#me?” even before that. “Did you wait for me?” 8 years in the future. The answer to that was “Yeah.” “...” | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

push-the-heartbrake · 19 days ago

Text

𝘼𝙣𝙠𝙡𝙚𝙨 // 𝙎.𝙍

𝘗𝘶𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘬𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘥𝘨𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘥, 𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘮𝘦 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰 𝘪𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘥𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘮𝘴. 𝘐’𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘯𝘯𝘢 𝘴𝘵𝘰𝘱 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, 𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘺.

Third instalment | Series masterlist

Summary: “Look at the poor boy, he’s got the unscratchable itch.” — or the one where you're overwhelmed and Spencer discovers he's an absolute munch.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem! Reader (she/her)

Word count: 13.3k

Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI ♡ Virgin!Spencer is back and hornier than ever. Cums in his pants, again. Oral and fingering (fem! receiving). Slight discussion about reader having mommy issues and her past (read the prior parts and it'll make sense).

A/N: It took me forever but here's the third part to the 'Home For You' Universe! English is not my first language and this is not yet fully proof read! Please tell me what you think and if you have ideas or thoughts about the future of these two lovebirds. ♡

It had been raining when you woke up.

The soft, whispery kind. The kind that worked as a lullaby. The kind that made the whole city feel like it had collectively decided to sleep in.

The only reason you’d even stirred was because Spencer had moved—just enough to pull the blanket up over your bare shoulders sometime around 8 a.m. He hadn’t been fully awake either, just instinctively attuned to your comfort. You’d watched him through slitted eyes as he settled again, his profile soft in the dull morning light.

Neither of you had said a word.

Instead, you’d nestled closer, one leg tangled between his, your face tucked into the crook of his neck. He’d made a little noise—one he always seemed to make when you burrowed in—a little half-asleep sigh out of pure contentment.

And that’s how most of the day had gone.

The rain hadn’t let up, and neither had you. No alarms. No responsibilities. Just a tangle of sheets, long-winded conversations about nothing, and the kind of kisses that made no sound from how gentle they were.

By the time afternoon rolled around, you’d only gotten out of bed three times—once to use the bathroom and get dressed, once for a late breakfast, and once more for another bathroom trip. Spencer had gotten up four times, the extra one to grab the Sunday newspaper from his mailbox.

You were draped across him like a sleepy cat, the sheets twisted around your legs, your chin resting on his chest. His fingers traced mindless patterns on your back, barely there, a touch just shy of tickling.

“Molecules move randomly, right?” you murmured suddenly, voice low from not having spoken in a while.

The glow of a lamp flickered against the spines of his current bedside reads, casting their titles in blurry shadows. One book was yours, obnoxiously pink, wedged between dense academic texts like it belonged there. Like you belonged there. Spencer thought so, anyway. You watched his eyes linger on it for a second before he looked back at you, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. You infiltrated more of his life and home each day that passed. Even if it was as simple as an extra toothbrush on the sink or your Converse placed next to his in the entryway.

“Yes, they do,” he answered softly. “Is there something on your mind?”

You shrugged, shifting so that your cheek lay flat against him now, ear to his heartbeat. “Just something stupid a school class discussed when they visited the library.”

He didn’t press you. Just waited for you to say something. Like he always did.

You absentmindedly rubbed your leg against his, your toes brushing against his calf as you talked. “There was a kid—one of those annoying twelve-year-old dweebs with a Justin Bieber haircut and permanent marinara sauce in the corners of his mouth—you know the type?”

Spencer laughed, nodding in agreement.

“And he tried to scare one of the girls by saying that since they move randomly, oxygen molecules could spontaneously assimilate in a singular spot in a room, suffocating anyone outside of it.”

His brow lifted, bemused. “Were you the girl he tried to scare?”

“No, no,” you defended, grinning,“I just thought you could maybe rationalize it for me.”

Spencer wanted to reach out and grab you. Bite you, even.

Because he’d never seen anything as beautiful as you, lying there on his chest, curiosity burning in your eyes, waiting for him to ramble on about something that you knew got the gears in his brain turning.

He’d thought you were pretty since the first time he saw you at the checkout counter at the library. But it had been fleeting, simply registering another beautiful human in passing.

It was different now. So very different. Because he knew you, and he could read your behavior, your quirks and traits. The way your mind worked. The strange little questions and facts you collected—like air molecules grouping together to suffocate you.

He knew that you had different laughs for different situations. He cherished them all and cataloged them like rare editions.

1. The little snorts that would come out of your nose when he said something silly, usually a pun that bordered on criminally bad.

2. The high-pitched giggles that wriggled out when his fingers skimmed over your sides, late at night when you were half-straddling him in bed and desperately trying not to wake the neighbors, making the giggles even more squeaky-sounding.

3. The loud, from-the-stomach kind of laughter—the kind you couldn’t hold back even if you tried—just because something was so genuinely funny. Like when he accidentally turned all his white shirts a soft pink thanks to a rogue red sock, or when he tried to surprise you with breakfast in bed but ended up spilling orange juice all over the bedroom floor.

You let out one of the first snorts now as he explained, nose scrunching up adorably. Spencer was fairly certain you didn’t even notice you did it.

“It is possible, though,” he said, tone casual, trying not to sound too eager. “In theory at least. In a system of random motion, any arrangement of particles is technically possible, including extremely unlikely ones.”

You squinted up at him, suspicious. “So… I could suffocate?”

“You can calculate the number of oxygen molecules and then find out the statistical probability, but I’m assuming you don’t really want to learn that?” Spencer suggested, his hand moving to his hair, shoving curls off his forehead.

You found his hand as it landed back down on the bed, lifting it to lay next to you on his chest, your fingers intertwining with his own.

You shook your head, and he felt your hair rustle, telling him that his assumption was right. “No… I just want to sleep at night without having nightmares about suffocating.”

He gently squeezed your hand, looking down at you reassuringly. “We’re talking about hundreds of septillions of molecules that would have to randomly gather together.”

Spencer knew you had a tough time sleeping already. Falling asleep wasn’t the issue; instead it was staying asleep. You would fall asleep at a reasonable hour (for someone who mostly worked late or even night shifts), but then after a while, you’d wake up and just lay there. You didn’t need the added stress of silly nightmares, but he sometimes got the feeling they already haunted you.

“So the chance is, like, microscopically small?”

“A septillion is a quadrillion billions.”

You stared at him for a beat, eyes slightly wide as you tried to comprehend the number. You weren’t even sure what a quadrillion was. Occasionally you got the zeros confused even at a billion. The number was huge, at least. And that was comforting.

Spencer watched as you thought about it, wanting to take a picture of your puzzled expression. “You’re more likely to shuffle a deck of cards and get them in a perfect order millions of times in a row than for all oxygen to group in one spot.”

You huffed out a little laugh before you mumbled, “I can’t even shuffle a deck of cards.”

“That I can teach you. Much easier than Avogadro’s number.”

“Avocado who?”

“Amedeo Avogadro,” he corrected, laughing out loud. “Italian physicist. He’s the namesake for the constant used to calculate the number of particles in one mole.”

With a slight head shake and a scrunch of your nose, you declared that math and physics weren’t something for you. “I’d rather learn how to shuffle cards and play strip poker with you.”

You pressed a kiss to his neck before he even had a chance to react, feeling his pulse jump beneath your lips.

Spencer was blushing—because of course he was. You always knew when you got to him. When your dirty words made his IQ split in half. You’d said it was one of your favorite things—the stupid and surprised look on his face whenever it happened. Spencer was on board with agreeing, even if the blush made his cheeks hurt.

Your lips brushed the edge of his jaw, and he let out a small, stunned huff. His hand instinctively rubbed your shoulder, your knitted cardigan slipping down from the motion, exposing the strap of your tank top—and the soft, maddening curve of your cleavage beneath it.

One (equally horrifying and fascinating) thing that Spencer had discovered about himself since being with you was that he was a boob guy. He hated to admit it—that something so primitively sexual appealed to him. But he was just a man at the end of the day.

Since seeing and touching them for the first time, he’d become obsessed.

Maybe it was the fact that you’d sometimes let him sleep on your chest, and he could unabashedly feel them as he nuzzled closer. Maybe it was the fact that your skin was impossibly soft and that your breast were somehow the softest part, squeezable and malleable, cupped in the palms of his hands. Maybe it was the way they bounced when you were sat in his lap, your hips grinding down onto his clothed cock.

Maybe that was it.

He was a boob guy. And not afraid to let his eyes linger as your cardigan fell down and your top got exposed as you pressed into the side of him.

Your tank tops were his undoing. It was simply sadistic—the way that whatever clothing brand had designed most of the tops you wore. Thin and soft to the material, a lace trim along the square neckline, and, worst of all, a little silk bow placed right in the middle. It was an evil trick, Spencer was sure of it, to make him stare down the valley of your tits.

Which he did. A lot.

He wasn’t sure if you’d noticed his little fixation, but you sure didn’t do anything to stop him from looking, almost on purpose making the tank top slide down a little as you lay on top of him, the cups of your bra now peeking out.

The ample skin moved as you pushed yourself against him, your breasts bubbling out of their confinement. Perfectly biteable bubbles. Spencer imagined putting his fingertip to the swell, just to watch the skin jiggle.

Oh Lord. This was the kind of greed they warned about in the Bible.

Despite all of this—despite Spencer staring you down like he wanted to eat you alive—you hadn’t had sex. Not yet. Spencer told himself it was a “yet.” Clung to that word like a little life raft. But he wasn’t sure how true it was.

Because you had a tendency to push him away.

It wasn’t necessarily on purpose, which Spencer had noticed. You made out a lot, kissed him whenever you got the chance, usually for hours on end. Like horny teenagers, he assumed. It was routine at this point—to watch a movie, or read together, maybe have a lazy conversation in bed after a long day—and then by the end of it, you’d end up in his lap, hands in his hair and tongue down his throat.

Spencer had gotten braver with how he dared to touch you, not always keeping his hand stiffly glued to his side. He loved to feel your skin between his fingers, whether it was your plush thighs or your soft waist. Boobs too, of course.

If he was capable of keeping it together, he’d wait for some time alone to sort himself out in the bathroom afterwards. But on more occasions than one (five times and counting), you’d made him bust in his pants. And no matter how many times you said it was the hottest thing ever, Spencer still couldn’t help but feel embarrassed to the point of no return.

And you… He’d only made you finish once. That first time on your couch on Valentine’s Day—when he’d rubbed your soaking clit with his fingers until you collapsed in his embrace. Only touched, not tasted, not penetrated.

Spencer couldn’t help but want more. And it wasn’t because of his lack of experience or lack of willingness that it hadn’t happened again.

You simply just didn’t let him close enough to even try. You didn’t show any signs of wanting him to help you out, and he was too scared to ask.

Can I go down on you? or Do you want me to finger you? were not questions that Spencer had in his vocabulary. Although he thought about saying them more than what was probably healthy. He didn’t know if it was fear from your side, or guilt, or something darker, and he wasn’t going to push.

You would only smile like you’d accomplished what you wanted when he was a panting and blushing mess with a spreading stain on his trousers, and then you’d continue on with your evening like nothing was different.

And you smiled in the same way now when you followed his eyesight straight to your cleavage.

“Any plans for next week?” you asked, almost nonchalantly.

“We’re consulting in California.” Spencer swallowed, forcing himself to stare at the ceiling. “Cold case that’s been reopened, something from when Rossi started out.”

You hummed and nuzzled just a little closer, your nose brushing the edge of his shirt. If he hadn’t been wearing one, your lips would’ve been right over his heart. The little sound made his stomach flip, which was ridiculous because you did things like this all the time. Making sounds, that is. The very human thing that was noisemaking.

“How long?”

“Flying out tomorrow morning, then we’ll see. Maybe a week?”

A week. Seven days. Possibly more. He really should be used to this by now, but the idea of not seeing you for that long made something inside him wilt.

You exhaled through your nose—soft, but unmistakably disappointed—and your fingers loosened from his hand. They disappeared beneath the blanket instead, toying with the hem of his worn-out t-shirt. It had the Caltech logo on it and was slightly too tight on him. You’d jokingly called it a crop top once, and Spencer thought about tossing it out until you said it was sexy. A personal milestone since it was the first time he’d ever been called that.

“What about you?” he asked, voice low. “Do you have anything planned while I’m gone?”

Now, your fingers brushed against the bare skin of his stomach. Just a featherlight touch. He tensed—he always tensed—but not out of discomfort. No, it was the opposite. It was the unbearable pleasure of being seen and wanted by you, and the helplessness of not knowing what to do with that feeling.

“Work. Sleep. Work some more,” you said, stretching your legs with a lazy yawn. “Help Edith set up her new TV. Maybe catch up with friends. Oh—and uh… lunch with my mother on Thursday.”

Spencer blinked, tilting his head. “She’s in town?”

“She technically lives here,” you said, pushing yourself up onto one elbow. “Unless she sold the place and moved full-time to Baltimore with her new man without telling me.”

He chuckled softly, but there was a strange ache creeping in at the edges of his laugh. You hadn’t let him meet her yet. You hadn’t let him meet anyone yet.

And he couldn’t figure out why.

He sometimes worried he had yet to meet the real you even.

You fit in perfectly when he introduced you to the team. Socially adaptable was what Emily had called you, like she could somewhat see through that you were nervous and uncomfortable, but still doing your best to be likable. And they did like you, a lot, it seemed. Soon you’d be off on girls’ nights with them, leaving Spencer behind. He knew it.

You sat up suddenly, rubbing your eyes with the heels of your hands. Spencer looked at you like you’d gone mad. Until you pointed at the alarm clock on his bedside table and he read the time.

“3 o’clock,” you simply said. “I have to get to my place and get ready for work.”

“Why?”

The question left Spencer like an exhale. He could already feel a coldness spread in his body from where your contact was now missing. You’d made him hate the laws of time. Every time he was alone with you, he dreaded the moment you’d be apart. And every time you were apart, he counted the hours until he would next see you.

You laughed, turning to look at him with a raised brow. “You’re asking why I have to work?”

“No, I mean—” he floundered, “Why this late?”

“Because the library is open at night?” you teased. “Where else would geeks like you spend their time?”

“But there have to be other people available for the late shifts as well.”

“I got hired because I like working nights,” you said, standing and stretching, tugging your cardigan back over your shoulders. “The qualified librarians signed up for nine-to-fives. They’ve got spouses and kids waiting for them.”

“You’ve got me,” he said, almost too quickly.

You paused mid-movement, glancing back over your shoulder at him. “Sometimes,” you said quietly. “Other times, you’re on the opposite side of the country.”

He winced. He didn’t mean to guilt you. That wasn’t fair. But you weren’t wrong.

Spencer stayed in his spot as you started to move around his bedroom, padding across the floor to his dresser where your bag and clothes were. He only shifted slightly, propping himself up on one elbow to be able to keep his eyes on you.

The pajama pants you were wearing slipped off in one easy movement, exchanged for a pair of dark-wash jeans. You didn’t seem to care that he was watching, which somehow made it worse. That he could spot the see-through material of your underwear as you tugged the denim over your hips—doing that awkward (yet attractive) little jumping motion to get them on—made him wonder all over again about why you didn’t let him close.

Since this didn’t seem to bother you, that is.

Were you waiting for him to make a move?

He hated that his mind did that. He hated that he still didn’t know and that he was too scared to ask.

“And I have picked up earlier shifts when I know you’re going to be in town. I’ve done it so much that Elizabeth complained,” you continued, arguing your case even though you had already won.

You grabbed your bag, slinging it over your shoulder, as you headed back to the bed to sit down to put on socks. Little white socks with lace trims. No one would see them, but he knew the mere fact of wearing them made you happy—how the lace peeked out from the top of your shoes.

“Is Elizabeth the scary one with the owl necklace?” Spencer questioned, turning to you now that you were next to him.

“Mhm,” you hummed.

You smiled faintly and turned to pick something up from your bag. A tangle of headphones. An essential for you together with your iPod. You couldn’t go on a walk without them, needing the distraction of music blasting.

Spencer watched as you struggled to untangle them, wordlessly reaching out to do it for you. Not because he thought you were incapable of doing it yourself, but because you’d asked him for help multiple times before and seemed to like the gesture of him helping you.

He was more efficient with his fingers, anyway.

“Hey,” you said, glancing down at him, “why don’t you enjoy being alone for the evening? Watch some foreign movie without having to translate it to me.”

“I was going to suggest Bergman’s Autumn Sonata,” he murmured, handing you the untangled headphones.

Spencer watched your mouth press into a thin line, eyes flickering just slightly away from him. He didn’t understand why he mentioned the damn movie—like it would miraculously stop you from having work to do? No, it was just stupid.

He knew you loved Bergman. You talked about his work with the same kind of reverence he had for Russian literature. But you hadn’t seen Autumn Sonata. He hadn’t asked why. Not yet. But he made a mental note of it, filing it away in the ever-growing, completely normal, and definitely not obsessive folder of things about you that fascinated him.

Your fingers tightened around the headphone cord, twirling it between them as you quietly said, ��I haven’t seen that one. And it’s got subtitles.”

