quibblyisme

[quibblyisme]

Freckled

Who? Spencer x Reader

Summary: Spencer loves your freckles

Word count: 437

Genre: Fluff

A/N: Bon appetite

"Your skin was the sky that kept the most beautiful constellation, perfectly layed out and spaced from shoulder blade to shoulder blade.

I'd count the freckles like stars and whisper wishes that will get lost deep in to the galaxies of you."

-R. M. Broderick

It had been a long case for Spencer, endless and endless paperwork, evidence that wasn't really evidence of anything, and parents of victims who wouldn't give him any answers.

After the long jet ride full of JJ and Penelope squealing like little girls, Emily somehow beating him in poker, and Morgan teasing him about the book he was reading, "Notes from Underground."

"Let me guess. Another philosophical book where the narrator is just a brooding man?"

"Wha- no! No! It's- it's not just that!"

"Then what else is it, pretty boy? "

All Spencer had as a response was a measly scoff before resting his head to attempt to get some sleep. The turbulence didn't let him get any unfortunately.

He arrived home late, around 12:32 am. All he wanted to do was curl up with you under the blankets. He stumbled into the bathroom to take out his toiletries and get ready for sleep. He went to the bathroom, brushed his unruly hair, and brushed his hair. It was the middle of summer; too hot for pajamas, so he just settled for his boxers.

He walked down the dark hallway towards your shared bedroom. The room was dark, besides the glow of the lamp that you hated. He wondered why you had it on; you were always sleeping in the dark. He's caught you watching TV in pitch black way too many times. Why have it on? He soon realized that it was his fear of the dark. Or in Spencer's words, "the lack of light.". You knew he'd be coming home today, so you left it on. Suddenly all the frustration of the day faded away.

It seemed like you had the same feelings about the heat. The fan was blasting, and the duvets and blankets were thrown onto the floor. The only thing covering you was a silky ivory sheet, resting around your waist.

You were left in just a bra and panties. It was the most comfortable for you. It showed off the freckles and moles on your back; Spencer loved making constellations out of them. He had a little notebook with drawings of them as well as names.

He slowly got into bed and began tracing the constellations. The touch on your back woke you up.

"I'm back, dear" Spencer whispered sweetly.

You hummed in response, too tired to react. He draped an arm around your back and pulled himself closer. He gently moved your messy hair away from your back.

"This is my favorite one right here."

He placed a kiss on the heart-shaped mole on your back.

"This mole right here."

[quibblyisme]

The Axiom of Equality| 𝑥 = 𝑥 (Chapter 2)

Who? Spencer x Reader

Word count: 1.1k

Summary: Learning how Spencer fell for you

Warnings: Self h@rm, depression, Mentions of su!cide, mentions of readers childhood, Angst

A/N: Be warned

Other chapters: Chapter 1

It gnawed at his brain like a woodpecker to a tree.

Peck peck peck

He couldn't get you out of his head. He didn't know when the feeling first started. If he had to guess, it would probably be in his 3rd year of college.

————————(flashback)——–—

It was the middle of winter. The cold snow had hit, covering the ground in a foot and a half of snow. It had been the most snow either of you had seen. The college tried to shovel the snow for the students who lived off campus, but the snow kept falling. Spencer had always loved winter and Christmas. He loved the movies, the hot chocolate, and Christmas. You didn't have the same outlook on winter.

As a child, your only memories of winter were your parents kicking you out into the freezing climate. You remember sleeping under newspapers and sheets of cardboard. You remember the police finding you hypothermic, with your heart nearly stopped. You remember the children's home, the beatings, and the starvation you suffered.

The college you went to had turned the cafeteria into a movie night. Tables in the back had hot chocolate and microwaved popcorn. Spencer hated the loudness of the cafeteria. He knew he wouldn't enjoy the noise or the movie, so he headed to his dorm.

Inside was slightly messy. It was a two twin bedroom; it had one small desk that you and Spencer had to share and two dressers. There was a small bathroom by the entrance; it was extremely tight and barely usable.

Once coming back from the bathroom, he saw your figure curled up under blankets, reading. It was your usual routine. You'd study, read, then sleep. He wanted to do something special for the snow-in, so he grabbed supplies. He had brought in a mini burner as well as a kettle. The kitchen was a shared place and was often busy and dirty, so he snuck this in. Spencer had instant coffee, chocolate, and some microwave popcorn.

Spencer wasn't the best cook; he forgot you needed a lid for cooking popcorn in a burner, and the chocolate coffee mixture sucked. He felt a bit disappointed at the failed cooking. His last plan was a movie. He brought a projector at the start of college just in case. He'd never used it since then, as he preferred to read, but it was perfect for this.

He nudged your shoulder. You turned your head, messy hair and sleepy eyes.

“Hm…?”

“Wanna watch a movie?”

You were about to decline, but it was Spencer. Your best friend. You'd love anything with him. You nodded to let him know that you were in.

Spencer pulled down his and your mattress on the floor and set up bedding and pillows. After a lot of grunting, he moved the dresser to act as a headboard for the both of you.

You both curled up under the blankets as Spencer started his long introduction of the movie he chose for that night.

“Tonight we will be watching the best Christmas movie ever. The Dead Poets Society. And yes. It is a Christmas movie. You cannot change my mind. Now… enjoy.”

He handed you what was left of the popcorn in the pan, as well as the chocolate coffee. He watched as you pretended to enjoy the coffee and popcorn, your face grimaced. He knew you didn't like it, but it was the fact that you tried to keep his feelings intact was what mattered.

The movie had started, and he was completely invested. He'd watched it over 30 times, and yet he still loved it. As the movie went on, he saw your head bob. It was clear you were getting tired; it was 1 am after all. Around halfway through, he felt a weight in his lap. You had dozed off and rested your head in his lap. He froze, unknowing what to do. He knew you didn't sleep well, so he couldn't wake you… not that he wanted to. You felt so perfect there, like his thighs were carved for your resting head. Cautiously, he lifted a hand and wove it through your hair. It was blissful. Your hair was greasy and knotted, and yet he didn't want this to end. It was at that moment that he realized that a friend didn't feel that way about another.

He loved you

—————————(present)———

Since the attempt, you and Spencer had grown closer. You were now able to open up to him about the self-harm, though you still kept the attempt secret. He slowly learned your tells that you wanted to cut. He knew how you'd get antsy and snappy when you craved it. He knew about your pacing and scratching. Sometimes he felt helpless about it, watching you sneak into the bathroom, finding duct tape and saran wrap in the trash. He searched every crevice of the apartment for them; somehow there was always one he couldn't find.

It was one night that got to him. He was hanging out in your room, peacefully reading. Soon you felt the craving. It had been 6 days without a single cut. It was getting to you. The glances to the bathroom were less than subtle, and the pacing around the room as well. Of course, you noticed this. Of course. You bookmarked and closed your book and set it beside you. With a shaky hand, you placed it on top of his.

“Please… please don't,” he pleaded.

“Please…” It was barely a whisper.

“I can't let you do this.” His lip quivered, and his eyes watered.

“I need to… You don't get it.”

“Then tell me…”

“I—I can't explain it…”

“Try…”

There was a long pause; just as Spencer tries to beg again, you speak up.

“It's like a concentration… no, that's not right. It's just- if I didn't have a small pain like a cut… it would all accumulate into something bigger… like suicide.” All your words came out at once, spilling out of your trembling lips.

He felt selfish, crying at this. He needed to comfort you, not the other way around. It hurt him. Realizing that you were so broken that you needed pain.

“No…” He whispered, begging.

You didn't say anything; you just stormed out of the room. Spencer would have chased after you, but he realized that both of you needed to cool down.

