#love me a good melodrama | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

Tumblr was created by web developers David Karp and Marco Arment.

#love me a good melodrama

crookedfandomquill · 3 months

Text

"Hotel King" Rewatch: Episode 1

Let’s address the elephant in the room: if I had a dollar for every time Lee Dong Wook and Lee Da Hae played love interests in a fake-out incest plotline…

Tragic backstories are like blood in the water and I am a hungry-ass shark

I’m sorry but his name being Jayden will never not be funny to me. I am from the American South and I know multiple Jaydens, all of whom are polo-wearing white boys ages 5 to 26 whose moms sell knock-off essential oils out of the backs of their minivans. I can’t take the name seriously in this context

“Is this heaven?” Oh honey no it really isn’t

Ah and the gaslighting begins. I’m remembering now that the main character in this drama is one of the more traumatized ones I’ve come across

Mmm yeah this is a good look for LDW. Not my absolute favorite (*cough* Soo Yeol *cough*) but objectively spiffy nonetheless

You know what, that party was so painfully lame that Chairman Ah saved it by falling to his death in the middle of it

Say what you will about the balls-to-the-wall plots of melodramas, but more often than not they deliver really incredible character writing. 30 minutes into the show you already know so much about Jae Won: he’s cold and full of anger, but he’s also idealistic and a bit naive (he genuinely thought Chairman Ah would acknowledge him and beg forgiveness if he just confronted him). He’s competent and driven but also completely beholden to his abusive father figure. He’s a man of few words and fewer platitudes, and the only thing sharper than the lines of his suit is his business acumen. Going back through the journey of getting to know the characters is my favorite part of any rewatch

Meanwhile, Mo Ne be sneakin’ (badly)

Gosh, imagine your beloved father has died and you make your grand return to the country by crab-walking in public, committing widespread property damage, and braining somebody with a large frozen fish

Oh look, it’s the manager who CARRIES A HORSE WHIP??? Look, she knows her aesthetic and she’s rocking it. And no patience for guests creeping on the maids, I can’t not stan

Alright, but the fact that our lead couple starts out with him thinking she’s his secret half-sister/rival for his inheritance, and her thinking he killed her dad? It’s the messed up, angsty, weird, character-driven stuff that dreams are made of (mine, at least)

Mo Ne really said “I want lots of money and zero responsibility” and let me tell you I felt that in my broke 20-something soul

Very strong soundtrack on this drama tbh, even if it does get repetitive after a while

Overall rewatch thoughts: I’m a ho for intrigue and this drama has so much of it, no wonder I binged the whole thing in about two days the first time around. The acting is as good as I remembered it, the secondary characters are so promising just from the first episode, and the vice chairman really makes my skin crawl. Knowing all the insane twists and turns the story takes just makes the rewatch extra fun. Safe to say that I have been thoroughly dragged back into Hotel King!

#hotel king #kdrama #lee dong wook #rewatch #love me a good melodrama #lee da hae

9 notes · View notes

loseyoutoloveme · 6 months

Text

The universe is shifting and it's all for me

I Love Me After You, Mitski / There It Goes, Maisie Peters / Hard Feelings/Loveless, Lorde / Begin Again, Taylor Swift / Writer In The Dark, Lorde / There It Goes, Maisie Peters / I Love Me After You, Mitski

#mitski #lorde #taylor swift #maisie peters #begin again #i love me after you #melodrama #the land is inhospitable and so are we #the good witch #web weaving #this is random and won't get notes but god i'm THINKING

347 notes · View notes

itwoodbeprefect · 3 days

Text

stoic illiterate unwilling assassin deeply in love with unfailingly kind rich sad gay man almost stabs his crush's brother because the brother cares so much and so genuinely for the gay man that he searched assassin's room out of worry and found knives and a mysterious letter before being interrupted by the assassin who then does not want to show him the letter which seems incredibly suspicious, only for a later scene (after the gay man interrupts them and thus stops any escalation from happening) to quietly reveal that the very sus letter in possession of this illiterate assassin is not in fact a sign he's lying about being illiterate.... it's just two pages of him practicing the gay man's name over and over in neatly spaced lines...... a reveal which he was going to STAB a man over because he doesn't know that the gay man's brother knows the man is gay and loves him with his whole heart and would never ever do anything to hurt him........ i will never get over this, how could i ever get over this, everything else ever is going to be downhill from here

