in every other life- s.r.
a/n: my soul is in this mf fic. there's a lil sexual tension lol! this is a behemoth of pining. so much fucking pining. this guy needs you like air wtf!! ALSO the poem is from a book, the lover's dictionary by david levithan.
summary: the love of spencer's life is also his best friend, and she goes on a few dates. he does not handle it well, internally. ft. metaphysics by our dear genius boy.
wc: 3.3k (holy shit)
While he recognizes that no direct injustice has actually been done to him, he canāt help but feel that itās so unfair.Ā
Because Spencer had never actually wanted much of anyone, actually. He was too much of a child through his entire education, and heād found anyone that heād even consider had almost instantly had dismissed him. Heād grown used to a life where companionship wasnāt a desire that crossed his mind.Ā
But he wanted her.Ā
His lovely friend, his coworker, who was the kind of lovely that it feels unfair youād ever have to take your eyes off of. Sheās the best person heās ever met, the sort of wonderful you read about but never convince yourself youāll ever see. He knows the shape of her, has her form memorized from watching, waiting for her to step into the office every day. Ā
It was only a matter of time until he wasnāt the only one with his eye on her.Ā
Sheās actually absurdly easy to want. Thereās nights where they watch something, often what he picked, Doctor Who or some other science fiction which would be great if he could focus on anything but her. Her warm disposition ruminating his too-small apartment with a kind of light that follows his every movement. Heād adore her even if she wasnāt, but itās impossible to ignore how beautiful she is- the kind of pretty that you hardly expect to see in real life.Ā
āHey you,ā her so-sweet voice is what breaks him out of his daydreaming, and he looks up at her lovely face smiling down at him. Fondness seeps through her tone, and itās everything he can do not to preen that her first thought at seeing him is one of pleasure.Ā
āHey back,ā he says, greeting her with a warm grin of his own. āHow was your weekend?ā
Itās a calculated question.Ā
She had canceled their weekly movie night. Heād tried not to look too disappointed, like the idea of her next to him on his couch, of her nimble fingers raking through his unkempt hair while something nice, but far less wonderful than his company played in the background wasnāt all that was keeping him going. These days, and he knows itās likely delusion, that she sometimes seems to gaze back at him with a similar sort of desperation, hooded eyes and tenderness.Ā
Itās a liminal space, those nights. How can people be two things at once? You cannot be both in love and not. In the low-light of his place, under his blanket- itās like Schrodingerās experiment. She canāt love him like a friend and more at the same time- it resists the laws of physics. She is his best friend, a fact he knows as sure as gravity and the elements, and believing anymore than that- itās asserting an impossibility.Ā
When theyāre alone together, though. It seems like the impossible exists.Ā
But sheād canceled it, something she hadnāt done for the months theyād been engaging in their little tradition. So there had to be a reason. She sits next to him, her desk next to his.Ā
She looks a little disheveled, only in an adorable way- but a little like sheās been busy, like her flow is disrupted.
āIt was good! I finally went out with that guy Penelopeās been begging me to let her set me up with.ā
Itās all that he can do not to freeze up.Ā
Penelope has been trying to get her to go out with her friend Ben, which Spencer thinks is a stupid name, by the way, and secretly heād been so, so pleased when she had brushed off the invite. Itās a dangerous thing, hope. He tries not to have too much of it, tries to savor the thought of her, of more for moments of particular vulnerability. Itās treacherous, to want her the way he does. He knows he canāt let himself feel it all the way.Ā
And logistically- romance is not a reason for a valid reason for him to be panicking the way he is, but all he can think about is the physics. Two opposite things cannot be true at the same time.Ā
āYou know, studies suggest that even now, the majority of couples are meeting in person or through friends over any other medium.āĀ
It hurts to say. Sheās part of a couple, one half a whole that he doesnāt complete.Ā
āSeriously? Iād have thought itād changed by now. I guess itās safer to date someone you know.ā
Sheād date someone she knew? Is that what she prefers?Ā
āHow did it go?ā He hears Emily ask, and this conversation is already the bane of his existence.
