her kitchen table, but the odor was truly overpowering. It was as if Queequeg—or let's say any anonymous dog who had not been eaten by, depending on who was telling the story, Big Blue or an alligator—had been mucking around in sewer water after not bathing for several weeks.

"Sorry, Scully, but what's that smell?" he asked finally. He felt his stomach contents rising to his throat, and it wasn’t because of the gruesome crime scene photos on the table.

She paused and tilted her chin up to the ceiling. He watched as she sniffed the air in sharp, short inhales through her perfectly proportioned nose.

"I don't smell anything," she said.

"Really?" he asked, stunned. "It smells like—and I don't mean to bring up any unpleasant memories—wet dog in here."

She sniffed again, then shrugged. "I really don't smell it," she said, shaking her head. "But I can open a window if you want."

"Nah, it's okay."

He tried to run through his explanation of the case as quickly as possible. Three victims found without tongues, but no evidence of any procedure or act that would've resulted in the loss of said tongues which, their friends and family members insisted, were surely present before their deaths.

"The killer could be a surgeon and have access to fine tools or even lasers for seamless cuttage," she said, examining the autopsy photos.

"Mmmhmm, mmhmm," he nodded, trying to open his mouth as little as possible to keep the scent out. "But there's no sign of cutting or scarring. Which there surely would be if the procedure was performed so recently? None of the victims were missing for more than 24 hours—and all had been seen, with tongue no less, within a day. No wound could heal that fast, right?"

"So, what's your theory?" she asked. "Cat got their tongue?"

She was pleased with her little joke and gave him a rare, precious Scully grin. He wanted to at least humor her with a laugh but the mention of a cat—so close to a dog that smelled like crap—made his stomach gurgle yet again and he had to swallow sharply to keep the acidic bile down.

"You okay, Mulder?"

"Yeah, it's just...that smell. It's nauseating."

She shook her head again, that long neck taunting him. "I'm a little concerned," she said. "Are you feeling alright? A sinus infection could cause phantosmia. Or a head injury. Although you weren't banged up much on our last case."

"I'm fine," he said. "Anyway, it's not a cat I'm thinking of, but a cannibalistic spirit documented by Algonquian-speaking Native American tribes in the Northern US and Canadian wilderness.”

"A wendigo?" she asked, eyebrow arched and ready to fire.

“Very impressive, Scully,” he grinned. “Although you should know that merely saying the spirit’s name is considered taboo. Some believe doing so could summon it into being.”

She rolled her eyes.

He swallowed hard, and continued. “The spirit possesses a man, who then becomes unable to resist the temptation to eat human flesh. Specifically, the delicacy of the tongue."

"So you think a possessed person ate the victims' tongues?"

"Perhaps," he says. "And the legend goes that because it's actually the spirit feasting on human flesh—not the killer himself—there are no wounds where the tongue is removed. It also explains how these victims lost more than half their blood volume with no signs of trauma."

"It could be severe gastrointestinal bleeding," she said, ignoring his theory. "Perhaps as the result of a communicable illness which would explain why three members of the same community died in the same manner."

"So you think they shat out all their blood?"

"It's not unheard of," she shrugged. “Have any of the victims traveled to a region where ebola is endemic?”

It was all making him nauseous now. He thought he'd gotten used to it after being in the room for a few minutes but the smell, if anything, was getting worse.

He felt vomit rising into his mouth and cupped his hand over his lips. "Sorry, Scully. I gotta--" he started before bolting to her bathroom and puking into the toilet.

"Are you okay?" she asked when he re-entered the room, eyes bloodshot.

"I think I'm coming down with something," he said. "Listen, why don't you take a look at those photos and we'll discuss more in the office tomorrow. I better get going."

"Jeez, Mulder, if I didn't know any better I'd think you were pregnant, between the heightened sense of smell and the vomiting. But that sounds like one of your theories, not mine."

"Very funny, Scully," he said, grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair and heading to the door.

In the hallway, he gasped a sigh of relief. Whatever disgusting dog odor permeated Scully's apartment fortunately hadn't made its way out here.

At first, he thought the sharp prick at his heel was Scully's toenails. He was about to tease her about trimming them when he realized she was sitting beside him on her couch with her feet tucked underneath her. They were back at her apartment a week later debriefing their previous case. He hadn’t been able to prove the existence of a cannibalistic spirit and she hadn’t been able to come up with a plausible scientific explanation so they were left in their typical stalemate. Although the animal smell had dissipated, he couldn’t shake the sense that something was off.

He was listening to her recount her autopsy findings when— fuck , there was that sharp biting sensation again. He involuntarily kicked out his foot as if fending off an invisible ankle-height assailant.

"What's wrong?" Her eyes popped open.

"Shit, sorry Scully," he said, trying to settle back down. "I could've sworn something was biting my ankle.”

"Biting?" she asked skeptically.