As you entered your bedroom, you saw yourself in the reflection of the broken mirror. The gauze still clung to your skin; the tape was dirty and starting to peel. You were supposed to change it. In a way, this was your version of self-punishment. Your cuts could get infected. Good. You ran your hand down the gauze, wincing at the pain. Slowly you peeled it off.

The skin around the stitches were puffy. The skin was red, purple, and yellow. Definitely not what it was supposed to look like. You ran your hand down the singular scar. You felt the raised skin, a sense of something? Filled you. You weren't sure what emotion it was.

Eventually you wrapped yourself in blankets and went to bed.

[quibblyisme]

The Axiom Of Equality| 𝑥 = 𝑥

(Chapter 1)

Who? Spencer × Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Summary: Spencer finds out about your self h@rm, unaware that it was also an attempt.

Warnings: Self h@rm, poor self image, depression, failed attempt, Angst

A/n: This is inspired by the book "A Little Life"

Other Chapters: Chapter 2

𝑥 = 𝑥

It's the axiom of equality. 𝑥 will always be 𝑥. You can't change it; you can't stop it. 𝑥 will always be 𝑥.

That would soon be forgotten from minds but it never left yours. 𝑥 will always be 𝑥. It was a metaphor for you. What you were born to do, to be. No matter how good, no matter how bad, you can't change it. Some people had the pleasure of a rich life. They will always be rich, the smart will always be smart, and the kind will always be kind.

𝑥 will always be 𝑥

You didn't get such pleasures. Abused will always be abused. That's how it was applied to you. You couldn't escape it. It was someone whispering in your ear every second of the day. At night, they turned to screams and howls. They tore and ripped your insides until you woke up panting and sweating. The thoughts were hungry, no. They were fed. They enjoyed the pain. They wanted to feel your last breath chill their necks.

"Who are you?"

You said, looking at the mirror in disgust. You looked at your tear-stained cheeks. You looked at your yellowed crooked teeth; you looked at your hollowed-in cheeks. Your brain often went to the carnival mirror analogy. When standing in front of a carnival mirror, your body changes. It changes reality, though it isn't actually changed. It's simply distortion. Once you moved from the mirror, then you would go back to normal.

You wished your mirror was a carnival mirror. You wish you could walk away, and your life would change. You would suddenly feel. You would suddenly love. Instead, you stared into your own gaze, hatred was all that was reflected, and it was taunting you. Your face and emotions were distorted but rather a reality you couldn't face.

"Who are you?"

You said as you slowly slid off your shirt, revealing the horribly bruised skin. Reds, purples, and yellows painted your body. It was a beautifully painful sight, a sight you couldn't get enough of. "This is what you were made for" is what you told yourself.

"Who are you?"

You said as you slid the blade across your already scarred skin. Blood pooled to the surface. It dropped onto your dirty tile. You knew it would stain; you couldn't care. There were already blood stains from before. You grabbed a few squares of toilet paper and used that to clean up the blood.

You were 𝑥. Always was and always will be.

You never knew what to feel after you cut yourself. It was just dull. The high from the pain had drained away and left you numb, craving more. You had limited yourself to 8 deep cuts. 4 on each thigh.

Your doctor had tried to make you cut down (he was a close friend so he shied away from his typical "doctoral" duties such as locking you away for what you've done) You didn't know why you listened to him, you didn't normally. He'd check if you were cutting and eating more and less. If it was eating more and cutting less, you get a cheer and a congrats. If it was the opposite, then you'd get the classic sit-down "what were you thinking" conversation as well as a threat to call your friend.

The threats scared you the most. The only person who knew about your self-harm was your doctor. Not your friend. You'd known Spencer since college, you being roommates. Spencer and you were both antisocial, and it was hard to get close. Once you did, you couldn't be separated. The friendship lasted long and was thankfully strong. You were still roommates, just upgraded from a dorm to an apartment.

You stumbled as you made your way to the couch. You tried to sleep, but it was no use. All you could think of was what Spencer would think?

—————————————————

At 11:34, you heard the familiar sound of your rusty door hinges creaking. Spencer was home. He was probably late because he stayed behind to work. It wasn't an unusual occurrence. He dropped his heavy messenger bag on the floor; the inside contents made a "thud" sound. It was most likely books and files.

Spencer immediately collapsed on the couch across from you. He was tired and exhausted from a long day at work. You immediately knew it was work. It always was.

"JJ just doesn't know when to back off!" He groaned, rolling over to face you

"She's always talking, and I just want to work!"

He finally looked over at you. You were just staring at space. For him, that should have rung alarm bells in his mind. He's known you for years. He knows your tics, habits, and tells. Spencer was simply too tired to realize something was up.

He made his way to the bedroom and wrapped himself up with duvets, throws, and blankets. Soon, he drifted to a dreamless sleep.

While Spencer was happily sleeping, you were twisting and turning. You pulled hair after hair, trying to stop yourself from cutting again. You always tried to distract yourself and cook. Reading. Talking. None of it could match the familiar sting.

The whispers were back again, louder. They tore apart your brain until you were left broken, broken until you cut. You found your legs moving to the bathroom themselves. You turned on the bright white lights, making you squint. Under the sink was a small package, duct-taped to the underside. It was covered in layers and layers of tape and saran wrap. Inside laid your blades. There were three inside, but those packages were scattered around the house.

You didn't know why you did it like that. It'd be easier just to keep them all together in your underwear drawer, where Spencer would never find them, but you knew. You knew that in the back of your mind, there was a tiny voice begging for help. Begging for help. Begging to let someone care for you.

You made your way back to the bathroom; one more cut, you told yourself. You found the familiar wrap under the sink. Your hands shook as you pressed the blade onto your scarred wrists. You pressed deep down to the muscle. A long vertical down your wrist. The blood flowed like blood rain in mythology. It was written into Zeus' story. The blood rain stuck twice. Once for the warning of a battle and the second as a tribute to the death of his son, Sarpendon,

It fit you in a cruel way. The first rain was on your thighs. A taste of tragedy. The second was your wrist, where Spencer would find you dead in your bathroom.

As you stared at the flow, you had realized what you had done. You were dying. You wanted to. God did you ever, but something stopped you. You grabbed the towel on the hook next to you and wrapped your arm up tightly. The blood was staining the towel a deep red.

The hall connecting the bathroom to Spencer's room was pitch black; you kept tripping over dirty laundry, piling from the bin. You finally collapsed against his closed door. It quietly opened, and the light from his lamp filled the hallway. Spencer was peacefully sleeping, curled up in blankets and bedsheets, unaware of your distress.

"Spencer..." You whispered, gently nudging his shoulder

"Spencer..."

"Please wake up..."

Finally, Spencer's brown eyes met yours. He rubbed the sleep out of his tired eyes and pushed himself up. His brown curls fell in front of his face; he pushed them away with his long, soft, and lanky hand.

"What time is it?" He said, looking at the clock on his bedside table. It read "2:43".

"Spencer, can you take me to my doctor...?" you said shyly, he still hadn't seen your arm.

"Why -”

He was about to ask, but the sight of the once-white towel shocked him. He froze, unable to speak.

"What happened!"

"I just cut myself; I must have hit a vein.”

Truthfully, you tried to kill yourself; you couldn't tell him that. He was your best friend; you wouldn't be able to see his face if he found the truth. He stood up shakily, grabbing anything necessary, keys, phone, wallet, and shoes. He couldn't speak because he was too shocked. He knew you were struggling. He knew of your past abuse, but he didn't know you resorted to self-harm.