“I know, that’s why I wanted us to see it together.”

You shook your head a little. “No, you can watch it and tell me what you think.”

“You say that like you don’t already know that you’ll love it.”

“…There’s a reason I haven’t seen that one, Spence.”

His lips parted, a question already forming—but you kissed him before he could speak. It was soft but lingering, and he felt your fingers curl slightly against the back of his neck. His brain short-circuited because kissing was still something he was getting used to. He was very aware of every single movement, every shift of pressure, every tilt of your head. Was he doing it right? Was he too stiff? Should he be—oh, your tongue—

And then you pulled away, smiling at his dazed expression.

“Will you call me before the flight tomorrow?” you asked, your voice quieter now, stripped of any teasing edge.

You simply wanted to hear from him. Like that wasn’t a totally insane thing to say. He couldn’t believe you expected him to behave normally in front of you. Or maybe you didn’t expect it, but it would get old quite quickly if he verbally, as well as mentally, freaked out every time you showed him affection—a certain need for him that you actually had and he still couldn’t grasp.

But still—

“Of course,” he said, embarrassingly quick.

You smiled, lingering just long enough to memorize the way he felt beneath you, before you straightened up again.

“Be safe. Have fun,” Spencer said, sitting up after you, closing the space you’d created.

“Fun? At work?” You raised an eyebrow.

“I have fun at the library all the time,” he teased, so close that you felt his lips against yours.

“Shut up.” You laughed into the kiss he pulled you back into, fingers curling into his hair, warmth spreading through his chest.

Seconds later you were gone. The door clicked softly shut behind you. The sound echoed in the quiet apartment like a pin dropped.

Spencer stared at the space where you’d been, his hands still half-curled, like he was holding onto the shape of you in the air. His shirt smelled like your skin—soft and floral, and a little like the soap he had in his shower. The sheets were still warm where you’d laid, rumpled and twisted, half falling off the bed.

He let himself collapse back against the mattress with a sigh, one arm thrown over his eyes. Your absence was growing inside of him, starting from his chest and spidering out like a nervous system drawn in light. A slow, luminous burn.

And he was terrified—utterly terrified—that this feeling consumed him far more than it ever would you.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

The case in California was… a weird one, and not the usual type of weird. Because that was a measurable thing for the team. A normal amount of weird, an abnormal amount of weird, and then thirdly—the weird kind they’d never encountered before.

This was the third kind. Not because of blood, death, and gore. It was stranger than that. Stranger because it was stale.

A forgotten cold case dumped on their laps like an aging puzzle missing half the pieces. Files yellowed with time, reports handwritten in blue ink fading under the fluorescent lights. Evidence stuffed in mismatched cardboard boxes stacked haphazardly in a converted conference room at the local PD—each one covered in decades worth of dust.

If this was one of those TV series about agents solving crimes and catching killers in the act, this would be the episode where everyone unanimously decided to stop watching because the show wasn’t worth it anymore.

No progress was being made. At all.

It was partly because the old detective was territorial and proud—only really letting in the help from Rossi—and partly because the leads went nowhere anyway.

They were most likely dealing with a copycat. It was one singular murder that had a slight connection to a series of murders committed in the eighties. The connection was: same small town in California that didn’t see many murders and the same M.O. used. Asphyxiation with a barbed wire.

They hadn’t had any reasonable suspects in the eighties, and the pool of people to look into now was even smaller. Or way too big, depending on how you looked at it. People handling barbed wire in a small farming town was a large amount.

When Thursday rolled around, they’d spent four days with this going-nowhere thing. Stuck in the conference room with their boxes, pestering old witnesses and relatives by bringing up bad memories, and at the M.E., looking at the new corpse for too long.

Maybe they would have to give up.

It was far more usual than what Spencer wanted to admit, but they couldn’t spend forever on one case when they had other ones waiting.

Rossi had gone with the detective to look at the crime scene once more. Hotch was outside of the conference room, possibly speaking with Strauss by the strained look on his face. Derek and JJ had gone on a coffee run, and Spencer and Emily were left in the conference room.

He wasn’t sure if Emily was even awake—sat quiet and still in a corner with her file covering her face for over half an hour.

Spencer had gone from standing to sitting to standing again.

He flipped open yet another file, scanning the interview transcript, but his eyes weren’t really absorbing it. Not fully. Not when his phone was sitting face-up on the table beside him, untouched since breakfast. The screen annoyingly black and the sound eerily silent.

You were supposed to have called by now.

Lunch with your mother couldn’t be a simple thing—he knew that much. He’d heard the tone in your voice whenever you mentioned her. A tightness that suggested years of subtle warfare and passive aggressiveness layered under polite smiles. Still, even the most drawn-out emotional lunches didn’t usually last past two o’clock. Unless things had gone wrong, and you were currently trapped in some kind of emotional gladiator battle over a Caesar salad.

Spencer checked his watch. 2:14 p.m.

You were never late without saying something. Not unless something had gone wrong. Which meant something had to have gone wrong.

The door creaked open, and he looked up automatically. Derek stepped in, carrying coffee and a half-eaten bagel. JJ trailed behind him, flipping through a folder.

Derek clocked Spencer’s expression immediately. “Look at the poor boy,” he muttered to JJ. “He’s got the unscratchable itch.”

Spencer froze mid-step. He’d been pacing, subconsciously. He whirled around. “I’m not in love with her.”

Derek smirked, taking a seat in his chair, leaning back. The exact kind of smirk that let Spencer know he had walked into a trap. “I wasn’t talking about love, pretty boy. But it’s very telling that you think I was.”

Spencer opened his mouth, then promptly closed it. His face burned. Heat crawled up his neck and pooled somewhere just under his collarbone.

JJ gave him a soft, knowing look. “Then what’s wrong, Spencer?”

He inhaled sharply. “She’s not answering her phone.”

There. Said out loud, it sounded ridiculous. But now he was committed. He pressed on, pacing again.

“She said she would call me after she had lunch with her mother, and it’s now 2:16 p.m. That’s a reasonable time for lunch to be over, right? I mean, unless they got a twelve-course tasting menu at a Michelin-starred restaurant, in which case I would understand the delay, but they didn’t! Because they go to the same café every time, and it’s not a place that serves twelve-course meals, unless you count uncomfortable conversations as a course, which, in that case, I’d argue that—”

JJ cut in gently, “Maybe they just lost track of time? Had a lot to talk about?”

“But she doesn’t like her mother. Or maybe she does. It’s complicated—”

Emily, who’d been eavesdropping at the far end of the room, didn’t even glance up from her file as she interrupted, “No girl likes their mother.”

Spencer stopped mid-ramble. “That’s not true. I mean, statistically—”

Emily held up a finger, ticking off points as she spoke. “They might love their mothers. Unconditionally, even. But like? Like requires compatibility. And most mothers either carry a sadness that their daughters became something they never did, or they carry disappointment that their daughters became less than they expected.”

Spencer was momentarily thrown. He had a degree in psychology. He had read hundreds of case studies on maternal relationships. And yet, somehow, Emily Prentiss casually dropping this into the conversation like it was an immutable law of the universe had his brain short-circuiting.

The conference room went silent. A metaphorical tumbleweed rolled by.

Spencer stared.

JJ blinked. “Jesus, Emily.”

Emily took a sip of her coffee, utterly unbothered. “What? It’s not rocket science. It’s like if the Electra complex was actually useful and not just about male-centered attention. There’s a rivalry between mothers and daughters over everything.”

Spencer opened his mouth. Then closed it again.

“But,” he managed after a moment, “that still doesn’t explain why she won’t answer her phone.”

JJ muttered under her breath, “Who would’ve guessed boy genius’s kryptonite would be love?”

“I already said I’m not—”

“Reid, take a breather,” Hotch’s voice cut in from the doorway, sharp as ever. “The rest of you, back to work. We need someone to go to the crime scene again. ”

Spencer huffed, reluctantly collapsing into his seat. He stared down at his phone, holding it between both hands like it might sprout legs and run off. His knee bounced under the table. He tried to focus—on witness statements, on timeline inconsistencies, anything—but his mind kept looping back to one thing:

You hadn’t called.

Logically, he knew there were perfectly rational explanations for why you hadn’t called. But his gut—which had been trained by years of profiling and reinforced by knowing you—was telling him something wasn’t right.

He hadn’t ever thought of it like that, the simplicity in the words. How like could be stronger than love—because you choose what you like, and you are somewhat predestined to love. At least when it came to family.

Gathering their things, Spencer and Derek got ready to leave the conference room and join Rossi at the crime scene.

He heard Derek mutter something under his breath about how they possibly couldn’t gather any more information from looking at the same bloody barn again. Spencer wasn’t unusually cynical, but with this case, it was growing on him like moss.

At 2:21 p.m. his phone rang. A quick beeping tone, signaling a text message. It wasn’t often he received those. Everyone stopped in their tracks when they heard it.

Spencer’s eyes hesitantly scanned the screen.

He was right; it was a text. A short one too.

That was it? No Sorry, I forgot; no Lunch was a nightmare, please send a SWAT team, just a quick, impersonal abbreviation. Spencer squinted at the letters, blurring together. He still wasn’t entirely confident about texting as a method of communication. He had once typed out ’See you later’in a message, and somehow autocorrect had changed it to ’Seal utters’. He did not trust this medium, nor his ability to decipher abbreviations.

Across the table, Derek raised an eyebrow. His voice was lower now, as if he suspected Hotch to still be in the hallway listening. “So… did she answer?”

“No, but she sent a text,” Spencer muttered, “Got called in to work, ttyl.”

“Talk to you later,” JJ translated. “See? It wasn’t something worth getting upset over.”

Spencer slumped, staring at the message like it personally offended him. You weren’t supposed to work until 9 tonight. You had a night shift. You couldn’t possibly work from 2 p.m. all through the night. You were… lying.

“I still feel like something’s wrong,” he said under his breath as he put his phone in his pocket. Biting his lip, forcing him to not think of why you were lying. He had to focus on other things now. Such as… a bloody barn.

Emily, yet again, didn’t look up from her notes as she spoke, “Well, the faster that big brain of yours helps us solve this case, the faster you’ll find out if you’re right.”

Spencer sighed. She wasn’t wrong. But that didn’t mean he could stop worrying.

. . . . . .

The bloody barn didn’t tell them anything new. As evening fell over the little town, it had been decided that they were going home. The old murders would remain cold and the new case would be handled by the local police. It could probably lead to something. It just wasn’t enough to grant them being there for longer.

Spencer was torn inside if it was the right or wrong thing to do. But there would always be another case, always be another murder. They couldn’t get them all.

The team boarded the jet in silence. None of them had anything left to say.

On the plane ride home, Spencer did something he maybe shouldn’t have done. Or maybe this was exactly what you had wanted. He borrowed Emily’s laptop and downloaded Autumn Sonata, watching it all in one sweep, not taking his eyes off the screen for even a second. Emily had looked at him with worry—calling it ’Mommy issues, the movie’.

And that was what it was. Autumn Sonata unfolded like a violin string pulled taut over the little laptop screen. A mother and daughter dissecting decades of buried wounds in soft lighting and whispered monologues. It was 93 minutes of waiting for a rubber band to snap—either breaking clean or lashing back hard enough to scar.

“The mother’s injuries are to be handed down to the daughter. The mother’s failures are to be paid for by the daughter. The mother’s unhappiness is to be the daughter’s unhappiness—it’s as if the umbilical cord had never been cut.”

When it ended, Spencer sat very still, the cabin quiet except for the low hum of the engines. He understood why you hadn’t called.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

It hadn’t stopped raining for almost a week.

From the Sunday morning Spencer left for California to this very moment—early Friday at six in the morning, with your shoes squelching every other step and the sky still weeping as if the clouds had lost the will to hold anything back.

You had lost that will too.

You usually liked rain. Found it calming. Romantic, even. But right now? Your socks were soaked through your Converse, the sleeves of your coat clung cold and damp against your arms, and your jeans had turned several shades darker than when you'd left the apartment last night. Rain was not romantic. Rain was not poetic. Rain was miserable.

You looked like something dragged from a pond. Not a lot of people were awake to see you in this state, which was a saving grace of working the graveyard shift. That, and the fact that most of your mascara had been rubbed off by staying awake at the checkout desk all night, so you didn’t have to worry about looking like a melting member of the band KISS. Everything else was still miserable, though.

You climbed the stairs, keys jangling, counting each tired breath. All you wanted was to crawl into bed, cocoon yourself in something dry, and sleep until the world stopped being soggy.

It was all you had wanted to do since 2 p.m. yesterday—when you had gotten home from lunch with your mother, lied to Spencer about why you hadn’t called, and then fallen asleep until your night shift.

You had wanted to call in sick. But you weren’t sick. Just tired.

So you suffered through it. Helping a few stressed students, organizing the current popular books, and drinking so much tea your taste buds still felt burned.

But now, you were seconds from falling asleep on your welcome mat, even just seeing it outside your front door. A little bristly thing saying ’come back with a warrant’ in Pinterest-esque cursive writing. You had told yourself it was funny when you bought it.

However, the moment you unlocked the door and stepped inside, you stopped dead in your tracks, your cocoon of blankets having to wait just a little longer.

Because there was a light on.

The vintage Tiffany lamp on your hallway table, seeping light through its stained glass. You definitely hadn’t left it on before leaving yesterday.

With a quick turn of your head, you saw the shape of a man sitting on your couch. Alone there in the darkness.

“Spencer?”

He stood up quickly, startled.

“What are you—”

Your words got stuck in your throat at the sight of him. The man in front of you looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Spencer’s shoulders slumped forward, the crisp lines of his usual attire replaced with something wrinkled and weary—his sweater and tie gone, shirt half-untucked. Disheveled curls clung to his forehead. And his eyes… His eyes flicked from the floor to your face like they couldn’t decide what was safer.

“Edith let me in,” he said hurriedly, like he’d rehearsed it. “I—she had the spare key you gave her, and I just… I needed to see you.”

You placed your soaked bag by the door, the water from your coat already beginning to drop onto the floor. “You weren’t supposed to be here until tonight.”

“I understand if you don’t want me here—” he said quietly, eyes lowered, “Actually, I do not understand, not fully, because you won’t tell me anything.”

You blinked at him, shivering now that you were standing still. “How long have you been here?”

“We landed around midnight. I took a cab straight here.” His voice cracked at the edges. “I thought maybe if I saw you in person, you'd actually talk to me instead of… abbreviating everything.”

A pause.

“T-T-Y-L,” he repeated bitterly, “Is that really how we communicate now?”

You winced. “Spencer…”

He didn’t flinch exactly, but his shoulders rose—defensive, folded in. “You can throw me out headfirst if that’s what you want, but you should know that’s the opposite of what I want.”

For a moment, just a flicker, he laughed—something small and tired and helpless. But it disappeared fast. His face crumpled into something far too raw for someone trying to act composed. A dull, terrified shine behind his eyes. Like he was seconds from breaking again. Like he'd been bracing for you to become the next person to walk out on him.

You should’ve known he would catch you in your lie. He wasn’t easy to fool. It wasn’t that you had wanted to lie to him. You just hadn’t wanted to talk about…it. About anything, really. You couldn’t face yourself, let alone him. And you knew that Spencer could force it out of you by just looking at you in the right way, the walls of your façade coming crumbling down.

That was a terrifying thing.

“I’m just…” you exhaled, bringing the sleeve of your coat up to your cheek to wipe lingering raindrops away. “I’m so tired, Spencer.”

A similar little helpless laugh escaped your lips. Spencer dared to step closer to you.

“I can see that,” he said with a slight smile, just inches away.

But when his hand came forward to touch your arm, you tensed up, unthinking. It wasn’t that you had wanted to shy away. It just…happened.

Spencer stopped in his tracks, his hand suspended in the space between you, looking at you with a perplexed expression. “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t even frustrated. He asked it like someone who was hurting—like someone who’d been waiting far too long to understand why they were being kept at arm’s length.

“Because I—” you faltered. The words had come so easily to the front of your mind, but saying them out loud was a different thing.

“Because I’m terrified, Spencer,” you finally whispered. “I’m terrified of being too much for you and making you uncomfortable. Because if we start, I’m scared of taking it too far. I always do.”

Spencer’s brows pulled together.

You’d had this discussion before. You thought you were too much; he didn’t realize that he was enough. An evil spiral of sorts. Maybe he’d thought you’d gotten out of it, hence the confusion. But you hadn’t. Or it had at least returned, in full force, like a hurricane sweeping by and taking everything with it.

“When are you going to realize that I will tell you if I am uncomfortable?”

The look in Spencer’s eyes was now the closest thing you’d seen to anger. It frustrated him. The walls you put up around yourself, thinking you were protecting him, hindering him from being close to you—they frustrated him. Because now he knew the reason.

And quite frankly, the reason was stupid. You both knew it.

You couldn’t hide from affection in a relationship. Because you were terrified of it leading somewhere further? That defied the entire purpose of your relationship. It was a support system, a center of gravity. It couldn’t develop if you were scared of that exact thing.