"Yeah," he trailed off, folding in half to examine the carpet underneath the sofa. "Almost like a little dog."

"Like Queequeg?" She smirked.

"Actually, yeah, I think that's exactly what it was like. Like that fur ball was nibbling at my heels.”

“I don’t have to tell you that’s impossible.” He detected a hint of sadness in her voice and his heart sank, not for the first time, for all that their work had taken from her.

He opened his mouth to tell her about the other recent events—the barking sound, the flash of auburn in the Colorado wilderness, the wet fur smell of her apartment—but he knew she’d just dismiss it all.

“What?” she asked, sensing he was on the verge of revealing something. As if they were on a case and he was holding back a vital piece of information. Something he had been guilty of doing in the past, he knew, but he usually had a valid reason.

“It’s nothing.”

“Mulder….” She dipped her chin down as her eyes bore into his.

Powerless against her, he told her everything. "Maybe he's haunting you," he concluded.

"Oh, no, Mulder," she said definitively. "I don't think it's me he's haunting."

They decided to hold a seance the next day. Scully sneered at first but ultimately went along with it without needing too much convincing. She still had Queequeg’s leash and collar, so they set up a small shrine on her coffee table. She gathered a mismatched array of candles from the bathroom and living room and put them around Queequeg's memorabilia.

"How does this work?" she asked.

He considered reminding her that she'd demonstrated the ability to transcend the boundary between the living and the dead in the past, but that would have required bringing up her father, which would have put a damper on this otherwise delightful evening. Scully felt warm next to him and they were essentially hanging out without the pretense of a case. Sure, they were having a seance for a dead dog, but how else would the two of them bond after hours?

"Let's just close our eyes, hold hands, and try to summon his spirit."

"Is this just an excuse to hold hands, Mulder?"

"Any excuse I can get," he said, as he reached out to take her hand in his. He hoped it came off as a joke, but he really did mean it. It felt so good to hold her hand when neither of them were near death.

"Mary Todd Lincoln used to host the nation's most renowned spiritualists at the White House for seances to speak with her late son," Mulder said, trying to lend an air of legitimacy to their makeshift session. "Even honest Abe would sometimes make an appearance."

"Don't we need a medium?" Scully asked, keeping a firm hold on his hand.

"I figure you could play the role, Madame Scully," he said, tipping his chin in her direction. She smiled. He liked making her smile. Her smile always had the effect of flicking a switch deep in his belly that felt like the delicate flutter of a butterfly's wings.

"I think Melissa and I had a Ouija board back in the day."

"Pfft," he snorted. "The Ouija board is a purely commercial invention. I don't think anything made in the same factory as Chutes and Ladders can be trusted to commune with the dead."

Scully smirked. "I assumed Ouijia boards would fit right in with the Fox Mulder cosmology."

"Then, Scully," he said, shaking his head, "I don't think you know me at all."

He grinned at her and she smiled back.

"So, how do we start this thing?" she asked.

"First, we have to close the circle." He extended his free hand to hers and she squeezed tightly onto it.

They stood silently for a beat, facing each other, holding hands. He wasn't actually sure if there was a spiritualist reason for creating the closed circle, but it had to have roots in ancient concepts of energy channeling. He'd done silly little seances in college, typically led by witchy girls with dyed black hair and crystal jewelry, and they always stressed the importance of not breaking the circle. Once he had taken the time to dive into the occult and 19th century spiritualism—the heyday of the modern seance—he couldn't find anything on the importance of maintaining a circle. But then again, if holding one of Scully's hands was nice, holding both of them was even better.

He closed his eyes and, without saying anything, sensed that she'd closed hers, too. He relished the trust she placed in him, listening as her breathing slowed and deepened. He inhaled the heady mix of candles they'd gathered from around the apartment. Vanilla and eucalyptus mingled in the air with musk and gardenia and he suspected these weren't all supposed to be lit at once, but somehow it worked.

"Do you want me to say something?" she asked, her soft voice drifting over to him in the dark.

"Um, if you want," he said.

She paused, then began. "Queequeg, we welcome your spirit into our circle. If you're near us, please make your presence known."

"Not bad, Scully," he said, giving her hands a squeeze.

"Melissa used to do this crap all the time."

"Hey, don't rain on my parade over here."

"Sorry," she said with a giggle that set his soul aflame.

"We miss you, Queequeg, you were a good dog," she went on. "You didn't always smell the best, especially when you were flatulent, which seemed to be more often than not—"

"What were you feeding that dog?" Mulder interrupted.

"Shut up," she said. "But no matter how poorly you smelled at times, I loved you very much and truly enjoyed the time we spent together. If you've come back because you're angry at Mulder for leading you to your demise at the hands of an alligator—"

"Or Big Blue," he piped up.

She tugged on his hands and ignored him. "If you're angry at Mulder, he'd like to take this chance to apologize and request your forgiveness so you can transition on to the next plane in peace."

