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upsidedownmvnson · 1 year ago

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tell me you love me | steve harrington

warnings: fluff (warning lol) friends to lovers, idiots to lovers,

a/n: i actually really loved this <3 i hope you do too

tell me you love me vol 2

Steve Harrington had already tried twice in his life to confess his love for you.

The first time, you two were in the tenth grade and you had just accepted stupid Jack Warren's invitation to prom, so Steve didn't bother. That was back when he was settling into popularity anyway, so he got over it pretty quickly. He was dating Cathy Bartlett the next week.

The second time, Robin had made him pinky promise not to date you. She had held him down, sat on his back and twisted his arm until he pinky swore that he wouldn't do anything to destroy the delicate ecosystem of the friend group. There was already one awkward ex-situation in there.

But Robin was right, you were not like the girls he normally dated. If things went wrong he wouldn't be able to just sweep it under the rug, it could have painful ramifications for all his friends. Although... he didn't actually think it would go that bad. Steve would find his mind wandering on the idea often. He pictured the two of you in the kitchen, side by side cooking dinner and talking about your day. When he thought of you, it felt like home. It felt like somewhere he could build a house and live forever.

If he could only get the words out, he'd realize how quickly you'd accept him. He'd realize he wasn't the only one of you that was stupid in love.

You had been in love with Steve since you could remember. But never once thought he'd shared your interest, not with all the girls around him all the time. The way he shines in their attention and basks in their praise, it's enough to make you sure he's happy with how it is. Or he probably wouldn't have told you all about his date with Debbie Dabbenthorn, right?

Tonight, you, Nancy and Robin were at a party. Something Steve desperately tried to make not happen. But he was working, so there was no one to stop you girls from coaxing each other into drink after drink, which you always did. The three of you always drank too much, and Steve always got stuck trying to coral you and Robin into his car.

At the party, Nancy was handing you another red cup filled to the brim, sloshing over the side and coating your fingers. You hadn't noticed.

"I love when we ditch the boys," Nancy said, smiling as she sipped out of her own solo cup. "It's so fun!"

"Same," Robin said, slinging her arm around Nancy's shoulers, making the two of them sway and laugh. They caught their balance and cheered drinks. "Hey, help me find the bathroom!"

It wasn't hard to find, but it was hard for all three of you to get there without knocking into each other, but it didn't matter. The three of you giggled the whole way, laughing too hard over barely anything. Enjoying the simple joy of being with your friends on a party.

The line for the bathroom was short, only a few people deep. Nancy was grilling Robin on her love life while Robin evaded every question with a vague answer, soon, she turned it onto you, focusing Nancy on the other singler girl in the group.

"Do you not think anyone is cute at least?" Nancy said, not quite believing you when you say you didn't have a crush on anyone at the moment. You shrugged, trying to avoid admitting that it was her ex boyfriend that really turned your head. Robin chuckled, and slid into the bathroom.

You started sipping your drink when Nancy asked, "Not even Steve?" and you nearly choked, but you coughed once and composed yourself. You stared at her, confused as to why she would bring him up.

"You don't have to say anything," she said, and you looked into your cup, noting that you'd need a replacement after this trip. "But it would be okay with me."

Robin opened the bathroom door again, reassembling the trio be throwing her arms around both of your shoulders. "New drinks!" she cheered, steering you all in the direction of the kitchen.

"Drink up," Nancy giggled, "and then let's dance!"

So that's what you did, you guys drank and danced and had a great time. Until Jonathan came to pick up Nancy. That's when you saw that it was after nine, so Steve should've been on the way to come collect you and Robin from your drunken outing. You told Robin again how nice it was for Steve to come get you.

"But c'mon, you love him right?" Robin asked, laughing at your shock.

"I do not love him," you argued, but you did. Robin shrugged, but didn't look convinced. "He just is beautiful, that's all."

"Nah," she said, brushing off the idea with a wave of her hand. "You just love him."

"Do not," you mumbled. But Robin already leaned the other way when Vicki walked up to talk to her. You leaned further into the couch, the ugly thing was very comfortable. Steve should be there any minute.

"Hey," Robin whispered, "Vicki invited me to go with her friends to the lake... Are you gunna be okay here? You're not too drunk are you? Because if you think you can't stay awake, I'll stay of course..."

"Robin, go! I'll be fine for like two minutes..." you slurred, you were pretty drunk but Steve really was going to be there any second.

"Okay!" she didn't have to be told twice before she was scrambling after Vicki in her love-drunk haze. Or maybe just regular drunk, but Robin was feeling giddy anyway.

Steve was running behind because he lost the address that Robin had given him. She'd just ripped off a corner of a piece of paper, and Steve had lost it at some point in his shift. When he finally found the place he was thirty minutes behind.

When he got inside you were curled up on the couch alone, snoozing while some couple made out next to you in the spot Robin had vacated. He smiled when he saw you, and took a knee next to you, trying to wake you up nicely. He stroked your cheek, and tucked some hair behind ear, making you stir softly in your slumber.

"Time to get up," Steve said, "Where's Robin?"

"Went with Vicki," you whispered, rubbing your eyes, smudging whatever makeup wasn't already ruined from the dancing.

"Well, how mean of her to leave you here all alone," he said, running his thumb along your cheek again. "Can't trust you guys alone now though, she did leave you to fall asleep at a house party. That's like really bad, I'm mad at her."

You made a soft noise in response, his stern voice was, not so stern. He smiled at you, and you couldn't help but notice how beautiful he was. Leaning close to you, rubbing your cheek, hair falling perfectly on his forehead and you just wanted to reach up and brush it away like he did. But your hands were wedged under your head, and you were afraid that if you stirred even an inch, he would leave, and this moment would be over.

"Guess you'll just have to make sure you come with us next time," you whispered, eyes bloodshot and glossy from all the alcohol. He thought you were the most beautiful girl in the room. The party was still raging around him, and he easily could've found a place within the girls, but he was content in this moment with you. Your eyes started feeling heavy, and you couldn't stop them from constantly fluttering shut.

“C'mon let me help you up babe,” Steve said, aiding your drunk figure. The nickname made your stomach flip. You were dead weight, giggling as he took care of you and grabbed your things and still found the patience to be kind to you, musing like he was interested in all your drunk babble.

“You're just so pretty, Stevie, it's stupid,” you cooed, finding a place beside him with his arms around you for balance as he lead you, slowly, to his car.

"D-Don't say that stuff," Steve said, voice cracking at the beginning. You were drunk, and it was dark, but you still noticed the blush on Steve's cheeks, and you smiled.

He opened the door for you, and you commented, "so romantic," while holding your hand over your heart, and Steve's heart raced. He went around the trunk of his car to get another second of fresh air, if you saw him in the light you were sure to see the heat he felt in his neck and cheeks. You were flirting with him, and he couldn't contain his excitement every time you complimented him, looking up at him with those beautiful eyes.

The entire trip was like that. From the moment he was in the car you were just a loose cannon of compliments and praises. This combination of him sober and you drunk has never happened while alone before. Were you this flirty with him when he was drunk too?