Spencer exhaled loudly, shaking his head. “You always just… assume that I’m uncomfortable. For once, let me make up my own mind. ”

“You sort of… look uncomfortable.” You twisted, arms coming up to fold over your chest.

“I think that’s just my face,” he deadpanned.

You huffed a quiet laugh—half relief, half disbelief.

“But you never make the first move,” you said softly. “You’re never the one to kiss me first. Never the one to—”

He moved.

Quick, certain, finally—he closed the last of the space between you, and before you could get another word out, you felt your back hit the door. Not hard, just enough to steal your breath. And then his mouth was on yours.

His hands braced beside your head, then slipped down, anchoring you at your waist. It wasn’t rushed or messy. Just certain. Very certain that this was what you both wanted. Needed.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer and not caring if you got him wet. You could taste the coffee he must’ve had hours ago. The slight salt of your own skin where the rain had dried between your lips. His breath shook when he finally pulled away just enough to speak.

“Is that better?” Spencer whispered, forehead pressed to yours.

You nodded, not trusting your voice.

“I’ve been waiting for you to tell me what you want,” he explained.

You should’ve caught on to what he was doing. For him to suddenly become all confident in matters of… love (?) was something you simply dreamt of. Maybe you needed to help him along the way, even though your stupid brain kept telling you that it would make him view you as a burden. As someone too much, too eager, too loud with feelings he hadn’t asked for.

Yet here he was… actually asking for it.

“What I want…” Your hands slid up his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm, ticking impossibly fast. That gave you courage. “…is for you to want me.”

“I do want you,” he said. “Painfully so.”

“I need to hear you say it,” you whispered. Then, a small smile. “Or show it. Pushing me against the wall is… a good start.”

“I believe we’ve established precedent,” he said, returning the smile.

You laughed, light but wrecked, and for a second everything felt okay again. And then you shivered. A cold, involuntary tremble you couldn’t hide. The wetness of your coat and jeans clinging to your skin returned to the forefront of your mind.

Spencer noticed it too. You couldn’t help the way your teeth chattered. He smoothed a hand gently down your arm, concern flitting through his features. “Why don’t you go get out of these wet clothes and lie on the bed for me?”

In seconds you saw the fear in his eyes, noticing what he’d actually said out loud. Intended innuendo or not. Spencer stumbled over his next words, hurried and ashamed. “If that’s okay, I mean—”

You continued to smile. An awfully content smile, like you were just waiting for him to notice that he’d done exactly what you wished for.

With a loud thud, you had shaken your coat off your shoulders, sneaking past him further down the hallway, saying a little sing-song, “Already on my way, Spence.”

You didn’t look back as you walked toward your bedroom. But you could hear him exhale—something long and full of relief.

Your bedroom was a sanctuary, always had been. Peeling off your soaked socks with your toes, you moved through the dim space, switching on the bedside lamp and the soft glow of fairy lights tracing the ceiling’s edge.

You sat down on your bed as you got there, struggling with the button of your jeans. It got even worse as you dragged the denim down your legs, the wet material sticking to your skin as your hands tried their best to get a good grip.

It wasn’t the rain slicking your hands anymore. It was a nervous sweat.

“You got here too quick,” you said as you heard his footsteps near the door. “I’m not done yet.”

Spencer lingered in the doorway, simply observing you on the bed, jeans pooling around your ankles.

“Jeans are difficult to get off when they’re wet.” You huffed out a little laughter as you pulled them off completely, tossing them to your hamper, landing on the floor. You should’ve hung them to dry immediately. But Spencer was more important.

Pantless, you realized your state of undress, reminding yourself that it was what he’d asked for. He wouldn’t be standing in the doorway if he didn’t want to see it.

You tried to decipher his expression. Soft smile, even softer eyes.

“Is that my shirt?” he quietly asked, walking into the room. His feet stopped when he was standing plainly in front of you.

You looked down at what you were wearing. Peeking out from your sweater were the edges of a pink dress shirt. One that he’d accidentally dyed pink in the wash. Spencer had wanted to throw them all out until you said that you liked the color pink. In general, but especially on him.

You could only nod at his question. There was no denying it. Looking back up, you caught a glimpse of an uncontrollable smile, where he had to fight the corners of his mouth from perking upwards too much, too noticeable.

“You wore my shirt all day? To work? To lunch with your mom?” Spencer asked.

You shrugged, lifting your rain-soaked sweater over your head, messing up your wet hair even further in the process. Spencer took it in his hands, throwing it over to where the jeans had landed.

“It smells like you,” you said, lifting the pink poplin to your nose. “Or it used to. I’m afraid it smells like me now.”

It was a comfort thing, you realized as you did it. Why you had worn it. Wanting a part of him near you, even subconsciously.

Spencer’s gaze moved slowly across your body, not greedy. Your thighs flattened out against the mattress, the skin in contrast to the rose-colored shirt. You felt his eyes on you as he took you in. He was good at watching, bad at talking—you concluded.

“Stand up?” he asked softly.

A little surprised, you obeyed, rising slowly from the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking beneath you. Spencer stepped a little closer and let his hands rest gently on your waist, fingers brushing the fabric of the shirt—his shirt. His warm palms wandered down to your hips, brushing the hem of the fabric and the tops of your thighs in an easy movement.

He didn’t rush. Not even a little.

Not even as his fingers started to unbutton the shirt. He could’ve ripped it open in seconds, but he began gently with the lowest button.

You could feel his breath on your skin as he leaned in, eyes still focused on the buttons up the center of your stomach. His fingers moved with quiet precision, undoing one, then another, then another—his knuckles grazing your skin, warm and steady.

When he reached the last few buttons, right over your breasts, he looked up at you. Waiting for something. Your nod. Something saying yes, yes, yes.

With the last button undone, you let the shirt fall to the floor.

Stood there on bare feet in nothing but your underwear—your worn-out, simple white bra and a pair of cotton panties where the elastic had started to fray—you couldn’t help but feel the nerves settling in again. Steady and heavy, like a weight on your chest.

The air was still cold on your damp skin, but his hands were warm when they skimmed your sides. Spencer snuck his arms behind you, fingers ghosting over the clasp of your bra, waiting again, always waiting for the yes without asking it aloud.

And then, with two quick movements…

“Do I ask how you did that so well?” you asked, blinking as the straps slipped off your shoulders.

“I’m efficient with my fingers,” he said absentmindedly, still focused, eyes gentle but studious.

You blinked once, bit your lip. He didn’t even realize the double meaning—of course he didn’t. In his mind, “efficient with his fingers” meant things like… moving chess pieces or untangling cords.

But the way Spencer’s knuckles dragged along your arms as he slid your bra down made you sure that he wasn’t completely innocent or unaware of his actions. He caught the garment in his hands before tossing it on the floor too, his hands quickly back holding your hips.

You reached up and touched the side of his face. “Come closer.”

Spencer looked at you briefly. You knew the spots where his eyes wanted to linger. Then, he pulled his own shirt over his head, putting it aside. You weren’t entirely used to him shirtless yet, his pale, lean yet strong build hypnotizing to you. His arms wrapped around you, skin to skin, almost pulling your feet off the floor as he embraced you. His chest was warm against yours, and you buried your face into the crook of his neck, breathing him in.

“You still smell like you, at least,” you whispered.

Spencer smiled against your hair. “That’s good.”

He was gentle as he led you towards the bed, the back of your knees bucking as you hit the mattress. In a brief moment of disconnect, you shuffled to lie on the bed, sighing as your head hit your mountain of pillows.

With one leg propped onto the bed, Spencer waited a moment before he joined you. He loved seeing your skin. As simple as it was. He could get lost as his eyes trailed the texture of it. Scars, bumps, bruises, and birthmarks. Almost completely naked too. He wasn’t just a boob guy—he was a you guy. That was easier to get on board with than the simple stereotype that boobs were just great.

Spencer got in beside you, a slight touch of his fingers all the way from your ankle up to your shoulder as he settled on top of the covers. On his side, his body cradling yours.

His palm rested flatly on your stomach, moving with your heavy breathing up and down. You didn’t say anything but turned your head to meet his, lazily adjusting forward to kiss him. Kissing him was all you needed to feel safe. To feel that it was true.

With a soft, open-mouthed trail, Spencer left kisses all over your face, down your neck, and chest. His hands started to roam as well, carefully gripping at your skin.

“Let me take care of you, angel,” he whispered as his mouth landed in the valley between your breasts. He looked up at you with golden warm eyes.

“Angel? That’s new,” you whispered back. Once his fingers dared to wander so low that he could run them over the fabric of your panties, feeling your arousal that had soaked through, you audibly hitched your breath. “I— I like it.”

Spencer moved his body to hover over you, lowering down between your legs as you purposefully spread them apart. He was a scrawny mess of limbs most of the time, but somehow felt natural crouching together at the edge of your bed to face your most desperate parts.

“Tell me what you want,” Spencer said, his hands touching over the soft swell of your stomach, down to your hips, but hesitant when they came back up, nudging the underside of your breasts. His nerves were finally showing. “And I’ll do my best.”

You intertwined your fingers with him, making sure to have eye contact as you teased, “All bark, no bite, huh?”

Spencer was flustered. You’d seen through his confident act since it began, but you enjoyed watching him try. He opened his mouth to say something, shutting it just as fast as he overthought. It was like you could see his decision-making happening, the signals connecting in his brain.

“Do you want me to explore instead? Trial and error?” he finally asked, tilting his head slightly with a boyish grin. He took small breaths that you could feel against your stomach, waiting for an answer. “Because I have a few ideas I’d like to try.”

You couldn’t wait to pick his brain, wondering exactly where he had gotten his ideas from. He was an anomaly as is. It wouldn’t be from an adult film or magazine. Knowing Spencer, it was something scientifically proven or from literature written centuries ago.

“You—you can try,” you breathed out, running a hand over your face, feeling the warmth from your own cheeks. He could fluster you too. “Y’know that you don’t have to, like—you can stop immediately if you don’t like it—”

He cut you off. “Let me try before you decide for me.”

Assertive. That was new.

With the same warm eyes from before, he sought you out as his fingers found the hem of your underwear. You nodded eagerly, lower lip lodged between your teeth.

You wanted to help him—rip the fabric off in seconds. But he took his time. Agonizingly slow as he bunched the sides up between his hands and started to pull them down your legs, shifting your hips slightly upwards to ease the process.

You kicked them onto the floor with the help of your foot as soon as you were able. There was something desperate growing inside of you as Spencer found his place between your legs again.

He was big with his movements first, heating your skin up—your stomach and thighs—using the warmth from his palms. Softly cupping your boobs, he pushed them together as his thumbs toyed with the nipples. Then he was gentle, with smaller movements. As Spencer’s fingers slid all the way to your pussy, slowly spreading your lips apart with pressure on each side.

His thumb was first to touch your clit. Barely any pressure, just to watch your reaction to it. He pulled away, to see your wetness cling to his skin, before he gently swiped over it again.

Spencer looked at you in a way you weren’t sure you’d experienced before—with a certain awe or fascination. Really took in the view of you naked, like he had all the time in the world. It felt intimate in a weird way. But not necessarily uncomfortable. You cursed yourself for being used to guys who fucked you with the lights turned off or under blankets, not someone who would drink in the sight of you aroused.

On Valentine’s Day, when the first piece of your sexual puzzle together had been laid, you almost hadn’t had the time to feel nervous. You’d been too focused on Spencer and on his pleasure. When he had wanted to get you off with his fingers after your little dry humping session, you’d let him do it in a (desperate) heartbeat. That you hadn’t shaved or that no one had seen you naked in close to three years wasn’t at the forefront of your mind then.

It was painfully obvious to you now, though. An outgrown little thatch of hair, your leaking entrance clenching around nothing, and your skin… flawed.

Resting his cheek on your thigh, Spencer tilted his head to look up at you, his finger inches away from tapping your clit again.

“I don’t tell you enough how pretty you are.”

He said it simply. Easy. No qualms.

Your brain shut off for a moment when you saw him lick his lips as he touched your pussy again, your eyes squeezing shut at the tingling pleasure.

You truly did look pretty through Spencer’s eyes. Angelic even, the accidental pet name he had used suited you perfectly. With your damp hair clinging to you, your skin still slightly cold to the touch, your nipples pebbled like peaks.

“Can I—”

Spencer couldn’t finish the question, the words stuck in his throat. Slightly mesmerized by the view in front of him, he teased the pad of his index finger around your clit, down towards the entrance, gathering your wetness along his digit.

“You can finger me—yes, Spencer.”

With a low groan, you hummed in agreement as he began to push the finger inside of you.

It slipped in easily, even though it was noticeably bigger than what you were used to. Your own fingers would do nothing after this. He was tentative at first, like he took in the feeling of your cunt, warm and tight, around his finger.

“Is this—Am I doing it right?”

He sounded slightly worried but just as he asked it, he curled his finger upward, touching a spot deep inside of you.

“Oh, uhmf—” you gasped. “Right-fucking-there. You’re good at this.”

“I’m a virgin, not a monk.”

“Could’ve fooled me—”

With the building wetness, Spencer slipped his ring finger inside of you too, catching you off guard. He never took his eyes off of you, though, in case you would change your mind. But you didn’t. You couldn’t when it felt this good. A surprised curse left your already open mouth together with a ringing laughter, “Oh f-fuck you.”

Just the thought of you made his painfully hard cock leak in his boxers. Your taste, however, would send Spencer over the moon. You reached down to push the curls off his forehead as he finally delved in, leaving a series of kisses and nibbles on your inner thighs before you felt his tongue between your folds, his hands helping your legs up to spread apart even further.

“You’re sweet,” he mumbled. Just as quickly as he had said it, his mouth was back on you.

Tentative, again. But observing. Tuned into your body. Your reactions, your sounds. To every little touch he made. He tried out different methods, switching from gentle kissing and sucking of your clit to using all of his tongue to lap you up.

Your thighs closed around his head when he did it, your cunt tightening around his fingers as he continued to work them in and out of you, sucking even harder and longer on your clit. Spencer could easily piece together that it was your favorite part—the long, repetitive suckling. Together with his fingers touching that special spot deep inside of you. That was what brought the most mind-blowing little moans from your mouth, staggered and breathy. His observing nature made him a natural… and a mess, face glistening from your slick.

Spencer’s hair felt silky in your grip, tugging slightly as you settled into the pleasure he was giving you. You couldn’t help it as you started to rock your hips against his mouth, his nose pressing at your most sensitive part. Spencer choked out a groan as he realized what you were doing, the vibrations from it going straight into you.

Disguised behind your own cries, you heard him time and time again. Spencer’s sounds vibrated against your skin, sending jolts of added stimulation. He was moaning into you, clearly lost in the moment, just as much as you were. When you looked down, his hips were rutting hard into the mattress, desperate to rub his aching cock against anything, desperate for relief as he ate you like he was losing control.

“I’m close, Spence,” you gasped, shuddering, the grip his hands had on your hips only getting tighter. “That’s—right there, please, I’m gonna cum.”

He wrapped his hands around your thighs, pulling you closer than you thought was possible, continuing to whisper sweet nothings into your cunt, telling you to let it all go.

With one last curl inside of you and a couple of lazy kisses to your clit, stars began to form behind your eyelids as Spencer held you down by your hips. Your hands flew from his hair to your face, covering your cheeks as you came.

Spencer had noticed, even in non-sexual situations, that you were innocently shy about your own pleasure. Shy of taking, shy of enjoying. You probably always had been. But as he slid his fingers slowly out of you as you climaxed all up in his face, you were everything but shy. Your stomach tensing, your breathing stopping—and the sound, god what a sound. Deep from your throat, louder than he’d ever heard you.

With a curious gaze, he watched your pussy clench around nothing, twitching as you rode the very last second of your orgasm out. Slowly licking, he cleaned the slick from between your folds, around your cunt, before returning his focus to your face.

“Y’know, the female orgasm can last for up to 60 seconds, sometimes even longer.”

With your hands still glued to your cheeks, feeling nothing but burning heat, you malfunctioned a little as he spoke. “Why are you—oh my god, Spence. ”

He came up to lie beside you as you were still nothing but a panting mess. Of course that would be the first thing he’d say to you.

“Explains the aftershocks.”

You guessed it did. You’d be reeling from this feeling for days.

Spencer’s non-sticky hand gently took one of yours, removing it so you couldn’t hide your face. Intertwined, they rested on your stomach, still heaving irrationally from your breathing. You looked down at yourself, and at Spencer. Lovingly, almost. There were crescent-shaped indents on your thighs from his fingernails, your soft skin having spilled out between his fingers as he had pressed close to you.

He breathed heavily beside you too, still catching his breath. You had almost expected it to happen, but you still smiled like a fool when you realized it. The dark stain on his soft gray trousers. His bulge not so prominent, but still a sign of what had happened.

“Don’t mention it,” Spencer said, like through closed lips.

Catching his sight, you shook your head with a little laughter, “I’ll take it as compliment.”