He continued to stay silent as he drove you to your doctor's office. You, on the other hand, were calling your doctor, Thomas, into the office. He didn't want to seem like a burden, but you couldn't trust anyone else. Spencer was hard to decode. Normally, he wore his emotions on his sleeve, but he seemed mad? Sad? Confused? Ashamed?

You rode in shame, clutching your wrist to keep pressure to stop the bleeding. Blood was dripping down your arm and hand. Thomas finally answered, and you begged him to come into office.

You had both arrived just in time and rushed into the office. Thomas paled when he saw the towel. He slowly peeled it off, dropping it on a nearby table. It was so soaking with blood; it made a "plop" sound. He saw the long vertical cut; he knew it wasn't just self-harm. He knew it was an attempt. Spencer was in the waiting room, bouncing his leg impatiently. He was terrified.

"Please don't tell Spencer..." You pleaded.

“...Next time this fucking happens I will. Got it?" Thomas fumed. He was your friend but he needed you to stop this.

"Thank you... thank you."

Thomas carefully stitched your arm up, applying gauze and ointment. He didn't have anesthetic so you had to bite on a pen. Spencer heard groans from the doctor's room; it only frightened him more.

Once you came from the room, Spencer flung himself onto his feet. His words started coming out like vomit, chunks of nouns, verbs, and adjectives blended together to make a panicked paragraph. He threw himself onto you, holding you in a tight hug, sobbing into your shoulder.

You slowly shuffled your feet to guide him to the car. He only let go to get into the driver's seat, your arm was too weak to hold onto the steering wheel.

"You cut yourself...?" Spencer said weakly, breaking the thick fog of tension in the air.

You felt your throat constricting. How could you tell your best friend that you hurt yourself? How could you tell them that it's the only way you can cope? After minutes of Spencer staring at your profile, waiting for an answer, you spoke.

"Yes..."

"Did you know... The iron in your blood, in my blood, everyone's blood, was made inside a star? Same with the calcium in your bones, the carbon in your muscle, and the oxygen in your lungs"

You looked at him quizzically, not knowing where he was going with this, it wasn't like it was unlike him. He was always rambling, especially about scientific stuff like this.

"You're made of stars. You're practically a star. The thing people look up at in the night sky. That's you."

You didn't know what to say, it didn't comfort you in any way, it didn't make you rethink anything. You didn't know what to tell him, so all you said was "Oh... I didn't know that"

He was completely lost at this point, tears blurred his eyes, making it hard to look onto the foggy road ahead. Many thoughts swirled in his head "Why didn't I notice this?" "I could have helped" "I'm such a bad friend" "What if it gets worse". He looked over and saw your head resting on the car window. Even while sleeping, you always looked scared, and distressed. He wanted to wipe your tears and tell you he'd make it better. He wanted you to cry into his chest. He wanted to say that he loved you... If only you knew.

[quibblyisme]

Sea, swallow me

Who? Spencer x User

Warnings: Suicide, Main character death, Angst.

Summary: Spencer Sees your blue eyes in the sea

Word count: 480

A/N: Be warned and enjoy! Also the title is a link to the song

Spencer never understood the phrase "Now I see her in everything." He had always taken it literally. He only thought you could see people in mirrors and photographs. Just that thought made him want to break any mirror in sight.

He didn't hate you. No, it was far from that. He wished he could see you.

It had been a year since your death. Since your attempt. Spencer knew it was coming. He was a profiler; he knew the signs, but it was still a shock. He never thought he'd have to bury his love, his lifeline.

How could he react? Coming home from work and seeing the bloodied sheets and your lifeless body. How could he react to your suicide note? Your last words to him:

"Oh dear, my Spencer

If you are reading this, I'm dead. I'm sorry you had to see me like this. It's been a long battle; I've tried everything, but it's been far too hard to continue. I've tried meds, therapy, and distractions, but nothing captured my attention quite like death. I want you to know that I love you and that you're my whole life. You've helped me so much. I'm sorry, Spencer.

I love you."

He wanted to scream, to fight, to kick, to kill, but he stayed frozen there. How could he go on without you?

The grief was far from anything he's felt before. The worst part was seeing you in everything. At first the grief was crying, lack of personal hygiene... but then came you. He started hearing you calling his name in a crowd. He saw a random lady wearing your sweater. He knew they were coincidences. But the team still had to hold him back every time.

He mostly saw you in the sea. He saw your bright blue eyes in the misty sky. He felt himself being drawn to those waves, how it would feel for them to swallow him.

He wasn't himself when he got into his car, he wasn't himself when he set the destination, and he wasn't himself when he parked.

He stepped out of the car and felt the cool early air hit him. The beach was empty and just like he wanted... full of mist. He stood at where the sand met the sea. His feet stung from the cold water washing over them, but to him it felt like the warmth of your hugs.

He slowly took a step further and further. Eventually he was waist deep in the water. He grabbed the rocks below his feet and shoved them into his pockets.

"I'm coming, my dear," he whispered before swimming past the buoys, where he'd take his last breath.

[quibblyisme]

Motel

Who? Spencer x Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Summary: Spencer hires a prostitute

Warnings: Use of "mommy", prostitution, sub Spencer, Douche side character, Smut, brief mention of dilaudid

A/N: I loved writing this! Enjoy! Love you all! Also legally a short story is 1k Words... crazy that this is a short story lol

It wasn't like Spencer to go to a prostitute. It was against the law, he told himself. After dilaudid, though, it was hard. He needed something other than a drug, filling his veins, making him oh so numb.

He found himself back in Vegas for a case. The case was long and painful. There wasn't a single second where he wasn't thinking about dilaudid. He told the team that he was staying back for a week to stay with his mom. It was a half-truth. He did want to see his mom. The other half didn't want to get fucked by a prostitute in a motel room next to his coworkers. Walls so thin they could hear every whimper and whine he let out.

He found himself booking into a classic sketchy motel. The type with the neon sign with letters that won't light up. He got a room with a door with access to the parking lot. Outside his door was a small picnic bench. A homeless man lay on it, warming himself with cardboard. Out of pity he tucked a 20 dollar bill under his head before whispering.

"I wish I had more."

He opened his room, and inside was... well. What he expected. It was a single queen bed with messy sheets and curtains that went out of fashion in the 60s. He flopped down on the bed and immediately got a whiff of cigarettes. So messy and unwashed sheets. Spencer was too afraid of germs to sleep on that bed, so he stripped the bed and headed out to buy some cheap bedding.

A 10-minute drive from the motel was a Walmart. It was late at night but not late enough for the store to close. Spencer went straight to the bedding section and picked up some sheets and a single throw. As he headed to the cash, the beauty and hygiene section caught his eye.

He strolled the aisles, looking around the store nervously as if people would judge. He picked up some condoms and headed to the cash. He did earn some looks from the cashier. It almost ruined the mood until he walked out and noticed you.

You were arguing with a man who didn't want to use condoms.

"Cmon baby. I'm clean, I swear! I'll pay extra."

"No! That's not the deal! Fuck off!"

The man was just about to lay hands on her until Spencer walked up to you and the man. He quickly flashed his FBI ID, and the man quickly scurried. Fear flashed on your face at the sight of the FBI badge. You were behind on rent; you didn't need jail time and a fine on top of that.

He quickly tried to calm you down. He felt horrible.

"Don't worry... I-im not going to arrest you..." He stuttered.

"You aren't...?" You said shyly.

"No... are you okay?"

"Yeah, I am... I just need some business... I'm behind on rent."

"Oh, uh... well... uh..." He tried finding his words before finally spitting it out.

"I can help."

"Really?" You asked suspiciously, but also with a bit of excitement.

"Yeah... and I won't be rough or anything... I just want... I want to be a sub... i-if that's okay!"

"Thank you so much... where are we headed?" You said, now excited and the nervousness far in the back of your mind.

