#submit requests please

Following the loud slam of the door against the frame, the space around the two of them felt deafening. Neither dared speak a word, instead too scared that anything would startle the other, and they’d be gone.

Spencer’s chest was heaving, rising and falling like the movement of the ocean, like the movement of his fluffy hair as he paced from one side to the other while Morgan explained to him that “the way people feel about you is only the way you feel about yourself” and that “if you were more forward, they would match your energy” and that “it's just a matter of deciding what matters the most: whether you’re honest to yourself or if you have the impact you wish to have”. Spencer, though understanding perfectly what his dear friend was explaining, was still having trouble figuring out why she wouldn’t see him like that.

And it wasn’t like he could blame her - I mean, at the end of the day, nothing has ever happened between them. Everything that he had struggled with was in his mind: a mere construct of his imagination. An idealisation of “what if”s and “what could’ve been”s if he had been brave enough to ask her out soon enough.

He wished that wasn’t true, but it was.

And as he had lied down on their shared bed, night after night, on that one case that never seemed to fucking end, all he could think about was the ghost of the accidental brush of her bare leg against his arm as he shut his eyes forcefully, trying desperately to get the exhaustion take over so that no other feelings would consume him.

***

Spencer is a man of great self-restraint. He’s been desperately holding back since the beginning of time.

As a kid, he learned quickly to put others above himself. He was forced to take the role of the adult when he was far too young. He quickly started excelling in school, which was outstanding. But it also meant that he would have to start going to school with the older kids, graduating from MIT at the mere age of 16. He quickly learned that going through life by looking down and apologising was the easiest way to live in peace while minimising the chances of getting hurt, both emotionally and physically.

This also has downsides, though, the most prominent one being his inability to talk to other people without feeling like his mere presence would annoy them.

Which often translates to isolation.

“Spence?” her soft voice startled him from his train of thoughts. He wondered how much she knew. Neverending questions with the same structure, the same “why is that”, the same rhythm, all which went unanswered. He understood nothing, no matter how much he knew. All types of facts could come swarming into his head, facts about chemistry, and neurobiology and human behaviour that would never resemble the answers he needed. The one question he needed an answer to was the same question that couldn’t go answered unless asked.

His hands were fiddling, trying to find comfort and stability in their own touch.

“Why is it that you don’t see me like you see them?”

A question which had been on his mind seemingly forever and, still, he couldn’t put it into simpler, less childish, wording. He didn’t even care if he seemed stupid. Spencer Reid only needed an answer to that question.

“What are you talking about, Spence? Who are they?” she carefully walked closer to him, somewhat afraid of his heavy breathing and twitching fingers, fearing that he would hurt himself or get startled.

“T-them… You know” his fingers were dancing against each other clumsily, eyes fixated on the tips of them, and she felt the need to give him that comfort he was looking for. Her fingers laced around his own, separating him. The tips of her fingers made their way up to his chin forcing his eyes onto hers.

Her soft voice was as melodious as ever because, though somewhat deep, it felt like it danced between their chests. As if the vibrations that rumbled from her chest were picked up, absorbed, by the man so consumed with her.

“I really don’t. We talked about this, Spence. If you want something you have to ask” she lowered her voice as her gaze penetrated his own. Spencer’s eyes danced around her face, making sure he had memorised her factions correctly. She smiled reassuringly, pulling his left hand towards her face, kissing the palm of his hand as she waited for him to go on.

His brain was going a thousand miles per hour, trying desperately to ignore the wandering idea of his heart reaching out to hers, allowing them to dance comfortably around the comically tiny hotel room they were in. He wanted to stop imagining her warm cheek against his chest as they danced to the silence. He wanted her closer to him.

He looked down at her body. Anybody else would think that he was checking her out, but she felt entirely comfortable, knowing his gaze was purely analytical, perhaps a little curious, but never aggressive or sexual.

“When did you stop seeing me like… like a guy?” he spluttered the last words, not knowing what to say.

For a genius, he was having a really hard time expressing his feelings.

He looked at her, analysing her microexpressions, trying to make sure she wasn’t going to laugh at him. God, please don’t laugh.

But she only frowned, bringing down his hand from her lips to dangle comfortably in the all-too-wide space between the two of them.

“What do you mean, Spence? I see you like a guy” she defended, though softly, still trying to understand where this was coming from and what was making him so damn anxious.

He pursed his lips as he looked down, frowning. He brought his hands up to his face, letting go of hers, and rubbing it.