#yeah HI. if you are WONDERING. i am still being absolutely destroyed. utterly torn to pieces. smashed into a million happy little bits. by #to sir with love #it's not even the romance. though the romance is excellent and only getting better (and also hilarious. THE CHONBURI SCENES???)#but the siblings!!!! these brothers!!!!! everything in the world is trying to turn them against each other and every time i hold my breath #and every time!! without fail!!!! without hesitation even!!!!!! they go no. i love him and i trust him and he would never hurt me or i him.#and i CANNOT TELL YOU. how hard that's fucking me up. in the best of ways #it would be SO easy in a hiiiigh drama messy family show like this to go the easy route and just have the two sides of the family #actually fully at war with each other. or to have one of these brothers betray the other / let some misunderstanding fester #and 🤞🤞🤞 because i still have a good deal of show to go but so far. oh my goddddd. they choose each other. they choose each other always #anyway. if anyone reads this and is looking for some very high quality actually good soap melodrama. to sir with love is free on youtube

39 notes · View notes

sollucets · 6 months

Text

i am genuinely so violently excited abt that cheesy vampire show. i cannot overstate the way joss bridal carrying gawin makes me feel. my thoughts are so full

#gawin!!!!!!! my fucking GUY #i basically dont even care if its good :’)#this is my trash. its for me #i have Always loved vampire melodrama and i love it even more when the main special dude #is a 6’1 basketball player with gorgeous eyelashes #yes. correct. perfect #rowan chatter

24 notes · View notes

brokenrealitylooper · 2 months

Text

I find any time I consider a potential new story, I get hung up on Weiss and Roman.

Considering a new Evangelion fic focused on Asuka Langley Sohryu? Nope, now I'm wondering about Weiss Schnee in the plot.

I just... I adored Asuka when I was growing up. Evangelion probably left the biggest mark, especially the hundreds of fanfics I read with her in them. Eva was my first foray into fic writing, and I wrote dozens of drabbles and half a dozen false starts into long fic. Almost all of them focused on Asuka; that broken but brave girl, daring to stand up and fight back, struggling to reach out.

But then almost a decade ago I fell into RWBY, and while I liked Weiss well enough at first, it wasn't until later seasons--and a dozen fanfics consumed--that I decided I loved her too. Much like Asuka, she's this stubborn gal who won't take being snubbed and loudly demands respect, while just as stubbornly doing her best to earn that respect; who changes only because of the people she cares about.

And after recklessly deciding to start what eventually became Tarnished Silver--a story so much more than I had thought it would be, both in length and importance to me--I find the same happened with Weiss as happened with Asuka...

...They are the sum of the "them" from all the stories I've consumed and written. Both the sum of all they are in canon, combined with the sum of all they become in fanfic. My versions of them aren't canon; couldn't be canon, because of what they've chosen being different from what we saw them choose in canon.

All that to say--returning to my opening sentence--that I've found Weiss and Roman, from Tarnished Silver, to be the... "standard", if you will, that I use to judge new stories.

I think what it means is I must have more to tell involving them, and we see that in the drabbles and snippets I post here of them.

So while I may sometimes post something about Asuka, I'll likely be stuck on Weiss for a while. Especially Weiss Schnee-Torchwick, that poor woman who lost her best friend, only to years later find another in her eventual husband Roman.

I just... wanted to share that, I suppose. I'm not in love with Weiss--nor was I with Asuka, who I happily paired with Shinji or Touji (my fav of the two boys to pair her with)--but I do love them.

I think we all love our fav characters, to some degree. Why else would some of them be our favorites?

#RWBY #neon genesis evangelion #evangelion #author's ramblings #I suppose I also want to encourage interactions #I want to see other people's thoughts on my Weiss and her story in Tarnished Silver #Do you love her? Do you feel for her?#...I suppose I'm also ask in a melodrama I enjoy and cringe at much to my amusement:#Weiss on her death bed: Did I do good? Are you proud of me?#Sorry I just enjoy angst so long as I get my happy ending too

2 notes · View notes

fumblingmusings · 9 months

Text

Not me finally reading Lovely As You Are and thoroughly enjoying every romantic conversation and kiss and dream like tone and getting to the final chapter and thoroughly enjoying Alfred knocking Ivan the fuck out and being like vindication for Ludwig fuck yeah only to end the fic and be genuinely hollowed out like a melon scoop because

Hi, I'm Abbie and I never learned to fuckin read

It is well and truly my

moment.