Spencer gestured to his car and held the door open for you. The car was old as hell. Your guess would be from the 60s. It was comfortable, though. Lots of room and fairly well kept.

Soon enough, you were at the motel. The same man was asleep next to the picnic table. He checked his wallet; he had gone to the ATM to pick up more cash. He slid another 20 under his head before realizing that wasn't secure enough. He looked around and spotted a pocket on the man's hoodie and slipped both bills under.

You and Spencer made your way into the room. The bedding was still strewn across the floor.

"Make yourself at home... I'm just gonna make the bed..."

You nodded before looking around. The room wasn't in great condition, but it was better than past clients. You peeked into the bathroom and saw his toiletries. They were nice. High-end as well. Maybe he was going to pay you generously.

"I'm done!"

You walked back into the room and saw the bed made, as well as a towel laid out.

"I tried to make one of those swans, but... it didn't end well... clearly."

"Don't worry about it." You chuckled a bit. He was pretty cute.

"Well, first. Payment"

"Oh! Right! Of course!" Before you could say the price or time, he was handing you some bills. Way more than you were thinking of asking for.

"Th-"

"I know it's more, but... I don't know... I want to. Take it"

"Thank you..."

"So... what do we do now?" He bounced on the heels of his feet.

"Well... how would you like to start? We can go slow or fast."

"Slow... please."

You made your way towards him, carefully cupping his cheeks. You waited for a confirmation that you could kiss him. A slight nod told you that you could. The kiss was soft and gentle. He had surprisingly soft lips, and his breath smelled of coffee.

You pushed your tongue past the barriers of his lips to get to the treasure. A small whine left Spencer's lips as he started picking up the pace, eagerly shoving his tongue down his throat.

You pushed him till the back of his knees hit the footboard. You gently lowered him onto the bed, making the mattress creak slightly.

"C-can I take your shirt off?" He said in a near whisper, as if afraid of rejection.

"Of course."

With shaky hands he lifted your shirt off and placed it next to him on the bed. Underneath you had a nice black lace bra. It was simple but extremely enticing. Spencer was quick to cup your tit, giving it a light squeeze. Soon enough he was reaching to unbuckle it. He struggled to get it off, sighing before looking up at you, as if to say, "Can you do it for me?".

You pulled the bra off your arms to reveal your tits. Spencer's eyes were fixated on them. He reached a hand out, and they felt softer than they looked. He ran a hand over your nipple, watching it pebble under the touch. Soon enough he leaned forward and started kissing and sucking on it, leaving hickeys in the wake. You let him explore your body, running his hands up and down your sides.

In the meantime, you pulled his shirt over his head, throwing it carelessly on the floor. You ran a hand down his stomach, noting the lack of abs. Soon Spencer wanted more. His hand reached lower and lower until it reached your pants. You moved, you lay next to him, and you pulled them off, along with your soaking wet panties. You were too horny to wait.

Spencer reached out to circle your clit. He ran his fingers down your slit, collecting the wetness before bringing it to his mouth, savouring the taste with a moan. After that Spencer looked a little lost, like he wanted to do something but held back.

"Um... can I. Can I eat you out?"

You nodded eagerly. Kicking your bare legs over his shoulder. He dipped his head down and started with little kitten licks. Once he got comfortable, he started long stripes up your slit. He experimented with different patterns. Zig zags, licking the clit, licking your pussy lips.

Your legs began to shake, and you let out louder and louder moans, trying to grind onto his tongue to get yourself off. Soon enough you felt the pressure release, just like a dam. Liquid flowed out of you. Spencer caught all of it, lapping it up. This was a nice shift from the usual clients. Normally they'd pound into you then leave, but Spencer actually made you come.

Spencer seemed too shy to ask for you to pleasure him, but you got the hint. You moved onto your knees and pushed him so he was lying against the headboard.

"Mommy, please..."

You were a bit shocked at the nickname, but if that's what he wanted, then that's what you gave.

"Lift your hips."

You pulled down his pants and noticed his underwear. They were patterned with dinosaurs; you couldn't help but laugh at it.

"W-why are you laughing?" Spencer said, paranoid

"Your underwear... they're dinosaurs."

"And...?" Spencer didn't really get that most men just had black or blue underwear.

"Nothing... sorry."

You traced over a triceratops pattern on his boxers. It was right where he wanted you to touch, but it was far too light; it was teasing to him. He let out a mix of a moan and a whine at the contact.

"Please! Mommy, stop teasing!"

You finally pull down his boxers, revealing his whole body. His hard cock sprung up. The tip was pink and leaking precum. There were distinct veins running from the base to the head. It was larger than expected, but it was gorgeous.

"Do you want me to suck you off or fuck you?" You say, a bit hesitantly. He wasn't your normal client, so you were new to this dynamic.

"Fuc- fuck me, please!" He clutched the bedsheets as more precum bubbled out the tip.

You grabbed him from the base, lining yourself up. Before you sunk down, you rolled on a condom that was lying next to you. You ran the tip through your slick folds before finally sinking down. He stretched you out deliciously.

You raised your hips up before sinking down. Spencer let out a loud moan that the neighbours definitely heard. As you kept going, wet sounds filled the room along with Spencer's whines and moans, as well as your heavy breathing. You reached your hands up to fondle your own tits. Squeezing and massaging. You rolled your tongue in your mouth and in between your lips.

"Nggh... so good!" Spencer moaned.He started bucking his hips up, desperate for his release. You dropped down on him faster and harder, just waiting for him to shoot his load into the condom.

"Clo- clos- I'm so close!"

"Mommy, I'm cumming!" He loosened his tight grip on your hips and relaxed his whole body. You collapsed on top of him, trying to catch your breath. Spencer's hair was all messed up. It was sweaty and covering his eyes. His cheeks were red and glowing. Somehow it was the most attractive thing you've seen.

How did you let yourself fall for a client?

[quibblyisme]

Masterlist

(Click the titles for the fic!)

Smut

Cane

Please?

Motel

Angst

Promise?

Spiders and solitude

Sea, swallow me

The Axiom of Equality (Chapter 1)

The Axiom of Equality (Chapter 2)

Fluff

Chicken noodle soup

Freckled

[quibblyisme]

Cane

Who? Spencer x reader

Summary: Spencer's new cane really does something for you

Warnings: Penetration by foreign object, smut, fingering

Word count: 840

A/n: This is for... you know who you are...

Spencer took one bullet to the knee. It was during a case with a shootout with the unsub; he took the bullet to protect Dr. Barton, the next victim.

He was in horrible pain, but thankfully the team got him to the hospital quickly enough.

It was a strange switch. When you two first started dating, Spencer was a big baby. You had to carry around Band-Aids because to him, every tiny cut was an infection breeding ground. That's what he'd say. But now?

Penelope had called you to say that Spencer lied about being cleared to go on cases. Now he was stuck with her. You would be mad that he lied, but you also knew that Spencer was now stuck with Penelope... for a whole case. That was good enough punishment.

When he returned home, you finally got a good look at him since the incident. You made sure to pamper him to a point that he'd tell you to stop. You cooked for him, made him hold onto you while walking down the stairs, and helped him move his knee around to increase blood flow and mobility, but there was always something in the back of your mind.

His cane.

It was a thought that you couldn't get out of your mind; it felt wrong. Every time you saw it, you couldn't stop thinking about how it would feel in you. Him using it like a dildo, pumping it in and out of you.

Maybe it was the fact that sex was mostly off-limits due to the injury and you had built up horniness, or maybe it was the smooth wood of the cane tip and his hand wrapped around it.

You suddenly remembered that you were sitting on the couch with Spencer. He broke you out of your thoughts with him clearing his throat.