The answer was yes. The real reason Nancy knew you really wanted Steve was because whenever you two are drunk and together you look like you're in love... because you are. Holding hands, head on shoulder, legs across laps, big bright smiles that made everyone think you were truly, madly, deeply in love. Everything that's just a little too friendly, but never crossing that silly little line that kept you both under the umbrella of just friends.

You were a delight in his passenger seat. He only wished you spoke like this when you were sober, because then maybe he'd know for sure you love him too.

"Hey Steve?" you asked, voice coming out as almost a purr in your sleepy state. Steve's heart melted. "Can I hold your hand?"

"Yeah," he answered, clearing his throat and moving his hand over to your lap, intertwining your fingers. Your hands were cold to the touch, but all you felt was the comforting warmth of him. You were both smiling, goofy grins to match the butterflies in your stomach. "You can hold my hand whenever you like."

You made another happy hum, but said nothing else. The ride was short. No words exchanged, just the quiet songs on the radio, turned low to let you drift off in the passenger seat.

When you got to his house, he parked the car, looking at you. He didn't want to wake you. And he didn't want to let go of your hand. Maybe he should just stay in the car all night.

Of course he didn't do that. Steve weaseled his way out of your grip, not bothering to hide how pleased he was that you whined at the loss of his touch. he helped you out of the car, encouraging you to climb on his back for "an express ride to the VIP bathroom," and he delivered, carrying you, all dead weight and giggling, to the bathroom where he left you to clean up. You put on the clothes he delivered, Plaid pajama pants and a big grey shirt. Well, you put the shirt on, the pajama pants were thrown into the tub, because you couldn't be forced to wear pants.

"Steeeeeve," you slurred, leaving the bathroom, giggling and bumping into the doorframe.

Steve was standing in the doorway to his room, wearing only blue plaid pj pants. His torso on glorious display, while he stood frozen at the sight of you. You stretched your arms over your head, and the shirt rose, exposing your panties to him. He nearly choked looking at you.

"Can I sleep in your room?" you asked, smiling at the effect you had on him. "Look how cute I am," you said, turning around and lifting the shirt while bending over slightly, giving him a perfect view of your ass, with the panties laying deliciously over your cheeks.

"Jesus," he muttered, unable to look away but trying to force himself to. He shouldn't be sneaking a peak while you were this drunk, but in his defence you were the one showing him. "Come to bed, just put your shirt down."

"It's your shirt," you teased, obeying him anyway. You danced behind him into the room, and crawled into bed. It smelled so good, it smelled like him. You could've stayed by Steve's side under these blankets forever.

You lay facing Steve, in his overly big, overly comfortable bed, too tired and drunk to keep your eyes open, but you still try. Steve smiles at your determination to stay awake, he watches your eyes blink quickly, trying to shake the sleep away.

You want to reach over and intertwine your hands, you don’t. He wants to reach out and brush the hair off your forehead and behind your ear, he doesn’t.

“Are we in love, Steve?”

The sharpness of your question cuts him, wounding him in a way he didn’t know was possible. He wanted to speak, but there were no words. No charismatic come back, and no way to avoid the lingering question in the air. Steve holds his tears back. He really did love you.

When your eyes peak open, he’s nodding. His eyes filled with tears that he refuses to let you see, but you see. "Yeah, I think so."

“Why is it so sad?”

“Because we're best friends," he said, "and I can't lose you."

"Tell me you love me," you whispered, silly mood replaced with a tight feeling in your throat, like you were going to cry. But you held it back.

"I love you," he whispered.

"I love you too."

He wanted to cry. He wanted to kiss you. But instead, he just sighed, and found your hand under the sheets, and held it tightly. He was frozen. This was his dream come true, so why did it feel like a nightmare? Like you were right there, but he couldn't have you. Like he was doomed to stay in love with you, and never actually get to be with you.

“I will still love you in the morning whether I say it or not, Stevie.” Your eyes finally started winning the battle, and they stayed closed more than they stayed open, too heavy too fight.

"I know babe," he said, watching as you breathing changed and your eyes didn't open again. "I will too."

#stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things imagine #stranger things imagines

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urdreamydoodles · 3 months ago

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X-Men x Reader (Part.1)

You tell them that they are perfect just the way they are (Part.1)

Your partner opens up about their insecurities, whether it's feeling distant due to their powers or perceived coldness. Through loving reassurance, you help them realize that their unique qualities make them perfect as they are, deepening your bond with each of them.

Characters: Logan Howlett, Remy LeBeau, Kurt Wagner, Scott Summers, Erik Lehnsherr, Warren Worthington III, Bobby Drake, Alex Summers, Jean Grey & Wade Wilson

Logan Howlett (Wolverine)

The night was still and quiet, the only sound in the cabin being the crackling of the fire. You leaned against Logan, your head resting on his chest, his arm wrapped securely around your waist. He was warm, comforting, the scent of whiskey and cedar lingering on his flannel shirt. For someone so rugged and battle-worn, he always had a way of making you feel safe.

His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your skin as you watched the fire, its glow casting shadows across the room. Logan had always been a man of few words, especially when it came to how he felt about himself. You knew how much he struggled with his past—the wars, the loss, the things he couldn’t forgive himself for.

"Logan," you said softly, lifting your head to look up at him.

He grunted in response, eyes still fixed on the fire, but you could see the tension in his jaw. His past haunted him every day, no matter how many times you tried to remind him that he was more than the sum of his mistakes.

You reached up, cupping his rugged face with both hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. "You're perfect the way you are."

He stiffened slightly, his brow furrowing in disbelief. "You don’t know half of it, darlin’," he muttered, trying to look away, but you held his gaze.

"I know enough. I know the man who’s held me when I couldn’t stand on my own. The man who’s risked everything to protect me, even when he thought he didn’t deserve to live. You’re more than your past, Logan. You’re more than the things you’ve done."

Logan’s eyes softened, the hard edge in them dimming as he stared at you. There was a vulnerability there, one he rarely let anyone see. Slowly, he leaned down and pressed his forehead against yours, closing his eyes.

“I ain’t perfect,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “Not even close.”

"You’re perfect to me," you replied firmly, your thumb brushing along the edge of his jawline. "And that’s all that matters."

His grip on you tightened slightly, as if he was afraid to let go. Logan’s lips met yours in a slow, deep kiss, one that spoke of gratitude, of acceptance. When he pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours again, his breath steady but heavy.

"You keep me grounded," he said quietly. "Don't know what I'd do without ya."

You smiled softly, resting back against his chest. "You won’t have to find out."

Remy LeBeau (Gambit)

The gentle hum of the city surrounded you as you stood on the balcony, the night breeze warm against your skin. Remy was leaning against the railing beside you, the twinkle of the streetlights below reflecting in his red-on-black eyes. He had one arm casually draped around your shoulders, his fingers playing with the strands of your hair as the two of you enjoyed the quiet moment together.