“No I-... No you don’t!” he raised his voice, looking over at her quickly. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just… look at what you’re wearing!” he signalled to her outfit. “Fuck I- Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You look great” he softened as he looked at her confused, yet hurt look.

“Spence, I think we have to sit down for this” she offered. Her attempts went towards trying to stabilise his erratic emotions, knowing that when he was feeling anxious he would get overwhelmed and lash out.

He followed her, watching her every move. “Thank you, Y/N. I’m uhh-” he fumbled again, “I’m sorry, really, for lashing out”.

“Don’t worry about it, Spence. Why don’t we start from the beginning?”

**

“Pretty girl looks really cozy right now, Reid” Morgan’s voice pretty much boomed over the two agents, or at least that’s how it felt like for Spencer, who was incredibly invested in the idea of her getting a good amount of sleep before they got to the unfamiliar precinct.

For such a smart guy, Spencer rarely understood his feelings. The few times he was able to express what he was feeling verbally were solely when the feelings revolved something like “overwhelm” or “sadness” or that itchy feeling in your gut when something is wrong and you can’t really figure out why. As the years went by, and as Spencer became more intrigued with finding people to surround himself with, he made it a task to be able to describe his feelings in a more eloquent way.

He gained experience, little by little, by reading romance books: those types of books which express every single little emotion that goes through the character. It was fairly ironic, though, that he read romance books, which are known to be an idealization of what real relationships are like. Nevertheless, for the sake of his pursuit for emotional and verbal clarity, he decided to continue reading them.

However, it wasn’t as easy as the writers put it out to be. Because they always talked about that moment when you see somebody, and the words are just there: all you want to do, nay, all you know how to do is try to express to them how happy they make you, and how happy you hope to make them.

But that never came.

So Spencer had to reconsider his method of research. After a while, he read in a textbook about how some people have less trouble expressing their emotions through movement.

Now, if there’s something we all know, it’s that Spencer is an uncoordinated fella.

This is a long-winded way of saying that Spencer started to draw his feelings. He started expressing a lot with his hands, with his body, trying to get his emotions across. He started carrying a black little notebook where he drew the feelings, the movement he was feeling.

And right now, he felt like invisible strings were tugging at his chest, forward, toward nothing in particular. The feeling made him sit a little taller, be a little bolder, and do absolutely whatever it takes for him to protect her sleep.

“Shhh! Shut up Morgan” he squealed. He hurriedly attempted to soothe her back to sleep as she started shifting in her slumber.

“Okay, okay!” Morgan raised his hands in defeat. “Chill, dude” he chuckled, looking around before leaning in. “But seriously, what’s up with you and her, kid? You got a crush or something?” he teased.

“Maybe you have a crush on her…” Spencer quietly shot back at him, mimicking his voice.

“Mhmm yeah, Spencer would never, would you, pretty boy?” she woke up from her slumber, giggling at the childishness of the two. Spencer’s heart shook and shattered at the loss of contact, as she reclined on her own seat instead of on his arm. He was in utter shock. How much did she hear? Does she know he liked her? Does she like him back?

She rubbed the palm of her hand against her eyes as she held back a yawn. “He is too smart. Probably don’t have time in that busy brain of yours to think like that, do you Spence?” she mumbled, tapping his cheek with her fingers and oh god, the contact had him practically whimpering.

Before he could splutter out some shitty excuse, she crossed her arms on the desk in front of her and went right back to sleep.

****

“My heart could only break as I realised that that’s how you’ll always see me: like I’m just some genius. I want to be more to you, Y/N, so much more” he all-but-whined, the desperation he had been feeling catching up with him. She didn’t respond, instead looking expectantly at what he meant by the memory he so perfectly narrated.

“Look, Spence, I didn’t mean it like tha-” he cut her off.

“No, but you did. See, the same thing happened in our case in Wisconsin” he explained.

**

“Room 202: Y/L/N and Reid.” Hotch finished explaining the sleeping arrangements, not noticing as the two agents looked at each other with excitement.

“Doctor Who marathon tonight?” Spencer read your mind.

“Of course! Get some snacks from the vending machine and I’ll connect my Netflix account to the TV. I’ll meet you there at 11pm. Sounds good?” she planned as they had done a thousand times before that. “Great!” he replied, excited to spend time next to her.