"Scully, this isn't half bad," he said, genuinely impressed.

"It's your turn now—go on, apologize."

"Are you serious?"

"Do you want him to stop haunting you or not?"

Mulder smiled and tried to convey his happiness through their grasped hands.

"Queequeg, this is Mulder speaking. I want to apologize for calling you names and dragging you out to Heuvelmans Lake where you met your untimely demise. I wish we could have spent more time together with Scully—”

She cut him off with an adorable snort of a laugh.

"—listening to Scully talk. And have Scully check us for fleas and ticks."

Her giggle was a full-blown laugh now. He was desperate to open his eyes and see her face light up. but he’d bought into this seance, so he wasn’t about to break it now.

"I checked you for ticks once , Mulder," she said. "And that was because we'd just spent the night in the woods."

"Well, you're welcome to check again any time."

"I think we're getting off topic," she said, collecting herself. "Keep talking to Queequeg."

There was no gust of wind, flickering light, or even jingling collar bells ringing through the room after he finished speaking, but they both sensed a change. It was as if a six-pound weight had been lifted.

"I think his spirit is free," Scully whispered to him, solemnly.

"Run free, Queequeg," he said. He gently opened his eyes and found that hers were open too, and she was looking at him warmly. Despite her reputation for being cold and closed off, he knew that Scully emanated warmth. Once she let someone into her life, she’d hold them in her warmth and protect them with her loyalty. He was only slightly peeved that she had opened herself up to Queequeg before him.

She loved with a fierceness and dedication outsized for her tiny frame. Then again, everything about Scully was larger than her small size would suggest. Her brilliance, her strength, and yes, her love, all seemed like they should overwhelm someone so tiny, but Scully managed to contain it all in just a few inches over five feet.

In that way, she was like Queequeg. An outsized force stuffed into a small package, with a tuft of auburn hair, who would bite if necessary. He wouldn't dare compare her to Queequeg out loud, though.

Instead, he said, "He was a good dog."

"I thought you couldn't stand him."

"I don't know if we ever saw eye to eye, per se, although that might've been more of a height issue." He gave her a crooked smile. "But I know you liked him, that he kept you company."

"That makes me sound pretty pathetic," she sighed.

"I didn't mean that. Just that—" he paused to choose his words carefully—"it's nice to come home to someone. I know fish aren't really the same as dogs, but sometimes it's soothing to see them after a long day of the shit we deal with. It just helps me put things in perspective—I'm dealing with lies and gaslighting and conspiracies, and they're just obliviously swimming along and enjoying their lives. A dog must be similar, I imagine."

"Yeah," she nodded. "It was like that with Queequeg. Whenever I'd get frustrated with work or with you"— he gasped in mock outrage and she just smiled and continued—"he'd always be here and look so excited to go for a walk or get his dinner. The consistency was comforting. And he was good at cuddling. He'd get so warm, like a little ball of heat."

"You know, Scully," he started, "I'm available for cuddling if you're ever feeling cold."

“I’ll keep that under consideration.” She smiled. “For now, want to stick around for a glass of wine?”

“Sure,” he said, and she disappeared into the kitchen to fetch a bottle and glasses.

"I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to speak with Queequeg's spirit," he said when she returned, accepting a glass of red wine from her.

Settled into the opposite corner of the couch, Scully sat with her legs scrunched up underneath herself with her own glass of wine. He couldn't deal with how precious she looked—nor with how far away she sat.

"Get over here, Scully," he said, patting the cushion next to him.

She smiled, untucked her legs, and moved to scoot over next to him. He transferred his wine glass to his left hand so he could drape his right arm over her shoulder.

"Maybe Queequeg just has to realize that I'm not a threat to you," he said. Emboldened by her lack of response to his arm over hers, he started lazily tracing circles on her tricep. "Then he'll stop haunting me."

"You're not a threat to me," she said, seriously.

"Come on, Scully." He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I'm responsible for so much shit that's happened to you over the years. If I were a little Pomeranian in love with you, I'd do everything in my six-pound power to make this Mulder guy's life a living hell."

She raised an eyebrow. "You think Queequeg was in love with me?"

"How could he not be?" he spit out without even thinking. "I mean—" he tried to recover—"you took good care of him."

Scully just gave him a Cheshire cat grin. She wasn't going to let him off the hook that easily.

"You think that's all it takes to fall in love with me? If I take care of you?"

"Well, there are lots of reasons a guy—or a dog—could fall in love with you. You're loyal, kind, and caring. You're fucking brilliant. And you're not half-bad to look at either."

"’Not half-bad,’” she repeated, frowning. “I’m flattered, really.”

“Give me a break. I’m trying to play it cool here,” he admitted.

She blushed and took a sip of her wine. He did, too, as if trying to use the alcohol to mask his sudden confession. Although it was his first sip and he'd been drunk in love with her for longer than he cared to admit.