You could feel him tense slightly beside you, his usual playful demeanor replaced by something more serious. Remy had always been a charmer, full of jokes and flirtations, but there were times when his insecurities crept through. It didn’t matter how much he masked them with his smooth talk; you could always tell when something was bothering him.

He exhaled a deep breath, his voice quieter than usual. "Sometimes I wonder what you see in me, chère."

You glanced at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Remy gave a small, self-deprecating smile, looking down at the city below. "A man like me… I’ve done things. Lied, stolen, hurt people. Ain’t exactly a saint, you know? You deserve someone better."

You turned toward him, reaching out to take his hand. His fingers instinctively laced with yours, but he didn’t meet your eyes. He had never really opened up about the guilt he carried, but you knew it was there, weighing him down more than he liked to admit.

"Remy," you said softly, squeezing his hand. "You’re perfect the way you are."

His eyes finally flicked up to meet yours, confusion and disbelief written all over his face. "Perfect? Me?"

"Yes, you," you said firmly. "You’re kind, you’re protective, you make me laugh every day. You make me feel like the luckiest person in the world. You’ve made mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t change who you are now."

He blinked, the usual cocky smirk nowhere to be found. For once, Remy LeBeau didn’t have a quick-witted reply. Instead, he stared at you as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

"You really mean dat, don’t you?"

"I do," you said, stepping closer to him, your hand resting on his chest. "I love you, Remy. All of you. The good, the bad, the in-between. You don’t need to change a thing."

He let out a soft chuckle, though it was filled with something more raw, more real. His free hand came up to cup your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek as he looked at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

"Mon amour, you always know jus’ what to say," he murmured, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

When he pulled back, that familiar playful glint had returned to his eyes, though there was something softer behind it. "Maybe I am pretty lucky after all."

Kurt Wagner (Nightcrawler)

The soft glow of the moon filtered through the window as you lay beside Kurt, your fingers tracing the delicate blue fur along his arm. His tail curled lazily around your leg, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you as you enjoyed the quiet together. Being with Kurt always felt like this—peaceful, warm, and full of love.

But tonight, something felt different. He hadn’t said much, his golden eyes distant as he stared out into the night sky. You knew that look. It was the look he got when he started to doubt himself, to wonder if he truly belonged in this world.

You scooted closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder as you let your fingers run along his arm. "You’re thinking again," you said gently.

He let out a soft, almost sad chuckle. "I cannot help it, mein Schatz. Sometimes I look at myself and… I wonder if I could ever be truly worthy of you."

You frowned, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His golden eyes were filled with uncertainty, a look that tugged at your heart. Kurt had always struggled with his appearance, with feeling like he didn’t belong because of his mutation, no matter how kind or loving he was.

"Kurt, don’t say that," you whispered, reaching up to cup his face. "You’re perfect the way you are."

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your words. "Perfect? But I am not… I mean, look at me."

"I am looking at you," you replied softly. "And I see the most beautiful person I’ve ever known. Not because of how you look, but because of who you are. You have the kindest heart, Kurt. You’re brave, compassionate, and you’ve made me feel more loved than I ever thought possible."

Kurt’s breath hitched, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find some sign that you were just saying these things to make him feel better. But you meant every word.

"You’re not just worthy of me," you continued. "I’m the lucky one, because I get to be with someone who sees the world with such kindness. Who’s strong enough to love despite everything they’ve been through."

A slow smile spread across his face, his tail tightening around your leg in a comforting embrace. "Ach, mein Liebe," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "You have no idea how much that means to me."

You smiled, leaning up to kiss him softly. His lips were gentle against yours, tender and full of love, just like he was.

When you pulled away, Kurt rested his forehead against yours, his golden eyes filled with gratitude. "I do not deserve you."

You shook your head, smiling softly. "You’re perfect just as you are, Kurt. Don’t ever doubt that."

And with those words, you knew that you had reassured him, just as he had always reassured you.

Scott Summers (Cyclops)

The sun had barely set, casting a warm golden glow over the grounds of Xavier’s mansion. You stood by the large window in your shared room, gazing out at the gardens as the last light of the day disappeared. Scott was behind you, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head resting in his hands. His visor sat on the nightstand, and without it, his closed eyes shielded the world from his powerful optic blasts.

He had been unusually quiet all evening. You knew why. Leadership weighed on him in ways that most people would never understand. No matter how often you reassured him, Scott always carried the burden of responsibility, constantly second-guessing his decisions, questioning if he was doing enough, if he was strong enough.

"I’m failing them," he muttered, barely audible, but you caught every word.

You turned from the window, watching the way his broad shoulders tensed under the weight of self-imposed guilt. The soft evening light cast shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the tension in his brow.

"Scott," you said softly, stepping closer to him. He didn’t look up, but you could tell he was listening. "You’re not failing anyone."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Every day, it feels like I’m making the wrong choices. What kind of leader am I if I can’t protect the people I love? What if I’m just… not enough?"

You knelt in front of him, resting your hands on his knees. His eyes were still closed, his expression one of conflict and frustration, but you could see the vulnerability beneath it all.

"You’re perfect the way you are, Scott."

His brows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to protest, but you quickly continued. "I mean it. You’re always putting everyone else before yourself. You’re always thinking of the team, of what’s best for them. That’s what makes you such a good leader."

He shook his head again, his hands clenching into fists. "I don’t know if it’s enough. I’m not enough."

You moved your hands to his face, cupping his jaw gently, forcing him to feel your presence. "You are more than enough. You always are. I know you think you have to carry the weight of the world alone, but you don’t. We’re a team. I’m with you. Always."

His eyes squeezed shut even tighter, as if holding back the intensity of everything he felt. But after a moment, his hands came up to cover yours, holding them in place against his face. His skin was warm beneath your touch, and for the first time that evening, his body seemed to relax, if only slightly.

"You believe that?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I do," you replied firmly. "I believe in you. I always have, and I always will."

Slowly, he opened his eyes—though you couldn’t see them, you could feel the shift in his mood. His grip on your hands tightened, and he let out a shaky breath, as if finally allowing himself to accept your words.

"I don’t deserve you," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

You smiled, leaning up to kiss his lips softly. "You’re wrong. You’re perfect to me, Scott. Just the way you are."

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)

The sound of waves crashing against the shore was a soothing melody in the distance as you walked barefoot through the sand. Erik was beside you, his hand intertwined with yours, his expression as unreadable as ever. The two of you often escaped to this secluded beach, far from the chaos of the world, far from the conflicts that seemed to follow him wherever he went.

But even here, under the vast sky and in the presence of peace, you could feel the storm inside him. Erik was never truly free of his past. No matter how much he tried to distance himself from the pain, from the horrors of what he’d lived through, the weight of it never left him. And sometimes, you could see the way it chipped away at his sense of worth.

He stopped walking, his eyes on the horizon. The wind played with his silver hair, and for a moment, he looked every bit the powerful, unyielding force the world knew him as. But you knew better. You knew the man behind the power, the man who had suffered more than anyone should ever have to.

"I’ve caused so much destruction," he said quietly, his voice almost lost to the wind. "I’ve hurt so many. How can you look at me and see anything but the monster I’ve become?"