And it was. Truly. To not always be the giver, but the receiver. And to have someone enjoy you receiving pleasure so much that it ends up bringing them their own pleasure. Again, you were ruined by men (boys, really) who were so focused on their own cocks reaching the final destination that you were only really there as a vessel for their own orgasms. You didn’t know the last time someone offered to go down on you, and for it not to be the result of you asking, making you feel like a burden for wanting it.

Turning to your side, you laid your head on Spencer’s chest, letting out a breath that felt like it’d been lodged in your ribs for hours. Your legs tangled with his instinctively, and you sank into the heat of him, body finally relaxing in the aftermath. It took about five seconds for the awareness to hit: you, naked, skin to his still clothed legs, with nothing but the slight stick of sweat and something more lingering between you.

One of Spencer’s arms curled around you automatically. The other hovered awkwardly in the air, like he wasn’t sure what to do with it—just a few inches above the sheets.

“Sticky fingers?” you asked, amused.

“Y’know, it’s not as sticky as I first thought it would be. It’s more… wet—”

As Spencer explained, you grabbed his hand without thinking, looking up into his eyes for any sort of intel but being met with a mostly blank stare as you guided the two fingers he’d used into your mouth, swirling your tongue around them slowly. Lazily, curious if it would short-circuit his brain as easily as you suspected.

You were not disappointed.

“Jesus C-Christ—” Spencer’s whole body tensed beneath you, mouth parting in a sharp gasp.

A slight giggle was your only response. Lifting your head, your cheek had left a faint pink imprint across his chest. Truth be told, the entirety of Spencer was flushed. Face, neck, stomach. He was a study in pale skin turned soft rose.

“It’s like I can hear you overthinking,” you murmured, your voice rough around the edges, the way it always was when you were soft and…coming down.“And you really don’t have to.”

He hesitated, then shyly whispered, “Was I… Was that any good?”

The corners of your mouth lifted, lazy and genuine. “It was really good, Spence. Did you enjoy it?”

You felt him tense beneath your fingertips. He didn’t answer right away, too busy internally dissecting the phrasing—really good? As opposed to just good? Or better than expected? But before his thoughts could spiral, you kept talking. Doing what you always did: catching him before he fell too far into his own head, usually with something crude.

“You’re better than most men by principle,” you said, casual and completely sincere. “You know where the clit is.”

Spencer groaned, dragging his arm over his face. “You really have no filter, do you?”

You laughed—low, warm, the kind that curled around his mind and stayed there. “Is that a bad thing?”

His voice came muffled through the crook of his elbow. “No. I love you for it.”

You stilled—just for a second. You didn’t say anything, but he felt the shift. The way your breath caught. The way your eyes lifted to look at him again, just to make sure you’d heard him right.

“You love me… for it?”

It wasn’t the first time you’d thought about what this was, what it meant. Part of you had worried once that maybe Spencer only loved you because he could. Because you were the first person to touch him like this, see him like this. That he was falling in love with the intimacy itself—not with you.

But that fear didn’t live here. Not in the quiet way he touched you. Not in the way he listened. Not in the way he waited—for you, for your pace, for your yes.

You knew, somewhere deeper than your mind, that this wasn’t a performance. Not a conquest. Not the story of the virgin who loved the first person who said “stay.” The stupid virgin who fell in love with the person they had given up everything to. (It wasn’t everything. Far from it, actually).

As you had grown to know him, you realized how foolish you’d been to ever think that. He’d never wanted this to be one-sided. He was doing it all for you. The two of you. The us. Because if it wasn’t mutual, it wouldn’t be worth it to him at all.

“Mhm,” Spencer answered seconds later, muffled but still easily understood. Then, after a breath, “Should we take a shower?”

Smoothly swerving the subject.

Your head tilted slightly. “Like…together?”

He nodded like it was obvious. “Yes, is that so weird?”

You grinned. “I’ve never seen you naked.”

Spencer blinked. “I—yes, that’s true. Technically. That feels… unbalanced.”

“Let’s even the playing field then.”

You pulled the sheet with you as you sat up, tossing him a wink over your shoulder. Spencer groaned under his breath—somewhere between overwhelmed and entirely thrilled, watching as your naked body slipped out of the room.

And in the quiet trail of your footsteps heading toward the bathroom, he found himself smiling so hard it almost hurt.

⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚ ⋆.˚𖦹⋆✮⋆.˚

The water had already begun to fog the mirror by the time you stepped in, first wiping off the last of your makeup and letting Spencer quietly undress.

He stood beneath the showerhead, letting the stream beat down on his back and shoulders. His hair, flattened against his forehead, dripped steadily along his jaw. He’d slicked it back once, instinctively, and now little rivulets trailed down the line of his spine. The tips had already begun to curl again, wet and weightless, plastered to the nape of his neck.

Spencer wasn’t cold—he didn’t think he could be, not with the heat of the water and the anticipation of you coming in behind him.

Not nervous. Not exactly.

Just… aware. Aware of what this meant. Of how rare it felt to be so bare in front of someone and not feel the instinct to cover up.

He didn’t turn around when he heard the glass door open. Not right away. He just felt it—the slight change in the air, the extra warmth, the soft whisper of your breath as you stepped in behind him, saying a little hi.

Then your forehead pressed gently against his back.

That broke him a little.

Because it wasn’t a sexy thing, or even a performative one. It was grounding. A small gesture of trust. Your skin was slick against his, arms resting loosely at your sides, the crown of your head nestled between his shoulder blades like you belonged there.

Maybe you did.

He turned around slowly, and you looked at him like you’d been looking all along.

Maybe you had.

Your body was graceful in the low light, water gleaming as it slipped across your collarbones and traced down the dip of your stomach. Steam clung to your lashes, droplets staying on your cheeks. Spencer couldn’t decide what part of you to look at first. Your eyes always won.

He reached for the soap absently, trying not to fumble it. Jasmine.

The scent brought something up in him—unexpected and nostalgic. A low green bush outside his childhood home in Nevada. White, almost yellowing little flowers. His mother’s garden, where she’d hum Debussy and dig her hands into the dirt, fingers stained and nails wrecked but proud all the same. He remembered helping her water the jasmine in the summer, his small hands never quite strong enough to carry the big watering cans.

Now, years later, that same scent lingered in your hair. On your skin. Tied to you. Beneath his hands as he lathered the soap over your shoulders and along your upper back. He worked slowly, deliberately. Partly because he didn’t know what to do, partly because he wanted to feel all of you against his hands.

“That feels good,” you said, voice quiet with his hands running over your shoulder blades.

“Efficient fingers,” he said without a hint of irony.

You laughed, resting your forehead against his chest, water cascading down between you. “You still don’t realize how that sounds.”

He tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. “How what sounds?”

You didn’t explain. You just kissed the spot over his heart.

The water pelted the top of your head gently as silence filled the gaps between words. It wasn’t awkward. Not at all. Domestic, even. He thought maybe this was what safety felt like. This quiet comfort.

Spencer washed your back with care like you were something delicate and revered, and when he stepped behind you and wrapped his arms around your middle, you leaned into him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Eventually, though, the quiet gave way.

His voice was soft against your temple. “Do you want to talk about why you shut me out yesterday?”

A pause. Seconds long.

“No,” you admitted. “Not really.”

“That’s okay.” He tucked a damp strand of hair behind your ear, brushing a droplet from your cheek. “I just… I’m sorry if I made you feel bad. For not answering me. Or for being short.”

You met his gaze. “How you made me feel isn’t the issue.”

“Okay,” he said, carefully. “Then what is?”

Your eyes flicked toward the fogged glass of the shower door. You watched a droplet race another down the pane. “The younger version of myself still stuck inside. Constantly screaming that I don’t deserve this.”

Spencer’s face softened, his breath catching in his chest. “Deserve what?”

“Being with you,” you shrugged. You tried to make it feel simple. “Being loved by you. Being in love with you.”

He wasn’t worried that you hadn’t said it back in the bedroom, because he deep down knew—past his own insecurities—that you loved him back. But he hadn’t thought about your insecurities in the same way, how they formed like thick brick walls in front of you and hindered your capability of showing affection.

Spencer’s throat tightened. “Did your mother bring out these thoughts? That you’re not deserving of love?”

You didn’t answer, not with words. But your silence thudded between you.

“She’s a…” you started, then bit the words off in frustration.

“You’re allowed to say it.”

“A bitch, Spencer,” you whispered, uncharacteristic of you to care about cursing. “She’s like comically bad.”

He didn’t laugh, even though he knew you meant to ease the weight. Instead, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against yours. The water streamed around you, washing the ache away in some way.

“You are deserving of love,” he murmured. “It would be terrible if you weren’t. Because I love loving you. And I honestly don’t know what I’d do with all of this love if you didn’t let me in to show it to you.”

Your fingertips curled at his chest, right where his heart lived. Then, you reached up to kiss him. Softly, sweetly. Your inhale was shaky as you pulled away, but your voice was clear.

“I love being in love with you too.”

After a few more minutes under the spray, you turned the water off, steam wrapping around your shoulders like a blanket. The silence that followed was almost startling—thick and filled with your shared breathing, the kind of quiet that felt sacred.

Spencer moved first, reaching for one of the larger towels hanging on the hook. You didn’t even bother drying off fully before wrapping it around your chest like a makeshift dress.

He grabbed another towel and rubbed it through his hair—quick, automatic motions. But his eyes kept drifting back to you.

You wiped at the foggy mirror with the flat of your hand, revealing just enough to see the two of you reflected back— naked, wet, soft around the edges with fluffy towels in the low light of your bathroom.

Spencer stood there for a moment, drying himself with his towel, just looking at you. Damp hair, glowing cheeks, a surprisingly big smile.

“I know we’re having a sweet and sappy moment right now,” you began, trying to keep your tone even, “but I have to say—”

He squinted, seeing mischief in your eyes. “Oh no.”

“You were lying when you said it was five inches soft, Spencer.”

“Oh my—” He made an absolutely strangled sound—halfway between a laugh and a groan—burying his face in the towel while simultaneously trying to shield what was more than five inches, apparently. Maybe he’d been humble. “Don’t ever change.”

You grinned into the mirror, entirely smug and still somehow the softest thing in the world.

In a moment of courage, and maybe as a slight comeback, he reached for your hand, laced his fingers with yours, and tugged you gently toward the bedroom.

The bedroom was dim, the morning sun barely sneaking in through the slats of the blinds, casting golden lines across the unmade bed. The covers were still tangled where you'd left them, half-slipped onto the floor.

You paused near the edge of the bed, still towel-wrapped, while Spencer rummaged through his travel bag. He emerged with a button-down and a pair of boxers in hand, the shirt rumpled from being folded too long. It was another pink one. You could tell without smelling it that it hadn’t been washed since he wore it last. California, probably.

“Here,” he said, holding it up. “Arms out.”

You blinked. “You’re dressing me now?”

He gave a small shrug, lips twitching. “If you want me to.”

You rolled your eyes, but they softened as you raised your arms. The towel dropped silently to the floor, pooling at your feet like a sigh. Spencer didn’t react—didn’t flinch or look away.

Spencer stepped in close, his own towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. The shirt slid down over your arms slowly, the fabric catching slightly on damp skin. The hem fell mid-thigh. He only buttoned two buttons, in the middle of your stomach, leaving the rest undone and revealing most of what was underneath anyway.

But it smelled like him, and that was the sole purpose. You pressed your nose to the collar without even thinking.

You sat down on the edge of the bed, towel abandoned, bare thighs brushing the soft sheets. Spencer stood in front of you, pulling his boxers on beneath his towel before he too abandoned his in the pile of laundry gathered on the floor.

He didn’t say anything as he moved to your closet, opening a drawer you always kept a little messily organized. Underwear. You wondered if he panicked over the selection—if you would’ve judged him for grabbing a hot pink lace thong or the floral granny panties.

He settled on a safe pair in black cotton, just cheeky enough. Spencer handed them to you, and you giggled as you slipped them on. It seemed you still had to dress some parts of yourself.

Spencer then knelt slightly, just enough to be level with you, and placed one warm hand on your bare knee. “Now,” he said softly, “do we eat breakfast, or do we go back to bed?”

You looked toward the window, then back at him with a raised brow. “Spence, it’s 8 a.m.”

He just shrugged. “There are no rules. If you’re hungry, we eat. If you’re tired, we sleep.”

You considered it for half a breath, then leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Both,” you said into his shoulder. “I wanna do both.”

“Then we’ll do both, angel.” He leaned in to kiss your forehead.

Thank you for reading! Please let me know what you think ♡ Title and lyrics are from Ankles by Lucy Dacus.

౨ৎ [ masterlist ]

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #doctor spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid imagine #dr reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fic

1K notes · View notes

scoupsakakitty · 21 days ago

Text

When Love Smells Like Tangerines | idol!Seungkwan x Reader | angst fluff

Guys, if you haven’t watched When Life Gives You Tangerines yet, go watch it. I just had to write a story about Seungkwan this drama truly inspired me..🍊

Jeju always smelled like tangerines. And for Seungkwan, that scent had always meant home—sunlight dripping through trees, wind tangled in the corners of childhood, and a voice. Her voice. The girl with tangerine-stained fingers and eyes full of storms.

He loved her first. She let him go first.

They were inseparable once—neighbors, best friends, the kind of love that grows like roots, so deep it takes part of you when it’s ripped out. Seungkwan had been ready to stay, to anchor his life in her. Until she told him not to.

Until she broke his heart on purpose.

Jeju, 8 Years Ago

It was supposed to be their last walk through the orchard before he left for Seoul. Seungkwan had been buzzing for weeks—he’d passed the auditions. He was finally going to be a trainee. He was going to become an idol. The island wasn’t big enough to hold the size of his dream anymore.

She waited until they reached the hill overlooking the sea.

“I’m not coming to the station tomorrow,” she said. Her voice was flat. Cold. It didn’t match the way her hands trembled behind her back.

Seungkwan frowned, confused. “Why not? I thought—”

“I don’t want to see you off.”

His chest tightened. “Y/N…”

“I don’t love you, Seungkwan.”

It was like the wind stopped.

“You… what?”

She didn’t flinch. Her eyes stared straight ahead, not at him. “I never did. You made all of this up in your head. I would never marry someone like you.”

He took a step back like she’d slapped him. The words cut deeper than she could ever know. Because he had wanted that. A future. With her.

“Don’t follow me,” she added before walking away.

He didn’t see the way her hands covered her mouth the moment she was out of sight. He didn’t hear the way she broke down behind the trees, sobbing as if something vital had been ripped from her chest.

What Seungkwan never knew was what happened the night before. When his mother visited Y/N alone.

“He’ll never leave if you stay by his side. You say you love him? Then don’t ruin his future.” “He’ll thank you one day, when he's living his dream in Seoul. But if you hold him here, he’ll regret you for the rest of his life.”

And like a fool in love, Y/N believed her.

Seoul, Present Day — Chuseok

The house was full of laughter and the aroma of grilled meat, but Seungkwan felt a disconnect. He smiled when expected, poured drinks, answered questions about schedules, promotions, concerts—but something inside him never quite settled. Even after all these years.

The ache never left. Not fully.

It returned every time he saw a tangerine. Every time a melody reminded him of her laugh. He never reached out. He never forgave her. But he never stopped loving her either.

Later that night, long after the celebration had died down, he passed the kitchen and overheard something that shattered his world.

“You still think you did the right thing?” his father’s voice cut through the silence.

“She would’ve held him back,” his mother snapped. “And look at him now! He’s happy, isn’t he? Living his dream.”

“You don’t get to decide whose love is a burden!”

Seungkwan stood frozen. The air drained from his lungs.

“She loved him. She gave him up because you made her believe it was for the best.”

There was silence.

Then, his mother’s voice again, softer this time. “I did what I thought was right… I just wanted him to fly.”

But Seungkwan wasn’t flying. He was falling.

He stormed into the living room, eyes blazing.

“Is it true?” he demanded.

His parents turned, startled. His mother paled.

“Seungkwan—”

“Did you tell her to lie to me? Did you tell Y/N to break my heart?”

His father looked away. His mother stepped forward, trembling. “It was for your own good—”

“You don’t get to decide that!” he shouted. “You took her from me! You took everything!”

“She would’ve held you back—”

“She was the reason I wanted to succeed in the first place!” His voice cracked. “I would’ve left anyway. But I would’ve left knowing I had something—someone—to come back to.”

His fists clenched at his sides. “Do you know what it’s like? To wake up every day and wonder why the person you love suddenly hated you? I lived in that pain because of you.”

“I thought you’d be happy—”

“Don’t you dare.” His voice dropped, venomous. “You don’t get to say that after what you did.”

Silence.

And then he turned and left.

He already knew where she lived.

He had known for years.

Seoul, Present Day — Her Flower Shop

The bell above the door rang with a soft chime as Seungkwan pushed it open, the autumn air following him inside. The scent hit him instantly—peonies, jasmine, chrysanthemums… and something citrus, tucked into a vase on the counter.

She looked up, her hands full of wrapping paper, her expression freezing mid-motion.

He stood in the doorway, chest heaving, hair tousled from the wind and rage.

“You lied to me.”

The scissors fell from her hand.

