Spencer Reid | Oneshots

Ribcage ❤️ (M)

Summary: Spencer realizes Reader is the one, but it might be too late. He has to find her.

Rating: Mature (16+)

Content Warning: Gore, violence, blood, vomit, vague references to torture/rape (of Reader), minor character death

A/N: I promise it has a happy ending. I promise.

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"I love you, Spencer."

Those were the words that set these events into motion. They were simple words said confidently at 2:37PM on a Wednesday afternoon.

This was not a phrase whispered feverishly or recklessly between clandestine lovers in the night. It was purposeful and altogether transparent.

(Y/n) just loved me and wanted me to know.

I hadn't heard those words in so long. My mind refused to return to the previous time over 7 years prior. I knew the exact number of days, but had decided 2 years prior that it wasn't worth torturing myself any longer.

Yet I still felt compelled to run away— to flee to the safety of the certainty of the past. A part of me felt like I was cheapening what had already existed by allowing myself to love anew.

But that would be stupid, right? Because when a dedicated, tooth-achingly sweet, beautiful woman tells you that she loves you with all of her heart, the last thing she should do is frown.

Which was exactly what happened. She'd tried to hide it, obviously disappointed by my lack of response to her words. The fear and pain that formed in the split seconds of my expression that I couldn't control. Of course she'd seen them.

"It's okay not to have everything figured out yet. Whenever you do, I'll be here. But I am not going to deny you the knowledge and certainty of how I feel any longer."

She paused, assessing the way the panic began to recede.

"I love you," she'd said again. She tested the way the words felt on her lips and the way they hit my ears. She smiled that time, but only the kind of smile that heals your own breaking heart.

I was in love with her, too. I just hadn't known it yet.

I didn't know I was in love with her until Sunday morning at 9:13AM, when I made two cups of coffee by accident for a girl that wasn't there. Staring at the taupe liquid, I was overwhelmed by the weight of the world crashing over my body.

I loved her. I loved her with everything that I had left.

Suddenly I understood why she said those words to me so seemingly at random. It made sense that sitting on a park bench and reading the newspaper was enough for her to realize that this was all she ever wanted.

Because I wanted to turn around and hand her this cup of coffee. To watch her muscles relax and the sleep wash away from her face as she sunk into the chair beside me.

I wanted to tell her I loved her. I needed to tell her that I love her.

There was no hesitance in the way I practically ran to my car and drove the 20 minutes to her apartment.

But after I pulled my copy of her key from my chain, I stopped. It was not doubt in my emotions that made me pause when I turned the key in the lock.

No, it was the fact that the door was already unlocked.

(Y/n) was not the kind of person to forget to lock her doors. She made a habit out of it, acutely aware of the risks involved with loving someone like myself.