You turned to face him, stepping closer so that your hands were pressed against his chest. His heartbeat was steady beneath your fingers, but the tension in his body told you how deeply this was affecting him.

"You’re not a monster, Erik."

His jaw clenched, and he looked away, as if refusing to let himself believe your words. "I’ve done terrible things. Things that can never be undone. You can’t change what I am."

You reached up, cupping his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. His blue eyes were filled with conflict, with pain, and you felt your heart ache for him. "You are perfect the way you are."

He scoffed, shaking his head slightly. "Perfect? You think I’m perfect after everything I’ve done?"

"I do," you replied without hesitation. "Because I know why you’ve done what you’ve done. I know the pain that drives you. I know the love you carry for those you care about, even if you don’t always show it. You’ve fought for what you believe in, Erik, and that’s something most people can’t say. You’ve fought for people like us. For our future."

His gaze softened, though the doubt was still there, lingering beneath the surface. "And yet, I’ve hurt the ones I love in the process."

You shook your head, your thumb brushing gently over his cheek. "You’ve made mistakes, yes. But that doesn’t make you any less of a man. You’ve fought for what you believe in, and I love you for that. You are more than your past, more than your pain. You are exactly who you need to be."

Erik’s expression faltered, and for the first time in a long time, you saw the vulnerability he rarely allowed himself to show. Slowly, he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours, his eyes closing as he took a deep breath.

"You’re too good to me," he murmured, his voice soft.

You smiled, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "No. I just see you for who you really are. And that man is perfect to me."

Warren Worthington III (Angel)

Warren’s wings unfurled with a gentle rustle as he landed on the balcony, the moonlight casting a silver glow over the soft feathers. You watched him approach from where you sat on the edge of the bed, admiring the way he moved with effortless grace. He always seemed to carry himself like an angel in both name and appearance—majestic, otherworldly, yet burdened by something heavier than he let on.

He smiled when he saw you, though the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. "Hey, you," he greeted softly, sitting beside you. His wings folded neatly behind him, but you knew he was carrying the weight of something more tonight.

"Long day?" you asked, sensing the tension that radiated from him despite his best efforts to hide it.

He ran a hand through his tousled blonde hair, his expression faltering as he glanced away. "It’s nothing."

You tilted your head, giving him a knowing look. "Warren, it’s me. Talk to me."

He sighed, leaning back on his hands and looking up at the sky. "Sometimes I wonder… if these wings are more of a curse than a gift."

His words caught you off guard. Warren rarely spoke about his mutation in such a vulnerable way. You could see the way he looked at himself, as if the wings that made him so beautiful and unique were something he resented, something that made him feel less human.

"They’re not," you said softly, sliding closer to him. "You’re not cursed, Warren."

He glanced at you, his blue eyes clouded with doubt. "It’s hard to believe that sometimes. When people look at me, all they see is… this. The wings, the mutation. They don’t see me. Not really."

You reached out, gently placing a hand on his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "I see you."

He looked down at your hand, then back up at you. "You’ve always seen me differently, but… sometimes I don’t even know who I am anymore."

You shook your head, moving closer until your foreheads nearly touched. "You’re Warren Worthington III. You’re kind, strong, compassionate, and beautiful inside and out. These wings—they don’t define you. They’re part of you, but they don’t change who you are."

He closed his eyes, letting out a soft breath. "I don’t feel perfect. Not even close."

You smiled, brushing your thumb gently over his cheek. "You’re perfect to me. Exactly the way you are."

Warren let out a shaky laugh, his wings twitching slightly as he opened his eyes and gazed at you with a mix of gratitude and awe. "You’re too good to me, you know that?"

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I just love you for who you are. And that’s never going to change."

Bobby Drake (Iceman)

The snowstorm outside the cabin raged on, thick flakes of ice pelting the windows as you curled up by the fire. Despite the cold outside, the warmth of the flames and Bobby’s presence beside you made everything feel cozy and safe.

Bobby sat beside you on the couch, his arm draped lazily around your shoulders, his ice-blue eyes reflecting the dancing firelight. He had been unusually quiet tonight, and you could tell something was on his mind. Normally, Bobby was the life of the party—always cracking jokes and making everyone laugh—but when he was quiet, it meant something deeper was going on.

"You okay?" you asked, leaning into his side, your head resting on his shoulder.

He sighed, his fingers absently playing with the edge of your sweater. "Yeah, I guess. Just thinking."

"About what?" you pressed gently, tilting your head to look up at him.

He hesitated for a moment before speaking. "About how… people see me. How they always expect me to be the funny guy, the one who never takes anything seriously. It’s like… I’m just the comic relief."

You frowned, sitting up so you could face him more fully. "You know that’s not true, right? People don’t just see you as a joke."

Bobby shrugged, a sad smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "It’s just… I’ve been trying to figure out who I am, you know? I’m an Omega-level mutant, but sometimes I feel like I’m just… not enough. Like I don’t measure up to the others."

Your heart ached at his words. Bobby was so much more than he gave himself credit for. Sure, he loved to make people laugh, but that wasn’t all there was to him. He had depth, kindness, and strength that often went unnoticed.

"You’re more than enough," you said firmly, taking his hand in yours. "Bobby, you’re one of the most powerful mutants out there, but that’s not even what makes you incredible. You’re kind, you’re thoughtful, and you’re always there for the people you care about. You’re not just the funny guy. You’re so much more than that."

He looked at you, his eyes softening. "You really think so?"

You smiled, squeezing his hand. "I know so. You’re perfect the way you are, Bobby. You don’t have to be anyone else."

Bobby stared at you for a moment before his lips curved into a more genuine smile. "You’re amazing, you know that?"

You grinned, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Only because I’ve got you by my side."

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. "Guess we make a pretty good team, huh?"

"The best," you replied, snuggling into his embrace as the warmth of the fire and Bobby’s presence surrounded you.

Alex Summers (Havok)

The garage was quiet, save for the faint hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the occasional clink of metal as Alex tinkered with his motorcycle. You leaned against the doorframe, watching him work. His back was turned to you, his strong shoulders flexing as he tightened a bolt, his expression one of deep concentration.

Alex had always been the quieter of the Summers brothers, less about grand speeches and more about action. But even though he didn’t always say much, you could always tell when something was bothering him.

"You’ve been quiet today," you said softly, stepping into the garage and approaching him.

Alex glanced over his shoulder at you, giving you a small, tired smile. "Just thinking."

You sat down on the workbench beside him, watching as he wiped his hands on a rag, his brow still furrowed. "Want to talk about it?"

He sighed, tossing the rag onto the bench and leaning against the bike. "It’s nothing. Just… sometimes I feel like I’m always living in Scott’s shadow, you know? Like no matter what I do, I’m never going to be as good as him."

You frowned, reaching out to touch his arm. "Alex, you’re amazing in your own right. You don’t have to compare yourself to Scott."

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "It’s hard not to. He’s the perfect leader, the golden boy, and I’m… I’m just the screw-up who can’t control his powers half the time."