“You told me you didn’t love me,” he continued, stepping forward. “You said I was nothing to you.”

“Seungkwan—”

“You said you would never marry someone like me,” he spat, voice cracking. “Why? Why did you say that?”

She couldn’t speak. Her hands trembled, gripping the counter.

“I heard them. My parents. They admitted it. They forced you.”

Tears gathered in her eyes. “It wasn’t—”

“You let me hate you!” he shouted. “You let me suffer all these years thinking I wasn’t enough!”

“I had to!” she cried. “I thought— I thought it was better that way!”

“For who?!”

“For you!” she screamed. “For your dream! Your life in Seoul! I didn’t want to be the reason you stayed behind and regretted everything.”

He stared at her, chest heaving, rage mixing with heartbreak. “You were never the reason I would’ve stayed. You were the reason I wanted to leave and come back.”

She looked away, tears spilling.

“You should’ve told me.”

“I couldn’t. I was a coward. I let them convince me it was love, sacrificing you.”

He stepped closer.

“I loved you,” he whispered. “I still do.”

Her breath caught.

He let out a laugh, broken and raw. “Do you know how pathetic that is? After everything? I still love you.”

She sobbed. “I never stopped loving you either.”

The silence after was deafening.

Outside, the wind stirred the leaves. A tangerine rolled off a nearby basket and hit the floor with a soft thud.

They didn’t kiss. Not right away. It wasn’t that kind of reunion.

But something had cracked open.

That night, they sat on the floor of her flower shop, surrounded by petals and memories, telling the truths they had buried for years.

He told her about the nights he cried backstage after concerts. She told him about the birthdays she spent alone, watching his interviews on TV.

And for the first time in years, it didn’t hurt to say his name. It didn’t hurt to hear hers.

Epilogue — One Year Later, Jeju

There was a new house on the hill, overlooking the sea.

Inside, a vase of tangerines sat beside a framed photo—two kids, laughing under the sun, eyes bright with something eternal.

Seungkwan walked into the room, holding a bouquet.

“Customers keep asking for that ‘Y/N special’ arrangement,” he teased.

She smiled, setting down her sketchbook. “Well, maybe you should hire me full-time.”

He wrapped his arms around her from behind. “Only if you promise not to break my heart again.”

“No promises,” she whispered, turning in his arms. “But I’ll never lie to you again.”

They kissed, soft and sweet. Outside, the wind carried the scent of tangerines.

And this time, it wasn’t bitter.

288 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 9 months ago

Note

I saw the Dad! Stanley, could you make the Dad! Stanford one? Like how his reaction come back after 30 years saw Reader already become responsible adult

-🐈‍⬛

Ford kept a picture of you -his life’s greatest achievement- in his pocket at all times during his time in the multiverse, reminding him of who he had waiting for him back home when he felt as though he was at his limit.

Being a father was never on the docket but the moment you entered his life he dedicated himself to raising you as best as he could, even going so far as to do extensive amounts of research in preparation for any and every vital moment of your life.

You had became a pivotal part of his life and made everything he did even more important for he was doing it for you and the future you’d live in. He wanted you to grow up prepared for anything and everything life would throw at you, along with how to handle yourself for the inevitable day where he couldn’t be with you anymore. (He hates it as much as you did)

He commemorates everything you did and dedicated parts of his journals to you and your growth or things that you did that made him laugh. (You wore his coat once and Ford was fighting the demons within him known as cuteness aggression because of how it swamped your tiny form.)

An excerpt:

‘They look at me like I’m something and I’m worried that one day they’ll grow up and not view me as such when they see what I’ve done when they slept soundly in their crib, but all I do, I do for them.’

However this desire to watch you grow and be apart of your important developmental stages would be cut short when he fell into the portal when you were just 8 years old.

His last words before the portal closed entirely to Stanley were: ‘no! Y/n! I haven’t done everything I’ve wanted to do with them yet! Go trick or treating with them on Summerween! Go Fishing! Watch them grow up! Stanley, don’t leave them alone, they really hate being alone!’

And raise you Stanley did as he would try his hardest to keep your memory of Stanford alive and well, thinking it was the best he could do after accidentally taking his brother from you. He’d even make a whole album for when Ford comes back from the day he fell into the portal.

Stanley didn’t miss a single moment to capture you doing something adorable (dressed up as a paranormal detective for the summerween he took you out on) or similar to Ford himself (becoming curious about about the mystery of Gravity falls after an incident with a bunny demon and even making a series of journals yourself)

Stanley made sure to capture every little thing he could from you helping him run the shack, to you making your first friends, your little experiments on how much food Soos could stuff in his face without getting full. Which was fun until he always threw up.

You were so much like Ford it hurt Stanley to look at you sometimes because all he could see was his brother in you that he had to look away sometimes, and he knew that Ford would be so fucking proud of the person you grew up to be but also knew that he would hate himself for not being there for it all.

So when the day came when Ford finally retired home, his first words as he stepped out of the portal were; ‘where’s y/n?’

Dipper, Mabel, Soos and Stanley could only watch as you, a full grown adult of 38, stepped forward with tears in your eyes when meeting face to face with the man who raised you before his brother took over, reaching out to him whispering ‘dad?’

Ford was shocked to say the least when he looked over at this adult calling him dad, only for his brain to work fast and connect the dots as he pulls out the picture of you as a child from his coat pocket and made the connection that you and the smiling child in the picture he held close to his heart were one in the same.

You were now all grown up and he wasn’t there to see it happen with his own eyes, something that broke his heart into a million pieces knowing that he never got the chance to see it himself! The coat that hung off of your frame was his, he could clearly tell but it didn’t swamp your form like it use to, it suited you and the makeshift journal Ford saw you had clutched in your hand and knew you were his child in more ways then one.

You had his curiosity and his need to understand the unknown to great but sometimes dangerous depths, god he missed you so fucking much, his sweet child and his sweet child you’ll always will be in his eyes as he watched as you quickly walked towards him and hugged his frozen form tightly as you wept in his shoulder.

‘Dad.’ You said. ‘I’m all grown up.’

Ford chuckled weakly as he too found himself unable to keep the tears at bay, ‘I can see that sweetie pie,’ he said as he held you tightly against him. ‘I’m so sorry I wasn’t here to see it.’ He adds knowing that this will be one of his life regrets until the day he died, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use this time to catch up with you and learn all about you all over again.

‘It’s okay.’ You reassured him, clinging onto him as though he’d disappeared again. ‘It’ll give me an excuse to talk your ear off about all my expeditions, my theories and my thoughts on everything that’s been going off here.’

‘They really are cut from the very same cloth as you.’ Stanley told Stanford as he watched you tuck Dipper and Mabel into bed that night. ‘They’re smart and even graduated from a prestigious college at the top of their class, they were even valedictorian just like you back in highschool, but they came back to gravity falls because they wanted to dedicated themselves to helping me in getting you back.’ He adds as Stanford looks at his twin with tears in his eyes.

‘And I wasn’t there to watch them walk across that stage…’ he mutters and Stanley pulls out a photo that he had taken during your graduation ceremony and gave it to Ford who could only smile weakly as he took you in. You had blossomed so much when he was away and it broke Ford even more when he realised that he knew little to nothing about you now.

‘I’m such a terrible father.’ He tells Stanley who grips him by the shoulders and looks him dead in the eye.

‘Hey! You are not a terrible father, they love you so much that they stay up late at night trying to decipher you work in hopes of finding a lead so that they could have their father back in their life. So don’t you dare say that about yourself when they’ve nothing but miss their father for the past 30 years!’ Stanley scolded him just as you walked into the hallway after bidding dipper and Mabel goodnight.

You heard them but decided not to speak up about it, after all today had been quite emotionally exhausting and all you wanted to do was sleep. ‘I’m going to bed, good night dad, good night uncle Stan.’

‘Hold it you.’ Stanley said as he walked over to you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, pulling away as he smiled at you. ‘Night pipsqueak.’ You smiled back before looking over at Ford, wanting to go to him and Stan could see the conflict in your eyes and pushed you towards his twin before retreating to his room.

‘So I was thinking that we could go monster hunting…you know like father and child. I’ve been trying to track down this dragon like creature that’s said to live on the highest mountain of gravity falls since its conception.’ You said awkwardly as Ford smiled at you and placed a hand on your shoulder.

‘I’d be glad too sweetheart, you don’t have to ask me to spend time with you because I’ll always want to spend time with my child.’ He replied and you couldn’t help but smile widely as you hugged him tightly again. Needless to say you and Ford made up for lost time in quick succession as you both ran away from being burnt alive by the massive dragon that was originally thought to be a myth.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls imagine #gravity falls imagines #gravity falls #stanley pines imagines #stanford pines imagines #stanford pines imagine #ford pines imagines #ford pines imagine #ford pines x reader #stanford pines x reader

635 notes · View notes

writingwithciara · 2 months ago

Text

across the hall; part 8 - quinn hughes-

summary: y/n moves in across the hall from quinn and in an emergency, she leaves her five-year old daughter in his care

word count: 4k

pairing: quinn hughes x reader, toxic ex-boyfriend x reader

notes: i think tumblr deleted the beginning of this part and i don't remember what it said 😭😭 so i tried to write a new one. hopefully it works.

for the next few days, things between y/n and quinn were strained. she couldn't go to him when she needed to talk, in fear of being shut out. shew knew he needed time to process but things continued to get awkward between them.

and it wasn't just those two who were affected by the awkwardness. everyone else around them was. mostly abby, who missed him a lot, and bella, who missed having the girls around. and in turn, brock hated it because it made bella upset. so he took it upon himself to talk to quinn.

"you need to tell me what the hell is going on between you and y/n."

"nothing's going on between us. and there will never be anything."

"what happened? did you finally tell her how you felt and she rejected you?"

"no. i didn't even get a chance to tell her. i had it planned out too. but then she dropped the biggest bomb ever."

"and what would that be?"

"she got back together with abby's father." quinn let out a defeated sigh. "i don't understand why she would do that, especially after everything she told me about him."

"you know things would be different if you just told her, right? there's no way she wouldn't come running to you if she knew the truth."

"i want to believe you, i truly do. but you're wrong, brock. there's no universe where y/n and i end up together." quinn went back to focusing on the practice, leaving brock no choice but to follow.

later that day, as the team was on the ice for warm-ups before the game, y/n and abby made their way to the spot the usually sat with bella. when she saw them, she squealed with excitement and abby ran to hug her.

"oh i missed you guys." bella smiled as she picked up the little girl. "it hasn't felt right without you here."

"it still doesn't feel right being here. but abby asked and i couldn't say no." y/n smiled and looked at the team. "besides, andy is out with his friends so i figured i could actually get in a conversation with quinn without getting interrupted."

"brock told me you went back to your ex." bella looked at her friend. "what i don't quite understand is why."

"i swear he's a changed man and like i told quinn, i like to give people the benefit of the doubt."

"sometimes, i think you're too nice."

"yeah, possibly." she smiled. "so how have you been?"

"bored, honestly. some of the other wives and girlfriends of the team have started to get on my nerves. none of them compare to you and it sucked without you here. i missed you."

"we missed you too, bella. it truly didn't feel right being away."

"no more awkwardness after tonight, okay? i can't keep pretending like you and quinn aren't being idiots."

"hey."

"well it's true. you two either need to sleep together or you need to be locked in a room together to talk. whichever ends with you two getting together."

"bells, as much as i appreciate this talk, i feel the need to remind you that i have a boyfriend and that quinn and i will never get together."

"you say that now, but i feel like i can see the future. despite your fighting it, i know it'll happen. just watch." bella smirked and watched the game.

y/n playfully rolled her eyes at her friend. she always thought that there was nothing going on between her and quinn. but when he noticed her in the stands, that thought melted away. maybe there was something that needed to be addressed.

after the game, bella and y/n took abby down to wait for the team. it took a few minutes before the boys came out of the locker room but when quinn came out, he locked eyes with y/n for what felt like an eternity, but was only 2 minutes. he approached them slowly, looking around in case andy was close by.

"if you're looking for andy, he's not here." y/n spoke first. "he went out with some friends for the night so it's just us."

"oh okay. cool." quinn reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "some of the guys are going out to celebrate the win tonight. my brothers are also going to be there and i was wondering if you and abby would like to join us."

"yes!" abby giggled and hugged his leg. he bent down to pick her up.

"i think that would be fine. you and i should talk anyway."

"okay." he smiled. "do you guys want to catch a ride with me or did you drive your own car?"

"we actually took an uber here so i suppose we could ride with you for the night."

"perfect. right this way." quinn bowed to the side and let y/n walk in front of him.

at the restaurant, quinn got them a table away from the team so he could talk to y/n. bella took abby with her so they could have a little privacy.

"look, i owe you an apology." quinn started.

"for what?"

"the way i handled things when you told me about andy. it wasn't right. i shouldn't have acted like a jerk."

"you shouldn't have. no. but i haven't exactly made things easier for us, quinn. i've been avoiding you when i should've just acted like an adult and talked to you."

"it's my fault." he shook his head. "you're my best friend and i feel like i messed that up."

"you didn't mess it up. i just needed a little time to process things." y/n smiled. "but i'm here now and i honestly don't plan on leaving anytime soon."

"what about andy?"

"he has friends so why can't i have mine?"

"fair point. but he's not gonna get mad about it, is he?"

"he and i talked and he understands how important you are to me. and to abby. i'm telling you, quinn. he's truly a changed man."

"i believe you. people can change for sure."

"apparently, you've changed too."

"what do you mean?" quinn raised an eyebrow and sipped his drink.

"when i met bella, she told me that you used to this moody guy who didn't get out a whole lot. she said you weren't that guy anymore and that it was because of me."

"oh. well i don't know about that." he chuckled. "but maybe i have changed. who knows."

"sometimes change is a good thing."

"i suppose." he smiled and lifted his drink to his lips to sip it slowly. y/n stared at him for longer than a 'friend' would but luckily he didn't notice. or rather, if he did, he didn't let her know he caught on.

"hey guys." jack smiled as he approached his brother. "where's abby?"

"bella has her over there." y/n smiled and pointed towards the other table. jack was gone 2 seconds later. he loved being around abby. "i love how much you guys adore abby. makes it seem like i did something right in the way she was raised."

"you did everything right when it comes to raising a child. i don't have any of my own but since i met you, i've been reading a lot about the topic."

"wait, really?"

"yeah. i read." he sipped his drink again. "a lot."

"interesting. never would've taken you for a reader."

“do i not look like one?” quinn raised an eyebrow.

“no offence, but absolutely fucking not.”

quinn chuckled. “none taken. i totally get it.”

“good. because it’s not a bad thing. like, at all. more like a very pleasant surprise.” y/n closed her eyes. “like a cute puppy or something else that’s cute.”

“you know, you’re kind of cute when you babble on like that.”

“oh.” y/n felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. she picked up her drink and glanced over to where jack had abby hanging upside down, giggling her head off.

“i’m sorry. that was weird of me to say.”

“no. it’s fine, quinn. i just have a hard time accepting compliments on account of never getting them from andy.”

“well then he’s messing up real bad.” quinn finished his drink and looked at her. “sorry again. i know you don’t want to hear my opinion on him so i’ll shut up now.”

"much appreciated." the change in her tone of voice didn't go unnoticed by quinn. he decided against bringing it up though, being careful not to upset her.

jack brought abby over to luke & he showed her just as much attention as jack had, even making her laugh almost as hard.

"i'm starting to think i may not be her favorite person anymore." y/n giggled.

"you're her mother. i think it's obvious that you're her favorite person in the world. nobody could replace you."

"okay. then i think it's safe to say that she may love your brothers more than she loves you." y/n knew what she was doing so she added a playful smirk.

"what? impossible! you take that back." quinn tipped his glass toward her but as he glanced over towards his brothers, even he couldn't deny the love coming from the 5 year old girl. her heart was as big as her mothers, with plenty of love to go around.

it was something that quinn adored about both of them. and the longer he avoided how he was starting to feel, the harder it was going to be when andy inevitably convinced her to move back home with him.

"can i talk to you about something important tomorrow?"

"yeah, of course." y/n smiled and opened her arms for abby as she came running towards her mother.

"mommy, jack said he and luke could take me to the beach tomorrow but that i had to ask for your permission." she looked over her shoulder at jack and luke, smiles painted on their faces as they waved. "can i go?"

"how about the 5 of us go and make a day of it? how's that sound?"

"oh, perfect!" abby grinned and turned to quinn. "you in?"

"i could never say no to you, princess." quinn kissed the top of her head and she giggled before running back to jack's arms. "it's official. she definitely loves jack more than me."

"i doubt that, quinn." y/n smiled and rested her hand on top of his. "i know for a fact that she adores you. she might have a little crush on jack but you'll always be her number one guy."

the way y/n said number one guy made quinn think of andy and what little of a relationship he had with his daughter. it was evident that abby didn't care much for her father but apparently, andy didn't mind.

it seemed, to quinn at least, that andy didn't really track the girls down to see his daughter. he more than likely only came so he could somehow manipulate y/n again.

and even though nothing was confirmed, just the thought alone made quinn's blood boil. something didn't feel right & quinn wanted to get as much info as he could.

