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spencersmagic · 4 years ago

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For as long as you’ll have me - SR

i don’t know who owns this gif (i found it on my computer). If anybody knows where its from please let me know so i can tag them.

update: found them. @anepiphany . sorry for not tagging you at first. lmk if u want me to tag u in any other way/change the gif :)

// Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 //

masterlist // taglist

Summary: Spencer learns about love and the importance of communication in the last part of the “I’ve got you”.

Couple: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral Reader (I think. I don’t remember being gender-specific but correct me if im wrong).

Category: a bit of angst, mostly fluff.

Warnings: Spencer is a bit toxic (my poor baby is learning but FUCK if he isn’t a bit of a dumbass), idk if spencer is borderline obsessive or just eager but ILL ALLOW IT, sorta deep? idk, i tried to delve into the reasons why spencer is the way he is and i might’ve gotten lost in the way down. let me know if you need anything trigger tagged or warned.

Words: 2010 words.

The rest of the night was a blur. Spencer’s sudden outburst had left you baffled, not knowing what to do. You had finished Spencer’s paperwork, figuring you’d do it anyways since he was so tired.

You would love to be one of those people who burst out in anger when something hurts them, but that’s just simply not who you are. And you kicked yourself for it, wanting to face Spencer, seething, asking him who the actual fuck he thought he was talking to you like that. After all you’d gone through. But you couldn’t. You stayed, silent, immersing yourself in the paperwork in front of you.

Nothing could’ve prepared Spencer for what awaited him at the BAU.

All his life, Spencer has found himself in unlikely situations. Situations from which he had to dig himself out. As a kid, taking care of his mother, he would exhaustively study every single possibility, every single outcome to his actions. He didn’t want anything to catch him unprepared. He immersed himself in textbook after textbook trying to learn as much as he could, trying to absorb every little detail just in case it could help him later on.

He absorbed textbooks, and novels, and poems, and quotes because he was afraid of not knowing the answer. He was scared of not knowing what to do.

But apparently, as he learned about physics, and criminology and the meaning of life, he forgot that he also had one of his own. That there is more to life than work and survival.

He forgot to learn about love, and emotion, and all the other arts. The ones he couldn’t hide behind statistics to understand, no matter how much he tried.

Nothing could’ve prepared Spencer for what awaited him at the BAU.

The emptiness.

As he left the day before, he felt awful. He knew he shouldn’t lashed out, but he was so hurt he could feel it physically, and so tired of never being anyone’s first choice. But most of all, he was heartbroken that you hadn’t cherished the memory like he had.

And it was completely unfair to expect something of you when he hadn’t made any advances either, but he was so scared of being rejected by you. The agent that had latched onto him, who always listened to his rants and statistical facts, who made him feel safe and comfortable.

He felt human around you.

As he entered the bullpen, he felt as abstract as he could. Like he was a drawing, a caricature, mocking the parts of him he despised the most. He felt his skin crawling and, if he didn't know that it was physiologically impossible, he would think his heart had stopped completely.

You weren’t in today.

And maybe it was the exhaustion (to be fair, he hadn’t slept well, instead tossing and turning and thinking about the venom he had spewed at his favourite person), or maybe some external force was making him pay for his actions the day before, but he felt his heart dropping onto his gut - again, something he knew was physiologically impossible but still found truer than anything he had interacted with during the short day he had.

Your desk was empty, and he was terrified.

He cleared his throat, turning to JJ. “Is uhm- is Y/N in?” he asked, voice still, somehow, wavering.

She turned to him, distracted with a file she was holding between her arms. “She called in sick” she offered, saying no more.

He sighed, shakily. He didn’t feel real today. He was merely a concept, forced to float through this specific space-time. Like a ghost.

He didn’t even realised that his hands were moving to his new phone (you had convinced him that he should get it so you two could FaceTime - needless to say, he wouldn’t be hard to convince), and dialled your number.

It went straight to voicemail.

You rarely called in sick, instead preferring not to endure whatever was hurting alone. But today you couldn’t. In some weird way, you didn’t want to be perceived.

Spencers words had pierced your skin, leaving you in pieces. You hated that he had so much power over you. You hated that you had allowed your feelings to cloud you to the point where you would call in sick, preferring to cuddle a pillow instead of a file. Preferring to sleep through the pain.

You had given yourself a day. One day where the sadness could consume you. You would carry out all the clichés. Nursing a Ben & Jerry’s Cookie Dough ice-cream tub and watching The Office. Wrapping yourself like a burrito in a soft blanket. Trying to cry it out.

You had always been very in touch with your emotions. You always tried to make sense of them, clearing them from your mind once you untangled them. You needed today, you were sure. As soon as today was over you would go back to the BAU, and face everybody like any other day. You’d bring in whatever cute gadget you had found for Penelope, you’d make sure Spencer had his coffee when he was tired... You’d be back to normal.

You needed today.

He didn’t feel real today.

His feet shuffled as he moved to Hotch’s office, mumbling something about finding you, and then left, leaving Hotch perplexed at Spencer’s mindless assertiveness.