Anyway, 10 out 10 fic to blast through at 11pm. Just... read the tags, yeah? It is quite heavy.

#the author writes like hemmingway in that the dialogue has little markers or tags and everyone speaks as of dreaming and #ever so slightly insane #which i love in fics #like yes give me the melodrama give me the romantic monologues give me arthur musing how he would mourn alfred if he died in a fight whilst #alfred listens and indulges and holds him and bounces him around in a swimming pool like R U KIDDING ME #these guys are all mad good for them love a mad whirlwind romance im sure it will end GReaT 😭😭😭😭#i should start a tag #midnight fanfic musings for when I'm sleep deprived and read something that made me go brrrrrrrrrr #op

5 notes · View notes

rustchild · 2 years

Text

i am really just sitting here hoping and praying that mjf and cm punk will be the years-long career-defining intense personal homoerotic blood feud i have been looking to aew to deliver since day 1

#wrasslin #they just had mjf give his own version of cm punk's most famous promo and like... the parallels #the foil dynamic #the ghosts of the past #love aew but it hasn't given me anything shield breakup levels of ongoing intense melodrama and i miss that #i need a good nemesis

13 notes · View notes

inkskinned · 1 month

Text

we were drunk off mezcal and my dog had his paws crossed like he was fancy and we were giggling about it and i told you that with the sun coming back i can feel my fingers again and you grabbed my wrist and jokingly shook my limp hands while saying i have you i got you and i wanted to tell you i love you in that moment but it's actually just that it's spring and love actually seems like something that i can afford once in a while so long as i'm not overwhelmed by the crushing weight of having to do my laundry

i don't get so sad on sundays anymore and part of that is you but also part of it is that i've been watching a bird melodrama in the tree outside my window - first the robins had the run of it, then the doves. most recently a family of sparrows came through. the sky was pink today like a kiss, and i felt the pastel wrap in a warm piebald snake around my chest and hum herself into my bones

thank god for every person that forgives me for the depressive spirals i go on every winter without-fail like i swear there are absolutes in this world and it's stuff like. stoats go white in winter. the sun comes over the east. when it gets cold all parts of my soul go numb and the light can't pass through my iris without a tattoo gun. how many times can i tell a friend i'm sorry i wasn't talking to you, i truly wasn't talking to anyone

thank god i can feel my skin right now and you hold my weak little hand in your hand and then you flip it over so you can read my palm and you're smiling while you run fingertips over lines and read out my fate like it says here you like a good grillcheese sandwich and admit it you make salads by buying the pre-made spring mix and i have all your astrology shit memorized and i read your horoscope first when i'm checking my own even-though-i-don't-believe-in-it (but just in case) and i want to kiss you just to watch the blush spread in a tulip from under your freckles in that way it does, how you pull back and wrinkle your nose in laughter

thank god but today for the first time in a month i finally texted my friends back and actually made plans to hang out (how's that! barring disaster!) and i let my dog put his big muddy paws on my nice sweater and yeah actually when it's bad i always think i can't do that again. i can't crawl back up that mountain

but the sun touched me on the face this morning and we had a nice long talk about it and i said i gotta go the long way again huh and she nodded and shook back her solarflare hair and looked over to her moon girlfriend and she said you can do it. better things on the horizon.

#seasonal affective disorder #this one for my #sad #girlies #writeblr

1K notes · View notes

nereidprinc3ss · 20 days

Text

come on home

in which the only person who can comfort you after your breakup with spencer reid, is spencer reid

inspired by the song "summer's end" by the artist currently known as phoebe bridgers

wc 2857

warnings: gn!reader (correct me if im wrong), minor mommy issues, angst, happy ending

a/n: thank you to the person who requested this:) u r an angel and I listened to this song the whole time i wrote (if you haven't heard, listen!!) i sincerely hope you enjoy, i like this one a lot<3

She hung up on you.

Forty-seven minutes of being insulted and berated after you’d called her looking for comfort, and you put up with every single cruel word—just for your mother to hang up on you. And it’s exactly the kind of thing she’d do, so you shouldn’t be surprised. An ache, you’d expect—but it shouldn’t sting like this. You thought you knew better.