"Hun, what's wrong? You've been zoning out." He questions

"It's nothing..." You tried to brush him off, but you weren't very convincing.

"Please... tell me," Spencer gave his best puppy dog eyes.

"It's... it's wrong, Spencer. You don't get it." You sighed, rubbing your forehead.

"Please just tell me... I won't judge." He reached out and held your hand, running his thumb over the knuckles.

"Okay, it's just... I really want your cane... like, in me." You withdraw your hand from his, then bury your face in them.

"I—" Spencer got cut off by you.

"Just never mind. Ignore me." You were totally embarrassed.

"No—let's do it." He smirked, standing up and putting a hand out.

You smiled as he pulled you into your bedroom. He spent a while in the bathroom, disinfecting the cane tip. I guess a bit of young Spencer was still there. He crawled into bed on top of you before pulling you into an aggressive kiss.

You slowly started working the buttons on his shirt while he pulled your shirt off as well. You dipped your head down to his neck and started making a hickey. You bit and nipped down his neck and chest. His hands wove into your hair.

Eventually Spencer got too impatient and started to pull down your shirt, throwing it across the room, not caring where it landed.

He gently laid you down on the already messy bedsheets, propping up a pillow behind your head.

"It's not too late to back out, yknow?" He said anxiously.

To shut him up, you pulled him into another fiery kiss, reaching for his cane and putting it into his hands. He fiddled with the cane for a few seconds, wondering if he should just dive in or warm you up.

To avoid hurting you, he decided on the second option. He slowly slid in his middle and ring fingers, switching between pumping them and curving them.

He ran his fingers through your slick folds, toying with your clit. He dipped his head down and took a tentative lick. Soon enough he was lapping at you like a puppy to a water bowl. He was getting lost in your pussy before remembering the cane.

"Sorry uh... got distracted heh" he chuckled nervously.

You grabbed the cane and his hand, signalling that you wanted the cane now. Spencer took a deep breath before sliding it in. He was worried that he would mess up, but your slight moan comforted him.

"Are you adjusted?"

"Mmm...yeah." Your eyes were half-lidded in enjoyment.

Spencer slowly started moving it, pumping it. It was a little weird to get used to, but he got the hang of it.

"Mfffh... don't... don't stop... ngghh."

He watched as you tried moving your hips yourself to get more friction; he stopped you by placing a firm hand on them. He didn't want to torture you, so he moved it a bit faster and a bit further in.

Soon your toes curled, your legs began to shake, and your moans became louder and came more often, a sign of the impending orgasm.

When you relaxed, he knew that it had been done. He pumped it a few more times, a bit slower, to ride out your orgasm. He placed it on the floor before pulling you in to cuddle.

"Was that...good? Did you like it?" He said somewhat anxiously.

"So good... God... please don't get rid of the cane. We're doing that again," you chuckled through your heavy breaths.

[quibblyisme]

Please?

Who? Spencer Reid / Reader

Summary: Spencer comes home from a long day at work and needs you

Word count: 1.5k

Warning: Smut, use of "Ma'am, oral (f and m receiving), penitrative sex, bouncing, unprotected sex, idk.

A/n: This is my first smut... kinda nervous. Also I don't have real life experience so go easy on me

Spencer groaned as he opened the door to your shared apartment. He dragged his bags onto the floor and immediately found home on the couch. Hearing the noise, you made your way from the bedroom to see Spencer trying to massage away an oncoming headache.

"Oh baby...." you quickly scooped him up into your arms, running your hand through his hair.

"Work was so long..." He sighed.

"So much paperwork, and I normally love paperwork! But not when I have that trainer asking me questions every two seconds!" Spencer buried his face in the throw pillow.

"...And I missed you" he said in a near whisper. You knew that was the main reason for his mood.

For someone that everyone assumed to be innocent, he sure was horny. Wherever he went, he needed at least one hand on you. If it was in public, it would be an innocent handhold, but in the privacy of your own home, he'd have a hand on your inner thigh or one cupping your breast.

You moved to fully spoon him on the couch, hand splaying across his stomach, practically petting his happy trail. Spencer moved his hand to hold you and pushed himself further against you, signalling he wanted more.

You began to place little kisses across his neck as he played with your fingers, running his fingertips across your light pink colored manicured nails.

"You like them, baby?" You coo.

"Mhm, I like the bow too" He ran his thumb over the little bow charm to show which one he was talking about.

Spencer turned around and wrapped his arms around your torso, nuzzling his head into your neck, smelling the Ms. Dior perfume you always wore.

There you could really feel how much he needed you. You felt the familiar hardness pressing against your abdomen. There he tried subtly grinding against you to rid himself of the growing ache in his pants. He was too shy to ask you for more and was too sleepy to initiate. The grinding relieved a bit of pressure but not at all enough to satisfy him. His grinding was not subtle enough for you to not notice it.

"Sweetie?... Are you hard?" You whispered.

Instead of saying an audible response, he simply nodded into your chest. You picked Spencer up bridal style, carrying him to the bedroom, gently laying him on the bed.

"I'll be back, okay?"

You grabbed something from your dresser and walked into the en suite bathroom. Spencer tried to figure out what you were doing in there. He heard some shuffling and banging in the bathroom before you finally emerged.

Out you came in a light pink chiffon babydoll top. The bottom and neckline were lined in an intricate lace with a white ribbon bow on the middle of the neckline. The fabric cut just barely mid-thigh.

Unconsciously, Spencer started palming himself through his work pants.

"Tsk tsk tsk... shhhh, wait, baby." You slowly crawled on top of him, sitting in his lap, removing his hand from his pants.

As you crawled onto his lap, Spencer caught a view of your panties in the mirror in front of the bed. It was a perfectly white thong. He was salivating at the sight.

"Please," Spencer grabbed your hand, leading it to the tent in his pants.Before he started begging, you shut him up with a kiss... then another... then another.

Spencer eagerly slipped his tongue into your mouth as soon as he got the chance. His hands started mapping your body and eventually landed on your ass, kneading the plush skin. As you kissed him, you slipped his cardigan over his head, followed by unbuttoning his dress shirt.

"Lift your hips, hun." Spencer lifted his hips, trying to keep the connection between your lips. You slipped his pants off, discarding them in the pile of clothes on the floor beside you two.

"Please... touch me now," Spencer begged pathetically.

"Only because you've been a good boy."

You slid down his boxers, and his fully hard erection popped out. It was leaking precum, and the tip was the color of your lip gloss before it was licked off by Spencer.

You ran your thumb over the tip, collecting the cum and running it down the shaft, using it as lube. He whimpered at the touch. You waited for a little bit, watching him try to stay still.

Eventually you started to pump your hand with a teasingly loose grip and pace. Without warning, you dipped your head down, licking a strip of the underside of his dick. You placed a kiss on the tip before speaking:

"Such a big boy, aren't you?" you cooed.

"Mhm... ngh... big boy, yeah," he gripped the bedsheets.

"Please..." He whined.

"Please what? Use your words" You knew he wanted a blow job.

"Suck me off..."That was all you needed to wrap your mouth around the shaft, bobbing your head. Spencer started jerking his hips up, trying to get you to take more of him. You knew his orgasm was coming soon. His whines and moans grew in volume. His toes curled, and his legs grew weaker.

With one final suck and pump, his cum coated your mouth. He moaned at the sight of you swallowing his cum. Spencer let his head fall back as he tried to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat collecting on his forehead with his arm. You sat impatiently between his legs.

"Well...?" You say sassily.

"Hm?" Spencer opened his eyes, looking at your expression.

"Do I get to get off as well?" You scoffed.