āGuys, it really wasnāt a big deal! We got dinner, it was just a little thing.ā
Spencer isnāt experienced in dating, but he does know that dinner is a serious date. Coffee is a smaller thing, but dinner-
Dinner means she got pretty for him. Probably picked out a dress for the evening, spent time on a carefully manicured look. Spent hours of her precious, rare, time on him.Ā
Itās not fair how much he fucking hates this guy.Ā
āDinner is not nothing!ā Penelope squeals, and he would love to share in her excitement, except it kind of feels like a piece of his heart is being shredded.Ā
āDinner means coming up to my place, have coffee, oh look who doesnāt have her hair done-ā
Please kill me, he thinks. Please.Ā
āOh, that definitely did not happen.ā
Thank god.Ā
Except he canāt miss her flush, how her expression shifts- and he has the sickening feeling heād be hearing that guyās name again.Ā
When they all settle around the table, her doe eyes focused on gruesome images that were the exact antithesis of her spirit, he couldnāt help but feel that even if it hurt, there was finality.Ā
The cat was out of the box. Two things cannot be true at once, and so only one is- she does not love him, at least not the way he does.Ā
Ben, is not in fact, going away.Ā
If he had more willpower or self-preservation, Spencer would keep his distance from her, but the truth of it is that as much as he wants to be the person she turns to, her smile is most of why he can stand his job anymore.Ā
Itās a Tuesday, and everyone is grumbling about being pulled in early in the morning, but heās just happy to have a reason to leave the house.
āSpence!ā He hears her excited voice carry, the pretty sound picking his ears up at once. āI got you coffee. Itās hazelnut, and itās like, 90% sugar. Youāre gonna love it.ā
She beams at him, and he takes it in his hands. Their hands brush, and he tries so hard not to notice how soft her hands are. Her name is on the cup, and an unconsenting fantasy of her name meaning that heās hers creeps into his mind before he can bat it away. Ā
But her cup says Ben.Ā
āThanks,ā he says her name, tries to sound measured and friendly. āCoffee date?ā
She preens, and god, if this guy doesnāt get how lucky he is it might be thing thing that actually sends him over the edge after all these years.
āJust a quick thing, we were just in the same place and he bought me a coffee, Iād already gotten yours.ā
If thereās two roles he can fill and he doesnāt get to pick, if heās stuck with friends, heās gonna be great at it, and heās gonna be grateful. Because knowing her is a grace in itself, the kind of thing you should could yourself so lucky to have.Ā
āHe sounds like a great guy,ā he hears himself say, āIļæ½ļæ½m glad youāre doing this.ā
Itās the right thing to say. Heās sure of it. The thing heās not sure of is why the smile she offers him doesnāt reach her eyes.Ā
The next time he notices the cracks in their relationship, itās when theyāre out. Sheād suggested this bookstore-cafe kind of thing, and heād jumped at the thought, all of his favorite things in one afternoon. Heād felt foolish spending so much time picking out his outfit out, wearing the blazer sheād once complimented-heād actually stuttered so hard in thanks that Morgan laughed for a full minute when she left the room- but she always looked beautiful, and he knows he sometimes pales in comparison.Ā
āOh, I love this one!ā She thumbs over the spine of a thin book of poetry. Sheās wearing a forest green sweater that hugs her frame, and a bracelet hangs on her delicate wrist. He loves looking at her, though he tries to conceal it. His goal of being a supportive friend includes trying not to make it that known how gone for her he is.Ā
āI donāt read too much poetry,ā he admits, āBut Iām sure you have excellent taste.āĀ
Her keen eyes skim through the pages intently, clearly seeking out a specific passage before stopping, gaze alight with recognition.Ā
Her tone is molasses-sweet when she begins reading, and his heart skips a beat.