"you okay, quinn? you kinda zoned out for a minute there."

"yeah. just thinking."

"you're always thinking, aren't you?" y/n grinned. "want to share what's in that head of yours?"

"you and andy, that's still strong?"

"yeah. i suppose. well, as far as things go, i'd say they're pretty strong." y/n looked at him. "why do you ask?"

"there's been something that's been bugging me lately. i know you don't want to hear my thoughts on him, so i'll keep it to myself."

"actually, i think i want to hear this." y/n turned so her full attention was on him. she even rested her hand on top of his. "what's bothering you?"

"i know andy says he came for both you and abby, but it just feels like maybe he doesn't really care all that much about his daughter and that he only wants you back in his life so he can manipulate you." quinn took a deep breath and continued. "i just...i don't want to see him hurt you."

"i appreciate your concern, quinn. but if i see any signs of his past behavior, i'll leave him. i promise." she smiled. "don't worry your pretty little head, my friend. i can handle it."

"i know you can. it's just," quinn swallowed. i care about you was on the tip of his tongue but he kept it to himself. "it's in my nature to protect the people in my life as much as i can."

"and i love that about you. it's one of the reasons i trust you with my daughter, quinn."

"and i'm glad you trust me." he smiled widely and stood from his seat. "i'm heading out. you and abby coming or do you want to stay?"

"i think i should get her home and to bed." y/n smiled and headed over to jack's table. she said goodbye to everyone while taking abby's hand and heading out with quinn.

quinn didn't miss the way jack raised his eyebrow in suspicion of the way y/n was attached to him. but he shook off that look and focused on getting the girls home.

back at their apartments, quinn helped y/n put abby to bed before she walked him out to his own apartment.

"i'll see you in the morning." quinn opened his door and looked at y/n. "jack said he and luke would meet us for breakfast before we went to the beach."

"okay. that sounds absolutely perfect." y/n smiled. "good night, quinn."

y/n headed to her living room to wait for andy. he said he'd be over in 5 minutes.

but 5 minutes turned into 30. and then an hour.

shortly after midnight, andy was finally walking through the door. he was loud and the smell of alcohol was strong. y/n hated it as he leaned in to kiss her. she walked into the kitchen to get him some water but he refused it.

"veronica is never like this." he slurred.

"veronica? who's that?"

"she's my girlfriend back home." he said with a casual shrug of his shoulders.

"what? your girlfriend?"

"well, i suppose she's my ex now. just called her earlier and another guy picked up the phone. she's been cheating on me. she admitted to it and everything. been doing it for a few months. can you fucking believe that?" andy began raising his voice.

"can you lower your voice? your daughter is sleeping."

"my daughter? how can i be so sure she's mine? all my girlfriends have cheated on me in the past so it wouldn't surprise me if you did as well." he laughed and shook his head. "she doesn't even look like me. that's proof enough that she probably ain't even mine."

"are you fucking stupid? of course she's yours!"

"don't raise your voice with me!" andy got up in her face. "there's no way that child in their is mine! everyone cheats!"

"andrew, calm the fuck down! get some rest and we'll talk about this in the morning."

"don't tell me what to do!" he raised his arm up high, causing y/n to flinch. she didn't want to show any fear but with andy, it was hard. she backed up against the wall as he moved closer.

"a-andy, please stop. you're scaring me."

"as if you really cared." he scoffed and looked at y/n. there was no remorse for his actions in his eyes.

"i think you should go to your place and sleep this off."

"again, don't tell me what to do!"

quinn, who heard the commotion, came through the door seconds later. he took one look at y/n and threw himself between her and andy.

"she asked you to leave, andy."

"of course you'd be here. you're always around." andy turned his anger on quinn. "she does things like this and then tries to tell me that abby is my daughter."

by now, brock, jack and luke had appeared at y/n's open door. they took one look at y/n behind quinn and he nodded towards her, quietly telling them to get her and abby over to his apartment.

quinn watched as luke & brock helped abby out of the apartment while jack carried a surprisingly still sleeping abby across the hall. he turned back towards andy and poked at his chest while getting in his face.

"you are the worst kind of person. you hurt the people who love you and you have absolutely no regrets about it." quinn sighed, but continued. "for the record, not that you care either way, abby is 100% your daughter. but you are most definitely not her father. i want you to leave and never come back into their lives."

before andy could say a word, quinn was already leaving. he needed to get back to his apartment to make sure the girls were okay. when he walked in, abby was awake. she ran right to him and he didn't hesitate to pick her up. she rested her head against him as he carried her to the living room. jack, luke and brock stood from the couch, allowing quinn to take the spot next to y/n.

"we're gonna take off now. but we'll see you in the morning." jack pulled y/n in for a hug and made sure to give abby a kiss on the top of her head.

"yup. and thanks for the help, guys." quinn nodded as the 3 boys walked out of the apartment. when they were gone, quinn turned to y/n. she was focused on a spot on the wall beside the tv. "y/n, you okay?"

"huh? no. wait, i don't know." she sighed and after what felt like an hour, she finally spoke again. "i really thought he had changed, you know."

"i'm sorry he didn't." quinn looked down at abby. she had fallen back asleep as quinn held her. "look, you don't deserve that treatment and i wish i could go and erase it from your memory."

"i don't think i can go back over there tonight." she shook her head and looked next to quinn at abby who was fast asleep at his side.

"you can stay here tonight." quinn looked at her face. "in fact, why don't you just stay here permanently? you know, like, move in?"

"quinn, i couldn't."

"yes, you could. i technically already have a room for abby all set up and everything. and setting up a room for you should be really easy. plus, i'm hardly home so it'll feel like you're still in your own apartment." he rubbed her arm gently. "i understand the hesitation and i'm not going to pressure you into doing this. but my offer is always going to be out there for you if you do decide to take me up on it."

"we won't be crowding you?" y/n fiddled with the drawstring on her hoodie. "i have this thing about-"

"you will most certainly not be crowding me." quinn chuckled. "but if you choose to move in, let me tell you about the benefits you would be receiving."

"okay." y/n smiled and looked at quinn.

"first off, your rent will be extremely low. i'm talking half, or less, of what you were paying across the hall. second, live-in babysitter. awesome, right?" he looked at her to make sure she still had his attention. "also, i can cook. been told by some important people that i'm really good at it." he nodded his head down in abby's direction, causing y/n to giggle.

"she does love a good meal."

"and for the final benefit? everything you could ever need will be provided for you, upon request. nothing is ever too silly of an ask. just say the word and you'll have everything brought to you when needed. and i'm not just talking about breakfast in bed and stuff like that. if you want something from a store, it'll be delivered immediately."

"quinn, that sounds like a little much."

"then i will tone down whatever it is that would make you uncomfortable, or have you feel like you're taking advantage of me. which, i hope you never feel that way. because you would never be taking advantage of me. i want to do this." the corners of his lips jerked up into a smile as he watched y/n weigh the pros and cons of moving in.

"are you sure i wouldn't be taking advantage of you?"

"yes, absolutely."

"then i think we'll move in. but you and i will remain friends. nothing more, okay?"

"okay. i can handle that. we've been doing so well so far. shouldn't be a problem."

"alright. then it's settled." y/n smiled and looked over at abby. "i'll get my stuff moved in over the weekend."

"i can get the guys to do it all. you won't have to lift a finger. you, bella and abby could even go out for the day and have fun while we work here."

"natalie too?" abby opened her eyes and looked up at quinn, causing him to chuckle and move her to his lap.

"yes. and natalie too. if she's up for it."

"yay." the little girl cheered and within seconds, she was fast asleep.

"i'm gonna put her to bed." y/n reached for her daughter but quinn stood up, gently holding abby.

"it's okay. i got it." he started walking down the hall towards the room but stopped and looked at y/n. "you can take my bed for the night. i'll have brock help me move your bed over here after the beach tomorrow."

"quinn, no. i'm more than happy taking the couch for the night."

"you are not sleeping on that messed up thing. you need to sleep in my bed tonight. i'll be fine out here. i promise."

"quinn, i-"

"i'm serious, y/n. go get some rest."

"you're not going to let me win, are you?"

"hey, look at you. catching on pretty early." quinn smiled and placed abby in the bed gently. y/n appeared behind him and smiled.

"thanks again, quinn. i really appreciate everything you've been doing for us and i don't think there's anything i can ever do to repay you for it all."

"just stay safe, happy and relaxed & everything will be even."

"that's not what i meant." y/n smiled and turned towards quinn's room. "but thank you."

"stop thanking me for being a good friend." quinn chuckled and followed her into his room. "you can sleep in whatever you want. but i also have some clothes for you if you want."

"it's fine. i'll sleep in this tonight." she gestured to the vancouver hoodie and sweatpants combo she had changed into when she got home. "but..." she drifted out of her thought.

"you were just about to thank me again, weren't you?" quinn asked with a smirk.

"yeah. i couldn't help it." y/n smiled back. "it's a habit that i need to break." she shook her head. "it's bad."

"no. it's fine. but you thank me for doing stuff a good friend should do. i know you appreciate it. just like i appreciate that you trust me."

"and that i do." y/n reached out and gently tapped on quinn's chest. "so i'll see you in the morning?"

"yes. bright and early."

"perfect." y/n sat on the bed. "good night, quinn."

"good night, y/n." quinn shut the door slowly and headed to the living room. he settled onto the couch and looked at the ceiling. it was nearly unbelievable how easy it was to get y/n to agree to move in with him.

the only problem? he was in love with her and it would surely be a problem to keep that to himself with her in the next room all the time.

----------

tags: @alwaysclassyeagle @justagingerliving @marroonwitch @hwalllllllelujah

#quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes #nhl imagine #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fic #qh43 #vancouver canucks

133 notes · View notes

rosemariiaa · 7 months ago

Text

~Lasts Firsts~

˖˙ ᰋ ── pairing: Paige x Azzi

˖˙ ᰋ ── rosies note: yes i did lose my mind writing this but i had to! this is also my apology for the last fic.. 🤗 this is pretty long so take your time babe, also some tags @thaatdigitaldiary @patscorner @bueckerscore @juspeaks

˖˙ ᰋ ── themes: fluff, teasing

enjoy!!!

It was barely 8:00 AM when Paige rolled over, her arm draping across the empty space next to her. She blinked into the early morning light, trying to shake off the sleep. She could already hear Azzi in the bathroom, humming softly, the sound so familiar it brought a small smile to her lips.

Last media day together.

The thought lingered like a weight on her chest, bittersweet and heavy. She dragged herself out of bed, feeling that familiar ache in her muscles from practice the day before, and made her way to the bathroom.

Azzi was standing in front of the mirror, twisting one of her curls between her fingers. Paige leaned against the doorframe, taking in the sight of her girlfriend’s morning routine—how peaceful she looked, even though they both knew today was going to be pretty emotional.

“Ready for the chaos?” Paige mumbled, voice still hoarse from sleep.

Azzi turned her head, giving Paige that small smile she always had when she knew Paige was nervous about something. “You asking me or yourself?”

Paige snorted, stepping closer until she was leaning against the counter beside Azzi. “Both, I guess.”

They didn’t say much after that, both of them lost in their own thoughts. Paige stared at her reflection for a moment, the weight of everything finally sinking in. Last media day, last season. After this? The WNBA.

“You think we’ll survive?” Paige asked quietly, her tone light but not really joking. Azzi met her eyes in the mirror, and for a second, Paige saw all the emotions they hadn’t really said out loud. There was excitement, sure, but underneath it was that uncertainty, the looming unknown of what came next.

“Paige,” Azzi said, her voice softer than usual. “You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna be fine. You’ve been ready for this.”

Paige didn’t respond at first, just dropped her gaze to the sink. She’d been thinking about this a lot more than she’d let on. The WNBA wasn’t just another level—it was the next chapter of her life. And as much as she knew she wanted it, there was a part of her that was terrified.

“What if I’m not, though?” Paige’s voice came out quieter than she meant. “What if I mess this up? I mean… WNBA? That’s a whole new ballgame.”

Azzi turned around fully now, leaning her hip against the counter. She reached out, gently grabbing Paige’s wrist, thumb brushing over her skin in that way that always calmed her down.

“You’ve been playing against pros for years, P. You’re gonna go in there and do exactly what you do best. And… don’t forget you’ll be up against Diana, you’re probably gonna block her shots and then she’ll talk all kinds of shit you know how she gets,” Azzi teased, trying to pull Paige out of her thoughts.

Paige couldn’t help but chuckle, the tension in her chest easing just a little. “I can’t wait for Diana to “hate” me.” Azzi smirked. “Just don’t embarrass her too much.”

“Oh, I will. But not before embarrassing your Aces,” Paige shot back, her grin widening as Azzi’s eyes narrowed in mock warning.

“Excuse me?” Azzi gasped dramatically. “You better not mess with my team. If you even think about beating them, I’ll fly out there and beat you up.”

Paige laughed, leaning into Azzi, her forehead resting against hers. “You’re cute when you threaten me.”

“Not a threat, babe,” Azzi replied, her smile softening as she tilted her head just slightly, brushing her nose against Paige’s. “I’m dead serious. Leave the Aces alone.”

Paige wrapped her arms loosely around Azzi’s waist, finally letting herself breathe. For a second, she could forget about the future. It was just the two of them again, standing in their shared apartment, holding on to each other before the world outside came rushing in.

———-

By the time they arrived in the gym, the chaos was already in full swing, with half the girls making tiktok’s and going crazy per usual. The cameras, the bright lights, the reporters—it was all routine by now, but this time, everything felt heightened. It was their last one. The final first.

Paige watched as Azzi stepped in front of the camera, her expression automatically settling into her “game face,” the serious one she always had before interviews. Paige stood to the side, arms crossed, watching with amusement.

“You look like you’re about to kill somebody,” she muttered under her breath as she moved to stand beside Azzi for their photos. Azzi shot her a look. “I’m just focused.”

“Focused on terrifying everyone,” Paige teased, nudging her with her shoulder.

Azzi tried not to smile, but it broke through anyway, and Paige could feel the tension between them melt a little as they fell into the easy rhythm of their chemistry. They took their usual photos, Paige throwing her arm around Azzi’s shoulders, and their traditional piggyback pose, the same way they’ve done a thousand times before. But this time, the air between them felt different—heavier, full of all the memories they shared.

After the cameras stopped flashing, they hung back for a bit, watching the rest of the team get their moments in front of the lens.

“This feels… weird, right?” Paige said, her voice a little quieter now.

Azzi just nodded. “Yeah. But… it’s also kinda nice, knowing we did this together.”

Paige looked at her, her chest tightening with that familiar feeling of bittersweetness. “You’re gonna make me cry.” Azzi gave her a teasing smirk. “That’s my plan.”

———-

The media day madness finally wrapped up, and before Azzi could even think about unwinding, Paige had dragged her back home with a mischievous glint in her eye.

“What are you planning, Bueckers?” Azzi asked, standing in the doorway of their apartment, her arms crossed. “You’ll see. Just get dressed,” Paige said with a grin, shooing her toward the bedroom.

Azzi rolled her eyes but went along with it, emerging a few minutes later in the white tube top with Paige’s pink cover-up and those low-waisted jeans that Paige always went quiet about. She gave a little twirl, watching Paige’s eyes darken slightly.

“Stole my clothes again, huh?” Paige asked, leaning against the wall, trying to look unfazed.

Azzi smirked. “You love it.”

Paige just shook her head. “Get in the car, weirdo.”

They spent the car ride to the restaurant in comfortable silence, the only sound being Paige’s playlist—songs she’d carefully picked over the years, ones that always made her think of Azzi. At some point, Mitski came on, and Azzi hummed softly to the tune, stealing glances at Paige, who was drumming her fingers on the steering wheel.

“So, P,” Azzi started casually, “how nervous are you to play against Diana?”

Paige chuckled, shaking her head. “I’m not nervous are ut playing against Diana. I’m nervous about her kicking my ass after I block her.” Azzi laughed, the sound light and warm. “She probably will. I’ll be sitting courtside, watching her destroy you.”

“Thanks for the support babe,” Paige muttered, but she was smiling. Azzi always knew how to pull her out of her head when she got too wrapped up in her own thoughts.

“And just remember,” Azzi said, her tone a little more serious but still playful, “if you mess with the Aces, I will find you madison.”

Paige threw her a sideways glance. “Oh, I know. You won’t have to find me—I’ll be waiting for you.”

Azzi grinned. “You better be.”

———-

When they got to the restaurant, Paige made sure they sat in a booth—one where she could sit across from Azzi and just look at her. It wasn’t the most subtle thing in the world, but Paige didn’t care. Azzi caught on, of course, giving her a raised eyebrow.

“What? I just like looking at you,” Paige said with a shrug, grinning like she hadn’t just been caught.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the smile tugging at her lips betrayed her. “You’re ridiculous.”

They were mid-conversation when the waiter came over, a girl with a bright smile who seemed way too interested in Azzi. Paige noticed immediately, her smile dropping slightly as the woman complimented Azzi’s hair, her outfit, even her smile. Azzi, as usual, was completely oblivious.