You stood up, moving closer to him until you were right in front of him, your hand resting on his chest. "That’s not true, and you know it. You’ve saved more lives than you give yourself credit for. You’re strong, you’re brave, and you’ve faced things that would break most people. You’re perfect the way you are, Alex."

He looked down at you, his blue eyes softening as he listened to your words. "Perfect? I don’t know about that."

"I do," you insisted, stepping even closer until your body was pressed against his. "You’re perfect to me. And you don’t need to be like Scott. You’re you, and that’s more than enough."

Alex’s hand came up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. "How do you always know what to say?"

You smiled, leaning into his touch. "It’s because I know you. I know who you really are, Alex, and that’s why I love you. Not because of who you think you need to be, but because of who you are."

His lips curved into a small smile, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you close. "I love you too."

You wrapped your arms around him, resting your head against his chest as the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calmed your own. "You’re everything to me, Alex. Don’t ever doubt that."

For the first time that night, you felt the tension leave his body as he held you tighter. "I won’t," he promised, his voice soft and full of emotion. "As long as I’ve got you, I won’t."

Jean Grey (Phoenix)

Jean sat by the lake, her eyes fixed on the still water as the last rays of the sun dipped below the horizon. You approached her quietly, knowing she had been seeking solitude for a while now. She had been different lately—quieter, more distant—and you knew it had everything to do with the growing power inside her.

You sat down beside her, not saying anything at first, just letting her feel your presence. The silence stretched between you for a moment before Jean finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever just be… me again," she said, her green eyes reflecting the fading light. "I feel like I’m losing myself to this power, like the Phoenix is consuming me more every day."

You glanced at her, seeing the fear and uncertainty in her eyes. Jean Grey had always been one of the strongest people you knew, but this power—the Phoenix—was something even she struggled to control.

"You’re still you, Jean," you said softly, reaching out to take her hand. "No matter what the Phoenix brings, you’re still Jean Grey. You’re still the person I love."

She shook her head, her expression pained. "But what if I’m not? What if the Phoenix takes over completely? What if I can’t come back from it?"

You squeezed her hand, your voice firm and steady. "You will come back. Because you’re stronger than the Phoenix. I know it feels like you’re losing control, but you’re not alone in this. You have me, and I’m not going anywhere."

Jean’s eyes filled with tears as she looked at you, her vulnerability laid bare in a way that few ever got to see. "I don’t feel perfect. I feel like I’m falling apart."

You moved closer to her, gently cupping her face in your hands. "You’re perfect to me, Jean. Not because of your powers or what you can do, but because of who you are. You’re kind, you’re strong, and you care so deeply for everyone around you. You’re more than the Phoenix, and you’re more than this power."

Jean closed her eyes, leaning into your touch as a tear slipped down her cheek. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You’ll never have to find out," you whispered, brushing the tear away with your thumb. "I’m always going to be here, no matter what happens. We’ll get through this together."

Jean let out a shaky breath, her hands coming up to rest over yours as she opened her eyes, filled with gratitude and love. "I don’t deserve you."

"You deserve everything," you whispered, leaning in to press a soft kiss to her forehead. "And I’m going to be right here, reminding you every day how perfect you are."

Jean smiled softly, leaning into your embrace as you held her close, the two of you sitting by the lake as the night settled in, knowing that no matter what challenges lay ahead, your love would always be the constant that anchored her.

Wade Wilson (Deadpool)

You knew what to expect with Wade Wilson. His jokes, his antics, his erratic behavior—it was all a part of who he was. But tonight, as he lay next to you, staring at the ceiling in an uncharacteristic silence, you knew something was bothering him.

The two of you were tangled in the sheets of your shared bed, his body warm against yours. He was quiet, which was a rarity for the merc with a mouth. Normally, Wade couldn’t go more than a few seconds without making some kind of quip, but now, his silence spoke louder than his jokes ever could.

"Hey," you whispered, turning onto your side to face him. "What’s going on in that chaotic head of yours?"

Wade didn’t look at you, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. He let out a deep breath, one that felt like it had been trapped inside him for far too long. "Do you ever… I don’t know, wonder why you’re with me?"

The question caught you off guard, and you frowned, reaching out to rest a hand on his scarred chest. "What do you mean?"

He shifted uncomfortably, as if the words were too heavy for even him to carry. "I mean, look at me. I’m not exactly Mr. Perfect. I’m loud, obnoxious, and, well…" He gestured to his body with a grimace. "I’m a walking burn victim with a face only a mother could love."

You sat up slightly, your gaze soft as you took in his scarred skin, his face hidden beneath his ever-present mask of humor. Wade’s insecurities had always been there, buried beneath the jokes and the laughter, but tonight they were closer to the surface.

"That’s not true," you said firmly, your voice filled with conviction. "You’re more than your appearance, Wade. You’re more than your scars."

He scoffed, finally turning his head to look at you. "Yeah, right. I mean, come on. I look like a melted candle."

You sighed softly, leaning over to press a kiss to his chest. "Wade, I don’t care about that. I love you for who you are, not what you look like. You make me laugh, you care about the people you love, and you’d do anything for them. You’re not just some messed-up guy with a messed-up body. You’re Wade Wilson, and that’s more than enough for me."

Wade’s usual bravado seemed to falter as he listened to you, his eyes softening beneath the weight of your words. "You really mean that?"

"Of course, I mean it," you said, sitting up fully now, your hand cupping his face gently. "You’re perfect just the way you are. Every scar, every joke, every bit of you. You’re the only one I want."

Wade stared at you for a long moment, his usual snarky comebacks nowhere to be found. Instead, he reached up to touch your hand, his thumb brushing over your skin. "You know, I don’t deserve you."

You smiled softly, leaning down to kiss him. "Maybe not, but you’ve got me anyway."

For the first time that night, Wade smiled—really smiled—and pulled you into his arms. "Okay, okay. But if you ever change your mind, just know I’m keeping the dog."

You laughed, resting your head against his chest as the two of you settled back into the bed, the weight of his insecurities lifting, even if only for tonight.

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readsaboutreid · 6 months ago

Text

Everything To Me (Part 2) | S.R.

summary: (Y/N) finally takes the step to break things off with her shitty cheating boyfriend Warren after Spencer and her spend a perfect day (and night of passion) together, except things go awry when she tries to ask spencer out the next week only for him to spend the next few days giving her the cold shoulder.

this has smut so it's 18+ minors please dni

contains: fluffy pillow fort smut, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), munch!spencer, technically cheating because (Y/N) and Spencer fuck before she breaks up with her cheating asshole bf, angst/comfort

Part 1

He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her into him as their lips danced together. She responded by wrapping her own delicate arms around his neck and tugging lightly, rolling over until he was on top of her. Spencer's heart raced in his chest at the feeling of her legs wrapping around his hips and her fingers tangling into his hair. When had his pants gotten so tight?

His elbows rested next to her head on each side as he held himself above her and pulled back so he could finally say, "I love you, too, (Y/N)."