Now you’re in a ball on your couch, clutching your phone to your chest and crying. There’s no point hiding it. Your roommate is out with her girlfriend for the evening—which is too bad because even though you feel like being alone, you’re sure that’s the wrong call. Your other friends are out having fun tonight, too. They’d even invited you, but you turned them down. Look where that had gotten you. Obviously, your mother is not the person you’re about to run to for comfort, either.

You try to pretend, while you’re thinking of all these people who have ever cared for you, that Spencer Reid isn’t on your mind at all. You try to pretend like you don’t care that the person who loved you until you believed you actually deserved it is a contact going stale deep in the bowels of your text cache. With bleary eyes you scroll down, looking for your conversation where it gathers dust—the end of your relationship was a mutual decision, and you’re friendly, but you haven’t texted in a few weeks. Probably because every time the conversation starts to feel a little too easy, or the phone call lasts a little too long, that aching void in your chest gets worse and worse. Like pain in a phantom limb, you become acutely aware of what you do not have and how much it hurts.

So blame it on the tears, or the mind-muddling melodrama of your relationship with your mother, blame it on anything but the truth—when your thumb drops on that call button like the plunger on a syringe, you don’t regret it.

What you’re not expecting is for him to answer after the first ring.

“Hi,” you say with a snuffle before Spencer can get a word in. There’s a brief interlude, in which you pick at your nails, comfortable to just sit in silence if that’s what he wants. As long as he’s there.

“Hi.” Hearing his voice instantly melts a bit of the weight you hadn’t realized you were carrying. Another pause, for which you remain silent, because you can feel him formulating a question—and you’d like to hear him speak again. “...am I allowed to ask if you’re okay?”

Your lips purse and twist to the side, pained and comforted by how easily he can tell that you’re distraught. One word across a tinny connection, and he knows.

“No. Yes. I mean... I guess that’s why I called you. But you don’t have to ask me about it.” You sniff again and take a deep breath. “How was your day? What state are you in?”

“I’m in the district,” he answers after a moment, easing into a casualness that he likely doesn’t feel for your sake. Wind crunches through the speaker. He probably just got out of work. “My day was... it was good. I got to talk about my job to a bunch of elementary schoolers, which is always a confidence boost.”

You chuckle, still laying on your side on the couch and watching storm clouds gathering outside.

“Nice, nice. What else?”

“Let’s see... I forgot lunch, so I had three oranges, and they were actually pretty good. I reread Game of Thrones—I don’t know why I did that. I’m never going to like that book.”

“Masochist,” you smile. He laughs, and you hear the sound of a car door opening.

“Oh! I talked to my mom. Believe it or not, she says hi.”

A completely inadvertent snort constitutes your response. It’s not what you meant to do, and out of context it’s sort of mean, but you actually think it’s incredibly endearing that he still talks to his mother about you. He scrambles to explain himself.

“I swear, we barely talked about you this time. Mostly we talked about her new boyfriend Leonard.”

“No, no, that’s not... I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you or your mom. That’s really sweet, actually. Tell her I say hi too.”

When he next speaks, you can hear the smile in his voice.

“I will.” Another long pause. You imagine him sitting in the parking lot at Quantico, keys vertical in the ignition of his old car and feeling the silence just as much as you are. He surprises you by not ending the conversation—instead he asks a question. It is concern, poorly disguised with nervous humor. Or maybe you just know him too well. “Do I get to find out what’s on your mind, or are you leaving me in suspense here?”

You bite the inside of your cheek.

“Um... well, actually, I just got off the phone with my mom, too. It didn’t go so well,” you laugh halfheartedly, “I know it was dumb to try and have an actual conversation with her, but... you know me. Always following blind optimism to the depths of hell.”

“Why’d you call your mom?” he asks, so gently it brings a fresh round of tears to your eyes. Still, you attempt to put a cheerful affect on your strained voice.

“Mm, you know. Just needed someone to talk to.”

Spencer’s knowing sigh does little to make you feel better.

“You know you can always talk to me, right? I know it’s... it’s different now, but... I care about you a lot. And, you know, I receive very few phone calls, so the line is pretty much always open.”

Your laugh quickly devolves into a cry.

“I appreciate that, but I can’t talk to you about everything.”

“Why not?” he pleads immediately, voice thin and desperate like it’s his most burning question. A million lies dance over the tip of your tongue. A million things that feel safer to say than the truth. But in the end, it comes out anyway—choked, and so quiet, but aloud nonetheless.

