#‘your pulse louder than the chatter’ <- forever screaming about how poetic your writing is ???? im obsessed bye

[lilacprentiss]

tumblr may be done w me but im not done w this :/

‘you always did kiss me goodbye’ heart = broken😔💔

‘i remember the day you bought that, too. i remember everything, spencer’ ‘why don’t you?’ <- that whole thing ???? im actually im emotional distress

‘im supposed to remember everything aren’t i?’ im going to walk into traffic <3

‘i don’t want it to protect me’ <- THAT WHOLE PASSAGE ????? BYE I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE

‘our last kiss. our goodbye kiss’ pain… so much pain 😔

‘solace’ i ? wow ? i need a minute to recover

solace <3 solace :/ going to scream

but athena, AHHHHHH this story was so so perfect! from beginning to end, it was beautiful and so heartbreaking. you have wizard writing skills and i adore them and you! also… pay for my therapy xoxox

amplified feelings

[summary] based on 4x24, amplification. what the fuck was the use of an eidetic memory if he couldn't pull out the memory he wanted to at the exact moment he needed to? [pairing] spencer reid + fem!reader [warnings] talks of sickness [category] angst with the tiniest sprinkle of fluff, maybe a little hurt/comfort [word count] 1.6k

[a/n] i've always loved amplification fics, i tried to find them before i even started writing fics myself, so to finally write one was a lot of fun. it was inspired by a quote from grey’s anatomy and it was supposed to be fluff but look how that turned out. biggest thank you to my beta bae jay for lending me another braincell <3 i hope u like it! masterlist

spencer reid was always one for facts, not feelings. it was easier that way. facts were quantifiable, counterchecked, and undoubtedly real. feelings were messy, subjective, and unreliable.

so, he was left stunned, when in the presumptively last hour of his life, he was thinking about you.

garcia’s voice was despondent, her upset like a hand moving to comfort him the best she could. “gee, wow, no, uh, no witty garcia greeting for me?” he forced out. “i can’t be my sparkly self when you are where you are.” he could feel her sadness beginning to infect his already infected self. as he could feel his brain starting to fog up, he knew he had to do what he needed to before anything else. “garcia, do you think you can do something for me?”

as he began to record the message to his mother, he could feel the pain in his voice rising through the surface. he forced himself to focus on the remaining functionality he had left. and as he and kimura searched for the cure, he felt his body grow heavy with every breath. if only he could see you, if he could talk to you, to feel you against his skin.

he grew fearful with every heave, scared that the thought of you would slip from his fingers and be replaced with the touch of death.

“my throat’s a little dry. but other than that, i feel..flee..feel fin-” he pushed his tongue to cooperate as he tried to vocalize the simple three words he wanted to say. words were his only mastered method of communication—he attached a piece of him to every crisp consonant pronounced, and every vowel that rolled off his tongue. he was now stripped of it, left with nothing but incoherent sounds, struggling to string together any letter that he could. kimura could feel the frustration radiating off of him, and she urged the driver to go faster.

the sirens of the ambulance grew softer as your sobbing became an isolated sound, ringing in his ears.

“spencer, please, don’t leave. we can figure this out, i swear we can.”

he felt the words sear his mind deeper and deeper as things went quiet. your voice echoed, its imaginary soundwaves bouncing the walls of his mind.

somehow, the whisper of your words was amplified.

and that whisper pushed everything down. in a matter of milliseconds, the thoughts, the moments, the memories, and all the feelings came back to him, tearing down the walls he worked so hard to build. as if in the greatest drought possible, the flood of you came back to him, and there was no more space for him to breathe. no escape.

he blacked out at the thought of you, exhaustion hitting him all at once.

hazy, his mind searched through its archives for his last touch of you. his last kiss. nothing. absolutely nothing.

what the fuck was the use of an eidetic memory if he couldn’t pull out the memory he wanted to at the exact moment he needed to?

was it raining? it felt like it was raining. he could distinctly remember the rain pattering. or, no, was that construction on the street? were you in his living room? there are pillows. they’re on the floor. that might be his bedroom. you’re pacing the room and your hair is disheveled. he can only remember your face. your pretty, pretty face. oh, how he could stare at it until the sun set and the darkness trickled in. and although he didn’t believe in god, he prayed that your hair would get in front of your face so he could brush it behind again and again, and relive the feeling of seeing your face for the first time. no, focus. did she kiss you before she left? did she give you that honor? a final blessing, a final goodbye? or was the only thing you received from her lips the words that scorned you for days to come?