She looked up at him with stars in her eyes and her pupils blown wide, and time stopped for both of them. Time started moving normally again once she used the fingers she had in his hair to tug him back down and bring their lips back together. Their tongues tangled together this time, and Spencer felt his breath hitch in his throat before a groan ripped its way through his lips when she gently ground her hips up against his. He rocked his own hips back against her, savoring the way she whimpered into his mouth as he did.

This time, when Spencer pulled back, (Y/N) started clumsily unbuttoning her dress before he gently grabbed her hands. "Hey, there's no hurry. We don't have to do anything tonight if you don't want to—"

"I want to," she murmured softly while sitting up to resume the process of unbuttoning her dress. Then she added, "i-if you want to."

Spencer's only response was to nod eagerly and sit up when she did (slowly, as to avoid hitting his head on the top of the fort) to start unbuttoning his own cardigan and then his shirt followed. The two clumsily undressed until they were both in nothing but their undergarments, looking at each other with flushed cheeks. Spencer slowly crawled back over her while she laid back down, attaching his lips to hers yet again. He was already addicted to the taste of her lips and the sensation of her tongue against his.

He slid his hands up her waist and slowly around her back until they reached the clasp of her bra. He struggled to unhook it and (Y/N) reached around to undo it herself, only for him to give her a look that said, don't, I got this. After about 60 more seconds of fumbling, the final hook came undone and Spencer removed the small piece of clothing triumphantly, grinning into the kiss.

This time when he sat up, Spencer took it as an opportunity to fully take in her beauty. In the soft, warm glow of the fairy lights her skin took on a nearly ethereal quality. He tried (and failed) to keep his eyes from dropping immediately to her exposed breasts, but when he finally did lay his eyes on them (after about 2 seconds of said trying and failing), he wasn't sure he'd ever be able to look away.

He had no idea how long he had been staring for when she snapped him out of his thoughts by softly giggling and sitting up so her face was only a few inches away, "my face is up here, Spencer."

"Sorry," he chuckled breathlessly and licked his lips, moving his eyes back to meet hers. He didn't manage to hold eye contact for very long, quickly dropping his eyes back to her breasts. His eyes bounced back and forth between hers and her breasts as he tentatively reached a hand up and shakily asked, "may I?"

She leaned back, resting her palms on the ground behind her and whispering, "be my guest." He wasted no time, reaching his hand out and cupping one of her breasts with it. An honest to god moan left his lips as he felt the soft, warm flesh in his palm. He brought the other hand up to grab the other one while his mouth found its place against hers again before trailing kisses from her mouth to her chin, and then down to her neck. He squeezed softly and brushed his thumbs over her hard nipples, gaining a soft gasp from her. He did it again, and again, and again, each time taking note of the way she'd squeeze and rub her thighs together while letting out soft whimpers.

He was so focused on toying with her breasts, moving his mouth to replace one of his fingers, gently sucking and swirling his tongue around the hardened nub, that he didn't notice her hand snaking onto his thigh. He definitely didn't notice her hand slowly creeping upward until it reached the hardness between his own legs. She wrapped her hand around him through his briefs and began slowly stroking up and down; he almost came instantly. He removed his mouth from her nipple and quickly gripped her wrist before gasping out a soft, "n-not yet. Tonight is all about you."

With that he resumed teasing her nipples, earning a slight gasp of surprise at the sudden sensation of his teeth grazing against the left one. He rested one of his hands on her inner thigh, squeezing lightly before moving it up painfully slowly. (Y/N) began spreading her legs open, letting her head tip back as her chest heaved with each breath. Spencer began kissing his way down her chest, leaving sloppy, open mouthed kisses all down her stomach until he reached the waistband of her soft cotton panties.

He could feel her shudder ever so slightly and paused to look up at her face. He slowly hooked his fingers into the waistband while he gave her a look that said, is this okay?

Her voice came out as nothing but an exhale, breathing out the softest "yes, Spencer." His cock twitched at the barely audible sound while he began slowly pulling off the last piece of her clothing. Once they were fully off he grabbed a spare pillow and had her lift her hips so he could gently place it beneath her to lift her slightly. Once it was in place he wasted no time, leaning in and giving her dripping core a soft, gentle kiss. She gasped at the contact which was followed by a soft moan as she felt his tongue slip out and slowly slide from her entrance to her clit, collecting her nectar on his tongue before making soft circles around her swollen bud.

He kept his tongue focused there, teasing and tormenting her endlessly, while moving his fingers to her dripping center and teasing the opening by pushing just the very tip of his index finger inside and then slowly pulling it out. She whimpered a soft, "pl-please," above him, her fingers moving to tangle themselves into his soft brown locks. He smiled and hummed against her while pushing his finger into her slowly and pulling it out at the same pace as before, savoring the feeling of her soft pussy around his finger.

After a bit of that he added in a second finger and sped up the pace ever so slightly, earning a loud moan from the angel above him. His throbbing hardness ached in his briefs as he felt her begin to stiffen, her fingers gripping his hair tighter and tighter. He curled his fingers up in a sort of 'come hither' motion and heard her gasp out a soft, "I'm going to—Spencer can I—oh fuck yes," the final words crescendoing into a cry of pleasure as her thighs clenched next to his head and her pussy fluttered around his fingers.

While he slowed his tongue and removed his fingers from her, he found himself licking them clean and moaning softly at the taste. She tugged at his hair softly, pulling him up into a feverish and passionate kiss. Spencer quickly removed his briefs and pushed his cock up against her, the tip pressing against her entrance lightly. He broke the kiss to ask if she wanted to continue only for her to cut him off with a desperate nod and another deep kiss, her tongue sweeping around his mouth.

He needed no more encouragement, pushing into her with a sharp thrust. His vision flashed white for a brief second and he threw his head back, a loud moan ripping its way out of his chest. He kept himself buried into her up to the hilt, basking in how good it felt to have her wrapped around him. Her legs followed suit, moving up to wrap around his hips, locking in an x-shape behind him. Her heels gently pressed into his ass as he felt her start to move against him, trying to get some sort of friction.

Oh no. He seriously underestimated how she'd feel. Never in his wildest dreams could he have imagined how hot, how wet, how soft she'd feel around his hard cock. He had no idea how long he'd be able to last but he was intent on trying to make her feel as good as possible for as long as he could, so he began slowly dragging his cock out of her only to push it back in with a moderate amount of force.

Eventually the two of them fell into a sort of natural rhythm and Spencer's breathing became more and more ragged. (Y/N) could tell he was getting close by the way his muscles would ripple and tense beneath her hands as she ran them along his shoulder blades and she began whispering softly into his ear, "please, Spencer! I want you to fill me up so bad," earning desperate noises from his throat that he didn't know he was even capable of producing. Her pleas only grew more and more confident, until eventually she was begging loudly as his thrusts became disjointed and rough. Sweat dripped down his forehead as he felt himself teetering on the very edge, only to be pushed over by a broken moan of his name as her second orgasm overtook her.

