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infiniteimaginings · 7 months ago

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i absolutely LOVED your freddie benson fic and i was wondering if you could write some sort of fluff for spencer? 🙏🏾🙏🏾

Why I Don't Give Up (Spencer Shay x GN!Reader)

Summary: You visit your boyfriend while he's working on one of his sculptures, and he tells you why he keeps going even if a lot of people don't believe in him. Pronouns: You/Yours Warnings: None Word Count: 1.8k A/N: I'm glad you enjoyed it! Here's some Spencer love for you!

It was a typical Wednesday afternoon in Seattle where people would just try to get on with their days. Some were just waking up in their apartments, wondering what they would even do, others were at school or work.

You were currently walking through the lobby of an apartment complex, beelining to the stairs. Your hand was covering the side of your face as you walked, praying that the doorman wouldn’t see you. Your prayers were not answered because you heard the man clear his throat loudly to grab your attention, you could have ignored it if it weren’t for his blazing stare into the back of your head that urged your body to react with a flinch.

You slowly turned with a plastered smile on your face, hands behind your back as you walked to his desk, “Good Afternoon, Lewbert.” You greeted him, your voice slightly strained.

The man looked at your boredly, cheek twitching as he idly tried not to scratch it. You tried your best not to stare, averting your gaze to anywhere else, feet kicking at the ground.

Lewbert sniffled a bit before he turned around and picked up two packages, roughly placing them on the counter, “Since you’re already going up there, go ahead and take these before I keep them for myself.” He grumbled, leaning back in his chair to place his feet on his desk.

You stopped yourself from rolling your eyes and took the packages, looking down to who each was addressed to before making your way up the stairs. You didn’t try to say goodbye to the doorman as there was no point, he would act like he didn’t hear you anyways.

You went up the stairs and before knocking on the door you were originally going to, you turned to the one across the hall. You placed the top package down gently, knocking a bit to alert the Benson residence that their package was in front of their door.

You turned back to your original destination and decidedly just opened the door. Most people would care if you just walked into their house without knocking, but the man who was sat on his couch looked up and his eyes lit up like a christmas tree when you appeared.

You breathed out a chuckle at his expression and closed the door, still holding the package, “Delivery for Spencer Shay?” You read out from the package playfully. The brown haired man stood up and raised his hand, “Wait that’s me!” He laughed, standing to walk over to you.

Spencer stood in front of you, cupping your face to pull you in, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead, “Thank you.” He mumbled to you, taking the package from you to place it on the coffee table. You hummed and walked with him, wrapping your arms around his waist as he opened up the box.

It wasn’t anything special, just a few supplies for a project. You weren’t exactly sure what his project was, he didn’t give you many details, but you knew you would enjoy it just as much as he did making it.

Spencer turned around, hugging you tightly before telling you to take a seat so he could finish making the lunch he planned out for you guys. You nodded and sat on the couch, almost sinking in from how soft it was to your back.

The coffee table had drinks on it, some art supplies, and a plethora of opened letters. You picked them up and began going through them, it wouldn’t be the first time, Spencer never minded. Besides, you sometimes had your mail delivered to his apartment as you were there half the time.

None of these letters belonged to you though, they were all addressed to Spencer from several galleries, art shows, etc. You began feeling bubbles of excitement in your chest as you began reading, your eyes scanning the papers for good news but instead you were met with…

‘The artist shows enthusiasm but their execution falls short of gallery standard. The subject matter is cliché, struggles to communicate, and fails to provoke meaningful engagement.’

‘The piece is utterly amateurish, devoid of any sort of artistic merit. It’s embarrassing that this was submitted.’

‘There is a lack of understanding of the basic principles of composition.’

‘There’s plenty of room for improvement. They could refine their techniques to convey the vision better.’

‘The artist has used materials for an interesting dimension, enhancing points that viewers may not have initially drawn focus to. Experimenting with different materials was compelling, but it didn’t encourage the viewer to look deeper. It could be communicated better.’

‘Everything clashes, though the artist was bold for that.’

‘The execution lacks everything needed in art, there is no focus. There is complete inconsistency, there is nothing that brings my attention to the piece. It is completely looked over, which is not what galleries look for.’

Your frown deepened as you read from letter to letter, these were harsh criticisms. You weren’t exactly an artist, so you didn’t know if this was typical engagement from galleries, but either way it felt a bit much.