now he remembered why he pushed you away. because at every thought of you, all he had to hang on to, at the last minute of you, was pain.

ironic, isn’t it? that when he can physically feel himself rotting and each centimeter of his body crying out, he is left to his thoughts and even that couldn’t bring him solace.

when he woke, the sudden, fluorescent light struck him harder than ever. aching, boring spots into his vision, it contrasted from the feeling in his throat, the lightness that his body now had after the cure. and although it ached to speak, he needed to tell morgan. “can you call garcia?”

morgan knew not to prod, and brought out his phone to call her immediately. “you were going to live, i told you you were going to live.” her voice picked up. “thank you, garcia. i-uh, i have another favor to ask.” though his voice quivered, he was surer than ever.

you arrived to the hospital, your pulse louder than the chatter streaming through the hallways. spencer’s job inevitably entailed injuries, and when you were dating, you knew how to emotionally prepare yourself for it. but now was different. on good days, your mind did its best to hang on to reality, and on bad days, you fought the urge to be left to your imagination. so to finally see him again, in the worst condition you could possibly hope for, it was just too much.

as the nurse directed you to his room, and morgan knew to let you through the wall of guards, you finally landed eyes on the man who held every single feeling of yours in the palm of his hand.

the color slowly returning to face did no job in soothing your worries. the fluorescents and hospital gown washed him out, his face becoming devoid of any semblance of himself.

but he saw you, too. and god, did it all come back to him.

the late nights you’d spend waiting for him after cases, the sleepy and breathy ‘i love you’ you would whisper before bed, the sacred mornings of quiet and coffee, and the purest, loveliest, most meaningful kisses goodbye.

the kisses spoke a million words unsaid, the syllables, instead, hanging on to the thin skin of your lips. hello, goodbye, i love you, i’ll see you later, i want to be with you, i can’t wait to be with you, you’re my tomorrow.

“how are you?” your voice sung.

he finally had another piece of you to hang on to, to archive, to selfishly keep for himself when things got quiet.

“doctors say i’ll make a speedy recovery.” he attempted to be jubilant.

you sighed. “why did you call me, spencer?”

it was a good question. he was still wrapping his head around the why, but he felt the reasons spilling in his head. it was because of one thing, one thought that set everything off, and he couldn’t bear function if he ignored it.

“i was going to die.” he hesitated. and as your face softened, he knew that he wanted nothing more than to be vulnerable with you and be honest. you always were the only person who would listen to him.

“i was going to die and i couldn’t remember our last kiss.”

you felt the heaviest breath leave your lungs, wisping up into the air and dissipating into the cloud of words he left there to hang.

“it was a sunday. the day you left.” you waited for a signal to continue, and he pursed his lips. he was listening. “it was a sunday, and it was raining. and i’ve always loved the rain, but god, i’ve hated it since.” your slight exasperation dripped into your voice. “you said we couldn’t do this, and-and i cried, and i told you that we could figure it out.” you paused, trying to hold back any tears from forming. you’ve cried too much already. “i told you we could figure it out, and you grabbed your bag and planned to leave. so i held your wrist back, and i asked you to kiss me one last time.”

“you always did kiss me goodbye.” he said. “i did, and i tried to tell myself that this wasn’t any different, that i’d see you again after work or after your case. and so you kissed me, and i could taste salt, from my tears. and i could smell your cologne. mahogany and cinnamon. i remember the day you bought that, too. i remember everything, spencer.” you stifled a nervous laugh. “why don’t you?”

“i don’t know. i’m supposed to remember everything, aren’t i?”

you wanted to hold his hand, to carry his pain. “that’s what i thought, but maybe it’s just different when your brain is protecting itself?”

“i don’t want it to protect me.” he said, not an ounce of hesitation in his voice. “if protection means i end up scouring my thoughts for a real, lasting memory of you, then that’s not a protection i want.”

“do you want to change the memory, then?” you asked. “of what?”

“our last kiss. our goodbye kiss.”

spencer was silent, brooding, thinking. his thoughts were as quiet as they could be, so he could focus on everything else.

he’d remember the light, the sounds of the corridor, the way the sheets felt on his skin, the way the horrid hospital smell was unavoidable, the way he wanted water. most of all, he’d remember you, how you could fill all of his senses at one simple touch.

as you inched nearer and nearer, spencer closed his eyes, his thoughts switching to focus on you, to isolate the sights, sounds, smells, feelings, and taste, making everything come down to this one, final, fleeting moment. the touch of your lips.

solace.

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