His vision flashed white again, her name leaving his lips in a loud cry. White-hot pleasure coursed through his veins, and he pulled her into him until they both melted into one single being of shared ecstasy. When he finally came down from his high he looked down at the woman beneath him and he could swear he must have died and gone to heaven. Her fake, neck, and chest were flushed, her pupils were blown wide, and her chest heaved with heavy pants as she attempted to catch her breath.

"Hi," he whispered with a chuckle, brushing some of the sweaty hair off of her forehead. He held himself up on shaky arms as he pulled out of her, kissing her softly once more before he rolled over and attempted to catch his own breath.

"Hi," she turned towards him, propping her head up on one of her fists. She shot him a blissful, fucked-out smile before leaning in to kiss him yet again. He reached his arms out and wrapped them around her, pulling her in to lay against his chest.

"Let's lay here for a minute and then we can go shower and clean ourselves up," she hummed, drawing lazy circles on his chest with her fingertips. Spencer only nodded in response, before he tipped her chin up for yet another soft kiss.

"Okay, this is it," (Y/N) muttered to herself, taking a deep breath as she pushed open the door of the dingy diner that she had arranged to meet Warren at. She took a seat at a table near the exit, right in front of a massive window overlooking the street. He had no idea she had seen him in bed with another woman a couple of nights ago when he had promised he'd celebrate her birthday with her, so when he walked in it was clear he was expecting this to be a date. He was wearing a button-up shirt and jeans, and was approaching the table with a single pink carnation in hand. She tried to keep herself from noticeably making a face. She hated pink. And carnations.

Until two days ago, she would have been willing to overlook the fact that her boyfriend of 5 years had forgotten her favorite flower and color and just focused on the gesture of him bringing her a flower, but not anymore. Spencer had shown her what he thought of her worth, and now she knew that she deserved better than this. Better than Warren.

As he approached the table and reached out to hand her the carnation, she readied herself to deliver the speech she had been practicing all day yesterday when something caught her attention out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head and he was gone. She could have sworn she had seen Spencer walking down the street with a bouquet of blue flowers in hand (her favorite color), but maybe it was just wishful thinking.

"Hey, babydoll," Warren crooned, his voice grating across her eardrums and making the sea of rage within her chest boil. She hated being called 'babydoll' but never had the heart to say it to him. "Sorry we couldn't celebrate the other night, I ended up working late; we're rushing to finish up our research at the lab." His lie was delivered with such ease that if (Y/N) wasn't a profiler by trade (and also hadn't seen him balls deep in someone else not more than a mere 50 hours beforehand), she may have believed him. Instead, his words made her feel sick to her stomach, and she wanted nothing more than to hurry through this so she could leave and call Spencer to see if he'd like to spend the rest of the day with her.

"We need to talk," she responded in a stone cold voice while looking directly at him, but also right through him.

Spencer exited the florist's shop, bouquet of blooms in a myriad of blues in hand. The day was so beautiful he wouldn't mind walking the rest of the way like he had to get to the shop in the first place (truly he hated driving, and only did so when situations urgently called for it), but it had gotten fairly windy while he had been in the small corner shop, and so instead he opted to stand under the covered bus stop to try to preserve the literal delicate flowers he held in his hands. When he looked up and saw her.

(Y/N) was sitting in the window of a fairly run down diner, looking beautiful as ever. Spencer was about to get her attention with a wave when he saw Warren approach her, a single flower in hand, and when she reached out to take it from him it felt as though a ton of bricks fell from the sky and crashed onto Spencer. She was there reconciling with Warren. After everything he had put her through, and after everything Spencer had done to lift her spirits and show her that he loved her truly and deeply.

He dropped the bouquet of flowers and walked away, his head a swirling mess of anger, hurt, and confusion.

Monday

(Y/N) walked into the bullpen with her cup full of what was basically pure espresso with the slightest amount of milk and two teaspoons of sugar (which Garcia had dubbed the 'Latte of Champions') and looked around the room, hoping that Spencer, too, had arrived early. She spotted him sitting at his desk with a file open. She resisted the urge to full on skip as she headed over to greet him with her standard hug only to nearly fall on her face when Spencer quickly swiveled in his chair out of the way and stood, walking away and calling out a greeting to their colleague Derek Morgan, who had just entered as well. (Y/N) ignored the sting, figuring that the case file he was working on was important and that he had gone to their more experienced colleague for assistance.

She sat at her desk and began working on her own paperwork, waiting for her friend to return so she could ask him if he'd like to accompany her to the Doctor Who convention to which she had managed to snag some amazing 4-day passes. As the day passed she made attempt after attempt to speak with Spencer only for him to walk off suddenly as soon as she began every time. Each time, he had been pulled away by Morgan calling for his attention, almost as if they had arranged it so that any time she approached Spencer, Morgan hailed him. That couldn't be the case though. Could it?

Wednesday

Two days of this behavior had passed and (Y/N) figured that if by today she couldn't get him to talk to her long enough to ask about the convention that he'd just miss out and she'd ask Garcia to accompany her, instead. She finally managed to corner him, though, when Morgan had gone to lunch, leaving the two of them alone in the bullpen.

"H-Hey, Spencer," she began shakily, her anxiety eating away at her vocal cords so that her voice was nothing more than a soft whisper as she approached his desk. She hoped he had just been busy the last two days and not angry with her for some unspecified reason, although the more he avoided her the more that she feared that was exactly the case.

"I'm working," he muttered, sending a harsh blast of ice in (Y/N)'s direction without even looking up at her, "what do you want?"

"Uh— I, um— I-I w-was won—wondering," she attempted, her face flushing a deep shade of red as she stuttered, "uh— um, I was won—wondering if—"

He sighed deeply, his annoyance nearly palpable as looked at his watch and then finally up at her before sighing, "today, if possible."

Fuck. Fuck. She was about to burst into tears before she finally forced the sentence out. "Iwaswonderingifyouwantedtogotothedoctorwhoconventionwithme."

"I don't have a ticket," he replied flatly.

"I-I m-managed to get my ha-hands on a couple—" he cut her off before she could finish her sentence.

"I'm busy that day." She hadn't even mentioned which day. Or that it was four days. But he had already turned back to his work and had pointedly turned his chair away from her. His message was so clear it could have been written out in big red letters across the wall in front of her. 'I don't want to talk to you.' He suddenly closed the file he had been working on, turned around and stood up, and walked away while not even bothering to step around her, knocking into her and pushing her aside as he went.

She stood frozen by his desk as the shock rolled through her. Tears stung her eyes; the room felt hot and began to spin around her so she rushed in the general direction of where (she thought) the bathrooms were located, but she instead ended up running head first into Agent Gideon, who steadied her by gently grabbing her shoulders.

"Whoa, there," his eyes looked right into her soul as he asked, "is everything okay?"

She knew he already knew the answer was no, but lied anyway. "Yeah, just heading to the restroom." She averted her gaze so that it was locked on the ground.