Spencer's eyes lit up with excitement. He always loved eating you out. He waited for you to lie on the bed before he got ready. Straddling your hips, he slowly pulled your babydoll off.

He froze for a bit, staring at your tits. He reached a hand out and started massaging one, eyeing the nipple. He licked his lips before moving his head down towards it. He took your nipple in his mouth, playing with the other. Spencer began sucking, kissing, whatever he could do.

Once he ran out of breath, he lifted his head back up to caress your face. With gentle hands, he slowly pulled down your panties, revealing his dessert.

"Wow... you're so wet... for me?" He questioned.

You chuckled at the somewhat innocent nature of his question.

"Of course it's for you. Who else would it be for?" You reassured, holding back another chuckle.

He pouted before moving his head in between your legs. He was lying belly down on the bed, with his hands holding onto your thighs.

You were being impatient and placed a hand on the back of his head, shoving his face into your pussy. There he started to lick your cunt, occasionally flicking his tongue. His hand moved from your thigh to rub gentle circles into your clit.

"Nghh... good... good boy... keep goi—mmmmm."

You could barely speak through your moans. This only gave Spencer more encouragement. He kept eagerly licking and rubbing. He was like a starved man, and your pussy was the only thing he could eat.

"Spencer! I'm gonna... mm... I'm gonna!" You moaned out.

Spencer hummed against you, telling you that he heard you. The humming fully set you off. The orgasm crashed through you like a wave in the sea. Your legs were shaking and weak. Spencer lifted his head from in between your legs. His chin and nose were covered in your cum. He looked up at you with a shy smile.

"Did I do a good job?" He asked, somewhat insecurely.

"Good... good boy" you said, breathlessly.

Spencer, however, wasn't done. You can tell he wanted more; there was a certain glint in his eyes when he looked at you. He was pleading. You sighed before moving Spencer to lie on his back.

You wrapped a hand around Spencer's shaft. Spencer was confused when you didn't move your hand. He soon realized what was going to happen when you straddled his hips. You lined himself up with your entrance before slowly lowering yourself onto him. You let yourself get adjusted and made sure Spencer was comfortable.

"Are you comfy, darling?" You cooed.

"Mhm! Yes, ma'am!"

"Good boy," you said in your sultry voice that always got him going.

Now that you knew that Spencer was comfortable, you started bouncing. You raised your hips and dropped them down. Every single bounce hit your g-spot. Your hands made their place on the bed's headboard, the bed creaking under every drop.

Spencer's eyes were fixated on your tits. He reached a hand out to massage them, while the other slipped behind you to massage your ass.

"A-are you close?" Spencer whimpered out; he was so close.

"Yeah... yeah... almost there."

Finally you felt the familiar tightness in your abdomen and the familiar release. You would have collapsed right on Spencer's chest there, but you had to get him off too. Not shortly after, you felt his warm cum, coating your insides. With shaky legs you lifted yourself off of him, moving to cuddle with him.

"So... still thinking about work?" You teased.

"No... right now I'm thinking about baths." He giggled a bit.

[quibblyisme]

Chicken noodle soup

Who? Spencer Reid / reader

Summary: Spencer is sick and needy

Word count: 800

Warnings: N/A

A/n: This is my first fluff-ish? Fic. I wish I added more relationship stuff but... enjoy!

As soon as Spencer woke up, he was needy. Something about your hair sprawled out across the pillows, your leg sticking out from under the blankets, or how you slept with your mouth open. Whatever it was, Spencer wanted your affection.

Spencer pressed himself against your back and moved his hands to hold yours. He was trying to “accidentally” wake you up. First he tried blowing hot air on your neck, then cold air, then he tried kissing your neck; eventually he sneezed loudly. You opened your eyes groggily, wiping the drool off the side of your face.

“Hm…?” you groaned 

“What time is it?”

Spencer sighed before speaking, knowing you wouldn't be impressed by him waking you up so early.

“...5:20”

“Ughhhh… Kill me now, you whined jokingly.

“Wha- n- don't say that!” He begged.

“Shhh… Just a joke, honey. Just a joke."

Spencer pouted; even if it was just a joke, he didn't like the idea of you dying.

Suddenly he was reminded of the scratch in his throat and the snot running down his nose. Why did he have to be sick?

He made grabby hand motions to the box of tissues laid next to you in bed. You reached over and handed them to him. He immediately covered tissue after tissue in his germs. 

“‘M sick, he whined.

“Oh really? I didn't know” you said sarcastically, running a hand through his hair.

He nuzzled into your hand like a puppy begging for attention. He attempted to swaddle himself in the various blankets on your bed but just couldn't do it as well as you. You watched him grunt and groan as he tried and failed. You instructed him to stand up so you could lay out the blankets. The first layer was the duvet, then the sheet, then the first blanket, and then finally Spencer's favorite ratty blanket you got him at the start of your relationship. He lay on the end of the blankets, and you rolled him up like a burrito.

“Better?” You raised an eyebrow.

“...My feet are cold” He jabbed your side with his freezing cold feet, making you yelp.

Heading to the dresser, you grabbed three pairs of socks. Just as you were about to put them on, Spencer interrupted you.

“Mismatch them, pleaseee” he said, batting his eyelashes.

You mismatched the socks. The red ones went with the blue; the science ones went with the stripes. So on and so forth.

“Cuddles?”

You pulled him and his burrito of blankets on top of you and wrapped your arms around his torso.

“I have to go to work soon, y'know?”

Spencer tensed and held onto you tighter. A clear sign he didn't want you to leave him, even if it was just for work. You wouldn't have given in if it wasn't for those puppy dog eyes going right to your heart.

You didn't say anything, but you stared him down until eventually grabbing your phone, signalling that you were going to call in sick. He happily wiggled closer to your face and started pressing kisses all over it.

“Ah- don- you're sic- phhg- ah! Stop-”

Once he eventually stopped the barrage of sloppy kisses, his eyes drooped, and he quickly fell asleep without noticing it.

Taking the opportunity to get away from his clinginess, you headed to the kitchen to make some eggs for you and chicken noodle soup for Spencer.

Just as you got some alone time to finish your eggs, you heard the familiar pitter patter of Spencer's feet across the floorboards. There he appeared in front of you, still wrapped in blankets with the same pout on his face.

“I woke up and you weren't there…”

You handed him the bowl of chicken noodle soup, and Spencer eagerly took a spoonful, stopping just before he took a bite.

“Wait, I need to tell you about the craziest dream I had!”

“Wait so I… aw damn. I forgot it”

You chuckled under your breath, bringing back Spencer's pout.

“Just eat the soup, please,” you said sternly mixed with a bit of pleading.

Spencer shot you a glare before swallowing the whole thing.

“I swear to God, when you're sick, you turn into a baby”

“Well, you think babies are cute, so I'll take that as a compliment!” Spencer countered

“Whatever makes you sleep at night”

Spencer, without warning, sat in your lap; the chair creaked under the added weight.

“I think I'm getting sick too,” you complained before coughing. Despite Spencer already being sick, he tried to back away from the cough.

“Wanna take another nap?” You asked. Spencer nodded his head eagerly before grabbing your hand and walking you to your bedroom.

There you both fell asleep, wrapped up in blankets and used tissues. Together.

[quibblyisme]

Promise?

Who: Spencer Reid / Reader

Summary: Spencer and you are childhood lovers, with the promise of marrying eachother when you grow up, He uses his last words to marry you.

Warnings: Kidnapping, drug use, murder, Main character death

Word count: 1,922

A/N: This is my second fic! Can you tell I love angst? Sorry in advance

“When I grow up, I'm going to marry you!” Spencer said, determined.

“Promise?” you say shyly but with a smile that spreads across your face.