“Thanks,” Azzi said, flashing the girl a casual smile, but Paige could see what was going on, and it annoyed her just enough to act on it.

Without a second thought, Paige reached across the table, placing her hand firmly over Azzi’s. The waiter glanced down, her smile faltering as she realized the situation, quickly taking their order and backing off with a stiff nod.

Azzi blinked, glancing down at their hands before looking back up at Paige with an amused expression. “Was that jealousy?” Paige scoffed. “No, that was me stopping her from embarrassing herself.”

Azzi grinned, squeezing Paige’s hand. “Uh-huh. Sure, Paige.”

After dinner, the laughter between them hadn’t stopped. Even as they waved goodbye to their server, still teasing each other about that moment of jealousy, the warmth between them stayed, making the whole night feel like a dream.

Azzi didn’t even bother pulling out her card when the check arrived. The second she started reaching for her wallet, Paige shot her a look, the kind of look that said, don’t even think about it. Azzi had seen that look so many times before and just grinned, leaning back in her seat as Paige effortlessly snatched the check, sliding her own card inside before Azzi even got a chance to protest.

“Every time?” Azzi asked, her tone half-amused, half-resigned.

Paige just shrugged, a cocky smile on her lips. “I like spoiling you. What can I say?”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the truth was she loved it too. It was a Paige thing—doing little things like this without asking, always showing she cared in her own way.

After they walked out of the restaurant, Paige naturally slipped her arm around Azzi’s waist like she always did. It wasn’t even a conscious move anymore; it was just how Paige was. Her hand rested comfortably against Azzi’s side, pulling her a little closer as they walked down the quiet street. Azzi leaned into her touch, feeling the warmth from Paige’s body and the comfort that always came with being this close.

Paige’s grip was gentle but firm, protective in a way that Azzi had always loved. It was something Paige did, even when she didn’t realize it—holding her close, like she was making sure Azzi knew she was always there, no matter what. It made Azzi smile, thinking about how many times Paige had held her like this over the years, whether after a tough game, during quiet moments between them, or just walking down the street like this.

They kept walking, laughing softly, the cool night air brushing against their faces, but neither of them seemed to notice. Everything felt easy between them, and Paige, in her usual way, kept the conversation light. Azzi could tell Paige was doing it on purpose, making her laugh to keep them from thinking too much about all the changes on the horizon.

They were about halfway to the car when Azzi suddenly slowed her pace, and Paige’s arm tightened slightly around her waist, glancing over with a curious look.

“You okay?” Paige asked, her voice casual but her gaze full of affection.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She stopped, turning toward Paige and stepping in closer. Paige’s arm never left her waist, holding her in place like she always did, her body warm against Azzi’s side. Azzi stared at Paige for a long moment, just taking her in—the messy hair, the soft smile, the way she was always so present, so hers.

“I love you,” Azzi said suddenly, her voice soft but full of all the emotion she had been holding in. It wasn’t planned—it just came out, like it had been sitting on her chest, waiting for the right moment.

Paige blinked, a smile tugging at her lips as her eyes softened. Her hand on Azzi’s waist tightened slightly, pulling her just a bit closer. “I love you too,” she whispered, her voice gentle, almost like she couldn’t believe how lucky she was to hear those words.

They both stood there for a second, letting the words hang between them. Then, without thinking, Azzi reached up and cupped Paige’s face, pulling her in for a kiss. Paige didn’t hesitate, meeting her halfway, her lips soft and warm as they kissed in the middle of the street, the world around them fading away.

Paige’s arm stayed wrapped securely around Azzi’s waist as their kiss deepened, and it felt like everything else just melted away. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was slow and full of love, the kind of kiss that felt like a promise.

Azzi could feel Paige’s heartbeat against her own, steady and strong, and she knew, in that moment, that no matter what happened, no matter how far apart they might be in the future, they’d always have this. They’d always have each other.

When they finally pulled back, Paige’s forehead rested against Azzi’s, their breaths mixing in the cool night air. Paige smiled, her hand gently caressing Azzi’s side. “You’re stuck with me, you know that?” she whispered, her voice teasing but full of love.

Azzi grinned, her thumb tracing along Paige’s cheek. “Forever.”

———-

yeaa…that was a lot and so darn cute 🥹

#pazzi #rosie fics #paige x azzi #azzi fudd #paige bueckers #rosie moots #rosie’s works 🎧⋆｡ °⋆

291 notes · View notes

dumbseee · 2 years ago

Text

starstruck.

F1 au/fic: in which, daniel attends the met gala and meet his ultimate crush, y/n l/n.

daniel ricciardo x actress!reader.

fc: jasmine tookes.

note: the timing is terrible

when you finally finished your interview with emma chamberlin, you saw in the corner of your eye a man looking at you, smiling from ear to ear. you didn’t recognise him but by his looks you knew he was someone important. you walked up to him and smiled back, his cheeks were red and he struggled to hold your gaze now that you were in front of him.

"hi! first time here?" you asked, waving at him, "i’m y/n l/n." he smiled again and scratched his neck. "is it that obvious? and i know, i’m kinda your biggest fan, daniel ricciardo it’s nice meeting you." he shook the hand you were giving him and gave it a gentle squeeze, you didn’t fail to notice how big his hand was and how it engulfed yours. you laughed and put your hand against your heart. "oh really? what is your favorite work of mine?" you asked him, genuinely curious. you didn’t know why but you were drawn to his energy. he looked up and thought for a second before answering. "there is too many, but i really liked you in the marauders, couldn’t think of a better actress to play dorcas." you laughed and thanked him. "to be honest, it’s not my best work." he looked at you like you just said the most out of pocket thing in the world. "excuse you? you were amazing! you perfectly portrayed dorcas and the way you showcase emotions just with your eyes is just incredible! seriously you’re one of the best actresses out there and i-…" his eyes were full of sparkles, like a kid talking about his favorite football team, he stopped himself when he saw you look at him with a huge smile. his cheeks were even redder and he couldn’t look at you anymore. "i talk to much, right? i’m so sorry, i do that a lot." you brushed him off and patted his shoulder. "daniel, you’re adorable." he smiled fondly but before he could speak again, your agent came to you. "we have to go y/n, donatella is waiting for you." you nodded and waved at daniel. "it was great meeting you daniel, i hope to see you again soon!" he watched you leave and couldn’t wipe off the smile on his face, he knew how good looking you were but seeing you and talking to you in real life was different. from that small interaction only, daniel knew how much he was infatuated with you.

liked by danielricciardo, daniel.jpg, blakelively and 5 681 972 others.

y/n: you guys know how much i love going to the met gala, but this year was even better. thank to anna for inviting me again this year, and i hope to see you again next year! huge thanks to donatella for customising this dress for me, you’re a legend.

donatella_versace: donatella VERSACE 💜

zendaya: i’m on the floooor girl

fan1: not daniel liking with all his accounts

fan2: the queen of the met

fan3: the dress looked so good!

fan4: y/n never misses

fan5: who’s daniel?

fan6: @.fan5 y/n’s future husband

liked by danielricciardo.

fan7: WTF DID DANIEL JUST LIKED THIS COMMZNT???2€:8:9

view all 57 899 comments.

liked by danielricciardo, daniel.jpg, selenagomez and 3 792 000 others.

y/n: we worked so hard on this one so i’m glad it’s finally out! the batman is out in all theatres so grab your pop corn and go watch it!

selenagomez: such an icon

fan1: y/n as catwoman is something i HAVE to witness with my own two eyes

fan2: y/n and robert pattinson flirting in imax is going to be the death of me

fan3: i hope daniel can fight because y/n and robert’s chemistry is insane

fan4: @.fan3 leave daniel out of this they’re not even friends

fan5: @.fan4 yes they’re not friends, they’re soulmates.

fan6: i understand daniel’s obsession tbh look at HER

fan7: y/n better get her emmy after that movie

view all 34 899 comments.

liked by danielricciardo, dualipa, taylorswift and 4 782 929 others.

y/n: appreciation post for my number one fan, danny ric. i suck at love confessions so just listen to daylight by my good sis taylor swift <3 (idk why he loves taking pictures of me but he’s ALWAYS pointing that camera at my face)

danielricciardo: that’s because you’re my favorite view, my love.

liked by y/n.

fan1: AWWWWWWW

fan2: daniel really went from watching her from afar bc he was too shy to talk to her to him being her bf

fan3: my favorite couple

fan4: don’t EVER breakup

taylorswift: you guys are so cute 💜

fan5: daniel is the perfect man for y/n tbh

view all 68 99 comments.

3K notes · View notes

iuspired · 11 months ago

Text

confessions - suna rintarou

about: DEFINITELY ooc but we don’t talk about that 😙 just you nd ur bsf sunarin catching up as per usual with tea to spill from the past 😝 we love to see it!

a/n: i wrote this awhile ago actually🫣 im fully done w finals………. idk what to think im so scared for the future. also trying diff formats and will actually work on my navi post during the summer so bare w me lol. anyways thank u for all the love on my last post mwahhh <3

“you know i used to have a crush on you?” you say, in between bites of your food.

you and your childhood best friend, suna rintarou, are at your promised monthly hangout, which ended up only being every couple months because your universities were far away from each other, so you both settled to meet up whenever your breaks overlapped. but it didn’t matter to you either way because you texted each other almost every other day. whether it was a tiktok link or an 8 ball.

“you used to what?” he replies, mouth agape as he sets his chopsticks down.

“i mean, it wasn’t a huge crush,” you say, … “maybe i was gaslighting myself but we were really close back then y’know?”

“oh? why didn’t you ask me out then?”

“mmm not sure. i guess..” you think about it. it was probably because starting high school, girls were all over him. it was also probably because those same girls would come up to you. passive aggressively ask if you were his girlfriend. you’d reply with a lighthearted laugh, “noo! we’re just close friends. he’s all yours if you want him.” maybe it was because he wouldn’t reciprocate any of the interest and love he received. he always replied, saying something along the lines of ‘oh i’m focusing on school” or just a simple, “i’m not interested”

it was mostly though, because you thought he’d reject you if you initiated something. and not wanting to ruin the relationship you had already built throughout the years, you suppress your feelings.

“you guess?”

“fear of rejection?” you laugh nervously.

“you think i would’ve rejected you?” he asks. he tilts his head, raising his eyebrows, giving you a look as if you were supposed to know.

“you had no interest for anyone so… i mean. i-” you stammer. fuck, why did i even bring this up?!

“well, believe it or not, i too, had a crush on my bestfriend.”

and just like that, you almost spit out your drink. “sorry, you- you liked me?”

“and that’s so surprising because?” he questions.

he really cannot wrap his head around this, huh. “you turned everyone and their mother down? mr. i’m too focused on school and i’m not interested? i could only assume that i was not wanted.”

“but did i ever directly say that to you?”

“no, but you wouldn’t need to. i listened when you rejected their advances, i can take a hint y’know.”

he sighed. “if you had asked me out back then, my answer would be different.”

“really?” you ask.

“really.”

you raise your eyebrows as you sip your drink.

“don’t believe me? you can try me now.” he smirks, flashing the smile you had fallen for back then, and you almost fold right then and there. though despite his confident demeanor, the slight rosy tint on his cheeks gives his nervousness away.

“oh? it’s almost as if you want me to ask you out.”

he playfully rolls his eyes. “okay, so maybe i do, but only if you want to..”

you do your best to suppress a smile as your cheeks turn into the same rosy color.

“here goes. ahem.. i uh-” your mind goes blank.

“wait so.. how do you ask someone out?”

“well, i’ve never asked someone out before because they always ask me” he winks.

you playfully roll your eyes.

“don’t overthink it. it’s just me right?”

you almost forgot. it’s just rin. the same rin who’s always there for you. but this is different.

“right.. i say this in almost all your birthday cards but you’re truly my rock in life, and i reaally want to be yours, and maybe more so.. may i be your girlfriend, suna rintarou?”

“well, if you insist i guess,” he shrugs.

“wooooww.. i see how it is” you say, crossing your arms teasingly.

“r-rin..” he catches you off-guard as he takes your hand in his.

“yeess?” he grins.

you remove your hands, immediately missing the warmth from his hands.

“first date jitters?” he chuckles.

“this is our first date?”

“technically, i guess, but-“

“no way this is our official first date. i’m wearing sweats!” you exclaim, looking down at what you’re wearing.

“i don’t see an issue, you always look pretty in anything you wear.”

“th- thanks,” you blurt out. well that’s new.

but it’s something you could deeefinitely get used to.

#suna rintaro x y/n #suna drabble #suna rintaro fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #suna fluff #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintarou #can u tell i love him

359 notes · View notes

darkcircles4lyfe · 9 months ago

Text

I've given it some thought--

Now, if you've read any of my posts and you've read 430, you know there are a lot of ways it falls short of what I wanted. On the other hand, I can respect an open ending, one where we are allowed and encouraged to dream. All things considered, I'm not satisfied or disappointed, but a secret third thing... bear with me.

For a lot of storylines, I can fill in the blanks how I want.

I'm heartbroken over Himiko's fate, but there's no denying that the lack of camera footage leaves open the possibility of her simply disappearing. Perhaps she is waiting in hiding for the world to change, just like Lady Nagant.

Dr. Yoshida is described as someone who can cure the incurable. That may be referring to Katsuki, but the doctor himself said it's a complete mystery how he survived, all Katsuki's own doing. Maybe he cured someone else in those 8 years... someone like Touya?

Honestly I got nothing on Tenko but who knows. Who knows! Something something OFA connection. Izuku having vestige visions. Idk.

As for the manner in which society is changing, I'm drawn to Shouji's speech: "I'm dedicating the honor to those who joined the uprising eight years ago. All I've done is stand atop the resolve that they demonstrated to the world, nothing more." That at least tells me his earlier judgment of the other heteromorphs "setting them back" was a narrow point of view Shouji was supposed to grow out of, rather than a way of Horikoshi trying to criticize revolutionaries. In general, just because a character says something doesn't mean we're supposed to take it as gospel. That's lit crit 101, people.

Then there's Izuku. Once again I am feeling this pretty close to home. I keep coming back to the fact that the class is 24/25 now and I'm 25, man. On top of that, anyone else who was 14/15 ten years ago when the manga started gets to feel like we've all grown up together. I wanted catharsis for Izuku's trauma so badly. I wanted words. But I can't deny that the way Izuku is shown attempting to make the best of things and be content with a humbler life resonates with me, as painful as it is, as much as I know deep down he's kidding himself. It doesn't surprise me that he kept his walls up all this time and continued to shun his "selfishness."

I almost feel like there's an all-encompassing narrative theme being expressed here, in the fact that Izuku was trying to push past his pain and focus on the next generation, but surprise, his story's not over yet. I think the implied message there is that more can be done in the here and now, and maybe other stories that seem to be over, aren't.

With these things in mind, I can take the ending in stride, even if this is all the more we get from Horikoshi. However. There's one thing that is jolting me out of my peace every time I start to get comfortable here. It's actually related to the storyline that got the most closure.

I've seen a lot of fellow bkdk enjoyers calling their conclusion the best part of the ending, and I agree with that. They got a truly full circle moment, and a way of communicating to the reader that they're together, they have their forever, in a way that is personal to them. It's not "canon" in the way a kiss or a confession is, but I've said it before--this makes sense for them. And Horikoshi also did something legitimately interesting and groundbreaking by not making Ochako confess, not showing her future being tied to the main character as a love interest.

No, the thing that's bugging me is a seemingly small detail: why does Izuku and Katsuki holding hands at the end, of all things, have to be implied? Lots of things about 430 make sense in the context of the interview Horikoshi recently gave where he expressed being content with what he has drawn, and what he has left to the imagination. But not this. You can't convince me he didn't want to draw this. It's a motherfucking story about hands. This is the one thing I was 110% certain would happen. It's been teased for forever. Katsuki clearly wanted it so bad. So many other characters got to hold Izuku's hand in-frame. What the hell. Why.

Idk. I will be thinking about it for the foreseeable future.

213 notes · View notes

stargazing-imagines · 26 days ago

Text

Goodbyes aren’t forever — Conrad Fisher x Fem!Reader

Summary: you recently have gotten into the Juliard Performing arts academy, and everyone is excited for you except your boyfriend Conrad who feels like he is already losing you

Warnings: mentions of selfishness, that’s about it, if there is anything else let me know!

Fandom: the summer I turned pretty

Requested: no

A/n: my first tsitp fanfic after a long time, enjoy!

In your hand was an envelope to the most prestigious performing arts academy in New York. A school that has been your dream school ever since you were just 10 years old.

“Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Asked your mother as she was sitting on the bed beside you, you looked at your mother and back at the envelope.

“I can’t open it.” You said, eyes not leaving the envelope “I have been preparing for this moment ever since I was 10 years old.”

When you were nine, you signed up for your very first dance class. You were going into a class as a newbie in a room of 5 experienced dancers, but who would have thought that with hard work and determination, that you would be one of the best dancers in the world, let alone in your hometown; taking home 5 championships, and winning 8 titles, and one scholarship… juliard school of performing arts

“Honey, there is no doubt in the world that you will not get in.” Said your mother “now open it before I open it for you.”