"Oh, fuck it," he said. He leaned forward to set the wine glass on the coffee table and pivoted to face her. Bravely, he delved into uncharted territory. "You're breathtakingly beautiful, Scully. I'm not about to speculate on what got Queequeg's gears going, but if he's anything like me, he wouldn't be able to resist you. Frankly, I'm jealous of how many nights he got to spend in your bed."

"I didn't allow him in the bed."

He smiled wide. “Of course you didn't," he said. "Because you know about things like pet dander and how sleeping with a dog in your bed can interrupt your REM cycle and that's another reason why you're so lovable.”

“You’re making me sound more anal-retentive than lovable.” She looked up at him with sad eyes before quickly glancing down again.

“Oh, Scully, you know that’s now what I mean.” He leaned forward to nudge her shoulder with his.

“What do you mean?” She asked, her eyes still downcast.

“Just that—” He paused, struggling to find the words. “You’re so you , Scully. You’re so fully realized, so completely yourself, but not in a way that makes you predictable or boring. It just makes it all the more thrilling when I learn something new about you that somehow both surprises me and fits into the puzzle of what makes you you.”

“And that fact that I didn’t let a dog sleep in my bed somehow makes me more lovable?”

“It does to me.” He brought the tip of his pointer finger to her chin, softly encouraging her to look back toward him. “What I’m trying, and apparently failing, to say is that I love everything about you. I love that you’re particular and exacting. I love that you force me to be honest and vigorous in our work, and I love that you’re part of my life outside of work, too. And while there’s nothing I value more than our friendship, I hope I’m not being too presumptive to say that I’m getting the feeling we’d both like to be more than friends.”

Terrified, he searched her eyes for confirmation, any sign that his feelings were reciprocated. But she simply stared back at him, her chin wrinkling as she considered his words.

“Although, I suppose, sharing your bed with a creature a lot larger than a Pomeranian might be much more disruptive to your sleep cycle,” he added.

“I might not mind the interruption,” she said finally, her voice low and breathy, her eyes still locked on his.

“Even from your defiant, alien-chasing, nutjob of a partner?”

“Do you mean my incredibly tenacious, intelligent, and loyal partner for whom I might just harbor similar feelings?”

"Do you think Queequeg would approve?" he asked.

"Let's find out," she said. Before he could question her, Scully's lips were pressed against his. She tasted like tannin-rich wine but also something deeper and more Scully-like: warm and tangy with other unidentifiable undertones that he could drink from his whole life and never get enough of.

He took her wine glass from her and placed it next to his on the coffee table. With both hands free, she felt her way up his arms to frame his face. His own hands wandered wildly, up her back, through her hair, on her soft and tender cheeks. She opened her mouth to him and he tasted her tongue with his. He felt his body responding to her kiss—and judging on how she was squirming and shifting her hips towards him, he knew she was responding as well.

Just as he was about to slip a hand up and underneath her feather-soft sweater to caress the even softer skin underneath, he heard a low, deep growl off in the distance.

He pulled away and faced Scully, puzzled.

“That couldn’t be—”

“No,” she interrupted. “I heard it, too. I think my neighbors down the hall got an English bulldog. It’s not a ghost.”

“Good enough for me.”

“I should kiss you more often if it gets you to agree so easily.” She smiled at him, inching even closer on the couch.

“I think you should test that theory, Agent Scully.”

She leaned in again. This time, there were no howls or growls interrupting them.

#xfiles #the x files #txf #msr #x files #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #poang pals

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rwrbmovie · 1 year ago

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details from rwrb movie (part 5)

happy one month of rwrb, here's a part 5. one | two | three | four (scroll bc i didnt have the foresight to make separate posts, i didnt know there would be 5 parts)

alex wearing the same tie during his speech and meeting the king

the 2 dogs in the movie named david and jonathan and this part of the book when alex and henry are in the v&a

alex in red, henry in blue in the opening credits

henry's shaving kit/toiletry bag clearly on the nightstand

i already mentioned alex and henry playing the piano together but more on this – they're playing 2 songs that represent their countries but they have the same melody (my country tis of thee & god save the queen)

the BAY WINDOWS! in the austin home!

the 2 cars on the way to the lake house. alex driving one, and im assuming its secret service behind him

im 99% sure that is a georgetown cap in alex's closet

posted a gifset on this but alex wearing his leather jacket when zahra tells him to go to london after cakegate and when alex goes to london after the leak

pjs: red for alex, blue for henry

#rwrb movie #red white and royal blue #taylor zakhar perez #nicholas galitzine #firstprince #alex claremont diaz #prince henry #henry fox mountchristen windsor #*

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 1 year ago

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Mine (Spencer's Version) | Spencer Reid

Add yourself to my taglist! | Here’s my masterlist!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: talk about death, mention of being shot

Author's note: This took a completely different turn than I intended to, but I think I like it? Lemme know what you think!