"Then you'll wanna head in that direction," he responded, his voice even more gentle than his grip as he turned her around by her shoulders. "He'll come around, don't worry." Of course he knew. She didn't know if Spencer had talked to him, but even if he hadn't she wasn't surprised. Gideon's profiling skills were so out of this world that sometimes (Y/N) was convinced she worked with some sort of alien and not just a very wise, very talented human being.

After being literally pointed in the right direction she rushed off to the bathroom. The feeling as if she was going to vomit had gone away after her exchange with Gideon but the tears still began flowing as soon as she closed the door to the first stall.

Tuesday

JJ looked through the office, seeking out (Y/N) as Garcia and Elle trailed behind her. It had taken her a month after joining the BAU to come out for drinks with the team, but Spencer had seemed to pull her out of her shell immediately. Everyone in the office had seen her withdraw this past week and taken note of the fact that the two of them no longer ate together during their lunch. JJ pushed the door to the women's bathroom open and heard the sound of soft sobs followed by a gasp, as if someone was inhaling to hold their breath.

"(Y/N)? I was looking for you—Elle, Garcia, and I were going to try that new bistro down the street for lunch. Did you wanna come with?" JJ's voice was soft, tentative as she stopped outside of the stall. (Y/N) just sat still and held her breath, clearly hoping JJ would just walk out but instead she just knocked softly on the stall door. "I know you're in there—I can see your shoes. You don't have to talk about why you're upset if you don't want to, but just come to lunch with us?"

JJ loosed a breath as she heard the door unlatch before it slowly opened, and (Y/N)'s tear-stained cheeks peeked out. JJ reached into her purse and pulled out a small pack of tissues as (Y/N) stepped forward, murmuring a soft thanks as she reached for the pack and pulled one out, wiping her cheeks and then blowing her nose. They walked together to the sink so she could rise her face. After she dried it she kept her gaze locked on the ground but followed as JJ led her out into the bullpen where Garcia and Elle were waiting.

The four of them made their way to the bustling street and walked to the small bistro. Once they were all seated and looking at their respective menus, Garcia blurted out, "so what gives? You and Spencer are attached at the hip one moment and then last week you two suddenly just stopped talking to each other."

(Y/N)'s eyes fell to the table and began to swim with more tears. JJ and Elle shot a look her right as Garcia gasped, "oh, (Y/N) honey no don't cry! I'm sorry you don't have to answer that if you don't want to just please—oh god someone shut me up."

"What Penelope is trying to say is that we all noticed that something clearly went down between the two of you and we're worried," JJ smoothed over, reaching out to gently cover the crying agent's hand with her. "We just want to try to help you feel better," she added gently. So (Y/N) broke down and told them everything, starting with Spencer driving to pick her up from outside of Warren's apartment.

"I'm gonna kill the skinny little bastard," Garcia fumed from her seat as (Y/N) finished explaining everything that had happened since then.

"I'm sure there was some miscommunication. He's an idiot, obviously, but Spence isn't the kind to just use them and lose them," JJ murmured, more to herself than to anyone else. She'd get to the bottom of this.

JJ approached where Spencer and Derek stood, conversing in hushed tones. When she reached them she grabbed him by the elbow and spat out, "come with me, Reid." She ushered him into Garcia's office where she and Elle yet again stood waiting for JJ while he protested that he was in the middle of a conversation. When she got him into the small, warm room, she had him sit in Penelope's chair and shut the door, moving around him to stand next to the other two and crossed her arms.

"Okay, Spence. What the hell has gotten into you recently?" She demanded, staring at him and chewing on the inside of her cheek.

"What are you talking about, JJ?" He looked up at the three women in front of him and saw them all glaring at him in the same way.

"We all know you're a genius, doctor Reid, so don't bother trying to play dumb," Garcia quipped, her tone uncharacteristically cold as she glared daggers at the man in her chair. "How could you just use (Y/N) and then dump her like that? The poor girl has been in shreds for the past week and a half!"

"Oh, that's what she told you I did, is it?" Spencer retorted, anger suddenly flaring in his chest. He looked between the three of them as they stood in front of him and stood up, making to leave the office.

Elle blocked his path and said, "not in those exact words. She told us the lengths you went to to seduce her, and then once it was successful you started ignoring her after you got what you wanted from her it seems."

Spencer sat back down and let out a bitter laugh, "why would I bother? After everything I did to show her how much she meant to me, how much I cared for her, she went crawling back to Warren to reconcile. I saw them myself on a date in a run down diner."

"Reconcile?" JJ rolled her eyes and slapped her palm to her forehead, "Spence you're supposed to be a profiler, how could you be this stupid?" Spencer opened his mouth to respond but before he could, JJ explained, "she was breaking up with him, you idiot. That's what you saw. She wanted to do so in a public place so she could make a quick escape if he tried to make a scene."

Spencer froze, piecing everything together in his head, before his eyes went wide and his face paled. "Oh god," he breathed as he ran a hand through his hair. "Excuse me," he muttered, looking down at the ground as he stood and exited the office, this time unobstructed. As he entered the bullpen his eyes scanned the room, bustling as everyone packed up their stuff to go home for the evening. He couldn't see (Y/M) until he looked at the elevators and saw her waiting in front of them.

"(Y/N)! Wait for me," he called out, nearly falling flat on his face as he sprinted over to her. He caught up to where she was just as the elevator arrived and he followed her in, panting and thinking yet again to himself that he needed to really start up some sort of cardio routine.

As he met her eyes he felt his chest crack slightly. Looking up at him were the same heartbroken eyes he saw the night he went to pick her up from Warren's place, and guilt washed over him at the realization that this time it was he who was responsible for the sorrow in her eyes. "C-can we talk?" He panted, still struggling to catch his breath. She didn't make a silly remark at how quickly he ran to reach her this time. Instead, she just nodded before looking back at the ground and swallowing.

"I-I'm so sorry for how I've been acting towards you the past week and a half," he said, his breathing finally returning to a normal rhythm. "I-I had seen you with Warren in that diner after we had spent the two days together and I saw him hand you a carnation and I thought you were there to reconcile with him and I was so-so hurt and confused and I know that doesn't excuse any of my behavior towards you but please just let me take you to dinner to make up for it if that's oka—" he was cut off by a pair of soft, small hands being paced on his cheeks and a pair of soft lips—her lips, meeting his.

"You're cute when you ramble," she smiled as she pulled away from him. "I'm sorry you felt that way, I should have told you what my plans were to avoid all of this."

"Well if I had just approached you about the issue like an adult none of this would have been a problem," he responded breathlessly before the elevator doors dinged and opened back up to a shocked looking Agent Morgan, revealing that they hadn't actually moved.

"Oops, forgot to hit the floor I needed to go to," (Y/N) laughs, her cheeks turning a soft pink color.

"That actually works out because I kind of hurried to catch up with you and left all of my stuff at my desk," Spencer admitted, his own cheeks flushing a bit. He stepped out of the elevator and Morgan stepped back on. As the doors closed (Y/N) called to him, "I'll wait for you downstairs so we can go get dinner!"

He smiled to himself as he walked over to his desk, gathering his things and hurrying to get back to the elevators so he could take the girl of his dreams out for a second date.

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