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before opening your eyes. You opened the envelope, eyes scanning the envelope, eyes widening.

“I got in!” You said to your mother, eyes wide as you looked at her “I’m going to Juliard this fall!”

“That’s great honey,” said your mother as she hugged you tightly “you deserve it.”

You smiled down at your entrance letter, smiling wide.

“I have to tell Conrad about this.” You said as you picked up your phone

“Wait… what about brown?” Asked your mother as she stopped you “I thought you and him were going to go to brown together.”

“I mean, yeah we were.” You said “I even looked into their dance program, but this will get my foot into the door of so many great opportunities.” You said “I can’t throw it away.”

“Well why don’t we wait till we are in cousins to tell him?” Asked your mother “I think it would be best to tell him something like this in person.” “Even if it means breaking his heart.”

Your mother was right, this isn’t something to talk about over the phone. A million thoughts were running through your head, but this was your future. A future that you have been dreaming about since you were a little girl. You weren’t going to let anyone ruin it even if it means to be selfish.

“There she is.” Said Susannah as she gave you a hug “how did the dance season go? I’m sorry we weren’t able to come to your showcase.”

You weren’t bothered by this, it was for the best because everyone was raving about how you got into Juliard, that you didn’t want Conrad to hear it from a bunch of teen dancers and your dance teachers.

“It’s fine.” You said, you looked around “is Conrad around by any chance?” You asked, you really wanted to tell him the news and it couldn’t wait till the end of the summer.

“I think he went out surfing, but the others are in the house if you want to go see what they’re up to.”

You smiled and nodded before walking away

“Hey y/n!” Said Jeremiah as he greeted you at the door “what’s that in your hand?”

You looked down at your hand, you were still holding the entrance letter from Juliard, you quickly shoved it behind your back

“Oh this. Is. Nothing.” You said brushing it off, hoping he wouldn’t pester you more about it

“It looks like something.” Said Jeremiah as he tried to take it from your grasps

“Jere leave her alone.” Said belly as she walked down the stairs “the girl just got here.”

“She’s hiding something.” Said Jeremiah “just let me read it.”

“Fine, you want to know what I’m hiding?” You asked “I going to Juliard in the fall.”

“You’re not going to brown?” Said a voice, your eyes widen as you realized that the cat was out of the bag

“Connie, I can explain.”

“I didn’t want to tell you like this.” You said as you tried to catch up with him, you grabbed onto his arm turning him around to face you

“I just want to be left alone.”

“Look, I know that you aren’t happy with the circumstances, but Juliard has a great dance program.”

“Why don’t you just go to brown and do it?” Asked Conrad “look, I want to be happy for you, it’s just…”

“It’s just what?” You asked

“I want you here… in cousins… at brown… with me.” Said Conrad “I don’t think it can handle you being so far away from me.”

“Look, I’ll always come back.” You said “it’s not like I’m moving to New York.”

“Well you might eventually.” Said Conrad “what if you find some writer nerd at Juliard that you just leave me behind.”

“You think I’m going to forget you?” You asked, you scoffed “I can never forget you.”

“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me… ever since we were kids.”

“You won’t leave me?”

“I won’t ever leave you…” you said “not even for a handsome writer.” You joked

“That wasn’t funny.” Said Conrad with a straight face

“I’m just kidding.” You said “writers aren’t my type.”

“Oh yeah, then what is your type?”

“I’m looking at him.” You said as you playfully slapped him on his arm

You and Conrad laughed, walking hand in hand back to the summer house.

Tsitp masterlist

#the summer i turned pretty #tsitp #conrad fisher x you #conrad x reader #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher imagine #tsitp imagine #tsitp conrad #the summer i turned pretty imagine

103 notes · View notes

tired-truffle · 5 months ago

Text

A Night to Remember

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 2.8k

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt (if anyone else would like to be tagged with future updates let me know!)

"It's obvious that something about her lights a fire in him. He looks alive when she's in his arms. Human like I've never seen him before. Like he's in love. And not only love, but beyond salvation." - Kenji Kishimoto

A/N: Viktor's POV from the dance in chapter 8 of the main fic: Můj Miláček.

Masterlist

He’d already regretted coming to this ridiculous party and it hadn’t been more than a handful of minutes. Why he’d agreed to it he didn’t know - or at least, he pretended not to, unwilling to admit just how much your opinion swayed him. And where were you? Jayce had insisted Viktor arrive with him, as partners in Hextech, but had been quickly swept away by investors and Viktor had been left to mingle with people he did not have the energy to care about. Of course, there had been Miss Young, but he’d ruined that when immediately after greeting her, he’d inquired about your whereabouts. Perhaps he should have had a tad more tact, but the bright lights, loud music, and inane chatter had frayed his patience.

And all he wanted was to be with you.

He’d ended up excusing himself to the balcony, breathing deeply in the cool night air. But even that lacked the joy it once did, breath no longer coming as easy to him as it once did. He’d seen the simmering worry in your eyes, and despite years of preparing for it, he couldn’t help the terror that churned in his gut at the thought of leaving the world - not only before he’d been able to leave behind a proper legacy, but also of leaving you.

How could he profess his love when he was no closer to curing his illness? It grated at his lungs, made his joints creak and ache more than they already did. Every day he got worse, and still, you shone like a beacon of hope in the dark. You believed he could beat it, figure out a solution, but time was running short, and there was so much he still wanted to do with you, show you, tell you. It wasn’t fair, that he loved you with such a burning ache, but he couldn’t get the words he needed to say past his lips, couldn’t stop his limbs from freezing up every time he thought of pulling you into a searing kiss.

Would you forgive him or condemn him for keeping it from you? And if he told you now, would you hate him for waiting until the bitter end, pulling the rug out from underneath a love that had only just begun?

“Penny for your thoughts?” As if his dwelling had summoned you, your voice broke through his spiralling imagination.

He turned, a retort poised on his lips, but it sailed away on the cool night breeze when his gaze fell upon you.

You were…radiant, a goddess in billowing sheer curtains, the light from the party casting a golden halo around your head. Your gown flattered every curve, the light blue colour complimenting your natural complexion and bringing out the colour of your eyes - eyes he often found himself thinking of, longing to stare into for hours on end. The silver of your layered necklace had his eyes following the tantalizing column of your neck, before darting to your wrist, and finding immense satisfaction to see the bracelet he’d gifted you all those years ago lying there - as it always did.

When he brought his gaze back up to meet yours, realizing he’d gone longer than was socially acceptable without responding to your inquiry, the light blush on your cheeks did not go unnoticed.

“I’ve never heard of a penny, so how am I to know if it is worth my thoughts?” He leaned his elbows against the balcony railing, propping himself up in an attempt to look casual, and not like how he truly felt; undone by your beauty.

Your eyes widened, your mouth forming into a small ‘O’. You pushed yourself off the doorframe, slowly making your way over to him as you mulled over his question.

“I think it’s a form of currency from my world. It’s a common expression,” you said, your brow still furrowed as you seemed to reach for the memory attached to the saying. You pursed your lips, eyes downcast as it slipped from your grasp. It never ceased to frustrate you how little you could remember from your home world, and while Viktor couldn’t help you retrieve your memories, he could help distract you from the pain of your loss.

Viktor scoffed, tilting his head to the side and pulling your attention back to him. “Then it’s of no use, seeing as I can’t be bought.”

You giggled as you stopped before him, a sound that never failed to ease the coil around Viktor’s heart. “Not one for dancing either, it seems,” you teased, your smile wide and gorgeous, as it always was, but there was something so captivating when it was directed only to him.

He enjoyed this, the banter, the push and pull, and he was more than willing to indulge after a rather burdensome evening. “It’s not really my style. I am, however, very good at breakdancing.”

You smiled wider, and he couldn’t help but return it, just a fraction.

“You’ll have to show me your moves one day.”

He would love to show you ‘his moves’ though preferably not with dancing.

“Only if you close your eyes and promise no peaking.”

“Oh, I pinky promise.” He did not, by any stretch of the term, believe you.

“Dancing doesn’t have to be a series of crazy moves, you know.”

You poked his chest, barely more than a tap, but he had to resist the urge to catch your wrist and pull you against him. “Sometimes it’s just swaying, that’s all I know how to do anyways. If dancing was a thing in my world I don’t remember any of the steps.”

It was a shame, Viktor thought you’d make a beautiful dancer, if you learned the steps. Though, he also thought you could make anything beautiful, just because it was you, even if it was messy and uncoordinated. But he couldn’t let you know this, how deeply his affection ran for you. Though as his eyes traced the outline of your lips for what must have been the thousandth time, he couldn’t entirely recall why.

“Eh, the cane tends to get in the way, and it’s difficult without it.” Excuses, plain and simple. What was the point in having a disability if he didn’t get to have at least some perks - like excusing himself from dancing in a crowded room with people he didn’t much care for. No one questioned the guy with a cane on why he didn’t want to dance. Except for you, that was.

“Could you lean on me? Put your weight on my shoulders and I’ll hold you up at the waist.”

He…had not expected you to offer that. Perhaps he took too long to answer, still trying to figure out if he’d heard you correctly, as you fidgeted beneath the intensity of his stare.

“I was doing a bunch of push-ups before I got here.” You rubbed your bracelet over your wrist, a motion to calm that he doubted you even noticed. “I can keep you steady and upright. A two-for-one deal.”

“So you were preemptively planning to ask me to dance?” He couldn’t help himself, not when it made your blush deeper - he loved the colour it added to your cheeks, making you look so…alive.

“Are you going to keep asking questions, or are we going to do this?”

But he couldn’t push you too far, at some point he’d have to give in or he’d chase you away, and that was the last thing he wanted. “I suppose I could give it a try.” He straightened, then added, “As a test, for science of course.”

“Of course.” You tried to stifle your laughter, but he wished you wouldn’t. “Anything for the sake of science.”

“You get it.”

It wasn’t that Viktor was a stranger to romantic pursuits, he knew he could be a charming man when he wanted to be. But with you, it was different. You stirred something within him that he couldn’t fully explain. So when faced with the prospect of doing something explicitly romantic with you, he found himself at a loss for how to begin. Luckily, when he thought he might falter, you gracefully took the lead, offering your hand as a bridge between the two of you.

“If you stand there like a statue, we’re never going to be able to dance,” you said, smiling softly.

With a deep sigh, he rolled his shoulders back and accepted your outstretched hand. He didn’t necessarily need to lean on you, but with the way his knee had been acting up lately, he would likely regret it later if he didn’t - and you had offered after all. He wreathed his arms around your shoulders and you reciprocated, wrapping your arms around his waist, stepping forward to allow your head to rest on his shoulder.

Could you feel the back-brace through his clothes? It seemed likely, though he doubted you’d comment on it, much too polite, even if your curiosity was piqued.

Viktor inhaled deeply, your scent enveloping him like a warm embrace. It was a heady mix of florals and fresh laundry, comforting and clean. Your hair tickled his chin, soft strands that smelled of your citrus shampoo. He fought the urge to bury his nose in it, to breathe you in completely.

Your hands on his waist were firm yet gentle, supporting him without making him feel weak. He appreciated how perfectly you fit against him, like two pieces of a long-lost puzzle finally reunited.

“That’s not so bad, now is it,” you teased, your voice hoarse and sending a jolt through his heart.

He laughed, louder than he would have had you been around others, but it was just the two of you on your private balcony, and he found himself letting go of his worries. “No, it’s not so bad, but I do believe that we are supposed to be opposite in terms of arm placements.”

You huffed a sharp breath. “I never much cared for gender roles, I’ll dance however I please.”

Ah, there was his willful Miláček, how he loved it when that side of you came out.

He laughed again, tightening his arms and finding his fingers had started playing with the ends of your hair without his approval - and he allowed them to continue. “I am glad to hear it.”

As the music from the party drifted out onto the balcony, Viktor swayed gently with you, his body moving of its own accord. He marvelled at how easy it felt, how natural, to hold you close like this. Your warmth seeped into him, chasing away the ever-present chill that seemed to linger in his bones these days.

Viktor's mind, usually a whirlwind of calculations and theories, grew quiet. For once, he wasn't thinking about his next experiment or the looming deadline of his illness. Instead, he found himself lost in the small details of this moment: the way your fingers curled slightly against his back, the soft puff of your breath against his neck, the rise and fall of your chest against his.

As the music began to wind down, a bittersweet ache bloomed in his stomach. He wanted to freeze this moment, to live in it forever. Here, with you in his arms, he felt whole in a way he never had before.

He thought of all the times he'd pushed you away, afraid of burdening you with his feelings, his illness. Now, as the last notes of the song faded away, he wondered if he'd been a fool. Perhaps it wasn't too late. Perhaps there was still time to tell you, to show you how deeply he cared.

But as the silence stretched between them, broken only by the muffled sounds of the party inside, Viktor felt his courage waver. What if he was wrong? What if telling you changed everything, ruined the easy companionship you shared? Did you want to love a dying man? He tightened his arms around you, just a fraction, savouring those last moments before reality intruded once more.

When you stepped back, he had to stop himself from reaching for you and pulling you back into his arms - where he yearned to have you at all times. But, whether accidental or purposeful, you stopped short, leaving less than an inch of space between you. Your lips parted as your eyes met, your breaths mingling. His hand drifted to your cheek, the other remaining on your shoulder for support - though not entirely due to his leg, but rather from the lightheadedness that came from your close proximity.

Your eyes darted to his lips and his heart beat in his throat. He hadn’t meant for this to happen, but all he wanted was to close the remaining distance and kiss you until he could no longer breathe. It would be so easy, you were standing right there, held so close, so open and—

A series of sharp popping noises to his right had you turning away from him with a gasp, eyes wide with concern. He took a minute to collect himself, but his eyes fluttered closed as your grip on his waist tightened.

He cleared his throat, stepping back and out of your grasp. He couldn’t think straight with you holding him like that, and with the moment interrupted, he needed space - even if he didn’t want it. With that space, he was finally able to focus on the source of the popping. Gorgeous wine-red roses bloomed on the balcony railing, and a trailing vine wound its way around them, as if purposefully placed for added beauty. It was stunning, but he found himself more captivated by the light blush that had returned to your cheeks.

He could see the flash of disappointment cross your face as you realized that he’d stepped back, but you were quick to cover it with a nervous giggle and a quietly muttered, “Oops.”

“Thank you for the dance, Milá,” he said, chuckling to try to put your nerves at ease. He nodded towards the balcony railing. “And the flowers.”

You smiled with sheepish contrition. “Someone’s going to be very confused when they clean up.”

“I’m sure they cleaned much worse.”

You giggled and the musical sound had his stomach fluttering. Gods, the things you did to him.

“I’m going to head back in, I should probably make more of an appearance,” you said, shuffling your feet. “But I’d love to see you back in there.”

Viktor leaned back against the railing, a smirk slanted across his lips. “Potentially. The refreshments were rather delicious, I will have to go back for more.”

A lie, he hadn’t a clue what the refreshments were like, he hadn’t accepted a single one - but the joke was worth it to get you to laugh again. You spun around, ready to rejoin the party and leave him to his thoughts once more. But his mouth moved of its own accord.

“Wait,” he called, and when you turned back, the light from inside once again lit up around your head like a halo. Divine and radiant and— “You look beautiful tonight, Miláček.”

You blushed, the red running down your neck and disappearing into your gown. Your hands twisted together, anxious in your attempt to accept the compliment with grace.

“Thank you, Viktor.” You ducked your head, softening your response. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Though you’d tried to hide your cringe, he saw it. His beautiful, terribly awkward, Miláček. He wouldn’t have you any other way.

With one more deeply bashful glance, you all but fled back into the party, disappearing into the throngs of people.

He turned back to the balcony, running his fingers over the soft petals of the roses you'd inadvertently conjured. The night air felt colder now without your warmth.

His mind replayed every moment of your dance, analyzing each touch, each look, each word. Had he imagined the longing in your eyes? The way you'd leaned into him, as if you never wanted to let go?

He sighed, his breath visible in the cool night air. The city of Piltover sprawled out before him, a glittering tapestry of lights and innovation. Normally, the sight would fill him with excitement, ideas for new inventions sparking in his mind. But tonight, all he could think about was you.

Viktor's fingers absently traced the outline of his cane. He thought of how easily you'd offered to support him, how natural it had felt to lean on you. You never made him feel weak or broken, even on his worst days.

The roses caught his eye again, their deep red colour and full petals standing out against the pale stone railing. They were beautiful, unexpected, just like you. Viktor plucked one carefully, mindful of the thorns. He tucked it into his breast pocket, a secret reminder of this night, of you.

He was in too deep, too attached to do anything but love you. And one day, once he figured out how to cure his illness, he would tell you how he felt.

Next One-Shot

A/N: In these trying times, may I present this?

#angst with a happy ending #slow burn #fluff #falling in love #Viktor POV #viktor x you #viktor x reader #arcane viktor #arcane fic

99 notes · View notes