Words: 4.1K

With a sigh, Spencer sat down on the bench and looked out to the view in front of him. It’s been his favorite spot in the whole wide world for a little less than a year now. The bench looked over a lake that expanded as far as he could see. All around the edge of the water were the streetlights from one town over, shimmering brightly in the evening air.

It reminded him of when he first met her.

“One black coffee, please,” he ordered politely.

The barista offered him a smile whilst writing down his order on a cup. “Your name, please?”

She had the most wonderful smile he had ever seen. One that made even his anxiety disappear. There was something about the shimmer in her eyes. After seeing so many bad things during his job, it was like a breath of fresh air to see her. She made all the bad things in the world seem better.

“Uh, Spencer.”

Mouthing his name along while she wrote it down on the cup, she put it aside and turned back to Spencer. “That’s two bucks fifty, Spencer,” she told him chirpily. His name sounded so beautiful from her lips.

He handed her a five dollar bill. “Keep the change.”

“Thank you, Spencer.” She smiled again and it made his heart flutter.

To keep himself busy and not stare at her like an absolute creep, he reached for the packets of sugar and grabbed a handful. However, that didn’t stop her from staring at him across the counter.

“You always put that much sugar in your coffee?” she asked him whilst making his coffee, chuckling ever so slightly.

He let out a soft laugh, too, and accepted the cup of coffee from her before emptying the bags of sugar into it. “Just need something to wake me up.”

“Bad night?”

Looking up at her, Spencer found her looking right back with curiosity in her eyes. For a second, he debated actually telling her everything. But then he reminded himself that he had never met this girl before and that it’d be weird for him to just bare his deepest thoughts right then and there.

“Something like that,” he simply answered. “Thanks for–for the coffee.” He raised his cup in a cheers before leaving the coffee shop.

After that first morning, Spencer had to return to the coffee shop every single day. He couldn’t get the girl out of his head. Every time he went in, the girl seemed to become prettier and prettier, her eyes shining brighter and brighter.

On day three, he had learned that her name was y/n and that she was a last-year student at Georgetown, living off-campus, and that she was only one year younger than him. Other than that, he knew nothing about her, yet he couldn’t help but feel infatuated by her.

“Morning, Spencer,” she greeted with a smile on morning five and immediately started working on his order.

“Hi, y/n,” he said shyly and reached for the sugar packets just as she handed him the cup.

“Oh, I already put sugar in there.”

Spencer’s breath hitched in his throat. She had remembered his exact order after only five days of frequenting the shop. “Oh,” he said, surprise evident in his voice. “Thank you.” He handed her another five dollar bill.

“Stop tipping me so much,” she laughed and handed him two dollars fifty back, refusing to accept any more of his tips, but Spencer simply held up his hand, refusing the change. “All right,” she then said. “Then let me pay you back by taking you out on a date.”

“A-a date?”

She simply hummed, amused by the nervous reaction she was eliciting from him. “Yeah, I know this very cute spot not too far from here… we could walk there, have some coffee…” she suggested.

“Uh, sure. Sure, yeah.”

A giggle rolled off her lips as she watched him nervously fiddle with the sleeve of his cardigan. It was the most adorable sound he had ever heard. He wanted to hear that sound more often and he wanted to be the reason for that exact sound.

“I’m off at five. Will you come pick me up?”

Spencer nodded his head in response before heading off to work where he found out they had a case in Miami. This meant they would be out of town for at least a couple of days by the sound of it. He felt himself deflate. He couldn’t believe he wasn’t going to make it to his first date with y/n.

“What’s gotten you all sad?” Morgan asked when he noticed his coworker’s shoulders sag.

Shaking his head, he got up from his chair to follow everyone out to the jet. “It’s–I… Do you know y/n from the coffee shop down the road?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ve seen her before,” Morgan nodded. “She’s cute.”

Spencer smiled tenderly as he thought about her. “Yeah, she is and, uh… She actually asked me out on a date and now I can’t go and I don’t have her number to call her.”

For a moment, Morgan looked at the resident genius like he was the dumbest person on earth. “Pretty Boy, I’m pretty sure you can find the phone number to the coffee shop online…”

The light behind Spencer’s eyes flickered on again. Of course. Of course he could just call the coffee shop and explain it to her. His IQ really did get slashed into half whenever there was a beautiful girl in play.

“Right, yeah,” he mumbled, nodding his head, though the idea wasn’t completely registering yet.

Morgan pushed him to call her on the jet, but he told him he was going to wait until they were in Miami so he could concentrate on the case first. Once they had landed and he and Hotch were setting up at the precinct, he stepped aside for a second and dialed the number Penelope had sent him.

“Bobby’s Coffee – How can I help?” Spencer froze upon hearing y/n’s familiar voice. “Hello-o?”

“Uhm, hi, y/n, it’s–it’s Spencer,” he finally spoke up, an awkward chuckle following straight after.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke the next words. “Oh, hi, Spencer. Are you okay?”