āWhen I say be my lover,ā her voice hitches, reverent of the quote and he is reverent of her, ā I donāt mean āletās have an affair. I donāt mean Sleep with me. I donāt mean Be my secret. I want us to go back to that root. I want you to be the one who loves me. I want to be the one who loves you.ā
It feels impossible to look away from her, doe eyes practically sparkling in the low light of the shop, and there it is. His heartās in his throat. Of all the things you could have told Spencer heād experience, hearing her lovely voice wrap around the words be my lover in hushed tone, in sacred sweetness, would never ever be one heād guess.Ā
Heās not sure how he feels about the multiverse theory, but right now, he can feel all the versions of himself pressing right up against him. Can see into lives he doesnāt get to live, lifetimes where his love isnāt a buried, worn-out tattered thing to keep his ever-frigid chest warm. Versions of himself that in this very moment can smile back at her, warm and open and kind, and kiss her perfect smile.Ā
Because he would be her lover. He would come home to her, spend the rest of his life building a home that she could fitĀ into. Itād be easy, actually. Sheās easy to imagine- nights of laughing in a shared kitchen, evenings where her company is a fine wine, sipped at leisure with the comfort of knowing itās never going to slip from your grasp.Ā
āI like that,ā he says, voice too vulnerable for his own good, eyes unable to tear from the eye contact. āI really like that.āĀ
In the root of it, he already is her lover. He is the one who loves her. Sheās just not his.Ā
It comes to a head on a Friday. Itās a few weeks from he book shop, and the air feels heavier between them now. The last handful of Fridays heās sat with the ghost of what used to be their plans, empty time lingering where in itsā place used to be her company.Ā
He doesnāt know if sheās been with Ben. He tries not to think about it.Ā
The sound of her voice lingers in his mind, sweet and bitter in his mind like old lemon candy, the kind his mother would save for special occasions. Heād spend any amount of money he had to hear her lovely voice say those words to him out of the context of a poem.Ā
At work, they seem almost normal. Like one of them wasnāt desperately in love with the other; like a genius and his lovely, incredibly empathetic, kind best friend. In the field, their actions flow together seamlessly. She is always the first to listen and to understand (and god, isnāt it intoxicating to have someone meet you in understanding) and there is nothing to suspect is off.
But thereās still a cloud lingering. The poem- the soft melody of her voice curling around the words, the request of it all, the way she had sounded so wanting- and then, thereās Ben.Ā
She doesnāt mention Ben to him, of course, but Penelope does. Penelope, all bows and bright colors and cheeriness keeps bringing the absolute worst news to Spencer with a smile on her face.Ā
Heās taking her out for drinks! Oh, heās reading her favorite book, do you know what it is?
This anger isnāt an emotion that heās familiar with. A roar of possessiveness, the bite of it not tempered at all by rationality. Has he touched her?
It seems almost a tradition at this point when she shakes him out of his jealous storm of thought.
āSpence?ā she muses, āYou alright?ā Theyāre alone at his desk, everyone having fled for their own evening and weekend plans. This was one of the Fridays that she had agreed to spend with him, and he wonders if heāll be able to handle the scent of her shampoo so close after such a lapse of the sensation. Will all of his judgement go where he canāt follow?
āYeah,ā he says, tucking his papers into his bag, āIām excited for tonight.ā
His place is actually a short walk from the office. Heād been embarrassed to show her the place at first. Itās all function over fashion, and a bit cramped, but sheād looked at as though it was made of something more, something good. She didnāt even tease him. It had actually been her idea, to start these movie nights.Ā
Ironic, really.Ā
The walk was pleasant, the weather a little frigid but still nice, and she looks beautiful under the setting sun. Itās incredible to him, how her lashes catch the light and make her irises look like polished stained glass. His favorite color. Through the looking glass of another life, he sees a version of himself that gathers her up in his arms. In this daydream, she grants him one of her smiles that seems to carry itsā own light, and leans into his body like itās the only thing that keeps her steady. Itās so clear. On the other side of the veil, he kisses her reddening nose, and keeps her warm himself.Ā
In the here and now, Her coat is long, and hangs low by her ankles. Itās an elegant thing, like the woman who wears it, and Spencer would be grateful for a lifetime of just looking.They stop in front of his door, some invisible force stopping him from entering.Ā
She sheds the coat inside his home. It smells like the candle she got him for his birthday, a reminder of her grace. Heās saved a bottle of wine for them, a sweet thing for the sweetest thing heās known.Ā
āIām sorry,ā she speaks the warmth of the beverage on her tongue, and it should feel abrupt but it doesnāt.