As they called it a day at the precinct, the team was excited about getting to their rooms, each for different reasons. While most were exhausted after the whole day, Spencer and Y/N only wanted to spend time with each other, watching for the nth time the way the weeping angels attempted to kill the Doctor and Clara.

Spencer came into their room, arms filled with candy and chips, completely out of breath. He spoke into the silence of the room. “Y/N! I’m here” he crossed the short space between the door and the bedroom and dropped the snacks on the bed. He quickly changed out of his clothes and into his sweatshirt and pyjama pants as he waited for her to get out of the bathroom.

As he sat down, turning on the TV, he saw her emerging from her room in only her underwear naturally.

“Oh shit! Well, you don’t mind, do you?” she dried her hair with one of the white towels as she wore nothing but the black underwear to her suitcase.

“Uhh- sure! I mean, no. I- Go ahead” he stumbled over his words, watching her every move. She was so calm, so unafraid…

****

Don’t get me wrong, I love that you trust me as much as you do. Really. I’m incredibly happy that, in a society such as ours, completely misogynistic and disrespectful to women, you could find comfort and ease with me. But it is also a strong indicator that you don’t see me as a strong male presence, and studies conducted in Germany in 2015 showed that, out of a sample of 172 adults or all genders, there was a strong tendency of attraction towards people who are more dominant or strong than weaker people” he ended his rant, hoping she understood.

“You are not weak, Spencer” she corrected him.

“I know, but I- you… You’d never wear this in front of Morgan!” he raised his voice. “I just-” sigh.

“I don’t understand why I can’t be one of those guys that girls like you want to date. Really, I wish I could be them, but I can’t” he spat the words like they burned his tongue. Like the memory of them emerging from his throat were burning holes into his mouth, making him detest everything about them.

Her soft hands raised to grab his cheeks softly, pulling him closer to look at him. His honey-coated eyes were pulled out of their usual dance around the room to look at her. Her own eyes capture his, making him feel like he suddenly couldn’t look away. She tsked, seeing all the emotion behind them. There was so much self-hatred and despair in his teary eyes, making her own tear up at the sight.

“Oh baby…” she pulled him into a hug, allowing him to collapse on her. His bigger, certainly taller body collapsed fully onto her as he sobbed, all the pressure he had been feeling from months ago lifting slowly from his shoulders.

His wet cheeks nuzzled into the nape of her neck as he found solace in her arms, something he hadn’t felt in a long time. She lifted her hand to caress his cheeks, moving his hair out of his face, feeling like she could have communicated more with him to prevent this from happening.

“I’m sorry this has been weighing on you, pretty boy. And I’m sorry you didn’t feel comfortable enough to tell me” she tried to soothe him.

“Baby, those guys, guys like Morgan, they aren’t looking for what you look for. They want meaningless sex because, for whatever reason, they don’t feel like having relationships. But you are a sentimental guy, and enjoy the kindness that can only be found in a relationship.” she reached her hand to caress his back softly as his sobs calmed down. “They aren’t like you, Spencer, in the most beautiful sense. You are such a special man, Spence, and I’m so sorry that the world hasn’t allowed you to feel that way” she whispered, lowering her face to kiss his forehead.

“You mean that?” He looked up at her. Coming from any other guy she would’ve thought that he was fishing for compliments or trying to be vulnerable to get her into bed, but he needed the reassurance, and she didn’t mind giving it to him. Not at all.

“Yeah! You and I… We are not shy of a spark. Emotional connections are a beautiful thing, and waiting until you can connect in that way with somebody is one of the most worthwhile experiences in the world. I don’t think you should be ashamed of that, baby” she tenderly explained, trying to lift his spirits a little bit.

He raised his head to look at her, holding the weight of his upper body on his hands which were placed at the sides of her face. He armed himself with pure courage, with a mixture of exhaustion and desperation.

“Do you think you can want me even if I’m not like them?” he finally confided in her his truest feelings. She stared at him in shock.

“Fuck I- Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve said that. I’ll g-” his words were interrupted by his lips crashing onto hers. Her lips moved sloppily against his own, their teeth bumping against each other. His hand went to caress her face as she deepened the kiss, setting a stable rhythm.

This is a feeling Spencer understands. It is, as they call it in romance novels, a climax. The moment where the two characters unite their paths, becoming one. Butterflies and fireworks and all the other cliché descriptions of the pure love they were feeling suddenly became real. He felt like his chest was erupting with the most beautiful colors, like he was expressing with watercolors what words couldn’t.