“Because I’m trying really hard to stop missing you so much.”

Another long beat of silence. The back of your throat feels dry and hollow—a cage for your hummingbird heart.

“If it hurts too much to talk to me, you don’t need to do that to yourself. But I also don’t want you to hurt yourself thinking you’re alone. You are... so important to me. I will always try to take care of you the best I can—whether that means staying away or being at your front door. If you ever need me, or even... vaguely want me, I will be there.”

Each word caves your resolve. Each syllable is a slap in the face to progress you’d been pretending to make. You can be strong—you've proven that over the past ten weeks. You can be stone-faced and slash at your heart until the scar tissue is thick and jagged, and eventually it won’t hurt anymore. But maybe, by letting someone tend to the wounds, they’ll heal a little nicer. A little kinder. Even if you can’t undo the damage, maybe one day you’ll be soft again.

“What if I vaguely want you right now?” you sniffle.

Finally, you hear the silver jingle of keys turning. The sputter and rumble of an old engine coming to life.

“Then I’m on my way.”

Twenty four minutes later, there’s a soft knock at your door.

After the call had ended, you’d wondered if you made it all up. Surely your ex-boyfriend wasn’t actually about to show up at your apartment. Someone you’ve grieved for can’t just come back—there are countless horror novels and movies based upon that very tenet. Does it matter if they ever actually died? How long is ten weeks, really? It feels like a lifetime.

You shuffle across the room, wiping under your eyes with your already damp sleeves, and undoing all the locks Spencer had conditioned you to start using. When the door cracks open, and you see Spencer standing there, windswept and concerned, for the first time in months, it hits you like a tidal wave. You are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, still just as in love with him as you ever were. The relief that floods your veins as he looks down at you with so much care in his eyes is like sinking into warm water. It’s a dead giveaway, and maybe it makes this whole thing a terrible idea, but you can’t seem to care very much. You open the door wider, and he enters, and he stands in your kitchen with his hands in his coat pocket as you shut the door and he’s perfect. It dawns on you that for the first time since the breakup, you feel safe. Like you don’t have to be a stone pillar anymore. This, of course, translates into even more tears, which you try to hide as you face away, re-locking the door.

“Sweetheart...” he sighs, because you can’t hide anything from him. Hearing the resonance of his voice so close to you once more is overwhelming. In an instant you’re rushing into his arms, and he accepts you without hesitation. You bury your teary face in the vetiver safety of his button-up and slip your arms under his coat, as if you could absorb his warmth and forever hide from the world that way. He pulls you even closer. It’s terrible and cruel how much he is exactly what you needed. “What’s wrong? What did she say?”

You shake your head and gasp a small sob.

Truthfully, you’re not really crying about the petty insults from your mother anymore. You’re back to square one, the reason you’d called your mother to begin with—you miss the man whose arms are currently wound around your shoulders.

His hand smooths over the back of your hair.

“Okay. That’s okay. We don’t have to talk about it.”

You stay like that—content even as you cry because being with him feels so much safer than being alone. It feels right—or perhaps it’s just familiar. You don’t know which is worse.

Spencer is rubbing soothing lines up and down your back as you cling to him, soaking him up in all his ephemeral, comforting glory. He surprises you by chuckling—it vibrates through his chest, buzzing against your ear.

“Nice Magritte print. I bet the person who bought that has fantastic taste.”

“Are you gonna ask for it back?” you mumble into the fabric of his suit jacket. He is, of course, referring to the painting you’d more or less stolen from his apartment seven months ago. You really don’t want him to take it home. It’s the most overt Spencer memorabilia you’d allowed yourself to keep in plain sight.

“No, baby. You can keep it.” The words are low, and kind, and they settle you some, but you can’t seem to get him close enough. “What can I do?” he whispers after a moment, helpless as you take a shuddering breath. “Can I make you tea? Have you eaten?”

“Will you just... stay for a little bit? I’ll—I promise I’ll stop crying.”

There is an unexpected lull where you thought you’d receive pretty immediate agreement, but before you can pull back and ask what’s wrong, he murmurs, “yeah. I can stay for a while. But you have to kick me out before it gets too late.”

You wonder if you’re imagining the double-entendre that seems to underline his words in bold red ink. Spencer is too smart to have not noticed a thing like that. You don’t mention it—it all boils down to the same unspoken idea.

Don’t let me stay, because I might not leave.