āWhat for?ā He canāt imagine what she would have to apologize for.Ā
āI know things have beenā¦off between us,ā she says carefully, considering the phrasing of each word. He watches her with a reverence, his hazel eye brimming with affection with nowhere to go. āYouāve been so great through it.ā
Her legs are thrown across his own, and sheās dangerously close to sitting in his lap, but not exactly. Heās missed having her this close, the last time sheād been in his orbit was before sheād had reason to be gone. She smells floral. He fights With limited filtering through his already treacherous mind he thinks, He canāt take this from me. I still get her like this.Ā
āIām not entirely sure what it is.āĀ
She slowly shuts her eyes, go for a moment to somewhere he canāt follow. Her cheeks are rosy from the cold.Ā
āThis whole Ben thing.ā
āOh.ā
Logically, it always had to come back to this. Someone else had the good fortune to know her like this, to be the person she reads poetry to in deep meaning to.Ā
Heās been stealing moments from someone whoās not his to take them from.Ā
āI donāt even know how I wanted you to react.ā she murmurs, staring at the rim of her glass.Ā
āI just want you to be happyā His voice is something low, grit in the sound of it. His hand rests on her thigh. Thereās warmth blanketing the room and he wants to kiss her. He wants to kiss her all the time.Ā
She laughs, but itās not her normal laugh. Itās tinny and a little bitter. He pushes his luck, and reaches out to brush the side of her face, moving the hair but still holding her face. Her breath smells like strawberry wine and temptation.Ā
It feels different tonight. Low light and tension that could be sliced with wire. Every part of her is in reach, and something in the air makes all of this talk of relativity, of physics, moot.Ā
Like maybe heās not in the only world they donāt end up together.Ā
Her face is warm and soft under his touch and he loves the sight of her. Heās never touched her like this. Every point of contact feels electric, addicting.Ā
āWhat is it? The Ben thing?ā He doesnāt know what heās expecting to hear. What he wants, is for her to tell him that it doesnāt matter anymore, that she picks him-
āI only went out with him the once.ā
āWhat?ā
āI told Penelope I was still going because it made her happy and she said I couldnāt keep going to your apartment and reading you poetry and call that romance.ā
Romance?Ā
Wasnāt it romance, though?Ā
Her eyes widen in something akin to horror.Ā
āShit, Spence- Iām sorry, that is so fucked of me to say-ā
āYou,ā he tries to say calmly, āarenāt going out with Ben.ā
She blinks.Ā
āNo?ā
He has spent so much time living in other lives, existing in the minds of versions of himself he wasnāt lucky enough to be. Drinking coffee imagine a life colored in her presence, falling asleep yearning for the presence of something lighter than what he has to carry.Ā
He canāt exist in two places. That was the entire basis of the experiment.Ā
He moves his other hand to hold hers, and somehow sheās shifted to being on top of him, and he looks up at her with unwavering desire.Ā
Spencer isnāt good at wanting people, but it comes naturally with her. Less of an action and more an urge, a course of motion to which he is at the mercy of. This is what leads him to close the gap between them, and kiss her. ItāsĀ
Her delicate fingers run through his hair, and she canāt be close enough, please, and he could spend the rest of his life kissing her, actually. He probably will spend the rest of his life thinking about the soft sigh he pulls out of her.Ā
āI want it to be me,ā he manages to say through shallow breath, still so close that his lips brush hers every other word, āI want to be the one you pick. I want it to be me.ā His hazel eyes seem to shift in the moment, swirling with emotion.Ā
She brushes a lock of his overgrown hair out of his face. He normally shaves when he sees her, but heād been so busy that heād forgotten, and felt embarrassed of it now. That is, until she runs her index finger along the edge of his jawline.