“Promise.” He stuck out his pinky finger, linking with yours. Pinky promises were sacred.

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Most elementary school relationships didn't last long. They always lasted a day, two at most. They'd break up over a soccer game, then go on to “date” another the next day. Spencer and you were different.

You both didn't have friends. It was just you two. Before you moved to Spencer school, he was bullied. He would cry himself to sleep, wake up, cry, then go to school.

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He first met you when you joined school late. You stood at the front of the class, nervously clutching your backpack straps.

“I-im Y/N… I just moved here”

The class was quiet and uninterested. You could hear girls in the back whispering. Maybe it was your haircut. Maybe it was your clothing choices.

You were sat next to Spencer.

When the teacher turned their head, Spencer leaned towards you, tapping your shoulder to get your attention.

“I like your backpack…” he whispered.

“Oh, thanks!” You looked over at the bag hanging on the back of his chair. It was ripped, ratty, and stained.

“Um, I have an extra backpack at home… Would you like it?”

Spencer's eyes lit up almost cartoonishly.

“Really?” He didn't believe you; Spencer wasn't used to human kindness.

“Thank you…” Spencer said quickly after”

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You became close, best friends after that. He'd help you on assignments, and you'd protect him from bullies. It came as a shock to him when you told him that you “like liked” him. He said it back, and you two shared the most passionate kiss of your life… well. Most passionate kiss in kids language. Aka a peck on the lips.

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Despite the elementary couple's curse of never lasting more than a day, yours somehow lasted. You two went to the same middle school and the same high school. There wasn't a single breakup or a single fight. Of course, every adult you met with would say something along the lines of “Young love, enjoy it while it lasts” or “I'll give them a week.” Those comments only further strengthened your bond… or it was pettiness.

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You were each other's everything: first kiss, first date, first “I love you,” first… well, you know. Sure, you messed up sometimes, but you messed up together. That's all that mattered.

Spencer grew up knowing exactly what he wanted to be. A profiler. You weren't so sure; after Spencer talked about his dream job, he brought up “media liaison” That was what you wanted to do.

Spencer was ecstatic to hear that you wanted to be a media liaison. He was practically jumping up and down with joy, rambling about how you two could work at the same place and go on the same cases. Never be apart.

Spencer always promised that once you were both old enough, he'd marry you. Although you had dated for years and years, you two were still “too young” by societal standards. So you waited.

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Working together was great. You both knew exactly what each other was feeling because you were going through the same thing. It didn't matter if Spencer was out on cases because you'd be there too.

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Today's case was interesting. The unsub's m.o. was to call in the crime and then commit it. As you reached the victim's house, Morgan noticed that the whole thing was being recorded from a computer webcam.

The unsub was watching.

While Spencer was examining the aforementioned webcam, a message popped up on the screen.

“THE ARMIES OF SATAN SHALL NOT PREVAIL.” The BAU concluded that the victims were being killed based on sins in the Bible. Adultery, greed, etc.

The next victim's death was posted publicly. A woman being torn apart by vicious dogs. The dogs were soon identified by a police officer. Tobias Hankel being the witness. To find more information about the dogs in the video, JJ and Spencer drove to Tobias Hankle's house. Maybe this could find a lead or some more information at least.

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After knocking on the door a few times, it creaked open a crack. A seemingly shy man poked his head through the door, claiming he didn't see anything wrong and told them that they should leave. Something was off about him. Spencer could sense it from a mile away.

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Deciding to look around, he peeked into the house. There he saw a computer setup. Not just any computers. It was the same computer in the background of the victim's video.

Tobias Hankel was the killer.

Spencer Reid quickly called JJ over, showing her the setup. He quickly made the decision that they should split up to find Hankel. Before she could object, he was already walking around the barn in search of him.

He made his way to a vast field. There was no other place that he could be besides the house, which was already cleared of him.

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He made his way through the tall stalks of wheat. They scratched his arms, leaving behind white marks surrounded by faint red.

Suddenly he was pushed to the ground, slowly trying to back up, to crawl, to escape. Tobias Hankel looming over him. Spencer looked down the barrel of the gun that Tobias was holding.

There he saw the difference. The difference between the barrel of his gun and Tobias's. The difference was Spencer took the souls of those who had taken others. That barrel, that bullet would give those innocent souls peace. Tobias's gun took the lives of innocent people. They trapped them in the single bronze colored bullet.

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He woke up. Thinking it was all a dream, relieved but still shaken, he tried to reach out to hold you, only to realize he was held down. It all came into vision now. He was strapped to an old chair in a random barn. The single light in the dark room made his eyes squint and his head pound.

Even more came into sight. The camera set up ahead of him, the computer sat next to it. As well as the putrid smell of fish.

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The sound of dry grass crunching filled the air around him. Closer. Closer.

He felt a presence behind him before finally it stood in front of him.

Tobias stood there, hovering over Spencer. This wasn't the same Tobias he saw before. The old man was shy, closed off, scared. Sure, it could have been a way to throw him off his tracks, but this seemed different. The man standing there practically bled out rage, revenge, and hate.

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Spencer tensed, expecting to be hurt, stabbed, or shot. Killed, but Tobias simply walked out. Spencer was too tired to try to escape. He rested his head on the back of the splintering chair and closed his eyes to rest.

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“Wake up…” A gentle voice said quietly.

Spencer opened his bleary eyes to the sound of the voice. Once again Tobias stood there. But not the one he saw earlier. This was the one back in the barn. He started cleaning off the blood that stained his forehead.

“Was Charles here earlier…?” Tobias said, seemingly scared,

“N-no? Just you." Spencer's voice was taut.

“I wasn't here before.” Tobias said matter-of-factly.

Confusion practically dripped from Spencer's face; before Spencer could react, a belt was being tightened around his arm and a bottle and needle were being pulled from Tobias's pocket.

“What is tha-”

“Shh… it'll make it better. Trust me.

Spencer's brows furrowed as he tried to move his hand from Tobias's grip.

He felt the cool needle pierce his dirty skin. Before he knew it, his eyes drooped, falling into exhaustion.

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He shot up as he felt him being kicked, falling to the ground. He looked up to see Tobias back again. Not the kind one, though.

“Who—who is Charles?” His voice cracked as tears flooded his eyes.

“How do you know my damn name!” Charles (Tobias) shouted, echoing through the barn.

“I-I—he told me!” Spencer would have raised his arms in surrender if they weren't tied to the chair.

“Quit your lying! The devil told you!” He snapped.

A whip cracked against his bare arm, sending bats into flight in the rafters.

Tears streamed down his face as he watched Charles walk towards the camera and the computer. The computer turned on. There he saw your gorgeous face. It wasn't one he remembered. You were yelling out, sobbing as Morgan held you back. You were desperately reaching towards the camera as if trying to save him from there.

You had seen everything.

Spencer started yelling unintelligible words.

“If you don't shut up, I'll bury you in the graveyard out back!”

Charles stormed out. Looking back at the computer, Spencer saw Derek's face had a face of realization on it. He quickly left the frame. Spencer's brain was too foggy to realize that Charles had said, “The graveyard.” He had given the team a location.

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He didn't even try and fight when Charles was untying Spencer and dragging him out to the graveyard. He was pushed onto his knees in front of a patch of dirt. A heavy shovel was dropped into his sore arms.

“Dig.” Charles snapped

Spencer pushed the shovel into the dry ground, lifting it and disposing of the dirt next to him.

Once Spencer gained more bearings, he tried to swing the shovel at Charles, missing. His hair was gripped by Charles' calloused hand and pulled. His clothes hooked on every dry branch.