“Yeah–yeah, I’m all right. I just– I am so sorry. I hate to do this, but can we postpone our... our date? I-I had to go out of town for work and I’m not sure when I’ll be back.”

His heart beat in his throat, anticipating her reaction. Maybe she’ll be angry and won’t want to go out with him anymore. Maybe she’ll hang right up and never talk to him again. He wouldn’t blame her if she did.

“Oh, hey, no problem,” she then said, squashing all his expectations at once. “Uhm, why don’t you call me when you’re back and then we’ll arrange this date again, okay?”

A smile befell his lips as he listened to her answer. She did still want to see him.

“Yeah,” said Spencer. “Yeah, that’d-that’d be great. I’ll, uh, I’ll call when we’re back in DC.”

He went to hang up, but her voice stopped him. “Spencer – Spence,” she chuckled and he placed the phone back against his ear. “Maybe I should give you my number? I-in case I’m not at the coffee shop when you come back? I don’t live here… You know?”

“Right.” He felt a little stupid, but hearing her giggle again, his embarrassment washed away. Reaching for a pen and a notepad on the nearest desk, he scribbled down the number she gave him. “Got it. I’ll call you later.”

“Yeah. I’m looking forward to your call,” she told him a little teasingly and it sent shivers down to his toes. “Bye, Spence.”

He smiled. “Bye.”

“Black coffee with five packets of sugar for Dr. Reid,” she said and handed him the cup before taking a seat next to him. Spencer smiled at her and took a sip – perfectly made, as always. “Do you remember the first time we came here?”

Spencer hummed in response. “Our first date. How could I forget?” He turned his head ever so slightly and kissed her temple. “I was crazy nervous,” he chuckled with a shake of his head.

“It was the cutest thing.”

Even after a good year together, Spencer still felt his heart flutter whenever she would stay things like that. It didn’t matter what she said to him; the slightest compliment, anything to tease him,... It would send shivers down her spine.

It had been like that since the very first date.

“Hello-o.” Spencer loved the little lilt in her voice as she picked up the phone.

His lips curled up into a tender smile as he quickly turned away from everyone on the jet. He was in the kitchenette, making some tea just a little before they landed. He didn’t want anyone in on his secret because he knew he would just be getting shit from them.

“Hi, y/n,” he greeted nervously. “I-It’s Spencer.”

“Spencer, hi!” She sounded incredibly excited to hear him and it made Spencer smile. “I’m happy to hear from you.”

Letting out a chuckle, he ignored the tingly feeling that started in the back of his neck and crawled down to his toes. “I’m happy to hear your voice. I just wanted to, uhm, tell you that we’re about to land in DC, so if you–if you still wanted to go on that date, we, uh, we could do it today? I-If you want to…”

“I’d love to. I’m just finishing up my shift, so I’ll wait for you here?”

His cheeks were hurting from smiling so much. “Sure. Yeah. I-I’ll meet you there.”

“See you later, Spencer.”

After saying his goodbyes, Spencer hung up the phone and anxiously awaited their safe arrival back in DC. Without saying much of a word to his coworkers, Spencer took off from the landing strip and rushed towards Bobby’s Coffee Shop. The place was buzzing, busier than he had ever seen it, but it was easy for him to catch y/n at the counter, resting her elbows on the top while leaning forward. His eyes flitted from her face down to her ass sticking out behind her. Spencer coughed to recompose himself before making a beeline towards her.

“Hi, y/n,” he greeted, capturing the girls’ attention.

Both of them looked up at him as y/n stood up straight and turned towards him. “Hi, Spencer.”

She shot him that gorgeous smile of hers that he couldn’t get enough of. Then, she turned to her coworker and ordered their coffees. One black, for which she grabbed the packets of sugar herself, and one caramel macchiato. Spencer realized that was the first time he found out what her coffee of choice was. He intended on remembering that.

“So, where’d you go?” she asked when they fell into step after Spencer had held the door open for her.

Spencer scratched the back of his neck with his free hand. “Oh, uh, Miami. W-we had a case there.”

Her head tilted slightly in curiosity. “A case? What? You’re, like, police?”

“Something like that. I’m a profiler from the FBI,” he answered before taking a sip from his coffee to keep his mouth busy. He was afraid he’d start nervously rambling if he didn’t.

Her lips formed an ‘o’ as she let out an, “oooh”. “FBI profiler – that’s cool. I bet you see really fascinating stuff then.”

Spencer nodded his head in response. He was surprised she used the word ‘fascinating’. Usually, people found it rather scary that he came into contact with serial killers. It told him that she was interested in the kind of things he saw on a daily basis and that she was probably studying something in the same line. “What do you do? A-at Georgetown, I mean.”

“Forensic pathology,” she answered with a soft smile, proving Spencer right.