Itās then she leans down and kisses him again, pliant and good, his hands around her waist. He breathes a prayer into her mouth, one that hopes that she never ever comes to her senses about him.Ā
āSpence,ā she says, her voice golden silk, a kindness.Ā āThere was never anyone else to pick.āĀ
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thank you so much for including me in your list of fic recs among these amazing writers!!! š«¶š«¶
november fic recs:
* my favourites
spencer reid x reader
not shy of a spark * @spencersmagic
fem!reader (she/her) | third person pov/spencerās pov | hurt/comfort | sfw
a knife twists at the thought @spencersmagic
fem!reader (she/her) | third person pov | angst with a happy ending | sfw | tw: descriptions of torture
the flawless, really something kiss * @samuel-de-champagne-problems
fem!reader (one use of she/her, use of the word princess) | second person pov/spencerās pov | fluff | sfw
1000 paper cranes * @spencersimp
fem!reader (she/her) | second person pov | fluff/soulmate au | sfw
discuss * @mxchellesworld
fem!reader (afab) | second person pov | smut | nsfw | cw: sub!spencer, oral (male receiving)
kisses make everything better @ofwilliamandwalter
gn!reader | first person pov/readerās pov | hurt/comfort | sfw | cw: autistic!spencer, sensory overload/overstimulation
she is mine @cruxiohp
fem!wife!reader (she/her) | second person pov | fluff | sfw
teach me * @reidme
fem!reader (she/her) | second person pov | smut | nsfw | cw: sub!spencer, oral (fem receiving), piv sex
swooping in @radiant-reid
fem!reader (she/her) | third person pov/spencerās pov | fluff | sfw
unbelievable but verified * @radiant-reid
fem!reader (she/her) | third person pov (switching) | fluff | sfw
spencer seeing readers boobs for the first time @radiant-reid
fem!reader (afab) | second person pov | fluffy not-quite-smut | bordering on nsfw, no actual smut | cw: spencerās obsession with boobies
kaz brekker x reader
water @ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes
fem!reader (she/her) | third person pov/kazās pov | hurt/comfort | sfw | tw: fear of water (kaz and reader)
his whole heart @ell0ra-br3kk3r-writes
fem!reader (she/her) | third person pov | fluff | sfw | cw: kiss on the cheek from reader to kaz
kaz playing with readerās hair * @gemma-collins-ily
gn!reader (described as having long hair) | second person pov | hurt/comfort | sfw | tw: kazās touch aversion, the menagerie
inej ghafa x reader
daggers * @gemma-collins-ily
gn!reader | second person pov | fluff | sfw
steven grant x reader
is that my sweater? @moonxknightx
fem!reader (no actual use of she/her or physical descriptions of the reader, could be read as gn!reader) | second person pov | fluff | sfw
beautiful boy * @luvpedropascal
gn!reader | second person pov | smut, hurt/comfort | nsfw | cw: sub!steven
why do you stay? * @autmism
fem!reader (she/her) | third person pov/stevenās pov | hurt/comfort | sfw
marc spector x reader
deserve * @softlybarnes
fem!reader (afab) | second person pov | smut, angst with a happy ending | nsfw
doubt * @loki-hargreeves
fem!reader (afab) | second person pov/marcās pov | hurt/comfort | sfw | cw: pregnancy
jake lockley x reader
come out @eyelessfaces
gn!reader | second person pov | fluff | sfw | cw: fade to black implied smut at the end
eddie munson x reader
mean!cheerleader + meeting parents trope @kissitbttr
fem!reader (she/her) | third person pov | fluff, hurt/comfort | sfw
secret @porcelaindoll-exe
fem!reader (she/her) | second person pov | hurt/comfort | sfw
ten things i like about you * @theonewiththefanfics
fem!reader (she/her) | third person pov/eddieās pov | fluff | sfw | cw: jason carver
nice fucking try @itsoutrageouss
fem!reader (she/her) | second person pov/switching pov | hurt/comfort | sfw
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