You were so invested into the letters, you didn’t notice Spencer had walked up to you, two plates in his hands. He noticed you were reading the letters but he didn’t react much, he’s read over those letters over a hundred times, nothing in them was new to him. He simply placed the food on the table and sat next to you, you didn’t react to the shifting weight on the couch which was partially concerning to him.

The hazel eyed man took his thumb and smoothed out the creases made between your brows from how you had them furrowed. You jumped a bit at the sudden contact and looked over to him, “Hey.” You mumbled to him, placing the mail back on the table.

“Hey.” He responded, looking at you with a slightly weak smile.

There was silence between the two of you, neither of you knowing what to say at that moment. Due to the silence, Spencer cleared his throat and grabbed the plates of typically unnatural food combinations that were still somehow the most delicious delicacies you’ve ever had. You thanked him and ate quietly, still not speaking.

Spencer didn’t immediately start eating because he was staring right at the letter on the table. He ultimately sighed and put his plate down, “I know they’re pretty harsh.” He laughed out and you hummed in agreement, no smile on your face.

“They are.”

He nodded at your comment, scrunching his nose, rubbing his hands on his knees. “I’m used to them, trust me there are piles and piles of them in my room.” He explained to you, looking at you with the hope that you would give him a grin, you didn’t. His smile died down a bit due to your lack of reaction and he chewed the inside of his cheek.

You put your plate down and frowned at him, “You’re used to it?”

“Yeah, the life of an artist. You have to get used to criticism.” He explained, shrugging and knowing you weren’t used to anyone receiving so much of it at once.

You blew air through your cheeks, “If you’re getting so many of these letters, then why do you….” You trailed off, putting your face in your hands, upset at yourself for even thinking the way that you were.

Your boyfriend gently placed his hand on your back, rubbing small circles on it. “Why do I keep going?” He finished your question for you, it was a question that everyone has asked him, he was also used to that portion of being an artist.

You didn’t look up but he knew that was what you would’ve asked.

Spencer gently pulled at your hands, causing them to be removed from your face, and he began rubbing your knuckles with his thumbs. You were finally making eye contact with him and you could see how his eyes sparkled when you met eyes with him. He pulled you into a gentle hug, your ear leveled with his chest to hear his rhythmic heartbeat.

“I keep going because no matter how many people put me down, you’re always there to put me back up.” He spoke quietly, rubbing at your back. “I could receive thousands of these a day and the only people's criticisms that would matter to me are yours and Carlys.” He told you, kissing the crown of your head so gently, as if you would break if he pressed any harder. “No one else matters to me, because as long as I have you guys, I can keep going without giving up.”

Once he leaned back on the couch, just for a more comfortable position, you finally looked up at him, your chin resting on his chest so you could look at his face. His ears were slightly red, but other than that he wasn’t showing any signs of sadness, disappointment, etc. When you looked at him his grin just widened, his eyes filled with light, and you could feel his heart begin to race.

He took a deep breath, “And I know that when a gallery accepts my work, you guys are the only reactions I’m going to care about.” He explained to you, his voice soft as he took one of his hands to trace your features.

You didn’t know what to say, because Spencer always said the most beautiful things that just took your breath away. You placed your hand over his and moved forward, gently placing your lips on his. He kissed you back, holding you delicately as if you were his greatest gift.

Once you pulled away, your noses grazed each other, “You’re already the greatest artist I know.” You mumbled to him, eyes barely open as you laid on him.

He didn’t respond, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you flush against him, holding you tightly, never wanting to let you go.

Once the two of you finished your moment, you pulled back and continued eating, talking about anything and everything. You brought up the topic of his new project that he didn’t tell you about and he nodded, food filling his mouth.

After he finished, he stood and wiped his hands on his pants, rushing to the kitchen where he pulled a sculpture on a rolling platform to the living room.

You finished your bite of food and rushed to stand in front of the tarp covered project. Your hands clasped in front of you as you waited for it to be exposed.

Spencer warned you that it wasn’t finished yet, to which you understood. He pulled the tarp off and at the bottom was the title of the work, ‘An Artists Biggest Critic’. The sculpture was a mold of Spencer himself, covered in some of the letters he received from galleries, making it show that his biggest critic is himself.

It was beautiful, you knew it would be even more beautiful when it was complete, and all you could do was stare in awe. Spencer was really going to make a name for himself, and you couldn’t wait for the day to come.

#icarly #icarly x reader #spencer shay x reader #Spencer shay #nickelodeon x reader #nickelodeon #Infinite Imaginings

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