Of course the girl he had been crushing on was interested in somewhat the same things as he was. Suddenly, his mind flashed forward at what could be; them taking on the world together. They would work together on cases with him trying to catch the bad guys whilst she searched for clues on the bodies of said bad guys.

He was absolutely thrilled about it.

“Tell me about the case – was it interesting?” she then asked, deflecting the attention from her to him again.

As Spencer told her about what had happened in Miami, y/n guided them towards the lake down the trail behind the coffee shop. Once there, Spencer concluded his story just as they sat down on the bench. He took in the sight before them. The expanse of the lake reached out farther than he could see and the autumn sun reflected on its surface.

“This is beautiful,” he breathed out, mesmerized by the view.

Y/N was beaming next to him. “I know, right? It’s my favorite place of all time. It’s where I find my inner peace – no matter how cliché that sounds,” she chuckled and Spencer caught the blush dusting her cheeks before she turned away.

“I don’t think it’s cliché. We all have that one place we go to where we just don’t have to face reality. It’s proven that we need that inner peace to maintain a state of inner poise and clear mind in all situations.”

Her head anchored towards him, y/n looked at him with a new sort of interest. For a second, Spencer thought he had scared her off with his espousing of facts, but when her lips broke into that beautiful smile of hers, he knew that wasn’t the case.

“You’re quite smart, aren’t you?” she asked, a slight teasing tone in her voice.

An awkward chuckle rolled off his lips as he scratched the back of his neck. “Well… Intelligence is a mental characteristic that consists of the ability to learn from experience, adjust to new situations, understand and use abstract concepts, and use knowledge to master new situations. The concept of intelligence today is generally considered to be a set of different, individual independent intellectual abilities. Although the definitions of intelligence differ, theorists agree that intelligence is a potential rather than a fully developed ability. It is considered to be a combination of inherent characteristics of the nervous system and developmental intelligence, shaped by experience and learning. Although–”

Spencer stopped in his tracks when he noticed her staring up at him, blinking rapidly whilst a tender smile played at her lips.

“I’m rambling, aren’t I?” he asked and she nodded, though her smile never faltered. “Sorry.”

Y/N shook her head. “Don’t apologize. I actually thought it was kind of interesting.”

Heart fluttering, smile widening and mind racing, Spencer looked down at her. She couldn’t be any more perfect. She was smart and funny and not to forget breath-takingly beautiful. And to top it off, she didn’t mind his rambling. Most people found it the most annoying of his traits.

The two of them spent an entire evening talking at the lake. The topics varied from work to studies to their family life. Spencer told y/n stuff he hadn’t even told his coworkers yet, but he could tell y/n was telling him things no one else knew, too.

She was a small-town girl, having left a couple of years ago to go and study in Washington DC to become a medical examiner. Her mother had passed away when she was thirteen, an age where a girl really did need her mother, and while her father had done the best he could, it wasn’t easy on any of them. It was hard for her to open up, he could tell how hesitant she was about telling him. She kept saying things like “I don’t know why I’m telling you this, I’m sorry,” or “I shouldn’t burden you with that.”

Every time she was about to shut down again, Spencer assured her that he enjoyed listening to her and that he was flattered that she was trusting him enough to tell him all of it.

And even as the sun set and their coffees were long gone, the couple kept talking. They hadn’t even realized how late it was until y/n turned her head towards the lake, and when Spencer did the same, his eyes landed on the sight before him. The city lights from one town over reflected on the lake, glittering on the ever-moving body of water. It reminded him of the shimmer he noticed in y/n’s eyes.

Moving his eyes from the view to his better view, he saw her start to believe. She believed that her life story wasn’t going to be a burden to everyone, contrary to what she’d been made to believe.

She shivered. He wasn’t sure if it was because of the cold breeze or the feeling of his eyes on her, but she was. So, as if on automatic pilot, he grabbed his cardigan he had placed next to him on the bench, and draped it over her shoulders. When he was about to pull away, her hand grabbed his, draping his arm across her shoulders along with it.

That night was the first night of many spent at the lake together. After every case, on every free day, he would go out there and wait for her. She’d join him after her shift or after her classes. Every time he thought she was going to get sick of him and stand him up, she walked up the path with a sugar-loaded black coffee and one caramel macchiato in hand.

“It took you a while before finally kissing me,” she mumbled as she leaned into him, allowing him to put his arm around her, like he did on that very first date.

It had almost been a month of almost-daily lake chats and coffees before Spencer finally picked up the courage to kiss her and ask her on an actual date. Movies and dinner. He let y/n pick the movie, which was Les Choristes, much to his surprise. A French film about a choir that he’d wanted to see for a while but no one wanted to join him.

Spencer kissed her head again. “You made a rebel of a careless man’s careful son.”

Turning to face him, y/n cradled his jaw. The shimmer in her eyes, the worry swimming inside reminded him of that one night a couple of months ago. It confused him as though why she would be looking at him like that, but he couldn’t stop his mind from going back to that night.