They broke away, looking at each other with such love and longing. None of them said anything, as if the lack of action between them could get this moment to extend to the point of becoming an infinite moment. Just the two of them, staring at each other, feeling the other on their fingertips, the tingling sensation of their mouth still lingering.

But she broke the silence.

“Spencer, I’ve always wanted you”.

______________________

I THINK IM BACK YALL!!! I THINK I GOT THIS UNDER CONTROL AND WILL START TO POST MORE FROM NOW ON!!! <3

Super cool, super special cool kid taglist:

@lady-anon-x @username2002 @spencerreid-mgg @eoupe @galaxydefenderjulia @urie-bowie-mercury @huntheimpossible @idontwantyourcookiesthanks @onyourfingertips

tags not working:

@s1utformgg

fixed: @spenxerslut

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

**

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

**

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

**

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :) 

He had been watching her for way too long.

He knew it was part of his nature. He knew that being a profiler meant taking an interest in the most characteristic details of a person. All the little movements, the twitches and dynamics which characterized the people around him were memorized in his 187 IQ brain. He knew what coffee everybody drank, the exact minute they usually came into the bullpen on a regular paperwork day. He knew who was approaching his desk depending on the heaviness, sound and friction of their steps against the floor.

But it was different with her.

He had been watching her for way too long.

It had started out innocently enough. As she walked in, he noted how the movement made her hair flow backwards as if she was in a movie. Her hair smelled of lavender and white tea, which he figured later was because she drank tea instead of coffee. “Coffee makes me too jittery” she explained after Spencer had brought her a cup to her desk in a desperate attempt to get her attention.

**

And there was something about her wrists.

They looked so soft, so gentle. He didn’t know what it was about the golden bracelet she wore on her left hand and the multiple hair ties on her right one, but his eyes were always drawn to them.

The day she forgot to bring her hair ties, instead wearing her wrist bare, was the day Spencer decided to run out to the store during his lunch break and buy her some hair ties. He also bought some for himself to keep – just in case she ever forgot them again.

It has started out innocently enough. He had learned that her left eyebrow would twitch repeatedly when she was in pain, her nose would scrunch up when she felt vulnerable, something that had come in handy when the average local PD cop would hit on her. He hated how uncomfortable she looked trying to give the lowly officer anything but a smile and a “yes, I’m free tonight” so he would swoop in, talking to her about the made-up date they conveniently had that same evening.

She could take it, of course. She was one of the most accomplished agents in the FBI. That still didn’t mean she should.

**

90% of all human communication is non-verbal. For Y/N and Spencer, this was a fact. Apart from the odd comment or conversation, they would communicate mostly non-verbally.

Spencer would offer her a book when she was thinking too much on the jet, which was seemingly wearing her down before they could even hit the ground. He would look up at her periodically to make sure she was alright and, occasionally give her whatever book he had in his hand.

He would never tell a soul, but he definitely went to the library looking for books she would like more, maybe novels instead of autobiographies. To make her happy.  

Y/N would make Spencer feel so loved. When he had had a rough case they would sit down wherever it was possible (usually a couch) with his head on her thighs and his right hand on her left one. He would play with her hand, drawing little figures on her palm as she stroked his hair, and they would talk about whatever was bothering them.

Not this time, though.  

**

Spencer had noticed, of course he had. As did the team.

“What we’re dealing with here is a sexual sadist. He is most likely a white male in his mid 20’s to early 30’s. He grabs women who are right at their doors, for example their front yard or driveway, cuts their clothes open and rapes them.

We classify him as a sexual sadist because of the component of fear from which he seems to get aroused by. Grabbing women right in their homes shows that he wants them to feel unsafe” explained Rossi to the room full of LA policemen.

Prentiss continued. “The safest place for a person is usually their homes. This unsub enjoys seeing them struggle, but he does it for the long run. Every time these women walk into their homes they will feel a sense of fear, as they will relive it over and over again every time they walk into their houses. The fact that he doesn’t kill them is a strong indicator that the main component here is fear”.

“It is most likely that the unsub goes back to the crime scenes, which is why we need to raise the security around the women’s houses”. Hotch stated, nodding at the chief.

The profile wasn’t too different from what they usually dealt with. I mean, of course, this particular unsub has a different motive – a more revolting one at that – but they had never seen her react that way.

Spencer had turned to her like he did after a profile was given, partly because he wanted to talk to her about the case in either of their rooms, but mostly because he wanted to see if she was okay. And he knew you enough to know that she wasn’t.

Her whole body was tense, her face was stoic, trying to not show any emotion, and her soft skin was incredibly pale.

Spencer’s skin crawled at the thought that she would shut off, turning her into the female version of Hotch, incapable of showing any emotion because if he did, he would crumble upon himself. But it was 2am, so after organizing the security patrols around the 8 locations that had been hit, Hotch let the team go to their rooms.

She rushed to her room without another word, trying to get away from all the movement that remained behind her, never seeming to stop. Stop. Stop. She needed everything to stop. She needed silence and stillness, and quietness, stop. She needed to stop walking, stop thinking, stop breathing. Stop remembering.

But she couldn’t, because as she got to her room, grabbing her key card, her hand was caught in something. Something. Who was grabbing her?

There was a murmur, and everything was suddenly going to slowly for her mind. Someone was grabbing her wrist and there was a noise, a mumble that almost sounded like her own name. Almost.

“Y/N. Y/N! Can you hear me?” she suddenly heard Spencer’s voice as clear as its ever been. And it was like a fresh breath of air. Spencer’s voice always did wonders calming her down, his presence drowning her in something other than her own anxieties. And he always did this, having a presence like the sun, of changing her whole viewpoint the second he walked into the room. Hell, just the memory of him lingering somewhere would make her feel like she could reach the stars. The boy was a Godsend.

But, right now, she could only think about the profile, and the men who get away with this, and the man who got away with it, and the fact that if they don’t find him, the 8 women who have been hit, assuming the number wouldn’t raise (which, let’s be honest, it would definitely raise), they wouldn’t get closure. They would end up zooming out from daily tasks, not being able to reply to their crush when they’re at their front door because they could only think in bubbles. Stop, caught, who was grabbing her?

Spencer had noticed her state of mind, as had the rest of the team, and figured she shouldn’t be alone. Not when she was like this.

So he grabbed her with his left arm, pulling her into his chest (something he did to ground her and to calm him down – feeling her skin against his was palliative at this point). He felt her tensing under his touch before melting into him, inhaling and shuddering like she had forgotten how to breathe. His right hand roamed onto her left land to grab the keycard to her room and let both of them in, sitting down on the bed.

Now, this situation wasn’t unlikely for the pair, being “closer than normal friendships are”, as Penelope would put teasingly. But given her, now calmer, state, and the fact that she wasn’t speaking, he chose to do so, instead.

“I’ll uhm- “ he interrupted himself by clearing his throat. “I’ll go but if you need anything don’t hesitate to come into my room. 504, right next to you” he let out a soft chuckle, still feeling like he had overstepped.

“Stay” he heard the first words to come out of her lips that night. So softly, he doubted he had heard it correctly or he maybe had imagined it. But she repeated herself. “Stay. Please. I can’t be a- I don’t want to be alone right now” her voice, now just above a whisper, but clear as day to Spencer, who, its worthy of noting, didn’t want to leave in a million years. He wanted her to feel safe, calm, and eventually, happy, and he would do whatever was necessary to get there. He would give the world for her.

“I will” he stated. “I’ll take the couch, puppet. Won’t go anywhere. Wake me up if you need anything” he said, finding that her eyes were unfocused and she was somewhere else. He looked into them, trying to find her in the immensity of her orbs. “Anything, okay? I don’t mind. I just want you to be okay” he stressed, speaking clearly to make sure she heard. She nodded, trying to pull herself together for his sake.

He swooped up her face in his palms, softly, softer, making sure he didn’t hurt her. The way she looked up at him, like he hung the stars, was not lost on him, although he attributed it to her exhaustion. Wishful thinking was something that occurred often in his mind, and he didn’t want to make the same mistake. Not with her.

He couldn’t help but plant a kiss on her forehead and another on the tip of her nose before whispering a “we can talk tomorrow, pretty girl. Good night”.

She watched him walk off before turning into her bed. She had meditated the idea of telling him to stay in her bed but she didn’t want to make him feel uncomfortable. She was already feeling like she was interrupting his sleep with her stupid outburst.

They both twisted and turned that night, trying to find comfort in their loneliness.

**

Spencer woke up rather swiftly to the tossing and turning of the girl who layed in her bed. Granted, he had fallen asleep a little bit on the edge, trying to make sure he heard her heavy breathing before finding his own rest.

He rose to his feet, trying to get to her as quickly as he could, instead tripping over his own feet a couple of times. He found himself sitting on her side of the bed (it wasn’t too big) and took her in.

During their time as coworkers and, later on, friends, he had noticed every single thing about her. Every little movement, flinch, crevice in her gait, the way she would talk to others and the look she had on her face when she was thinking a little too hard on something.

But never, in a million years, would he think he would see her like this.

The strong woman he admired, following around like a lost puppy, the same one who had stood up for him countless times when the team had gotten a little too funny with their comments… that was a different person. The woman in front of Spencer seemed like an outdated, destroyed girl. She looked completely and utterly broken.

He reacted by instinct, grabbing her shoulders softly and trying to wake her up. “Y/N. Y/N! It’s just a dream. Please” he begged, the pain of seeing someone he loved so much in so much hurt becoming too much for him. But as she awoke, he saw the worst thing he could’ve seen.

Her eyes were filled with fear. With rage. With pain. And it was all directed at him.

Or at least that’s what it felt like when she cowered away from his touch, crawling to the other side of the bed, trying to put as much distance between the man she loved so deeply, yet somehow couldn’t recognise, and herself.

“Get away! What are you doing here?” She let out a blood-curling scream sounding something like those words, breaking his heart even more.

To her, he was an uninvited man in her bed. To him, she was the girl he wanted to fix. If he could, he’d exchange her heart for his, preferring to roam with a broken heart than to see her like this for one more second.

He couldn’t bear it.

He panicked, not knowing how to help her. “Shhh pretty girl, its Sp-Spencer. Remember me?” he said softly, lifting his hands in surrender. “P-pretty girl, I-I would never h-hurt you” he explained, choking over his own sobs.

She lifted her head from between her legs, trying to get a look at him. All she saw was cloudy, and pain, and something was grabbing her, and what was grabbing her? It felt like whatever was grabbing her was clawing at her chest, filling it up with blood and pain and pressure.

But Spencer was at the other side of the bed, and would never once dare touching her in any way that would make her feel uncomfortable.

“Baby I need you to breathe. Come on, pretty girl, we can do it” he scooched closer to her, to which she moved away again.

“It’s Spencer. C-come on, pretty girl. I’m n-not gonna hurt y-you. I would n-never hurt you” he stressed. The room was filled with their sobs, otherwise being dead-silent.

“S-spence?” her voice, small as a whisper, showed some sort of recognition. He sighed in relief.

“Yes, pretty girl. It’s Spence” he mumbled, closing the gap between them little by little. “Not gonna hurt you, Y/N. Would never hurt you”.

She sighed into him. “Spence”, she found solace in his touch, soft as snow, he grabbed her slowly and moved her onto his chest.

“Spencer” she repeated to herself, trying to rid herself from her pain.

“That’s right, pretty girl. I-I’m not gonna hurt you. Ever” he reassured her.

They stayed like this for what felt like minutes. Or hours. Neither of them were in a state of mind that could recognize the passing of time. They only recognized each other.

Surprisingly, she was the one to break the silence. As she looked up to him, noticing the tear streaked cheeks, his puffy eyes and shiny nose, she couldn’t help but wonder.

“You cried?” she questioned, confused. He looked down at her, and he couldn’t help but remember the fear that covered her facial expressions mere minutes ago. Or was it hours?

“Mhmm” he smiled nervously, knowing if he thought about it more it would break him.

“Why?” she reached her fingers up to collect his tears on the pads of her fingers.

“Because-” he cleared his throat, an impulse of honesty possessing him  “you were in so much pain, Y/N. I couldn’t bare it.” He stopped for a second, looking down at her. He brushed her hair backwards with his hand, allowing him to see her whole face. Her cheeks were puffy, her lips were red and he could barely think straight.

“I crumble completely when you cry, Y/N” he confessed. “W-when you’re in pain like that. It just-“ he stopped himself. “I couldn’t bear seeing you like that” he finished.

She smiled, blushing softly into his bare chest. He pushed.

“What happened? Do you wanna talk about it?” he asked honestly, wanting to help her in any way possible. She shook her head into his chest. She looked up at him again.

“Are you okay?” his heart broke at the thought that this feeling would be all she would know.

“No. Not yet. But I will be” she smiled at him, feeling overwhelmed by his light once again. “Just stay a little longer. I will heal”.

___________________________________________________

super short, super special, cool kids only taglist:

@lady-anon-x @inlovewithbabygirl​

__

I’m still learning to write angst so let me know if you like it !!