He kicked himself for feeling so slow as he got to your apartment. His mind was going at a thousand miles per hour, but he felt like he was empty, no real thoughts in his mind. All he had was vacant ideas, not a trace of clarity in boy genius’s mind.

He knew why he had treated you like that. He knew it was wrong. But he was so confused and scared. He didn’t want to hurt you and he didn’t want to lose himself in his love for you. But he had.

He stood in front of the door. His hand twitched at the idea of knocking on the wood in front of him. His knuckles felt bruised at the idea of softly brushing them over your cheek, calming you down once again. His fingertips shook like they had a consciousness of their own, the lingering memory of your skin against them as you sighed contently becoming too much for him to handle.

He was so scared of not being good enough for you.

He brought his hand to his face, rubbing it furiously as he kicked himself once again.

His knuckled knocked on the door meticulously, methodically, like he had done a thousand times. The soft mumbling of the tv was the only sound coming from the apartment. Once again, as if he’d been possessed, he grabbed the spare key you had gifted him dramatically after you’d fallen ill, “in case i die”. He kept the key, figuring you would tell him when you wanted the key back.

You never asked for it.

He opened the door, which halted a few inches after he started moving it forwards.

“Ouch! What the fuck Spencer?” you exclaimed as he hit you in the face with the door. You lifted your hand to rub the area he had hit.

“Oh god, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” he cradled your face like he had done a thousand times before, fingertips finally finding your skin. They sighed contentedly, he was sure, like they had just returned to their home. Like they would curl up with a book in the crevices of your features, soaking in your greatness.

You shuddered softly, so softly he probably wouldn’t’ve picked up on it if he weren’t on edge.

“Yeah, I’m fine” you sighed, cursing your voice for betraying you, wavering from the tears. “What are you doing here?” you questioned, not exactly mad. No. You couldn’t be mad.

You would love to be one of those people who burst out in anger when something hurts them, but that’s just simply not who you are.

His hands fell from your face, like it burned, like touching you one more second would turn him into ashes.

He felt human around you and he had hurt you.

Words spluttered out of him nervously.

“Y-Y/N. I lied to you.” he started, finding himself mesmerised, lost in your eyes as you looked up at him, eyes teary and wide, red mark on your forehead, and biting your cheek. “I lied to you, I- I-” his mind searched for the words that could accurately describe the millions of thoughts that were swarming his head.

“I lied, and we promised to never lie to each other. But I was so hurt, Y/N, so scared. I’ve never felt like this before.

You know, men are much more likely to fall in love at first sight, representing a 48% chance in contrast to women's 28%, but I never thought I would fall into this statistic, being a man of science. I’ve always picked the people around me carefully, meticulously, not letting anybody in. But when I saw you something clicked. I needed you in my life. And when you started talking to me - no one had ever treated me like you did, so openly, so incredibly unafraid - and i became completely mesmerised by your existence.

You know-” he chuckled lightly, nervously, recalling his thoughts, before throwing caution out of the window. “I did question the existence of an infinite deity, one that could justify your beauty and greatness, but, again, i’m a man of science. I had to get to terms with the fact that you were completely human. And its- its so fucking confusing” he shut his eyes sharply, trying to understand “ Its so fucking hard to see you day after day, knowing you could never feel the same way” you opened your mouth to interrupt him but he stopped you.

“I meant what I say yesterday” he watched your face fall, eyes tearing up once again. “I meant it. You know me. I would’ve done it for anybody. I would’ve helped anybody in pain. That’s what i’ve always done. But you’re not anybody. You’re so far from being just anybody, from not being special. In fact, you’re the most special person I have ever met.

It is unclear how many words there are in the English dictionary. The mere fact that our language is constantly changing, being shaped by our society, doesn’t allow an accurate count. The average english speaker knows approximately 42,000 words, and uses half of those. And the common unabridged dictionary has as many as 300,000 entries” he stopped to look into your eyes, his own otherwise roaming all over your face, trying to make sense of you. “I don’t think there are words to describe what I feel about you, Y/N”.

You grabbed the crook of his neck with one hand and the side of his face, and brought him closer to you. “Can i kiss you, Spence?” you mumbled. The words barely left your lips as he crashed onto them, somewhat messily. You didn’t want it any other way.

The kiss was soft, gentle, apologetic, and, above all, understanding.

You definitely needed to heal, talk and understand each other’s struggles. But, for now, this was more than enough.

You broke apart, pressing his forehead against yours and his hand landed on your lower back, bringing you impossibly closer to him.

Insecurity swarmed his head, rushing words once again. He cleared his throat. “I-I’m new to this, Y/N. I’m bound to fail over and over again. If you want someone else, you need to tell me. I can’t handle another heartbreak. I might lash out like yesterday and hurt you” he mumbled softly, eyes closed, breathing her in.

“Spencer, I’ll have you a thousand times. I’ll want you for as long as you’ll have me” you chuckled, leaning in for another kiss. “I would get hurt a thousand times if it means i get to have you, Spence”.

They had each other, and that’s all that matters.

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super cool kid taglist:

@lady-anon-x @inlovewithbabygirl @username2002

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