They’d been together for a good six months. Spencer had come home later than anticipated. The clock read 2:30am when he opened the door to her apartment. With the promise to come back from on time for their dinner date shattered, he shuffled inside with some trepidation.

What he found in the living room broke his heart. Y/N sat at the dinner table, swirling around her half-empty wine glass. The candles were halfway burnt, wax dripping on the tablecloth. When her head snapped up at him, he was met with a tear-stained face, traces of black mascara coloring her cheeks.

“So you do still know the way to my place?” she muttered. Her voice was strained, thick with sadness.

“Angel, please–”

She cut him off almost immediately and the volume of her voice caused the windows to tremble. “Where the hell have you been, Spencer? You could’ve called! Texted! I was worried sick.” He opened his mouth to reply, but he wasn’t given the chance. “Do you know what it feels like to wait for you, knowing something could’ve happened to you?!” Suddenly, she faltered. “Why didn’t you even bother to call?”

Fresh tears rolled down her cheeks as she looked at him, awaiting a response. “I got caught up at work, Angel… I had to finish the after-action report and I guess I lost track of time. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s always something, though, Spence. There’s always something more important than our dates.”

Spencer scoffed. “You’re gonna pull that card on me, y/n? Seriously?” His eyebrows raised in disbelief. “You’re the one who told me it was okay to put work first because we have important jobs. You’re the one who’s put your job before our dates more often than I have, so you can’t blame me for this now!”

“But I always call when that happens!” Her voice cracked, unable to bear the volume.

He felt everything slipping out of his hands. His composure, his relationship, her. Everything was slipping right through his fingers and he didn’t know if he should just let it fall or scramble to keep a hold of it.

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not chained to my phone twenty-four-seven, y/n!”

He watched it drop. Everything fell out of his hands the second the butt of that sentence left his tongue. Her face crumpled before fresh tears escaped from her eyes. Before he could say anything else, she rushed out of the apartment. It took him merely a split second to register what was happening and followed her out.

This had happened to her before and Spencer knew it. She had told him that first night. Her mother had died, her brother had run away when he was seventeen because he had a fight with their dad, her first ever boyfriend walked out on her.

It was all she’d ever known.

He cautiously grabbed her by the elbow, but she pried her arm away, not wanting to be touched by him at that moment. “Hey,” he said, voice sweet as honey and tried again. This time, he succeeded and managed to turn her around. Before she could wriggle herself free from him, he cupped her face and gently forced her to look him in the eyes.

“Spence–”

“No, you’re gonna listen to me, Angel. I’ll never leave you alone, okay?”

Finding the sincerity in his eyes, that tenderness she had come to love between those specks of gold, she nodded her head slowly. While his thumbs worked to wipe the tears away, she visibly calmed down.

“I remember how we felt, sitting by the lake, and every time I look at you, it’s like that first time I ever walked into Bobby’s. I’ve found my inner peace by falling in love with you, y/n. You are the best thing that’s ever been mine.” His voice was just above a whisper, a stark contrast to the volume their voices had reached mere minutes ago.

“You are the best thing that’s ever been mine,” y/n repeated, though this time, Spencer found himself back at the lake with a coffee in his hand and his face in his girlfriend’s hands. “Which is why I’m gonna need you to wake up, okay? I need you, Spence.”

Blinking against the harsh hospital lights, Spencer groaned, then hissed when he felt a spark of pain shoot through him. A soft gasp came from beside him and when he turned his head, he looked into those beautiful shimmering eyes he had fallen in love with.

“Angel,” he whispered, his throat dry which caused it to come out a little gravely.

A smile landed on her face as she caressed his cheek. “Hi, baby,” she sniffled. Her eyes then darted to someone else in the room. “Can you go get the doctor, Pen?”

Spencer just caught a glimpse of his chipper blonde coworker scurrying out of the room before he turned his attention back on y/n. “Why are you crying, Angel?” He reached over and wiped a tear away with his thumb. Giggling, she leaned into his palm.

“You were shot, my love,” she croaked out, fresh tears rolling down. “I almost lost you.”

The guy simply shook his head, no matter how much it hurt. “I would never leave you.”

“You’re crazy, Spencer Reid.” She leaned down and pecked his lips sweetly, and it only hurt him the tiniest bit. Mostly because he wasn’t able to pull her into the bed with him and cuddle the sadness out of her.

A little groggily, Spencer looked up at her and smirked. “Hey,” he said, capturing her full attention. “Maybe you and I could go for a coffee after this?” He paused before adding, “I know a pretty nice spot at a lake where the city lights shimmer as brightly as your eyes.”

He couldn’t help but feel somewhat victorious at the flustered look on y/n’s face. He’d said it just as the nurse came in, earning a disapproving, yet amused look from her. But he didn’t care about that. All he cared about was y/n and making sure she was happy again.

She was the best thing that had ever been his.

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