He was shoved into an old shack with Charles walking in after him. He tried to push himself back to escape him but felt his hands touch the decaying wood walls.

As he looked up, he saw Charles' gun pointing at him. Suddenly he was transported back to when he was kidnapped by Charles. Same situation, same fear. Spencer desperately patted the ground in search of a weapon. There he felt the cool touch of a gun. He hid it before Charles could see.

Without knowing if it was loaded or not, he turned off the safety and aimed it at Charles.

BANG

*Both guns went off. Spencer aimed right at Charles' head; he collapsed to the ground, dying in a pool of his own blood. He felt a sharp sting in his abdomen; lifting his hand, he saw it was covered in his blood. His own blood.

The shack door swung open as you stood there, flashlight and gun raised. You pointed it around the room until it lit Spencer's face up, making his blood glisten. You dropped to your knees and started applying pressure to his wound.

“Y-” He was cut off by his own coughs; blood spat out onto his chin and hand.

“Don't die—please, it's not supposed to end like this.” You said in between broken sobs.

A tug at your sleeve made you look at Spencer's face.

“Will you marry me, Y/N?” He pleaded. He wasn't going to die and break the promise you had held since second grade.

“Are you serious…?”

“Yes.”

“Promise?” You stuck out a shaking pinky finger.

Spencer used his last bit of strength to interlock pinkies with you.

“Promise.”

[quibblyisme]

Spiders and solitude

It all became too real for Spencer. He was always an aware child. He wasn't normal. IQ of 187, eidetic memory. He wasn't looked at the same as other kids.

As a child he feared taxes and the constant rise of the housing market; other children feared snakes and spiders. Every time he heard a kid say they were scared of spiders, he'd say something along the lines of, "Well, actually the most common spiders here are cellar spiders a-and wolf spiders!" They're actually very friendly!"

The spiders were his only friends. Spencer took every dead spider right to the heart. The one time he'd get close to having a friend, they'd be ripped from his grasp as soon as he saw them kill a bug.

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High school didn't treat him any better either. He was 10 in a class for 15-year-olds. He was constantly bullied. His homework stolen, copied then Ripped. He was shoved into lockers filled with old failed tests and moldy sandwiches.

Sometimes he would be left there for the whole day, leaving him with the tiny ventilation holes to breathe.The few times he made friends, they were fake. They used his innocence and trust for test answers.

At that point Spencer didn't even care. He had a friend. Even if it was temporary.

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College was a better time for him. He didn't have his teachers pressing him into making friends, no teachers giving him a homemade recess "grade" (F). All the people in the lecture hall with him were either too hungover or uninterested to interact.

He loved writing essays and doing research. Most of the things he already had stored in his brain. He had spent hours hunched over his computer writing pages on pages about grass patterns based on climate and fertilizer.

Because of his youth, he didn't have to share a room with an adult. He had the freedom to blast his classical music and lounge in his boxers. He felt free. The first taste of joy he had in years.

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After he had graduated college, coming out with 3 PhDs in Mathematics, Chemistry, and Engineering, as well as a B.A. in Psychology and Sociology. His smarts and impressive education landed him a job at the BAU.

It was a bit hard fitting in at first. He was seen as a kid and doubted his knowledge. He was often dismissed, and Hotch had to force the team to listen to him.

He didn't feel like he belonged there... until you came.

You had been on the team for a few years before he joined. You weren't there when he started due to a mission, but it was like you had a magnet pulling him to you. He was drawn to you; he relied on you. You were the only person he felt safe around, enough to ask where the bathrooms were.

Your bond strengthened quickly. Morgan would often tease him, saying that he looked like a puppy following you around. He pretended that he didn't like the comment, but in the back of his mind, he wondered if you liked puppies. If you did and he was like a puppy, did you like him?

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Morgan was quick to notice Spencer's habits around you. The "accidental" touches. The glances followed by sighs of longing. The blush every time he made eye contact with you. Morgan knew exactly what was going on, deciding to push Spencer's buttons. He strolled up to Spencer's desk.

He leaned on the side and shot Spencer a smirk.

"Hey, pretty boy! Over here! Lost in Space?... or lost in their eyes?" Morgan teased him, earning a glare from Spencer.

"Shut up, Morgan! I do not like Y/N!" He huffed, turning his chair away from Morgan.

Morgan was too stubborn to end the conversation there. He spun the chair back around to face him. Spencer looked like a scolded child.

"Go on, pretty boy, ask em out. What's the worst that could happen?"

"W-ewhats the worst that could happen!? What if they don't like me! That's the worst that could happen! I can't lose our friendship!" Spencer panicked; suddenly his shirt felt too tight.

"Well, if you aren't gonna do it, then I will. I'm asking Y/N out for you." Morgan chuckled before walking towards where you were sitting at your desk.

Spencer panicked; he started to get out of his chair before stopping himself from looking like an idiot.

He buried his face in his arms and let out quiet tears. A light tap on his shoulder made him stop and sniffle.

"Leave me alone, Morgan..." He didn't bother looking up. His voice sounded weak and defeated.

Suddenly he was being picked up and moved. He felt softness under him and the warmth of arms wrapped around his body. He looked up to see you holding him.

"Y/N...?" He buried his face in your chest, wrapping his arms around you.

Your gentle hands moved his face away from your chest, forcing him to look at you. You gently caressed his hair.

"I like you too, Spencer..." You placed a gentle, delicate kiss on his forehead. You touched him like he was a fragile doll. Spencer was shocked but didn't react. He simply nuzzled into your chest like a kitten.

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That day had blossomed into a long, loving relationship. You had moved in together and spent every second holding each other. You knew of Spencer's past, and you promised you would hold him one second for every wrongdoing one has done to him.

You came up with traditions. Some little things, like how he'd leave a sticky note in your lunch. Or how he'd place a chocolate on your pillow. Your favorite was when you'd sing to him.

Every night Spencer would curl up to you, blankets covering his body, hair spread out across the pillow, hand on your heartbeat, listening to the steady rhythm.

Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.

Then you'd start singing. Always this song. He couldn't sleep without it. You prerecorded it, so if for whatever reason he couldn't be there with you, he'd have a piece of you.

"And even though I know how very far apart we are,

It helps to think we might be wishin' on the same bright star.

And when the night wind starts to sing a lonesome lullaby

It helps to think we're sleeping underneath the same big sky."

It never failed to make him fall asleep. Spencer was a blanket hogger. He'd wrap himself up like a burrito then sleep like a log. You personally froze every single night and hid a blanket to take out when he inevitably stole yours, but to know that he was comfortable made it all worth it. Soon Spencer... changed. He became closed off. Sleeping more, working less. You worried. You knew Spencer's every move and routine like the back of your hand. You knew how he'd sing "Uptown Girl" in the showers when he thought you couldn't hear. You knew how it'd take him exactly 13 minutes to pick up his daily coffee. This wasn't him anymore.

This was a shell of the man he used to be.

For Spencer this was his midlife crisis, only not midlife. He began to doubt his choices and abilities.

"What if I chose the wrong job?"

"I could be doing more."

Those thoughts replayed in his mind like a broken record. Soon it consumed him.You tried to help him, support him, but you were pushed away. You knew he'd snap if you kept on pushing, so you let him be.

You had to watch his slow mental decline from a distance. It hurt. He grew distant. You didn't see him anymore.

He'd lock himself in his room and didn't come out unless he needed food or water.

That's why today was different.

Spencer walked out of his room sluggishly. His hair was unwashed, and skin was pale. He was wearing a stained shirt and some crusty pajama pants.

For the first time in a while, he laid his head in your lap and nuzzled his head into your stomach. He looked up at you with tired, dark eyes and spoke,

"Can I just give up for a bit...?"