“I will,” you sniff, finally stepping back and wiping your own tears. It hurts to lose his touch, but at least you know he’s not going anywhere for the next few hours. This, as opposed to everything else lately, can be a beginning instead of an end.

At least, until he goes home.

Three and a half hours later, after tea, an impromptu dinner comprised mostly of cheese and crackers, and several vinyl changes on your record player (which served only as background noise for your long, ambling conversations), things are seeming to wind down to a natural stopping point. Which you hate. The whole time you’d had a dull ache in your chest because talking to him was easier than breathing and you knew it wouldn’t last. There had been one or two false bottoms already—the first when you’d yawned around nine, and the second when you’d gotten up to do your skincare and brush your teeth half an hour later. Even then he’d just leaned against the doorframe, watching your reflection above the sink as you talked for fifteen more minutes. Now you stand across from each other in the kitchen, plates restacked and everything in order. Of course he’d insisted on helping you clean up.

“I should go,” he says, with a soft sort of finality in his voice.

“Is your carriage turning into a pumpkin?” you tease gently, to hide how much you don’t want him to leave. He smiles—a small, weary thing—but genuinely and endlessly charmed by you.

“That among other things.”

“Would you—would you walk me to my room first?”

The hesitance is clear in his eyes and the way his lips part as if to say, ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea’, but you're sure he’s really going to leave in a moment and you’re also sure he won’t deny you this one small thing before he does.

“Okay.”

It’s a short, silent walk through the living room and down the hall to your bedroom door, but you can feel him trailing behind you the whole way. You stop in front of your open door, turning face to face with him.

“Thanks,” you murmur.

His lips pull into a melancholy smile.

“Anytime.”

There’s nothing left to do but wrap your arms around each other once more, tuck yourself into the you-sized space between his head and shoulder and hold on for as long as he’ll let you. The hug lingers for longer than is wise. Spencer adjusts his arms looped around your waist, pulling you closer, and you nuzzle against his neck, grateful that at least he seems as reluctant to let this end as you are.

But eventually, it relaxes. Your hold on each other loosens. His face is just inches from yours, and you get to study every plane and valley and line like you’d thought you never would again. It seems he’s doing the same—losing himself in the luxury of seeing you up close.

“Will you kiss me goodnight?” you whisper, unable to muster any self-consciousness though you know it’s a fool’s errand. Spencer strokes your waist.

“I can’t do that, honey.”

“Why not?”

His voice is just as quiet as yours. It falters slightly as he speaks, so gently, so patiently.

“Because we’re not together anymore.”

“Why not?”

Your feeble, desperate supplication sounds pitiable even to you. You’re not proud, but you can’t find it in yourself to be ashamed, either. All you want is an answer. But it’s like a child asking why the sky is blue, or the earth is round. There is a definitive explanation, but mostly, the adult will shrug, and say, that’s just how it is.

Spencer’s eyes squeeze shut. His head tilts down.

“We can’t do this again, sweetheart. You know why we’re not together.”

In theory—yes. You’d had so many conversations when you’d broken up. It had been a long, painful process, spanning multiple all-nighters at his kitchen table, nursing coffee and trying to convince each other and yourselves that it was the right choice. But it just feels like a horrible, horrible mistake. You feel desperate to explain this to him before he slips away again—the words come out flustered, inelegant as you cling to him.

“But I don’t think I’m getting better without you. I tried, I tried so hard to be good on my own, but everything is worse and harder and—and we weren’t sure about it then, and I don’t think it was the right choice, because I still really need you. Like, all the time. I’m—it’s not getting better without you. Nothing got better.”

He swallows, eyes darting between yours for an infinite second. You’re breathless and your heart is pounding after your confession—you can feel your eyes stinging with the few tears that managed to escape as you spoke.

“Everything is worse,” he agrees shakily. “Everything. I’m—I’m getting disciplinary infractions from Hotch like I’m a child because I can’t focus on anything. Game of Thrones is the most complex literature I can comprehend right now. I had to use a calculator the other day.”

You want to laugh, but nothing is funny until he’s yours again.

“Then come back. Please come back, Spencer.”

Finally, he leans closer, until your heads are pressed together, and his nose bumps yours, feather light. You're dizzy. You exhale. He inhales.

“I don’t think I knew how to leave in the first place.”

When he kisses you, it feels like home.

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fic #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds

871 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs