#the aftermath

“o—oh shit..” eric breathed meekly, his eyes fluttering as you pushed your cock head inside. “tell me if it hurts, alright? i’ll stop.” you murmur, your hands rubbing soothing circles into the skin of his abdomen.

“…s’alright.” he managed, his own hands fisting into the sheets, back arching up slightly. his voice might’ve cracked on the end of the word, but who were you to judge? that’s not your focus right now, your boyfriend is.

eric feebly keens, gritting his teeth as you slowly inch your hips forward, your cock sliding in deeper. yes, eric was prepped. was it enough? no. your fingers were big, but it certainly didn’t amount to the size of your cock. even if you had done this multiple times, you’re huge in every way, shape and form in comparison to eric.

“you’re doing so good, baby.” you whisper tenderly, leaning down to press a soft, chaste kiss to his forehead. eric subconsciously chases the touch, eyes closing and lips parting in a tiny gasp as his hand blindly reaches out to grab you. you’re quick to intertwine your fingers with his, thumb rubbing against his. “yea, i’m here. right here, not going anywhere.”

“i should’ve—been sleeping on the couch.” eric breathed, shifting on the bed a bit as he clenched around you. that action earned a small hiss from you, yet you stayed where you were. you mutter a curse word under your breath before you answer. “..don’t speak nonsense, eric. you’re my boyfriend.”

“you can’t get a full night’s sleep because of me.”

“you’re..” you pause mid sentence, pushing your cock about two thirds of the way in. “..more important than sleep. your health is more important than sleep. i’ll be just fine. and don’t you even dare apologize.”

“mgghh.. mmm.” eric’s lips purse in a pout as he leaned his head back into the pillow, clenching even more around you as he tried to get used to the intrusion.

finally, after a minute or so, you started moving, keeping your pace gentle. making love and fucking were two different things.

“breathe, eric. it’s okay.” you soothed him, continuously pressing slow, gentle kisses all over his face. as if on cue, eric’s breath stammered, eyebrows knitted together. “you’re here with me, no one else. it’s just me.”

your soft reassurance makes eric stay focused on you, which is what you wanted, needed, actually. yeah he was floaty, but in a good way this time.

——————————

“a—ah,, fuck.” eric spluttered, his thighs trembling as he did his best to keep them open, keep them spread just as you requested at the very start. your hand was still holding his to show pure, unfiltered affection. however, your other hand was on eric’s lower abdomen, where a bulge kept popping up whenever you thrusted in.

“you’re gorgeous, baby. so perfect.” the sight would’ve made your knees buckle had you been standing, but instead, it sent a strange need to take care of him.

your pace had picked up to a steady one, one you could maintain and one that didn’t utterly overwhelm eric—you knew how easy that could be.

your lips trailed down his scarred torso slowly, reverently, as if you were trying to memorize every ridge and bump. “..you feel so good. look even better. i love seeing you so pliant and relaxed.” you mention softly as eric’s own free hand settled over yours on his abdomen.

once he started to feel the bulge under his palm, breathy moans left his mouth. he had never noticed that before. he has felt how big you were, of course, but he never.. expected you to be so deep inside him. he clenched around you at the realization, hips stuttering subconsciously.

this type of soft, gentle sex always made eric sleepy. but that was the whole point. to get him to sleep.

“..harder. please. need you bad.”

or.. maybe not.

Spencer Reid was a person of logic. He spun facts into webs of arguments, sold a story like he was a salesman, and somehow, always knew how to reassure you. Whether he used statistics, citations, or love poems, he always knew. Knew your body like it was a clone of his own, your mind like it had been torn directly from his. Something that he expertly understood about you was your fear. Your borderline terror of losing him in the field. And he’d promised you, case after case, day after day, that the prophecy which ensnared many agents before would never befall him, never shriek his name and tear him from your arms.

Spencer Reid, for once in his life, was wrong. 

He took his last breath at 11:06 pm, November 13th, 2013, at the ripe old age of thirty three. His obituary would mention his intelligence, his achievements, and his family. But what he would find most important would be the name mentioned at the end.

Yours.

The reports would call his death a tragedy, but it would affect you like no one else. “The young FBI agent’s fiancee was the last one to see him alive..” They’d read from their scripts, exaggerate for drama, because they always did just that. Pretended like they covered make believe instead of real life, real events that destroyed real people. You. Morgan. Rossi, Emily, JJ, Hotch- everyone who knew him. Everyone who had real, emotional ties, would turn away from their TVs in disgust, because that was how it worked. That was how grief functioned in his facet of life. 

Spencer Reid knew not to move towards the light, but he’d never imagined how tempting it would be. Thin, bony, rays carefully crept down and warmed his aching body. They stroked his wounds shut, they took away his pain, they sang sweet lullabies of peace and joy in his ears. Slowly, he watched on as they cleaned the blood off his vest and kissed him goodnight. 

He heard their promises, and he wanted nothing more than to accept. To ascend. To leave his night terrors and human sensation sadness behind. 

He didn’t know if he could, though. Not if it meant you weren’t by his side any longer.

---

No one was there to witness the wretched scream that tore from your throat. No one but him, whose body was slowly cooling. It was still warm, and you clung to that warmth. You observed from outside of yourself as the ambulance arrived, the team, the news.

Too late. They were all too late. He was long gone.

---

It took both Morgan and an EMT pulling to get you to release Spencer from your clutches, and even then, more inhuman sounds came from you. Not like the first scream, no, for nothing could sound like that. It was a unique, horrifying noise. It told a story of a loss that would decimate you until the end of time. When you felt warm hands on your face, you wept harder. Tears burned their way from your face, down, down, down, to your neck, and while they may have dried before they reached your heart, you felt each drop there the same. 

“I tried, I’m so sorry, I-” You were sure that the words came out faster than they formed in your mind. You spun endless excuses explanations for letting him go, letting him die, letting all of this happen. It was your fault even though it wasn’t your fault, Spencer would have affirmed that, you knew, it felt like it was. Like there was something you could have done. You should have tried harder.

Morgan was crying too. You’d never seen his tears before, all the evidence of his sadness was normally washed away before it could reach the team. 

“I know, baby girl. I know.”

But you couldn’t stop, you could barely breathe. For a moment, you wondered if you, too, were dying. It felt that way. Like with every tear, a tiny piece of you bled out. When you checked, there was no blood. Just a salty sting of emptiness. Forever, you would wonder if that was what you wanted. To forfeit your existence in order to join your first and last love. 

“He- Morgan, he’s gone, I can’t- I-” You decided then to cease speaking. You let your cries tell the story for you. And that was what they did, they narrated a tale of desperation, trying, and then acceptance. They spoke for you until your throat was hoarse and your eyes were dry. 

And so, Derek Morgan held you until you couldn’t cry any longer, praying that he wouldn’t lose you too.

---

The hospital was its own kind of hell. It was loud, it screamed at you where you needed quiet, and it whispered at you where you needed noise. Spencer would normally help you through it, and for a moment, you thought it was all a dream. You felt his hand in yours, but when you turned, it was not his face that you saw. Her nametag read ‘Dr Cohen, and she bore an expression that told you the outcome of Spencer’s situation before she even opened her mouth.

“Are you here for a..” she glanced down at her clipboard, and you silently begged that she’d get it over with. Tell you that Spencer had died. “Spencer Reid?”

Your mouth felt like it was full of molasses, and before you could say "yes, I am, I’m his fiancee,"- Emily spoke.

“Yes!- Yes. Is he going to be okay?” You braced yourself for the “no,” the “I’m so sorry,” the “I regret to inform you that Dr Spencer Reid has passed away,” but nothing could prepare you for the way that it slammed into your very bones. The way it twisted its way into your spine and poisoned your brain, the way it weaved through your body and implanted itself into your already heavy heart.  

You collapsed right there, and this time, there was no Spencer to catch you.

---

In a way, they did lose you that day. Maybe not physically, but they lost the part of you that smiled, laughed, joked, and it was replaced with an empty shell, one labeled ‘HUMAN’ in big, bold letters, as though a title was the truth. Like it was enough to make up for what you lost. 

It wasn’t, and it never would be. 

Through it all, you moved with a hollow grace. Your body was composed because you had to be, not because you wanted to be. You found that now, all you wanted to do was scream. Scream because your sheets still smelled like him, because your body still curled up in your bed, almost like it was expecting to be held by a man whose heart had long since ceased beating. Perhaps it hadn’t been that long, but every moment without him felt like an eternity. Spencer had always compared grief to a disease that never slept, and always starved. It would consume you if you let it, and you’d never planned to do that, but you hadn’t prepared for how much you would want it to. You longed for nothing more than to curl up and declare yourself dead until your body obeyed and stopped functioning. 

Still, every day, you got up. Though you had no clue as to where you found the strength, you managed it. Managed the sympathies and the cards, and the pity. Managed to plaster indifference on your face like armour, and in a way, it was. If you glared, you weren’t crying. If you glared, you weren’t being perceived as fragile.

Still, every day, you wondered.

‘When will this finally end?’

a/n: holy angst balls batman. i am deffo (maybe) going to post a happy ending, so stay tuned! sad poetry is so much fun to write :D 

i hope i made at least ONE of the people who read this cry.